Garrison Keillor on Hillary Clinton

This column by Garrison Keillor that I shared on Facebook back in 2016 is an excellent defense of Hillary Clinton and I'd like preserve it here. I have greatly admired Secretary Clinton for many years and have been enraged at the gross lies that some, including folks I otherwise admire, have spread about her.

by Garrison Keillor, September 13, 2016

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I saw Hillary once working a rope line for more than an hour, a Secret Service man holding her firmly by the hips as she leaned over the rope and reached into the mass of arms and hands reaching out to her. She had learned the art of encountering the crowd and making it look personal. It was not glamorous work, more like picking fruit, and it took the sort of discipline your mother instills in you: those people waited to see you so by gosh you can treat them right.

So it’s no surprise she pushed herself to the point of collapse the other day. What’s odd is the perspective, expressed in several stories, that her determination to keep going reveals a “lack of transparency” ---- that she should’ve announced she had pneumonia and gone home and crawled into bed.

I’ve never gone fishing with her, which is how you really get to know someone, but I did sit next to her at dinner once, one of those stiff dinners that is nobody’s idea of a wild good time, the conversation tends to be stilted, everybody’s beat, you worry about spilling soup down your shirtfront. She being First Lady led the way and she being a Wellesley girl, the way led upward. We talked about my infant daughter and schools and about Justice Blackmun, and I said how inspiring it was to sit and watch the Court in session, and she laughed and said, “I don’t think it’d be a good idea for me to show up in a courtroom where a member of my family might be a defendant.” A succinct and witty retort. And she turned and bestowed her attention on Speaker Dennis Hastert, who was sitting to her right. She focused on him and even made him chuckle a few times. I was impressed by her smarts, even more by her discipline.

I don’t have that discipline. Most people don’t. Politics didn’t appeal to me back in my youth, the rhetoric (“Ask not what your country can do for you”) was so wooden compared to “so we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past,” so I walked dark rainy streets imagining the great novel I wouldn’t write and was still trying to be cool and indifferent well into my thirties, when other people were making a difference in the world.

Hillary didn’t have a prolonged adolescence and fiction was not her ambition. She doesn’t do dreaminess. What some people see as a relentless quest for power strikes me as the good habits of a serious Methodist. Be steady. Don’t give up. It’s not about you. Work for the night is coming.

The woman who does not conceal her own intelligence is a fine American tradition, going back to Anne Bradstreet and Harriet Beecher Stowe and my ancestor Prudence Crandall, but none has been subjected to the steady hectoring that Mrs. Clinton has. She is the first major-party nominee to be pictured in prison stripes by the opposition. She is the first cabinet officer ever to be held personally responsible for her own email server, something ordinarily delegated to anonymous nerds in I.T. The fact that terrorists attacked an American compound in Libya under cover of darkness when Secretary Clinton presumably got some sleep has been held against her, as if she personally was in command of the defense of the compound, a walkie-talkie in her hand, calling in air strikes.

Extremism has poked its head into the mainstream, aided by the Internet. Back in the day, you occasionally saw cranks on a street corner handing out mimeographed handbills arguing that FDR was responsible for Pearl Harbor, but you saw their bad haircuts, the bitterness in their eyes, and you turned away. Now they’re in your computer, whispering that the economy is on the verge of collapse and for a few bucks they’ll tell you how to protect your savings. But lacking clear evidence, we proceed forward. We don’t operate on the basis of lurid conjecture.

Someday historians will get this right and look back at the steady pitter-pat of scandals that turned out to be nothing, nada, zero and ixnay and will conclude that, almost a century after women’s suffrage, almost 50 years after Richard Nixon signed Title IX into law, a woman was required to run for office wearing concrete shoes. Check back fifty years from now and if I’m wrong, go ahead and dance on my grave.

