Friday's postcard, and the elixir of my sister's humor

April 26, 2024

Homecoming

Flying home from Denver Tuesday evening I took an empty window seat near the back of the plane. There was a toddler in the seat in front of me and as his mom lifted him to her shoulder his head was bobbing like a small buoy. We made eye contact through the crack between the seat cushions and when we did I made a mouth-popping clowns’ face back at him. His eyes lit up along with a big smile and we laughed aloud together.

I don’t remember learning to laugh but I know it had something to do with my older sister, Nancy, who is irrepressibly funny. Imagine a cross between Carol Burnett and Kristen Wiig. When we were young her spontaneous comedy would often get us into trouble (i.e. uncontrollable giggling in church) but at this age and time it is an analgesic in a violent and disheartening world that can use large doses levity. At times Nancy’s humor all but knocks me over. She can make me laugh even when the part of me that’s rational is on the verge of a good cry.

One example, from our early teens. We grew up overseas where the only English language programming was from the U.S. Armed Forces Radio and Television Service. There were no advertisements. But when we visited the states on long, summer vacations we got to see commercials. We had just turned a television on at our grandparents house in Pasco, WA one afternoon when an ad for Clearasil came on. We were both in our early teens then, enduring regular acne outbreaks that invaded our patchworks of freckles. The beautiful, bronze-skinned, teenage model in the Clearasil ad was looking in a mirror, exclaiming “oooh nooo!,” while covering up a single pimple with an index finger.

“Tim!” I hear to my left. I look over.

“Oooooh nooo!” Nancy is wailing, using fingers from both hands to cover imaginary blemishes on her face.

It’s like that, and has been for a half century since.

My sister Nancy (middle) doubling over our cousin Todd and igniting our niece Jamie at a family picnic in 2012

I do funny things too. We were in Denver to celebrate the life of our Aunt Mary who passed away a few months back. I was staying in a guest room at my uncle’s retirement complex, east of the Flatiron range, between Denver and Boulder. I was sharing an elevator ride with one of the residents. She put her finger on the “upcoming events” sheet next to the floor buttons and as I watched her hand slide down the list it came to a name, in all caps. KATHERINE HAYHOE.

“Whoa!” I exclaimed, and excitedly explained to the startled woman who Katharine Hayhoe is—one of the nation’s premier climate scientists, but also an inspiring teacher, recipient of the United Nations’ “Champions of the Earth” prize in 2019 for her advocacy to address global warming. The sheet cited the name of her talk and listed the venue as the same large hall where my aunt’s memorial had been two days earlier.

It all made sense. Hayhoe became famous for her outreach to fellow evangelical Christians, not just to teach the science but to connect Biblical teachings to the importance of environmental stewardship. The large retirement complex was oriented toward Christian retirees. Of course she would come to a place like this. Of course, she would.

I was thrilled. What great luck. I was going to get to meet Katharine Hayhoe on Earth Day. Wow. I called my uncle and also encouraged my son and daughter and daughter’s partner to come along. I was so looking forward to meeting Hayhoe and eager to thank her and her pastor husband for their devotion to such a vital cause. I would ask her to autograph my notebook.

There was just enough time before her talk to have lunch with my kids, grab my digital recorder, and change from my Cerveza Panama long-sleeved t-shirt into a nice, collared shirt with pockets—something suitably formal; amenable to the occasion.

We got there a minute after 1 o’clock, as the host was sharing Hayhoe’s background and credentials to a fairly large crowd.

The only thing missing was Hayhoe herself. I did not see her in the front row. Nor could I locate her in the wings. It turned out her appearance was only on video, a recording of a recent talk she’d given at Brigham Young University.

Uh-oh.

I put my elbows on my knees and caught my cheeks with my hands. Inevitably, I’d have to look over at my son and daughter, both of whom are skilled comedians and know just how to savor opportunities like this. Devin would tip his head back, grin and stroke his chin just so. I knew Audrey would look at me as if she were about to release a flock of small birds from her mouth.

I had to compose myself, so I waited a few moments before making eye contact. I finally turned toward the two of them, pulled down on the hem of my untucked garment and whispered, perhaps too loudly: “so what do you think of my Katharine Heyhoe shirt?”

Nancy and her husband had left the day before to drive back to the Washington coast. Which was good, in a way, because it averted convulsive laughter in a corner of the large chapel. But I had to turn myself in and report the episode—knowing she would laugh hysterically.

I also wanted to share a soundbite with her. I’ve been a fan of Josh Marshall’s modest journalism project—Talking Points Memo—since Josh and his small team of reporters came to national prominence in 2006 for their award-winning reporting on how the George W. Bush administration had politicized the hiring and firing of Justice Department attorneys. TPM tilts well left of center, but the journalism is conscientious and first-rate. Marshall also encourages an open dialogue about what it’s like to find and develop important stories that much larger media outlets overlook or can’t quite figure out how to cover.

