Republicans Sell Good Crap
It's About Time They Clean Up Their ActAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2011 the Pessimistic Optimist
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4634-0410-9Contents
Prologue..........................................................................................................viiChapter 1. My Early Years.........................................................................................1Chapter 2. My Introduction to Politics............................................................................4Chapter 3. Life in England........................................................................................9Chapter 4. The American Adventure Begins..........................................................................12Chapter 5. My Political Awakening.................................................................................15Chapter 6. The Selling of Good Crap...............................................................................18Chapter 7. New Experiences........................................................................................21Chapter 8. The Haters.............................................................................................23Chapter 9. John McCain............................................................................................31Chapter 10. Sarah Palin...........................................................................................33Chapter 11. Rush Limbaugh.........................................................................................40Chapter 12. Neal Boortz...........................................................................................44Chapter 13. Glenn Beck............................................................................................51Chapter 14. Sean Hannity..........................................................................................54Chapter 15. Dick Cheney...........................................................................................58Chapter 16. Michael Steele........................................................................................61Chapter 17. Bobby Jindal..........................................................................................65Chapter 18. The Seven Deadly Sinners Keyes, Christie, Thomas, Caine Williams, West, Blackwell.....................66Chapter 19. Michele Bachmann......................................................................................77Chapter 20. Siamese Twins (Coulter and Ingraham)..................................................................79Chapter 21. Newt Gingrich.........................................................................................84Chapter 22. Bill O'Reilly.........................................................................................87Chapter 23. Pat Buchanan..........................................................................................89Chapter 24. Family Ties...........................................................................................92Chapter 25. New Kids on the Block.................................................................................94Chapter 26. The House Controllers.................................................................................96Chapter 27. The Ex's (Huckabee, Romney & Guilliani)...............................................................100Chapter 28. The Two MaScots (Brown & Walker)......................................................................105Chapter 29. Karl Rove.............................................................................................107Chapter 30. Mitch McConnell.......................................................................................109Chapter 31. The Fringe Element....................................................................................110Chapter 32. Mr. President.........................................................................................112Chapter 33. The First Lady........................................................................................118Chapter 34. A Message to African Americans........................................................................120Chapter 35. Mexicans..............................................................................................131Chapter 36. Difficult Times Ahead.................................................................................133Epilogue..........................................................................................................141References........................................................................................................143
Chapter One
My Early Years
SEVERAL DECADES AGO, my mother Kathleen, a wonderful petite woman who reached the ripe young age of 100 in March of 2010, introduced me to mother Earth. The event took place in a little district called Skibo, situated in Portland, Jamaica's most beautiful and fruitful parish. Electricity and piped water had not yet reached Skibo, and the main form of transportation was the" foot-mobile".
The population of around 250 moved around quite easily, because thankfully they were all blessed with their own foot-mobiles. Of course there was the odd mule donkey and bicycle, owned by the well to do folks. Once in a while, a truck would deliver goods to the only shop in the area, which was owned by a Chinese couple who incidentally had a son born on the same day as me. If my memory serves me correctly, they owned the only battery operated radio in the district and it was a thrill to go there just to hear some music, or listen to a cricket test match between the West Indies and England or Australia.
There were two rivers in Skibo, the Mabesque River and the Spanish River. I don't know their sources, but they flowed in opposite directions, met at what we called the Blue Hole, and flowed as one for about two miles down to the sea. They were protected by law and was the source of our water for domestic use. I can clearly remember my brothers and me making several trips to the river with buckets to fetch water to fill the huge drum we had at home. But we didn't mind because it gave us a chance to do some fishing which we really enjoyed. Naturally we had to make our own fishing lines. For the rods we used what we called wild cane, to which we attached wires that we cut, and then meticulously joined together with links like those in a chain. That was the easy part, the difficult part was getting the half penny to buy the fish hook, and believe me it was difficult.
