Election Night

Last night I wasted a few hours watching the television coverage of the election results and came away with one question: who in the Hell told these clowns, these talking heads and "expert commentators," that they were journalists?

Where are the H.L. Menckens, the Heywood Brouns, the Dorothy Parkers, the Ring Lardners, and even the Edward Murrows of this generation? Have we lowered our expectations to such a level that we somehow equate celebrity with competence? To put it another way, have we become the same intellectual riff-raff that our parents warned us to avoid?

As to the whereabouts of the writers mentioned above I would suggest that they are either watching from above, in that corner of heaven reserved for those that devoted themselves to commenting on the follies of humanity, shaking their heads at the sorry state of their once admirable profession or else disgustedly turning in their graves.

They were true masters of the written or, in Murrow's case, spoken word. These were people that you either loved or hated depending on your own point of view, but they never let concerns about their popularity influence what they wrote. In the vernacular of Lardner's beloved baseball, they called them as they saw them. These are just a few of the more memorable words by these truly gifted commentators.

Mencken: "If x is the population of the United States and y is the degree of imbecility of the average American, then democracy is the theory that x times y is less than y."

"The New Deal began, like the Salvation Army, by promising to save humanity. It ended, again like the Salvation Army, by running flop-houses and disturbing the peace."

"When A annoys or injures B on the pretense of saving or improving X, A is a scoundrel.

Broun: "Everybody favors free speech in the slack moments when no axes are being ground."

"A technical objection is the first refuge of a scoundrel."

"Sports do not build character. They reveal it."

Parker: "This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force."

"If you want to know what God thinks of money, just look at the people he gave it to."

"The only ism Hollywood believes in is plagiarism."

Lardner: "No one, ever, wrote anything as well even after one drink as he would have done without it."

"A good many young writers make the mistake of enclosing a stamped, self-addressed envelope, big enough for the manuscript to come back in. This is too much of a temptation to the editor."

"I've known what it is to be hungry, but I always went right to a restaurant."

Murrow: "Just because your voice reaches halfway around the world doesn't mean you are wiser than when it reached only to the end of the bar."

"Anyone who isn't confused really doesn't understand the situation."

"We cannot defend freedom abroad by deserting it at home."

Regarding my second question I would say that we have reached the point that we are too lazy to think for ourselves and would rather accept the opinions of someone that, by the uncertainties of chance, happens to have won first prize in the popularity lottery.

The answer to my third question is quite simple: it is an unequivocal yes.

Maybe we don't deserve anything other than mediocrity, or outright incompetence, simply because we are so willing to accept it. And that, gentle reader, is a truly disturbing thought.