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On page 345 of Kennedy & Nixon, Chris Matthews states the following:
“At his death, Nixon made the cover of Time for the
fifty-sixth time, a record…Yet within the month, the Nixon funeral dirge
was overtaken by the classic, spritely tones of Mozart. When his
rival’s widow succumbed to her illness just weeks later, there was a
stirring in the national air, a momentary glimpse back to the magic of
Camelot.”
More than once in this book, Matthews uses the rivalry between Mozart
and Salieri as a metaphor for that between John F. Kennedy and Richard
Nixon. The legend is that Mozart had inborn talent, whereas Salieri was
a composer who worked hard yet never attained the level of artistry
that was so effortless for Mozart. Similarly, Kennedy was naturally
charming and charismatic, whereas Nixon was one who worked hard at
politics yet could not attain the adoration and glamor that belonged to
John F. Kennedy.
Matthews says in the passage that I just quoted that Jackie Kennedy’s
death upstaged that of Richard Nixon, as Jackie’s death reminded
Americans of Camelot. The thing is, though, I remember Richard Nixon’s
death, whereas I do not remember Jackie Kennedy’s. More than once,
when I have seen something about Jackie Kennedy on television, I have
had to consult wikipedia to see when exactly she died, for I rarely
remember. But I do recall when Nixon died.
Why is that? Perhaps it’s because, even back in 1994, when I was
still in high school, I was drawn to the notion that a person who did
something wrong still had some good within him and the capacity to
rehabilitate himself in the eyes of the public. That was not a time
when I was all that deep, and I did not really think about what made
people and characters tick. I was just interested in promoting my
ideology, doing well in school, my resentments, and religion. I saw
things in black and white terms. But maybe Nixon’s death stood out to
me because there was a part of me, even then, that acknowledged and
appreciated the complexity of human beings.
Showing posts with label Kennedy and Nixon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kennedy and Nixon. Show all posts
Friday, January 17, 2014
Thursday, January 16, 2014
Kennedy & Nixon 11
On page 342 of Kennedy & Nixon, Chris Matthews talks
about Ted Kennedy’s meandering (and, for him, politically disastrous)
response to the question of why he wanted to be President. Matthews
states: “It took seventy-one words to reach the secret password,
‘restoration.’ But its power was dissipated.”
How can one make a point effectively? Some of it is probably a matter of identifying what people need or want to hear, and catering to that. That can be a bad thing, but it isn’t always, since we all have needs that we want people to care about, and there’s nothing wrong with that. In this case, Kennedy needed to speak to the nation’s desire for healing and restoration. On some level, he did, but the impact was dissipated through all of that meandering. There needs to be clarity. Clarity does not have to mean being succinct or blunt, since I think that many people also like informed eloquence: a sense that the candidate knows the ins-and-outs of an issue. But there needs to be a point, a central message.
How can one make a point effectively? Some of it is probably a matter of identifying what people need or want to hear, and catering to that. That can be a bad thing, but it isn’t always, since we all have needs that we want people to care about, and there’s nothing wrong with that. In this case, Kennedy needed to speak to the nation’s desire for healing and restoration. On some level, he did, but the impact was dissipated through all of that meandering. There needs to be clarity. Clarity does not have to mean being succinct or blunt, since I think that many people also like informed eloquence: a sense that the candidate knows the ins-and-outs of an issue. But there needs to be a point, a central message.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Kennedy & Nixon 10
On page 320 of Kennedy & Nixon, Chris Matthews characterizes Richard Nixon’s response to his sweeping victory in the 1972 Presidential election as follows:
“Old campaign hand Herb Klein was not alone in registering [Nixon's] strange hibernation as evidence his boss’s resentments had returned. It was as if victory were not an occasion for reconciliation but an opportunity to revisit old wounds. Instead of celebrating in the bright light of fellowship, Nixon sat through the dark morning hours savoring with operatives Haldeman and Ehrlichman the state-by-state salute of his country that carried with it a decisive rebuke of his enemies.”
How one handles victory is as important as how one handles defeat. According to Chris Matthews’ narration, Nixon handled his 1972 victory by continuing his resentments against his enemies. Matthews narrates that Elliott Richardson tried to show Nixon that there was no “they” out to get Nixon, that Nixon won the 1972 election overwhelmingly and was now President of all of the people in the United States. But Matthews goes on to state, on page 326: “Not only was the Orthogonian Nixon unlikely to accept the counsel of a Franklin, even one he employed, but events would soon prove that there were any number of people out to get Richard Nixon.”
