The RFK Assassination

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"Tragedy is a tool for the living to gain wisdom, not a guide by which to live."

Robert F. Kennedy

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Today is the 50th anniversary of the fatal shooting of Sen. Robert F. Kennedy in Los Angeles after he had declared victory in the California presidential primary.

He didn't die immediately. He lingered for about 24 hours.

I have written on this blog before about my memories of that event. What I am thinking about today is the aftermath — when his body was brought back to New York for the funeral, then carried by train to Washington where he was buried next to his brother in Arlington Cemetery.

I remember watching the funeral service on TV — and seeing Sen. Edward Kennedy's moving eulogy to his brother. I remember the stoic demeanor of Kennedy's widow, Ethel. In the context of what had occurred in the preceding days, it was heart–breaking.

But I suppose my dominant memory is of the train making its way from New York to Washington. It is a distance of only about 200 miles — ordinarily a four–hour trip by train, historian Theodore White observed, but more than doubled by the crowds that came out to pay their respects. It seemed as if nearly everyone who lived between those two cities came out and stood beside the railroad tracks until the train carrying Kennedy's body went by.

At first, the crowds were mostly small groups, but as the train proceeded, the crowds grew larger, standing three, four, five rows deep, sometimes more. Every segment of the American population was represented — young, old, black, white, affluent, poor. Sometimes they spilled onto the tracks, forcing the train to slow down even more. My memory is that a handful of people may have been killed after being struck by the train.

There have been museum exhibits recently that sought to capture that experience for those who have no memory of that time, but the sensation is incomplete without knowledge of the signs that were always present during Kennedy's life — and followed him to his grave.

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When Kennedy walked among us, those signs encouraged him to seek the presidency or demanded justice after he made his decision to run. After he was shot and his fate was still unknown but widely anticipated, the signs read "Pray for Bobby." Along the train route, they simply said, "Goodbye" or "So long."

White tried to describe the scene — but how do you describe the indescribable?

"There were the family groups: husband holding sobbing wife, arm around her shoulders, trying to comfort her," he wrote. "Five nuns in a yellow pickup truck, tiptoeing high to see. A very fat father with three fat boys, he with his hand over his heart, each of the boys giving a different variant of the Boy Scout or school salute. And the people: the men from the great factories that line the tracks, standing at ease as they were taught as infantrymen, their arms folded over chests. Women on the back porches of the slum neighborhoods that line the tracks, in their housedresses, with ever–present rollers in their hair, crying. People in buildings, leaning from office windows, on the flat roofs of industrial plants, on the bluffs of the rivers, on the embankments of the railway cuts, a crust on every ridge and height. Pleasure boats in the rivers lined up in flotillas; automobiles parked on all the viaducts that crossed the line of the train. Brass bands — police bands, school bands, Catholic bands. Flags: individual flags dropped in salute by middle–aged men as the train passed, flags at half–staff from every public building on the way, entire classes of schoolchildren holding the little eight–by–ten flags, in that peppermint–striped flutter that marks every campaign trip. He turned them on, black and white, rich and poor. And they cried."

No other politician in modern history could connect with as many disparate groups as Bobby Kennedy. It is something no one tries to do anymore because it is so difficult to achieve. And in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

The First Presidential Assassination

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In hindsight, some things seem to confirm the concept of predestination. The shooting of Abraham Lincoln in Washington's Ford's Theater 150 years ago today is such an event.

Predestination has always played an important role in the story of Lincoln's assassination. About two weeks before he was assassinated, Lincoln claimed to have had a dream in which he saw a deceased person in repose in the East Room. In his dream, Lincoln said he asked a soldier who was dead in the White House. The reply was that the president was dead. He had been killed by an assassin's bullet.

For anyone who grew up in the United States, was educated in its schools and studied its history (even half–heartedly), the story of Lincoln seems to be an integral part of the story of America — which, indeed, it is, as is the story of each president. We tend to remember periods in history, after all, by the chief executives who presided over them — i.e., "the Reagan years" or "the Roosevelt years."

Not all presidencies are created equal, though, so it doesn't always work that way, especially the farther back one must go to locate a particular president. I would venture to say that, if you mentioned "the Fillmore years" or "the Pierce years," you'd draw blank stares from 21st–century listeners. (Heck, you'd probably get blank stares from many if you spoke about the Ford years.)

In part, I suspect that reflects the changing nature of American government. The modern president has more power than many of his predecessors, especially those who lived in the 19th century. When Fillmore and Pierce (and others — they just happen to be the two I mentioned earlier) occupied the White House, there were giants in Congress like Daniel Webster, and they were the ones who held most of the authority.

