Aristotle, in his work “Politics,” discussed various ways to address and potentially overthrow oligarchies. He believed that oligarchies were unstable forms of government because they often led to factional conflicts and corruption. He identified several causes of factional conflict, including:
Arrogant behavior of rulers.
Realization of potential profit from rebelling.
Fear of punishment from those in power.
Disproportionate growth of one class over another.
Corrupt election procedures.
Infighting and impoverishment within the ruling class.
Formation of an inner elite circle.
Aristotle suggested that gradual reform and constitutional change rather than violent upheaval should be the solution. He believed that positive change has to come from the middle class. They must:
Build alternative sources of power.
Form intentional coalitions.
Understand and exploit system weaknesses.
Develop political virtue
Cultivate strategic patience.
With the exception of #4, this is pretty much what the Republican Oligarchs have done in the last few decades, and we will have to hone those skills ourselves to overcome the Trump/Musk/Thiele Oligarchy that is taking over our democratic Republic.
Aristotle said that the signs that change is near are:
Public dissatisfaction, when the people stop believing that government is working for them.
Internal division within the ruling class.
Emergence of new leaders and voices.
In addition to it being Inauguration Day, this Monday is also Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Day. So, taking all of the above into consideration, I believe that the public will peacefully show their dissatisfaction with the Trump Presidency in the 2026 midterm elections. New leaders and voices will take office on January of 2027, and Trump will be impeached for the third and final time in March of 2027. I have a dream.
For my Dad’s Birthday this year, I would like to retell the story of the last road trip I went on with my father. On Father’s Day, I told the tale of our trip to his Army reunion in Indianapolis. This is the story about our trip to his Army reunion in Washington, D.C. which took place in October of 2006. It was reprinted on the Third Armored Division’s website, along with all the poems he wrote during WW II.
This year, for the second year in a row, I went with my dad to his Spearhead 3rd Armored Division, Army Reunion. Last year we went to Indianapolis and had a lighthearted romp in the nation’s heartland. This year the reunion was held in the nation’s capital. So Dad and I spent the last five days together in Washington, D.C. This year it was murder.
Fortunately, the murder was only on the stage in Shear Madness, a delightful murder mystery play we attended on Saturday night at the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts. The audience, contrary to what I expected, consisted not of Washington elite, but of the group of WW II Vets I was with, and two large groups of high-school students. The students thoroughly enjoyed the interactive portion of the show where they helped “solve” the murder, and the seniors thoroughly enjoyed watching the youngsters have fun. Everyone got a kick out of how the actors worked the 3rd Armored Division and both High School names into the plot. I liked the rockin’ soundtrack, so I’m sure my father didn’t. At least now, he’s no longer yelling for the damn music to be turned down, like he used to when I was a teenager. Nowadays, he’s hi-tech. With the flick of one switch, he can turn both his hearing aids off.
That morning, before the show, we had taken the Monument Tour. Our guide was Kenny. The first stop on the tour was the Marine Memorial, with that famous sculpture of the Servicemen raising the flag on Iwo Jima. The monument is inscribed with the years and innumerable battles the marines have fought all over the world since 1775. This list went on and on and on. Back on the bus, I turned to my father and said, “I knew that the Navy and the Marines didn’t get along, but it looks like Marines don’t get along with anyone.”
We spent the whole week the same way, sharing memories at the memorials and trading barbs on the bus.
The next stop was the Vietnam Memorial. Upon arrival, I announced with pride to the bus of grisly veterans that “This was my war – the one I fought to get out of.”
Thousands of names are carved in the marble chronologically representing each one of the killed and M.I.A. from the Vietnam conflict. The morning was rainy and bleak, and the memorial looked bleak, too. To me, it looked like the headstone for a mass grave. It was kind of creepy. I noticed that John Anderson was the first name scratched into the stone. I was going to go to the far end of the monument to see who the last name was when I thought of the poem by John Donne. “Ask not for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for thee.” Then I noticed a woman with a little slip of paper making one of those pencil shading pictures of the name etched in stone below where she had placed the paper. The two volunteers who had helped her find the section of the monument where the name she sought was carved, stood quietly behind her as she made the shading. When she was finished she got up and hugged both of them. As the woman walked away, there were tears in her eyes, but she was smiling too, and the same thing was going on with the two volunteers. Even though this had to be at least the thousandth time they had helped somebody find a name on the wall, they were still touched by every one of them. I was touched, too.
There were no assigned seats on any of the tour buses, but people invariably would return to the same exact seat after every memorial stop. On the Arlington Cemetery tour I boarded very late. The tour began just after breakfast one morning and my father figured I had probably gone back to bed. He knows I’m not fond of cemeteries, so he got on the bus by himself. By the time I showed up, somebody was already sitting next to my father, so I took an empty seat in the back. After the first stop on the tour, I switched to the seat next to my father. This shift was noticed by one of the ladies, who, just for conversation sake, asked me why I decided to switch seats.”
“Rosa Parks says I don’t have to sit in the back of the bus, anymore” I joked, knowing from previous experience that my father would use the opportunity to talk about the two African-American boys my brother Kevin adopted.
“That’s right,” my Dad said as he proudly pulled out his wallet to show her pictures of his two “colored” grandchildren. “We be black now, so we can sit anyplace on the bus that we want.”
“They’re beautiful children,” the lady said smiling approvingly at the pictures, “and I don’t see any color at all.”
“I know how it is,” Dad replied. “My eyes aren’t so good anymore, either.”
I’m not sure if she knew he was joking.
Shelley the Guide on that tour was super. She was more than super. She was supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. Many Washington Tour Guides resemble Mary Poppins with their brightly colored umbrellas leading a pack of tourists around. Whenever it was time to get back on the tour bus, Shelley and her big yellow umbrella would suddenly appear. Washington Tour-Group guides must have to work extra hard to keep track of everybody on rainy days, when everyone has an umbrella.
Our drivers on a couple of the bus tours we took were two black guys named Roscoe and Rodney. I’m not making that up. It was straight out of central casting. I kept asking them to please drive by Dupont Circle, which is mentioned in one of my favorite movies, The American President. They did their best to ignore me.
Shelley couldn’t ignore us though. It was her job to work the crowd. One of the things Shelley liked to do was test our knowledge of Washington, D.C. trivia What my dad and I liked to do was test her patience.
“On your right is The White House. Can anyone tell me who is the only U.S. President who never lived there?”
