Senator George S. McGovern, 1922-2012

   

     This morning, George S. McGovern, former Senator from South Dakota passed away at the age of 90 following a series of illnesses.  Sen. McGovern was my political standard to whom I looked in the process of forming and developing my personal political philosophy for most of my adult life.   From time to time, people have pushed me to describe my politics in a one or two word phrase, and in reply, I always say "I'm a McGovern Democrat."
     Mr. McGovern was born in South Dakota in 1922, to a Methodist minister father.  His mother was Canadian, and in fact, the family resided in Calgary for a brief time during McGovern's childhood.  Both of his parents were Republicans, although not politically active.  Perhaps because of the agricultural nature of his surroundings, young George developed an interest in the plight of the small farmer during the Dust Bowl and the Great Depression, and began to form his populist views at that time.  He became a skilled debater in high school, and went on to Dakota Wesleyan University.

WORLD WAR II SERVICE

     Within days of the bombing of Pearl Harbor, McGovern, at the age of nineteen, enlisted in the U.S. Army Air Corps.   He went on to become a pilot flying a B-24 Liberator bomber in 35 missions over Nazi occupied Europe.   He was highly decorated, receiving, among other medals, the Distinguished Flying Cross for making a hazardous landing and saving the lives of his crew.
     It was during this flight that he experienced the single most horrifying incident of the war from his perspective.  This flight took place December 20, 1944 (while my father was struggling in the snow during the Battle of the Bulge.)  McGovern's plane, named Dakota Queen for his wife Eleanor, lost one engine and the other was damaged by flak.  Because he was unable to return to his base in Italy, he flew to a British airfield on the small island of Vis in the Adriatic Sea.   This field had a short runway usually used by fighter planes, and many of the bombers that had tried to land there crashed and their crews were killed.  McGovern was able to get to the field, and landed his bomber safely, saving the lives of his men.  On the way, he saw the sight that haunted him for most of his life.
     It was necessary to jettison anything not necessary for the bomber to fly, in order to minimize the weight of the aircraft.   He ordered his crew to get rid of everything.  They were still carrying one bomb, which they had to drop.  They were flying at low altitude, and McGovern saw the bomb drop.  To his horror, he saw it fall straight toward a country farmhouse, far from any military presence.  He could see the farmer running, then saw the farmhouse explode, with the farmer in the midst of the explosion. 
     For decades, he carried that image with him.  He tried numerous times to learn the identity of the farmer and the exact location of the farm, but without success.   Finally, in the 1970s or early 1980s, Sen. McGovern was the subject of a live interview on Italian TV, during which he told the story of that horrible day.  During the broadcast, the station received a phone call from a man who identified himself as that farmer.   McGovern connected with the man later, and talked with him.  The man said that neither he nor any member of his family had been hurt in the incident, although it did destroy his farmhouse.  He told McGovern, "I would have given a hundred farms if I thought it would help rid the world of Hitler."
     This episode, perhaps more than any other helped to form Sen. McGovern's attitudes toward war in general, and particularly toward any war for which the necessity was questionable.

POLITICAL CAREER

     McGovern returned from the war and earned degrees from Dakota Wesleyan and Northwestern University, culminating in a Doctorate in History.  His doctoral dissertation was a study of the Ludlow Massacre coal mine incident, which further moved Mr. McGovern to the left politically.  He became active politically and served in the House of Representatives as Congressman for South Dakota's 1st District from 1957 to 1961.   He resigned from the House in order to run for the Senate, but in the interim, he was appointed by President Kennedy as Director of the Food For Peace program.  He was elected and served as a Senator from South Dakota from 1963 to 1981.
     During his Senate tenure, he strongly opposed U.S. involvement in Viet Nam.  He twice introduced legislation with Oregon Republican Senator Mark Hatfield in an attempt to end the war legislatively, but both attempts failed.   At one point, McGovern took out a second mortgage on his home in order to finance a half hour panel discussion on the bill on NBC.  Following the broadcast, over a half million dollars in donations came in, and polls showed that a majority of Americans agreed with the bill.    When Sen. McGovern learned of the defeat on the Senate floor, he gave a speech which contained the following statement:

Every Senator in this chamber is partly responsible for sending 50,000 young Americans to an early grave. This chamber reeks of blood. Every Senator here is partly responsible for that human wreckage at Walter Reed and Bethesda Naval and all across our land—young men without legs, or arms, or genitals, or faces or hopes. There are not very many of these blasted and broken boys who think this war is a glorious adventure. Do not talk to them about bugging out, or national honor or courage. It does not take any courage at all for a congressman, or a senator, or a president to wrap himself in the flag and say we are staying in Vietnam, because it is not our blood that is being shed. But we are responsible for those young men and their lives and their hopes. And if we do not end this damnable war those young men will some day curse us for our pitiful willingness to let the Executive carry the burden that the Constitution places on us

     When confronted by a fellow Senator who said he was offended by the speech, McGovern said, "That's what I intended to do."   In a response to the powerful Senate Armed Services Committee chairman John Stennis' suggestion that U.S. troops might have to return to Cambodia, McGovern declared, 

"I'm tired of old men dreaming up wars for young men to fight. If he wants to use American ground troops in Cambodia, let him lead the charge himself.

When Robert Kennedy was assassinated during the 1968 campaign, McGovern stepped in briefly as a surrogate candidate to represent the positions Kennedy held.
     After the horrifying "police riots" of the 1968 Democratic Convention, McGovern served as co-chair of the McGovern-Frasier commission which made fundamental changes to the Democratic nominating process by increasing the number of primaries and caucuses and severely limiting the influence of party insiders and the so-called "smoke filled rooms."   In  January, 1971, Sen. McGovern announced his candidacy for President, which was a huge departure from the norm, in that candidates usually did not announce until much closer to the election.

1972 ELECTION

     In 1972, Richard Nixon was running for re-election, with his Vice President Spiro T. Agnew.   The election took place before the scandals that rocked the administration and caused sea changes in the way Americans viewed government.   Agnew, after being reelected was found to have taken large kickbacks and bribes while he was Governor of Maryland, and was forced to resign.  Gerald Ford, a congressman from Michigan, was appointed to take his place.  The Watergate scandal, which revealed corruption and felony criminal violations all the way up to the President himself, began with the break-in to the Democratic headquarters in Washington, D.C. by a group of burglars authorized by the President.
     Of course, we knew nothing of any of this prior to the election, although there were those of us who were far from surprised.
     During the primary season, Sydnee and I, living in Madera, California, were intrigued by McGovern's positions and speeches.  My childhood best friend was killed in Viet Nam in 1970, and for that and other reasons, I was strongly opposed to the Viet Nam war as being immoral and unjustified.   Although I was interested in McGovern, I'd read a statement in an interview that I questioned, so one day I phoned his campaign headquarters in Fresno.  The person I spoke with said he'd get back to me, and good as his word, returned my call in a few days with an answer that satisfied my reservations.   He invited me to stop by their office, which I did in just a few days.   They gave me a tour, and asked if I'd be interested in working on the primary campaign in Madera County.  He gave me the names of volunteers and the meeting address.
     At this time, spring of 1972, Sydnee was very pregnant with our second child Andy, who was born that year in August.   We went to the meeting and learned that they needed volunteers to go door to door, handing out pamphlets and answering questions.  Obviously, Syd couldn't do this, so she was given telephone sheets and basically did the same thing on the telephone, as well as doing "get out the vote" work.  I would come home from working all day, have a quick dinner, then meet my cohorts and spend several hours visiting people and campaigning.  On Saturdays, we'd go to small towns in the county and spend the day campaigning.  It was tiring and exhausting and exhilarating.
     The primary was held in June, 1972.   We voted, then that evening went to a small farm out in the county for a returns party.   It turned out the farm was run by a young hippie couple who grew marijuana among other crops.   All night long, people would go to the fields, harvest some bud, bring it back and dry it in the kitchen range oven.   I have a strong memory of the smell in the air that summer night.   All the while, a live band was set up in the living room, and they must have played "Sympathy for the Devil" twenty or thirty times.    We were thrilled when the little black and white TV showed that McGovern won the California primary.
     After that, his grassroots (no pun intended) campaign continued until he won the necessary delegates for nomination, and he was nominated.   He chose Senator Tom Eagleton of Missouri as his running mate.  We were prepared to go right to work as hard as we had to for the general election, but to our surprise and anger, the local Democratic party organization completely shut us out.   We felt the proverbial door slam in our faces.   After that, the story got very ugly.