In the early days of the republic, two–term presidencies were not uncommon. Five of the first seven presidents were two–term presidents — the exceptions being the Adamses, John and his son John Quincy — but none of the next eight presidents served more than a single four–year term. I guess that made the American president seem more like a transitory figure.

Lincoln was elected twice, the first president to be re–elected in nearly 30 years, and he presided over the North's triumph over the South in the Civil War.

Other than Washington, Jefferson and Lincoln, most of the early presidents are largely unknown to modern Americans. There is no special reason why they shouldn't be, I guess. It was the nature of the times — and the nature of the presidency is that it has been an evolving office, one that has grown more powerful as time goes by. Consequently, the men who have held that office have been more powerful as time has passed.

That's really a topic for another time, though. My point here is that Lincoln's administration had a lot to do with the evolution of the presidency. It was a consequence of the unique situation in which Americans found themselves at that time — at war with each other. There was no precedent for what Lincoln faced, no opportunity to reflect on what some previous president did right or wrong in a similar situation and learn from it. It was uncharted territory, and it required Lincoln to do things that the founding fathers couldn't have anticipated. It required him to act quickly in many cases. It made his a different kind of presidency than any the country had seen before.

But 150 years ago today, that war was over. It was Good Friday. Able to relax for the first time since entering the White House, Lincoln and his wife made plans to go to the theater on this night and see the British play, "Our American Cousin."

Of the evening at the theater, Carl Sandburg wrote, "The evening and the drama are much like many other evenings when the acting is pleasant enough, the play mediocre, the audience having no thrills of great performance but enjoying itself."

Actor John Wilkes Booth wasn't in the cast, but he knew the play. He knew which lines drew the biggest laughs and which actors were on stage at particular points in the performance.

And he had determined a good point in the play to shoot Lincoln. It was just after one of the biggest laugh–getting lines in the script, which he hoped would muffle the sound of the shot, and only one actor would be on stage. After shooting Lincoln, he planned to make his escape by leaping to the stage and running off in the confusion. He figured it would be just after 10 p.m. when the moment came so, in his last meeting with his co–conspirators, he instructed them to kill the vice president and the secretary of state at about the same time. The would–be assassin of the secretary of state only succeeded in wounding him, though, and the would–be assassin of the vice president lost his nerve; if things had gone off the way Booth envisioned, all three would be attacked and killed at roughly the same time.

After the assassination, at least one witness to what had happened in Lincoln's box came forward. He had been watching the box instead of the stage at the moment the shooting occurred, and he said Lincoln was laughing.

Booth began making his way to the presidential box around 10 o'clock. Presidential security in the mid–19th century was almost nonexistent by 21st–century standards; even if it hadn't been, Booth was well known. His presence in a theater would not have been questioned if anyone had confronted him — but no one did. Lincoln's friend and self–appointed bodyguard, Ward Hill Lamon, was not on hand; the president had sent him to Richmond, Virginia. Lamon's substitute left his post and was drinking at a nearby tavern, leaving the president unguarded.

Booth was able to stroll into the theater and make his way to Lincoln's box almost without being stopped — and then only for a cordial greeting and some brief small talk. Walking at a fairly leisurely pace, Booth reached Lincoln's box in time to barricade the first door that led to the box. Booth would go through the second one and shoot Lincoln in the back of the head, then leap to the stage, but the Lincolns' companion for the evening, Major Henry Rathbone, tried to stop Booth, and he tumbled out of the box instead, catching the spur of a boot in a flag, and landed awkwardly on the stage below. He suffered a fracture but still managed to get away in the confusion as planned.

As I observed the other day, Booth swore to kill Lincoln a few days before actually pulling the trigger, so we know he had thought about it before he did it, but there is plenty of reason to suspect that Booth did not decide to shoot Lincoln on Good Friday until that day, when he went to Ford's Theater to pick up his mail and learned that the Lincolns would be attending that night along with General and Mrs. Ulysses S. Grant.

As it turned out, the Grants did not attend, but upon hearing the president would be there, the idea of assassination began to percolate in Booth's mind. He walked around the theater, observing its layout for a much more substantial performance than any he had given there before. Bishop wrote that Booth made plans for his getaway before leaving the theater around noon.

After that, it was simply a matter of time.

Fourth-Best President Ever?

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"I would put our legislative and foreign policy accomplishments in our first two years against any president — with the possible exceptions of Johnson, FDR and Lincoln — just in terms of what we've gotten done in modern history."

