FinermanWorks

Speechwriting is not a new profession. It only seems novel because we writers no longer practice discretion. Now, speechwriters verge on megalomania. “Peggy Noonan presents Ronald Reagan!” “Today, George W. Bush will be reciting the words of Mike Gerson!” We are the world’s loudest ventriloquists. Yet, speechwriters have been quietly working for centuries. Did you really think that the Renaissance Popes wrote their encyclicals? Our profession has a long and covert history, but I am about to divulge our origins.

In ancient Greece, both rhetoric and politics evolved, and the art of one lent itself to the artifice of the other. To govern a volatile populace, statesmen found rhetoric to be cheaper than terror and easier than competence. When Pericles had to address a grieving Athens about its casualties in the Peloponnesian War, he preferred to speak of patriotism rather than the ineptitude of his generals. Such beguiling manipulation is implicit in the word “rhetoric;” it is Greek for “flowing art.”

The Sophists now are remembered only as an epithet, but they were highly regarded and richly rewarded as teachers of speech. Every educated Greek was expected to master the correct manner and effective ploys for public speaking. Plato lamented that the study of rhetoric emphasized persuasion rather than truth. The Sophists retorted that truth is a fickle perception, and its plausibility depends upon the craft of persuasion.

Aristotle continued the debate, expounding that rhetoric required standards for logic and sincerity. The pedantic philosopher had rules for everything, but his precepts of rhetoric do not mention originality. There was no need to do so, and the Sophists would have agreed. The pagan Greeks believed in many things, but not the existence of ghostwriters. A speaker always composed his own oration.

Rome conquered Greece and succumbed to it-in infatuated imitation and shameless plagiarism. Every patrician and ambitious plebeian mastered rhetoric. Of course, praising Caesar was always the safest topic for an oration. If Cicero had remembered that, it would have saved him a decapitation. The emperors encouraged the teaching of rhetoric, endowing schools with chairs in the gliberal art. Even as Rome’s legions were increasingly unreliable, at least the Empire was assured of a steady supply of educated sycophants.

Yet, those florid hypocrites did have one scruple: they composed their own speeches. The Roman culture could abide most crimes and any depravity, but not ghostwriting. Of course, when the Empire fell, so did literary standards. Amidst the invasions and the chaos of the sixth century, rhetoric became a commodity. The pioneer of speechwriters was a sly scalawag named Flavius Cassiodorus. A Roman patrician, he survived the barbarians by serving them. The Ostrogoths had conquered Italy, but they had little idea how to govern it. They relied on Cassiodorus (c. A.D. 490-585) to translate German demands into Latin compliance. He was more than just a flunky and a traitor; he was a media consultant.

If hypocrisy is an art, then Cassiodorus was a prodigy. While still a teenager, his unctuous eloquence had earned him the position of orator at the Ostrogoth court. In his eulogy for an obscure kinsman of the king, Cassiodorus stole the attention from the corpse. With dazzling histrionics, he embellished the mundane and glorified the trivial.

The Germanic nobles barely understood the Latin oration but they deferred to the more ostentatious culture. Theodoric (A.D. 454-526), the king of the barbarians, realized that the young orator could be of great use. The warlord hoped to reconcile the Italians to their servitude, and Cassiodorus had the audacity to do it.

Yet Cassiodorus knew the limits of Italian tolerance. His countrymen usually were quite indifferent to their rulers. They had ignored an unpleasant assortment of Emperors: five centuries of thugs and buffoons. But each of those tyrants had the redeeming virtue of being Roman. The Ostrogoths were unforgivably foreign. If those German warriors hoped to rule a passive Italy, they had to undergo instant assimilation. How does one imbue a thousand years of civilization into a horde of illiterate barbarians? Cassiodorus managed this miraculous metamorphosis by faking it.

