Those Dole Ads: Uneasy But Uplifting
Donna Britt
03/19/99
The Washington Post
FINAL
Page B01
So it's the end of a long day and you've kicked back on the sofa, half-watching whatever's on TV. During a commercial break, you see a vaguely familiar face, which smiles reassuringly and speaks.
Without warning, you are zapped into the Twilight Zone.
The voice says it belongs to Bob Dole. And that it wants to discuss erectile dysfunction with you -- impotence, or "E.D.," as the malady is called by the pitchman with the Midwestern monotone who does indeed look remarkably like Dole.
You figure you must be having an LSD flashback until you realize that you never did LSD and that your husband -- who's sitting next to you, mouth gaping -- seems to be sharing your hallucination.
It hits you: This is real. You are indeed watching the former Senate majority leader -- a venerable war hero and politician who could have become president -- calmly discussing sagging morale.
And he isn't talking about the Republican Party.
Watching the commercial on prime-time TV (a similar ad runs in magazines), I zipped through many emotions -- shock, revulsion, hilarity -- before being left with two: embarrassment and something surprisingly close to admiration.
Part of me has to admire Dole's courage. Because men almost never talk publicly about their . . . stuff.
,3 Oh, very young men and even some pitiable older ones brag about their varied adventures with their thingamabobs (thingamabobDoles?). But once most guys pass 25, they tend to keep such things under wraps, verbally speaking.
But throughout my lifetime, the "mysterious" female form and its unique problems have been publicly and routinely discussed. Television and print ads chat about cramps, menstruation, itching, odor and dryness to peddle "feminine hygiene" products. Perhaps that's why women, who by age 10 have squirmed through years of such ads, take intimate discussions in stride.
But what do you hear of men and their stuff?
Hardly a peep. Years ago, a female editor noted that even at The Washington Post -- a phallic moniker if ever there was one -- men who have no problems printing terms for women's body parts "can't handle any mention of penises." She said she's seen male editors use every excuse to rid the word from the paper's pages. (Of course, she delighted in every Lorena Bobbitt-induced blush.)
Such squeamishness makes Dole, 75, a pioneer, admitting what no man has publicly admitted -- certainly no man whose name appeared on a presidential ballot. Thanks to the recent ads, we know more than we ever wanted to about this political powerhouse's intimate life.
But why shouldn't a man of Dole's stature go public about E.D. at a time when the president's sex habits are familiar to the most isolated tropical rain forest dweller?
Since the president's private peccadilloes became public fodder, no subject is too personal. On Monday, HBO subscribers were treated to "Private Dicks: Men Exposed," a special featuring naked men discussing their "pride, shame and anxiety," according to Entertainment Weekly.
Now, it seems, every man's -- and worse, every politician's -- privates are fair game for consideration. I mean, didn't Larry Flynt tell us enough about House and Senate, um, members?
Also to blame is the product Dole is pushing. It's Viagra , the "wonder drug" that got numerous stalled male engines up and running, and more than a few women wishing that science had left well enough alone. Recently, researchers thrilled by the drug's effect on men were baffled by its failure to similarly jump-start women.
Duh. Most women simply reach a point where sex isn't all-consuming and have little desire to be re-consumed by it. Between cooking, cleaning, child-raising, errand-running and boss-coddling, even the most sex-crazed 30-year-old woman requires breaks from lovemaking. Now, thanks to modern science, their poor mothers -- worn out from decades of such duties -- must contend with rejuvenated, Viagra -popping husbands.
The result: Hordes of exhausted 70-plus females whose mates have finally discovered cuddling, are feigning headaches.
In the ads, Dole explains how after prostate surgery drugs helped him get back in the saddle. Goody for him.
But could he be giving E.D. a worse rap than it deserves? Had Clinton suffered from E.D., the nation would have been spared a wrenching crisis, America's children would still think steamy sex info should come from "Dawson's Creek," rather than the nightly news, and Monica Lewinsky would still be a plump nobody scheming to meet George Stephanopoulos.
I could live with that. So why couldn't Dole live quietly with E.D.?
Because, as he knows and doctors have long insisted, millions of men and their mates privately grapple with this very real problem. Maybe Dole's dragging E.D. into the limelight will encourage them to get help. Maybe his paid confessions will help everyone to view E.D. as an often curable condition rather than a shameful handicap that exacts a deep emotional toll.
If the ads have that effect, I'll gladly squirm through them. If they don't, they at least explain why Elizabeth Dole is running.
And I don't mean for president
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