The Towers of York – A 9/11 Ballad

I.  Not Today (Yesterday)

Many yesterdays ago, in a feverish time

When Hell bent the world in a peaceful sign,

High over York rose a towering display.

Alas for that hope evil was born to betray.

At his birth seers warned, “The end of the world is today.”

Travel’d we there to gaze at the sight,

To witness this twin silver monument to might.

It soared to the clouds, to conquer the sky.

While others exclaimed, I only could sigh,

“Shadows fall over a day far from today.”

Fearfully I stared at the façade’s Gothic arch,

Then up the sleek girders gusted by March.

“What think you,” asked they, “of buildings so tall?”

Said I, with a shudder, “York’s Towers shall fall.”

“How say you so, miss?! They rose only today!”

“Peevish nonsense,” cried they, “from a girl of thirteen!

‘Tis but dizzy heights imagination has seen.”

Dazzling towers I’d view’d that rose to great heights.

But no pinnacle had crush’d the heart with such fright.

“The Towers will fall! I’ve seen enough for today!”

A bright future those slender arches belied;

Beyond their façade lay the ruins of pride.

Above their cold shadow, silver met the gold sun.

But its weight poorly borne, frail beauty’d succumb.

“Pray God, should they fall, let it not be today!”

Up we sped through the tower, my mind ill at ease,

Fears foster’d in magnitude by brothers who tease.

In mind’s eye did approach future terror on wing.

‘Twixt heav’n and earth, no refuge to cling.

Mist-vanish’d fate’s bolt would not strike today.

“How come you to think of such gloomy disaster?

Give us some reason for this Armageddon of plaster!”

“Perhaps an explosion, like the ones that wrack Eire;

A bomb in the basement, or maybe the spire.”

“One tower may explode, but not both in one day!”

“To accomplish that feat would need an army of men

To go unseen from floor one to one hundred and ten!”

“A storm then,” tried I, “with a wind of such power

To shatter the glass and send it down in a shower.”

“The sun shines brightly! There’s no danger today!”

“Its supports are outside,” one yielded, “’tis true.

A fire could melt it, but could a fire melt two?

For lightning to strike twice would be quite a plan.”

Said I, in a caution, “Don’t underestimate Man.”

“We promise the Towers won’t fall – not today!”

Man builds empires up to the sky;

The physical materials God does supply.

But the material world’s the Devil’s to rule.

Against Man’s ambition, he plots chaos most cruel.

Man can’t reach Heaven with towers of steel

Nor trade for God’s love by making a deal.

Yet York’s Towers won’t fall by God’s loving hand –

The spiteful Devil shall knock down our castles of sand.

“The Towers won’t fall. What more can we say?!”

Away in disgust my audience drew.

‘Twas impossible for a girl to know what I knew.

Not for my pleasure did I divine the Unknown.

Sight came unbidden, unwillingly shown.

“They won’t see the truth. Oh no, not today.”

II.  Signs of the Times (Today)

Now it’s today and people are weeping.

From the inferno, the hopeless are desperately leaping.

One tower wobbles, wagging its finger,

“Calamity’s upon you, dare not you linger!”

At Hudson’s last bridge, they look’d for a sign;

Their target in sight, with Fate they align’d.

Like a bird in whose reflection an enemy glares,

They slamm’d through the glass with their innocent fares.

To fight such a blaze needs an army of men

To climb from floor one to one hundred and ten.

Ten claxons clang for the World Trade Center;

Into the fiery maw, only the bravest dare enter.

Heroes and victims pass on the stairs.

Fate’s the precarious splitting of hairs.

Gasping for breath and toting their gear,

Those who go up must set aside fear.

York halts in horror to stare at the sight;

Billows of smoke turning day into night.

How, on this perfect day of sky blue,

Could tragedy strike, such hatred spew?

Stop up your ears to the thunder of rubble,

To the explosion of rage bursting our bubble.

To safety the panicking crowds madly run

From the hideous cloud that wipes out the sun.

