The Maybe Mayor
Congressman Bob Brady made all of us wait and wait and then wait some more. What was all the indecision really about? And what kind of mayor would the Democratic big shot really be?
- Photo by Trevor Dixon
IT WAS TWO days before Christmas, and we were sitting in a booth at the Greenleaf Restaurant, a diner a few blocks from Bob Brady's house in Overbrook, within the same square mile where most of his life has played out. I was trying to pin down the U.S. Congressman and chairman of the city's Democratic Party on the question that for at least a month had been hanging over city politics like, depending on how you might feel about him, blue-black storm clouds gathering or blue-black storm clouds parting: Was he — or wasn't he — running for mayor?
For his part, Bob Brady didn't seem to realize that his protracted fence-sitting said a great deal about him, both personally and politically. At that moment, sitting in the Greenleaf just before the holidays, he seemed to be having trouble deciding anything — including whether or not he should order the French toast.
"I'm telling you, they have the best French toast in the world here," he said. José Feliciano was wishing us "Feliz Navidad" overhead; dishes and silverware were clanging. For the first half of our 80-minute interview, Brady, who is six feet, one inch tall and massive, had been sipping just coffee and water, fighting his temptation for the toast. He told me he was on a diet, as well he should be. His stomach is rotund, though firm and wonderfully shaped. It begins just below his large chest and stretches out and down at an angle of significant obtuseness.
But now he was clearly about to break. The next time the middle-aged waitress passed by, he grabbed her. "Listen, honey, I want my French toast, you sold me on that, the way you make it. But I don't want the lettuce and tomato — I had enough of them. Get the toast."
But back to the other question at hand: Was he — or wasn't he — running for mayor? And why, for that matter, all the secrecy, all the reticence, all the equivocation, about it?
For his part, Bob Brady didn't seem to realize that his protracted fence-sitting said a great deal about him, both personally and politically. At that moment, sitting in the Greenleaf just before the holidays, he seemed to be having trouble deciding anything — including whether or not he should order the French toast.
"I'm telling you, they have the best French toast in the world here," he said. José Feliciano was wishing us "Feliz Navidad" overhead; dishes and silverware were clanging. For the first half of our 80-minute interview, Brady, who is six feet, one inch tall and massive, had been sipping just coffee and water, fighting his temptation for the toast. He told me he was on a diet, as well he should be. His stomach is rotund, though firm and wonderfully shaped. It begins just below his large chest and stretches out and down at an angle of significant obtuseness.
But now he was clearly about to break. The next time the middle-aged waitress passed by, he grabbed her. "Listen, honey, I want my French toast, you sold me on that, the way you make it. But I don't want the lettuce and tomato — I had enough of them. Get the toast."
But back to the other question at hand: Was he — or wasn't he — running for mayor? And why, for that matter, all the secrecy, all the reticence, all the equivocation, about it?
