The Evenin' Shadders

The old man was asleep. He'd found a comfortable spot on a bench, out of the direct sunlight. And he slept. Relaxed and peaceful. He was oblivious to all around him; even the large-boned women with the ugly-colored shirts who passed him in a never-ending stream failed to draw his attention. It didn't take a brain surgeon to realize this old man was very, very comfortable. Despite the small beads of sweat trickling down his weather-beaten face he slept in a deep, uninterrupted sleep. His false teeth — a complete set, comprising the whole of his lower jaw and stained yellow by cigarettes and coffee —were pushed out of his mouth in a garish, skeleton-like fashion. He had no place to put them on the bench, so he kept them "in" his mouth. A large, fleshy woman found a seat next to him; but she had chosen to ignore this lesser example of the human race. She was embarrassed by his dirty clothes, his wandering teeth and his threadbare shoes. So she sat. Stiff and unnatural.

Having worked at — or covered — the State Capitol since the age of 23, I thought I had seen it all. I’ve survived education reform, numerous constitutional crisis and tons of political campaigns. I’ve seen good lawmakers — on both sides — get beat up for doing the right thing and I’ve watched charlatans achieve great success because they didn’t care what it took to get them there. I also watched people become blinded by ideology, all while incredible problems grow and fester around them. And now, it’s February. The legislature hath returned. And crapola doth flow. Keep in mind that we live in a state which redefines poverty; we work in an area where one-in-four children go to bed hungry each night. We are a national leader in divorces. In the area which surrounds the Capitol building — Zip Code 73105 — more infants died than anyplace else in the nation. More than 800,000 Oklahomans can’t read. The facts go on and on and on. Enter state Senator Brian Crain, who believes he has a wonderf