The Voice of Treason

I think it’s because I’ve been so busy the last couple weeks, I really haven’t had time to think about this. I’ll miss some things, including my commute. I looked forward to seeing all the dogs - especially that big red one who walked with his mistress over the bridge in the mornings. But it is just time to move on - simple as that. I left when I still loved what I was doing. Now it’s time to concentrate on the next phase. Whatever that might be.

A coworker’s partner gave me a book to read. I’ve had it for two years - maybe longer. This is not like me. I don’t like to borrow things, and when I do, I don’t want them in my possession for very long. I return them quickly, and in good condition.

I’ve lent items to people and when I get them back - if I get them back - they’re usually in very bad shape. Books are returned with broken spines. I lent someone a stack of videos - great films that I felt she should see. I haven’t seen her or the videos since. So having this book bothered me. I knew I’d had it too long and that the lender was thinking I was a deadbeat and that he’d better start looking for another copy.

I don’t know why I waited so long to sit down and read it. When I realized that I had only a few days left at work, I sat down Sunday night and started it. I put it down at the halfway point, then picked it up again last night and finished it. It’s a book I should have bought and read years ago, but didn’t. Now I want to go out and get more of Elizabeth Marshall Thomas’ books, especially The Hidden Lives of Dogs. The book lent to me was The Social Lives of Dogs. When I read it I had to stop and set it aside so I wouldn’t snot on it. I sobbed brokenly throughout, and lost it completely towards the end when she described what happened to Sundog and Sheilah.

But I’m not the only one who finds fault with the author. I won’t take her to task here, but we are very different dog parents. She writes about her old diabetic dog, Fatima, who was probably also suffering with some form of dog dementia, who wandered off one day and was never seen again. I do not allow my dogs to wander. When we are outside of our home or yard, they are leashed at all times. I’m horrified that so many of our neighbors do not obey the same leash law.

I live in fear that one day my dogs will be off leash and be injured or killed, or somehow get out of my yard and be lost. I have nightmares - and I’ve had them about every dog I’ve loved - about seeing them run out in front of a car, and I try to save them but it’s too late. Everything’s in slow motion, I can’t run fast enough, and I see the car bearing down on my dog. Sometimes I wake up before the inevitable happens, and my heart’s beating so fast I can’t get back to sleep.

Years ago I had a dream about one of my current dogs. I saw him go towards a fence and I called to him. He turned and looked at me, then walked though the fence and disappeared over a cliff. I ran to the fence and saw his body lying on the road, far below me. Every time I look at him, I think about the dream. When I see posters for lost dogs, I tear up. How horrible to not know what’s happened to your pet. How do people who lose people cope? Wondering where your child is, what abuse she might be experiencing. The fear, the horror.

A lost pet? I’d feel the same. It haunts me that Fatima wandered off and they never found her. Not even my dog, but it weighs on my heart. I won’t even discuss what happened to Sheilah. Ms. Thomas allowed her dogs to live much different lives, and when they met with misfortune, she’d simply replace them. I agree with that part. So many people I know who have lost their beloved pets decide not to suffer the heartbreak again, and refuse to bring home another animal. For me, it’s the only way I can cope.

When I lost my wonderful Boxer, Barbara, to pancreatic cancer, I couldn’t sleep. I’d walk around the house in the middle of the night and stand in spots where she used to spend most of her time. I missed her so much it hurt. And I’ve never stopped feeling guilty for taking her to a veterinarian who misdiagnosed her condition.

The cure for me was picking up the Sunday paper and seeing an ad for Boxer/Dalmatian puppies. “What the hell does that look like?,” I wondered. And soon I was so busy cleaning up puppy sh*t and torn up possessions, that I was able to focus my attention on the new dogs and less on the one I missed so much. Almost nine years later, and thousands of dollars later, my Boxermatians are still my joy. I can’t imagine letting my diabetic boy wander off, never to be seen again. But that’s me.

I listened to the President’s speech on the way home from work. Then I watched it several times on television. Life must have been very different before television. My mother talks about the days when families gathered in front of the radio. “We used our imaginations then,” she always said.

It reminded me of the time I listened to the Gore/Quayle debate on the way home from work. By the time I got out of my car, I was joyous. Quayle was strong, Gore was weak. We had won. Then I watched the same debate on television and had a much different reaction.

I thought of the Nixon/Kennedy debate. Those listening to it on the radio probably voted for Nixon; those watching - distracted by Nixon’s five o’clock shadow and those few beads of sweat - probably voted for the more professionally groomed Kennedy.

I think of the days when Americans never saw the man who lived in the White House or those who ran for office. Before photography, there might have been a painting or two. So has television destroyed politics in this country? It’s not an original thought, of course, but when there are such discrepancies between what you hear on the radio and what you see on TV, how can we deny that we don’t go for the better looking package? Do we even listen to what they say?

When I listened to the President on the radio, he sounded strong, confident. When I watched the speech, I saw what I hadn’t heard in the car. At the end, when he closed his remarks, he choked up. Dad’s a weeper, so’s the son. He can’t help himself, and the tears are genuine. But the visual changes the message.

