How to Put Together a 3000 Piece Puzzle

Author’s Note: this is a repost of an essay from 2018 because I think the original post may have gremlins, and I’m laying a diabolical trap for them.

Have patience.
Pace yourself.
Take deep cleansing breaths.
Change your perspective, often.
This is either about practicing yoga or putting together a large jigsaw puzzle.

3000 pieces is a gobsmacking lot of pieces. The level of difficulty is turned up to an eleven. It’s like completing six separate 500 piece puzzles with their pieces all mixed together. There is a lot of guesswork involved.

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History Is Only in the Rear View Mirror

With the impeachment hearings going on in the background, it’s hard to write today about other topics on my mind, like Medicare-for-all or whether the laugh track is a spawn of Satan. Comparisons have been made for days back to the 1973 Watergate hearings, although I don’t know if that will turn out to be the right comparison. Historical accounts depict those hearings as riveting coverage that all of America tuned into, day in and day out, when the reality was a little different. I remember because I was there.

Who watched Watergate in color? Only the people in the room. Photo from ABCGo.

One of the reports last night showed a picture from the first day of the hearings, with the green Senate table, splashing across the view like a movie green screen. This is misleading. In 1973, less than half the households in America had color TVs, and even though we had one, that was not the TV being watched in the middle of the day. It would be doctoring the past to describe the hearings with that kind of illustration, though several journalists have done so in recent weeks. The first time I saw that vision, all I could think of was, “Well, the hearings weren’t conducted in color.”

The Senate Select Committee on Watergate convened these public hearings in May 1973, and they continued until September. When it’s noted they were on during the summer, that means All Summer Long. It’s hard for me to imagine today’s Congress or public having the kind of stamina or interest to generate hearings for that long.

There had been precedent: the Army-McCarthy Hearings of 1954. Those televised hearings were on the subject of whether the fanatical anti-Communist Senator Joseph McCarthy had misused his status in helping promote an aide. McCarthy had made a name for himself by accusing the government of being infiltrated by communists, and he was a rising star in the Republican party, which had control of the Senate. For several years, McCarthy had been pointing fingers at the Army for harboring enemies of the state, and the Army in early 1954 started pointing back. The Senate decided to investigate the counterclaims and chose to publicize the hearings. The brand new TV networks were happy to have something interesting to show.

While McCarthy’s tactics, of insinuating that every witness was either communist or homosexual or both, had been effective in Senate testimony, they didn’t work to his advantage in public. He bullied a middle-aged black clerk, Annie Lee Moss, about her work in a code room until it became clear it was a case of mistaken identity, his supporters tried to then revoke the testimony. This prompted Arkansas Democrat John McClellan to argue:

You can’t strike these statements made by counsel here as to evidence that we’re having and withholding. You cannot strike that from the press nor from the public mind once it’s planted there. That’s the – that is the – evil of it. I don’t think it’s fair to a witness, to a citizen of this country, to bring them up here and cross-examine them, then when they get through, say ‘we’ve got something, the FBI’s got something on you that condemns you.’ It is not sworn testimony. It is convicting people by rumor and hearsay and innuendo.

Senator McClellan, Army McCarthy hearings , March 1954
Codeworker Annie Lee Moss at the Army-McCarthy hearings, 1954.

The public nature of those hearings is widely credited with “bringing McCarthy down,” in other words, reducing the public’s appetite for bullying people and using innuendo to substitute for truth. It was likely the reason that Congress chose a public venue in 1973, even though they didn’t know then what they might find.

In 1973, the hearings were live on all of the networks, although by fall, the three big players chose to rotate who showed them because they were losing ratings, especially for soap operas. I remember the big “scandal” at the time that some of the networks wanted to share the load of televising. At the same time, given that there were only four networks available, having all of them devoted all day long to the hearings was annoying, especially to bored kids in the summer who wanted to at least watch some of “The Price is Right” before having to be bored again, wandering outside to see if there was something to do.

What most people saw of the Watergate hearings. Photo at imdb.com.

During the mid-summer months, when John Dean, H.R. Haldeman, and John Ehrlichman were testifying, some of the discussion was fascinating, but less so as less important witnesses came on in the fall. Eventually, the networks dropped pre-empting programming, although PBS maintained a cogent recap through all 51 days of key testimony. If you’re interested, there’s an archive of some of the “gavel-to-gavel” coverage here.

At the time the hearings started, the Watergate scandal had only been reported on for a handful of months, beginning after Nixon’s election in the fall of 1972. Just after the inaugural parties ended and the Vietnam war ended with the Paris Peace Accords, the information was still unfolding. The hearings provided critical facts not well known–bombshells like the fact that the White House had tapes and testimony from John Dean about the president’s attempts to interfere with the investigation (which kept going up until the day he boarded Air Force One).

Former top aide to the president, H.R. Haldeman testifies before the Senate Watergate Committee in Washington for the second day, July 31, 1973. Behind Haldeman are his attorneys John J. Wilson, left, and Frank Strickler. (AP Photo)

Haldeman and Ehrlichman, as the twin drivers of the president’s agenda, were loyal aides to the end, although their testimony included damning details. Both were asked by Nixon to resign two weeks before the hearings started, as Nixon tried to minimize the damage by pointing fingers at his staff. Both asked for pardons as well, and Nixon refused. So much for loyalty. Haldeman testified, with reluctance, about topics including about the tapes. One tape, that had the famous 18-1/2 minute gap, was with Haldeman as was the so-called “Smoking Gun” tape, where Nixon discussed using the CIA to shift the FBI’s investigation of Watergate to other topics. Haldeman was convicted of perjury and obstruction of justice and served a year and a half in jail.

