Death Threat from a Vet

Here is the latest insanity from a Chuck Grassley led town hall meeting yesterday:

“The president of the United States, that’s who you should be concerned about.  Because he’s acting like a little Hitler,” said Tom Eisenhower, a World War II veteran.   “I’d take a gun to Washington if enough of you would go with me.”

My Dad, rest his soul, was a World War II veteran.  In December of 1942 he was a 27 year-old married man who would, in a few months, become a father.  He was told if he got a job at a certain defense plant he could sit out the war, enabling him to be at home with my Mother and her soon-to-be born child. 

But he wouldn’t do that.  He told my Mother he didn’t think he could face his children if he didn’t step up and do his part for the war effort. 

So he enlisted in the Coast Guard and became a signalman.  Eventually he was sent on a ship to the South Pacific where he spent the rest of the war and then, thankfully, came home to my Mother and his now two year-old son. 

It was a difficult adjustment.  It took some time for him and my brother to become acquainted, and for my brother to learn how to “share” my Mother with him.  But my Dad didn’t complain.  He wouldn’t have had to do this if he’d taken the “easy way” out.  But he didn’t.

As I read those words above by Mr. Eisenhower (how ironic!), I am filled with shame and anger. 

I’m sure Mr. Eisenhower knew the magnitude of the Nazi threat and all that it stood for.  Perhaps he enlisted in the war for the same reasons my father did—because he felt it was the only thing he could do and still be able to look his children in the eyes when it was all over. 

Now he is sullying what my Dad and countless others fought against by cavalierly tossing about the comparison of Obama to Hitler, as many seem to be doing these days with no objections from the Republican leaders who stand there listening with mute tongues and cold, leaden eyes.  They feel this kind of talk will “gin up” the base and that’s alright with them. 

The more right-wing flamethrowers, the better.

Not only is this kind of rhetoric ridiculous and demeaning to the Greatest Generation, but it is also inflammatory and downright seditious.  How can people–especially veterans who have fought against the real Hitler and should know better–be allowed to make such statements against the safety of the President of the United States and the stability of our country? 

Didn’t he live through the agony that was the JFK assassination? 

I did, and the memory is forever scorched into my brain. 

Perhaps Mr. Eisenhower wasn’t paying attention in 1963 to the painful turmoil that trauma caused our country, and the subsequent stripping of innocence from the young people who believed in “Ask not what your country can do for you.  Ask what you can do for your country.” 

Now this “veteran” is calling for the same violence to be enacted upon yet another president. 

I’m sure if Ronald Reagan and Gerald Ford were still alive they would be appalled at the threats being shouted against this president.  Both of them suffered through assassination attempts, and with Reagan it was almost accomplished.  The specter of assassination has again raised its ugly head. 

Before long, Mr. Eisenhower himself will die, and when he arrives at the Pearly Gates I hope he’ll be met by a throng of WWII veterans who are just as ashamed of him as I know my Dad is.



Infiltrating the D.A.R.


Yesterday I got a phone call from our local D.A.R. chapter (the Daughters of the American Revolution, as I’m sure you know.)  I was somewhat puzzled at first because I’d had no contact with them for several years.  Back then I had inquired about membership, but only because my kids had heard the D.A.R. offered scholarships to high school students.  Since they themselves were parents just beginning to contemplate that gaping abyss known as college tuition, they had hoped to get a head start on the whole thing by having me be the point man for them.  If “Memaw” can become a member in good standing, well then, we’ll have a foot in the door.

Prior to all this, I had found out through a distant cousin that one of my Dad’s ancestors had aided the “good guys” in the Revolutionary War.  This is one of the necessary requirements for his female descendants to be allowed admittance into the D.A.R.  It didn’t matter if his “aid” was in the form of selling meat to the troops.  Jacob may not have been a Minuteman, but we all know an army travels on its stomach.   So…Minuteman or Minute Rice….good enough!  I had a lock on admittance.

After going through a lengthy online application, I spoke on the phone with the local chapter’s registrar.  She told me about their regular meetings which were held on a Wednesday at 2:00 in the afternoon.  At that time I was busy taking care of grandkids, which enabled my daughter to work parttime, so the meetings didn’t fit into my schedule.  Also, it told me something about the members; that they all must be older ladies with a lot of time on their hands in order to be able to go to a meeting in the middle of the day.

