The country could use a good laugh
Early in his term, Donald Trump was asked how he became so wealthy. “It was entirely involuntary,” he answered. “My father was wealthy.”
On another occasion he made light of his upbringing. “I had it tough as a kid. My family had two limos. Every day one of the limos had to stay in the garage while I took the other to polo practice.
“You can’t believe what a sacrifice that was. My friends never knew the Trumps owned two big, beautiful cars.”
At a political fundraiser last year, he read a “message” from wife Melanie, telling him to please lay off dipping into the family bank account for political expenses. The first lady said, “I refuse to believe you need to win in a landslide. Isn’t it enough just to win?”
Of course you never heard these instances of presidential humor because they never happened. Donald Trump may have been the least funniest president of all time. (I cannot vouch for Presidents Millard Fillmore or William Henry Harrison.)
Even on those occasions when being funny was almost demanded Trump never took the opportunity. At the New York City Catholic diocese Al Smith dinner in 2016 – the dinner wasn’t held this year because of COVID-19 – he was his usual truculent self.
And if you think making fun of people with disabilities is funny, as candidate Trump did on the campaign trail four years ago, then what’s the matter with you?
Sure, most presidents have not been great wits, but most have told a joke or two, once in a while, or shown in other ways they have a sense of humor. I suspect Joe Biden is not naturally funny but he has shown he can take a ribbing. The satirical publication The Onion has skewered Biden for years without a peep of complaint from the man himself.
Trump gets dumped on by Saturday Night Live, and Alec Baldwin is suddenly an “enemy of the people” or some such thing.
We should expect our politicians to at least try to be funny, when the situation calls for it.
Indeed, we citizens should be a little suspicious when a politician comes along who takes himself, or herself, so seriously they fail to tell a joke now and then. Holding office is not like being in vaudeville, but come on.
Humor, especially humor directed at yourself or a situation, can bring a sense of perspective. Here’s a rule of thumb: a funny, ironic pol is not by nature a menacing pol. A politician minus a funny bone can signal trouble. Sometimes big trouble.
Here’s what I mean by humor bringing perspective. Way back in the day, a Pennsylvania senator by the name of Boies Penrose defended a fellow senator – a Mormon – whose religious view of marriage evidently offended the moral sensibilities of some colleagues, even those who had only a middling acquaintance with marital fidelity.
“I would rather,” Penrose intoned, “have seated beside me in this chamber a polygamist who doesn’t poly than a monogamist who doesn’t monog.”
The senator – Reed Smoot – served the people of Utah for three decades in Washington, which, incidentally, was once described by one political wag as a city of “Northern hospitality and Southern efficiency.”
Talk about hitting the nail on the head.
I suspect Penrose was not the least bit pompous. We know he was both rascally and flexible. He told H.C. Frick, the coke king, to give workers the raises they were asking for and pay for them later by demanding Congress raise tariffs.
He was clear-eyed. “The people are all right,” he said, “but their tastes are simple: they dearly love hokum.”
Ronald Reagan told a laughing press corps, “Before I refuse to take your questions, I have an opening statement.”
Bill Clinton likened the presidency to cemetery work: “You have a lot of people under you and nobody’s listening.”
Richard Robbins lives in Uniontown. His latest book “JFK Rising” is available on Amazon. He can be reached at dick.l.robbins@gmail.com.