I Don’t Care WHO Started It

If you are conversant in Leave It To Beaver, I’m talkin’ to you. Wally and Beaver, natch, Ward and June, Whitey, Larry Mondello, Lumpy/Clarence…Eddie Haskell.

If you grew up with Etch A Sketch and Bazooka Bubble Gum and Slinky and Silly Putty and Tinker Toys and Lincoln Logs, I’m talkin’ to you.

Forget high-tech skate boards with bearings and bushings. If you clattered along on metal skates that were secured to your shoes with a skate key that was worn around the neck with something like pride, or if you whizzed down hills in homemade go-carts the rudimentary engineering of which entrusted stopping to improvisation rather than brakes, I’m talking to YOU. If anyone is giving a thought to opening a Fifties Diner, I invite them to consider labeling the bathrooms Hoola Hoops and Pogo Sticks.

If you are familiar with candy cigarettes and candy necklaces, S&H green stamps, the Fuller Brush Man, Barnum & Bailey’s Greatest Show on Earth, the Harlem Globetrotters, the Ice Capades, the Viet Nam war, The Draft, man taking one small step and mankind taking one giant leap on the moon, supposedly…if you remember exactly where you were when President Kennedy was shot…I’m talking to you.

I’m talking to you if Saturday mornings started with cartoons. Popeye, Mickey Mouse, MIGHTY Mouse, Goofy, Bugs Bunny, Road Runner, Quickdraw McGraw, Deputy Dog, Baby Huey, Tweetie Bird, Rocky & Bullwinkle…Johnny Quest. The late morning line-up might include The Lone Ranger and My Friend Flicka…Sky King marked the end of kid-friendly programming.

Your parents may or may not have obliged you to watch the Lawrence Welk Show, but there was only one TV and you were NOT changing the channel. Gunsmoke, I Love Lucy, The Honeymooners, Lost In Space, Twilight Zone, Outer Limits, Ozzie and Harriet…Ed Sullivan.

My Three Sons, Mannix, Petticoat Junction, Beverly Hillbillies, Green Acres, Laugh In, Star Trek, The Partridge Family, The Brady Bunch…Johnny Carson. Hee Haw, for those who hail from Redneck.

Annual physicals, school uniforms, family vacations, teeth cleanings, college educations, food on the table, roof over the head, bills in good standing — Lower Middle Class, Middle Class, Upper Middle Class — born in the 1950′s in these United States, My People, I AM TALKING TO YOU.

When I type in all capitals, that’s the tipoff that I’m shouting — it comes from John Irving’s “A Prayer For Owen Meany”. Familiarity with that book would be helpful as a frame of reference.

I believe that we are called upon to act. I believe that responsibility for the Crisis falls largely to us. I believe that this, now, is our defining moment. What’s it all about, Alfie? Is that all there is? An amazing confluence of events is here before us, the demands of which might establish the purpose of an entire lifetime, if we will but bravely take up the challenge.

I come from a family of seven, a not uncommon size amongst Baby Boomers. When an assembly of young ‘uns reached a certain decibel of chaos — whether at your house or another’s, at school or on the street — it, it was TYPICAL for an adult to march in and put an end to it. The predictable chorus of who did what would be dispatched with the imperious announcement, “I DON’T CARE WHO STARTED IT, I’M FINISHING IT.”

That’d be whatcha call Moral Authority.

America used to have international Moral Authority. By BEING American, WE used to have international cache. GONE. All of it. How does one People squander so much so quickly? Today, America can only effectuate behavior by armed or economic force.

The Federal Government used to have domestic Moral Authority. GONE. All of it. How does arguably the most brilliant system of government ever devised devolve so quickly into a political cesspool better known for scandal than statesmanship? Today, the Federal Government can only effectuate behavior by armed or economic force.

Even as America is under threat from big-talkin’ bullies, America IS a big-talkin’ bully.

America is a big-talkin’ bully because there are Bad Guys in strategic positions who are freewheeling with impunity — all bets are off as to means, methods and morals — and we are LETTING them get away with it. We are afraid, and I don’t blame us. These be ruthless sons-of-bitches. But PLEASE tell me that we do not mean to simply LET them get away with it. For a historical reference, that would be like Wild West townspeople simply accepting that Bad Guys will be Bad Guys and that they will, from time to time, ride through town and shoot the place up before, during or after robbing the bank. Never fighting back. Never hiring an effective sheriff. Just letting Bad Guys do their thing . . . while praying for a brighter future, natch.

I mean to confront my generation. Are we or are we not going to do something about Bad Guys running this country AND MANY PEOPLE right into the ground? Typing disapproval year after year does not constitute Resistance. Are we determined to right this floundering ship of state, or are we content to say ‘I told you so’ when it runs aground?

I have never had to personally deliver the news that So-and-So is dead. Notifying next of kin must be a dreadful job. But I have several times delivered the hard news that someone IS an alcoholic and that they will NEVER be able to drink normally. It never goes down well. I have twice delivered the hard news that an Oldster cannot drive anymore — that goes over like a lead balloon, too.

Here’s the hard news. Complacency is complicity.