I REMEMBER THE GIDDY DELIGHT at hearing the news that Nixon had resigned. It was with some friends--new friends--for I was new to New Mexico. Mostly guys from Boddy’s Honda, where I went to work the day after landing in Santa Fe. Nixon had given us the claim of Peace With Honor, which gave Vietnam no peace, and gave America no honor. It took 30 more years, and the nearly 60,000 names carved in black granite, to at least honor those who struggled and died in Vietnam.
August of 1974 was a good time for me, in good company, and in a good place, to celebrate. Santa Fe, bustling and growing--but still human in scale. And human in character. To walk any street--or to drive on any two-lane--was to make eye contact and wave to the ones you crossed paths with. On a walk after sun-set, when the air instantly chills, you could feel the adobe walls radiate back the sunshine they had absorbed through the afternoon. There was camaraderie in the bike shop.
And the city's setting--like God on the eighth day had scooped a great bench out of the west slope of the Sangre de Cristos--so that He could sprawl on it, languidly, and meditate on the sunset beyond the Jemez.
Tonight, however, there is no giddy delight for me, not after officialdom’s (but not its chief official's) acknowledgment of the end of this shameful administration. I am among friends even if not in their physical presence, in a community that is warm, if not human scale. The great majority of the community is pleased at this outcome. But then I think of so many communities where the majorities and minorities are reversed, where this news brings them sadness.
My delight is tempered by shame, that our country could do this to itself. Like the shame of Peace With Honor, the rancor that Make America Great Again generated fills me with shame. Like the Vietnam Wall, it will take us a generation for the rancor to dissipate.
That day in August of ‘74 was a happy day, in a happy time. On the run--from a wife and child, a family, the law--but mostly from myself. I had nothing but a competent tool chest, a strong motorcycle, and a loyal girlfriend. Shame had not caught up yet. Today, I stop at every stop sign. There is nothing material that I lack or long for. I live with my soulmate. But my country is sick--and I feel sick for my country's sake.
August of 1974 was a good time for me, in good company, and in a good place, to celebrate. Santa Fe, bustling and growing--but still human in scale. And human in character. To walk any street--or to drive on any two-lane--was to make eye contact and wave to the ones you crossed paths with. On a walk after sun-set, when the air instantly chills, you could feel the adobe walls radiate back the sunshine they had absorbed through the afternoon. There was camaraderie in the bike shop.
And the city's setting--like God on the eighth day had scooped a great bench out of the west slope of the Sangre de Cristos--so that He could sprawl on it, languidly, and meditate on the sunset beyond the Jemez.
Tonight, however, there is no giddy delight for me, not after officialdom’s (but not its chief official's) acknowledgment of the end of this shameful administration. I am among friends even if not in their physical presence, in a community that is warm, if not human scale. The great majority of the community is pleased at this outcome. But then I think of so many communities where the majorities and minorities are reversed, where this news brings them sadness.
My delight is tempered by shame, that our country could do this to itself. Like the shame of Peace With Honor, the rancor that Make America Great Again generated fills me with shame. Like the Vietnam Wall, it will take us a generation for the rancor to dissipate.
That day in August of ‘74 was a happy day, in a happy time. On the run--from a wife and child, a family, the law--but mostly from myself. I had nothing but a competent tool chest, a strong motorcycle, and a loyal girlfriend. Shame had not caught up yet. Today, I stop at every stop sign. There is nothing material that I lack or long for. I live with my soulmate. But my country is sick--and I feel sick for my country's sake.
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