It was 10 p.m. at the victory party for Pedro Espada Jr. in the Bronx, and Espada was nowhere to be seen, nor were most of his followers. The few that were present sat in clusters, some talking, most eating a smattering of free food, and others periodically crane-necking backwards at the slightest hint of activity. Espada, it seemed, was intent on making an entrance, but no one was sure yet whether it would be a triumphant one.
It wasn’t. Spoiled by scandals and opposed by both outside reformers and a coaltion of labor groups, no amount of political chicanery could keep the pace. The Senate majority leader’s primary opponent, the comparatively unknown Gustavo Rivera, possessed one invaluable trait: he isn’t Espada . And for most voters, that was enough.
When Espada finally arrived, his speech oozed victory and defiance, rather than defeat and humility. “When everybody lines up against you–I learned this a long time ago–when everything and everybody lines up against you, most people, the great majority of people, run and hide. And what we did, what we said was “you might win this round because you have compiled all of this venom and hatred but we will in the long run win because we deal with positive energy, we deal with love. “
This was something that his supporters especially appreciated, exploding in audible approval and rendering the rest of his sentence inaudible. Clapping and cheering and one man’s insistent barking rang through the nightclub’s interior.
“The final tally in this race could not ever capture the heart and the smart and the great work you did out there today,” he said to his campaign workers.
“As I go to sleep and wake up tomorrow,” he said over the continued and slightly misplaced din of approval, “I am reinvigorated and I am ready for the next fight. So New York Post, The Daily News, Fox Network – all of you: You wish that would disappear, but I’m telling you I’m here to stay.”
More cheers from the crowd and more booming barks. Espada went on: “I know we have some doubters here. We took the community of faith as a partner. We haven’t lost faith. I’ve lost–listen to me–I’ve lost political contests before. The difference between this fighter and other people is that they quit. Understand that I’m not quitting anything.”
Espada stepped down from the stage and was mobbed by eager and inquisitive reporters. Visibly deflated and glistening with sweat in the light of NY1’s cameras, Espada was clearly a man who had been denied his prize.
Later, in the decidedly subdued and darkened aftermath of the evening’s disappointment, as the last few reporters milled around and leaned forward and pried into willing Espada supporters.
“I believe that the opposition, with all the mudthrowing that they were doing, was totally wrong,” said James Chandler, who grimaced between sips of his Heineken. “Because believe it or not this man Espada did so much for the community. He was for the people. I believe he was for the people.”
Another supporter, Michael Johnson, inched closer to offer his thoughts. “He went against the grain and actually did for the people and not for the power,” the Johnson said. “He wasn’t in it for the power. He was really in it because his heart was in it for the people.”
The majority of the people, in the end, did not return the favor.
