"I share your loss," he told the first weeping widow quietly. "I hope you'll vote for me in the special election. I share your loss," he told the second weeping widow. "I hope you'll consider me worthy of your vote in your time of grief."
The funeral had been a model of decorum until then. After Barry Black, Junior had finished offering his condolences to the immediate families, sobbing broke out.
Word rippled through the crowd. The press, catching word, descended upon Barry Black, Junior, quickly surrounding him.
"This is unseemly!" Barry Black said indignantly. "This is a state funeral, a morose occasion!"
"What's this we hear about you declaring your intention to run in the special election?" he was asked.
"Special election? You mean they're planning a special election?" Barry Black said blankly. It's true I have been considering a reentry into local affairs, but I have made no determinations at this time."
"Do you think California is ready for Barry Black in the corner office again?"
"The old Barry Black, no."
"Which old Barry Black is that? The old Barry Black who was party chairman, or the old, old Barry Black who was governor?"
"I am neither of those Barry Blacks," Barry Black said firmly. "I am a whole new Barry Black. Think of it as a political reincarnation."
A cynical voice spoke up.
"How do you define the new improved Barry Black?"
"I define him," Barry Black, Junior said, to the jawdropping astonishment of the assembled press, "as a dyed-in-the-wool Republican."
Upon hearing the announcement, the California Republican Party chairman said, "We disown the flake."
The President's spokesman in Washington was moved to declare, "He can call himself whatever he wants, that doesn't make it so."
The Sacramento Bee, reviving the old political nickname, headlined it, GOVERNOR GLOWWORM TURNS.
Unfortunately for the California Republican party, they felt obliged to run the secretary of state and interim governor. He had two strikes against him: He had zero name recognition, and he was seen as the political creation of the hated but now lamented governor. Not a dark horse, but a dead one.
In protest, campaign contributions poured into Barry Black, Junior's war chest. No one believed he would win, anyway. He represented the protest-vote candidate. Everybody knew that.
Everybody except Barry Black, Junior.
"I love being a Republican!" he crowed, "It's so darn easy!"
"Don't get your hopes up," cautioned his new campaign manager.
"Why not? My only competition is Rambette the Ripper. Ever since she quite smoking, she's been hot to outlaw cigarettes."
"Barry, there's an old political saying, 'Dance with the one what brung ya.' "
Barry blinked beady, uncomprehending eyes.
"I don't know that one. It doesn't sound charitable."
"It means you came into politics a Democrat, and people won't respect you for switching horses in midstream. Just because you call yourself a Republican, doesn't mean the voters will buy it come election day."
"Tell that to David Duke," returned Barry Black, Junior.
"You wanna be the next David Duke, pull a sheet over your head and move to Louisiana."
With virtually no competition, Barry Black, Junior became an unstoppable juggernaut. In the polls.
Then came the first reports of the attempt on the life of dark-horse candidate Enrique Espiritu Esperanza.
"Who is Enrique Espiritu Esperanza?" Barry Black had asked when word reached him.
He had to have it explained to him twice.
When Enrique Esperanza began climbing up the polls, the question became, "Who the heck is Enrique Espiritu Esperanza?"
It was explained to him again. This time with newspaper clippings.
"No problem," he said. "He's nobody."
When the first footage of the South Central district of Los Angeles rally showed Enrique Esperanza lording it over the gangs like a modern-day Caesar, Barry Black was moved to shout, "Who the fucking hell is this Esperanza?"
"I don't know, but according to the political calendar, he's coming to town today."
"Let's get our troops mustered," said Barry Black.
Barry Black fumed as he was driven to his campaign headquarters on Nob Hill in a stretch limousine, a legacy from his party chairman days. He had purchased it from petty cash.
"I gotta do something about this guy," he muttered.
"Like what?"
"I'm a Republican now. I should do something appropriately Republican. Establish my new credentials."
"Good idea."
Barry Black's brow furrowed. "What would a Republican do in a situation like this?"
"I thought you were a Republican."
"I mean hypothetically."
"Maybe you should play the race card. Isn't that what they do?"
"Great thinking. I'll make a speech. Call him a lowdown wetback greaser."
"Uh, Barry, I don't think that would be the way to go"