One of the interesting things about this book is the pairing of author and subject. A short biography of most notorious president of the ‘20s. written One of the interesting things about this book is the pairing of author and subject. A short biography of most notorious president of the ‘20s. written by the whistle blower who once helped cover-up the scandals of the most notorious president of the ‘70s. Got to be some symbolic score-settling here, some vicarious atonement ... am I right?
John Dean says no, and I think I believe him:
HUIstory’s treatment of Harding has long intrigued me and not because of Watergate (with which I am so familiar). While richard Nixon’s “Watergate” certainly replaced Harding’s “Teapot Dome” as the most serious high-level government scandal of the twentieth century, it was while living in harding’s hometown of Marion, Ohio, that Harding first came to my attention. It was where I first heard it said that there was more to his presidency than the scandalous stories still making the rounds when I was a kid … few presidents have experienced the unrequited attacks and reprisals visited on on of the most kindly men to ever occupy the Oval Office.
This book is certainly a defense of Harding, but a measured and balanced one. Dean shows us a president who, in his brief tenure (882 days) was an excellent head of state, superb at maintaining working relationships with both legislators and the press, but a man who lacked the gift for administration, and who allowed a few of his unscrupulous friends -who he had appointed to office—to take advantage of of their positions for personal gain. He himself, though was free from the taint of financial scandal. (Sexual scandal is another matter, but even this aspect of his character, Dean argues, has been exaggerated on the basis of slim evidence.)
The book is well-written and left me with the impression that Harding was a good man and a gifted campaigner who cared too much about being liked, and that this fault led to minimize the corruptioon that led him to be maligned after his death.
Dean’s book led me to think more charitably of Harding than I did before. A mediocre president certainly, but not one of our worst....more
Last night I turned on MSNBC, delighted to see her again. There she was, sharp as a tack, with her ready smile, rich contralto, and unmistakable Chica Last night I turned on MSNBC, delighted to see her again. There she was, sharp as a tack, with her ready smile, rich contralto, and unmistakable Chicago accent, wearing a stylish scales-of-justice pin, and summing up Barr’s firing of Geoffrey Berman so succinctly that all the other legal analysts were reduced to ancillary commentary. And—yes, I know it sounds sexist, and probably ageist too, but … she’s the prettiest 77-year-old lawyer I’ve ever seen.
Okay, I’m biased. But I’m also someone who prides himself on writing objective reviews, and I can unequivocally recommend Jill Wine-Banks Watergate Girl as an enjoyable and informative look, not only at the inside of the Watergate prosecution, but also at what it was like to be that rare thing, an attractive and successful “mini-skirted lawyer,” in the sexist world of the late ‘60s and early ‘70s.
Wine-Banks is not a great writer, but she is a very good one, able to paint a vivid scene and write clearly and concisely. She is particularly good at brief comparison / contrasts, and using them to illuminate issues that matter to her. For example, if you wish to get a good idea of what she thought of the people and personalities of Watergate affair, read the following set pieces: McGruder/Dean, Cox/Jaworski, and—most revealing of all—Rosemary Woods/Jill Wine-Banks. Wine-Banks is perceptive enough to see Woods—whom she grilled fiercely about the Watergate tapes—as an ambitious woman, much like herself, but of an earlier age, when becoming the secretary to an important political figure would have been the height of what a woman could achieve.
Those who seek a comprehensive treatment of the Watergate affair will not find it here, though they will learn quite a lot about the subject. This is a memoir, after all, and covers not only her Watergate experiences, but her childhood, her disastrous first marriage, her first great affair, her happy second marriage (to an old high-school flame), and the highlights of her professional career, including assistant Watergate prosecutor, private litigator, first female General Counsel to the U.S. Army, first female National Director of the American Bar association, and vice president at Motorola and Maytag. Throughout, Wine-Banks concentrates on important facts and vivid anecdotes, and has produced a book that is short, interesting and to the point.
