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  It was still a long way to November. November is when the election to District Representative becomes official. November is when the bar examination results will be posted, and most importantly, November is when Nicky and I will be married.

  After many telephone calls, including at least a half dozen three ways with my mother and Nicky’s father, it was agreed we would get married on Thanksgiving weekend. The ceremony will be held at the Philadelphia Ethical Society with a reception at the Rittenhouse Hotel. Both of these venerable institutions were located on Rittenhouse Square. The governor’s wife, Judge Slattery will officiate. The Serge Paullo trio will provide the music. There will be a maximum of 100 guests, 50 for each side. I told Nicky, I didn’t know 50 people to invite, so she could have some of mine.

  There is a God and He intervened to keep me sane while the winds of change blew around me. The Phillies were once again in the race for the pennant, for the second year in a row! They were seven games back of the ‘Stinkin Mets’, I think that’s the official name of the National League franchise from New York. I had lived and died- mostly died- with the ‘Fightin Phils’ for most of my life. Last year on the last day of the regular season, the Phillies finally made it to the playoffs when the Mets pulled one of the greatest choking acts in the history of modern sports. This year the Phils had less ground to make up. Joel and I were convinced the Mets would once again reveal their collective absence of cajones and give up the lead. Unlike last year, however, we were positive the Phils would go all the way to the World Series this time and not be eliminated in four straight playoff games like last season.

  Nicky who was preoccupied with the wedding, and Marilyn who was occupied with my godson Matthew let Joel and me watch the games and fret over the pennant race. We had become regulars at the Brinkley Smoot box at Citizen’s Bank Park. By the second inning of every game we attended, however, we quietly wandered out to Ashburn Alley to enjoy the game with the real fans.

  One night Myron Bollinger asked us why we left the games so early.

  “Mike, have you ever watched the Phillies play in the stadium?” I asked.

  “We’re watching the game at the stadium,” he obviously thought I had lost my mind.

  “Well, I guess technically you’re right. But, we’re in here,” I gestured to the deluxe box behind him, “and the stadium is out there,” I pointed to the window. “Come with Joel and me and we’ll show you.”

  Bollinger followed us to our customary spot at Asburn Alley.

  “Yo, it’s da lawyer dudes!” The regular gang greeted us.

  “Who’s that, your boss?” A large man wearing a Ryan Howard jersey asked.

  “Vinnie, as a matter of fact it is.”

  “Mike Bollinger,” he said extending his hand to Vinnie.

  “Bernie, jeez, he don’t look nothin like the asshole you described.” The crowd laughed and someone yelled out, “Good one Vin!”

  Then in a normal voice Vinnie said, “Mr. Bollinger, it’s a real pleasure to meet you. I’m Vincent Montomurro.”

  “As in the Honorable Vincent J. Montomurro, President Judge of the Court of Common Pleas.” Joel said.

  Just then Ryan Howard hit a laser shot that bounced off the Budwieser sign in left center field. The stadium went wild as three runs scored.

  “Guys’ it’s your turn to buy a round,” Judge Montomurro said nodding at me and Joel.

  Bollinger said, “I’ve got it.”

  “Mike, welcome to the game,” Montomurro said and fist bumped Bollinger.

  The Phils won 8 to 3.

  On our way out of the stadium Bollinger said, “Thank you. I haven’t enjoyed going to the ballpark like that in a very long time. Do you think we can do that again?”

  “Sure, but let’s keep it to ourselves. The regulars may not like the BS crowd horning in on their thing,” I replied.

  We waved goodbye as Bollinger got in his limo and drove off.

  “Who would have thought that, Myron Bollinger likes to hang out with the gang at Ashburn Alley?” Joel observed.

  “We better keep that on the down low. If the word ever gets out, they might revoke his membership to the Union League.” We both laughed.

  By October the Phils had beaten the Brewers and the Dodgers and were playing in the World Series. Joel and I, along with our good luck charm, Mike, don’t dare call me Myron, Bollinger were ‘hangin’ with the gang at Ashburn Alley. By the Dodgers series we had convinced Bollinger that sport jackets were not the proper attire at this venue. We bought him a Ryan Howard jersey, a reminder of his first venture to a real game environment.

