Flag Police

(Photo by BobbaLew.)

Not too long after I started my unpaid internship at the Messenger newspaper in Canandaigua, which was after my stroke, I began slinging together columns which the newspaper published weekly atop its “Op-Ed” page.
My columns were unpaid, and my first was how presidents no longer wore hats — that I’d vote for the first presidential candidate sensible enough to wear a hat.
There was Jimmy Carter, obviously aging, showing up for Obama’s first inauguration, in frigid temperatures, bare-headed.
And all the other ex-presidents too, like George H.W. Bush in a wheelchair.
I hope they had kerosene heaters wafting the podium.
It was so cold Yo-Yo Ma couldn’t play his cello, and Aretha Franklin was so wrapped up in scarves, blankets, and a gigantic fur hat she was unidentifiable. All I could recognize was her voice.
Unwearing of hats began with President Kennedy, who despite being half-crippled by back-pain, wanted to project an image of youthful “vigah.”
Eisenhower wore a hat, as did many presidents before him.
I’m not president, I guess because I wear a hat.
There’s Obama, leaping out of Air Force One, hatless.
Ever since Kennedy, presidents go without hats; although I wonder about Nixon. Wingtips and tie on the beach at San Clemente?
Many columns got published after that first, and they even deigned to take a mug-shot to go with my column.
My all time favorite was “the sun always shines at 35,000 feet.” That came from my time driving bus, a Park-and-Ride from the suburbs.
I pulled into the terminal behind Midtown Plaza in Rochester to discharge my passengers, and it was snowing awful. You couldn’t even see the tops of buildings.
A passenger commented about the snow and poor visibility. “The sun always shines at 35,000 feet,” I said.
Our airliner often took off in snow or rain from Rochester’s airport. But when we got up to cruising altitude, 35,000 feet, we were above the weather, and the sun was shining.
It had to end sometime, and it did when I infuriated the flag police.
I’ve always loved Old Glory, and fly it in front of my house.
Except when it rains or snows, or at night.
One day I came home from the newspaper and Old Glory was on the ground. The flag-holder had pulled out — it was windy.
I was gonna retrieve it, but noticed one of our two silly dogs, Houdini, was hung up on our Cyclone fence in the back-yard. She had caught her lip on the chainlink trying to jump the fence.
What to do! Rescue Old Glory or the dog?
I decided the dog was more alive, so I rescued the dog first.
I happened to mention this in a column, thereby upsetting the flag police.
They called the newspaper’s head-honcho. The flag was clearly more alive than our silly dog, so I had dissed Old Glory by not rescuing it first.
So ended my column at the newspaper. It made more sense to pull the plug than try to defend me.
I look again at Old Glory, which I just hung outside. It didn’t whine on the ground years ago, and hasn’t whined at me yet.
It rarely blows down; I fixed the flag holder with longer screws.
Nevertheless, I’d probably still rescue my dog first.

• I had a stroke October 26th, 1993, from which I pretty much recovered.
• Over 10 years I worked at the Daily Messenger newspaper in Canandaigua after my stroke; I started there as an unpaid intern. It was the best job I ever had, and probably enhanced recovery from my stroke.
• I call my ability to write “slinging words.”
• “Vigah” is Kennedy’s Boston pronunciation of “vigor.”
• For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS) in Rochester, NY, a public employer, the transit-bus operator in Rochester and environs.