Yin and Yang

Walter Mondale died this week. He was a very decent man from a vastly different time—a more sanguine and saner one, I daresay. The politicians were certainly a better breed. The Congress was not then a haven for ambitious Ivy Leaguers with their fingers to the wind. Rather, there were a lot of men like Mondale in Washington, D.C., people from humble origins who lived through a Great Depression, served in the military, and viscerally connected with the common folk. These public servants were true patriots who put their country first, believed in the Constitution, and accepted the results of democratic elections.  

My first vote in a presidential election was cast for the Mondale-Ferraro ticket. Just out of college, I—along with my younger brother—attended a rally for the historic ticket in the New York City Garment District, when it still was literally the Garment District. Congresswoman Geraldine Ferraro from Queens was the first woman on a national ticket. As a collector of political memorabilia, occasions, like rallies, inevitably delivered the goods. I came home that day with a treasure trove of fliers, stickers, and posters. Such large, enthusiastic gatherings, though, often gave attendees a false sense that their candidates were destined to win—despite strong evidence to the contrary—the whole enchilada.

And so it was: On November 2, 1984, Walter Mondale told the assembled: “Polls don’t vote. People vote!” We cheered! The excitement was palpable—maybe, just maybe, a miracle was in the making, I thought. Four days later, the people voted and Mondale-Ferraro lost forty-nine states, including New York, which today is bluer than blue.

I was not a supporter of Walter Mondale during the 1984 primary season. In the waning months of my higher education, I threw in with Gary Hart, a politician tailor-made for the idealistic—not woke nutty—younger generation of that day. Columnist Murray Kempton wrote of 1965 New York City mayoral candidate John Lindsay, “He is fresh and everyone else is tired.” That’s how I felt about the Democratic candidates running for president in 1984: Hart was fresh and everybody else was tired, particularly the front-runner Mondale.

Walter Mondale believed in a big-tent Democratic party. Today the big tent is smaller than a pup tent—think one way and watch what you say. And if you don’t think our way—to the letter—you’re a hater, naturally, who should be cancelled and your life rendered null and void. Sadly, when American political life desperately cries out for a reasonable opposition party to an increasingly batty one, there is none to be found. It’s the worst of all worlds and makes me miss Walter Mondale, his Democratic party, and 1984—the year, not the book—even more.

A footnote on the “He is fresh and everyone else is tired” label. Tech entrepreneur Andrew Yang is currently the frontrunner in the Democratic primary race for New York City mayor. The tired bunch of woke local yokels running against him—and their acolytes—are really gunning for Yang now, which makes him increasingly appealing to me. Time will speak volumes.