The Great Hobo Party

2004 Campaign

!!!Mark Hugo for US President!!!

The First Parade, The Mermaid Parade 2003

"I dunno," Benni said. "He called about an hour and a half ago, saying that he'd just gotten to the parade."

"Have you seen hide or hair of him, Karl?" I asked Mark's running mate, Karl Moore.

Karl looked left and right, in a paranoid way. "No! Wait! Why? What do you think I did to him?" Hmm…I'd have to watch Karl. He voiced a lot of questions about the succession of power, and I feared that he might have mutinous intentions.

"Benni," I said. "Did Mark call from a pay phone?"

"Sounded like a cell phone," Benni said.

"He called you at your cell number?" I asked.

"Yes," Benni replied.

"Good. Trace the call and call him back. Give me the phone as soon as you have a connection."

"Aye aye, Cap'n!" Benni said, mock saluting, a la his namesake, Benny Hill.

"Marlene!" I barked. "I need you to round up Gareth, Geoff, Travis, Michelle, and Tim off of the boardwalk."

"Hey, I'm hitting a liquor store first," Marlene said. "For a group that is marching to ban open-container laws, we're too friggin' sober."

"Fair enough." Things were far too busy at Great Hobo Mermaid Parade Command Central for my tastes. "Benni? How's that phone connection coming?"

"Okay. I think he was using his mother's cell phone. I'm trying to reach him."

"Damn it," I said. "It looks like it's going to rain."

"I can't do much about that, but I do have Mark on the phone," Benni said.

I snatched the cell phone out of Benni's hands. "Damn," I said to myself, "This is a really nice phone." It was one of those new Sony Ericksons that could take pictures, record video, and scratch your ass. "Mark! Is that you?"

Mark came through, clear as a whistle. Damn, that's a nice phone. "Tyler! I'm at the parade! Where the fuck are you?"

"We're on East 12th Street near the Cyclone, at Astroland."

"Uhh…right. About that," Mark said, "I'm not seeing any amusement park rides."

"How can you not see the amusement park rides? The Cyclone is five stories tall, and you can see the parachute drop from Jacob's place in Queens."

"I don't know," Mark said. "All I see are teepees and dudes wearing feathers."

"Huh?" I asked. "Hold on." I looked around and saw Gareth, adjusting his grass skirt. "Gareth, did you see any floats that were dressed up like plains Indians?"

"Amerinds, Tyler," Gareth said. "Please. Haven't we stepped on our indigenous peoples enough?"

I sighed and banged Benni's nice phone against my forehead. "So, have you seen any Amerind-looking floats about?"

Gareth shook his head. "No, why?"

"Mark says he's surrounded by Amerind-type floats and marchers."

Gareth started laughing.

"What?" I asked.

"They're having the American Indian parade in the Gateway Recreational Area near the Rockaways, today. I bet Mark's at the wrong parade." He belly-laughed, some more. "Mark's five miles away!"

"Damn it!" I bellowed through the phone at Mark. "You're at the wrong fucking parade!"

"Huh," Mark said. "That would explain things… So, how do I get to you guys?"

"Get back in your car…"

"Already there," Mark interrupted.

"And take the Belt Parkway west to the exit for Cropsey Avenue. From there, just take the road south until you get to Astroland. We're on 12th Street, near the Cyclone."

"Done and done! I'll be there in just a few," Mark said, and hung up.

I shook my head and toyed with Benni's phone to loosen up. The rest of the gang showed up, and we all loosened up with the case of Coors that Marlene had dragged down the boardwalk.

"Where's Mark?" Tim asked.

"He went to the wrong parade," I said.

"Isn't the Gay Pride Parade this weekend?" Marlene asked.

"No, that's next weekend," I said. Everyone looked at me for a moment. "What?" I asked. "It is!"

"I'm here," Mark said, marching down 12th Street in a green polyester suit, with his hair slicked into a pompadour. "I'm here." Something told me that he had been announcing that all through his walk from the parking lot to our little patch of asphalt amongst the revelers, freaks, and exhibitionists.

"It's about damn time. They've started to line us all up," I explained. "Now, here's your sign to carry…"

"I brought my own," Mark explained as he unrolled a yellow 'Don't Tread on Me' banner that had been modified reflecting the open-container protest that his ticket was becoming moderately famous for.

"It's beautiful!" Karl said.

"Yes, yes. Come on," I said, assembling everybody into formation. "Do you have a speech prepared, Mark?"

"Do I?" Mark said. "I've got the greatest of speeches. I can't wait until we get up to that reviewing stand. I plan to give those judges a mouthful of wisdom regarding why it should be legal to always have a mouth full of beer."

"Nice wordsmithing," said Gareth.

"Thank ye," said Mark, polishing off a can of beer in only two gulps.

As we walked up the ramp of the boardwalk, I announced, "And now, the greatest underemployed people in New York, The Great Hoboes!" No one applauded. Or even seemed to notice. Goddamnit, it was going to be a tough parade. "Who wants some beads?" I screamed, holding up a fistful of Mardi Gras beads. A few folks half-heartedly raised hands. "Phew," I said to the Hoboes, "Tough crowd."

