by P.M. Carpenter
There is, it seems to me, an intriguing
relationship between political demagoguery and what might be called
"populist" crime. The latter doesn't pay, it is said; and when one looks
back on the national careers of our most sensational criminals, what is
said is true. For all of John Dillinger's fame — which is nearly
synonymous with Depression-era criminality — his eminence, if you will,
spanned only 13 months. The nationally "distinguished" careers of Baby
Face, Pretty Boy, Machine Gun Kelly, Bonnie Parker and the Barrow
brothers and others, a mere 18 months. That spree of bank-robbing and
kidnapping that have defined an entire American decade was, in fact,
rather short-lived.
Their cardinal sin, outside the usual sins? They made themselves a
target; they brought forth the focused eyes and superior firepower of
officialdom; in going for national headlines, they squandered what might
have been long lives of local, nickel-and-dime grifting. Organized
crime figures who have made the same mistake, such as John Gotti,
suffered similar truncations of their profession. To survive, one lays
low, one opts for big froggism in little ponds, one makes only the
smallest of splashes.
Likewise, modern demagoguery is defined by McCarthy. Add an 'ism"
to his name and one recognizes not merely an era, but the dark art
itself. Yet from launch to exile, McCarthy's national career lasted a
mere four years. An assassin's bullet ended Huey Long's — which spanned
roughly three — but even he understood he could never whip Roosevelt.
(Arguably, the most skilled of all American demagogues was "Pitchfork"
Ben Tillman; his political longevity, however, was due largely to
tending his garden locally, in South Carolina.) These memorable pols
were doomed, for they went on demagogic sprees much like Dillinger's and
Nelson's and Floyd's criminal sprees — and sprees, by definition, do
not endure.
Thus we note that egregious error in perspective committed by political pundit and best-selling co-author of
Bush's Brain, James Moore, in August of 2011. Moore
predicted
with what is now embarrassingly high confidence that Rick Perry "will
spawn the ugliest and most expensive presidential race in U.S. history,
and he will win." The Texas demagogue's "money, image and support will
become overwhelming." His rugged "good looks" and "podium skills … will
create a product Americans will want to believe and buy." After
dominating the primaries, wrote Moore, Perry will "turn to" another
good-looking demagogue, Sarah Palin, as his running mate. In the general
election, "unemployed voters in places like Ohio … will vote against
Barack Obama. And in the process, they will write the epitaph to set
upon the tombstone of history's greatest democracy: Perry-Palin, 2012."
Or not. Perry's political crime spree endured about one-fourth as
long as Dillinger's more honestly straightforward endeavor. Perry was
assassinated in Rochester, Michigan on 9 November 2011, by his own hand,
for the weaponized Rick Perry hadn't the good sense to keep his two-bit
grifting local. Although his shot to the head will be remembered as
that which done did him in, it is useful to
recall,
as does the Post's Chris Cillizza this morning, that "Just more than a
week before Perry's 'oops' moment, he had given what can only be
described as a bizarre speech in New Hampshire. The speech was so odd
that Perry was forced to deny, on the record, that he had been drunk."
It was over before it was over.
This year, like a banished Charles Luciano, Perry believed he could stage a comeback. He was no luckier than Charlie. So now
he's out, again.
The cavernous, conspicuous moral of this story: Bold demagoguery is
thrilling, it's captivating, it's headline news; it's also as
self-limiting as a Dillinger on the run. More subtle demagoguery, such
as that practiced party-wide by you-know-who, can survive for a
generation before the jig comes up. But a Perry, a Cruz, a Huckabee or a
Trump? For them there's a splash, and then they're gone.
by
Jonathan Alter 
by Marlow Stern 
