The title of this essay is lifted from the lyrics of a duet sung by Chita Rivera (Thelma) and Mary McCarty (Matron Mamma) in the original 1975 Broadway production of Kandor and Ebb’s musical, “Chicago.” (See attached lyrics.) It ran on Broadway for 936 performances. After an absence of perhaps twenty years, it was revived and the revival lasted at least five more years. Clearly, “Chicago” was a superior musical.
The “class” that the actresses are singing about has nothing to do with race or wealth. It has to do with those who distinguish themselves by classy acts rather than those who engage in deplorable conduct. For example, Elizabeth Edwards, the wife of former Senator John Edwards, is battling cancer and she is clearly a class act. Ann Coulter, Hillary and Bill Clinton are something less than a class act. Thomas Jefferson was a class act, particularly when he is compared to the current resident of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Joe DiMaggio was a class act, as compared with Roger Clemens, the man who says that he does not remember taking growth hormones. I hope these examples make it clear about the class that is referred to by this song from “Chicago.”
There are three or four testosterone-laden politicians who might demonstrate the antithesis of class. Let us start with the former Governor of New York, Eliot Spitzer. When Mr. Spitzer hired a prostitute from the Emperor’s Club and paid her several thousand dollars, that was an act of class. He didn’t pick up a woman off the streets and pay her $20 or less. No, Mr. Spitzer went first class.
In his final encounter with the denizens of the Emperor’s Club, he engaged a room at the Mayflower Hotel in Washington. When I worked in Washington during the 1960s, the Mayflower on Connecticut Avenue was in its dotage. It was a hotel for older, genteel people, and was past its prime. In recent years, the Mayflower has been refurbished and the rooms there start at about $400 per night. At least that is what Mr. Spitzer paid for the room that he enjoyed. Mr. Spitzer also told his ladyfriend Kristen that she could help herself to the mini bar or she could call room service. Again that was a class act. When the whole affair with the Emperor’s Club was brought into the spotlight, Mr. Spitzer promptly resigned. Another act of class.
Then Eliot Spitzer had to face his wife and his three daughters. May I say that there is no way that a man in Spitzer’s position can act with class when confronted with the need to make amends to his wife and children. Spitzer did the best he could. But in the end, the two years of his governorship of New York will be regarded as anything but a class act.
Now that we have dealt with the miseries of Eliot Spitzer, it is time for us to move to his successor. In New York state there is a Lieutenant Governor who succeeds the Governor when a resignation occurs. In this case, the gentleman who succeeded Spitzer is a legally blind man named David A. Paterson, who has spent many years working his way up the ladder in the New York State legislature. When Mr. Paterson was introduced to the legislature, he demonstrated a ready wit and was rewarded with a standing ovation from the senators and representatives of New York State. So far, so good.
But then came the naked truth about his conduct. According to Mr. Paterson’s own testimony, there was an estrangement in his marriage to Mrs. Paterson a few years ago. During that estrangement, Mr. Paterson bedded down with a wide assortment of ladies who constitute the higher strata of the female gender. Some of the women who shared a bed with Mr. Paterson were state employees, who might endanger Mr. Paterson if he sought higher office. This is neither here nor there, but during the estrangement, Mrs. Paterson had affairs of her own. But with respect to the new governor, perhaps he should be saluted for his accomplishments in bed even though he is legally blind.
But this is a story about class. According to the new governor, David Paterson, he invariably took the women who supplied him with the ultimate in friendship to the Days Inn Motel on the west side of Harlem in Manhattan. Days Inn is a chain of motels that are the successors to tourist cabins on obscure highways that served the meandering males of perhaps forty or fifty years ago. I can assure you that the room rate at Days Inn is nowhere near the $400 that Eliot Spitzer paid in Washington. At the most, I suspect that Governor Paterson probably spent $100 to $150 to provide a room for himself and his good friends.
Going to a Days Inn is not an act of class by any stretch of the imagination. It is something like going to a cafeteria as distinguished from dining at The Four Seasons Restaurant. The French have a word for this conduct. It is déclassé. Translated, the word means no class at all. But aside from engaging all of his paramours in the Days Inn, the marriage counselor who brought the Patersons back together recommended that he take his newly rejuvenated wife back to the scene of his trysts. Whether this was an act of class remains to be seen.
