And the Award for Missing the Point goes to…

. . . Brent Bozell, of the ironically named “Media Research Center,” who refuted Oliver Stone’s comment that “Nixon always said Reagan was a dumb son of a bitch” by quoting a number of prominent figures in Reagan’s administration who thought Reagan was really smart:

I turned to Frank Donatelli, the White House Political Director under President Reagan from 1987 through 1989 . . . Richard Allen, Reagan’s National Security Advisor . . . [and] Gary Bauer[, the] Domestic Policy Advisor under the Gipper for two years[.]

All of them agreed that real “dumb son of a bitch” was Stone, who—according Bozell in a letter addressed to Stone—is an historian because he once claimed to be:

Some producer [of Comedy Central's Politically Incorrect] really thought in extremes when they pitted Oliver Stone and Brent Bozell for one episode. I have to say that you were gracious, charming, engaging, and we enjoyed ourselves—except for that moment when I chastised you for claiming you’re an historian. You bristled and denied ever claming that moniker. I cited the source, an interview in some West Coast paper (I can’t recall which one now).

Even though Bozell can’t remember the name of the paper, he somehow managed to re-read the article later and

[i]t turns out that you were right (in the article) and I was wrong.

So Bozell was wrong, Stone never claimed to be an historian, but that doesn’t mean Bozell wasn’t also right:

You are an historian whether you believe it or not. You make films about history and historical figures. You record history, and that makes you an historian.

Now that Bozell, through the cunning use of italics, has transformed Stone into an historian, he can finally slam him good and proper:

Being an historian is not the problem. It’s that you’re a lousy historian.

In short, Stone isn’t what he never claimed to be, but is what Bozell says he is, and a lousy one at that.  The evidence:

“Nixon always said Reagan was a dumb son of a bitch,” you said, and the audience laughed, and you smiled and decided to take that statement further by agreeing with it. So you said, “You know, I think that he was,” and the audience now cheered and hooted and applauded.

See what I mean when I say you’re a lousy historian?

There are two claims being made here: one, that Nixon thought Reagan was a dumb son of a bitch; two, that Oliver Stone thinks Reagan was a dumb son of a bitch. Unfortunately for Bozell, Nixon illegally taped every conversation he ever had, and when we consult his conversations with Henry Kissenger on the morning of November 17, 1971 [620a.mp3], we learn that while Nixon didn’t use those exact words—about Reagan, at least, since we know he used that particular phrase about everyone from the Canadian Prime Minister, Pierre Trudeau, to the Director of the Secret Service, James Rowley, to one of his own White House aides, Tom Charles Huston—he didn’t think too highly of the Gipper’s wits:

(beginning at 1:33:02)

President Nixon: What’s your evaluation or Reagan after meeting him several times now.

Kissinger: Well, I think he’s a—actually I think he’s a pretty decent guy.

President Nixon: Oh, decent, no question, but his brains?

Kissinger: Well, his brains are negligible. I—

President Nixon: He’s really pretty shallow, Henry.

Kissinger: He’s shallow. He’s got no . . . he’s an actor. He—When he gets a line he does it very well. He said, “Hell, people are remembered not for what they do, but for what they say. Can’t you find a few good lines?” That’s really an actor’s approach to foreign policy . . .

Admittedly, Kissinger lands the harder blows, but Nixon obviously agrees with him, so we can say with certainty that Nixon thinks Reagan’s “brains are neglible” and that he’s “really pretty shallow.” That’s not quite “dumb son of a bitch,” but it’s close. If only that tape continued . . .

(beginning at 1:46:19)

President Nixon: Back to Reagan though. It shows you how a man of limited mental capacity simply doesn’t know what the Christ is going on in the foreign area. He’s got to know that on defense—doesn’t he know these battles we fight and fight and fight? Goddamn it, Henry, we’ve been at—

Does calling Reagan “a man of limited mental capacity” amount to saying he’s a “dumb son of bitch”? Oliver Stone seems to think so, and I’m inclined to agree. So, as to the first claim, Bozell is clearly the lousy historian here.

