The Dean juggernaut

Former Vermont governor Howard Dean may triumph in the Democratic race for the presidential nomination, but P&J think the media is making much too big a deal out of the "dramatic" endorsement given by Al Gore to Dean this week. How many times have we heard that endorsements (especially by other politicians, which don’t carry the additional money of, say, a major union endorsement) don’t really translate into votes? Our guess is that this will help Dean a little, perhaps allaying the fears of some centrist Democrats. (We don’t think the Dean Team will see it as a "sell out." The liberals among them have already swallowed his position on gun control.) More likely, it will make Gore look like an opportunist. And that wasn’t too hard to begin with.

While we’re talking about Dr. Dean, we’re not sure whether the cover story in the New York Times Magazine on Sunday, December 7, was paid for by the GOP, but it might as well have been. It was all about a group that should be known as Dean’s druids, the personality challenged ’utes who make up his Internet team. Reading the article about these folks — who seem to have no clue about interpersonal relationships, virtual girlfriends who they hardly ever see in real life, and whose idea of interaction seems to be sending an instant message to a coworker, reading, "Shut up" — makes you almost not want to vote for Howard. Please keep these geeks out of sight and out of mind if you’re smart, Doc. They are scary.

WANT FRIES WITH THAT?

As our friend Ms. PC points out, it is about time to get those Democratic presidential candidates into their clown suits up in New Hampshire, so they can make fools of themselves trying to look like they’re "just folks." After a pancake breakfast in Concord, a turn behind the counter at the Manchester McDonald’s, donning Elmer Fudd hats and helping to shovel snow (for about a minute) in Keene, you wouldn’t even know that most of them are bluebloods (or just bloods, Brother Sharpton), whose last callous came from twisting off Budweiser caps in college. Ms. PC suggests if they really need to perk up that campaign (are you listening, John Kerry?), they should literally get down and dirty and be seen washing deer blood off the hoods of cars at the Milford Oval. Or at least field dress a moose up in the White Mountains. C’mon, are you a serious candidate or not?

THE COACH

A real character — and a damned accomplished one — passed away recently in the person of Doug Raymond, known by one and all in the Narragansett area as "The Coach." While coming across as just a very happy, smiling, and kind gentleman, especially on his trips to the Twin Willows, Coach also happened to have quite a sports resume that many were unaware of, like so many other wonderful athletes who feel no need to brag on themselves. Coach was a sprinter for the 1940 US Olympic team, a member of the track coaching staff at the 1956 and 1960 Olympics, a longtime college mentor who worked with high-jump world record-holder John Thomas, and he found time during his career to invent starting blocks. A life well-lived, and one deserving of special notice. Give the three-ring sign for Ballantine.

TESTICLES DOES NOT RHYME WITH HERCULES

Let your superior correspondents share the following missive from the lovely Ms. Meg in the Big Apple, who writes:

The New York Times corrections are without question the most delicious part of the paper and the dry, slow build on this one is just so perfect I had to share:

An obituary last Wednesday about Marvin Smith, a leading photographer of Harlem who worked with his identical twin, Morgan, described the closeness of the two men — it was said they never used the pronoun "I" — and recounted an anecdote about Marvin Smith’s response to the illness that caused his brother’s death in 1993.

The article said that Morgan Smith died of testicular cancer and that his brother, in response, had his own testicles removed. That account was given to the Times by a friend of both men. It should not have been published unless it could be verified and attributed.

After the obituary appeared, Monica Smith, the daughter of Morgan Smith, told the Times that her father had had prostate cancer and that her uncle did not have his testicles removed.

Oops.

LAST ORDERS

Much anguish at Casa Diablo over the unexpected death of legendary actor David Hemmings. Best known for his work in the amazing 1966 cult film Blow Up, by Michelangelo Antonioni, and extolled in his obits because he produced American television shows and was in Gladiator, Hemmings’s finest moment may have come in the brilliant recent film Last Orders. It featured an unbelievable cast of British acting legends, including Michael Caine, Tom (The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner) Courtenay, Bob Hoskins, and Helen Mirren.

