I’ll ignore the (likely apocryphal) quote of Col. Israel Putnam at Bunker Hill in 1775, partially because Israel’s bravado is no longer taught at public and private schools, and the admonition “Don’t fire till you see the whites of their eyes” isn’t entirely applicable to my ongoing project of proving The New York Times is having a laugh at readers’ expense with its very funny transition to parody. In addition, I want to be “part of the solution, not the problem,” considering the guns a-blazin’ all over America today. Not that I really believe violence in this country is much different than, say 1995, but, referring to another lost soul, Graham Parker, that’s what they all say.
And a small admission: if it weren’t for The Wall Street Journal’s Editorial Features Editor James Taranto (a swell fellow that I enjoyed breaking bread with in the nostalgic 1990s) I wouldn’t have seen Philip Galanes’ “Social Q’s” in the September 17th Times “Style” section, a 12-pager I never read and just hand off to my wife, who can tolerate the Times because she pays no attention to the galling front page, op-ed section or the, believe it or not, increasingly silly “Book Review” (which I might put a bullseye on next week).
If the following question for Galanes (and it’s logical to wonder, like we did in the 1970s about the veracity of Penthouse’s Letters, if this wasn’t dreamed up by a middle-aged loser at the paper who, with nothing to do after attaining “tenure,” fucks around with stories in Times nooks and crannies) is real I won’t go drastic, like The Washington Post’s Dana Milbank, who attained a tiny degree of notoriety by saying he’d eat his hat if Trump won in 2016, but will accept the punishment of stuffing blackberries in my nose, in public, for half an hour.
The query read (and if you blow out your own blackberries from laughing, no penalty accrued): “My husband and I moved into an apartment complex recently. We befriended some of our new neighbors while sitting around the swimming pool. We have discussed politics with some of them, having been given hints that we are all on the same page. But one couple—whom we like a lot—has provided no information about their politics. We have no idea where they stand! The state of the country is very important to us, and we are willing to socialize only with people who support our beliefs. Should we continue to see this couple whose politics are a mystery, or should we tell them where we stand and see how they react?”
Never mind Galanes’ sensible answer that he doesn’t advocate “administering rigid political purity tests to everyone I meet… The stakes are low here… If you find this couple congenial, continue seeing them until you feel differently.” Galanes is sucking it up and covering his eyes, and going along with the gag, one that has more holes than a two-minute speech by Sen. Ed Markey (D-Geriatrics) or FCC pest Brendan Carr. Taken at face value: is the apartment complex “gated,” a refuge for the old and scared? Is it located in Park Slope or Laura Petrie’s New Rochelle? And is the purported letter-writer a Mamdani Democrat or Republican campaign worker for “Vance in 2008”! What a predicament. I’ll assume, as a good sport, it’s the former and she—has to be a she—fetches lemonade for the workers who clean the retirement home’s, I mean, complex’s pool.
Galanes, 62, Yale-educated and writing for the Times since 1927, throws in a personal view. “Personally, I know a bit too much about the political opinions of people who are relatively unimportant to me.” I’m unaware of my neighbors’ political opinions and don’t have any interest in finding out. Carping about Baltimore City’s incompetent (and undoubtedly corrupt) government, the lifespan of azalea bushes, the comings and goings of Frank and Audrey—the area’s deer that mosey down the street every other day—and the pennant races is plenty for me, and, unlike politics, captivating.
The picture above is of my dad and an older brother (with his wife raising a skeptical eye) at a holiday gathering at our Uncle Joe’s many years ago. I’m sure they were jabbering about Vietnam, Nixon and the 1-A draft status of two other brothers, but can’t be sure since I was concentrating on a plate of Aunt Winnie’s five-cheese lasagna.
Take a look at the clues to figure out the year: Bassist Noel Redding quits The Jimi Hendrix Experience; David Bowie stages a free concert in South London; Fairport Convention’s great Liege & Lief is released; Vickie Jones is arrested for impersonating Aretha Franklin at a concert; The Turtles perform at the White House, highlighted by Mark Volman falling off the stage five times; The Nice perform at The Isle of Wight festival; The 13th Floor Elevators disband; Julie Delpy is born and Spade Cooley dies; the Celtics win the NBA Finals; the Ottawa Rough Riders win the Grey Cup; Tony Jacklin wins the British Open; Prince Regent wins the Irish Derby Stakes; Arts and Letters takes the Belmont Stakes; and Rex Stout’s Death of a Dude and Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five are published.
—Follow Russ Smith on Twitter: @MUGGER2023