Can I Get an Aye, Men?

In my youth when I was sixteen, in less than a year apart in two different occurrences, I ran into two prominent politicians, one of them literally. One was a recent Senator and the other a sitting Senator at that time. Their reaction and behavior to me made a big impression. Let me tell you about them.

During my junior year in high school in the fall of 1970, my friend Phil was attending some sort of wrestling clinic or conference or something at a neighboring high school on a Saturday morning. The truth is I don’t remember what he was doing there. What I do remember is that my other friend Mike and I were supposed to meet him there at a certain time and the three of us were going to do something. Again, I don’t remember what “something” was, but it’s a good bet it involved girls in some way, most things did then.

Mike had an old green Chevy that we called the Green Bomb. It was anything but “the bomb” but might have turned into a bomb. Still it got us around. We pulled into the parking lot and waited for Phil to come out. There seemed to be a lot of cars there for a Saturday. We waited, and then waited some more, and no Phil. Finally, we decided that I would go in to see if I could find him.

I hopped out of the car and jogged up to a side door, pulled it open and dashed through the doorway just in time to run squarely into Wayne Morse, recently and now ex-senior Senator for the Great State of Oregon, who was coming the other way. I knocked him right down onto his keester, pin stripe suit and all. He was 70 years old at the time. He was not a big man, quite a bit shorter than I am, but he was spry and energetic. He popped right back to his feet, ran a hand through his disheveled hair, straightened his jacket and tie, and shot me a huge smile.

“That was a pretty good hit you put me on me there, son.” He reached out his hand, grabbed mine and shook it. “I’m Wayne Morse, and I’m glad to meet you."

I mumbled something about being sorry and I didn't see him and....

"No, no," he said, patting me on the forearm. "No damage done. You got me fair and square. I’d love to stay and chat, but I’m late for my next meeting. You take care.”

He was out the door and hurrying down the sidewalk just like that. No drama, no “do you know who I am”, no cursing, no fanfare, and, I noticed, no aides and swarming sycophants. He was just a nice man in a hurry to get to a meeting, but taking a moment to greet a teenager in a warm way even if the kid had just used him for a tackling dummy.

I remember being greatly impressed with that. Senator Morse lost his Senate re-election bid in 1968. Looking back, when I had my run in with him it must have been just days or weeks before the 1970 election and he apparently was at the school doing some campaigning. I remember I felt badly that he lost that one, too.

My other encounter with a Senator was in the following summer. I was working for the summer on a large farm in western Idaho, my Mother having banished me there 500 miles from home because she was afraid I was getting too serious with a girl from another town. I certainly would have gotten into some sort of trouble with the girl if she hadn‘t broken up with me the week before my Mother banished me, though my Mother didn’t know that. That was why I didn’t protest when Mom told me that I was going to stay with my Grandmother in Idaho and get a summer job. Two days after that, my Dad dropped me off at the bus station, and 15 hours later, I got off the bus in Caldwell, Idaho where my Uncle and Grandmother were waiting for me.

I went to work for the summer on a large farm outside Nampa. They had a “labor camp” on the farm, which was really a cinder block building made up of six apartments. They were clean and had all the conveniences. The workers lived in the apartments free. I lived in the end apartment with my crew boss, and I was lucky enough to have my own room. Next to us was an apartment with bunk beds and five or six boys near my age lived there.

I remember two or three families of Mexicans lived in the apartments as well. They were almost certainly illegal immigrants, though nobody worried about that much back then. They were nice folks, and some of the kids could speak passable English.

At the end of the building lived two Indians. These guys were so deep from within the Navajo Reservation they didn’t speak English very well. They couldn’t drive, either. I spent two hours one Sunday trying to teach them to drive a tractor and it was simply useless. But, they could work. Those guys could really go. In my next blog, I will write about them and perhaps some other adventures from that summer.

That was in 1970, and the 4th of July fell on Saturday. Normally we worked six days a week with just Sunday off. However, on Thursday evening I remember the owner of the farm coming to our apartment to speak with the crew boss. Senator Frank Church had invited the farmer and his family to an Independence Day picnic at the Senator’s farm. The Senator asked the farmer to bring some of the “boys” along. The farmer told the crew boss to pick three or four of us and get us cleaned up to attend.

