Dick Durbin's tale of a GOP House leader telling the president, "I cannot stand to look at you," has grown some legs. How can that be, with definitive denials coming from both ends of the Avenue?
Perhaps the credibility is simply the result of history. Maybe you should ask the Kenyan Socialist Hitler Terrorist Pal Monkey who Lies to joint sessions of Congress.
The sheer tidal wave of public, unapologetic disrespect this president has received from his political opponents may be unprecedented in modern times.
There are limits, however quaint and distant they may now seem. There are also minima of respect due public officials, particularly in public and, most particularly, in person. To exemplify:
My friend M is far from friendly toward former president George H.W. Bush. Given the smallest conversational cue, he will discourse for literal hours on the less-than-admirable career lowlights of the ex-president, ex-veep, ex-party chair, ex-CIA chief, ex cetera.
Not that M doesn't have reason. Hell, every US citizen has damn good reasons to hold Poppy in low regard, but M has one that puts the personal cherry on top of the dog doo sundae. M was a Marine. In Beirut.
He wasn't in the barracks attacked thirty years ago today. He'd already rotated back to ship by then. But he knew men there. He knew the futility of the mission. He knew who its architect had been.
He also knew the glorious dispatch of half a dozen Cuban bulldozer operators in Grenada two days later did not buy the honor of the Marines killed in the attack. (They bought that with their own coin).
Yeah, you might say M had a chip about Poppy. And I for one don't blame him.
Flash forward twenty-three years. The New Orleans Superdome has been repaired and the Saints are returning to their home field, welcomed by a capacity crowd. Overseeing the coin toss before the game is former president George H.W. Bush. On the sidelines with the special event crew stands my friend M.
After the toss, the ex-prez trots to the sideline to meet and greet and there's M, right in the crosshairs of Poppy's outstretched hand.
Now, you have to understand just how deeply M loathes this man. Poppy is not only the thoroughly despicable man known to all (if you think I'm wrong here, read Russ Baker's Family of Secrets and we'll discuss it at another time), but he's also the man who sent M's brothers to die, ignobly, for nothing at all. And here he comes, straight at M, paw out and a goofy smile on his face. There is simply no way in the world he's going to grab that hand.
Instead, M grabs the young volunteer working the field next to him and thrusts him toward Bush. "Hey, Mr. President. This is Sammy. It's a heck of an honor for him to shake your hand." The kid, suitably awestruck, shakes the smiling Bush's mitt while M slips to the back.
M isn't that remarkable a guy. Well, he is, actually, but not for our current narrative purposes. He's just a regular guy from a solid, blue-collar family who taught him right from wrong and the basics of civilized behavior.
Makes me wonder what freaking zoos the current crop of Republicans came up in.