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Now the real test begins
Henley Morgan
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Good morning, Mr Prime Minister. How are you feeling today? Don't give me the obligatory, "This is the first day of the rest of my life" or any of that crap. I want to know how you feel deep down inside where human eyes cannot peer and no instrument can measure the emotions.
You can't understand why the torrent of joy that descended on you Monday night is so quickly dissipating? There is a funny feeling inside: one of joy mingled with a tinge of anxiety or even sorrow? It's a human condition, Sir. The feeling is natural among people who ascend to lofty heights or attain a great victory after an arduous climb or hot pursuit. It's called anticlimax, and it comes after a climax.
You are laughing now, Sir. That's a good sign, even if it doesn't last for long. The feeling of déjà vu (feeling let down as if the prize does not match the effort) is best treated with humour. It's either that or those horrible anti-depressant drugs. You may as well grin and bear it. I have just the right antidote for you: a funny story to tickle you.
When Pius III became Pope in 1503 he was taken on a tour of his living quarters at the Vatican. The holy man was shown one room after the other until he came to one bearing the papal bed. Ornate and beautiful, it was the ambition of every aspiring priest to sleep in this famous bed. Pius stood as if he were mummified; his gaze transfixed on the bed. Feeling uncomfortable, the tour guide broke the silence. "It's beautiful, is it not?" Pius' response took the guide by surprise. "It is beautiful. But I shall die in it." Ambition is a hell of a thing, Sir. The end sometimes leaves one with nowhere to run. What's that you say? I mustn't take serious something and make joke. I am sorry, Sir.
Let's change course. I heard your one-time mentor Eddie Seaga tell this joke. It was shortly after one of those rarest of occasions when he was elected prime minister. I am not sure if it was an original. You know how he likes to pretend he is the first to do anything and everything. Anyhow, in this speech he was giving he compared running for the country's highest office to a dog chasing a car. When the dog catches the car he knows not what to do with it. Sir, do you suppose it is out of frustration why dogs twinkle on the wheels of cars when they happen to find one stationary and why politicians so often do a similar action to those looking up to them for leadership? You are laughing, Sir. I bet that's because the joke is on Eddie and not on you.
With that little encouragement I will continue, Sir. This is a true story. Months into his presidency, Ronald Reagan was coming under immense pressure concerning unkept campaign promises. He made matters worse for himself by saying he would not accept full blame for the unemployment rate which was close to 9 per cent. Great mathematician that he was, he figured out that since the rate was already 7 per cent when he assumed the presidency only 2 per cent could be attributed to him. Please, Mr Prime Minister, do not laugh so hard, I have not told the joke yet.
Anyhow, the president was to give a major address to be televised nationally. He had a press secretary. I think the man's name was Art Buchwald. The president's instructions to him were clear. It went something like this: I do not intend to hide from the issues. I want you to write me a speech in which I recite every campaign promise I made and close it with me saying how I intend to keep each promise. Buchwald went to work on the speech, finishing it on Air Force One enroute to the city where the president would be giving the address. Being somewhat of an absent-minded fellow, the president never so much as looked at the speech until he was at the podium delivering it.
The general tone of the speech was as follows: I said that I would increase Medicare for the elderly and that I would do it without increasing taxes. I am keeping my promise and I will tell you how. I said that I would increase social security for those who are at risk and that I would do it without increasing taxes. I am keeping my promise and I will tell you how. And so the speech went on, with the president listing a number of areas in which benefits to the populace would be increased without increasing taxes, followed by a commitment to say how this feat would be accomplished.
The president was at his oratorical best delivering the prepared speech. He got to the last promise at the bottom of a page; looked the audience in the eye and confidently proclaimed, "Now I will tell you how". Then he flipped to the next page. But all the page bore was the scribbling of the speech writer. "You tell them how, Mr President."
Sir, this one seems to have hit the funny bone. You are laughing so hard tears are welling up in your eyes. What did you say? Ask your friends to come in so you can share this moment together? There are no friends here, Sir. Only some people sounding as if they are debt collectors. I guess this is what is meant by a pyrrhic victory (a victory won at great cost); which, Sir, is where we began and where we will leave this conversation.
