March 15, 2018--Trumpian Sans Trump

I've been arguing for some time that if Democrats want to recapture Congress, much less the White House, we have to erect a big tent that in fact is widely welcoming. Not just a tent for appearances sake.

This means we need to select and support candidates who in addition to sharing our social justice concerns are likely to believe in some things that are Trumpian. Especially in congressional districts in the vital middle of the country where Electoral votes are in play and incumbents can be flipped.

Case in point this week was the election in southwestern Pennsylvania of Democrat Conor Lamb.

He won in a squeaker but astonishingly in a district that went for Trump in 2016 by 20 percentage points. A district where in the previous two congressional elections a Republican was elected unopposed. It's that Republican, that red.

Lamb in his first TV commercial was pictured handling and firing an AR-15 semi-automatic rifle. It was not just to remind us that he had been a Marine but also to signal to his gun-oriented potential constituents that he not only believes in the "right" to bear arms but is comfortable with them. More specifically that he's not a Democrat who if elected will descend in a black helicopter to take away people's guns.

To most of my Manhattan friends this would be enough to lead to disdain for him and doom for his candidacy.

If my friends could somehow manage to get by his comfort with guns what would they think about the fact that as a practicing Catholic he does not believe in abortions?

For pretty much everyone I know in New York City failing these two litmus tests (pro guns and pro "life") would make it impossible to vote for him. And so Rick Saccone (Lamb's opponent) would easily have won and there would be one more Republican in Congress lending enthusiastic support to Donald Trump's regressive agenda. (Saccone Tuesday night claimed that Democrats "hate America and hate God.")

On the other hand, Lamb is dovish and a strong supporter of strengthening and protecting Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid, and various other social safety nets. He also is a fervent friend to organized labor and was endorsed by virtually all the unions that have a large presence in his district.

And, I almost forgot, though he personally does not support abortions, he unequivocally opposes any efforts to limit them.

In some ways he is Trumpian but his version does not include the actual Trump. Just a congruence of views on a few social issues. Important ones, to be sure, but ones we have to get comfortable with tolerating if we want to win in much of America.

There are 435 congressional districts in the United States, each with a member in the House of Representatives. To take control of the House, Democrats need to flip at least 24 seats. Tuesday night Keystone Staters flipped one. To win the others, and perhaps a dozen more, will require that our tent welcomes and we vote for candidates such as Conor Lamb. 

Like Lamb most middle-of-the-road Democrats will fail some of our traditional litmus tests. But if we want to again became the majority party, we need to attract similar candidates who appeal to their local constituencies and thereby have a chance of winning.

We claim we embrace diversity. If that is more than just words, it is imperative that we put our votes where our mouths are.

October 4, 2017--The Second Amendment

No one will ever be able to convince me that the Second Amendment to the Constitution allows someone or anyone such as the Las Vegas mass murderer to possess dozens of high-powered automatic weapons and thousands of rounds of armor piercing ammunition.

In fact, I have read quite a bit about the Founders' intent and history of the amendment that allows citizens to bear arms--especially Michael Waldman's definitive, The Second Amendment: A Biography--and it is obvious even to someone who knows just a little about the early history of our country to conclude otherwise.

The Amendment was exclusively about bearing arms to form a militia. It did not even provide for a right to bear arms for self defense. Perhaps to many it should have, but like it or not it does not. That is a later, much later, 20th century interpretation of the meaning of the Second Amendment.

This was because there was general fear of America, like the then authoritarian European powers, having a centralized, national standing army that could potentially be used to stifle the freedoms of citizens.

But, of course, we now have a standing army, a standing navy, and a standing air force.

The right to bear arms was never intended to preserve the freedom of mass murderers.

At breakfast yesterday morning, John Allan mentioned that on a separate track, the Republican controlled Congress, beholden to the National Rifle Association (note the name of the NRA is not the National Automatic Weapons Association--"Rifle" captures the meaning of their original purpose, an organization for sportsmen and hunters), John mentioned that the House of Representatives was about to pass a bill to make it easier for gun enthusiasts to purchase silencers for their weapons.

I was incredulous. Silencers are for criminals and assassins  not law-abiding citizens. But though John is always well informed and accurate in what he says, I was skeptical that this could possibly be true. Even with the Congress we have and Donald Trump in the White House.