One of the oddest things was reading two of Hemmings’s obits, both datelined London. In the AP story as printed in the BeloJo, it says of his role as a fashion photographer in Blow Up, "Scenes in which Hemmings photographed the model Veruschka have often been ranked among the sexiest moments captured on film." Yet the obit in the Times read, "Scenes in which he photographed a model, played by Vanessa Redgrave, have often been ranked among the sexiest captured on the screen." Hmmm. Obviously, some editor somewhere had his preference, but we’ll opt for a scene with Vanessa, a poster of which featured prominently on the wall of many a dorm room in the late 1960s.

Given P&J’s druthers, Hemmings’s romp in the studio with a gal and her girlfriend was the hottest part of the film of all. (Jeff Beck, then of the Yardbirds, who features in one of the scenes in Blow Up, once told Rolling Stone he took his girlfriend and her Mum to see the film with him, and was mightily embarrassed that he had an obvious woody throughout the scene. You’re welcome.)

Last call, David. Thanks for the memories.

NOT THE USUAL SOURCE

The Washington Post recently reported that former senator Alan Simpson (R-Wyoming), not a guy one normally associates with defending gay rights, has come under fire for . . . supporting gay rights. You’ll, of course, recall the notably and virulently homophobic Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, Kansas, and its pastor, Fred Phelps. These hate-mongers, who have been trying to erect a hate message, anti-gay "monument" in Cheyenne, Wyoming (the state where Matthew Shepard was slain, in one of the nation’s most infamous recent hate crimes) have now aimed their sights on Simpson. Why? Because the former US senator, honorary chairman of the Republican Unity Coalition, signed the group’s "Cody Statement" for tolerance.

In a news release, the fringe Baptists said the idea was, "To picket the funeral of [gay]-enabler Alan Simpson." They called the Cody Statement, "A covenant with death and an agreement with hell." In addition, it blasted "Simpson’s signature with out-of-the-closet . . . Michael Huffington’s," a reference to the former GOP congressman and senate candidate from California, and the ex of former California Democratic gubernatorial candidate Arianna Huffington. Phelps asked the Cody City Council for permission to erect a monument in Cheyenne with the biblical admonition against homosexuality on it.

But Simpson, while not exactly anybody’s idea of a liberal, is still a tough old coot. He wrote Phelps this response, according to the Post: "I just wanted to alert you to the fact that some dizzy [expletive] is sending out mailings and e-mails from the Westboro Baptist Church — and using your name! I’m certain that you would not want this to continue or some less-alert citizen might think that you, yourself had done it. We know that is surely not the case, because you are a God-fearing Christian person filled to the brim with forbearance, tolerance and love — and this other goofy homophobe nut must be someone totally opposite. Quite sincerely, Al Simpson."

All we can say is, good on you, Al.

TROUBLE IN SHAG-RI-LA

Kudos for the usual great work by the Other Paper’s Kathy "Faster Pussycat, Kill, Kill" Gregg last week in writing about the interesting ties between Senator John "Worst Rug This Side of Henry Shelton" Celona and Blue Cross & Blue Shield and CVS. While we won’t go over the details (because we know P&J readers are always up on the latest news, particularly the local pols), suffice to say there is a rather unpleasant odor here. When the chair of the Senate committee that hears all health-care-related legislation is receiving payments from a huge pharmacy chain, and also acting as a buffer between a production company — with which he’s associated — and the state’s leading health insurer, the phrase "conflict of interest" certainly comes to mind. The senator has, of course, issued an apology about his faulty memory (although we still don’t know how much money was involved in the CVS relationship).

Meanwhile, in the City of Providence, there was an interesting story in the Metro section of Monday’s BeloJo about how he Board of Licenses came up with a punishment for a downtown bar accused of serving minors. The Alley Pub was closed for two weeks by the board, but the meeting to determine the punishment was held in secret, behind closed doors, disallowing those who wished to testify (among them, members of the Providence Police Department) that opportunity.

Okay, it seems like a fitting sanction, but here’s the twist. The bar was being represented by the mayor’s brother, lawyer John Cicilline. Your superior correspondents don’t mean to cast any aspersions at Little Chi Chi. After all, he has been pushing to reform the way the Board of Licenses does its business, coming up with standardized guidelines, and he should be applauded for this. But it is probably not such a great idea for a relative of the mayor to be representing entities regulated or scrutinized by city boards or agencies. It may be entirely legal, but once again, it just doesn’t seem like such a good idea.

Send snowballs and Pulitzer-grade tips to p&j[a]phx.com