Discover Politics

As he descended the pit of the old chamber maintaining his even gate, he saw the object of his scorn:  old Charles Sumner, who had his back conveniently turned as he fumbled with some papers.  Preston saw his opportunity; he lifted the metal-tipped cane, gripped it with both hands and swung the weapon with all his might, splitting United States Senator Charles Sumner’s (R-MA) head wide open and certainly mussing his thick, wavy hair for which the senator was a bit vain.  Unsatisfied with the single blow, South Carolina Congressman Preston Brooks (D-SC) continued his lively lesson in honor for another 60 seconds as Senator Sumner pulled his chamber desk from it moorings as he held on, literally, for dear life.

In the end, Senator Sumner did survive but he did not return to the Senate for three years as he recuperated from his bloody beating.  Representative Brooks, for his part, immediately resigned from Congress to avoid certain and well-earned censure, and was then promptly reelected when the time came.  Both were heroes in their respective states: one a defiant slave-stater; the other a committed abolitionist.  So much for civil discourse on the floor of the United States Senate that May 22, 1856.

I think of this incident each time some uninitiated philistine decries the negative level of political nastiness today.  “So much worse today than the statesmen-like debate of the past.” Not quite backed up by historical fact.  Indeed, today’s politics are much softer than ever.  The worst one really hears are rather childish comments about the thickness of Hilary Clinton’s ankles (they are) or the limited voltage of George Bush’s intellect (higher SAT than Al Gore’s).  A thought comes to mind as I scratch this essay out:  Hilary and George in the ring with canes-a-flying.  Who would be left standing?

My money’s on Hilary. G2 would tap out, as they say, or walk with a limp to the end of his days.

But I digress.

No my friends, the current tenor of political rhetoric is sadly rather flat compared to days gone by.  Just ask Alexander Hamilton as he lay dying on the west bank of the Hudson River with Aaron Burr’s mini-ball lodged in his liver if he thought politics were civil.  He would have most certainly, in his last moment of life, perceived otherwise.

Or you might inquire of the America’s first real populist President Andrew Jackson his consideration of the pleasantries of early Washington politics.  Much taken aback during his administration by the snippy ladies of the time who shunned his lovely but prior divorced bride Rachel (tossing whispered invectives such as “harlot” her way), the good president was forced to partake in a total of 13 pistol duels.  A good deal of this going on in those days.

Can one imagine Gore v. Bush in 2001 at 20 paces?  Me thinks not.

In any case. Old Hickory as he was known for his ability to take a slug in the chest without flinching, had so much lead in him by the time he died he was the modern equivalent of an EPA-banned Chinese child rattle.  Indeed, one missile lodged permanently so close to his heart that it caused him not only unending pain for the rest of his life, but also the unpleasant habit of spitting up blood at the oddest of times, like during his addresses to Congress.

A small side bar. Have you ever handled, examined or fired a flint lock pistol? Heavy, loud, smokey, prone to misfire, mostly inaccurate, but when they do find the mark and intrude the flesh all manner of misfortune is inflicted upon the intended beneficiary. Not dissimilar to the public policy finding its way to law from Washington today.

Let’s continue.  Think of that wonderful author of that most lovely document, The Declaration of Independence and our illustrious third president Thomas Jefferson who paid handsomely for the first recorded opposition research in American political history.  He hired a convicted felon to surrepitiously trail and dig up dirt on President John Adams and spread, quite effectively, salacious rumors about the robust number two. (Back then I bet spies really did use cloaks and daggers). As any secondary student of history knows well Jefferson won.  John and Betsy were relegated to a bumpy carriage ride home to the farm, and early political retirement.

While he did not engage in any pistol wagging in his lifetime, my personal favorite for malevolent political discourse is none other than President “Give ‘em Hell Harry” Truman.  Nary a day passed without the bespectacled former dirt farmer from Missouri calling his Republican opposition things like “Blood sucking pigs.”  Another jestful harangue went:  “Suppose you were an idiot.  Suppose you were a Republican.  But I repeat myself.”

My word, one would surely swoon if such a comment were tossed out today. One wonders what would happen if an election certificate holder would call a member of the opposition party something terrible like “liar.” One politician calling another politician a liar? That’s just downright unacceptable! And so rife with obvious irony as barely worthy of comment.

Well, I miss that type of rhetoric.  The dueling, however, I could do without; more than anything because I am admittedly unhandy with a loaded firearm.

And finally, Teddy Roosevelt during his tenure in the New York Assembly, trained pugilist and Nobel Laureate (Peace Prize 1906), routinely bloodied and busted the noses and put to decidedly unpeaceful, if temporary sleep, more than a few of his many political opponents in the local Albany pubs after the daily session recessed.  He also kept a club (a leg from a broken desk) underneath his table during committee hearings in defense against frequent threatened and real attack.

Unlike President Obama, Teddy earned his peace prize: He lobbied for war, fought in that war, carried a great big stick and pounded the Boston Baked Beans out of people for it. Now that’s my kind of Peacemaker.

Those were, my friends, the days.  These are decided not.

While there are manifold other examples, the point is made.  The gentle politics of today pale in comparison to the play-for-keeps, aim and don’t miss style of yester-year.

So enjoy the pleasantries of modern, peaceful politics.  Boring yes, but rarely fatal.

I prefer the past.

Until later.

Winston Smith observes life, or as he puts it “The Slow Parade of Lemmings, ” with a 12-year old single malt scotch in hand, and a Fuente Fuente Opus X in the ash tray.  He scratches out his thoughts on parchment with a well-dipped fountain pen.

In his spare time, Winston enjoys swimming the English Channel, and tinkering in his basement medical device and pharmaceutical shop.  He is currently working on a cure to help the millions suffering from the scourge of political indifference.