← Selected Shorts
Selected Shorts
History’s Clown Car with Andy Borowitz
01:09:15
Meg Wolitzer presents four works drawn from an evening of satirical stories about American political history, hosted by Andy Borowitz. Nothing is sacred. First, Joe Yan imagines Abraham Lincoln, huckster, in “I’m Abraham Lincoln and I Beg Of You, Please Commemorate My Birthday With Mattress Sales,” read by Ikechukwu Ufomadu. In “Running for Governor,” Mark Twain imagines himself in the political horse race. The reader is John Cameron Mitchell. John and Abigail Adams had a famously happy marriage, despite often being apart, and why not imagine them taking advantage of the 18th century version of modern media options? That’s the premise of Alexandra Petri’s “John and Abigail Adams Try Sexting,” read by Ophira Eisenberg and Ikechukwu Ufomadu. And the show wraps with a piece by Borowitz himself, “A Very Nixon Halloween,” inspired by a photograph of Nixon as an awkward civilian after he left office. The reader is Caroline Aaron.
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- [00:00]
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- [00:39]
Meg Wolitzer
What do Abraham Lincoln and Richard Nixon have in common? Well, listen, if you said presidents, you're halfway there. For the other half, let's look to fiction from a night of Selected Shorts featuring Andy Borowitz. I'm Meg Wolitzer and join me for History's Clown stories about where history could have gone if it had a better sense of humor. Listening to selected shorts where our greatest actors transport us through the magic of fiction one short story at a time. Politics isn't funny. I mean, not to many of us laypeople who just read the news. The business of governance, with all its coalitions and compromises, bill writing and fundraising doesn't lend itself to a lot of humor. Thankfully, we've got these people called satirists. And these days, alongside the many scribes who write stand up jokes for late night TV or for online publications, we have leading lights such as Andy Borowitz. He's the creator of the Borowitz Report, formerly a part of the New Yorker magazine, and the editor of titles including the 50 funniest American writers. His latest book, Profiles in Ignorance, is about how we've gone from shunning idiocy in our politicians to celebrating it. It's less ha ha funny, more ha ha. Gotta laugh or I'm gonna cry funny. We at Selected Shorts love working with Andy Borowitz. Today's show is drawn from an evening of satirical stories about American political history, which Borowitz aptly named history's clown car. As you'll hear, Borowitz played the consummate host. He also contributed a story of his own, which we'll hear at the end of the show after listening to other works, including a piece by one of Borowitz's heroes, Mark Twain himself. In writing workshops, there's always a lot of talk about voice. What is it and how does a writer find their own? Andy Borowitz seems to have found his own singular and droll voice out there in the political landscape, but he can not only offer sharp and culturally relevant one liners. He can also build scenes creating the most deadpan, dripping with drollery political satire that works equally well when you encounter it on the page or the way you're about to encounter it. Spoken by the writer himself. Here is Andy Borowitz speaking from the stage at Symphony Space.
- [03:03]
Andy Borowitz
Hello, I'm Andy Borowitz and this is selected shorts. Let's hear for the shorts. Oh, come on, show some love. Let's hear from the people up in the balcony. The balcony is full of folks. Let's hear it for them.
- [03:24]
Audience Member
Come on.
- [03:27]
Andy Borowitz
They paid as well. We've got a great show this evening, but I'd like to start in a really cool way. I'd like to start with a little bit of market research, if you don't mind. It really gets things going in a really great vein. By show of applause, how many of you read the Borowitz Report?
- [03:44]
Ikachiku Ufamadu
It.