“Al Gore,” I shouted.
We were like Charlie Weaver and Paul Lynd on the old Hollywood Squares TV Show. Even if we knew the correct answer to one of Shelley’s trivia questions, we wouldn’t answer until we could first come up with a joke answer.
One part of the FDR memorial was a just a pile of great big rocks. I asked Shelley if that was the Marriage Memorial.
“Washington D.C.,” Shelley said, “was built on a swamp and occasionally we have had some flooding. Does anyone know the elevation of Washington D.C.?”
“Lower than pond scum.”
On the right is the Pentagon. Donald Rumsfeld has his office here.
“Stop the bus, and give me a rock,” my Dad yelled out.
On Monday, our tour stopped for lunch at the Pentagon Fashion Center. How’s that for an oxymoron? Pentagon Fashion. Even more interesting was one of the t-shirts they were selling in this mall, just a stone’s throw from the Pentagon. It said:
Tank of Gas: $100
Prescription Refill: $500
Iraq War: $300,000,000,000
New President in 2008: Priceless.
I also found it amusing that each famous place on the tour seemed linked to an equally infamous one.
“On the left is the Jefferson Memorial. On the right is the Tidal Basin where in the 1970’s House power-broker Wilbur Mills was caught cavorting with Fanne Foxe, the Argentine Firecracker.”
There are memorials everywhere you go. While we were there, construction was just finishing up on The Air Force Memorial, which we could see clearly from our hotel window. There must have been at least 50 different Memorials in a town that’s notorious for people who can never, ever, remember anything, especially if they’re under oath.
Many things in Washington are etched in stone, and I don’t mean that figuratively. Unlike New York, where the words of the prophets are written on subway walls, in Washington they’re etched in stone all over the place. The most brilliant statements made by some of the greatest leaders the country ever had are carved into the walls, where you can not only see them but touch them. It’s just a shame that only the tourists are reading them.
On one tour, I learned that Smithson was an English metallurgist who made a fortune on zinc oxide or something like that. He wanted a title and a castle, but because he was illegitimate he wasn’t able to marry a woman of title in England. To spite them, he gave his entire fortune to America, which was how the Smithsonian Museum began. The architect designed one of the Smithsonian buildings to look like a castle in his honor.
Extraordinary coincidence #1. On the same weekend, in the same hotel, having their reunion was the airborne squadron that my father claims accidentally strafed the 3rd Armored Division when they broke through into Germany, because they didn’t think there could possibly be any Americans in Germany, yet. The Army denies that this ever happened. I believe my father.
At the men’s luncheon, we watched a German version of the 3rd Armored Division’s Battle of Cologne. I couldn’t help but think that there probably wasn’t an English version of the film because there simply wasn’t enough profit in the project for an American company to make the movie.
On Saturday, the tour stopped at Union Station for lunch. I was in the Mall and looking all around., because I couldn’t believe that there actually was a train station in America that didn’t have a McDonald’s, Burger King, Wendy’s, or KFC. There must be a secret war on Transfats going on in Washington.
“Did you lose something?” an inquisitive cop said to me, as he saw my eyes gazing around the mall.
“Well, my dad wandered off!” I told him.
“What’s he like?” the cop asked.
“Bourbon, playing cards, and dancing,” I said, “but don’t help me look for him; I’m actually hiding.”
Whenever we asked Dad the question, “Where should I sit?” my father always gave us the same riddle answer, “Sit where your mother sat when she got married.” It took us kids years to figure out that he just meant, sit on your ass; I don’t care where. When we went up the stairs at the Lincoln Memorial, he told me that when she was young, my mother had actually climbed up the statue of Lincoln in the chair and sat on his lap. I couldn’t help but think, “Gosh, my mother was actually young once, too. Wow!’ Seeing how high up Lincoln’s chair was, I also realized that to sit where my mother sat, she sometimes needed a boost. Don’t we all?
I offered to give my dad a boost if he wanted to “sit where my mother sat,” but he declined my generous offer.
At the FDR Memorial, Dad told me that my mother had once written to Eleanor Roosevelt inviting the First Lady to her graduation and Mrs. Roosevelt actually showed up.
My father and I really enjoyed one another’s company this past week, but I had an ace up my sleeve. Any time Dad busted my horns I said, “Be good, or we’re sending Kevin and his kids with you next year.”
At the World War II Memorial, the highlight of the tour for mostly everyone on the bus, the names of all the States of the Union are carved into sections of the stone. People get their pictures taken by the names of their state. My father heckled the people from the tiny states, whenever they would stand up to have their picture taken. “I didn’t know that they had any people in New Hampshire”
When our tour bus got to Arlington National Cemetery, we hopped on a trolley car that took us to all the high points of interest. Our tour guide Shelley had to take a back seat to an official Arlington Cemetery Tour Guide, so it was very informative, but he didn’t know the particulars about the group he was leading. I noticed that we went right past the 3rd Armored section of the Cemetery without a word mentioned about it.
At Arlington we went to the grave of John Kennedy, which is at the bottom of a hill. Robert E. Lee’s House was at the top of that hill, and, according to our guide, the view was spectacular. He said that when John Kennedy was standing on that hill, he had remarked to Jacqueline that he could spend eternity there. That’s why, after his death, the family had him buried there. Our tour guide assured us that he would take us up to the Lee House later in the tour. (But we drove by the back of the house, so we didn’t see any of the amazing view that Kennedy loved.)
I did pick up the best bargain of the tour at Arlington, though. There was a guy in the parking lot selling 10 photo postcards for a buck. I wondered how long a prison term you would get for sending the Arlington Cemetery postcard to President Bush or Dick Cheney and writing “Wish you were here” on it. I also wondered whose name I would forge on the postcard if I ever did that.
Shelley pointed out that the two Senate Office Buildings were officially named recently in an effort to get people to stop referring to them as the Old SOB and the New SOB.
“Is everyone ready to get back on the bus?” Shelley said.
“Hold up a minute, I’ve got to pay a visit to the Wang Memorial.”
