I Want My GOP

This post originally appeared in early 2016. Cassandra award?

th

A divided national party . . . voices of extreme rhetoric . . . an ugly, contentious primary season. Does this spell doom for two-party system?

Sounds modern, doesn’t it? But the year was 1860, and the party in question was founded by Thomas Jefferson, and shaped in the image of Andrew Jackson: The antebellum Democratic Party.

On the eve of Civil War, the future of the Union appeared in fatal doubt. Political leaders in the Deep South: South Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, and Florida had all but washed their hands of the centrally powerful United States. Adding to the precarious atmosphere, a faction of Democrats in the North promoted a policy to permit slavery into the western territories under the principle of Popular Sovereignty, or direct vote. Others voices in the northern branch of the Democratic Party believed the Southern States should depart the Union in peace. And these pro-secession advocates became the most worrisome threat for Senate leader, Stephen A. Douglas of Illinois, the leading Democratic candidate for the presidency in 1860.

Douglas found himself in a hell of a spot. He fervently burned to lead his party to the White House and save his nation, dangerously poised on the verge of civil war. As the principal heir to Senate leadership, Douglas had spent over twenty years in Congress working to stave off Southern secession, taking over when Kentucky Senator, Henry Clay, the “Great Compromiser” died. Clay had also spent most of his earlier career drawing up one concession after another in a noble attempt to preserve the Union. Eventually the effort wore him out, and Senator Douglas pick up the cause.

As far as Douglas was concerned, slavery wasn’t a moral issue, merely a bump in the road. The issue could easily be decided by the good folks migrating west. Douglas believed if settlers didn’t want slavery, they would decline to establish laws necessary for supporting the “peculiar institution.” But the Senator was wrong—dead wrong. Slavery had, by 1860 become an issue impossible to fix. And it was this miscalculation, underestimating the power of the slave issue, that the Illinois Senator imploded both his party, and his career.

The new Republican Party had organized six years earlier in Wisconsin, founded on one central principle—slavery would not extend into the western territories, period. And this new party spread quickly. Composed of splinter groups, this now fully unified alliance insisted that free labor was an integral component to a flourishing free market economy. The presence of slavery in sprouting regions of the West would devalue free labor, and undermine future commercial growth.

Now, don’t get me wrong, these Republicans did not sing Kumbaya or braid their hair. These men did not believe in equality between the races—they were not abolitionists. Economic principles drove their political platform, (Emancipation came later with the transformation of President Lincoln through the caldron of war).

For Stephen Douglas the approaching 1860 election meant vindication for his support of popular sovereignty, and reward for his faithful political service. And Douglas was no political hack. He fully understood the solvency of the Union lay in the delicate art of sectional balance, and his ascendancy to the White House as a Democrat would go a long way to placate the Southern hotheads. But this Illinois Senator failed, once again, to fully comprehend the temper of the nation, or of his own party. The era of seeking middle ground had passed—America’s course had been set toward industrial modernity with no place for an antiquated, barbaric labor system.

Charleston, South Carolina, was selected as the site of the 1860 Democratic convention. Chaos immediately broke loose on the convention floor. While Southern Democrats demanded strict, precise language guaranteeing the extension of slavery into the territories, Northern Democrats and those from California and Oregon pushed for Douglas’ popular sovereignty. This tense deadlock forced the latter faction to walk out and reconvene in Baltimore where party business could function.

Southern Democrats moved on without Douglas or his faction. In a separate, Richmond, Virginia convention, Southern Democrats proceeded to nominate Kentuckian John C. Breckinridge.

Back in Baltimore, Senator Douglas indeed gained the Democratic nomination, preserving his precious principle of local voters determining the western migration of slavery. Meanwhile, the Democrats in Richmond took a step further, adding the absolute protection of slavery to their platform. Middle ground had vanished.

Though a long shot, a third faction of the Democratic Party broke ranks with both Douglas supporters, and the Richmond faction. Calling themselves the “Constitutional Union Party,” this coalition nominated John Bell of Tennessee.

So what can we make of this 1860 fiasco today, in 2016? If I could attempt a bit of divination I would suggest that the political party that can present the most united front will prevail in the general election. If current Republican candidates continue to employ such wide-ranging, and scorching tones to their rhetoric, and stubbornly defend the innocence of their loose talk, the party may run head long into oblivion, as did the Democrats of 1860. If the roaring factions, currently represented by each GOP aspirant goes too far, the fabric of unity will shred, crippling the Republican’s ability to field serious candidates in the future.

Looking at the past as prelude much is at stake for the unity of the GOP. In 1860 party divisions nearly destroyed the Democrats, propelling the nation into a bloody civil war. And though Republicans at that time elected our greatest Chief Executive, Abraham Lincoln, the Democrats suffered for decades, marginalized as the party of rebellion. And even the best lessons left by the past are still forgotten in the heat of passion, by those who know better. (The Democrats shattered their party unity once again a hundred years later, splintered by the Vietnam War.) This is truly a cautionary tale for today’s turbulent Republican Party.

Zealots do not compromise, and leading GOP candidates are spouting some pretty divisive vitriol. Southern Democrats self righteously rejected their national party, certain it no longer represented them, and ultimately silenced the party of Jefferson and Jackson for decades. The lesson is clear for today’s Republicans. By tolerating demagoguery, extremism, and reckless fear-mongering in their field of contenders, the RNC may indeed face a similar demise.

Though it is true that no party can be all things to all citizens, malignant splinter groups should not run away with the party.

The American public demands measured and thoughtful candidates—and both parties are expected to field candidates of merit and substance.

We deserve leaders worth following.

As Senator Stephen Douglas refused to recognize that the political skies were falling around him, and his party, the modern Republican Party must not.

Gail Chumbley is the author of River of January, and River of January: Figure Eight a two-part memoir. Available on Kindle

A Fanciful Tale

PEER REVIEW

The stage lights rise. Two wingback chairs sit

aside a table center stage. The sounds of voices

are heard off stage as two men, The President,

and his chief of staff step onstage. The President

appears unhappy, the chief of staff paces

alongside, shoulder to shoulder.

THE PRESIDENT

Lawsuits, nothing but lawsuits! Tariffs, my arch, my fund for my January 6th supporters!

And ethics complaints about my DOJ, and they won’t shut up about Epstein! I’m

President, and these liberals won’t stop me, EVER! I want this done Stephen, no bullshit.

Noem is from South Dakota, right? You tell Kristi no is not an answer, I’ll make her life

more hell than it already is. (Mumbles) A husband who wears fake boobs.

STEPHEN MILLER

The liberals fear you, Sir. You are the greatest Chief Executive of all time and they know

it. Consider it done. Your face will be carved on Mt Rushmore.

Miller begins to walk off stage and the President

calls out.

THE PRESIDENT

And I want it painted gold!

Watches Miller walk off stage, shakes his head

and speaks.

People are right, Miller does look like he sleeps in a crypt.

A clutch of tourists appear looking about,

pointing toward “walls,

” taking pictures, selfies

and chatting quietly. The president straightens

his tie, and touches his hair.

THE PRESIDENT

Welcome to my White House. Bet you wanna a picture with your greatest President.