AMNESTY, ABORTION, AND ACID

     Sen. McGovern's most prominent position was to end the war in Viet Nam immediately.  He promised to put into action the necessary mechanics to remove our troops at the earliest possible date, while withdrawing as safely as possible.  He also favored amnesty for draft protestors, but with certain parameters.   McGovern was personally opposed to abortion, but favored giving the decision to the individual states.  Remember, this was at least a year before Roe v. Wade, and abortion was being contemplated as legislation, not as a Supreme Court case.    McGovern never advocated legalizing drugs.
     Despite this, during the run up to the election in 1972, an unnamed Democratic Senator told journalist Robert Novak that McGovern was secretly in favor of amnesty, abortion and legalized drugs, and that his plan was to move to enact all these should he be elected.  Novak, a conservative, wrote the story, and McGovern was branded with the three word label.
     Worse, after Thomas Eagleton was nominated as VP running mate, it was disclosed that he had suffered from depression and underwent electroshock treatments while hospitalized at a mental health facility.  At first McGovern tried to defend Eagleton, but within a short time, Eagleton had to resign the ticket, to be replaced by Kennedy in-law Sargent Shriver.   This was widely perceived as a lapse in judgment by McGovern, worse even perhaps, than McCain's selection of Sarah Palin.    What was less widely published was the fact that Eagleton assured the selection committee and McGovern personally, on his oath, that his background was "clean" and that no medical or other problems would be revealed.
     Robert Novak protected his source until 2007.   In that year, Thomas Eagleton died, and Novak announced that his death allowed him to reveal that the "Democratic Senator" who told him the lies about McGovern's "Amnesty, Abortion, and Acid" policy was Eagleton himself.   It is probably the worst example in modern American history of political sabotage of a member of one's own party.
     McGovern would almost certainly not been elected anyway.  He was a firmly liberal candidate in Cold War America, plus he was hampered by the secret lies and manipulations of the Machiavellian Nixon.   It was hard for an honest mid-West politician to compete with such chicanery.  Also, behind closed doors, McGovern was also sabotaged by other prominent Democrats such as Hubert Humphrey.
     Ultimately, McGovern lost in a landslide, with Nixon getting 60.7% of the popular vote.   He carried the electoral votes of only Massachusetts and the District of Columbia.   After the election, when the Watergate scandal rocked the nation, a popular button said, "Don't Blame Me, I'm From Massachusetts."
    As a student of these things, my theory is this:  If not for all the dirty tricks and lies and manipulations, I believe McGovern would have performed better, perhaps winning 12 or 14 states electoral votes.   That kind of showing would have allowed him to retain a fair amount of respect and power within the party.  After the Watergate scandal broke, Nixon resigned, and Ford (never having been elected to national office) became president, I think McGovern would have been renominated in 1976, instead of Jimmy Carter, and I think he would have won.  By that time, many of the issues of 1972 were more or less resolved.  Of course, I believe that McGovern would have governed well, and that he would have been reelected, which would make it unlikely that Reagan, due to his age, would ever have been president.  Without Reagan, we would not have had either Bush.   The implications of the differences between that scenario and what actually happened are mind boggling, and would likely have created the America I've yearned for all my life.

                                         Whistle stop in Madera, CA, May, 1972.  Actress Shirley Maclaine stands to McGovern's left, Decathlon great Rafer Johnson is to McGovern's right in the back.

I'm campaigning for George.   Note the ultra cool and hip Kent 100 cigarette stuck to my lip.

POST ELECTION

Sen. McGovern served in the Senate until his defeat in 1980. During his Senate career, he continued to work for the principles he held, and with Republican Senator Bob Dole, sponsored legislation to completely revamp the food stamp program, expand the school lunch program, and establish the WIC program for expectant mothers and infant children.  During Bill Clinton's presidency, President Clinton appointed him ambassador to the U.N. Food and Agriculture Organization.  During the Clinton administration, he and Bob Dole proposed a commission to work on the problems of global hunger by providing meals at schools to children in third world countries.  President Clinton authorized a two year pilot program which was later made permanent during George W. Bush's administration.  Sen. McGovern and Sen. Dole jointly received the World Food Prize in 2008.

2002

     In September, 2002, the annual convention of the Montana Bar Association was held in Kalispell.  I was practicing there then, and looked forward to attending, particularly when I learned that George McGovern would be the keynote speaker.   Sydnee and I were excited to go, and the night of the main banquet, we wore our old McGovern campaign buttons on our suit coats.   We went in to the lounge at the Outlaw Inn for a pre-banquet cocktail party.  We'd barely gotten there when Sen. McGovern saw our buttons from across the room and made a beeline for us.   Because of the nature of the gathering, we were only able to talk for a very brief time, but he was obviously very pleased.
     The Senator gave a moving speech that night, and barely talked politics at all.  He told the story of dropping the bomb on the farmhouse, and could not fight back the tears.  He talked of his work since leaving the Senate working on world hunger relief with former Senator Bob Dole.   He did have harsh words for the invasion of Afghanistan and the impending Iraq War.  His speech had the audience transfixed.
     After his speech as the dining room began to clear, we approached him to thank him for his speech and tell him how pleased we were to meet him.  He was obviously happy to get the opportunity to talk with us some more.   We talked about the 72 campaign, about what might have been.   He asked me about my father's WWII service and had a lot of questions about it.  He was also interested in our family and our work.  He kept us there talking until it was clear we all had to leave, our conversation lasted most of a half hour.   It was obvious that he was interested in learning about us, as individuals, and equally obvious that he was far more interested in learning about our lives, our work, and our families than in talking about himself.  As we shook hands and said our goodbyes, he bent down and kissed Sydnee.   As we left the hotel, and for a long time after that, she said in an amazed tone, "George McGovern kissed me!  On the lips!"

