A proliferation of pigs with lipstick
On a recent Sunday afternoon, I was at the gym in Boulder, logging my hour in on the stationary bike. It seemed there were just as many TV monitors above me as there were others working out around me.
One set flickered an image of Trump slogging through the snow during a campaign stop. The crawl below read: “Trump unleashed barrage of invectives against Biden.” On the right, thankfully, was one of the NFL’S crucial postseason contests. In my mind, the choice to stick to the game was an easy one. Sports attract so many fans because they are ennobling and uplifting, witnessing world-class athletes doing what comes naturally. Trump, Biden and the rest didn’t hold a candle to ground-leveling physical performance.
No dice. As the odometer on the bike turned three miles, I found myself struggling mightily. It came as something of a shock, really. I thought I had made an easy, conscious decision where to fix my gaze. A nobrainer, right? Watching the second half of the game was always my priority. Alas, I started caving into my base instincts. Like racing downstream without a paddle, I shifted my gaze to the opposite screen, where CNN only amplified its maniacal, ad revenue-generating coverage of Trump and his theatrics. At its core, the gladiators were in action, be it in the Red Zone or while jawboning at a Super Tuesday event.
With Jan. 6 in the rear-view, it functions as something of a warning about the perils of elected office. It can be a lion’s den. To characterize our federal legislature as an august body, where the air is perfumed with civility and gentility, is a crock.
I did some research. Since Congress was created in 1789, 15 members have been killed while in office. And 14 have endured serious injuries from attacks. The first elected rep to die or be wounded on the job was Henry Wharton Conway, who represented the Arkansas Territory’s At-large district. In 1827, he succumbed to injuries suffered from a duel with Robert Crittenden, a one-time friend and political supporter. What’s the old line? With friends like that, who needs enemies?
There are more recent examples of how public office can be an occupational hazard, resulting in brushes with the hereafter.
In 2012, Gabby Giffords, a House Democrat from Arizona, endured a severe brain injury during an assassination attempt. Now retired, Giffords is married to senator and former astronaut Mark Kelly. In 2017, Steve Scalise, a Louisiana Republican congressman, was shot and seriously
hurt while practicing for the annual Congressional Baseball Game. Police arrested an anti-trump domestic terrorist. And just a year ago, Minnesota Rep. Angie Craig was assaulted in an elevator in her apartment building near the Capitol. The attacker fled. Understandably, Craig underwent months of therapy for the trauma that ensued. Among those who lived in the White House, the U.S. has lost four presidents to assassins’ bullets: Abraham Lincoln, in 1865, James Garfield in 1881, William Mckinley in 1901 and John F. Kennedy in 1963.
On the other hand, there are occupational hazards that have nothing to do with physical harm and everything to do with vainglorious stupidity.
Decades ago, when I worked as a summer intern for a Democratic congressman from Maine, the super-smart, Harvardtrained lawyer seemed unstoppable. His fan base elected him to Congress multiple times. Then something took place that I didn’t think was in the job description. At regular intervals, he would send us young interns across the Potomac to Washington National Airport to fetch, one at a time, pretty female flight attendants. We would have orders to drive them directly back to his office. Once there, the lawmaker would hang a “Do Not Disturb” tag on his doorknob. Clearly, it was an undercover meetup. Long story short, the press back in his ultraconservative district got wind of his extracurricular affairs. He lost his seat. So much for his former job as editor of the Harvard Law Review.