The tourists murmur quietly, indifferently

looking around. They turn and wander offstage.

The president follows a few steps.2.

2.

You people deaf? What is wrong with you? This is disgraceful. I’m President of the

United States!

A man, Theodore Roosevelt appears on stage

left. He wears a top hat, mustache, pince-nez

spectacles and cutaway jacket with tails. He

carries a cane. The man approaches the

President from behind. He speaks in an

aristocratic voice.

THEODORE ROOSEVELT

Am I to understand that you are a New Yorker?

The President startles.

THE PRESIDENT

Checks his hair.

What the hell! (Pauses) Um, hello. Are you here with a tour group? Bet you want a

picture with me, your favorite president.

THEODORE ROOSEVELT

I ask a simple question, and you reply with a question. I understand you are a New

Yorker. Is that so?

Annoyed, the President attempts to leave, but

cannot move. The man approaches the president

standing uncomfortably close.

THE PRESIDENT

Looking around

I can’t move! What the hell have you done! Where is my security detail! Help! Where are

my Marines?

THEODORE ROOSEVELT

We have all been watching you, and even Mr. Nixon is appalled. Once again, I ask are

you a New Yorker? Speak up when I’m addressing you.

THE PRESIDENT

Mr. Nixon? How the hell did you get in here?

The muted sound of tourists continues off stage.3.

3.

Yes. Yes. Everybody knows me. I made my fortune in New York real estate, if you must

know. I’ve heard many people say I’m the best businessman ever . . .

Roosevelt begins to pace and speak at the same

time.

THEODORE ROOSEVELT

From my understanding you are nothing beyond a scoundrel from the wealthy criminal

class. I made a career of exposing popinjays such as yourself.

THE PRESIDENT

Well, you’re a nasty piece of work. No one talks to me like that. I am the President of the

United States. I won the election by the biggest margin in American hist . . .

THEODORE ROOSEVELT

Poppycock! We have come to find that result came about through skullduggery, billions

in dark money, and a mere tilt in the electoral count through foreign interference. From

Russia no less.

THE PRESIDENT

Wrong. Another liberal lie.

THEODORE ROOSEVELT

Hush you foolish pip. Meeting with Putin in Helsinki, and proclaiming you believe him

over our own intelligence agencies? Closed door summit in Alaska? Unacceptable! Never

should foreign adversaries be permitted to undermine American policy. Nor condoning

those villains who pillaged the Capitol. Pardons? Payments to perpetrators? Mr. Lincoln

will have more to say on that travesty.

The President appears shocked. He mouths

“Lincoln.

”

You have besmirched the nation before the people and the world. I would say you are a

compromised pawn of billionaires, foreign meddlers, and their sinister purposes.

THE PRESIDENT

You’re a nasty piece of work, and you can’t talk to me like that. My security is coming

and you’ll be thrown out.

THEODORE ROOSEVELT

Sergey Witte.

THE PRESIDENT

What? Who? Get the hell out!4.

4.

THEODORE ROOSEVELT

Hold your tongue! When you are in the presence of a gentlemen, behave accordingly.

Witte was a Russian, so you will approve. The Japanese had defeated the Tsar’s navy on

the far side of the Pacific. America had no quarrel with either Japan or Russia, and I was

asked to chair peace negotiations. My view of Russians changed with Witte. What a

crude, unmannered man, a contrast to the well-mannered Japanese delegation. This so-

called “diplomat” grew increasingly belligerent during sessions insisting Russia be

awarded more territory, though they had lost the war!

Roosevelt removes his top hat and sets it on a

table, and checks his pocket watch.

Good I have time.

THE PRESIDENT

Time? Don’t stay on my account. I’m a busy man. Law suits, attacking opponents,

tweeting.

THEODORE ROOSEVELT

Sit down this instant.

The president instantly sits. Looks alarmed.

Witte is the point! The Russians only look out for Russia, not you, a bankrupt fool who

fell backward into the presidency.

THE PRESIDENT

You’re setting me up. Some a-hole is filming this. Where is the camera? I hate pranks.

(calls out) Miller!

The muffled sound of passersby continues. The

president sits uncomfortably, and shuts his eyes.

I’m dreaming. That’s it, I’m asleep. Jesus, I hope I’m not in a meeting. It’s so unfair when

they take my picture sleeping.

To the man.

I’m opening my eyes now and you better not be here.

The man leans over the sitting president. He

opens his eyes face to face with the man. The

president startles again.

THEODORE ROOSEVELT

I am not finished.5.

5.

The man again paces and speaks.

The emoluments clause is in place for a purpose. We show strength through integrity–not

by manipulating the stock market for personal gain. The Chief Executive is meant to

serve the people not himself.

THE PRESIDENT

Stop right there! I don’t take a salary. People love me for that.

THEODORE ROOSEVELT

All the while racking up billions through shady dealings.

The man turns toward an imaginary window.

The president attempts to stand, but only

succeeds in moving the chair a little. He utters a

grunt.

THE PRESIDENT

My people don’t care about that. They want to win because we don’t win anymore. We’re

going to win big now. Barack Hussein Obama gave in to Iran. Not me. I’m bombing the

shit out of them, and Venezuela too. Cuba is next!

Roosevelt shakes his head in disbelief, and

shifts his gaze to the “Room.

”

THEODORE ROOSEVELT

Napoleon’s foreign minister, Charles Talleyrand once remarked that though President

Thomas Jefferson loved France, and he did, Jefferson was still an American first. In

speeches you echo Talleyrand’s words, but you mean something else.

THE PRESIDENT

TalleyWho? Let me out of this chair!

The President tries to free himself as he speaks.

Everyone knows I am the greatest Americ. . .

Roosevelt sighs, and with a turn of his hand

silences the President.

THEODORE ROOSEVELT

It appears you have no pets. Quite revealing that-regarding the character of a man. We

moved into this house with dogs, cats, and other pets, including a pony. How the boys

loved their animals. Our pets were considered part of the family. They and the children’s

presence made the White House feel like home.6.

6.

Roosevelt again turns his hand, and the

president speaks.

THE PRESIDENT

Kids and animals here? No thanks. (Pause) I know men who leave their businesses so

they can spend more time with their children, and I say,

‘Gimme a break!’ My children

couldn’t love me more if I spent fifteen times more with them.

Roosevelt looks doubtfully toward the audience.

THEODORE ROOSEVELT

When men and women cease to regard a worthy family life, with all its duties fully

performed, and all its responsibilities, then evil days for the nation are at hand.

The president wiggle-walks his chair still stuck.

THE PRESIDENT

No one talks like that anymore. And for your information I would feel like a phony

having a dog. I don’t like dogs. And, you should know, my children love me, and my

wife, too. They are so proud of me, so proud. I’m President. It’s those Liberals that are

the problem.

Roosevelt snaps, waving his cane.

THEODORE ROOSEVELT

Is that why thousands of migrant children have been separated from their parents, seized

by masked thugs and detained without warrants? Why immigrants are dragged from the

streets and deported to foreign countries without due process? Liberals are not, as you

say, the problem!

Roosevelts clears his throat, and quietly

continues.