     I've supported other candidates in all the following elections, some more enthusiastically than others, but I've never been moved to work on a campaign since our experience in 1972.  Sydnee ran for city council in 1997, but was defeated by an entrenched incumbent.   Other than our interest (my almost pathological interest) in politics, we've had no more direct involvement than that.  I cherish my memories of fighting the good fight all those years ago, and I'm filled with emotion today:  nostalgia, regret, a feeling of "what might have been."

"There is a tide in the affairs of men.
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;

Omitted, all the voyage of their life                                                

Is bound in shallows and in miseries."

Wm Shakespeare, "Julius Caesar" Act IV, Scene 3  
   

Conventional Wisdom

     By now, everyone who knows me, and even the few bored souls who've read this blog, should know that presidential politics is my sport.   Others follow football or basketball or hockey, root for their favorite teams, look forward all year to the Super Bowl or March Madness or the Gray Cup or the Stanley Cup.   I follow baseball, but just barely.  I love the punching and jabbing of presidential politics and have since I was a little kid.  I follow all politics and current events, and generally like to stay somewhat informed on many subjects, because I'm generally curious and because I believe in the Dormouse's advice to feed my head.
     I started following politics as a child, believe it or not.   Harry Truman was president when I was born, and I have a faint memory of him in office.  I understand my parents took me to see him when he visited Hungry Horse Dam near our  home in Kalispell, Montana in October, 1952 when I was about six years old.  I don't remember it, although I do remember visiting the dam back then, and the observation stations they had set up, and watching the huge machinery working on the project.   I was aware of "Ike and Dick" being elected and have a memory of a huge banner hung on the building at the corner of Second Street and Main Street in Kalispell with pictures of the two emblazoned with their nicknames.
     My first real experience with following the election was in 1956.  I turned ten years old two days after the election.   Despite my young age, I was fascinated not only by the "horserace" but by the process.  The nominating conventions were my first exposure.
     The purpose of each party's convention, held every four years, is to select the party's candidate for president and vice-president, and to decide on a list of positions on various issues, called a "platform."  Both the Democrats and the Republicans hold conventions, as well as the minor parties.   There is no mention of these conventions in the Constitution, nor is there mention of parties, however in the earliest days of the republic, politicians divided in to two main camps, with others coming and going over the years.
     The first parties were the Federalists (led generally by Alexander Hamilton) and the Democratic-Republican Party (led by Thomas Jefferson.)  Put simply, the Federalists favored a strong central government   and a more active government role, while the Democratic-Republicans vigorously opposed them, wanting instead a minimal role for government.   This division lasted until the Monroe administration, when partisan politics pretty much fell by the wayside for a brief time, although the parties remained intact.
     In 1828, the Democratic-Republicans split into the Democrats (led by Andrew Jackson) and the Whigs.  The Democrats favored a strong presidency and opposed a central bank and government investment in much of anything, particularly infrastructure.  The Whigs favored a stronger Congress and advocated government investment in such things as railroads and other modernizing development.  By the 1850s, the Whigs started to fade away, largely because of deaths of former leaders, but most significantly, over the issue of slavery.
     The 1850s saw the emergence of the Republican Party, which was anti-slavery and favored such federal government involvement as a central bank, homesteads, railroad investment, high tariffs, and land grant colleges.   The two parties were polarized (the Civil War was about as polarized as you can get) until the end of Reconstruction in 1877.  After that time, the two parties became the type of parties we have today, that is "big tent" coalitions of people from all walks of life, but who come together on a set of more-or-less agreed positions on various issues.  Interestingly, the two parties at that time held pretty much exactly the opposite views of the same two parties today.  It was the Republicans (the party of Lincoln) who believed in big government activism and involvement, and the Democrats who wanted small government and free markets and federalism.
     During the next period of history, the positions of the parties remained substantially the same.  It was during this period that Theodore Roosevelt was president, and I find it interesting that if you read his position papers and speeches, you would swear he was one of today's Democrats, although he was a Republican.  It was during this period that things began to change though, as after Teddy R. left office he was so disappointed in the turn taken by the Republicans that he ran as a third party candidate (the Progressive Party) in 1912, resulting in the election of Democrat Woodrow Wilson.  The parties coalesced into the parties we know today (again more or less) after 1932, and the start of the New Deal of Franklin Roosevelt.
     All during this time, the parties selected their candidates by getting together in their conventions and making deals.  Who went to those conventions, you ask?   Leaders of the parties of one kind or another, some office holders, but also many behind the scenes kingmakers.  This was the kind of politics where the famous "smoke filled rooms" were where most of the big decisions were made.
     In the earliest years of the nation, members of Congress would meet with their party caucuses to select a candidate.  By 1832 though, national conventions began.  There were few primary elections until after 1968, which I'll explain in a minute.   At the national conventions, fierce negotiations led to floor votes, and often it took a good many floor votes (called ballots) to select a candidate.  Most of the time, a certain number of votes was necessary to be nominated (like 2/3 of the total) and in 1924, the Democrats took a record 103 ballots to nominate.
     By 1956, when I watched my first conventions, there was little of the drama of years past.  There were more primaries being held by then.  The Republicans nominated Dwight Eisenhower for a second term, and the first ballot was unanimous.  Prior to the convention, there was some doubt, as Ike had a major heart attack, but he recovered well and decided to run again.  There was talk of a new VP candidate, as Ike was not fond of Nixon's expansion of the role of VP, but Nixon was popular in the party and stayed on the ticket.
     1956 was the last of the presidential replays.  The Democrats ran Adlai Stevenson, former governor of Illinois and a brilliant intellectual in both 1952 and 1956.  His competition for the nomination was led by Senator Estes Kefauver, but after Stevenson won the California primary handily, Kefauver's support waned. The big surprise was that Stevenson announced that he would let the convention nominate his running mate, rather than selecting him himself.  John F. Kennedy, who was a newly elected first term senator, made a stab at it, but the convention nominated Kefauver.  Of course, JFK's entry into the fray moved him into position to make his successful run for the nomination four years later.
     1956 was the first year that the TV networks broadcast "gavel to gavel" coverage of the conventions.  NBC had newsmen Chet Huntley and David Brinkley work together on the convention and the team proved so popular that they became co-anchors of the evening news until 1970.  I watched both conventions all the way through, fascinated by what drama there was, but also by the pomp and ceremony.
     As the years went by, I continued to watch the conventions.  I was energized by JFK's campaign and was thrilled to hear him nominated, and later his acceptance speech.  I self-identified as a Democrat, mostly because of my family's political beliefs, but also because of my own developing opinions and knowledge of history and government.  I suffered a setback during the 60s after JFK's assassination.
     Lyndon Johnson did a powerful masterful job of getting the Civil Rights Act and the Voting Rights Act, as well as Medicare passed in the early months of his administration.  I strongly supported all of these.  However, LBJ escalated the Viet Nam war into a major conflict, and I absolutely opposed that.   I was of draft age, or was approaching it quickly, as were all my friends.  I could see no reason why we were in Viet Nam at all.  I never bought the "domino" theory that if one country in a region fell to communism, they all would.  I had a high school teacher who posited the idea that communism is a self-defeating system.  It has appeal only when the majority is in an underclass, but as the fortunes of the society improve and those people move into a middle class, communism loses its appeal.  That made sense to me, so I was never fearful of "godless communism" as were others.  I felt that we were killing our good young people, wasting our blood and fortune, for no reason at all and that it was an immoral policy.
     The Republican convention in 1968 was held in Miami, and Richard Nixon easily won the nomination.  After being defeated by Sen. Eugene McCarthy in the New Hampshire primary, LBJ announced his withdrawal from the race.  Bobby Kennedy entered the race, as well as LBJ's vice president, Hubert Humphrey.  Martin Luther King was assassinated in March, resulting in race riots all around the country.  Viet Nam war protestors were marching and rioting.  In June, just after his  California primary win, Bobby Kennedy was assassinated.  It was a dark, dark time in America.
     At the Chicago Democratic convention, all hell broke loose.  The city was overwhelmed by protestors.  Inside the convention, many were unhappy with the apparent fact that Humphrey would win, largely because most of us believed he would continue the same Viet Nam policy of LBJ.  George McGovern stepped in as a last minute alternative candidate because Bobby Kennedy had been killed.   Delegates on the floor were unhappy, and Mayor Richard Daley took rather thuggish steps to quell the unrest, resulting in reporter Dan Rather getting punched out on the floor by police.   In the streets, the protests turned into riots, and what was later, after an investigation, described as a "police riot" with hundreds, maybe thousands of protestors being injured by batons, tear gas, and riot guns.  We were living in Idaho at the time, and I remember my friend Dave was visiting and the three of us watched that convention in horror.
     After the debacle of 1968, the Democratic party convened several times over the next four years and fashioned a set of rules to be adopted at the next convention.  The new rules set up a system by which delegates committed to a particular candidate would be selected in individual states by either primary elections or caucuses, and those delegates would be committed to their candidate for at least one ballot.   The 1972 Democratic convention was marked by the arguments and maneuvering to get the rules decided and passed, which resulted in part with George McGovern not getting to give his acceptance speech until so late at night that the east coast watched it at 2 AM.
     Since that time, the selection of a candidate has been anti-climactic.  The candidate who wins enough delegates for nomination in the primaries and caucuses is known by about three months before the convention.  He (or hopefully soon She) selects the VP running mate some weeks before the convention.  As a result, the conventions have become huge multi-day commercials for the candidates, with all sorts of pomp and ceremony and dozens of speeches.  The fun nowadays is in seeing which party is most skillful at producing their convention and in seeing which speeches stand out and are remembered.
     I recall the Democratic convention of 1988, when Teddy Kennedy gave his "where was George?" speech and Ann Richards' line that George Bush was born with a silver foot in his mouth.  Despite these great lines, Bush won.  In 1992, Bill Clinton told us about coming from "a place called Hope."  In 2000, George W. Bush appealed to people with his folksy demeanor, but also with his criticism of Clinton for " a lack of dignity and respect to the presidency" and his promise of "compassionate conservatism."  In 2004, the standout moment was newcomer Barack Obama's keynote speech.
     This year, we were treated to Clint Eastwood's empty chair and the more or less pitiful attempt of the Republican party to produce an effective convention spectacle.  We also got to see a very well produced convention on the Democratic side, which featured a good number of effective speeches, but none so effective as Bill Clinton's explanation of all the difficult issues in clear and understandable terms.  After the convention, President Obama said that he received a "Tweet" suggesting that he appoint Bill Clinton "Secretary of Explaining S---."
     So every four years, you can find me glued to my TV during both conventions, cheering on my side, and looking for weaknesses in the other side.   You go ahead and watch your ballgames.  I'll stick with my sport.