All that is left of the towers I saw

Is the skeleton clinging to life by a claw.

Nothing is left to bury the dead.

Their ashes have buried the city instead.

The shadow of silence befalls our great land;

All music and laughter – even our band.

Not a bird, not a plane, not a single sweet note.

Every sound but crying has the enemy smote.

Six weeks has it taken for peace to return.

Even now, the smoldering ruins still burn.

“How could this happen?” ask we, wringing our hands.

“America was surely the safest of lands?”

Long is the story of sorrow and grief,

Of how America fail’d to keep out the thief.

Of closing our eyes and our ears to the fey.

Of saying too often, “Oh no, not today.”

Into our country fanatics were welcome,

No matter how dang’rous their activities made them.

Political correction corrupted the rules,

Allowing them to march onto our planes with their tools.

The mind guards fast an obstinate gate

Against the grim specter of unthinkable Fate.

When safe in the present Men warnings ignore,

The future’s a battlefield scarred by war.

III.  The Test of Time (Tomorrow)

The long years have passed and now it’s tomorrow.

Fate’s spared us to finish the tale of our sorrow.

The fall of York’s Towers caus’d the breaking of hearts,

Suffr’d even by those with the smallest of parts.

On that terror-fill’d day, York stood not alone;

Against other symbols was death being flown.

Anxiously, Americans scanned the blue sky

For zealots who were praying to Allah to die.

For three harrow’d days after the fall,

O’er York hung bleak a dust-poisn’d pall.

For three days more, the cold North Wind flew,

Restoring the sky to that morning’s true blue.

In funerals and ceremonies to honor the dead,

Sad songs were sung and eulogies read.

The Towers deflated to a six-story pile;

An anguish to clear in air cindr’d vile.

One sleepy dawn came a low distant thunder;

With a roar it rent the stricken silence asunder.

The eagle was bound for strife-ridden lands,

Bringing justice’s wrath to those hid in the sands.

The grief-stupor’d nation awakened at last.

The Ground Zero flag flew from Ted’s mast.

No more taken for granted the Stars and the Stripes;

Freedom’s banner wav’d defiant in all sizes and types.

On went the descent of the now-aging year,

Yet the season of fall was loth to appear.

Springtime’s red robin, driven off by fall’s crows,

Returned to the garden and sang in the boughs.

Straight through the winter robin sang a bright tune.

The rose bloomed at Christmas as though it were June.

A balm of peace offr’d at the gift-giving season.

God’s mercy and pity transcend human reason.

Travel’d we back to gaze at the site;

Gone is the twin silver monument to might.

Where once lofty arches loomed fragile but fair,

Naught now remains but columns of air.

‘Tis lighter and warmer, but the shadows are chill;

Disbelief and mute awe do the empty void fill.

In the ruins the echoes of footsteps still clatter

And the wind carries whispers of long-ago chatter.

“Sixty years when I’m old?” asks a young voice from the past.

“Will that be how long York’s Towers will last?”

“More like thirty;” says the elder, “’tis I who’ll be gray.”

Twenty-nine years and six months, give or take an odd day.

When view’d from the past, tomorrow’s but today.

Always in mem’ry may York’s Towers arise;

Remember their splendor and not their demise.

May those who were lost be found in God’s glory

And granted a happier end to this story.

The Towers of York – A Ballad

Copyright Ó2001 Carole J. Rafferty

 

Published in: on September 11, 2015 at 7:50 am  Leave a Comment  

Remembering 9/11

After getting home from work on 9/11 – our company declared an early closing because the employees simply couldn’t concentrate – I turned on my television and sat down in my rocker in front of the TV to watch the events as they had unfolded (I only caught glimpses on our department manager’s TV as I went about trying to do my duties).

By dinnertime, the images were indelibly etched into my memory. How many times had we watched the North tower television antenna descended into smoke and dust? I was emotionally exhausted just from watching the horror. Even though I knew our band rehearsal was cancelled, I hadn’t heard any official word, and I took a drive up there just as an excuse to get out of the house for a few moments.

