Hot Mama

(Trace Adkins, 2003)

The summer of 1980 had record setting hotness. It was so stupidly hot that I'd rather eat a hundred pounds of wild boar entrails than live through that summer again.

It was the summer my dad ran for Governor of Missouri. I had bribed/cajoled one of my sorority sisters to spend the summer traveling with me as I campaigned all across the state. I chose Kathi for two reasons. First, she was a Republican and I thought it would be funny for her to have to say Democratic things. Second, she was waaaaaaaay smarter than me. (She went on to law school and is now a judge in St. Louis.) I figured I could let her do the heavy lifting when it came to actually being articulate about campaign issues and I'd just smile and be cute. Worked pretty well.

I don't know how many miles we traveled, but it was probably enough to reach to the moon and back. Every day had the same itinerary. Go to 180 itty bitty towns. Make an appearance at the newspaper and radio station. Hand out literature in the town square. Eat lunch at a mom-and-pop diner and have the roast beef blue plate special. Visit the local nursing home and sing "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" and "Amazing Grace." Drink lots of Pepsi and smoke lots of cigarettes (never in public, of course). Check in at the cheapest hotel possible (we stayed in one that had - and I'm dead serious - a pay phone in the room. And that was one of the classier joints.)

The worst day ever was the Fourth of July. It had to be 105+ degrees in the shade. We were in St. Louis so Ron was able to hold my hand and wipe by brow (and listen to me complain endlessly about how hot it was). We campaigned in Forest Park and some guy yelled at Ron, saying that about the only thing politicians were good at was lining their pockets with money. Ron still talks about it. It really annoyed him. I also rode in two parades, took three showers and still felt like a wilted lettuce leaf at the end of the day. I was one hot mama that day. Ok, so I was only hot. Now I'd be a tepid mama.