NEXT:  My take on the debates.

   

Romney's Roses

It's been a very long time since I posted on this blog, but it doesn't matter much, since no one reads it anyway.   Apparently.   This just gives me an opportunity to vent.  The internet is a wonderful thing.  I get to be an inveterate smartass on facebook.  I get to blog about music on my website www.terryhillmusic.com  and I can vent at length about other things on this blog.

I've been, as usual, watching the political news.   I've written elsewhere before that my interest in politics came early.  When I was only nine or ten years old, my Grandpa Ryker would bait me and cajole me into arguing with him about some article in the newspaper.  I loved to visit with my Grandpa, so I took to this (reluctantly at first) with eventual enthusiasm.  In Junior High, I devoured the course in Civics and  found it fascinating, largely because it explained many things I'd read about in those newspaper articles, but didn't understand.   All of this morphed into an intense interest in politics and current events.  I'm a news junky.

I'm a devout liberal, always have been.  Grandpa believed that Herbert Hoover was evil, and that FDR was akin to the Second Coming.   My Uncle Loris said, "Vote straight Democrat and you'll never go wrong."  My Mother said, "All my life, when the Democrats are in power, the little guy does well.  When the Republicans are in power, the little guy suffers."  My Dad was a local union leader, at least part of the time.  When I got old enough to understand the issues and make up my own mind, I gravitated to the left.   Sydnee and I worked on the McGovern campaign in 1972.

I sort of reluctantly supported Obama in 2008.  I actually liked Hillary Clinton best, but my big issue was health care.  I strongly believe in a single payer system.  Hillary didn't support single payer.  Obama thought we needed to get there in stages, but said he believed single payer was best.   That tipped my support to him.

While in many ways, Obama's first term has been a disappointment to me, I have to say this:  with the exception of gasoline prices (which is not in the control of the president) every single problem we had as a nation is better today.   Not good enough.  We haven't improved things as quickly or as much as we need, but they are improved.   Maybe it's "slow but sure wins the race."  I disagree with Obama on Afghanistan:  we need to get out now, not in a year or two.   We should be out by Halloween.   I think Obama did the right thing with regard to Bin Laden.  And there are other things:

The stimulus plan was not just a good idea, it was a necessity.  However, Obama, like FDR, failed to go far enough.  The stimulus should have been much bigger.  FDR was faced with the same problem, it was politically impossible for him to do as much as he needed -- Congress just wouldn't go along with it.  So he settled.   As a result, the Great Depression started to recover, then faltered, and by the end of the 1930s, the country was back in depression.   It took World War II to get us out, which was what?   A huge stimulus, but accompanied by hundreds of thousands of deaths.   Obama didn't have as bad an economy to deal with, but it was a similar outcome.  Had the stimulus been bigger, we'd be seeing less unemployment, and more recovery.

Bottom line, I think Obama's done a fairly good job.  His most bitter and angry critics pretty much just make stuff up, and their nasty criticisms are a thin veil for their real objection to him:  the color of his skin, and maybe the sound of his name.  Obama's story IS the American dream.  While he didn't come from poverty, his father did.   And Obama came from basic middle class Mid-western family roots (you can't count his father's family, because Barack didn't know that side of his family growing up.)  Through scholarship and student loans, he managed to go to the best schools and took himself from his Hawaii home where his grandparents worked in a furniture store and a bank, to Harvard Law School.  He worked as a community organizer, which is kind of a combination of social work, law, and politics.  From there, he went on to state politics, and eventually the United States Senate, from where he launched his presidential bid.   If that ain't the quintessential American Dream, I don't know what is.

Which brings us to Mitt Romney.

