The envelope was square, and of quality paper. I get five or ten letters a day from political campaigns, invariably containing the same affectionate message: things are terrible, vote for me, send money. With the state of my credit card, such communications are not usually successful. I bent my wrist to Frisbee-toss it into the basketâ€"but it was heavy. All right, I thought, I will just open it-- but I am not giving anything- An invitation to Gavin Newsom’s inauguration ceremony as Mayor of San Francisco? I looked at it suspiciously, shook it. Something fell outâ€"aha, the request for donations? No. It was a second invitation, to a party at the De Young Museum, to celebrate Mayor Newsom’s second term. It appeared to be real. I tried to think what I had done to deserve such an honor. I had met the Mayor a couple times, at meetings of the California stem cell program, and had been favorably impressed. Mayor Newsom supports stem cell research, and he wanted San Francisco to be chosen as the site for the California Institute for Regenerative Medicine. Each of the finalist cities was allowed to make a presentation, starting with Emeryville, forever remembered as the first homeâ€"the interim headquarters- San Francisco’s presentation was a bus ride through San Francisco, where the mayor sat next to the bus driver, and told us why he loved the city he served. He needed no notes, no one to sit beside him and whisper suggestions. He just knew. Afterwards, a reporter asked me, as a patient advocate, which city would I pick? I told the truth, which was that each city had great reasons for the honor. But I added, “in the great singer Tony Bennett’s words: “I left my heart in San Franciscoâ€. I said the same thing in a couple public hearings, and at the decision day, I found myself sitting behind the Mayor. The decision was announced--- and Gavin Newsom turned around and shook hands with the grayhaired old geezer in the gray suit. The picture made the papers, and I was famous in my house for thirty seconds. I called up his campaign headquarters and said I appreciated Mr. Newsom’s support for stem cell research, and would be willing to say so in public, if they ever needed a patient advocate’s support. They thanked me politely, and nothing happened. Was that it? Or, more likely, because I had contributed $25 one time, and was on the list of micro-donors. Well, there was only one thing to do. I cleared my throat and tried to impress Gloria. Anything of a fun nature that comes along, I always run and tell the Mrs. She has to put up with me the rest of the year, heaven knows. To my delight, she got all excited. What should she wear, Roman must come, etc, etc. We got lost, and only arrived an hour early. The guard looked at a huge alphabetical list, one of several. She asked, was I on the 6:30 list? I looked at Gloria, who knows everything of a practical nature. She shook her head. “Oh, then you can’t go in yet,†the guard said. We took the elevator down to the garage, and sat in our car in the parking lot for an hour. But when we stepped out of the elevator the second time, northern California seemed to have joined us. There was a line.A biiiiiiig line. I had on my Hillary button. This occasioned comment. About six people made positive noises, gave me thumbs up signs. But one person sniffed as if I had not bathed recently. Pinching her nostrils, she said, hmfâ€"she had seen “a button which said, anybody but Hillaryâ€! To which I responded, yes, there was a lot of prejudice against women even now, and ignorance must be expected. The conversation was not long. Now I must point out, that my partner in stem cell adventures, Karen Miner, is a staunch ally for John Edwards. My sister Barbara loves the candidacy and potential of Barak Obama. Hillary Clinton makes my heart singâ€"but the truth is, I am delighted with all four of the top Democratic candidates. Each one is a strong stem cell research supporter. We are losing New Mexico governor Bill Richardson from the race, because he can’t quite draw enough financial support, but he is an outstanding human being, a worker for stem cell research, his state has an actual funding program for it, not to mention he has what may be the best foreign policy credentials of any of the candidates. On the Republican side, I have respect for John McCain, who voted yes on the Stem Cell Research Enhancement Act. Unfortunately, like Rudy Giuliani, McCain has pledged to appoint “strict constructionist judges†to the Supreme Court, and that is one reason I could never vote for either man. The Supreme Court at present is the most conservative court I know of, and one more like Roberts or Scalia or Thomas would doom any kind of fairness. The other Republicans seem to be locked in a dinosaur contest, to see who can be the most backward-lookingâ€"“I’m more conservative than you are, no, no, it’s meee, I’m the most conservative!