SORE LOSER

The headlines have moved on, but people still haven't gotten over Howard Dean's concession speech on Monday night. That's the water-cooler chat, not Tuesday night's State of the Union address. Jodi Wilgoren's front-page report, written on deadline, caught Dean's embarrassing performance with an exactness worth a thousand pictures. Every perfectly chosen word was right:

WEST DES MOINES, Iowa, Jan. 19 -- He burst into the ballroom, fists thrust in the air, and slapped a string of high-fives with the dozens of labor union members standing onstage. He grabbed hold of Senator Tom Harkin of Iowa and yanked his hand up, too. He whipped off his suit coat and rolled his sleeves up as far as they would go.

This is how Howard Dean marked the first loss of his charmed political life. "We will not give up," he bellowed to the fiery crowd, grabbing one of the American flags being waved and thrashing it around.

Shouting himself hoarse, Dr. Dean readopted some of the growling, angry outsider tone that had propelled his earlier insurgency as he spun through the list of states where he planned to fight the next rounds: from New Hampshire
to South Carolina to Massachusetts and North Carolina, the latter two the homes of the men who beat him here.

With a fierce grin and a red face, he vowed, "We will not quit now or ever!"

The performance masked what must have been disappointment for Dr. Dean, who until a couple of weeks ago seemed almost invincible and on his way to a clear-cut victory here, but ended up with 18 percent of the vote, only enough
for the bronze.

Dean's behavior struck his critics as a meltdown. The politerati object to his angry, volatile display as proof that he lacks presidential temperament. Maybe so. He certainly lacked grace under pressure. As Dave Letterman put it, he came off like a "Hockey Dad." (Click on the Jan. 20 monologue.) But many presidents from Thomas Jefferson to Richard Nixon have had a nasty side. It wouldn't be much of an exaggeration to say you don't get to be president without being angry or volatile. Some have just been able to hide that aspect of their temperament better than others. What dismayed me about Dean's performance was that his "concession" lacked a sense of reality. His judgment was awful. He plain lost, and he couldn't stand to admit it. That's what stank.

January 21, 2004 9:50 AM |

Categories:

Me Elsewhere

'WILD SIDE' STILL ROCKS 

Nelson Algren was one of the great American authors of the 20th century, it is no exaggeration to say, and among the most neglected. Consider his underrated classic, "A Walk on the Wild Side." The title -- popularized and co-opted as an idiomatic phrase by Hollywood and Madison Avenue (institutions Algren loathed) -- is familiar to most anyone who speaks English or knows Lou Reed's lyrics. But the novel itself? Hardly.

BUSTER KEATON REVISITED 
Buster Keaton: Tempest in a Flat Hat is not a biography. "This book is merely a fan's notes," Edward McPherson writes in the introduction, although his publisher ignores the disclaimer and calls it a biography on the cover. In fact, the book is a bit of both, a difficult combination to bring off unless you're David Thomson, who set the standard with Rosebud, his penetrating rumination on the life and career of Orson Welles, which was nothing if not a distillation of every obsessive thought he ever had about the myth and the man and all his movies.
LAUREN BACALL, STILL SALTY AT 80 
When Lauren Bacall writes that her singing voice ranges "somewhere between B minus sharp and outer space," she's being candid and funny. It's not every stage star with two Tony Awards for best actress in a musical whose vocal talent offers so little promise. (OK, Harvey Fierstein excepted.) Still less would one admit it.
THE STARS ACCORDING TO BOGDANOVICH 
Peter Bogdanovich's superb collection of movie-star profiles and interviews -- a sequel to Who the Devil Made It, his interviews of top film directors -- begins with an affectionate tale about Orson Welles that reminds us just how intimate the author's connection to Hollywood's greatest has been. But contrary to what we've come to expect from dime-a-dozen celebrities and celebrity interviews not worth two cents, the tale avoids bromidic egotism and journalistic platitudes.
SAMMY'S WHITE DREAMS 
Four decades ago Lenny Bruce sentenced Sammy Davis Jr. to "30 years in Biloxi," stripping him of "his Jewish star" and "his religious statue of Elizabeth Taylor." Now we have two new biographies of Davis that spring him from ridicule, if not from doubts about his legacy, and restore a measure of dignity to a black entertainer whose huge fame and success never overcame his devout wish -- indeed his lifelong effort -- to be white.
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