I was around and paying attention to politics when George Romney, Mitt's dad, was on the scene.  While they share the same last name,  the difference between George and Mitt was day and night.  George was a solid Republican, but he was considered "moderate" then, which would probably be a "blue dog"  or conservative Democrat now.   He ran as a moderate opponent against Goldwater in the runup to the nomination in 1964.

George was born to American Mormon parents in Mexico who were poor, but hardworking.  His parents' fortunes went up and down, with his father working in construction and farming.  George did not grow up the child of wealth -- not your "fortunate son."  He was a savvy businessman of the old school:  he built businesses that built things.  He pretty much saved American Motors by betting on smaller, more efficient cars (the Rambler.)   He was governor of Michigan, and ran for President, famously sharing 12 years of his tax returns.

Mitt, on the other had, was born to wealth.  He's about four months younger than me.   As a comparison, if Mitt and I were running a 100 yard dash against each other, it would be as if Mitt's starting line was about ten yards from the finish, while I had to run the whole 100 yards.  Ann Romney talked about how she and Mitt lived in a basement apartment with borrowed furniture, and about how Mitt paid for his own graduate school "by selling some of his stock."   Kind of brings a tear to your eyes, doesn't it?

Well, my wife and I lived in crummy apartments and houses with hand-me-down furniture, but I didn't have any stock, and my wife, in the first year or so we were married, had to wash diapers in the bathtub with a washboard, because we couldn't afford either a washing machine or a laundromat.  Mitt's "humble" beginnings seemed to me like what it was:  privileged wealth that he did not earn.

From there, Mitt went on to become a successful businessman on his own, ultimately becoming far more wealthy than his father.  But he didn't do it by building a company that build and sold things like George did.  Instead, he did it by building a company that raided other companies, loaded them down with debt, then sold them (off?  out?) at a huge profit.  In the process, most of the companies were forced to lay off hundreds, probably thousands of their employees.   That's where Mitt's wealth came from, and that's what Mitt supports.

Two things resonated with me in Romney's acceptance speech.  First, his sort of appeal to nostalgia, with his repeated references to "return to . . ." and his line about coming from Middle of American in the middle of the century.   Romney seems to be saying "we're in a period of hard times, so I want to take us back in time to. . "  what?   Mayberry?   Bedford Falls?   You can't go back in time, nor should we even want to.  It's fun to watch old movies on TCM and reflect on "the good old days."  But there was always something bad about the good old days.  We can only go forward, and try to progress to something better.   That's what this country has always done.  We progressed from an agrarian society to an industrial society.  We moved from wage slavery to worker's rights, from a 12 hour a day six day week to the 40 hour week.  From women being second class citizens to women voting and holding office.  From slavery and slaves being counted as a fraction of a person to an African American in the White House.   Going backward is not the answer.

The other thing that resonated with me was Romney's story about his father giving his mother a daily rose.  That was sweet, but what it reminded me was that my father couldn't afford to give my mother a rose every day.  My Dad fell trees in the woods as a gyppo logger.  He worked in 90 degree heat in the summer, having to take salt tablets to keep his sodium level up, and in freezing cold in the winter, sometimes having to dig six feet of snow from a tree to be able to fall it.  Dad would bring my Mom wild flowers --  fairy slippers -- home in his lunch box each evening.  They were free.   All Romney's "rose" story did was remind me of the difference between living in wealth and privilege and working hard for a middle class living.  Mitt just doesn't have a clue.

Annie

So as I said before, Annie went elsewhere when Rick had to adopt her out.  When we couldn't take her, she went to (I think) a friend of Rick's assistant's family.   It was never intended to be permanent, but she was there quite awhile.  A couple of years later or so, my secretary's dog ate some human medication and got very ill.  My secretary's little daughter was a little blind girl.   I told the story to Rick and his assistant, and the assistant was so moved by the story she phoned my secretary and offered Annie to her. 

It turned out that the sick dog pulled through, but my secretary had been planning on getting a second dog anyway, so she took Annie.  So now Annie was in home number 3, not counting the home she was born into.  Another couple of years went by, and my secretary was dealing with some issues in her life and realized that having two dogs was more than she could properly handle.   She searched and searched for a home for her, but couldn't find one.  Finally, our local Humane Society agreed to take her in to their no-kill shelter.

In October, 2007, Syd and I went to a fund raiser at the Humane Society.   We saw Annie there, and of course knew her.   Syd went kind of crazy, seeing Annie in the cage.   She even crawled in the cage with her and petted her.   After that, she browbeat and armtwisted everyone she could think of trying to find Annie a home.   Finally, one night I woke up in the middle of the night to find Syd up and pacing around.  I asked her what was the matter and she said, "I just couldn't sleep thinking of Annie up there in that cage."  I said, "For God's sake, let's just adopt her!"  Syd said that since we already had three dogs, she didn't want our dogs to "do without" because we had too many dogs.   I just laughed and asked if she could think of when our dogs ever went without anything.

We had a vacation planned for Thanksgiving that year (we spent Tgiving week on the beach in Oregon) but when we got back, I phoned the shelter and told them we'd take Annie.  But now, it seems that they'd discovered she had an injury, and Annie was scheduled for ACL surgery in a week.   So we took her home for that week, in mid-December, 2007.   She was then able to come back to our house, and was used to the house and our other dogs, after her surgery.   She had to recuperate for 3 months.  During that time she had to either be crated or on a leash.   She couldn't go outside unless someone was with her and she was on a leash.  Guess who was elected.   We had a wonderful three month long bonding period and we're now very good buddies.     Sadly, in March after we got her, Gracie passed away.

So that's our little family now.    Our longest resident pet is our crazy bird Ollie.  He's a blue crown conure, and talks up a storm.   He's very silly.   He's been with us since October, 1998 when he was about a year old.   Next is Ernie.  He came to live with us in 2001, and is an quite elderly 14.   Daisy is also 14, but came to live with us in 2002.   Annie, as I said is the newest addition.  If it was up to me, I'd have two or three more dogs, but Syd would probably evict me and keep the dogs.

Daisy

About a year after we got Ernie, I was getting a haircut, and was about half done, when my haircutter stopped suddenly and said "Oh, I almost forgot!"  She ran out of the shop and came back in a couple of minutes with another lady.  She introduced this woman to me and they told me the woman was moving to Nevada the next day.  She had a little dog she'd had for 6 years, since she was a pup, and couldn't take her along.  Her new home didn't allow pets.  She said she'd tried everything she could think of to find her dog a home, to no avail.

I went next door to the office where the woman worked and saw this little white and gray/black dog with a black mask kind of cowering under a desk.   I, and the woman, coaxed her out and I petted her a little, but she was obviously nervous.   She was so cute though (the dog, not the woman) that I couldn't just leave her to go to the pound.  I said I'd take her and find her a good home.

Oh, I found her a good home all right.  She stole my heart like a thief in the night.   After about, oh, no time at all, I wanted to keep her.  Gracie and Ernie loved her.   They acted like, "Oh, look what he brought home.  Can we keep her?"

I took her in to our vet Rick, to get her shots and an exam, and to arrange to have her spayed.   When Rick came in the room, his face fell, and he said, "Oh, no, is this your dog?"  I said we'd just adopted her, wondering why he was visibly upset.

