Eyes on West Virginia and Joe Manchin’s Cross to Bear
This is a parable in two stanzas
The Parable of Nestor Richardson
One Sunday morning, in church, I was about 12, I think, I noticed Mae Richardson stroll into church with her husband, Nestor. Why I noticed is that in all my life I had never seen Nestor in church. Just Mrs Richardson. My mother simply glanced over, and muttered under her breath, “I see Nestor’s down at the foot of Cross,” in that busybody tone of disapproval I grew to just love over the years.
I didn’t know what she meant at the time, and it would be eight or nine years before I’d I learn the history behind it, when my Dad let loose with the story as a parable to me, since I was in college chasing after girls in bars myself by that time. It seems Nestor, a ranking 1st shift miner, had gotten drunk one Saturday night at a saloon in a nearby town and succame (Isaiah Thomas) to the allures of the house doxie, Lurleen Bradshaw. Almost everybody knew her. She’d probably turned more boys into men than the Army training battalion at Ft Dix.
Small town, good job, family, a single wayward step, so it didn’t make much sense for a woman to throw out a perfectly good bread winner over a drunken affaire d’echine (loins). So, throughout history I suppose, the proper social penalty among the common people was always to put the repentant husband “at the foot of the Cross”, the standard period 3-6 months; of cold bed, cold meals, cold stares and cold words, with at least 3-4 days of the dreaded skunk eye; total silence, and a bedroll in the back seat of the Nash.
A certain amount of public self-flagellation was also required, witnessed by Nestor showing up in church that Sunday, in a white shirt he must have been married in, a size too small, veins popping out on his neck, and the damndest bass-jumping-out-of-a-lake handpainted lavender tie I’d ever seen. Only one other time in my life, when Bill Clinton got caught on camera telling a joke at Ron Brown’s funeral, had I ever seen such a hang-dog look on a man’s face. I recall someone saying they’d even seen Nestor pushing a cart down the aisles and looking at cans of butter beans with his wife at the A&P. Talk about public penance. Oh, the mortification!
The foot of the Cross was always serious business in small gemeinschafft communities.
It saved families, you see.
Well, you can see where this is going. The entire, not some, but the entire Democrat Party is at the foot of Cross in America right now. And today they’re all out there, on the stump, in their ads, in their speeches, in their whispers while kissing babies, “Oh, Lord, I know that every night’s a Saturday night, and every day’s a Sunday. I know I done wrong…just gimme one more chance. Please” (Brother Dave Gardner)
Almost every Democrat in America, save the plantation managers in the CBC, are telling their constituents they have reformed…
…only, if you’ve noticed, not one of them has spent that first night in the garage. No cold bed, no cold taters, no cold stare. Just words and promises.
There’s a lesson here.
The other side of the Nestor Richardson parable is this: Had Nestor come home with lipstick on his collar and his wife began throwing pots and pans, then banished him to the couch just one night, and the next evening he simply sidled back up to Mae, and eased back into the warmth of connubial bliss…the rule is, no, the law is, he also would be back in Lurleen’s charming arms as well within a Saturday or two, only a little more cautious…and then…the end of that family would become a certainty.
Obviously women are wiser than men in these matters, which is one reason why we’ve turned the wisdom and soul of the Republican Party over to them. They understand the real stakes here. Saving the family.
Joe Manchin’s Cross to Bear
Joe Manchin is not at the foot of any cross. By all reports, he’s fairly conservative on a lot of issues, and some Republicans believe that even if he wins he’ll vote with Republicans to forestall the predicted “get even” lame-duck session. After all, he’s promised.
Maybe he will…………………………………………………Just don’t bet on it.
The real question, can West Virginia afford to take this chance? Seeing the break up of so many families in America this year, can they afford to have to sit back and wait six whole years before divorcing this lying stack of cow patties…if of course, that is the case.
He put the D on his name, I didn’t, and they’re a race of lying you-know-what’s…right, Woodrow? That D is Joe Manchin’s cross.
So, Joe Manchin’s has this heavy cross to bear, perhaps not of his making, but then again, most aren’t, are they? His cross is those 300-plus lying congressional SOB’s already at the foot of America’s cross, who have tarnished his and every other Democrat’s name in America for a long time. And while the first law of politics at election time may be “I know I done wrong, just give me one more chance”, the first law of the Democrat Party is “You will then have two more whole years to get people to forget your last lie and come up with a better one.”
The honest truth of it is, the Democrat Party has to rebuild along the long lines of what the Republicans are doing right now, and if he’s an honest man and truly interested in public service, he may well be in the vanguard of that new Democratic Party, which is always the second part of all my prayers for Republican success this year and 2012.
(We’ll be talking about this a lot come January, for the ultimate goal is to have both parties playing again on the same field, as defined by the Constitution, that other field totally destroyed, the marijuana plants plowed up and reseeded in soy beans. We have a way.)
If Joe thinks he’s a good honest man, he can sit out in the barn with that cross on his shoulders, then run against Raese in 2012 or Jay Rockefeller in 2014…from the right. Now that would be what I call a redemptive act, worthy of the people’s notice. I’d even go over there and vote for him myself, where I understand it is still pretty easy for an out-of-stater to vote…on short notice.
By the way: My Dad’s last words of advice to me, after telling me about Nestor’s fall from grace was, “Son, I know on Saturdays you probably like go out sow your wild oats. It would be helpful to me and your mother if on Sunday morning, we knew you weren’t in church always praying for a crop failure.”
The Democrats harvest has come in.