I listen to the radio. There are radio personalities that I’ve listened to for years, then one day I see them. It’s always a jarring experience. When I was a kid I listened to Franklyn MacCormack. I’m not sure what he looked like then, and I’m not sure I want to know. I think I’ll just keep the picture of him that I’ve had in my head all these years and leave it at that.

John Fiedler, the voice of Piglet in the Winnie-the-Pooh films, has died. And Tigger, too, now is gone. My sister was a huge fan of Paul Winchell when we were growing up so we watched Winchell-Mahoney Time - a lot. A guy named Bill Jackson must have been watching, too, because he started his own kids’ show in Chicago, and that became my favorite, rivaling Frazier Thomas and Garfield Goose. Jackson had to be influenced by Winchell but he was no copy cat. The man was an extraordinary talent.

And as much as my sister appreciated that, I think her true affections were with Winch. He was a pioneer. Trivia questions about his inventions - like his invention and patent for the artificial heart - have been circulating for years. How could this wacky guy with the dummies named Jerry and Knucklehead be smart enough to come up with these ideas?

Imagination. And a horrid childhood. I could list all his accomplishments here, but I won’t. He had a lot to be proud of and he accomplished more in his lifetime than most of us could ever imagine. His talents were broad. He was an entertainer, a comic, a dramatic actor, a ventriloquist, a big brain, an inventor, a hypnotist, an acupuncture practitioner, a writer, a business man, a humanitarian, a victim of polio, Fleagle, a husband - at least three times - and a father.

Many of his inventions remain, including the disposable razor - an idea he abandoned when peers said it wouldn’t catch on, but someone else ran with it and the rest is history. What doesn’t remain is the show. Metromedia erased all of the videotapes of Winchell-Mahoney Time, and in 1989, the U.S. Supreme Court awarded Winchell $17.8 million in a lawsuit. A part of Boomer history wiped out.

He was a talented man, a driven man. An overachiever, and complex. I remember Candice Bergen bristling at the thought of her father and that dummy of his. At first I was unsympathetic, but over the years I’ve come to realize that it has to be weird living with a man who is beloved by all. When I was pruning my thousands of e-mail messages from my three year collection at work, I stumbled across one from my coworker’s partner - it was a link to Paul Winchell’s daughter’s website. I clicked on it. I guess April and Candice have a lot in common.

People who loved her father, but didn’t actually know him, attacked her for criticizing him. According to April, her father…wasn’t. The world perceived that this man was the perfect parent, but April was in the trenches and she saw a whole different side of him.

I admire her, because I think she genuinely loved her father but she doesn’t sugarcoat his role at home. She’s fair: she recognizes and appreciates his talent, and as much as she doesn’t want to burst anyone’s bubble, she lived the truth and is candid about growing up with him. Is this a Daddy Dearest situation? I don’t know. But I’ll give April the benefit of the doubt. Knowing that Paul Winchell’s mother was unsupportive of his talents and embarrassed by his polio (she beat him regularly), I can only imagine that his psyche was damaged at an early age. I suspect he spent his entire life trying to earn his mother’s love. And maybe he felt that because he worked so hard and accomplished so much for his mother, his daughter should be doing the same for him. Who knows? I wasn’t there.

But April was, and she writes about her father’s drug abuse, infidelities, paranoia, psychotic episodes, physical abuse, and institutionalizations. Sounds like April could deal with that. A lot of kids have to. But what she cannot forgive is Winchell’s treatment of her mother. Happily, she loves her mother and has one strong parent. According to April, her mother stood by Winchell during the worst of times for the sake of her child, but when her own mental health was at risk, she left him. The result was ugly, but her mother always encouraged April to love her father and maintain a relationship with him. It was difficult for her because she felt he was horrible, accusing her mother of being a slut - and worse. He wrote one of those “cleansing” books that painted an unflattering, and as April says, completely untrue picture of her mother.

She tells his fans on her site that she eventually realized that Winchell “could brighten the lives of children all over the world, but he could not be a father.” She feels she has forgiven him, and she acknowledges his talents and accomplishments, but her sadness runs deep.

It’s unfortunate that someone who has so much to offer was so damaged as a child. If he’d had his mother’s love, would he have accomplished even more? Or was his mother’s abuse the reason why he achieved what he did? What’s awful is that abuse didn’t stop with Paul. It trickled down into his own family and he repeated the patterns he learned as a child. How terribly sad.

Well, as Tigger would say, ta-ta for now.

Word on the street is that Chief Justice Rehnquist is going to retire. I’m not so sure. The man is dying, suffering horribly with cancer. But I can’t help think that he’s going to hang in there as long as possible, because as long as he has a reason to get up in the morning - as long as he has a purpose, a responsibility - he will keep on keeping on.

I predict that if his days on the Court come to an end, his days on this planet will end soon, too. That’s reason enough, I suppose, to stay on the job.

