November 26, 2019--Schmoozing At Camp David

The consensus is that the reason all Republican members of Congress are so willing to follow Trump to the edge of the cliff and perhaps over it is because he continues to hold onto the support of his base (perhaps as much as 90 percent of it) in spite of the daily drumbeat of scandals, any one of which would in the case of a "normal" president bring about his impeachment in the House of Representatives and conviction in the Senate. 

And if they found the backbone to chide him he would remember their "disloyalty" and support one of their opponents when it comes to primary time. For these members of Congress, plain and simple, it's all about keeping their seats.

This does explain much of their craven behavior, but in many cases other, more profound forces are at work.

Unlike Barack Obama who hated this part of the job, Trump makes a conscious to invite congressmen to share the perks of his presidency.

He never fails to ask members to fly with him on Air Force One when he is going to a rally in their district. In Washington, he uses access to the Oval Office as an emolument (sorry) with (sorry) quid pro quo implications. He even invites them to the residential floors of the White House for meetings, one of the most private places of any presidency. He also never fails to invite a member or two to join him in (frequent) rounds of golf, including using Mar-a-Lago and one or more of the universe of Trump residences and golf courses as political catnip.

And it has recently been reported that he invites people he is courting for political favors (for example, their votes) to spend a weekend of schmoozing at Camp David, the holiest of holies of presidential hideaways.

Most members of Congress come from middle class lives and have never known anyone like Trump much less had so much access to the gilded presidential life style. 

One can almost see Lindsey Graham salivating as he hangs out with Trump on the second floor of the White House, catching glimpses of the Lincoln Bedroom, or flies around with the president after a round of golf at one of Trump's "international" courses. 

As is evident Graham has lost whatever independence he had during the McCain years and is now fully committed to responding to all of Trump whims no matter how outrageous or humiliating. 

More than anything else, Trump makes him and his colleagues feel important as a result of this political courtship.

For the sake of full discloser I need to confess my own experiences with the Clinton and, later, the Bush presidencies. There may be a few useful takeaways. 

During my Ford Foundation years I worked with senior members of the White House staff (including Clinton himself) on a joint venture designed to help low-income students graduate from high school and enter college. It eventually came to be known as the Gear Up Program.

As part of their efforts to get Ford behind what they were proposing, I was invited to a number of White House sponsored events, including some that were more social than professional. 

I need to admit that I felt more important than I in fact was when I participated in meetings in the Roosevelt Room, the East Room, and even the Cabinet Room. I ate in the White House Mess and was even allowed a peek at the Situation Room. 

More than anything else, I was thrilled to have had a few meetings in the Oval Office where I was encouraged to play with Buddy, Clinton's dog.

I never got to the Residence or Camp David but would have been thrilled to have been invited.

I share this not so much for gossip purposes but to suggest how powerful the presidency in all its aspects is. Not just because he is Commander in Chief but because of the aura, history, and accoutrements of the presidency itself and how easy it is to come under their sway.

As a parvenu, like me born and raised in the outer boroughs of New York City, not in Manhattan, Trump on a gut level understands how wielding this soft, cultural and psychological power can be and he is playing it with perverse brilliance.

February 27, 2019--Nuked

I don't know how I feel about the list of targets in the U.S. that the Russians just announced could be nuked if we deploy new intermediate-range nuclear missiles in Europe.

Expecting that these targets for their "hypersonic" missiles would include Washington and New York, I was surprised (pleasantly?) that the targets include the Pentagon, various military bases, and Camp David, the presidential retreat in Maryland's Catoctin Mountains.

I am oriented to think this way as a former Cold War kid who grew up in Brooklyn, which at the time was threatened with nuking if, as it was feared, the Cold War turned hot. 

In fact, the Brooklyn Navy Yard (only a few miles from where I lived) was ground zero. Or was it Times Square? Either way, in spite of take-cover drills in which I participated at PS 244 and then Brooklyn Tech High School (walking distance to the Navy Yard), I would still be vaporized if one landed in Brooklyn or incinerated in a firestorm or rendered radioactive if a missile struck Times Square. 

None of these fates were very attractive.

So, Camp David, featured on the new list, felt relatively benign. Though it would be better, I perversely thought, if the Russians want to get under Trump's skin to leave Camp David off the target list (Trump doesn't much like it there--too primitive and no golf course) and switch the target to Mar-a-Lago.

Of course, I'm just being silly. About Mar-a-Lago, not the Trump-Putin threat. They are scary.

October 31, 2017--Lindsey's New Bromance

Lindsey is about to be dumped by John McCain who is insensitve enough to his feelings to be dying from brain cancer. No more get-away trips together to Iraq and Afghanistan.

