By Bob Gaydos

     This is traditionally the time for resolutions, predictions or wishes for the new year. In the interest of time and uncluttering my mind, I’m going to attempt to do all three in one sitting.

      Number one resolution for me: Take care of myself. Do better at taking my vitamin supplements. Walk more regularly. Stay in touch with friends. Read more. Try not to sweat the small stuff.

      I wish and hope I can manage to do that basic minimum of self care because I know it will make life easier for me and those around me and — big and — it will make it much easier for me to enjoy it when my number one wish comes true.

      Namely, goodbye Trump. No, not a surprise. I’m not even going to express a preference for how the Donald exits the scene, whether because of failing health or constitutional disqualification. The sooner the better is the only qualifier. The nation, heck, the world needs a mental health break from the anger, deceit, bitterness and cruelty the man has left at every turn.

      I wish the millions of Americans who voted for him and still support him have their individual moments of clarity and surrender to the fact they have been duped. Admitting it is the first step to recovery.

     I wish the Republican Party would just go away. Disappear. Cowards all. At least those in Congress. Be done with disgracing the legacy of Lincoln, Teddy Roosevelt, Eisenhower. Heck, I’ll even give them Reagan.

    I wish only the worst for the handpicked team of sycophants and worse who have done Trump’s bidding — Bondi, Hegseth, Kennedy, Patel, Rubio, Noem, et al. They deserve to pay the price for the pain they have aggressively inflicted.

    I wish, I wish, I wish. I wish that leaders of all religions in this country could join together in a moment of healing, that gambling can be removed from sports at the professional and college levels, that owners of newspapers and electronic media honor their First Amendment privilege and duty to report the news honestly and courageously, regardless of their bottom lines and that Americans insist on it, that Elon Musk be deported, that Democrats sweep the midterm elections, that younger Americans save themselves and the rest of us from the greedy insanity of MAGA. That last I wish most all.

   I predict … gingerly, that Trump will be removed from office, not just because of his obviously failing health and deteriorating mental condition, but because the people behind him, J.D. Vance et al, want it. Republicans see the failing poll numbers and the anger in the streets. They think they can save their Project 25 with a new face. But Vance is not the right face. The cult has one leader. The underlings are there to do his bidding. Also, they don’t have the protection Trump has to keep on riding roughshod over anyone and anything in his way — he doesn’t care about anyone else and he doesn’t care, much less know, how stupid he can sound.

    So, I predict the Democrats will indeed sweep the midterms and, with the help of disaffected Republicans (especially women), begin moving America back to being the land of the free. Make America sane again. I predict this will be very good for my well-being and allow me to go back to sweating (and writing about) the small stuff.

     I wish the same for you. Thanks for sticking with me. Happy New Year. 

By Bob Gaydos

Elise Stefanik … leaving politics

(more…)

(This is one of my favorites and I’m sharing it  again, hoping that it stirs fond memories for some of you. Stay warm, be strong. Merry Christmas.)

By Bob Gaydos

Trains! Trains! Trains!

     Long ago and far away, in a bustling, friendly North Jersey place called Bayonne, a young boy (about 5) clambered out of bed in what seemed like the middle of the night to go to the bathroom.

     He opened the bedroom door and entered a world of light and laughter and clinking glasses and aunts and uncles and … trains!  Trains! And tracks. And …!

       Oh! Oh! Oh!

    It was explained to the hyper-excited boy trying not to wet his pajamas that Santa had been there and brought the train set and set it up, but was coming back with more presents so the boy had to go quickly go the bathroom and then he could play with the trains for a few minutes and go back to bed and be quiet not to wake his baby sister sleeping in her crib.

       And so he did.

       He expanded on those trains and surrounding accessories for another dozen years with the aid of Santa, parents and aunts and uncles for many more Christmas Eve visits. The layout expanded to cover a side of the living room around a Christmas tree in another, larger, home until eventually, at the “request” of his mother, it moved to the basement.

        Then the boy went off to college and life.

       Those trains, the Lionel New York Central passenger line, are still in good shape, in storage now in a big box in the basement with all the rest, after the long run in Bayonne and a revival bringing joy for that boy’s own two sons some four-plus decades later in Middletown, N.Y.

        That Christmas Eve with Santa’s two-stop visit returned vividly to that young boy’s mind as he listened to the news last night, now some seven decades later. A reminder of a simpler time. 

        A time of family, community, innocence, hope and peace. A time worth remembering and, perhaps, removing from the boxes in the basement. 

rjgaydos@gmail.com

By Bob Gaydos

The defiling of The Kennedy Center.

