A general look at me...if you'd like.
I am Rightwinger; I am 37 years old…..I was born in Wheeling, West Virginia in 1967, in “the dawning of the Age of Aquarius”, and in the dusk of the “Summer of Love”. Come to think of it, that’s a little ironic since, in the immortal words of “South Park’s” Eric Cartman, “Hippies piss me off.”
My father was a Steelworker, my mother a housewife; yes, “stay-at-home-mothers”, back then, were still called “housewives”. This was only starting, then, to be looked down upon by the ultra-feminists of NOW and seen as something of an insult. A family could get by on one income then, too.
I spent my tragic childhood playing on rusty, sharp-edged metal or weathered, splintery wooden playground equipment that was covered with chipped paint and lacking padding of the pavement or ground underneath. I also played with a wide variety of toys, many of which today would have been considered horrendously unsafe. The plastic packages they came in, for example, were not then required to have labels that warned “this package is not a toy”. We…um…kind of knew that. Who cared about the package, anyway (unless it came in a big cardboard box, of course. That was cool)?
My friends and I, however, somehow survived all this peril----the homicidal playgrounds and the vicious toys (and packaging), without the strict regulation and legislation of more recent years.
Strange how neither we, nor our parents, ever realized just how closely we danced with death in our playtime until years later, when we were informed of such by risk management experts employed by insurance companies.
Way back then, of course, in those heady days of our deadly innocence and negligent naiveté, lawyers had not yet managed to twist every minute aspect of life into a risk, and subsequently a way to get rich quick. There were still such things as accidents, common sense and personal responsibility.
My conservative views were pretty much shaped by my family. I would sit at the table with them during holiday dinners and get-togethers, and listen as discussions and debates of politics and current events went around (I was the only kid my age there, and there was often no one to play with). Some of my relatives had some liberal views, but these views and their arguments always seemed to be squashed by the rightist perspectives of my more conservative family members. “Right” always seemed to “make right”.
My parents were both Republican, but my dad was something of an anomaly in that respect. As a steelworker, he was a very strong union man (president of his union local and shop steward at his plant, both for many years, and he did hold quite a few Leftist views. Yes, I realize that not all union members are leftist, but they do often swing that way. Thanks to his influence, I can sometimes see the merits of some left-wing views, but, alas, not a lot)…..many factories and companies in and around my hometown were unionized in the 60s and 70s thanks to him.
For this reason, I am tacitly in favor of unions, and have been a card-carrying member in the past. Some places I’ve worked desperately needed unionization, believe me. It would have been a good thing in these cases.
I have experienced as well, however, the damage unions cause…the divisiveness, the frequent inaction on grievances by poor or biased stewards or despite payment of dues, the way they protect even (or mainly) the slackers and drunks/druggies, etc.
My dad voted for Reagan, and felt somewhat betrayed by Reagan’s busting of the unions, but, looking back on his life before he died (in 2002, of cancer), he came to realize that the unions, at least in our area, “killed themselves”, in his words. They became too greedy and powerful, and in some cases, too corrupt. This caused backlash from the industries they worked within, and often disillusionment from their membership.
One thing that I always found odd, and in later years amusing, was the fact that my dad’s union meetings often coincided with the frequent appearance of “Chesty” Morgan, a stripper with enormous breasts (hence the name), at the Dallas Pike Truck Stop outside Wheeling. I picture those “meetings” as being mainly readings of the minutes, a quick vote or two on some lightly or barely debated topic, then lights out.
Remember when TV shows and movies somehow got by without portraying graphic violence and partial nudity, not to mention without using profanity?
Perhaps the old shows were not as realistic as today’s, but they sure were easier on the eyes. And ears.
I well remember when we finally got cable, in the mid-to-late ‘70s. It consisted of ten channels….ten! So many choices!
Two NBC stations, one local, one in Pittsburgh, PA; two ABC, one in Pittsburgh, one out of Youngstown, OH; two CBS stations, one out of Pittsburgh, one in Steubenville, OH; one independent station out of Pittsburgh, two PBS, one out of Pittsburgh and one out of Morgantown, WV. The last channel was the all-text-news-over-radio-music cable access channel, WACO (Wheeling Antenna Co.), that sometimes ran pro wrestling matches (Chief Jay Strongbow, Ted DiBiase and George “The Animal” Steele were some of my favorites) from the Civic Center, high school ballgames and the weekly City Council meetings. So much to watch!
