Weapons of War

Once upon a time in nineteen hundred and sixty-three, a wicked witch lived in my hometown. That sadistic old crone was my third-grade teacher who routinely entertained herself by flogging my knuckles with a wooden ruler for even the slightest infraction. That year, my hands mimicked the bruised paws of a prize fighter.

On a crisp Autumn day just after lunch, the old battle axe dispatched me to the Janitor’s closet to retrieve some meaningless item. Assumably, she wanted me out of the room while she imparted some piece of information to the rest of the class that would be critical on the next day’s exam…but I didn’t care because a trip to the Janitor’s closet was a delight.

Our school Janitor was a kindly old man named Mr. Ray and he always treated me like an ordinary kid rather than a nuisance. Mr. Ray’s kingdom consisted of an oversized closet next to the boys’ bathroom. It included his floor polishing equipment, lots of cleaning agents with peculiar aromas, and this weird wall-mounted vacuum which could instantly suck all the dust out of a chalkboard eraser.

Throughout that particular visit, Mr. Ray was distractedly listening to the transistor radio on his shelf. He told me in a trembling voice that the president of the United States had just been shot. Upon re-entering Mrs. Lee’s classroom, I announced that news in a loud voice. Witch Lee (note the “W”), who was mean looking to begin with, turned a purplish red with bulging, fiery eyes, and screamed in my face, “That’s not funny. Shut up and go to your desk!”

Only minutes later, I was vindicated when the PA system crackled to life and our principal announced that the president had indeed been shot and school would let out two hours early with no school the following day. To the utter befuddlement of the wicked Mrs. Lee, my entire class broke into cheers, not because we were glad the president was dead — we had little idea who he even was — but because we were going home early. Later, conspiracists would claim that the rednecks in Dallas set out to kill the president and even coached their kids to cheer at his death.

Just an hour earlier and twenty-four miles away, three twenty-something reporters for the Dallas Times Herald, occupied a 1960 Ford Fairlane only a few cars behind the presidential limousine when all Hell broke loose. As the motorcade raced towards Parkland Hospital, they kept pace and were quickly swept up in the entourage. Had they not been detained by the Secret Service just before entering the hospital alongside the president’s lifeless body, those reporters might have laid to rest many of the conspiracy rumors that later sprouted wings.

Fourteen years later, at the University of Texas, I would take Journalism classes taught by two of those three men and learn how conspiracy theories blossomed amidst ignorance and how what few facts were known (like cheering grade-school students) would be distorted to fit the scenarios unless the media set the record straight.

Fast Forward
If you’re reading the first publication of this story on Sunday, July 21, you already know that only a week ago, a similar attempt was made on the life of ex-president and current candidate, Donald Trump.

Once again, ignorance prevails. The anti-Trump media has painted him as the cause of the situation. They’ve branded him an inflammatory liar, a self-serving narcissist, a racist, and a threat to democracy. One publication even published a cover sporting a caricature of Donald Trump as Adolf Hitler. Perhaps you agree with them.

On the other side of the fence, the pro-Trump media has characterized him as an historic American hero, spared from demise at the hands of a demented Thomas Matthew Crooks only by the intervening hand of God. They have conversely characterized all who would criticize their hero as Godless vermin. Perhaps you agree with them.

Interestingly, the media has evolved from purveyors of information that puts the lie to absurd ideas, into the very font of misinformation that stokes the twin flames of distrust and dissention.

Reality
It occurs to me that Thomas Crooks, Lee Harvey Oswald, Donald Trump, and John Kennedy are/were never any different than you and I. One or more of those individuals is someone we easily detest but I suggest that our distaste is ingenuine. We may disagree with their ideas, but like us, they are all human beings conceived in the unblemished likeness of the Creator of the universe but internally splintered by the driving need to supplant that Creator and become their/our own Gods.

Like us, each of those men has (or had) someone whom they too detested in order to inflate their own self-esteem. And, before you blow smoke up my knickers and tell me you don’t hate anyone, ask yourself if that too is not just another ruse to “feel” self-righteous.

Until we come, not to just the mental ascent, but to the gut-wrenching, soul-rending realization that each and every one of us is just as morally and psychologically damaged as the Trumps, Kennedys, Crooks, and Oswalds of this world, we will never begin to abandon our ego-centric worldviews and learn to appreciate the concept of grace by which we all live and breathe. Our lives will remain a drain on this planet’s resources, and we will never give back anything that lasts.

On the other hand, the freedom that comes with the recognition of unmerited grace is the freedom to set aside the weapons of war that disrupt our common journey, and to make the most our remaining time here.

Maybe you think that’s a little radical. If so, let’s have coffee so you can convince me of a better perspective.

A meeting of great minds who think alike