One of the best things about this book is that Wine-Banks catalogs many of the sexist challenges and petty humiliations that came with the “lady-lawyer” territory throughout her career. There are at least three memorable anecdotes concerning Watergate, but the one I prefer to share here happened after Wine-Banks had been appointed General Counsel to the Army. She was not aware of how traditional Army social occasions could be, so traditional they even adhered to long-abandoned Victorian customs:
[After] a dinner for top Pentagon officials and their spouses at the beautiful home of General Rogers and his wife Ann … I walked into the living room with another guest, General Max Thurman, who years later would go on to lead the US invasion of Panama …. We were in middle of a lively conversation when I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see Ann Rogers. “We’re in there,” she whispered, pointing to another room where the wives had gathered. No one had warned me that cigars and cognac in the living room were for men only. I looked at General Thurman and spoke firmly. “If you get in trouble, I said, “I’ll talk to someone else, or stand in the corner, but I’m not leaving.”
General Thurman smiled as he signaled the server and gave a command: “Bring this woman a cognac and a cigar!”
This best-seller—which documents how the Trump presidency gradually lost its guard rails—somehow failed to sell itself with me. Sure, I’d recommend it This best-seller—which documents how the Trump presidency gradually lost its guard rails—somehow failed to sell itself with me. Sure, I’d recommend it to anybody who’s been in a coma for the last three years, but not to any one like me, who keeps up with the news and has taken note of each fresh horror perpetrated by Generalissimo Trumpo. I discovered few new facts here, fewer insights, and—since it is written in a depersonalized journalistic style that strives above all for objectivity—I derive little pleasure from reading it either.
Still, there are a handful of memorable passages: Rucker and Leonnig’s account of Trump’s foreign policy briefing with the Joint Chiefs in “the Tank” at the Pentagon (after which Tillerson characterized Trump as a “fucking moron”) conveys so starkly the profound gap in knowledge and perspective between Trump and his advisors. It may be found in the first part of Chapter Nine, and you should read it when you get the chance. I also liked the portions of Chapter Twenty Four that describe the Mueller team’s interaction with Barr and his people, and their very different views of what the role of the Special Counsel and the Attorney general should be. Each of these two chapters merits a careful reading.
Other than that, A Very Stable Genius is mostly old news.
Still, there are a few small details here—new to me--that stick. Here are two I particularly liked.
First, how and why acting Attorney General Sally Yates felt blind-sided by Comey:
On January 24, as Yates debated with her staff who best to contact at the White House about Flynn, she got a call from Comey, who delivered an annoying surprise: FBI agents were at the White House FBI agents were at the White House to interview Flynn. Yates was furious. Comey, who had repeatedly insisted he needed to keep the probe under wraps, had neglected to notify the Justice Department. Yates said something to the effect of “How could you make this decision unilaterally?”
… At the Justice Depart one senior official recalled, “The reaction we all had was they’re going to get a false statement … and we’re going to look terrible …. like we’ve known about this for a week, haven’t told anybody, and now it looks like a setup of the national security advisor, like we backed him into a corner.”
Second, Anthony Scaramucci, communications director, seeking an audience with Chief of Staff Kelly, beseeches General Mattis for help:
Scaramucci approached the defense secretary in the West Wing lobby. “Hey, General Mattis,” he said. “I know you’re close to Kelly. Can you get me a meeting with him? He won’t see me.”
Startled, Mattis replied, “Maybe you ought to talk to his scheduler.”
“Oh, no,” Scaramucci said. “They’re blowing me off. General, you don’t understand.”
Mattis tap-danced away from the request. Later that day, Kelly fired Scaramucci. He lasted just eleven days on the job.
I began reading this excellent short biography of Wilson hoping that I would come to like him better, but it didn’t turn out that way. A former colleg I began reading this excellent short biography of Wilson hoping that I would come to like him better, but it didn’t turn out that way. A former college president and son of a Southern minister, Woodrow Wilson was an irritating combination of lofty ivory-tower intellectual and self-satisfied moralist with a touch of racism that served to heighten the hypocrisy. Still, he was instrumental in forming the expanding role of the modern presidency, not only by instituting the income tax, but also by establishing the role of the American president as leader of the free world, the champion of peace, justice and democracy.
Theodore Roosevelt may have proclaimed the presidency a ‘bully pulpit,” but Wilson made it a reality, heightening the importance of the State of the Union by reading it aloud to Congress, fighting the economic monopolies of the trusts, coming to the aid of the democracies in the bloody European war, striving for fairness and self-determination in the peace negotiations which followed, and devoting his remaining effort and energies to establish a viable League of Nations with the power to maintain that peace. The horrors of World War II would later demonstrate how badly Wilson failed, but there is no doubt he pursued his goal of peace with selflessness and devotion.
