A good friend of mine sent me an email regarding the announced candidacy of Mark Sanford for Congress from South Carolina. Yes, that would be the same Mark Sanford who:
-disappeared from the State House when he was governor,
-flew to Argentina to do the macarena with a local tootsie not his wife,
-famously told his staff that he was "hiking the Appalachian Trail" thereby coining a new euphemism for, well, you know.
This all happened in 2009 not, I remind you, in 1989 or 1985. So, four years after Sanford embarrassed his family, bamboozled the citizens of South Carolina and was forced to stand in front of a microphone and confess to following his johnson all the way across the Equator, he is back running for office. Although his transgressions included using State funds for his dalliance he repaid the treasury and was never prosecuted. He can say with impunity that he was guilty of no more that L'affair de coeur. Whether he can say it with a straight face is another matter. He also had the temerity to finish his term of office. (He was spared impeachment only because the lieutenant governor was a reviled moron who no one wanted to see in the governor's mansion.) Although the time required to rehab a political image varies with the crime and the person (Ted Kennedy killed a woman and still ran for President) it seems that four years is a bit short...even in South Carolina.
And so it would appear that Shame, defined as "the feeling arising from having done something dishonorable, disgraceful or ridiculous" appears to have a shorter life expectancy than a Gillette Pro Glide razor. Disgrace is no impediment to future success. Humiliation is no longer a stumbling block to elected office, celebrity or even respect. This is difficult to comprehend in the era of You Tube and media saturation. At a time when your every sin can be displayed in an endless loop for audiences everywhere we nonetheless allow politicians and public figures to partake of endless bites of the apple. It would appear that fame is all that matters even if you are famous for making a complete horse's ass of yourself.
Exhibit A has to be Bill Clinton. "President Pants Down" spent all of 1998 providing late-night comics with a warehouse full of material about cigars and interns. He became the first president to be impeached. (He was acquitted by a 55-45 vote in the Senate; hardly a ringing endorsement.) Nevertheless, thirteen years after he left office with America still snickering, Bill is the most beloved public figure in the country. He brought the house down at the DNC in 2012 and is considered a major asset in any potential presidential bid by Hillary. His age and physical limitations will probably ensure that his obsession with female genitalia will be confined to the Internet but with Bill one can never be sure. There may be a naked maiden in the closet as yet uncovered.
Exhibit B is D.C.'s own Marion Barry. The former mayor and current city councilman has more scandals attached to his name than the entire state of Illinois. Barry has a drug conviction and file cabinet full of indictments and subpoenas. He continually forgets to file his taxes and has taken more field sobriety tests than Lindsay Lohan. He has worn out three defendants chairs at the DC County Court and has appeared in front of so many judges he has his own parking space at the courthouse. Nevertheless, the good people of the eighth ward continue to return him to the City Council.
The list goes on. Before being arrested in Las Vegas, O.J. Simpson was invited to address the University of Southern California football team. Eliot Spitzer traded in his designation as "Client #9" for a TV show on Current TV. Newt Gingrich, undeterred by a history of serial infidelity, ran a mildly successful campaign to be the Republican Presidential candidate in 2012. This would be unremarkable (we are not a nation of prudes after all) but Gingrich ran a campaign based in part on "family values". Presumably value #1 was: start interviewing your next wife well before dumping your current one. No one will be surprised when David Petraeus begins his reemergence from the septic tank of infidelity to the cleansing light of TV military expert/analyst on CNN. The over/under is one year.
Honorable mention goes to Tiger Woods. No one actually cared that Tiger was cheating on his wife. It was, however, unthinkable and unforgivable for him to bypass Elin Nordegren in favor of a collection of truck-stop waitresses and cocktail lounge bimbos. Tiger has rehabilitated his reputation and,to some degree his game. He is currently appearing in a new Nike ad with Rory Mcllroy whose only sin thus far is being so God damn likable.
Meanwhile, there are the ongoing tales of Lance Armstrong and Manti Te'o. Armstrong first: Thankfully Lance was a cyclist which is just a little below soccer player on the who-gives-a-s**t meter of American sporting interest. Hell, cheating to beat the French carries its own sort of heroism. Also Armstrong has raised millions for cancer through his Lifestrong charity which is like giving Ted Kaczynski a pass for his contribution to increasing Post Office security. Lance will be back in the spotlight fairly quickly because: (1) he has no shame and (2) no one cares what people do on bicycles.
Te'o is different and complicated. His story is unique. How do you evaluate the disgrace level of a guy with an imaginary, dead girlfriend? The only true fact in the "Case of the Fictitious Female" is the reaffirmation that, if you want a doctorate in Shamelessness, Notre Dame is your school. More about these creeps in the next post.
So it can safely be stated that Shame is dead. The time was when having been caught cheating, lying, stealing or philandering your only course was to pack up your stuff and get off the stage. No second chances, no rehabilitation. Public humiliation was a death sentence. But no more. Today, you can perp-walk directly from the courthouse to Fox News. Your confession in front of the cameras, wife dutifully at your side, is now a screen test for your next gig. In a country with the collective attention-span of a collie, people will forget that you are a lying maggot and remember only your nice smile. We can only be grateful that California never let Charlie Manson out of jail. He could have written his own ticket as a motiveational speaker on the 700 Club.
Sirhan Sirhan, when you get out, call me.
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