At 37, I’m old enough to remember the alarmist pot-banging and whistle-blowing of the Environmental Left in the early1970s, on the subject of global cooling and the burgeoning environmental disasters caused by man’s pollution of the air and water. It was said that pollutants in the atmosphere were blocking sunlight, which would soon cause the Earth to cool. This would then, in turn, cause massive crop failures, leading to worldwide famine, as well as enormous fish kills and extinctions as the oceans cooled. This cooling, it was said, would also eventually spark the onset of a new ice age. None of this happened, of course.
It was also said that industrial pollutants and runoff in the water were soon going to cause terrible chemical reactions, and that within 20 years, our rivers, lakes and streams would be seething, boiling cauldrons of chemical waste. There would be no more fresh water. It was too late, they cried; there was no going back….it was coming and there was nothing we could do. None of this happened, of course.
Also, I might add that “within 20 years” would have been the early 1990s, putting all this roughly 15 years behind schedule.
There was a lake in Maine, I think it was (it’s been several years since I read this story in Reader’s Digest, so a few of the details escape me, I admit, but the overall gist of the tale it still there), that was poisoned by acid which the EPA said was acidic runoff coming from a mine, I believe it was, or maybe a quarry, ….the offender was subsequently shut down and fined (20 years after the shutdown, in the late 90s, a university study found that the lake was even worse, which should not have been, given the action taken by the EPA. After further examination, they found that the high acid content was coming from decades of pine needles dropping into the water and silting to the bottom, where they slowly disintegrated, releasing their acids and poisoning the water. The lake was in a pine forest, and was surrounded by pine trees.
A natural problem caused by nature; dredging the lake could have solved the problem and saved the jobs of those at the facility. I have no idea if the mine/quarry was ever allowed to reopen. I doubt it).
For these reasons, I have come to disregard the alarmist pot-banging and whistle-blowing of the new Enviro-Left and their hand-wringing about global warming, in which those same pollutants which once were blocking sunlight and causing the Earth to cool are now trapping it, causing the earth to heat up. Anything to yell “crisis!”, I suppose
I well remember the year 1976, a milestone year in the history of the US, as in that year we celebrated our Bicentennial.
The celebration started in January, with American history being strongly featured in schools and in the media, and culminated on July 4th with a huge, nationwide birthday party. In every city, enormous fireworks displays, parades and patriotic speeches by honored political leaders of the time all came together to honor the day’s celebrated occasion.
The sad problem was that the time of this celebration coincided with two major political events that rocked the foundations of our country, and caused us to question our place in the world and as a people.
With the residue of the Watergate scandal and Nixon’s ultimate resignation in ’74, and the final loss of the war in Vietnam in ’75 still clinging to the nation’s consciousness, the Bicentennial in ’76, with its national back-patting and self-congratulation, was somewhat anti-climactic and seemed a little ridiculous to some. We were very shaken in our faith in ourselves, and in our country, and many felt we had lost direction (I mean, for crying out loud…just look at the fashions back then; talk about losing direction!).
Another sad political event, of that particular year, would do little to nothing to help soothe the worries and self-doubt: the election of Jimmy Carter.
Though I don’t remember the speech myself, of course, I have seen replays it and have read the text of it. I’m referring to the infamous “Malaise” speech, in which Carter fairly well berated the American people, in the midst of an energy (and not to mention identity) crisis, for not being happy. He droned on and on, offering no solutions and closed with the words “and whenever possible, say something nice about America.” The “answer man” if ever there was one.
Some people like to say that the national “identity crisis” of the 70s is largely a myth. I remember the mood of the times, however; it was cynical, it was pessimistic, it was unhappy, and it was at last relieved in November of 1980 by the Carter-crushing landslide election of one Ronald Reagan.
Reagan, charismatic, optimistic and energetic, revitalized the American people and made us feel good about ourselves again. He made it okay to once more proudly say “I’m an American.” To this day, the Left hates him for it.