Whether or not that is the whole story, I don’t know, but I can see myself handling my victories and successes in a similar manner: as a way to show my detractors that I am just as good as they are, as a way to reinforce my resentments rather than an opportunity for me to be the bigger person.
As I read Matthews’ narration here, I thought back to something I heard a Bible study group leader say about a story in Luke 10. In Luke 10, Jesus sends out his disciples to preach the Gospel, to heal the sick, and to cast out demons. When they return to Jesus, all excited that the demons have submitted to them in the name of Jesus, Jesus tells them not to rejoice that the demons submit to them, but rather to rejoice that their names are written in the Book of Life. Jesus then praises God for revealing God’s truths to little children rather than the wise.
The group leader said that Jesus appeared to be spoiling the disciples’ excitement: Why can’t Jesus just let them be happy, rather than throwing a damp towel over their joy? But the leader concluded from this story that we should pray in the heart of our success. It’s easy for people to handle success badly. One could become arrogant, or use success as a way to give one a sense of self-worth, or use it as an opportunity to reinforce resentments. Praying in the heart of one’s success can hopefully temper these tendencies. As people remind themselves that there is one who is above them, and that they have worth in his eyes, perhaps they will be less likely to idolize success, both when they have it, and when they don’t. At least one would hope!
“Old campaign hand Herb Klein was not alone in registering [Nixon's] strange hibernation as evidence his boss’s resentments had returned. It was as if victory were not an occasion for reconciliation but an opportunity to revisit old wounds. Instead of celebrating in the bright light of fellowship, Nixon sat through the dark morning hours savoring with operatives Haldeman and Ehrlichman the state-by-state salute of his country that carried with it a decisive rebuke of his enemies.”
How one handles victory is as important as how one handles defeat. According to Chris Matthews’ narration, Nixon handled his 1972 victory by continuing his resentments against his enemies. Matthews narrates that Elliott Richardson tried to show Nixon that there was no “they” out to get Nixon, that Nixon won the 1972 election overwhelmingly and was now President of all of the people in the United States. But Matthews goes on to state, on page 326: “Not only was the Orthogonian Nixon unlikely to accept the counsel of a Franklin, even one he employed, but events would soon prove that there were any number of people out to get Richard Nixon.”
Whether or not that is the whole story, I don’t know, but I can see myself handling my victories and successes in a similar manner: as a way to show my detractors that I am just as good as they are, as a way to reinforce my resentments rather than an opportunity for me to be the bigger person.
As I read Matthews’ narration here, I thought back to something I heard a Bible study group leader say about a story in Luke 10. In Luke 10, Jesus sends out his disciples to preach the Gospel, to heal the sick, and to cast out demons. When they return to Jesus, all excited that the demons have submitted to them in the name of Jesus, Jesus tells them not to rejoice that the demons submit to them, but rather to rejoice that their names are written in the Book of Life. Jesus then praises God for revealing God’s truths to little children rather than the wise.
The group leader said that Jesus appeared to be spoiling the disciples’ excitement: Why can’t Jesus just let them be happy, rather than throwing a damp towel over their joy? But the leader concluded from this story that we should pray in the heart of our success. It’s easy for people to handle success badly. One could become arrogant, or use success as a way to give one a sense of self-worth, or use it as an opportunity to reinforce resentments. Praying in the heart of one’s success can hopefully temper these tendencies. As people remind themselves that there is one who is above them, and that they have worth in his eyes, perhaps they will be less likely to idolize success, both when they have it, and when they don’t. At least one would hope!
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Kennedy & Nixon 9
On page 299 of Kennedy & Nixon, Chris Matthews talks
about a way that President Richard Nixon tried to record discussions
before he resorted to the taping system:
“Nixon had first tried other record-keeping techniques. At one point he had a staffer sit in the room and act as a ‘fly on the wall’…He rejected [this method.] ‘Nixon didn’t like someone sitting in, especially if they were taking notes, because that always bothers people because, you know, they keep looking over at the guy taking notes.’”
I’m assuming that Matthews is quoting H.R. Haldeman, since Matthews quotes Haldeman in the preceding paragraph.