Fourteen years has provided enough distance that we now longer need 24-hour news coverage to convince us the horror was real. The nightmarish sense of disbelief has faded, leaving only a sense of sorrow and loss at the long years that have now passed.

Americans are probably 9/11’d out. Still, I can’t understand why the one network that does air historical documentaries and insight on that day – the History Channel – airs them the night of 9/11. Whatever year.

The attacks happened in the morning. By the time the commemorations are over, those who aren’t working and are able to watch or listen to them are fatigued with the visit to the past. Going through it that day was bad enough. By 8 p.m., you’re really terribly glad that it’s now 2015 and don’t really want to watch one of the historical reruns. Interesting as they are, you just don’t feel up to watching anymore.

Why can’t History Channel – and whatever other channels run these documentaries – air them the evening before? The evening before (unlike the actual day back in 2001), you’re prepared for it. You even want to see it again. The commemorations in the morning serve as a closure and then it’s back to work (or unemployment, as the case may be).

Because it is 2015. If we keep looking backward, or spend too much time doing it, we’ll forget to pay attention to the fact that there are still Muslim terrorists out there. Thanks to our traitor-in-chief, the war in Syria has created thousands – maybe millions – of refugees, very few of whom are Christians. Some of those “refugees” have been photographed brandishing rifles.

They’ve overrun Europe in just a few days and now our traitor-in-chief is planning to grant them asylum here, in addition to those who’ve arrived over the last 30 years on student visas or as refugees from countries such as Somalia. They don’t need to use weapons; they only need overrun our borders and outnumber us to gain a plurality.

Sharia law can them be invoked just like that, through an Executive Order. Our Constitution (what’s left of it) can be nullified, our local governments disbanded, our law enforcement murdered (Black Lives Matter will be happy to see to that task). All of it so very close to the anniversary of 9/11.

The 9/11 attacks were a warning. Those 2,700-plus innocent people were sacrificed for the cause of Islam. Our duty to them as Americans is to not let their deaths be in vain.

We must combat Obama and the Democrats and their communist agenda of collectivism. We must combat their agendas of “White Privilege”, Agenda 21 collectivism, climate change, inciting minorities to riot and kill in the name of anti-“colonialism”, nativism, and nihilism.

Our chief executive, our judiciary, and about three-quarters of our federal legislature are incorrigibly corrupt. Beyond them extends an entrenched network of legislative aides, lobbyists and capitalist cronies with the indoctrination, the networks, and the money to overthrow our system of government without firing a shot. A collaborative, propagandist media is at their disposal to feed a poorly-informed public the politically-correct messages necessary to ensure their victory.

Our friends and neighbors must, somehow, be made to listen and understand how dire the situation is. We’re within days of Congress approving a deal that will allow Iran to level a nuclear gun at America’s head. Our allies have already abandoned us. They will never support a snap-back set of economic sanctions “just in case” Iran happens to defy the deal not to build or use nuclear weapons.

9/11 is behind us. It is right to remember that day and honor those who died in those horrific attacks. Equally horrific attacks or worse are in the offing if we don’t start exerting our rights as Americans and rein in our arrogant government.

Or there will be no one at all left to remember us.

Published in: on September 10, 2015 at 2:15 pm  Leave a Comment  

Labor Day 2016: The Supermarket Economy

Getting paid for what you love to do has its price.  Once someone pays you to write something, you have to write it – angle it – to their viewpoint.  If someone pays you to write, for instance, that seatbelts are a lifesaver, whether you agree or not (and I happen to agree wholeheartedly that they do save lives, having seen the consequences of not wearing seatbelts twice, as a witness), you jump up and salute and write out that article.

This Labor Day my mother, finally understanding what a “blog” is, gave me $100 to post a blog about the unfairness of supermarket demographics.  Mom was particularly inflamed about ShopRite’s advertisement in this week’s circular, offering $15 off on fresh meat when customers place a ShopRite from home order of $150 or more.