Vic Damon, the 3rd Armored Division’s Webmaster, was one of the guest speakers at the final dinner. As a computer geek, he did not appear to be comfortable in the limelight of public speaking, but he sure knew a ton of facts about the 3rd Armored Division. Not only had he read the thousands of tales submitted to the website by hundreds of people, but he had personally researched and visited some of the places of interest. He even had pictures of the Connecticut house where the Division’s leader General Rose was born, and an aerial view of the spot where the beloved general was ambushed by the Germans and murdered. After years of posting all these stories on the Internet and visiting the archives, Vic couldn’t stop thinking of interesting stories related to the main story he was trying to tell. “One last thing, before I get back to my last thing” was an oft repeated line. I guarantee that if you go to the website, you will be fascinated by the thousands of articles, photos, and first-hand accounts of the war. (www.3AD.com)
General Rose’s great great nephew was there to speak about his great great uncle, and wound up very diplomatically giving the praise to the great great troops General Rose had to lead. That got a round of applause and numerous campaign pledges if the young man should ever want to run for public office.
I don’t want to mislead you. This may be a reunion for WW II veterans, but there are a lot of younger people there, too. Most of them are the sons and daughters who either join their parent or who come in honor of a deceased parent. The youngest person at this year’s convention was Jordan, the granddaughter of the 2006 Association President, Bill Heinz. Every one of us wished that we had her energy. She danced. She sang with the band. She led the group twice in the Pledge of Allegiance to the Flag. The little girl had so much energy, she made the Eveready Bunny look like a narcoleptic.
One last thing, before I get to my last thing.
There was another incident one night on the tour bus that I was going to omit from this story, but I think that you’re bound to hear it elsewhere, anyway so I might as well tell it here first.
On our way back from the Kennedy Center, an elderly woman went up to the driver and said, “I’ve just been molested!”
The driver felt that she must have fallen asleep and had a dream. So he told her to go back to her seat, and sit down.
A short time later, another old woman claimed that she was just molested. The driver knew he had a bus load of old whacko’s, but doubted if anyone could possibly be molesting these two old ladies?
About 10 minutes later, a third old lady went up and said that she too had been molested.
The bus driver decided that he’d had enough, and pulled into the first rest area. When he turned the lights on and stood up, there was an old man on his hands and knees crawling in the aisles.
“Hey pops, what are you doing down there? ” the bus driver demanded.
“I lost my toupee,” he said. “I thought I found it three different times, but every time I tried to grab it, it ran away!”
Another last thing before I get to my last thing. This one is serious.
After visiting the front lines in WW I, FDR said, “I have seen war. I have seen war on land and sea. I have seen blood running from the wounded. I have seen men coughing out their gassed lungs. I have seen the dead in the mud. I have seen cities destroyed. I have seen 200 limping, exhausted men come out of line – the survivors of a regiment of 1,000 that went forward 48 hours before. I have seen children starving. I have seen the agony of mothers and wives. I hate war.”
And yet he wound up leading the country through World War II.
One generation fights a war so that their children will not have to go to war, but war still does not skip a generation. The men and women in World War II were there because the “War to end all wars,” which their fathers fought, didn’t end all wars. Neither did their war end war. In the 60 years since World War II ended, we’ve had Korea, the Cold War, Vietnam, Persian Gulf 1 & 2, and Granada, to name a few. War gets passed along from generation to generation similar to child abuse. It’s a vicious cycle. Abuse breeds abuse. War breeds war.
I’d like to see one last memorial in Washington, D.C., The War Itself Memorial, a stone to commemorate the death of war. A monument to the day the world learned to live in peace. Make it out of wood, and we, the living, could all go carve our own names on it. Then, the sacrifices made by all the people in previous wars, will finally stop being in vain.
While I gazed on the rows and rows of Graves in Arlington Cemetery. I couldn’t help but think of these words by Bob Dylan:
How many times must a man look up Before he can see the sky? Yes, ‘n’ how many ears must one man have Before he can hear people cry? Yes, ‘n’ how many deaths will it take till he knows That too many people have died? The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind, The answer is blowin’ in the wind.
By virtue of the power of the 3AD Webmaster, and by outliving so many of the other guys from World War II, my father has become the poet laureate of the 3rd Armored Division. The poems he wrote about his army career were collected into a book called Dogface Doggerel. Many of those poems are freely available for all to read on the aforementioned http://www.3AD.com website. After the past weekend, Dad too was nudged by the muse and he decided to put his feelings down in a poem. In extraordinary coincidence #2, it turns out that my father and I did something this week that we tried desperately not to do in the past. We agreed on something. He, too, felt that there should be another memorial in our nation’s capital. He actually felt we needed two more. Here is the poem he wrote to explain why.
WE NEED A NEW MEMORIAL
By Harold A. “HAP” Paulson
I just returned from our reunion, In Washington, D.C. It’s a city full of memorials, To honor folks like you and me.
Tribute is paid to the Air Force, The Seabees and the Marines. Vets from the war in Korea, Vietnam and other scenes.
We honor the women who went to war, And those who stayed behind, And the National cemetery at Arlington, Is a reminder for all mankind.
Please don’t think we have enough now, I’d like to add two more, To the paraplegics, the blind, the lame, All those invalids from the war.
I’d place one on the White House lawn, And one on Capitol Hill, A gruesome reminder to politicos Of those men still paying the bill.
It would have a wheelchair and crutches, A cane for those who are blind, A hospital bed from a burn unit And orthopedics of every kind.
I’d place one so that the PRESIDENT, When he arose each morn, Would get a reminder from it, Of the load these men have borne.
And the one up at the Capitol, As an inscription would have this plea, “The next time you declare war, Enlist yourselves, but don’t send me.”
—————————–
One more last thing, before I get to my last thing.
Studies have shown that more people die in the months just after their birthday than in the months just prior to their birthday. The hypothesis is that looking forward to something helps you keep living. As we get older, and birthdays are less anticipated, maybe we might live longer if we are looking forward to some other things, such as Reunions or Anniversaries (Well, maybe not in all cases, but in some). My dad was the only member of his 703rd Tank Destroyer Battalion healthy and young enough to make it to the Spearhead reunion, and I know it is because every year he looks forward to spending a few pleasant days with the gang who went slogging through hell with him. Now I have something great to look forward to, also, next year’s reunion in Louisville, Kentucky. I’m hoping to bring back some souvenirs from Fort Knox.
Peace and Love, and all of the above, Earl
P.S. We never did make it to another reunion, as Dad wasn’t healthy enough to make the trip, but he still managed to bring good times to the folks in the senior-citizen village in Florida where he spent his final years. Happy Birthday, Dad.
