The Pilgrimage, Part II

Bob Dylan's sweet and ancient voiced warbled through the speakers, as drove up Route 9 the morning after his concert in centerfield at the home of the Hudson Valley Renegades. The new record was in heavy rotation, and I hummed along to the instant classic Workingman's Blues No. 2:

There's an evenin' haze settlin' over town
Starlight by the edge of the creek
The buyin' power of the proletariat's gone down
Money's gettin' shallow and weak
Well, the place I love best is a sweet memory
It's a new path that we trod
They say low wages are a reality
If we want to compete abroad

Up past the colleges, past the old mills and rundown row-houses, past the closed insane asylum, higher into the Valley. Then we turned left through the gates of a grand, old estate, leaving the the strip malls and and the multiplexes behind. Part two of the late summer pilgrimage, a little inspirational trip to meet two great men - one very much alive and kicking (and debuting his album at No. 1 on the charts for the first time in three decades) and other dead these last 60 years.

Bronze Star, originally uploaded by Tom Watson.

Yet the spirit of FDR still animates Hyde Park. You feel his presence - and Eleanor Roosevelt's - in the old house, in the library, along the tree-lined drive, and in the study of his Presidential Library - the first of its ilk and the only one to actually be used by a sitting President. The greatest President since Lincoln, the greatest man to serve in that high office in the lifetimes of anyone you or I have ever known, still matters very much. He created our modern nation - robust in its outward vision, and compassionate in its inward view.

And he inspired my children. As I intended.

Let's be honest: compared to the current vintage, Roosevelt seems like a golden, exalted king. Devious and brilliant, ambitious and vindictive, charming and wise. And big, much bigger even in a body shriveled by polio. "He was real, Dad," said my daughter. As in a real leader, a real visionary, a real war-time President.

Lete's be even more honest: I wanted them to know the difference, to see the contrast. And I didn't hesitate to point it out, either. Especially in the Library, which is now a museum. As we walked through the halls and paused to look at the exhibits - the leg braces, the political pins, the original hand-written draft of the "Fear Itself" inaugural address - I thought about what the curators of this President's someday library will highlight.

The flight suit. The Mission Accomplished banner. The terror warnings.The National Intelligence Estimate he never bothered to read before committing the nation to a losing war of adventure. A marble engraving of the Sixteen Words. The guitar he strummed while New Orleans sank. A lifesized waxen Brownie. The shredded Geneva Conventions. A chainsaw.

Oh, the bullhorn is in storage no doubt, or has been bronzed. The great shining moment on the pile of New York rubble - I'm sure it will gleam under spotlights as you walk through the doors in Crawford. But it represents failure, the dead opposite of the hand-lettered Day of Infamy Pearl Harbor Speech you'll find in Hyde Park.

FDR was no perfect man, nor a perfect President. But he was both a great man and a great President. I hope my children see his like in their lifetimes. The challenges are certainly there. The ideals that Roosevelt believed in are still there. Is the will?

To feed the will, drive up Route 9. turn left at the Hyde Park Motel, and get little FDR fix. And remember that this country can still do great things.

Comments

[Jonothan Cullinane]

Hey Tom

The 'bullhorn moment' drives me nuts. Has anyone ever actually spoken to the guy on the pile who supposedly called out 'we can't hear you!'?

Think about it. What are the odds, even in New York, that at that solemn moment in that solemn place, someone would have yelled out something so rude and banal?

Then what are the odds that George Bush could have picked up a bullhorn and yelled out a response - without getting blasted by feedback?

THEN, what are the odds that George Bush, of all people, could have given such an eloquent reply OFF THE CUFF?

It was a damn set-up, The 'we can't hear you' guy was a plant.

Given the disastrous impact of 'the bullhorn moment', it should be investigated. Your thoughts?

[Jonothan Cullinane]

Hey Tom

The 'bullhorn moment' drives me nuts. Has anyone ever actually spoken to the guy on the pile who supposedly called out 'we can't hear you!'?

Think about it. What are the odds, even in New York, that at that solemn moment in that solemn place, someone would have yelled out something so rude and banal?

Then what are the odds that George Bush could have picked up a bullhorn and yelled out a response - without getting blasted by feedback?

THEN, what are the odds that George Bush, of all people, could have given such an eloquent reply OFF THE CUFF?

It was a damn set-up, The 'we can't hear you' guy was a plant.

Given the disastrous impact of 'the bullhorn moment', it should be investigated. Your thoughts?

[p.a.]

Somewhere out there is the person who will be the curator/house historian of the George W. Bush Presidential Library. What kind of person will want that job? What will be the payscale required to attract any but the lowest toady or Bush family retainer to the job? What kind of qualifications will the Bush family seek? Which institutions and towns will vie to be home to it?
Not the most important questions facing the nation, sure. But it will be fascinating to see them answered.