On the subject of Woodrow’s second wife, Edith. For years I have referred to her as “the USA’s first woman president.” Although not literally true, it is a good conversation starter, and contains enough truth to produce a good argument. Woodrow was certainly weakened by a series of strokes in 1919, and, during the final year and a half of his presidency, Edith was a jealous gatekeeper and her husband’s closest confidante. After reading Brands’ book, however, I have concluded that Woodrow was still competent enough to make his own decisions. It’s just that, in his last days, he had poor powers of concentration and little patience with long briefings—similar to our current president, Donald J. Trump. Like H.R. McMasters was forced to do with our jumpy genralissimo, Edith—an intelligent, well-read woman—decided which issues to present to her husband and reduced the many pages of briefing materials to a page or two. Was Edith instrumental in setting the agenda? Of course. But “Mrs. President”? That’s going a little too far.
In conclusion, H.W. Brands led me to respect and admire Wilson more, but I still cannot bring myself to like him. After all, he locked my hero Eugene Debs up in Federal prison. His crime? An anti-war speech delivered in Canton, Ohio. Later, during Wilson’s final days, as president, even Wilson’s radical-hating attorney-general Palmer asked that Debs be pardoned because of his failing health. The pardon request was denied.
So … no, I can’t bring myself to like Woodrow Wilson. Or Edith Wilson either....more
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter. — John Keats
If Keats is right, then the music Dale Cockrell introduces us to here—as rau
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter. — John Keats
If Keats is right, then the music Dale Cockrell introduces us to here—as raucous, untutored, and wild as it may have been—must be the sweetest of all.
This is a wonderful little book. It is brief, scholarly, clearly written, and it explores the nexus of sex, music, and dance in urban popular culture from the 1840s to the late teens of the 20th century. It demonstrates how, wherever music and dancing came together, prostitution, alcohol, race-mixing and class-mixing were never far behind, and suggests that the frenzied, free-spirited atmosphere created by this cultural stew—cooked up in the venerable dives, beer gardens, and “blind tigers” of New York—prepared the way for the celebrated Jazz age that was to come.
What I love most about this book is that Cockrell never forgets about the music. Whether he is speaking about the work of the reformers and their commissions, or about how the laws of the city council affected the business of bars, theaters and the sex workers, Cockrell always has one ear cocked to catch the tinny sounds of the professor banging away at his piano, the strains of the comely three-piece girl-combo, the frenetic flailing of the drummer, the screech of the high-note specialist wailing away on a his horn. Alas! Neither Cockrell or we will ever be able to hear them. But he does an excellent job of making us almost hear them, and that is an achievement in itself.
To tell this tale, Cockrell has chosen to limit himself to New York City, where documentation is extensive. He makes extensive use of early yellow journalism (whose authors were often jailed for obscenity), and on the published reports of the commissions for moral reform (which, ironically, are often more graphic than the censored newspapers themselves.) Many of the descriptions he reproduces are quite vivid, and for those who of us who relish detailed accounts of the dark underbelly of New York, Cockrell has produced a book that belongs on a small shelf along with Herbert Ashbury’s The Gangs of New York (1927), Albert Parry’s Garrets and Pretenders: A History of Bohemianism in America (1933), A.J. Liebling’s The Telephone Booth Indian (1942), and Luc Sante’s Low Life: Lures and Snares of Old New York (1991).
Here, is a memorable passage from one of the most vivid and oldest accounts, taken from George Goodrich Foster’s Herald Tribune column “New York in Slices,” published in 1848. Here he describes the music of a “Five Points” dive called “Dicken’s Place” (after the British novelist who reportedly visited during his American tour):
[Y]ou may imagine that the music of Dicken’s Place is of no ordinary kind. You cannot see the red-hot knitting needles spirited out by the red-faced trumpeter, who looks precisely as if he were blowing glass, which needles aforesaid penetrating the tympanum, pierce through and through your brain without remorse. Nor can you percieve the frightful mechanical contortions of the base drummer as he sweats and deals his blows on evey side, in all violation of the laws of rhythm, like a man beating a balky mule and showing his blows upon the unfortunate animal, now on this side, now on that.
