Donald Trump: The American Nightmare!
If you listen to the blather on television you are certain the “American Dream” is to become rich, famous and be able to tell the rest of the world to go to hell. The view that all Americans aspire to be super rich was reinforced by Governor Romney in his las campaign when he said that concern with income inequality was motivated by envy of the superrich. He sees us all looking through the bars of the gated community wishing we had elevators for our cars. If so, then Donald Trump is the personification of the dream our parents had for us. But he is most decidedly not.
What is referred to as the American Dream is now and always has been the National Nightmare for most Americans of humble origins. Donald Trump is a character that shows again and again in our American story as the Dream run amuck. He’s Mr. Potter in a “Wonderful Life” and Biff in Back to the Future II.
I grew up in a Maine farming community. My Dad was the janitor at the school, my Mom worked part time in the hot lunch program and while I never felt deprived, it might have been stretching it a little to say we were middle class. Mom’s father was an alcoholic who abused his three girls. Mom’s mother was dying by the time Mom entered high school, so she “married her off” to get her away from her father. Unfortunately, Mom's first husband was also a drunk and an abuser. Mom was never allowed to complete the second year of high school. My Dad, her second husband, worked three jobs in high school helping support his family and his oldest brother who had gone on to college. The idea was he would then help Dad. Then the depression ended that dream. It hit my Mom and Dad hard. They shared a three room apartment with another couple and ate beans for well over half their meals.
My parents didn’t envy people more successful than themselves nor did they indiscriminately respect them. Good family people and others working to get a leg up were worthy of respect. People who got an education and used it to help peope these people were held up as models. People who selflessly gave to their community would be pointed out to a growing child. My parents preached that hard work and delaying gratification were the keys to having a good life. And, a good life was where your hard work would provide enough income to take care of your family and have a little left over. A good life earned you respect among your neighbors and obligated you to be generous of your time and council. That was the Dream my parents handed on to me and except for the determination with which Mom wanted it, there was nothing unique about it.
If you wanted to put a face to this ideal it might be the family doctor of the 1950’s. He was comfortable but far from rich. He probably drove a Buick and traded it in every few years, but he put on a lot of miles doing house calls. The Doctor was a caring man of science and education who walked into the most humble homes and took the time to understand the circumstances and explain the choices in a way that did not condescend. It is no coincidence that President Franklin Roosevelt referred to himself as Doctor New Deal in his Fireside Chats. He understood regular folks.
When I was a young man, I had a chance to meet Robert A.G. Monks. He was a wealthy man who moved to Maine from Massachusetts and was running against Margret Chase Smith in a Republican Primary. On one encounter, he told me he had been down to Chebeague Island for a campaign stop. He was excited that almost every adult on the island showed up and seemed to like his talk. This was proof to him that folks were ready to support someone other than Margret. As it happens I knew a lot of folks on the island because we went to high school together. The next time I saw one of my friends from the Island I asked about the Monks visit. My friend didn’t know where I was coming from so he just said, “It was OK I guess.”
I prompted, “I heard the whole Island came out.”
He said,”Yeh, well, it’s winter and seeing a millionaire on our island in the winter is a rare thing.”
So I probed, ‘How’d he go over.”
Finally my friend gave up and spoke freely, “We all hated him.”
“Why?”
“Well when he started to talk be he bragged up that he was big pals with Mark Gravely who grew up here and then went to Boston making a lot of money in real estate. Thing is, Gravely never comes back to see his mom and he never sends her any money. She only gets by because of little odd jobs we think up for her. So Monk’s just another “I got mine, screw you” rich prick as far as we could see.”
I think the judgement of Mr. Monks was mistaken, and you shouldn’t hold it against him that he confused loathing with affection. These were old time Mainers- not known as a demonstrative people. Nonetheless, the Monks story makes the point, “Wealth, fame and ain’t I great,” is not what working people aspire to for themselves or their children.
Speaking of success, I saw former Senator George Mitchell talk in Maine recently about his new book and his parent’s story. His mother came from Lebanon and worked in a textile mill her whole life while raising a family. She raised 5 children, they all did well. George more than most of us, and while I am sure in comparison to neighbors in NYC he is not seen as a particularly wealthy man, I have on doubt his financial success far exceeds anything his mom ever imagined for her family. I never met the woman, but I would wager if she were alive today and you listed all her son’s accomplishments and asked her to rank them, she would hold up the scholarship fund he established for Maine children above his personal financial success. As to his wealth, if Mrs. Mitchell was anything like my mom, she might say, “It’s fine that he has nice things as long as he doesn’t get too big for his britches.”
That is the real American Dream: to do well enough to be able to give back and be humble enough to remember we are just making a down payment on what we owe.
