The early presidential debates

 

I came across an article today that gave me great pause: the first presidential debates were between Kennedy and Nixon, sixty years ago! What gave me pause was that I clearly remember them.

I did not grow up with television. When all the other kids on my block were getting sets, I was reading books. My dad listened faithfully to the radio news every night—I’m sure either Edward R. Murrow or Walter Cronkite. He saw no reason to get one of those new-fangled television things. When I confessed that to a friend tonight, she said, “you missed Howdy Doody and Disney on Sunday Night.” I’m sure I did,  as well as Lassie, Huckleberry Hound, the Mickey Mouse Club, Rin Tin Tin and a host of others. But while other kids were watching Lassie, I was reading Albert Payson Terhune’s books.

All that changed when it was announced that Kennedy and Nixon would debate, and the debates would be carried live on television. Dad went out and bought a cheap television on a cheap metal stand—no grand and glorious wood-encased console for us. The thing sat scrunched in an out-of-the-way corner in the living room, between the small entry and the piano. To watch you either had to sit on the couch or on the bottom stairs—or turn Mom’s wing chair around so it faced the TV.

Dad was an ardent Democrat—we were, after all, in Chicago. Mom, to my memory, was just as ardent in her dislike of Nixon. I’m sure if she’d objected to him during the debates, Dad would have tried to shush her. But in later years, when Nixon finally became president, she would demand that we all look at him and note how shifty his eyes were.

I remember watching those debates. No, alas, I was not a young child. I was probably twenty-one, and I watched with my then-boyfriend. I have no idea of his political leanings, but I know he, the son of a widowed father, liked the family atmosphere at our house. And probably the meals too.

After the debates, Dad watched the evening news regularly, but I do not remember that they got a new and better TV set until 1969 when they retired and built their dream house in North Carolina.

Meantime, I think that childhood without TV shaped me. There have been periods in my life when I watched some programs fairly faithfully—probably “West Wing” was my all-time favorite, but I liked mysteries and some sit-coms in the eighties and nineties.

But as the years went by, I became less and less of a TV fan. Reality shows seemed inane to me, as did game shows like “Jeopardy” and “Wheel of Fortune.” Whereas most of my friends could rattle off names of people made famous by TV, I was ignorant. I knew and occasionally watched Johnny Carson, but my nose was more often in a book.

Today, in the mornings at my desk, I keep the TV on, mostly for the news and to keep one eye on it so that I don’t miss something I need to see, like this morning’s impressive ceremony in the Capitol when Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg lay in state, welcomed by an all-woman program. A mind-blowing moment for me—so impressive.

I will watch the debates, though I often turn the TV off when trump comes on because his bluster and lies make me so angry. But I realize we are living in a significant moment in history, and I will watch and try to avoid Mom’s tendency to yell at the TV when he speaks. I would not be the first to draw a comparison between Nixon and trump, though trump usually comes off as the worst of the two. (Mom’s yelling was, by the by, so uncharacteristic of the type of woman she was, it always amazed me.)

Tonight, though, the TV is off, and I have a new mystery on my Kindle that I’m itching to get to. So, sweet dreams everyone.

Reading faces

TCU’s Office of Extended Education used to offer a non-credit course in face reading—I’m not sure what it was really titled, but as I recall the idea was to cram into one two-hour session as much as you need to know about deciphering a person’s personality, honesty, integrity—all those things—from looking at the face.

It put me in mind of my mother who, in her later years, used to scream every time Richard Nixon came on the TV: “Look at that face! Look at those eyes! You can tell how dishonest he is!” Well, turned out Mom was once again right.

I got to thinking about that the other idea when I saw Carly Fiorina on the TV. I abhor Donald Trump’s misogynistic comments on her appearance. Not only were they generally out of line, they have no place in the political arena. But I got to watching Fiorina’s face during interviews—yes, she smiles sometimes, but the smile never reaches her eyes (and so I’m convinced, it never reaches her soul). Based on that highly subjective impression, regardless of the negative things I’ve heard about her, I wouldn’t vote for her. Her face shows no compassion, no human soul within. I suspect she’s an ambitious machine.

Then I got to looking at other candidates, mostly Democratic: Hillary is a puzzle, because sometimes she looks warm and human, she smiles, her eyes sparkle; but other times she has a hard, calculating look about her. Frequently I think media photographers do their best to catch her in a down moment, a not always flattering time. I would vote for her because I think she’s competent, capable, and knowledgeable—and no more or less corrupt than most people in our government. But her face doesn’t always convince me.

On the other hand, both Bernie Sanders and Joe Biden (is he or isn’t he running?) have wide open happy faces. They are people I’d like to sit and visit with. I have great admiration for and faith in both of them. That says nothing about whether or not they could win the nomination.

I didn’t look much at the Republican candidates because to me they all run into a blur of bland—except Donald Trump, whose face always looks angry. What we don’t need is an angry leader. Other than that, the only Republican leader I can single out for my amateur face reading is Mitch McConnell, and thank heavens he’s not a candidate. But to me he always looks like a prissy, disapproving old maid, his mouth drawn into a moue. an expression of distaste. Oh, of course, there’s always John Boehner, who usually looked grim and sad and was on the edge of tears.

Don’t confine yourself to politics—take a close look at your friends. How open are their expressions? How genuine? How welcoming. After the Pope’s visit, which was to me all about compassion, I’m tempted to ask, “How compassionate are your friends?”