The Moth to a Flame

With my own health and happiness to consider, I opted not to watch even one moment of the so-called conventions—Democratic and Republican—this summer. But like a moth drawn to a flame, I couldn’t resist tuning into the first—and perhaps last—presidential debate of 2020. It was an appalling spectacle! Narcissist extraordinaire Donald Trump—devoid of Humanity 101—is incapable of taming his nasty bluster, prevaricating, and penchant for bullying. I personally know a narcissist extraordinaire with a similar personality disorder. In situations when it would benefit her to maintain a low profile and temper the volume, she can’t do it. The Orange Man couldn’t be civil—presidential—for one night.

Anyway, painful as the overall viewing experience was, I got through the entire ninety-minutes. My immediate takeaway was that Joe Biden cleared the extremely low bar he had to clear. While he certainly looked his age, the man didn’t come across as senile—pathetically evasive at times, but relatively coherent when he could get a word in edgewise. Still, as a twofer, Trump-Biden were hardly Eisenhower and Stevenson up there. While the latter duo never debated in 1952 or 1956, they were both presidential timber—not a lesser of two evils choice.

Well, that was then and this is now. I received my absentee ballot yesterday and mailed it in today. Having once contemplated voting for a third-party, I threw in with old Joe after all. It was Trump versus Not Trump and he was Not Trump. Biden will handily win New York State, so, even if my ballot gets lost in the mail or tossed out because I overly filled in an oval, it won’t be such a big deal. Every other race on my ballot was a non-contest with the winner preordained. Despite never having heard of them, I voted for a couple of Republican opponents in two local races. I’ve done that in the past when I felt like I was casting a ballot in Moscow. And because his office is nearby and he offers free Notary service, I did vote for my long-term Democratic assemblyman. All politics is local.

We are definitely living in sorry times. I recently watched a recommended video on YouTube of Gerald Ford’s “inaugural” address after his swearing in as the first unelected president, succeeding the first elected president to resign from office, Richard Nixon. I was in Bangor, Pennsylvania that day—home of my maternal grandparents—and my mother commented that the new president resembled my grandfather. There was something of a resemblance. “Our long national nightmare is over,” Ford said. “Our Constitution works.” Wow, a peaceful transition of power in tumultuous times—a solid democracy at work in a generally civilized society before Twitter, Facebook, and 24/7 cable ranting. We can sure use a Gerald Ford—and his benignant presence—today.

Sadly, though, this “Ford, not a Lincoln” couldn’t happen in these off-the-wall times. It’s funny that the New York Times—once upon a time “the paper of record”—forced an opinion editor to resign after he published a controversial essay by Senator Tom Cotton, who said that the military could, legally, be called in to quell domestic unrest. It positively frightened the intrepid woke folk—adult journalists and staffers—on the paper to hear a contrary opinion. Today, however, the very same paper published an opinion piece where its author lauded the totalitarian Chinese government's violent crackdown on protesters in Hong Kong. Apparently, that opinion triggered not a one in the newsroom. I’m old enough to remember Dan Rather, dressed as a mujahideen fighter, undercover in Afghanistan during the 1980 Soviet invasion. There were no safe spaces for “Gunga Dan” to hide in and the triggers he was up against weren’t words in a newspaper. Courage indeed from a decidedly different and, I daresay, better time!

(Photos one and two from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)