America Lost

America Lost

When I was in college I thought I had a unique perspective on America. Of my seventeen years on earth I had lived six years in the tropics of Latin America, a year in Santa Monica flirting with the children of TV stars in nursery school, four years in the Midwest city of Madison, Wisconsin learning about the difference between oleomargarine and real butter in the Dairy State, three years in the wilds of Northern Appalachia in South-central Maine, and three years under the Roman sun during high school. I was then living in an enclave of liberalism in a sea of red sentiment in Ithaca, New York. The contrasting views between my long-haired and bearded Freshman floor mates and my retired small-grocery-business-owning Aunt and Uncle were an education unto themselves in 1971. The unique perspective was that of an strongly liberal-raised global citizen who wasn’t particularly fond of the expat lifestyle and wanted nothing more than to live in the good old U.S.A. no matter how flawed all the Vietnam Anti-War protestors said America was at that moment. I desperately wanted to live in America and be an American. If you asked me to honestly assess from whence these feelings sprung, I would be forced to say that I missed and craved U.S. television. I refuse to think myself that shallow, so I will suggest that what I really missed and craved was American culture and the American ethos.

When you are a young child and you know no better, where you live is where you live and you adapt to your surroundings in all ways. But then move from the tropics with all its limitations and oppressive heat and humidity to live in the frigid ice-fishing world of Wisconsin. It confuses your soul and challenges all your aspirations. Then spend formative years in Maine and the expanded array of healthy outdoorsy sports (canoes to alpine skiing), but with a cultural wilderness that closes off any semblance of inner spirit. But move to the light in the cultural Mecca of Rome with its history, art and cultural diversity. Now your confused soul is not bereft of aspirations, but overloaded with them going in almost every direction imaginable. I still missed watching Archie Bunker and seeing firsthand the drama of Kent State, so off to Cleveland in the summer of ‘71 to work in the Sociology Department at Case Western Reserve University. That Summer the Cuyahoga River was still smoldering as a symbol of American industry gone on overload. But Cat Stevens started singing in outdoor concerts that now remind me why Cleveland is the right spot for the the Rock n’ Roll Hall of Fame. As I headed to the island of Ithaca to learn and renew my acquaintance with America, I knew only one thing for sure: America was the best country on earth and I wanted to live there.

Five years later when I arrived on the doorstep of the Park Avenue bank where I would work for the next twenty-three years, I was immediately put into the International Division (then already representing 80% of the firm’s profits). There was actually a guy who had gone to the same high school I had attended in Rome (John Mowinckle, who went to Notre Dame International Prep a few years before me). Because I spoke Italian, they wanted me to move back to work in the office in Milan. I declined in favor of covering the financial institutions of upper New England. One might assume this was my vote for my Mainiac culture over my more cultured Roman Holiday, but that would be wrong. That was coincidence. I just wanted to stay living in America. I wasn’t ready to throw myself back into the expat lifestyle. Truth be told, that is the same reason I threw over my studies in Development Economics and Third World Government at the end of Cornell, in favor of getting an MBA in finance. I was a globalist that wanted to stay local.

Why was I so smitten with America even though I would pursue a lifetime career of doing global business? I suppose I could recite all the American mundane lifestyle choices that I preferred, but I sure did also like spending several weeks at a time in Italy relaxing in the warmth of the modern Mediterranean lifestyle of leisure and enlightenment. What I believed I wanted more than anything else was the American psyche. For some reason, everything about America and what it stood for meant so much to me that I could not fathom the thought process of Americans who I knew that went to London on assignment only to choose to remain for a life in the English countryside. Equally, I would scratch my head when I heard of a friend’s daughter who chose to move back to Costa Rica and live the life of privilege as an American in Paradise. Not for me, not for one second.

But here I am in 2020, loving America as I think of it, no less than I ever have, but wondering if the America I know and loved is still America. One of my favorite songs for some reason is Neil Diamond’s America. It tells the tale of immigration and the strength of America that comes from it. I like Bruce and Born in the U.S.A. for similar reason even though there he speaks of the American abandonment of those like him. There is simply something about the ideal of America that keeps bringing me back for more. I could live anywhere I suppose, but I have never owned a home outside these shores and doubt I ever will.

Kim and I have talked about leaving the country if Trump wins re-election. I know lots of people who threaten it. I can say unequivocally that I won’t do it unless Kim drags me away kicking and screaming. I hate few things and no people, but I hate what Trump has done to this country. Maybe I should say that I hate what the people who created and support Trump have made of this country, but the recent news makes me sway back to thinking that it really is Trump himself that is gutting this country of its moral fiber. He may just be the embodiment of a bigger trend, but he has all and more of those tendencies. The thing that has me so very riled up right now is what he is doing to the rule of law and to any semblance of the balance of power that the framers set in place to protect us. His Friday Night Massacre of yet another Inspector General that seeks to potentially criticize one of his acolytes at the State Department is unconscionable. Dismantling the very guardrails that are in place to prevent exactly what he is proceeding to do is shocking in and of itself. Watching supposedly responsible people stand by and allow it to happen under the banner of heaven and a belief that the bigger picture justifies these dangerous steps is something this American never thought he would see in his lifetime.

I am ready to throw anything I have at this problem. I spoke with my friend Cliff this morning and explained why I could support Stacey Abrams for Veep. I feel she may have the best chance of bringing out the maximum vote desperately needed to insure victory against Trump in six months. But in addition, I worry far less about her lack of national political experience than I do about the coming revolution if we do not adequately empower and support the broadest segment of the population. That portion of the population was smoldering in inequality before Coronavirus, but now it is rightly enflamed and building the head of steam that rightly risks overthrowing a government not just silent to its needs, but actively working to suppress and consolidate its high castle against the masses.

I studied modern revolution in college. I was sponsored for and almost chose a path to do graduate work in the realm when my pro-America bent pushed me to business school. Now I feel those old thoughts stirring again and I think it is because without radical and immediate change I feel I risk America Lost.