WASHINGTON D.C. - For a stark, sobering reminder as to just how far we've apparently NOT come as a would-be free nation of celebrity obsessed news & information junkies, check out the virtual treasure trove of extra-enlightening goodies the National Archives went Antique Roadshow with last week, once they were allowed to assume the position after they finally got their mitts on what, some experts believe to be, the last piece in the who-what-when-where-how-and-why puzzle pie of legendary former U.S. President Franklin D. Roosevelt.
And what a genuine piece of necessary history it is. 14 boxes of various items - some 5000 documents and gifts in all - accumulated throughout the many years of FDR's glorified public (and now, not-so-private) life by his ever so loyal and devoted personal secretaries, Grace Tully and Marguerite "Missy" LeHand.
"This is definitely what we've been waiting for," said National Archives Acting Senior Acquisitions Executive, Ms. Finch Pierpont-Hajeyhey, following the initial unveiling of a limited portion of the collection. "These boxes include numerous letters and assorted other interpersonal communiqués sent to President Roosevelt, which should help fill in many of the blanks that still exist regarding not only his White House years, his various terms of governmental service in the state of New York, and, hopefully some of the reasons behind his long disputed (and largely unknown - except to, surprisingly enough, longtime New York Yankee skipper, Miller Huggins) torso tattoo of silent screen siren Alla Nazimova, as well."
"Lucky for us, these gals saved everything," she added. "Including, various letters of major importance from Italian dictator Benito Mussolini, U.S. Ambassador Joseph Kennedy, and, apparently, nearly all of the president's semi-secretive 8-year correspondence with Broadway/Hollywood Dead End Kid Huntz Hall, that, particularly whatever seems to have transpired during the war years, should be extremely valuable now for Roosevelt scholars to dive into for closer inspection."
Anne Roosevelt, the president's granddaughter, was even more giddy than usual (and not just because the Chicago Bears training camp opened up on Saturday July 31) once she too became aware of some of the more startling contents of several of the earliest opened boxes.
"I'm totally amazed at what these women were able to save and collect over the years," she said. "Thank God they were a couple of certifiable pack rats. Although, to be honest, I could have done without seeing any more photographs of J. Edgar Hoover dressed up like Marlene Dietrich jumping out of an upside-down cake at grandfather's fifty-third birthday, but.....……..hey, executive privilege always was a tough nut to crack, much less give up, even in those olden day times."
In other words, there's a little bit of something for everyone to hopefully enjoy coming out of all these boxes. Which, by Nov. 15 will be available to the public for research, and then posted online in January.
And, although much of what has been found so far seems to have originated and/or been supplied by all the usual appropriate suspects (well-wishing foreign heads of state, various governmental confidants, ongoing mistresses either acknowledging or jockeying for any sort of seemingly readily available - mostly pre-war - commander-in-chief attention, and/or, like it or not, a diverse cross-section of disgruntled anti-New Dealers, who, more often than not, tended to generally offer up their long rambling, poorly spelled, handwritten gripes in coal or crayon on butcher paper, with tobacco juice spittle along for the slide as a most unbecoming impromptu form of punctuation) this latest Roosevelt gold mine find finally brings to light many other notable surprises, which should no doubt spike some immediately elevated lookie-loo interest both near and far, as more and more inquiring minds get down accordingly and well into the act of quickly beginning their collective gorge-fest and eventual digestion of these once lost, but now forever found, FDR papers, and their sometimes explosive contents, herein.
According to Pierpont-Hajeyhey, leading the in-house charge is longtime ace archivist and presidential library senior advisor, Bartok Clementine, the person now most responsible for shouldering the somewhat difficult and demanding chore of sifting through the entire collection of FDR material.
"Indeed, Mr. Clementine knows his stuff, which is why, besides Harvey Levin at TMZ, he was the first person we called in on this important operation," said Pierpont-Hajeyjey. "I'm certain that when he and his crack staff of unreasonably low paid underlings conclude their assorted round the clock sorting and organizing, whatever is ultimately discovered and properly set up for unlimited future public consumption, shall certainly rival whatever achievements they have so far seen fit to provide us with in the past."
As the go-to man with a plan inside the sometimes stuffy confines of the National Archives, Clementine has continually astounded his superiors with highly inventive ways to allow citizens of the world (of all stripes, shades, and heretofore questionable beliefs) to venture back and forth into a wild and wonderful world of living-proof history.
