Sublime Encounters on the Streets of Portland

It was with delight that I read this morning that Nigel Jaquiss, of Portland's Willamette Week, had won the Pulitzer Prize in Investigative Reporting for his 2004 unearthing of former Governor Neil Goldschmidt's three-year sexual relationship with a teenage babysitter. But it was an even greater delight to observe the two men sharing a moment today on one of Portland's sidewalks.

The story was one of Portland's biggest in recent memory. Neil Goldschmidt, who thirty years ago as mayor brought the city to national prominence with innovative urban design and transportation systems, who briefly served as Jimmy Carter's Secretary of Transportation, and who later served as Oregon's governor for two terms in the late eighties and early nineties before a lucrative career at the intersection of politics and the private sector, began the year 2004 revered by many as the most powerful private citizen in the state.

Jaquiss's expose shattered the crystalline image of Goldschmidt. The report revealed what the former governor had kept secret for thirty years -- that for three years, while Portland's mayor in the seventies, Goldschmidt had maintained a sexual relationship with his 14-year-old babysitter. Goldschmidt immediately stepped down from several influential public positions, resigned from his consulting firm, and disappeared into private life. Jaquiss's employer, the free weekly Willamette Week, basked in the glory of its coup, having beaten the local paper of record, the Oregonian, to the story.

This morning, the Pulitzer announcement brought Goldschmidt and Jaquiss back in the limelight. Today was also the day that I had to pick up my dry cleaning in downtown Portland. So, at about 3:00 p.m. I embarked on a casual stroll to my dry cleaners, the route of which takes me past Willamette Week's offices. I noticed a familiar face standing outside the front door -- it was Jaquiss, whose picture I recognized from the Pulitzer Prize's website. Just as I was about to congratulate him on the prize -- "Congratulations on the Pulitzer; keep up the good work" -- I recognized in the man he was talking to another familiar face. The face belonged to Goldschmidt.

I can only speculate on what they were discussing, because sadly, from my ears dangled my iPod's white headphones. The song? David Bowie's sublimely perfect "Rebel Rebel":

Rebel Rebel, you've torn your dress
Rebel Rebel, your face is a mess
Rebel Rebel, how could they know?
Hot tramp, I love you so!
...
Got your mother in a whirl
...
And I love your dress
You're a juvenile success
Because your face is a mess
So how could they know?

I walked past the two, puzzled and serenaded. Just as I looked back to confirm who exactly I had seen, Goldschmidt stepped into his car and drove away.

I draw several implications from this ten-second incident. First, Portland is a damned cool city. Where else can you walk along the street to encounter not just a child-molesting former Governor, and not just the Pulitzer-Prize winning reporter who unearthed that Governor's scandal, but the two of them sharing a casual chat on the very day that returns them to the spotlight? Second, there is a soundtrack to your life. And while it may prevent you from hearing what's going on around you, sometimes, poetry is more perfectly appropriate than reality. Third, Neil Goldschmidt, if you ever come after my sister, I know your license plate number.