To be sure, the Trump era has been godawful for the country (and the planet, just ask Katharine Hayhoe). But it’s been something of a gold mine for TPM because of their teamwork, agility, and sense of humor.

A year or so ago TPM launched a weekly podcast. It features Marshall’s editor’s notes from his office in New York, but the hour-long program is hosted by Kate Riga, a talented young reporter, based in Washington D.C., who covers both the courts and Congress. They’re both bright and articulate and their age-difference helps to convey the inter-generational horror and absurdity induced by the Trumpian era—in which a major political party and the underlying cultural upwelling that is now the Trump base has been infected and co-opted by a notorious liar and grifter (just ask Mitt Romney).

For those rooted in American exceptionalism—or just happily floating along on the slow tide of the enlightenment—it is an especially ghoulish, nightmarish era. The stakes couldn’t be higher for the fate of democracy; for the fate of the biosphere.

But there’s also this geyser of dark humor—as ridiculous as the plain text on the merchandise, i.e. the “God, Guns, And Trump” slogan on t-shirts and banners. It can be hard to know when, or whether, to laugh or cry. But graciously there’s time for both. When my exasperation meter gets stuck in the red I usually call Nancy who, ironically, plays herself as “Red” every Saturday night on Pacific Beach’s “Rusty and Red” radio show. We laugh our freckles off. It’s therapeutic.

Naturally, I was feeling melancholic when I returned from Denver. It’s hard to say goodbye to the Hartman wing of the Connor/Hartman family and, of course, my children. But Wednesday came and Marshall & Riga aired their latest podcast. It is largely devoted to the Trump trial in New York and the presidential immunity argument that Trump and his lawyers brought to the Supreme Court, yesterday, to try to fend off his indictment by federal prosecutors.

As I expected, the Josh & Kate show was richly informative and interesting. About a half hour in (31:45 to be precise) Kate tried to insert a small anecdote that’s she’d plucked from a long article The Atlantic’s Elaina Plott Calabro had published two days earlier, The Accidental Speaker, about Mike Johnson. Johnson is the Louisiana Congressman who was largely unknown until he was enlisted into the powerful House leadership post after the former House Speaker, California’s Kevin McCarthy, was removed by rebels in his own caucus. Before being elected to the House, Johnson was a lawyer roundly committed to advocating for “biblical values” including bans on abortion and advancing the free speech rights of those who oppose gay marriage.

Near the end of Calabro’s piece she reports on a phone call between Johnson and then President Trump that ended with Johnson telling Trump that he was praying for him. To which Trump responded, “Thank you, Mike. Tell God I said ‘hi.’”

This is how Kate’s mention of the anecdote unfolded in the podcast exchange between her and Josh on Wednesday:

Kate Riga: One other thing on the Trump religious side is like my favorite anecdote.. it was reported that he [Trump] had a call with Mike Johnson and Johnson ended it with some kind of you know, “I'll be praying for you, Mr. President” or something and Trump said, "Tell God I say hi."

Which I think is legitimately really funny and also just redounds to this thing like, "Tell your friend God," you know?

Josh Marshall (loudly giggling): Trump does have this clumsy literalism that comes out in various ways because you know, in Trump's head, he's like, "Mike Johnson thinks he talks to a wizard named God. Mike Johnson will feel good if I tell him to say hi to the wizard.”

“Hi wizard!”

“Hi Wizard!!” Josh Marshall, left, and Kate Riga

As you can see on the video, the two of them briefly lose it and are almost gasping in laughter.

Why? It’s the absurdity of it—the comedy that someone who has extra-marital affairs, lies incessantly, has been found culpable for sexual assault, and drawn laughter by botching a biblical citation at Jerry Falwell’s Liberty University, is nevertheless adored as a venerable prophet by millions of American Christian evangelicals. It’s like living in a Monty Python script.

In any event, when I heard Marshall and Riga working so hard to control their laughter, I couldn’t stop laughing. It just cleared the fog of the blues I’d been traveling with after saying goodbye to Devin when he dropped me off at the Denver airport late Tuesday. So I just had to call Nancy, and play the audio over the phone, to share the laughter with her. It was golden.

I don’t know if humans are the only life forms who experience laughter or are capable of finding humor under incredulous circumstances. But I’d be quite okay if we were. I do believe, as my mother did, that laughter is a way by which we can know and love each other better, that it can warm our hearts and the times and spaces we share. My late aunt Mary lived that too. She was a farm girl who became an award-winning journalism teacher. She knew how to set up a camp, had an adoring husband, and made a mean batch of spaghetti too. God bless her.

—tjc