Keep in mind that Mom is 91, she refers to my gentleman friend as “Hank” which was the name of my Ken doll substitute.  My parents couldn’t afford the suntanned Ken and I didn’t want to give my guy doll any pretty boy, soap opera names.  Also, since my brothers had so many pals it was hard to come up with a name that they didn’t already own.  David?  Nope.  Michael?  God, no.  Neil?  Taken!  Mark, Ditto!  Then there were the family and family friend names.  Billy and Art were out.  John?  Gone.  Tom?  An uncle.  Tom and Rick, Dick and all the other forms of Richard – cousins.  Or the names of numerous school bullies?  Not a chance.

So I chose Hank.  An awkward name and yet it conjured up images of cowboys, truck drivers.  I’d gotten tired of going down the list and was running out of names.  What’s in a name, anyway?  So that’s what my mother remembers – the name of my Ken-substitute doll.

Mom is also the first half-cousin, once removed, of Robert F. Wagner, Sr.  Yeah, that Robert Wagner – the state judge and senator.  Mr. Social Security himself.  He and Grandpa were great pals, it seems and, sorry to say, some of his Socialism rubbed off on my mother.

Hence, her fury at the ShopRite advertisement obviously aimed at wealthy shoppers who can afford to pay ShopRite to do their shopping for them and then have the store reward them for expensive meat purchases on the order of $150.  Outrageous.

“We poor people with limited incomes are sitting here cutting out coupons,” Mom raged, “while these rich people are calling in their orders because they’re too important to do their own shopping!  Meanwhile, little old ladies like me get knocked over by the store employees running to do their shopping for them!”

Mom was right about the scurry of store shoppers.  I was knocked out of the way myself just the other day at ShopRite.  I didn’t berate the young lady because her eyes were bulging in terror of not fulfilling this important order punctually.

Mom was also outraged at the idea of digital coupons.

“What if you can’t afford a computer?  If you can’t, you’re left out of a deal.  I don’t have a computer!  I can’t afford one.”

Um, that’s not exactly true, although I put my $100 wage at risk saying so.  She’d have the money except that she’s been bailing out me and my younger brother.  She’s also been bailing out my older brother, who doesn’t need bailing out, but wants his “fair share” anyway.  She could afford the computer.  We’ve tried to get her to use one, but she doesn’t have the patience to learn to use it.

Not having a computer, these day, is not like having a telephone.  But it is an expensive commodity.

As for the fairness of ShopRite’s prices, Mom was so incensed at the meat ad, that she didn’t see, on the very same page, the ad for bananas at 39 cents a pound.  Or ShopRite Italian sausage for $1.97 a pound.  Very good prices, indeed; the best of any store in the area.

Farther below, they advertised Ronzoni Pasta for 77 cents.  That’s outstanding.  Sure, Super Lump Crab Meat was on “sale” for $17.99 (a savings of $2.00).  But Ajax Dish Detergent is on sale for 88 cents.  Ditto Banquet Pot Pies, which Mom loves.  Add coupons, and you can save a lot of money shopping this week.

ShopRite is the store for all shoppers.  The wealthy aren’t idiots.  Wait a minute.  Yes, they are.  They will walk into one of ShopRite’s upscale competitors and pay a good deal more than $19.99 for Super Lump Crab Meat.  You can’t get into ShopRite Oakland’s parking lot on a Sunday Morning.  On Sunday’s, the store is a madhouse.

Meanwhile, its competitor, Pompton Lakes A&P, is going out of business.  Unlike the other A&P’s, they’ve found no buyers for this location.  The A&P’s produce is a good deal fresher than ShopRite’s.  I’ll pay 39 cents a pound for Shop Rite bananas.  But the fruit flies will be buzzing around by Friday.

I must say, I wasn’t happy with this past week’s A&P bananas.  However, they looked sound on the outside.  I think some customer dropped them on the floor where they were probably run over and then placed back on the stand.

