HELENA, Montana
Dear Mr. Elected Republican,
I know you’re busy there in Washington D.C., but I’d like to
offer this little anecdote. It’s true it comes from Montana, with
only four electoral votes, but still, it’s an anecdote about acting
on principles and the positive, unexpected results thereof. It
might prove useful to you in the next election.
I live in Helena, the capital of Montana. It’s a small town in
big, empty state. I live a few blocks from the Capitol Building. My
mother-in-law lives next door to the Governor’s parents. And just
the other day my wife bumped into the Lieutenant Governor while
standing in line at Safeway and had a chat about the symphony
they’d both attended. The point is, everybody pretty much knows
everybody. Events occur, and everyone can see for themselves what’s
what. The media and polls and such don’t have much room to filter
or reinterpret our reality.
The other morning I took my 13-year-old daughter and a few of
her pals to the Helena Civic Center for the “Official Launch” of
the new Montana quarter. The place was packed with thousands of
schoolchildren and a dozen or so dignitaries. Luckily, we found a
few empty seats up in the balcony, in between a few hundred fourth
graders.
Though it interrupted their never-ending discussion of boys and
clothes, I was glad I brought them to a happy, apolitical civil
event. They listened to the high school bands and a Blackfeet folk
musician play some music, none of which, thankfully, was
hip-hip.
We heard Gary Marks of the Montana’s Quarter Commission make a
funny little speech about coin collectors buying money with money
and thereby never running out of money. Edmund Moy, Director of the
U.S. Mint, spoke of his first trip to Montana as a youth, and his
awe at seeing the sky filled with stars from horizon to horizon,
and how it was a memory he had never forgotten. I swear the tears
were ready to flow from his eyes. I know I got a little misty-eyed.
Our charismatic Governor Schweitzer, wearing clean cowboy boots,
gave a snappy, happy little speech to the kids about saving their
Montana quarter (every child received one), so that when someday
when they become grandparents they can show it to their ten year
old grandchildren and share their memories of Montana. Schweitzer
may be a true-blue Democrat in his day job, but darnit, you gotta
love a guy who can speak heartfelt Montana-ese and get into the
hearts and souls of a couple thousand school kids. Good for
him.
But even in lonely, forgotten, four-electoral-votes Montana, the
cancer exists.
In the midst of the speeches and non-partisan, communal
coming-togetherness, a ragtag half-dozen protesters quietly walked
across the balcony holding posters. Something about Big Skull
Country (get it? Not Big Sky, but Big Skull?), murder, genocide,
slaughter. They walked across and out.
A few state troopers appeared. The protesters appeared again and
walked across. The troopers watched passively.
By the way, my thanks to the Supreme Court for allowing six
people’s right to freedom of expression to trump the right of two
thousand kids to peacefully and joyfully come together and …
Wait a ding-donged, dang-blatted Montana minute! The protesters
weren’t obstructing two thousand kids. No! They were obstructing
the views of a few hundred fourth graders in the balcony! And my
view! And my daughter’s view!
Meanwhile, every adult pretended the protesters didn’t exist,
that everything was really just fine, that there was no problem, no
need to do anything. Much like you guys do in Washington, D.C.
whenever Pelosi, Kennedy, Rangel, et al. get blathering. Something
you learned from Bob Michel, no doubt.
The protesters quietly walked off. Except for one. She stood
directly in front of me holding a poster high. Right smack in front
of my face.
I remember, years ago, reading a review of a book lamenting our
culture’s declining manners and civility, and how this rotting
endangers the future of our civilization. A good argument, but I
had the sense the author wrote from a position of wealth and
isolation, that he was not likely to be in the trenches asking
teenagers to turn down their ghetto blasters or to pick up the beer
can they threw in the gutter. I always wanted to write a letter:
“Dear Author, what if the barbarians don’t read your book? What
then? What do we do?”
IT’S BEEN A LIFETIME inner debate: Do I assume a role of concerned
citizen and tell this punk to knock it off, or do I turn my head
and look out for number one? I go back and forth.