I took a few minutes to do a quick overview of The Voice of Treason, and I’ve discovered a few comments from readers. Thank you, Louise, for finding my description of the Iams ad featuring Charlie, the aging dog, tearworthy. I know Louise, and have written about her here. She’s the one who’s Catholic and conservative.

I’ve noted, too, that Brianna has inserted a few comments herself. Thank you for your thoughts on The Bad Seed, mandatory service, the Jackson trial, and a woman’s right to vote. To me, the Jackson trial was a circus and proof that money can’t buy happiness - but occasionally it can buy juries. Brianna suggests that Michael was also buying supporters. How much did the woman with the doves get?

Brianna, who admits in one entry that she actually volunteered in the Clinton campaign at age 13, describes herself as a bleeding heart Liberal. I’ve told her that I suspect she’s a closet conservative. She has common sense, and a desire to marry and raise a family. I sense that she has the strength and determination, like Louise, to be a fine parent. I like that she can see that some of the people she knows who have children shouldn’t. But when I say the C word, she bristles. I’m conservative, but have no interest in marriage or bringing children into the world. Does that make me a liberal? No, that just makes me a topic of conversation.

I imagine I’ll end up like Betty F. When I was growing up in Chicago, I always cut through the alleys to get to where I was going. There was a woman who’d stand on her back porch and throw food across the alley to the rooftop on the other side. It was for the pigeons. Kids would yell up at her: “Nutty Betty! F*ck you, you crazy b*tch!!!” I never did. One day she threw money at me. “Go to the store and buy candy!” She wanted me to bring her those orange flavored jelly slices covered in sugar. I climbed the stairs to her apartment, not knowing what to expect.

What I found was an immaculate, beautifully decorated apartment. Her bedroom furniture was dark wood, probably Queen Anne, and her canopy bed was covered with a lovely lavender floral material and lace. So feminine.

She sat me down at the kitchen table and peeled me an ice cold orange, and handed me the slices on a paper napkin. Then we fed the pigeons. I visited her often. I don’t think she was nutty. Lonely, perhaps; but nutty? Not at all.

Do I take time here to discuss eminent domain and the Supreme Court? The end of property rights in America? The death of the American dream? Or do I just mention the Congressional baseball game?

Sigh. Republicans beat the Democrats, 19-10.

I’m trying to figure out where I stand on flag burning these days. Like hair, a flag has symbolism. I admit that I’m partial to the American flag, and I think it’s a beautiful design. You know how some companies have cheap looking logos? Well, without offending anyone in particular, some countries have some pretty mediocre flags. Ours looks expensive. It’s a tasteful flag and every star and stripe has meaning.

Should we have an amendment to our Constitution that bans the burning of our flag? Tough one. I used to be for that. Now I prefer not to tamper with the Constitution. It’s like drugs. Do some people not use drugs because they’re illegal? And if they were suddenly legal, would those people run down to the neighborhood where I work and buy crack?

Would banning flag burning discourage it? Or would burning a flag take on even more significance because burning is banned? Should we not ban it and see how many want to desecrate it? Should we legalize drugs and see how many new heroin addicts we create?

I think if you’re going to do drugs, you’re going to do them whether or not they’re legal. Same with flag burning. I’m tempted to allow people that right. I, personally, don’t like to see graves, churches, or synagogues desecrated, and I feel ill when I see my flag on fire. But it’s important that we’re allowed to have a feeling about it, one way or the other. The flag means freedom. Shouldn’t we have the freedom to destroy it?

There is something symbolic about cutting one’s hair. That theme shows up time and again in literature and in life. What was the reason for the Runaway Bride to hack off her hair when she abducted herself? Why do some women weep when they cut their hair? Why will some men only date women with long hair?

My hair has been very long and very short. Either way, it’s been a source of annoyance. I have a lot of male friends who are losing their hair and only one seems to not be fretting about it. I would think that losing your hair would be an advantage. I’m one of those women who thinks a bald male is attractive. Started, I guess, with a childhood crush on Yul Brynner. I guess there was a period in my life when I thought Roger Daltrey ringlets were alluring, but tastes change. The best thing about New Wave was the short hair. (I remember when The Beatles were on Ed Sullivan’s show, my sisters were mortified. Their hair was so…long.)

Well, mine was, too, until tonight. When I took this last job, I’d let it grow so I wouldn’t have to spend much on maintenance. I gave up my haircuts and QVC. Now this job is ending and another chapter closes. Time for a new do. I’d been waiting for enough hair to donate to Locks of Love, and if she cut it right, I should have had over ten inches. I looked at it, and wanted to measure it just to be sure, but she said it was fine, so I dropped it. I hope it makes some little kid happy. All it did for me was destroy my vacuum cleaner.

The Senator from Illinois has offered a teary apology. Genuine or not, I’ll take it and ask for another - this time from Nancy Pelosi. As someone who lived in the Bay Area for many years, I think I deserve an opportunity to make a nasty remark about Nancy. I think Joan Rivers said it about Liz Taylor, but I can’t be sure. To paraphrase, one more facelift, and she’ll have a full beard.