Give Me a Corny Speech. Then I'll Listen

By Roger Rosenblatt

When Jackie Robinson was near death and blind from diabetes, he was given a day of celebration at Dodger Stadium. As he was led back to the clubhouse, Jim Murray, the great sportswriter for the Los Angeles Times, touched him on the shoulder and identified himself. "Oh, Jim!" said Jackie. "I wish that I could see you again." Murray responded, "Jackie, I wish that I could see you again." Tom Callahan, another great sportswriter, told me that story.

Jackie Robinson comes to mind in this season--not of baseball but of politics--because not only did he embody the best of America while he fought off the worst but also he always expressed a straightforward, unapologetic, sublimely corny love of country that is no longer heard in presidential-election rhetoric. "I believe in the human race," Robinson said. "I believe in the warm heart. I believe in the goodness of a free society. And I believe that the society can remain good only as long as we are willing to fight for it and to fight against whatever imperfections may exist."

Nobody in public life, certainly no candidate, talks that way anymore because this is a time of self-protective thinking. Candidates play defensive baseball to avoid errors, which is the surest way to make them. It is regarded as unsophisticated to discuss the fundamental nature of the country--either demonstrated or wished for--so stump speeches consist of exquisitely balanced references to particular problems. Centrist politics leads to guarded expression.

It also leads to an excessive emphasis on issues. The word focused is used as a compliment these days, but where it means discipline, it just as often suggests tunnel vision. Political chatter to the contrary, I do not think that most people want to listen to speeches devoted to issues at all--or if they do, they quickly grow accustomed to (and bored by) the predictable positions a candidate takes. The "issue" that people never tire of is that of basic national principles and ambitions, the promotion of which, though usually couched in cliches, is eternally engaging because it touches us where we deeply live.

By far the stupidest reason for defensive political baseball is that the candidates are consciously talking to newspaper columnists and TV journalists, who in turn hunt only for their flaws in an effort to be clever and thus noticed. There's no trick in being clever and noticed; any deft young journalist can do it, and some--encumbered by fatal cuteness, disappointment or lack of dignity--never outgrow the impulse. Talking like Jackie Robinson, or like Ronald Reagan, our last sublimely corny President, takes more self-confidence and aggressive innocence but--provided that one means what one says--it pays off.

Our most cliche-ridden Presidents were also our greater ones. "Lives of nations are determined not by the count of years but by the lifetime of the human spirit," said Franklin Roosevelt. "Democracy," said Woodrow Wilson, "is more than a form of government. It is a form of character." Lincoln: "I hold that while man exists it is his duty to improve not only his own condition but to assist in ameliorating mankind." Lincoln was a supremely corny speaker--at least he would be so judged today. He began a noted speech at a battlefield with references to liberty and the proposition of equality. How hokey can one get?

Compare these generalities with the supposedly more substantive appeals made by the current candidates. George W. Bush tells us about his stands on abortion and Social Security. Al Gore provides "statements" on the pharmaceutical industry and salmon. "Imagine an America," said Gore in a speech a few weeks ago, "where we invoke all the wonders of science and discovery--to cure cancer, ease the pain of disease and let all our children breathe air free of pollution and smog." Imagine that.

Last Thursday, in what was billed as the "speech of his life," George W. told the nation, "Our military is low on parts, pay and morale...For younger workers, we will give you the option to put a part of your payroll taxes into sound, responsible investments." And so on, issue after issue scumbled over with passionate-sounding moderation (this but also that, that but also this) and occasional dutiful flicks to "hope," "greatness," and "promise." To be sure, he did express himself on inclusion and forgiveness, but his speech may have sounded more inspirational than it was because Bush knows how to modulate his voice.

What former Presidents seemed to understand was that often repeated, hackneyed sentiments--if spoken by someone who really felt them--were, above everything, what Americans wanted to hear. The country was, always is, a romance; to inspire, one has to presume a level of intimacy with its highest purposes. No audience believes what a candidate promises; most significant events are cyclical, no matter who sits in the White House. But in some secure and private chamber, we believe in our wildest dreams. The candidate who remembers that--who persuasively invokes affection for the human race, the warm heart and the goodness of a free society--will probably win this election.