Kevin Manahan from the Newark Star-Ledger:
Let me get this straight: Chris Christie, the governor born on third base, the guy who grew up in Livingston and lives in Mendham, the guy who sleeps beside an investment banker who makes about a half mil a year, the guy with the multimillionaire stock-broker brother who some say bought Christie the U.S. attorney’s job, the guy who could fit my entire house in his kitchen, the guy with filthy-rich friends (public and secret) who write him checks, the guy who could melt down his door knocker and feed a mission for a month — that guy called me an elitist?
Hold on a second, the mechanic is on the phone. He wants to know if I’ll spring for new brakes on my elitist ride — a dented 2005 Toyota Corolla with 99,000 miles on it. I’m thinking I’ll tell him no, because any day now the bottom is going to rust out and I’ll be able to stop the car like Fred Flintstone does. That is, if the accelerator doesn’t get stuck on the floor mat.
Recently, Christie decried “the elite on the editorial boards of newspapers.” Well, the last guy who drove the governor anywhere was rewarded with a cushy six-figure job on the Parole Board, even though he already was collecting a 90K pension. The last person who drove me anywhere was my wife — when I hurt my back and had to go to the clinic last week. She got a kiss.
Elitist? My sons are still laughing. They figure the Christie children probably have to file tax returns just for their allowances. When my kids were looking for summer jobs, they said, “Dad, maybe the governor needs a lifeguard for that pool in his yard. Ask him.”
I told them, “If you’re drowning in the governor’s pool and you make less than $500,000, you’re probably on your own.”