I am an avid note-taker. That is how I learn and absorb information. Plus, it allows me to preserve information for future use. But note-taking can make some people nervous. I wrote about this on another blog, under a post that someone wrote about note-taking, and the author of that blog responded that she’d think people would be flattered that someone was taking notes on what they were saying! I’d be flattered, too. I wouldn’t mind if I were meeting with someone, and that person took notes on what I was saying. But I can understand why some may be leery of note-takers at meetings in which sensitive issues are being discussed. “What did you write down that I said? Do I have to be careful about what I say around you?” Some have asked me these questions, or at least questions like them.
“Nixon had first tried other record-keeping techniques. At one point he had a staffer sit in the room and act as a ‘fly on the wall’…He rejected [this method.] ‘Nixon didn’t like someone sitting in, especially if they were taking notes, because that always bothers people because, you know, they keep looking over at the guy taking notes.’”
I’m assuming that Matthews is quoting H.R. Haldeman, since Matthews quotes Haldeman in the preceding paragraph.
I am an avid note-taker. That is how I learn and absorb information. Plus, it allows me to preserve information for future use. But note-taking can make some people nervous. I wrote about this on another blog, under a post that someone wrote about note-taking, and the author of that blog responded that she’d think people would be flattered that someone was taking notes on what they were saying! I’d be flattered, too. I wouldn’t mind if I were meeting with someone, and that person took notes on what I was saying. But I can understand why some may be leery of note-takers at meetings in which sensitive issues are being discussed. “What did you write down that I said? Do I have to be careful about what I say around you?” Some have asked me these questions, or at least questions like them.
Monday, January 13, 2014
Kennedy & Nixon 8
On pages 254-255 of Kennedy & Nixon, Chris Matthews
relates something that Stephen Hess related about Richard Nixon’s
attitude towards political “scut work” (Matthews’ words). Matthews
quotes Hess as saying:
“[Nixon] was telling me about how he was a law student at Duke during the Depression and had a summer job. He had a professor who couldn’t sell his textbook to a commercial publisher, so he decides he’s going to mimeograph it and sell it to his students. Nixon gets the job of cranking the mimeograph machine…in the North Carolina summer in an airless room. And the reason he’s telling me this story is that the end justifies the means. He needed to get his law degree, and he would do anything, including cranking the mimeograph machine in the North Carolina heat…all summer, to get the money to be a law student. That’s the way he treated politics. It’s what you’ve got to do.”
For one, I have to admire Nixon’s law professor who couldn’t find a publisher for his textbook, and thus sought another way to make money off of it and to put it into the hands of people who might find it useful. It’s undoubtedly hard for a writer to pour so much time and energy into a project, only for that project to be rejected. But one can try to find other ways to release one’s work to the public, so that one’s hard work is not in vain. Some authors go the route of self-publication. Others blog. Sure, that’s second best, and one may still want to keep on looking for publishers for one’s work, but those are ways for writers to get their names out there and their work in the world of ideas. It may be easier now than it was in the past, due to the existence of blogging. When life closes a door, one should ask, “What can I do?” rather than obsessing over the shut door.
Second, Nixon looks back at his days of scarcity—-his days of small things (to echo Zechariah 4:10)—-as something that can instruct him during his time of prosperity. He learned the value of hard work back when he was an economizing law student. I think that’s good, just as long as one does not forget those who helped along the way. It’s easy for one to develop an “I pulled myself up by my own bootstraps” mentality and then to judge those who are poor, and that (in my opinion) is a wrong mindset to have.
“[Nixon] was telling me about how he was a law student at Duke during the Depression and had a summer job. He had a professor who couldn’t sell his textbook to a commercial publisher, so he decides he’s going to mimeograph it and sell it to his students. Nixon gets the job of cranking the mimeograph machine…in the North Carolina summer in an airless room. And the reason he’s telling me this story is that the end justifies the means. He needed to get his law degree, and he would do anything, including cranking the mimeograph machine in the North Carolina heat…all summer, to get the money to be a law student. That’s the way he treated politics. It’s what you’ve got to do.”
For one, I have to admire Nixon’s law professor who couldn’t find a publisher for his textbook, and thus sought another way to make money off of it and to put it into the hands of people who might find it useful. It’s undoubtedly hard for a writer to pour so much time and energy into a project, only for that project to be rejected. But one can try to find other ways to release one’s work to the public, so that one’s hard work is not in vain. Some authors go the route of self-publication. Others blog. Sure, that’s second best, and one may still want to keep on looking for publishers for one’s work, but those are ways for writers to get their names out there and their work in the world of ideas. It may be easier now than it was in the past, due to the existence of blogging. When life closes a door, one should ask, “What can I do?” rather than obsessing over the shut door.