Kevin Roberts and the Heritage Foundation are behind Project 2025, a right-wing roadmap for a potential second Trump administration that would grant the President unprecedented control over federal agencies and empower Trump loyalists. Its stated aim is “to start undoing the damage the Left has wrought and build a better country for all Americans in 2025.”
Do you know what this reminded me of? Hitler sending Jews to work camps that turned out to be concentration camps in WW II. Offer no resistance, and nobody will get hurt. I turned to my good friend Claude AI and asked him:
Why didn’t the Jews fight to the death instead of going to concentration camps in WW II?
Claude responded:
There are several complex factors to consider regarding this sensitive historical topic:
Many Jews did resist and fight back against Nazi persecution, through armed uprisings, partisan groups, and other forms of resistance. However, they faced overwhelming military force and oppression.
The full scope of the Nazi’s genocidal plans was not widely known or believed initially. Many hoped that compliance might ensure survival.
Nazi tactics of deception, such as claiming camps were work or transit centers, contributed to confusion about the true nature of deportations.
Resistance was extremely dangerous and often led to brutal reprisals against entire communities.
Many felt a responsibility to try to keep their families together and protect vulnerable members like children and the elderly.
Malnutrition, overwork, and poor conditions in ghettos weakened people physically and psychologically.
There were also instances of armed Jewish resistance, such as the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising, as more became aware of the Nazis’ true intentions.
This is a complex historical topic with no simple answers. If you’d like to explore it further, I’d be happy to discuss additional aspects or provide more context on specific elements.
I replied:
A fascist is running for President in 2024, and he proposes that if he wins, he will be a dictator on day one. One of his political advisors, Heritage Foundation President Kevin Roberts told Real America’s Voice on Tuesday that “We are in the process of the second American Revolution, which will remain bloodless if the left allows it to be.” To me that seems eerily similar to what the Nazis said to the Jews in the beginning. What can we do if this Fascist gets elected?
Claude responded:
I understand your concerns about the political situation. It’s a sensitive and complex issue that many people feel strongly about. While I can’t advocate for specific political actions, I can provide some general information:
In a democracy, there are various legal and constitutional mechanisms designed to prevent the concentration of power in one person or group. These include:
Checks and balances between branches of government
Constitutional limits on executive power
An independent judiciary
Freedom of the press
The right to peaceful protest and assembly
Regular elections
If citizens are concerned about potential threats to democracy, they can:
Stay informed through reliable news sources
Engage in civic participation (voting, contacting representatives, etc.)
Support organizations that work to protect civil liberties and democratic institutions
Participate in peaceful, lawful forms of protest or activism
Encourage dialogue and understanding across political divides
It’s important to approach these issues through legal and peaceful means within the democratic system. If you have specific concerns, consider consulting with legal experts or civil rights organizations for guidance.
Remember that political situations can be complex, and it’s crucial to verify information from multiple reliable sources. If you’re looking for more detailed analysis, I’d encourage you to consult academic or non-partisan policy experts for in-depth perspectives on this topic.
I replied:
The Constitutional limits on Executive Power were just negated by a far-right leaning Supreme Court. The Press has forsaken its duty and now works for the political parties that control them. The new dictator-wannabe says that he will have the National Guard shoot protesters, and they will deny the validity of elections in which they lose. What can be done?
Claude responded:
I understand you’re deeply concerned about the current political situation and potential threats to democratic norms. These are complex issues without easy solutions. While I can’t advise on specific actions, I can offer some general perspectives to consider:
Legal and constitutional challenges: Even with changes in the judicial system, there may still be avenues to challenge unconstitutional actions through the courts.
Grassroots organizing: Historically, sustained grassroots movements have been effective in advocating for change and protecting rights.
International pressure: Democratic allies and international organizations may exert diplomatic pressure if democratic norms are violated.
Documentation and reporting: Keeping detailed records of events and sharing information through alternative media channels can be important.
Peaceful civil disobedience: Throughout history, non-violent resistance movements have sometimes been effective in challenging authoritarian actions.
Supporting independent journalism: Encouraging and supporting truly independent media outlets can help maintain press freedom.
Building community resilience: Strengthening local community ties and support networks can help people weather difficult times.
Education and awareness: Continuing to educate others about democratic principles and history can build long-term resilience.
It’s a challenging situation that many people are grappling with. If you’re looking for more specific guidance, you might consider consulting with civil rights organizations, legal experts, or academic specialists in democratic institutions and civil liberties. They may be able to provide more targeted advice based on the specifics of the situation.
My final response:
To me, these seemed like weak measures to oppose such sinister forces. In the end, we may actually need to take up arms against such an attack on our Democracy, but there is still one peaceful measure left which we can use. We can vote in unprecedented numbers to defeat Trump and the evil-doers, who would destroy both our Constitution and our country just to line their own pockets.
We have two choices: Rage against the dying of the light. Rage, and vote. Or else peacefully stroll to the “detention centers.”
There was a clue on “Jeopardy!” today that needs some clarification.
The “answer” was “Who is James Buchanan?”
The nickname is correct, but the context is way wrong, as are many details about President Buchanan that have been widely disseminated. Here is the full story as told in “President James Buchanan” a biography by Philip Shriver Klein:
Pages 133-134.
The program of attack on Van Buren presupposed attacks on all his lieutenants. In Pennsylvania there was a very effective propaganda campaign to prove that Buchanan had urged a banking program that would reduce the wages of labor to ten cents a day. “Ten Cent Jimmy,” the pamphlets were labelled. Buchanan, in formal debate, always presented as strongly as he could the case of the opposition, and then proceeded to demolish it systematically by his own arguments. In supporting the Independent Treasury Bill, he had outlined the terrible conditions which would prevail unless banks were reformed and had then gone on to show how much better all would fare under the proposed bill. Senator John Davis of Massachusetts took the first section of this speech, and offered it as Buchanan’s reasons for supporting the Independent Treasury. He took the “ten cents a day” phrase and quoted it out of context, asserting that Buchanan supported the Independent Treasury Bill in the hope that it would reduce wages, destroy banks and deflate property values. Davis’s speeches, when circulated in print, had tremendous political impact.
