Wouldn’t it be nice to have a federal Cabinet position entitled Grand Old Man? Qualifications would include longevity, magnanimity, and an acute sense of the way things were. The Grand Old Man could head his own little policy shop, let’s say the Office for the Loving Development of Euphoric Nostalgia, or OLDEN. This office would have special enforcement powers like the ability to reinstate the blue laws and revive the sense of a national day of rest and worship. The Grand Old Man could sign into law special injunctions placed on busybodies. He could publicly censure whippersnappers. He could belt-strap politicians on the backside for mistreating a young lady. His office could publish a daily newsletter called “Here Now, Hold Your Horses,” which would hold up any new policy proposal to the light of traditions older than the oldest family line. He would meet regularly with heads of state to inquire whether they had purchased flowers or a hat for the Mrs. The Grand Old Man’s office would be entrusted with enforcement of decency laws. He would give press conferences that would include some of the following phrases: (some humorous) “Victoria’s what?” “Here now, that’s bathroom talk.” (others tragic and imploring) “How can you let those dear girls do that?” “My wife wept till I got rid of cable.”
OLDEN would keep copious files on everyone for the sole purpose of humbling grown men and women with embarrassing stories and photos from their childhood–think of it: Nancy Pelosi in headgear on the evening news. Newt Gingrich reading Dr. Seuss. Hillary Clinton, on a swing, in a sundress, with a real smile on her face. OLDEN would regulate the power grid and develop an elaborate system of controlled blackouts so that, “city folk could see the stars now and again.” It would act as de facto IG to the Department of Agriculture, constantly reminding farm-bill advocates of the ancient laws of property, economy, and “a man’s own two hands.” Divorce courts across the nation would be brought under OLDEN’s sweeping authority. No-fault divorce would give way to well-hell-it’s-gotta-be-somebody’s-fault divorce. Judgments to deny the vast multitude of divorces would be accompanied by simple aphorisms: work it out, think of the kids, forgive her, love him more, pray together, drop the floozy, etc.
Congress would have oversight power concerning OLDEN and would frequently call the Grand Old Man in for hearings. He’d drag his old bones before them on C-Span–and after some good-natured chuckles about the committee members’ moms and dads–they would question him to ensure that he was still Grand, still Old, and, sure enough, still a Man. He would give thorough reports on the regeneration of the family dinner. He would update them on recent nostalgia engendering programs like the new Norman Rockwell Museum on the Mall or the $32.5-million budget of the Institute for Playing Catch, or Doing Chores, or Holding Doors for People. The Grand Old Man would give Power-Point presentations on the value of the youth emulating Andy Griffith or Bill Cosby over “that fellow, Mr. Snoop Dog” or Jack Black. Congressmen would always look a little bewildered during the hearing, but interns would note the senators’ encouraging words that always followed a conversation with the Grand Old Man of OLDEN.
I suppose the mirthless reader would scoff at such a ridiculous notion, and, come to think of it, that may be just the thing to do. No grand old man qualified to be Grand Old Man would ever endorse the department’s creation–let alone head the new-fangled thing. He’d be too grand for that, and, what’s more, he may be just a little too old.
–Matthew Mehan writes from Maryland.