With all the ugliness and unrest and uncertainty and holy-shit-what-just happened/Armageddon is near, it seems like a good time for another road trip as a diversion.

Luckily, Beth and I have had one planned for months. We’re headed to the belly of the beast, Washington, D.C., for the wedding of my Kum Joe.

In oversimplified terms, Kum is the Serbian Orthodox word for godson. Regular readers may remember my account of Joe’s sister Sasha’s wedding last year in Philadelphia—Sasha is my Kuma.

Besides the wedding, we’ll see our friends Pick and Hank, and we’ll make a stop to have dinner with Michael and Susi. I met them via Pick, who generously introduced me to his world of friends when I was a newcomer to D.C. back in the day.

A worthwhile read.

At the time, Pick hadn’t met Hank, I hadn’t met Beth, and Pick and I were roommates on the first floor of an Arlington, Va., apartment building. Michael and Susi lived upstairs. We were all on the front end of adulthood, and the four of us had some awfully good times hosting each other for dinner. And there was driving, motorcycling and camping along Skyline Drive and surrounding points. We also shared a lot of great live music experiences, not to mention, well, a lot of good times.

My friend Michael and I couldn’t be more different in terms of background. He was from the small-town South and his people had been around forever by my measure. My parents were first generation Americans, and I grew up in a suburb just south of Chicago where people either worked in the steel mills to the east or office buildings to the north. He had a religious upbringing, I did not.

I think those differences have always been a big part of what we find interesting about one another.

I learned during the early 1980s that Michael and I also diverged when it came to politics and moreover, the philosophies behind what we believed. We had our combative moments, but I’ve always treasured friends who are smart, thoughtful, and articulate—whether or not they agree with my politics.

A lot’s happened since those days. Kids, careers, crises—and Michael and I managed to continue our sometimes contentious but always respectful conversations. That is, until a few months ago in this ugly, horrible, drawn-out election campaign. All via some stupid-ass text messages. He infuriated me, I infuriated him, we each wanted to be the last infuriator.

And then something happened. We each came to our senses. I can’t speak for Michael, but the question for me was, did my thoughts about the election and the candidates outweigh the importance of my friendship with Michael?

I can tell you, there are people out there about whom I can answer “yes” in a heartbeat. (And have.)

But not Michael. So we got on the phone. In simple terms we made clear to one another that whatever happened, our friendship was more important.

Which was a relief, and in a small way, a proud moment when you think you’ve actually grown up at 59 years old.

But one thing lacked for months: Our way of dealing with the flare-up was to just not talk about it. We disciplined ourselves by withdrawing that privilege. And I think we both lost out for that.

Last month Michael was in town for business. Beth and I met him for brunch. A couple days before he came to town, he told me about a book he’d read called “Hillbilly Elegy.”

“Have you read it?” he asked.

I said no, but I’d read good things about it.

Mike brought it with him. He proceeded to tell us about the similarities between his own and author J.D. Vance’s backgrounds. And the gratitude they both held for having had key figures in their lives that shined the light on a world they’d never have otherwise known.

He loaned it to me. I read it and loved it. I don’t agree with all of Vance’s analysis and conclusions, but he’s a great storyteller and a person I’d love to talk with sometime. A little background: J.D. Vance is from a family that migrated from Appalachian Kentucky to southern Ohio. They were strangers in a strange land, but mostly the factory jobs made for good lives. Until they didn’t, and things went sour.

Vance had a successful stint in the Marines, and eventually graduated from Ohio State University (sorry, never using The), and eventually Yale Law. He describes the plight of many of those who didn’t have his advantages, and it ain’t pretty. Lots of poverty, drug addiction, and general dolor. All this continuing, right now—in Middle Ohio and elsewhere.

Over brunch, Michael—who’s had an enormously successful business career—said he’d likely be in a different place but for a few people who helped make sure he didn’t. And he pondered out loud, “I think there are some people in these places that never see that there is any other way of life. How do you provide that?”

I agreed. And then Mike wondered out loud, “What government policy can provide that?:

I didn’t have an answer.

But I was reminded that my old friend wants people to have what he had, and wants to do right, just the same as I do. We probably will always disagree on what and how much the government can do.

I’m looking forward to returning the book this week, and to having more conversations about such things with Michael. I always learn something, and I like to think he does, too.

P.S. Here’s another, shorter read in the Harvard Business Review that is in keeping with Vance’s book. The article’s entitled What So Many People Get Wrong about the Working Class, by Joan C. Williams. It’s not pedantic, and it’s not condescending, but it’s very insightful. 

My “Me, Myself and I”memoir-writing class meets this morning at the Chicago Cultural Center. Ages in that class span from 66 to 96, they’ve lived through a lot of election cycles, and it’ll be interesting to hear what they have to say about the decisions made yesterday.

I sure can’t think of anything myself to say for a blog post about the 2016 election, so instead, I’m publishing one last letter, this one written by a writer in the Monday memoir class I lead for Lincoln Park Village. I’d asked writers to write to someone in the future or past about this year’s election, and our guest blogger Pam Washburn read this letter to Abigail Adams out loud in class this past Monday, a day before the 2016 ballots were cast.