When we moved into our house the year before, we had a big housewarming party.   Rick and his family were among the guests.   His young daughters spent the whole time playing with Gracie, dressing her in blankets, etc. and just loved her.   Rick decided to find a dog like Gracie and in January 2002, found a litter of Aussie/Border Collies in Libby and adopted a female.   Later that year, in August, he had her at a Humane Society fundraiser and introduced us to Annie, who we agreed was a lot like Gracie.

This day, the reason Rick was upset was that it turned out his daughters were allergic to Annie and he was hoping we'd take her.  Of course, we would have, but we'd just adopted Daisy, and couldn't take two new dogs at the same time.   So Annie went elsewhere.

Daisy turned out to be a stressed out little dog.  Once she was attached to us, she developed a pretty severe separation anxiety, and we had a pretty long stretch of her piddling on the carpet.   She also didn't ever want to leave the house.  When we'd take her somewhere, she didn't want to walk, so we'd have to carry her.   While she's short, she's really not a small dog, weighing around 40 pounds.  We didn't know it at the time, but I"ve come to believe that she is all or mostly Havanese, and is at the extreme outside of their weight range and size range according to the AKC standard.

As she's matured, she became the household manager.  She, more than any other dog, is microscopically aware of every nuance of routine, and gets quite upset and very vocal when we depart even the smallest bit from routine.  She'll come and bark at me to let me know that Ernie needs to go out, when she doesn't have to at all.  She's really sweet, but assertive.   She has a loud sharp bark that can pierce right through you.  But I'm just complete mush around her.

We bought a motorhome in 2007, 5 years after we got her.  To our surprise, she loves the motorhome.   She's happy just to go out and sit in it.  She's ecstatic when we travel in it.   Thanksgiving 2007 we took the motorhome to the Oregon beach for a week.  This little dog who HATED to go out in the yard for the first few years we had her, suddenly LOVED walking in the sand on the beach.  She's become our most adventurous dog, always up for traveling somewhere new.

She has pink skin under her white fur, and loves to play a game where I grab at her muzzle and she makes this sort of snorting sound.  We call her the "piggy dog."

She doesn't seem like it, but she's about 13 now, same age as Ernie, who also doesn't seem that old.  Thankfully, Havanese tend to live fairly long lives, and Ernie seems to not have the early aging tendency of his Lab side.   We hope they'll both be around for quite a while more, as we love them both dearly.

Gracie and Ernie

I told the story in the last post about Gracie, and how she came to live with us. There are so many stories that can be told about her, it's hard to know where to start.

Not long after we got Gracie, Syd was a candidate for city council. While she was going door to door campaigning, I'd go along and take the dogs on leash. This was just a week or so after she came to live with us. At one house, a little girl answered the door, and when she opened it, her big nasty Rottweiler came rushing out, snarling and running straight at George. Gracie squared off right in front of him and did that junkyard dog snarl again, and the Rotty screeched to a halt, turned around and ran straight back into the house.

In the fall of 98, about a year after we got Gracie, Syd and I traveled to Germany to visit our friends Peter and Elsbeth. While we were there, we bought some of those ornaments made from decorated ginger cookies and coated with shellac. Handmade German cookie ornaments. We got one for each grandkid and some extras, I think about a dozen total. We had them, along with our other Germany purchases on our dining room table. We left for a while, and when we returned, we found that Gracie had snitched all the cookies and ate them (likely with George's help.)

Gracie would climb up on the cupboards and steal food with abandon. We had to carefully put food out of her reach. George was too lame to be able to do it, so we knew it was Grace. But here's the odd thing: after George died, Gracie stopped stealing food. Completely. Could George have been putting her up to it? Stranger things have happened.

Gracie loved attention. She'd always climb up in anybody's lap if she got the chance. Little kids could "dress her up" with blankets, etc. and she'd leave them on, loving the attention. She acted reallly lovey toward everyone, but I don't think she was actually very affectionate, except to Syd and me. But she was really affectionate toward us.

We moved to our "new" house just a couple of months after we lost George. When George first died, Gracie was quite happy due to the added attention she got from us. First, she was suddenly the only dog, and second, we fell into that part of grieving where we showered attention and affection on Gracie to assuage our grief from losing George. She loved it. But by September or so, she started showing signs of anxiety from being alone too much of the day. So Syd and I started thinking about adopting another dog.

We found a website that featured senior dogs up for adoption locally. There was a dog featured that was a male Aussie/Lab cross. We loved the Aussie part of Gracie, and thought he might be a good match for her. We contacted the website, and arranged to meet him one evening at the Creston school. He was a big old calm, friendly guy, black and gray merle, with a big head and feet, and a short stubby tail that, when he wagged it (often), looked like a propeller. His coat was long and unkempt. I took him for a short walk on leash, and he was very attentive to find out what I wanted from him. He and Gracie seemed to get along fine, but with unremarkable interaction. His name was Bandit, which is exactly the kind of name Syd and I do not like. We like our dogs to have people names.

Bandit's owner adopted him as a puppy, along with his sister/littermate from a person in Walmart's parking lot. Bandit was five years old. His sister died some time before when she was hit by a car. They'd always been allowed to run free. The owner had to move to Tennessee and couldn't take his dog. He asked for references, so we gave Rick Myers, our vet. Rick's assistant Judy said she talked to him when he called. He had numerous questions and kept her on the phone for quite a while. Finally Judy got impatient and said, "Look, I wish to God they'd adopt me!" So we passed, and arrangements were made for the guy to bring Bandit to our house.

Gracie had always done this thing where she'd try to play with other dogs, and sometimes people, by turning sideways and bumping against them. I called it "butt bumping." Other dogs would just look at her like she was nuts. But when Bandit came in and she tried it with him, he immediately jumped back and turned and bumped her. She was visibly delighted, and you could see them bond instantly. Bandit's owner was delighted.

So we had a new family member. Before he arrived, we'd decided on a new name. At first, I had the idea that we should call him "Bert" but that wasn't quite right. Syd and I talked about it and agreed, but couldn't decide why that wasn't right for name (we liked it ok.) The next day it hit me. His name should be Ernie, which was why Bert was close, but not right. Bert and Ernie of course are the names of the two famous Sesame Street characters, but more importantly, was the name of the cop and the taxi driver in "It's a Wonderful Life."

Not more than a week or so after we got him, we spent a long weekend at Rye Creek Lodge near Darby, Montana. Rye Creek is this wonderful place with modern log cabins located on the property in such as way as to be very private and distanced from each other. Each cabin is fully furnised and has a private hot tub. Best of all, you can take your pets. When we first inquired about taking Gracie, they replied by email, "Of course Gracie is welcome, and you and your wife can come too."

The cabins are surrounded by mountains and there is plentiful wild game always around. Shortly after we got there, I was unpacking the car. I guess Syd accidentally left the door open, because suddenly Ernie burst out of the door and took off running lickety split up the mountain toward a herd of deer halfway or more up the mountainside. I started screaming at him to come back, knowing that if he went over the top of the mountain after the deer, I'd likely never see him again. I was terrified. He ran after the deer, oblivious to my calling him. I kept calling, whistling, but in the mountain air, my voice was swallowed up and seemed ineffective.