I don’t know why the A&P’s location is considered so bad.  ShopRite’s location is much worse.  It’s up on a steep hill that’s difficult to navigate in the winter.  The parking is horrible, the aisles are narrow and the customers are all rude.  The nearest highway, Route 287 is several long lights away.  The entrance to Route 287 is only a quarter mile away from the Pompton Lakes A&P.

Unfortunately, the Stop & Shop is closer; it’s located right at the Route 287 intersection.  Woe to the truck driver who tries to find Rt. 287 Northbound.  They often find themselves locked into the narrow streets of Haskell and Wanaque, trying desperately to make a u-turn amidst homes and businesses built close to the road.

Yet, it’s not as though this shopping center is lacking for customers.  Like ShopRite, the A&P parking lot is packed every Sunday.  That shopping center is the heart of Pompton Lakes.  Some of the restaurants along the town’s main drag are nothing more than fronts for some rather dubious activities.

This past Sunday, I wanted to take a walk in the sunshine, the day being cool and breezy.  But there on the little bridge over Post Creek hung the shadow of a drug dealer, like a vulture cooling himself in the shade.  I was the sparrow, craning my silly neck to make sure I wasn’t mistaken.  I turned around and went to the A&P the short way, across the street.

Mom shouldn’t be so quick to complain about wealthier shoppers, although she’s right to complain about preferential services that cause the employees to steamroller on-site customers in their haste to fulfill the orders of the nobles.

Since New Jersey’s economic downfall, towns like Pompton Lakes have witnessed an exodus of families with sufficient incomes to keep supermarkets like the A&P in business.  ShopRite of Oakland depends upon the wealthier clientele of its upscale town to keep it going.  Thus, it can afford to lower other prices for the hoi-polloi like us.  As a result, the Pompton Lakes Shopping Center has no takers, so far.

With the influx of immigrants, legal and illegal, dependent upon the government, the town will continue to raise its taxes and drive away business and people of means.  Once the A&P is gone, if there’s no replacement, the mall will turn to ruin, as we’ve seen happen to other abandoned malls.

These former shopping centers become the haunt of derelicts, illegal immigrants, and/or drug dealers.  Walking around Pompton Lakes already isn’t safe, even on a Sunday afternoon.  With the departure of the supermarket, it will become less so.  Our property values will plunge even further, although our taxes won’t.

Criminals thrive in lonely, abandoned locations.  The store will close around Thanksgiving, according to store employees.

The only thing we’ll have to be thankful for is the low price of gas for when we locals have to drive farther down the road to Stop & Shop or risk our lives turning onto Rt. 202 to get to ShopRite in the ice and snow.

Perhaps at Christmas, we can ask Santa Claus for a new supermarket for Pompton Lakes, on well-steeped in traditional Capitalism, where the savings don’t just trickle but positively pour down on less affluent consumers.

Published in: on September 8, 2015 at 11:34 am  Leave a Comment  

Why We Can’t “See” Conservatism Working

Back in the Sixties, I can still remember the television reports of the hippies protesting in Washington, D.C., burning the American flag, carrying anti-war signs, and flashing the “V” peace sign.  Socialist communism was on the march and everyone knew it.

Conservatives were angry, but peaceful, even as cities burned around them in the race riots.  Nixon would later term them “The Silent Majority.”

One of The National Review’s writers complained that the Tea Parties need to articulate a better message if we’re to return our nation to the Conservative path that the Founding Father’s blazed for it.  Many Conservative pundits complain that we – the Tea Parties – aren’t “doing” anything but talking.  Or writing (as I do).

The ideal picture of Socialist-Communists is a scruffy, long-haired hippie in a tie-dyed tee shirt holding up his middle finger, surrounded by like-minded useful idiots in peace sign tee shirts screaming profanities as the hippie leader sets fire to the American flag.

The scene makes headlines.

What’s the ideal picture of a Conservative?  One picture consists of hundreds, maybe thousands of commuters tied up in a traffic jam east-bound on New Jersey’s Route 80, a parade of them trying to cross the very busy George Washington Bridge to their high-paying jobs.