LETTER TO ABIGAIL ADAMS

by Pam Washburn

I’m writing to you today to share news that I know will delight you. Tomorrow, the second Tuesday of November, Americans will be going to their local polling stations to vote for national political candidates. For the first time WE (I’m speaking, of course, of all registered male and female voters over the age of 18) will have the option to vote for a woman for president of the United States of America.

Dear Abby…

No one has ever forgotten your admonishment to your dear husband John and to the Continental Congress when it met in March of 1776. “Remember the ladies,” you said. “If particular care and attention is not paid to the Ladies we are determined to foment a Rebellion, and will not hold ourselves bound by any Laws in which we do not have a voice, or Representation.”

After the defeat of the British, the hard work of forming a new government was grueling. You remained at home running the farm while your husband John was occupied in Boston and Philadelphia, seldom seeing you or the children.

General George Washington, selected unanimously, wasn’t sworn in as President until 1789, when your dear husband John joined the administration as Vice President. During the eight years that John served as Vice President to General Washington, and during the next four years when John and you served as President and First Lady, you must have had your hands full! Afterward, you were both abroad in France and England, serving to represent America’s interests overseas.

Unfortunately, the new federal constitution only enfranchised white men. In 1848 the first unofficial Women’s Rights Convention was held at Seneca Falls, New York, and it wasn’t until 1890 that the National Women’s Suffrage Association was founded. By then women were speaking out in public and writing letters to government officials and newspapers, seeking the right to vote and to have their concerns addressed.

In 1920 the 19th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution was approved by the States and became law. Women could finally vote in America.

Let me tell you about the current candidate that I hope will win the Presidency. Her name is Hilary Rodham Clinton, she’s married to a former two-term US President, and their daughter is a lovely young woman. Mrs. Clinton, an attorney, has already served as a US Senator and as our country’s Secretary of State. She began her career 40 years ago, as a public-interest lawyer fighting for children’s rights.

Her opponent is a thoroughly disreputable, reputedly wealthy man who speaks vilely, in public, about women. He knows nothing about governing, and he lies without compunction.

Unfortunately, the electorate seems to be evenly divided between the two candidates, which I find disheartening. Of course I’ll be voting tomorrow; I just hope I’m joined by others who still want to see America try to live up to the ideals found in the Declaration of Independence.

We may not know the outcome until Friday morning—please wish us luck!

Yours,

Pam Washburn

Chance the Rapper’s giving a free concert early this evening, and Beth and I are going. It’s all happening outside the Virgin Hotel at Wabash and Lake, according to this Chicagoist piece. (The piece also links to a decent voter guide.) Presumably, it’ll mean street closures, but it’s for a good cause: Chance is doing it to remind people to vote Tuesday, if they haven’t already. Since we’re fans of Chance and voting, we’ll be there.

Chance is on the GOTV case.

I’ve got some pretty strong feelings and thoughts about who to vote for, as we all seem to this year, but, please, just vote. Voting is an investment, it’s skin in the game. It makes you pay attention. It makes you accountable as a citizen. You think it’s a mess? Part of the problem—a big part—is that a lot of people don’t vote. And not voting won’t make it better. Even, say, a 65 percent turnout would turn things upside down for the next cycle. Because once you vote, the parties start paying attention to you.

And before you go to the polls, do just a little research—it takes less time than it does to find the best airfare. Go to ballotpedia.org or the League of Women Voters site to look up a sample ballot for your location. Here in Chicago, you’ll be voting for judges—if you want to know how members of the bar association rate the judges who are running, check out the Chicago Bar Association’s Judicial Evaluations. (You can download and print a pocket guide to take with you to the polls.)

Awhile back, Beth wrote about attending Hamilton. She prepared for the performance by reading Ron Chernow’s exhaustively researched biography. I listened to a great deal of it with her. One thing that was at once disturbing and inspiring: It was a big nasty mess back then, just as nasty and messy, in my view, as it is today.

Hamilton himself ginned up a pen name he used to write scathing criticism of his rival Thomas Jefferson. One of his accusations was that Jefferson was having an “affair” with one of his slaves—and that was true. And it was published in a newspaper. So some things don’t change.

Out messed up democracy is a lot like life: It’s a lot of striving, struggling, disappointment, occasional short-lived triumph, screwing up, surviving, and striving some more.

And it beats the hell out of the alternatives.

So don’t be a deadbeat: Vote.

Have I told you that one of my sisters is enrolled in the memoir-writing class I lead in Printers Row? It’s true! Cheryl chose to write a “letter to dad” for this week’s assignment just like guest blogger Bruce Hunt did yesterday. I was so young when our dad died that I don’t remember him, and I appreciate Cheryl for agreeing to share this letter to give you a glimpse of what our dad — and her relationship with him — was like.

A letter to the future or past generation about the 2016 national election

by Cheryl May

Dear Dad,

I know politics wasn’t a big topic of conversation around our house when I was growing up, but I assume you remember the last Presidential Election that you voted in on November 8, 1960.

