Nothing is more painful for a man than to admit he was the victim of female sexual assault, but I can remain silent no longer: In 1980 on an airliner somewhere over Arkansas, I was forcibly groped by the current Democratic nominee for president.
Traveling in my police uniform on official business, I’d been bumped to first class in Atlanta by a kindly desk agent who said her son was also a cop. An hour later we briefly stopped in Little Rock, Arkansas, and a woman in her early 30s took the empty seat next to mine.
I quickly introduced myself, but she hesitated before replying: “I’m, ahh, Pillory,” she said. “Pillory Minton.” The nightmare had begun…
I fell asleep immediately after takeoff – only to be jolted awake sometime later by a violent tugging on my…well, that private and sacred organ beneath my belt buckle. I think you know what I mean.
Pillory, wild-eyed and sweating, had covered us with a blanket and was muttering “Hot-diggety-dog, hot-diggety-dog!” as she went vigorously about her sordid business.
“What the hell are you doing?” I managed. “Shut up, big boy!” she hissed. “I love a man in uniform and I just can’t help myself!”
Bewildered, confused, I refastened my zipper, flung the blanket aside and stumbled from first class in search of a flight attendant.
“You don’t look well, sir. Are you all right?”
“That woman next to me, Pillory Minton, she just…”
“Oh, you mean Hillary Clinton, the First Lady of Arkansas. She’s the governor’s wife.”
Oh, what to do, what to do? Who were they going to believe – an ordinary cop or the First Lady of Arkansas? Trembling, traumatized, I took a seat in coach for the rest of the flight.
When we deplaned in Miami, Hillary Clinton caught my eye, put a finger to her lips, then passed the finger over her throat in a cutting motion.
The human race is actually a slow walk, an endless column plodding through time. Each day some of the oldest marchers falter and fall by the wayside, only to be replaced by fresh young faces at the end of the line.
And each generation of those fresh faces believes itself the first humans of consequence to inhabit the Earth.
They acknowledge their parents and grandparents, of course, but the old folks’ major contribution was to bring this finest of new generations into existence: Thee generation – finally! – with all the answers.
The current crop of fresh faces are called Millenials (ages 18 to 34) and they have lined up like lemmings behind Bernie Sanders.
Bernie has promised them not only free breakfast, lunch and dinner, but free college, free health care and a complimentary weekly massage by a masseuse with magical fingers.
The old people in the human race know that Bernie is blowing unicorn smoke up those
eager young noses. But wisdom is wasted on the elderly;their voices never carry to the back of the line.
But as I said, the human race never stops plodding. To their sad surprise the Millenials will eventually see their hair grow thin and gray as the line lengthens behind and grows shorter ahead.
And one day, surely, they will recall their brief flirtation with Bernie and wonder…
After a lifetime of inhaling the toxic fumes of U.S. politics, Donald Trump seemed an amazing breath of fresh air.
A financially-independent straight-shootin’ sonofagun, beholden to no one and nothing but the American dream. A leader who could restore our reputation after a president who is a stranger in our midst…a man who speaks more reverently of Islam than Christianity.
I wanted to believe in Trump – I still do – but he is a broken faucet emitting drip-after-drip of ignorance and asininity. If what we see is what we’d get, Donald would not simply be in over his head as president. He would be a bottom-feeder, sucking up mud and muck and spewing the concoction on the world stage.
And then there’s Ted Cruz. Suitably conservative, smart as hell and always on message.
Except…he rarely speaks as a normal human being. Almost every utterance is delivered as if he sees an angel at his side, busily chiseling his words into stone for the ages to revere.
Bringing up the Republican rear is John Kasich, a gent who never tires of telling us, and telling us, and telling us…how he turned Ohio into heaven on Earth.
On the flip side of the coin are the stirring images of Hillary and Bernie Sanders. A woman who lied to the grieving family faces of the heroes killed in Benghazi (“It was the video”)…and an old socialist who is an ideological inch from being a Communist.
A lifetime of inhaling the toxic fumes of U.S. politics, and once again I’m forced to ask: Where have all the leaders gone?
Far too many Americans spend their entire lives bouncing about in tiny bubbles of self-interest, their brains engaged in little beyond sex, the next meal, the next paycheck, the next Big Game and the state of their health.
“Bubble People” are like boats without tiller or sail, swept along from birth to death by those who set the nation’s course and choose the ports of call.
Bubble People have no real knowledge of politics, politicians or current events. They dine exclusively on tasty sound bites and slogans, the opinions of colleagues and neighbors and the pronouncements of a tipsy Uncle Joe at the family barbecue.
Bubble People are the millennials flocking to Bernie the socialist – eyes glazed over by FREE! – unaware that socialism’s foundation is governmental control of every facet of American life.
Bubble People are the champions of Donald Trump, the spoiled little rich kid who wears arrogance and ignorance as badges of honor. (Donald resides in the largest bubble of all.)
Bubble People are the Hillary-huggers who tell themselves her “good” qualities outweigh her near-pathological dishonesty.
(Dishonesty poisons the well; nothing good can ever come from it.)
But here’s the saddest thing about the Bubble People: In close presidential elections they can be the margin of victory that puts an inferior and even dangerous candidate in the White House.
That’s how we wound up with Barack. And – if good people do nothing – that’s how we could wind up with Bernie or Donald or Hillary.