From "The Launderer"

 “Initial Pick-up: Wisconsin Aviation”

 This meant the start of a great evening.

 Wisconsin Aviation is the exclusive terminal on the backside of Madison’s Dane County Regional Airport.  

I would drive the limo onto the tarmac, park beside the private jet, and wait to see who stepped out…   

I immediately recognized Michael Moore as he slipped into the back seat of my Town Car.

I was born in Detroit. 

I like documentaries. 

I saw “Rodger and Me.”  I liked it. I finished it.

I once got off I-69 in Flint and ate at a Burger King.

Let’s say, because of that movie.

Mike and I drove to an outdoor gathering at UW-Madison’s student union, where he spoke, and I waited some more. It was an assortment of political prose. From my vantage, it appeared that his purpose was to sway a contingent of UW Madison students—who had come out in the cold to see Michael Moore—that they should not vote Republican.

It seemed to be effective. 

People were waiving signs protesting naysayers. 

“Let’s get out of here,“ he said, jumping back in the car.

“How do you think it went?” I asked, looking into the rearview mirror.

“Oh…” 

“People seemed to like it,” I said, jumping in to help.

“This can be a tough crowd,” I actually said, regarding UW Madison college students at a Michael Moore rally.

I’d never been to a Michael Moore rally before.

I didn’t know how they usually went, for comparison. 

I’d been to a George W. Bush rally. I got to meet him, too. Put my arm around him and got a picture. 

 I’m going to say that the tone... was different…to you.

 I didn’t say any of this to him.

 I didn’t mention George W. Bush, or me, or me and my arm around him, or anything of the sort.

 I did get to thinking it would be whimsical also to have a framed picture of myself with Michael Moore- use them as right and left bookends on the bookshelf. 

Mysterious… 

Instead, I told him that I was a freshman English teacher “by day.”  He asked if kids still read “Romeo and Juliet.” So we talked Shakespeare and waited for the light to turn green.

 “OK. We gotta find someplace to eat,” Michael Moore said to me, “What’s good around here, Pat?”

So much pressure. Because here it is: Is the persona the person?

Heavy, I know. But I had just met the guy. 

Depending on what’s actually real, I could see him being equally mortified by fast food, casual dining corporate chain, or fine dining.

I can’t connect his diplomacy dots to begin with, let alone anticipate how those politics might manifest in the foodservice living wage/corporate tax/disposable cutlery/free-range intersectionality.

“I like barbeque,” I floated as if simply a fact and not a suggestion.

Still, taking the risk that he isn’t vegan.

Some sort of entourage convened at the barbeque restaurant. I sat at a table for two with Mr. Moore’s personal assistant, who I’ll call Gerald because I can’t remember his name, and it doesn’t matter.