As the royal secretary, Cassiodorus created a new personality for the king of the Ostrogoths. Theodoric was presented as a man of sublime refinement, more of a connoisseur than a conqueror. This cosmetic conversion began in the year 507, when Theodoric suddenly became fluent in Latin. Read aloud by heralds throughout Italy, His majesty’s edicts and proclamations now flaunted eloquence and erudition. A zoning ordinance would include a discourse on aquatic life or the etymology of sports terms. Consider this sampling of the new Theodoric, translated by the British historian Thomas Hodgkin. (My knowledge of Latin consists of four years of high school French.)

“We delight to live after the laws of the Romans, whom we seek to defend with our arms; and we are as much interested in the maintenance of morality as we can possibly be in war….Let other kings desire the glory of battles won, of cities taken, of ruins made; our purpose is, God helping us, so to rule that our subjects should grieve the they did not earlier acquire the blessings of our domain.”

“The wandering birds love their own nests; the beasts haste to their lodging in the brake; the voluptuous fish, roaming the fields of ocean, returns to its own well-known cavern. How much more should Rome be loved by her children!”

Theodoric apparently was a philosopher king and a paragon of classical culture. In fact, the warlord could neither read nor write, but he was no fool. If this chicanery would placate the Italians, he was prepared to indulge the theatrics of Cassiodorus. The Italians may not have been completely gulled by the metamorphosis, but they politely accepted the gesture. Otherwise, history would have noted the massacre of an audience and the execution of Cassiodorus. In fact, the Italians grew to appreciate the “assimilated” Theodoric. He actually was a very good ruler, possibly the best one that Italy has had in the last sixteen centuries.

Cassiodorus served and survived four Ostrogoth monarchs, retiring a rich man and living to be 95. His ingratiating talents probably helped him in the next world as well. A patron of the arts and charity, he was an early investor in his cousin Benedict’s franchise of monasteries. Yes, that Benedict. Cassiodurus always had friends in the highest places. His legacy is both our profession and predicament. We speechwriters still work for barbarian kings who want to sound “classy.”

If any of you are in the mood for German seafood, your subconscious is just reminding you that today is the 99th anniversary of the Battle of Jutland.

The greatest naval battle of World War I is claimed as a victory by both sides. The Kaiserliche Marine did inflict far more damage, casualties and ship losses on the British. Yet, the German fleet then retreated to its home ports, never to sail again and leaving the British navy in uncontested control of the seas.

To put it in Jeopardy terms, imagine that you have spent twenty years training to get on the show and face Ken Jennings. At the end of Double Jeopardy, you are in the lead! However, during the commercial break before Final Jeopardy, you flee the stage and barricade yourself in the washroom. Ken is left alone on the stage to wager on Final Jeopardy. He gets it right and wins. (After two years, you emerge from the washroom claiming that you had actually won but had been cheated by the Masons, Socialists and Jews on the FCC.)

Jennifer Aniston is in a bad mood today, and the reason predates Brad Pitt by 554 years. This is the anniversary of the Fall of Constantionople, a day of mourning among Greeks.

By 1453, Byzantium was an empire in name and memory. It once had been the greatest power in Christendom, extending from Italy to Mesopotamia. Now, it was reduced to a ruined city and a few remnant outposts on the Greek mainland. Its emperors bore a revered title that dated to Constantine, but they wore crowns with paste jewels. Yet, built on an easily defended peninsula , and guarded by the most formidable walls in Europe, Constantinople had defied attack for 1000 years. The Ottoman Turks had conquered the Balkans, but they had learned through past failures to avoid Constantinople.

Mehmed II wanted the imperial city for his capital. He gathered an army of 80,000 men and a siege train that included the largest cannons in the world. Furthermore, he created a navy to blockade the port city. Against this force, Constantinople had a garrison of 7000 men, Greeks and their Genoese allies. They were too few to adequately man the walls; yet they still thwarted four assaults by the Ottomans. After days of bombardments, the Ottomans launched their fift

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We are currently not in a position to comment on the sovereign status of Constantinople. 