  Properly attired we all stood at our places when game three against the Tampa Bay Rays, who used to be the Devil Rays, but had now apparently found god and cast out the devil, took the field. Joel bundled up the baby, who was wearing a Jimmy Rollins jersey and baseball cap, and brought him to his very first ball game.

  As soon as Bon Jovi had finished singing the National Anthem, both of our cell phones rang at the same instant. Joel handed the baby to Mike Bollinger. It was Marilyn and Nicky. Our wives told us we were on Fox TV. I looked up at the scoreboard and there we were, and right beside us stood Mike Bollinger holding the baby. Everyone in the stadium was cheering!

  The Phils went on to win the series. As is typical of Philadelphia, the final game took two days to complete. Since it had been more than two decades since the last championship, I figured the Phils forgot how to do it efficiently. No one was complaining.

  Even though the Union League had video proof that Myron Bollinger was hanging with the crowd at Ashburn Alley, it didn’t revoke his membership. The same couldn’t be said for Senator Cinaglia.

  By the end of October the Senator had announced that he would not seek reelection. This, of course, sent shock waves through the local political community. If Cinaglia wasn’t running, perhaps Monroe Sterling to the contrary notwithstanding, the U.S. Attorney and the FBI had a solid case against him. Before he pulled out of the race, the street bookies had been laying good odds that Cinaglia would beat the Feds. Now some of the smart money was backing the other side.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Oh What A Night

  The day after the bar exam Bob Gronski called to remind me I had promised to appoint him campaign manager and wage an active campaign for District Representative despite the fact I had no opposition. Gronski had already arranged contributions from both the FOP and Firefighter’s PAC funds. He set up a rigorous campaign schedule for me that traversed the entire district.

  “The voters of your district deserve to know their next representative. Besides, this isn’t the only election you’ll be in. Anyway, we have to get out a big vote for the top of the ticket!” he told me.

  Gronski was right, this could be an historic election, and I might as well do my part. We campaigned door-to-door, registering voters and letting them know who Bernard Green was and what they could expect from me. Half of the clerks from Brinkley Smoot, who were also sweating out the bar results and had nothing better to do with their spare time joined the campaign.

  A week before the election the bar exam results came out. Everyone in the BS prep class with the exception of the Stooges had passed the Pennsylvania bar. We celebrated by taking Joel and the other instructors out for drinks. No one missed Larry, Moe or Curly. While we were out celebrating, Bob called to let men know the Obama campaign had called to thank the Green Campaign for registering so many new voters.

  Even though I had no opposition, Bob had somehow managed to get the local media interested in the campaign. Camera crews from the four major stations followed us around as we visited churches and hospitals and other venues in the district. I was grateful that none of them asked me any questions about my life before my military service.

  The night before the election Bob called “Watch Action News at 6 tonight, I think they’re going to run a piece on our campaign.”

  Nicky and I watched the newscast. For 25 minutes, it appeared that Bob had
gotten bad intel. However, as the program was about to end Jim Gardner with his patented furrowed brow looked directly at the camera and said:

  “And for our final story of the night, Vernon Odom brings us the remarkable and inspiring report of an election campaign going full throttle to the finish line, but missing one important ingredient…an opponent.”

  Vernon Odom, was standing in front of the FOP hall. “That’s right Jim. The election’s tomorrow and we have no idea who our next President will be. But one thing is for sure, tomorrow night when the polls close Bernard Green will be elected the next Representative for the 127th District, because he’s running unopposed, but you would never know that from the candidate or his campaign manager.”

  The screen went from the live shot to footage of the campaign, as Odom narrated. Nicky clapped as the screen showed me shaking hands with people in front of the State Office Building and at Rittenhouse Square, and another one of me running up the steps at St Gregory’s parish church.