    He slapped his stupid name on The Kennedy Center. The *@*%+#*ing Kennedy Center! Are you kidding me? The master of sloth, pride and lust had to remind us of his penchant for envy?

    Of course it’s illegal, but honestly, it’s obscene. The John F. Kennedy Center is not only a cultural landmark in Washington, D.C., it is a memorial to a slain president. Yet Trump slapped his name above Kennedy’s on the memorial to Kennedy, a president loved, admired and respected by millions of Americans, a true patron of the arts. And a war hero to boot.

   The new, handpicked-by-Trump board of directors supposedly voted unanimously to change the name of the center, apparently to reflect the tackiness and total lack of class he has brought to the institution. Having also named himself chairman of the board, he has transformed it from first-class to no class with the ease and skill of a onetime reality TV show host. 

    No, he’s no Jack Kennedy. Mr. Bone Spurs undoubtedly never saw the movie or read “PT 109,” a book about Kennedy’s military service in World War II. In fact, a lot of Americans today probably aren’t familiar with the story, so here’s Google AI’s summary:

    “PT-109 was an 80-foot Elco motor patrol torpedo boat famously commanded by Lieutenant John F. Kennedy (the future 35th U.S. President) during World War II. The vessel is best known for its sinking in the Solomon Islands on August 2, 1943, after being rammed by a Japanese destroyer.

• The Collision: While patrolling Blackett Strait at night, the radar-less PT-109 was struck and sliced in half by the Japanese destroyer Amagiri, which was traveling at high speed.
• Initial Loss: Two crewmen, Harold Marney and Andrew Jackson Kirksey, were killed instantly in the collision and explosion.
• Heroic Swim: Kennedy and the 10 remaining survivors clung to the floating bow for hours before swimming 3.5 miles to a small, uninhabited island (Plum Pudding Island). Kennedy famously towed a badly burned crewman, Patrick McMahon, by a life jacket strap clenched in his teeth.
• The Rescue: The crew survived for several days on various islets by eating coconuts. They were eventually discovered by two Solomon Islander scouts, Biuku Gasa and Eroni Kumana, who were working with an Australian coastwatcher.
• The Coconut Message: Kennedy carved a distress message into a coconut shell, which the scouts delivered to the coastwatcher, leading to the crew’s rescue by other PT boats on August 8, 1943.”

— A life jacket strap clenched in his teeth.

— Navy and Marine Corps Medal.

— Purple Heart

— Pulitzer Prize for book, “Profiles in Courage”

— Youngest person elected president, at 43

As president:

— The goal of putting a man on the moon and returning him.

— The Peace Corps

— The Cuban Missile Crisis

— “Ich bin ein Berliner.”

   In his 1961 inaugural address, Kennedy, a cum laude graduate of Harvard University, famously said, “Ask not what your country can do for you — ask what you can do for your country.” 

The law creating the memorial, signed by Lyndon Johnson.

   Trump, whose words mostly serve as fodder for comedians, has been bleeding this country for every dollar he can get ever since he set foot in the Oval Office, both times. Putting his name on the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts is not only obscene and illegal, it is an affront to the office of president, an insult to Kennedy and his family and a sorrowful reminder to Americans (like me), who lived through the Kennedy years and in 1963 mourned his assassination, of the pitiful depths to which Trump has dragged this nation.

     When this chapter in our history is done (the sooner the better), Trump’s name must be ripped off the facade of the defiled memorial/culture center and that garish, golden ballroom, if it ever gets built, torn down. Day One.

     If you’re around, that’s what you can do for your country. 

By Bob Gaydos

Susie Wiles
… the enabler

     Donald Trump has “an alcoholic’s personality.”

      Who says so? The woman who should know. The woman who runs his household, makes sure he looks ready for the day ahead and structures her own life around his anger, insecurities and alcoholic unpredictability.  The one who manages the unmanageability.

      Susie Wiles. His enabler.

      When I read that Wiles, Trump’s chief of staff, had given a Vanity Fair writer 11 months of remarkably honest conversations about what Trump is like, how he thinks and operates, warts and all, I was stunned. What the heck is she doing? I wondered. She knows Trump. You can’t tell the truth about him without paying the price. And she knows Vanity Fair is going to report the truth. This is political suicide.

      After sleeping on it, I came up with another explanation. She knows better. She’s not Rudy Giuliani (who also has an alcoholic’s personality), standing in front of Four Seasons Landscaping garage instead of The Four Seasons Hotel in Philadelphia, arguing that Trump was robbed in the 2020 presidential election.

