Give Peas a Chance

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"[I]f we think it's hard now, imagine how these guys are going to be thinking six months from now in the middle of election season where they're all up. It's not going to get easier. It's going to get harder. So we might as well do it now — pull off the Band–Aid; eat our peas."

Barack Obama
July 11, 2011

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I'll be the first one to admit that the headline on this post is not original. I heard that Rush Limbaugh used it on his radio program (sneeringly, I'm sure), and the Washington Post used it as the headline on its editorial supporting Obama.

And it wouldn't surprise me if some form(s) of it wound up in print elsewhere.

It just seems so right for this topic, no matter which side of the fence you're on — and Limbaugh and the Post are about as far apart as you can get.

I've never been able to resist a really clever play on words. Neither could John Lennon, the guy who wrote "Give Peace a Chance" back during the Vietnam era.

And I think he would have appreciated this one.

I've always respected Obama's gift for public speaking. It's a gift he used far more effectively on the campaign trail than he has in the White House, and I think that is because he still hasn't learned the truth in Mario Cuomo's observation so many years ago about campaigning in poetry and governing in prose.

Obama simply hasn't proven to be nimble enough to manage that tricky transition. He wants to be the eternal outsider cheered on by his adoring supporters. He refuses to accept the fact that he has a record and that he is responsible for the economy now.

Obama rightfully admires past presidents who had a similar gift for the poetry of the campaign trail — guys like Lincoln and the Roosevelts and JFK — but he forgets the crucial role that leadership played in the success of their presidencies — even if that success was not recognized during that president's lifetime.

I think Obama sees himself as being like them in many ways — as he imagines himself to be, he sees them as being smarter than most of the Americans of their time and having used their superior language skills to sway the naysayers.

But he is often bewildered because, while he thinks is doing exactly what they did, he doesn't get the same response from lawmakers and voters — and that can be frustrating as well as bewildering.

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"I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh, Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood."

The Animals

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There is a reason for that response, and I have been writing about it here since Obama took office.

It is not racism — the all–purpose excuse onto which the president's supporters latch when the results of his policies are disappointing.

This president has some admirable virtues. When he came to office, he was aware of a lot of problems, and his instinct was to deal with all of them.

To me, that suggests someone who deeply loves his country, someone who wants only the best for his country. He wants no flaws — even though such a state of perfection is impossible to achieve. It does not suggest someone who wants to turn the country upside down and inside out, as his political opponents have strongly implied.

But with unemployment as high as it was when Obama took office (and, of course, it is much higher still today, 2½ years down the road), it was obvious to me that, before anything else could be done, it was urgent to put America back to work. It would take money and lots of it to repair schools and highways and power grids, to develop alternative energy sources, to achieve all the things Obama said he wanted to achieve.

That meant that a much larger tax base would be necessary. To achieve that, it was necessary to put people back to work — so they could contribute to the tax revenue again.

For me, it was obvious what needed to be done. The question was how to do it.

In 2008, the poetry of his campaign speeches spoke to people — but too often "yes we can" has become "they won't let us" since Obama took office. The rhetoric rings hollow today. It sure doesn't sound like leadership.

It's easy enough at this point to say that, if the stimulus package had worked as advertised, things would be different. America was told a lot of things about what the stimulus would achieve — and little about what it would not.

If the stimulus had worked the way Obama told the country it would, I think it is likely that there would be no debt ceiling debate today. Oh, perhaps there would be, but the dynamics would certainly be different.

But it did not work as advertised.

For many Americans, especially unemployed Americans, it came as a shock when unemployment continued to post six–digit monthly losses long after the stimulus was passed — and they watched many of the outfits that caused the economic collapse in the first place regain lost ground and post hefty profits while the jobless slid deeper into economic quicksand.

Meanwhile, Obama said little publicly about job creation (frankly, I was shocked when he said not a single word about unemployment on the first Labor Day of his presidency). He spoke instead about his Supreme Court nominations (neither of which ever were in jeopardy), and he spoke a lot about his health care reform package. And he made a controversial speech to the schoolchildren of America.

As far as millions of unemployed Americans are concerned, Obama has been negligent. I've heard some suggest he should be impeached.

It was no secret that Republicans didn't like many of the things the Democrats did in the first couple of years of the Obama presidency, and it is certainly not a novel experience for the minority party to dislike and resist the majority's initiatives, but they were essentially powerless to do anything about them, especially after Al Franken was declared the winner in Minnesota, giving the Democrats a filibuster–proof majority in the Senate.

That was a golden opportunity, but the Democrats squandered it. Since the elections last fall, we've been hearing more from Obama on job creation — it's a welcome change but seems a little late and far too politically motivated. Besides, it comes across as insincere, considering the window he had.

I think most presidents have to learn that their opportunity is limited and they have to take advantage of their chances — and most do learn that by the midterm elections, if not before. Obama is still learning that, even after his party lost its huge majority in the House — and in spectacular fashion.

I suspect he will still be learning it when the debt ceiling crisis is past.

Eat your own damn peas, Mr. President.

A Million Tomorrows

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In recent days, my thoughts have been on now absent friends — a longtime family friend who died last weekend and the brother of one of my closest friends who chose to take his own life a couple of days ago.

Their passing — like the recent anniversary of my mother's death — reminds me of times in my life that I cherish. Times that are gone forever — and, yet, they are times to which I still would like to return whenever I wish, like walking through a door into another room in your home.

That reminds me of something that John Lennon once said. I forget precisely how he phrased it, but it was something like this: "Death is like getting out of one car and getting into another."