But later in the day, I checked and sadly, as usual, John had it right. At most, reports I read, the massacre in Las Vegas will "slow up" its passage.

James Madison and Thomas Jefferson would not be happy.

May 30, 2017--A Word About Intelligent Design

There is a hot debate underway among progressives and others who do not in any way support Donald Trump about how to relate, if at all, to those who voted for and are sticking by President Trump.

The fact that I have difficulty referring to him as "President," is indicative of how complicated this situation is. About as complicated as how Republicans in the main had difficulty thinking about Barack Obama as "President" and opposed him aggressively, seeking from Inauguration Day to bring him down.

So Democrats and Republicans share that.

I have been arguing here for some time that, while opposing most of Trump's initiatives, progressives need to reach out to the most independent-minded of Trump supporters in an attempt to convince them that we understand their frustration and anger and make the case to them that traditional Democrats share many of their concerns and would like to welcome them back to our enlarged tent. Even including abortion opponents and Second Amendment defenders.

Others argue that we shouldn't waste our time reaching out to them. They are so unredeemable from a progressive perspective that we should not engage with them.

Yesterday, guest-blogger Sharon made that case forcefully--

If I have given up trying to reason with and understand people I already know who perhaps have spent too many years being brainwashed by Fox News, trolls and "news" outlets even further right, I have even less interest engaging strangers who want people to be free not to have health care.  I hold in special contempt those who encourage conspiracy theories that spur the lunatic fringe to shoot up pizza parlors, etc.

I respect this, understand, but disagree. I feel we have to do the opposite--no matter how difficult or infuriating, we need to seek opportunities to talk about our differences to see if there is any possibility of finding some common ground. 

In that spirit, Rona and I have been talking about how to have these difficult dialogues. Unlike our life in New York City where, politically, pretty much everyone we know has nothing but contempt for Trump and his supporters, we are fortunate up in Maine to know people with a wide range of views, including some who are eager to talk across the divide.

Thus, we have been searching for issues, topics around which to organize potential discussions. We even made a list. The first few topics are not good places to begin since about them there is little or no possibility for compromise. For example, abortion. If to opponents it is murder and for supporters it's a woman's right, there is not much to talk about. There is nothing to negotiate.

Here are some of the topics--

Abortion
The Second Amendment
Immigration
Healthcare
Same-sex marriage
Prayer in school
Taxes
The deficit
Government regulations
Iran
Russia
Climate change
Contraception
Food stamps
Supplemental Security Income (SSI)
Evolution/Intelligent Design

We have had considerable success talking about SSI. A number of conservative friends expressed vehement opposition to it, claiming that almost everyone receiving benefits is perpetrating a fraud, lying about their circumstances, and thus should be denied ongoing assistance  To complexify matters and to see if there might be some room for give, I looked up who actually receives SSI benefits and found that 33 percent of the 8 million are children or elderly and 15 percent more are significantly disabled and incapable of working. When discussing these recipients in turn, all on the far right agreed it was important to continue to help these people. To many of them it was the Christian way.

I then said, "So we agree about nearly 50 percent. That's progress, and of course it's OK to disagree about the rest."

With this in mind, Rona suggested that maybe we should move on to talk about Evolution. Many who are deeply conservative and often evangelicals who believe the Bible is the literal truth do not want to see it taught in public schools. They either call for its outright ban or, at a minimum, that it be taught alongside the theory of Intelligent Design (ID).

"Where's the give with this?" I asked, quite skeptical.

"There is overwhelming scientific evidence to support Evolution," Rona said, "But, hear me out, no valid scientific evidence that discredits Intelligent Design."

"What?"

"That's right. Tell me how you know, how we know that there was not some force of nature, or something more divine that guided the evolutionary process? Therefore, why not concede that it's worth putting this out for discussion? Doesn't a good education include teaching the history of controversies? Like Evolution and ID?" 

"Interesting point. Maybe this is like same-sex marriage. Twenty years ago only a small minority favored it but in more recent years it received overwhelming support, so much so that the Supreme Court stretched to find it to be constitutional."

"Bottom line," Rona said, "As difficult as it is and how unpleasant it can be, if we want to have a more inclusive and civil country, we need to not give up on having these kinds of conversations."

