DENNY HASTERT AND H.L. MENCKEN

5/31/15

When I first learned of former House Speaker Dennis Hastert’s problems with federal law enforcement, my first thought was “Good.  Glad they nailed the SOB.”   These perhaps uncharitable thoughts arose not only from the schadenfreude that, to varying degrees, afflicts us all, but also from my never having liked Mr. Hastert.   From the get go, I considered him a complete lackey, a toady, a Bush lapdog whose role in getting our once great country involved in the Iraq fiasco was, if such a thing were possible, nearly as heinous a crime as those that were driven by Mr. Hastert’s (hopefully) erstwhile enthusiasm for young boys and the glaringly misplaced hubris he displayed in his clumsy attempts to cover up the disgusting, vile consequences of his perverted propensities.  

After briefly enjoying the guilty pleasure that arose from Mr. Hastert’s having his taste of karma, my thoughts quickly turned to one of my heroes, H.L. Mencken.   As some of you might suspect, I have been told on numerous occasions that I am a modern version of that late great Baltimore Sun scribe.   While that might sound braggadocious, it is an occasion not only for great pride but also great fear; can I possibly be that cynical?   But I digress.

Mr. Hastert’s sudden and well deserved defenestration immediately brought to mind what is perhaps Mr. Mencken’s greatest, though far from his most celebrated, utterance, to wit…

“All men are frauds.”  

The “aw, shucks, I’m just a wrestling coach from a small town west of Chicago” Mr. Hastert is the living embodiment of what, frightfully, may be an entirely true statement by Mr. Mencken.   There is hope, though, that this condition exemplified by Mr. Hastert is not universal; those of us not caught up in the hype that surrounds the professional narcissists who inhabit our governing class knew all along that Mr. Hastert was a fraud.   So maybe at least some men who appear not to be frauds indeed are not frauds.   At least we hope so.

Quickly, though, I asked myself where Mr. Hastert was getting all these spondulicks to pay off the former object of his misguided lust.  Again, Mr. Mencken has the answer:

“Government is a broker in pillage, and every election is sort of an advance auction sale of stolen goods.”

There’s a lot of money in public service; the selfless public servant, the big hearted Mr. Hastert was cashing in on his years of good works for the people.   No wonder he was in such a hurry to hit the jackpot that he resigned as Speaker, and exited Congress, in what looked like mid-career; he wanted, and as it turned out, needed the money.

Finally, Mr. Hastert’s particular manifestation of perversity is not, at least we hope, nearly universal among the barnacles on the ship of state that inhabit Washington, D.C.   But his clearly misplaced hubris, his grossly inflated opinion of his craftiness, and his unrelenting thirst for the boodle that accompanies public service are indeed universal, firmly planted in the DNA of those who go to Washington brimming with messianic certainty that they have all the answers to all the problems that afflict the benighted folks back home who yearn for the wisdom that these modern day Olympians deign to impart to us.   So, again, Mr. Mencken comes to mind…

“Every decent man is ashamed of the government he lives under.”

Thank you, Mr. Mencken.   Good riddance, Mr. Hastert.  One down, (at least) 535 to go.