Many questions whirled through my mind while I was reading this book, but the one that never left me was: who exactly is “Anonymous” ’ desired audienc Many questions whirled through my mind while I was reading this book, but the one that never left me was: who exactly is “Anonymous” ’ desired audience anyway? This self-styled member of the “steady state”—that small group of insiders determined to keep the U.S. on an even keel despite the erratic behavior of our ill-equipped president—having realized that their three-year’s effort has become a fruitless exercise, now pleads with the people of the nation to defeat Donald Trump at the polls.
So who are these people she pleads with? After all, almost half the country has already decided to vote against Trump, and at least a third—probably more—will vote for him again no matter what. Of the remaining 15 percent still on the fence, how many will be persuaded by a traitorous member of Trump’s inner circle, who even now—at this crucial time of decision—refuses to reveal her identity, to speak out in her own name?
Still, the book has redeeming qualities. The first fifth—the “Introduction” plus “The Collapse of the Steady State”—gives a vivid account of her own gradual—and gradually more fearful—awareness of how damaged and incorrigible Donald J. Trump really is. The next chapter—“The Character of the Man”—although it tells us things about Trump most of us already know—is organized instructively according to Trump’s relationship to the four cardinal virtues—prudence, justice, courage and temperance—and argues persuasively that our president possesses hardly a smidgen of the four.
The other two-thirds of the book—the condemnations of Trump’s faux conservative positions, his attacks on republican institutions, his affection for tyrants, the difficult position of his apologists—are subjects that have been treated before—and better—by the Never-Trumpers (David Frum, Charlie Sykes and Andrew Sullivan come immediately to mind.) Her dismissal of the 25th Amendment and impeachment are sound, yet contain no useful insights, and her final stirring “Epilogue”—in which she compares the American electorate to the passengers on Flight 93 on the morning of September 11th rings hollow coming from someone who still fearfully clings to anonymity, as does her plea to “the leftward-lurching Democratic party” to nominate someone who “campaigns on unity instead of ideological purity.” (My translation: “if you promise not to act like Democrats, maybe—just maybe—we’ll vote for you.” Hmm. Doesn’t sound like a Flight 93 sort of statement to me.)
My advice: read the first third and forget the rest.
Oh, one final note … I call Anonymous “she” because I am convinced the writer is female, and almost certain that she is Kellyanne Conway, with a little assistance from her husband George. Why? Mostly little things. First of all, she uses superlatives in praise of the women of history—like when she refers to the “brilliant” Abigail Adams. Abigail was a smart cookie, no doubt, but I sense something defensive in the size of the praise. Such language would come naturally to a woman who works for a political party that routinely denigrates her sex. Also, there is one instance in which Anonymous writes of a female White House employee, insulted by Trump, who comes to confide in her—something an employee would be more likely to do if “Anonymous” were a woman.
The thing that clinched it for me, though—slender though it may be—is the book’s treatment of Trump and the cardinal virtues. Although the concept stretches all the way back to Plato, the name “cardinal virtues” itself—with which “Anonymous” introduces the discussion—is a traditionally Catholic one, something Kellyanne would have learned in Catholic school, that would have been reinforced at her Catholic college (Trinity Washington University). The treatment itself, however, is based on Cicero. Why the shift from Roman Catholic to Roman? As soon as I asked the question, I immediately—as I am wont to do--imagined how it must have happened. I heard the voice of George Conway: “Your approach here, my dove, is transparently Catholic. You’ll give yourself away. Let me rewrite this section. I can muddy the waters a little with Cicero’s “De Officiis.” George Conway is a Harvard man, after all....more
Since Trump got elected, I’ve been addicted to MSNBC, and my fourth favorite legal analyst there (right after Chuck Rosenberg, Joyce Vance, and Maya W Since Trump got elected, I’ve been addicted to MSNBC, and my fourth favorite legal analyst there (right after Chuck Rosenberg, Joyce Vance, and Maya Wiley) is Neal Katyal, who is the Saunders professor at Georgetown Law, and a practicing a lawyer who has argued more than three dozen cases before the US Supreme Court. During the years 2010–2011, he was acting solicitor general of the United States, and, as a young Justice Department lawyer in 1998 and 1999, he drafted the special counsel statute which established the parameters for Robert Mueller’s recent investigations.
