Land of the Free

Tell me what you think about the transcripts, and I’ll tell you who you are. If you haven’t read them, don’t intend to read them, and have promised the Boss you’ll never read them, you’re probably the resident parson. If you thought you had read them, and defended the Boss on the basis of what you thought they contained, to judge by the material the Boss showed you a few months ago, you’re probably a Republican senator. If you think they’re sufficient evidence for a party of right-thinking gentlemen to get together and run the Boss out of town on a rail, you’re probably a nineteenth century American, male, sensible, and obsolete. If you think they’re absolutely marvelous, you’re the President. If you think they’re an interesting example of the inefficiency of centralized economic systems, you’re probably a poor plodding student of political economy.

To the student of political economy, the picture presented by Mr. Nixon and his honorable lieutenants is the picture of several intelligent and energetic gentlemen engaged in an attempt to maximize their economic positions through minimal effort. And with what wonderful success! Consider Mr. Nixon and his colleagues. They toil not, neither do they spin; yet I say unto you, Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Why the office of the President has a budget of $200 million a year. Now there’s a statistic for an economist to sink his teeth into. One stops for a quick breath when one reads in the Gospel—excuse me, I mean the transcript—that Mr. Nixon does not worry about the possibility that a colleague may require $1 million in the next few minutes. “A million? A million can be found,” says Solomon, in words to that effect. To Mr. Nixon it is a just price, $1 million, a sensible disbursement. To the receiver of these goods it is also a just price, representing the payment in full for his services. One has the feeling that “services”., are being performed throughout the government, because one keeps coming across references to payments between persons. One remembers Mr. W. Alton Jones, head of Cities Service, going down in an airliner with $100,000 in cash in a little black bag. He was on his way to meet President Eisenhower, cruising on a yacht beyond the territorial limits. Services were rendered, one supposes; and payment was required, one supposes, being a mere student of economics—or political economy, as the old phrase goes. One remembers Senators Kennedy and Bayh crashing on a hilltop in Massachusetts and being found in a bed of money; literally, the cash was drifting all over the mountain. It is on record that they were flying up to attend the annual banquet of the Democratic Party, and one supposes that services had been rendered, and payment in full was due. One thinks of the $100,000 that was, or wasn’t, paid, or given, or loaned, or handed to, or deposited with, Señor Rebozo. And didn’t the milk farmers pay $200,000 to somebody in the government?

WR

About the Author

William F. Rickenbacker

Featured Tags

Tell me what you think about the transcripts, and I’ll tell you who you are. If you haven’t read them, don’t intend to read them, and have promised the Boss you’ll never read them, you’re probably the resident parson. If you thought you had read them, and defended the Boss on the basis of what you thought they contained, to judge by the material the Boss showed you a few months ago, you’re probably a Republican senator. If you think they’re sufficient evidence for a party of right-thinking gentlemen to get together and run the Boss out of town on a rail, you’re probably a nineteenth century American, male, sensible, and obsolete. If you think they’re absolutely marvelous, you’re the President. If you think they’re an interesting example of the inefficiency of centralized economic systems, you’re probably a poor plodding student of political economy.

To the student of political economy, the picture presented by Mr. Nixon and his honorable lieutenants is the picture of several intelligent and energetic gentlemen engaged in an attempt to maximize their economic positions through minimal effort. And with what wonderful success! Consider Mr. Nixon and his colleagues. They toil not, neither do they spin; yet I say unto you, Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Why the office of the President has a budget of $200 million a year. Now there’s a statistic for an economist to sink his teeth into. One stops for a quick breath when one reads in the Gospel—excuse me, I mean the transcript—that Mr. Nixon does not worry about the possibility that a colleague may require $1 million in the next few minutes. “A million? A million can be found,” says Solomon, in words to that effect. To Mr. Nixon it is a just price, $1 million, a sensible disbursement. To the receiver of these goods it is also a just price, representing the payment in full for his services. One has the feeling that “services”., are being performed throughout the government, because one keeps coming across references to payments between persons. One remembers Mr. W. Alton Jones, head of Cities Service, going down in an airliner with $100,000 in cash in a little black bag. He was on his way to meet President Eisenhower, cruising on a yacht beyond the territorial limits. Services were rendered, one supposes; and payment was required, one supposes, being a mere student of economics—or political economy, as the old phrase goes. One remembers Senators Kennedy and Bayh crashing on a hilltop in Massachusetts and being found in a bed of money; literally, the cash was drifting all over the mountain. It is on record that they were flying up to attend the annual banquet of the Democratic Party, and one supposes that services had been rendered, and payment in full was due. One thinks of the $100,000 that was, or wasn’t, paid, or given, or loaned, or handed to, or deposited with, Señor Rebozo. And didn’t the milk farmers pay $200,000 to somebody in the government?