Arlo Guthrie and the Disappearing Railroad Blues

Not really going to wax politic today -- there's enough of that going around lately.

But, 'tis the season for wondering just exactly what direction our beloved America is going to take shortly after the New Year dawns and a new President is sworn in. "The people have spoken" and the consensus is in: change is in the air. 

And not the kind that was paired so poetically with hope a mere eight years ago under the aegis of a new President riding his own wave of populism. Oh, no, there will be none of that. This change has swelled the river banks of rage and unrest and has kicked in the teeth of every pundit and pollster across our great land, ushering in the once-unthinkable man of the people -- the one who promises that America will, indeed, be great again.

Whilst pondering on this day after Thanksgiving -- and, by the way, I am immensely thankful for the blessings I have received; those of family and friends, generally good health, a job that supports me and allows me to contribute modestly to the general welfare of those around me -- I happened to begin humming a few lines from the Arlo Guthrie song, The City of New Orleans. (Actually, Arlo only covered the song; it was written by Steve Goodman.)

But, I digress...

The rousing chorus is what popped into my head:

Good morning, America, how are you?Say, don't you know me? I'm your native sonI'm the train they call the City Of New OrleansI'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done

I am connected to this song for a number of reasons. I like the folk/protest feel, the gritty, bluesy, sing-it-like-it-is character. I like the memories of the Illinois Central Railroad, which ran right smack dab through the middle of my hometown, giving rise to the relatively poor excuse of a public park we played in when we were kids (we didn't care -- we just though the monkey bars were cool!)

But the route elicited in the song and on the railways, from Kankakee through Memphis, Tennessee and on down to 'Nawlins, is something of a metaphor for our country and the hard times that have befallen us. The old, grey railroad ain't what she used to be -- to borrow another musical metaphor. And, one gets the gut-level feeling, neither is America.

Hence, the results of our General Election just past.

Goodman writes and Guthrie sings:

But, all the towns and people seem to fade into a bad dream
And the steel rail still ain't heard the news
The conductor sings his songs again - the passengers will please refrain
This train got the disappearing railroad blues

I wonder which way America is headed. I hope and pray for the best, not so much for me and my generation, but for my children and my grandchildren, and their children and so on.

And, mothers with their babes asleep rocking to the gentle beat

The train rolls on. The nation rolls on.

But, where?

There's No Stifling Archie Bunker

Like lots of other folks, I’ve tried my best to understand the rise of Donald Trump and his rhetoric-inflected political style. A number of sources have been offered – variously blaming different stripes of liberalism (“political correctness”) or conservatism (“Fox News.”) I suppose you can pick your poison.

World leaders like der Führer (Adolf Hitler) and Il Duce (Benito Mussolini) have come to the minds of many with long-enough memories to pull up WWII. As a child of the 1970’s, a more populist (if no less strident) personality has risen from the bell-bottomed well of my mind: Archie Bunker. Yes, he of All in the Family fame.

Controversial and extremely popular, the 1970's sitcom was written and produced by Norman Lear – one of the media/elite/liberals of the day. Archie, as the lead character, was lifted up and lambasted as a racially-insensitive, popular-culture-bashing, equal opportunity bigot. It was obvious, from the context of the show, that Archie was wrong on so many fronts: his opinions of women, his prejudices against every race but his own (White Anglo-Saxon Protestant, of course,) his definite distrust of big government, and his especially-escalated disdain for “fruitcakes” – a leading light opposing homosexuality, if you will.

Yet, Archie loved America and, in truth, his family – so all was forgiven in the end. 

He was a lovable lout of a very different sort than had ever been seen on American television. (On a side note, I remember my pastor lamenting from the pulpit: “This new show called All in the Family sure seems to be awfully popular. Well, I’ll tell you – it’s not all in my family!” He was not a fan.)

Fast forward 40+ years, and Archie Bunker has hit the big time. Rather, Donald Trump has struck a chord with heir-apparent Archie Bunkers all over America. What was once intended as an epic parody of an untenable worldview has now become a whole other sort of fashionable.

Nowhere is the mindset on clearer display than the lyrics to the show’s theme song, Those Were the Days, written for the producers by Lee Adams and Charles Strouse.

Boy, the way Glen Miller played. Songs that made the hit parade.
Guys like us, we had it made. Those were the days.
And you knew who you were then, girls were girls and men were men.
Mister, we could use a man like Herbert Hoover again.
Didn't need no welfare state. Everybody pulled his weight.
Gee, our old LaSalle ran great. Those were the days.

Nostalgia is a powerful force, whether it is for a past that is based in reality and truth – or, whether it is a hopeful vision of “what should have been.” Everybody who tuned in from 1971-1976 (when All in the Family was the #1 show in America) knew that Archie’s barbed witticisms and slanted perceptions were based on the latter. Nobody really wanted Herbert Hoover for president again. (Hoover’s policies were widely seen as aggravating what came to be known as The Great Depression, 1929-40.)

But now, it seems, Archie’s opinions – once the domain of satire – have come full circle and risen to the level of a movement -- all in the name of “making America great again” – supposedly by restoring a set of lost values that are difficult to pin down in actuality. But, Trump promises that he can somehow make them happen.

The appeal of his message is visceral; rationality and feasibility do not matter. Trump has managed to hit all the right notes in capturing the essence of the All in the Family closing theme (from a rarely heard second verse of the show’s song):

People seemed to be content. Fifty dollars paid the rent.
Freaks were in a circus tent. Those were the days….

I don't know just what went wrong. [But] those were the days.

Archie’s long-suffering wife, Edith, was often commanded by Archie, upon offering her own (often contrary) opinion: “Stifle yourself, Edith!”

Hmmmm. Sounds familiar.