Where am I supposed to find another political hero?

It is bitterly disappointing on so many levels when a hero develops feet of clay — or, in Eliot Spitzer’s case, a penis of clay.

The rawness of my chagrin and dismay is difficult to express. But it begins with covering Massachusetts politics as a journalist in the ’70s and ’80s. My newsroom godfather taught me to be skeptical of politicians. Always ask, Neil said, about the motives for their actions. Is it fame? Is it power? Is it access? Is it because we can? Is it because we won’t get caught? The motive rarely seemed to be because it will benefit my constituents, not me.

I know my attitude expresses cynicism far more than skepticism. But Gov. Spitzer began to smell more like a dead cod at low tide long before Client No. 9 needed to purchase the professional attentions of a young woman named Kristen to fully erect his ego.

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