But the “Smoking Gun,” the convictions, the 18-1/2 minute gap, the firing of Archibald Cox, the resignation of Spiro Agnew due to the investigation of bribery and extortion, the Nixon Impeachment hearings, and the eventual resignation of Nixon himself were all yet to come as these hearings took place. It’s easy to encapsulate all that now in five minutes but harder to see where it would turn out in May of 1973.

Nixon was re-elected in 1972 with 61% of the vote. He carried 49 states. He was reviled by Democrats and by many Republicans in his own party but had found the right time and place to take advantage of election mechanics to sweep himself into office. He didn’t leave office until a year after the hearings, and only as legal maneuvers to get to the tapes–which he knew held such damning information that even his own party couldn’t ignore–were resolved.

The devil will emerge from the details of these hearings, but there will be a lot of details, and it will be hard to spot the devil at first. Maybe they can edit him in using the Green Screen.

Go on Home (Day 17, Final Mosey)

One last sunrise left in our Left Coast Mosey. Photo by kajmeister.

“Crap, it’s hot!”

The midmorning autumn sun was lasing into the windows of the Fun Car as we loaded it one last time. It gave me an instant headache. Wasn’t it raining just yesterday? Didn’t we spend all of Oregon trying to choose between windbreaker slicker, Danish raincoat, and umbrella?

Over the Green Pass into Chaparral

We had come over the Siskiyou Pass the previous night, south from Ashland in a setting sun that kept trying to peek through a cloud bank. The Pass is the highest point on I-5 at 4310 feet, and my ears popped coming down as KK, the better driver, carefully navigated among cautious truckers manually downshifting and deathwish sports cars.

I was treated to a stunning view of rolling brown hills of the Cascade-Siskiyou Forest to the east and Klamath to the west, polka-dotted with pumpkin-colored tamaracks. Just after the California border, the trees dropped away into what looks like desert, although this is chaparral, high desert. Central California is full of rolling hills with drought-reistant thickets like manazanitas. It just looks brown compared with the green we’ve left, but this is its own kind of tough and hardy place, as much as the climate and people we’ve left in the north.

Shasta gives us the view that Mt. Hood and Mt. Rainier held back. California knew we were coming home. Photo by kajmeister.
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A Drive through Small Towns and Fading Memories (Day 5)

KK had a memory, as we drove past these Oregon beaches, of daughter Lee and herself flying down the dunes at a hundred miles an hour on one of those crazy rides they would take together. We could not remember where Kelson was. I would have been elsewhere, on a slow-moving trolley contraption of some sort, as I don’t like scary rides. When was that?

Lee on Lincoln City beach, photo by kajmeister

The happy problem of too many memories.

Was Kelson with us? Was he with his friend in Cleveland that one summer? Down at camp?–no, Lee would have been at camp at the same time. How old were they? I think seven and nine because that’s when they were the best traveling companions, after they learned to mind us and ask interesting questions but before they lapsed into teenage silent nods and shrugs.

Lincoln City

Continuing north, we passed Lincoln City, which is world famous for its kites. Sure enough, they had a kite festival in play, but we had cleverly flown ours on a more deserted beach, the day before. Meanwhile, I found the picture of the original One that Got Away with proof that Kelson was with us. Your Honor, if it please the court, this was 2004, and I was exactly right with the ages.

Me, Kelson, and offending kite in 2004. The kids painted the hat. Photo by kajmeister.

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We Don’t Remember the Future Imperfect

Author’s Note: I apologize, in advance, for mangling Spanish, misinterpreting quantum physics, and injecting so many puns into this essay.

Time is perfect. We are imperfect. We remember only the past. We don’t remember the future.

The past is always tense, the future perfect.

Zadie Smith

This quote from English novelist Zadie Smith is today’s provocative question (muchas gracias, Fandango). It suggests we remember the negatives and hope for the positives. The future hasn’t occurred, so it can be what our imagination creates. This is also a play on grammar, which is a subject much on my mind these days as I am attempting to learn Spanish. So, for me, the tense is confusing. The present might be more like the collapse of a wave, given that the arrow only goes one direction. But the Multiverses suggest that the arrows might go several directions, if we could but see them, and that would make the future perfect. Let me explain what I mean.

One view of the Multi-verse, photo of Into the Spider-verse by Sony Pictures

Tenses Are Difficult. Futures Are Also Difficult.

The use of the word Tense, in the sense of verbs and grammar, comes from the Old French word for time which was tens. That’s not to be confused with the current French word for time, temps; language has changed. Language, like time, moves forward (and collapses). The word does not refer to “tense” as in stretchiness, which comes from the Latin tendere. This is why Zadie Smith’s quote is a looping play on words, since it mixes emotions and grammatical expressions, and either deliberately or innocently uses them wrongly. Tense does not mean tension. It is a homophone. Which is intense. And perhaps what she intended.

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