TALLAHASSEE - Amid all the ominous hurricane warnings, there was something strange but pleasant that took a while to recognize. Switching to sports made the contrast obvious: There were no political ads on the Weather Channel.
So even a hurricane can blow some good.
It's just as well that the politicians don't want their images associated with bad weather. Imagine the drivel if they did:
"I'm John Kerry and I approve this message: Florida put George Bush in the White House and look what's happening now. Don't let it happen to you!"
"I'm George Bush and I approve this message: See me hand out water. See me hand out ice. What can you expect from my opponent? Ketchup!"
I seriously wish there were some benign force of nature to blow away all the political ads. There are hardly ever any that inform a rational choice between candidates or parties the way Thursday night's debate did. Or that are, at worst, as harmless as the imaginary ones above. They are, rather, a barrage of short-attention-span trash singularly intended to keep you from voting for the other guy. It's no wonder that so many Americans never vote at all.
The only safe thing to do with the typical political ad is to ignore it. Tune out or turn off. Take it straight from the mailbox to the trash, and don't forget to wash your hands. Skip to the comics.
Political reporters are more likely to write these days about what the candidates' advertisements are saying than what the candidates themselves are saying. The medium has truly - and terribly - become the message.
Not all ads are bad ads. The responsible ones don't exploit a vote out of context, rely on exaggerated symbolism, depend on slogan rather than substance, or pass off an actor as a real person. Think a little, and it won't be hard to tell which is which.
But most of what comes each day is fresh scent from the garbage dump. The Republican National Committee admitted to mailings in Arkansas and West Virginia that said "liberals" (for which read: Democrats) are trying to ban the Bible. The RNC says President Bush had nothing to do with it, as if that made it okay.
One of those "independent" committees paid for television ads in which an actress pretending to be Rep. Marilyn Musgrave, R-Colo., snatches a watch from a corpse and robs a U.S. soldier during battle. These are based, entirely out of context of course, on votes she cast on nursing home billing practices and a veterans' bonus. But the people who concocted that are no dirtier than the broadcasters who took their money.
Floridians have suffered through more than our share of this stuff. Mel Martinez's "antifamily" attacks on Bill McCollum last month were as loathsome as the 1950 "Red Record of Senator Claude Pepper" that implied the Daily Worker was backing him.
Of recent repugnant memory: The Republican Party mailing several years ago that denounced Durrell Peaden, a physician-legislator from Crestview, as "Doctor Date Rape" for opposing the more draconian provisions of a drug bill.
Why is there so much of this stuff when nobody admits to liking it? Look in the mirror. If you see a red face, there's your answer. Enough people like it to make it work. Pepper lost. McCollum lost. Peaden didn't, but he got the message and joined his tormentors; he's a Republican legislator now.
At the 1957 Southern Governors' Conference, Florida Gov. LeRoy Collins gave a well-received speech on the topic, "Can a Southerner be elected president?" Yes, he said, and once segregation was out of the way it turned out to be true.
Something else he said was even more prophetic: "Regardless of accent," he said, "the next successful presidential candidate must have a compelling and persuasive presence on the television screen, for it is here that future campaigns will be won and lost." Just three years later, it took John F. Kennedy only one debate with Richard Nixon to prove it. Those who heard the debate on radio thought Nixon won. Those who saw it on TV said Kennedy did.
Collins, a handsome and articulate man of substance, was the first politician to master television in Florida. But when he ran for the U.S. Senate in 1968, he learned the hard way that he hadn't kept ahead of the game; 30-minute documentaries were out and 30-second spots were in. Substance was out, sound bites were in.
The other ingredient of his defeat was a racist smear campaign featuring handbills and weekly newspaper ads depicting Collins as "marching" in the great civil rights demonstration at Selma, Ala. Like today's typical attack ad, it was entirely out of context and grossly distorted the truth. When photographed, Collins wasn't marching; he was talking with the demonstrators, on President Johnson's behalf, to ensure that the event remained orderly and peaceful.
That ought to have taught Florida a lesson, but obviously it didn't. Our only hope is that it's never too late to learn.
