His own sense of mortality must have a lot to do with it, though with Hinchey, political considerations are never out of mind. People who survive cancer — and statistically Hinchey can’t be called a survivor for at least another four years — have a different perspective on life.
Hinchey spoke to that during the question-and-answer session following his prepared remarks. Somebody asked him whether he’d miss Washington.
“Washington,” he said, thinking about it for a few seconds. “A fascinating, fascinating place.”
“The work, the work,” he added, shaking his head, “here in the district, the legislative work in Washington. There wasn’t, there wasn’t … time,” presumably, for other things, family, friends, time off.
First sightings
Hinchey and I, as they say, go back. That doesn’t make us bosom buddies or anything; the natural conflicts between our jobs made that difficult. There was a bit of the Jesus syndrome in that guy; you were either with him or against, and if you weren’t with him, watch out.
We met at an early summer gathering at David Lenefsky’s house in West Shokan. Lenefsky, a Manhattan lawyer, had bought the old farmhouse — transported around the turn of the century from what is now the Ashokan Reservoir — a few years earlier.
Lenefsky was running for state Senate that year 1970 — against an impregnable Jay P. Rolison Jr. of the Town of Poughkeepsie. Rolison’s solid Republican districts then included parts of Ulster. Lenefsky was buried, of course. Newly arrived Manhattan lawyers don’t usually do well against well-established home-grown incumbents.
I didn’t appreciate it at the time, but Lenefsky was waging what would become the classic Maurice Hinchey campaign: slash and burn, attack, attack, attack. Then 31, Hinchey wasn’t particularly impressive, a state bureaucrat — something to do with professional licensing — who’d once worked as a toll collector on the Thruway at Saugerties. If he had political ambitions of his own at that time, he wasn’t talking about it. It was all about Lenefsky, who in later years would be Hinchey’s close friend, confidant and lawyer in some real sticky situations.
Flash forward and in less than two years, this unknown was challenging the seemingly unbeatable H. Clark Bell of Woodstock for the 101st Assembly seat. Bell had bombed George Barthel of Ellenville by some 15,000 votes only two years earlier. At 36 he looked like a lifer.
What a bitter article! Excuse me while I go shower the sentiment off.
No, that is correct Mr. painted-on-smiling-face on North Front Street: you are the media, and not only are you not here to make anyone’s life better–you are sometimes there to wreck lives and not give a crap–like “my man Kirby” at your old employer. You are the media–there to create scandal even when it’s not there. Not “here” of course–but “there.” You know–in the Hurley Ave. Hinterlands of Yore.
Oh–and you forgot the whole theme of Carnwright’s opponent, built upon the unreported bloggate of 2009-2010–which involved that guy that opponent’s wife into whose face cast a drink at one time(your sendoff of him was a lot better and he didn’t deserve it). Just have to remind these Alzheimer types–or is it “Pre-Alzheimer’s”(lest some shrink shrink YOU uh, prematurely). I’ll look for a column on that of course–aha, hopefully before I have to declare myself in Alzheimer’s land. I’m betting to see it first on the next Oprah–yes that’s right, I said OPRAH.