- [03:48]
Andy Borowitz
Well, thank you. You are the reason I do what I do. So I am so grateful that you're here. Now, for those of you who are not familiar with the Borrowitz Report, if you go to borrowitzreport.com every day, I make something up. It's kind of like, how do I describe. Are you familiar with Kristi Noemi? Same genre. She is my main competition at this point. Stay in your lane, Christy. Come on. Now, you probably have heard she has this new book out. It's not 100% factual, to be honest. I gotta tell you, I had some doubts when I saw that the foreword to the book was written by George Santos. But I'm not going to get on her case about all the mistakes in the book because I don't know about you, but I mean, I sometimes get confused about whether I've met Kim Jong Un. I mean, the name sounds familiar. Was he at the Met gala? He seems like he'd be somebody who'd be friends with Anna Wintour. I don't know. Now, the book is great. Kristi Noem's book is great. I advise you all to read it. I think it's going to win the National Book Award for fiction. I really do. I think it has a real shot. But believe it or not, it is not her finest literary achievement. That would go to South Dakota's anti drug slogan. Now, honestly, guys, you know, I make a lot of things up. I am not making this up. This is for real. You can Google it after the show. South Dakota's antidrug slogan is, and I quote, meth. We're on it. Tell us something. We don't know, South Dakota. I mean, that actually sounds more like a drug slogan to me. Have you tried meth? I mean, it sounds kind of like that now. I was wondering, what was the meeting like when Kristi Noem pitched meth? We're on it. And I'm giving her credit for the slogan because this poor woman has not gotten enough credit lately. I mean, she's just. Everyone's been piling up. But I'm just picturing this meeting where Kristi Noem pitches meth. We're on it, and her aide is like, I love it. No notes. It's clear, it's concise. It can't be misconstrued in any way. Governor, you are a genius. You should write a book someday. Oh, dear. Now, Kristi Noem, she is a perfect example of what the great American political humorist Will Rogers was talking about when he said, and I quote, there is no trick to being a humorist when you have the whole government working for you. I know it. I know it. I live by that. I mean, because this is why, like, I process the news kind of differently from the way normal people do. Because, like, you guys probably read the news and you want to swallow a whole bottle of edibles, right? I read the news, and I'm like, my work is done. What's on Netflix. It's time to chill now. Give you an example. I woke up this morning, turned on the news, and I found out that Robert F. Kennedy, jun. That's our show, ladies and gentlemen.
- [07:55]
John Cameron Mitchell
Good night.
- [07:58]
Andy Borowitz
No, no, no. Okay, so Robert F. Kennedy, Jr. Who is running for President of the United States, revealed that part of his brain has been eaten by a worm. And then. You probably missed this. But later in the day, the worm denied it. The worm said it could not find Robert F. Kennedy's brain. So, yeah. And now the worm is running. I think he's going to do really well. So that was kind of a happy, happy story. But, yeah, no. Politicians help me. They're very, very helpful. I'll tell you one person who makes my job really easy is this woman down in Georgia named Marjorie Taylor Greene. Have you heard of her? Yeah. Oh, no. How dare you? She is my favorite person. No. In the world. I mean, I like my family, but Marjorie Taylor Greene has a special in my heart. No one works harder for me than Marjorie Taylor Greene. She is like a contributing editor to the Borowitz Report. I mean, totally. She is great. Just dial it up. Now, Marjorie Taylor Greene, she's an interesting, interesting person. She has some interesting ideas. She doesn't believe in evolution because it's really let her down. And unlike Kristi Noem. You know, Kristi Noem's really into the book world. You know, she's writing books and stuff. Marjorie Taylor Greene wants to ban books. She does. And now Marjorie Taylor Greene wanting to ban books. That's like me wanting to ban hyenas because I've never picked up a hyena. But, you know, my favorite thing about Marjorie Taylor Greene, and I mean, this is she thinks that I have a space laser. And I find that so flattering that she thinks I could operate a space laser. I can barely mute myself on zoom. And I was just thinking, like, my ancestors in Eastern Europe would have loved having space lasers while they were being chased by the gazpacha. You ready for the show, ladies and gentlemen? Are you ready?
- [10:34]
Richard Nixon
Okay, thank you.