"I agree," I said, "But I do understand why others might come to a different conclusion."

"I'll predict that we could also have productive conversations about climate change and . . ."

I cut her off, "Let's take this one step at a time. I'm already feeling exhausted."

January 19, 2017--The 2400 Family Diner

Here's another diner story from on the road south. This one from three years ago--

We had just placed our order at one of our favorite on-the-road places, the 2400 Family Diner in Fredericksburg, Virginia--eggs and grits for Rona, and the $7.95 county ham special for me--when the owner plopped an overflowing plate of eggs and sides on the counter and himself on a stool.

"That looks good," Rona said, sipping her tea.

He turned in our direction, not responding, looking annoyed by her interrupting what must be a daily ritual.

I thought, "Here we go. We're already in trouble."

"Is that lemon you're squeezing on your eggs?" Rona asked, ignoring his ignoring us.

Without turning he nodded and grunted something indecipherable.

"I've never seen that before."

I mouthed to Rona to "Cool it."

But she persisted, "I never tried that. I love lemon and maybe I'd also like it on eggs."

"Very Grek," he said with a thick accent, squeezing another half lemon all over everything on his plate.

"Grek?" Rona said.

"Grek," he turned fully in our direction, "Grek, Greek. Dot's me. Grek."

"The lemon is very Mediterranean," Rona smiled at him.

At that, with effort, he lifted himself off the stool and lumbered in our direction, hunched over with his arms dangling at his side.

"Lemon we have with everything in Grek." His accent thickened as he neared us.

I was beginning to feel nervous. We were the only customers. 8:30 is often a quiet time in diners that cater mainly to locals--late for those headed to work, too early for older folks, and too off the tourist route for travelers. Exactly our favorite kind of place.

But at the 2400 I was beginning to feel threatened. The two waitresses, who looked as if they had worked there for decades, watched, smiling, which partially reassured me.

"You Brooklyn?" he asked.

"What?" I finally joined in, thinking that might ease the situation. He stood pressing his huge stomach against our table, still with his arms dangling and swinging simian-like.

"Brooklyn? From dare?"

"Yes," Rona chirped, the caffeine in her tea taking hold. "Both of us." She included me in her sweeping gesture.

He glared at me and pointed, laboriously hoisting one of his thick arms. "Him too?"

"Yes, he and me. We were both born there. Are you also from Brooklyn?"

"Grek," he said.

"So how did you know we--"

"Sound just like your mayor. Bloom. Both you and him." He dismissed me with a wave of his massive hand.

"Bloomberg," I said, taking a chance by correcting him.

"No gut."

"He's not our mayor anymore," Rona informed him. "As of January 1st we have a new one. De Blasio."

"De who?"

"Bill De Blasio."

"What kind of name dat?"

"I'm not sure," Rona said. "Maybe Italian?" I nodded.

"Where does he stand on guns?" His accent miraculously gone. "Not like Bloomberg I hope."

"I assume--" I cut myself off, stunned by the change in the way he spoke and not clear where this might be headed.

"He doesn't understand us." What happened to all the Grek business, I wondered. He sounded like someone more from Virginia than Athens.

"In what way?" Rona asked, eating away at her eggs and grits as if not noticing. I was feeling substantially relieved and took to enjoying the wonderful country ham.

"He should come here and talk to people. Real people. Then he would see."

"I think he's not--"

"He is," he corrected me before I could finish.

"Is what?" I was feeling bolder with him backed off from us. But I was still thinking about his disappearing accent.

"Take my son, for example," the taller of the two waitresses said, joint in.

"Your son?" Rona said.

"Yes. He has a gun. Most of his friends do."

"I assume," I stammered, "To me it depends on how old he is. I mean from my perspective. But what do I know about these things. I'm just like Bloomberg. From New York. The city. Brooklyn."

"Exactly," she said, having wandered over to us.

"I mean, if I may ask, how old is he? You don't have to tell me, of course."

"I know that." She smiled a bit condescendingly in my direction. I deserved that, I acknowledged. "If you must know, he's eight."

"Eight?" Rona could not hide her surprise. 

"I know what you're thinking but you don't know my boy. Or his grandfather."

"Who is?" Rona ventured.

"He works for Homeland Security."

"Really? What does he--"

"He teaches marksmanship. Trains their best people to become snipers."

