Cash cowed You know the Republican Party is serious about reaching out when it starts asking pinkos for money BY STEVE ALMOND

I know a lot of people accused George W. Bush’s first administration of failing to seek compromise with Democrats. They base this accusation on stuff like Bush planning the war in Iraq without "consulting" Congress.

Well, I can assure all you lefty naysayers out there that the new Republican approach will be much more inclusive.

I base this on a phone call I received last week. It began with a recorded message from a young woman, urging me to hold on for a second recorded message, this one from Representative Tom Reynolds (R-NY), the chair of the National Republican Congressional Committee.

Reynolds, it turns out, had a terrific offer. He wanted to recognize me as one of the small-business leaders in my state, and to invite me to become an honorary chairman of something called the Business Advisory Council. I would be awarded a ceremonial gavel and allowed, potentially, to attend an economic summit/dinner with the president himself.

I was then connected to an actual person, a young man named David Lucas, who detailed the offer. For a contribution of a mere $500, my name would join those of dozens of other business leaders in an ad scheduled to run in the Wall Street Journal.

Now, a lot of people might be upset about such a phone call. They might accuse the Republicans of running a boiler-room operation, of trying to scam money from gullible small businesspeople to feed their insatiable hate machine.

Not me. I was heartened.

No, more than heartened — I was moved.

Here they were, these supposedly "evil" Republicans, reaching across the aisle to embrace little old me: an impoverished pinko writer who has publicly referred to George W. Bush as a "war criminal" and an "evangelical nutbag."

If that’s not inclusion, I don’t know what is.

So obviously, I wanted to help out. But 500 bucks is a lot of money, particularly for an impoverished pinko writer. So I needed to ask my new Republican pal David a few questions first.

"What can you tell me about the gavel?" I said.

"The gavel?" David said. (It was at this point, I think, that he realized he was dealing with a shrewd businessman.) "We don’t have too much on the gavel, sir. I know it does have a golden band, just like the one on the house floor."

"What about the ad in the Wall Street Journal?" I asked.

"It’s a limited-time offer," David said. "This is something you’d need to do within the next day or two. We’d need you to pay."

"Right," I said. "What will it say, exactly?"

"Your name will be in the ad, listed as an honorary state chair of the Business Advisory Council."

"What is the Business Advisory Council?"

"It’s a group that seeks to bring common business sense to Washington. It functions independently, with reporting lines to Tom Reynolds and party leaders. There are meetings, economic summits, and so forth."

"Okay," I said. "What would the ad say?"

"Just that you have shown a willingness to provide strong leadership in the business community."

"But how do you know that I’ve shown a willingness to provide strong leadership in the business community?"

"Because that’s what the ad will say. That you’re standing up for your state and ready to go to work in Washington in an economical way."

That certainly sounded legit to me.

"But tell me, David. The congressman mentioned a dinner with the president. Is that included in the $500 fee?"

"Well, there is a black-tie dinner in spring, but we don’t have a date or time for that. And we’re still recruiting business leaders for that. Of course, there’s an additional cost associated with that."

"It sure would be great to have dinner with the president," I said.

"Yes, that is a great honor, sir."

"What sort of additional cost would that require?" I was imagining ribs and slaw in Crawford, cold brewskis, cracking a few faggot jokes over horseshoes.

"I don’t know for sure," David said. "I think last time it was $2500 for a seat. But that includes meetings before the official dinner."

I whistled. "That’s something I’d have to think about."

"It’s just $500 for the ad," David said. "But we’d need to process your payment in the next day or two. This is a limited-time offer."

"Still," I said. "That’s a lot of money for me. I’ll have to check with my board on this."

"That’s the thing," David said. "Because of campaign reform, it’s illegal to solicit corporate contributions, so this would have to be on a personal level."

I told him I understood, but needed more time to think about it.

David lowered his voice. "If cash flow is an issue, we could probably get your name in the ad for two or three hundred dollars."

"I thought it was $500," I said.

"Yeah, it is $500. But there is a minimum contribution of $100."

This was almost too much generosity.

"If you have a credit card, we could take care of this right now."

I didn’t want to have to break it to David, because I knew he regarded me as a pretty hard-core business leader at this point, but I wasn’t sure my credit card was in good standing. I told him I’d have to call back later.

He was pretty disappointed. I, on the other hand, felt enlightened.

It was high time I stopped regarding the GOP as a bunch of greedy crooks devoted to enriching themselves at the expense of our national character. I needed to realize that they cared about the little guy, really cared.

The party was filled with folks like Tom Reynolds and David Lucas, men who spent their days endeavoring to make sure that tiny voices like mine were heard in the great halls of power.

Oh sure, I didn’t have the money to make my voice heard this time around, but just being offered the chance felt ... priceless.

Small-business leader Steve Almond can be solicited at www.bbchow.com