      It’s not political suicide. It’s a warning shot and the first stage of an escape. The enabler went to Al Anon.

      Now, I don’t know if Wiles actually ever attended meetings of Al-Anon, a 12-step group for people whose lives have been significantly impacted by the drinking and alcoholic behavior of someone close to them. But, as Wiles disclosed, her father was Pat Summerall, who played football for the New York Giants, was a popular sportscaster and, by the way, was an alcoholic who eventually managed to have 20 years of recovery.

     She was certainly a candidate for Al Anon. If she went to meetings, she would’ve learned that she didn’t cause the alcoholic’s behavior, can’t control it and certainly can’t cure it. What she can do is focus on herself and her own well-being, set boundaries and support the alcoholic — without enabling him.

       Wiles may have gotten to the point where, knowing that Trump is not about to change – in fact, appears to be getting worse – that her own self-interest would be best served by getting out of Dodge. Honey, I’m outta here.

       And honey, by the way, I know a bunch of your secrets and a bunch of good lawyers, so please don’t try to stop me or hurt me.

      Of course, in Wiles’ case, she has not been an innocent victim, along for the ride because she had no choice. She had a choice. She said yes to Trump. She knows where the bodies are buried. Like Haldeman for Nixon, she’s seen the enemies list. She bears responsibility, as a primary enabler, for much of the pain Trump has caused other people

      She knows what he’s been doing and has helped him each step of the way, one day at a time. Her  charge that the article was a hit job and claims of trying to persuade Trump away from exacting political revenge ring hollow.

      But spilling the beans and your guts on Trump without having an exit plan makes no sense. If you can’t detach with love, then do it with confidence and a landing pad. Having “White House chief of staff” on your résumé doesn’t hurt.

    So, it doesn’t look like Trump‘s going to rehab. Actually, he doesn’t even drink. That leaves assisted living at Mar-a-Lago or prison. Maybe Wiles sees this happening sooner rather than later and is packing her bags.  She’ll probably write a book. 

    In any event, if my guess is correct and Wiles is planning her escape from the unmanageability of Trump’s “alcoholic” behavior, she might do well to take a look at some of the other steps in the Al Anon program. The ones about taking a fearless personal inventory of her shortcomings, making amends to people she has harmed, promptly admitting when she is wrong and, having had a “spiritual awakening,“ practicing these principles in all her affairs.

      Her father, who went to the Betty Ford Clinic and then attended Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, spoke openly about practicing those principles.

      Honesty is the first principle of all 12-step programs. I applaud anyone in Trump‘s inner circle being publicly honest about him. It’s rare these days. But it sure would be nice if one of them also took responsibility for their part in enabling the insanity.

      That would be Step Four, Susie.

***

(Bob Gaydos has written a column on addiction and recovery for nearly 20 years.)     

By Bob Gaydos 

Rob Reiner
… he will be missed

    Why in the hell is he talking?

     Excuse me, texting. Same thing. Same nonsense. Same hate. Same self-serving glorification at the pain of others. Yeah, Trump.

     I’ve been writing a column on addiction and recovery for nearly two decades. It was a monthly feature of the local paper when the local paper used to have regular features. A major component of the column was information gleaned from people involved in 12-Step recovery programs.

     These programs are noted for, among other things, having acronyms for just about anything. FEAR. Face everything and recover. KISS. Keep it simple, stupid. SLIP. Sobriety losing its priority. They make it easier to remember the goal.

    There is one that was passed along to me by a couple of local members of Al-Anon, a group for those affected by someone else’s alcoholism, that I have found useful: WAIT. Why am I talking?

    Basically, it’s a message to oneself that no one needs to hear what you have to say at the moment and it is probably only going to make things worse. I think it goes by STFU on social media. The polite way to say it is, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” Tough to acronym that.

    So, back to Trump. No, he never learned such lessons about empathy or decency or simple, appropriate behavior. Every occasion is an opportunity to either glorify himself or inflict pain on others. Preferably, both.

    The murder of Rob Reiner and his wife, Michele, offered the latter. Reiner was a popular actor (“Meathead” on the “All in the Family” TV show) and much admired film director (“Stand by Me”, “When Harry Met Sally”). He and his wife were discovered stabbed to death in their home. One of their sons is being held for the killings. It can’t get any more horrible for those who loved and admired them.

    Reiner also happened to be an outspoken critic, a strong and constant voice, warning of the perils of a Trump presidency. To Trump, he was an enemy.

