Ichabod's Kin
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Busting Scott Brown’s Chops

Forgive me for borrowing the title of a Rush Limbaugh book (“See, I Told You So,” but for years he’s been snitching pages from the life and career of Father James Coughlin, who savaged FDR while people cheered, so let’s call it even. Note however that FDR is now a giant in the American pantheon and Coughlin virtually forgotten.

What I’m recalling is my comment a while ago, after the Tea Party came to my small New England town and, to show how mature they are, held an abusive shout-out at Democrats arriving at a rally. I always thought that peaceful assembly was an American right, but not anymore. I suggested that, in victory, Scott Brown would have to find a way to deal with the Baggers because they are, in the first place, politically ugly and, secondly, will turn on him as quickly as they turned out for him.

So here’s the I-told-you-so: the trash-talking Tea crowd is already busting Brown’s chops for doing what he said he would do–try to break the logjam in Congress.

And that’s what’s so telling about these miscreants. I don’t know where Brown will end up politically but clearly he has a tiger by the tail: the Tea-and-No Sympathy folks had claimed that all they wanted was someone who would forswear politics as usual and just Do the Right Thing. Well, did and did. And what is their reaction?–as if a sewer had backed up.

To wit, it’s not a good idea to read his mail if you have a weak stomach. These people who imagine themselves as do-gooders and super- patriots are not just calling Brown every name in the book, they’re issuing a second edition: how dare he vote to prevent filibuster against a jobs bill! How dast he, in any way, shape or form, vote now and then with Democrats! Don’t look now, but he’s getting both personal and political threats–and not of the mild variety.

Some very offended local Tea-tasters objected to my remarks and insinuated by letters to the editor that the movement was merely the voice of the people having become the voice of God. I knew that wasn’t the case but imagine my surprise when it took only one of Scotty’s first votes to morph his supercilious supporters into Former Followers. This is where anger gets you, especially when there are no rational thoughts to go with it.

America is a constant lesson in civics. Dictatorship, without a doubt, is the most efficient form of government; thankfully we are heir to all the risks and hazards of democracy. But both sides must be aired, and patience is a virtue. The tea that our current Citizens-Behaving-Badly are drinking is of a cheap kind: hanging it on one’s fishing cap is just another lure with a hook in it. All we need do is to refrain from biting.

So another told-you-so is next to come: my warning that Brown’s electrifying first appearance in the Senate would soon become low-watt. The radical right, you recall, nearly puked up their socks when Al Franken finally got the nod in Minnesota after Norm Coleman petulantly held out at great expense to the people there. Everyone thought that the 60 Majority he supposedly carried in with him would turn us all into–gasp! a Soviet state. And look what happened: who thinks of Al Franken anymore, and where’s the feared Commie Country West?

Things are never as they seem, and in no time Scott Brown will still be all the talk in Massachusetts, as he should be–after all, he’s their Senator–but not much of anywhere else. Besides, he has a spanking yet to come, this time from his new Senate cohorts who don’t cotton (sorry, one of my Southern-isms), uh, “clam” to young upstarts in their bailiwick.

For one thing, he will soon have Mitch McConnell, he of the inimitable verbal slurp, dish out words of reproach and our Centerfold find himself bumped into line real quickly. At such point, I’d advise him not to attempt an impression by shedding his clothes in those hallowed halls: that would be, well, just another freaky day in Congress, and his little truck would be needed for a fast getaway, schtick shift and all.

As for the Bag ladies and gents, they’re already stepping on their own tongues. Their nasty notes and discourtesies will be around a bit longer, but there’s many a slip twixt the cup and the lip–and god forbid the hot tea spills in their laps.

Then when you see them jump up wildly, it won’t be because they’re cheering.