Second, Nixon looks back at his days of scarcity—-his days of small things (to echo Zechariah 4:10)—-as something that can instruct him during his time of prosperity. He learned the value of hard work back when he was an economizing law student. I think that’s good, just as long as one does not forget those who helped along the way. It’s easy for one to develop an “I pulled myself up by my own bootstraps” mentality and then to judge those who are poor, and that (in my opinion) is a wrong mindset to have.
Sunday, January 12, 2014
Kennedy & Nixon 7
On pages 232-233 of Kennedy & Nixon, Chris Matthews tells the following story:
“While Kennedy had gotten past his earlier political contests with Lodge to the point of plotting a deadly coup with him, his differences with Nixon remained personal. With the exception of their meeting after the Bay of Pigs, the ex-vice president was persona non grata. Their early friendship had been a casualty of electoral war. ‘I like him, too,’ Kennedy said when told by author Theodore White that a prospective 1964 challenger, New York Governor Nelson Rockefeller, held a warm regard for him. ‘But that’s not important. He’ll get to hate me. That’s inevitable.’”
It’s interesting how bonds between people are forged and broken. Circumstances play a key role in this. Sometimes, when I think about certain people with whom I’ve not gotten along, I’ve wondered if we could have been friends had the circumstances been different, or had I behaved differently. I can’t entirely rule that out, but, to be honest, I just can’t envision myself clicking with certain personalities, whatever the circumstances.
“While Kennedy had gotten past his earlier political contests with Lodge to the point of plotting a deadly coup with him, his differences with Nixon remained personal. With the exception of their meeting after the Bay of Pigs, the ex-vice president was persona non grata. Their early friendship had been a casualty of electoral war. ‘I like him, too,’ Kennedy said when told by author Theodore White that a prospective 1964 challenger, New York Governor Nelson Rockefeller, held a warm regard for him. ‘But that’s not important. He’ll get to hate me. That’s inevitable.’”
It’s interesting how bonds between people are forged and broken. Circumstances play a key role in this. Sometimes, when I think about certain people with whom I’ve not gotten along, I’ve wondered if we could have been friends had the circumstances been different, or had I behaved differently. I can’t entirely rule that out, but, to be honest, I just can’t envision myself clicking with certain personalities, whatever the circumstances.
Saturday, January 11, 2014
Kennedy & Nixon 6
On pages 206-207 of Kennedy & Nixon, Chris Matthews tells an anecdote about President John F. Kennedy’s reaction to Richard Nixon’s book, Six Crises:
“Yet [Nixon's] bitterness was thinly disguised. ‘My little daughter, Tricia, says she doesn’t blame the people who voted for Kennedy,’ he said. ‘She blames the ones who counted the votes in Chicago.’ When his memoirs, which he entitled Six Crises, were published in the spring of 1962, he quoted his younger daughter Julie on the 1960 election count. ‘Can’t we still win? Why can’t we have a recount in Chicago?’ he recalls her asking him every day from the election until Kennedy’s inauguration. Kennedy got the message. When Ben Bradlee asked Kennedy if he had read the book, he got a testy answer. ‘Just the 1960 campaign stuff, and that’s all I’m going to read. I can’t stand the way he puts everything in Tricia’s mouth. It makes me sick…’”
Lol. I probably shouldn’t laugh at that, but I do find it funny. Nixon was trying to appear above the fray: as one who wouldn’t demand a recount but would put his own misgivings aside for the good of the country. Yet, Nixon was rather bitter, thinking that Kennedy unfairly stole the 1960 election. Kennedy thought that Nixon put his own resentment into Tricia’s mouth in Six Crises. I doubt that Nixon did that, for Tricia may have very well had those sentiments. But I do think that Nixon mentioning these sentiments was transparent and passive-aggressive, on his part.
