The Saturday Morning Shit Birds

The Saturday Morning Shit birds

Most major political campaigns involve hundreds and thousands of volunteers. These estimable people do all the mundane chores associated with getting men and women elected to public office. For the most part, they labor in anonymity, with good intentions. But then there are the others, the “Saturday Morning shit birds.”

Because of the nature of most volunteer’s involvement, (they all have to work for a living) they are really free only on evenings and weekends to gather at rallies and political meetings.

We would have large campaign headquarters with lots of rooms for meetings and campaign activities. Every Saturday morning, we would “call in the troops” to recap what we had accomplished for the preceding week and give out assignments for the weeks to come.

Most of the faithful would file in in expectantly, glad to be part of a larger effort to get someone elected Mayor, County Executive or other elective position. They would listen quietly and plan their activities along the goals we set out for them. They got a chance to socialize with others of the local political cognoscenti and even pass a few words with those grand exalted ones whom we had either elected or were trying to elect. But along side of them sat the “shit birds.”

Like starlings, or crows, they would fly in one a week with a great wave of noise and commotion so that everyone noticed their presence. Each would stand and give glowing accounts of all that they had accomplished for the common cause in the last week.

“We passed out five thousand flyers this week,” one would say, preening. Of course most of us knew that we were temporarily out of the flyers for the last week or so waiting for more contributions to fuel the coffers. Others would claim of the many signs they had posted, forgetting that we drove by those areas mentioned and had not seen any signs or that we were short of them for lack of funding. It really didn't matter what the activity claimed was, they hadn’t done it and hoped bald faced assertions to the contrary would cover their tracks.

At the end of the meeting, amidst much commotion and promises of campaign deeds they would accomplish, they scattered again like a flock of starlings. Most of us knew they wouldn’t do anything or accomplish any task. We would then await their arrival at the next meeting, when they would claim other feats of campaign accomplishment.

“They fly in like a flock of shit birds, noisy and crapping all over the table,” one campaign aide n mentioned.
”Then they fly off in a flock until we see them again at the next meeting.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “The candidate knows who does what because I tell him who does what and who is “blowing smoke up his butt.”
“That's good to hear,” said the volunteer. I always thought the talkers got away with all of their baloney.”

“No, when the favor line assembles after a successful election, the request are weighted by what we know of what got done,” I said. “The screams of indignant outrage” are often tempered by the facts we assemble ragarding what someone did or did not accomplish. No one really wants to push it, or we cut them off completely.”

Still, even when knowledge of this levening assessment got around, the “Saturday Morning shit birds” would yet again assemble for their weekly performance. It was a way of life for them in all the endeavors in which they particpated. In some cases, it worked for them. You could never reform them and you can’t shame the shameless.

So whenever I get involed with any activity, I sit back and listen to “the talkers” at every meeting. You can sort out the Saturday Morning shit birds quickly enough after a few meetings. They never change. And when they all fly away with much noise at meeting’s end, you sit down with those who remain and get to work.

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Joseph Xavier Martin