Impeach is a short, plainly written book with one purpose: to convince the American people that Donald Trump deserves to be impeached, and should be impeached now, for we must not wait and “let the election decide”:
In many ways, both political parties would be better off it President Trump’s fate were determined on Election Day. But the challenge we face is this: President Trump has shown that he will do everything in his power, legal and illegal, to ensure he wins reelection, even if that means working with a foreign power to undermine our democracy. So asking us to wait until the election to remove him from office is like asking to resolve a dispute based on who wins a game of Monopoly—when the very crime you’ve been accused of is cheating at Monopoly.
Katyal believes Trump fully deserves impeachment according to what he calls “The Pence Standard.” after a speech Mike Pence made as to the Judiciary Committee in July of 2008:
”This business of high crimes and misdemeanors goes to the question of whether or not the person serving as President of the United States put their own interests, their personal interests, ahead of public service.”
Katyal believes—as I do—that the “transcript” of Trump’s call to Zelensky (supported by the testimony of dedicated civil servants to the doings of Guliani and “The Three Amigos” in Ukraine) clearly demonstrates that Trump has placed his own personal interests ahead of our nation's interest, and has used the power of the presidency to pressure and attempt to bribe the leader of a foreign country.
In addition, the fact that he has gotten away with such conduct up until now makes the situation more dire:
I believe that if we fail to hold the President accountable for what he did in 2019—for what he’s doing right now—we might lose our democracy altogether in 2020.
The book—as you would expect it to be—is cogently argued, and the prose is forceful too. In addition, Impeach possesses a useful appendix which contains: the whistleblower complaint, the July 25th call summary, the Volker/Taylor/Sondland text messages, and Pat Cippolone’s White House letter in response to the House.
I recommend this book highly. If you want a clear, concise argument in favor of impeachment, you will find everything you require in Neal Katyal’s Impeach....more
This graphic memoir by George Takei—who was imprisoned, along with his family, in the U.S.’s World War II concentration camps for Japanese Americans—i This graphic memoir by George Takei—who was imprisoned, along with his family, in the U.S.’s World War II concentration camps for Japanese Americans—is timely, moving, remarkably objective, and historically necessary.
It is timely because, once again, we have concentration camps in America. Children, snatched from the arms of their mothers, are confined in large wired enclosures as demeaning as cages. Their crime? They dared to cross the border into what was once considered to be the Land of Freedom, in a desperate attempt to escape hunger, poverty, gang violence, and sexual exploitation. It is true that Takei and his family were the victims of yet a crueler irony: they were American citizens. Yet the callous brutality of what is essentially a white man’s government toward people who are different from themselves makes these two situations much the same.
This memoir is particularly moving because it is viewed primarily through the eyes of the children, the most undeniably innocent of all victims, and often the most oblivious. We see them playing contentedly through the railroad journey the camps, unaware—until years later—of the humiliation their parents suffered and the challenges they faced. The pain of the adults becomes more poignant in isolation, and the distance it causes between children and parents compounds the crime.
It is also remarkably objective, taking care to show the occasional non-Asian American who acted with compassion and courage, from the anonymous man who regularly delivered carloads of books to the internment camps to lawyer Wayne Collins who led the fight against deportation during the “renunciation crisis.” It also shows its objectivity—as well as a little irony too—in its account of how many Japanese—including Takei’s father—worked to organize the detainees into a mutually helpful community, organized democratically in a quintessentially American way.
We all owe our thanks to George Takei because, above all other things, this memoir is historically necessary. For it is only by seeing the evil our nation has caused in the past that we are able to recognize the evil happening now and do what we can to stop it. ...more
Plutarch chooses the lives of the two generals—the Greek Pelopidas and the Roman Marcellus—as an apt comparison, since both were successful commanders Plutarch chooses the lives of the two generals—the Greek Pelopidas and the Roman Marcellus—as an apt comparison, since both were successful commanders, yet both were the victims of their own foolhardy actions.
Pelopidas was a fourth century Theban general, a leader of the “Sacred Band,” who helped defeat Sparta at the battle of Leuctra, thereby increasing Thebe’s power and control. Later, he formed an alliance with the Thessalonians to defeat Alexander II of Macedon. But his career ended precipitately when, having already defeated Alexander of Pherae, Pelopidas recklessly sought to kill the tyrant singlehanded and was cut down by Alexander’s mercenaries.
