New Jersey, where I grew up and where I still live for part of each year, has many good qualities. The seasons are relatively mild. The weather is changeable but rarely destructive. Miles of beaches line the coast, while state parks, including the sprawling Pine Barrens, are found inland. There is a cool local legend, the Jersey Devil, purportedly the hellspawn of a witch. Bruce Springsteen got his start in Asbury Park. The New York Giants, who play in New Jersey, have won two Super Bowls. Major battles of the Revolutionary War were fought on New Jersey soil; George Washington really did sleep here. The state is known for its cranberries, corn, tomatoes, and cows.
There are, however, a few things to complain about. Auto insurance rates are among the highest in America. Ditto property tax rates, which are becoming perilously pricey in the wake of soaring real estate values. (State income taxes, on the other hand, remain reasonable.) Medical malpractice insurance is getting so expensive that many doctors are closing their practices. There is traffic -- New Jersey is the most congested of all the 50 states -- and pollution, though the skies and rivers are cleaner than they were when I was a kid, and medical waste from New York City no longer washes up on New Jersey's beaches. Well, hardly ever.
Above all, there is political corruption on a scale rarely seen and even more rarely tolerated in modern American society. This corruption cuts across party lines. Republicans and Democrats are equally to blame. There is, in fact, precious little distinction between the two parties. The Democrats are perhaps marginally more inclined to increase government programs and raise taxes, and Republicans are perhaps marginally more incompetent and clueless, but there is no serious ideological struggle, and both parties are united by a common interest in kowtowing to the insurers, the unions, and the Mob.
Most locals pay so little attention to New Jersey politics that the politicians can continue to do whatever they please. When it became clear that Senator Robert Torricelli could not be reelected because he carried too much baggage even for New Jerseyans to accept, the Democratic Party simply replaced him at the last minute with former senator Frank Lautenburg, a blatantly illegal move that was given the okay by the hopelessly politicized state supreme court. Lautenburg won easily, most voters probably recognizing his name on the ballot and assuming that he was still the incumbent. A recognizable name is rare in New Jersey politics, the state having produced no political superstars in recent memory. California has former movie idol Arnold Schwarzenegger in the governor's office. In New Jersey the big news is that former Saturday Night Live regular and present-day Frank Sinatra impersonator Joe Piscopo may run for governor.
Famously paternalistic, New Jersey is one of only two states in the Union that do not allow residents to pump their own gasoline; self-service gas stations are illegal. During Governor Christie Whitman's reign of error, the state briefly prohibited restaurants from serving runny eggs, on the ground that undercooked egg yolks may carry salmonella. This particular example of governmental overreach inspired a rare popular uprising, and the law was repealed. For the most part, however, New Jerseyans are content to obey the dictates of Big Brother or, in Whitman's case, Big Sister.
Whitman, however, was a model of probity and competence when compared with Governor James McGreevey, who resigned not long ago on the pretext that he needed time to come to terms with his newly discovered homosexuality. Actually it had been rumored for years to McGreevey was gay, and in a state as liberal as New Jersey his private life would not been a political issue anyhow. He had to resign, not because of any sexual conduct, but because his administration was dogged by so many scandals that it became impossible for him to continue. Before quitting, McGreevey attempted to raise his bottom-feeding public opinion polls by the unusual and possibly illegal strategy of running a series of expensive television commercials ostensibly touting the virtues of visiting New Jersey but actually touting McGreevey himself, whose grinning mug was the TV spots' most prominent feature. The ads were, of course, paid for by New Jersey taxpayers, who no doubt appreciated the opportunity to help McGreevey rehabilitate his image.
Among many other embarrassments, McGreevey's appointee to run the state police had to be fired after he was caught socializing with organized crime bosses. (According to one report, the appointee had previously faced "questions about a 1993 conviction for simple assault, the failure of his off-the-books security firm to pay income taxes, personal bankruptcy, and his participation in a Newark charity that didn't register with the state," none of which prevented the state senate from confirming him.)
McGreevey's top campaign contributor was charged with hiring prostitutes to entrap and blackmail potential witnesses against him. Another contributor and fundraiser was indicted for financial improprieties. McGreevey himself was entangled in a scandal code-named Machiavelli and was actually caught on tape using the term "Machiavelli" in conversation with yet another contributor. (This one had turned state's evidence and was wearing a wire.) McGreevey's explanation was that he and the contributor were discussing political philosophy. If true, this would make McGreevey the first New Jersey politician since Woodrow Wilson to know who Machiavelli was.
