My father, a towering 6’2” 250-pound Sargent of Police for the City of Pittsburgh, whose first job as a Police Officer was to walk the neighborhoods of Homewood which at the time was a very segregated Negro, neighborhood in the city of Pittsburgh, alone, who carried his no one was ever permitted in our house, gun and leathered Billy stick, was a formattable figure. Never a monster type of, beware figure, to us, his kids, because as no matter what his profession he was still our Dad, but he was the kind of person many people came to rely on for finding foundation and keeping balance with their footing. But, in my younger days, I can recall watching President Kennedy speak to the people of the US about the Cuban Embargo, stating that no matter what, and no matter how many nuclear devices the Soviets had, we would not step down, and my as JFK said that my father looked pale and ashen, a sigh arose and looking at all of his family said, we will be okay.
Then there was the funeral procession of JFK, with Caroline and JKF Jr walking alongside the horse-drawn casket (no one was quite certain at the time who really assassinated an American President.), my father wiping away more tears then I as a young boy had ever seen dripping from his eyes. And then I recall, my father in uniform, being called last minute, because MLK had been murdered, and the city of Pittsburgh wanted all uniformed officers on duty, and my father as he placed his gun in his holster, telling us, what a good man MLK was, and how the bad, the insecure, the ugly white morons were so afraid of MLK that all they could do was kill him. He inhaled a few tears and said we must be better than this. And in my memories which have erupted like acne on the face of a teenager eating a bag of potato chips, I recall my father telling me that Viet Nam was Richard Nixon’s war, so Nixon could maintain power. My father telling me he would drive me directly to Canada if need be. And the final memory of any emotion regarding politics when the students at Kent were murdered by our own Troops…and finally, the look of sheer relief when Nixon got on the helicopter and FINALLY rid this nation of an enemy of the state.
Lots of political mayhem and chaos has of course taken place in my 70-year-old list of living history. But twice, in almost four years, have I felt the unnerving nauseous, almost dizzy, droopy feeling of despair…the announcement that somehow Trump won the 2016 election, and today, Thursday, March 18, 2019, as the Con Artist, Trump’s Roy Cohn, Trumps PERSONAL attorney, William Barr lied his ass off to the American public and decided he would rather suck Trump's ass, then be true to the American people. And even more disgusting, was watching Trump with that damn overly long tie, draping his fat layers of belly blubber, pretending that his tie somehow was as big as his dick, smugly flying off to Mar-A Lago…all of that at my dime at the taxpayers expense, so he could make even more money by permitting his Chinese Pimp, to sell access to Trump, while raking in the money from her prostitution place of business, which also has access to the poor women trafficked into this country as sex workers! I love my father, but today, I felt a sick sad feeling as I thought of him!