President Grant requested I touch upon the subject of military service. (Pauses) My father

did not serve in the War between the States, leaving me a confused boy. I could not

understand why. To me soldiering is the highest service a patriot can perform.

THE PRESIDENT

And now you’re going to tell me how great the military is. I really don’t care. Look, Greg

Smith from Newsmax is calling my office.

THEODORE ROOSEVELT

Ignoring the President.7.

7.

His decision concerned my mother. A lovely woman, my mother, she hailed from

Georgia, and her brothers were serving the Confederacy. You see, my father loved her–

simply loved her. He hired a substitute in his place, and aided President Lincoln in other

ways.

Roosevelt taps his cane and smiles.

Still. I idolized him. He believed so much in public service. He cared about children,

orphans living on the streets. Father founded the Newsboys Lodge, the Children’s Aid

Society, and the American Museum of Natural History. The last he did for me.

Roosevelt strokes his mustache lost in thought.

THE PRESIDENT

On Central Park West?

The man nods.

Been there. Your father had it built? For you? Seems like a big waste of money to me.

Bunch of bones and dead animals.

THEODORE ROOSEVELT

Serving the public is an obligation. My administration assured fair rail rates for farmers,

passed the Meat Inspection Act, and the Pure Food and Drug Act, to protect all

Americans consumers.

THE PRESIDENT

The president looks bewildered.

Why would you do that? There’s a lot of money to be made in big pharma.

THEODORE ROOSEVELT

Not listening.

As President, I never made a decision without wondering what my father would think.

THE PRESIDENT

Yeah, me too.

The president chuckles. Roosevelt frowns and

shakes his head.

THE PRESIDENT

Times have changed. Gotta get what you can when you can.8.

8.

The man whips around.

THEODORE ROOSEVELT

Which is why I am here.

The President’s smile disappears.

THEODORE ROOSEVELT

(Wistfully) All four of my sons served in the Great War, and fulfilled their duty. We paid

the ultimate cost-our youngest, Quentin, lost in a dogfight over Germany. So difficult to

lose such a dear, sweet boy.

Roosevelt draws close to the president.

And Quentin was neither a sucker nor a loser! He believed in America, they all believed.

Quentin held fast to the tenets of our noble land and answered the call.

Roosevelt flashes disgust toward the President,

then becomes thoughtful.

In 1898, I, too, served as soon as I could. President McKinley had given me a position in

the Department of the Navy, but I resigned when war broke out with Spain. I assemble

the Rough Riders and shipped out to Cuba. Most exhilarating. My father would have

been proud, of that I’m certain.

THE PRESIDENT

My father would be proud, but the deep state is out to get me.

Roosevelt frowns, then and continues.

THE MAN

We were on foot in Cuba, a cavalry without horses. We lined up at the base of Kettle Hill,

and charged. The moment jolted electric, and my crowded hour began. Lifting my

carbine in the air, I rallied from the front, showing the men they had nothing to fear.

THE PRESIDENT

And see, that’s the problem! That is why the military is a chump’s game. Dying on some

hill for nothing, when I can live and make money.

Roosevelt gives the President an incredulous

glance.

THEODORE ROOSEVELT

And as for rich, I understand your father made the fortune. Six bankruptcies I gather?9.

9.

THE PRESIDENT

Wrong. Lies. (Mutters, then smiles) And not any more.

THEODORE ROOSEVELT

Nouveau riche, new money. Gaudy, vulgar, pretentious, and hungry for the validation and

acceptance that you will never receive.

The president audibly snores. Roosevelt

continues to speak over the noise.

When I held office I used my “bully pulpit” in the best sense of the term. Once I believed

as you, that the natural world existed to enrich man. But that is false. The intrinsic value

of our land and resources cannot be found in stock indices or business transactions.

The president looks longingly toward the doors

of passing tourists.

Nowhere else in any civilized country is there to be found such a tract of veritable

wonderland made accessible to all visitors, not only the scenery, but wild creatures of the

parks are scrupulously preserved.

THE PRESIDENT

Well mister tree hugger I have gutted much of your precious protection and opened land

for logging, mining, and drilling. Say goodbye to the Grand Staircase in Utah, well, half

of it, anyway. Roads are being cleared as we speak, and off-road vehicles are roaring in.

And that goody two shoes, Obama created the Bears Ears National Monument. I chopped

it up for developers. Because that is profit. Profit is real.

THEODORE ROOSEVELT

You are nothing new, but the only remorseless plunderer to reach the presidency. New

York City has produced a long line of blackguards such as yourself, criminals like Boss

Tweed, and Bernie Madoff. Driven by greed and power these men defraud the people and

the land.

For the benefit and enjoyment of the people.

Roosevelt walks around the chairs still looking

about. He speaks.

THE PRESIDENT

What is?

THEODORE ROOSEVELT

Those words are inscribed on the arch at Yellowstone Park.

THE PRESIDENT

My Arch will be bigger and better, and even gold!10.

10.

Roosevelt strolls with his cane, and continues.

THEODORE ROOSEVELT

I, too lived a life of affluence. However, with that type of wealth comes an obligation to

the less fortunate. (He pauses) Doors down from our home on 57th Street the poor

suffered in wretched poverty. And much like my father I possessed a troubled conscience.

Roosevelt touches the president’s chest with his

cane, then resumes his pacing.

As Commander in Chief, our charge is to work for the people. All the people.

Withholding aid to states you did not carry is a dishonorable breach of that trust. (Pause)

My love of justice and fair play may sound naive to you. But your blatant breach of the

law, while pretending you haven’t, is shameless!

The man strikes the president’s chair with his

cane. The president sits straighter.

My administration was known as the “Square Deal,

” and we, my cabinet and I,

scrupulously kept that promise.

The man taps his cane on the floor again.

My father counseled me to look after my morals, my health, and my scholarship. And

that, I did. Because he admired my turn of mind the noted sculptor, Gutzun Borglum

added my likeness to Mount Rushmore.

Coldly

If you have your likeness carved on Rushmore, I want mine off. (Pauses) It’s time for me

to leave, the others will join you presently.

The president fixes his eyes on Roosevelt as he

puts on his top hat. Then Roosevelt gestures and

the president bursts free from his chair.

THE PRESIDENT

Others?

As the man stroll off in one direction, the

President runs off the other. The stage goes

dark.


Gail Chumbley is the author of the two-part memoir “River of January,” and “River of January: Figure Eight,” co-writer of the screenplay, “Dancing On Air” based on those books. She has penned three stage plays on history topics, “Clay” on the life of Senator Henry Clay, “Wolf By The Ears” examining the beginnings of American slavery, and “Peer Review” where 47 is confronted by specters of four past presidents.

That’s All

Colonel Clark used to bring his young son down to the dojo where my brothers participated in judo lessons. Judo had been my grandfather’s idea and he faithfully chauffeured the boys, and I sometimes came along too.

My Grandpa Ray always sat with Colonel Clark, if the old gent happened to be present. That meant I sat with Colonel Clark too. The two old men would talk and talk, seated next to one another, though their eyes remained fixed on their boys on the mats. They never seemed to look each other, but remained absorbed in their conversation.