As a matter of fact we had to improvise a lot, and learnt to make a lot of things, which the kids of today know nothing about. We would use the rubber from the old tubing of bicycle wheels to make sling shots to shoot birds, and make things like chokies, fringes, and calabans to trap them. We made our own cricket bats from coconut branches, and tree trunks, our own gigs to spin at Easter, and our own kites to fly at Christmas. Speaking of Christmas, it's amazing to see the gifts that parents can afford to give their children today, and it's expected by the kids. We were well and truly satisfied with a balloon and some fire crackers.
We had one Government school in the district, and that's where our basic education began. The school was situated on a hill, and could not be accessed by motor vehicles. The house I lived in was situated at the bottom of that hill, and so it was a relatively short walk to school for me. The headmaster, Mr. McLaughlin and his wife were friends of my parents. He was in my opinion a great teacher who did not spare the rod if you misbehaved. I can remember him disciplining a boy for swearing, and as the boy held out both hands to be strapped alternately, Teacher Mc. would say after each stroke of a hand,
"You must not use indecent language".
The funny part was that the boy had obviously never heard the word "indecent" before, but was aware of "decent". After each stroke he kept saying,
"I won't use decent language, Teacher".
One day I overheard him telling my father that it was his 32nd birthday, and that you really become a man at age 32, which left me wondering if I would ever live to be that old. Unfortunately, Teacher Mc was a chain smoker and died of lung cancer a few years later.
Chapter Two
My Introduction to Politics
AT AN EARLY AGE, I heard my father telling my mother that he was going to meet with a Dr. Fagan who was visiting our District. He was representing the Peoples National Party (PNP) and running against Mr. Lynch the incumbent Member of the House of Representatives who represented the Jamaica Labor Party, (JLP), and had never been beaten in an election. The leader of the PNP (the equivalent of the U.S. Democratic Party) was a brilliant lawyer named Norman Manley. The leader of the JLP (the equivalent of the U.S. Republican Party) was a not so brilliant man named Alexander Bustamante, also known as "Chief".
He is reputed to have said to the people in a campaign speech,
"I will give you B R E D"
Someone from the audience shouted,
"You left out the "A" Chief", and he responded,
"I will give you B R E D A"
Republicans Who Sell Good Crap
To my astonishment, the people still cheered. He was selling good crap then even though I did not realize it at the time.
Sad to say Dr. Fagan lost, and Mr. Lynch remained undefeated until he died. My father was very disappointed, and so was I for him. That was my political initiation, the beginning of my skepticism regarding Republicans, and my complete disinterest in politics.
My father was an employee of the Public Works Department, and was transferred to Port Antonio, the capital of Portland. (Incidentally, I recently read an article published by Audrey Marks, Jamaica's Ambassador to the USA, in which she said that in researching Jamaica she discovered that John Brown Russworm, the second black person in America to earn a university degree, was a Jamaican born in Port Antonio in 1799).
The move to Port Antonio was like a new beginning for us, now we had electricity, paved roads, many stores, and a lot more people. In the household were my parents, three brothers and two sisters. Soon to join us was a three month old cousin Junior, the son of one of my father's sisters. His parents left him with us while they went off to America. He was loved, spoiled and treated like a little brother. Mr. Nolan, a boarder who said his full name was Bertram Alvin Derrick Paul Leslie Roe Woodrow McKenzie Nolan, and whose ambition was to earn ten pounds (British pounds) per week in the next ten years, was so fond of Junior that he named his first and only son, Junior. At about age seven cousin Junior joined his parents in America, and as soon as he reached eighteen he joined the U.S Army and went off to Vietnam. Within a matter of weeks his head was severed from his body by a bit of shrapnel, and Junior was no more.
We all attended the nearby Government school which was thankfully again within walking distance. The headmaster just so happened to be my uncle -in-law, being married to my mother's sister. The first, second, and third year examinations were the three taken in government schools, and looking back I cannot think why when I sat the third year exam I chose to write an essay on "Election day in Jamaica", when I had two easier choices. Thankfully my effort was successful.
