Here’s Don Young, when asked by a Fairbanks newspaper reporter about critics who have suggested he give back some of the pork he secured for his state in the highway bill, including those half-billion dollar bridges:

“They can kiss my ear!” Young boomed when Sam Bishop, Washington correspondent for the Fairbanks Daily News-Miner, asked him about the many pleas to redirect the bridge money.

“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Young went on, noting that Louisiana did quite well in his highway bill.

Young noted that he did his part for Katrina victims by hosting a charity golf tournament. Schmuck. The spoils of Republican power are apparent the moment you arrive in Alaska. My plane, for example, touched down at the Ted Stevens Anchorage International Airport. Always makes me a little ill when a landmark is named after a politician. Iller when he’s still alive. Iller still when he’s still in office. The kicker is when he secures federal money for the thing himself, then puts his own name on it. There really oughtta be a law against that.

Stevens, you might remember, is the Alaskan senator who was kind of enough to name the infamous “bridge to nowhere” after his pal in the other chamber, Don Young, who earmarked the money for the project. Awfully collegial the way those two go about siphoning money from the public treasury, then rewarding one another with little pieces of bacon-wrapped immortality. Me, I think we should find something in New Orleans to name after Don Young that would appropriately capture the infamy he obviously deserves to be remembered with. Perhaps they can assemble the remains of a broken bridge or levee into a memorial, and call it “Don Young’s Way.” Or “Don Young’s Ear.” Maybe they could use the money he raised at his golf tournament for a memorial. I envision a plaque that says, “This memorial wouldn’t be possible without Rep. Don Young’s (Alas.) tireless work on the golf course.”

The people I’ve talked to here in Kodiak are actually a little embarassed about it all.

That said, Alaska is stunningly beautiful. There’s an indigo, placid little lake every half mile or so. Every gorgeous view is framed by soaring mountains. And there’s this nice mix of anachronism and modernity. In the bay, rugged, blue-collar barges float under bi-planes and the occasonal helicopter. An espresso shop overlooks rows and rows of rickety fishing boats. The lobby of my rustic, lodge-ish hotel is stocked with the stuffed head of carribou, moose, and a full-sized Kodiak bear. But it also has wi-fi.

After a half day up here, I feel as if I’ve never really taken a breath of fresh air in my life. This afternoon I’m taking a “flightseeing” tour of the island in a little airplane. Pics to come.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, September 20th, 2005 at 10:13 am by Radley Balko and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.