Random Thoughts of a Cantankerous Curmudgeon

  After reading Rick Galusha’s thoughts posted on Barking Rino in December of 2021, some similar thoughts came to mind. I have long held to the Santa Claus image of American society and culture. Sounds strange for a nice Jewish boy from New York City, yes? What I had in mind is this. 

  The difference between myth and reality is not always clear. At times, even myth obtains some verity. If enough people for enough time accept the myth, it obtains the influence of fact.

  Christmas. Remember when you were a small child, maybe 6 years old. It was magical, not because of the gifts you in fact got, but because of Santa Claus. You knew that the old gent was speeding around the globe, scooting down chimneys, and leaving the heart’s desires of kids like you all over the world. You even left milk and cookies for him to snack on. What a wonderous time and idea. Your attitude infected your parents with joy as well. But, and a great big but, when you turned 8 or 9, you learned that Santa was, in fact, a visa card in your parents’ pocket. You were a little disappointed, but at the same time, it felt good to be in on the game. Now you were a grown-up and not so easily led astray by appealing stories. It was still nice to get all that stuff, but Christmas was no longer magical. By the time you were middle-aged or older, you discovered that you wanted Santa Claus back. You wanted to share in the excitement of your young children or grandchildren. However, hard as you tried, you could not get him back. Santa had turned into a fat old man ringing a bell at a Salvation Army kettle.

  I was born in 1942. While I was growing up, there were lots of bad things happening in the world – World War II, the Holocaust, bloody revolutions, segregation, and racial prejudice, sexism, etc. 

  However, I lived in a world that made sense and was essentially good. I had no doubt that the United States was not only the most powerful nation, it was also the most altruistic and noble. Our policies and beliefs were admired by all. We wanted nothing for ourselves except that essential feature of the Miss America Pageant, world peace. Our motives were never selfish. Our leaders were honest, intelligent, well-intended men and a few women. Businesses always gave value for the money spent. The information in the newspapers was always reliable because, of course, they would not print things that were not true. Walter Cronkite was the most trusted man in America. The cop on the beat was your friend and ever-present to help if you were in trouble. Things were great, that is if you were a straight, white male.

  Then, for me, 1963 happened. I was a semi-warm supporter. I did not think he did a great job as President. When he was murdered, the tears I wept were as much for me as for him. He was our guy, young, hip, and far-sighted. What happened then? The Civil Rights Revolution, of which I played a very small part, got most of the legislative and judicial victories. But it turned violent, and more importantly, things did not change for African Americans. Pulling together was replaced by Burn, Baby, Burn. 

  Student idealism and activism became the Weathermen. The war in Viet Nam became part of our daily television programming with no end in sight. I have five friends on the Wall in D.C. After the Dominican Republic in 1965, we learned that our leaders had lied to us, and continued to do so as revealed in the Pentagon Papers. We were introduced to the real White House in Watergate. How much could we process, much less stomach? What had happened to real Americans like John Wayne? Yet, there was some satisfaction in being in on the game. We were all grown-ups now. You could no longer pull the wool over our eyes. We acquired a healthy skepticism from living in the world as it really was. Life is tough but so are we.

  Do not misunderstand me. So much is better today than it was as I grew up. We are much further along in redefining Jefferson’s “all men are created equal”. But I fear that many of us have turned into cynics rather than skeptics. We are no longer the unified, wide-eyed patriots that we imagined ourselves as being. We would rather shred our political opponents than figure out ways to cooperate and get things done. Now, with fewer days left of looking down at the grass, I yearn for the days when I was a true believer.

  What does all this mean? For me, it comes to this. If we are the creation of some intelligent being, he, she, or it goofed. As a species, we are not that great. Maybe that is why we celebrate the Arts, kindness, and heroism. Given the raw material we are, what a triumph. Perhaps we need myths to survive and live authentic lives. As Joseph Wood Krutch remarked in his “The Modern Temper” in 1928, “we would rather die on our feet as men(women), than live on our knees as animals”. 

SELAH

Dr. John Spivack

Professor Emeritus of History