The Devil Made Me Do It

 

African American comedian Flip Wilson’s tv show aired in the early 1970s. We laughed as Wilson’s characters shirked personal responsibility with the excuse, “The devil made me do it.”

As mindful, Constitutional patriots know, self-governance is reliant upon choosing orderly self-restrain. Buried among the lofty ideals the nation aspired to, is the assumption that free people would act reasonably.

“Please allow me to introduce myself; I'm a man of wealth and taste” (The Rolling Stones, Sympathy for the Devil). 

Historically, Conservatives advocated smaller government. President Reagan said the most terrifying words were, “I’m from the government and I’m here to help.” Senator Rand Paul claimed, “I want a government so small I can hardly see it.” At the heart of this philosophy is the idea that one is freer under smaller government. Berlin called this ‘negative liberty.’

At the heart of Conservative politics is the idea that if we accept our individual responsibility we’ll need fewer laws curtailing bad behavior and, thereby, have smaller government, and thus more individual freedom.

“Pleased to meet you, Hope you guess my name. What’s puzzling you is the nature of my game.”

But like fiscal responsibility, individual responsibility seems to have gotten lost in post-Reagan America.

Despite resigning from office, Unicameral Senator Grone now claims that although he surreptitiously took photos of a female staffer under his direct supervision “I did nothing wrong…” “I’m not gonna let the Democrats attack me and embarrass my family and my wife.” Reading this, I heard Wilson’s character Geraldine claim, “The devil made me do it.”

Testifying before the January 6th Committee, White House aide Sarah Matthews explained the moments that lead to her resignation. Pointing towards the televised insurrection, Matthews argued for the President to intercede. “A colleague suggested that the president shouldn't condemn the violence because it would be ‘handing a win’ to the media…”It’s wasn’t about doing the right thing: the devil made me do it.

In the groping accusations against Charles Herbster, his lawyer, “… pointed out that if it did (happen), the incident would have only lasted seconds, which he argued was not worthy of a two-day deposition.” Ah, the devil made me do it.

“I shouted out, ‘Who Killed the Kennedy’s’ when after all, it was you and me.” 

When President Clinton was dealing with fallout from his liaisons with an office intern, liberal friends rushed to his defense. A prominent local Democrat wondered aloud, “I don’t understand the fuss; it was only (oral sex).”

Too often office seeking officials act just like us. The difference is they’ve asked to lead us. Officials live in a fish bowl of scrutiny, distrust, and hyper-partisan paranoia. The public cheers as gotcha-media pushes them off the pedestal of public trust and then bemoan they can’t be trusted. Conveniently, amnesia creeps in when “their team” acts the same way.

Perhaps the devil makes us do it? 

If the law is broken, regardless of party affiliation, officials need to be held accountable.

But elected officials should be held to a higher standard of behavior. It’s not about laws as much as about doing the right thing under pressure.

 “Just as every cop is a criminal. And all the sinners saints. As heads is tails, just call me Lucifer, cause I’m in need of some restraint.”

Policy ebbs and flows, character is more important than policy. Simply NOT breaking a law is too low a standard. Although one may have a right to do something, it does not mean it is the right thing to do. Accountability and personal responsibility need to come back into style.

Inevitably, like me and you, everyone will stumble. How we respond defines our character.

While praying with Clinton during his struggles, Jesse Jackson fathered a child out of wedlock. "I fully accept responsibility and I am truly sorry for my actions," Jackson said. "This is no time for evasions, denials or alibis. No doubt, many close friends and supporters will be disappointed in me. I ask for their forgiveness, understanding and prayers."

 “So if you meet me, have some courtesy, Have some sympathy, and some taste. Use all your well-learned politesse…Or I'll lay your soul to waste.”

North Omaha, a Cardboard Box, and the celebrity...

It’s probably been two decades now, but for one reason or another; three of us started an infrequent lunch club. It probably began at some civic function when someone said, “We should go to lunch sometime” and I said, “I’ll put it together.”

Our mission was to find out-of-the-way restaurants for lunch. Our group consisted of Curt the architect, Ann the politician, and me. We’d been doing the lunch and talk-thing for a while. If someone couldn’t make it, the other two would go. This particular tale revolves around a North Omaha joint called E.P.’s Soul Bowl.

The Soul Bowl was located at 24th and Grant Streets.

Curt and I took off on our culinary adventure for some authentic soul food. When we spied our destination we parked along the curb, or kerb for our English friends. When we walked into the restaurant, there was no sitting area. Instead it was a 16’ square. There was a traditional counter all the way around the three sides of the area. On top of the counter was fencing from counter-top to ceiling. “Looks like its takeout only” we said with a laugh. I asked the woman behind the counter if there was anywhere to sit down and eat.

“You can sit in the field next door. I’ll give you a couple of folding chairs.”

We quickly ordered our fried catfish, greens, and a strawberry soda. Grabbing the chairs we went out to enjoy the spring sunshine.

Curt and I sat down and began talking. Pretty quickly the gal behind the counter came out with a big cardboard box. “You can use it for a table.” We hadn't reached the grumpy old man phase in our lives yet so, okay!

There we sat, in the grassy field on north 24th street; two folding chairs, a really big cardboard box, and the sort of sunshine and low humidity that lasts only a few weeks in the Midwest. It was a glorious day: what could go wrong?

Well, we were in a low socio-economic area and didn't exactly fit in. Having grown up on 24th & Kansas Avenue, it wasn't much of an issue. But I'd be lying if I said the absurdity of the situation never crossed my mind.

A huge black car slowly passed by on 24th street. It paused and then continued slowly down the road. “Hmmm,” I thought.

The car slowed even more and turned slowly into an alley and circled back, parking in our field.

“Hmmm, not good” I thought. Very slowly a massive African-American man got out of the car. Curt and I watched the man as he opened the back door. Abrownish man dressed like someone caught between a Jackson Pollock and Georgia O’Keefe painting, bedecked in silver and turquoise got out of the car. He paused to help a very attractive woman get out of the car.

“What in the world? This is pretty strange.”

“Dude thinks he’s Doc Severinson” said Curt.

I sssshed Curt.

Slowly a bit smile emerged from under Curt's busy mustache. He began to laugh.

“Man, be cool.”

“It is Doc Severinson” said Curt.

"What? No way.”

“Go see”

As the threesome walked into the Soul Bowl, I followed them and introduced myself. Sure enough, it was Doc Severinson (the noted bandleader for Johnny Carson’s Tonight Show). Pleasantry's were exchanged.

“Nice to meet you. What are you doing in town?” I asked. He was in town playin with the Symphony.”

Come to find out, when Doc traveled, he liked to get out of the celebrity bubble and do his own version of Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives, long before it became a show.

Satisfied with the brief celebrity encounter, Curt and I returned to our box and folding chairs in the sunny field to wait for lunch. Pretty soon the catfish arrived. The restaurant-woman brought out a bottle of hot sauce. “Good thinking” I thought.

Except, she didn’t bring the sauce for us.

 Behind her came Doc and his entourage, each with a folding chair. And that was how Curt and I ate soul food on a cardboard box table one sunny spring afternoon in a north Omaha grass field with one of tv’s most famous trumpet players.

 (For younger readers, insert the name Questlove, drummer for The Roots, and producer of the film A Great Day in Harlem, who appears on the Late Show with Jimmy Fallon, and you'll understand the story better).