January 30, 2012--Among Newt's People

From the haircuts and hairdos, you would have thought it was 1950 again. And I am not talking about Newt's or Calista's. Rather the many among the enthusiastic audience of 700 Boca and Delray Republican Jews. Lots of close-cropped sideburns and teased up helmet-dos. Not my crowd, but we there on reconnaissance and so attempted to be inconspicuous.

Rona whispered to me, "I knew I should have used some spray on this." She tossed her loose, totally-natural, shoulder-length hair. I had less to do to disguise myself--I have very little left on top.

"I'm so excited," said the sun-seared, leather-faced woman seated to my left. "I was for Donald Trump and then Herman Cain until they dropped out." I nodded as uncommittedly as I could make myself appear to be. "But now I'm for Newt."

"Really? Why's that? I would think that since Trump and Cain are businessmen you might now be for Romney."

"That's a good point," she acknowledged and, leaning closer to me as if not to be overheard, added, "He's so boring. Just think how much fun it would be if Trump became president. He's still my favorite. And he would have no trouble telling it like it is. I like that. And Newt does that too. So that's why I'm for him."

"I understand the fun part, but what about his ideas? Do you like those too?"

"He'll balance the budget. Didn't he do that when he was Speaker?"

"And when Clinton was president. But how specifically would he do that? Balance the budget?"

"By cutting Medicare. That's what needs to be done."

"I'm not sure that I'd like that," I said, "Now that I'm old enough to be on Medicare. How will you feel about it when you're 65 and it's already been cut?"

"Thank you for flattering me," she was smiling broadly, "But I've already been on Medicare for nine years."

"And what do you think about it?"

"I wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for Medicare. I had a mastectomy seven years ago."

"So what would happen to a woman who's now 60 and 10 years from now has breast cancer?"

Ignoring that, she said, "All I know is that I paid for it and don't want mine cut."

"But whose then would get cut?" Rona jumped in to ask.

My seat mate looked directly at her and pointing said, "Yours." Talk about telling like it is.

"But I paid for it too," Rona said, no longer clinging to uncommittedness. "I don't know what you did for a living and how much you paid into the system, but it could very well be that I've paid more for Medicare than you."

After a moment of no response, changing the subject, she said, "Newt will make sure Obama doesn't make America socialist."

"I'm not exactly sure what Gingrich means by that," Rona said. "If Obama wanted to bring socialism to America he had his chance to nationalize the banks and the auto industry rather than just extending loans to them and then giving up control of them as they began to pay them back. And with interest."

"What about Obamacare? Isn't that socialized medicine?"

"Not really," I said, "The expanded coverage is provided by private insurance companies, not by the government."

"And," Rona couldn't resist noting, "Medicare, which you said saved your life, is in fact socialized medicine. It is provided exclusively by the federal government."

Almost as a non sequitur, not wanting to deal with that, she said, "Well, I still hope Trump decides to reenter the race. He would be better than Newt."

By then Newt and Calista had arrived, only a half hour late. Knowing his audience he began by saying, to loud cheers, that he made an effort to be on time since he knew many in the audience had to be home before sundown to begin observing the Sabbath.

Most of his remarks were about Israel and how Obama has driven a wedge in the relationship between the United States and Israel, our only friend, he repeatedly said, in the Middle East. His second biggest applause line was his pledge, as soon as he finishes delivering his Inaugural Address next january, to sign the required papers to move the U.S. embassy from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem.

Topping that red-meat line, he then received a standing ovation when he spoke about how he would make certain that Iran never builds an atomic bomb because if they do the ayatollahs, he said with certainty, will bring about another "Holocaust" by detonating three within Israel's borders.

With cheers still filling the room he checked his watch and said he and Calista had better leave so that those in the room could get home before Shabbos. That elicited a full-throated chorus of "Newt, Newt, Newt."

After they slipped out, I sidled up to a glammed-up 80-something woman who was being interviewed by a reporter from the Guardian. She was clearly agitated, waving her arms so excitedly that the overhead lights ignited her diamond bracelets. I needed to relocate myself so as not to be blinded by the glinting.

"Sixteen trillion in debt," she bellowed to the harried reporter who could barely take notes fast enough. "What are we going to do about this? Nothing, if Obama is reelected. All he wants to do is spend, spend, spend. I wish Morris was still alive. He'd tell him a thing or two. He should get rid of the Education Department. That's what he should do. You know how much that would save?"

"How much is that?" the reporter asked, not looking up.

"Enough to end the deficit. Of course he'd also have to eliminate the environmental department, or whatever it's called."

"Environmental Protection Agency," I heard Rona say sotto voce. She as I was still finding it difficult to remain quiet.

"That too," the Boca woman snapped.

"What about Medicare?" the reporter wondered, "Isn't that the biggest budget problem? Long term?"

"It's not the problem," she said with certainty. "Morris was a CPA and before the Parkinson's took him he looked at the figures and was positive that Medicare was not the problem. There's enough for that. It's these other things that are bankrupting us."

"I'm not sure he was right about that," I said. The reporter winked at me, welcoming my participation. "Pretty much everyone agrees with that. The disagreement is what to do about it. No?"

"No is right. How I wish Morris was here. He was such a mensch. He could explain everything. Like with foreign aid. He always said, they also need to get rid of that."

"How much would that be?" the intrepid reporter pressed. "How much would it save and how much would it contribute to cutting the deficit."

"Billions," she said.

"But you began by saying the deficit is $16 trillion. How would cutting a few billion--real money I'll grant you--eliminate the budget?"

"Not eliminate it; but if you do all the things I mentioned, it would."

"Eliminate all of it? Even without touching Medicare?"

"Yes. As I told you," her voice rising, "keep your hands off my Medicare. We seniors paid for it and have the right to get what we paid for. If you're in a store and pay for something they wrap it up and you take it home. It's yours. They don't put it back on the shelf." She smiled at her analogy.

"I think," I said, "If you add up all the budget cuts you mentioned they would represent less than one percent of the accumulated deficit. I agree, we have to be serious about cutting it, but not by just elimination the Department of Education. Assuming that's g good idea." She turned to scowl at me. "This is something I know about. They have 5,000 employees, not hundreds of thousands. Even if all were to be let go, it would only . . ."

". . . cut the deficit. Along with everything else. As I said, especially that aid to countries that hate us. We should give billions to Egypt? Now that the Muslims have taken over?"

"We do give them military aid," I said. Furiously the reporter continued to take notes. "But less than two billion a year. Not that much in the big picture. But since you mentioned foreign aid and the Middle East, what about the billions we give each year to israel?"

"That's different," she said, turning back to the reporter.

"Why's that?" I asked.

"Because it's Israel. That's why. I'm surprised at you," she scolded, turning one last time to face me, "You look like a nice boy. You should know better."

And with that, she wheeled about and stomped toward the door.