By Edwin Cooney
In response to my June 16th column entitled “MEMORY LANE—SWEET DECEPTION,” one of my readers, a personal friend, gave me a good-natured scolding.
In that column I asserted that the past was sweet but inevitably deceptive, primarily because the pain and puzzle of its challenges have been resolved. Here, in part, is what he wrote:
“The past -- history – or precedent are, in my view, far better teachers than the gamble of the present; so while this is a well written column, full of wisdom, I think you fail to give the past its due. And you, a wanna-be history teacher.”
“Having said that, of course our personal perceptions, our personalities and yes, I daresay, our selective memories all too often taint the accuracy of that which is gone by, but history is still our best teacher.”
Ah! But history, written as a mere narrative absent a personal perception, is a dull or, even worse, a dead document or lesson. Hence, in keeping with my personal reputation for tact, I must assert the following:
History may be informative, enlightening and even entertaining, but history is no teacher. I’ll go so far as to say that history even lacks personality. Furthermore, history is totally dependant upon individual recollection and interpretation. In fact, Herodotus (c. 484 to c. 425 BC), whom many consider to be the father of history, was countermanded by Thucydides (c. 460 to c. 400 BC) who asserted that history was the result of choices and ideas rather than the result of mandates from the Gods.
History itself is rich with interpretation whether examined by George Bancroft, Woodrow Wilson, Theodore Roosevelt or even by one Edwin Cooney of Alameda, California.
Perhaps a quick look at recent history will suffice.
The great lesson from World War II was “never appease a dictatorship.” The implication of that lesson was that if one challenged a dictatorship instead of giving into it, free men and women of good will could best avoid war. The result of that lesson was the 1964 Tonkin Gulf Resolution and 58,000 dead Americans in that unnecessary Vietnamese conflict.
Twenty-eight years ago, the American people were presented another “history” lesson, that the American people had been victimized for the previous fifty years by big government and that “free enterprise” was the working American’s best friend. By September 2008, however, it became clear that unregulated free enterprise could be as dangerous as unchecked bureaucracy. Corporate America was abandoning John and Suzie Q. Citizen in America for cheap labor in Asia and Latin America. Meanwhile unregulated bankers urged working Americans to invest in moneymaking schemes based on making money rather than the sale of goods and services.
There are people who insist that those who forget history are condemned to repeat it. However, that is not what philosopher and poet George Santayana (who authored the quote in 1905) wrote. What he really said was “those who can not remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”
History isn’t the past, but our story or spin on the past. I insist that “history” as we conceptualize it, seldom if ever repeats itself. The sources and lessons of its story are as varied as its characters.
The history teacher ultimately offers the student that which is recorded rather than what is learned. Recorded history is a mishmash of contradictions. All too often, a professor, politician, or preacher asserts that history tells us this or that and then dramatically proceeds to make a case that is often a combination of fact and theory—usually socio/political. However, as the late Edward R. Murrow once observed, “What free men and women choose to do with what they learn is ultimately up to them.”
As I see it, there’s precious little difference between the teacher of history and the student of history. History, as a discipline, is as void or full of practicality, wisdom or morality as are its characters.
History is packed with fascinating events and personalities, but it is ultimately a blank page—devoid of good or evil but a carrier of both.
RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,
EDWIN COONEY
Monday, June 29, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
SEE YOU LATER ALLIGATOR—I HOPE
By Edwin Cooney
For two weeks and three days now, I’ve been meeting or revisiting some really special people who live everywhere throughout America except where I live.
As I rode the rails eastward between Oakland, California and Buffalo, New York, I met Patti—a temporarily wheelchair-ridden lady from Elko, Nevada. Patti runs a safe haven for stray animals looking for a home. Even more incredible, she’s about to marry her husband for the second time. A very dynamic individual, Patti devoutly believes in second chances. She divorced her husband some years ago and wants to be with him once again almost as much as she wants to walk following the motorcycle accident which five years ago destroyed both knees and severely damaged her back. Her recovery has been an exceedingly slow and painful one. This July, she’ll undergo surgery to replace both knees at once. She hopes to discard her wheelchair by mid September—just in time to remarry the man she once thought she could do without. It’s not likely that I’ll see Patti again, but it would be a treat to have that opportunity.
