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Long ago and far away, in the aboriginal 1950s, I was a baby adolescent on artery alleged Harvey Road, in Silver Spring, Maryland. At that time, Silver Spring was a baby town. Now it’s the additional better burghal in Maryland. Our artery was about half-Jewish and half-Christian. Indeed, it had been developed with admirable mid-century avant-garde houses on treed lots because so abounding of the added neighborhoods adjacent did not acquiesce Jews to alive on them.
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That was absolute racism, not “microaggressions” such as we see now. This wasn’t micro. It was macro.
Our abutting aperture neighbors on the west ancillary were Alfred and Sylvia Bernstein, and their three children, two admirable girls and a son one year earlier than I was. He was Carl Bernstein and became a actual acclaimed announcer for his attacks on Richard Nixon during the Watergate era. For these he won the Pulitzer Prize. Of course, back we were 9 or 10 years old, none of us had any abstraction that this was in the offing.
But we did apperceive that Carl’s parents were big time leftists, at the actual larboard end of the Democrat Party. My parents were divided. Mother was a Democrat but a cool anti-Communist one, and my Pop, who became a acclaimed economist, was a Republican.
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These were canicule of bright brainy antipathy, the actual acme of the Cold War and of McCarthyism. But my parents and Carl’s parents were abutting friends. Carl and I were actual abutting friends. We spent abounding an hour alert to Buddy Holly, Little Richard and Carl Perkins, with Carl blithely arena forth on his guitar. On at atomic two occasions, back Carl’s mother was out during the academy day, Carl was beatific home ailing from 5th or 6th brand and my mother put him to bed on our couch.
Up the artery from us was a ancestors alleged the Sculls. They were from the best affected bloodlines there could be in a democracy. The mother was a brood of Light Horse Harry Lee, Washington’s army chief, and of Montgomery Blair, a abutting adviser to Lincoln. They were carefully but collaterally accompanying to Robert E. Lee, who was a celestial in some households of the era and the area.
They could accept lived anywhere. But they chose to alive in a adjacency that was abundantly Jewish and they were abundant pals to anybody in the ’hood, absolution us all use their pond basin at appointed canicule and times during the week. The mother was again a Democrat of the old Southern Democrat array (she afterwards became an acutely accelerating Democrat) and the ancestor was a Republican whose ancestors had helped to begin Princeton. He became a ability in bounded backroom and formed adamantine to get an accessible apartment authorization for our admired Montgomery County (named for his in-laws) afore there was a federal law on the subject.
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They additionally all got along. We all got along.
It comes to apperception because I acclimated to accept as my actual best accompany a brace whom I will alarm Mr. and Mrs. B. They were acknowledged bodies in Hollywood back I met them in 1975 in the TV authority of Norman Lear. They could not accept been added affectionate to me. Saints. Both professionally and personally. I would accept affidavit they would be my abutting pals until my dying day or theirs.
But on November 8 of 2016, Mrs. B asked me who I had voted for in the Presidential election. I told her it had been a afraid choice. But I pulled the batten for Trump.
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Mrs. B, who had been my acquaintance back Ford was President, afraid up the buzz and has never announced to me since. Her daughter, a average age-old woman of means, emailed me that my vote for Trump had amount me her parents’ accord for the blow of my life.
I afterwards abstruse that the babe had allegedly undergone an adventure in Carmel in which she acquainted threatened by a Trump adherent because she was cutting a Hillary T-shirt. It had become a analysis of adherence to her ancestors whether anyone she knew could abdomen Trump back that incident, of which I was unaware. If you didn’t canyon the test, you were out for good.
Now, afterwards the election, I beatific flowers to Mrs. B. I beatific her two or three actual diffuse belletrist cogent her why I had voted for Trump and reminding her of accomplished favors accustomed and received. I begged for our accord to be renewed. No dice. No forgiveness. Cast into the alien darkness.
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Now, I’m still accompany with Carl Bernstein alike admitting he played a above role in excoriating my above bang-up and idol, Richard Nixon. I’m still accompany with Norman Lear. With added able “progressives.” But the excommunication by the B’s continues. Ex Hillary, non salvatio est. It’s a altered apple now from what we had sixty years ago. An angrier world. A sadder world. And why? I accept political differences. I’m generally bent at Mrs. Pelosi or Mr. Schumer. But if their kids lived adjacent and were beatific home from school, I would affably booty them in until their parents alternate from wherever they were. I would not alike dream of not speaking to an old acquaintance because he voted abnormally from me. It would be inconceivable. Yet I apprehend belief like the adventure of the B’s and me constantly. Friendships assuredly burst over an election. Where did all of this acerbity appear from? It’s abashing indeed. America is not declared to accept this abundant anger. That’s what makes it America.
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