Five Days Inside the Beltway: The Sun Bursts Over Baltimore

Last Thursday, April 12, was an odd time to tour the White House, considering President Bush's diplomatic victory the day before in resolving the brief China-U.S. stalemate. Or so I thought. As Mrs. M, the boys and I stood on line, waiting for security clearance, my mind was racing with the possible consequences of the administration's first international skirmish. (The petulance of Euro heads of state over Kyoto doesn't count.) How tough will Bush get now that the troops are home? Will the liberal Democrats?not to mention a hostile mainstream press?who applauded his conduct during the 11-day impasse dial down the obscene rhetoric they've pinpricked the President with, claiming that he's the most conservative (and cruel) leader since St. Calvin Coolidge? And has Bill Kristol, whose April 16/23 Weekly Standard editorial, "A National Humiliation," was a clumsy attack on Bush, now pooled his political fortunes with those of laughingstock xenophobes Gary Bauer and Pat Buchanan?

The first two questions were easy. Bush will be quietly aggressive: Taiwan will be receive more firepower; he won't discourage blackballing China out of another year of Most Favored Nation status (if Americans have attention spans longer than a mouse's, the Kmart-inspired boycotts of Chinese products will influence Congress); and obviously the military surveillance in the South China Sea will continue. I'd like to see China get nixed from the 2008 Olympics as well. Who needs the Chinese to recreate Hitler's 1936 German propaganda machine? And one can only hope the White House will insist that all Americans unfairly incarcerated in China be released.

The second puzzler was also a snap. The Democrats, after the yellow-ribbon glow has faded, won't give Bush any leeway, and will continue the bogus assault on his environmental "rollbacks" and his tax cut for the "wealthy." There's a lot of blather in the media that the GOP is courting disaster in the 2002 midterm elections because of arsenic and ergonomics, but the current economy will be the paramount concern of swing voters. One prediction is a 100 percent certainty: The affluent New York Times management will continue its immoral class warfare campaign for the remainder of Bush's presidency.

I don't believe Kristol deserves a fate as severe as the one Bauer and Buchanan deserve, but his contention that Bush showed "fear" and "weakness" was absurd. There's no question that he and cowriter Robert Kagan are correct that China deserves retribution for its premeditated provocation, but Kristol in particular was intellectually dishonest in his belittling of Bush. It was only last year that he ran John McCain's media campaign (no small feat, considering how many journalists were in the tank with Mr. Clean); more to the point, Kristol and the Bush family don't get along, dating back to his tenure as Dan Quayle's chief of staff.

Kristol and Kagan wrote an op-ed piece for The Washington Post on April 13, which was less bellicose than the Standard edit, but still on the outer fringes of paranoia. (It was ironic that next to the article was Slate editor Michael Kinsley's essay called "Bush Is Right on Arsenic. Darn!" Talk about ideological flipflops.) I'm sure the duo filed their tirade before Bush once again ramped up the rhetoric against the Chinese on Thursday afternoon, but their words were sour nonetheless.

Kristol and Kagan write: "[China] held our troops hostage until we said 'Uncle.' When we finally said something that in Chinese sounds a lot like 'uncle,' they let them go... If we simply try to put the crisis behind us and return to 'normal,' as so many China hands, foreign policy 'realists,' corporate executives and our secretary of state have suggested, the message to the Chinese leaders will be that they will pay no price for an assault on American interests and honor. No message could be more dangerous or more dishonorable."

I wonder if Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld's vehement condemnation of China on Friday has allayed Kristol and Kagan's fears. Probably not, since their printed opinions have as much to do with politics as policy.

Now, for all I know, Kristol was playing double agent for Bush, whipping up right-wingers to send the Chinese a message. Still, the headline of the piece, "We Lost," said it all. If, as the pair argues, a few crackpot but dangerous dictators draw strength from the U.S.' expression of regret, I think Bush can deal with that. It's not as if Saddam Hussein, who saw eight years of Clintonian foreign policy empathy, really budged much from his position at the end of the Gulf War. And, mercifully, he's now 10 years older and closer to joining his buddies?men like Ferdinand Marcos and the Ayatollah?six feet under.

It's been vexing to watch the political talk shows recently, since the pundits are more confused than usual. Hardball's Chris Matthews, who at the beginning of last week was praising his "pal" Kristol, by Friday was laughing with Mike Barnicle on MSNBC, theorizing that the Standard editor was talking tough, perhaps trying to avenge himself on the bullies who'd bothered him during his high school years. Pretty silly. Barnicle, the former Boston Globe plagiarist who's failed upward, even said of Kristol: "The last time he wore a uniform was on Halloween a few years ago." Ho, ho, ho and a bottle of Evian.