Garrison Keillor on Easter and the Con Man

 From Garrison Kiellor's Facebook:

Church was packed on Easter morning, brass players up in the choir loft, ladies with big hats, girls in spring dresses, and when the choir and clergy processed up the aisle, the woman swinging the censer looked like a drum major leading the team to victory, which is what Easter is about, the triumph over death. Resurrection is not something we Christians talk about in the same way we talk about our plans for summer vacation or retirement, but it is proclaimed on Easter and the hymns are quite confident (with added brass) and the rector seemed to believe in it herself and so an old writer sitting halfway back and surrounded by good singers has to think along those lines. It’s right there in the Nicene Creed and in Luke’s Gospel — the women come to the tomb and find the stone rolled away and the mysterious strangers say, “Why seek ye the living among the dead?”

And then, on my way back from Communion, the choir struck up a hymn, “I am the bread of life,” with a rocking chorus, “And I will raise them up. And I will raise them up. And I will raise them up on the last day.” As the congregation sang, a few people stood and some raised their hands in the air, a charismatic touch unusual among Anglicans, and then more people stood. I stood. I raised my right hand. I imagined my long-gone parents and brother and grandson and aunts and uncles rising from the dead and coming into radiant glory, and then I was weeping and my mouth got rubbery and I couldn’t form the consonants. I stayed for the benediction, slipped out a side door onto Amsterdam Avenue, and headed home.

That’s what I go to church for, to be surprised by faith and to fall apart. Without the Resurrection, Episcopalians would be just a wonderful club of very nice people with excellent taste in music and literature, but when it hits you what you’ve actually subscribed to, it blows the top of your head off.

This was a good thing after a few days of redactions, acts of collusion and obstruction, corruption in high places, and the president saying, in a bad moment, “Oh, my God. This is terrible. This is the end of my presidency. I am flunked.” Or something along those lines. The New York Times, despite being a family newspaper, decided that the Leader of the Free World deserves accurate quotation, and so printed what he said without dashes, and it was jarring to see it, over and over, except I felt that we were more flunked than he was.

Watergate was a minor traffic accident compared to this, but onward he goes with the full support of his party, and when you consider the likelihood of his re-election and what this would mean for the future of the planet Earth, as global warming continues unacknowledged for four more years and the Supreme Court is owned by originalists who will take us back to plantation days and a dozen countries decide they need nuclear arsenals of their own, it is a good time to go to church and renew your faith in a Higher Power who will not allow His Creation to be corrupted by ignorance, cruelty, and evil.

The good people of Lake Wobegon voted for Mr. Trump, just like the residents of River City bought musical instruments from Professor Harold Hill to keep their boys out of the pool hall, but if their man’s secrets are revealed, they might have to think twice. He’s a New Yorker who made his way up with mob connections, hung out with showgirls, was chintzy with charitable giving, and flaunted himself as Midwesterners were taught not to do. After 9/11, he boasted that his building at 40 Wall Street was now the tallest in Manhattan, this while smoke was still rising from the ruins of the World Trade Center.

But they are still backing him. My cousin, a good and intelligent man, texted me that the Mueller report was an attempted coup d’état by Hillary Clinton and top officials of the FBI. If the president declared a national emergency and called out troops to take over the Times and the Post and MSNBC and CNN, I imagine my cousin would go along with it.

So I stood weeping, singing, hand in the air, at the thought of being raised up. I’m 76. I simply cannot believe that this con man is the end of the story. I refuse to accept that.

Gleaning Facebook: Vandalism

"When you wage war on the public schools, you're attacking the mortar that holds the community together. You're not a conservative, you're a vandal."

Garrison Keillor, Homegrown Democrat: A Few Plain Thoughts from the Heart of America

This book is well over a decade old but still very appropriate to the current situation. I listened to the audiobook as I peered down from 38,000 feet at my land and yours from shining deserts to Blue Ridge forests. 

Laurie Craw
In small towns and rural areas, the public school IS the community.

Glenda Almand
Hope the Gov. Leaves things alone. Is he for privitizing?

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The above is from my Facebook on this date in 2017. Today (February 20, 2023) I want to add the following:

I spent my career -- 33 years -- in public education, and 12 years as a public school student. My college is a private school, but after my four years of undergraduate work I studied  for my master's degree at a public university.