It also turns out that Governor Paterson used a credit card belonging to his campaign fund to pay the hotel bill for himself and his paramours. Simply put, Governor Paterson paid for his love-making using the contributions that were intended for his re-election. By doing so, Governor Paterson distinguished himself as a man of no class at all. Belatedly, he has repaid these hotel expenses to his campaign.
Now we come to the former governor of New Jersey known as James E. McGreevy. Apparently when McGreevy was the Mayor of Woodbridge, New Jersey, before he became governor, there was a time when he was furnished with a chauffeur, a benefit largely unenjoyed by the mayors of all of the other towns in this state. But according to McGreevy’s own book and according to the chauffeur himself, he drove the Mayor of Woodbridge to his important appointments.
Now this is where the taffy gets sticky and will soon wind up in somebody’s brush mustache. The chauffeur has told the press that he was one third of a ménage à trois. The other two thirds of the ménage à trois were supplied by Mrs. McGreevy and by the Mayor himself. According to the chauffeur, when the three of them got together they had what they called “a Friday night special.” The account given to the newspapers is fairly graphic. Significantly, it has been confirmed by none other than the former Mayor of Woodbridge and the former Governor of New Jersey, James E. McGreevy. The “Friday night specials” involved the chauffeur making love to Mrs. McGreevy while the Mayor looked on. Mrs. McGreevy denies any such activity but we have the testimony of the chauffeur and the former mayor and governor. So, please take your pick.
The significant point in this essay is that following the Friday night specials, or perhaps even preceding them, the three of them fed themselves at a chain called T.G.I.Friday’s, which I believe means thank goodness it’s Friday. The T.G.I. Friday’s eateries are one step above a Salvation Army handout. In retrospect, perhaps I am not being fair to the Salvation Army.
To think that the Mayor of Woodbridge and the future governor of New Jersey would celebrate the end of the work week by repairing to a low-class eatery like T.G.I. Friday’s is an act of no class at all. The love-making part of this sordid tale is one thing which draws no comment from this old essayist. However, repairing to the T.G.I. Friday’s eateries is an act of no class whatsoever.
Now if you wed the conduct of Governor Paterson and the Mayor of Woodbridge, it might say that Governor Paterson went from his Days Inn room to a feast at the T.G.I. Friday’s establishment. But even I, a grizzled old observer of human conduct, cannot believe that a man who rents a room at Days Inn would compound the mistake by taking his paramours to the T.G.I. Friday’s eateries.
Well, there you have my thoughts on former Governor Spitzer as well as the former governor of New Jersey, Mr. McGreevy and the current governor of New York, Mr. Paterson. Now let us turn to the current governor of this glorious state. It seems that love-making is in the air in New Jersey and New York.
When McGreevy resigned from the governorship of New Jersey, he was succeeded by the President of the New Jersey Senate, named Richard Codey. For two years, Mr. Codey guided the state and was very popular. But then along came Jon Corzine with wheelbarrows full of cash and pushed Mr. Codey back to the Senate. As soon as Mr. Corzine took over the governorship, it developed that he was having a long-standing affair with a woman named Katz, who was also the chairman of the union committee that negotiated with the State. In other words, Corzine was making love to his union counterpart, from whom he was expected to get the best possible terms for the new labor agreement. When the Corzine/Katz affair ended, Governor Corzine, in an act of class, paid off a $450,000 note on Mrs. Katz’s real estate holdings and it seems that he also agreed to pay tuition for her children. Whether this was a classy act or not, I will leave it for my readers to decide.
Jon Corzine clearly muscled Richard Codey out of the governorship because he believed that the governorship of a state like New Jersey could propel him to the Democratic nomination for President of the United States. But that was not in the cards. In the meantime, Mr. Corzine suffered a terrible automobile accident and now finds himself faced by a $4 billion deficit in the budget of this great state. I would say that Corzine has not had a day’s luck since he decided to leave the U. S. Senate and push Codey aside.