"Really? That's amazing," I said.

"To tell you--"

She interrupted Rona. "I think I know what you're thinking. That this is a terrible thing to do and--"

"Not really. I mean I know--"

"That in the real world," she completed Rona's thought, "as awful as it is, it's necessary. Don't you think? I don't need to spell out all the situations where we need them. Snipers. There's no other way to describe them. That's what they do. So we should call them what they are. And are proud to be. To help keep us safe. You remember those Somali pirates?" We both nodded. "Well, my father teaches Navy Seals too."

There was no need to say more. "His grandfather taught him, my son, all about guns. Starting at six."

"Not to--"

"No not to become a sniper," she and Rona laughed together. "But how to handle and respect them. Guns."

"To tell you the truth," Rona said. "This is not something or a world that I know anything about. I guess I'm OK with people having guns. I mean--"

"Among other things, it's in the Constitution," the owner rejoined the discussion. "The Second Amendment says--"

"We coud debate that all day," I said, "The history and meaning of it."

"You mean about the 'well regulated militia' part?'" He said, now directly to me.

"That and other things," I said. "But at the moment I'm just enjoying your eggs and wonderful ham. Every year when we're here I can't wait to have some."

"Let's just agree," he offered,  "that things are often more complicated than they seem."

I couldn't disagree about that.

"Like, for example," the waitress said, "how few people from where you're from could learn from my father how to defend us."

"Fair enough," Rona said, "But there are many ways to do that. Not everyone has to . . . . There are other things that need to be done. And people from Brooklyn and other places are helping as well. In their own ways. About things they know how to do."

"One thing, for sure we all agree about," he said, "is that there are some bad guys out there and we have to figure out ways to keep people safe. There are probably other things we could agree about. Like privacy, for example. On the other hand," he caught himself, "considering where you're from, maybe not."

"It might surprise you," I said, finishing my ham, "but for a New York liberal I'm no so liberal about privacy and some of the things the N.S.A. does."

"And it might surprise you that I voted for Obama. Twice. And she did too," he pointed toward the waitress who was refilling the coffee pot.

"Just once," she winked. "The second time, I didn't vote at all. A plague on all their houses," she said.

"While I'm holding this can I heat up your cup?"

"I'd love some," I said.

October 31, 2016-- Midcoast: Cultural Profiling

It was the morning after the third debate and the diner was buzzing with political talk.

Buzzing so much that my new hearing aids were overwhelmed so I resumed an old habit--pretending to hear and understand and thus doing a lot of nodding and smiling. Most of it inappropriate and of a non sequitur sort.

Before I tuned out I picked up that, as usual at the diner, opinion was split pretty much down the middle with half the folks liking how Hillary turned to her own advantage Trump's jibe, "She's a nasty woman," while the other half agreed that she is in fact nasty.

Concentrating on my French toast, I enjoyed the sounds of passionate talk I could not fully make out. I thought I need to ask my audiologist to make an adjustment he had indicated was just for this kind of situation--being able to hear someone across the table in an otherwise noisy restaurant.

I was sitting by the window and to distract myself turned to enjoy the rush of falling leaves when a mud-splashed SUV pulled up and out of it tumbled two very large couples. It was the first truly chilly morning and I was surprised to see that one of the men was not only wearing shorts--not uncommon among Mainers who when the seasons change dress for the previous one as if the best way to get through the summer heat or, more commonly, the icy winter is to assert mind over matter--not only was he wearing shorts but a t-shirt and sandals without socks. Everything, including a full-brimmed hat, totally emblazoned with camouflage. I realized that the hunting season was to begin in just a few days and it looked as if he couldn't wait.

From their outfits and deportment it appeared that all three of his companions would be happily joining him while stalking moose in the North Woods.

Oh god, I noticed as they stepped in, the only empty table was pressed close to ours which meant they would be sitting right next to us.

They were Second Amendment people for sure as well as, I was certain, Trump supporters. Even if I couldn't hear every word that I was sure was about to be broadcast by them, after the debate, where I suspected Trump did himself some good, I wasn't into listening to snarky political boasting.

So I took up the pace, indicating to Rona that I was wanting to leave as soon as we finished our breakfast.

