As something of an Ambassador to Clevelandia in my own mind, I welcome you to my beloved, cursed burg. Perhaps your advance staff has informed you: there is more than meets the eye, here. Even your most informed local advisors cannot properly prepare you for it.
But first, a little me and you. I beg for justice and mercy in the poverty capital of America, as my father did before me before he died of a liquor-soaked, broken heart. I'm a least among us guy, contrasted with the Ayn Rand cult of self-serving frauds who have ruled the day for so long. You judge a society by how it treats the least among its citizens, and I give the least among us their constitutional due.
You are the first president my children will know. Your role in their lives will shape who they become, and inform their world views, as your predecessors did me. I entrust them to you, in a way. When that big 'ole head of yours fills the screen, my son knows it, he pays attention. I make sure. You, the professor; me, the T.A.
When it comes to Cleveland, though, let me be the professor. The syllabus is The Bloomsday Device, itself, and all its constituent parts: The Device, The Epiphany, The Manifesto, O'Ghoulihy. I suggest to you the following starting points:
here, wherein, I lift our city's curse through a simple act of remembrance.
here, wherein, I document our secret history of racial politics.
here, wherein, I excoriate the corrupt.
here, wherein, my poesy flows into the widening gyre.
here, wherein, I describe my lawyering process.
here, wherein, I offer an objective record of my legal skills.
Happy President's Day, Mr. President. Welcome to the Bloomsday Device.
Sincerely,
Scott Roger Hurley