“Yet [Nixon's] bitterness was thinly disguised. ‘My little daughter, Tricia, says she doesn’t blame the people who voted for Kennedy,’ he said. ‘She blames the ones who counted the votes in Chicago.’ When his memoirs, which he entitled Six Crises, were published in the spring of 1962, he quoted his younger daughter Julie on the 1960 election count. ‘Can’t we still win? Why can’t we have a recount in Chicago?’ he recalls her asking him every day from the election until Kennedy’s inauguration. Kennedy got the message. When Ben Bradlee asked Kennedy if he had read the book, he got a testy answer. ‘Just the 1960 campaign stuff, and that’s all I’m going to read. I can’t stand the way he puts everything in Tricia’s mouth. It makes me sick…’”
Lol. I probably shouldn’t laugh at that, but I do find it funny. Nixon was trying to appear above the fray: as one who wouldn’t demand a recount but would put his own misgivings aside for the good of the country. Yet, Nixon was rather bitter, thinking that Kennedy unfairly stole the 1960 election. Kennedy thought that Nixon put his own resentment into Tricia’s mouth in Six Crises. I doubt that Nixon did that, for Tricia may have very well had those sentiments. But I do think that Nixon mentioning these sentiments was transparent and passive-aggressive, on his part.
Friday, January 10, 2014
Kennedy & Nixon 5
For my blog post today about Chris Matthews’ Kennedy & Nixon,
I will highlight two quotes about experience: How much experience
should a candidate have to be an effective President of the United
States?
On page 154, Matthews quotes something that John F. Kennedy said in a 1960 Presidential debate:
“Abraham Lincoln came to the presidency in 1860 after a rather little known session in the House of Representatives and after being defeated for the Senate in 1858 and was a distinguished president. There is no certain road to the presidency. There are no guarantees that if you take one road or another that you will be a successful president.”
On page 176, Matthews quotes from one of Dwight Eisenhower’s speeches during the 1960 Presidential election:
“A nation needs leaders who have been immersed in the hard facts of public affairs in a great variety of situations, men of character who are able to take the long-range view and hold long-range goals, leaders who do not mistake minor setbacks for major disasters, and we need leaders who by their own records have demonstrated a capacity to get on with the job.”
Who is right here? It makes sense to me that an effective leader would be one who has previous experience: who knows his or her way around the block because he and she has been in similar situations in the past. But can there be people with the qualities that Dwight Eisenhower lists—-having long-range vision and goals, and being resilient in the face of minor setbacks—-who have not had a whole lot of experience? Sure. But I don’t know enough about Lincoln to say what gave him the savvy to be an effective leader, even though he did not have much experience when he became President.
On page 154, Matthews quotes something that John F. Kennedy said in a 1960 Presidential debate:
“Abraham Lincoln came to the presidency in 1860 after a rather little known session in the House of Representatives and after being defeated for the Senate in 1858 and was a distinguished president. There is no certain road to the presidency. There are no guarantees that if you take one road or another that you will be a successful president.”
On page 176, Matthews quotes from one of Dwight Eisenhower’s speeches during the 1960 Presidential election:
“A nation needs leaders who have been immersed in the hard facts of public affairs in a great variety of situations, men of character who are able to take the long-range view and hold long-range goals, leaders who do not mistake minor setbacks for major disasters, and we need leaders who by their own records have demonstrated a capacity to get on with the job.”
Who is right here? It makes sense to me that an effective leader would be one who has previous experience: who knows his or her way around the block because he and she has been in similar situations in the past. But can there be people with the qualities that Dwight Eisenhower lists—-having long-range vision and goals, and being resilient in the face of minor setbacks—-who have not had a whole lot of experience? Sure. But I don’t know enough about Lincoln to say what gave him the savvy to be an effective leader, even though he did not have much experience when he became President.
Thursday, January 9, 2014
Kennedy & Nixon 4
On page 120 of Kennedy & Nixon, Chris Matthews states the following:
“One important Democratic figure was still carefully keeping her distance from the popular Kennedy. Eleanor Roosevelt, along with many of her devotees, continued to dislike him, if for no other reason than the undeniable fact that he was not one of them. The feeling was mutual. ‘I always had a feeling that he always regarded them as something apart from his philosophy,’ Charles Bartlett recalled. ‘I think he regarded the liberals as the sort of people who ran like a pack.’ Benjamin Bradlee, at the time the Newsweek bureau chief in Washington, whom Kennedy had met through Bartlett, agrees with the assessment. ‘He hated the liberals.’”