"Humans are the only species . . ." I heard from the hunter with the bare feet, ". . . who do so." I couldn't hear much more and thus had no context in which to fit this. I thought he was also sounding like a Fundamentalist and was talking about the uniqueness of human religion. I could take a pass on that too.

"I never thought of that," one of the women said. I assumed not his wife who I suspected from him had heard it all and then some.

"It's true," he said.

Then the other man puffed up in a red flannel shirt with Larry-King size black suspenders said something I thought about the "natural world." Creationists to boot, I thought.

By then things in the diner had settled down to a murmur and my new hearing aids took over and I was able to hear pretty much everything they said.

"It is fascinating to think about," the first hunter said, "How humans are the only animals--and we are animals," he said with a wink, "how in the animal kingdom we are the only species to produce more young than we need for survival."

"If true," his companion said, "Why is that significant?"

"It means that we pose a danger to the global ecosystem. We are the only animals who overpopulate. And I don't have to tell you of all people what the implications are."

Rona, who was listening in to another conversation, one about how Trump will surely lose after the Billy Bush hot-mike tape gets more widely aired, was stirring in her seat, having finished her food and signaling to me she was about to ask for the check.

"No hurry," I said, confusing her.

"I thought you were eager to leave," she whispered, glancing quickly at the hunters.

"No rush," I said, wanting to hear more about what else was unique to humans.

"What do you think," one of the neighboring women asked, noticing I was eavesdropping.

Caught in the act, I stammered, "Oh, well . . . not that much." I slipped back into my familiar non-sequitur mode.

"About what John said about the human species?"

"Oh, I suppose that's interesting. But, you know, I never thought about that. I mean, it could be that . . ."

She smiled. "John's a naturalist. A journalist. Writes a column that's picked up in lots of papers around the country. Show him your card, John."

I thought he must write for Hunters World or even Guns & Ammo.

He fished one out of his bulging wallet and handed it over. Below his name was "Environmental Storyteller."

"That's a new one to me," I said, beginning to feel upset with myself for what I had imagined him to be.

I looked again at his card and read so Rona could hear. By then she had tuned into our conversation--"Continual wanderer of the planet, observing in perpetual wonder."

As I read this the other man, "T.W," slid his card to me. It identified him as president of Silver Creek Media, through which he told me with a twinkle he published--pointing to how his work was described on the card--"words and stuff."

And with that, as quickly as they had arrived, the four of them stood up simultaneously and headed to their car.

So there Rona and I remained, thinking about how I had mischaracterized them. I said, confessing, "You know of course about racial profiling. How police and others periodically are accused of stopping African Americans because of their race or young Middle Eastern men who without evidence are thought to be potential terrorists."

"You didn't do that," Rona said, "They look more American--whatever that means--than you. So it wasn't racial."

"True," I said, "But I think I did something similarly upsetting--I culturally profiled them, as with racial profiling, on the basis of their appearance."

"You did in fact do that," Rona said.

"Which means I have more work to do on my consciousness."

"That's one of the things I love about being here," Rona said, "How often we get surprised like this. It's really a challenging place to live."

"Wouldn't want it any other way."

September 20, 2016--Trump Is A Jerk II

In early June, not long after winning the Republican nomination, with a head of post-convention momentum, after delivering a decent acceptance speech that suggested he was about to pivot from outrageous-entertainer-candidate to become something resembling a more-or-less-serious, more-or-less-responsible general election candidate, Donald Trump revealed himself to be out-of-control without the temperament to be taken seriously as a potential commander in chief much less president when he attacked the Mexican-American judge who was presiding over the Trump University fraud case, slandering him repeatedly by mocking him as "that Mexican judge."

That's when I wrote my first Trump-Is-A-Jerk piece.

There was talk that Trump should either step aside and let Paul Ryan take his place (Ryan as a result tried to put on a presidential showcase) or be deposed by the Republican National Committee, turning the nomination over to Cruz, or Rubio, or even Jeb Bush.

This of course did not come to pass and Trump made attempts, with some success, to clean up his act and act presidential. He began speaking from TelePrompTers and it seemed that his genuinely-smart-and-savvy daughter, Ivanka, was writing his speeches and had him under a version of control.

