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Dalton
Roberts |
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Sometimes we don’t tell the truth because we feel it would sound too self-serving. I told my friend Barney such a truth because he knows me well enough that I didn’t need to worry about how he would take it. He urged me to do a column on it. I certainly would not tell it if I was still in politics. It would really look like something I was telling for political gain. I have no plans to run for anything so here goes. With rich contributors and candidates dominating the political scene, I was the person least likely to win the highest political office in the county. After 20 years of successful employment and the highest kind of job evaluations, I had been fired as county manager by the worst public official I have ever worked for or around. I was broke and living in a one-room apartment. I had cashed in my life insurance and cashed out my retirement benefits to keep my two kids in college. I was broke. My firing hurt my parents more than it hurt me. They had been proud that I had moved up from a teaching job with a 10-month salary who had to take menial summer jobs to the top administrative job in county government. I kept feeling I needed to do something to restore my professional reputation and their pride. One morning I went over to have coffee with mother. As I read the paper and muttered about the embarrassing news on county government, mother asked, “Son, who knows more about that government than anyone?” I said, “I guess I do. I ran the basic departments the seven years I was county manager.” She said, “Well, I want you to quit muttering about it unless you are willing to do something about it. Someone must have the guts to run and it might as well be you.” At first, her words angered me. I said, “Mom, you have no idea how much money it would take to make that race.” I knew enough about politics to know a man with no money and no pre-planning had little chance of being elected. But I had a powerful spiritual experience about that time and it gave me an inner peace and confidence I cannot rationally explain. So I made a decision to run for county executive (now county mayor) and my decision included a three-point pact with God and myself that I would do the best job I possibly could, would be honest with the people’s business, and would always do what I thought best for the majority of the people. Against all the odds, I was elected and served for sixteen years. In my final day on the job I turned in my door key to my secretary and was exiting my office through a small conference room when I paused for a moment of reverie. So many memories flooded my mind of the people I had sat in that room with and the decisions they helped me make that changed the direction of my beloved hometown. Suddenly a quiet prayer of reflection welled up from my heart and I said, “Lord, I kept my promises to the people, to you and to myself. Thanks for giving me the will and the power.” I am not ashamed to say I cried. There are enough hard-hearted people in this world and no man should apologize for honest tears when they well up from the very center of his being as an expression of gratitude and fulfillment. We all know about all the goodies available to politicians but none of them match the feeling I had that day. That is the ultimate payola. It feels good every time you look a taxpayer in the eye. It’s an extra flower in the bouquets you place on your parent’s graves. It’s the only payola that lasts as long as you live. |
