Dementia is a little like the intoxication of all-knowing youth. “Look Mom, no hands.” or “I know all about sex .... Oops!” or maybe, “I can pay off my student loans once I have my degree.” 
But only one American is made of financial teflon. Donald Trump has repeatedly bullied and conned a major bank into lending him millions that he failed to repay. Then he sued them! The question for America is, are we as stupid as Deutsche Bank?
While goody-two-shoes are appalled at Donald Trump’s supporters there is real genius behind the high school grads and blue-collar workers who elected him President. Unlike our disappointing political partys it was obvious that Trump would shake things up. In Trump’s case it’s because of his unique brand of dementia - one that blinds him to his mistakes and makes apologies unthinkable. 

Surely, the Wharton School of Finance taught him that high tariffs only deepened the Great Depression and made it last a decade. But Donald Trump, sporting a Gorgeous George fright wig wades through his swamp like Moses parting the alligators. He has cowed the grifting heirs to the party of Lincoln who have despoiled Abe’s legacy while hiding behind the banner of fetus-hood. Many of the folks who elected him recognize him for what he is - a glorious fraud. They need to break off eye contact with his tweets or they’ll have only themselves to shame come 2020 for their second mistake. I’m counting on Abe Lincoln’s counsel here: “You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you can not fool all of the people all of the time.”

Let’s hope that the fable I penned for the Reader 17 years ago doesn’t come to pass.  

The King is Naked, 

Published in the Duluth Reader 
May 31, 2002

The King visibly stiffened at the sound of the small piping voice. The King’s guards faltered at their reins and their horses reared causing the great palanquin to halt momentarily before lurching ahead. The King pitched forward in a most undignified manner. Only a quick step saved him from toppling over. The King did not turn back to look at the boy who had dared lift the blissful veil of ignorance.

The delighted boy beamed as faces all about him in the crowd turned toward him in acknowledgment of his discovery. The sudden and unexpected silence was broken by the King’s shrill command to his horsemen to better control their mounts. The palanquin lurched forward again as the King’s procession creaked magisterially down the royal thoroughfare. 

The boy felt his father’s grip tighten around his spindly ankles. He winced as he looked down. Although the temperature was mild his father’s bald spot flushed an angry red. He leaned down uncertainly to his father’s ear and reasserted, “The King is naked.” Then to make sure his father understood he added, “Isn’t he?”

The father said nothing but tightened his grip still more. 
Before the King had disappeared from view a halo formed around the boy and his father as the crowd drew away from them. The spectators began fleeing to their homes and livelihoods. Some faces in the throng turned furtively to stare at them both, father and son. The sound of feet shuffling over dry pavement was joined with that of suppressed whispers.

The father turned on his heels too and tried to rejoin the crowd. Again, the boy implored, “The King was naked wasn’t he?”
“Quiet lad,” said the father in a curt and unfamiliar voice as he turned into his home bolting the door behind him and setting the boy on the floor. A passerby peered nervously through their window as he sped past.
“Boy,” said the father. “You saw nothing. Do you understand me?”
“But why?” asked the confused and injured boy.
“Never you mind why,” said his father with finality. “Don’t let me or anyone else ever catch you saying that again. Do you understand me?” 
The boy looked up at his father uncomprehending. 
“Do you understand me?” His father repeated with genuine menace in his voice.
“Yes,” the boy lied, too shocked to argue. 
“Good,” said the father. “Forget what you said at the parade today and maybe no harm will come of it.”
But harm did come.

No customers visited his father’s shop for the rest of the day. It wasn’t until the next morning that a single customer came round. He hung back at the doorway and would not enter. Instead he glanced fearfully out into the street.
“I’ve come to collect my order,” he sniveled. “It’ll be my last. From now on I’ll do my business with the tanner at St. Crispin’s Parish.”
“What!” the father started. “But that’s a full day’s travel from here!”
“Don’t think I don’t know it!” said the figure in the doorway, “The King’s guard have been making inquiries. About you…” he said, “... and your boy.” 
The visitor turned and peered anxiously down the street again. “Never mind my order,” he quailed. Backing away the customer beat a hasty retreat. The boy rushed to the door and saw the man scurrying away from a troop of the king’s guard, which was marching grimly toward the tanner’s shop.
In the days that followed neighbors guiltily avoided walking past the tanner’s empty abode. No proclamation was necessary. The nation understood. No one in the land was more splendidly attired than the king. 

Keep your fingers crossed that Trump’s out of office before Antarctica melts or before vaccines lose their potency or before China infects all our cell phones with facial recognition tech. For more of Harry check out: