Today, were going to talk about party lines.
No, not lines to get into a party, though that does remind me of a quick story that you might find amusing.
On the evening Id graduated -- or been graduated, I cant ever grasp that grammatical distinction -- from high school, I went through the typical family thing.
You know, my parents handing me the keys to a brand new Porsche parked in the driveway, two tickets to Jamaica tucked into the glove box and a guaranteed good and perfect life ahead of me.
Plus, some bootleg Stones records Id been dying to hear since I was like 10.
Believe that?
Of course not.
No one would.
For my high school graduation, I was given a typewriter, which was pretty much my parents saying, Youre going to college and youre going to work your fingers to the bone so that when you come out, you will be able to use words like a magician wields a wand.
In other words, it wasnt a new Porsche.
Or even a used Buick.
Just a simple manual typewriter.
Do they even make them anymore?
So my friend, driving either a Mercury Comet or an Opel, picked me up and drove us around town until we arrived at a house where a classmate was hosting a party.
Man, I said, I cant do this. I dont even know her.
He parked a half-block down the street.
I could hear the noise.
Just have fun, he said and that, pretty much, was the last I heard from him.
An hour or so later, I realized hed driven away with his on-again/off-again girlfriend, leaving me a two-mile trudge back to my home which, when I think about it, was the highlight of my high school graduation night.
THE PHONE RANG a couple of minutes after Id walked past the cemetery, through the downtown, up the historic street that bisected the town and around the hospital.
It was just after two in the morning.
What! I said, kicking off my Converse high-tops.
Where are you?
You must know, since you called this number, I said to my friend, that Im back home.
Youre missing a great party, he said.
Listen to me, I said. You drove away with whats-her-name and I walked back here.
But Im back.
And Im going to sleep, I said, Just have fun.
It was a perfect ending to my high school career.
The party line was this: you had no privacy, but that was OK. In my neighborhood, no one had it and no one expected it. This was all pre-Nixon wiretapping, this was all innocent, this was all just picking up a telephone -- heavy and black Bakelite with a rotary dial -- and sometimes, unwittingly, youd be plugged into someone elses conversation.
Born and raised a guilty Catholic, I knew I had a choice: listen in or hang up.
You get one guess as to what I did.
Funny, being all CIA didnt do much for me; in fact, nothing was more boring than waiting for the line to clear. How much could an adult actually talk about stuff that no one cared about? Youd be surprised that rutabagas were in such demand.
Me? All I wanted to do was order a PMS pizza and watch Monday Night Football.
Youd try NOT to listen, just waiting for the line to clear, but man, sometimes Id cough impatiently.
Is there someone on this line? some old lady would ask and I was so tempted to say, Yes and nothing youve said over the last half hour is of any interest to anyone with an IQ over your pulse, so GET OFF!
I didnt do that, though. Ive always been polite around folks who arent.
ANOTHER PARTY LINE is all about politics and I was fascinated by the Paul Ryan selection. Seriously, does Mitt Romney just want to lose in the fall?
I dont care how or if you vote. Thats not my thing. I always vote, figuring its a privilege, but a lot of Americans dont bother to show up.
My opinion is this.
If you dont make the effort to stand in those long lines, you can just shut up.
But if you dont have a photo ID, you cant even stand in line, let alone vote.
Its gonna get so ugly.
I dont get around much anymore and have fewer and fewer friends, but I know that this presidential election has fistfight potential. Everyones all angry. No ones happy. Its as bad as Ive ever seen it and Ive been voting since 1972.
This party line battle hasnt even the slightest hint of conciliation. Its like one of those phony wrestling Death Cage matches, or is it MMA? Nothings real. Just bellicose belligerence.
Whatever happened to reaching across the aisle?
Blurring party lines?
Moving ahead?
Its all gone. Now its just junk against more junk.
Im reminded of The American President crossed with All the Presidents Men. Bad pollination. Bad theater. Bad timing.
And bad policy.
No ones going to change his or her mind. Everyones dug in.
Party lines have been drawn.
You cant even bring it up; as in, I think I might vote for the president.
Vitriol.
Film at 11.
I wish I could just sit this one out, but I wont.
And neither should you.
I remember back in the summer of 68, listening in on the party line, and someone said, I hope someone shoots that Bobby Kennedy.
I was 13.
He was 42 when someone shot him.
Hang on, and be cool, folks.
This countrys teetering on a knifes edge.
It could go either way.