If you listen to the blather on television you are certain the “American Dream” is to become rich, famous and be able to tell the rest of the world to go to hell. The view that all Americans aspire to be super rich was reinforced by Governor Romney in his las campaign when he said that concern with income inequality was motivated by envy of the superrich. He sees us all looking through the bars of the gated community wishing we had elevators for our cars. If so, then Donald Trump is the personification of the dream our parents had for us. But he is most decidedly not.
What is referred to as the American Dream is now and always has been the National Nightmare for most Americans of humble origins. Donald Trump is a character that shows again and again in our American story as the Dream run amuck. He’s Mr. Potter in a “Wonderful Life” and Biff in Back to the Future II.
I grew up in a Maine farming community. My Dad was the janitor at the school, my Mom worked part time in the hot lunch program and while I never felt deprived, it might have been stretching it a little to say we were middle class. Mom’s father was an alcoholic who abused his three girls. Mom’s mother was dying by the time Mom entered high school, so she “married her off” to get her away from her father. Unfortunately, Mom's first husband was also a drunk and an abuser. Mom was never allowed to complete the second year of high school. My Dad, her second husband, worked three jobs in high school helping support his family and his oldest brother who had gone on to college. The idea was he would then help Dad. Then the depression ended that dream. It hit my Mom and Dad hard. They shared a three room apartment with another couple and ate beans for well over half their meals.
My parents didn’t envy people more successful than themselves nor did they indiscriminately respect them. Good family people and others working to get a leg up were worthy of respect. People who got an education and used it to help peope these people were held up as models. People who selflessly gave to their community would be pointed out to a growing child. My parents preached that hard work and delaying gratification were the keys to having a good life. And, a good life was where your hard work would provide enough income to take care of your family and have a little left over. A good life earned you respect among your neighbors and obligated you to be generous of your time and council. That was the Dream my parents handed on to me and except for the determination with which Mom wanted it, there was nothing unique about it.
If you wanted to put a face to this ideal it might be the family doctor of the 1950’s. He was comfortable but far from rich. He probably drove a Buick and traded it in every few years, but he put on a lot of miles doing house calls. The Doctor was a caring man of science and education who walked into the most humble homes and took the time to understand the circumstances and explain the choices in a way that did not condescend. It is no coincidence that President Franklin Roosevelt referred to himself as Doctor New Deal in his Fireside Chats. He understood regular folks.
When I was a young man, I had a chance to meet Robert A.G. Monks. He was a wealthy man who moved to Maine from Massachusetts and was running against Margret Chase Smith in a Republican Primary. On one encounter, he told me he had been down to Chebeague Island for a campaign stop. He was excited that almost every adult on the island showed up and seemed to like his talk. This was proof to him that folks were ready to support someone other than Margret. As it happens I knew a lot of folks on the island because we went to high school together. The next time I saw one of my friends from the Island I asked about the Monks visit. My friend didn’t know where I was coming from so he just said, “It was OK I guess.”
I prompted, “I heard the whole Island came out.”
He said,”Yeh, well, it’s winter and seeing a millionaire on our island in the winter is a rare thing.”
So I probed, ‘How’d he go over.”
Finally my friend gave up and spoke freely, “We all hated him.”
“Why?”
“Well when he started to talk be he bragged up that he was big pals with Mark Gravely who grew up here and then went to Boston making a lot of money in real estate. Thing is, Gravely never comes back to see his mom and he never sends her any money. She only gets by because of little odd jobs we think up for her. So Monk’s just another “I got mine, screw you” rich prick as far as we could see.”
I think the judgement of Mr. Monks was mistaken, and you shouldn’t hold it against him that he confused loathing with affection. These were old time Mainers- not known as a demonstrative people. Nonetheless, the Monks story makes the point, “Wealth, fame and ain’t I great,” is not what working people aspire to for themselves or their children.
Speaking of success, I saw former Senator George Mitchell talk in Maine recently about his new book and his parent’s story. His mother came from Lebanon and worked in a textile mill her whole life while raising a family. She raised 5 children, they all did well. George more than most of us, and while I am sure in comparison to neighbors in NYC he is not seen as a particularly wealthy man, I have on doubt his financial success far exceeds anything his mom ever imagined for her family. I never met the woman, but I would wager if she were alive today and you listed all her son’s accomplishments and asked her to rank them, she would hold up the scholarship fund he established for Maine children above his personal financial success. As to his wealth, if Mrs. Mitchell was anything like my mom, she might say, “It’s fine that he has nice things as long as he doesn’t get too big for his britches.”
That is the real American Dream: to do well enough to be able to give back and be humble enough to remember we are just making a down payment on what we owe.