My own distracted attention span only caught snippets of the murmuring discussion. “MacArthur, Wainwright, and Bataan,”  came up in their exchanges And despite my youth, I understood something grave, something momentous lay behind the back and forth of these two men.

Later my older brother filled in the substance of what I reluctantly overheard.

Colonel Clark had been left on the Bataan Peninsula with around 12,000 American soldiers when General Douglas MacArthur evacuated the Philippines in 1942. Under the new command of General Jonathan Wainwright the Americans surrendered to superior Japanese force, among them young Clark. The Japanese summarily ordered this defeated army to march some sixty miles through the dense, humid and scorching jungle. The purpose of the Bataan Death March was cruel attrition; death by exposure, heat exhaustion, dehydration, and starvation. American numbers dwindled. When a captive stumbled, or fainted from heat stroke, or dehydration, the penalty was an immediate beheading. Young Clark bore witness to this historic moment of living hell, and he clearly never separated himself from that ordeal.

Bataan had fused forever into his being.

And that that same ordinary old gent who chatted quietly with my grandfather had a young son was a miracle. In light of his wartime ordeal, Clark should never have survived much less sired a child.

The valiant are everywhere. 

For example there was George, the high school janitor.

For many years this little old fellow cleaned the litter-strewn halls where I taught American history. Equipped with two hearing aids, this diminutive man pushed an immense dust mop, wider than he was tall.

To a passing eye George moved about nearly invisible. Just a friendly, gentle, and harmless grandfather.

As I pontificated about D-Day, Tarawa, and the Bulge to sleepy Juniors, a foot or so of mop often slid and stopped by the open classroom door.  Silent, George hid as I blathered on about the Second World War. A short time later I learned this quiet 80-something had once handled a M-1 Garand, shivering aboard one of those heaving and crashing Higgins boats, churning  toward destiny on Omaha Beach. George had been in that first wave in June, 1944. 

Humbled to learn our little janitor was a living, breathing hero, I became the student. “So George, what do you remember most about that morning?” 

The old warrior rasped in a high, faded voice, “It was awful early, and the water was awful cold.”

So understated.

Another veteran crossed my path at the high school by the name of Roy Cortes. His son, our school Resource Officer brought Roy by to visit with my students. And another narrative of a remarkable life unfolded.

As a teenager Roy was hired by FDR’s Civilian Conservation Corps. In the forests of Idaho Roy Cortes fought fires, built campsites and lookout towers for the US Forest Service. But in late December, 194, after Pearl Harbor, Roy headed straight to the recruiting office, and was sworn into the US Army.

Roy, too, had ferried over from Southampton England, the afternoon of that bloody June day.

“What do you remember most about the invasion, Sir?” a student asked.

The affable elder smiled slightly, then a cloud passed over his expression. “I lost everyone in my outfit. I was real scared. Then I had orders to regroup with other survivors on the beach. You see, that was bad because I’m Mexican-American, and my first platoon got used to me, and the bullying had stopped. Now I had to start all over with the slurs.”

“For days, as we moved inland, these fellas giving me the business. One time this guy says, ‘Mexicans can’t shoot.’ I said that I could. So he said, ‘Ok Manuel, Jose, or whatever your name is. Show me you can shoot.”

“See those birds on that tree branch up ahead? The guy pointed. Shoot one of those.’ I lifted up my rifle and aimed at the branch and pulled the trigger.”

At that Roy again begins chuckling. “I missed the branch, the birds all flew away, and twelve Germans came out of a grove with their hands up.”

Astounded, no one spoke. Then a huge wave of warm laughter filled the classroom. Roy simply smiled and shrugged.

Colonel Clark, George the Janitor, and Roy Cortes. They were just kids whose lives became defined in ways we civilians can never fathom. They were scared, and hot, and cold, and hungry, and suffering, and ultimately lucky enough to come home to America.

They married, raised families, and move on with life.

That’s All.

Gail Chumbley is the author of the two-part memoir “River of January,” and “River of January: Figure Eight,” co-writer of the screenplay, “Dancing On Air” based on those books. She has penned three stage plays on history topics, “Clay” on the life of Senator Henry Clay, “Wolf By The Ears” examining the beginnings of American slavery, and “Peer Review” where 47 is confronted by specters of four past presidents.

La De Da De Dee

The following is an excerpt from the play, Wolf By The Ears, an examination of slavery in America.

The stage plunges in darkness, as The Beat Goes On by Sonny & Cher begins. From offstage The Statue announces,


THE STATUE
That first federal fugitive law just happened to parallel an invention that made cotton pay. Meet Mr. Eli Whitney, a Connecticut Yankee living in Savannah, Georgia.


The song grows quieter. In the darkness, a voice calls out,

WHITE MAN #6
This ought to work, Mistress. No more bottle neck, no more idle hands. You ought to double or triple short staple production with this device.


The stage lights rise on a young white man seated at a desk. He is bent over drawing with a protractor and straight edge. He examines a cotton boll, then lifts the diagram and studies it closely. The Statue remains downstage left. Whitney turns toward him and the audience, then speaks.


WHITE MAN #6
One of my primary objects is to form the tools so the tools themselves shall fashion the work, moving every part of its mechanism.
(He turns the drawing to the audience.)


It’s in this barrel, you see, fitted with small hooks. The teeth catch the lint, and casts off the husk. Short staple cotton could flourish with this.
(As Whitney studies his drawing, again, the Statue approaches. Whitney addresses The Statue proudly explaining)


I design machines, but came here to Georgia knowing nothing of cotton production. You see I am a Yale man, Connecticut born.


THE STATUE
No shit.


(Whitney lifts the drawing and the boll.)
WHITE MAN #6

This combing engine could turn a handsome profit, not only for Mistress Greene but for me. Where is the mischief in that?
(Whitney shrugs and sits again looking at his drawing.)


THE STATUE
An explosion in human suffering, is all. Your profit, their sweat and blood.


The light drops on Whitney, and the sound of cicadas trill. In the semi-light whispering, soft conversation, and light laughter emanate from the stage.The Statue appears on stage, standing next to a seated black woman. A clear spot reveals another woman, white, seated next to her. The women wear dust ruffle caps, and 18th Century dresses. Both are mending and knitting seated side by side. After a moment a separate spot finds The Statue aiding a black man in breeches, a white shirt, and red scarf. The black man leans on a cane. The two men watch the women a long moment then the Statue and speaks.

THE STATUE

This is Mount Vernon, Virginia, in 1790.


BLACK MAN #2
That, . .
(He gestures with his cane.)
.is Ann Dandridge and the Mistress. They often mend, knit and keep busy. No field work for Miss Ann, no sir. Spends her days spinning, weaving, and other such tasks.
The women continue their work.


BLACK MAN #2

(continues)
Mistress brought Ann, and near a hundred others after she married the General and came to Mt. Vernon. All of us know about Ann. The way folks prattle, I expect all of Fairfax County knows about Ann. But news like that doesn’t raise an eyebrow. Old John Dandridge fathered them both, the Mistress Martha Washington and Miss Ann. The Mistress keeps her younger sister close.
The spot dims on Ann Dandridge. Lee leans heavily on his cane, and The Statue helps him onto a bench.


