Yale's Dirty Little Secret
By James T. Moore (03/25/07)
I mean, now honestly, if you were the provost at Yale University, or any member of the school's distinguished faculty, or even one of its illustrious alumni, would you really be proud to call George W. Bush a fellow Bonesman? (Bonehead, perhaps, but not Bonesman)
This is the bozo, remember, that in his younger days was nothing more than a boozer, brawler. doper, liar, womanizer, double-dealer, devil-may-care Texas misfit who not only was a disgrace to his family (if it can be disgraced) but also a quintessential example of what went wrong with the boomer generation.
Well, when your father, and his father, and who knows how many fathers before them were all Bones Boys, and in the halo of this the wayward lad promised to mend his ways and change his lifestyle, how could Yale, in all good political conscience, refuse him admittance? Especially since there were some big Bush bucks at stake.
And so it was that George W. Bush shuffled off to Yale and almost made it through. He had two weeks to go when he copped out to try for an MBA at Harvard; from where he copped out to join the Texas National Guard; from where he copped out long enough to avoid being sent to the exotic Far East, where it was possible he might see a bit of blood. Perhaps even his own.
After he came forth out of structured obscurity---like Phoenix rising out of the ashes---he managed to, through “family and business connections”, squeeze himself into the job of Governor of Florida, where he reached the summit of gubernatorial accomplishment by summarily executing more than a hundred inmates on death row, more than any other governor in America, one of whom he laughed at when the condemned prisoner begged him for mercy.
At Yale. meanwhile, they were on pins and needles, hemming and hawing. The name George W. Bush wasn’t exactly evoking cheers of fraternal camaraderie. Until…until George, by hook or by crook (take your pick) managed to steal the U.S. presidency away from Gore in 2000. and thus became the most powerful (if delusional) president that America, with few exceptions, has ever had.
At which point the Yale hierarchy crawled out of its shell and with newly-minted enthusiasm went wild with joy in the knowledge that another of its notable alumni had attained the power and prestige that Yalies (and particularly Bonesmen) are presumed destined for. George W. Bush was one of theirs. Great things were expected of him, and as the world’s most powerful and influential leader, he was now in a position to deliver; and the Yale Establishment felt paternally, and justifiably, proud.
And then, like toothpaste being squeezed out of a tube, this “pride of Yale” began showing his true colors and they weren’t the blue and white of Yale, or the crimson of Harvard, or the red, white, (and mostly blue) of the Texas National guard, or even the dangling white fringe on the multi-colored Presidential flag. No, George Bush’s true colors---red, yellow, brown, and gray---Red: for killer instinct, Yellow: for gutlessness, Brown: for intellectual shallowness, and Gray: for dangerous mood swings, all reflecting a tetrad of personal characteristics which shook Yale (or should have) to its foundation, and caused some nervous coughs and groans among the austere Yale officialdom.
So, the University reluctantly and unobtrusively backed off any outward indications of pride in its sanitized son. How could they do otherwise? President or no president, the Yale hierarchy quietly squelched any desire to wave the banner any longer for a man who wages preemptive wars, is indifferent to fiscal irresponsibility, prompts military adventurism, tramples on civil rights, abides anti-environmental policies, and appoints blood-lusty advocates of war and aficionados of empire building to his cabinet.
Yale was content to pick through the bones for Bush. Now, he’s too visible to hide, too embarrassing to talk about, and too dangerous to cross. And Yale is stuck with its dirty little secret.
James T. Moore
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