Earlier in the book, Matthews states that one reason that Eleanor Roosevelt did not particularly care for John F. Kennedy was that Kennedy liked Joe McCarthy. It was getting to the point, however, where McCarthy was embarrassing even Kennedy. That’s an issue more than one person has confronted: You may like or desire to be loyal to a controversial person, but you also want (or even need) to build bridges with people in order to advance or to have a sense of security, and you find that the controversial person (or your association with him or her) is burning whatever bridges you are seeking to build or to maintain. Some have a strong sense of loyalty and choose to stick with the controversial person, whereas others do not. And who knows? Kennedy may have really thought that McCarthy was going too far!
Kennedy tried to appease the liberals, on some level. Even though he and Nixon were friendly with each other and conversed rather frequently, Kennedy said that he did not know Nixon that well. Kennedy also said that his own political views were similar to those of Adlai Stevenson, the liberal Democrat who ran for President in 1952 and 1956. But Kennedy just couldn’t appease certain prominent liberals. Eleanor Roosevelt tried to stop Kennedy from becoming the 1960 Democratic Presidential candidate. But, of course, she failed.
I can identify with both Eleanor Roosevelt and John F. Kennedy. Like Eleanor Roosevelt, I can find myself grading people on whether or not they are truly “one of us.” Unfortunately, I’ve been this way whatever ideological persuasion I may have happened to hold: right-wing conservatism, evangelicalism, theological and political liberalism, etc. But, like Kennedy, I’ve found myself unable to fit into certain groups. I’ve felt as if joining a particular speech community would require me to compromise myself and my desire for an open mind, and so I tend to alienate true believers of various persuasions. I doubt that this is the only reason for my social difficulties, but I can’t downplay its importance. People claim that, if one wants friends, one should seek people with similar values or worldview. But what if I have a hard time building bridges with people on the basis of values or worldview?
“One important Democratic figure was still carefully keeping her distance from the popular Kennedy. Eleanor Roosevelt, along with many of her devotees, continued to dislike him, if for no other reason than the undeniable fact that he was not one of them. The feeling was mutual. ‘I always had a feeling that he always regarded them as something apart from his philosophy,’ Charles Bartlett recalled. ‘I think he regarded the liberals as the sort of people who ran like a pack.’ Benjamin Bradlee, at the time the Newsweek bureau chief in Washington, whom Kennedy had met through Bartlett, agrees with the assessment. ‘He hated the liberals.’”
Earlier in the book, Matthews states that one reason that Eleanor Roosevelt did not particularly care for John F. Kennedy was that Kennedy liked Joe McCarthy. It was getting to the point, however, where McCarthy was embarrassing even Kennedy. That’s an issue more than one person has confronted: You may like or desire to be loyal to a controversial person, but you also want (or even need) to build bridges with people in order to advance or to have a sense of security, and you find that the controversial person (or your association with him or her) is burning whatever bridges you are seeking to build or to maintain. Some have a strong sense of loyalty and choose to stick with the controversial person, whereas others do not. And who knows? Kennedy may have really thought that McCarthy was going too far!
Kennedy tried to appease the liberals, on some level. Even though he and Nixon were friendly with each other and conversed rather frequently, Kennedy said that he did not know Nixon that well. Kennedy also said that his own political views were similar to those of Adlai Stevenson, the liberal Democrat who ran for President in 1952 and 1956. But Kennedy just couldn’t appease certain prominent liberals. Eleanor Roosevelt tried to stop Kennedy from becoming the 1960 Democratic Presidential candidate. But, of course, she failed.
I can identify with both Eleanor Roosevelt and John F. Kennedy. Like Eleanor Roosevelt, I can find myself grading people on whether or not they are truly “one of us.” Unfortunately, I’ve been this way whatever ideological persuasion I may have happened to hold: right-wing conservatism, evangelicalism, theological and political liberalism, etc. But, like Kennedy, I’ve found myself unable to fit into certain groups. I’ve felt as if joining a particular speech community would require me to compromise myself and my desire for an open mind, and so I tend to alienate true believers of various persuasions. I doubt that this is the only reason for my social difficulties, but I can’t downplay its importance. People claim that, if one wants friends, one should seek people with similar values or worldview. But what if I have a hard time building bridges with people on the basis of values or worldview?