BLACK MAN #2
Though the Mistress kept Ann close, she couldn’t stop her son, Jacky Custis, from forcing himself on Ann. A baby boy followed, after wayward Jacky took his pleasure. Ann, by blood, gave birth to her nephew’s son, and Mistress Washington, a mixed race nephew who also was her grandson. Chew on that a minute.


THE STATUE
(Yells.)
That enough mischief for you, Mr. Whitney?
The Statue and Lee watch the women a long moment, as the spot dims on them. the black man again addresses The Statue.


BLACK MAN
I came to serve the General, both me and my brother Frank, when I was near-grown, but still very much a boy. William Lee is my name, and I have served General Washington over thirty years. By his side through the war against ol’ King George.


THE STATUE
You fought alongside General Washington? Did you go willingly?


BLACK MAN #2
I did. A lot of soldiers of color, in the Revolution. Black, Native, and even women.

THE STATUE
My war too. I mean, the women are nurses, mostly. Jesus, I said my war.


BLACK MAN #2
The General somehow kept the army together. Blizzards, starvation, little ammunition, wretches barely recognizable as men. Got to hand it to the General. Wouldn’t allow no pillaging, though men were feeding on boot leather.
(He pauses.)


Knew all the General’s staff. General Greene, Knox, young Lafayette, fiery Anthony Wayne. Loyal, all of them, not one a turncoat. Well, except General Arnold. Nearly broke Master George’s heart. Mine too, if the truth be told.


Lee grips his cane, and The Statue helps him up.
He freed me right off when the war ended. If shared hardships make for family, then the General and I were family.
(He pauses.)


Wrote him I was coming. To New York. That was where they swore him in, the General. New President then. Told me no, that I was too busted up.
(Taps his knees lightly with the cane.)


Now these are no good. Just couldn’t get around. So Master George is President and. . .I stay here, making shoes. People wear Miss Ann’s stockings, and my shoes.


The spotlight remains fixed as The Statue helps Lee rise, limping with his cane into the darkness, exiting.

Gail Chumbley is the author of the two-part memoir “River of January,” and “River of January: Figure Eight,” co-writer of the screenplay, “Dancing On Air” based on those books. She has penned three stage plays on history topics, “Clay” on the life of Senator Henry Clay, “Wolf By The Ears” examining the beginnings of American slavery, and “Peer Review” where 47 is confronted by specters of four past presidents.

Like Mice

The winter weather lay heavy upon the freezing soldiers on a kind of night even the smallest creature burrowed under, seeking warmth. But for General Washington the driving wind and snow presented a rare strategic opportunity.

Dividing his poorly clad troops into two wings, General Washington planned a pincer attack against German mercenary forces holding the town of Trenton, in New Jersey. This operation, set for Christmas night, 1776, aimed to alarm the British Crown, and to assure Americans that  the war for independence was by no means over. Not only the cold played ally to Washington’s attack, it was also Christmas night, usually a time of respite from hostilities.

As a one-time Colonel in the French and Indian War, Washington had learned a thing or two about guerrilla warfare from Native Americans. The attack on Trenton became the fruit of that learning curve.

While his army floated silently over the Delaware River, boatsmen poled into the freezing water, pushing ice floes left and right to reach the far bank. At dawn, through purple and gray skies his forces approached mercenary-held Trenton, opening musket fire upon dozing sentries, and unprepared Hessian soldiers.

In roughly an hour and a half General Washington and his Continental Army prevailed.

The Battle of Trenton did not defeat the King’s men by any means, no diplomats sat around a table in negotiations. Still Washington and his army proved controlling the place and time of engagement proved the key to defeating their Red-coated oppressors.

Whether he realized it or not, General Washington had effectively made use of what is called a Fabian strategy.

Quintus Fabius Maximus a 3rd Century Roman General lent his name, Fabian, to a military tactic of ceding space for time. Fabius made use of his philosophy to wear down invading Carthaginians in the Second Punic War. Fabius picked away at the enemy through hit and run tactics, avoiding direct battle, opting instead to wear down the invaders. Though not popular among Roman leadership Fabius’ approach proved effective in destroying the Carthaginian army under Hannibal, leader of Carthage.

Another example of a Fabian policy concerns Vietnam.

The French occupied Vietnam around 1858 ostensibly to protect Catholic missionaries in the region. Over time France began solidifying its colonial control laying claim to the land and its resources. Soon the French extended authority over adjacent Laos and Cambodia. The entire area was named French Indochina, where the French government held sway until 1940, when France surrendered and was occupied by the Nazi’s. With approval from the Reichstag Japanese forces invaded Vietnam and remained until 1945 and the end of the war.

After the war France insisted they could take Vietnam back as a colony, and for a number of reasons the western allies agreed.

However, no one consulted the Vietnamese people, and they had other ideas. General Nguyen Giap and his Vietminh, later Vietcong forces stood with revolutionary leader, Ho Chi Minh. Together they implemented a guerrilla strategy to defeat the returning French. Similar to General Washington’s America, the Vietnamese simply wished to be liberated from foreign occupation. Thus commenced a long, drawn-out resistance, that by 1954 ended in defeat for the French. Near the city of Dien Bien Phu, in the northern part of the country, the exhausted colonial occupiers surrendered. 

(In a side note, General Giap’s forces hauled heavy artillery by hand, up steep embankments without the French military detecting their movements. Giap then summarily blew the French out of the valley).

The United States, now neck-deep in Cold War politics raised the alarm. No longer viewed as  freedom fighters, Giap, Ho Chi Minh and the Vietminh army became America’s enemy. The US Government was certain Vietnam was controlled by Communist China, and that could not go unchallenged.

In a hastily arranged conference in Geneva Switzerland, Vietnam was formally divided at the 17th parallel. Pro-Western people gained the South, while Pro-nationalists took the North. In reality the boundary meant nothing. Operatives from the North easily infiltrated the South by way of the Ho Chi Minh Trail, while American presidents passed the buck on military action until 1965. It was then that Lyndon Johnson deployed American Marines, and Americanized the conflict in Southeast Asia.

Thousands of America’s sons shipped over to Vietnam but the numbers did not seem to move the needle in terms of surrender. Military leaders and politicians claimed we were changing the hearts and minds of the Vietnamese people. Then came the Tet Offensive in January, 1968 exposing the Pentagon’s wishful thinking about ending the war. From the DMZ (demilitarized zone) southward to the Mekong Delta, Vietcong (Vietnamese Communists) fighters appeared out of the oppressive mist attacking American installations all at once. Hearts and minds had not been changed, the proof coming to living room televisions via news networks across the United States. 

Americans had been misled and were sacrificing our sons and our money for a lie.

Lyndon Johnson had believed he could ratchet up the pressure on North Vietnam, until finally Ho would acquiesce. That didn’t happen. Even after the death of Ho Chi Minh the North kept pounding away at American personnel especially at night, or in the deep darkness of the elephant grass. Our country has assumed the role of the British in the Revolution; high casualties, extensive supply lines, and millions of dollars.