So, thank you America, your taxes paid for 14 years of my education.

AND since 1969 you have paid for my food, entertainment, lodging, hobbies, travel, charitable contributions to church and environmental and political causes. Even in retirement you a paying me a little for doing work I love spreading the word about Georgia's environmental diversity to people in this corner of our state. And most of the rest of my current income comes from the Teacher's Retirement System and Social Security. 

Some would say that I have lived on the public dole most of may life. Of course I believe I've earned every cent and that the Georgia and American public are better off for my service. I certainly hope so; that has been my goal.

Some members of the so-called Republican Party --- Rick Scott, Mitch McConnell, Mike Lee, Ron Johnson, Marco Rubio, and many more --- have called for changing retirement ages, privatizing, or otherwise reducing "entitlements". Still the ignorant and childish woman who pretends to represent us in Congress screamed insults at our President during the State of The Union address for acknowledging that. These same folks, in general, have done all they can to weaken public education. They call things like Social Security, Medicare, and public education "socialism". 

Here are some basic tenets of my politics:

• We the People ARE the government.
• We the People (as our government) have six corporate aims
1. constantly perfecting the republic
2. justice for all
3. peace and safety at home
4. peace and safety abroad
5. common welfare
6. liberty for all now and always
• Maximum liberty is almost always in the middle

• unfettered socialism becomes tyranny
• unfettered capitalism becomes tyranny
• entrepreneurship and a free market should be encouraged but monopolies and businesses "too big to fail" must be broken up
• some things should ONLY be run by We the People and NEVER subject to the profit motive, ex. health care and law enforcement/prisons
• Every citizen should accept responsibility for staying informed, filtering out demagoguery, taking an active part in the republic; a republic without an engaged citizenry will not survive.
• We the People should choose our leaders rather than the reverse. Therefore outlaw Gerrymandering nationwide.
• Non-republican elements of the Constitution should be reformed, therefore the Electoral College and the Senate should be, at least, modified to be more republican. 
• Reform the current minority veto on legislation (filibuster) in the Senate; at the very least return to the speaking filibuster. 
• Ranked choice voting / instant runoff systems help avoid demagogues getting elected when the majority oppose them.

Gleaning Facebook: Garrison Keillor on Methodists

Gleaned from a friend's Facebook this bit by Garrison Keillor about us Methodists:

We make fun of Methodists for their blandness, their excessive calm, their fear of giving offense, their lack of speed, and also for their secret fondness for macaroni and cheese.

But nobody sings like them. If you were to ask an audience in New York City a relatively Methodist-less place, to sing along on the chorus of "Michael Row the Boat Ashore," they will look daggers at you as if you had asked them to strip to their underwear. But if you do this among Methodists, they'd smile and row that boat ashore and up on the beach! And down the road!

Many Methodists are bred from childhood to sing in four-part harmony, a talent that comes from sitting on the lap of someone singing alto or tenor or bass and hearing the harmonic intervals by putting your little head against that person's rib cage.

It's natural for Methodists to sing in harmony. We are too modest to be soloists, too worldly to sing in unison. When you're singing in the key of C and you slide into the A7th and D7th chords, all two hundred of you, it’s an emotionally fulfilling moment. By our joining in harmony, we somehow promise that we will not forsake each other.

I do believe this: People, these Methodists, who love to sing in four-part harmony are the sort of people you can call up when you're in deep distress.

•If you're dying, they will comfort you.

•If you are lonely, they'll talk to you.

•And if you are hungry, they'll give you tuna salad.

•Methodists believe in prayer, but would practically die if asked to pray out loud.

•Methodists like to sing, except when confronted with a new hymn or a hymn with more than four stanzas.

•Methodists believe their pastors will visit them in the hospital, even if they don't notify them that they are there.

•Methodists usually follow the official liturgy and will feel it is their way of suffering for their sins.

•Methodists believe in miracles and even expect miracles, especially during their stewardship visitation programs or when passing the plate.