Then there’s Denny from Erie, Pennsylvania, a truck driver looking forward to coming off the road so that he might spend more time with his wife and son. Denny is an excellent conversationalist in part because he’s as good a listener as he is a talker. Deeply devoted to his family, Denny has a wide range of interests and is especially curious to know how people think and feel as well as what they care about.
Many of those I meet I expect to see again especially those I have known for awhile.
For openers, there’s the lady I call my mother who we all hope will turn 100 on January 1st, 2010. Edith has been blessed enough to see many seasons. She’s lived during the administrations of eighteen U.S. presidents going back to William Howard Taft. Edith, however, often opines that too many worthy people don’t live nearly long enough.
Then there’s a really sweet lady named Joanie whose family is hoping and praying -- as am I --that her upcoming cancer surgery will allow her at least five more happy years. Joanie’s sister Barbara is someone I’ve known since I was a lad of eleven. Joanie, although I don’t know her as well, has been sweet and generous to me. I hope to see her again next year and as many times in the coming summers as humanly and medically possible.
It has been my experience that ongoing contact too often causes us to take those around us for granted. However, as I prepare to return to my California diggings, I’m keenly aware of the preciousness of those with whom my contact has been all too fleeting.
As these sentiments go to press and I begin my trek westward along steel rails, I’ll offer heartfelt telepathic greetings to people such as: my dear friends Chet and his wife “Lady Linda” who are both thoughtful and intellectually energizing; Judy Joy whose middle name is a commentary on what she brings to others; dutiful Jan whose intensity and sincerity is matched by few; unpredictable Kathlyn whom I’ll always treasure; my pal Paul who makes me feel good just by saying hello; Barbara whose passions bubble like the finest champagne; Bob who watches out for me but doesn’t want me to know it; and Roe who cares more than she should which causes me to feel humblingly grateful.
The people I’ve mentioned above are only the beginning of a list of those who matter to me. That which is fleeting (the time I shared with them and others) is of value by virtue of its brevity. However, what really matters is the opportunity to experience people of quality for whatever time there may be.
Fifty-three years have passed since Bill Haley and the Comets sang out “See Ya Later Alligator.” Haley’s “goodbye” was to a spurning lover. My expression of that silly salutation expresses the hope that I may have the good fortune to encounter this gang of wonderful alligators many more times to come.
RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,
EDWIN COONEY
For two weeks and three days now, I’ve been meeting or revisiting some really special people who live everywhere throughout America except where I live.
As I rode the rails eastward between Oakland, California and Buffalo, New York, I met Patti—a temporarily wheelchair-ridden lady from Elko, Nevada. Patti runs a safe haven for stray animals looking for a home. Even more incredible, she’s about to marry her husband for the second time. A very dynamic individual, Patti devoutly believes in second chances. She divorced her husband some years ago and wants to be with him once again almost as much as she wants to walk following the motorcycle accident which five years ago destroyed both knees and severely damaged her back. Her recovery has been an exceedingly slow and painful one. This July, she’ll undergo surgery to replace both knees at once. She hopes to discard her wheelchair by mid September—just in time to remarry the man she once thought she could do without. It’s not likely that I’ll see Patti again, but it would be a treat to have that opportunity.
Then there’s Denny from Erie, Pennsylvania, a truck driver looking forward to coming off the road so that he might spend more time with his wife and son. Denny is an excellent conversationalist in part because he’s as good a listener as he is a talker. Deeply devoted to his family, Denny has a wide range of interests and is especially curious to know how people think and feel as well as what they care about.
Many of those I meet I expect to see again especially those I have known for awhile.
For openers, there’s the lady I call my mother who we all hope will turn 100 on January 1st, 2010. Edith has been blessed enough to see many seasons. She’s lived during the administrations of eighteen U.S. presidents going back to William Howard Taft. Edith, however, often opines that too many worthy people don’t live nearly long enough.
Then there’s a really sweet lady named Joanie whose family is hoping and praying -- as am I --that her upcoming cancer surgery will allow her at least five more happy years. Joanie’s sister Barbara is someone I’ve known since I was a lad of eleven. Joanie, although I don’t know her as well, has been sweet and generous to me. I hope to see her again next year and as many times in the coming summers as humanly and medically possible.