I’ll end with Plutarch’s account of Pelopidas unnecessary, lamentable death, and how not only the Thebans—but their allies the Thessalians—grieved for their beloved lost general:
Pelopidas now perceiving, from the rising ground, that the enemy’s army was, though not yet routed, full of disorder and confusion, stood and looked about for Alexander; and when he saw him in the right wing, encouraging and ordering his mercenaries, he could not moderate his anger, but inflamed at the sight, and blindly following his passion, regardless alike of his own life and his command, advanced far before his soldiers, crying out and challenging the tyrant who did not dare to receive him, but retreating, hid himself amongst his guard. The foremost of the mercenaries that came hand to hand were driven back by Pelopidas, and some killed; but many at a distance shot through his armor and wounded him, till the Thessalians, in anxiety for the result, ran down from the hill to his relief, but found him already slain …
No one can wonder that the Thebans then present, should show great grief at the death of Pelopidas, calling him their father, deliverer, and instructor in all that was good and commendable. But the Thessalians and the allies out-doing in their public edicts all the just honors that could be paid to human courage, gave, in their display of feeling, yet stronger demonstrations of the kindness they had for him. It is stated, that none of the soldiers, when they heard of his death, would put off their armor, unbridle their horses, or dress their wounds, but, still hot and with their arms on, ran to the corpse, and, as if he had been yet alive and could see what they did, heaped up spoils about his body. They cut off their horses’ manes and their own hair, many kindled no fire in their tents, took no supper, and silence and sadness was spread over all the army; as if they had not gained the greatest and most glorious victory, but were overcome by the tyrant, and enslaved.
Margaret Skinnider is one of the minor figures of Ireland’s Easter Rising, but she is also one of its most interesting and daring personalities. Born Margaret Skinnider is one of the minor figures of Ireland’s Easter Rising, but she is also one of its most interesting and daring personalities. Born and raised in Scotland, this passionate young Irish lass—and dedicated feminist—quit her job as a mathematics instructor and moved to Dublin to take part in the coming revolution. There she met Countess Markievicz, and soon “the Red Countess” had Margaret smuggling detonators through customs under her hat, spying on British caches of ammunition, and testing dynamite in the Wicklow Mountains nearby.
During the Easter Rising, Margaret—dressed as a boy—worked principally as a bike messenger, communicating between St. Stephen’s Green and the headquarters located in the General Post Office. But later in the conflict, when British snipers fired upon the Green and the rebel-occupied College of Surgeons, Margaret—who was a crack shot—convinced her unwilling commander Michael Mallin to let her be a sniper too, telling him the she and other women “had the same right to risk our lives as the men. She did indeed risk her life: she was grievously wounded, and spent two weeks in hospital.
This very short autobiography, published in 1917 in America—shorter than it looks, as it is padded with revolutionary songs—is a to-the-point, no-nonsense account of a dedicated woman who tells her story straight. I bet it was a great fund-raising tool for the war to come, and it is a stirring read even today.
Since Margaret was a modest woman, I will end with an account, not of her own exploits, but of a story she heard of a triple shooting while she was confined to the hospital:
There were three women in the ward who had all been struck by the same bullet: a mother, her daughter, and a cousin. They had been friendly to the British soldiers, had fed them because, as the mother told me, her husband and son were in the trenches fighting for Great Britain. These three women had been at their window, looking with curiosity into the street, when the very soldier they had just fed turned suddenly and shot them. One had her jawbone broken, the second her arm pierced, and the third was struck in the breast. They were all serious wounds which kept them in bed. While I was still in the ward, the two men of this family came back from Flanders on leave, only to find no one at home. The neighbors directed them to the hospital. I hate to think how those men looked when they learned why their women wore bandages. They told me that during Easter Week the Germans put up opposite the trenches of the Irish Brigade a placard that read:
"The military are shooting down your wives and children in Dublin."
But the Irish soldiers had not believed it ...
When the day came for them to return to the front, the father wanted to desert, dangerous as that would be, while the son was eager to go back to the trenches.
"This time," he said to me, "we'll not be killing Germans!"
When rumors came later of a mutiny in the Irish regiment, I wondered to myself if these two men were at the bottom of it.
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