Gumption (6 page)

A Parisian contemporary of Ben Franklin’s paid him this compliment: “He knew how to be impolite without being rude.” I love that distinction powerfully. To me, that’s one of the most important aspects of working as a giggle-pusher, and I know my personal technique still requires some improvement. I hereby vow to maintain this course of study so that I may one day also aspire to “Fart Proudly.”

JAMES MADISON

B
eyond masters Washington and Franklin, the list of luminaries and firebrands comprising and surrounding the Founding Fathers is loaded with characters who exhibited a substantial deal of gumption: John Jay, of course, the “hot one”; John Adams, roundly admired for his marriage to Laura Linney; Alexander Hamilton, who famously attended every meeting with his fly “accidentally” wide-open; even the influential French aristocrat Gilbert du Motier, commonly known as the Marquis de Lafayette, or “Stinky Pierre,” incessantly suggesting that heavier sauces be served with meat dishes (to the great chagrin of colonial chef Dieter Puck, ancestor to Wolfgang); and let’s not exclude Thomas “Juicy Low-Hangers” Jefferson, whom I sincerely revere as a vocal proponent of an agrarian society (not to mention everyone knows he smoked a preponderance of his own homegrown “hemp”). These are just some of the marquee players on the scorecard of our nation’s formation, but the list of qualified personages goes on at quite some length, if the main qualification is gravel. The bench is awfully deep, as it were, with shrewd
thinkers and irascible orators who each brought their own individual flavor packet to this ideological melting pot. That said, it may then come as a surprise to the reader that I have chosen one of the
least
outwardly colorful, or “pimpin’,” Founding Fathers to round out my initial threesome: James Madison, our fourth president, who is considered the father of the Constitution. He also authored a little brochure known as the Bill of Rights.

The primary reason I am drawn to Madison is that, while all these other great scholars and elocutionists were battling out the issues at hand, he was the one writing it all down and personally weaving all these innovative philosophies into the documents that continue to shape and protect our rights as Americans today. Most of the other valuable players were brandishing a powerful complement of charisma in the meeting halls, expressing with eloquence and volume their opinions and policies, which James Madison would then fairly weigh and curate in his writing. To my way of thinking, it was his even-keeled approach and his consummate reportage that allowed the explosive and exciting ideals of our newly hatched country to be most effectively incorporated in a documented way—that managed to take root and blossom, even while withstanding the clamorous rancor of opposing viewpoints.

A diminutive fellow, tipping the scales at a hundred pounds and boasting a mere five feet, four inches from crown to toe, Madison brings to my mind the legendary character actor Bob Balaban, who in every role seems quietly dismissible at the get-go but then proves to carry a presence of magnitude by the time the credits roll. Lacking the height and lung power to perform respectably in a
shouting match with his contemporaries, James Madison instead relied upon an unwavering work ethic and commitment to neutrality in his summations.

When the blustering had subsided at any constitutional meeting, and the participants, heaving from exertion, (undoubtedly) leaning upon a handmade walnut tea table with meticulously carved ball-and-claw feet, regained their respective winds enough to ask, “Did anybody write that down?,” Madison was able to relieve the room by reporting that yes, he had recorded every snatch and rejoinder, and then some. His participation went so far as to resemble that of the “great and powerful Oz,” navigating machinations from behind his “curtain” for some of our government’s greatest initial dramas. For example, when George Washington was elected our nation’s first president, Madison wrote his inaugural address, as well as the House of Representatives’ congratulatory reply to Washington’s address, as well as Washington’s reply to the House’s reply! (Imagine how much less ignorant so many of the Bush boys would have appeared if they’d only had “Jimmy Madness-son” spinning the rhetoric for both sides of their presidential debates!) In much the same sensibility with which they trusted only George Washington to steer the newly launched schooner of American government, the Founding Fathers preferred only James Madison to write up both the captain’s orders and the owner’s manual.