Or another parade of commuters on New Jersey’s Route 287 both north- and south-bound headed for jobs in Morristown, Parsippany, Basking Ridge, Madison, Chatham or New Providence.   You’ll see them headed home again in the evening, returning to comfortable suburban homes (or perhaps condos, if they’re young marrieds), where they’ll sit down to a good, if fast, dinner and then off to a softball or soccer game with their kids.

Uggh!  Dullsville, right?

Or you’ll see them on a Saturday morning, mowing their lawns, tending their gardens, taking the kids to more athletic events or a movie in the evening.  The sight is enough to put a young Liberal to sleep until they wake up in a rage over the whole thing.

The only times you might see them all collected together as one is at a school board meeting if there’s a controversy over the firing of a coach or band director.  Another, happier place you’ll see them is at a Memorial Day or Independence Day parade, where junior is marching with his soccer team, karate group, or scout troop and sister is with her dance class or in the color guard of the high school marching band.

That’s Conservatism at work – doing nothing more than living for the life, liberty and pursuit of happiness the Declaration of Independence guaranteed for us back in 1776.  The only reason you see some – and I say only “some” – Conservatives out in force is because that peace and tranquility is under threat.

Many Conservatives – you would call Moderates – are so peaceful and content they don’t realize they’re sitting in a boiling pot of water.  That’s how disinclined most Conservatives are to create a ruckus.

Average Republicans looked aghast at the first televised Tea Parties in February 2009, when Rick Santelli sounded the klaxon.  Those Tea Parties, I believe and have heard, were actually well-organized events; organized, that is, to discourage increasingly discontented Republican voters from deviating too far from the party center.  The numbers were against the Republicans after the John McCain debacle and they knew it.  They heard the drums beating against them in the distance and knew they had to do something.

Initially, their plan worked.  Real Conservatives looked at the scenes from the Florida Tea Party events and said to themselves, ‘Yeah, that’s what we want to do.  Only we don’t know how.’  My feeling, as I watched from my mother’s television because my television set had blown up, was similar.

“Yeah!” I said to my mother, pointing to the television. “That’s what we’ve got to do!”

She looked askance at the protestors running amok.

“But not like that!”  I added.  “If I were to plan an event like that, we’d be more organized.  We’d have speakers and music.  We’d have the people gathered around peacefully listening to the speakers and to the musicians.  But they’d carry signs so their message would get out.”

A month later, late at night, I found myself on a Tea Party organization website discussing the matter with other would-be Tea Party organizers.  They didn’t think they could do it.  I told them that was nonsense.  If they’d ever organized a birthday or anniversary party, an office party, a meeting – a wedding – they could do this.  And I typed up an agenda and sent it to them.

Before the night was over, people in my workplace vicinity were volunteering to do everything under the sun.  One particular dynamo, a full-time mom, said, “Yeah, I can do this.  I can set up the meeting for the organizers and get to work on a permit for the Morristown Green.”

I didn’t have to do another thing.  I didn’t have to lift a finger.  These volunteers did it all and they were absolutely amazing.   They’re still at it to this day.

At one meeting, someone asked me what I was going to do.  “Why don’t you become president.”  No, I demurred, I’m not a leader.

“Then what are you?”  the man asked.

“I’m going to be your attack dog.  And you won’t like it,” I predicted, “and ultimately, you’ll ‘fire’ me.”

Moderate Republicans took umbrage at our efforts.  They insisted that the group’s mission statement declare that the group was non-partisan or at least, bi-partisan.

“If  you don’t, we’re leaving,” the Republican operatives declares.

It was time for me to go into Attack Dog mode.

“We are not changing that mission statement.  We are a “Conservative” group – make no mistake about it.  We’re a Conservative group and if you don’t like it,” I yelled (it took a week to recover my voice), “there’s the door – don’t let it hit you on the way out!!”

They left.  But they continued to make mischief on the group’s open discussion group, trying to discourage the organizers.  They said all sorts of terrible things.  They said no one would show up.  They said they were wasting their time and that they’d make fools of themselves, that they’d look like idiots on television.”