(In a side note, at peace talks held in Paris, North Vietnamese delegates stalled meaningful  sessions for a year, by arguing about the shape and size of the negotiating table. You see, every day Northern delegates dragged their feet in Paris, the war grew more unpopular stateside. Fabius would have recognized the ploy).

To wrap this object lesson up, Mr Trump is now stuck in the Strait of Hormuz. He can throw around his John Wayne banter, and puff his baggy chest, but the dude has stepped on a giant rake. Like GW Bush in Iraq and Afghanistan, this mess with Iran will not end well for America. Trump is a bumbling aggressor detached from any understanding of military precedence, the country of Iran, nor its government or people.

He has inadvertently bestowed a great gift upon the Iranians. Tehran holds the moral high ground, and a home court advantage, controlling both the time and space. Once again the US has long supply lines expending American blood and treasure. In fact Trump is talking boots on the ground and reactivating the draft.

In his 1989 book From Beirut to Jerusalem, Tom Friedman shares a conversation he had with a Lebanese national. In essence Friedman was told that Americans fight like elephants and that is effective fighting other elephants. But in the Middle East (and every other country touched by colonialism) people fight like mice, much like Quintus Fabius Maximus. 

A cautionary tale to be sure.

Gail Chumbley is the author of the two-part memoir “River of January,” and “River of January: Figure Eight,” co-writer of the screenplay, “Dancing On Air” based on those books. She has penned three stage plays on history topics, “Clay” on the life of Senator Henry Clay, “Wolf By The Ears” examining the beginnings of American slavery, and “Peer Review” where 47 is confronted by specters of four past presidents.

A Fabricated War

It was early August in 1964 when two American ships cruised into the Tonkin Gulf near the coastline of North Vietnam. The long narrow country facing the South China Sea had been divided following World War Two as had Germany and Korea. The demilitarized zone bisecting Vietnam lay somewhere near 17th parallel with the French controlling the South and Nationalist Chinese in the North.

From 1946 until 1954 the French and the Northern army, the Vietminh, jockeyed to unify the country, culminating with the Battle of Dien Bien Phu where the French got their clocks cleaned and arbitration in Geneva formalized the 17th parallel boundary. The US took an active interest in the fate of Vietnam because this was the Cold War Era. It was as if a global chess match shaped foreign policy with Soviet and Chinese Communism, and western democracies calculating strategic moves. As the preeminent post war power, the United States took the forefront in limiting Communist aggression, first in Korea, and then Vietnam.

By 1964 President Lyndon Johnson set his sites on Vietnam to limit the threat of Communist influence. To the President this was a backward country and people, and an overwhelming American force would easily conclude any resistance from Vietnamese Communists. After all how could people in black pajamas defeat the greatest nation in the world? President Johnson only needed a pretense, or provocation to commit American forces south of the demilitarized zone.

And that provocation cruised into the Gulf of Tonkin in early August of 1964. First the US destroyer, Maddox followed by another destroyer, the Turner Joy reported receiving fire from North Vietnamese forces. The ‘Gulf of Tonkin Incident’ as it became known resulted with President Johnson deploying Marines to Vietnam in March of 1965.

And that my friends was how the United States blundered into a land war in Southeast Asia.

Unknown to Johnson or his Warhawk cabinet was the character of their foe. Ho Chi Minh had been a Vietnamese Nationalist from his earliest days. Educated in France, Ho Chi Minh, as a student, bought a suit in Paris and made his way to the Hall Of Mirrors in Versailles. World War One had ended and he had hoped to plead Vietnam’s desire for relief from French Colonial occupation to President Wilson. But of course racism prohibited his entrance and embittered, Ho bided his time returning to Vietnam in 1941. He and his Vietminh worked with the Americans fighting Japan believing independence would come at the hands of the United States.

That didn’t happen.

Over time Ho Chi Minh became the indispensable man in freeing Vietnam. A George Washington if you will, of the Vietnamese people. President Johnson ought to have understood that.

But no.

The American land war escalated and the bombing raids under “Operation Rolling Thunder” and Nixon’s “December Bombing” did nothing to bring the North Vietnamese to heel.

From President’s Johnson to Nixon to Gerald Ford the conflict dragged on until in 1973 all American forces came home. Over 58 thousand Americans died in Vietnam and the truth was the provocation that sparked the war never happened. The Gulf of Tonkin Incident. For real. The so-called incident had been fabricated.

Now we again are under the knuckle of a completely vacuous man who believes he can bomb a nation and culture centuries old. Ramping up force garners nothing from a proud people, in this case the Persians, to quit. Like the deadbeat he is, Trump believes he can wear down the Iranians like a window installer he’s refused to pay. But he doesn’t know who he is dealing with, and he can’t sue or counter sue or in anyway wait out Iran until they tire and give up. That will never happen, like it never happened in Vietnam.

A greedy, hateful, racist goomba from Queens cannot win this fabricated war. Reality doesn’t work like that.

Gail Chumbley is the author of the two-part memoir “River of January,” and “River of January: Figure Eight,” co-writer of the screenplay, “Dancing On Air” based on those books. She has penned three stage plays on history topics, “Clay” on the life of Senator Henry Clay, “Wolf By The Ears” examining the beginnings of American slavery, and “Peer Review” where 47 is confronted by specters of four past presidents.

A Plan of Action

The Republican Party and televised journalism have clashed since the early days of the small screen (The 1950’s). GOP politicians, and some Democrats too (see Gary Hart, Bill Clinton, and John Edwards) condemn the scrutiny of television news as it exposes the raw ambition, and ‘win at any cost,’ antics of political figures. Television, for the first time provided the public the opportunity to judge up close, political figures.

Angry with forty years of negative coverage the right wing movement left mainstream media behind and established their own outlet, Fox News. Fox has provided a safe haven to posture, misdirect, lie, and spin their way to electoral success.

Senator Joseph McCarthy, elected after WWII exploited America’s growing fear of Communist expansion. On his path to prominence he waved papers before adoring crowds recklessly accusing the US government of harboring Soviet sympathizers. McCarthy became a forceful favorite of the Right. 

But then came the household tv set and McCarthy’s rise came to a screeching halt.

His aggressive tactics faithfully reported in print media had now switched to the small screen. This time McCarthy accused the US Army of harboring Communists. He browbeat witnesses on live tv while bulldozing through hearing procedures. His belligerence did not play well with people watching at home, and shortly after, for this, and other misconduct the Senate voted to censure McCarthy. Still howling about the Communist menace the disgraced Senator died four years later from alcoholism.

Another case in point was Richard Nixon. 

His rise to high office came about quickly. Utilizing the dirty tricks that later brought him down Nixon served in the House, the Senate, as Vice President, and by 1960 the Republican nominee for President. Like McCarthy, he too held a hardline against the spread of Soviet Communism. But Nixon’s promising career hit a bump when he appeared with handsome, polished, Democrat John F Kennedy. In the very first of its kind televised debate Nixon stumbled before the viewing audience, appearing ill at ease and perspiring heavily. With questions from the debate moderator, and his unflattering appearance Nixon’s performance and candidacy flopped. 