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
Kennedy & Nixon 3
On page 111 of Kennedy & Nixon, Chris Matthews talks
about what John F. Kennedy learned about the political process after
failing to become the 1956 Democratic Vice-Presidential candidate:
“The 1956 experience…marked Kennedy’s metamorphosis from dilettante to professional. ‘I’ve learned that you don’t get far in politics until you become a total politician,’ he told his aides. ‘That means you’ve got to deal with the party leaders as well as with the voters.’ The Kennedy team learned another lesson from the loss: While a candidate’s Senate colleagues may be big shots in Washington, they cannot be counted on to deliver votes at a convention. The true power lay elsewhere. To win a presidential nomination, Jack Kennedy and his organization realized, they needed to get out and win support in the country itself.”
It’s good when a person can use a negative experience as a learning opportunity. I’ve read some who say that Kennedy was pampered and entitled. Well, this is not entirely fair, for his life was far from perfect, since he lost a brother and dealt with immense health problems. But he did have advantages due to who he was. And yet, Kennedy learned that even he had to adapt to the world and work hard: that not everything would be delivered to him on a silver platter.
Another story about the 1956 Presidential election: Did you know that Robert Kennedy voted for the Eisenhower-Nixon ticket? Bobby was traveling around with the campaign of Democratic candidate Adlai Stevenson. Bobby liked Stevenson at first, but he came to question Stevenson’s political judgment when Stevenson was attacking Nixon. According to Matthews, Bobby felt that Stevenson was only preaching to the choir—-and a minority, at that—-in attacking Nixon, and that Stevenson was alienating Catholic and conservative Democrats who voted for Eisenhower in 1952 and “identified more with Nixon’s grit than with Stevenson’s eloquence” (Matthews’ words on page 113). Disappointed with Stevenson, Bobby voted for Eisenhower-Nixon. But Matthews notes that he did so “without fanfare”.
“The 1956 experience…marked Kennedy’s metamorphosis from dilettante to professional. ‘I’ve learned that you don’t get far in politics until you become a total politician,’ he told his aides. ‘That means you’ve got to deal with the party leaders as well as with the voters.’ The Kennedy team learned another lesson from the loss: While a candidate’s Senate colleagues may be big shots in Washington, they cannot be counted on to deliver votes at a convention. The true power lay elsewhere. To win a presidential nomination, Jack Kennedy and his organization realized, they needed to get out and win support in the country itself.”
It’s good when a person can use a negative experience as a learning opportunity. I’ve read some who say that Kennedy was pampered and entitled. Well, this is not entirely fair, for his life was far from perfect, since he lost a brother and dealt with immense health problems. But he did have advantages due to who he was. And yet, Kennedy learned that even he had to adapt to the world and work hard: that not everything would be delivered to him on a silver platter.
Another story about the 1956 Presidential election: Did you know that Robert Kennedy voted for the Eisenhower-Nixon ticket? Bobby was traveling around with the campaign of Democratic candidate Adlai Stevenson. Bobby liked Stevenson at first, but he came to question Stevenson’s political judgment when Stevenson was attacking Nixon. According to Matthews, Bobby felt that Stevenson was only preaching to the choir—-and a minority, at that—-in attacking Nixon, and that Stevenson was alienating Catholic and conservative Democrats who voted for Eisenhower in 1952 and “identified more with Nixon’s grit than with Stevenson’s eloquence” (Matthews’ words on page 113). Disappointed with Stevenson, Bobby voted for Eisenhower-Nixon. But Matthews notes that he did so “without fanfare”.
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
Kennedy & Nixon 2
On page 20 of Kennedy & Nixon, Chris Matthews states regarding Richard Nixon: “Lacking a distinctive charm, he made a virtue of his regularness, offering himself as champion of the squares.”
Rick Perlstein makes a similar point in his book, Nixonland: that Nixon, who could not join the elite Franklins, became the champion of the regular Joes who were not Franklins.
If one does not fit into the popular club, one may decide to make friends with the so-called regular Joes. Of course, this statement is rather simplistic, for it’s not necessarily the case that a person tries to join the popular club, fails, then decides to become friends with the regular Joes. A person may never have officially tried to join the popular club but simply finds herself outside of it, and thus gravitates towards regular Joes (or, in this case, Janes). Maybe the person does not see the regular Joes as Plan B but actually likes certain regular Joes: they have a connection, a real friendship.
One of my issues is that, when I am around regular Joes, I wonder if I am their Plan B, and if they would prefer to be around someone cooler than me. I know, it’s been years since I’ve been in high school. On some level, the situation has changed since then. But, on some level, it has not, for cliques still exist.
