SEPTEMBER 21, 2020 – Out of nowhere Saturday came his text: “How are you and your family[?] Long time w no communication. I hope Trump doesn’t get to pick another SC Justice. Can we talk?
Give me a good time tomorrow. Will be working on cabin. Jeff.”
It was my close college friend, Jeff Oppenheim.
We met freshman year, lived in the same dorm, shared the same interests—hiking, skiing, history, politics, and goofing off. The main difference between us was that Jeff—consistently conscientious and responsible—knew when to stop goofing off. Often I didn’t—until Jeff informed me.
After college we followed parallel paths—married and two kids; law practice; active participation in civic organizations. And now, with his “cabin,” we share that interest, with its proximity to nature—and never-ending DIY projects.
It was Jeff who talked me into running for senior class president. Running unopposed was the class clown, whom Jeff had known from high school. As it turned out, the “class clown” was deadly serious about politics and had designed a long-term roadmap for himself, starting with his campus campaign. The guy’s name was “Patrick” with the middle initial “J.” He went by “P. J.,” or the more expansive, “Prune Juice.” His campaign slogan was, “Prune Juice Makes Things Move.”
When P.J.’s signs first appeared—around dinnertime on a Sunday—Jeff rushed to my table, food tray in hand. “We cannot let P.J. run opposed,” Jeff said. “It’d be a terrible commentary on our class.”
Although at the time I myself had long-term political ambitions, I’d given zero thought to starting with class president. It was a sleepy position. In our three-plus years on campus, I’d never paid attention to the senior class presidential campaigns because there’d never been one. Someone would hear of the position, register, run unopposed, and vote for himself. Done (resumé) deal. The chief responsibilities were to organize two or three social events and sit on a couple of do-nothing campus committees made up of random faculty and administration personnel.
“I’ll be your campaign manager,” said Jeff earnestly.
Suddenly, the idea sounded fun, and before finishing our meal, we’d devised what we thought was a brilliant campaign strategy.
Thanks to our wild and wacky efforts, the election turnout was unprecedented—nearly a third of the class. The result was a banner headline on the front page of the weekly student paper (“The oldest continuously published college newspaper in the country.”): NILSSON ELECTED PRESIDENT. Prune Juice had been reduced to molasses.
As life turned out, P.J. became mayor of Lynn, Massachusetts—after having adopted seven kids. He’d planned to run for Congress, but sadly, died long before his time.
Jeff and I went about our lives, but after our blazing success on a studious campus in Brunswick, Maine, I never ran for public office, and he never managed a campaign.
Instead, we return to the point of beginning: talking (earnestly) about “real-world” politics in a world neither we nor our contemporaries could’ve envisioned in the spring of 1975.
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© 2020 by Eric Nilsson
2 Comments
Wonderful writing. Jeff is one of my favorites! Thank you for sharing this snapshot of your youthful aspirations.
Glad you enjoyed this reminiscence about one of the strongest, most reliable characters in my life’s experience. Though Jeff would have done exceptionally well in politics and contributed much thereby to society, the way he has lived his life, worked his profession, and participated in society his “credit score” is off the proverbial charts. He’s always led by example.
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