I told the group to just keep following the agenda I’d sent them and everything would be fine.  Their rally would be a great success.  I wasn’t an event organizer myself, but as a company photographer, I’d worked closely with one through many meetings.  I even interviewed her twice for the company magazine.

I knew exactly what to do, thanks to “General K.”

However, the Republicans began threatening the lead organizers with lawsuits if they didn’t drop me from the organization membership, particularly its website.  I told the Secretary that it was all right; the rally was so well along, we were so close to the date that nothing the operatives could say was going to disrupt the event now.

The Morristown Tea Party rally on April 15, 2009 was so successful that Tea Party groups across the Hudson were writing about.  We even made the headlines of their local newspapers.  Other groups began following Morristown’s model.

In terms of actual numbers, 2,000 to 2,400 people would seem like a small crowd.  The Morristown Green, however, is not quite that big.  Those 2,000 people took up every square inch of The Green and were even climbing the trees.

The next event, which I was unable to attend, was the Fourth of July rally.  At that rally, there were 4,000 people, and by Labor Day, the last of Morristown’s rallies (again, I was unable to attend), 6,000 people showed up.  They took my suggestions and called out the costumed militia.  They invited rock musicians and dynamic speakers.  We’d gotten the attention of an enviable number of people.

As happens with all such organizations, sooner or later, things fall apart.  One problem was the generation gap.  The older ralliers hated the music.  So the organizers eliminated the music and their attendance dropped by half.  By the second or third year, the volunteers were “volunteered out.”  Such burn-out occurs when the same people are forced to do all the work.

The other thing that spelled the end of the rallies what Rush Limbaugh would call “the seminarians.”  Consultants started showing up, telling the Tea Party organizers their business.  The consultants business, I don’t mind telling you, was to destroy the Tea Parties.

They advised organizers not to allow anymore home-made signs.  The signs were one of the reasons the rallies were so popular – and peaceful.  Attendees could listen quietly to the speakers and yet still get their message out.  Signmaking became a sort of friendly contest among the ralliers to see who could make the most creative sign.

They also told the organizers that it was time to move “beyond” the rallies.  They needed to take “legislative” action.  That missed the entire point of the Tea Party rallies.  Our legislators were not listening to us.  They had no need to listen to any Tea Party organizers; they had their constituents and very merrily retained the status quo.

Our mission wasn’t to talk to legislators; it was to educate what Rush Limbaugh calls “the low-information” voters.  The best way to do that was on the public square.  I had that on good authority from the legislators themselves, whom I questioned during Legislator Days at my company.  ‘You need to talk to the people, the voters,’ they said.

If we’d run around the Morristown Green shouting and yelling, burning Obama in effigy, we’d certainly have gotten the Media’s attention and rightfully earned the scorn of other Republicans and fellow Conservatives.  But that wasn’t us and that’s not what we did.

Still, the Republican Establishment itself mounted a propaganda campaign against us, eagerly joined by the Democrats and their Propagandist Media.  Sure, we wore tri-corn hats.  Mine was semi-authentic, a souvenir from the 1976 bicentennial, when our high school marching band wore the hats as a summer uniform for the local Independence Day parade (the same year, I might add, when our U.S. History II class held its own American History Revolution, protesting against our Communist teacher’s agenda for the rest of the school year).

Frankly, we would have preferred some other monicker than “Tea Party” because we really were about more than lowering taxes.  Our platform was lower taxes, limited government, and Constitutional accountability.  The group shied away from the more controversial issues like immigration and gay marriage because of the Generation X and Millennial voters who tended to be Moderate.  The high school peer group philosophy of not standing out from the crowd, of conforming to “popular” opinion – opinions put forth by the most popular gatekeepers – still clung to them.

We were, therefore, put into a conundrum – stand out wearing, say, tricorn hats, and we’d be pilloried.  Retain our identities as peace-loving, hard-working suburbanites and no one would notice us.

