Howard Cohen’s High-Stakes Campaign

It arrived inside a large envelope addressed to Howard Cohen, marked “Handle With Care.” Cohen’s mother noticed the return address:

The Presidential Inaugural Committee

Washington, D.C.

The invitation is handsome, suitable for framing. The script is fancy, the wording at once formal and awkward:

The Presidential Inaugural Committee requests the honor of your presence to attend and participate in the Inauguration of William Jefferson Clinton . . .

Howard Cohen will not be honoring anybody with his presence. He will not attend, he will not participate. And it’s not that he has anything against the president of the United States.

“I bet I’m the only unemployed person in America who got invited,” Cohen said.

That seems doubtful; the second page of his invitation listed only public events, such as the parade and swearing-in. We’re all invited. And another page described this document as a “commemorative invitation.”

There was also a little catalog for “The 53rd Presidential Inaugural Collectibles,” pitching everything from silver medallions and fine china to tote bags and T-shirts. For $55 you can have a silver-plated picture frame “laser engraved” at the base with the signatures of Bill Clinton and Al Gore. As the brochure shows, it sure looks impressive around that commemorative invitation.

Presidential junk mail? “Well,” the recipient said, “most political mail is junk mail.”

Cohen doesn’t seem sure whether to sigh or cry. He is 34 years old, a Democrat Party loyalist who has stuffed countless envelopes and walked many miles of precincts for several candidates, most recently rookie Congressman Brad Sherman and rookie state Sen. Adam Schiff. Four years ago, Cohen ran for the state Assembly himself and scored an upset victory in the primary before losing in the general election.

But for all his hours spent volunteering for other candidates, for all the resumes he has sent out noting his master’s degree in public administration from USC, he hasn’t landed the staff job he craves.

So he still lives at his parents’ home, hoping for a break, knowing that the longer he goes between jobs, the tougher it is to land one. “Everyone knows I’ve been looking for years,” he said.

So he drops by Brent’s deli in Northridge to vent his frustration with a kind of sad-sack sense of humor.

He fingers the inaugural brochure, shrugs and sighs. “If they wanted to give me a coffee mug or something, I’d take it.”

Cohen doesn’t want to be misunderstood. He is, he said, an “unabashed” admirer of the president. He is not offended, as some people are, that inaugural memorabilia can be purchased on the QVC shopping channel. He doesn’t much mind that big donors have had a chance to sleep in the Lincoln Bedroom. All that Indonesian money may look bad, but Cohen sees in Bill Clinton the same sensibilities as the late Jesse Unruh.

What was it Unruh said? Cohen struggles to remember. Something about how if you can’t drink their liquor, take their money, do you know what with their women and then look them in the eye and vote against them, you don’t belong in this business.

Cohen wants to be in the business, but the business doesn’t seem to want him. “I’ve got your resume,” the pols tell him after he does grunt work on their campaigns. But they never call.

He wonders why. He talks of being an angry white male and of Catch-22s. One company, he said, told him they wanted to hire someone right out of college. “When I was right out of college, people said, ‘Get more experience.’ ”

He works sporadically for a family-owned electronics wholesaler, but figures if he takes a job flipping burgers it would only hurt his chances of getting the right position. He wonders if he’ll ever find that politician or consultant who will give him a chance to prove himself.

He reads the papers to stay informed and offers unsolicited perspectives. One of Mayor Riordan’s top appointees, he said, was impressed that he knew so much about the arena deal. What do you do for a living? the man asked. “I’m unemployed,” Cohen told him. How do you get by? “I’ve got great Jewish parents.”

He reflects on happier days, when things seemed more promising.

He shows off a brochure from his ’92 Assembly campaign, the last of its kind. Remember when Sepulveda was renamed North Hills? Cohen was an organizer of the effort. Those who dare to impugn the terrain of his neighborhood, who question whether North Hills is really all that hilly, will hear an ardent defense.

He laughs, remembering that “nobody thought I had a prayer” in the primary against the Democratic establishment’s preferred candidate, who outspent him 5 to 1. Cohen figures he won because of a cable TV ad shot outside the LAPD’s Devonshire Division headquarters on a shoestring budget.

He recites the script from memory. “My opponent is a criminal lawyer who’s represented drug dealers, gang members and murderers, including one man who killed his wife and buried her in the backyard.” Dramatic pause. “And now he wants to represent YOU!”

The memory is sweet. But it was a Republican district, and Cohen wound up losing to then-incumbent Paula Boland. Four years later, Cohen would campaign against Boland again, this time by walking precincts for Adam Schiff in the race for state Senate. Schiff won. He has Cohen’s resume.

Cohen sighed again. Maybe the local party powers don’t like him for beating their guy in ’92. But Cohen figures somebody else, maybe a consulting firm, would appreciate his advertising skills.

The Presidential Inaugural Committee, at least, appreciates him enough to send a commemorative invitation. Maybe it was that birthday card he sent to Hillary. They share a birth date--Oct. 26.

Yes, he says, that must be it, though he did meet Clinton twice when both were candidates in ’92.

Somebody took their photograph together--not just Clinton and Cohen, but Clinton and Cohen and other local hopefuls.

Howard Cohen never got a copy, so he never put it in a frame.

Scott Harris’ column appears Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays. Readers may write to Harris at the Times Valley Edition, 20000 Prairie St., Chatsworth, CA 91311. Please include a phone number.