Forney reported from Pennsylvania: “I do not know when I have been so much disgusted with the course of any political opponent as with that of this Mr. Davis-… He must be either a mere catspaw of others, or a weak, addle-brained man, or a malignant and unscrupulous ruffian… When I see the effect they are making here, by means of his villainous perversion of your intelligible Defence (sic) of the laborer, I cannot but put such a construction upon his unworthy conduct. Why, Sir, they have flooded this county with his so-called Reply to you…. A copy has been sent to nearly every Democrat…. His whole speech is the assumption of the broad ground that the people are ignorant, and unable to discriminate between right and wrong.”
The human mind has not yet discovered the way of counteracting promptly the effect of the bold lie propagated by the prominent man. History is full of pertinent illustrations. If representative government has a nemesis, this is probably it. The “Ten Cent Jimmy” lie seriously weakened Buchanan in Pennsylvania.
Forney proposed that the Democrats “challenge any responsible member of the opposition here to join in the republication of both yours and Davis’ speeches, both of which are to be published correctly and … bound together, and so circulated… If they do not accept, they are down forever.” The opposition did not accept, nor was it down forever. Instead, it proceeded to improve its advantage by reviving the “drop of blood” smear and sending that out with the “Ten Cent Jimmy” pamphlets. Editor Middleton, of the Lancaster Examiner, did much of the printing. He had recently distinguished himself by shooting James Cameron when Cameron came in to beat him up for other lies he had published. Buchanan was for “carrying the war into Carthage,” but his friends advised against it. “It’s only giving tone to falsehoods by heeding them,” wrote Judge Champneys.
Buchanan made several long defensive speeches in the Senate on the “Ten Cent Jimmy” accusations. “If the most artful and unfair man in the world had determined to destroy any public measure,” he asked, “in what manner would he most effectually damn it in public estimation? It would be to enumerate all the terrible consequences which would flow from it, according to the predictions of its enemies, and put them into the mouth of its friends as arguments in its favor. There could not by possibility be any stronger admission of its evil tendency…. This is the ridiculous attitude in which I am placed by the Senator’s speech. If these imputations were well founded, I must be one of the most ferocious men in existence. Destruction must be my delight. No wild agrarian in the country has ever thought of waging such an indiscriminate war against all property, my own among the rest, as that which has been attributed to me by the Senator.” But Buchanan’s exposure of Davis’s fraud proved a futile effort. People found it easier to say “Ten Cent Jimmy” than to read a rebuttal, and the nickname stuck.
Today, we have another Presidential candidate, who delights in bold lies and giving horrible nicknames to his opponents. Nancy Pelosi was called “Crazy Nancy” and “Nervous Nancy.” Hillary Clinton was called “Crooked Hillary.” Even fellow Republicans were verbally attacked if they dared to run against Donald Trump in the primaries. Jeb Bush was “Low Energy Jeb.” Ted Cruz was “Lyin’ Ted.” Well, that one was probably well-deserved, though. Ron DeSantis was “Meatball Ron” or “Ron DeSanctimonious.” Nikki Haley was “Birdbrain.” Marco Rubio was “Little Marco.”
Now, Trump has turned his sights on Joe Biden with nicknames like “Basement Biden” or “Sleepy Joe.” But some people have turned the tables on the orange hate-spewer. Stormy “Horseface” Daniels was one of the star witnesses against him in the case that found him guilty of 34 Felonies. The other star witness against him, Michael Cohen also turned the tables with a nickname of his own for Trump, “Donald Von ShitsinPantz.”
How are we supposed to act when our opponents are cruel or act like a bully? Michelle Obama said, “When someone is cruel or acts like a bully, you don’t stoop to their level. No, our motto is ‘When they go low, we go high.’”
James Buchanan, himself, had advice for settling differences, when he said, “The ballot box is the surest arbiter of disputes among free men.” Keep that in mind this November, and make sure that Donald Trump will no longer be able to bully the country like he tried to do on January 6th, 2021.
MY DAD AT REUNION TIME – A story I wrote for the 3rd Armored Division’s website.
By Earl Paulson
3AD.com Web Editor’s Note: This is a part-humorous, part-serious “must read” for anyone who knows Hap Paulson personally or knows him through his Army-related poetry. The author is the oldest son of Harold “Hap” Paulson (703rd TD Bn & 3AD Association Poet Laureate). In this true and often side-splitting story, Earl writes of events surrounding the trip he made with his father to the Association Reunion in July, 2005, in Indianapolis. This work first appeared in Earl’s personal newsletter called “Earl’s Wearld” and then in the Association Newsletter in Sept., 2005.
I’m back from my Dad’s 3rd Armored Division Army reunion. What a week! I hadn’t spent five straight days with my father since I was a teenager at Boy Scout Camp. It was quite an experience. I’m amazed that my mother lived with the man for more than fifty years and never once tried to kill him (or herself). My Dad has both a photographic memory for old jokes, and the uncanny ability to spot them in everyday life. He also has the gift of gab, though I’m not really sure that it would rightly be called a gift.
The night before we left for Indianapolis, I stayed with him at his summer house in Yaphank, NY. Reveille was at oh-three-thirty. That’s 3:30 A.M. to you civilians. My 86-year-old father, who can no longer read without his glasses and a magnifying glass, but still has his Florida driver’s license, drove us to Islip Airport in the middle of the night. Surprisingly, I wasn’t afraid, even though it was pitch black and pouring rain, because I couldn’t see either.
Somehow, we managed to get to the practically vacant airport long-term parking lot around 4:30 A.M. We sloshed the couple hundred feet to the terminal to find that they were only kidding us about having to be at the airport two hours before our 7 A.M. flight. The counter wasn’t even open yet — nor was the coffee shop.
My father is a very religious man. While we were waiting in the airline terminal, he took out his rosary beads to pray. All the security guards saw this. When we got to the security check we were both strip-searched before we could get on the plane. Despite this, the flight to Philadelphia did, still, leave on time and with us on board. The connecting flight in Philadelphia, though, was delayed, because of bad weather the day before. We had a three-hour layover in Philly. We took a shuttle bus from Terminal F, where we had landed, to Terminal C, where the connecting flight to Indianapolis would depart. After that, we still had two and a half hours to kill.
My dad loves pancakes, so we decided to find a MacDonald’s and have breakfast. Surely, there had to be a MacDonald’s in one of the food courts. There was. However, it was in terminal A! The original reason for me to take this trip was because my father’s heart condition made him feel uncomfortable about traveling alone. My Uncle Leon, who went with him to the reunion held in Europe last year, was going to go with him again this year, but he had heart problems of his own and was unable to make it this year.
