That little sledder, above, is in Central Park. He appears toward the end of my Impromptus column today. The column begins with Tom Brady, and a reflection on the lives of athletes. Jeffrey Hart, our late senior editor, introduced me to the concept of the “first death.” That’s what athletes experience when they retire. When the body has balked and the cheers have stopped. Some athletes handle this well — going on to fruitful chapters — and some athletes don’t. Brady, I trust, will be in the former camp.
What else? I have Donald Trump, Liz Cheney, and the state of the GOP. That is a subject that goes on and on, and that brings a new twist almost every day. I have Boris Johnson. I think of an old song: “How Could You Believe Me When I Said I Loved You When You Know I’ve Been a Liar All My Life?” I thought the song’s title was the longest extant. But Rick Brookhiser says no — and he is right.
He believes, and I believe, that the honor goes to a Hoagy Carmichael song of 1942: “I’m a Cranky Old Yank in a Clanky Old Tank on the Streets of Yokohama with My Honolulu Mama Doin’ Those Beat-o, Beat-o, Flat-on-My-Seat-o Hirohito Blues.”
But hang on, there’s a late entry — a Christine Lavin song from 1994: “Regretting What I Said to You When You Called Me 11:00 on a Friday Morning to Tell Me That at 1:00 Friday Afternoon You’re Gonna Leave Your Office, Go Downstairs, Hail a Cab to Go Out to the Airport to Catch a Plane to Go Skiing in the Alps for Two Weeks, Not That I Wanted to Go with You, I Wasn’t Able to Leave Town, I’m Not a Very Good Skier, I Couldn’t Expect You to Pay My Way, but after Going Out with You for Three Years I DON’T Like Surprises!!”
Maybe I could publish one letter, in this Corner post. It responds to a column I had earlier this week, which had to do with America’s most sensitive nerve: race. When should race enter into the question of hiring and the like? Ever? An ongoing, multilayered, tempestuous subject.
A reader writes,
Dear Jay,
Fort Benning. A million years ago.
I was pushing paper at the Infantry School as training manager for the Infantry Office Basic Course (IOBC). This was a 14-week course required for all new active-duty second lieutenants assigned to the Infantry. I worked closely with the IOBC battalion commander and became his cunning co-conspirator (I know it’s true because I was actually called that out loud in a staff meeting).
Battalion commander told me, “I will always have at least one black company commander in the battalion, at least one black officer in each company, and one black sergeant in each platoon.”
I guess my face gave me away, because he quickly explained, “Jesus, Hal, I get kids from all over the country. Some of them have never even seen a black man in person before. Many have never seen a black man in a position of authority or had a black man tell them what to do. I’ve got to get them prepared to live in the real Army.”
Thank you to one and all. Again, for today’s Impromptus — which does not skimp on touchy subjects — go here.