Robert McHenry: Who Wants to be Vice President? Hands, Please!
How hard would you try to attain a prize that had been adjudged by a knowledgeable critic as “not worth a bucket of warm piss”? (The quote is more often seen in its bowdlerized version, with “spit” as the fluid in point.) He was John Nance Garner, a Texas legislator fondly known as Cactus Jack Garner – thirty years in the House of Representatives and then eight as Franklin D. Roosevelt’s first vice president. It was that latter office to which he referred, and he has not often been contradicted on the point.
And then there was Woodrow Wilson’s vice president, Thomas Riley Marshall of Indiana: “Once there were two brothers. One ran away to sea, the other was elected Vice-President, and nothing was ever heard of either of them again.”
(Marshall is better remembered, if not by name, as the man who quipped, while listening to some senator’s tedious recitation of the needs of the nation, “What this country needs is a really good five-cent cigar.” Makes you yearn a bit for the simplicity of the good old days, doesn’t it?)
The humorist Fred Allen opined that “The average vice-president is a form of executive fungus that attaches itself to a desk. On a boat this growth would be called a barnacle.”
A list of the vice presidents certainly turns up some unfamiliar names: William King, Henry Wilson, Thomas Hendricks, Garret Hobart, James Sherman, Alben Barkley, among others (that last one in my lifetime). Come to that, can you name Franklin Roosevelt’s next vice president, the one after Cactus Jack?
Yet here we are, nibbling our fingernails – you do care, don’t you? – to see who will be chosen by our two presidential candidates to hold their coats, walk behind them, attend the funerals of lesser international figures, and while away endless idle hours over at Number One Observatory Circle.
Of course, all those dismissive comments date from an era that we might think of as BS – Before Spiro. Mr. Agnew did much to redefine what the office could be by making it a platform from which to illustrate the charms of alliteration while saying utterly charmless things. (Why, oh why didn’t one of the President’s speechwriters feed him the line “Dude, where’s my vice president?” No one would now remember “Sock it to me?”)
If there has been since then a project to make the vice presidency into a reserve of political clout and sagacity, though, it has had its setbacks, to wit Dan “Potatoe” Quayle.
As for the incumbent Mr. Cheney, it must be conceded that he has done much to bring attention to an office once famous for obscurity, though some of his attention-getting has had, it must be admitted, a scent of misadventure about it. Still, you have to go some way to beat Aaron Burr for sheer disreputableness.
Memo to the Democratic and Republican search committees: It is a well established truth that nearly all the trouble in the world can be traced to people who cannot sit alone quietly in a room. I can, and I am at present not otherwise employed.
Read entire article at Britannica Blog
And then there was Woodrow Wilson’s vice president, Thomas Riley Marshall of Indiana: “Once there were two brothers. One ran away to sea, the other was elected Vice-President, and nothing was ever heard of either of them again.”
(Marshall is better remembered, if not by name, as the man who quipped, while listening to some senator’s tedious recitation of the needs of the nation, “What this country needs is a really good five-cent cigar.” Makes you yearn a bit for the simplicity of the good old days, doesn’t it?)
The humorist Fred Allen opined that “The average vice-president is a form of executive fungus that attaches itself to a desk. On a boat this growth would be called a barnacle.”
A list of the vice presidents certainly turns up some unfamiliar names: William King, Henry Wilson, Thomas Hendricks, Garret Hobart, James Sherman, Alben Barkley, among others (that last one in my lifetime). Come to that, can you name Franklin Roosevelt’s next vice president, the one after Cactus Jack?
Yet here we are, nibbling our fingernails – you do care, don’t you? – to see who will be chosen by our two presidential candidates to hold their coats, walk behind them, attend the funerals of lesser international figures, and while away endless idle hours over at Number One Observatory Circle.
Of course, all those dismissive comments date from an era that we might think of as BS – Before Spiro. Mr. Agnew did much to redefine what the office could be by making it a platform from which to illustrate the charms of alliteration while saying utterly charmless things. (Why, oh why didn’t one of the President’s speechwriters feed him the line “Dude, where’s my vice president?” No one would now remember “Sock it to me?”)
If there has been since then a project to make the vice presidency into a reserve of political clout and sagacity, though, it has had its setbacks, to wit Dan “Potatoe” Quayle.
As for the incumbent Mr. Cheney, it must be conceded that he has done much to bring attention to an office once famous for obscurity, though some of his attention-getting has had, it must be admitted, a scent of misadventure about it. Still, you have to go some way to beat Aaron Burr for sheer disreputableness.
Memo to the Democratic and Republican search committees: It is a well established truth that nearly all the trouble in the world can be traced to people who cannot sit alone quietly in a room. I can, and I am at present not otherwise employed.