Suddenly, probably at least 200 yards up the side of the mountain from me, Ernie stopped like someone put on the brakes. He whirled around, looked right at me, pinned his ears down alongside his head and came running at full speed straight toward me. When he stopped, he almost ran into me, and I praised him and petted him and knew at that moment that we had bonded and he was my dog.

We still have Ernie, and while he's aging, he still has his silly moments, and he's still my very good dog.

George: the best dog

In an earlier post here, I mentioned being seriously injured in a motor vehicle collision in 1993. The accident was February 18, and after having surgery, I embarked on an almost year long healing process. After they flew me home, I spent several weeks confined to a hospital bed in my home, followed by getting around via a walker, crutches, and a wheelchair. As I improved, I gradually went to two crutches, then one, and then a cane. By the fall of 93, I was trying to learn to walk without a cane.

It was a painful process, and combined with having no work during the slack season, I was sinking into a depression. My wife Syd was working as a bookkeeper at a trucking company whose offices and garages were west of town on highway 2. One night in October, Syd came home from work and said, "There's a dog that showed up stray at work. He's been there for a couple of weeks, and I think we should go out and you should take a look at him."

I was dumbstruck. This is the same wife who didn't want any more dogs. I honestly hadn't thought much about dogs since losing Rufus, but now six years had passed, and I was no longer grieving as much. I said, "Sure," and we went out to look at the dog.

We pulled up into the parking lot. I was so excited I left the car door open when I got out. The dog was kenneled to protect him from running in the highway traffic. He was a lab, and a beautiful fox red. I went over to him and opened the kennel, and kneeled down. He came to me with no hesitation and laid his head on my shoulder. I petted him and talked to him for a minute, then invited him out of the cage. I said, "Do you want to come home with me?" He immediately turned and walked to the car and climbed in.

We took him home, gave him a little bath (he had perfect manners and stood calmly while we washed him) and fed him. We were in the kitchen with him just after he finished eating. I said, "What do you suppose his name is?" Syd said, "Maybe it's George," and in that instant he turned quickly to look at her. So we decided his name must have been George.

The next day we got him groomed, took him to the vet for a checkup, and bought him a collar and leash. We were finally getting the idea how to take care of dogs. The vet thought he was pretty old, but I thought that even if he was old, he deserved a good comfortable home. Some time later, I figured out that he was only about four when he came to live with us. George had a bad right rear hip. When the vet examined him, we learned that he had an old severe injury that was mended by a metal rod and wires. The vet told us that the metal was typically removed after healing, but that people commonly left the apparatus in place to avoid paying their vet bill. Nice.

We still didn't have a fenced yard, so I had to take George out for walks frequently. This was very good for me, as it forced me to exercise my hip. George and I would walk down the sidewalk, he with his bad right leg, me with my bad left hip, banging into each other as we walked. George was great company. I wasn't working, and stayed home all day reading mostly. George was happy just to lay there beside me, taking the occasional walk with me, watching squirrels in the yard, and once or twice a day having a good game of fetch the tennis ball. We had a wonderful time, in fact it became one of the best times of my life. My depression disappeared, and George and I became the very best of friends.

Every dog person loves all of his/her dogs, but knows that there is that one dog . . . the one that's the most special. This was George to me. He was a wonder. His manners were impeccable. He would heel indefinitely off leash with a one word command. While heeling, he could constantly turn his head to look at my knee to make sure his head was lined up correctly. He would stay and not break the stay until told. We allowed him his run of the house, and did not restrict him at all. He restricted himself. He would not get up on most pieces of furniture unless we invited him, then was clearly uncomfortable.

He loved stuffed animals. His favorite game was "Get that guy" in which he'd run to catch the toy, then play tug of war with it until I got it from him and threw it again. He'd also grab the toy and shake it back and forth energetically. Not surprisingly, these toys didn't last long. I began to visit the Salvation Army Thrift Store frequently to buy grocery bags full of 50 cent stuffed animals. Syd taught him a trick. When we'd say "dead dog" he'd fall down instantly and lay still. He was really proud of that one, because it made us laugh.

We got in the habit of having him groomed often, so he always was clean and smelled and felt good. The groomer we took him to was very busy. When I'd call for an appointment, I'd say that I'd like to get my dog in for a bath. They'd say, "We're really busy . . . I don't know . . . what kind of dog?" "Well, it's George." "Oh, George! Oh, sure, we can work George in, just bring him down anytime." They would set up a special portable fenced area for him right in the middle of the work area to accomodate his bad leg, and I suspect to spend more time with him.

In 1994, after having all of my legal difficulties getting compensation for the accident, I decided to pursue going to law school. In February, I took the LSAT test. When the results came back good, I applied to law school. When I was accepted, I applied for financial aid. When that came through, I looked for an apartment. In horror I learned that I wasn't going to be able to rent an apartment that would allow me to have George with me while I was in Missoula in school. So I had to go by myself, and leave George home with Syd.

That summer, before school started, we took a vacation trip for a few days. We went to the Big Hole Battlefield, Bannack, and other places. George loved to travel, and he really loved Bannack. He'd go to each building excitedly, go inside and smell every corner of the building, then leave and want to rush to the next one. He went swimming in the Big Hole River and in Georgetown Lake. One of George's favorite foods was a baked potato. I'd microwave one for him every night. When we traveled, I'd ask the waitress to box up a plain baked potato before we ordered, so that it would be cool when we got back to George. Restaurant staff would always be charmed by the potato eating dog.

I wasn't able to get home every weekend, and I was pretty miserable those times when I had to stay in Missoula by myself. Fortunately, Syd was able to come to Missoula most of those weekends I had to stay there. We just kept George there and to hell with the landlord.

That Thanksgiving, just before I came home for the holiday, Syd called and told me that George was favoring his bad leg, and in obvious pain. She took him to the vet, who said that a piece of arthritic calcium had come loose and was caught in his knee joint. We had to take him in for surgery the day before Thanksgiving. Since he wasn't neutered, we had that done at the same time. George had to wear one of those "Elizabethan collars" so he wouldn't worry his stitches, so I stayed up all night with him, and spent Thanksgiving with him as well. Syd went to my sister's for dinner, and brought a plate home for me. I thought it was the least I could do, and frankly, I enjoyed my time with George more than I would have enjoyed the holiday dinner.

George loved to come to Missoula. Syd says that when she'd get near the freeway exit she took to my apartment, George would jump up and get all excited. He enjoyed hanging out in my apartment, and really loved our walks in Greenough Park, which was only about a block away. The three of us had some wonderful weekends, and I miss those days a lot.

I graduated in 1997, and took the bar exam that summer. Then I moved home, to wait for seven weeks for the results of the exam. George was right there with me the day the mailman brought the results, and shared my happiness. I was sworn in on October 6, and was in my new office interviewing potential clients on October 7. Once I got started working, and Syd continued to be busy in her bookkeeping business, it became obvious that George was pretty lonely during the days. We decided to look for a companion for him.

