Iggy Pop by Paul Trynka Read Free Book Online

assigned a dormitory, which took the role of a city, all of whose inhabitants would run for public office. Mike Wall was one of Jim’s companions from Ann Arbor High, and ran for lieutenant governor; Wall made it through two or three rounds while Jim’s campaign just kept on rolling. ‘He looked at this thing,’ says Wall, ‘and said to me, Hey, I’ve got this figured out. I’m gonna run for governor of the state of Michigan!’
    Up against boys who’d arrived with a party organisation and carefully constructed manifestos, Osterberg vanquished his opponents with almost embarrassing ease. He boasted formidable skills as a public speaker, but his progress through the system called for much more complex talents: ‘He had to be cunning, and really sophisticated,’ says Wall. ‘In any political convention you’ve got different coalitions, guys who are gonna throw their votes behind you. He was very shrewd, very cunning, and had the skills to capitalise on the moment.’
    It was at a Boys’ State conference in Little Rock just one year earlier, 1963, that a young boy from Arkansas named Bill Clinton had taken his first step to political fame, becoming the state’s delegate to the Boys’ Nation conference in Washington DC. Osterberg seemed to be destined for a similar distinction and made it through every round, finally winning his party nomination to compete for the top slot. Says Wall, ‘It was an incredible feat. He manoeuvred all the way through. He didn’t win governor in the end, that went to the other party, but it was an amazing achievement. But was that Jim? Hell, no. It was basically, Fuck you guys, I’m having fun. ’Cause I’m not a mainstreamer and you’re gonna vote for me anyway.’
    Perhaps it was the sense that he’d secured admission to the upper tier of high school kids that made it easier to turn his back on them, for in his last couple of years at school the boy ‘most likely to succeed’ no longer seemed so painfully reliant on the approval of his peers, and the snobbery of his junior high years seemed to disappear. Ricky Hodges was one of Ann Arbor High’s few black students. On his first day at the new school he was staggered by the wealth on display: ‘At that time the high school had two parking lots - one for the students, and one for the teachers. And if you were to drive into the student parking lot you’d think it was the teachers’ parking lot because the students had all the better cars!’ Hodges assumed that Osterberg - or ‘Ox’, as he called him - was one of the wealthy, ‘ritzy’ kids, but was surprised to find that, in a school where black and white communities co-existed without any interaction, Jim would often come over and chat, ‘and that was unusual. No doubt about it.’
    For the first time, there were signs of physical fearlessness, of standing up for people. In Jim’s junior year, there was an end-of-term talent contest in the spacious, wood-lined auditorium. One girl was singing a cappella when an older student started to heckle: ‘Something about it being a stupid, mushy song,’ says Ron Ideson, who was sitting next to Osterberg. ‘Jim swung round and hit the heckler as hard as he could with his fist, three or four times, angrily saying “Shut up!” Jim cared nothing for his own safety, he was standing up for the performer on stage, and I doubt he knew her personally.’
    The ex-Tappan kids noticed a change in Jim’s demeanour, the fact he was not quite as consciously trying to join the establishment. He ran once more for student office in 1965, this time shooting for the position of president. His campaign literature listed all of his achievements: participation in the swimming, track and golf teams, membership of the AC math, English and history programmes, his role in the Ann Arbor High debate team and his participation in a recent State Model United Nations assembly. For this election, however, he boasted a new distinction: the fact he played