OCTOBER 13, 2021 – While driving across rural Wisconsin Monday, I saw an enormous sign that screamed, “F_ _ _ BIDEN.” The blue background, white lettering, and big white stars on the sides mimicked “[YOU-KNOW-WHO]/PENCE” and “YOU-KNOW-WHO]/2020” signs on display during last year’s presidential campaign and “YOU-KNOW-WHO]/2024” signs during this year’s “stop the steal” effort.
I took heart in seeing “BIDEN,” which suggested the sign-owners’ capitulation in their quixotic fight to “stop the steal.”
Nevertheless, I was perplexed. The sign maker was motivated by lucre, but what about the landowners who’d paid good money and undertaken considerable effort to erect such a sturdy sign? Prominent display of a major-league swear word, I thought, must reflect unprecedented, World Series anger on the part of You-Know-Who supporters (surely they’d voted “orange” last November). I couldn’t recall a time since I was even marginally aware of politics (1960) when I’d seen post-election—and post-inauguration (by nearly eight months)—a permanent “F_ _ _ [PRESIDENTIAL LOSER]” sign affixed to 6 x 6 posts.
Something’s up with angry, rural people.
On the other hand, maybe not. I’ve nearly finished Peril by reporters Bob Woodward and Robert Costa, about the rise of Biden, the fall of You-Know-Who, and the near-death experience of the United States of America. A principal take-away is the frequency of the F-bomb that I saw on that big sign Monday. From non-presidential You-Know-Who to presidential Biden; from four-star generals to attorneys general; from Senators to scientists; from Democrats to Republicans; everyone in a position of power and influence relied heavily on the F-bomb for emphasis–everyone except Mike Pence and Anthony Fauci.
I’m hardly surprised. I’ve spent the better part of my life around lawyers, and among our group, for whom words are the sole tools-of-trade, F-in-heimer is a word of choice. At my old law firm—a large, tradition-bound institution—the chair of my department would say invariably upon passing out work to associates, “Don’t f_ _ _ it up.” The first time I was told, I gulped. The second time I heard his inspirational phrase, I was more confident. “Darn,” I said. “I was so wanting to f_ _ _ it up!” Soon my fellow associates adopted the same push-back technique. Departmental morale skyrocketed.
But back to Peril, presidential power, and use of the F-bomb. I wonder what was used in the day of . . . Lincoln, Polk, John Quincy Adams or . . . the guy who couldn’t tell a lie. Did any of those old presidents or their rivals or advisors say in meetings, “Now that’s really f _ _ _ _ _ up!” Did eloquent Lincoln say to loser McClellan, “I told you, ‘Don’t f_ _ _ it up,’ and what did you do? You f_ _ _ it up!” I can’t imagine old-timers detonating F-bombs—at least I can’t without laughing. Surely, they felt extreme anger, disgust, and frustration with one thing or another. Certainly, they had a convenient word, however crass, to emphasize their feelings. I just don’t think it was the F-bomb.
Somewhere here is a thesis looking for a PhD candidate.
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© 2021 by Eric Nilsson