Barack Obama
60 Minutes interview

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My, someone certainly has a high opinion of himself and his place in American history.

I didn't watch the president's recent interview on CBS' 60 Minutes, but, apparently, in a segment that was not aired originally, he claimed that his administration's "legislative and foreign policy accomplishments" were as good or better than any other "with the possible exceptions of Johnson, FDR and Lincoln."

As I have said here before, I'm something of an amateur historian. I minored in history when I was in college, and I have always had an interest in the American presidency and American politics in general.

I'm also a journalist. That was my major in college, and it is the subject I am teaching now. I was trained to write and to think in Associated Press style, which constantly strives for clarity and consistency. So, when a president compares his presidency to "Johnson, FDR and Lincoln," my question is, "Which Johnson?"

The statement, you see, is imprecise. There have been two presidents named Johnson. I'm pretty sure I know which one Obama meant — Lyndon, who succeeded John Kennedy nearly 50 years ago, not Andrew, who succeeded Lincoln nearly 150 years ago.

Until the Clinton presidency, Andrew Johnson was the only president to face an impeachment trial in the Senate — where he was acquitted by a single vote. He chose not to seek a full term on his own in 1868.

A Siena College survey that was released in July 2010 rated Andrew Johnson as one of the five worst presidents in American history.

No, I'm quite sure Barack Obama did not mean to compare himself to that President Johnson. His image has undergone some changes in a century and a half, but, in recent years, he has been remembered as a "white supremacist."

I'm convinced the first black president in American history does not want to be remembered as comparable to Andrew Johnson.

Lyndon Johnson, on the other hand, is almost a Lincoln–like figure for American blacks — and he was responsible for the most advancements — in housing, education, employment opportunities, voting rights, in fact rights in general — for blacks and all other underprivileged Americans.

But LBJ, as I wrote about a month ago, had the misfortune of being a president who wanted to do great things domestically (which he did) but served at a time when foreign affairs dominated.

I wrote that Obama appears likely to turn out to be LBJ in reverse — a president who first ran for the presidency because he wanted to end a war and wound up being undone by his inability to tame the economy.

In addition to teaching journalism, I have also been teaching basic writing, and one of the things I try to impress on my students is the importance of using the right word to express the right thought.

That isn't an easy thing for most people — even people who earn their livings (or who have earned their livings) as writers struggle at times to find the right word. I know I do. Most of the time, I keep a thesaurus within arm's reach whenever I sit down to write — and there are still times when I choose the wrong word.

Nor is it easy to select the right word when one is being interviewed without some notes or a TelePrompTer to help. Consequently, I do have some sympathy for Obama. I have seen many people "misspeak" (to use a word that was particularly popular during the Watergate days) in such a setting.

But this wasn't the first time Obama has been interviewed by someone. Far from it. He is no novice when it comes to being interviewed. He just has a tendency to stick his foot in his mouth when he does.

When Obama suggests that his presidency is the best in history "with the possible exceptions of Johnson, FDR and Lincoln," I really have to marvel at his use of the word "possible" and what it implies.

In hindsight, Obama himself might admit that it wasn't the most prudent word choice he could have made, but I believe it speaks volumes about what he really thinks of himself and his presidency.

I think he really does believe his presidency, in its first two years, accomplished more than any other president — but he will allow for the possibility that LBJ, FDR and Lincoln accomplished more.

Lincoln is kind of a no–brainer. The Siena survey listed him third, and most surveys rank Lincoln in the top three.

FDR was the top–rated president in Siena's survey, which is also kind of a no–brainer. The only president to be elected four times, he guided the country through its worst economic crisis ever and is credited with leading it through World War II even though he died a few weeks before hostilities ended in Europe.

But Siena's survey did not rank LBJ in its Top 10. Apparently, Obama holds him in much higher esteem than most historians — at least the ones who were surveyed.

They ranked Theodore Roosevelt second. Roosevelt is remembered for several achievements — trust busting, conservation, labor laws, public health and safety laws — that continue to influence American life.

T.R. was the first American to receive the Nobel Prize — but, unlike Obama, he was rewarded for an actual achievement (negotiating the resolution of the Russo–Japanese War), not merely for his potential. By his omission from Obama's statement, though, it appears the president thinks his accomplishments in his first two years were greater than Roosevelt's.

