An American out looking for his people
The Column: 10.25.24
I flew to Dublin a week ago and even with jet lag, it was downright glorious and I’m eager to do it again. I flew out of JFK, a prison camp attached to a strip mall, and landed seven hours later and was struck by the friendliness. The immigration lady seemed glad I had come and I got into conversations at baggage claim simply by asking questions. I find the Irish accent impenetrable but when I cupped my ear and said, “Eh?” they instantly switched to clear English.
The cabdriver was friendly. I asked him about Gaelic and he said, “Yes, they teach it in the schools but we forget most of it except for a few words and not many of us could carry on a conversation.” I asked him about the Irish gypsies, the Travelling People, and he said, “Yes, you still see some horse-and-buggy folk but they don’t allow them to camp on the roadsides anymore. They’re trying to settle them.” The cab fare was 31 euros and I handed him a fifty and said, “Thank you,” and he hesitated. “Are you sure?” he said. A cabdriver trying to decline a tip. Remarkable.
My hotel was the Grafton on Stephens Street in the old section of town, among walking streets with little shops, and I encountered such kindliness out walking, due to my poor vision and inability to read the street signs painted on the second-story corners of buildings, I kept asking for directions and Irish people recognized my accent and some recalled their own time in America and some conversations came to the point either sitting down for coffee or moving on and I kept moving.
I walked into the hotel restaurant and got the best breakfast buffet ever, an assembly of croissants and pastries, perfectly poached eggs, ham, bacon, cereals, cakes, jams, and coffees and teas, and friendly uniformed women with impeccable manners there to assist. I cupped my ear and they spoke clear English.
I walked around the neighborhood and felt welcome there. And what made it especially pleasant was getting away from the news of the impending American catastrophe. If the lunatic felon is elected and takes his revenge on his opposition and uses the Army to round up migrants and destroys the economy, Dublin strikes me as a beautiful place to live out the rest of my life.
The party of Lincoln has been corrupted on the national level: you cannot be a Republican without swearing to things you know are not true. Its standard-bearer runs for office on the proposition that America is a hellhole, which everyone knows it is not. New York, for example, has seen a steep decline in violent crime. But mid-America still believes in the mythical city where gangs roam the streets freely doing what they will.
Some blame goes to the Left, which holds that we must never be content, there is more to be done, and which, in good times, can always find injustice to complain about, and it is married to the idea that ours is a racist society. It refuses to acknowledge that great strides have been made.
For the felon, resentment is a powerful platform, the idea that a contemptuous elite has rigged the system to their own benefit. And your Mexican cleaning lady, the construction and farm workers, nannies, are an advanced invading force, and soon we’ll be singing “La bandera de las estrellas” instead of The Star-Spangled Banner.
Trump is a conman, as obvious as a $15 bill, and the New York Times, in all its high-mindedness, has absolutely no power against him. Millions of Midwesterners get a thrill voting for a convicted felon and a blatant liar that they never got from the Bushes. Let Putin have Ukraine, Poland, Germany, who cares? Climate change is nonsense, the climate’s been changing for eons. Skip the flu vaccine and inject Clorox. Drill for oil in the national parks, give Elon Musk the Federal Reserve, shut down the Fake News, MAGAnetize the country under one label, United Trump. How does one fight the conviction of unreality?
I can see the day when I’ll be an alien in my native land and when that day comes, there’s always Dublin. I have no Irish blood in me but I vote for the pleasure of conversation and stories and gratitude for the blessings of life. The felon has no humor and no manners. Dublin has it all. A person could be happy there.
Put something on your 2025 calendar to look forward to — a live show with Garrison Keillor! We’ve got lots of dates to choose from, in locations on both coasts and some in between.
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I take comfort from your words, my wise and revered friend. I spent nearly a year living in a cottage hard by a ruined tower in West County Cork when I was 21, writing what I’ve come to call my pre-first novel. And I will never forget the warmth and kindness of the villagers toward this fly-weight American Jew. I was known among them as “the Yank in the tower.” I would return there gladly and gratefully, if need be. Maybe we will be neighbors and I’ll have the pleasure of running into you in the pub ( there was only one pub) of an evening and we can encourage everyone to sing. For now, I’m looking forward to seeing you at Town Hall in New York just before Christmas—and praying (yes, I’m praying!) that the sweet words “Madame President” will fill the air.
Garrison, you have described the good in people with such warmth. The question is, how do I reconcile the warmth that I encounter each day in my workplace (a public school) and in my neighborhood, with the lies ***he spews day in and day out? It's impossible because it's not true. It hurts. It insults us. It's degrading. A rising tide lifts all ships. But this cartoon character candidate is a Titanic disaster, and with him, we'll be sunk. Folks, please be smart and vote for the Harris-Walz ticket, today if you can, and let's retain control of our country.