It has been my experience that ongoing contact too often causes us to take those around us for granted. However, as I prepare to return to my California diggings, I’m keenly aware of the preciousness of those with whom my contact has been all too fleeting.
As these sentiments go to press and I begin my trek westward along steel rails, I’ll offer heartfelt telepathic greetings to people such as: my dear friends Chet and his wife “Lady Linda” who are both thoughtful and intellectually energizing; Judy Joy whose middle name is a commentary on what she brings to others; dutiful Jan whose intensity and sincerity is matched by few; unpredictable Kathlyn whom I’ll always treasure; my pal Paul who makes me feel good just by saying hello; Barbara whose passions bubble like the finest champagne; Bob who watches out for me but doesn’t want me to know it; and Roe who cares more than she should which causes me to feel humblingly grateful.
The people I’ve mentioned above are only the beginning of a list of those who matter to me. That which is fleeting (the time I shared with them and others) is of value by virtue of its brevity. However, what really matters is the opportunity to experience people of quality for whatever time there may be.
Fifty-three years have passed since Bill Haley and the Comets sang out “See Ya Later Alligator.” Haley’s “goodbye” was to a spurning lover. My expression of that silly salutation expresses the hope that I may have the good fortune to encounter this gang of wonderful alligators many more times to come.
RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,
EDWIN COONEY
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
MEMORY LANE—SWEET DECEPTION
By Edwin Cooney
It’s that time of year for me once again. I’m writing this from Batavia, New York where I’m attending the ninety-first alumni reunion of the residential School for the Blind where I was a student from age four until I was twenty years old.
Just do the math and you’ll realize that it took me seventeen instead of thirteen seasons to go from kindergarten through the twelfth grade. You can see that struggle more than genius was my most constant companion. Even so, I look back on those years largely through rose-colored rather than through dark tinted glasses.
Strange as that metaphor may seem coming from someone growing up with blindness, the fact remains that true vision is a gift of the mind and spirit as much as it is the function of eyesight.
During the hours that are to come, I will join approximately fifty former NYSSB students to once again exchange memories of people and events we experienced when we were young. We’ll speak of teachers, houseparents, staff members and occasions long gone. Most of what we recall will be sweet, made still sweeter by memories of those people and occasions that perhaps weren’t so sweet at the time. Most of our memories will be accurate, although filtered by perception rather than authenticated through documentation. What we’ll recall about a teacher or a fellow student, especially one not present for whatever reason, will be tinged by who we are and what we perceive absent the force and personage of the individual being talked about.
We won’t call our reminiscences “history,” but that’s exactly what they are. Past struggles and crises differ from those we may currently be experiencing largely because we’ve survived them. This is true not only for the graduates of the New York State School for the Blind; it is equally true for “we, the people of the United States.”
Since last September’s financial crisis, Americans have feared, with good reason, the onset of an economic depression. Yet, if you have the chance to talk to many people who lived through the 1930s, there’s pride in their voices even as they recall deprivation and struggle — after all, they survived closed banks, ravished farms, low wages, lost jobs and home foreclosures. True, their pathway to prosperity may well have been World War II, but to hear them talk of those times, you often get the impression that they’d do it all over again if they really had to.
Hence, like boys and girls who passed through the crucible of blindness some forty to sixty plus years ago, Americans feel sure that they made it largely because of experiences and principles well-established which only need to be applied once again to insure safe passage through the crises that will come.
Therein lies the sweet deception of wonderful weekends such as the one I’m experiencing. Many of my fellow alumni are under the illusion that the world for today’s children who live with blindness would be best served if our alma mater could be what it once was. Unfortunately, our world is gone. Parents of blind children today want to educate their children at or near home. Granted that local schools aren’t always up to the task of giving children with blindness what they might need, today’s accessible technology can and often does make up the difference.
Likewise, America’s memory of its glorious past can be quite deceiving. The truth is we didn’t make it through the depression applying lessons already learned. New challenges are invariably different enough from crises gone by to require different strategies. However, in anticipation of possible hard times ahead, we first look to past strategies before realizing what tomorrow demands.
Thus this sweetly deceptive weekend. For approximately seventy-two hours, almost everything those of us who are attending this reunion think, feel or hope for stems from our youth. For about three days, in our minds if not in our hearts, we possess the energy and idealism of yesteryear.
