Sidebars series: On dignity

The day before my first job as a speechwriter, a well-meaning, older gentleman at church who I hadn’t met before asked me after the service how I came to be in Alaska, what I did for work, etc. It was my first opportunity to announce that, in fact, I was just beginning a new job as a speechwriter for our Lt. Governor. I suppose I expected him to bestow his well-wishes and thank me for my public service, given his grandfatherly qualities, and maybe because we were at church — a place of grace and mutual encouragement.

Hilariously, though, he made a quip about what I must eat for lunch everyday. A bologna sandwich.

I’m pretty sure I thought it was funny even at the time, but I was a bit stunned, nonetheless. Mostly because I envisioned myself writing beautiful political rhetoric, bringing Alexis de Tocqueville and the Federalist Papers to life as I infused their philosophies seamlessly into the everyday sphere of Alaska politics. And always, of course, to the delight of an enlightened and admiring audience.

The speeches we wrote may have been less lofty and more pragmatic, but we wrote every one as though words matter.

I bear Mr. bologna sandwich no ill-will, and only mention him to emphasize that I was and still am very proud of the work our staff did during our time in office, and for Alaskans. There is dignity in this profession — in writing, in politics, in writing the words that politicians will speak. Because in my experience, the stereotype that politicians (and their speechwriters) are only trying to mislead, obscure or befuddle is a bunch of bologna.