OK so I have a Long Island local politics story.
When I was 15, in 1978, I was a cub reporter for my HS paper, doing one of my first stories on the local Dem convention. I took the photographer who was older and had a car out to Commack Arena and started walking around this vast hall, talking to folks.
It was like a slice of the 1930s. A live band blasting “Happy Days are Here Again,” every ten minutes, then some Benny Goodman. The local big wigs all sat around at tables clustered tightly on the floor. At every table there were a couple fat old white guys, their younger Smithers-like apparatchiks, unending booze, and anywhere from 1 to 4 working girls who to me looked absolutely angelic but who in retrospect had likely been ridden hard and put away wet all night. There was not a woman over the age of 25 in the entire building, and very few men, myself excepted, under 50.
And because I am quick with a joke and have deep attention seeking OCD I made friends and these old corrupt fucks adopted me as a sort of mascot of naivete for the night. I circulated the tables and heard a million dirty stories and watched these old farts grope young women and drink without abatement.
Nobody said a word about politics all night. It was a drinking party. At the end somebody got nominated. They all piled into their cars and took the girls back to their second floor sex dens. I drove home with the photographer and we wrote up a great story about how local politics is about getting drunk and getting laid. Our faculty advisor spiked it.
And that’s what I know about Long Island politics. I assume it was no different anywhere else. Probably still isn’t.