Barrett Rainey's Second Thoughts

Some of what you’re about to read may strike a few of you as sexist. It may sound like male arrogance. It may sound like my ego talking. But none of that is meant or implied. Or true.

First, and for the record before we get to that, I believe Herman Cain is totally unqualified for any government job. Any! He’s the hand puppet of the Koch Brothers who are using a considerable portion of their $100 billion joint net worth to buy themselves a country. Cain offers nothing of value to our national political discussions except what Chucky and Davey whisper in his ear. His right ear.

Second, since the truth will eventually come out, I’m not concerned whether Cain is a serial sex abuser. Other than to say that any male with that kind of extended pattern – if conclusively proven – should be neutered. Period.

Third, Cain is not going to be president of anything except the Herman Cain Personal Financial Betterment Association. Even the nuts who will control the 2012 Republican Convention will have forgotten his name by the time the gavel sounds in Florida next summer.

So, with that understanding, the rest of these thoughts are based on my personal experiences while living in Washington, D.C. as a minor member of the national media. While that period of my life was 40 years ago, it has been reinforced by a number of more recent visits. What I’m about to describe is as current as today. Further, my comments are not meant – in any way – to excuse, justify or support Mr. Cain. We’re talking “cultural definition” here.

Washington, D.C. – and the power it represents – is a magnet to many, many people. Both sexes. They go there looking for careers, political experience, money, access, privilege, power and in ways not always healthy.

But the worst catnip seems to be for some – certainly not all but some – women. In my time, some of them wanted to meet/marry Ted Kennedy or Gary Hart or any other political pinup of the day. When I was part of the after-hours social life there, I met a lot of newcomers who were looking to find someone who knew the people they wanted to know. While standing around at a cocktail party at a South American embassy on Mass. Avenue, I actually had a very attractive young woman walk up to me and say “Are you anybody?” Just “anybody?” Answer that one with your ego on the floor.

D.C. has always had a very active after-hours life. Social and otherwise. Even during the Nixon years which, after the Kennedy and Johnson years, made the place almost medieval. Most of the best attended gatherings were – and are – high-priced fund raisers for members of Congress, usually sponsored by the member, the member’s political party or one or more lobbyists.

A second after-hours draw is the embassy party. Many countries occasionally open their doors late in the day for food and drink. Some of them are pretty extensive. In my day, it was the South American countries that laid on the food, drink, music and atmosphere that drew a lot of people. While some members of Congress often attended, some who were otherwise engaged or didn’t like the party circuit, chose to send staff. And, of course, there are the media types looking for a story from someone with a well-lubricated tongue.

In my personal experience, the majority of the attendees were usually women. Lots of young, single women. Without casting too wide a net, I can say that, while some were there for official business, there were many who wanted to use the event for “climbing the Washington ladder.” As did some males. And in Washington, the climb is best when you get to know the person on the next rung above you. Or two or three rungs up.

But, while a lot of people of both sexes were cruising the scene to “score,” others were looking for access. Still do. The conversations I remember contained a lot of “Who do you work for” – as opposed to “What do you do” or “Tell me about yourself.” If the answer was the name of somebody in Congress or an important government department head, the media or a major business organization, the conversation usually continued. If not, you were often left alone with your bourbon and branch water.

My point here is, for someone with an abnormal sex drive, much of the Washington social circuit is a private hunting ground with a lot of prey. For men or women. And, as noted in all the Herman Cain stories of late, that’s where he’s accused of operating.

I’m not saying he’s guilty or innocent. We’ll know that in due time. But you’ll note a common thread in the stories of the two women who’ve come forward is the setting they’ve described was after-hours – dinner – social.

Again, I’ve meant nothing sexist or arrogant in these comments. But unless you’ve experienced the D.C. nightlife, especially some of the politically social nightlife, you can’t imagine how different it often is from where you live.

For some, it’s the “good life.” For me, well, let’s just say that I don’t live there anymore. And in nearly 40 years, I haven’t missed it for a minute.

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