By Jared Chausow
By Katie Toth
By Elizabeth Flock
By Albert Samaha
By Anna Merlan
By Jon Campbell
By Jon Campbell
By Albert Samaha
DiNizio's father, a Jersey garbageman cut from the John Garfield mold, persuaded the slugger to grant his kid's wish. "My dad grabbed Pepitone by the scruff of the collar and said, 'Give the kid an autograph, ya' fuckin' creep,' " DiNizio remembers. "Pepitone apologized and signed. He should have been adult enough to know how important kids are. The formative years are very important. A specific event can alter the way you think."
Which is exactly what happened to DiNizio at around the same time as the Pepitone encounter. DiNizio's life changed when he witnessed a rock group at a clambake near his bucolic hometown of Scotch Plains, New Jersey. "They were a surf band and they had all the moves," DiNizio says. "They blew my mind. I was ruined for life."
DiNizio put down his baseball glove, picked up the guitar, and eventually formed the Smithereens. The melodic, ax-driven group enjoyed moderate success a decade ago; their 1990 song "A Girl Like You" went Top 40, and they continue to record and tour. But DiNizio is willing to put the band on hiatus if he wins retiring senator Frank Lautenberg's New Jersey seat.
The big issue for DiNizioa divorced father of a six-year-old daughter, who lives in Chicago with her motheris family. "That's what I'm into preserving," he says, after biting into a glutinous gut-buster of a cheese steak in a suburban Philadelphia hoagie shop, while on a Smithereens promo tour. "That's been the backbone of this country for as long as I can remember," he says. "I'm in pain every day over the loss of my family."
In DiNizio's charming tree-lined burg, there are still a number of friendly mom-and-pop stores. Scotch Plains, 35 minutes from Manhattan, is a far cry from Jersey's strip-mall-addled cities. The town still has a shoemaker, a dry cleaner, and a butcher. "Scotch Plains hasn't been ravaged by the Starbucks of America yet," DiNizio says. "I favor small businesses, and I would like to preserve them."
He also wants Internet access for every kid, no more tollbooths, and no more road construction during rush hour. But as a candidate, he'll have a tough road to travel. His competition is former Goldman Sachs chairman Jon S. Corzine, who won the Democratic primary last Tuesday after spending a record-shattering amountroughly $36 millionout of his own pocket. "It's classic David and Goliath," DiNizio says. "But I'm going to take a shot."
What he lacks in experience, he believes he'll make up for in tenacity: "I'll be the toughest fucking son of a bitch in there." So maybe the Tony Sopranos of Jersey have found their mana no-nonsense, tough-talking Italian American, backing the oppressed white male. And the bespectacled, mustachioed candidate fronts a gritty rock band (made up of "blue-collar, working-class motherfuckers," he brags) to boot.
Shades of Sonny Bono: "I'm hoping that my rockstar status can help me get in there so I can do some good," DiNizio says. But he has his tenses mixed up. The portly wise guy hasn't even flirted with stardom for years, though sonic endeavors still pay his bills. He's played more than 60 "Living Room Shows" this year in fans' homes and backyards; $2000, way more than a club pays for a night's work, gets you two hours of DiNizio. (Six of the shows were in Jersey. DiNizio took along state Senate petitions, collecting a portion of the more than 2100 signatures he turned in to the state capitol last week.) The enterprising bard also sells tunesmith services over the Internet. Connect with DiNizio at psycholaborations.com (a site featuring his political philosophy), send some lyrics and $350, and he'll turn your poem into a song.
Jim Beam cuts checks for his work as well. And if it seems contradictory to find an office seeker preaching family values on a whiskey company's payroll, DiNizio has a spin: "I'm associated with a corporation that is doing something that no other corporation is doing, which is giving money to needy musicians," he insists. "I'm not selling Jim BeamI'm giving away scholarships and grant money. I have a stipulation in my contract, which says that I'm not allowed to talk politics while I'm representing Jim Beam. Jim Beam hasn't made any contributions to my campaign, nor will they. It's just a good part-time job."
The rocker entered politics as an 18-year-old Republican committeeman, but now he's on the ticket of the Reform Party, founded by Ross Perot in 1992; the party's current presidential candidate is Pat Buchanan. "I don't think it matters who I'm aligned with," DiNizio says. "I just want to set an example. People just don't trust politicians today, and who can blame them?"
Which brings us to his favorite topic: the Clintons. "It's obvious what Mrs. Clinton's agenda is," DiNizio says. "It's not about the Senate. It's about being Lady President. She is as duplicitous and morally bankrupt as [President Clinton] is. You tell me she didn't know what was going on in the White House when the [Monica Lewinsky] affair was happening? She is the most dangerous presence in the political world today. I'm running because I'm the anti-Hillary.
"Hillary desires nothing less than a complete revolution and reconstruction of society as we know it. She's a highly militant female. She has to be stopped," DiNizio continues. "There are a bunch of angry manhaters out there. They're trying to drive us [white males] out of business. They're indoctrinating a whole new generation of girls in grade school, high school, and college with this multicultural shit, which doesn't really teach people what they need to survive in society today. White men better get off their friggin' asses and vote for somebody who represents their interest."
Such statements are frequently made while DiNizio's follicularly challenged head is covered with a Homestead Grays cap. Is the Negro League merchandise a subtle way to land the urban vote? "Do you think any of these rap kids know who [the Homestead Grays] are?" he chuckles. "I doubt it. They probably don't even know who MC Hammer is."
DiNizio has never tried to pass for an innocent himself. Debauchery was and is a part of the rock star package. "I've done questionable things in my life when I was younger; back then we got drunk all the time, met girls. We had fun. We were rock stars. But I've never done anything like these [Clinton] people."
Just last year, while sizing up Don Fleming as a producer for his group's latest album, God Save the Smithereens, DiNizio and his bandmates evaluated Fleming's drinking prowess during a run through a plethora of Manhattan watering holes. "We wanted to see if he could keep up with us," DiNizio explains. Typical rocker behavior, if hardly the actions one would expect of a potential senator not named Ted Kennedy.
DiNizio won't have much time for such frivolity if elected, though. "I've had my share of fun over the years," he says. "Now it's time to make a difference in many people's lives."