If only we could bottle that energy and idealism, problem solving would be so much easier. Ah! But there’s the catch. Even with all our energy, idealism and determination, we can’t be sure that we will be able to master today’s crises—after all, unlike yesterday’s challenges, we have yet to survive them.
RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,
EDWIN COONEY
It’s that time of year for me once again. I’m writing this from Batavia, New York where I’m attending the ninety-first alumni reunion of the residential School for the Blind where I was a student from age four until I was twenty years old.
Just do the math and you’ll realize that it took me seventeen instead of thirteen seasons to go from kindergarten through the twelfth grade. You can see that struggle more than genius was my most constant companion. Even so, I look back on those years largely through rose-colored rather than through dark tinted glasses.
Strange as that metaphor may seem coming from someone growing up with blindness, the fact remains that true vision is a gift of the mind and spirit as much as it is the function of eyesight.
During the hours that are to come, I will join approximately fifty former NYSSB students to once again exchange memories of people and events we experienced when we were young. We’ll speak of teachers, houseparents, staff members and occasions long gone. Most of what we recall will be sweet, made still sweeter by memories of those people and occasions that perhaps weren’t so sweet at the time. Most of our memories will be accurate, although filtered by perception rather than authenticated through documentation. What we’ll recall about a teacher or a fellow student, especially one not present for whatever reason, will be tinged by who we are and what we perceive absent the force and personage of the individual being talked about.
We won’t call our reminiscences “history,” but that’s exactly what they are. Past struggles and crises differ from those we may currently be experiencing largely because we’ve survived them. This is true not only for the graduates of the New York State School for the Blind; it is equally true for “we, the people of the United States.”
Since last September’s financial crisis, Americans have feared, with good reason, the onset of an economic depression. Yet, if you have the chance to talk to many people who lived through the 1930s, there’s pride in their voices even as they recall deprivation and struggle — after all, they survived closed banks, ravished farms, low wages, lost jobs and home foreclosures. True, their pathway to prosperity may well have been World War II, but to hear them talk of those times, you often get the impression that they’d do it all over again if they really had to.
Hence, like boys and girls who passed through the crucible of blindness some forty to sixty plus years ago, Americans feel sure that they made it largely because of experiences and principles well-established which only need to be applied once again to insure safe passage through the crises that will come.
Therein lies the sweet deception of wonderful weekends such as the one I’m experiencing. Many of my fellow alumni are under the illusion that the world for today’s children who live with blindness would be best served if our alma mater could be what it once was. Unfortunately, our world is gone. Parents of blind children today want to educate their children at or near home. Granted that local schools aren’t always up to the task of giving children with blindness what they might need, today’s accessible technology can and often does make up the difference.
Likewise, America’s memory of its glorious past can be quite deceiving. The truth is we didn’t make it through the depression applying lessons already learned. New challenges are invariably different enough from crises gone by to require different strategies. However, in anticipation of possible hard times ahead, we first look to past strategies before realizing what tomorrow demands.
Thus this sweetly deceptive weekend. For approximately seventy-two hours, almost everything those of us who are attending this reunion think, feel or hope for stems from our youth. For about three days, in our minds if not in our hearts, we possess the energy and idealism of yesteryear.
If only we could bottle that energy and idealism, problem solving would be so much easier. Ah! But there’s the catch. Even with all our energy, idealism and determination, we can’t be sure that we will be able to master today’s crises—after all, unlike yesterday’s challenges, we have yet to survive them.
RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,
EDWIN COONEY
Monday, June 1, 2009
RICHARD NIXONISM—IT JUST WON’T LET ME GO!
By Edwin Cooney
If you’ve ever been in a play or part of a musical production, then you’ll understand what I mean when I tell you that I’m suffering from (I’ll come right out and say it) “Richard Nixonism”. During the past several weeks, I’ve been preparing a lecture which I called “Richard Nixon: a President without an anchor.”
I delivered that lecture last Tuesday night on Accessibleworld.org, a website dedicated to providing intellectual growth and educational enhancement to all who choose to utilize it. Its director, Mr. Bob Acosta, has been generously encouraging, patient, kind, and highly complimentary to me. For this particular discussion, I wanted to delve into the life and times of a man whose political and public career touched the lives of anyone born between, say, 1890 and 1960.