The survey listed George Washington as the fourth–best president, and that should be a no–brainer, too. He is remembered as the father of the country, its first president. Thanks to his selflessness (he declined the salary that was offered to him, preferring not to tarnish, in any way, his image as a public servant) and his insistence that the leader of the new country should not be a monarch, we call our presidents "Mr. President," not "Your Highness."

It set the tone for the last 200 years, but I can only conclude that Obama also believes his contributions to American life in his first two years as president are greater than Washington's.

The Siena survey ranked Thomas Jefferson fifth. Once again, that should be a no–brainer, shouldn't it? Jefferson wrote the Declaration of Independence, and there are few documents in recorded history that have had the kind of influence on a culture that it has had.

Jefferson also was responsible for the Louisiana Purchase, which doubled the size of the United States at that time — and still represents roughly one–third of its land mass.

But, apparently, Obama feels his accomplishments in his first two years exceeded Jefferson's.

Sixth in Siena's survey was Jefferson's successor, James Madison. Before becoming president, he was the "Father of the Constitution." As president, he sought to continue Jefferson's policies, but he may be largely remembered for the crumbling of U.S.–British relations and the War of 1812, during which the White House, the Capitol and many other public buildings were burned.

Seventh in the rankings was Madison's successor, James Monroe, whose signature achievement probably was the Monroe Doctrine, which established the Western Hemisphere as the United States' sphere of influence and served notice to Europe that any attempt by any of its nations to interfere would be seen as an act of aggression and treated appropriately.

Ironically, America has not re–elected three consecutive presidents since Monroe's re–election in 1820. If Obama wins a second term next year, he would match Monroe's electoral achievement — but, apparently, he believes he has already bested Monroe as a president.

Siena's eighth–ranked president was Woodrow Wilson, a leader of the progressive movement. A Wilson biographer, John M. Cooper, wrote that Wilson's record of legislative achievement, which included child labor reform, the Federal Trade Commission Act and the Federal Farm Loan Act — was unmatched by any other president except FDR, and his advocacy of women's suffrage helped lead to the ratification of the 19th Amendment.

Perhaps it is subliminally, but Obama seems to think that what he did as president in 2009 and 2010 is greater than what Wilson achieved nearly a century earlier.

Ninth on the list was Harry Truman, whose low point in his approval ratings (22) was unmatched by any president until Obama's immediate predecessor, George W. Bush.

But that doesn't tell the whole story of Truman's presidency. From the day he succeeded FDR in April 1945 until he won the 1948 election, Truman did great things in spite of the fact that he had been virtually ignored by Roosevelt in his 82 days as vice president.

He knew nothing of the Manhattan Project, which gave him the weapon that he used to bring the war in the Pacific to a quick conclusion. The attitudes about his use of nuclear weapons in 1945 have changed over the years, but at the time and for years thereafter, it was believed to have saved hundreds of thousands who, it was said, would have perished in a fight–to–the–death invasion of Japan.

He had to deal with the transition from a wartime economy to a peacetime one, which always seems to be uneasy but was especially so after World War II. There were several economic conflicts that had gone unaddressed during the war years but boiled over when the war ended; Truman managed to deal with them all.

He was an advocate of the "Fair Deal," national health insurance and civil rights.

I would guess that Obama has quite a bit of respect for what Truman did as president — so much that he is clearly trying to duplicate Truman's "upset" victory in his re–election campaign in 1948. Truman won a full term largely by running against a "do–nothing Congress," and that seems to be Obama's strategy as well.

For that to work, you need a solid record of achievement to contrast with Congress'. Obama clearly believes he does, and so do his adoring supporters, but, judging from presidential approval ratings, millions are not convinced.

They are not convinced for much the same reason that the people of the late 1960s were not convinced about LBJ. They felt out of sync with their president's priorities. He was focused on domestic issues, which were (and are) important, but they were more concerned about the meat grinder of Vietnam.

In modern times, Obama's highest approval ratings have been for his handling of foreign affairs — when Americans are hurting at home, struggling to keep a roof over their heads and food in their stomachs. They need jobs.

The Siena survey ranked Dwight Eisenhower 10th. Eisenhower earned Americans' respect when he led the Allies to victory over the Axis powers in World War II, and he presided over a country that was at peace in the world but suffering from some postwar growing pains in the 1950s.

His most lasting legacy, I suppose, is the interstate highway system — and his warning, in the final days of his presidency, against the growing influence of the "military–industrial complex."

Both continue to influence American life, but Obama thinks his achievements are equal to or greater than Eisenhower's.

Maybe they are, but that will be up to the voters to decide next year.

Pollyanna, Please Consult Your Answering Service

Do you recognize the name Robert Shrum?