Well, so much for the sordid affairs of the governors of New York and New Jersey. With their non-class acts in mind, I almost called this essay “Jesus Christ, Ain’t There No Decency Left?” another line from the same duet. I hope I have made my point that there are, in this world, class acts and some that fall far short of being classy.
For my own part, I have nothing but the highest regard for the City of Chicago, where I worked for two years, and for Kandor and Ebb’s musical named after the largest settlement in the State of Illinois. My belief is that Chicagoans are generous to a fault, particularly when a two-and-a-half-month old baby girl was adopted by this old essayist. Chicago also distinguishes itself as a class act when it does not interfere with somebody else’s enjoyment. That is your business, not anyone else’s. Again, there are four lines from a little song sung by a character in “Chicago” named Roxie. The lines read like this:
“You can like the life you’re living,
You can live the life you like.
You can even marry Harry
And fool around with Ike.”
Chicagoans would giggle at the thought that somebody was fooling around with Ike and they would consider it only the business of the participants. They would not pass a law barring fooling around. Chicagoans tend to their own business and have no desire to infringe upon the rights of others. In the final analysis, the Broadway play, “Chicago” is an earthy, broad-shouldered production which matches entirely my view of that great city. The play and the city are complete class acts.
Now as for the principal characters in this essay, I have absolutely no intent whatsoever of piling on Eliot Spitzer. When it comes to straightening out his family matters, I wish him well. As for Governor Paterson, I sincerely hope that he moves from the Days Inn to a hotel or motel that offers room service. James E. McGreevy is locked into a miserable battle with his former wife over the custody of their child. The battle has become prolonged and if I may say so, it is not a class act at all. Mrs. McGreevy wants every last speck from her former husband’s bones. When their daughter in future years reviews the events between her parents, she will probably say, “Ain’t there no decency left?”
And so I leave you with the thought that a visit to Chicago might improve everyone’s outlook on life, and if you have an opportunity to see Kandor and Ebb’s “Chicago,” I am certain that you will enjoy it immensely. And if you should fall in love with the Chicago Cubs, I will do my best to understand that situation. My old friend James Reese, formerly of Chicago, loves the Cubs and he is a class act. So rooting for the Cubs is a respectable endeavor.
E. E. CARR
March 31, 2008
Essay 302
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Commentary: Contrary to Pop’s opinion, I think it makes a big difference whether the mayor of Woodbridge ate at TGI Friday’s before or after his weekly cuckoldings. If it was before, that’s really icky and lecherous, like the awful $14 hamburgers and weird novelty drinks were part of some twisted routine of foreplay. But if it was after, that seems okay. They all just wanted to unwind after an exciting night.
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ATTACHMENT
Lyrics to “WHATEVER HAPPENED TO CLASS” from Chicago
VELMA
Whatever happened to fair dealing?
And pure ethics
And nice manners?
Why is it everyone now is a pain in the ass?
Whatever happened to class?
MATRON
Class.
Whatever happened to, “Please, may I?”
And, “Yes, thank you?”
And, “How charming?”
Now, every son of a bitch is a snake in the grass
Whatever happened to class?
VELMA AND MATRON
Class!
Ah, there ain’t no gentlemen
To open up the doors
There ain’t no ladies now,
There’s only pigs and whores
And even kids’ll knock ya down
So’s they can pass
Nobody’s got no class!
VELMA
Whatever happened to old values?
MATRON
And fine morals?
VELMA
And good breeding?
MATRON
Now, no one even says “oops” when they’re
Passing their gas
Whatever happened to class?
VELMA
Class
VELMA AND MATRON
Ah, there ain’t no gentlemen
That’s fit for any use
And any girl’d touch your privates
For a deuce
MATRON
And even kids’ll kick your shins and give you sass
VELMA
And even kids’ll kick your shins and give you sass
VELMA AND MATRON
Nobody’s got no class!
VELMA
All you read about today is rape and theft
MATRON
Jesus Christ, ain’t there no decency left?
VELMA AND MATRON
Nobody’s got no class!
MATRON
Every guy is a snut
VELMA
Every girl is a twat
MATRON
Holy shit
VELMA
Holy shit
MATRON
What a shame
VELMA
What a shame
VELMA AND MATRON
What became of class?