Giuliani's Sunshine State Race May Hinge On Voters in a New York State of Mind
By Libby Copeland
Washington Post Staff Writer
Friday, January 25, 2008
BOCA RATON, Fla. -- The best place to meet the Floridians who could save Rudy Giuliani's hide is here at the Flakowitz Bagel Inn, where just about everybody is from New York, and just about everyone remembers how the former mayor either: (a) cleaned up their city, or (b) turned out to be a real jerk.
"He's a very, very smart guy," says Carl Liss, 79, a transplant from Queens who's sitting at the long counter, eating a bagel with low-fat cream cheese. (Cholesterol. Heart condition.) "I personally wouldn't vote for him."
"I don't like him," says a woman sitting a few seats down the counter.
The great thing about New Yorkers is that they don't subscribe to that adage that it's better to say nothing if you have nothing nice to say. (Giuliani himself is an excellent example of this principle.) Everybody's happy to share an opinion. John McCain? Too old. Hillary Clinton? A disaster waiting to happen. And Rudy?
Oh, Rudy.
"Why don't you like Giuliani?" Liss asks.
"9/11. The policemen, the firemen weren't prepared for anything," says the nearby woman, whose name is Rhoda Zelniker, 61. She's one of those snowbirds from Long Island -- winters here, summers up north. She's eating eggs and sausage and looks annoyed.
"The other issue is a women's issue," she says. "He's a bum." She starts in on how Giuliani started dating his current wife, Judi, when he was still married to his second wife.
"What's that have to do with his being president?" asks the guy next to her.
"Why wouldn't he cheat on the country?" Zelniker says. "If you're a cheater, you're a cheater."
Bush stinks, "and he doesn't cheat," says the fellow at the other end of the counter, attempting to employ reverse logic.
"They all cheated," says Liss, and he starts talking about the Kennedys.
Indeed, most folks are happy to share all of their opinions here at the Flakowitz Bagel Inn. Chappaquiddick. That Tucker Carlson fella. That babe married to Dennis Kucinich? "You should see how the old men look at her," says one of the old men.
This is a good place. Coffee is a dollar. Almost no one's in a rush. You got your retirees, your folks with flexible schedules, and they're eating late breakfasts. They're ordering the four-egg omelets -- which, as the owner proudly points out, are made with at least six eggs -- and devouring the marble cake, which comes free with every meal before noon.
At the back of the restaurant is a mural of the city (you know which city), featuring a banner that reads "WELCOME BACK, DODGERS." Up front, two TVs run in-store ads for Flakowitz's brisket, and there's a signed photograph of a very young-looking Candice Bergen ("Best Deli; Love, Candice.")
Whither the Republican Party? Whither America? The folks at Flakowitz's don't seem too happy with the state of things -- though what New Yorkers ever are? There's Liss, a Democrat, who's annoyed with all the "evangelists" taking over the Republican Party. There's a Republican from Long Island who says if it came down to McCain vs. "that lady," he'd vote for that lady. Though he kinda wishes Bloomberg would run.
Giuliani is "too rough," one guy says. Too "difficult," says another. Yeah, he fixed up Times Square, but remember how he treated the schoolteachers? Plus, how's he going to win over the social conservatives with all those moderate positions? And don't forget the Bernie Kerik scandal! Everyone here knows what Giuliani did on Sept. 11, 2001, the way he helped the city. Some are grateful to him for that. But not everyone thinks that's enough to make him president.
Not everyone much cares.
There's Todd Kaplan, 36, a fitness trainer with a Playboy bunny tattooed on his biceps.
"I don't vote," says Kaplan, who is originally from Rockland County. "I hate politics."
"They're all crooks," says the old guy next to him, a Manhattan transplant who gives his name as Jerry K.
And then here, running the cashier box, is a true believer. Paul Skolnick, 33, moved down here from Queens a couple of years ago to help his cousin run the restaurant, and New York runs thick in his veins.
"I shall return one day," he pronounces.
Rudy is a "savior," Skolnick says, remembering the days when "you went down to the subway and you weren't sure if you were gonna come back up. . . . He cleaned up the city. I felt it was my city."
This primary will be Skolnick's first time voting, and truth be told, he likes McCain, too, but "Rudy is Rudy, and I'm gonna root for him to the end." And he can tell from the former mayor's sinking poll numbers that Rudy needs his help.
The customer sitting nearby, a Democrat who used to live in Manhattan, keeps quiet, eats his grits and eggs.
"He's got a past, Rudy," Skolnick says. "That's a concern. But he's shown he could turn a country around."
Later, at a rally at the nearby Embassy Suites Hotel, Giuliani will try to project an impression that's all boldness and action. You want turning a country around? He'll show you turning a country around! He will say how important it is to "be bold, be strong, be aggressive" in the face of economic trouble. He will say, "I propose the largest tax cut in American history," and "The only way to deal with Islamic terrorism is to be on offense!"
Afterward, he is mobbed by people wanting autographs on their photographs and baseball caps, two of whom are planning on selling the newly autographed items on eBay. They won't give their names.
These could go for $100 each if Rudy comes in first in Florida, says one of the guys, who's holding three baseball caps. Otherwise, maybe $30 each.
Back at Flakowitz's, the folks at the counter mull a former mayor's fate.
"So if Giuliani loses here, is it over?" asks a fellow from Huntingdon Valley, Pa., named Elliott Silverman, 58, who is leaning toward McCain. And by over, he means over for Giuliani. Poof. That's it. No more campaign.
"Um?" says Zelniker, absent-mindedly.
"It's over," says Silverman, answering his own question.
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