On this day in 1588 the Spanish Armada set sail for…now, that turned out to be a mystery. The Spanish had built, bought, and borrowed 130 ships but they really had no idea what they were supposed to do with this fleet. Yes, the Spanish intended to conquer England, but the Armada was only a threat in theory. Its purpose was to ferry the Spanish Army of the Duke of Parma across the Channel.

Unfortunately, none of the Spanish planners had the foresight to secure either a deep water port for the fleet to load the troops, or any transports that could ferry the troops to the ships. Philip II, being such a devout Catholic, perhaps thought that his army would walk on the water. So the Armada set sail without any purpose.

On its pointless tour, the Spanish fleet took a beating in the English Channel. The Globe Theater would not be used for bull fights. Then the Armada proceeded to the North Sea, sailing past the mystified Spanish army in the Netherlands. The Duke of Parma might have had better luck using gondolas. The Spanish were not merely inferior sailors; their ships really were unsuited for water, at least the type with waves. The North Sea and the Atlantic Ocean couldn’t have been more Protestant in their reception of the Armada. Most of the Spanish fleet was destroyed in storms.

When Philip saw the meager, battered remnants of his great enterprise, the King refrained from declaring God a heretic. For a rabid bigot, Philip was surprisingly stoic and accepted the debacle with a decorous grace. Even the incompetent admiral was allowed to retire gracefully.

I only wish that Philip had broken into song…

Blue navy blue, I am blue as I can be.

For the Spanish fleet has met defeat

And won’t come back to me.

Those English acts of piracy ar-mada’ning

And instigate this war.

A punitive flotilla would be my planning

Even up the score.

chorus

The naval pride of Spain complying with my wish

For England set asail.

But all of the assailing came from the English.

So now I must bewail.

Chorus

Paul Newman has announced from retirement from films.  Well, he already made one “Exodus“.  His last role apparently was a voice-over portrayal of a jalopy in “Cars.” 

I would have suggested these possibilities for a valedictory film. 

Very Cold Hand Luke: Forty years after his death, Luke is still attached to the chain gang. The guards just don’t seem to notice.

Hud II: The sociopathic charmer, just retired from the Board of Enron, is still abusing Patricia Neal–greasing her walker and punching holes in her Depends.

Of course, the perfect finale would reunite him with Robert Redford in “The Boys from Bolivia“. Butch and Sun Dance are lured from retirement by the offer of a full presidential pardon by President Truman if they succeed in completing a secret mission: stop the cloning of Adolf Hitler. Butch and Sun Dance are prepared to shoot their way through Argentina and Paraguay, but they are persuaded by a pair of con-artists, Henry Gondorff and Johnny Hooker, to try a scam. While Butch and Sun Dance capture Berlin to divert the Nazis, the con-artists will impersonate Carl Jung and Werner von Braun to charm their way into Dr. Mengele’s lab. The absconded Hitler zygotes are then served as fritattas at Juan and Evita Peron’s wedding.

I am old enough to remember Viet Nam…as well as the Third Punic War.

The teenage Eugene was a hawk, ready to fight any manifestation of Soviet Imperialism. I was willing to serve my country, although I could never understand why J. Edgar Hoover needed a nude photo of me.

At the time I believed that we had to fight Communist aggression in South East Asia, lest the dominos begin to topple. By the mid-sixties, however, any reasonable person could dismiss the fantasy that we were defending the democracy of South Viet Nam. Its government was a revolving door of graft-grasping, epauletted little thugs. Our national policy had long since reconciled to allying ourselves with reasonably well-behaved fascists; they presumably were the lesser of two evils. And there seemed a genuine danger if Cam Rahn Bay became Vladivostok South.

So, we (and the occasional South Vietnamese) would do the fighting. At least, the war was going well. The Pentagon assured us of that. On a weekly basis, we were wiping out 97 percent of the Viet Cong and North Vietnamese forces. Why, the enemy would need all of their Buddhist reincarnations to keep up the fight.

