Don't Start the Revolution Without Me! - Jesse Ventura [58]
And they never did. A few days after the election, we played a game against a rival high school. Nobody had given my team a chance. Crouched down in the middle of the huddle with New York columnist Jimmy Breslin before the kickoff, I said to the kids: “Every play tonight you play it like your last play. We don’t have to fear these guys. I shocked the world on Tuesday. Nobody gave me a chance. Nobody’s giving us a chance tonight. We prove ’em wrong! Let’s do it!”
On their final fourth quarter drive, Champlin Park scored the winning touchdown on a fourth and fifteen from the sixteen-yard line. Pulled the game out of the hat, so to speak, not unlike their volunteer coach.
I wanted the inauguration party to be a “People’s Celebration.” We held it at the Target Center. All 13,000 seats were sold out, and it was carried on live TV. I went from a black suit at the swearing-in to dressing Jesse “The Body” that night. I wore a wild Jimi Hendrix T-shirt under a buckskin jacket, sunglasses, a bandana, and three earrings. When I ran into Warren Zevon backstage—he’d agreed to be one of our featured performers—he had on a sports jacket and a turtleneck. “I thought I’m supposed to be the rock-and-roll guy,” he said.
“The Body’s back for tonight!” I told the crowd. “Let’s party, MINnehSOHdah!” I got up on stage with Warren to do a duet on “Werewolves of London.” That was a huge thrill for me, because I’d been listening to his music religiously since the late seventies. Warren didn’t have to worry about my not knowing the lyrics, but he was kind enough not to mention that I could barely carry a tune.
Earlier that night, Warren had said, “I have something I’ve been asked to bring to you.” It was a tape cassette of music from Hunter S. Thompson, of “gonzo journalism” fame. There was also a piece of advice that Warren had been entrusted to give me verbally, eyeto-eye. “In the position you are in today,” Hunter said, “never—I repeat never—answer the phone after midnight.”
When you think about it, that message is extremely profound. If the phone rings after midnight, it’s not going to be news you want to hear. Turn the phone off so you can sleep, and deal with it in the morning.
TERRY: It was like you were on a tightrope all the time. I was so careful. I took all my girlfriends aside and I said, “Wherever we go in public, you must remember that everything we say and do will be watched and recorded. We can’t just go somewhere and be silly and clink our martini glasses. If you want to do that, come over to my house or the governor’s residence—we’ll kick everybody out and be as crazy as we want. But for four years, I walk the line.”
I set up what I called the “Spouses Commiseration Luncheon,” for all the new people. Both men and women. I told everybody when they came to the door, there is no press here and no one is allowed to speak outside this room of anything we talk about. If you have anything you want to get off your chest, let me know.
All the First Ladies have something like this. When you’re in trouble or just unsure about something, you can call any First Lady for advice—and the code is, nothing gets said about it. I always held up my end of the bargain. At my luncheons, we had such a good time together. But it only lasted a short while before we didn’t know who to trust anymore. We didn’t want to have anybody coming over who might not hold to the code.
The friends we stopped to see in Phoenix told us that Mexico Highway 5 was in great shape from Mexicali all the way to the beach community of San Felipe, but they couldn’t vouch for what happens after that. It’s two lanes, flat, and paved—in some parts even extending out to four lanes. (Keep in mind that any paved road in Baja is considered a good road. That in itself is a big change from the United States.)
We are cruising right along when I say, “Remember when I floated the idea that you should