The Presidential Election of 1976 – the year I graduated from college and went to work in New Jersey, was a time, as “Jimmy” correctly recalls, without the rancor and acrimony now prevalent in the political culture. He doesn’t note, however, that in those days, venerable newspapers like the Washington Post had just asserted the Fourth Estate in their Constitutionally prescribed duty to serve the Electorate with the truth. Facing Nixon, two reporters and Ben Bradlee provided the US Senate with grounds and public support to impeach. More riveting TV could not be had. Summer days glued to the tube led us through the delicate balance between what The People can do with the Ethical Government of, by and for themselves vs. what the people with money can do with more of same. We also observed the beautiful Maureen Dean, seated behind her man, John, on camera throughout the testimony revealing the “Cancer” on the Presidency. Stylish and smart, dressed by a professional, Mo inspired Young Women to step out in faith that a balance also existed between silk and steel.
Any who ask why the wives of powerful men foolishly occupy the platform upon which the disgraced resignee acknowledges and apologizes for misdeeds need only view the images of the wife of John Dean, whose testimony spanned the better part of a week on live daytime television. Soap Opera paled in comparison to the sight of this utter star, of chic blond chignon, masterfully accessorized and utterly confidant, seated directly over the shoulder of the witness. Each evening network news broadcast beamed the beauty to those whose employment intruded on their open mouthed gaping as we felt the scorpion sting after sting of Dean’s revelations capped with the bomb dropped by Alexander Butterfield, of the White House Tapes. I suspect that the resignation of George Stephanopoulos from the Clinton White House was inspired by John Dean.
Ignorance of the infamous 18 minute gap in the Nixon Tapes meets the manipulation of Bubba’s Personal Secretary, Betty Currie, who chose to be loyal to her boss, to endure awkward moments as a conduit for the young, rich and dangerous Monica Lewinsky.
“Mo, A Woman’s View of Watergate” served up the education that awaits any female endeavoring to enter, professionally, the career realm considered man’s unchallenged right. Like Alice in Wonderland, the gal is simultaneously courted and molested, admired for her sweetness as she’s driven to cold, soul-less survival behavior. Any woman who ‘makes it’ to the top of this ladder preserves the “Precious” troll ring in the Inferi-infested black moat pool that surrounds her throne of stone.
Jimmy and Rosalyn both wrote about their naivete on the road to the White House. On the heels of the secured-up-the-wazoo “Imperial Presidency,” the Carters, on Inauguration Day, clasped hands and emerged like butterflies from the cocoon that was the Presidential Limousine’s dark interior to the sunlight of a January day, defying Secret Service warnings and actually walking the final block to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue whereupon they proceeded to be “just folks.” The Obama’s 2009 reenactment took NONE of the courage, faith and determination to mirror ordinary Americans that the Carters showed. My own years in Atlanta, to observe for myself, the “Legacy of the Presidency” that followed Carter and Young home, taught me far more about Witchcraft than I’ll ever learn about Politics and Men. Dinner at the “Waxing Moon” served by practitioners of The Craft, crystals, cards and workbooks sold at The Sphinx Metaphysical Book Store in Ansley Mall and chants from Cajuns in Mid Town advised me of “New Bananas” and rich people all doing drugs who put others under microscopic scrutiny to throw the attention away from themselves. Deborah Norville’s cocaine snorting, TV salary-bloated boyfriend was publicly dumped by her own career preserving survival instincts.
Please know this: just as the Catholics of Haiti incorporate VooDoo into their religious adaptation, the Wicca’d Southerners embraced Evangelical Christianity with distinct hold-overs of a Stone Mountain Spiritual Repository. Christine O’Donnel is in good company among winners who admit they could only have been elected because We The People were tired of guessing whom we could trust. With these “throw the bums out” elections we say: “We Trust Ourselves.” Mama done tol’ me, “A Girl’s gotta do what she’s gotta do.” and getting through the gamut of men with one hand in your wallet and the other up your skirt is a simple skate once you learn that men LOVE getting their ass kicked by a confidant woman. “Bitch!” just like the exclamation, “Witch!” is a cheer of respect, admiration and admission of defeat. Long to hear it, dance to it and make it ‘your song.’ Keep that Ziegfeld Show of PINK ELLE phants parading through the steps to the top.
Filed under: Uncategorized |