The Magic Eraser

New York's Metropolitan Transportation Authority (MTA) claims that if it doesn't get a major infusion of cash real soon, it's going to have to—among other unpopular things—cut service by fifty percent! That's a heaping helping of service. The Department of Sanitation has seen its budget slashed and, trust me, it shows. And, yes, the street violence continues unabated, which doesn't appear to concern the woke folk all that much. But at least the crickets are back for their traditional late-summer encore, chirping their familiar swan song to yet another season. It’s been a hot and humid one around here—and an especially wild and wolly one in the wider world—that I’m not going to miss. Of course, I don’t have to go back to school next week. But then many school-aged kids don’t have to go back to school next week either. Or do they? It’s been forty years since I graduated from high school. Wow, that’s a long time in the individual human scheme of things—half a typical lifetime as a matter of fact.

The year was 1980. The “Magic Is Back” was the tagline of the New York Mets ubiquitous promotional campaign that summer. Buoyed by new ownership vowing to be the antithesis of the previously disinterested, tightfisted one, there was—very literally—a hint of magic in the air. Really. The times were definitely a-changin’ for the better, which was most welcome after some sobering and truly disheartening dark years in Fanville.

Those were the days, my friend, we thought they'd never end—summer days free of addictive devices and frothing-at-the-mouth social media. Like 2020, 1980 was a presidential year with the two main parties holding their conventions in summertime. Ronald Reagan received the Republican nomination in Detroit and President Jimmy Carter was re-nominated for a second term right here in New York City. Carter fought off not only a Democratic primary challenger in 1980, but a political dynasty as well. He defeated Senator Ted Kennedy. While Kennedy contemplated his run against a sitting president, The New York Post ran a front-page headline, which reportedly quoted the incumbent: “If Kennedy Runs, I’ll Whip His Ass.” Well, Kennedy in the end ran and Carter, as promised, whipped his ass. I had a political button featuring a replica of that infamous front-page. Simpler times and conventions—but a whole lot more interesting and layered than their vacuous, histrionic 2020 progeny. The contemporary Democrats had a platform but didn’t talk about what was in it. I wonder why? And the Republicans didn’t even bother to have one. In the Trump cult, what's the point? The Republican convention’s roster of speakers sometimes seemed like a who’s who of misfits—a water pistol that shoots jelly kind of thing. These are strange and foreboding times for Americans who care about the nation’s fundamental institutions, most basic freedoms, and peace and tranquility.

With my blood pressure in mind, I didn’t watch a single moment of either convention this month, which I never could have envisioned in 1980. I loved tuning in to party conventions in those days of yore. And it wasn’t the great political issues of the moment that appealed to me; it was the excitement, the real-time lessons in civics and democracy. Despite the candidates having their respective nominations in the bag by convention time, there was still some drama at both of them. At some point in the Republican convention, rumors circulated that former President Gerald Ford was being seriously considered as Ronald Reagan’s running mate. There was talk of a “co-presidency” of sorts, which would potentially alleviate the biggest voter concerns about Reagan as a quick draw and not-quite-ready-for-prime-time player. Reagan ultimately went for the safe pick of the receding, but ever-loyal George H.W. Bush and it paid off.

At the Democratic convention, all eyes were on the vanquished liberal icon, Ted Kennedy, and whether and how he would endorse the man who whipped his ass. Kennedy had a considerable portion of the convention delegates hanging on his every imperial word. His “Dream Shall Never Die” speech brought tears to the eyes of the old-school left, the New Dealers, those classical liberals who believed that America was fundamentally a good place and its Constitution a document worth cherishing and respecting. Kennedy’s eventual endorsement of Carter was halfhearted to say the least.

Well, that was then and this is now. The magic was indeed back in 1980, but now it’s gone—in sports, obviously, and politics, too. Will it ever be back? Can it ever come back? Old Joe talks about being a transitional president. I fear, though, what’s on the other side of the transition. Nevertheless, he’ll have to do at this critical moment. But, as for the magic, it isn’t coming back anytime soon—I’m certain about that.

(Photos from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)