- [10:39]
Andy Borowitz
Now I have to send a royalty check to Marjorie Taylor Greene once again. Okay, some more market research. How many of you are familiar with Selected Shorts? Well, here's the elevator pitch. It's basically literature performed live, or as the British would say, literature performed live. So what we do is we, the Selected Shorts team. I don't want to take credit for it. The Selected Shorts team finds the best performers and the best stories, and they put them together. And then magic happens here on stage, and all kinds of things happen. It can be funny, it can be moving, but even though we're in this big theater here, it can feel pretty intimate. So that's really cool. Now, I've done some stuff for Selected Shorts. I've hosted some of these live shows. I've also hosted some podcast episodes. And when the Selected Shorts team came to me and said that they were thinking of doing a show that would be all about the history of American politics, I was in. I was totally in. Because if I can just share for a moment, as a comedian, it's really important for me to get outside of my bubble and see what real Americans are thinking. And that's why I'm here tonight on the Upper west side of Manhattan.
- [12:03]
John Cameron Mitchell
Out.
- [12:03]
Andy Borowitz
Of my comfort zone. That's why I'm here, because when I look out at this audience, this audience looks like America.
- [12:16]
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- [12:49]
Meg Wolitzer
The first piece we're going to hear is by writer Joe Yan, a story that was published in the online comedy concern McSweeney's. It's read by Ikachiku Ufamadu, a comic and actor who has written for series including Z Way and who's appeared in series including HBO's Los Espuques. The title of the story is its first punchline, so I'm going to let him deliver it himself so as not to spoil it.
- [13:24]
Richard Nixon
I'm Abraham Lincoln, and I beg of you, please commemorate my birthday with mattress sails Dear citizens, I know that I am not well amid this evening at Ford's Theater. My body has borne within it an abominable manifestation of political strife, and I feel my senses beginning to take leave as the light departs my corporeal form, yearning to move on to destinations unknown. I have but one final request. I beg of you, please commemorate my birthday with mattress sales downy tufted, even memory foam. None shall be exempt from the wholesale slashing of prices reserved for this great endeavor. A day, nay, an entire weekend for only a weekend would suffice for the monumental scale of these savings. Throughout our fair land, post boxes spanning as far as the stately eagle soars shall be papered with announcements, each a herald to the approaching cavalry of discount mattresses. When this great republic was first conceived, our founders proffered a unique conception that every man, no matter his creed, race, or sleep number, would in equal terms be free in the pursuit of happiness. Though we have not often lived up to these ideals in practice, I implore one further leap toward them with a bedroom blowout bonanza the likes of which no man has ever seen. It is true that during my tenure war has tested our national resolve, pitting brother against brother in this trying time. But by the hand of Providence, even the most quarrelsome of kin shall come together against our common enemy. Nighttime Sweating why merely lay down arms when there also exists occasion to lay down upon moisture, wicking fabric with pressure point relief? Still, I do not deny the existence of deep, unresolved and lingering divisions between our fellow citizens. For instance, some have a particular predilection for softness and others for firmness. My soul longs for a time when we proclaim the end of such calamity, a time when men of every stripe may finally exercise the fundamental liberties enshrined within our noble founding documents, the 60 day slumber money back guarantee. Now my breath begins to slow and my mind returns to my love, my Mary Todd. Soon I will be reunited with our poor sickly son Willie in the vast showroom of the heavens. Regrettably he was not and will not be party to many glorious milestones in American history. The end of war, the ratification of the 13th Amendment, the first rebate on a box spring. As with many at death's door, the legacies of my earthly affairs trouble me no longer. If the post war reconstruction process were to falter, no matter if the battle flag of the former Confederacy were to be adopted as a race baiting symbol in an all consuming culture war, I take no heed. All that concern me are deals, deals, deals. I cannot help but be overcome by a deep comfort, even in my last moments as I reflect upon the studied image of an entire nation finally united by a good night's sleep at an affordable price.
