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Banquet Before Dawn: Political Reality Faces a Congressman In a Changing Brooklyn District
Overview
After serving his Brooklyn district for many years, Congressman John J. O'Sullivan discovers that his once comfortable Irish American majority has given way to a diverse district of blacks and Hispanics. Challenged by a more liberal opponent, he tries everything possible to maintain his seat only to painfully learn that he and his views are outdated and irrelevant to today's world. But Sully doesn't bow out of the race gracefully, and the fierce ensuing campaign brings new insights to the meaning of democracy and the terrors of a swiftly changing world. If, as it is said, all politics are local, this compelling story transcends politics and puts a human face on how the American democratic system really operates. Unforgettable characters and a powerful plot offer a remarkable and tense story of how tragic endings affect new beginnings.
Author Information
Customer Reviews
Product Details
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Published by
Stonehouse Press
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Publish Date
March 31, 2001
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Print ISBN
1931304491
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eBook ISBN
1590061926
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Imprint
Stonehouse Press
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Filesize
285.49 KB
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Number of Print Pages*
250
* Number of eBook pages may differ. Click here for more information.
Excerpt from Banquet Before Dawn by Warren Adler
The black limousine picked its way cautiously around the potholes on the rain-slicked streets, past the darkened hulks of aging buildings. Only the tentative cheerless lights of many bars, embedded like dulled cat's eyes in the unrelenting blackness, testified that human life was out there somewhere.
A light turned red. The big car stopped. Suddenly a burst of brightness illuminated a fender as a drunk staggered from a bar, hands outstretched for balance.
"He'll go home now and beat the shit out of his wife," Fitz said, rolling up the window, as if the act of closing it would choke off his outrage.
Ashamed of his breed, Sully thought, his eyes closed, his head resting against the gray downy interior. Shoes off, his feet were propped stiffly against the backless jump seat. No sleep ever came to him in moving vehicles, only a peculiar state of languor, where the brain shed physical sensation and thoughts became abstractions, images coldly clear, perceived within icicles with sounds expressed in echoes.
The afternoon replayed itself in his senses.
"I'm John J. Sullivan, your Congressman." It came always as an endless programmed recorder with his voice triggering an outstretched hand.
"No comprendo."
"Congressman Sullivan," he said in a charade hopelessly performed before the tiny woman, gold chips glistening in a toothy smile.
"Koon-grass-man," she mimicked.
"S ."





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