I still like Hardball. Even though Matthews, who was so on-target during the Clinton scandals, now sucks up to anyone who'll appear with him, he does book an impressive array of guests. Yes, it's nauseating to watch him slobber over Mario Cuomo and McCain, but Pat Caddell's frequent appearances compensate.

Kristol's in a tough position. He's not a journalist by trade and he's presumably seeking a key position of power in a Republican administration. He'd be a tremendous asset?as was proven by his heroic efforts to ignite the sleepy GOP against Hillary Clinton's socialist healthcare program in '94?but man, he's got to get that Texas-sized chip off his shoulder.

At the White House, I was surprised, and rather appalled, at the slovenly attire of 95 percent of the tourists. People in shorts, flip-flops, ugly t-shirts advertising sports teams or products like "Grandma Millie's Slippery Ribs," sweatpants, halter tops, sneakers and even hair rollers. Granted, both Junior and MUGGER III were fidgeting with their rep ties and blazers, but it seemed to Mrs. M and me that the White House is a cultural cathedral that warrants a certain degree of respect, no matter who the occupant is. If that's old-school, set me up with an 11 a.m. lunch reservation with Jimmy Carter, Bob Dole, Howard Baker and Jerry Ford?although I refuse to applaud them for the toothless op-eds they write for daily newspapers on issues like impeachment, campaign-finance and electoral reform.

The tour was short, but I was transfixed by the portraits (especially those of JFK and James Monroe) and busts of the presidents, the gardens and the cluster of official rooms. Junior was particularly enamored of the picture of William Howard Taft, since he got to remind me?for the 45th time?that Teddy Roosevelt's successor was really the Walrus, not John Lennon or Paul McCartney. It was downright weird when the guide told the well-known story about William Henry Harrison making his long inauguration speech in 1841 without benefit of a topcoat, catching pneumonia and dying a month later, and half the assembled crowd giggled uncontrollably.

Funny stuff.

Later in the day, while Mrs. M and Junior were off at the Smithsonian?Archie Bunker's favorite chair was a highlight?MUGGER III and I patrolled the streets of Georgetown, slipping in and out of the small bookstores, the boutiques, the antique shops and the giant mall. Georgetown is like an antiseptic Soho. Even though some turf is staked out by a number of well-scrubbed young bums, advertising their alleged battles with AIDS on crudely written cardboard signs, there's little garbage in the streets and no nasty edge at all. I don't share the rest of the country's fixation about New York's inherent rudeness, but the gentler pace in DC is something to behold. For example, I stopped in for a coffee at a luncheonette, and the guy said he'd just turned off the machine, so the cup was on the house.

My six-year-old's favorite stop, by far, was Comics and Beyond, where they stocked a zany shelf of Japanese action figures, and he spent about half an hour chewing the fat with a worker, who was garbed in a long-sleeved Superman shirt, about the PlayStation game Mega Man.

On the same strip of M St. we found Watch World, where a young woman was of enormous help in guiding the boys to the "right" digital accessories. Junior was set on a powder-blue Baby-G number, which I had a real problem with, because of the name. She assured us?and I'm convinced she didn't do so just to make a sale?that Baby-G is a "hot" brand, but that blue wouldn't do for a boy. So they both got black watches. Whether or not this line is "in" or "out" in Manhattan I have no idea, not being a regular reader of Lucky or the back 75 percent of New York, but the boys were happy. At one point on this walk, they wanted ice cream, and to my horror we ended up at a Ben & Jerry's, the first time I've ever patronized any of the chain's outlets. What the hell, I figured, we were in Bush's town, so a little bit of twisted Vermont socialism with huge dollar signs wouldn't leave traumatic blots on their impressionable minds.

Last Saturday, finally, the constant drizzle of the past three days gave way to a gorgeous spring day, although even a hurricane couldn't obscure the transcendent glory of the Lincoln Memorial. The boys were in awe looking at the grand statue of the 16th president, and were silent as I read the inscribed "Gettysburg Address" on an adjacent wall. MUGGER III, at six, was most curious about the "giant wiener," the Washington Monument, and couldn't stop giggling when he saw it. We had time only for a drive-by view of the breathtaking Jefferson Memorial?my personal favorite?before heading up to Baltimore for an Orioles-Devil Rays game at Camden Yards.

I have a severe problem with O's owner Peter Angelos. He's an avaricious trial lawyer who makes millions upon millions of dollars off his clients' suffering, and he's a horrible baseball man, as any dedicated Orioles fan will assure you. I also don't particularly care for the retro Camden Yards, a sports mall that defines sensory overload with its blinding row of food and souvenir stands. That the Orioles still use John Denver's horrendous "Thank God I'm a Country Boy" for the seventh-inning stretch amazes me. I used to hate that back in the 70s when I was a beer/soda vendor at Memorial Stadium.