But Lindsey, South Carolina Senator Lindsey Graham, can't resist a hunky tough guy. Even while McCain is still alive, he's moved on to another one--Donald Trump. 

Though Trump is anything but a real tough guy. Recall, while McCain was flying jets over North Korea and held prisoner by the Viet Cong, Trump was avoiding the draft with a series of student deferments and a bone spur in his foot that miraculously cleared up when the draft ended.

Doesn't take much to get poor Lindsey's heart fluttering--just a few tete-a-tete rounds of golf with the big guy who has his little hands on the nuclear codes and a ride or two back and forth to Camp David, that well-known trysting place in Marine One--the president's personal helicopter. That's all it takes to get Lindsey all googly-eyed.

Graham says he's just being practical--it's better to have the president's ear (not his literal one of course) than to be made fun of or to have his cell phone number outed in a presidential tweet. 

And, he told the New York Times, there are a lot of Trump supporters in South Carolina and by being cozied up to Trump helps him back home, on the rare occasions that he's there and not junketing.

It also takes the ability to forgive and forget. Including the things The Donald said about him during the campaign. You do remember that Lindsay was one of the 19 seeking the nomination and Trump disposed of him without needing to break a sweat.

Not only did he torture him by revealing his telephone number and mocking the fact that Lindsay was in low single digits during the primary season, but he also, just a couple of months ago, after the white-supremacist rally in Charlottesville, after Graham criticized Trump's comments about racial violence, blaming equally both sides, Trump tweeted--

Publicity seeking Lindsey Graham falsely stated that I said there is morale equivalency between the KKK, neo-Nazis white supremacists. . . Such a disgusting lie. He just can't forget his election trouncing. The people of South Carolina will remember!

It must be that they serve wonderful snacks on Marine One.

Lindsey Graham In Marine One

January 7, 2014--The Football

"You military?" he asked. I had never seen him before.

Rona and were having a sandwich and salad at the Marriott Courtyard in Florence, South Carolina. It had gotten foggy and was promising to thicken so we decided not to venture forth for dinner in unfamiliar territory so far south of the Mason-Dixon Line.

He was friendly and so I said, "Can't say that I am . . . or was."

"From the look of you, no offense, I knew it had to be was. I'm army myself. But from the look of me I know you're also thinking was." He was wearing a cap that proclaimed ARMY and I was thinking was.

"S'pose you don't know the Springer boys?"

"Can't say I do . . . or did," I said wondering what this was about.

"Went to the Academy. Both of 'em. Twins. Fine boys. Must be retired by now. Not such boys anymore. Like you and me." He chuckled, looking off in space. "Naval Academy. God, I wish one of these years before I pass we'd beat those guys. How many years it's been?" He stroked his chin trying to answer his own question. I wasn't quite sure what he was trying to figure out. "Must be 13, 14. That's how long it's been. I'm talking football. But I'm just an enlisted man. So whats it matter to me. To the Springer boys, commanders both of 'em, well, that's another thing altogether."

Sensing this was going to be a rambling monologue, I tried to pay attention to my sandwich.

"One flew transports. You know them C-20s. Big suckers. The other, Earl, well he flew fighters. From carriers. I think the last time he was on the Ticonderoga. Out there offa Vietnam. Just like the fog we got here tonight, his last night it was so foggy that when his instruments failed he had to find that rolling deck on his own and just barely made it. From that day on never flew again. Sort of cracked him up. Not even commercial for ten years after they discharged him. Honorable and all that. Flew a bunch of combat missions. He paid his dues. Suppose I did too."

"Glad to know he's OK," I squeaked, still working on my food.

"But his brother Jack, after the war, well, he had a different assignment." I didn't ask what it was. But he clearly wanted me to know, "With the football."

"With the what?" That piqued my interest.

"Not the one you're thinkin' about."

"To tell you the truth I'm not thinking about anything much having to do with football or footballs just my sandwich. But I am interested in what you're referring to since I think I may know about it."

"Well, the one I'm thinking about is the one for the atomic codes." I did know about that and nodded. "There's a heavy leather and I assume lead-lined briefcase, weighs about 30-40 pounds, that they call the football that has the codes to launch a nuclear attack that's always where the President is at. The Commander in Chief. 'Cause he's the only one has the authority to launch. There's a military man assigned to carry that football 24/7 wherever the President is. And they have another one for the Vice President because of, you know, what might happen. Though I'd hate to think of that Biden fellow with those codes."

"I'm not sure I agree about that," I said, with a mouthful of tuna salad.