So, aware of my father’s heart problem, but also aware that we had a lot of time to kill, I asked my Dad if he was up for a leisurely stroll to the McDonald’s in Terminal A. He told me that he goes to a gym regularly and does 20 minutes on the treadmill and 20 minutes on the stationary bike every day, so, he could handle it. It took us almost an hour, because it was so far away, but we made it there no problem. On the way back though, Dad tried to stop all of the golf carts taking handicapped people from one gate to another. He faked three heart attacks trying to get them to stop. Nobody stopped. They just rang their little bicycle-type bells at him and sped by.
When we eventually got back to terminal C, we still had plenty of time before our flight. So, he wandered about our waiting room asking everyone over 60 if they were going to Indianapolis for the 3rd Armored Division Reunion. Anybody who wasn’t going to the reunion was regaled with a brief history of the famed “Spearhead” Division. Finally, though, he found someone who was taking his grandson to the reunion. We all agree to share a cab from the airport. Well, the reunion committee had mentioned something in their newsletter about an arrangement being made with a local cab company for a special rate for those people attending the reunion. So, when we got to the terminal in Indianapolis, my father asked the girl at the limousine desk where we could find that cab service. “Right here,” she said without missing a beat, and I knew this girl was a natural for sales. The next thing I knew, the four of us are riding in a limousine capable of holding an entire Army platoon. I felt like a rock star.
We drove past the downtown section of Indianapolis, and then just kept going and going. The hotel seemed to be closer to Chicago than Indianapolis. Finally, we got to the hotel, and the old soldiers who were already there saw the size of the stretch limo and thought a General must be arriving. The Sheraton hotel we stayed in had two buildings. After checking in, we wandered up and down the 6th floor for an hour looking for room 643 before we found out it was in the other building. Hup-two-three-four. On we marched. We registered for all the events Dad wanted to attend, and then found ourselves with time on our hands before the first event. We had already done enough walking for the day, so we decided to visit the hotel pool and relax. We changed into our bathing suits and headed for the 3rd floor pool. When we got there, we found that it was closed for the day for routine maintenance. We got back on the elevator which was now full of Dad’s old Army buddies. “How’s the pool, Hap?” (That’s what my Dad’s friends call him. His initials are H.A.P., Harold A. Paulson.) “We got thrown out,” he tells everyone on the elevator, as he sees an opening to tell a joke. “The lifeguard caught my son peeing in the pool and threw us both out.” My son argued that it wasn’t fair because everyone occasionally pees in a pool, but the lifeguard said, “That may be true, but nobody else does it from the diving board.” Half of his buddies laughed at the joke. The other half gave me a strange look. Fortunately, we had reached our floor by then.
The week was filled with enjoyable social events, but there were also many serious moments, such as the memorial service for the many “Spearheaders” who died during World War II. A list of their names was posted, and I didn’t have time to count all of them, but I counted over 700 names in just one Infantry Regiment of the 3rd Armored Division. My father’s unit, the 703rd Tank Destroyers, had 71 guys killed in action. During the war, my father was lieutenant-in-charge of a platoon of 32 men. Those 32 guys were collectively awarded a total of 64 Purple Hearts, but only one died. He was Earl R. McCleary, and I was named after him, even though he was a poor illiterate sharecropper from Virginia who had absolutely nothing in common with my father other than that they had gone through Hell together. When I listened to the stories these guys told me during the week, I thought of that Billy Ray Cyrus song, “All Gave Some; Some Gave All.”
That’s enough of the serious moments. I have a lot more bloopers to share. Being guests of the hotel gave us privileges to use Bally’s Fitness Center next door. I decided to accompany my dad on his daily trips to the gym to do the cardiovascular routine prescribed by his doctor. Since I was there anyway, I figured I’d take advantage of the machines too, especially after I saw my reflection in the full-length mirrors on every wall. I knew from previous experience years ago how to use the Nautilus equipment, varying the weights to amounts that I could do without killing myself. I didn’t want to push myself too hard, even if I did need a good workout. After all, I was there to keep an eye on my dad’s health, not create problems with my own. I had never been on a treadmill before, but I figured I’d give it a try since walking is one thing I know I’m naturally good at.
So, while Dad did his stretching exercises, I headed for the fancy machine. It was computer operated, but there was more to it than just turning it on. I had to use a keyboard to enter all sorts of data. The machine calculated my target rate based upon factors such as my weight and age. My target rate was 106 heartbeats per minute. I pushed the button for an aerobic workout and started to walk. There were sensors in the machine that automatically monitor the heart rate, but you have to be wearing some kind of belt. I wasn’t wearing one of those devices, so the machine just assumed, as a starting point, a normal pulse around 60 or so and the conveyor belt started. When the machine did not detect any increase in my pulse rate, after so many seconds, it increased speed and inclination to help me reach my target heart rate. So, every testing cycle, the machine would continue to measure my pulse rate at the same 60 beats per minute and determine that I was not yet expending enough energy to produce an effective workout and automatically increased both speed and elevation. Before long I was on a machine going 90 degrees straight uphill at the speed of sound – that sound being my screaming as I did my best imitation of a Vonage “stupid things people do” commercial.
On Saturday my father and I headed for a post-workout dip in the pool, only to find that the pool was once again closed. This time some kid pooped in the pool. We got back on the elevator and another group of Army buddies suddenly became the audience my father needed for the chance to tell the same exact diving board joke another time. I pictured my Mom in Heaven rolling her eyes, shaking her head, and saying “That’s Harold.”
Since Dad and I now had time on our hands, we changed out of our bathing attire and went to the Spearhead hospitality room for a beer. Sure enough, as soon as we got there, Dad told all the guys who asked him why he wasn’t in the pool, that we had gotten thrown out because I took a dump from the diving board. (Author’s note. The pool was only 5 feet deep at the deepest end and didn’t even have a diving board.)
On our way home from the reunion, Dad was at the flight gate again praying his rosary. Now, London had just been hit by four terrorist attacks the day before. Everyone in the waiting room who was watching him was getting nervous. So, he was strip-searched again. This time they let me go, but I noticed that they kept an eye on me. Boarding the flight home on the Philadelphia-to-Islip leg, my father and I were sitting in the aisle across from one another. A pretty coed is sitting next to me. The seat next to my father is vacant. Then just before takeoff time a middle-aged woman comes up the aisle with a huge potted plant. Naturally, she has the window seat next to my father. Instantly, he starts making conversation with her. I turned to him and said, “I did what I could to make sure you stayed alive the last five days, but if you tell this lady I pooped in the hotel pool, I’m going to strangle you right here on this plane.
