A naturally charming but ability-challenged hang-around
wannabe wrote an episode of The Mary
Tyler Moore Show that was so unsatisfactory it had to be entirely re-written
by another writer, although, in accordance with the company’s policy, the original
writer’s name appeared exclusively on the episode’s credits. On the night it was broadcast, the original
writer threw a big party at his house, during which he graciously accepted his
guests’ congratulations for the commendable episode they had just
witnessed. (And he had virtually nothing
to do with.)
How much did that bother me?
I still remember it, forty years after the fact.
As I mentioned two posts back…
I just hate it when the bad guys win.
It appears that “President of the United States” is the
easiest job in the world. Would you hire
a dog walker who had no experience whatsoever walking dogs? Well there you have it. Based on the resume of the victorious
candidate, the presidency of the United States is perceived by the people who
elected him as being an easier assignment than walking a dog.
Then there’s the matter of character. (Don’t worry.
I shall spare you the litany of vulgarities, personal insults and
admitted gropings.)
Imagine a candidate for an important position – CEO of a
corporation, a big-time football coach, the president of a prominent university
who, plucking one example from the list of atrocities, is caught on camera,
imitating a disabled person for cheap and gratuitous chuckles.
That candidate would never get that job. (And that’s just from one thing!)
The presidency of the United States, we have recently
learned, is the only job you can ascend to, burdened with the baggage that
would sink someone vying for any other imaginable prominent position.
So there you have it.
No experience.
Odious behavior.
Hail to the Chief, Mister –
You’re hired!
Okay, so what do I do when I’m down and troubled and I need
a helping hand?
I go to the ocean. It
always helps. The ocean has seen it all.
It will provide me with the needed perspective.
And it does.
Minus specifics – because eternal bodies of water speak in Delphic
generalities – the ocean reminds me:
“This has happened before.”
And it has.
The shuddering horror.
The divisiveness. The mistrust. The ominous apprehension.
Problematic American presidents taking office? Andrew Jackson was a dangerous yahoo. Teddy Roosevelt, a “cowboy.” (Though I am not sure why exactly that was
bad.) And, of course, the worst
catastrophe of all: Abraham Lincoln
showed up, and a chunk of the country instantaneously went south. Literally.
Somehow, “This has happened before”, although spiritually resonant
and historically accurate… it does not do the trick. This has
happened before. But for me, it’s a
first.
I thank the ocean for trying, and I go for a walk. I have no clue what it is, but I know I need
something more.
I plod listlessly along the beach walking-path till I reach
the place where I habitually turn around.
I turn around there and I unenthusiastically start back. Though my heart is not in it, it is the only
way I can return home.
As I trudge along, I hear the distinct sound of feet
scraping successively against the pavement, emanating from the paralleling
walking-path to my right. The walker’s
effort sounds labored, every step, a detectable ordeal. (The heaviness of the tread says it’s a man.)
When I first caught sound of my ambulatory companion, he was
behind me. Since you cannot eavesdrop on
a sound – you got ears, it goes in – I was the audial recipient of his steady, inexorable
advance.
Then something happened that spurred me to look in the walker’s
direction. Although physically
challenged, for reasons I could not immediately ascertain, the man – middle
aged, noticeably stiff in his movements – whose unslowing pace had been torturously
rasping on my periphery…
… had passed
me.
And he was barreling ahead.
It wasn’t the ocean this time. It was this struggling stranger, his
unstoppable determination delivering the awaited message.
How do you move forward?
You put one foot determinedly in front of the other.
Did it immediately do the trick?
No.
But it was a beginning.
And that, at the moment, is all I’ve got.
We got past Rob Ford although the comparison suffers because he did not possess the nuclear codes. His only influence on me was to become Fred from Scarborough instead of Fred from Toronto.
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