When the Disease Is Also a Cure

  • In the literature of illness, it is a familiar theme that diseases of the body can be good for the soul. Evidence for this was plain to see last week, when Rudy Giuliani--the highly effective, habitually angry mayor of New York City--announced that he is battling early-stage prostate cancer.

    In 6 1/2 years as mayor, Giuliani has been called many things. Soulful is not one of them. And yet there he was last week, standing before the press in the Blue Room of city hall--the scene of countless mayoral dudgeons, badgerings and belittlings--talking candidly, gracefully and, yes, soulfully about the disease that took his father's life two decades ago and threatens his today.

    "It brings up very painful memories," he said. "And, you know, I miss my father every day of my life." The assembled reporters (who, in fairness, aren't always the most soulful sorts either) were more interested in what effect the cancer might have on their bread and butter, writing about Giuliani vs. Hillary Rodham Clinton for the U.S. Senate. At such moments, candidates traditionally swallow their doubts and vow to stay in the race. But Giuliani has never been a traditional candidate. So even though he has a 90% to 95% chance of recovering fully (see Personal Time, Your Health), he declined to make the obligatory noises about fighting on to victory.

    "I don't think it's fair to answer questions about the Senate race right now," he said. "I think my focus has to be on how to figure out the best form of treatment." He needed "a while to absorb this" before he could think about the race. "Should I do it? Would I be able to do it the right way? ... I think I should take a little time."

    Sensible, humble, vulnerable, the performance made you wonder where this Rudy was hiding while the other Rudy ran amuck--smearing the reputation of an unarmed man killed by New York City cops, referring to the INS agents who seized Elian Gonzalez as "storm troopers," falling behind Clinton in the polls.

    It renewed suspicion that Rudy doesn't want to run. For months, miscellaneous Hillaryites and Republican allies of Governor George Pataki (not a Rudy fan) have been saying privately that Giuliani is looking for a way out. Last week those voices got louder. "He doesn't want to run and has never wanted to run," says a Pataki ally. "What he wants is Governor in 2002. So this gives him an honorable way out." His treatment will probably require four to six weeks of recovery, leaving him five months for campaigning--plenty of time if he decides to stay in. He must make up his mind before the state Republican convention, on May 30. No white knight is waiting in the wings to save the g.o.p. Congressman Rick Lazio has meager dough and name ID, Westchester County D.A. Jeanine Pirro has a husband going on trial for tax fraud, and the inevitable as yet unnamed rich guys who would love to take Giuliani's place tend to be pathetic also-rans.

    So it's not surprising that Rudy's allies tried to quash the idea that their man might back away. His aides point to a big upcoming ad buy and an upstate swing this week. His friends concur. "Pull out? That'll never happen," said Staten Island borough president Guy Molinari, who survived a bout with prostate cancer while running for re-election in 1997. When Molinari got the news, he immediately called Giuliani. "I said, 'Hey, Rudy, welcome to the club.' This is one of the easiest cancers to beat. It didn't stop me, and it won't stop him."

    Nobody knows what Giuliani will do--probably not even Giuliani. But friends and enemies alike agree that time off could boost his fortunes. "If I was doing his campaign, I'd love to have him under wraps for six weeks," says a Democratic strategist. "He'd get the sympathy thing. He'd still be able to raise money. And he wouldn't be able to get himself in trouble." While none of Giuliani's advisers are chomping cigars and saying, "Rudy, this tumor's your friend. Embrace your cancer, Mr. Mayor," they know it offers him a chance to reintroduce himself as someone who has confronted his own mortality and won a deeper understanding of life. "Rudy's got a tremendous amount of compassion, but nobody knows that," says Molinari. "I'm not sure he wants people to know. But as a result of this, people might see the warm and tender side he's never shown."

    Giuliani denies he'll be getting all warm and fuzzy--"No way!" he vowed--but he has begun to serve up some uncharacteristic musings. Contemplating the illness, he said, "makes you think about what's important in life. It reminds you to think about what you should be thinking about." Then he gave a defiant laugh. "Do I have an answer yet? No!" Rudy will always be Rudy.