Despite a recent wave of statewide support for Democratic candidates, Sen. Frank Padavan (R-Queens) campaigned the last week of October in comfortable territory. Perhaps that is what may have almost cost him the seat he has held since 1972.
Padavan appears to have narrowly edged out Council Member James Gennaro in one of the closest contests of the 74-year-old senator’s political career, but talking before the election, he radiated confidence. Between campaign stops two days before Halloween, Padavan said his internal poll numbers suggested he was “doing rather well.”
“My district is very sophisticated,” Padavan said. “They vote for the person, not the party.”
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Padavan’s first stop on Oct. 29 was with a panel of 16 single seniors at the Samuel Field YM & YWHA in Little Neck, in a spartan, beige-colored multi-purpose room.
“Senator Padavan has helped a lot of people in this neighborhood,” one woman said during the meeting.
Padavan sat legs crossed knee-over-knee in the center of a long table in the middle of the room. The toughest question came early, when Padavan was asked about what the seniors should expect from the current financial downturn.
“We’ll get through this,” he said, avoiding specifics.
Other questions meandered from an alleged wave of Halloween lawn decoration thefts to the senator’s successful campaign to bring Access-a-Ride, a free transportation service for disabled people, to Little Neck.
“Now, they’re not going to pick you up to meet your boyfriend for a date,” Padavan said. “Or your girlfriend.”
The seniors chuckled. Padavan, who several times during the hour-long meeting referred to his local accomplishments, later reminded the group of the time he got a call from a vexed constituent with a dead squirrel on her property. Padavan, donning the role of charismatic pseudo-hero, got in his car, black garbage bag in hand, and removed the squirrel himself.
Soon, though, Padavan and the seniors were out of talking points, and the senator was off to speak as the featured guest at the St. Mary’s Church Golden Age Club Halloween party.
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Padavan pulled into the parking lot of St. Mary’s Elementary School in Flushing in his dark green Ford Explorer SUV at about 2 p.m., parking in a somewhat illegal spot and nearly knocking over an orange traffic cone. He got out and opened the backseat door, and grabbed a box full of Padavan-endorsed shopping lists and medication cases bearing his campaign slogan: “Nobody Cares Like Frank.”
After a few minutes of searching for the Halloween party—it was across the street, in the actual St. Mary’s Church—Padavan opened a pair of glass doors and walked down a long wheelchair ramp into a vast basement gymnasium.
Hundreds of seniors sat at tables with bright orange plastic tablecloths, each with a center array of roast beef and turkey sandwiches, potato salad, cole slaw and Cokes. Padavan sat at a table with Bill Balla, the club’s president, and six others.
The conversation at Padavan’s table turned to the weather, Padavan’s birthday, which was on Halloween, and the origins of his last name—but rarely did it turn political. The purpose of Padavan’s appearance, it seemed, was to put in face time with supporters and remind them to vote, but not necessarily to discuss the issues.
“He looks younger than his pictures,” one woman whispered.
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A few seniors in the room at St. Mary’s wore costumes. One wore operating room scrubs and another wore a sombrero and poncho. Most, though, were dressed in sweaters and slacks.
After a short while, Balla asked Padavan to say a few words. Padavan wiped his mouth and walked behind a lectern set up in the front of the room, near the wheelchair ramp. He said it was good to be there and thanked the Golden Age Club for having him.
“You’ve got a surgeon over here in case anyone falls down,” Padavan joked, “and a Mexican bandit to steal your money.”
The speech was brief, and when he finished Padavan worked the crowd. He posed for pictures and placed a comforting hand on a few shoulders.
“We love you,” one senior told him, again summing up the general mood of the room.