"No need for us to get political," I was pleased to hear, "But let's get back to that Springer boy Jack. He had charge of the third one. Not many folks know there are two much less three footballs."

"I know about the two for the President and VP but this is the first I'm hearing about the third. It's for--?"

"It's for the Strategic Air Command in case the President and Vice President are taken out at the same time, God help us."

"Ugh," I said, "This'll ruin my night's sleep."

"Jack and the rest of his crew had that third football up in one of the airborne command posts. Just in case. Quite something, no?"

"Indeed," I said.

"Which was why I asked if you in the first place if you knew the Springer boys."

This was making less and less sense to me. About all the footballs I was in fact interested, but why he just started to talk with me about this I had no idea.

"You want to hear my favorite football story?"

"I assume we're not talking the Army-Navy game?"

"Not football but the football."

"Shoot. I mean, sure."

"Well, my second-favorite one was when Reagan got shot. Terrible thing. Loved that man. He always carried the codes on a card in his suit jacket pocket. Well, when he was in the hospital they had to cut his clothes off him and that card got lost in the shuffle. No pun intended. When one of his aides thought to ask about it they couldn't find it. You know how busy the ER is. No one knew where it was for some time. But then it turned up in one of his shoes. Scary, no?"

"This whole business scares me," I admitted, "And your favorite?" I was about ready to head up to the room. It had been a long day of driving.

"That one involved Nixon back in '73 when he was President and had the football trailing after him. He was at Camp David meeting with the Soviet leader Brezhnev, I think it was."

"It was. Leonid Brezhnev."

"Not my favorite person, but you know Nixon, always wanting to be with foreign leaders. Especially those Russians."

"That was him at his best."

"Well, that Brez fellow he loved cars. Especially American muscle cars. So Nixon gave him a present of one. Using taxpayer money of course. A big guzzler Lincoln Continental. Nixon handed him the keys and that Russian was so excited that he hustled Nixon into the car, in the passenger seat, and then he jumped in on the other side and drove away at a mile-a-minute clip." My new friend slapped his thigh he was so amused. "Well, you can imagine that the Secret Service was caught by surprise as was the poor fellow with the football. Old Brez drove out onto the highway and left everyone behind for a full 30 minutes. Thirty minutes when Nixon didn't have the nuclear codes close at hand. When you think on it, it could have been a plot by the Russians to get away with some funny business."

"Some story," I admitted. "I read a lot about that period but never heard this one before."

"You could look it up," he said. "And if you run into Jack Springer in your travels ask him. I'm sure he knows about it. Who knows, maybe he was up in one those flying command posts at the time. Wouldn't that be something'?"

"Indeed it would be," I said, ready to head upstairs."

"Did anyone ever mention," Rona asked, "that you sound just like John Wayne?"

"That's a good one," he guffawed, "Can't wait to tell the wife. She'll love it," he said and was gone as quickly as he had appeared.

May 7, 2013--Yassar Arafat and Led Zeppelin

When president, toward to end of his second term, in July 2000, stymied on the domestic front as are  all lame duck presidents, Bill Clinton turned to foreign policy and came very close to brokering a deal between Israel and the Palestinian Authority that would have created a Palestinian state side-by-side with Israel that could have led to the possibility of lasting peace, and to Noble Prizes all around.

Clinton was so involved with the intimate details during the Camp David summit—including knowing which streets in Jerusalem would be Israeli and which controlled by Palestine—that he so persuasively overwhelmed Israel prime minister Ehud Barak and Palestinian Authority chairman, Yassar Arafat that they came stunningly close to signing on to the Clinton-negotiated plan.

Sadly, it is claimed that Arafat, at the last moment, after it appeared he would agree to the deal, walked away, fearing the political repercussions back home from more uncompromising Palestinians.

So it comes as little surprise that late last year Clinton attempted to negotiate another diplomatic coup—getting Led Zeppelin to agree to reunite and preform for one night at a benefit for the victims of Hurricane Sandy.

But as with Arafat and Barak, he once again failed.

The CBS "60 Minutes Overtime" webcast reported Monday that the former president was enlisted to ask the British rock stars to perform together. David Saltzman of the Robin Hood Foundation says he and film executive Harvey Weinstein flew to Washington to ask Clinton to make the pitch. Led Zeppelin's surviving members Robert Plant, John Paul Jones, and Jimmy Page were in Washington just before the Sandy concert for the Kennedy Center Honors. But they turned Clinton down.

There is no word on the record as to how Bill Clinton took the rejection. Obviously, less was at stake than at Camp David but, still, poor Bill Clinton can’t seem to catch a break.