He's a speech writer and a political consultant. In fact, his greatest claim to fame may well be the memorable speech the late Ted Kennedy delivered at the 1980 Democratic National Convention.

Throughout his career, Shrum has worked for mostly Democrats — I suppose an argument could be made over his first speechwriting job, which was for New York Mayor John Lindsay, who famously switched from the Republican Party to the Democratic Party in the early 1970s.

In his career, he has worked for practically a who's who in Democratic politics — Kennedy, Ed Muskie, George McGovern, Jimmy Carter (briefly), Dick Gephardt, Bob Kerrey, Al Gore, John Kerry.

So I guess it goes without saying that he leans toward Democrats, even in times such as these — and even though he has compiled a dismal track record in presidential campaigns.

All things considered, you might want to take his assessment with a grain of salt.

Anyway, Shrum says, "I now think the Democrats will hold the Congress —yes, the House as well as the Senate — and turn back high–profile Republican challengers in California and elsewhere."

As Arte Johnson used to say on Rowan and Martin's Laugh–In, "Very interesting ..."

Shrum contends that the seemingly dormant Democratic base is "stirring" and that, in true Karl Rovian fashion (circa 2004), it will rise from its slumber and save the Democrats in next month's midterms.

On what does he base this reasoning? Well, a few things, actually.

For one, he asserts that recent polls, like Gallup's generic congressional ballot, have been tightening because "African–Americans and Hispanics are re–entering the likely electorate."

Now, let's be clear about a few things. Black voters have long supported Democrats, by wide margins, in good times and bad. So the real question is not whether black voters will support Democrats — they will. The real question is how many will show up to vote without Barack Obama at the top of the ballot — and the best guess that I hear from most observers is "not that many." At least, not enough to make the kind of difference Shrum thinks it can.

It reminds me of something my Democratic friends repeatedly told me in the weeks before the 2008 presidential election. Barack Obama's presence on the ballot, they told me, would motivate so many black voters that they would put Southern states that hadn't voted for a Democrat since Carter or Lyndon Johnson solidly into the Democratic column.

And, to be fair, states like Virginia, North Carolina and Florida did vote Democratic — but none of the other Southern states, even the ones with extraordinarily large black populations, voted Democratic. Black voters were clearly enthused in 2008 — but they were outnumbered at the polls.

As Gallup's poll observes, the current enthusiasm gap between Republicans and Democrats is still in the 20–point range. Democrats would need a virtually unanimous turnout from all blacks who are old enough to vote — and many of them aren't even registered.

And, while Hispanics are the fastest–growing demographic group in America today, their participation in elections has been sparse in the past. Perhaps, in House districts that lie along or near the U.S.–Mexican border — where immigration debates have been the most intense and Hispanic populations tend to be larger than they are in many places — Hispanic turnout may be higher than it has been in the past.

But, nationally, even fewer Hispanics (proportionately) are registered to vote than blacks. And, considering the meager Hispanic populations in many states that are north of the border, it's hard to see how they can have that much influence.

To capitalize on those two groups, as Shrum apparently thinks Democrats will, would require a massive national registration drive (and I have neither heard nor seen anything that suggests something like that is in the works) followed by a massive get–out–the–vote effort on Election Day.

Both require more motivation than I have seen from most Democrats this year.

Anyway, this inexplicable surge in black and Hispanic voters in which Shrum places so much faith apparently will be responsible for saving Sen. Barbara Boxer and former Gov. Jerry Brown in California.

But how much of an accomplishment would that be? California voted Republican in presidential politics when Californians like Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan were running, but it's been in the Democratic column for the last 20 years.

And Californians haven't sent a Republican to the Senate since 1988. So the fact that Boxer is leading in recent polls shouldn't be a surprise. What has been a surprise is the fact that her race against former Hewlett–Packard CEO Carly Fiorina was ever close enough to be considered a tossup.

If Boxer wins another term, it will not be remarkable that she was triumphant. That was expected all along.

Likewise, Brown — whose eight–year tenure as governor predated the passage of the state's term limits law — had to be the favorite in the governor's race. At least, I always thought he would be the favorite over former eBay CEO Meg Whitman.

True, the incumbent governor is a Republican. And, since World War II, Republicans have been more successful in California's gubernatorial races than its Senate campaigns. But Brown is the only Democrat to be elected governor of California twice in the last 40 years.

