In search of Mr. Smith

My Frank Capra book led me to “The Man from Montana,” which brought me to Burton Wheeler, who I got excited about because he stood up for labor against Anaconda and criticized the Sedition Act and decried Teapot Dome. But then I saw he voted for the 1924 Immigration Act and yeah, well then he became an America-Firster and I saw why Woody Guthrie put him in that Lindbergh song. By the way, did you know our pledge-of-allegiance used to be accompanied by a salute (the Bellamy salute) that looked an awful lot like the one the fascists started using? I see why we changed it. Life sure is a mixed bag! Meanwhile, I’m still looking for Jefferson Smith. I still want the guy who said: “Get up there with that lady that’s on top of this Capitol dome – the lady that stands for liberty – and you’ll see the whole parade of what man’s carved out for himself after centuries of fighting for something better than just jungle law.”

This time no confection of my own making

I used to long for the revolution, which meant breaking out of the rut, the spiritual doldrums, the sickening sense of lethargy and failure. It was a pleasant notion really, detached from the body bags of actual revolutions – a self-improvement project. Sadly, though, a real revolution now marches our way. As the ground shakes, I wonder: What is required? What must we do?