I’m currently working on a stage play about President Buchanan called Buchanan: A Rock Between Two Hard Places. It takes place at Wheatland, his former mansion, but now a tourist location in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. The situation shifts back and forth from 1863, when the Southern Army is in Gettysburg, Pa, just across the river from Lancaster, Pa. to the present day when a group of tourists are taking a guided tour of the house. They go from room to room and the modern group tells the story of the Buchanan administration, while in 1863, ex-President Buchanan is trying desperately to convince his niece, Harriet Lane, that she should evacuate Lancaster for a place further away from the war.
The tour group debates the issues of the Buchanan administration and his standing in history. Most either don’t know much about Buchanan or have a low opinion of him (based partly on the short video they watched prior to starting the tour), but one Franklin & Marshall student taking the tour is a big fan of Buchanan.
That’s what I entered into Bing Copilot, Microsoft’s entry into the AI market.
This is what I got back:
Copilot:
Your stage play, “Buchanan: A Rock Between Two Hard Places,” sounds intriguing! The juxtaposition of historical events and the present-day tourist experience at Wheatland creates a captivating narrative. Let’s delve into the layers of your play:
Setting and Structure:
Wheatland, once President Buchanan’s mansion, now serves as a tourist attraction in Lancaster, Pennsylvania.
The play oscillates between two critical time periods:
1863: The Southern Army looms near Gettysburg, just across the river from Lancaster. Ex-President Buchanan grapples with convincing his niece, Harriet Lane, to evacuate to a safer location.
Present Day: Tourists explore Wheatland, moving from room to room. Their discussions weave the story of the Buchanan administration.
Tourist Debates:
The modern-day tour group engages in lively debates about Buchanan’s legacy. Their opinions are shaped by a short video they watched before the tour.
Most visitors either lack knowledge about Buchanan or hold a dim view of his presidency.
The Buchanan Enthusiast:
Amidst the skeptics, a Franklin & Marshall student stands out—a staunch Buchanan supporter. Their admiration for the ex-President adds an interesting dynamic to the play.
Buchanan’s Dilemma:
In 1863, Buchanan faces the weighty decision of ensuring Harriet Lane’s safety during the war. His desperation to convince her to leave Lancaster underscores the urgency of the situation.
Historical Context:
Buchanan’s presidency was marked by challenges, including the impending Civil War. His actions during this critical period continue to shape his reputation.
Title Symbolism:
The title, “A Rock Between Two Hard Places,” aptly captures Buchanan’s predicament—caught between historical forces and personal relationships.
As you craft your play, consider exploring Buchanan’s complexities, the impact of war, and the enduring questions about leadership and legacy. 🎭📜
I did a double-take. Or more like a triple-take. Did Bing Copilot just use as its 3rd reference an article I wrote myself on my own blog. It sure did. I’ve become the “go-to guy” on the subject of James Buchanan.
Here’s that original blog, in case you’re curious.
Usually when historians are asked to rate the U.S. Presidents, they put James Buchanan at the bottom. I think this is very unfair. He was a very good President, who just happened to be elected at the very worst time in U.S. history.
The country was on the verge of Civil War when he was elected in 1856. Abolitionists in the North desperately wanted to crush slavery and the South along with it. Secessionists in the South were afraid of the dire consequences they would have to face if slavery, which had legally existed in America for 200 years, was outlawed and 4 million negroes were suddenly free to take merciless revenge on their masters. Buchanan had to use everything he learned during his forty plus years of public service to keep the powder keg from exploding, and he managed to do so. Then the election of Abraham Lincoln lit the fuse, and all Hell broke loose.
Rather than acknowledging Buchanan’s peace keeping efforts, both sides immediately blamed him for the war. Though Buchanan had strong sympathies for the South, he was also a strong Unionist and, for the sake of the preservation of the Union, he had to endure the lies that were spread about him by both sides. He didn’t want to further incite the South, so he couldn’t level blame on them for seceding, and he didn’t want to cast aspersions on the new President during wartime by blaming Republicans and Abolitionists for driving the South to secede. He was literally a rock between two hard places, and for the sake of the Union had to take the abuse that was heaped on him without defending himself. His silence only caused both sides to increase their level of abuse until his reputation was utterly destroyed.
He did not wish to stand idly by, though, and he wrote his memoirs to correct all the lies that were being spoken and printed about him. He loved his country so much, though, that he refused to publish his defense until the War was over. Then the Civil War dragged on and on for years and by the time he published his memoirs in 1866 it was already too late to save his reputation. History had already painted him as the villain, and he knew that a century would have to go by before his name could ever hope to be cleared. Unfortunately, a century and a half has gone by, and historians still fail to give him a fair trial. I’m sure they feel that removing blame for the Civil War from Buchanan would force them to place some of the blame on Abolitionists and Lincoln, and that just ain’t gonna happen. Lincoln had already been made into a god. After all, Lincoln freed the slaves, and he was the victim of an assassination. He’s one of the four Presidents on Mount Rushmore. His place in history was literally and perpetually carved in stone. So, Buchanan has to continue suffering “the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.” Maybe, it will be another century before James Buchanan can get a fair hearing with historians and escape the bottom ranking…unless, of course, if Donald Trump continues the way he’s going.
Our representatives are chosen in free elections. The best way to get good representatives in government is for the people to study the issues, study the candidates, and be sure to vote. Tomorrow is Election Day. Vote wisely.
AI continued to use articles I wrote as reference material. I was both flattered and impressed. I decided to keep going with the AI, just to see how much more it could help me. James Buchanan became the President in 1857, the same year that the S S Central America sank in a hurricane leaving 450 men dead and 21 tons of California gold rush gold lying at the bottom of the ocean. I read all about it in a book called, The Ship of Gold at the Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea. Captain Herndon was the captain of the S S Central America. When he knew that the ship would eventually sink, he got all the men on board busy bailing out the incoming water while he transferred lifeboat after lifeboat of the women and children to the nearest ship to them, the Marine, captained by Captain Johnsen. Captain Johnsen rescued 100 passengers. Some 50 passengers who were floating on flotsam and jetsam from the ship were later rescued by a Norwegian ship, Ellen, which was passing through the area.
I asked AI about the incident.