Two-years later Richard Nixon ran for and lost the governorship of California. Defeated, and appearing before the cameras, barely controlling his frustration, Nixon snapped at the press they “didn’t have Nixon to kick around anymore.”

Senator Barry Goldwater was the GOP’s 1964 hardliner nominee. Goldwater’s extreme rhetoric such as advocating use of nuclear weapons in Vietnam did not play well on broadcast airwaves, and he too lost his bid. 

But unlike Nixon, this time the Party’s loss translated into a plan of action. A Republican marketer, Richard Viguerie turned to a strategy to dispense with televised press coverage. Viguerie initiated a direct mailing campaign to wealthy Republican donors. Energizing the Far Right, and absent from television coverage, the GOP began to change their luck. 

In 1964 Republican candidate Ronald Reagan was elected Governor of California. Four years later Nixon, too, enjoyed a comeback, and in the tumult of the Vietnam War Nixon succeeded to the White House. However, the lengthy televised war in Southeast Asia, coupled with domestic upheaval stateside put great pressure on the Nixon Administration. Reporters, with cameramen in tow, generated a steady diet of unfavorable coverage. By his second term the 37th President had initiated his Enemies List, a list that included prominent television journalists. 

As the Watergate scandal and subsequent hearings consumed the country, Nixon’s illegal behavior, backed by audio tapes, eroded his support. To make matters worse for the President his Vice President, Spiro Agnew, no friend of the free press, had to resign his office following revelations of accepting bribes and evading taxes while governor of Maryland. 

The public saw nothing but rot oozing from the Nixon Administration.

In the twilight of Vietnam, hyperinflation, and the 1970’s Oil Embargo, Ronald Reagan won the 1980 election in a landslide. Unlike Richard Nixon, or Barry Goldwater, Reagan could handle the tv cameras. Still Reagan also recognized the scrutiny of the small screen didn’t favor conservative politicians. Toward the end of his second term Congress dutifully ended the “Fairness Doctrine,” the FCC’s requirement of presenting both sides of an issue. 

Reagan left office in scandal as well, in a sensational episode of secret arms sales to Iran to fund Nicaraguan soldiers in overthrowing a regime in Central America. These Iran-Contra hearings were televised as well.

Conservatives had had enough.

Inside of ten years, in 1996, Fox News began broadcasting under the watchful eye of CEO Roger Ailes. Back when Ailes had been Nixon’s media consultant he experienced first hand the optics problem of the Right. Free to operate with no constraints, Fox News successfully supplied distorted stories that incited viewer outrage presenting “alternative facts” to borrow a phrase from Kellyanne Conway.

So here we are today. The man in the White House presides over lies, misinformation and other lawless abuses while insisting that main stream news is fake. He grifts and riffs nonsense to his devoted, gullible, base. Like Richard Viguerie’s message to wealthy donors, followers want to be validated without the complication of exposure on the small screen. 

Sean Hannity of Fox, when asked, explained his network was not news, but entertainment. Sure.

Thoroughly brainwashed by distorted “news” now including OAN, Newsmax, and other outlets, MAGA faithful tolerate, or worse celebrate a convicted rapist and pedophile in the White House. 

Ultimately, the GOP couldn’t take the heat, so they found a way to avoid the truth. It’s time to reinstate the Fairness Doctrine because an open democracy lives and dies by an informed electorate.

Gail Chumbley is the author of the two-part memoir “River of January,” and “River of January: Figure Eight,” co-writer of the screenplay, “Dancing On Air” based on those books. She has penned three stage plays on history topics, “Clay” on the life of Senator Henry Clay, “Wolf By The Ears” examining the beginnings of American slavery, and “Peer Review” where 47 is confronted by specters of four past presidents.

Fighting Or Giving Up

A Symphony in Beeps

No dark tunnel materialized and no bright light, nor familiar voices whispering through a filmy barrier. Instead I stood on a beach in broad daylight. And I knew this beach well. The sand cushioned my bare feet while a stiff plank ran the length of my back, from my head to my ankles. “It’s a surf board” my mind explained, “see, your’e on a beach.” The location made sense. A still lake spread to my right, Cocolalla Lake in northern Idaho where I spent all my summers as a kid.

But in reality I was anesthetized, undergoing surgery at the University of Utah in Salt Lake. My colon had perforated that morning, and as I later learned my body was strapped down to a table. Still, while under I found myself in an alternative consciousness, standing on the shore of life and death.

The hardness of the board impeded easy movement, but I could shift my eyes side to side, and my feet just a little. To my left, seated on a rock wall, waited my ex-husband. That was not a good thing. Marriage to him had been difficult. He wasn’t a serious husband or father. Sadly enough his behaviors were fixed, and after our divorce he continued along his destructive path, succumbing to an early death about a year before I went under the knife. 

But at that moment he lounged on those rocks very much alive, watching me intently.

Wearing pink nylon shorts, a baggy white tank top, and flip flops, he continued to stare. Finally he spoke, “Hi Gail.” 

I reacted with contempt thinking, “Oh, Hell No!” If staying with him is what’s in store I’m not sticking around here. That’s when I shifted my eyes in the other direction, to my right where my son waited for me wading in the still, shallow water.

My son is very much alive, and I was glad to see him.

In tiny steps akin to a Tim Conway comedy skit, I made my move ignoring the guy on the seawall, shuffling instead toward my son.

Flash to the following morning when I awoke in the intensive care unit at the U hospital. With a tube forced down my throat, my wrists tied to the side bars, my daughter stood over me with worry etched in her face. She and the ICU nurse both spoke as I struggled to convey I wanted that plastic obstruction out of my wind pipe. 

This hospital stay extended to seven days, with a repeat admission shorty after due to a related complication. The holiday season fizzled out as I was in poor shape and trying to recover..

It now has been over two months since surgery and that strange vision. The intubation tube is long gone and I am sporting a colostomy bag with a slowly healing incision down the middle of my gut. Bye bye belly button. The Home Health nurses visited every day for nearly six weeks packing gauze into two fissures pitted along an incompletely healed stomach. 

On one particular visit the nurse explained that I had indeed been strapped to a hard foam-core table in the operating room. My head, torso and legs were firmly secured down so as not to move during the procedure. But in my mind I did visit another place, a vivid locale somewhere between giving in or fighting back.

This Tuesday I will celebrate my 71st birthday, and I truly welcome the day. I have children and grandchildren who all mean the world to me. Ahead there’s athletic events, recitals, graduations, and with a little luck a wedding or two.

Besides I can’t kick the bucket right now, I must do what I can to help save the Republic and see Trump behind bars.

There is still much to do.

The Flats

It was mid-summer in 1932 Washington DC. A giant shanty town, popularly known as a “Hooverville” had sprouted in an open area on the Anacostia Flats. Veterans from the First World War had made their way to the Capital, bringing their desperate families to persuade Congress to pay a promised bonus for military service in the Great War.

America had hit bottom by 1932, the country devastated by the 1929 Stock Market Crash that drifted into the Great Depression. Raggedly men, women, and children somehow had traveled to the city, all desperately hoping the promised bonus could be issued at once rather than 1945, the date set by the provisions of the law. These people brought little and had nowhere to go except to throw themselves on the mercy of a Democratic House, Republican Senate, and a Republican President.