  Then the screen went to a close up of Bob Gronski. “Vernon, Bernie Green understands that it’s a privilege to serve his district, and that the people have a right to know who he is and what he stands for. It doesn’t matter that he’s running unopposed.”

  Odom’s narration continued, “Sergeant Robert Gronski and then Lieutenant Bernard Green served together in Iraq, where both Mr. Green and Mr.Gronski were injured when an IED exploded, blinding and severely injuring Mr. Gronski.”

  The screen showed a close up of me, “Bob Gronski is an inspiration to me and everyone who knows him. Bob saved my life in Iraq. He told me not to short change the voters, just because there’s no opponent this time.”

  The screen went back to a live shot of Odom. “Jim, both Bob Gronski and the candidate, Bernard Green received Purple Hearts and other commendations for bravery for their service in Iraq. Mr. Green received the Bronze Star for saving the lives of several of his comrades in arms in the explosion that wounded Mr. Gronski.”

  “Thank you Vernon and we thank both Mr. Gronski and the candidate Bernie Green for their service.”

  Gronski called while the Action news theme played. “Lt.Bernie, what did I tell you?”

  “You’re incredible. Who would guess a campaign against no one would get airtime. How did you pull it off? ”

  “Sooner or later they all succumb to my good looks and charm. What can I say? I’ll bet you all the stations play the story at 11. No one wants to miss out on a hot story, and we are the hot local story tonight.”

  Just as Bob prophesized the story was on all four local TV stations at the 10 and 11 newscasts.

  The next day the polls closed at 8 PM. Nicky and I arrived at the FOP at 9 for the victory party. To my amazement news vans from the local stations were double parked in front of the hall. There was a crowd of about 50 people waiting to get inside.

  “There’s the candidate,” Vernon Odom shouted, and his cameraman turned to get a shot of Nicky and me as we tried to make our way into the hall.

  “Bernie, Bernie!” The crowd began to chant.

  “Nicky, this is nuts!” I said as we waved and the crowd let us in.

  The hall was packed. The Governor and Congressman O’Grady were on the stage with Bob and Marti Gronski. Marti whispered in Bob’s ear, and handed him the microphone.

  “Friends,” Bob said and the crowd started to signal for quiet. “The man of the hour and his bride to be have arrived!” The crowd took up the Bernie chant as we made our way to the stage.

  Congressman O’Grady waved for the crowd to settle down.

  “Governor, Bob and Marti,” the crowd applauded. “Bernie and I have something in common. We both ran unopposed, and barely won!” Everyone laughed. “Seriously, we’re all here tonight to honor a young man who has served his country with distinction and who is about to embark on what we all anticipate will be a long and distinguished political career. Bernie, congratulations on your election! This is just the beginning, ladies and gentlemen, Bernie Green State House Representative for the 127th District!”

  The crowd roared.

  Nicky and I with the Governor and Congressman O’Grady stood with our arms raised in victory. Nicky embraced Bob and I kissed Marti.

  I took the microphone as the others signaled the crowd for quiet.

  “Governor, Congressman, Bob and Marti, friends, I am humbled and amazed at this … this incredible showing of support. Thank you, thank you everyone.”

  “I know that it is customary at this time to tell you that I received a telephone call from my opponent congratulating me. As Congressman O’Grady made clear, that isn’t likely to happen since luckily, I have no opponent. But I did get a call before Nicky and I left. It was from John McCain and Sarah Palin asking me for a donation. I told them they must have dialed the wrong number!”

  “I want to take this opportunity to thank the Governor, Governor Slattery. It was his suggestion that I run for office, and Congressman O’Grady whose support made it possible.” The crowd cheered as the governor and congressman shook my hand.

  “I of course want to thank my fianceé Nicky Miller, who has supported and encouraged me throughout the campaign.”

  “Last, but certainly not least I want to thank Bob and Marti Gronski.” The crowd erupted with cheers and whistles.

  “Many of you were privileged to serve on the force with Bob. I was privileged to serve with him in Iraq. It is no exaggeration for me to tell you that I would not be standing here today if it wasn’t for Bob Gronski.”

