Don’t get me wrong. Somebody some day is going to write a book about the Fords and it is going to be so awesome that, in 300 years, people will be debating how much of it is true and how much of it surely must be made up. It’ll be like the Macbeth of our times.
One chapter will start something like:
“The rumor around town was that, not only did John Ford have a wife he shared a house with outside his district, but that he had two or three girlfriends he shared houses with and none of them lived in his district either. In fact, it was said that the only time Ford slept in his district was when he shut his eyes for a quick nap at the N.J. Ford and Sons Funeral Home…”
And there will be corruption and petty jealousies and handsome men who know how to charm and women who hold families together in the face of amazing ridiculousness. And gunfire and bribery. And MSNBC. It’ll be the story of an amazing political dynasty, somehow uniquely American, but specifically Memphis. And, if properly done, it will be like One Hundred Years of Solitude and All the King’s Men had a baby.
But please. Harold Ford’s autobiography, More Davids than Goliaths, is not going to cut it. First of all, he’s a young man. He’s not going to speak the whole truth about his family until they are dead in the grave and he’s got one foot in it. And second, Harold Ford is the most boring Ford there is! He doesn’t even have a snazzy hat.
“Once upon a time, I was born. I behaved myself, went to school, listened to my Dad, and proved myself to be a competent and bright political mind. Bob Corker ran an asshat campaign that screamed ‘ARRRGGGGG!!!!! White women want to fuck him!!!!!’ and I lost my last election. But don’t fret dear reader, I’ve gotten to see first-hand how tall Keith Olbermann is and I might run for something else some other day. The end.”
There. I saved you $30.