- [17:43]
Meg Wolitzer
That was I'm Abraham Lincoln and I beg of you, please commemorate my birthday with mattress sales. By Joe Yan Performed by Ikachaku Ufamadu I'm Meg Wolitzer. You know, as honest as Abe was purported to be, I'm not sure I ever heard about his commercial ambitions to be the Mattress King. This is why it's good to be a student of history. Next up, a piece from one of America's most celebrated political satirists, Mark Twain. Twain is, of course, the author of classics including Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court, and he also wrote an incredible number of short stories and humor columns for the newspapers of the day. This fictional piece, which imagines the mudslinging that might have ensued if Twain ever had attempted to run for office, is read by dynamic writer and performer John Cameron Mitchell. He wrote and starred in Hedwig and the Angry Inch, the musical and its film adaptation, and has made memorable appearances in series including Girls and City on Fire. Now John Cameron Mitchell performs an abridged version of Of Running for Governor by Mark Twain.
- [18:59]
John Cameron Mitchell
Running for Governor.
- [19:03]
Audience Member
A few.
- [19:03]
John Cameron Mitchell
Months ago I was nominated for governor of the great state of New York to run against Stuart L. Woodford and John T. Hoffman on an independent ticket. I somehow felt that I had one prominent advantage over these gentlemen, and that was good character. It was easy to see by the newspapers that if ever they had known what it was to bear a good name, that time had gone by. It was plain that in these latter days, these latter years, they had become Familiar with all manner of shameful crimes. But at the very moment that I was exalting my advantage and joying in it in secret, There was a muddy undercurrent of discomfort riling the deeps of my happiness. And there was the having to hear my name bandied about in familiar connection with those of such people. I grew more and more disturbed. Finally, I wrote my grandmother about it. Her answer came quick and sharp. She said, you have never done one single thing in all your life to be ashamed of. Not one. Look at the newspapers. Look at them and comprehend what sort of characters Woodford and Hoffman are. And then see if you are willing to lower yourself to their level and enter the public canvas with them. It was my very thought. I did not sleep a single moment that night. But after all, I could not recede. I was fully committed. I must go on with the fight. As I was looking listlessly over the papers at breakfast, I came across this paragraph. And may I truly say I never was so confounded before. Perjury. Perhaps now that Mr. Mark Twain is before the people as a candidate for governor, he will condescend to explain how he came to be convicted of perjury by 34 witnesses in Wakakak, Indogina, in 1863. The intent of witch perjury being to rob a poor native widow and her helpless family of a meager plantation patch, Their only stay and support in their bereavement and desolation. Mr. Twain owes it to himself as well as to the great people whose suffrages he asks to clear this matter up. Will he do it? I thought I should burst with amazement. Such a cruel, heartless charge. I had never seen Indochina. I had never heard of waka Mac Hack. I didn't know a plantain patched from a kangaroo. I did not know what to do. I was crazed and helpless. I let the day slip away without doing anything at all. The next morning, the same paper had this. Nothing more significant. Mr. Twain, it will be observed, is suggestively silent about the Indochina perjury memo. During the rest of the campaign, this paper never referred to me in any other way than as the. The infamous perjurer Twain. Next came the gazette with this wanted to know, will the new candidate for governor deign to explain to certain of his fellow citizens who are suffering to vote for him the circumstance of his cabin mates in Montana losing small valuables from time to time, until at last, these things having been invariably found on Mr. Twain's person or in his trunk.
- [22:35]
Audience Member
They.