     So, some time in the night Sunday or early Monday, he spouted his tribute, as the person occupying the Oval Office, to a much loved, admired and respected American public figure:

   “A very sad thing happened last night in Hollywood. Rob Reiner, a tortured and struggling, but once very talented movie director and comedy star, has passed away, together with his wife, Michele, reportedly due to the anger he caused others through his massive, unyielding, and incurable affliction with a mind crippling disease known as TRUMP DERANGEMENT SYNDROME, sometimes referred to as TDS. He was known to have driven people CRAZY by his raging obsession of President Donald J. Trump, with his obvious paranoia reaching new heights as the Trump Administration surpassed all goals and expectations of greatness, and with the Golden Age of America upon us, perhaps like never before. May Rob and Michele rest in peace!”

    Pathetic. Spiteful. Childish. Hateful. Trump. Why is he talking? Because he has to. It’s his addiction. It’s all he knows.

     But this is really old news about Trump and my gripe here, as it has been for some nine years, is with virtually every elected Republican official in the United States of America: Why do they put up with this excrement?

      That is, why aren’t they talking? Why have they allowed themselves to be defined by such an insecure, hateful shell of a human being. Why have they allowed him to try to destroy this country one day at a time?

   It’s as if they’re still all standing out in the corner of the school yard with the stupid rich kid, who has all the pot and beer and money and a lot of equally stupid “friends“ who will follow you home from school if you even suggest something negative about their rich friend.

    And yes, my gripe is also with the millions of Americans who don’t bother to vote because “it doesn’t matter” and who’ve gone about their lives as if the daily destruction of their country is no business of theirs. Why aren’t they talking?

    “Silence in the face of authoritarianism is complicity. Speaking out is a patriotic act. Democracy doesn’t defend itself. It requires participation, vigilance and courage from ordinary people.“

     Rob Reiner, patriot, actor, director and decent human being, said that. For his contributions to our lives, he will be missed.

    That’s why I’m talking.

By Bob Gaydos

Every popular singer seemed to have a TV show once upon a time.

— Once upon a time, you could catch a sneeze and blow your nose in the same tissue without worrying about having to wash your hand. That was before one-ply masquerading as two-ply because, you know, the Donald says tariffs don’t raise the price of products. But maybe the size of products? This formula and situation applies to toilet tissue as well, if you haven’t noticed.

—  Once upon a time, all the cars in the world were not white, black or silver SUV’s, lacking any sense of style or individuality that sets them apart from the rest. I recently sat and purposely watched the traffic along a certain stretch of Route 52 in Pine Bush, N.Y. Of 10 vehicles that passed by, eight were SUV’s of the previously mentioned colors. Did it again. A maroon SUV slipped in, but other types of vehicles were limited to pickup trucks, which are ubiquitous in Pine Bush.

Who decided that passenger cars didn’t need to have any sense of design? That they all should look alike in the name of convenience? Or was it for conformity? Check it out as you drive down the highway. When did sleek lines become boxes? Who decided that boring uniformity was good?

— Once upon a time, as I told my friend while we listened to the radio while driving through that same downtown with all the boring SUVs, Rosemary Clooney, who happens to be George Clooney‘s aunt and was delivering a lovely rendition of “Silver Bells,“ had her own TV show. Once upon a time, Andy Williams, up next on the Sirius stream of Christmas music, also had his own TV show. And Nat King Cole, Perry Como, Pat Boone, Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra, Dinah Shore and Tennessee Ernie Ford. In fact, once upon a time it seemed that virtually every popular singer had his or her own TV show. They were called variety shows. Early evening entertainment suitable for everybody.

Today? Nada. They’re all on TikTok all the time and they’re not all suitable for everyone.

— Once upon a time, we didn’t have heavily armed masked goons with no ID roaming our streets acting like police, grabbing people haphazardly if they have brown skin, look like they might be fluent in Spanish, throwing them to the ground, handcuffing them, dumping them in the back of vans and driving them off to some unknown site where lawyers, bathrooms and food are scarce. Age, citizenship, warrant for arrest are all now seemingly irrelevant. Court orders, too.

— Once upon a time, the United States was respected and admired around the world as a symbol of democracy and freedom for all. Today, its Navy missiles blow up fishing boats on the high seas, claiming without proof that they are drug smugglers, and killing survivors clinging to the boat rather than taking them prisoner. All in violation of U.S. and international law while the man responsible for giving the orders tries to lay the blame on a career admiral who should have known better.

— Once upon a time, an ink-stained wretch of a journalist who’s been doing this for 60 years, could focus his attention writing about what he perceived as pressing issues, such as how legalized sports betting is destroying professional sports and, indeed, making a mess of college sports. That’s because, once upon a time, the daily sports pages were the refuge every morning to escape from the insanity of the rest of the world.