But we had a wonderful time, not only because the still-maligned city is a welcome antidote to stuffy DC, but also because of our reunion with Al from Baltimore's family at the ballpark. Al scored eight superb seats without blinking. He, his wife Dina, his daughter Annie and his son Sam hosted our family, and we were in perfect foul-ball territory, just a few rows behind the O's dugout. We watched what I suspect will turn out to be a meaningless game between the two worst teams in the AL East. Junior and I kept an eagle's eye on the scoreboard to see what was happening up in Boston, where Pedro Martinez was facing off against Roger Clemens; the night before, thanks to Manny Ramirez, the Bosox had dramatically beaten the Yanks in the tenth inning. As we were leaving the park, with the Birds wrapping up a 6-5 win, a tv replayed Yankee Alfonso Soriano's winning homer in the ninth off Pete Schourek, leaving me in a temporary foul mood.

But that didn't last. Some people are put off by thick Baltimore accents, but I love hearing them, not only as a reminder of my 14 years living in the city, but also because I far prefer to hear people speak with a Long Island, Alabama, New England or Carolina twist. It's so much more interesting than the generic American accent, although I do draw the line at some Midwestern dialects, particularly those in Chicago and Jesse Ventura's Minnesota.

We took a cab back to DC?which cost just a few dollars more than four Amtrak tickets?and though I love riding down the Baltimore-Washington Parkway, with its majestic columns of trees in the middle of the freeway (especially beautiful and eerie on a clear summer night), the driver was an utter nutcase once we got past the ramshackle row houses at the DC city limits. It took us as long to get to Georgetown from there as did the ride from Baltimore, since the cabbie knew DC about as well as he did the backstreets of populist Bruce Springsteen's Asbury Park, and got snarled in the peculiar traffic circles. I felt a bit bad for the guy as he looked to me for help, asking if I could flag down pedestrians for directions. No problem, but you'd think a worker in this trade might use his noodle, stop at one of the many hotels where his DC counterparts were lined up and get the info from one of them.

When we got back to the Four Seasons, there were two Easter Eve baskets for the kids, a nice touch in this very kid-friendly hotel. After cotton candy, hotdogs, Cokes and popcorn at the ballpark, these were the last things they needed, so we put them out of reach temporarily. I didn't realize it at the game, but the sun was strong enough that by 8 p.m. I looked like Chief Lotsa Wampum, and foolishly exacerbated my burn by reading Saturday's New York Times.

I'd rather not piss on Frank Rich's now irrelevant biweekly column, but the following statement is too extravagant to pass up: "Persistence and humility are not words that come to mind when thinking of Mr. Bush... The passion that Mr. Reagan brought to his crusades against totalitarian empires seems to have surfaced in our new president only when championing baseball. In the past two weeks, Mr. Bush has found time not only to throw out a traditional first ball (albeit into the dirt) at the Milwaukee Brewers' home opener, but to preside over two White House baseball events: a tribute to Hall of Famers to herald the introduction of T-ball to the South Lawn (and about time too!) and a screening of a new HBO movie about Mickey Mantle and Roger Maris."

Rich, who probably throws like a girl, is obviously clueless about the cultural significance baseball has beyond his insular world of Broadway show tunes. He's typical of the reflexive paleolib pundits who simply can't grasp Bush's complexity. The narcissistic, bed-hopping Clinton was more their style, and easier to understand. Bush's bedrock religious and conservative beliefs (which his father doesn't share) are as foreign as the Chinese definition of "apology." Some of the smarter journalists will catch on, but until then, the President will continue to be portrayed as a fratboy who's coasted his entire life. Which is fine by me. If the press doesn't understand that Bush orchestrates every major administration decision?including the Florida recount and the war against Big Labor feather-bedding?they're sullying their own reputations, not the President's.

But the Times' lead editorials are always more dangerous than a Rich or Maureen Dowd column, since they still drive opinion within Congress. If you can figure that out, please clue me in.

The writer on Saturday, while doling out parsimonious praise for the administration's smooth diplomacy in the Chinese affair, spent the remainder of his space dredging up the same tired attack on Bush: his budget, the environmental "setbacks," the myth that he can't control either the hard right or moderate wormboys like Lincoln Chafee.

I'll say this much for Clinton: had he not made those disastrous but completely characteristic pardons, right now he'd be on center stage in Washington. His last-minute spate of antibusiness regulations was further proof of his political brilliance: he left those turds right on Bush's desk, knowing they'd mess up his successor's first year in the Oval Office. You think Clinton really cared about the amount of arsenic in the drinking water? If so, you probably also believe that Paul Krugman or James Warren deserves a Pulitzer Prize.

April 16

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