Member of the reality-based community of progressive (not anonymous) Massachusetts blogs
Richard Nixon is gone now, and I am poorer for it. He was the real thing — a political monster straight out of Grendel and a very dangerous enemy. He could shake your hand and stab you in the back at the same time. He lied to his friends and betrayed the trust of his family. Not even Gerald Ford, the unhappy ex-president who pardoned Nixon and kept him out of prison, was immune to the evil fallout. Ford, who believes strongly in Heaven and Hell, has told more than one of his celebrity golf partners that “I know I will go to hell, because I pardoned Richard Nixon.”
I have had my own bloody relationship with Nixon for many years, but I am not worried about it landing me in hell with him. I have already been there with that bastard, and I am a better person for it. Nixon had the unique ability to make his enemies seem honorable, and we developed a keen sense of fraternity. Some of my best friends have hated Nixon all their lives. My mother hates Nixon, my son hates Nixon, I hate Nixon, and this hatred has brought us together.
Not long ago, I was sent on an errand to pick up some stuff at the Bridge St. DeMoula’s. Being on the Dracut line, it goes without saying, the place is teeming with Dracuteers. Standing in the express line, I overheard two older gentlemen discussing the upcoming vote on school funding. Their demeanor and body language was controlled, if not cordial. But, at one point, the man espousing certain fiscal ‘truths’ pulled back from getting heated, stating, “I don’t want to ‘get into it, here.”
In Lowell, the municipal election is pending. We need to “get into it.”
I’m feelin’ Hunter, as this was a dude who would speak up. He didn’t wear the handcuffs of decorum & comity. The handcuffs that the political pimps, who run the machines, put on their minions. If you kiss a ring, you kiss an ass, my diminished brothers and sisters. You may imagine that ass be gilded, so that you can look at yourself in the mirror. But, one greasy ass is no better than another.
Our oldest turned me on to the wavvy brother, Mykki Blanco. He knows the score for the Kiss the Ring Crew: If you’s a dick rider, you gon’ dick ride forever.
Not everyone prostitutes themselves. Unless, of course, it is to their own sense of purpose & values:
These are harsh words for a man only recently canonized by President Clinton and my old friend George McGovern — but I have written worse things about Nixon, many times, and the record will show that I kicked him repeatedly long before he went down. I beat him like a mad dog with mange every time I got a chance, and I am proud of it. He was scum.
Let there be no mistake in the history books about that. Richard Nixon was an evil man — evil in a way that only those who believe in the physical reality of the Devil can understand it. He was utterly without ethics or morals or any bedrock sense of decency. Nobody trusted him — except maybe the Stalinist Chinese, and honest historians will remember him mainly as a rat who kept scrambling to get back on the ship.
So, let’s get into it. There is an election coming up. That fact is well known in the shady realm:
“This issue became so much about politics rather than what was best for the city,” Daly said. “I think you will see a pretty aggressive election cycle next year.”
More power to Dave Daly, is what I say. He wants what he wants. And, he can pay for loyalty in many corners of Lowell’s political “Bubble.” That said, the purpose of this diary is to make a stark distinction between stewardship and self-interest.
Lowell has a long history of gifted entrepreneurs propelling Lowell forward and higher. They did this for them, and us. At least, those that make the hallowed scripts and tongues of our esteemed historians did (do). Petty fiefdom despots normally fall away. No one bothers to remember the low roaders, unless they make a real mark. Hunter S. Thompson chronicled Nixon. (Who, as my friend Cliff would point out, drove some positive into the DC quagmire, e.g. environmental legislation.)
Daly is in heavy rotation over at WCAP. He can afford it. If he isn’t on the hour long, “JMac and Bear” infomercial, he gets another show (Frank McCabe?) to carry his jock. Which, if I’m hearing correctly, paints Daly as the next generation benevolent Brahmin. Move over Behrakis and Sepe, the kid is coming up! And, coming up along with him are the new breed of kiss the ringers. What’s the prize? McMansions? Real Estate? Maybe, a towing contract? Guesses, anyone? Or, maybe the goal is to be BMOC at the next Sun Santa? Nothing screams philanthropy like a front page photo op. Trickle down has a vig to be paid. Pony up! (Phoney up?) I was never one to wave the fin I dropped in the tithing. Who would do that?
So, WCAP and The Sun are more then happy to promote their benefactors. The prices, these days, are much lower then when our elder Brahmin were in the market. Bargain basement prices for rookie big wigs and commercial media, who are in survival mode, desperate.
Why does this matter? Or, how is it different than it ever has been?
If it was, then it was. Should the Fourth Estate have been so willing to whore themselves out? That’s not what Edward R. Murrow taught us. Or, Walter Cronkite. When Yellow Journalism was peaking, there were multiple media sources competing for the dominant narrative. Citizens could pick a source, maybe more, to trust. Was that 19th Century microcasting?
Welcome to 2013 and the Golden Rule: He with the most gold, makes the rules. Today, we have scant options for news. Check that, blogs happen, for free. If you hear calls to ignore the blogs, mostly from The Sun & radio infomercials, you should question the motive. Is it because they want to be left alone to dominate the narrative? To control the whisper across the bubble? Do the petty power mongers want some bang for their buck? I would, if I could afford to buy loyalty. (Below is a comment section. Feel free to call me out. I’d prefer you put your name on it. I do.)
So, let me wrap up by calling out those that would piss on your shoes and tell you that it is raining. Again, more power to the businessman. They do. I do. Who are we doing it to? They don’t buy my lunch. You feelin’ that?
This little big town, the one we all love so much, has a 106,000 (plus or minus illegal immigrants and others that shun the Census counters) City government doesn’t work for those that show up. On paper, anyways. Not ‘the paper (dead tree),” but in our Charter.
I advise you be very careful with snorts that declare, “From Lowell. For Lowell.” Snorts that call into question the motivations that are new here. The recent immigrants that are not bound by ethnicity, as the previous waves have. But, are bound by the promise of Lowell. The promise the “Ye Olde” entrepreneurs left as their legacy for everyone of us that hangs their hat within the City limits.
For those that buy a link to your eyes and ears, let me close with Hunter, or Jäger, as our oldest would say.
He has poisoned our water forever. Nixon will be remembered as a classic case of a smart man shitting in his own nest. But he also shit in our nests, and that was the crime that history will burn on his memory like a brand. By disgracing and degrading the Presidency of the United States, by fleeing the White House like a diseased cur, Richard Nixon broke the heart of the American Dream.
The election is coming! Hunter wrote about the White House under Nixon. We have a City Hall, not a club house for the connected. Be counted. They are counting on you quitting.
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