As to the second claim—that Oliver Stone thinks Reagan was a dumb son of a bitch—given that Bozell spends the majority of a letter addressed to Stone trying to prove that Reagan was the second coming of Thomas Aquinas, he’s not well-positioned to argue that Stone doesn’t think Reagan was a dumb son of a bitch.

In other words, the person who misremembered what Stone said in an article somewhere, but doesn’t remember where, who then re-read the article from he-doesn’t-remember-where and promptly forgot where it was again—this person thinks Stone is a lousy historian because he correctly cited Nixon’s sentiments about Reagan and correctly stated that he agreed with Nixon’s assessment. If I were Bozell—and could remember that I was Bozell long enough to cite myself—I wouldn’t be knocking people who don’t claim to be historians for being lousy historians when those same tables could so easily be turned on, say, a “lecturer, syndicated columnist, television commentator, debater, marketer, businessman, author, publisher and activist” who fancies himself qualified to judge who is and isn’t “a real [historian].”

(x-posted.)

Jefferson the writer.

Whatever one’s overall opinion of Jefferson the man and Jefferson the president, he could write. Here he is at work, with his strikeouts shown in parentheses:

they are permitting their (sovereign) chief magistrate to send over not only soldiers of our (own) common blood but Scotch & foreign mercenaries to (destroy us) invade and deluge us in blood. (this is too much to be borne even by relations. enough then be it to say, we are now done with them.) these facts have given the last stab to agonizing affection, & manly spirit bids us to renounce for ever these unfeeling brethren! we must endeavor to forget our former love for them and to hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, enemies in war, in peace friends. we might have been a (great) free & a (happy) great people together, but a communicat(ed)ion of (happiness) [g]randeur & of (grandeur) freedom it seems is be(neath)low their dignity. (we will climb then the roads to glory & happiness apart) be it so, since they will have it: the road to (glory &) (to) happiness & to glory is open to us too, we will climb it (in a separate state) apart from them & acquiesce in the necessity which (pro) denounces our (everlasting Adieu) eternal separation. (these facts have given the last stab to agonizing affection, & manly spirit bids us to renounce for ever these unjust) (unfeeling) (brethren.)

Notice how happiness gets struck, and struck, and finally lands in its spot next to glory. I’m especially taken by the struck sentiment, “this is too much to be borne even by relations”. Nice thought for a holiday weekend.

Pseudo-liveblogging tenure denial II

The appeal process here involves a written document and the option of an appearance with the P&T committee. I think the appearance is much more likely to help than hurt, so I schedule it and hope for the best. It helps that I’ve “engaged in some scholarly activity” over the past semester, so I’ve got new things to talk about. My senior colleagues have reiterated and strengthened their support. I’ve got some outside letters commenting on some recent presentations. I also think my responses to the committee’s claims are pretty convincing, so I feel like I’ve got a little room to breathe.

(In short: as my chair put it, the committee’s reasons seem to rely on the least charitable reading of everything in the dossier. My hope is that the combination of new evidence and an emphasis on what’s positive in the original material will sway a vote or two.)

I’ve heard rumors that the original decision was contentious– it had to be, given the evidence– and I’ve been advised informally that this is a chance to hand ammunition to my allies in the room. So my goal is to present my arguments in brief, then move on to my recent work and future trajectory, all the while making points that can be used by whoever is on my side.

My big hope is to alleviate fears that I’ll be dead weight after tenure. It’s easier because I believe my own case. (The irony here is that I’ve always felt more impeded than encouraged by the looming tenure decision, but this isn’t something I can say.)

On the other hand, I have no idea who thinks what, and I’m aware that the conversation in the room will be informed by previous discussion, so there will be subtexts I can’t understand.

