Understanding Presidents’ Day, with Professor Mike

Presidents’ Day is coming up this Monday. As the sort of American who gets choked up when he sings the National Anthem at the start of a White Caps baseball game, you’d think I might have some idea what Presidents’ Day is all about.

I don’t. Do you?

Admittedly, I slept through a lot of government and social studies classes back in high school, the ones I didn’t outright skip, I mean. Still, you’d think I might have picked up a few scant facts regarding the holiday, if only through osmosis while resting my head on the textbook.

Or maybe I did and I’ve just forgotten. Either way, if some guy held a gun to my head and threatened to pull the trigger if I didn’t explain Presidents Day to him, I’d soon be meeting Lincoln and Washington in person. I’m not sure why anyone would be that desperate to learn about the holiday, but you never know. People have been shot for crazier reasons.

I seem to remember the holiday having something to do with Washington and Lincoln … is it one of those holidays where they joined a couple other holidays (like Lincoln’s and Washington’s birthdays) into a single event so more post office employees would have an excuse to take another day off?

OK, this is going to drive me crazy if I don’t check. Gimme a sec…

All right, now, this is exactly why I made that five dollar donation to Wikipedia last time they bugged me about it: Presidents’ Day got its start as “George Washington’s Birthday,” which was implemented by an act of Congress and therefore unlikely to make any sense anyway. It was held for a while on Washington’s actual birthday and then moved to the third Monday in February by yet another act of Congress. Even about something as simple as a birthday party Congress cannot reach a concensus, it seems.

Once Congress realized Washington’s Birthday was no longer being celebrated on Washington’s actual birthday, they started talking about putting together a blue ribbon committee to look into the matter. 

Congress appoints a committee whenever it has a really, really tough question it just can’t otherwise answer, like, “What color tie goes with a blue shirt?” and other pressing issues that – based on all evidence – occupy the minds of most congressmen and women at least seven out of every eight hours, which for Congress, constitutes the entire work week.

This committee of crack planners pushed for a March 4 Presidents’ Day, but the bill they put forth was shot down by the State Judiciary Committee who thought it was too close to Washington’s and Lincoln’s actual birthdays.

By this time, state politicians, jealous that the feds were throwing so many monkey wrenches into the works, threw in a few of their own. A bunch of state governors got together and – trying to appear “presidential,” just in case – decided their states would celebrate the holiday on March 4 no matter what the congressional committee said.

So there! Take that, Washington!

Not to be outdone in their efforts to spend truckloads of taxpayer money on baloney of this sort, the feds came up with the Uniform Monday Holiday Act, which – had it done anything other than fizzle like last July Fourth’s firecracker – would have officially named the holiday Presidents’ Day and put it chronologically on a Monday between the actual birthdays of Lincoln and Washington.

Both Lincoln and Washington, by this time, would no doubt have been spinning in their graves had they been alive to witness the bureaucratic bumbling and waste being perpetrated in their names. Of course, had they been alive, they would not have had graves to spin in, but we’re talking Big Government here, folks; there’s no need to make sense.

Eventually, the date was settled on and a bill, signed into law in June, 1968, firmly placed the celebration on or around Feb. 12 or whenever states decided they wanted to celebrate it. Then postal workers again figured out it would be better if the holiday fell on a Monday each year, so they could have a long weekend and not feel disgruntled, which, if you know anything about postal workers, is something to take into consideration.

Even Wikipedia is a little vague over how the third Monday thing happened.  (Actually, the topic might have been explained more clearly further on into the Wikipedia article, but I fell asleep with my head on my laptop before I got there.)

Regardless of how it came about, carpet, furniture and appliance superstores loved the idea of a Monday celebration, since it gave retailers the entire weekend to get ready for their crazy! Crazy! CRAZZZZZYYY! last chance blowout everything must go Presidents’ Day MADNESS sales!!!!

If there’s a more patriotic way to honor the father of our country and the man who ended slavery than by offering 10 percent off a Barcalounger, I do not know what it is.

And that, my friends, is Professor Mike’s history lesson for today. Um, I should point out, if you are a student reading this as part of your research for an essay on Presidents’ Day, you may want to check at least a few other sources. And forget you ever saw this one.

Next week: the origins of Valentine’s Day!

mtaylor@staffordgroup.com

(616) 548-8273

Kings are more fun than presidents

I'm a big fan of democracy, of the whole electoral process. This despite candidate yard signs (litter), candidate promises (lies), and candidate commercials (bull droppings). Watching the complex, clumsy tap dance that precedes any American election is like watching monkeys at the zoo: Despite being a step or two further down the evolutionary ladder than we are, politicians sometimes seem so … human.

It’s eerie.

But it’s fun to watch them scramble back and forth; trying desperately to remember exactly what it is they’re supposed to feel strongly about at any given whistle stop without constantly checking the teleprompter. The whole thing has, on more than one occasion, been compared to a circus, and for good reason. You’ve got clowns, freaks, ringmasters, tightrope walkers … it’s entertainment, folks!

Then comes November, and all the monkeys pack up and head back to (Lansing, Washington, the zoo, wherever) until next time. Back in the heartland, we’re left with nothing but reality television and Karaoke bars to get us through another four years.

This is obviously a problem, but a problem I may have a solution to. I have to give a lot of the credit for coming up with this solution to the British.

In England, see, they have—instead of a president—a king. Or a queen, depending on who’s died recently. Most folks already are aware of this fact, but I’ll go ahead and recap the whole structure of the British government as I understand it (not at all) anyway: If you’re the firstborn son or daughter of the king, you’re next in line for the throne when the old man kicks the bucket. If you marry a king, then you’re a queen. Or maybe you’re not—like I said, I barely understand our government, let alone the Brits.

Your kids get to be princes and princesses and your friends get to be dukes and archdukes, doo-bees and don’t-bees, or something like that. Doesn’t matter.

What does matter is that once they issue you your crown, scepter and ermine robes, that’s it—you’ve got the job for as long as you want it. Since you’re king, you don’t have to worry much about what people think of you. If there’s food on the tables of the peasants, chances are they’re not going to storm the castle and run you through with a broadsword.

This, as any American politician could no doubt tell you, is very liberating. Instead of pretending to give a flying fig what “the people” think, you can instead worry about what you think, about what you want out of life. You’re still under the media microscope, but who cares? There’s no election to worry about, so let ‘em eat cake. (Point of interest: Even as royalty, you won’t want to say that “cake” thing out loud. It didn’t work out well for the last queen who did.)

The point is, you’re free to act like a fool, if that’s what tickles your fancy. Date inappropriate women. Drive fast cars on slow roads. Skinny dip off the coast of Belize.

Meanwhile, your antics will give the folks back home something to talk about. Mostly, they’ll be saying things like, “Bloody royals!” and whatnot, but at least they’ll be entertained.

So that’s my plan. Let’s ditch the president and elect a king. Or appoint one. Doesn’t really matter.

As to who gets this cushy job, all I can say is, well … it was my idea.



More “Reality Check” online at http://mtrealitycheck.blogspot.com or www.milive.com. E-mail Mike Taylor at mtaylor325@gmail.com.