Perhaps it is that simple.

But it can be downright tough to be among those who are left. This week, I've been remembering the service at my mother's graveside. At the conclusion, some of her friends had arranged to release balloons in a symbolic gesture to my mother's spirit, which was understood to be up there. I stood next to my father and, although I don't know if he has ever believed in an afterlife, I heard him mutter, "I want to go, too," as the balloons sailed higher and higher, finally disappearing in some clouds.

There are times when losing the people close to me seems to make me more aware of my responsibility to remember things. I mean, who will remember them if I don't?

In the last week, I've been thinking about moments I shared with my mother. Some are moments I haven't thought about in a long time, but, in most cases, I'm the only one left who would remember them. When I die, those memories will cease to exist.

And then I think of Big Bob, and I remember the times my family shared with his when I was growing up. There's a larger group of people who might remember those moments, but I often wonder if any of them do.

And then there is Sam, who was closer to my age but didn't cast the same kind of shadow over my life. I knew him through Brady, and I remember times when Sam was with us and he played his guitar.

Those were the days, my friend. I thought they'd never end.

But, like all things, they did.

Memories like that are frozen in my mind. I often feel like I'm the last one standing, sometimes figuratively, sometimes literally — like Gloria Stuart, who, as 102–year–old Rose in "Titanic," laments that Jack (Leonardo DiCaprio) "exists only in my memory."

For some reason, in recent days I have been thinking of Randy Sparks' song "Today," which he composed while with the New Christy Minstrels, the folk group he formed nearly 50 years ago.

I guess most of the younger generation haven't heard of the New Christy Minstrels. Folk music isn't as popular as it used to be. And "Today" wasn't as big a hit for the Minstrels as songs like "This Land is Your Land."

But "Today" is, in my opinion, one of the best songs of the folk era — and it is a reminder that what is true today may not be true tomorrow.

Take nothing for granted.

Remembering John Lennon

Twenty-seven years ago today, John Lennon was gunned down in front of his apartment building in New York.

I think that was perhaps the most significant event that occurred during my college days. And my college days seemed to be filled with significant events.

Even today, more than a quarter of a century later, the thought of the night that Lennon was killed brings back vivid memories. Of all people, I got the news from Howard Cosell during that night’s broadcast of Monday Night Football. I don’t remember which teams were playing that night, but I’ll always remember hearing the news.

I had just turned 21, and I was with some friends at a local watering hole. It was during final exams, although none of us had an exam scheduled for the next day. My friends and I had all turned 21 within the previous three weeks and we were celebrating, you might say.

What had been a light-hearted evening shared by friends who were enjoying their first night together as legal adults dissolved into tragedy almost immediately.

It was a different world in those days. Cable wasn’t the pervasive influence it is today, and, while CNN existed, it wasn’t a part of the basic cable package. You had to pay extra for it. That is, if it was even available in your area.

To get breaking news, you still had to rely on local network affiliates. And I remember going home that night and frantically switching channels until I found one providing a report on the shooting. I guess I needed to confirm the information. Maybe I didn’t fully trust Cosell. Or maybe I just didn’t want to believe what I had heard.

In the Liverpool Echo, Dawn Collinson reflects on the night Lennon was killed. Liverpool, of course, felt the impact of the murder more keenly than almost any other city in the world, since it truly was the birthplace of the Beatles.

A couple of years ago, on the 25th anniversary of the shooting, I read numerous articles online about Lennon, the Beatles, and Lennon’s assassin, Mark David Chapman.

Many of those articles had sections where readers could post their reactions. One reader posted something about how wrong it was for people to remember the anniversary of Lennon’s death instead of observing the anniversary of Pearl Harbor the previous day.

The statement wasn’t true, of course. Then, as now, there was an observation of Pearl Harbor on December 7 by veterans of that attack in Hawaii. But Pearl Harbor was more than 65 years ago, and, in the natural progression of time, the vets of Pearl Harbor are dying off. There will come a time when no one alive remembers what happened that Sunday in 1941 that lives in infamy.

Just as there will come a time when no one alive remembers the shooting of John Lennon on that Monday night in 1980.

But does that mean those events will cease to be acknowledged? No. History doesn’t really work the way that reader suggested. No one I’ve ever known made a choice between whether to acknowledge the Pearl Harbor anniversary on the 7th or the Lennon killing on the 8th. For my part, I’ve always acknowledged both sacrifices.

In The Star, Kathleen O’Hara writes today about Lennon’s memory. The latest example of the ongoing interest in the late former Beatle is a new film, ”The Killing of John Lennon,” which apparently just opened in London, where O’Hara is based these days.

The film is due to open in the United States on January 2. And, from what I’ve read, it focuses mostly on Chapman and his descent into madness.

O’Hara recalls her experience as a youngster living in Toronto at the height of Beatlemania. And she explains her reasoning for not wanting to see the film.

”I prefer to remember the John Lennon I saw deftly dodging a popcorn box in Toronto,” she writes, ”than the one lying in blood outside the Dakota apartment building in New York City.”

I’m not sure that memories or the mind work that way. Are choices like that really possible?

O’Hara may want to remember seeing Lennon and the Beatles in concert in the 1960s, but she may not be able to divorce that memory from the one of his death in 1980.

Nor can I successfully separate my memories of the Beatles and Lennon’s fledgling comeback effort earlier in 1980 from my recollection of Cosell reporting the shooting.

It’s all part of the tapestry of the human experience.