Then, Tet happened.

The “exhausted, depleted, demoralized” enemy was rampaging throughout the country. They took major cities. They shot their way into the U.S. Embassy in Saigon. Yes, we eventually retook the cities and our own embassy; but the one irretrievable loss was the public’s confidence in our government’s competence and credibility. Victory was no longer a certainty; in fact, it no longer seemed a possibility.

The “New” Richard Nixon campaigned that he “had a plan to end the war.” Notice that he didn’t promise to win it. And 39 years later, we are still trying to figure out what his plan was. (Was Robert Vesco supposed to deliver a briefcase of cash to General Giap?) More likely, Nixon realized that the combined prowess of Lieut. Bush and Cpl. Finerman would topple the Communist Monolith. Unfortunately, the Pentagon forgot to draft me, and Lieut. Bush was preoccupied with fighting the Viet Cong in the bars of Texas and Alabama.

Alexander VI was the type of Pope whom you would expect to die of syphilis. He was the personification of every vice and most crimes. One could concede that he was a doting father to his illegitimate offspring; unfortunately, those children happened to be Cesare and Lucretia Borgia.

By contrast, Friar Girolama Savonarola was a man of impeccable virtue who sought to restore morality to a corrupt Church and a decadent society. If given the choice between the cankerous Alexander VI and the austere Savonarola, any intelligent person would be writing fan letters to the Pope.

Savonarola was a Dominican, an order of monks that distinguished themselves for fanaticism and bigotry.  (Guess who ran the Spanish Inquisition?)  Hoping to do as much in Italy, he set up a repressive theocracy in Florence.  Much of his social agenda was to drag Florence back to the Middle Ages. His goons went from door to door, collecting or confiscating “vanities”–paintings and books deemed too secular, jewelry and even colorful clothing. These forbidden items were publicly burned in ceremonies called “bonfires of the vanities.” The kindling included works by Botticelli.

Savonarola was a spell-binding orator who exploited fatigue with Medici rule and popular disdain with the conspicuous corruption in the Church. It is remarkable that just two years after the death of Lorenzo the Magnificent, Savonarola inspired and led a popular uprising that would drive the Medici out of Florence.

Although the Medici were pushovers, Alexander VI was not. He deeply resented Savonarola’s attacks. The Pope was a Borgia, so he wasn’t the passive type. Although he could easily have arranged for an accident–say food poisoning–for Savonarola, the Pope was going to make an example of his critic.

Apparently, criticizing a Pope can be heresy and so Savonarola was brought to trial.  The Dominican friar demonstrated his usual tact–none–before the tribunal of Alexander’s appointees.  So condemning him was effortless.  Indeed, one form of execution seemed insufficent.  Savonarola was simultaneously hanged and burned for heresy.   His theocracy ended with him–on this day in 1498.

If Savonarola made any mistake, it was his timing. He knew that the Medici were weak and fumbling, so perhaps he should have waited until one was Pope. Professor Luther did.

Once scientists have fully calculated the dimensions of a quark, they should turn their studies to the truly infinitesimal: the consumer’s attention span.  Through repeated exposure to television, the public has developed immunity to commercials.  Our primitive ancestors might have fled the room during the ads, but we higher beings can simply shut down our senses during the commercial break.  A yogi would envy our metaphysical mastery of oblivion.  However, Madison Avenue does not.  Our willed narcolepsy is threatening the livelihood and country club memberships of thousands of ad men called “Bud.”

Desperate for our attention, advertising actually has attempted to earn it.  Remember the old ads where implausibly attractive housewives were engrossed in stupefying conversations about detergents?  Today, however, we might see animated polar bears in a parody of Tennessee Williams.  The creativity of these commercials is genuinely impressive; but amidst the pyrotechnics and choreography we can’t quite figure out what the sponsored product is. 

