Gene Eric's Office, Harte Senate Office Building, Washington D.C.
Eric kept his hands folded on the desk as he gave Anderson his response.
"I don't think I've ever heard of Yuengling before, but that might be a part of my point in what I'm about to say."
"People, or voters, if you want to think about them that way, are better than you think at sussing out authenticity, and a lack of it. Most times even someone who doesn't follow along with the politics and what you've been campaigning on can still tell if you're trying to put on airs."
"Maybe you're not the kind of person that most people would want to have a beer with. Better to know that and accept that than try to pretend too much that you're that guy. You know that guy, maybe you work with him, maybe you drink with him, but he'll always come up to you, throw an arm over your shoulder, just come up around you more than a golden retriever would, he's loud, he jokes-he thinks you're best buddies, thinks he's everyone's friend, but most people, they breathe a sigh of relief when he leaves the room."
"Maybe that's a little bit wrong, and we could stand to be friendlier to that person, but what we should be isn't always what we are. There's a rare few people that can be everyone's friend, but there are a lot more that think that they can be, or think they are, till the hammer drops."
"If it comes down to a couple people, and one of them is telling everyone he's their friend, he's their buddy, but you know he's from the City and he won't see you again once he's gone, and the other man is saying that he might not be the most fun at parties, but he's the one who knows the job, and he's the one who can do it, I'd rather be the second man, and most people would rather vote for him."
"Of course it isn't that simple. You don't want to start tweeding up and rub your spectacles and make everyone think you're just a pocket protector who's never had fun in his life, or worse make them think that you think you're a know-it-all. If politics was as easy as just going to one side or the other, everyone would get elected. You have to watch yourself, but I think you could do more good being the man with a plan than the man with a beer."
Eric paused for a moment, letting the advice sink in, and moving forward.
"You asked me about farmers, and that appeal. I'll get to that specific question of yours, but I think I can be of help with a little more advice on what you're looking to do, and it's not too different from what I was just talking about."
"I wasn't a farmer boy. Grew up in Lawton, did my schooling, even went to college, and I've spent more time around this urban jungle than out on the plains. I've seen a lot of politicians think that the way to go out in the country and win those votes is about promises and connections. It isn't. It's about respect."
"A lot of the men that go out there to campaign talk about how they've got plans to bring farming back, and back big, big ideas and policies to revitalize, transform. I've seen them think about how well they've done, and then they fall flat when the voting finally comes, because the people out there didn't buy it. They want things to get better, but they've heard everyone say they've had a plan before. I've seen the same people who lived on sidewalks their whole life try to tie themselves into the wheat fields somehow. The people out there don't care if your granddaddy's second cousin was a man who tilled the earth. They want a look at you."
"I asked you about guns earlier, you said you had a handgun, do yearly safety training, practice at the range sometimes. You might be surprised, but that's more than I can say about myself. I own one gun-a Colt, Model 1917. It was my father's service pistol, during the war. When Jennifer and I got married, the old man, a little time before I was going to walk down the aisle, took me aside, and handed me a box with that gun in it, told me that in an hour, I'd be a man, that he was proud of me, and that that little thing that he carried with him across France, had displayed up over the mantle, that it was mine. That was one of the proudest moments of my life."
Eric had started to drift a little far into his reminiscing, but after a moment, drew back towards the topic.
"The point was, that I've hardly ever fired that gun. Since the kids were born, I don't even keep it loaded. I've never been much of a hunter, and the last time I went to a range-well, it's been a number of years, I don't know what number, but not too small. I'm not too much of a gun guy. Most of my voters know their way around them better than I do. But I respect it. Not just the gun, but owning it, even if it doesn't mean too much to me as a firearm, what it means to others, about self-defense, but anyone can defend themselves, and more importantly about what it means for identity."
"That's what a lot of farmers will look for, a lot of people in the sticks. They can tell that you might not be exactly one of them, but they want to see someone who respects their way of life, and not someone who patronizes it. It's about the periphery more than the actual wheat and corn, most of the time. It's things like respecting not just their right to be arms, but their desire to do it too. It's seeing what they think about God and Scripture and what that means for government and policy, and not looking at that like it's just their and they're entitled to it, or like some kind of flaw that'll go away once they progress, but something that's a real part of their life and their communities. There's more to it than those two things, but they're important. Even talking like this starts making those categories again, shuffling them off into a "voting bloc" of people that you grudgingly have to go to and act rural to get to vote for you. Just saying "them" gives it that sound. It's about not divvying people up like that, but respecting what they're about, and if you can do that, soon you'll find that they'll start to respect what you're about."
