Front Seat Socrates

When I would staff Mario Cuomo, I would not eat. I was so nervous I feared I would not be able to control my Irish stomach. So inevitably I would be standing on the tarmac with my stomach growling and flip-flopping as he would get off the plane in Syracuse. He would politely greet me and I would dutifully give him a prosaic briefing, and then we would get in the car. He was always in front and I was always in back.

Once he was seated, the contest began. Front seat Socrates would start asking me questions—never on topics for which you would, or even could, be prepared. The first time I staffed him, the radio played an advertisement for an Indian bingo casino, and he asked, “Stephanie, can Indians vote?” I haltingly answered by reasoning that they were members of a sovereign nation, but they also were residents of the U.S. and “that’s the rub of it.” He laughed and said, “Yup and you rubbed right into it.”

Sometimes it was something we drove by that would prompt him. Once we drove by the long-polluted Onondaga Lake and he asked me why the state should be responsible for cleaning a lake contaminated by others. Other times it was sui generis, such as when he asked me how I would define faith. I don’t remember how I answered, but I remember word for word his explanation of it, which ended with, “It is believing in something with your very being even when you don’t have absolute proof it exists.”

I was always relieved to have the respite the events would give me in between car rides. Watching him in action was a high point of the job—hearing him always say “thankyouverymuch” as if it were one word and giving so-called prepared remarks tweaked with something I said to him and, of course, watching him interact with all kinds of people: union leaders telling him of the need to redistribute wealth and he citing all the money the state had invested in parks; rhetorical death matches with conservative newspaper editors and at the end his saying, “Boy, that was fun”; and once a woman with a Caribbean lilt running up to him and saying, “Governor, I’m from Jamaica,” and without missing a beat, the governor responding, “No kidding, me too.” He had a gift of making others in his presence feel special, and it was that much more exceptional because he was so extraordinary himself.

We’d get back in the car and the questioning would start again. While his visits and his Socratic dialogue gave me great anxiety, I relished the challenge to score rhetorical points and internally I would keep track: Governor 10 points, me one (maybe). Eventually I was just so pleased that I was competitive. What was it that he made me competitive in? Thinking through ideas and using them to help people we serve. He did this by action and in thought and demonstrated it to hundreds of people who worked for him. Yes, I was lucky, but, in truth, we were all lucky to have him serve.

As the years went by I went on to law school, started a law career and then ran for office. Sound familiar? I rarely saw Mario Cuomo after his last election, but he had a special place in my heart and life. He was akin to the North Star, a bright shining light, at a distance, that gives direction. I will be forever grateful I had the opportunity to work for him and for the direction he gave me.

Stephanie Miner is the mayor of Syracuse.