It was the holes in the soles of Joe Brennan's shoes that won me over. I don't know if it was a politickin' plan, or if he had been in a hurry that morning and put the wrong shoes on for the event.

But here was a regular guy, and whatever it was he was or wasn't pushing that long ago morning, I was for it. I wasn't even a Democrat.

Actually, I was a Republican at the time as well as a news reporter. Imagine, a news reporter who wasn't a 'bleeding heart' liberal.

It had been my neighbor, realtor, and friend who had turned me into a card-carrrying Republican a number of years earlier. Bob Osborne had long been active in politics when he sold us a lot and had a modular house built on it catercorner across the dirt road from his house. Bob loaned me his snowblower with the understanding that I would blow his driveway clear of snow right after I finished ours. Wasn't a bad deal. Saved me buying a snowblower and saved him from using his.

With a deal like that, I couldn't help but become a Republican. Actually my parents and probably their parents had been Republican. In the snobby Philadelphia suburb where I was raised, a lowly Democrat would not have been allowed. My parents never explained why they were Republicans nor why Democrats were lowly.

I was a kid, having too much fun down in the woods after school, watching deer and other critters -- even being attacked once by a rabid fox -- to pay attention anyhow.

When I moved to Maine in 1965, all I wanted to be was a Maineiac, which I have learned 43 years later I will never be since my ancestors weren't born and raised here -- even though our next door suburban Philadelphia neighbor was. That doesn't count, I have learned.

When I moved to Maine, I had no inkling of politics or political parties. In those days, God wasn't a Republican. I was a minister, not ever attending an evangelical political rally to oppose this or that. There were no such rallies. Then I became a school teacher and continued to know nothing about politics at all except that to get the school budget passed each year, all teachers and other school staff were expected to show up at the annual meeting dedicated to the school budget.

I don't ever remember going to one. The budget must have passed without me, because I kept on teaching.

I taught Maine history -- as a good from-awayer (in those days called 'sports') for some strange reason would be permitted to do and language arts. I fell in love with Maine literature when I was a teenager and had found a Kenneth Roberts novel, Arundel, in the Fort Western museum. As a teacher, I had time on my hands in summer and discovered Maine writer Bill Clark through his Tales of Cedar River series. His books awoke my childhood desire to write, write stuff that was fun, that is. I also met Louise Dickinson Rich through her We Took to the Woods series. I even became acquainted with one of the characters in her book, who was also a character when he was not in her book.

But I still knew nothing about politics.

I was independent -- not a member of the party -- but independent enough to spend time during a teachers' convention held in Augusta at the headquarters of Independent Gubernatorial candidate Jim Longeley. My principal at the time told me I couldn't vote for an Independent. I asked him if I would be fired if I did. He said I wouldn't and mumbled some other stuff that failed to keep me from voting for Longeley.

That Independent won, the world of education didn't collapse, and I felt good because being left handed I had voted for the guy on the political bottom, who won. I remember how upset the TV news guys were when the count was in -- and he had won.*

Then one hot, early June day I grew bored from watching the fly in the window of my classroom. It took that fly to show me how dull teaching had become for me. At the same time, I had read so many student essays with misspelling and terribly incorrect language that I was given to understand I now was eligible to become a reporter.

I don't recall who gave me that understanding, but sure enough, in short order I was hired as a print journalist.

It was being a news reporter that introduced me to politics. While I was out to cover 'the news' in a straightforward, unbiased manner -- which is what I thought in those days news reporters were supposed to do -- the politicians I covered were out to introduce their ideas to the public as gospel truth.

During that time of trying to cover political news, I met Don (whose last name I tried unsuccessfully to remember this morning all the way to the hardware store, which has become my Sattidy morning activity of choice and necessity, as all guys who own their own homes know), a state senator from Norway, Maine.

Don taught me two things. Politics, he explained, was giving to the other politician to get him to give to you what you wanted. It didn't have to be crooked, he said. These years later I add, "Yeah, right." He also taught me the satisfying feeling of helping folks who had needs and who needed a politician to meet those needs. I remember Don and I spending time together, helping people who probably never had voted for Don nor would for me since that's now how news reporters held their dubious positions of telling the truth -- sometimes.

He was right. It felt good to help.

Don was a Democrat, and I was a Republican -- dutifully attending those Republican dinners where I would get fed a lot of beef -- sometime steak. To be fair, I also attended those Democrat potluck suppers. The Republicans dressed in black suits. The Democrats in wool shirts, or flannel if they were true Democrats and couldn't afford wool.

Don encouraged me to run for the Maine House, when the current legislator decided to step down. I reminded Don I was a Republican, while he was a Democrat.**

"That's fine," he responded. "We'll be able to work well together."

I gave it some thought, but while I was thinking, the current legislator changed his mind and decided to remain in his Augusta seat.

I didn't run, because the legislator was also a friend.

But Don didn't free me from politicians, nor bureaucrats. A 'stop' sign in South Paris always seemed to be placed on the wrong road at a three-way intersection. The Maine Department of Transportation changed its location every so often, and it stayed there a couple of weeks until they changed it again. Eventually, they'd get it right.

Don asked me if I would take photos of MDOT Commissioner Dana Connors placing the 'stop' sign at still another different spot in that intersection.

"Okay," I said, "if this time he'll let it there for a good long while."

I did, and the commissioner did.

On one occasion, I was assigned to cover an event in Bridgton, where Joe Brennan showed up.

I had first heard Joe speak at a Republican state convention, where Bob had taken me as an alternate delegate in case the world of Republicans lost their delegate from Swanville, Bob. I don't recall what Joe said.

I don't recall the cause nor what Joe said at Bridgton either. I only remember that his old black wingtip shoes had holes in the soles. Nor did Joe spend millions of dollars running for office. He didn't seem to spend much on shoes either.

Give me a politician with holes in his soles.

*Years later I got to know Longeley's son, Steve, who for many years operated the Kennebec River Canoe Ferry Service for hikers on behalf of the Maine Appalachian Trail Club. I still know him, and whenever I talk with Steve I think fondly of his father, whom I did not know. To my knowledge, Steve never became involved with politics.

**In my opinionated take on politics, at some point in more recent years the Republicans did something so awful I became a Democrat. Later, after being harassed into attending various meetings and participating in party activities -- none of which I took part in -- I grew weary of the Democrats and joined the Green Party. From what I can tell, as a member of the Green Party you do not have to actually do anything. You're just counted as a number, a member of the Green Party. To really antagonize those with different views, I plan to vote Democrat for President this fall as well as for Democrat candidates running for seats in Congress. Not that I really believe anything will really change. I won't vote Green for anyone, because that would be a wasted vote. If you heartily disagree with my ideas about politics, that's agreeable with me. If you do, I probably disagree with your ideas about politics too. If you agree with me, I knew you were brilliant all along.

Milt Gross can be reached for corrections, harassment, or other purposes at lesstraveledway@midmaine.com.

Milton M. Gross Copyright 2008