Our fourth president, as we like to bandy in my scholarly circle, was “hella smart.” In layman’s terms this means he was smart as shit, “as shit” being rather incongruously employed here as a compliment. (Huh. That’s not very good writing. Let’s examine: Etymologically, I am inclined to think that this rather clumsy usage can likely be traced to the much
more accurate phrase “slick as shit,” an apt simile comparing a given condition, object, or person favorably to the especially slippery lubricating properties of the digestive waste products of any critter that poops, but traditionally, that of the goose, as in: “Damn, playa, them Jordans are slick as shit,” or “Ryan, come and finish your Capri Sun! And don’t run near the pool, it’s slippery as goose shit!” As our collective human intelligence continues to erode in conversation, even while the sum total of our statistical knowledge on paper increases at an alarming rate, I know that I am certainly guilty of many such verbal lob shots, so that if I want to express an extreme of really any circumstance, I am prone to use “as shit.”
This blacktop is hot as shit. These jalapeño poppers are tasty as shit. Mario Lopez’s abs are ripped as shit! And his teeth? Glory be, them pearlies are white as shit.
You get the picture, I imagine, since you are likely perceptive as shit. I believe I commit these errors with some frequency, an indiscretion I would like to correct going forward, perhaps thanks to an historical vigilance installed in me by my mother and her mother telling me not to say “ain’t” enough times that it finally stuck. I love words and I want to use them positively, so I’ll need to police myself from here on out, as my grandma Eloise is gone, and I don’t see my mom frequently enough for her to save me, which is lame as shit.)

As I was saying, James Madison was right intelligent. He graduated from Princeton in only two years’ time, supposedly subsisting on four to five hours of sleep a night. The man was a compulsive student, first in college and then in the halls of life. He was commonly described as a nose-to-the-grindstone worker, which is another attribute of his that gets me fired up. He saw the work that needed to be done, so he rolled up his sleeves and he did it. Madison understood
inherently that men and women love being divided against themselves. In the Federalist Papers, he wrote, “So strong is this propensity of mankind to fall into mutual animosities, that where no substantial occasion presents itself, the most frivolous and fanciful distinctions have been sufficient to kindle their unfriendly passions and excite their most violent conflicts.” In other words, if things are relatively calm, we the people will come up with any old bullshit to squabble about, because it’s in our nature, because deep down, we’re dumb as shit. James Madison “got it” because he was sharp in the noggin, or thinkin’ bucket, and so he went on to attest: “The regulation of these various and interfering interests forms the principal task of modern legislation, and involves the spirit of party and faction in the necessary and ordinary operations of the government.” By the way, he was about thirty-seven years old when he penned these notions, which might seem more appropriate coming from a wise old sage, like maybe a colonial Dumbledore. This young warlock of a man, one of Virginia’s finest minds, was so invested in his share of the responsibilities regarding the drafting of first the Articles of Confederation, then the Constitution, and finally his full authoring of the Bill of Rights, that he risked even life and limb to see them completed in a satisfactory manner.

Examine, if you will, the Constitutional Convention. Congress was summoned to Philadelphia to discuss revising the Articles of Confederation. James Madison arrived
eleven days early.
Oh, hang on. Back up, sorry. This was
after
Thomas Jefferson sent him two trunks containing twenty-one books on political histories. Even Thomas Jefferson knew which tiny horse to bet on. Madison was preparing for
this dustup by reading the political histories of the Greeks, the Swiss, the Dutch, and the Germans. I nodded off just writing that list! He was
boning up
big-time, while the other congressmen were probably hanging out with Jefferson and Sally Hemings, smoking bongs and getting “jiggy” with “it,” whereby “jiggy” refers to, I think, penis play, and “it” refers to the female vagina. This was pre-Constitution, remember, so anything goes. Or went. Shit was goin’ down like a David Lee Roth video dressed in the wardrobe and furniture from
Amadeus.
Meanwhile, our man was making carnal advances of his own upon his homework in as stiff a fashion as he could muster, utilizing all the myriad mental powers of a brain engorged with blood like an erect John Thomas (bringing that metaphor to completion).