Then I discovered my son’s daughters didn’t qualify for membership.  Acceptance was passed down from mothers to daughters and then on to their daughters.  Apparently, it didn’t work the same way with mothers to sons to daughters.  At the very least, his girls had to come up with their own Revolutionary War meat and produce provider on their mother’s side of the family in order to get in.  Since my daughter-in-law is a native of Scotland…well, I don’t think so.  With that, I dropped the whole thing.

Then the phone call yesterday.  It was a very pleasant older lady who said they had been going over their application records and saw my name and wondered if I was still interested.  We had a nice chat about genealogy and the vagaries of relatives who unilaterally decide to change the spelling of the family name, forever lousing up any research done by their descendants. 

She told me the date of their next meeting and that the speaker was a rather interesting fellow, well-known in these parts, who would give a presentation on the history of our town and surrounding area.  This piqued my curiosity just enough to entertain the thought that maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all to be a part of this group.  They do have the scholarship program for deserving students and there are other good things they do for the community.

Then, I was abruptly brought back to reality. 

The nice lady on the phone was saying it would be wonderful to hear the speaker talk about “our heritage and where we came from, since it’s really important to remember that.”…pause…“Especially now.”

Okay.  There she lost me. 

I know what she was saying.   

Code for:  “We now have a black President of the United States and things are all topsy-turvy and it’s good to know who the real Americans are.” 

Particularly the ones who weren’t born in Kenya. 

Why was I delusional enough to think that here, in one of the reddest of the red states, I would find a group of women with whom I would feel comfortable?  I really kicked myself later for not coming up with some kind of snappy repartee, but all I had managed was a noncommittal “Hmm” at the time. 

I admit it.  I was caught flat-footed by the nice Southern lady on the other end of the line.   Some of these seemingly “nice” little ladies are the same ones who’ve been flouncing around at the health care town halls and Tea Parties, brandishing signs and venting their spleens against Obama and everything he stands for.

I have given some thought to infiltrating their group, kind of like a spy for the Left.  I could go all Barney Frank on their asses and ask what planet they’ve been living on, and tell them talking to their group is as productive as talking to the dining-room table. 

But it probably isn’t worth the effort. 

They would just smile.  “Thet’s nice, deah.  Would y’all lahk some ahced tea?”

And this is why I blog.


Pledge Allegiance to the Nation of Pinheads













Joe the Plumber, meet Katy Abrams.  This is the gal who confronted Arlen Specter about health care at a town hall meeting in Pennsylvania.  She was a guest tonight on Hardball with Lawrence O’Donnell as the host.  She is real America, folks.  Uninformed, uninterested (until the “other” guy gets into the White House) and unbelievable.  She could get all the way through the Iraq war, warrantless wire tapping and all the other Bush-trocities to the Constitution without being “awakened”, as she put it, until the health care boogeyman raised his head.  How convenient.

When O’Donnell told her no one would be taxed for health care unless they made over $250K a year,  she coyly tossed her curls, giggled and admitted that she didn’t know how much her husband made because “he handles all the bills.”  (Oh, Miz Scarlett, I don’t know nuthin’ about finances!)  How reminiscent of Joe the Non-plumber’s fake answers to Obama during the campaign.

When asked if her parents had Medicare (to prove the point that we already have socialized medicine) Katy said her parents didn’t yet, but she thought we should do away with it.  Ms. Abrams went on to say that the Founding Fathers didn’t have Medicare in mind when they wrote the Constitution so she thought America should go back to the good old days of “people helping each other when they needed help”, like church missions did. 

Okay, Ms. Abrams, if your mother or father have the misfortune to develop cancer at some point in the future (God forbid), do you really believe that your church or your neighbors are going to kick in for their care?  No, I think not.

On another, similar, note—I received a newsy little email from my Congressman Critter today.  It contained the usual crap about his opposition to health care and then this little tidbit that griped my ass: 

After saying that the Democrat’s plan expands the “worst parts of our current system”, he went on to say that also meant “…..more government intrusions into the most intimate decisions many of us will ever make—those about life and death.”

Oh, pulleeeze!  I promptly emailed him (probably the only person to do so who wasn’t a Republican) and told him to quit trying to scare the old folks with this claptrap.  There are no “death panels”!  They are a figment of Sarah Palin’s mind.  If we’re going to debate health care issues, let’s do so with real issues, not hallucinations.

So, Katy Abrams and Congressman Critter– you win my “Smells Like Bullshit to Me” award for today. 

Thank you for playing, and please, don’t come back.