Some of his more noteworthy accomplishments along these lines include: The Interactive Executive Branch Cabinet Meeting Toilet Exposition at the Lyndon Baines Johnson Library & Museum in Austin, TX; the all new and improved Chicken Wing addition, designed specifically as a rotating (seldom hung up right) showcase arena for the Traveling Hall of Bib Overalls at the Carter Presidential Library & Museum in Atlanta; and, last but not least, the planned-on hands-on/clubs-on George W. Presidential Pinata Plaza, soon to be on daily display and in full operation for whatever birthdays, weddings, public school field trips, and appropriately understandable religious occasions might somehow be scheduled once, of course, the George W. Bush Presidential Library officially establishes its permanent home at Southern Methodist University in Dallas, TX.
"This is definitely a passion of mine," Clementine admitted, while being fed an otherwise extended variety of semi-unappealing funazushi by Rhondakami Kaze, an ultra-attractive second-year intern from Georgetown, allegedly. "And, aside from, I guess, the films of Susan Hayward, the music of Claude Debussy, just about anything by Thomas Gainsborough, and, oh yeah, being called in to periodically handle collections of trimmed or plucked President Lincoln facial hair, it's why I keep insisting on getting up bright and early each and every morning."
Of particular interest, at least to some of the more observant and discerning presidential, historical, media related, pop culture scholars currently among us is the discovery of what is believed to be the only existing copy of the mock-up Time magazine cover Roosevelt's trusted 1932 presidential campaign manager, Abe Snidewinder, had apparently dummied up for what was then a truly out of left field move to ward off any possible thought to be threatening and/or embarrassing future flack rumored to be under consideration by his then closet rival at the time, Texas representative and Speaker of the House John Nance Garner, just prior to the Democratic convention.
Rather than allow the Garner people to further pile the mud on with their seemingly almost daily attempts to inappropriately sandbag Roosevelt with increasingly even more pointed public hints regarding his obviously limited, yet, by and large still under the radar, physical capabilities, Snidewinder came up with something that was both novel, for the time, and, as it turned out, some sixty-five years ahead of everyone else out there hoping to otherwise shock and awe what was once upon a time pretty much our very own private little (anything but Idaho) fair and unbalanced world, of sorts.
"Yep, I'm Crippled" ran the banner headline over a sunnier than usual photo of Roosevelt, as a he stood propped up on his crutches, leaning against a cheery tree, clinching a cigarette (in holder) jauntily in his big time grin, while an enraptured audience of weary, yet hopeful, depression-era folk sat surrounding him with an impressive array of concerned glances and (given the time and place) a rather bold and uniquely diverse example of the nation's collective power to hopefully heal itself from within. Or, so it would appear to have been intended by those inside the Roosevelt camp at the time.
As luck, and a certain amount of clearer than usual political thinking fate was soon allowed to play out, this never-quite-possible Time cover was deep-sixed, Garner was bought off at the convention with an offer to be VP on the Democratic ticket, and Snidewinder (after a slight career adjustment which found him going on to produce a series of seldom seen Three Stooges shorts) would go on to be the third base coach for the St. Louis Browns until they moved to Baltimore in 1953, at which point, from then on until his accidental drowning death in 1962 (when he fell off the Staten Island Ferry during Kitty Carlisle's birthday party) he was partnered with the late Soupy Sales in a variety of radio, television, and, more or less, illegitimate theatrical endeavors.
Proving once and for all that, yes Virginia, just like most if not all wars, extensively well built blondes having more fun, and, of course, the traditional annual pissing and moaning about Dick Nixon, bad taste always seems to somehow be in season. No matter who's dealing the cards, and/or marking them up accordingly.
In still other words, who knew?
Well, apparently now all of us do, that's who.
Needless to say things should become even that much more informative around these parts if and when anymore necessary National Archive nuggets of FDR fun facts to show and tell are subsequently made available for the up to speed benefit of our apparently forever thirst for worst case/train wreck scenario-like amusement, and/or, heretofore government-based total confusion.
To say nothing of our ongoing apologetic lapdog tendencies, and/or unintentional (wink-wink) acceptance that whatever perpetual passing parade of affection/rejection might repeatedly be allowed to keep the great unwashed otherwise amused.
While, of course, their already suspect standards (and/or lack thereof) plummet accordingly even further off the charts, and, worse yet, soap of any kind becomes harder and harder to hold onto, much to the delight of whatever nattering nabobs of negativity still remain somewhere/anywhere out there, forever insisting to move among us, without a good reason, or, in fact, never enough of a noticeable towel to provide anything other than the usual amount of as required absorbency, and/or, as usual, an otherwise altogether limited level of entirely inappropriate protection.
Alright, I won't.
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