A Super Time At the Parade
This is what I like about small-town parades: You might get the chance to have your picture taken with a self-styled, state-specific superhero. You might, too, get the opportunity to jeer a self-funded U.S. Senate candidate, and to cheer for his main opponent.
Yesterday was Kensington’s Labor Day Parade. It lasted about a half-hour and included three high school marching bands, members of various civic and church groups, a memorable plug for the local iteration of the International House of Pancakes (I’ve got video of a humongous flapjack with human hands waving from the back of a golf cart), local and statewide politicians and their retinues, and, last but far from least, Captain Maryland.
Although the photo accompanying this post makes it look like I’m maybe the Captain’s plainclothes sidekick in protecting the Old North State from evil (and possibly Pennsylvania), the truth is that I knew nothing about him when, shortly after his appearance in the parade, I intercepted him to request that he pose with me.
It turns out that just as Superman has an alter ego named Clark, so does Captain Maryland. In civilian life, the internet tells me, he’s a recently retired firefighter (a different sort of superhero) named Clark Rogers. The 56-year-old Montgomery County resident’s love of comic books, cosplay and his home state led him, a few years ago, to create a costume patterned after the red, white, black and yellow state flag, add a mask, and celebrate Maryland’s crabbing history with a crustacean-shaped shield, mallet and utility belt that promotes Maryland-based Old Bay seasoning.
(A brief note to vegans, vegetarians and crustaceans: I do not eat crabs and don’t endorse crab harvesting. I will grant, however, that they are delicious. Also, if you want to engage the public with something that’s emblematic of Maryland, crabs resonate more positively than might, say, a superhero-suit collage of the many corrupt or otherwise unsavory politicians and public figures for which my state has been known over the centuries. That rogue’s gallery includes U.S. Supreme Court Chief Justice Roger Taney of Dred Scott decision infamy and, more recently, disgraced governors Marvin Mandel and Spiro Agnew. Also notable there is Catherine Pugh, who was forced to resign as Baltimore’s mayor for arranging bulk sales of her “Healthy Holly” children’s books in order to disguise hundreds of thousands of dollars in kickbacks.)
Whatever its faults, I genuinely love the state of Maryland — for its political Blueness, its wacky shape that suggests its boundaries were drawn by a gang of surveyors on a serious bender, that ridiculously busy flag that Captain Maryland has fashioned into a power suit, and, generally, for being one of a coterie of small but cool East Coast states (here’s looking at you, Rhode Island, Delaware, et al) that many Americans overlook, to their loss. My Baltimore Orioles cap, therefore, is off to Captain Maryland for taking it upon himself to champion the state at various public events. For all I know he’s on retainer from Old Bay or Big Crab, but I like to think not. The articles I’ve read about him suggest that he does all of this promoting on his own dime. What I know for certain is that he debuted his superhero persona at Awesome Con in D.C. in 2021. He, in turn, seems pretty awesome to me.
Also at today’s Kensington parade was David Trone, who currently represents Maryland’s 6th Congressional District in the U.S. House of Representatives but is seeking the U.S. Senate seat that will be vacated in January 2025 by retiring Ben Cardin. While I appreciate Trone’s positions on the issues — like Cardin, he’s a liberal Democrat — less savory to me is the multimillionaire co-founder of Total Wine’s outsized ambition and war chest. After losing a U.S. House race in my district — Maryland 8 — to Jamie Raskin in 2016, Trone simply lugged his pile of dough to neighboring Maryland 6 (where as far as I know he still doesn’t actually live), and won. But now the U.S. House is not sufficient to contain his ego, so Trone is attempting to buy himself membership in the Senate — a more-exclusive club of just 100 individuals.
Trone said nothing when I shook his hand and told him I’m not a fan of the whole buying-elections thing. When a fellow spectator with whom Lynn and I had been talking noted that Trone’s entourage in the parade was impressively large, I shouted, “He probably pays them well!” (I was delighted with my burn, but bummed by the lack of a high-five partner. I’m pretty sure that Lynn was pretending she didn’t know me.)
A short while later in the parade came a group promoting the U.S. Senate candidacy of Prince George’s County Executive Angela Alsobrooks , who likely would go on to become the state’s first-ever African American senator should she best the deep-pocketed Trone in next year’s party primary. “Already a contributor!” I informed one of her campaign workers as he handed out leaflets.
Appropriately taking up the rear, as the last political candidate in the parade, was Robin Ficker, a D.C.-area legend aptly described by Wikipedia as a “disbarred attorney, real estate broker, former state legislator, political activist, sports heckler, and perennial political candidate.”
Now 80, Ficker first achieved local recognition as a derider of visiting basketball players who was so obnoxious that when his beloved Washington Bullets moved to a new arena, they changed his seats from their previous location behind the visitors’ bench. This prompted him to cede his tickets and shift his grievances to the political arena, where his platform always has been to lower taxes and throw the bums out. Ficker’s legal career, riddled for decades with reprimands for violations of ethical rules, finally ended last year, when he was found to have lied to a judge in 2019. He’s running as a Republican for the Senate seat that seems destined to be claimed by Trone or Alsobrooks.
“You are nothing if not persistent!” I shouted to him as he strode by — rather vigorously, I must say, for an octogenarian. He heartily thanked me, as if I’d just assured him that he has my vote, as opposed to simply my baffled appreciation for his doggedly quixotic pursuit of elected office.
This, again, is what I love about local parades. They are opportunities to gather with your neighbors to watch other neighbors — schoolkids, Scouts, businesspeople, Chamber of Commerce representatives — march down the street in a goofy, endearing kind of way. They are up-close-and personal displays of pride in community. In their innate democracy — disbarred self-styled voice of the taxpayer Robin Ficker walking the same route as wealthy congressperson David Trone — they bespeak something that’s very admirable about America.
Inspired by Captain Maryland’s patriotism, I just now looked up Maryland’s state motto. Translated from “archaic Italian” (who knew?), it is “Strong Deeds, Gentle Words.” This morning’s parade struck me as a smashup of that motto — a rather gentle deed that nonetheless quietly spoke volumes about why we so enjoyed the morning of our first Labor Day as residents of the Kensington ZIP code.
