Me and Clean Gene and Tricky Dick.

Hard to believe I started this blog 18 years ago.

I was young(er) and naive and thought I could say anything I wanted and nothing would come of it. 

Ah, the wisdom of age. It is better to keep my mouth shut and listen. 

But, you know, kind of boring. 

Speaking of young and naive. When I was 15 years old, my mother, Libby McGeary--a liberal, Unitarian, volunteer for good causes, fabulous gardener--decided to start a Eugene McCarthy "Get Clean for Gene" campaign office in Bend. 

So me and some friends went door to door with buttons and stuff. I don't remember much about it, except for the old couple who greeted us at the door and invited us in. And then start attacking us.

An ambush!

I don't remember what we said, or how we got out of there, but I've always remembered the savagery I saw in their eyes. 

The McCarthy people realized they had a shot in Oregon and came along and took over. I went to see Nixon's daughters at the Pine Tavern. They saw I had "L" and "R" inked on the plastic toes of my tennis shoes (on the wrong foot, of course) and they thought that was hilarious.

My friend Wes and I went to see Robert Kennedy at the Bend High auditorium, standing on our chairs and shouting for "McCarthy!" (me) and "Nixon" (Wes,...sorry, man.) But the Kennedy charisma was real and we (or I, at least) followed Kennedy out into the parking lot, shaking his hand more than once. 

I was watching TV the night he was assassinated and woke up the parents. 

Why does this all come to mind? Well, there's a guy in my neighborhood who has a flag up saying "Trump Won."

I'd love to knock on his door, acting innocent, and ask him to vote for Biden. I imagine him and his wife inviting me in, all friendly like, and then ambushing me. And I'd give it right back to them.

But it would probably end up in an old man fist fight, my glasses would be knocked off, and I'd get smacked in the back of the head with a frying pan. 

Like I said, the wisdom of age. Shut up and listen.