For example, last week in the ballroom of the newly renovated hotel Trump Washington, or whatever it's called (the construction work also directly overseen by the now ubiquitous Ivanka) The Donald delivered a reasoned speech about his plans to revive the economy. Paul Krugman predictably took it apart but for a Republican it was a reasonable, less-draconion plan than, say, Paul Ryan's or either of the Bush president's.

A couple of days later, he delivered an even more responsible talk about child and eldercare. In regard to the latter, his, amazingly, is more generous than Hillary Clinton's since I can find no evidence that she has a plan for taking care of older adults who need assistance. She has hundreds of other plans but, as modest as Trump's is, none of this type.

National polls began to show Trump at least even with Hillary and in key states such as Ohio, Nevada, Colorado, and Florida that he was either within the margin of error or in the lead.

To boot, Hillary in public view on 9/11, collapsed allegedly from pneumonia which did two things--caused undecideds to think again if she is healthy enough to live through the unspeakable stress of serving as president (she has had a number of blood clots); and, related to that, since she tried to cover up whatever was ailing her, this contributed to the narrative that the Clintons are at a minimum not transparent and, to the conspiratorial-minded, fundamentally dishonest and crooked.

And, with rare political finesse, Trump said nothing much more that wishing her a speedy recovery and return to the campaign trail.

His numbers as a result continued to improve. Even the partisan New York Times began to have to report that his chances of actually being elected rose from single digits to perhaps 25-30 percent. Discounting the paper's political bias this more likely meant that the race was now a tossup.

But then Trump again blew it--

On his own momentum, with Barack Obama's favorables comfortably above 50 percent and Trump at the same time doing better with young voters of color, he stepped again into the Birther thing, declining when asked to pretend to be exasperated with the whole thing--"Of course he was born in America. Can we now turn to more important things such as growing the economy and providing childcare assistance to low-income [read, minority] families?"

Instead he let it sit and fester politically for a couple of days before finally appearing to be exasperated, saying, "Yes, he was born . . ." And then made matters worse when he tried to blame the whole Birther issue on Hillary.

No one any longer was talking about his plans for the economy or children. It was Birther 24/7.

Doubling down on outrageous talk, when trying to claim that Hillary Clinton would try to ignore or repeal the Second Amendment, he in effect cracked, "If she's so anti-gun, why not take the weapons aways from her Secret Service detail and see what happens."

This reminded commentators and voters of an even more outrageous, borderline felonious incitement back in August about letting "Second-Amendment people take care" of Hillary.

And this reminded me what a jerk he ultimately is and for this reason among others is unfit to be our president.

Sigmund Freud would have a field day with Donald Trump.

February 15, 2016--Anton Scalia "Originalist"

I know I should hold back from criticizing Associate Supreme Court Justice Anton Scalia. That I should pause to honor him and his service, but since so many are already speculating about his place in history and his successor--principally whether or not Barack Obama should nominate one or capitulate in advance to Republicans in Congress who want him to stand aside and let the next president do the appointing--it is hard to sit still and listen to Scalia's being overpraised, even canonized.

This of course is not unusual when a person of stature dies, but to picture him as a towering, even historic figure, to extoll his scholarship, is beyond anything that should go unchallenged, even during this period of mourning.

Yes, he was influential as a result of his ability to cow colleagues, most notably Clarence Thomas, and his assertion that he was the one true conservative "originalist" on the court. A judicial practice that seeks to apply how the Constitution's framers' original words should direct appellate court decisions.

In truth, since it is not possible to interrogate the Framers to see how we should deal with issues not explicitly mentioned in the Constitution--among others the use of the electric chair, women's and gay rights, automatic weapons, and abortion--Justice Scalia worked backwards in his search for logic and precedents to bolster his opinions and dissents. Backwards because he began with pre-determined conclusions and then searched for so-called originalist evidence (evidence that did not exist and thus often was made up by him) to justify those conclusions.

This is the way so much of our political discourse proceeds and in this Scalia acted more like an ideologue or political operative than a dispassionate judge seeking the truth. Most often with him the truth was what he arrogantly determined it to be. Not the Framers.

Two examples--

Bush v. Gore, the SCOTUS decision that gave the 2000 presidential election to George W. Bush.

