Let the pageant begin.
The dignitaries, Secretaries, and adversaries, enter, stage left.
The attendant lady and lord, Sergeant-in-waiting and Sergeant-at-arms, say the ceremonial to introduce the President of the United States (POTUS), who looks small and determined.
I check out his muscles, knowing he pumps iron. No gut on this dude. Under all that pressure, and he still has a flat stomach at the age of …
Photo-op alley. Two-fisted glad handing. The occasional Democrat, politic and cautious in his greeting. I think of the high Episcopal church service I saw, in which two acolytes carried the priest by his elbows down the center aisle, so it looked like he was floating. The president doesn’t float.
He appears on the high platform, handing his written text wrapped in brown envelopes even higher to the Vice President and Speaker of the House. Where do they put them? We don’t see that.
The Speaker speaks of “high privilege” and her demeanor is dignified. She says the right words without faltering, except I hear “high privilege and misdemeanors” and have to catch myself.
The President is gracious in acknowledging Nancy Pelosi’s ascension to her Office. Well done. An olive branch.
The speech begins. I hear a strong beginning: “This rite of custom brings us together at a defining hour” when decisions are hard and courage is tested.” I seem to remember his other SOTUs beginning: “I am happy to report that the state of our Union is strong.” Couldn’t get away with that this time.
And then the reading begins, which reminds me of Barbara Tuchman’s remark that the teleprompter will destroy our democracy because the people will never again see their leaders thinking on their feet. How many man-hours went into the crafting of this text? He’s wearing it like a flack jacket.
When Reagan went off script, said one of his advisors, it was like watching a two-year-old run around an empty swimming pool. POTUS has his floaties on. We can see immediately that he’s reading from two teleprompters.
I have a problem with this. When someone speaks his deep and careful thoughts, and chooses his words with concern for their impact, speech has considerable power to grip listeners–there’s something magnetic about a person with a high degree of intention. When words are spoken without the thought process chugging underneath them, they lack impact.
I think of Hamlet’s uncle, who tried to pray when he realized he was in trouble, and couldn’t. At that moment, he says, “My words fly up, my thoughts remain below. / Words without thoughts never to heaven go.”
It’s the difference between a pitcher who throws with his legs, and a pitcher who throws with his arm. When you get the legs into it, the ball stings when it hits the mit.
The speech was not easy to listen to. It never is, the SOTU. It’s a laundry list wedged between bromide bookends. And it’s read, not spoken. Very different.
Nancy and Dick are having trouble keeping their mouths arranged in stable and dignified positions. Nancy is thirsty. She had a nice lentil soup with too much salt just before her duties began. She’s working hard to generate some moisture in there. Could she be nervous? All she has to do is say, “Ladies and gentlemen, the POTUS” and then sit there for 40 minutes.
And Dick’s looking like it’s all a sham. “What fools these mortals be,” he says with the cock of his head and the scrunch of his lips. Then he takes a pill in the middle of the speech on national television. It looks like a big one–could it be an anti-depressant for a horse, or his second statin of the day that had to be taken at exactly 9:30? He seems to flip it around in his mouth for a while. Maybe it was a Flintstone chewable vitamin. Or maybe an Ativan, since Scooter is going on trial tomorrow and may spill the beans.
Uh-oh. POTUS mentions earmarks. The silence radiates from Washington into my living room in New Jersey. It feels like the silence created when my dog and I play hide and seek, and I hide in the closet, and he freezes to listen. The sound of someone trying to disappear.
Oh, by the way, Cheney takes the pill while POTUS speaks about health care. Did they plan for show and tell?
POTUS has modified his style. He’s quieter and without swagger. Maybe because he can’t set the domestic agenda and his foreign policy has been voted down by the people.
Kerry looking good–tall, handsome, really beautiful blue suit with a pale blue tie. Too European for his own good. Riding around on a $6000 road bike just about buried his chances to win the election. Who wants a Democrat to act French?
This speech reminds me of my grandmother’s charm bracelet, hung with miniature tokens of all her favorite things: gold dog (dachsund), gold skates (figure), gold Queen of Diamonds (gambling), binoculars (bird watching), shotgun (bird killing), frying pan (bird eating), and gold medallions with the names of all her grandchildren. Bacially, a chaotic hodge-podge. Like Churchill’s famous put down of a dessert he was served: “This pudding has no theme.”
Dikembe Mutumbo, son of the Congo, stands to receive the applause of the nation. He has a kind face. The little Asian lady standing to his right comes up to his waist. Is she there to make him look taller?
Wesley Autrey, the construction worker in NYC, raising two daughters, who saved a man’s life by jumping onto the subway tracks, rolling the guy between the rails, and lying on top of him while the train rolled over them and left only grease stains on Wesley’s baseball cap. He stands and blows kisses. Cheney chuckles.
And then Tommy Rieman, with a Silver Star won on the battlefield in Iraq, who took more bullets and shrapnel than I could comprehend. He stands and claps while the nation stands and claps for him. Makes sense I guess–mutual admiration.
And then it was over. I can’t remember how it ended–what he said. I just remember what he looked like. He’s got this mouth shaped like an upside down “U”. Like mine when I’m worried and determined.