Let’s also remind ourselves that George Washington did not want to attend yet another reunion of his highfalutin, loudmouthed, smarty-pants cohorts. Washington was tuckered out from
fathering our nation
, and he just wanted to recline on the porch and get his snack on at Mount Vernon. He was obstinate and likely would have succeeded in avoiding the sausage party had not our Mr. Madison hauled his insubstantial fanny to Washington’s side and convinced him that his attendance was imperative to the successful carrying of the day. Spoke Madison to Washington, “It was the opinion of every judicious friend whom I consulted that your name could not be spared.” Now, I am not saying that I
am
sitting here ogling some man-on-man Greco-Roman wrestling magazines and singlet/headgear catalogues, but if I
were
enjoying such fare, I may well have Madison to thank for lighting the figurative fire under George so that he was subsequently able
to ensure that such freedoms would one day be mine to enjoy in the comfort of my own domicile. Harrumph.

To resume: Madison arrived eleven days early. Did he leap about the room, commanding the attention of the assembly with his winning flourishes and fulminations? Did he sing the truths of American democracy into every ear present? Did he run a deep flag pattern, burning Aaron Burr, who stood futilely holding his own jockstrap while Madison caught a fifty-yard toss from General Washington for a game-winning touchdown, resulting in a flamboyant Madison nut grab and moonwalk across the end zone? He did not. He sat closemouthed as near as he could manage to the action, and he took notes. And, because the delegates were sworn to secrecy, his notes actually became the invaluable record of the convention.

A note about arriving early: I am of the opinion that, if you are habitually late, it is inconsiderate to others and also just inefficient, but I am not here to discuss that particular imprudence. What I am suggesting, for myself if no other, is that being on time is also frequently not good enough, if I want to do as good a job as possible. My dad taught me to get there early. Case the joint. Examine the lay of the land. Evaluate the facility, find out where to piss, see if there’s a drinking fountain. Evaluate the breeze/draft patterns so as to determine the best location from which to stand freely farting and escape detection. What are the pros and cons of the balcony versus the orchestra? I like to experience life, whenever and wherever possible, at a steady pace that some might call laborious. I suppose this makes me much more of the proverbial turtle than the hare, but I firmly
believe that slow and steady wins the race. Madison had the perspicacity to roll into Philadelphia with eleven extra days to find his footing, scout the location, canvas the participants, and begin to weigh fairly all the information that was about to be dumped into his lap.

Coupled with punctuality, the other meritorious quality in this set of bookends is follow-through. Again, my dad crops up in the mental “how to live effectively” manual that he and my mother painstakingly installed in my tool kit. When I hear the word
follow-through
, I am immediately reminded of my dad’s lessons in shooting a basketball and throwing a baseball and swinging a bat. Follow-through is what produces the backspin on a basketball shot, that stabilizing centrifugal force that allows a greater level of consistency to be realized in one’s shooting percentage. The same technique can be applied to any task one undertakes in life, inspired by the idiom “If you’re going to do a job, do it right.” Wittingly or no, Mr. Madison was certainly an initiate into this school of practice, because his follow-through in regard to the Constitutional Convention was extraordinary to a degree that can be described only as “nothing but net.”

His commitment to the ultimate American thesis, our Constitution, was superhuman. He refused to leave the site of the historic proceedings with the single exception of dire visits to the thunder closet, overextending himself financially to the point that he was flat broke by the end of the convention. These straits required him to borrow a hundred dollars just to get himself to New York, where, presumably, there would be an ATM at his disposal. Once the convention disbanded and the document was drawn up, it then required ratification, or considered approval, from the many delegates, who had returned
to their disparate home states. Madison proceeded to canvas mainly his home state of Virginia, debating the merits of the fledgling Constitution with his fellow lawmakers, resulting in a successful ratification in the summer of 1788. This taste of victory would prove to be a brief comfort, however, as riding home from a debate at James Monroe’s crib that winter, he exposed himself to the elements to the point that he suffered frostbite on the end of his nose. His commitment to the cause of our nation’s success left him suitably decorated for life, in the form of a scar on his noble sniffer.