"McCain -- Huckabee ... Do they fit?"

Speaking as an outsider, please allow me to tell you about my views on human nature.

First, Chuck Blore is right;  We go through life asking ourselves, “What’s in it for me?”

One can overplay one’s hand. Duke Cunningham is in the pokey for taking even more than what was in it for him.

A few years back, I approached him at a public event and took advantage of the opportunity of our one on one to ask him to go back to Washington and help John McCain bring about the repeal of the Passenger Vessel Services Act of 1886.

His face was lined with concern as I described to him the torture endured by the tens of thousands of travelers who run the Mexican gauntlet from Ensenada instead of San Diego when they returned from cruises.

I finished it off by telling him that San Diego was losing many millions of dollars a year and thousands of jobs because of this injustice.

He let me do my number, looked feelingly into my face. I awaited a reply in which he would express shock at this travesty.

Instead he asked with concern,, “How is your prostate?”

“What?”

“Your prostate,” He said grimly. “Have you had it looked into it?”

I answered in a dazed state. “Well not exactly looked into, but felt at length. I’m okay”.

He went on to tell me about his recently discovered prostate cancer without a word about my question.

He made me promise that I would get a check-up and walked off before I could resume my line of thought.

Up till the time he was busted and sent to jail, Duke stood out as a shining example of the right wing conservative ethics.

Undaunted by Cunningham, I approached all of the local lawmakers and ruefully discovered they didn’t care either…. people whom I had helped get elected.

McCain, whom I didn’t help, was the only one willing to jump in and fight a seemingly helpless cause. He is the St Jude of the Senate. Small wonder he is reputed as being chronically furious.

I have little feel for whether he would be either a great or a lousy president. So from here, if I write something about him that is counterintuitive to your feelings about him, it was not intended to rile you.

My friends run the gamut, flaming liberals, prominent Chicano leaders, a mixed bag of chums who are right wing conservative heavy weights, and we have mutually decided to lay off the political talk. I like them for what they are, and they like me and that is enough. We don’t define each other by our politics.

In my career, I have publicly “brought on” candidates of all stripes. In 1960, I introduced JFK to the thousands waiting to hear him and within a few days, it was Nixon.

In radio, I learned to skate on taking sides in politics. I’m open to emceeing events for anyone worthy who asks. One of my judgmental errors was bringing on Spiro Agnew.

Some time ago. I accepted Duncan Hunter’s invitation to come to one of his fund raising rallies and be on stage. The deal was that he would call me up to the mic and I would say a few nice words about him. Easy for me. I like him personally.

The scene of the rally was an east county ranch where all the gun rights guys came out to contribute big chunks of money to his campaign.

That day, his campaign supporters showed up in western outfits, expensive cowboy, boots and hats, sculptured belt buckle, and saddle bags full of money.

When Duncan introduced me I jumped up, ran to the mic beaming and bellowed, “Howdy!” There was a ripple of faint laughter and applause.

Bravely, I plowed into a medley of sure fire gags. They were older demos who had been imprinted with 30’s and 40’s and 50’s era humor, so I tailored my material to them.

I raised the decibel level of my voice and uttered my first clap trap, “This is a great day being out here with the great Duncan Hunter.”

They erupted with a spirited salvo of yells, even a chorus of cowboy “yahoos!”

It was here that I made my first mistake. Instead of segueing to the Constitution, guns and the flag, I went for a joke.

“Did you read the paper this morning? It’s terrible. A man was found dead in a bathtub full of milk with a banana stuck in his mouth. Police are on the lookout for a cereal killer.”

No one laughed and there were even some angry exchanges of looks among them. I made one more stab.

“Maybe, some of you members of America’s Finest generation remember the old Sam Spade. radio show,. :”Well you are looking at Sam Spade.. I am remembered for my famous opening: Hello Effie, this is Sam Spade. I was sitting in my office one day when a shot rang out in the next room. So I ran in and drank it.”

They stared at me silently, like a tree full of owls. I made one more try, borrowing from the old western movies.

“It’s mighty quiet around here.”

(Tentative laugh from the crowd)

(In my Gabby Hayes voice) Too quiet, if you ask me.”

