Oh, we Were So Young and Naive

We are truly living in a golden age of television. The sheer quantity of quality shows is almost alarming. Everyone you look; network, cable, pay per view, streaming…it’s gold, pure gold.

How do I know this? How do I know that we are seeing a TV explosion of great writing, acting and directing? Because I’m old enough to remember what TV was like in the 70’s and 80’s. I’m old enough to remember when Emmy Award winning, water cooler discussing TV meant, Three’s Company, The Jefferson’s, All in the Family and other such faire.

My God, think about it!  Jack Tripper, Archie Bunker and George Jefferson were considered groundbreaking characters in important shows that were moving our society forward.

Ick!

I mention this to frame the context of one Mr. Donald Trump.

I think a lot of our political and media elite who are older than 45 need to remember those crappy days of TV yore, when bad acting, juvenile writing yet, “this has never been done before” hutzpah littered our airwaves as a reference point to dissect The Donald.

Yes, Norman Leer’s All in the Family was a shock to the American entertainment complex when it aired. But that doesn’t mean it was an ensemble cast of genius.  Sally Struthers and Carol O’Conner had lead roles for god sakes. Yes, The Jefferson’s displayed race as never before, but the writing was ridiculously bad. Sure, Three’s Company began (albeit mockingly) a dialogue about homosexuality, but come on! Susan Sommers? Susan Freaking Sommers!

And I’m just talking about “the good TV” that was airing back them. Don’t get me started about Starsky and Hutch, BJ and the Bear and Charlie’s Angels!!!

Anyway, back to Trump. I have a feeling that in a few years’ time, through the lens of hindsight we are going to look back on him and cringe with soul-rocking embarrassment.  And I’m not just talking about liberals and democrats and main stream republicans who already feel shame because of his occupation atop national polls.  No, I mean his supporters and followers. I think like many of us who look back on 1970’s TV and feel flush and squeamish, his followers today are going to remember 2015-16, shake their head and say, “yeah, he was new and different, but man, now that I look back, what a sausage!” 

And it’s not even just the race-baiting and women- degrading rhetoric. The man is a Wharton-educated business man but speaks like a Wharton community college-educated HVAC repairman.

No matter what your opinion of Barack Obama or even George Bush, you have to admit that these two presidents could hold actual conversations and even more, provide actual data points and statistics to heighten the discussion.

Trump on the other hand talks like your crazy Uncle Bob who empties septic tanks for a living, but fancies himself a raconteur of any and all subjects and believes in his heart of hearts that the key to public rhetoric is simply pounding repetition, baseless superlatives and a loud voice.

You tell me. If you were to plot Donald Trump’s conversational acumen and verbal skills on a horizontal access where a one is Uncle Bob and a 10 is the leader of the free world, could The Donald possible break a three?

Uncle Bob at a backyard BBQ after nine Bud Lights spouting off about how to fix illegal immigration; or Donald Trump behind a stately podium at the National Press Club also spouting off about how to fix illegal immigration? You’d need one of those CSI audio pathologists with state-of-the-art technology to be able to tell these two Mensa superstars apart.

Sure, Donald Trump is a billionaire and a famous person. And yes, if Uncle Bob had been born into the wealth and privilege of Trump he would have probably pissed it away on gold plated bass boats, private Metallica concerts on his own island and a whirlwind marriage and divorce to Morgan Fairchild.

But that’s the best the Donald has to recommend himself: he stayed rich?

Indeed, in a few years we are all going to look back on “The Year of Trump” and desperately want to take a shower. We are going to watch historic clips from his debates, press conferences and interviews and shut our eyes hard in the same way I do now when I momentarily stop on TV Land and hear the soaring theme song from Dallas. In the same cowed and embarrassed tones with which I speak to my teenage son while trying to explain that America was once gripped by the desperate need to know “who shot JR?,” others will try to explain to their children that this doughy, orange-coiffed , carnival barker was actually a leading contender for Commander-In-Chief?

I give you Donald Trump: the Captain Stubing of our day.