•Methodists think that the Bible forbids them from crossing the aisle while passing the peace.

•Methodists drink coffee as if it were the Third Sacrament.

•Methodists feel guilty for not staying to clean up after their own wedding reception in the Fellowship Hall.

•Methodists are willing to pay up to one dollar for a meal at the church.

•Methodists still serve Jell-O in the proper liturgical color of the season and think that peas in a tuna casserole add too much color.

•Methodists believe that it is OK to poke fun at themselves and never take themselves too seriously.

And finally, you know you are a Methodist when: it's 100 degrees, with 90% humidity, and you still have coffee after the service. You hear something funny during the sermon and smile as loudly as you can. Donuts are a line item in the church budget, just like coffee. When you watch a Star Wars movie and they say, "May the Force be with you,” and you respond, "And also with you."

And lastly, it takes ten minutes to say good-bye! Most Sunday's much longer

Copied from David Bevel Jones FB status.

My New Friend

My New Friend, Russ Ringsak

Russ Ringsak is the truck driver for the Prairie Home Companion radio show. He hauls the famous prairie homeplace set from one end of the country to another and back home to Minnesota. He is also an entertaining writer and maintains a blog on the Prairie Home website. Garrison Keillor counts on Russ to do a good bit of research for him in towns they visit. He also performs triage duties on the many messages passed along to Garrison from audience members. He chooses the most critically entertaining and rushes them over to Garrison.

I happened onto Russ's blog over a month ago and wrote about it then. You may remember that Russ treated me to a pair of free tickets to the show in Columbus. What a hoot! It was a great show, we had great seats, and afterwards we got to attend the big shot reception and rub elbows with sound effects guru Fred Newman and his LaGrange relatives. After hunting around a bit we found Russ out at his beautiful red truck. We gave him a hastily gathered poke of goodies from Piggly Wiggly -- Vidalia onions, some Stiver's Best Corn Meal from right here in Rome GA, some Moon Pies, and such. And we talked for a few minutes.

If you'll listen to the entire segment 4 of the show you'll hear some folks explaining the second person plural pronoun -- with which Yankees have difficulty. I like to think maybe my letter to Russ influenced that segment.

Now Russ has written another blog post and mentions his new friend, Terrell Shaw. I am flattered.

Thanks for everything, Russ!

Y'all Come!

Garrison Keillor is bringing his radio show, A Prarie Home Companion, to Columbus, Georgia for a live broadcast. I get a big kick out of the PHC show. Guy Noir, Lake Wobegon, Powdermilk Biscuits, good music, jokes... While visiting the PHC website I happened onto Russ Ringsak's column, Gruntled. Here's a little of what he wrote:

April 20, 2007
Gruntled

For what it's worth, I've been told that "y'all" is singular. The plural is "all y'all." We're going to Columbus, Georgia, next week, and I understand that for travelers it's good form to try to speak, if even in just a few small snippets, the native language. I'm looking forward to it. Hoping to pick up a few more words.

As many of you know, that set me off. The misuse of "y'all" drives me up the wall! So I had to write Russ:

Dear Russ,

I'm right glad y'all are coming to Columbus. If I was as rich as those fellows you talked about I'd pay the $120 bucks for a pair of tickets (and the tank of gas it'd take to get to Columbus and back) to see y'all. I have enjoyed hearing the show for many years, and I guess that's how I'll keep on perceiving it. I did see the movie and got a kick out of it.

Now you may have noticed that I used the second person plural personal pronoun "y'all" a couple of times in that first paragraph. It's a useful word that I learned on my Mama's knee 60 years ago.

When I was about eight or nine my granddaddy, a barber who liked to own the latest gadgets, bought himself a brand new TV, and he gave his old one to my daddy and our world changed a lot. I got to hear folks who talked different from my folks. Not different like the big house folks in town, or the poor folks on the farm, but seriously different. People from Brooklyn and Minneapolis and other exotic places. I noticed that a lot of those people don't know the second person plural personal pronoun at all.