In this instance of the protestor in Helena, I went forth.
I stood up, walked up to the woman, asked her to move so we
could see the speaker. She sneered.
“You can see.”
“No, I can’t. Please move.”
“You can see past me.”
“No, my vision is not warped. I really cannot see around your
cardboard sign in front of my face. Please move so I and my child
can exercise our right to hear the speaker.”
At which point the woman leaned forward and jabbed her elbow
into my chest! (So much for “non-confrontational” protest!) Daring
me to…slug her? Now, the last time I slugged someone I was in
sixth grade, St. John’s Christensom School, Los Angeles, when I
decked George Patterson and felt so bad about it I cried. Besides,
I could see this woman was nuts, just plain nuts, and no doubt
dreamed of a big fight, an arrest, newspaper and TV reports. I
wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. I turned, sat down. I
looked, and she was gone.
The speeches ended. The Governor and the Director Moy and some
other politicians put on a wonderful hands-on display of government
in action by walking the aisles HANDING OUT FREE MONEY! A free
quarter to everyone under eighteen.
As we were leaving, a group of boys came up to me and asked what
happened with the protester. I told them. They thought that was
pretty neat. It seems they too were irritated by the six people
using this venue to exercise their right to free speech. I like ten
year olds who know their manners.
“What are they doin’ here? What do they want?”
I told them I didn’t know.
A woman passed by and thanked me. “I’m glad somebody did
something.” Her husband gave me the Montana cowboy nod.
Some other kids pointed at me, smiled, nodded.
Another man and woman thanked me.
I brushed past a state trooper, and just so he would know,
mentioned what happened. He leaned forward eagerly.
“Do you want to press charges?”
I didn’t.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. Unless you want me to. If it would be helpful
somehow.”
“I’m not allowed to influence your decision.”
I thought of the protester smiling for the photographer as her
fingerprints were taken in the jailhouse. I passed on the pressing
of charges. (I later learned that this particular tribe of
protesters shows up regularly at public state functions, and has a
consistent record of spitting on the troopers and, when it’s
available, throwing dirt on them. Hmm. Maybe I should have pressed
charges — I’d never be issued another speeding ticket in
Montana.)
Outside, the protesters formed a semi-circle between the doors
and the school buses. Apparently the fourth grade demographic is
critical to the buffalo/slaughter/genocide/murder/whatever protest
faction.
Adults walked by with bemused smiles. One guy in a cowboy hat
started lecturing one of the hippy-chick protesters about the
importance of the Montana beef industry to the economy. Probably a
lobbyist.
And the best thing of all, the fourth graders were pointing and
laughing at the protesters. In the photo I took, you can even see
the kids inside the school bus laughing at the protesters.
AFTERWARDS, MY WIFE AND I went to Wendy’s for lunch. I ate a baked
potato with sour cream and chives. As we were leaving, a woman
approached me. Her face was earnest.
“I saw you at the Civic Center, and I just want to thank you for
standing up!”
And later: Two of my daughter’s classmates told her they were
“proud” her dad had stood up and asked the protestor to behave.
And: My daughter’s principal extended her thanks to my wife, and
volunteered how she had been planning to tell the kids at the Civic
Center to encircle the protesters and lock arms for a passive
entrapment. (You can see the headline: “Fourth Graders Arrested for
Infringing Free Speech Rights of Protesters.”)
So you see, Mr. Elected Republican, it doesn’t take much. Stand
up to the frothing Democrats, left wing nut jobs and smarmy media
types. Verbally espouse a few conservative principles. Most people
have an affinity for conservative principles, which really are
based upon civility and respect for others. Just say what’s right.
Tell the Democrats to knock it off. If they don’t, wash out their
naughty, lying, disrespectful mouths with soap (figuratively, of
course). Make a stand. Put it on the line. Good people will thank
you.
I, along with a few others who didn’t vote for you last time
around, would like to vote for you the next time around. We’re not
asking for much. We’re not even asking for twenty-five cent cash
handouts.
Just starting speaking up. Now.