I do my song and dance. The committee argued that p. I argue in my document that not-p. Let me remind you of my arguments. Furthermore, here is additional evidence. We get into questions. Some are broad and treacherous: “why does research matter to you?” Gah. Some details about departmental politics, about mentoring, and so on. I suggest a story about why Unsupportive Guy is that way. For reasons I won’t ever know this seems to prompt some knowing looks, so I expand on that a bit, trying to put the negative letter into context while remaining levelheaded and professional. Some of the members are asking what really sound like softball questions– “it seems like it really matters to you that this manuscript make it into print”– and they give the look of support. I’m suspicious, because I’d picked one of them to be anti-me, but I’ll take what I can get. I sum up some themes of my work and talk about ways of extending my projects into the future. I manage to be clear, for once.

Then we’re done. I spend a long time rehashing, kicking myself for small mistakes. My immediate assessment is that I’ve done myself some good, but I could have done more. Too hard to read the tea leaves. I try not to think about it, with limited success.

Going to graduation is more humiliating than usual. It’s hard being the warning to others. I leave town. Time passes.

More time passes. It’s pretty agonizing.

Because I’m in a different time zone, the provost wakes me up. “Neddy! I’m calling with good news!” There is tenure. Alhumdulillah. I become extraordinarily relaxed. People in several states get loaded in my honor.

Some thoughts:

Gratitude to the committee members, who could have easily dug in their heels. Reversals look embarrassing for them, and I was happily surprised at their willingness to re-examine the question. The appeals process is much less formal than the original run-through; it feels like things are a little improvised. Plus, they don’t owe me anything other than a decision, so it would be easy for them to be stubborn. Also thanks to my senior colleagues for coming through when they didn’t have to. Knowing who your friends are: priceless. Almost as good as knowing who they aren’t.

The down side: if we re-ran this scenario a hundred times, I’m not sure how many times we’d get this outcome. Feels a little…unreliable. Like this. Not sure how right this is.

Some lessons, besides the obvious injunction to publish more. Presenting your case to people outside the discipline is tricky, and it requires spelling out how research in your field works in ways that might feel awkward. Grit the teeth and self-promote. Even your ephemera changes the course of scholarship. Say it.

You never know just how good will comes in handy. My departmental colleagues said nice things about me, of course, but I also got a lot of help from people across campus– people who didn’t have to help. Friends in the know passed on rumors: your case was hard. There was fighting. Press on. It might have had something to do with understanding disciplinary expectations; you should clarify…and so on.

The other thing that helped, oddly, was keeping in mind (to the extent it’s possible) that this doesn’t matter all that much. I told myself and others that this was far from the worst thing to happen to me (true!) and that I’d be fine (true, harder to believe). I got excited about other careers; I started looking for headhunters and talking to administrators about other kinds of work in higher ed. But here’s what’s weird about this: when other people have been denied tenure, I liked to remind myself that they’ll be fine, that losing a job isn’t losing a loved one. But in this scene it’s really hard to stick to that outlook, because so many people see tenure as a life-or-death thing. Being treated as though I’d just been diagnosed with a terminal illness encouraged me to see myself that way, and knowing I’d go on the market as damaged goods didn’t make it easier. The lesson, I suppose, is that the academy…what’s a polite word for mindfuck?…is hard to escape. Realizing and expecting this makes the task somewhat easier, I hope.

More powerful than memory alone.

Ars Technica has a post summarizing Kodak’s decision to end sales of Kodachrome after 74 years because, basically, “not enough people are shooting KODACHROME for us to continue offering it.” In 1935 the film offered casual photographers the ability to take snapshots in color—to indulge that “twinge in your heart more powerful than memory alone,” as Don Draper says; it “takes us to a place where we ache to go again.”

Father Coughlin would be so proud

This is so awesomely unhinged that it makes me want to drink an entire glass of mercury so I can go along for the ride. Come to think of it, I can skip the mercury; considering all the layers of crazy here will surely drive me mad.

Via.