  The crowd began to chant Bob’s name.

  “Bob not only saved my life. He also insisted that I conduct an active campaign. Bob and his beautiful wife Marti made it clear to me that the voters deserved nothing less. Bob and Marti were right, and I thank them for their counsel and advice.

  Bob, I will never let you down.

  Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your support. This evening may be, and hopefully will be, very special. I believe our nation will make history when we elect Barrack Obama the next President of the United States!”

  The applause was thunderous.

  The governor took the microphone. “Bernie, this telegram just came in:

  ‘Congratulations on your election! Thank you and your campaign for registering 1000 new voters. The margin of victory may turn on those votes Signed Barrack Obama.’”

  The DJ played the Four Seasons “Oh What A Night” and the party really took off.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Major Miller

  November was only a week old and so far I was two for two! The big one was not for three more weeks. Everything was pretty well in place. As I anticipated, I didn’t have 50 guests to invite to the wedding. I gave Nicky 10 more slots to fill. She still had difficulty keeping within the agreed upon limits. I suggested that she assign scores, like in a golf tournament, those who scored above 70 regardless of whom they may be, family or friend, wouldn’t make the cut. She thought that was dumb but thanked me for the extras anyway.

  My mother and her companion Louis, with whom but for the social security thing she would marry, were scheduled to arrive on the day before Thanksgiving. The summit between Nicky’s father and my mother was to take place at our apartment on the holiday. The actual face-to-face meeting would be anti-climatic, since the two sides had become allies during the three way telephone calls that settled all the wedding arrangements. The parents-in-law and Nicky had vetoed all my suggestions. I thought this exceedingly unfair since it was my wedding after all.

  Now that I had passed the Pennsylvania bar, I was still waiting to hear from New Jersey, nevertheless Mike Bollinger told me I would be paid appropriately as an associate at Brinkley Smoot. My annual salary was more than I ever expected to earn. Despite the fact that I would have to devote considerable time to my other job when I officially took office in January, Bollinger told me BS would not reduce my compensation.

  In the meantime I was assigned to Joel Solomon’s litigation team. This was fine b
y me. Joel was a brilliant litigator and I could learn a lot just hanging around and watching him. The same day the Phillies paraded down Broad Street to celebrate the championship, Joel was awarded a partnership. The Solomons, including Matthew, and Nicky and me celebrated the twin occasions at Ralph’s Restaurant on 9th Street in South Philly. We finished the party with freshly filled cannolis from Isgro’s Bakery on 11th Street. It was how real Philadelphians marked great events in their lives.

  When we got back to our apartment Nicky told me her father wanted to take me out for dinner, just the two of us, mano a mano. I figured this wasn’t such a good idea. I suggested to Nicky that there would be ample opportunities after the wedding for such a meeting. Nicky told me to man up and get it over with. She assured me nothing would interfere with our wedding plans. Besides, she had already made the reservation at the Capitol Grille for Wednesday night at 7 PM. The wedding was only a week away.

  I was still volunteering my services to the 127th District every afternoon. On the day I was scheduled to meet with my soon to be father-in-law, Carlota handed me a message slip from the governor marked ‘Urgent!’

  “That man is so needy. Everything is urgent. He must think the world revolves around him,” she observed.

  “Governor, it’s Bernie. Carlota told me you called. Is everything OK?”

  “Thanks for getting back to me. I need to see you right away. It’s extremely important, and we can’t discuss it over the phone.”

  “Could we meet first thing tomorrow morning? I’m meeting Major Miller at 7.”

  “Miller, what the fuck does he want?” the governor asked.

  “I’m marrying his daughter next week. Remember? You’re invited and your wife is officiating.”

  “Oh that. I thought it might have something to do with me.” The governor sounded relieved.

  Carlota was right; with the governor it was always about him.

  “Why don’t you come over now, I promise I’ll have you out in time for your meeting with the Major,” he whined.

  Before I could get a word in the governor said. “Good. See you in 10,” and hung up.