One Saturday that October, we saw an ad for a neutered black cocker spaniel at the county animal shelter. We went to take a look for it, and learned that he/she was already adopted. We decided to look through the kennels and were somewhat disappointed to see that there were few dogs that would be suitable for us. For one thing, we wanted a female, as we were told that females and males tended to get along better than pairs of the same sex.

In one cage, there was a multi-colored black white and brown medium size dog. She looked filthy and bedraggled. She had orange paint ball marks on her side. Her fur was dirty and matted. But she looked at us with sparkling eyes and wagged her entire body from the neck back. We were smitten. We talked briefly, then went out to the counter to inquire about her. It turned out that another couple were looking at her. The wife wanted to take her, but the husband didn't. They kept going outside and talking intensely, then they'd come back in and look at the dog, then repeating the cycle. Finally the husband said something tersely with a frown, the wife burst into tears, and they drove away. We swooped in.

We got George out of the car and went to the "get acquainted" area. Of course, George immediately tried to mount her. She turned on him with a junkyard snarl, he backed off, and that was the end of that. Other than that, they got along famously. So we adopted her and took her home. Her name was Honey.

We hated the name. We stopped by my sister Linda's house to show her. She said that if she had another female dog, she'd name her Gracie. Then it hit me. George and Gracie. OK, for you young folks, there was a great husband and wife comedian couple named George Burns and Gracie Allen.

George loved Gracie with all his heart. Gracie liked him well enough, but was just not that attached to him herself. In his last year, when he was stiff with painful arthritis, if she moved to another room, George would painfully get up and follow her. On the other hand, she would never move to be near him. Still, they got along very well, and the four of us had a great time together. I loved having two dogs.

On Mother's Day, 1999, we had family over and were celebrating. We put the dogs out in the yard, as the house was full of people. At some point, one of the kids called me and said that there was something wrong with George. I went outside. It was raining lightly, and George was standing in the middle of the yard gasping for breath. He was really laboring to breathe. I called our vet, Rick Myers, and he said he'd meet me at his clinic. I took George up there, Rick sedated him and examined him. He said he thought George had a partial paralysis of his tracheal area. There are two flaps which open from the middle when the dog breathes, but stay closed when they are eating or drinking. Rick believed that if the flaps were paralyzed, he couldn't get a gap between them large enough to breathe normally. No local vet had the proper scope for diagnosis. Rick gave George some prednisone to ease the symptoms, and recommended that I take him to the veterinary hospital at Washington State University in Pullman, Washington.

I asked if this was a viable thing to do, in that George was likely about 10 years old at that time, and labs usually do not live as long as smaller dog breeds. Rick said that George's heart and lungs were healthy, that he was generally strong and was therefore a good candidate. So I decided to do it. I made an appointment as soon as possible, and George and I took a road trip to Pullman.

The plan was to go there, have his diagnostic appointment the next day, and go home that day. Assuming he was a candidate for the surgery, Rick would do it at home. They examined George and confirmed Rick's diagnosis, but told me George was in distress and needed the surgery right away. They didn't recommend me taking him home in the hot weather. Rick conferred with the university hospital staff, then with me, and I decided to go ahead with the surgery. They scheduled it for the next morning.

George and I went back to the motel, and he was having a very hard time. He was having a hard time eating, because of his trouble breathing. He loved fresh vegetables, so I ordered out for a pizza for myself, and asked if they had any fresh vegetables I could buy. I explained that I wanted them for my dog, and they said they'd do what they could. When the delivery person brought the food, there was a big plastic tray filled with a variety of carrots, broccoli, cauliflower, and other veggies. They told me there was no charge, and wished George a speedy recovery. He ate a little, but his breathing was labored, he was panicky, and I stayed up with him all night petting and comforting him.

The surgery the next day went well, but George had to stay in intensive care, and they wouldn't let me visit him because they didn't want him to get agitated. I intended to be away from home only one night, and didn't bring enough clothes or medication for a longer stay. I went to Shopko and bought a few items of clothing, and asked the pharmacy about getting a few of the pills I had to take to tide me over. They gave me the pills at no charge, and offered their wishes for George to recover well. When I asked for the location of a laundromat, the motel told me I could launder my clothes in their laundry facility after they were done doing the towels and sheets. Later, a maid came and asked for my clothes, insisting on laundering them herself, and again, the motel staff offered their best wishes for George.

I was there three nights, and then picked George up late the next day. They wanted me to travel at night due to the heat. So George and I drove home, arriving about 1:00 in the morning. I basically had to shut my practice down for almost a week, spent however much on travel costs, and about $800 for the hospital. A bargain at twice the price.

After George's surgery, he could no longer eat like he always had. If he tried, he would aspirate the food, because they stitched up one of the "flaps" which could no longer close to prevent the aspiration. He couldn't eat dry dog food, and worse, no more baked potatoes. We struggled trying to find a satisfactory way for him to eat, and finally settled on me feeding him premium canned dog food with a big plastic (like a wooden) spoon. The deal was, Gracie got to lick the spoon when he was done. Every day, twice a day, I'd get the can and the spoon and sit down, and George would hunker down in front of me and I'd spoon feed him. It was wonderful, and as if George and I weren't bonded enough, this just cemented it. I'll never forget the pleasure I got just feeding him every day. When they were at our house at meal time, the grandkids would fight over getting to feed George. The grandkids would say that Gracie is a good dog, Rosie is a good dog, Reggie is a good dog, etc., "but George is the best dog."

By 2001, George was failing fast. He'd had two good years after his surgery, and we'd kept the arthritis at bay with new effective drugs such as Rimadyl and others. It was expensive taking care of him. I estimate that during the years I had George, I spent way more than ten thousand dollars on him. Once I was talking to my mother, who had just told me my brother had recently bought a new power boat. Then we were talking about George, and she asked if it wasn't really expensive to take care of him. When I told her how much it cost, she said that she thought that was a lot of money to spend on a dog. I said, "Well, Mom, some people buy boats."

George just got worse. We were buying a new house that year, and I was a little worried that George would have a hard time getting in and out of the new house. One day we came home and found that Gracie had stolen a glass butter dish off the counter, and the dish was broken. When we cleaned it up, not all the glass was there, and we noticed some cuts around George's mouth. I took him to Rick and the xray showed he'd eaten some of the dish. He had to stay at Rick's for two or three days for observation until the glass passed. Then he started eating gravel from the back yard. He developed diarrhea and we had to keep him outside. He was miserable, and so was I.

Finally, a friend of ours, Chris Riebe, who for years was a veterinary assistant, told us that large breed dogs often begin eating odd things when they are ready to die. She encouraged me to think about George and his comfort, and not so much the pain I was feeling. Finally I knew what had to be done. But I just couldn't take him myself. Chris, bless her heart, offered to take George to Rick. I feel terrible that I didn't take George there to say goodbye, but I simply could not.

Rick's office arranged for George to be cremated. I had his remains placed in a beautiful handmade redwood urn. George sits on my dresser, by recommendation of my granddaughter Sadie, and I say good morning to him every day. My wife has strict instructions that when I die, George goes in the box with me.

There is a brass placque on the redwood urn that says, "George, ca. 1987 to 2001, the best dog."

TO BE CONTINUED . . . Next: From Gracie to Annie and Reggie, too.