The internist knows everything, but can do nothing; the surgeon knows nothing, but can do everything; the pathologist knows everything and can do everything, but too late.
--Old Housestaff proverb
Age is no better, hardly so well, qualified for an instructor as youth, for it has not profited so much as it has lost.
--H.D. Thoreau
It is a man's opinion of himself which determines his fate.
--H.D. Thoreau
Being an old decrepit bag of bones, that's what's ridiculous. Gettin' old.
--Sam the Lion, "The Last Picture Show."
In high school, Mad Dog could see there was no point asking his teachers any questions because they were, with some rare exceptions, only a page ahead of him in the textbook. Asking really interesting questions of these people was only likely to create embarrassment. That changed in college, where asking the professor a question elicited not only an enlightening answer, but often ignited a whole rocket launch of erudition, unexpected, delightful and taking Mad Dog into realms unanticipated and enriching. But that was only true for the humanities--in science classes, he was more or less back to high school, and the answers to his questions were evasive. In medical school the most important questions were often answered: "I don't know. If you want to find out, here's the study you'd have to do." Often, the older doctors had seen things and they could tell you the important information that what you were seeing in a patient was either to be expected or unexpected, which was important. The professors in medical school knew more than the students. But so did the nurses. We were all told as interns to ask the nurses who knew way more medicine than we did as new medical school graduates, and boy did they ever.
On rounds one day, a man who had just been sent to the ward after a week in the cardiac care unit for a heart attack told us he was having a little tightness in his chest, and then he suddenly asked for a bed pan: the two nurses looked at each other in alarm--one rolled down the head of his bed and the other ran for the Crash Cart where all the medications and equipment for cardiac resuscitation were kept. Sure enough, before Mad Dog had time to even ask what all the fuss was about, the patient arrested and he was resuscitated successfully because the nurses were slapping all the Bristojets of lidocaine in our hands, and had the chest pads for the electric cardioverter in place within seconds. They knew that telltale signal of vagal release which preceded cardiac arrest.
Now, in his dotage, Mad Dog can see the signals: He has seen it all before. He knows that the Trumpish use of the word "antisemitism" has nothing to do with any desire to protect Jews from abuse, but is simply a replacement motif for anti-intellectualism, for resentment of professors at elite universities who think they are better than other people, and smarter and higher class. But rather than resorting to "effete intellectuals" or "nattering nabobs of negativism" like Spiro Agnew, Trump can do what autocrats do, he can find a victim to create and defend. So he is the champion of resistance to antisemitism, which gives him license to wreck universities, to dance on the graves of those smartass professors and university presidents.
New Hampshire Howl, Obadiah Youngblood |
Richard Hofstadter wrote about Anti Intellectualism in American Life in the 1960's. Then it was Senator Joseph McCarthy, who was pointing to the universities as the haven of Communists, elitists and people who thought they were better than everyone else.
So these are the hallmarks of the disease Mad Dog knows, has seen before.
But, as Bill Clinton once observed about retirement: "When I was President, I had to be very careful about what I said; every word, every phrase I used was dissected, analyzed and often came back to haunt me. Now, out of office I can say whatever I want, what I really believe. Trouble is, nobody cares. Nobody even listens."
And so that's Mad Dog, sitting on his porch in New Hampshire, watching the slow motion train wreck, seeing masked men in bullet proof vests, abduct people for looking Hispanic, speaking Spanish or working on a roof or in a yard landscaping, and the Supreme Court says that's all just fine and reasonable.
And now we have a national police, which the Germans called their Gestapo; we call it ICE. ICE, to Mad Dog's ear is way cooler. Cool as ICE. ICEMAN cometh. ICE in his veins. IIIIICE!
Oh, that's the disease all right. Get the crash cart. Get out the paddles.
But no, Mad Dog is just an old decrepit bag of bones, watching the new generation rise, and he watches this with eyes which have had the youth bled from them by the hard sleet and snow winters, seeing the sham with well earned cynicism. But, like the elders of Peyton Place, sometimes, against all the warnings of better judgment, he turns his tired winter eyes toward heaven, to seek the first traces of a false softening. (Thanks, Ms. Metalious.)
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Carleigh Bariont |
Now, there is a youngster, full of hope, running in the Democratic primary for Congress, Carleigh Beriont. She has children in the Hampton public schools and she is a graduate of Mt. Holyoke College and holds several degrees including a PhD from Harvard. She is "running for the children," best as Mad Dog can discern. She is a "quality candidate."
Which is why Mad Dog thinks she doesn't have a chance.
Mad Dog holds three diplomas from Ivy League universities and he knows exactly what those degrees mean and what they do not mean.
Successful students, Mad Dog thinks are the Eddie Haskells of the world. Mad Dog realizes 99% of his readership has no idea who Eddie Haskell was, because they were too young to watch "Leave it to Beaver." But the Ivy League was filled with Eddie Haskell's. You can google it, thank God. (Even Bubbles, of The Wire, made Leave It to Beaver allusions, a complete anachronism, and a jarringly out of character reference, but not even David Simon could resist citing that generational/cultural touchstone. Basically, the crowd which remembers "All Shook Up," will not need to google. If you do, you are forgiven.)
***
Mad Dog has observed elections, candidates and public opinion for 17 years in New Hampshire and he has formulated Rule One of Candidacy in this state: The most obvious, best choice for any office never wins. That is the one sure thing you can bet on.
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Terence O'Rourke |
When Terence O'Rourke ran for the same seat in a Congressional primary with eleven candidate some years ago, he was head and shoulders above everyone else in the crowd. He had enough educational bone fides (Marquette University BA, Tulane Law, JD) but he was also a combat veteran, an Army Ranger, winner of a bronze star (which he never mentioned, unless directly asked) and an all around stellar human being. He came in dead last by a country mile. People round here thought he was "too aggressive," not nice enough.
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Senator Klobuchar |
When Amy Klobuchar came to New Hampshire during primary season, running for the Presidential nomination, Mad Dog looked at her resume`: Yale undergrad, University of Chicago Law. Uh-oh, he thought.
The thing about Ivy Leaguers is they tend to be company men. Which is to say, they tend to be careful not to offend. They have got into their prestigious places not by rebelling but by regurgitating, by playing the game, by pleasing people, by learning not to annoy those who have some power over their fates.
So Mad Dog asked Senator Klobuchar: "You have told us about all the programs and policies you hope to enact. But how do you propose to defeat a candidate of charisma with a campaign of policy?"
Mad Dog saw a brief flicker of incomprehension, then panic, flit across the Senator's face. Then she collected herself and she said, "Well, I think I have charisma!"
Clearly, not a question she had thought about or been prepared for, and she managed to dredge up a laugh line, but, nevertheless, telling.
Had Senator Klobuchar pulled Mad Dog aside and said, "I'll come by and sit on your porch and we'll chat about this," Mad Dog would have made the time. He would have told her what she was up against is a man who had made his public image over a decade, who rejected the carefully parsed, well formed paragraphs, who was not afraid to offend, who owned "authenticity" and if she wanted to beat that guy she'd need to start swinging for the fences and stop playing to simply not lose. She'd have to be outrageous. She might have replied, "Bernie is already doing that and getting nowhere." And Mad Dog would have said, "But he's not pretty or young or from the Midwest."
Senator Klobuchar never came to sit on Mad Dog's porch. Neither will Carleigh Beriont.
No loss for them.
Mad Dog will have no answers for them.
But he believes he has, at least, managed to ask the right question.