Garrison Keillor makes his point, and does it with grace and good
humor. Nonetheless, as human a being as Hillary Clinton is, as
opposed to the She Devil her opponents paint her to be, she is no
friend of the Working Class. We do not need to vilify her to
understand that once in office, she will continue forward with the
direction set by Bill Clinton, George Bush, and Barak Obama.
Carl Jarvis
On 9/16/16, Miriam Vieni <miriamvieni@xxxxxxxxxxxxx> wrote:
Keillor writes: "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 and jibber-jabber that Clinton has."
Democratic presidential candidate Hillary Clinton waves after leaving
daughter Chelsea Clinton's Manhattan apartment on Sunday, September 11,
2016. (photo: AP)
Hillary Clinton's Concrete Shoes
By Garrison Keillor, The Washington Post
15 September 16
Garrison Keillor is an author and radio personality.
I saw Hillary Clinton 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 articles, that her
determination to keep going reveals a "lack of transparency" - that she
should have 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 years ago I did sit next to her at dinner, one of those
Washington black-tie occasions that are 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 Harry 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 then-House 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 30s, when other people were making a
difference
in the world.
Clinton 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 and jibber-jabber that Clinton has. She is a major-party nominee
who is being 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 I.T. The fact that terrorists
attacked a U.S. compound in Libya under cover of darkness 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 reinforcements.
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 45
years after Richard Nixon signed Title IX into law, a woman was required to
run for office wearing concrete shoes. Check back 45 years from now and if
I'm wrong, go ahead and dance on my grave.
Error! Hyperlink reference not valid. Error! Hyperlink reference not
valid.
Democratic presidential candidate Hillary Clinton waves after leaving
daughter Chelsea Clinton's Manhattan apartment on Sunday, September 11,
2016. (photo: AP)
https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/hillary-clintons-concrete-shoes/2016
/09/14/eb033ef8-7a90-11e6-ac8e-cf8e0dd91dc7_story.html?tid=sm_fb&utm_term=.7
d92dc499804https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/hillary-clintons-concrete
-shoes/2016/09/14/eb033ef8-7a90-11e6-ac8e-cf8e0dd91dc7_story.html?tid=sm_fb&
utm_term=.7d92dc499804
Hillary Clinton's Concrete Shoes
By Garrison Keillor, The Washington Post
15 September 16
Garrison Keillor is an author and radio personality.
saw Hillary Clinton 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 articles, that her
determination to keep going reveals a "lack of transparency" - that she
should have 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 years ago I did sit next to her at dinner, one of those
Washington black-tie occasions that are 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 Harry 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 then-House 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 30s, when other people were making a
difference
in the world.
Clinton 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 and jibber-jabber that Clinton has. She is a major-party nominee
who is being 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 I.T. The fact that terrorists
attacked a U.S. compound in Libya under cover of darkness 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 reinforcements.
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 45
years after Richard Nixon signed Title IX into law, a woman was required to
run for office wearing concrete shoes. Check back 45 years from now and if
I'm wrong, go ahead and dance on my grave.
http://e-max.it/posizionamento-siti-web/socialize
http://e-max.it/posizionamento-siti-web/socialize
