You know what? Maybe Trump’s a follower, not a leader.
Because, as we look around the countryside, we find felons of all types – newly released, able to vote, able to run for elective office regardless of earlier misdemeanors – actually in some cases being re-elevated to respectability – or what passes for it, public office.
We’re all for giving redemptive support to men and women who have worked hard to pull their lives together.
Forgive us if the format of God’s healing love seems tired, trite and over-used. Successful, to be sure, but no longer miraculous. What it has become is only a part of the process, not the deed. Who can deny someone a moment the sun? Besides, how do we know it’s bogus theatrics? Really?
When a mayor of a Connecticut city of nearly half a million souls is arrested and serves 6 years for fraud and embezzlement, and STILL seems like the best candidate again and the most trustworthy, have we got trouble? Or convicted and released felons in Florida, Alabama, Virginia? Not to mention Arizona, Texas, Colorado.
These are people who profited from public scams. Is their reappealing notoriety based on the success of their schemes, or of the fact that they’ve been through the mill and survived? Nothing worse can be done by them. How stupid they’d be to do whatever it was they did to begin with in the first place. How neat to be one of their friends!
On the other hand, at least they know the lay of the land, the ups and downs, the rules. No flies on them. They know where and how the bodies are buried, and no doubt have instant recourse to opening the vaults to slip in another few.
We know all America loves blood, guts and gore. Nor to mention out-smarting the cops. Riots, firebombs, murder for revenge, for love, for any reason whatever. Tall buildings that can’t be leapt in a single bound. Eliot Ness but don’t forget Al Capone. Sinatra’s music but the hint of off-color connections makes it even more hummable.
Face it: you’re no one unless you’re carrying.
The idea that our school children will be better protected in their classrooms by an armed adult teacher drawing on and facing down a would-be one-on-one brings us back to Gary Cooper’s “High Noon.” Remember? Gary Cooper got no volunteers.
We don’t go to stock car races to see whose car is the fastest or most ingeniously reinforced to stand he stress and strain of the competition. We’ve got to be there in case anyone is killed. On the rail or in their cars. The same way we stare awe-struck upwards at trapeze artists working without a net. Not for us the admiration of their skill and bravery. Rather the possibility that their hands may be sweaty, the ropes may break, the fall calamitous. The neck broken. Like watching a youngster impale himself for life on the knife edge of fame on the gridiron. It’s what American guys do.
And we no longer have to regard this mano-a-mano as sexist. What eight year old little girl doesn’t want to break her hip or knee playing kill-for-it soccer?
Endless hero interviews after the events. Five minutes in the lights. Fifty years of regret. And still we admire these people, want to emulate them, are willing no matter what to vote for them.