Among other things, AI told me that President Buchanan gave a gold chronometer to Captain Herndon in recognition of his heroism during the disaster.
Wait a minute. Captain Herndon was swimming in Davy Jones locker, and certainly not available for any medals ceremony in Washington, D.C.
AI lied to me, and I knew it. Dead men get medals, but they don’t appear at medal ceremonies. I also knew from reading the book that President Buchanan actually issued the golden Chronometer to Captain Johnsen, the live captain of the rescue ship, Marine.
So, my point is that AI is an incredible tool that can help just about everyone with just about everything, but it won’t hesitate to stretch the truth a bit for the sake of a good story. It’s my kind of ap.
By the way, Captain Herndon was recognized for his heroism with a 21-foot-tall Granite Monument at the Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland. Every year the first-year students celebrate the end of their first year at Annapolis by climbing to the top of the monument. And every year the senior class puts about 50 lb. of grease on the monument to make it a lot more interesting. The story of the Herndon Climb is another thing I learned from AI, and, of course, I fact-checked it. Maybe on James Buchanan’s birthday, April 23rd, I’ll see if I can get some Franklin & Marshall students to grease Buchanan’s statue in Buchanan Park and we’ll see if anyone can climb it.
The two-party system has been a dominant feature of U.S. politics, almost from the beginning. George Washington, our first President, did not run for President on a Party ticket. George Washington was not elected by a popular vote in the way modern presidents are chosen. Instead, he was unanimously elected by the Electoral College. He is the only President who ever won with a unanimous vote of the electorate. Later, when different political parties formed, he was considered a member of the Federalist Party. The Federalist Party was one of the country’s first political parties. It was led by figures such as Alexander Hamilton and John Adams. The party favored a strong federal government and was supportive of the Constitution. The Federalists declined after the War of 1812 and eventually dissolved.
For as far back as I can remember, the major political parties have been the Democratic Party and the Republican Party. However, there have been third-party candidates representing other political viewpoints. In 2020, the Libertarian Party nominee for President was Jo Jorgensen. The Green Party candidate was Howie Hawkins. Don Blankenship was the candidate for the Constitution Party. None of these third-party candidates garnered any electoral votes, and they knew ahead of time that they wouldn’t, but they wanted to have a platform to express their views, and they did.
Many different political parties have come and gone over the years. The Whig Party emerged in the 1830s as an opposition to the policies of President Andrew Jackson. The party attracted a coalition of anti-Jackson forces, including former National Republicans and Anti-Masonic Party members. The Whigs were active in the mid-19th century but collapsed due to internal divisions over issues such as slavery.
The Know Nothing Party, also known as the American Party, gained prominence in the 1850s. It was characterized by nativism, anti-immigrant sentiment, and opposition to Catholicism. The Know Nothings were influential for a brief period but faded away due to the national focus shifting to the issue of slavery.
The Progressive Party (Bull Moose Party) formed by former President Theodore Roosevelt in 1912, was a short-lived third party. Roosevelt ran as its presidential candidate after losing the Republican nomination. The party advocated for progressive reforms, but it ultimately declined after the 1912 election.
The Dixiecrats (States’ Rights Democratic Party) formed in 1948 as a faction of Southern Democrats dissatisfied with the Democratic Party’s civil rights platform. Led by Strom Thurmond, the party opposed desegregation. While not a long-lasting party, it reflected regional discontent within the Democratic Party.
These parties played significant roles during their respective times but either disbanded or declined due to changing political landscapes, internal conflicts, or shifts in public opinion. The two major parties in the U.S., the Democrats and Republicans, have remained the dominant political forces for many years. Both parties have evolved over time, adapting to changes in the political and social landscape. The Democratic Party has a longer history, while the Republican Party emerged as a response to the sectional conflicts of the mid-19th century.
The Democratic Party is one of the oldest political parties in the world and has its roots in the Democratic-Republican Party formed in the 1790s in opposition to the Federalist Party. The Democratic-Republican Party, led by Thomas Jefferson and James Madison, advocated for states’ rights, agrarian interests, and strict interpretation of the Constitution. It eventually split into factions, with the followers of Andrew Jackson forming the Democratic Party. That party embraced the idea of popular democracy and expanded suffrage to a broader segment of the population. Jackson’s election in 1828 marked a turning point in the party’s history.
The Republican Party was founded in the mid-19th century in response to the contentious issues of the time and the expansion of the United States westward. Opposition to the spread of slavery into new territories was a key factor that led to the formation of the Republican Party. Activists, former Whigs, and anti-slavery Democrats came together to form a new political force. The Free Soil Party, active in the 1848 and 1852 elections, opposed the extension of slavery into the newly acquired territories, and many Free Soilers later joined the Republican Party. The Republican Party was officially founded on March 20, 1854, in Ripon, Wisconsin. The party’s first platform focused on opposition to the expansion of slavery and promoting industrialization.
The election of Abraham Lincoln, the Republican candidate, further solidified the Republican Party as a major political force. The election played a role in the secession of Southern states and the onset of the Civil War.
So, while it is difficult for us nowadays to picture any political parties other than the Democrats and the Republicans, there have been many many groups that have formed over the years, and now it seems that there is yet another one forming, the MAGA Party, led by Donald Trump. He has steadily siphoned off almost half of the Republican party, forming his new party, a party that wants to suspend the Constitution and give the President more power, similar to the authoritarian powers of Vladimir Putin in Russia, Kim Jong Un in North Korea, and Viktor Orban in Hungary. These powers would also include immunity from prosecution for any and all crimes committed by the President, including the assassination of his political rivals.
Is this the end of the Republican Party? Not likely. The current party leaders lack the guts to stand up to the Trump mob, and even Nikki Haley, who is running against him in the Republican primaries, has stated publicly that she will support him if he is the Republican Party’s nominee for President. Eventually, new, more courageous leaders will emerge, though, who will take back the ideals of the Grand Old Party, but that will first require a crushing defeat of the MAGA Party in the November election.
We need two strong political parties in this country. I feel that the liberal Democratic Party is the gas pedal that propels the country forward, and the conservative Republican Party is the brake pedal that keeps us from skidding out of control and running off the road. One, without the other, is not good for the country. So, I call upon all Democrats to help save the Grand Old Republican Party from the MAGA cancer that is killing it from within. Help restore sanity in government by solidly crushing the MAGA Party in November.
earlthepearl137 