We caution ourselves against succumbing to glee until the last spadeful of dirt has been smoothed over the coffin of Hillary Clinton’s candidacy. So long as the recrudescence of her brand of plague may yet be an eventuality, the clarions of liberation may not be trumpeted with abandon.
Even if she is eclipsed, as the prevailing trend portends, she will not depart the scene without leaving it strewn with carcasses and other noxious detritus. Still, the pedestal she perched upon for a year has been upended, and the mathematics, if not the civics, have tipped to her detriment. If she is indeed being dispatched, let us add a brief soundtrack, with a few lyrics to remind ourselves of her sordid legacy.
There are horror stories without limit; she has slashed a hubristic swath through the heartland lo these four decades. Many are widely known and have been amply covered. Herewith, some of my all-time favorites among her less-publicized hits.
She burst onto the scene in 1969 when she blindsided a black Senator, Edward Brooke of Massachusetts, a moderate Republican from the old school. Brook was invited to deliver a commencement address at Wellesley College and Hillary followed him to the podium to deliver the “student commencement,” first of its kind at the school. She used the occasion to belittle Senator Brooke as offering only empathy, but no activism, to aid the antiwar movement. This is known in the Jewish tradition as “gaining honor from the humiliation of another” and deemed the lowest rung of character.
A few years later she was lawyering for the Congressional committee working to draw up articles of impeachment against Richard Milhous Nixon. She wrote some briefs that were stupefying illiberal. One of her arguments maintained that nowhere in the Constitution was the right to an attorney afforded to a President in an impeachment proceeding. Yes, she wanted a sitting President to answer a charge of high crimes and misdemeanors without the ability to retain counsel! Amazingly, no prominent member of the media reminded the nation of this when her spouse was the one facing the charges.
In another Watergate filing, she broached the idea that the President, not being a textbook defendant, was not vested with the presumption of innocence!!! Note the pattern of weaving legal technicalities, narrowly read, into instruments of oppression.
Off she flew to save the benighted State of Arkansas from its dismal rating as #49 among the United States in educational achievement. After Bill ramrodded her into running the show and shoehorned her agenda through the legislature, her reforms made a difference: the state moved to #50.
One classic Hillary story concerns the writing of her tome, It Takes a Village. When it came out during their White House years, it was accompanied by a press release describing how Hillary had been working late nights and scribbling longhand in spiral notebooks. Among journalists based in Washington, it was an open secret that the entire work had been penned by Barbara Feinman, a research assistant working for Bob Woodward. Hillary did not acknowledge her contribution in any way.
Selling the pardons in her husband’s last days in office was the capstone of her career in corruption. One small town in New York, for instance, had been pleading to have four locals pardoned. The men had been guilty of some white-collar chicanery, but people felt bad for their children left fatherless at young ages. Bill freed the four and an 80% Republican town became an 80% Hillary town overnight.
Well, all this brings me back to a different night in 1969, when the New York Mets won the National League pennant. I was just 11 years old but I burst out of the stands onto the field with thousands of crazed fans. We had been chasing the Chicago Cubs, managed by Leo Durocher, and had finally overtaken them down the stretch. On the field, we all chanted in unison: “Goodbye, Leo, we hate to see you… go!” I am no devotee of Obama, but if he seals the deal, I will be the first guy out there offering Hillary (a fallen Cubs fan anyway) that selfsame chant, as we replay 1969, only in reverse.