"Alcohol is a god-given right!" Mark bellowed. A few frat-boy types applauded. "Sam Adams was not only a patriot, he was a brewer! If he knew that a free citizen of this United States could not, with a beverage in hand, walk out onto the streets of the greatest city on earth," Mark paused for applause. Unfortunately there were none. "...he would cry, cry right in his beer." The only folks who cheered were the Great Hoboes.

We stopped frequently, as the belly dancers up ahead would hold up the parade to do a few numbers. Behind us were some swing dancers done up like Forties pin-up girls, who did likewise. After the belly dancers came a troupe of nearly topless mermaids. And then, we would step up to the portion of the crowd that had just seen sultry dancers and borderline burlesque girls. Mark or Karl would then scream some cryptic line about alcohol and patriotism. While they played to the senses, we played to the mind. The attendees didn't seem to know what to make of us.

The rain poured down in buckets and pails. What had started as a light drizzle as we began marching had now soaked us through. The attendees didn't seem to mind, but man, it was tough to march on a slippery boardwalk, carrying signs, tossing out Mardi Gras beads. It wasn't long before we were all chilled to the bone. Geoff's lips had turned blue, I'm pretty sure of that. Gareth soldiered on, handing out Great Hoboes leaflets to the disinterested crowd, while Travis and Michelle tried to get everybody excited about getting Mardi Gras beads. Try as we did, it was not our finest hour. Us Hoboes feed off the energy of others. The energy and the bar tabs of others.

Once we left the boardwalk and hit the main drag, the atmosphere changed. It was less like being inside a cage at the zoo, and more like being at Mardi Gras. It ceased to matter what Mark and Karl said, as the crowd just drunkenly cheered everybody. Mark could've hollered, "Candlestick flip-flop Carlo Rossi!" and the crowd would have thought it was poetry. This was the high-octane drinking crowd, and Lord knows we had plenty of that!

Former frat-boys and off-duty civil servants commented on the coconut bras and grass skirts that I had foisted upon most of the guys marching. "What size cup are you?" many of them bellowed, thinking they were the first to make the quip. "Nice coconuts!"

Mark chugged a stealth beer that he had been hiding in his jacket pocket, as we neared Nathan's.

"God damn! Are you holding out on us?" I asked.

"What do you mean?" Mark asked, innocently.

"How many more illicit beverages do you have hidden on yourself?" I demanded.

"Uh…just one."

"Give it to me!" I said. I was thirsty. It was impossible to be in an atmosphere like this and stay sober.

"It's…uh…it's in my pants," Mark explained.

"Keep it, then! Keep it, damn you!"

The parade slowed down as we neared the reviewing stand. Benni ran around us, clicking photos from every angle. There was a deranged looking gent wearing just a pair of Depends and a clear rain-poncho. Every once in a while, he would approach the police barricades and "flash" the audience, lifting up his transparent poncho to show the Depends underneath. As all of his body was already visible, it took on an eerie note of depravity. "Benni," I said, "Make sure you don't get him in any of our shots."

Benni looked over his shoulder and laughed to himself. "Too twisted to be a Great Hobo. I love it."

And then tragedy struck. Mark tapped me on the shoulder. "Say, Tyler, how long do you think we have before we're in front of the reviewing stand?"

"I dunno. Five, ten minutes? It's only maybe twenty yards ahead, but all of the marchers are stopping to do their little performances."

"I gotta take a leak," Mark said.

"What do you mean, you've got to take a leak? We're gonna be done in just a few minutes."

"I've got to piss bad, Tyler," Mark said.

"Me, too!" added Tim.

"You're wearing a dark green nylon suit, Mark. Just piss yourself. It'll all dry-clean out."

"I can't do that!" Mark said. "This suit cost me thirty dollars!"

"Damn, Mark. Keep it together! The belly dancers in front of us are dancing at the reviewing stand. It's only gonna be a matter of minutes before we're all done with the parade."

"All this rain," cried Mark. "It's killing me! I've got to go…NOW!" And with that, Mark took off towards the crowd, hopped a police barrier and disappeared out of sight.

"Where the fuck did he go?" I asked, looking through the crowd, and catching only a flash of that dark green suit.

"I dunno," said Tim, "but I'm gonna go find a can, too!" And then went Tim.

"Oh, shit!" I said. "Any more of you guys gonna take off, too?"

Heads were shaken, no. "We ought to wait around for them," Gareth said.

"And hold up the parade?" I asked.

"No," Marlene said. "We can just duck behind the next few marching groups until they show back up."

"Who says the cops are going to let them back across the barrier?" I asked.

"Come on," said Benni. "We've got to wait up."

I shook my head. "I'm sorry. I'm not gonna get even more soaked while they try to find us. Once they see the marchers behind us at the end of the parade, they're going to assume that we just went ahead with out them. This is enough of a clusterfuck. Let's just wrap it up, dry off and go home."

