Thursday, May 12, 2005

On Our Current Commander in Chief

From Moon for the Misbegotten, stage description of T. Stedman Harder, the Standard Oil tycoon about to get eviscerated by the lumpen Hogans.

Harder is in his late thirties, but looks younger because his face is unmarked by worry, ambition, or any of the common hazards of life. No matter how long he lives, his four undergraduate years will always be for him the most significant in his life, and the moment of his highest achievement the time he was tapped for an exclusive Senior Society at the Ivy university to which his father had given millions. Since that day he has felt no need for further aspiring, no urge to do anything except settle down on his estate and live the life of a country gentleman, mildly interested in saddle horses and sports models of foreign automobiles. He is not the blatantly silly, playboy heir to millions whose antics make newspaper headlines. He doesn't drink much except when he attends his class reunion every year -- the most exciting episode of each year for him. He doesn't gieve wild parties, doesn't chase after musical-comedy cuties, is a mildly contented husband and father of three children. A not unpleasant man, affable, good-looking in an ordinary way, sunburnt and healthy. beginning to take on fat, he is simply immature, naturally lethargic, a bit stupid. Coddled from birth, everything arranged and made easy for him, deferred to because of his wealth, he usually has the self-confident attitude of acknowledged superiority, but assumes a supercilious, insecure air when dealing with people beyond his ken.

Italics and boldface my own and contrast with the Yankee Peddler transmorgified into the Texan Terror, via his years as the Audie Murphy of the Texas Air National Guard, or whatever they called it back then.


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