My task, as I saw it, was to offer the audience my conclusion that Richard Nixon’s fate came about largely because he possessed little doctrine and insufficient spiritual guidance to adequately anchor his actions. Nixon’s life and career were largely governed by lessons learned through personal experiences and politics.
One of the earliest lessons young Richard learned was the first law of survival: get up when you fall down. That’s what three-year-old Richard did after falling off the lap of a neighbor lady when the buggy his mother was driving took too sharp a turn rounding a curve. The little fellow tumbled toward the dirt road and blood streamed over the top of his head, but the boy was immediately on his feet running toward the buggy before it came to a full stop. He nearly bled to death during the twenty-five mile ride to the nearest doctor.
Another lesson young Nixon learned was that the elite (or “better born”) would always be privileged over those whom he’d eventually refer to as “the great silent majority of Americans.” Dick Nixon would find elitists in such places as Whittier College, the US Department of State, the CIA and, worst of all, in the media -- especially the left wing of the Democratic party.
Murray Chotiner, the man Nixon hired in 1946 as his first campaign manager, was also a teacher of lessons. Chotiner, a somewhat unsavory lawyer and political PR hand, advised Nixon to define his political opponent in the public mind before that opponent defined him. Voters, Chotiner told Nixon, don’t vote for you, they vote against you or your opponent. Defining and thus diminishing one’s opponent, Nixon learned, was easily as important as the issues in any political race.
The next lesson, which was little known until much later, was that if you are important enough there will be a public outcry if someone breaks into your campaign headquarters. Until then, no one is going to feel sorry for you. For example, in the early spring of 1946, Dick and his wife Pat had stocked their congressional campaign headquarters with what they hoped was sufficient literature to begin making headway in their campaign for Congress. The young couple had put their entire life savings (including Nixon’s wartime poker winnings and Pat’s inheritance) into these purchases. One morning, when they arrived at the office, all was gone. The place had been burglarized -- and the burglary was never solved.
Finally, Richard Milhous Nixon learned that if you’re rich, well connected, and clever enough (or if you happened to hold a sufficiently high place in the government), you can skirt the domain of the law so long as you’re not caught breaking the law. He also noted that someone who was young, handsome, rich, and running for the presidency in a close race didn’t need to break the law to win -- a big city mayor would do it instead (ala JFK in 1960). Covering up your administration’s role in a bungled foreign policy venture is no crime if you’re careful — Camelot lasted for two-and-half years after President Kennedy covered up the Bay of Pigs fiasco in April of 1961. If the Kennedy Administration could be forgiven for the murder of South Vietnamese President Diem (which weakened our efforts in Southeast Asia thereby continuing the war for ten more years), how could it be a sin for Nixon to take a mere five years to Vietnamize that war to win it “with honor”? If LBJ could bug Nixon’s offices in 1968 (according to FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover) wasn’t the Democratic headquarters in 1972 fair game? Finally, if he wasn’t “exposed”, Senator Edward M. Kennedy would get away with the death of young Mary Jo Kopechne — he could even become President at Nixon’s expense! The result of this speculation was—you guessed it—Watergate.
As time went on and his experience in international affairs increased, Richard Nixon abandoned his strict anti-communism stance in favor of a more pragmatic outlook. China was a factor beyond moral outrage and had to be recognized. As Churchill recognized the evil Stalin, Nixon would find it practical to recognize Mao Tse-Tung -- ruthless as he was. Dedicated to his “saintly” mother’s ideal of world peace, Richard Nixon saw America’s honor and reputation throughout the world as key to achieving peace.
So here I am, suffering from a bad case of Nixon withdrawal. Interest in the life and times of Richard Nixon is a bad but compelling habit. Like drinking and smoking, fascination with Mr. Nixon is almost chronic. Even when you think you’ve beaten it, Richard Nixonism like its namesake gets up when it falls down.
Hmm! I wonder if, after all these years, “Richard Nixonism” is contagious!
RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,
EDWIN COONEY
If you’ve ever been in a play or part of a musical production, then you’ll understand what I mean when I tell you that I’m suffering from (I’ll come right out and say it) “Richard Nixonism”. During the past several weeks, I’ve been preparing a lecture which I called “Richard Nixon: a President without an anchor.”