"I was promised that there'd be more in the way of beverages," Karl said.

"Oh, there will be, Karl. This is your time to shine! Mark might've had a speech ready, but do you?" I asked.

"Uh. I…I…uh…I think I can think of something," Karl said. He stroked the wisp of beard on his chin and looked pensive.

"Well, good luck, Karl. If you pull this off, there is much in the way of beers for ya."

The judges at the reviewing stand were a smattering of Coney Island's finest. A guy in a tie-dye t-shirt, a fella with a big goofy jester's hat on, reveller's of all sorts. If the Hell's Angels had a Grand Jury, this would be it. They were our kind of people.

We stepped up to the stand and turned at attention, displaying our banners. Unlike many of the marchers, we had no act or bit to perform, so I think the judges didn't know what to make of us, at first.

"So, uh…let's see," said one of 'em. "You guys are…well, one of you is running for office…open container laws…cool! I'm all for your platform! Down with the open container laws! Which one of you guys is running?" he asked.

Karl waved. Somebody else on the stand called out, "Are you Hugo Moore?"

"No, Sir," Karl said. "I'm not Hugo Moore. I'm Moore."

"More what?" somebody asked.

"More everything," Karl said with a proud smile. This elicited a few warm laughs.

"Alright!" said the first judge. "The Great Hoboes! Thanks guys!"

And that was that. Our fifteen minutes of fame were up, gone in only a minute and a half. Karl had saved the whole Pat Paulsen-esque political bit with his one-liner, but somehow it all ended to quickly. I don't know what I was expecting. Maybe a rush from the crowd to carry us on their shoulders and announce us as the official political party of Coney Island? Maybe to receive forbidden third-party political donations? I mean, basically any of the Elmer Gantry American Dreams would have been fine. Karl had done well, and this had served as a good dry run for our public appearances. But, when I found Mark, I was gonna ring his neck.

"Heyyy! Hey! Good job, Karl!" Mark said, chugging beer out of one of the three plastic cups in his hands. He went for the second, when I snatched it out of his paws and gulped it myself. "Uh, yup, I…I got that beer for ya, Tyler," Mark said.

"You small-kidneyed asshole!" I bellowed. "Where the fuck were you?"

Tim showed up just then and started laughing. "You'll never believe us."

"Yeah?" I asked.

Mark laughed. "Yeah, sorry for missing the whole reviewing stand thing. Trust me, I would've rather hung out there than where Tim and I ended up. I had that speech all prepared and…glhhrrk!"

"Where were you?" I asked.

"Honey," Marlene said, "Let go of his neck so that he can answer you."

Karl grinned sadistically, preparing to be shot-putted to the top of the ticket.

"We…we couldn't find an open bathroom…" Mark said, "…except for the one at the freak show…They…they wouldn't let us in unless we bought some drinks…so…glhrrrk!"

Tim continued, "So we bought a few beers from the dog-faced boy and used the can."

I laughed and let Mark go. "So, you went drinking with the sideshow freaks instead of doing your speech?"

Mark wheezed and nodded.

"That's awesome!" I said. "Do you realize what you did?" I asked.

"I missed giving that damn speech that I'd prepared," Mark said.

"No! Well, yeah, but you just did the greatest Great Hobo political stunt ever. This'll be king when we write it up. Instead of doing the whole shaking hands and giving speeches routine, you went and drank with a bunch of freaks!"

"And man, can those freaks drink," Tim said.

"Come on," I said, putting my arm around Mark. "Let's go get a brew."

"Um," Karl said, "You said something about me getting some beers out of this deal, too?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure thing. Come on, Karl. You can have a beer, too."

Karl furrowed his brow and followed after. "I think you'd better watch him, Mark," I said. "I think he wants your office."

"He can have my office," Mark said, "but he'll never take my beers. Yarr!"

Spoken like a true Great Hobo. Salvaging liquor and victory from the talons of defeat. Never giving an inch in his plight for the repealment of open-container laws, and the unionization of the adult services industry. I think we all can't wait to hear mark finally give that speech, extolling the virtues and vices of his campaign. Hear hear, O open-container sippers… The campaign has begun!

THE MARK HUGO ARCHIVE
The Article That Started it All - Mark's Gubernatorial Campaign Announcement.

Bad Night in The Bunker - Strategy Gone Awry.

Strike A Pose - Image Consultancy in the Post-Carville Era.

An All Time Low.

A Tape Transcript.

Mark's Gubernatorial Concession Speech.

The Beginnings of Mark's Presidential Campaign.

Angry Sports, Elmer Gantry, and Freedom Fries.

Orange Alert, Again.

Mermaid Parade Invitational.

American Idols.

During the months of June and July, we will have weekly insights from the inner circle of this, our last best hope for president. Please email your support and suggestions to: tyler@greathoboes.com. Remember, vote early, and vote often!

Tyler M. Carey
Publisher and Editor-in-Chief, The Great Hoboes of New York
Apparent Campaign Manager, Mark Hugo for President '04 Campaign