I remember the 444 days, counted every day on the evening news, of the Iran Hostage Crisis of 1979. Islamic Fundamentalists in Iran took over the American embassy, took hostages and held them until January of 1981, when, as Reagan was being sworn in, the hostages were released and sent home. Some say this was a flip of the middle finger to Carter; think what you want, think me naïve, if that’s what you believe…..but I’ve always felt, in my heart, that it was the unknown quantity of this new, more certain and perhaps more belligerent president that convinced the Iranians to release our hostages at last.
I was a Reagan supporter even before I was old enough to vote. When I was in 8th grade, the Ohio County School system held a mock election in the upper grades, 7-12. I voted for Reagan (to the derision of some of my friends), who ended up carrying the school, and in fact the district.
In the fall of 1984, my senior year in High School, I wore my huge Reagan/Bush pin on the pocket flap of my ultra-cool Levi’s jean jacket (sleeves pulled up to the elbows, collar flipped stylishly up, of course). It was there alongside pins for such favorite rock groups as Van Halen, Huey Lewis and the News, AC/DC and Asia. I still have those pins somewhere.
Also in 1984, on my 17th, birthday, my dad went with me to the Army recruiting office, where he signed for me to enlist. I took a year’s delayed enlistment, to finish high school, and left on August 2nd, 1985, for the US Army Recruitment Depot at Fort Jackson, SC. After three weeks there, I was sent home holding a medical discharge, the result of seizures suffered while in basic.
I was depressed for some time after this. The one time in my life that I knew, clearly, what I wanted to do with my life, be a soldier, it was denied to me. Why? Who knows? My grandmother, always the strong Christian, told me that God had other plans for me. Well, God, it’s been 20 years….what’s the plan? I’ve sat out two wars now in which I would gladly, happily, have served my country. My best friend was a Marine who served in Desert Shield/Storm. I could have been there with him, sharing the experiences….to a point, at least (different branches).
My dad, always the joker, told me when I got home that I could always join the Salvation Army. Har Har. Thanks, dad.
Patriotism has always been a big part of my character. One of my most prized awards from my school days is a plaque I received from the American Legion for a letter I wrote to the editor of our local paper. It’s hanging right here by the desk, in fact. A little dusty, and a little nicked up after 20 years, but still here.
I’ve always had a soft spot in my patriotic heart for active-duty service people and veterans. This came to head, you might say, in my senior year, when I founded a project to erect a Vietnam veteran’s memorial in the Community Park in my hometown. I got together with the local chapter of Veterans of the Vietnam War, and, working with them on various projects over about a year (though I left for a few weeks in August of 1985, for Basic), raised over six thousand dollars.
We found a local monument company, which offered to give us the granite monument, and to do the work for us of course, at cost. They liked the idea of doing something other than headstones for a change, I guess.
At any rate, the memorial was dedicated in a ceremony on Memorial Day 1986, and was attended by somewhere around 600 people, at least 350 more than we’d planned (and had set out chairs) for. It was SRO, to the delight of the attending veterans, who had expected to be among the only ones there and were touched by the outpouring of support.
My public speaking skills are atrocious; I suffer from stage fright, and as I rose to make my “speech”, I predictably froze in front of this huge crowd of strange faces. To this day, I am mortified when reminded of it. They all understood, though (I hope).
The one thing that has always stood out for me about the ceremony is the wind……very windy that day, and all during the ceremony the flag above the monument was popping and snapping in the breeze, almost standing erect from its pole. The Master of Ceremonies (Commander of the VVW chapter) stopped several times to look up at the flag, to indicate his annoyance that it was drowning him out.
When the Marine Corps color guard came down the aisle to stand in front of the memorial, for the gun salute and playing of taps, however, the wind stopped completely. The flag drooped to rest against the pole for the whole time, only stirring again as the Marines marched back up the aisle.
It seemed, and not just to me, as though even the wind was paying honor to the memory of the 28 KIAs listed on the dedication plaque. That memory still gives me chills, even after all these years.
Okay.
This is far enough. I’m tired.
I work, I have a family, I have hobbies…..there you go.
Now, I don’t expect anyone to really have read this completely. If you have, thanks for taking the time. I hope you enjoyed this rather generalized, disjointed and long-winded look at my biography and the basis of some of my political views.
I am Rightwinger. Good day.