The Constitution could not be more explicit about how it is up to the states, via the Tenth Amendment, to manage and adjudicate local electoral disputes, including in federal elections. Rather than allow that process to culminate in Florida within the state's supreme court, the U.S. Supreme Court, under Scalia's leadership, shopped around for originalist rationalizations that permitted the nation's highest court to abrogate a state's right to complete it own constitutional judicial review of the legitimacy of the vote in Florida.

Scalia wanted Bush elected, that's where he and four of his Republican colleagues began their deliberations, then they shopped around for arguments to prop up their ultimate shaky decision.

There would not have been a President George W. Bush if there hadn't been a Justice Scalia and, lest we forget in this election cycle, brother Jeb!, then governor of Florida, and his corrupt Secretary of State. Remember Katherine Harris?

Also to illustrate, there is Anton Scalia's originalist interpretation of the Second Amendment, which states--"A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed."

Even a well taught high school student knows that this amendment gives citizens the right to bear arms only in order to participate in the formation of a well regulated militia. It does not confer the absolute right to bear arms even for self protection. It was written that way because our Founders and the Constitution's Framers were leery of the new nation, in contrast to countries such as England and France, having a potentially oppressive standing army that could be mobilized by unscrupulous rulers to abrogate citizens' freedoms.

In District of Columbia v. Heller, again with Scalia leading the way, the Court held that the government is essentially powerless to prohibit or restrict weapons in "common use." The majority wrote that this right to bear arms "is not defined by what the militia needs, but by what private citizens commonly possess."

This is a gross misreading of the Second Amendment.

This notion of common possession is nowhere to be found in the text, structure, or history of the amendment. This unprecedented, idiosyncratic notion of "possession," gives gun makers and individuals--not legislatures or even the courts--the power to determine public policy.

This finding feels about as far away from anything considered to be originalist as one can imagine. But once again, Justice Scalia, with tortured logic and an ideological distortion of constitutional history, more through bluster than dispassionate argument, held the day and Heller was decided in the affirmative.

Yes, Anton Scalia could be charming, loved opera, apparently and unpredictably befriended Ruth Bader Ginsberg, but a towering legal mind? An historic figure? A "lion of the court"? Mourn his death as we would anyone's who died a bit prematurely, but let's get a grip on all the unstinting praise.

In spite of the conservative criticism of "activist" judges "legislating from the bench," since 1986 when he was appointed to the Court by President Reagan, that well describes what Justice Scalia had been doing up until this weekend.

January 9, 2014--The 2040 Diner

We had just placed our order at one of our favorite on-the-road places, the 2040 Diner in Fredericksburg, Virginia--eggs and grits for Rona, and the $7.95 county ham special for me--when the owner plopped an overflowing plate of eggs and sides on the counter and himself on a stool.

"That looks good," Rona said, sipping her tea.

He turned in our direction, not responding, looking annoyed by her interrupting what must be a daily ritual.

I thought, "Here we go. We're already in trouble."

"Is that lemon you're squeezing on your eggs?" Rona asked, ignoring his ignoring us.

Without turning he nodded and grunted something indecipherable.

"I've never seen that before."

I mouthed to Rona to "Cool it."

But she persisted, "I never tried that. I love lemon and maybe I'd also like it on eggs."

"Very Grek," he said with a thick accent, squeezing another half lemon all over everything on his plate.

"Grek?" Rona said.

"Grek," he turned fully in our direction, "Grek, Greek. Dot's me. Grek."

"The lemon is very Mediterranean," Rona smiled at him.

At that, with effort, he lifted himself off the stool and lumbered in our direction, hunched over with his arms dangling at his side.

"Lemon we have with everything in Grek." His accent thickened as he neared us.

I was beginning to feel nervous. We were the only customers. 8:30 is often a quiet time in diners that cater mainly to locals--late for those headed to work, too early for older folks, and too off the tourist route for travelers. Usually, exactly our favorite kind of place.

But at the 2040 I was beginning to feel threatened. The two waitresses, who looked as if they had worked there for decades, watched, smiling, which partially reassured me.

"You Brooklyn?" he asked.

"What?" I finally joined in, thinking that might ease the situation. He stood pressing his huge stomach against our table, still with his arms dangling and swinging simian-like.

"Brooklyn? From dare?"

"Yes," Rona chirped, the caffeine in her tea taking hold. "Both of us." She included me in her sweeping gesture.

He glared at me and pointed, laboriously hoisting one of his thick arms. "Him too?"

