Who remembers Dan Quayle? (This isn’t a political commentary – promise!)

In case you don’t remember him, he was the nation’s 44th Vice President, under President George H.W. Bush.

And he was born in Indiana.

My first job out of college was in radio news in a little community called Tell City, Indiana. Named for William Tell, there were lots of apples and arrows about town, especially in the logos for local businesses and schools.

The first few months I worked in Tell City just happened to be during the latter half of an election year.

The station GM (who was the owner’s youngest son) scurried into the news booth one afternoon and told me I had a very important assignment. I was to attend a political fundraiser that Saturday evening and come back with audio from the fellow running for the U.S. Senate.

Dan Quayle was already congressman of his district “up north”; he wanted to be elected one of Indiana’s two senators.

Now remember, this was long before the internet. I did my best to come up with a list of probing questions to ask the candidate, signed out the best cassette recorder – complete with fresh batteries, and showed up a bit early.

The place was buzzing with excitement. I wish I could remember where the venue was, but I think we were underground. Not someone’s nasty basement, but maybe the downstairs meeting room at the local library or a bank in Tell City. No doubt it was a building with an apple or crossbow adorning the entryway.

I checked in with my “contact” and hovered nearby waiting for the guest of honor to arrive so I could grab a few sounds bites and head back to the station to write my stories.

When the hum in the room went up an octave, I guessed the young blond-haired, blue-eyed congressman had arrived.

After 15 minutes or so of watching the candidate press the flesh, I gave up on my contact and walked over, introducing myself. Once Congressman Quayle realized I needed audio for the news, he joined me in looking for a quiet place for the interview.

Only there wasn’t one. It was a very noisy conference room.

“How about over there? Maybe that’s an empty office …” I knew my time with DQ was ticking away.

He really was a cooperative and gracious fellow. He stepped in behind me and shut the door as I flipped the light switch.

Well, it was a quiet room. It was a private room.

It was also a closet.

We chuckled at the silliness of it all and I hit the record button.

The interview went smoothly. I managed not to laugh out loud that the man never once said “me” or “I.” It was “Dan Quayle” every time. He referred to himself in the third person:

“Dan Quayle feels that …”

“If it’s up to Dan Quayle, Dan Quayle will see to it …”

“Dan Quayle wants to be senator because Dan Quayle …”

I made a mental note to someday teach spokespersons not to do this. Yes, slip in the name of your brand occasionally, but not every darn time – it’s awkward. And obnoxious.

I still remember the raised eyebrows when Mr. Quayle and I … er, came out of the closet.

Oh, the innocence of those days!

A month or so later, Congressman Quayle became Senator Quayle.

It would be eight years before our paths crossed again.

In 1988, I was business manager at Lincoln Amphitheatre. As part of a statewide “Hoosier History Days” effort, Senator Quayle planned to stop by with his family for a tour and to see a production of Young Abe Lincoln (a musical based on history – sort of like Hamilton, but not.)

The Quayles arrived dressed casually (a good thing – as it was August and quite hot out). There’d been some buzz that the senator might be the choice of running mate for George H.W. Bush. I didn’t give it much credence until I was asked to recommend the best place for a private phone call. (Pre-cell phone days, the ’80s.)

My office, of course.

Before the show, the polo-shirted senator took to the stage and chatted with the audience a bit. He seemed relaxed and happy to be visiting Abraham Lincoln’s boyhood home.

That all ended at intermission.

Rather than mix and mingle with the popcorn-buying crowd, he followed an aide who asked me where that private phone was located. I took them to my office and remained outside the closed door.

Apparently, that was the call. It was the call to hightail it down to New Orleans and prepare to be introduced as George Bush’s choice for vice president.

Mr. Quayle quickly gathered up his family, quietly apologized for missing Act II (let’s assume he knew how the story ended) and hustled off to the airport.

While many vice presidents are all but forgotten in history, VP Quayle made a name for himself by occasionally misspeaking and misspelling. In pre-social media days, political pundits still managed to have a field day.

And here we are again, with another Hoosier in the vice presidential role. He’ll be memorable for his own reasons. Let’s leave it at that.

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