Another point that I want to make is that I don’t see regular Joes as ordinary or boring. I may not find every regular Joe’s life interesting, but I do admire anyone who is able to socialize and to do small talk, and that includes a number of regular Joes. Many regular Joes are able to make themselves appear interesting to enough people that they are able to make friends, or to get married. I respect them for that. I envy them for that.
Another point: There are some elite Franklin types who are down-to-earth, accepting people. They may be rich or educated, but they don’t put on airs. They don’t give off the impression that you have to impress them for them to accept you. They’re nice to you, if you’re nice to them.
Rick Perlstein makes a similar point in his book, Nixonland: that Nixon, who could not join the elite Franklins, became the champion of the regular Joes who were not Franklins.
If one does not fit into the popular club, one may decide to make friends with the so-called regular Joes. Of course, this statement is rather simplistic, for it’s not necessarily the case that a person tries to join the popular club, fails, then decides to become friends with the regular Joes. A person may never have officially tried to join the popular club but simply finds herself outside of it, and thus gravitates towards regular Joes (or, in this case, Janes). Maybe the person does not see the regular Joes as Plan B but actually likes certain regular Joes: they have a connection, a real friendship.
One of my issues is that, when I am around regular Joes, I wonder if I am their Plan B, and if they would prefer to be around someone cooler than me. I know, it’s been years since I’ve been in high school. On some level, the situation has changed since then. But, on some level, it has not, for cliques still exist.
Another point that I want to make is that I don’t see regular Joes as ordinary or boring. I may not find every regular Joe’s life interesting, but I do admire anyone who is able to socialize and to do small talk, and that includes a number of regular Joes. Many regular Joes are able to make themselves appear interesting to enough people that they are able to make friends, or to get married. I respect them for that. I envy them for that.
Another point: There are some elite Franklin types who are down-to-earth, accepting people. They may be rich or educated, but they don’t put on airs. They don’t give off the impression that you have to impress them for them to accept you. They’re nice to you, if you’re nice to them.
Monday, January 6, 2014
Kennedy & Nixon 1
I started Chris Matthews’ Kennedy & Nixon: The Rivalry That Shaped Postwar America.
What has interested me in my reading of this book so far is that Republican Richard Nixon called himself a liberal when he was running for Congress in 1946, whereas Democrat John F. Kennedy was calling himself a conservative as a candidate for Congress. I can see how Kennedy was rather conservative, for, according to Matthews, Kennedy was not too keen on the New Deal, and he believed that Franklin Roosevelt gave too much to the Soviets at Yalta. On how Nixon was a liberal in 1946, I am not entirely sure, for Nixon in 1946 ran against the New Deal.
On pages 49-50, Matthews talks about a debate that Nixon and Kennedy as Congressmen had with each other regarding the Republican Taft-Hartley bill. Although Nixon was publicly for it and Kennedy was publicly against it, each had reservations about his own public position, Matthews narrates. Matthews states that Nixon was actually more centrist on the issue of labor unions rather than right-wing and anti-union, and that Nixon thought that Taft-Hartley “went too far” (Matthew’s words). Kennedy, meanwhile, did not want to alienate the “working stiffs” (Matthew’s words) in Massachusetts, so he publicly supported big labor. Privately, however, Kennedy believed in taming big labor, and he did not care for the massive strikes that it created.
What has interested me in my reading of this book so far is that Republican Richard Nixon called himself a liberal when he was running for Congress in 1946, whereas Democrat John F. Kennedy was calling himself a conservative as a candidate for Congress. I can see how Kennedy was rather conservative, for, according to Matthews, Kennedy was not too keen on the New Deal, and he believed that Franklin Roosevelt gave too much to the Soviets at Yalta. On how Nixon was a liberal in 1946, I am not entirely sure, for Nixon in 1946 ran against the New Deal.
On pages 49-50, Matthews talks about a debate that Nixon and Kennedy as Congressmen had with each other regarding the Republican Taft-Hartley bill. Although Nixon was publicly for it and Kennedy was publicly against it, each had reservations about his own public position, Matthews narrates. Matthews states that Nixon was actually more centrist on the issue of labor unions rather than right-wing and anti-union, and that Nixon thought that Taft-Hartley “went too far” (Matthew’s words). Kennedy, meanwhile, did not want to alienate the “working stiffs” (Matthew’s words) in Massachusetts, so he publicly supported big labor. Privately, however, Kennedy believed in taming big labor, and he did not care for the massive strikes that it created.
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