If the Conservative punditry wants us to hold rallies – and we’re not lacking for causes – they’re going to have back off a bit.  Our organizers must “reorganize” and go back to the original agenda, the one I taught Morristown and was shared all over the country.  They must forget everything the so-called “consultants” told them and get back to the job of educating their neighbors.

Summer 2015 is nearly over so for those in colder climes, rallies will be limited.  That gives you plenty of time to organize new rallies, picnics, parades, concerts, road rallies.  Outdoor movie nights (there’s a church on Alps Road in Wayne that holds them – NJRTP should ask them how they manage these events).  Wear your Tea Party tee shirts and buttons with pride everywhere you go.  Someone is very likely to ask you questions.  Be prepared with the answers.

NJRTP has done Independence Day parades every year with some success.  On one side of the town, the crowd is deep with admirers.  When we get to other side of the tracks, the crowds are silent and skeptical, even downright hostile.

Yes, I am a blogger.  Writing is what I happen to do best (just ask my former editor, JD).  I want to go to Washington on September 9th to the rally, if I can convince someone to go with me, to protest this Nuclear Iran deal, which the Senate just made veto-proof.  I’d like to find an old-fashioned air-raid helmet to wear!

I’d love to speak at that rally.  I’d love to denounce John Kerry and our State Department, in person.  I’d love to tell them what I think of them and what I’ve read about them.  But I don’t have the appearance to do so, and I certainly don’t have the voice.  I have a weak speaking voice.  I can barely be heard across the dining room table, much less across the Washington Mall.

To those who complain about those of us who only write but don’t “do” anything, I ask:  what exactly would you like me to “do?”  I’m not a time-traveler; I can’t turn back the clock and tell these stupid people not to vote for Obama.  Or, for that matter, Woodrow Wilson or FDR.  I can’t go back in time to the Sixties and create a Conservative television network like Fox News to tell the public why we’re fighting in Vietnam (Guys, it’s about the oil.  There are vast oil reserves in the South China Sea and other areas that the Chinese and the Soviets want to get their hands on to fuel their military machine).

I’d love to furbish up my lungs and go back to any school or university in the Sixties to teach the students the truth about Socialism and Communism.  I’d love to go back in time and take a hose to those miscreants who burnt the American flag.  Even now I’d love to be a teacher on a campus who could inspire students to take up the Conservative banner.  But I can’t.  Not only would my voice not comply but now, neither would my arthritic hips.  I’d have to teach from a wheelchair.

All I can do is write my blog and educate as many readers as I can about the history of America, the difference between a populist democracy (which is what Socialists and Communists advocate) and the representative federated republic we have the good fortune to live under (if you think the current riots in the streets are bad, they’ll look like picnics compared to a true democracy in a nation of 300 million people).

The difference between the Conservative and the Democrat Socialists is that we’re civilized.  The elites are but the poor people they mislead are not civilized (obviously) or educated.  That’s the way both the elites and the poor want it.  The more agitated the so-called underclasses are, the more likely they’ll vote as demos, strict democrats who want direct involvement rather than a representative republic.

Just what choices do the pundits think we have?  Shall we shoot the rioters (we may have to, in self-defense)?  Shall we riot ourselves?  We voted for a representative government that is clearly not representing us and shows absolutely no inclination to do so.

Are you looking for more rallies?  Well, as I said, there is the D.C. rally this coming Wednesday.  I’m going to try to be there, if I can.  If Morristown does hold another rally, or if a miracle happens, and North Jersey holds one, why don’t you try showing up this time?  Where were all of you in 2009?

This isn’t the first time I’ve had to address this issue.  Why don’t I do something?  I could write a whole blog about the things I’ve done for Conservatism since I was five years old.  Put me up at the microphone in Washington and I’ll give you and them an earful.  I’ll show you and tell you what Conservatism is all about.  You might want to keep the fire department at hand because I’ll set that microphone on fire!

Otherwise, leave me alone!  Buzz off!

Published in: on September 2, 2015 at 3:30 pm  Leave a Comment