"Yes, he and me. We were both born there. Are you also from Brooklyn?"

"Grek," he said.

"So how did you know we--"

"Sound just like your mayor. Bloom. Both you and him." He dismissed me with a wave of his massive hand.

"Bloomberg," I said, taking a chance by correcting him.

"No gut."

"He's not our mayor anymore," Rona informed him. "As of January 1st we have a new one. De Blasio."

"De who?"

"Bill De Blasio."

"What kind of name dat?"

"I'm not sure," Rona said. "Maybe Italian?" I nodded.

"Where does he stand on guns?" His accent miraculously gone. "Not like Bloomberg I hope."

"I assume--" I cut myself off, stunned by the change in the way he spoke and not clear where this might be headed.

"He doesn't understand us." What happened to all the Grek business, I wondered. He sounded like someone more from Virginia than Athens.

"In what way?" Rona asked, eating away at her eggs and grits as if not noticing. I was feeling substantially relieved and took to enjoying the wonderful country ham.

"He should come here and talk to people. Real people. Then he would see."

"I think he's not--"

"He is," he corrected me before I could finish.

"Is what?" I was feeling bolder with him backed off from us. But I was still thinking about his disappearing accent.

"Take my son, for example," the taller of the two waitresses said.

"Your son?" Rona said.

"Yes. He has a gun. Most of his friends do."

"I assume," I stammered, "To me it depends on how old he is. I mean from my perspective. But what do I know about these things. I'm just like Bloomberg. From New York. The city. Brooklyn."

"Exactly," she said, having wandered over to us.

"I mean, if I may ask, how old is he? You don't have to tell me, of course."

"I know that." She smiled a bit condescendingly in my direction. I deserved that, I acknowledged. "If you must know, he's eight."

"Eight?" Rona could not hide her surprise. 

"I know what you're thinking but you don't know my boy. Or his grandfather."

"Who is?" Rona ventured.

"He works for Homeland Security."

"Really? What does he--"

"He teaches marksmanship. Trains their best people to become snipers."

"Really? That's amazing," I said.

"To tell you--"

She interrupted Rona. "I think I know what you're thinking. That this is a terrible thing to do and--"

"Not really. I mean I know--"

"That in the real world," she completed Rona's thought, "as awful as it is, it's necessary. Don't you think? I don't need to spell out all the situations where we need them. Snipers. There's no other way to describe them. That's what they do. So we should call them what they are. And are proud to be. To help keep us safe. You remember those Somali pirates?" We both nodded. "Well, my father teaches Navy Seals too."

There was no need to say more. "His grandfather taught him, my son, all about guns. Starting at six."

"Not to--"

"No not to become a sniper," she and Rona laughed together. "But how to handle and respect them. Guns."

"To tell you the truth," Rona said. "This is not something or a world that I know anything about. I guess I'm OK with people having guns. I mean--"

"Among other things, it's in the Constitution," the owner rejoined the discussion. "The Second Amendment says--"

"We coud debate that all day," I said, "The history and meaning of it."

"You mean about the 'well regulated militia' part?" He said, now directly to me.

"That and other things," I said. "But at the moment I'm just enjoying your eggs and wonderful ham. Every year when we're here I can't wait to have some."

"Let's just agree," he offered,  "that things are often more complicated than they seem."

I couldn't disagree about that.

"Like, for example," the waitress said, "how few people from where you're from could learn from my father how to defend us."

"Fair enough," Rona said, "But there are many ways to do that. Not everyone has to . . . . There are other things that need to be done. And people from Brooklyn and other places are helping as well. In their own ways. About things they know how to do."

"One thing, for sure we all agree about," he said, "is that there are some bad guys out there and we have to figure out ways to keep people safe. There are probably other things we could agree about. Like privacy, for example. On the other hand," he caught himself, "considering where you're from, maybe not."

"It might surprise you," I said, finishing my ham, "but for a New York liberal I'm no so liberal about privacy and some of the things the N.S.A. does."

"And it might surprise you that I voted for Obama. Twice. And she did to,"he pointed toward the waitress who was refilling the coffee pot.

"Just once," she winked. "The second time, I didn't vote at all. A plague on all their houses," she said.

"While I'm holding this can I heat up your cup?"

"I'd love some," I said.