So advertising now has immersed itself in camouflage.  Ads no longer interrupt the television show; they are intertwined and integrated into it.  Jed Clampett would no longer just be eating a mess of possum vittles.  He would be proclaiming his favorite brand of possum vittles.  (I believe that it is Encore.)  And Buffy the Vampire Slayer would be buying her stakes at Home Depot.

Some people keep count of the corpses on The Sopranos.  I keep a tally of the equally criminal examples of product placement.  For example, Tony cannot simply give his wife a watch.  The gift has to be accompanied by conspicuous and repeated reference to the watch’s designer.  Indeed, when pronouncing “Baume & Mercier,” Carmela’s enunciation suddenly seems more Sorbonne than Secaucus.  On last night’s episode, Tony knocked out the teeth of a disrespectful colleague; I was a little disappointed not to hear a subsequent recommendation for Poligrip.

I imagine that product placement will even infiltrate the news.  Of course, I would rather see Shrek than Dick Cheney on Meet the Press.

From what I can discern, there are three different approaches to the Immigration question.

The Republicans would expel all illegal aliens as well as anyone who sides with the Sharks in “West Side Story.” Any apprehended alien would be harvested for donor organs, and the remains of his body will feed the alligators in the new, transcontinental Rio Grande moat.

The Democrats would offer all illegal aliens a handwritten apology for the Treaty of Guadalope-Hidalgo. (A translation will be provided for Polish cleaning ladies.) Furthermore, the Senate is considering a rewards program based on the number of miles that illegal aliens travel. Anyone who accumulates 25,000 miles will receive a green card. So, it would encourage “surprise visitors” (the Democrats’ term) to go to Minnesota or Alaska rather than all those states with Hispanic names.

Finally, there is the President’s “Patrioting the Border” initiative. As part of this security measure, the Commandude announced that he was moving Mexico’s northern border to the Yucatan peninsula. Pointing to a Risk board that he borrowed from Vice President Cheney, the President pointed out how much smaller a Yucatan boundary would be. “Lookee here.”

Reporters noted that this measure would actually incorporate one hundred million Mexicans into the United States. The reporters were subsequently arrested. On Faux News, the Vice President explained that Mexico had never really been a national state but simply the result of Spanish coercion. “This is Madrid’s problem.” But acknowledging the difficulty of 100 million people floating to Barcelona, Cheney said that “some would be welcomed to stay here.”

Recalling a guest workers program of the past, Cheney suggested “If these people are working to do a couple centuries of pro bono work and learn at least six Stephen Foster songs, I don’t see why they would not qualify for three/fifths of a citizen.”

Item 1: 

Touring Latin America, Pope Benedict XVI exclaimed that the Pre-Columbian peoples had longed for Christianity even if they had not realized it.  He did not elaborate whether or not the Conquistadors really made ideal missionaries.  In their unique form of evangelism, the Portuguese and especially the Spanish did tend to confuse swords with crosses, rape with communion, and slavery with bingo.  The Pre-Columbian Americans might have unknowingly longed for Christianity but, if given the choice between the Conquistadors or Pope John XXIII, they gladly would have waited another 400 years.

Item 2:

Paul Wolfowitz will offer to resign as President of the World Bank, provided that the Bank’s Board begs him to stay.  The Board members apparently must don sackcloth, stand barefooted on hot coals, and publicly proclaim that Wolfowitz is blameless and incapable of any scandals and ethical violations.  Following self-flagellation and etching out the name Wolfowitz on their backs, the Board members must then beg “the God Paul” to stay even if he is too good for them.  The Board will offer to rename the bank and put Wolfowitz’s face on the Euro.  After this and another of 72 hours of public groveling, Wolfowitz will spit on each official and then abdicate.

In a related story, President Bush is expected to nominate one of his daughters as the next President of the World Bank.  Bank officials are hoping that he picks the less drunk one.