Not long after I was fortunate enough to attend a Secondary School. This was a boarding school also located in Portland, but also in an area without electricity. However the school had a plant that supplied us with electricity, but it was only turned on at nights for a few hours. Television had not yet reached Jamaica, and no one at school had a radio, so we got most of our news from the Daily Gleaner, Jamaica's main newspaper. I was aware that slavery existed in America and the West Indies, but I also knew that it had been abolished a long time ago. Each year we celebrated the abolition of slavery on the first day of August which was called Emancipation Day.
The Jamaican Motto is "Out of Many One People", so regardless of race, we all thought of ourselves as Jamaicans. One day a headline in the Daily Gleaner caught my attention. It read "Race Riot in America". My first thought was, why would people want to riot at the races, and "races" to me meant the ones we trained for on the playing field. However, after reading the article I realized that blacks and whites were fighting each other because of a difference in the color of their skin and something called "segregation", not being able to use the same water fountain, bathrooms, hotels, or go to the same schools. This was my awakening to the real danger in racism.
Jamaica, was under British rule, and had a very high standard of education. In the secondary schools there were two examinations, the Senior Cambridge taken at about age sixteen, and the Higher Schools taken at about age eighteen. Both exams were set and marked by Cambridge University in England. The equivalent of the Senior Cambridge in England was the GCE "O" Levels (General Certificate of Education) and the equivalent of the Higher Schools, was the GCE "A" Levels. What has always puzzled me is the fact that in England you could take one or more subjects at "O" Levels and receive a certificate for each subject passed, but in Jamaica, Senior Cambridge involved a minimum of eight subjects, with English being mandatory. In order to receive a certificate you had to pass at least five subjects including English. If you failed English and got seven distinctions in the other subjects, you would have failed the whole exam and receive no certificate at all.
I guess mother England gave preferential treatment to some of her children, or to be frank, the adopted ones were the less favorable.
Jamaicans have always resisted slavery and racism. From the days when a group of slaves called Maroons escaped to the hills, and fought the British; to the Morant Bay rebellion led by Paul Bogle; and in the sixties when a white South African in a managerial position told an employee with whom he had a dispute, that he would kick his ass if he were in South Africa. He was fired immediately and sent back to South Africa. If I am not mistaken I think little Jamaica was one of the first countries, (if not the first country) to ban South African goods during apartheid.
My teenage years in Jamaica were full of excitement and adventure. I was always aware of the great rivalry between the two political parties, but still had no interest in politics, and in any case I was still too young to vote. Some of the adventure and excitement came in learning to drive with the real "Sputnik", the name given to a 1945 Hillman Minx car owned by my older brother. It became the most famous car in Port Antonio, maybe because rumor had it that once it got to know you, if you were tired or had too much to drink, all you had to do was start the engine, and Sputnik would take you safely home. Sputnik brought a lot of joy to a lot of people for a number of years, but eventually died of overwork coupled with old age.
Then there was the other type of adventure and excitement, which involved learning about the joys and pleasures of one of God's greatest creation, (women), plus the ups and downs of two of man's worst creations, (alcohol and cigarettes). Naturally, there was much more pleasure in learning about women, than alcohol and cigarettes. During this period I became a 20 per day smoker, and an occasional drinker.
One day in 1982 to be precise I went home, had my dinner, and as usual lit up my Rothmans, the brand I smoked at the time. I really did enjoy smoking, and to me a cigarette after dinner was most enjoyable. For some still unexplained reason after I lit that cigarette, I held it up and said out loud,
"This is the last cigarette I am going to smoke"
As soon as I was finished, I went over to a nearby closet in which I placed the rest of the cigarettes along with the lighter. I have not smoked a cigarette since then. That's why it's so difficult for me to understand why people who want to stop smoking waste money on hypnosis, patches, pills, and all manner of things that don't really work, when all it should take is a little will power.
