BY LARRY MOSS
Despite being in my late 70s, I’ve been giving some thought lately to getting into local politics. Nothing too big or high-falutin like mayor or anything like that, more like running for a spot on the school board or a parks and recreation committee. I considered a city council position but decided it was above my pay grade.
Truth be told, the notion of running for any position is more than a little daunting. I am not a politician at heart and for the most part, despise them. Then there is the issue of my experience … or the lack of it. In my 77 years, I have had just one go at running for office, which was 64 years ago. Perhaps you will understand my reluctance to re-enter the political arena after you read my recap of how it all went back in 1959.
“Moss For Boss”
That catchy little slogan was what I came up with for my election campaign when I had the harebrained idea to run for President of the Student Council in 8th grade. A ludicrous notion at best. Let’s be frank, everybody knows that, historically, this position as well as the vice president and other officers are routinely held by the school’s brightest students. The brainiacs. And, in a lot of cases, the nerds. Cool guys didn’t care about student council and stuff like that. They did other things like play sports, chase girls, and thought a “C” average was perfectly alright.
When I think back now, the only reason I can come up with for running was to see if I could win. Perhaps I needed affirmation of my popularity. Or maybe it was because I was the only poor student in a household with three siblings who got nothing but As and Bs. Motivation aside, I wanted to win the election. So, run I did.
Luckily, my sister Pam, a talented artist, helped make me some nice-looking campaign materials. I put up posters everywhere and handed out flyers to anyone who would take one. I felt pretty good about my chances. I had to give a speech and became more apoplectic each day thinking about it until I had an epiphany: It dawned on me that I was a pretty good piano player—why stand up there on the stage like everyone else and deliver some boring speech? Play the piano and sing your speech!
Having committed to this novel idea I searched for just the right popular song. It was 1959, and Bobby Darin’s “Mack the Knife” was at the top of the charts. The song’s structure seemed perfect for parody lyrics. Short, little bite-size phrases I could make work. The first four bars of the tune told the whole story—who I was and what I was doing.
Here they are:
(Think “Mack the Knife” melody as your read them):
Oh my name is
Larry Moss, kids.
And I’m running
For President.
I can’t remember the other lyrics, but it doesn’t matter anyway because content was not the issue here. Style was. The element of surprise, the unexpected… that’s what it was all about. The other candidates—all way better students and more presidential than me—didn’t have a chance. My so-called speech blew the student body away. I won by a landslide. It was a resounding victory of sizzle over substance. The classic triumph of entertainment over academia. And, simply, fun over seriousness.
However, the sh_t was about to hit the fan. My first Student Council meeting was a total disaster. It was an out-of-control free-for-all. A complete fiasco. Who knew about parliamentary procedure and things like that? Certainly not me. But that was about to change in a big way.
After my first council meeting, the two teacher sponsors asked me to stay and talk with them for a moment. One of the teachers, in a nice way, told me how a meeting should be run. The other teacher suggested I resign and let the Mensa-level vice president take over.
Even though I didn’t really give a hoot about being President of the Student Council, I was not about to quit. No way. We worked out a compromise and before the council’s second meeting, I was given books on Robert’s Rules of Order and Standard Parliamentary Procedure.
They also suggested I run out and buy So, You Were Elected, a primer for clueless, newly elected young officials like me. I took the advice and books to heart and with the help of a crib sheet I used in every meeting, I made it through my term without being impeached or recalled.
Being President inadvertently landed me in the October 8, 1960 edition of the popular Saturday Evening Post. Sociologist Peter Wyden had written a book called, Suburbia’s Coddled Kids, and the Post ran an excerpt in the magazine. One blurb described his book this way, “This thoughtful, witty, disturbing study of suburbia examines the citizens of tomorrow in their present role as coddled, babied, and overindulged children.” Hmmm.
Anyway, my hometown was chosen as one of the suburbs doing plenty of coddling. The magazine conducted a photo shoot, and I was photographed walking down a beautiful tree-lined street in Highland Park with some other kids. It was pretty cool to see my picture in a national magazine.
The following year, the school election committee established a new rule prohibiting candidates from leaving the stage, singing, or playing any musical instrument. So, while my time in politics was brief, I have a political legacy. Perhaps I should leave well enough alone.
Larry Moss is a retired advertising creative director and jazz piano player. He recently published a memoir about how playing the piano played such an important role in his life.