— Once upon a time, there was a daily newspaper in every sizable town. People knew what was going on. The mayor couldn’t blow his nose without people knowing. Many newspapers are now gone and those that still exist today are as thin as, well, a one-ply tissue.

I’m beginning to see a pattern.

James Garfield, lower left. Chester A. Arthur, upper right.
From a print by the Temple Publishing Company hanging on my wall.

By Bob Gaydos

“I’m not fit to be president!”

The declaration thundered off the TV screen.

“The beauty of America,” came the reply. Quietly, presciently, yet setting off all sorts of alarm bells in my head.

In that one brief exchange, the creators of the Netflix series “Death by Lightning” rocketed across a century and a half. Of course. The beauty of America. Anyone can be president. Well, unless of course, she is a woman.

In fact, the four-part series offers an enlightening and entertaining account of two men, each of whom had no plan, intention or desire to be president yet both wound up in the office within months of each other.

It took one man’s death for the other to get there, that man being James A. Garfield, one of America’s least-known presidents and, from what the creators of the series tell us, one who could have been one of the best. If not for Charles J. Guiteau, the disgruntled, office-seeking lunatic running around with a gun, and an incompetent White House physician who, in removing the bullet, created the infection which actually killed Garfield.

The other man is the one who cried out about being unfit to be president, Chester A. Arthur. He was right, but it didn’t matter that he was a drunk and a laughable symbol of the spoils system of politics in America. He was the vice president, the next in line.

“The beauty of America,” was summed up succinctly by Senator Roscoe Conkling, of New York, in the Netflix series. I don’t know if Conkling, kingmaker, powerbroker and bitter rival of Garfield, ever uttered those words, but the writer sure grasped the moment.

Arthur was on the ticket in 1880 because New York, Arthur’s home state, had all the people, power and money, while Garfield, a farmer, had the message people wanted to hear. He went to the nominating convention to put someone else’s name up for president and gave such a stirring speech — he was an abolitionist when Republicans were proud to be abolitionists — that he was nominated because nobody else could get enough votes. The political art of the deal in practice.

Arthur, who oversaw the port of New York, including how the money flowed through it, wound up on the ticket as vice president in exchange for New York support of Garfield. Politics impure and simple.

But Arthur’s saving grace, to my mind, was that, when the reality of the moment hit him, he was well aware he had no business being anywhere close to the Oval Office, much less being president. While politics might be fine in that he could get rich, have fun and have power over people through control of who got the jobs and money, when it came to the presidency, he was, he declared, “unfit,” a word that carries a ton of weight considering the prestige and power of the office.

Would that were the case today. Money still controls politics, even more so since the Supreme Court decided to allow corporations to donate as much as they want to candidates who will do their bidding. Citizens United. A terrible ruling

The “beauty” of America today is that anyone can still become president, provided he has enough money behind him. Fitness, as Donald Trump and the hollow shell of what is now the Republican Party have shown, is irrelevant.

Arthur overcame his debauchery enough so that he signed into law the Civil Service system to protect government employees from the spoils system of politics which brought him to the presidency. While not regarded as a great president, neither was he a disaster. In fact, he confounded his critics in his brief term with a remarkably adequate job. A man aware, at least, to be humbled by what fate had bestowed upon him.

And no, while glaringly unfit, Trump, supported by the super rich, is also not humbled by his position, but rather clearly, even proudly, unaware of how unfit he is, not merely for the presidency, but for any office of public trust. He has, accordingly, assembled a cabinet of unfit misfits, liars and cheats incapable of doing even a merely acceptable job: Hegseth, Bondi, Patel, Kennedy, Noem, Zeldin (New York’s sorry contribution to the group), Lutnick, Gabbard, McMahon, Bessent, et al. Even Marco Rubio, who once wanted to be president, has shown himself to be unfit in so many ways.

Chester A. Arthur, for all his faults, knew instinctively what many Americans have forgotten or chosen to ignore. It is an honor and a privilege to be the president of the United States of America. But, so long as money is the route to all power, the beauty of America will also be the curse of America. Yes, absolutely anybody can become president.     Unless she’s a woman.

***

Editors note: For the history buffs out there, to the left of Arthur in the print is Andrew Johnson, who also came to the presidency via assassination. That of Abraham Lincoln. To the right of Garfield in the print are Benjamin Harrison and Grover Cleveland. This picture was published in the Baltimore News-American a long time ago.