I should explain if you don’t remember that Senator Frank Church by 1970 was one of the most powerful men in Washington, in the country, in fact. He was a senior Senator and Chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, along with service in other powerful committees. He played a key role in the Watergate hearings. Later in the 70s, he would be a leading critic of the FBI and CIA and the chief sponsor of the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act, which still has far-reaching implications today.

Around noon on Saturday, three other boys and I loaded into one of the farm pickups and headed off. I was driving, the only one with a valid driver’s license. My crew boss could not attend because of a conflict with his family. I cannot now tell you where Church’s farm was, I simply followed some written directions. At one point one of the other boys asked me to pull over in a little town we were passing through. He and the others went into a store and came out with bottle rockets, firecrackers, and bottles of Coke. They proceeded to drink the Cokes, and then, as I drove, the three of them stood in the back of the pickup and fired bottle rockets from the empty Cokes, aiming them like guns at anything that caught their interest: dogs, cats, kids on bikes, other cars. I was especially frustrated that I had to drive and they were having all the fun.

Why and how we escaped being arrested is a mystery. However, we did eventually make it to the picnic. Our farmer sized us up, decided we looked presentable enough, and told us to go eat and stay out of trouble. I saw him head off to chat with Church, whom I recognized from TV news. Apparently, my farmer was a big contributor or supporter.

Of course, just how long a hormone charged 16 year-old boy is going to stay focused when surrounded by stuffy adults who wanted to talk about politics, business, and this year’s price of spuds is problematical. I had already scoped out the girls, to find most too young, or too old, or too unappealing; the parents of those with possibility carefully guarded their daughters. To their credit, those girls looked even more bored than I was.

Still, it was a situation just crying out for something terrible to happen, and I was just the person to make it so.

From somewhere my teenage brain conjured the brilliant idea to set off some fireworks. I have always been fascinated with blowing things up, a trait inherited from my father, so it’s not entirely my fault. In addition, I was still frustrated that my workmates had been able to have so much fun while I had to drive.

I found a pack of bottle rockets and an empty bottle in the truck. I went out into the cornfield, on the other side of a barn that hid me from the picnickers. At first, I aimed the rockets out over the corn. However, after the first four or five, the excitement wore off. Brilliant idea number two took hold. Next thing you know, I am arcing the rockets over the barn to go off directly above the picnic. This was much more exciting!

After I successfully launched a half dozen or so, I was hunching over the bottle, with a new rocket ready to go, adjusting my aim. At this point, I heard:

“I want you to stop doing that.”

I did one of those slow turns of the head, the kind where you just know you aren’t going to like what you are about to see. Standing over me was none other than Senator Frank—one of the most…oh my God…powerful men in America—Church.

Gulp.

He gave me a patient smile. “Son, you’re frightening the ladies. If you could point those things that way,” and he waved vaguely out to the cornfield, “I would be obliged.”

“Uh, sure thing, sir.”

“That’s just great,” he said. “Thanks for coming to our picnic.”

He smiled a big smile at me again, and then walked away back to his guests.

Today I am frankly a political conservative who has little use for liberal and progressive philosophy or Democrats in general. As I researched while putting together this blog, it occurred to me that I have a hard time agreeing with either Morse or Church. I don’t care for their politics, positions, or what they stood for. They were both liberals and Democrats, and, in many ways, I think they are partly responsible for the mess that liberals have gotten us into now.

Yet, both men were kind and patient with a snot nosed kid when they didn’t have to be. Both treated me with warmth, respect, and I think honest sincerity. Back then, I didn’t know about their politics and didn’t care. All I knew was that they made a huge impression on me, all positive, and I hope I may have learned some their lessons.

I like to think both Senators Morse and Church would be appalled if they could see how many of our politicians and our society are conducting themselves today. I mean those on both sides, Democrat and Republican. We demonize the fellow on the other side and allow that he has no redeemable qualities or worth whatsoever. There is a complete lack of grace, congeniality, tolerance and respect today, qualities that I am convinced that both Church and Morse had. I would like to think the way they dealt with me was emblematic of how they dealt with everyone. I wonder how much better off we all would be if we all were to imitate that.

At least, that’s how I prefer to remember my two Senators. It may be completely delusional, of course, but it’s worth wishing for, right?