The object of the game — that intentionally overshadowed everything else — apparently was to see which candidate could talk the fastest to avoid pedantic reprimands from the timekeeper.

 

 

     Who remembers what was said? Who cares? What counted was beating the heck out of a tinhorn alarm clock that probably woke up  woozy this morning with a thumping headache.

     None of the candidates — Vice Mayor Gary Silbiger, Scott Malsin, Mehaul O’Leary — is old enough to have seen the old television game show from the 1950s, Beat the Clock. At least on that program prizes were awarded.

     Repeatedly, the candidates were ordered to cease and desist whatever they were doing —sneezing, coughing or talking — in mid-syllable when the bloody red Stop sign was ominously raised by the Mistress of Ceremonies. She was not kidding around.

     The give-and-take format that has proven informative and entertaining for audiences as candidates caravaned around the community was unapologetically dumped.

     A set of equally unyielding behavior rules was read to the puzzled crowd at Echo Horizon School, adjacent to Syd Kronenthal Park on the East Side.

     Anticipating a spirited program, the crowd arrived late and left early. This may have been one clue about how they felt about being lectured for merely wandering in to see what all of the election fuss is about.

     They were told in no uncertain terms to keep their mouths shut, an unheard-of form of discipline at Candidate Forums. These meet-the- candidate outings that break up the drudgery of campaigning traditionally are jaunty, if not downright raucous, affairs.

     No mention was made of smiles.

     But an instant survey by thefrontpageonline.com determined that no one in the crowd felt like  smiling anyway.

     The room was strangely silent although quaking was detected.

     If there was any fun left in the auditorium after the You Will Behave command, it flew out a nearby window, wings flapping in fear.

 

     In order to create the weirdest atmosphere imaginable, the Mistress of Ceremonies told the audience that no speaking would be permitted at anytime for any reason. The tolerance levels for breathing, coughing,  sneezing and unzipping winter jackets were not mentioned. Pin-dropping was permitted but not encouraged.

     Looking the crowd in the eye, the Mistress of C said that if anyone  talked, he would draw a single warning. If he spoke a second time, he would be immediately ejected.

     More humorless rules: Residents of East Culver City were told to indicate that in the upper right corner of the speaker card. Residents of Rancho Higuera were to mark their home neighborhood in the same space. Those from elsewhere were forced to remain anonymous.

     During the program, prominent community persons standing in the back of the room were guardedly whispering to each other. Once nailed, they were ordered to take their conversation elsewhere. Somebody suggested Denver.

     Returning to her admonition to candidates, the Mistress of Ceremonies declared that “this is not a debate.”  No offhanded side talk between or among the candidates would be brooked. Who knew the consequences of violation? They might have sent out for a new supply of candidates.

     Mr. O’Leary and Mr. Silbiger particularly were looking forward to the program because this was their home crowd. But this was not what they had envisioned. 

     Out of scared-stiffness for the tiny camera that was recording the anti-festivities for posterity, the evening was grimly reduced to an exercise in hollow obeisance to the joys of submission.

 

 A Little Early?

 

      Former Mayor Ed Wolkowitz, who tried to debate the merits of Charter Reform with Mayor Albert Vera, was the first unfortunate player to be sent in front of a verbal firing squad.

     Told he had three minutes to present, Mr. Wolkowitz was stopped — no joking around, this was serious stuff, he was told — before the two-minute mark.

     Nonplussed, he stood stockstill, as if taking orders from a police officer, which was not a bad guess. His well-known slanted sense of humor was fighting to get out. He resisted the temptation to fling open its trapdoor. When he couldn’t dance and he couldn’t smoke, he took his seat.

     It did not matter that Mr. Wolkowitz was in the middle of a crucial portion of his Yes on Charter Reform explanation.

     Having hoisted a Paul Jacobs-provided drawing on the table beside him, the better for the audience to see, this gentleman of stature in the lawyerly world of bankruptcy was told to halt. Do not dare take another step. He looked over his shoulder as if caught in the middle of a comedy routine.

     Serious voters in the audience who had come to glean rudimentary information might have protested.  But they, too, had been cowed into submission just as much as the participants at the front of the room.  
     Moments later, Mr. Wolkowitz  felt the crack of unrelenting discipline from the Mistress of Ceremonies a second time. 
     Longtime cohorts, Mr. Vera and Mr. Wolkowitz have been on the election trail for a few weeks, swapping good-natured, and sometimes pointy-headed, barbs about their opposing views on Measure V.

     Following a jab by Mr. Vera, Mr. Wolkowitz leaned over to rib the mayor back. He got caught. Since the sponsors’ supply of sackcloth and ashes had not yet come back from the dry cleaners, Mr. Wolkowitz escaped the worst penalty.

     Both he and Mr. Vera had been warned that under no circumstances, even if their shoestrings caught fire, were they to converse with each other. The sponsors’ camera was running. It either had a limited life or a warranty.

 
Fun Turned Away at the Door

  

     The Candidates Forum was not to be mistaken for a restaurant where orders are taken. Here, orders only were given and followed without deviation— or else. Fun was not  allowed in the door, the participants and the audience were told. This was frozen-faced stuff.

    To the relief of some, no law enforcement officials were visible. This was interpreted to mean that violators would not be hauled off to jail.