Random Thoughts on Lincoln's Birthday

Once upon a time, Lincoln’s birthday was a school holiday. It still is in some places, I see, but not around these parts. In my grammar school days, I remember being off—as we used to say—on both February 12th and 22nd. Back in the day, Abraham Lincoln and George Washington received their well-earned due. Now, the third Monday in February is the uninspiring, virtually meaningless Presidents’ Day.

I was thinking a lot about Honest Abe today. I’ve read a fair share of Lincoln-themed books through the years, including personal favorites: Lincoln and His Generals, Reflecting Lincoln, and Team of Rivals. The Google search page didn’t even acknowledge this giant of a man on his natal anniversary. On Thursday, though, it will be festooned with hearts and cuddly Cupids for Valentine’s Day and—the following Monday—with presidential visages that may include Lincoln in some silly animated montage.

What would Lincoln have to say about the state of the Union he believed was so important to save? I don’t know. Perhaps that it wasn’t worth it after all. He’d certainly be surprised at the perpetual hysteria on social media, which—in and of itself—would be the real shocker. How can thee offend me? Let me count the ways.

While the February birthday boys would be hard pressed to recognize contemporary America, they probably would be amused at being pitchmen for Presidents’ Day car dealership blowout sales. Providentially, Washington and Lincoln never knew a car salesman, but they certainly knew wintertime in an age before calcium chloride crystals, the ubiquitous ice melter.

Speaking of that pelleted devil, I almost took a spill yesterday while exiting a bank—one that had covered its front sidewalk, which is on an incline, with twenty pounds of ice melter. It reminded me of this grade-school example of the concept of irony: "Olympic swimmer drowns in bathtub." Well, I've got a new one: Man slips, falls, and breaks his neck on ice melter. Why throw the slippery stuff twenty-four hours before any snow and ice is expected? Beats me! Go figure: Banks are notoriously stingy with just about everything except ice melter.

Washington and Lincoln also never experienced the wonders of Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram—and the countless dunderheads sounding off in the virtual ether—but they did interact with pigeons in their travels. Recently, I witnessed a food vendor on Central Park West tossing a heaping helping of yellow rice out of his cart. The local pigeon population was ecstatic at this unexpected and generous feed. I surmised, though, that the peddler’s motive was not concern for hungry birds on a cold winter's day. No, he was buying into the urban legend that rice expands in birds’ stomachs causing them to—eventually and very literally—explode. Now that wouldn’t be a very pretty sight around the man’s food business. But the joke’s on him. The pigeons merely feasted on some delectably cooked rice that will do them no harm. And—rest assured—they’ll be back for more and more! It's the patrons of this wagon master with the open windows—and ravenous pigeons furiously flapping around just outside them—whom merit my concern. I wouldn’t be surprised if customers found a few feathers in their lamb and rice platters, Philly cheesesteaks, and gyros. What would Washington and Lincoln think about all this? Heaven only knows.

(Photos from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)