By On the occasion of our 20th anniversary
By Gustavo Arellano
By R. Scott Moxley
By Alfonso Delgado
By Courtney Hamilton
By Joel Beers
By Peter Maguire
By Charles Lam
There are few things in life—besides snails and potato bugs—of which I am teeth-quakingly afraid. But pretty Congresswoman Loretta Sanchez and perky old bag Barbara Coe are two of them.
I am afraid of Loretta Sanchez because I have written many nasty things about her, most of which were deserved except for the following: Howard Kieffer, a convicted multiple-offender old-lady bilker, was not Sanchez's former campaign manager, as I stated a couple of columns ago—a column that had all manner of Dornan progeny calling up and slobbering in excitement. No, Kieffer was a close friend of hers with whom she denied associating, even while she was faxing those denials on her letterhead from Kieffer's office.I blame my faulty recollection on the devil's weed. And speaking of the devil, why, look! It's Barbara Coe!
But what's this? The friendly looking blonde with the Sally Jessy glasses and the heart full o' hate had to stand onstage with a bunch of Mexicans and blacks on Saturday, as her California Coalition for Immigration Reform (CCIR) showcased every token it could get its tentacles on in its counterintuitive attempts to recruit a few more racists. Oh, and also, poor Babs was accidentally wearing different-colored shoes.
The CCIR's protest of the Anaheim City Council (for their myriad complaints about Anaheim, see Nick Schou's excellent "God Loves Losers," Dec. 7) began promisingly: within five minutes, an insouciant little race riot had erupted between mean old white people (and some youngish guys with Village People mustaches) and the brown-skinned Commies who show up to jeer their every move. Weekly reporter Gustavo Arellano, who arrived before I did, swears the mean old white people started it, ripping the red flags from the hands of the counterprotesting socialists, who then grabbed back their flags and socked the white people, before everybody started hitting one another with sticks. Why do I always miss out on the fun?
Mostly, I just had to listen to a bunch of crackers saying awful, awful things about the "savagery" of illegal aliens. But then the black folks wanted in on the action, too! The Reverend Jesse Peterson hollered about the warfare between blacks and Hispanics, saying Latinos were trying to drive blacks out of their own country. And the invaluable Gustavo reports that before his speech, Peterson was wandering around, asking women "about their racial background and if they would ever date a Mexican. When he found out that one of the protesters was half-white and half-Mexican, Peterson blamed the girl's Mexican mother for 'brainwashing' her into hating the United States and told her that she'd still love America if her father had not left the family." Yow!
Of course tokenism isn't complete without former Pat Buchanan running mate Ezola Fostersmiling onstage. She's black, she's a Bircher, and she once took state disability funds for more than a year for a mental ailment she then claimed (once she was running for Veep) she never actually had. But it's not Ezola who's sucking the state dry of its social-service funds! It's the spics! Get 'em!
The most heartwarming part of the day, though, came when a Latina in her 20s, who was there with her mother, looked across the street at the folks who were protesting the CCIR's protest. Her face curled in on itself as her rage began to boil, and she shouted one word, which was all she needed: "Wetbacks!"
There were lots of Mexicans at state Senator Joe Dunn's house the next day for his annual Toys for Tots drive with the Marines, including Congresswoman Loretta Sanchez. There they were, hanging out on folding chairs, being all Mexican. Why? Obviously because Joe Dunn is providing aid and comfort to those who, like Osama bin Laden, want to destroy our culture! Sorry. That's an actual quote from the awful crackers, minus the part about Dunn.
The party was lovely. A wartime-revue swing band was terrific, and one of the Marines in his dress blues (a Latino, no less!) was throwing his pretty partner around in a beautifully wild lindy hop that looked as dangerous as the jungle between Ted Crisell's ears. I swear, it's like Heart of Darkness in there!
Oh, but back to Loretta! The way she stuck her cha-chas out during her first interview with one of our staffers (back when she was first running against B-1 Bob) is the stuff of legend. But I had never seen the congresswoman at her flirty best. Until that fateful day. Dunn had just given a citation to a charming 90-year-old codger—who had parachuted behind enemy lines in Normandy on D-Day—when the congresswoman bounded onto the stage and started hugging him and kissing his wrinkled old face. He was blushing, and so was I! I've never before seen a congresswoman smile "naughtily," but she was pulling out all the stops. It was kind of inspirational, actually. Then, since a handsome young buttercup of a boy was standing by the stage, she scooped him up and began swinging him around and smiling into his eyes. I'm guessing—since she and I invariably pretend not to see each other when we're standing inches apart—that she was somewhat chagrined when I introduced him as my son. She handled it well, though; you've got to hand it to her, I guess.