BULLIES, LIARS, AND THE RAVAGES OF TIME
After some back-and-forth with myself, I decided to add my musings to the geyser of analysis that erupted after last week’s so-called presidential debate. I’m only a month younger than the president, and while I’ve never aspired to that high office, or been elected to anything other than a local advisory group called a neighborhood council, I have tried to imagine myself in his shoes.* But more on that shortly. On the subject of the now-notorious debate, I wrote “so-called” because a spitball contest featuring an octogenarian and a near-octogenarian hardly fits a common meaning of the term as a formal discussion of opposing viewpoints. The torrent of bald-faced lies from one party and the halting attempts by the other to counter with lists of demurring facts reminded me of the schoolyard many years ago, when a bully accused my father of having sexual relations with sheep and nothing I could say, including the fact that there weren’t any sheep on our family’s farm, could deter him from broadcasting this slander to everyone within earshot.
The experience didn’t give me any particular insight into dealing with bullies, although I sensed then what I’m certain of now, that the trading of insults isn’t a winning strategy. The bully always had a rejoinder, and was willing to escalate indefinitely, into such extremes, and at such repetitive length, that I was left to sputter incoherently or fall entirely mute. My reward for employing the classic tools of debate—facts and logic—was humiliation and the contempt of classmates who believed the bully because his voice was louder and more assured than mine. And make no mistake. The ex-president is just as much a bully as that schoolyard tormentor, the difference being that his slanders and insults are not confined to a small audience of credulous school kids.
In the year since I wrote “Am I Too Old to Be President?,” I have to say—if I’m honest, not always a simple matter—that my memory for things like names and titles and dates has declined, although not dramatically enough to set off clangs of alarm. I can do basic arithmetic without difficulty, but I’ve noticed that my facility for higher mathematics has taken a nose dive. In college I got A’s in advanced calculus but show me a differential equation today and it might as well be Greek. If I’m faced with anything beyond a simple algebraic calculation I have to go in search of my thinking cap, which may buried somewhere in the disorganized depths of my closet. Right now I can’t remember the name of the geometric principle stating that the square of the hypotenuse of a right triangle is equal to the sum of the squares of the other two sides, even though I’ve used that calculation hundreds of times in carpentry and construction. I’m forced to wonder if the time will come when the Pythagorean theorem (I looked it up) is as incomprehensible as integrals and differentials.
In this respect my late father-in-law is a cautionary tale. After my mother-in-law died and my wife and I visited him, he always insisted on taking us out to dinner and picking up the check. At some point we noticed that he had trouble calculating the tip, and when he was later diagnosed with early-stage Alzheimer’s we decided that this difficulty was one of its symptoms. Along with the fact that playing a CD or audiotape on his stereo was challenging enough for him that my wife ended up writing out instructions. I haven’t reflected upon my own possible deficits in these areas, but the appeal of eating meals in restaurants—especially those of the trendy, expensive ilk—is mostly lost on me, and when I’m in the mood for music I summon Pandora on my computer or phone. If I’m forced to fumble around in the advanced settings on our smart TV, I feel myself beginning to sweat, although I know much younger people who have also been flummoxed by what often seems the infernal complexity of modern electronics.
What about the people the president has chosen to advise him? In last week’s (supply your own metaphor here for debate), one candidate was clearly proud of the fact that he had fired people during his tenure in the oval office, and indeed, accused the incumbent of never having fired anybody, as if that were a glaring weakness. I was an employer for a number of years, and I fired people for reasons ranging from failing to get to work on time to sneaking off at breaks to smoke a joint or snort cocaine. It was always unpleasant, and only came after second and third chances they probably didn’t deserve. I learned that competent, responsible employees were a critical resource; without them the business would struggle and likely fail. I hesitate to draw too many bold lines between a very small business and the federal government, but I’ve also gotten a close-up look at the workings of local government and can say with confidence that the effectiveness of elected officials is dependent to a large degree upon the people they hire to assist and advise them. And rather than admire an officeholder’s readiness to fire employees, maybe one should ask why those people were hired in the first place, and what their terminations say about the acumen of the person who did the hiring.
Of course the bully’s raison d’etre is to make life as miserable as possible for those he considers weaker than himself. I’ve read memoirs and other accounts by people who were bullied as kids, and some claimed success in parrying aggression and insult with humor. Make the voyeurs laugh at the perpetrator, not the victim. I can imagine this as an effective defense, but in the heat of moments such as described earlier, I was usually reduced to sputtering, or to a grim silence. I might later hit upon at a comeback that would have—or so I imagined—rendered the bully’s accusations absurd and prompted laughter from onlookers, but by then it was much too late. Still, when public affairs are enveloped in clouds of strife and uncertainty, I would suggest poking the tongue into the cheek. I did that during the presidential campaign four years ago, when I declared my candidacy in a poetic announcement to a select group of supporters (i.e., my wife and our dog.) My name didn’t make it onto any ballots, but I was extremely pleased that the bully got his comeuppance in that election; unfortunately, my fervent wish that he vanish from public sight and earshot proved as ineffective as my childhood prayers that I would get to school one day and the bully’s desk would be vacant.
*An internet search for his actual shoe size turned up a disappointingly wide range of answers.
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:
When I’m president my State of the Union Speech will last five minutes, no more. I’ll tell the assembled Congressmen That they’re all pathetic fools. I’ll tell the Sergeant at Arms To remove the Supreme Court justices Because who wants to be judged Under any circumstances? My only guest will be the man Who paces the street ranting About the tower on the moon. I will not announce any new legislation Because I intend to do everything By executive order. Why not? Ban war, re-distribute property, Including Rolex watches. Re-purpose all yachts As housing for the poor. Otherwise we’ll have to eat them. (the poor, I mean, not the yachts) I will convert the Senate chamber To an Olympic swimming pool. The Senators can share seats with The Representatives—an incentive to lose weight! I will announce new measures-- A law prohibiting bloviation, Use of the word perforce, Excessive beard lengths, Urinating after eating cabbage. Wait—who put that in? A jokester on my staff. I’ll find out who it is. I’ll appoint him ambassador To the Falkland Islands. I’ll abolish the cabinet And sell the national parks to Australia, So kangaroos can be brought in To amuse the wolves and grizzly bears. I’ll dam the Mississippi River Flood Iowa and Illinois and create The largest lake in the world. Larger than the Caspian Sea. Too bad for Iowa, they don’t support me. Illinois does, but nothing can be done, It’s called collateral damage. Get out of the way, get on board, or drown. What about objections? I’ll be armed when I give the speech, And if I hear any negative remarks, Or snickering, or rolling of the eyes, I’ll take out the gun and start shooting. Be forewarned.
Well said comparing Trump to the bullies of your youth. But why eat the poor, the rich are most likely tastier