Chicago Columnist Illinois Leader Political Strategist Analyst Business Advisor Entrepreneur Chicago Illinois Review

SEIFFE:  How I Met Joe Biden

Wednesday, August 24, 2008 

By Ralf Seiffe

On a long-forgotten weekday in the summer of 1989, I was in Philadelphia conferring with the managers of a small business in which I had invested.  It was part of a trip to the East Coast that also included a scheduled appearance at subcommittee that oversees the Postal Service in Washington. 

After concluding business in Philly, I met some old friends had dinner and spent the night in a hotel near center city. The next morning I went to the city’s 30th Street Station to catch the Amtrak Metroliner to Washington D.C. Telling the clerk that my destination was the capitol city, I was horrified to be told that the train was completely sold out.  You can imagine the stomach acids that presented when the clerk told me the next train would not arrive in time for me to make the hearing. 

To his credit, the clerk told me that I could buy a seat on the club car.  “How much?” I asked and was told $89, if memory serves.  The regular ticket was $25-30 but there was no choice, so I pushed four twenties and a ten under the grate. 

Out on the platform, I located the club car with a Red Cap’s help and climbed aboard.  To my surprise, it was totally empty--apparently not one other passenger had decided a breakfast of runny eggs and lukewarm coffee was worth the nearly $60 premium over the cost of transportation. 

Remembering the rule of POSH (Port Out-Starboard Home), I put my briefcase in the overhead rack and picked a seat in the first row, then settled in for the trip.  

No sooner had we left the station than a porter appeared to ask for my order--after all, I had paid the tab.  I asked for a cup of black and looked back down at my notes for the morning’s testimony. The porters remained and I looked up, telling him I was immune to offers of food served on planes or trains. “That’s not it, sir.  This is a reserved seat and you will have to move.”  “I didn’t notice that these were assigned seats.” I replied.  “This one is, just the same.” he told me. 

As a taxpayer, the notion that any operation as heavily subsidized as Amtrak should treat one fare-paying passenger any differently than another is offensive.  “I think I will stay here.”  “I will have to call security, then.”  This substantially raised the stakes and came to the point of valor wasted so I got up to move across the aisle.  “Is this O.K?” I sneered at what was objectively my employee.  “Fine, sir and let me help you move your case.  I’ll be right back with your coffee.”  

He quickly returned with my coffee from the galley, presented it properly and then disappeared. His instant change in attitude--from confrontational, ready to call cops to obeisance was curious and slightly disconcerting.  I returned to my work and dismissed the thought. 

Not paying much attention to the scenery of South Philadelphia and the rolling hills of Marcus Hook, it seemed like just a few minutes until the train pulled into the Wilmington, Delaware station.  Here I learned why the best seat in a train that had probably started in Boston had the best seat saved until the last few miles of its taxpayer-financed run.  Senator Joe Biden, hair plugs and all, boarded and took my seat!  Not only that, the invisible porter had rematerialized with a drink and, I think, a newspaper. 

It is important to remember that this story happened during a period Senator Biden found himself in disrepute.  He had made a run at the presidency in 1988 and was excused by the mainstream media—before we called them that—when some reporter discovered candidate Biden had lifted a speech from an English union leader.  While regular folks found the sentiment in the speech offensive, the politics recommended by a coal pit socialist didn’t seem to bother the media at all.  But plagiarism is another thing. 

The train started towards Washington with the two of us still the only passengers.  As I sat there, starboard, I began to glance in the senator’s direction.  These turned into stares and eventually, his sixth sense kicked in. I quickly turned away each time he looked up but carefully so he would know I had been looking. 

This went on through Delaware and into Maryland.  I think the last stop was Columbia Maryland and still no one had boarded the club car.  Indeed, had it not been for my shortsightedness in getting a regular ticket, Senator Biden would have traveled in what was essentially a private rail car.  No wonder he is the number one supporter of taxpayer support of the nation’s bankrupt passenger train industry. 

He “caught” me glancing at him three or four more times by the time we pulled into Union Station, a beautiful building in sight of the Capitol.  We both stood to collect our bags and I looked him directly in the eye this time.  “I’ve been trying to figure out who you are all the way since Wilmington” I said in the friendliest voice I could muster.  He smiled, anticipating recognition, a politician’s lifeblood.  He said nothing, expecting me to finish, I guess.  I did.  “You are Joe Isuzu!” 

His face turned a crimson so deep, I feared spontaneous cremation.  But I had made my point, spun around and headed to the subcommittee meeting.  Haven’t seen the presumptive veep nominee since.  You have my word on it! 

Author’s note: If you can’t remember Joe Isuzu, Google him and watch the YouTubes.  They are still hilarious! 

Ralf Seiffe advises business start-ups and product launches from Chicago, Illinois and is a political analyst and columnist for the Illinois Leader and Illinois Review.

Webmaster Contact:  Alynn Patzer alynn11111@aol.com