If you are concerned about the political rancor in the country and find it painful to listen to the shouting from the right and the left, you are not alone, and this is nothing new. It has been around from the dawn of the republic. George Washington warned us about political in-fighting and the destructive force of partisan politics.
One of the sad things about this divisiveness today is the fallout among family, friends, and neighbors. That is also nothing new. My dad and his good friend George were miles apart politically. George was a flaming Democrat; my dad was a stubborn Republican, and their discussions got really heated at times.
George was a conscience liberal who had slugged it out in the newsrooms of Midwest dailies for years before moving to California. Before the cold weather drove him out of Duluth, he wrote the news releases and the side bars and the editorials in support of Hubert Humphrey – a liberal icon who championed civil rights and who became Vice-President under Lyndon Johnson. George came to write for our local paper and soon became the Sunday Editor, where he continued to write and fight for the promises of a caring government.
In contrast, Ted was a Republican for less noble reasons. He saw the Republicans as the party of the big shots, a club he would have loved to join. He was in total agreement with the laissez-faire and limited approach to government that has been historically attributed to the GOP, but his ardor was not as strong as George’s. Sometimes I felt he was a Republican in large part to needle my mother, who was a dyed-in-the-wool FDR New Deal Democrat.
And to needle George.
They met in an AA Meeting. This was the glue in their friendship, although George was more successful at dryness than Ted. Whenever my dad fell off the wagon, George was there in a heartbeat to buck him up, to drive him where he needed to go, to surround him with other AA buddies, and to encourage him to get to a meeting.
You would often find Ted and George at “Betsy Ross,” a patriotic-themed restaurant and ice cream parlor. There they would order chocolate malts with chocolate ice cream. (When you take the alcohol away, the body will demand some sugar.) However, they did not debate the issues of the day out there in public over chocolate malteds. Those conversations usually took place in the comfort of our home, where the front door was almost never locked.
The door would open slightly, and George would stick his head in, shouting:
“Yoo-hoo! Anybody home?”
“Come in, George. Ted’s in the den.”
We could hear them talking; and we would know when they began to cover immigration or Social Security or foreign policy or the resident of the White House or whatever, because the volume would increase. Before you knew it, the door would slam. George would be gone, and they would both be sore as boils. But without warning, in a day or three the door would open; and George would stick his head in and say:
“Yoo-hoo! Anybody Home?”
“Oh sure, George. Ted’s in the kitchen.”
Again, the conversation in normal tones. Again, the inevitable moment of increasing decibels. And again, the door slamming and George’s sudden departure. Until the next time when the argument was forgotten, and the friendship prevailed.
There was always a next time. Regardless of their disagreements over current events, they cherished their friendship way more than the GDP or strife with Cuba. Those two friends always found time to talk sports and business and the weather, and whatever else chums talk about over a BLT and a malt.
After Ted died, George didn’t drop in as much, but he and I often saw each other. After retiring from the newspaper, he became the director of the news bureau at the college, and I became the drop-in. It was delightful to visit his office and to see him in his natural habitat. He was surrounded by the accoutrements of his trade: scattered newspapers on the desk, a half-empty cup of cold coffee, a full ashtray, the necktie pulled down, the typewriter at his elbow, and the phone ringing off the hook.
George was my dad’s friend. Then he became my friend. We had some keen interests in common and enjoyed time together at the racetrack. We had fond memories of my dad. We laughed out loud about those days when George had a special “yoo-hoo” place in our family. He could come in anytime and bicker over politics with his friend Ted without even knocking.
George and I also spoke of the difference between a private disagreement and a lack of public civility. He and Ted drove each other a little bit crazy, but they would never have carried their personal feuds into the public arena. “Betsy Ross” was off limits.
They would also be appalled at the level of public rancor today. It would have been unconscionable to them that our leaders of the highest order would openly demonize the opposition with such vitriol, such hatred.
Tragically, this great political and social divide has crept into the church. We need to remember that God is “…above every throne, every dominion, every ruler, every authority.” (Colossians 1:16)
In my most recent previous blog (“Mighty Fine,” posted October 6th), my grandfather’s favorite passage of Scripture was quoted. (Matthew 22:36-40) It is also my favorite.
In brief, we are to love God and love our neighbor. Whatever happens in this election, we would do well as a nation to learn to love our neighbor; whether we like our neighbor or agree with our neighbor.
I am encouraged that two brilliant jurists who were widely separated politically – Antonin Scalia and Ruth Bader Ginsburg – were steadfast friends. They shared a love of opera. I am encouraged by the memory of the friendship of my dad and his friend George, who argued vehemently. They loved each other and shared a love of chocolate malts.
Tidings from Tim 