I started really learning about women at my co-educational boarding school, but did not smoke or drink there. This was a Quaker school with very strict rules, and breaking any of them could lead to expulsion. However, that did not stop us from taking chances. It would take a whole book to tell of my experiences with these wonderful, yet complicated female beings.
Chapter Three
Life in England
GROWING UP, I always visualized myself going to the Norman Manley International Airport getting on an airplane and whisking off to England, the Mother Country. This dream became a reality at the start of what is now known as the "swinging sixties". This is where I spent the next 33 years, except for a six month spell in Canada.
In 1979 Britain elected its first female Prime Minister in Margaret Thatcher a Conservative, who in my opinion did more harm to Britain than any of the other Prime Ministers that served during my time there. Under her leadership, the pound went to its lowest against the dollar, unemployment went to its highest, and inflation went to its highest. She introduced the unpopular poll tax which caused so much unrest in the country, and worst of all she tried to privatize the health system. In one go, she increased prescription charges by 3000%, and taxed unemployment benefits. I later found out she was a Ronald Reagan copy cat and was really relieved when she was finally forced out of office, and gave up the idea of running for Queen.
Yet another reason for me to be wary of Republicans.
Did I see any racism in England? Of course I did, especially in the sixties and seventies. I can remember signing on at the Labor Exchange clerical section and being offered truck loading jobs. I remember blacks having to pay more for car insurance than whites. I remember the manager of a football club saying that as long as he was manager there would be no black player on his team, even if his name was Pele (black, and the greatest footballer ever).
I remember working with a bunch of guys where I was the only black. We were all pretty young and the subject of race never came up. One day we had two new additions to the crew, one black "D", and one white "F". The guy in charge of the crew "T" had car problems, and I decided to give him a ride home. On the way home we were discussing the performances of D and F (incidentally D happened to be a friend of mine).
His first words were,
"When a black man like D comes on my crew he has to prove himself to me"
"What about F"? I asked
T's shocking response was,
"Well he's white, isn't he? That's enough for me"
"Are you saying that because he is white he automatically knows what he is doing" I asked,
"Yea" was his reply
I was momentarily stunned, but quickly gathered my thoughts, pulled up at the next bus stop, got out of the car opened his door and without saying a word, he knew what he had to do. Get out.
Some youngsters knew how to use racism to their advantage, and profited from it, though illegally. A friend told me of an incident she witnessed in a chemist (pharmacy). She was paying for some goods she had purchased, when a young black kid walked in looking a bit suspicious. He went to one end of the store, and all eyes were trained on him. As she was about to leave a young white kid walked in and went to the other end of the store, and her eyes were the only ones that were trained on the white kid. She watched as he filled a bag he had with goodies, and calmly walked out of the store. The black kid then left, and joined up with the white kid a few yards down the road laughing in celebration of their well organized theft.
Then there were the derogatory questions with sometimes very appropriate answers. An English woman asked a Jamaican woman,
"Is it true that the people in Jamaica live in trees?"
The Jamaican woman calmly replied,
"Yes ma'am, and when the Queen comes to visit, we let her sleep in the biggest tree"
So yes, there was and still is racism in England.
Chapter Four
The American Adventure Begins
AMERICA was not a place that I considered living, and nothing changed when I visited New York, the "Big Apple" for the first time in 1973. Friends encouraged me to stay, but apart from the size of some buildings, New York was quite similar to London in many ways. Brooklyn seemed similar to Brixton, and Manhattan was just like the West End. Furthermore, being an illegal immigrant was something that I would never consider.
However, in 1978 I visited Orlando, Florida with two friends and we all fell in love with the place. We decided that Orlando was where we would like to settle down, and on our return to England started making the necessary plans. My two friends had relatives who sponsored them, and got their permanent resident green cards within 2 years. It was December of 1993 before I got mine, but I did not end up in Orlando as planned, I spent the first year in New York, arriving 1994 on the day O J Simpson's wife and friend were murdered.
(Continues...)
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