Scrapped tin, packing crates, chicken wire and other material made up the shacks on the Flats, with folks making homes that were better than nothing. The Hoover administration was not happy a bit with these scruffy people descending on Washington and opposed paying the bonus (dollar amount depending on service records) as it would unbalance the national budget. The “Bonus Marchers” as they were called, roamed around the city, many in bare feet, speaking to reporters while filmed by newsreel companies such as Pathe’ News, and Hearst Metrotone News.

Finally on June 15, 1932 the House approved paying the bonus, but the bill had to find approval in the Senate. Two days later a Republican led Senate rejected the bill, dashing the hopes of destitute veterans.

After the vote Senators exited the Capitol through the underground rail system safely avoiding the stunned marchers outside.

By July 28 President Hoover had had enough of the vagabonds. He ordered General Douglas McArthur to use his troops to expel the marchers from the Flats. At the end of that meeting the President cautioned the General to avoid violence at all costs.

McArthur directed his men, including two young Majors, Dwight Eisenhower and George Patton, to fix bayonets and follow dispatched tanks into the shanty town. Briefing his troops George Patton instructed his men that “If you must fire do a good job — a few casualties become martyrs, a large number an object lesson. . . . When a mob starts to move keep it on the run. . . . Use a bayonet to encourage its retreat. If they are running, a few good wounds in the buttocks will encourage them. If they resist, they must be killed.”

Hmm.

Thinking along the same lines General McArthur ordered tear gas lobbed and setting fire to the rickety camp. In the melee two Bonus Marchers were killed and a 12-week old baby succumbed to tear gas.

The camp burned through the night and with it Herbert Hoover’s reputation. Four months later, In November Franklin Delano Roosevelt won the White House in an electoral landslide.

In America real change rises from us, the people, not from the White House. When citizens of this nation have had enough and demand justice, justice shall be done.

William Hushka of Chicago and Eric Carlson of Oakland, California perished in that long ago assault. Another casualty was infant Bernard Myers who lost his brief life from tear gas related complications. These citizens were indeed George Patton’s martyrs who still deserve to be remembered.

As do Renee Good and Alex Pretti of Minneapolis.

Stay the course my friends, We are The People and possess enormous power. Let us use it.

Gail Chumbley is the author of the two-part memoir “River of January,” and “River of January: Figure Eight,” co-writer of the screenplay, “Dancing On Air” based on those books. She has penned three stage plays on history topics, “Clay” on the life of Senator Henry Clay, “Wolf By The Ears” examining the beginnings of American slavery, and “Peer Review” where 47 is confronted by specters of four past presidents.

An Old Adage

Newsday 2018

An old adage claimed “elect a Democrat you’ll have a war, elect a Republican you’ll have a depression.” Another maintained that “Democrats care about people while Republicans care about money.”

I suppose I could line up administrations to illustrate these truisms: Wilson, World War One, Coolidge/Hoover, the Great Depression, FDR, WWII, etcetera, but that isn’t where this piece is going. Let’s just say that the two parties had identifiers that each have lobbed at the other for more than a century.

The traditional GOP insisted they stood for small government, morality, the rule of law, a balanced budget, strong security, and principled leadership. However that branding from the early 20th Century has all but faded, the veneer stripped away with the presidential elections of 2016, and 2024.

Criticize what you like about the supply-side economic policies of Ronald Reagan and George W Bush’s foray into Iraq, but there was never any doubt of their fidelity to country. Yeah, the Stock Market collapsed in 1987 and nearly went over a cliff again in 2008, yet Republican patriotism was never in question. President Reagan, in particular stood tall as an anti-Communist crusader, ushering in the collapse of Russian hegemony. Later President George W Bush stood at Ground Zero and vowed to punish the Jihadist attackers following September 11th.

The guiding principle of the Grand Old Party was that through merit, hard work, and talent, every American could participate in a free market without artificial impediments. Still strong among rank and file Republicans was the old notion that one could pick oneself up by the bootstraps and succeed in the game of life. That ethos of individualism had shaped the party since the election of Lincoln, (the epitome of a self-made man). And yeah the wealthy have never liked taxes, but overall as good Americans they generally paid along with the rest of us.

As mentioned above the bedrock of the party stressed government must operate on a balanced budget. As the sun rises and sets campaigning Republicans have forever insisted they are fiscally responsible and have promised to cut pork-barrel spending, lower taxes, and balance the budget from the statehouse to the halls of Congress.

All in all the garden variety Republican has been defined as a patriotic, conservative, morally upright, pro business, pro small government, pro national security, and a person who supports lower taxes.

As I write the national debt has bloomed to over $38 trillion dollars, which broken down to each American comes to around $114,000 per person. Most current federal spending is merely managing mega-accruing interest. In the double-dealing hands of this new Republican Caucus the US Government has teetered on default more than once, with the current President cynically commenting that “debt doesn’t bother me.” And why would he? The man has made around $4 billion since returning to office, despite clear violations of the emoluments clause.

The January 6, 2021 premeditated insurrection by para-military groups who were filmed ripping down US flags and wielding the poles for weapons, vandalized the Capitol, assaulting, and even murdering police officers explains all we need to know about the GOP and their rule of law.

Not one of your party has stepped up to restrain the White House from deploying many of those same rioters, now heavily armed and masked as ICE agents. These men are threatening citizens in their malicious immunity, and yes again killing Americans. This mockery of law and order isn’t limited to offenses across the country. He returned to office a convicted rapist, and guilty of business fraud. By willful indifference he is stalling out the release the Epstein files in violation of your majority passed law, and pardoning countless criminals.

Law and Order Party?

In 2022 over 300 classified documents were discovered crammed into nooks and crannies around Trump’s Mar A Lago golf club, some in his gold-gilt bathroom around the toilet. Sensitive intelligence. He just took them because he thinks he’s entitled. Jim Risch as chair of the foreign relations committee you have done squat. Shame on you. And it appears that Russian strongman, Vladimir Putin already knows what it in those files anyway. Treason in real time.

Attacking Venezuela? Threatening Greenland? These actions are the craziest efforts since Caligula made his horse Proconsul in Rome.

Where is the party of national security?

Clearly the GOP never meant what they stood for, and have lied for decades when professing before God loyalty to the Constitution. America no longer recognizes you as a patriotic, conservative, law abiding, principled party.

Lust for power and greed, (looking at you Mitch McConnell, you could have stopped this in his first term but the payoff was irresistible). Today’s Grand Old Party is no longer that familiar, reliable organization of Buick owners our fathers knew. Today’s elected officials have become nothing more than hand maidens to an unbalanced, corrupt man.

Maybe it is true. Republicans only care about money, but with DJT we get the war and depression to boot.

Gail Chumbley is the author of the two-part memoir “River of January,” and “River of January: Figure Eight,” co-writer of the screenplay, “Dancing On Air” based on those books. She has penned three stage plays on history topics, “Clay” on the life of Senator Henry Clay, “Wolf By The Ears” examining the beginnings of American slavery, and “Peer Review” where 47 is confronted by specters of four past presidents.