A Wetmachine Quasi-Editorial Endorsement (speaking for myself only, not all Wetmachiners).
I was talking with my old man last night by telephone. He’s a retired guy, spent his whole life in finance. Was Chief Financial Officer for three different multi-national companies, and at one time president of a national society of CFOs. A depression kid who came from nothing, he was a “Flying Fortress” navigator in 1945, worked his way through college (driving 18-wheelers) and put all seven of his children through college, and several of us through private high school as well. He follows monetary policy as naturally as I follow baseball. He voted for Eisenhower and Nixon, and has always extolled the values of work, private enterprise, and initiative.
My brother Mike and I went to Xavier High School in New York CIty, a Jesuit, military school whose most famous grad is Antonin Scalia. My father’s motto is “a place for everything and everything in its place.”
What do you suppose he thinks about Kerry and Bush?
Because my father’s mother was an immigrant from Ireland, I am entitled to Irish citizenship–which would make it possible for me to get work papers anywhere in the European Union. My cousin Chris got his citizenship a few years ago and now works in Paris.
My father last night was practially pleading with me to get that citizenship. He said, “If Bush gets back in, we’re in for horrible, horrible days ahead.”
“If Bush gets back in, a few years down the road, when they think they’re strong enough, the Chinese are going to stop buying our bonds. And they’re going to dump what they have, flood the market, and buy up oil. And there will be deflation, there will be panic, and all these right-wing, religious nut-jobs will call for a fascist solution.”
“Listen, John, I hate to say it. But you may have to take your family and go. Mother and I are too old, or else we’d be looking at New Zealand. The Jews who could get out of Germany in the thirties were smart to get out. And the Russian aristocrats had to run from the Bolsheviks. And I hate to say it, but you may have to flee this country.”
“Do me a favor. Get that Irish citzenship. And tell your brothers and sisters to get theirs too.”
“I hope you don’t think I’m a crackpot,” he said.
“No, Dad,” I said. I don’t think you’re a crackpot at all.