Willie Geist - American Freak Show: The Completely Fabricated Stories of Our New National Treasures

For Mom and Dad,
who taught me that the freaks are
always more interesting

I was sitting on the set of Morning Joe one day talking to my friend and cohost Mike Barnicle during a commercial break when a loud, confident voice shot across the studio, interrupting our conversation: Morning, fellas! Im innocent of all charges! You have to understand that very few of our guests on the show include a legal plea in their personal introduction, so it didnt take long to figure out who had arrived. Blago was in the building. Wed been expecting him.

Former Illinois governor Rod Blagojevich was there to promote a book, but watching him move across the room, you would have thought he was running for third-floor fire warden in our building. He shook the hand of just about every member of our crew (and those of some confused foreign tourists who wondered why a strange, aggressively enthusiastic man with odd hair was telling them he was innocent of an unspecified crimewas he part of their NBC tour?). After signing a couple of unsolicited autographs, Blago leapt onto the set and launched into what sounded like the dry run of an opening statement for his pending trial.

He warned us that a political smear campaign was under way in the great state of Illinois. But this, he assured us, wasnt about one man and his reputation. It was about a perversion of the American justice system. It was about an audacious disregard for the basic principles of fairness, right there in the Land of Lincoln. Above all, though, it was about his new book, The Governor , available wherever fine books are sold.

In less than 60 seconds, Blagos performance already had exceeded our lofty expectations. We at Morning Joe had been steadfast, unapologetic Blago supporters, eschewing the disrespectful term disgraced that the rest of the media always seemed to use to preface his gubernatorial title. We preferred persecuted former governor . Christlike persecution was a theme Blagojevich had been pushing, and we were happy to indulge the narrative of Blago as martyred religious figure.

During our interview, Blagojevich explained that the Illinois state legislature removed him from office in something of a bloodless coup, reversing the will of the people simply because he was trying just a little too hard to bring health care to sweet little children whose families could not afford it. In Blagos telling, his only crime was having a heart too big. For that, he lost his job. We did not ask him to elaborate on this pointdetails would have ruined the poetry of his argument.

After the interview, during which Blago confessed only to having used some foul language on an FBI wiretap (who among us has not?), I mentioned to the former governor that my mother is from Chicago and my dad from downstate Champaign, Illinois. My father, who covered the city for the Chicago Tribune in the 1970s, had recently come to appreciate Blagojevichs bullshit artistry and charming, old school Chicago (alleged) corruption. To my surprise, Blago suggested we give my dad a call. At home. Right then. Now? I asked. Blago assured me he was quite serious. He wanted to talk to my father.

I dutifully whipped out my BlackBerry and called my parents home number. I wasnt quite sure what Blago had in mind, but it really didnt matter. When youre offered an audience with Blago, you dont ask a lot of questions. Hes papal in that regard.

My mom answered. Mom, put Dad on the phone. Its important, I said sternly. It was important. She sensed the urgency in my voice and summoned my dad to the telephone. I announced to my old man that the former governor of the great state of Illinois would like a word with him. I couldnt say why. Not because it was confidential, but because I genuinely could not provide a reason why the governor wanted to talk to my father. I handed the phone to Blago, stepped back, and watched a master at work. Some say Barack Obama is the greatest orator of our time. With due respect, I say he isnt even the best in Chicago.

Over the next two minutes, Blago performed an uninterrupted monologue that included several declarations of innocence, repeated promises not to let my father down, sincere thanks for his ongoing support during these difficult times, a solemn pledge to keep fighting for my dad and for all the people of Illinois who put him in the office to which he intended to return soon, and, naturally, high hopes that this would be, at long last, the year for those Cubbies.

After listening to that speech, how could my dad possibly break the news to Blago that he hasnt lived in Illinois since 1980? We just went with it. It seemed unlikely that my father would be called from New York City back to Cook County for jury duty on the Blagojevich trial, but my dad and I sure as hell werent going to get between a man and his mission to personally heal the wounds of his state, one potential juror at a time.

Blago eventually said good-bye to my father and handed the phone back to me. He then asked for a pen to sign one more autograph, he posed for a couple of photographs, he proclaimed his innocence to an unwitting member of the cleaning staff, and then, just like that, he was gone. Our brush with Blago was over. He belonged to the world again, but for that brief, shining moment he was ours.

My dad had always held up the Vote early, vote often Mayor Daley as the gold standard for Chicago political characters, but he conceded to me after that phone call, Okay, youre right: Blago is the best. It was an oddly poignant father-son moment. For better or worse, my dad has passed down to me an attraction to the American Freak Show. And there I was, rubbing elbows with one of the great freaks of our time. I mean that purely as a compliment, by the way.

My father, who has made a successful career of following strange people around the country and telling their stories, taught me not to waste time protesting the self-inflated showmen and bloviating bullshitters who populate our culture. Its more fun to marvel at them, to appreciate them, to be grateful for them, and to mock them relentlessly. I was taught to applaud audacity like that shown by an impeached Illinois governor who once said he could relate to Mandela, Dr. King, and Gandhi. Come on, thats great shit. Self-righteously calling out Blago for being a cartoonish charlatan is like declaring loudly that cheeseburgers are bad for you. Of course they are. Thats not the point. Theyre goddamn delicious. And the bigger, the better.

So I say, let others judge the (alleged) sins of Rod Blagojevich. I salute a man who proudly represents the new instant American celebritythrusting himself into our lives out of nowhere with an act of human frailty (or, you know, criminal wrongdoing) and then redeeming himself through the magic of reality television. Like most of the characters in this book, Blago came without warning, sent from the pop culture gods to entertain us briefly before inevitably evaporating into the ether, leaving behind only a thinly sourced Wikipedia page full of memories.

The stories youre about to read are made up, but the people are all quite real (except for John Edwardsit turns out hes actually one of those security dummies people put in their passenger seats so they can ride in the HOV lane). You know the characters well, even if youve tried to avoid them. They are criminals and creeps, hypocrites and heathens, gluttons and Gooselins. Yes, they are freaks, but theyre our freaks. So pull up a seat and enjoy the show.