â€â€"Ron Paul is the only one who seems capable of even considering an original thought. The doors opened, and about three million of us poured in. There was food. This interested me greatly. Unfortunately, it was that expensive stuff that is beautiful to look at, and virtually inedible. Which did not slow me down, of course, I meanâ€"free food? I saw Michaela Alioto, all smiling energyâ€"now there is someone with a political future! The wheelchair she drives does not slow down her will, or her dedication to serve. She is already involved, and there is a lot more to be heard from her. There was a famous (and very loud) Cuban band. I only know one Cuban song, the famous one, “Guantanamera, guahera, Guantanamera,†but they didn’t play that one. We stood, and waited. “Where’s Roman?†Gloria said. Gloria had only made about eleven phone calls to Roman’s cell, which meant she was just moderately concerned. He was driving his adapted van over, just as he did every day to go to Cal Berkeley, so there was no need to worry-- “I don’t see Roman,†Gloria said, and looked at me. Mumbling to myself, I went on patrol. Both floors were jam-packed with people, like one of those jungle movies where explorers hack their way through impenetrable undergrowth, and as I had left my machete home, the only way forward was to keep apologizingâ€"sorry, oops, I didn’t mean to step onâ€"leaving a ripple of irritated people. There he was! My golden shining son, dressed to a T, handsome like Cary Grant with musclesâ€"talking with ICOC Chair Bob Klein, his wife Danielle, new CIRM President Alan Trounson, and his wife, whose name I did not catch, sorry. Bob’s wife Danielle was handing Roman a plate of food, and my son was chatting away, at ease like always. Roman can make small talk in any situation, and even listen charmingly, unlike his father, who tends to be a one-subject talk shop. After shaking hands all around, I fought my way back to Gloria, and we returned. More waiting. More music. My ears felt like bongo drums, vibrating, pounded on. My back was hurting, I felt myself becoming increasingly grumpy. I told Gloria, “Five minutes! If he is not here in five minutes, that’s it, we have to go, it’s past my bedtime!†Gloria said, “What?†I turned to Roman and yelled in his ear. “They called Richard Nixon “Iron Buttâ€,†I said, “Because he could sit through the longest boring meetings!†“Don’t scream in my ear,†said Roman. A stir of excitement. At last, there he was, the Mayor, making his way to the stage, slowly, stopping to greet folks along the way. To say Gavin Newsom stands out in a crowd is an understatement. It is hard to describe the impact he makes, like there is a personal spotlight following him, and he was in Technicolor. Star quality. Physically beautiful, he draws the eye. But that’s not enough. A model can be drop-dead gorgeous, but empty as a human being. One of the Republican Presidential candidates is movie star handsome, but I wouldn’t trust him to lead a trip to the restroom. The band shifted to “Guantanamera â€â€"ah, their signature songâ€"then smiled and carried their gear off the stage. The organizer for the event spoke, and I waited to hear what the Mayor would say, hoping it would not be some empty blathering. I was not disappointed. When Gavin Newsom spoke, the inner man matched the outer appearance. He had something real to say: and he put it in a way that magnetized everyone’s attention. “San Francisco is the most diverse city in the worldâ€, he said, “But we get along, and we work together, and progress happens. “We will always fight against wrongâ€"but we should also remember what is rightâ€"and this, tonight, as we put all differences aside, and celebrate: this is so right,†he said. He spoke maybe two minutes, if that long. But it was invigorating. The man will have a shot at Governor one day, and President as well. It is just obvious. He has that appeal which draws people to him, charisma, and genuine intelligence. He will also stand his ground in a fight. I remember how he spoke up early for Proposition 71, back when a lot of people said there was no chance it would pass. I don’t forget support like that. Then Gloria and I were on our way out (it was wayyy past my bedtime now) and as we slowly made our way through the cheerful mob, something occurred to me. Every one of the folks around me was a worker. They could celebrate because they had done the work to get a good man elected. They had not sat around idly, waiting for a star. They got involved, and did something. When grassroots folks like themâ€"and us-- do our work, a leader will emerge. But without us in the trenches, they have no chance. San Francisco united, and a leader emerged: Gavin Newsom. And for the leadership of America? That’s up to us, isn’t it? In the primary struggle, we will make as much noise as we can, supporting whichever individual who must rouses our blood and inspires our mind. When the primaries are over, and the champion is chosen, we will unite beside our party’s choice. Then the struggle begins, to elect the next President of the United States of America. And when it is over at last, and the votes are counted-- fair and square, one hopes-- America will come together beside the new leader, giving him or her our very best. The work ahead demands no less. Don Reed Don C. Reed is co-chair of Californians for Cures, and writes for their web blog, www.stemcellbattles
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