They always were there for me. Cheerful, reliable, decent. Not a con man, sex offender or compulsive liar among them.
The kind of folks who more than likely pull over and yank your car out of a snowdrift. Even if they didn’t know you.
Partly because that’s the way they are, and partly because they were a bit more likely than my liberal friends to own a 4-by-4 with good snows, a chain in the bed and knowledge of how to use them. My Trumpy friends.
It was the John McCain thing that began my descent into broken-hearted reality.
“He’s not a war hero. He was hero because he was captured. … I like people who weren’t captured,” said Donald Trump.
I said to my naïve self back in 2015, “Well that’s the end of that draft-dodging, science-denying, Putin-worshipping, con-man’s political career.”
Such a fool was I then.
To say that John McCain, who flew 23 missions over North Vietnam, was shot down, captured, imprisoned five and a half years, repeatedly and horribly tortured, refused offers of early release was not a hero. Who would believe that? Who would vote for the creep who said it?
And if McCain was not a hero, what about the 687 other American POWs and 1,600 MIAs (remember MIAs?) from Vietnam? Also not heroes? And the thousands, freezing in Korean prison camps in 1951?
Or murdered on the Bataan Death March in 1942, or dying in the muck of Andersonville Prison in 1864? And the KIAs, from 1776 to Putin’s reported bounties last year? And the maimed.
Didn’t get away.
Suckers. Losers, said Trump.
So, in her grinning silence, agrees Elise Stefanik.
And so do my wonderful Trumpy friends, I guess.
The writer is served in the U.S. Air Force in Vietnam in 1967-68 and is a retired member of the Vermont Army National Guard.