In the wake of 9-11, New Jersey, which suffered the second-highest number of casualties of any state, set up its own Department of Homeland Security. Former FBI Director Louis Freeh, a New Jersey resident, reportedly volunteered to run the agency. Freeh would have been a huge asset, a guy with Washington connections and law-enforcement experience at the highest level. McGreevey ignored the offer, preferring to nominate an obscure Israeli crony for the position. The Israeli's only relevant experience was a mandatory hitch in the Israeli army as a young man. As it happened, he was unable even to qualify for security clearance, let alone get the job. Later it became clear why McGreevey favored this particular candidate. The guy was McGreevey's lover. Apparently the heart wants what it wants, even if it means placing millions of one's constituents at risk.
The new governor, Richard Codey, is now involved in another Homeland Security scandal. State dollars allocated to anti-terrorist measures have gone in hugely disproportionate numbers to Democratic districts, suggesting that, in typical New Jersey fashion, Homeland Security has become just another giveaway program with partisan overtones. Big surprise.
When McGreevey resigned, his young and beautiful wife stood stoically by his side. Someone who is not from New Jersey asked me why she continued to support her husband under such embarrassing circumstances; he had, after all, just admitted that his marriage was a sham and that he'd been carrying on an extramarital affair with another man. I shrugged. "They probably paid her off." This is just a way things are done in New Jersey. We take it for granted here, the way we take it for granted that we can get a good thin-crust pepperoni pizza.
Wedged between the massive medium markets of New York City and Philadelphia, New Jersey has no major television or radio stations of its own and no newspapers with the clout of the Philadelphia Inquirer or New York City's dailies. As a result, local politics are covered inadequately if at all. This neglect has led to a tacit acceptance of the state's prodigious corruption and even, in some quarters, a kind of cynical admiration for how much the more adept politicians can get away with. Shortly after McGreevey's resignation, some embittered New Jerseyans were heard to express their disappointment, saying that they had fully expected him to be President someday. God help us.
People who know New Jersey only from the sour-smelling turnpike lined with chemical plants and oil refineries scoff at its official nickname, the Garden State. But actually large parts of central and southern New Jersey are still surprisingly rural, a fact that is unknown even to some of the state's own residents. When a political candidate ran an ad showing himself visiting a southern New Jersey farm, he lost support among northern New Jersey voters, many of whom assumed he must have filmed the ad in some other state.
Some of New Jersey's urban areas, like Jersey City and Newark, are making a comeback, but others remain blighted and crime-ridden. Camden is a dangerous no-man's-land so feared by outsiders that some taxi and limousine companies refuse to take their clients there. Asbury Park, which burned down during race riots in the 1960s, has never been rebuilt and remains an eerie ghost town -- acres of gutted, boarded-up buildings occupying some of the choicest oceanside real estate in America.
Because a great many New Jerseyans either hail from New York City or commute there, a certain New York attitude is evident even in small beach towns. When a friend of mine visited from Florida and we took a walk on the boardwalk in the evening, she insisted on saying hello to every passerby. No one answered. "We don't do that here," I explained. We really don't.
New Jerseyans themselves are quick to mock their own state. When Virginia coined the slogan "Virginia is for lovers," New Jersey wags countered with "New Jersey is for losers." "New Jersey," we say, "is a family place - like the Soprano family." New Jersey's official motto is "Hey, what's that smell?" The state bird is the mosquito. The state flower is a turd.
A Google search for the terms "New Jersey" + "joke" turns up 1,040,000 hits. A search for "New Jersey" + "sucks" yields an astounding 456,000 hits. Whole Web sites are set up for the sole purpose of ridiculing or openly attacking New Jersey. I doubt this is true of, say, Oregon.
Still, when you're walking on the beach in the evening, or chowing down on one of those thin-crust pizzas or a tasty Italian sub, or enjoying the ambience of a small-town Main Street complete with an old-fashioned ice cream parlor and proud American flags ... well, it's not so bad.
Now if only we could get the politicians to move out. You know, I hear they're looking for some experienced leadership in Iraq ...
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