Remember the incumbent, President Dwight Eisenhower, was not eligible for re-election. He was the first president affected by the 22nd amendment that said the president could only serve two terms and the 1960 election was also the first-time voters from Alaska and Hawaii could vote after they had become states the year before.

Cheryl’s collection of campaign pins she’s saved over the years.

I remember people wondering if the Democratic Senator John Kennedy of Massachusetts, a Roman Catholic, could ever beat the Republican Vice-President incumbent Richard Nixon. But Kennedy proved to have excellent campaigning skills that far outweighed Nixon’s experience.

I wonder if you remember the commercial that was televised from a press conference with President Eisenhower? He was asked if he could give an example of a major idea of Vice-President Nixon’s that he had heeded. Eisenhower responded with a flip comment, “If you give me a week, I might think of one…”

Both Eisenhower and Nixon claimed he was joking but I’m sure it stayed on voters’ minds as they went into their voting booth.

Dad, when people go to their voting booth on November 8, 2016, they’re going to have a lot more on their minds then whether a candidate is Catholic or if a candidate might not be getting the backing of one guy he was counting on.

First of all, we have a woman nominated for the President of the United States for the first time, can you believe that? She’s a Democrat and if she wins she will succeed our first Black President. Lots of changes since 1960, right?

The Republican candidate this year was never a lawyer, Senator, Congressman or Governor…. he’s a business man. We did have a Republican candidate who was a movie actor and was elected President of the United States in the 1980’s, but he had also served as a Governor of California. (Actually you may have known him as a Democrat because he switched parties in 1962.)

The campaigning of the 2016 candidates has included name calling, lying, accusations of womanizing, (excuse my language Dad) but groping and even possible rape. Needless to say, this is not a national election that you could have ever imagined, and I can’t even imagine what the Presidential election will be like 50 years from now.

Love, Cheryl

Here’s an essay by another writer in one of my memoir classes. After 80-year-old Bruce read this letter out loud about how he’s feeling now, a few days before the 2016 presidential election, I asked, “You miss your dad, don’t you?” Bruce answered, “I sure do.”

by Bruce Hunt

Nov. 3, 2016

Dear Dad:

It’s probably a good thing you did not live long enough to endure this presidential election. At the time of your death in 1979, you seemed to believe that civilization was in decline. I never quite knew whether your golden age was Greece or the Enlightenment, however. Maybe it was the Age of the Explorers? I do know this, though: you certainly would not be persuaded by Donald Trump’s declared intention to “Make America Great again.

Frederick Atherton Hunt is pictured at about age 45. At that time, he was a
partner in his family’s law firm in Boston.

Were you still alive, you and I might engage in a lively discussion about whether there are any historical analogues to our present circumstance. Did the “Know-Nothings” of the late 19th century serve as precursor to the anti-intellectual tenor of the 2016 election? Was the language Taft and Teddy Roosevelt used to pillory each other comparable to the vile accusations that float around on social media?

The lack of civility would surely be disturbing to you. You belong to a long line of respectful citizens. Your devotion to the Republican Party stemmed in large measure from your appreciation for the decent men who held office in Massachusetts. Leveret Saltonstall was a distinguished senator, reelected a number of times. You were proud that Massachusetts voters elected Edward Brooke, the first African American senator in US history. Henry Cabot Lodge Jr. had a notable pedigree, although he was not a personal favorite of yours.

Democracy has always been messy. And you harbored secret (and sometimes not so secret) concerns about mob rule. I still recall your wondering whether perhaps a benevolent oligarchy might be the most effective government. Some say we are building a corporate oligarchy even now, with so much wealth in the hands of a very few families. I doubt that you would see this as progress or as benevolent.

I recall how torn you were in 1960 when you had to choose between a Harvard man who happened to be a Democrat, and A California Republican whose character you mistrusted. You voted for Nixon anyway.

You would be appalled by the character of the present Republican candidate. How he became the nominee is still a mystery to me. At first I thought it was a marketing effort to build the Trump brand. I still wonder if he cares a whit about governance.

Wait. I forget. You missed a major turning point in Republican political affairs.

Since Ronald Reagan (you likely will remember him as a spokesman for GE) became president, he made a casual comment: ”Government is not the solution, Government is the problem.” That quote has provoked a rash of cheap jokes, and it has made the phrase “civil service” the object of cynical scorn.

Elsewhere (see The First Time I Voted for President, Nov 8, 2012) I have acknowledged and apologized for my cavalier dismissal of Dwight Eisenhower as an inarticulate midwestern rube. That crass judgment stemmed from my intellectual arrogance and you called me on it more than once. In hindsight Ike got many of the big things right and certainly his temperament was more presidential than Candidate Trump, whose reputation is built on the 282 people, places, and things he has insulted on Twitter. (A communications vehicle too complicated to explain here.)

I hope you will not view this letter as an elitist appeal for more politically correct discourse while ignoring the real pain of people whose dreams have been dashed.
“Festina lente” make haste slowly you often cautioned me. I am hopeful about our messy democracy and I am looking forward to electing the first woman president. Now that is a topic I would be eager to discuss with you.