When Sen. Marco Rubio (R-Fla.) stated that Republican presidential candidate Donald Trump could not be trusted because he had “small hands,” I was reminded of my own political campaign.
In 1979, I was a candidate for City Council in District 3, the southeast side of San Antonio. 1977 was the first year that Council members were elected by districts rather than city-wide voting. The term from 1977 to 1979 was a very contentious one in San Antonio politics.
As a result of the constant conflicts and votes by the District 3 Council member, local unions felt that they were not being well represented. I met with representatives of the firefighters union, Communication Workers of America and the building trade unions, and they all encouraged me to run for office.
There are numerous stories that any candidate for office can tell, but I want to return to Rubio implying that Trump’s “small hands” were a political liability.
In our culture, a man is expected to have a firm handshake. This is especially true in politics and business. After the campaign was underway, I was sitting in the office of a Southside political figure who was discussing campaign strategy with me.
In the middle of our discussion, he said, “Larry, I want to address your handshake. I hear from men who say you have a good presentation and positions on issues but that they can’t stand your weak handshake. Even I’ve noticed that you have a limp handshake. This is politics. You need to grab a man’s hand firmly and show them that you have a strong grip.”
I replied, “That is great advice, but there is only one ‘small’ problem. I had polio when I was 18 months old, and it left my right hand and arm partially paralyzed, weak and small compared to my left hand and arm. Therefore, I won’t be giving anyone a strong, firm handshake.”
After a moment of silence, he said, “I never realized this was the case. I always wondered why you did not have a strong handshake.”
We continued to discuss campaign strategy when he stopped and said, “I have an idea. When you are addressing a large audience of men, why don’t you bandage your right hand and wrist so that you can have a firm handshake with your left hand.”
I smiled, saying, “I know you have good intentions, but, if I were to do that, what kind of example would I be for anyone with a disability?” He returned my smile and said, “You are right.” I started laughing and said, “I’m screwed, aren’t I?”
Normally that would be the end of it, but I was a candidate for political office. I did not sleep that night, wondering whether I should announce before every campaign speech the fact that I had polio. Ultimately, I decided to say nothing unless I was asked.
Throughout my life, it has been common to see someone I meet for the first time glance down at my hand after the initial handshake. They say nothing, and I do not feel obligated to start the conversation. Those with “bone crusher” handshakes invariably say, “I’m sorry, did you hurt your hand?”
My parents raised me to never be ashamed of my handshake and to never use polio as an excuse not to try something. As a result, I became a left-handed pitcher in high school, college and semi-pro leagues. I was also a lifeguard for three summers. I did, however, fail my Army physical when I was drafted.
I lost the City Council race, but not because of my handshake. The voters re-elected the incumbent, who was more qualified and experienced. The voters decided on issues, not handshakes. They made the right choice. Had I bandaged my right hand to have a firm handshake, I would still have lost.
At least I lost with dignity.
Top image: Larry Hufford (left) with Mike Croshaw, head of the Communication Workers of America. Image courtesy of Larry Hufford.
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Very nice, Dr. Hufford!
Masters of Public Administration Program at St. Mary’s University
School of Humanities and Social Sciences at St. Mary’s University
. . . and that dignity remains manifest these many years after, Larry. My experience when you and I meet has always been that your gracious demeanor and welcoming visage arrives long before your hand get there. Had you successfully entered politics two generations of students would not have benefited from your scholarship and wisdom.
As to firm, death-grip handshakes, my experience has been that – sometimes – it means that their other hand is reaching for your wallet!
Larry, I’ve known you almost that long, but did not know that you ran for City Council or that you had suffered from polio. Your handling of this issue in such an honest and forthright manner is the Larry Hufford I am proud to know. Thanks for sharing. Thanks also for sharing the picture of you and Mike Croshaw from back in the day when we all had lots of hair and most of it was dark.
I voted for the first time in a municipal election in 1979. As an unsophisticated 19 year first time voter, I hope I voted for Larry Hufford.
Larry, your letter is very well written and from the heart. I’m glad your my little brother! 🙂
I’d vote for Larry Hufford now if his name were on the ballot for office. My guess is that several generation of students are grateful he stayed on college campuses. Larry, it’s an honor to have you on the Rivard Report. We hope it is the first of many future postings. Perhaps you can explain the current political climate to our readers. –RR
Dr. Hufford
I was a grad student when you arrived at St. Mary’s and had the pleasure of interviewing you for a class paper that i did for Doc Crane. I read this article with some trepidation about your reason for handshakes and the tradition of a firm handshake but your article was affirming about the role of being genuine in an election not to mention your life experience with polio which was moving for your complete honesty.