I delivered that lecture last Tuesday night on Accessibleworld.org, a website dedicated to providing intellectual growth and educational enhancement to all who choose to utilize it. Its director, Mr. Bob Acosta, has been generously encouraging, patient, kind, and highly complimentary to me. For this particular discussion, I wanted to delve into the life and times of a man whose political and public career touched the lives of anyone born between, say, 1890 and 1960.
My task, as I saw it, was to offer the audience my conclusion that Richard Nixon’s fate came about largely because he possessed little doctrine and insufficient spiritual guidance to adequately anchor his actions. Nixon’s life and career were largely governed by lessons learned through personal experiences and politics.
One of the earliest lessons young Richard learned was the first law of survival: get up when you fall down. That’s what three-year-old Richard did after falling off the lap of a neighbor lady when the buggy his mother was driving took too sharp a turn rounding a curve. The little fellow tumbled toward the dirt road and blood streamed over the top of his head, but the boy was immediately on his feet running toward the buggy before it came to a full stop. He nearly bled to death during the twenty-five mile ride to the nearest doctor.
Another lesson young Nixon learned was that the elite (or “better born”) would always be privileged over those whom he’d eventually refer to as “the great silent majority of Americans.” Dick Nixon would find elitists in such places as Whittier College, the US Department of State, the CIA and, worst of all, in the media -- especially the left wing of the Democratic party.
Murray Chotiner, the man Nixon hired in 1946 as his first campaign manager, was also a teacher of lessons. Chotiner, a somewhat unsavory lawyer and political PR hand, advised Nixon to define his political opponent in the public mind before that opponent defined him. Voters, Chotiner told Nixon, don’t vote for you, they vote against you or your opponent. Defining and thus diminishing one’s opponent, Nixon learned, was easily as important as the issues in any political race.
The next lesson, which was little known until much later, was that if you are important enough there will be a public outcry if someone breaks into your campaign headquarters. Until then, no one is going to feel sorry for you. For example, in the early spring of 1946, Dick and his wife Pat had stocked their congressional campaign headquarters with what they hoped was sufficient literature to begin making headway in their campaign for Congress. The young couple had put their entire life savings (including Nixon’s wartime poker winnings and Pat’s inheritance) into these purchases. One morning, when they arrived at the office, all was gone. The place had been burglarized -- and the burglary was never solved.
Finally, Richard Milhous Nixon learned that if you’re rich, well connected, and clever enough (or if you happened to hold a sufficiently high place in the government), you can skirt the domain of the law so long as you’re not caught breaking the law. He also noted that someone who was young, handsome, rich, and running for the presidency in a close race didn’t need to break the law to win -- a big city mayor would do it instead (ala JFK in 1960). Covering up your administration’s role in a bungled foreign policy venture is no crime if you’re careful — Camelot lasted for two-and-half years after President Kennedy covered up the Bay of Pigs fiasco in April of 1961. If the Kennedy Administration could be forgiven for the murder of South Vietnamese President Diem (which weakened our efforts in Southeast Asia thereby continuing the war for ten more years), how could it be a sin for Nixon to take a mere five years to Vietnamize that war to win it “with honor”? If LBJ could bug Nixon’s offices in 1968 (according to FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover) wasn’t the Democratic headquarters in 1972 fair game? Finally, if he wasn’t “exposed”, Senator Edward M. Kennedy would get away with the death of young Mary Jo Kopechne — he could even become President at Nixon’s expense! The result of this speculation was—you guessed it—Watergate.
As time went on and his experience in international affairs increased, Richard Nixon abandoned his strict anti-communism stance in favor of a more pragmatic outlook. China was a factor beyond moral outrage and had to be recognized. As Churchill recognized the evil Stalin, Nixon would find it practical to recognize Mao Tse-Tung -- ruthless as he was. Dedicated to his “saintly” mother’s ideal of world peace, Richard Nixon saw America’s honor and reputation throughout the world as key to achieving peace.
So here I am, suffering from a bad case of Nixon withdrawal. Interest in the life and times of Richard Nixon is a bad but compelling habit. Like drinking and smoking, fascination with Mr. Nixon is almost chronic. Even when you think you’ve beaten it, Richard Nixonism like its namesake gets up when it falls down.
Hmm! I wonder if, after all these years, “Richard Nixonism” is contagious!
RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,
EDWIN COONEY
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