Don't Let the Door Hit Your Perfect Ass on the Way Out

I love what happens to people on their way out. I mean, as in dying, being canned, or just plain leaving for greener pastures (See “Exiting Presidents: Chapter 41- ‘This is the last we’ll see of George Bush.’”)
They – and by “they,” I mean the famous among us – are eulogized in such hyperbolic praise that even I, who am as hyperbolic as Mr. Peepers is hyperactive, am disgusted by the sheer melodrama played out every time some otherwise forgettable character is elevated to god-like status simply by the act of exiting.
As one example of this phenomena, I give you Richard Nixon, who’s only redeeming quality was his having given comedians a long sought break as they were exhausted from trying to impersonate LBJ. Nixon died a little less than twelve years ago.
For the unaware, Nixon set the mold for an entire generation of politicians to commit underhanded, illegal, unethical acts for the benefit of themselves and their friends. No, he didn’t start such behavior, as the Kennedy brothers and many if not all politicos before them abused power like Ike abused Tina. Nixon just did it shamefully and with such verve and audacity, that even then Secretary of State Henry “Power is the Ultimate Aphrodisiac” Kissinger must have raised his eyebrows and given Tricky Dick the big “Whoa, dude,” or more likely, just one soft “Oy…”
When Nixon kicked, it was only a matter of moments before Dan Rather, Tom Brokaw, Peter Jennings and all sorts of otherwise sensible television journalists (and how ugly and untrue do those last three words look together) simultaneously lost their minds and began singing the praises of a man who was responsible for the deaths of millions of Vietnamese and Cambodians (the latter to whom Nixon said “We’re not doing so well over here in Viet Nam, so….Howdy, Neighbor!”) Not to mention making Elvis Presley a deputy drug prosecutor, ironically, so soon before his death from – drugs.
Bizarre. Though I suppose it is perhaps our desire to ultimately see the good in everyone as we realize the gift of life itself trumps all judgments we make in this plane of existence. As if it is a humility we must embrace when faced with mortality in order to give us the courage to not be overwhelmed by simply the idea of life itself.
Of course, this does nothing to explain why Dale Earnhardt is called a “hero.” Up until his death, I imagine that even a great many of his fans shared a belief with his detractors that he was, in addition to being rather extraordinarily talented at driving around in a circle very fast, a belligerent redneck. But, boom, into - not so ironically - a wall his car went and now there are big #3’s on trucks everywhere. On thousands of bedroom and gas station walls you will find portraits of a man wearing an expression so tender and compassionate that he looks more like a kindly church usher than the man who’s nickname was “The Intimidator,” not to intimate that I am anything other than quite intimidated by church ushers (I always half expect to get poked with a cattle prod.)
In an entirely more irrational example, just because he actually-and-for-really did a lot of bad things to people, there is also no reasonable explanation for Ronald Reagan being remembered so fondly. Nor his wife, for that matter (oh wait, she just looks dead.) He made greed cool, he disenfranchised the poor, he grew the military-industrial complex into a bigger beast than Wal-Mart (alright, it’s not that perverse and corrupt,) and he did it all after building a solid career on the bloodied backs of blacklisted former friends in Hollywood who he happily turned in to the FBI as godless communists and enemies of the USA. Many of those folks never worked again and their families and personal lives disintegrated like so much old celluloid, while good old Ron smiled, waved, and told Mr. Gorbachev to “tear down this wall,” which Gorbachev had intended on doing for some time anyway without the opportunistic Reagan barking orders at him via CNN. Then, after a lengthy battle with Alzheimer’s that began to really take hold sometime early in his second term as President of the United States of America, he left for that big convention in the sky, no doubt shooting spitballs at Che Guevara and complaining to Saint Peter that “Che started it.”
I bring all this up because I heard two things the other day that struck me as ridiculous, and one was compounded by the other.
Tom DeLay, the former House Majority Leader and Republican Representative from Texas, resigned from his seat in Congress after corruption charges against him had begun to pile higher than a stack of two dollar bills in the back room of Zachary’s Pub on a Saturday night. DeLay bowed out and went, faster than you can say “Compassionate Conservatism,” from the guy every politician on either side of the aisle in this country was afraid to call “asshole,” just because of the high degree to which he is one, to the guy who was being hailed as “a real ‘get-things-done’ kind of a fella who everyone respected and loved,” who “really cared about his country.” Right. Like, he won’t be parlaying the proverbial gold watch he’ll receive into some sort of revenge on whoever dropped the ball and led to his indictment. What made this even more hysterical was the same Republican Party consultant I heard eulogizing the dear, departed DeLay compared him, in a very complimentary manner, to Newt Gingrich, citing Gingrich as an example of “intelligent leadership in the conservative movement.” Intelligent? Perhaps. Nuts? Definitely. It was great. It was the double whammy of utterly ridiculous canonization. It was a two-fer-one. It was like I died, went to hell, and not only got to see Jimmy Buffet play 147 songs in a row, but as it turns out, learn that he was just the opening act for the Eagles. Oh happy day.
Hey, when I go, I want people to say whatever is true. I want them to say, “Yeah, y’know, he really made me laugh, he smelled of running shoes. Honestly, I just can’t remember much else about him. Oh well. Hey! Quit bogarting the Mountain Dew!” I want to be whole when I’m here and nothing more when I’m gone.
Were any of these guys victims of an oh-we-just-didn’t-realize-how-blessed-we-were-to-have-them-in-our-presence, innocently apathetic mentality? Please.
By conveniently removing the mistakes from the book of history, not only do we reduce a collection the size of a James Michener box set to a Soap Opera Digest, we also run the risk of repeating the same errors in a seemingly ever-shortening amount of time. Need proof? Check out the 43rd President of the United States of America. May history recall him accordingly.