Perhaps it is that reputation that prompted Shrum to speculate that Brown " has pulled ahead" of Whitman. Or maybe he's seen a poll that I haven't. The results I have seen indicate a still–volatile race. In recent days, a survey conducted by the Public Policy Institute of California shows a deadlocked race — which is, essentially, what Rasmussen Reports and the most recent Field Poll were saying.

Maybe Shrum is writing about the CNN/Time poll that was released around the same time. It shows both Boxer and Brown leading their Republican opponents by nine percentage points among likely voters.

But that seems like an awfully wide margin in a race that most other polls have found to be much closer. And, whether fairly or not, CNN's poll has been accused in the past of a Democratic bias. So there is reason to be suspicious of its results.

Shrum also is encouraged by his belief that Washington Sen. Patty Murray "strengthened her position" against her Republican challenger, businessman Dino Rossi.

But this is truly a baffling conclusion. I mean, Murray led by nine points in an Elway Poll in early September and a CNN/Time poll in mid–September, but since that time, a SurveyUSA poll shows her lead at two points — and Rasmussen Reports actually shows Rossi in front.

Then Shrum asserts that the Tea Party is "the gift that keeps on giving" — and it may turn out to be precisely that, but Shrum's arguments sound screwy when compared to poll findings.

"The tea–imbibing Republicans are a twofer for Democrats," Shrum writes. "They scare mainstream voters and motivate the Democratic base, too."

While Christine O’Donnell may be "unelectable" in Delaware, as Shrum suggests, his faith in the Tea Partiers to unite Democrats and mainstream voters seems a bit misplaced.

After all,

• he writes that "the ultra–conservative Pat Toomey ... has suddenly hit troubled waters" in Pennsylvania. Really? He's been consistently leading by 5–7 percentage points in recent polls.
  
  But Shrum points to a single exception — the Susquehanna Polling & Research survey from Sept. 23–26 showing Toomey's lead down to three points
  
  "A race that was written off is winnable," he claims — yet he ignores a Rasmussen Reports poll in which Toomey's lead is nearly double digits.
  
  And a Franklin & Marshall College poll showed the same margin in favor of Toomey — albeit with nearly one–third of respondents undecided.


• and Shrum writes that, in Kentucky, "Jack Conway's making his case for [Democrats] to come home. Or perhaps [Tea Partier] Rand Paul is making it for him."
  
  Paul's lead is within the margin of error, he asserts, but the left–leaning Daily Kos/Public Policy Polling survey in mid–September showed Paul leading by seven points and a recent Rasmussen Reports poll found Paul was leading by 11 points.

He gets around the polls that don't conform to his particular world view by telling the readers, "I'm dispensing in every race with the riotously Republican Rasmussen surveys, which are the psephological counterpart to the Laffer Curve on a cocktail napkin."

Problem is, it isn't just Rasmussen that is reporting findings that contradict his conclusion.

Nevertheless, he says, "So I believe the Senate's safe. But what about the House?"

He asserts his unfounded confidence that "[t]he change in the makeup of the electorate can close the gap in the generic vote and let the Democrats inch ahead — but the base has to continue tuning in and then it has to turn out. That depends on President Obama — and on progressive Democrats deciding that right now the stakes in this campaign are more important than the reflex instinct to complain."

Happily — for Shrum — "[t]he Obama of 2008 has returned with a message and a mission," which is tax cuts for the rapidly vanishing middle class as opposed to retaining the "Bush tax cuts for the wealthy."

Admit it. You knew that, somehow, he'd find a way to work in Dubya. Yep, he doesn't like it when voters "complain" about Democrats who are in office right now and must defend their turf in a hostile environment — but it's OK to keep flogging a former president who has been away from Washington for nearly two years.

On top of that, though, I am skeptical of the coalition that Shrum is relying upon — minorities, liberals ... and the young, who Obama has been courting lately but who remain unpersuaded of the need to return to the polls to help people they just elected two years ago. Shrum concedes that they "haven't yet followed Hispanics and African–Americans into the likely voter column."

Shrum's problem is that Hispanics and African–Americans haven't arrived in that column yet, either.

"Obama can change the political weather by a few degrees," he writes, "and that might be just enough. In the process, he has to inspire and not just scold disappointed progressives."

That's another substantial "if." Scolding has become SOP for the parental/professor president.

Frankly, there are too many "ifs" and not nearly enough time — particularly when the overall objective can be summed up this way: Victory is possible "assuming Democrats, especially the young, are sensible enough to understand that we are past the excitement of 2008. There is more to achieving change than standing, cheering, and voting for it once, and then standing aside."

Pollyanna, please call your office.