Mr Prime Minister, the tears in your eyes, are you laughing or are you crying? Mr Prime Minister, this is only a joke, Sir. Now the real test begins.
hmorgan@cwjamaica.com
Henley Morgan
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Good morning, Mr Prime Minister. How are you feeling today? Don't give me the obligatory, "This is the first day of the rest of my life" or any of that crap. I want to know how you feel deep down inside where human eyes cannot peer and no instrument can measure the emotions.
You can't understand why the torrent of joy that descended on you Monday night is so quickly dissipating? There is a funny feeling inside: one of joy mingled with a tinge of anxiety or even sorrow? It's a human condition, Sir. The feeling is natural among people who ascend to lofty heights or attain a great victory after an arduous climb or hot pursuit. It's called anticlimax, and it comes after a climax.
You are laughing now, Sir. That's a good sign, even if it doesn't last for long. The feeling of déjà vu (feeling let down as if the prize does not match the effort) is best treated with humour. It's either that or those horrible anti-depressant drugs. You may as well grin and bear it. I have just the right antidote for you: a funny story to tickle you.
When Pius III became Pope in 1503 he was taken on a tour of his living quarters at the Vatican. The holy man was shown one room after the other until he came to one bearing the papal bed. Ornate and beautiful, it was the ambition of every aspiring priest to sleep in this famous bed. Pius stood as if he were mummified; his gaze transfixed on the bed. Feeling uncomfortable, the tour guide broke the silence. "It's beautiful, is it not?" Pius' response took the guide by surprise. "It is beautiful. But I shall die in it." Ambition is a hell of a thing, Sir. The end sometimes leaves one with nowhere to run. What's that you say? I mustn't take serious something and make joke. I am sorry, Sir.
Let's change course. I heard your one-time mentor Eddie Seaga tell this joke. It was shortly after one of those rarest of occasions when he was elected prime minister. I am not sure if it was an original. You know how he likes to pretend he is the first to do anything and everything. Anyhow, in this speech he was giving he compared running for the country's highest office to a dog chasing a car. When the dog catches the car he knows not what to do with it. Sir, do you suppose it is out of frustration why dogs twinkle on the wheels of cars when they happen to find one stationary and why politicians so often do a similar action to those looking up to them for leadership? You are laughing, Sir. I bet that's because the joke is on Eddie and not on you.
With that little encouragement I will continue, Sir. This is a true story. Months into his presidency, Ronald Reagan was coming under immense pressure concerning unkept campaign promises. He made matters worse for himself by saying he would not accept full blame for the unemployment rate which was close to 9 per cent. Great mathematician that he was, he figured out that since the rate was already 7 per cent when he assumed the presidency only 2 per cent could be attributed to him. Please, Mr Prime Minister, do not laugh so hard, I have not told the joke yet.
Anyhow, the president was to give a major address to be televised nationally. He had a press secretary. I think the man's name was Art Buchwald. The president's instructions to him were clear. It went something like this: I do not intend to hide from the issues. I want you to write me a speech in which I recite every campaign promise I made and close it with me saying how I intend to keep each promise. Buchwald went to work on the speech, finishing it on Air Force One enroute to the city where the president would be giving the address. Being somewhat of an absent-minded fellow, the president never so much as looked at the speech until he was at the podium delivering it.
The general tone of the speech was as follows: I said that I would increase Medicare for the elderly and that I would do it without increasing taxes. I am keeping my promise and I will tell you how. I said that I would increase social security for those who are at risk and that I would do it without increasing taxes. I am keeping my promise and I will tell you how. And so the speech went on, with the president listing a number of areas in which benefits to the populace would be increased without increasing taxes, followed by a commitment to say how this feat would be accomplished.
The president was at his oratorical best delivering the prepared speech. He got to the last promise at the bottom of a page; looked the audience in the eye and confidently proclaimed, "Now I will tell you how". Then he flipped to the next page. But all the page bore was the scribbling of the speech writer. "You tell them how, Mr President."
Sir, this one seems to have hit the funny bone. You are laughing so hard tears are welling up in your eyes. What did you say? Ask your friends to come in so you can share this moment together? There are no friends here, Sir. Only some people sounding as if they are debt collectors. I guess this is what is meant by a pyrrhic victory (a victory won at great cost); which, Sir, is where we began and where we will leave this conversation.
Mr Prime Minister, the tears in your eyes, are you laughing or are you crying? Mr Prime Minister, this is only a joke, Sir. Now the real test begins.
hmorgan@cwjamaica.com
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