Marion Barry: he did things (while wearing leopard print)!

Mayor Barry smoking crack... on tape

In my sophomore year of college, I was lucky enough to endure enlightening hour and half introductory lectures into the practices and principles of public relations. I’m sure I learned many relevant concepts during those proceedings, but all I remember now is that my professor wore Brooks Brothers suits (yes, that was a topic of discussion for at least 15 minutes), National Fresh Fruit and Vegetables Month (which ironically takes place in June), and Mayor Marion Barry’s cocaine bust.

For some reason, we often came back to Barry’s cocaine habits and his subsequent reelection to Mayorship of Washington DC. I’m still not certain what made him a PR superstar: his reelection or his close ties to cocaine. Therefore, after he once again made headlines this week for his “twaggin” use of twitter, I decided to de-fob myself and look into this legend of the 90s.

Upon Googling this fine man, I was excited to learn that his full name was in fact Marion Shepilov Barry, Jr. Who knew that this great black man, who used to pick cotton for a living in the deep south, would have familiar connection to the Great Comrade Shepilov! Unfortunately, it seems the nickname, which he adopted as his middle name, stems from some inside joke from his college years (probably acquired over a bottle of Southern Comfort, as those things usually go). Nevertheless, not wholly familiar with the life and times of Shepilov, I woke my mother from a deep REM cycle to ask what exactly he did. Her response was, “I don’t know. He did things. They all did things.” Finally it all made sense, since Marion Barry also DID things.

He did things: A short timeline of Things that Marion Barry Did:
•    Proudly wore leopard print (1965)
•    Shot in the chest by radical Hanafi Muslims (1977)
•    Mayor of Washington DC (1979-91)
•    Cocaine (mid-80s to present day (most likely))
•    Frequented erotic clubs (same time frame)
•    Busted by FBI for cocaine (1990)
•    Served prison time (October 1991-April 1992)
•    Mayor of Washington DC (1995-1999)

Famous things said by Marion Barry (allegedly):
•    Bitch set me up.
•    Get over it.
•    Outside of the killings, DC has one of the lowest crime rates in the country.
•    The contagious people of Washington have stood firm against diversity during this long period of increment weather.
•    The brave men who died in Vietnam, more than 100% of which were black, were the ultimate sacrifice.
•    People blame me because these water mains break, but I ask you, if the water mains didn’t break, would it be my responsibility to fix them then? WOULD IT!?!

My conclusions from Marion Barry:
•    Marion Barry and the marionberry (unofficial state berry of Oregon) are NOT the same thing
•    Bill Clinton had nothing on this man
•    Barry’s ESL is worse than mine
•    You don’t need foursquare to be Mayor of DC, you just need to be Marion Barry
•    Nothing spells great PR like getting shot by terrorists
•    Nothing spells great PR like doing cocaine and then feeling bad about it
•    Only the greatest of men can wear leopard print and get away with it

That’s Ren and Stimpy. They’re way existential.

Nothing says success better than a twenty-something underemployed college graduate sitting alone at the end of a bar drinking a free Sam Adams your waitress friend got you late on a Sunday night. Everything about this situation congratulates you on your accomplishments in life. You have developed an exquisite taste for American craft beer. You don’t have any commitments on Monday morning holding you back from indulging in the finer parts of life. You have taken the time to develop crucial well-connected friendships that allow you to partake in activities at no expense to your almost nonexistent bank account.

Confident with your place in the world you join in on a conversation with the bartender and the bouncer as they close up for the night. You exchange a few jokes and admiration of Tim Tebow. You talk a little about local tax laws and debate whether its worth hiring a CPA or just winging it with TurboTax. You think to yourself that this is the real America. This is exactly what your ancestors strove for when they sacrificed your heritage by changing their last name at Ellis Island. This was the American Dream your great-grandmother envisioned as she shed a slow melancholy tear at the sight of the Statue of Liberty.

Then in an instant your whole identity as an American is shattered to pieces. Out of the blue the conversation turns to My So Called Life and Ren and Stimpy. Your mind starts to race, and you begin grasping at bits of conversation trying to think of a clever input. Claire Danes, that’s a start. You saw Family Stone… God, what an awful movie. Quick. Think of something witty.

But right at that moment, the beer your were just congratulating yourself on acquiring reaches your brain and along with your nervousness spills out in a garbled mess of what could only be interpreted as English on some very primitive level accompanied by a horrific remnant of a Russian accent you haven’t publicly exhibited since hitting puberty. At that moment you realize your ancestors never stepped foot on Ellis Island. Your last name dates as far back as your family, and the only tears your great-grandmother shed were at the death of Great Comrade Lenin.

You might have conquered high school with flying colors. You might have graduated college with a wealth of knowledge in American foreign policy and communication theory, but none of that matters in the end. Because while you waited in bread lines and based your whole existence as an individual on Russian collection of Olympic Gold Medals, your American peers danced the “Macarena” and had all the deep terrifying secrets of life explained by some philosopher named Clarissa who by all accounts was a greater mind than Marx and Engels combined.

And that’s when it hits you. You can drink all the American craft beer in the world. You can pay all your taxes. But you will never be a true American, because you, my dear friend, have FOBBED THE 90s!