Then I took an invisible arrow in my chest and groaned and fell to the deck That did it They burst into loud raucous laughs.

I did not really know if they did it in celebration of my fake death or actually thought it was funny but I wasted no time in scrambling to my feet amidst the laughter and introduced “that great American, Duncan Hunter.”

It was then that I first got a dose of the right wing mentality. A no nonsense bunch, they were there on business, to shovel a lot of money into Duncan’s coffers to get him elected so he could do the Lord’s work in Washington, and anything I said that was not about God, guns, the flag, and this great country was damned foolishness.

I am a quick study. No one has ever again had to tell me about right wing conservatism.

I learned it all that afternoon.

I am s sucker for people who come up to me and ask my help, and this following parable about one of fictional heroes nails it.

It deals with the famous French engineer, Pierre de la Sacre Bleu, who was guillotined in Paris in the 1600’s during the French Revolution.

It is said that he was renowned, because he made the trains run late. French aristocrats were a leisurely bunch who simply could not abide trains that left on time, because they would often miss them on the way to the parties at Versailles and other bawdy chateaux.

Pierre’s popularity among the royals was the cause of his finding himself on the platform, standing by to get beheaded. in front of thousands of wildly cheering French bourgeoisie, and proletariat bent on guillotining all aristocrats, and intellectuals.

Pierre was third in line behind a Cardinal and a ranking member of the royal court. They marched the Cardinal to the slot where he stoically bent down and placed his head on the chopping block, ready for the crashing blade.

The chief executioner pushed the lever that would send the blade plummeting down. There was a malfunction. The blade stayed stuck above him, frozen in place.

The executioners were so un-unnerved that they thought it was a sign from Heaven and released the cardinal rather than risk the wrath of God.

The same with the royal from King Louis’s court, a man renowned for his charities and respectful regard for the rabble. It was surely a sign from Heaven and they freed him.

Then it was the great engineer, Pierre’s, turn.

Having arrived in the Place de la Concorde at the site of his execution, he climbed the steps to the platform and dutifully, bent down and placed his head on the block. The executioner pulled the lever and again, the blade remained frozen.

The superstitious executioners were about the let him go also, when Pierre looked up and examined the blade. Then he held up his hand, pointing,, and said, “Wait a minute. I think I’ve spotted the problem”.

He fixed the glitch, and they went ahead with his execution.

I have often had to fulfill a pledge about which I had changed my mind.

So, when a major conservative player approached me recently and asked me to help them “brand” a possible McCain/Huckabee team, I said okay.

I thought they meant it in the spirit of when you don’t have anything else to do, try to do a little thinking about how we can make the McCain/Huckabee combo more palatable.

I admit that I was fascinated with the problem the way Pierre was taken with the guillotine glitch.

It was busy time for me. I was involved in going theatrical with a movie project, “Kings of the Evening” and besides asking me to get involved in serious politics was like asking me to submit to a voluntary sex change or eat a live porcupine that is on fire.

As you doubtless know, many Evangelicals are threatening to vote for Hillary, instead of McCain, but I let that slide as being too preposterous to consider.

I, an Independent, had to follow the template as laid down by my powerful conservative friend.

He said that the Evangelicals felt left out, and I had to find a way to unite them under the big tent. He wants a tag that is exclusively their own, a name that reflects their religious fervor and unflagging dedication to the principles of….well you get the idea.

I knew that right wing religious conservatives are closely allied to the ancient Hebrews, but that is not something that can be packaged for mass consumption. Yet, My mind began to wander, like Moses across the desert.

I felt like I was on the right track. Evangelicals are bound up in Old Testament Prophecy.

Noting was coming. I was clueless about the Old Testament. How did I get into this fine mess, Ollie?

Then, mystically, as if by Divine Revelation, It hit me like God’s thunder bolt. I had spotted the problem. which I will share it with you next week.

Have you figured out an answer?

Email me this week.

If you get it right, I will proclaim your prowess next week.

Hint:

Think Old Testament.

Think McCain. Think Huckabee.


I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning to sail my own boat.
                                                            Louisa May Alcott