The TV showed lots of old movies and lots of old movies are set in the south, but I guess very few old movie actors were from the south. The actors who played southerners would put on such gosh-awful imitations of southern accents that it would make your skin crawl. They seemed to think that if you'd just throw in a whole lot of double negatives, honey-chiles, and y'alls, you'd conquer the dialect. Their worst crime -- like fingernails down a blackboard -- was the use of the second person plural personal pronoun in place of second person singular personal pronoun. That's just plain stupid. No self-respecting, reasonably intelligent Southern person would do that.

It is true that occasionally a person might use the term "all y'all" much as we might in informal speech use a double negative - for emphasis.

Look back at the first paragraph. Being a Yankee, you might have thought when I said I was glad y'all are coming that I was only glad that you are coming to Columbus. Now you know I'm glad that you and Garrison and Tom and Tim and Mr. Noir and that barking boy and any-hitchhikers-you-pick-up-along-the-way are coming. It's good for business and will give some entertainment to all the folks rich enough to attend and all the rest of us listening on the radio.

So, what I'm trying to tell you is, no matter what fool thing you've heard about the term "y'all", it is, exclusively, the second person plural personal pronoun. The boy that barks will tell you. He's from Georgia. Of course he's one that will mess with you it you don't watch out.

I hope y'all have a ball down here! Eat some barbecue but don't let somebody pawn off beef or chicken on you. Barbecue is pig. If you eat some grits for breakfast, do it right for mercy's sake. Ask somebody else. I don't want to have to get into that subject, too.

Say hi to Garrison for me.

Yours very truly,

Terrell* Shaw

* Nowadays some folks are bad about screwing up my first name by putting the emphasis on the second syllable [TuhRELLE]. Don't do it! The accent is on the first syllable: "TEHrul". Lord, I didn't know this note was going to get so complicated.

Well, I hope I was some help to the old boy.

Late Bulletin:
Ol' Russ found my missive so helpful that he responded by offering me, pending availability, two of his comp tickets to the show! Brannon is singing at a friend's wedding that night, but I'll just have to go hear her sing (and hug the bride) at the rehearsal-- I don't want to miss free tickets to A Prairie Home Companion! I swanie! All y'all Yankees have moved up a mite in my estimation. I am no longer disgruntled, but as pleasantly gruntled as a freshly slopped hog!

PTSW : About the woodlands I will go...

The beautiful blossoms of the Pocket Trail (see below)
remind me of this favorite poem. The cultivated cherries are resplendant right now (as above). The native cherries will break out cheering a little later. I ran Housman's little declaration in a post a year ago, but it won't hurt you to see it again!

Loveliest of Trees

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now, of my three score years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.

-A.E. Housman

For all the old geezers visiting The Limb I'll append the updated version by Margaret Haskins Durber, the poet laureate of Lake Wobegon. Garrison Keillor included it in comments on his column in October 2005.

Loveliest of Trees, Now

Loveliest of trees, the maple now
Is turning yellow on the bough.
It stands among the trees of green,
All dressed up for Halloween.

Now of my three score years and ten,
Sixty-three won't come again.
Subtract from seventy, sixty-three,
It scares the daylights out of me.

And since to look at things sublime,
Seven years is not much time.
It’s rather sobering for a fellow
To see the maples turning yellow.

-Margaret Haskins Durber

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The series of posts, A Poem to Start the Week, is my little anthology of poetry, most of which I have used with my students in elementary schools during 27 years of teaching.

Previous Poems to Start the Week:
Flax-Golden Tales
The Dinosaurs Are Not All Dead
Owl Pellets
Mummy Slept Late
Just My Size
The Kindest Things I Know
Miles to Go
Love that Brother
Oh, Frabjous Day!

Other Posts about Children's Literature:

The Lion's Paw top kid's OOP book!
Harry
Aslan is Dead!
Multiplying People, Rice, and Readers
A Teacher's Life

You can read some of my own efforts at poetry here.

A weblog dedicated to Poetry for Children.
Watch Sonja Cole's reviews of children's books at Bookwink.com.