- [22:36]
John Cameron Mitchell
Felt compelled to give him a friendly Admonition for his own good, and so tarred and feathered him and rode him on a rail and then advised him to leave a permanent vacuum in the place he usually occupied in that camp. Will he do this? Could anything be more deliberately malicious than that? For I had never was in Montana in my life after this. The journal customarily spoke of me as Twain, the Montana thief. I got to picking up the papers apprehensively, much as one would lift a desired blanket which he had some idea might have a rattlesnake under it one day. This met my eye. The lie nailed by the sworn affidavits of Michael O'Flanagan, Esq. Of the Five Points, Mr. Kit Burns and Mr. John Allen of Water Street. It is established that Mr. Mark Twain's vile statement that the lamented grandfather of our noble standard bearer, John T. Hoffman, was hanged for highway robberies. A brutal, gratuitous lie without a shadow of foundation. In fact, it is disheartening to virtuous men to see such shameful means resorted to to achieve political success as the attacking of the dead in their graves, defiling their honored names. When we think of the anguish this miserable falsehood must cause the innocent relatives of the deceased, we are almost driven to incite an outraged public to summary and unlawful vengeance upon the traducer. But, no, let us leave him to the agony of a lacerating conscience. Though if the public in his blind fury should do the traducer bodily injury, it is but too obvious no jury will would convict or no court punish the perpetrators of such a deed. The ingenious closing sentence had the effect of moving me out of bed and with dispatch that night and out at the back door, while the outraged public surged in the front way, breaking furniture and windows in their righteous indignation as they came and taking off such property as they could carry when they went. And yet I can lay my hand upon the book and say I never slandered Governor Hoffman's grandfather more. I never even heard of him or mentioned him up to that day and date. I will state in passing that the Journal above quoted from always referred to me afterwards as Twain the body snatcher. The next newspaper article that attracted my attention was the following. A sweet candidate, Mark Twain, who was to make such a blighting speech at the mass meeting of the independents, didn't seem to come to time. A telegram from his physician stated that he had been knocked down by a runaway team and his leg broken in two places. Sufferer lying in great agony and so forth, so forth, and a lot more bosh of the same sort. And the independents tried hard to swallow the subterfuge, pretending they didn't know what the real reason for the absence of the abandoned creature whom they denominate. Their standard bearer, a certain man was seen to reel into Mr. Twain's hotel last night in a state of beastly intoxication. It is the imperative duty of the independence to prove that this besotted brute was not Mark Twain himself. We have them at last. The voice of the people demands in thunder tones. Who was that man?
- [26:13]
Audience Member
It was incredible.
- [26:15]
John Cameron Mitchell
It was absolutely incredible. Three long years had passed over my head since I tasted ale, beer, wine or liquor of any kind. I saw myself confidently dubbed Mr. Delirium Tremens Twain in the next issue of that journal. Without a pang notwithstanding. I knew that with monotonous fidelity the paper would go on calling me so till the very end. By this time, anonymous letters were getting to be important part of my mail matter. The form was common, if the spelling wasn't. How about that old woman you kicked out of your premises, which was began? She was Beagan. And this. There's things which you have done which has, unbeknownst to anybody but me. You better trot out a few dots to yours truly or you'll hear through the papers from Handy Andy shortly. The principal Republican journal convicted me of wholesale bribery. The leading Democrat paper nailed an aggravated case of blackmailing to me two more names. Twain, the filthy corruptionist and Twain, the loathsome embracer. By this time there had grown to be such a clamor for an answer for all these dreadful charges that were laid to me. That the leaders of my party said it would be political ruin for me to remain silent any longer. The following appeared in one of the papers the very next day. Behold the man. The independent candidate still maintains silence because he dares not speak. Every accusation against him has been amply proved. Look upon your candidate independence. Look upon the infamous perjurer, the Montana thief. The body's nature. Contemplate your incarnate delirium tremendous, your filthy corruptionist, your loathsome embracer. Gaze upon him and then say. If you can give your honest votes to a creature who dares not open his mouth in denial of any one of them. And so, in deep humiliation, I set about preparing to answer a mass of baseless charges. But I never finished the task. For the very next moment a paper came out with a new horror, a fresh malignity, and seriously charged me with burning a lunatic asylum with all its inmates inside because it obstructed the view from my house. This threw me into a sort of panic. Then came the charge of poisoning my uncle to get his property with an imperative demand that the grave should be opened. I just. I. I was wavering. Wavering. And at last, as a due and fitting climax to the shameless persecution, nine little toddling children of all shades of color and degrees of raggedness were taught to rush onto the platform at a public meeting and clasp me around the legs and call me Pa. I gave it up. I hauled down my colors and I surrendered. I was not equal to the requirements of a gubernatorial campaign in the state of New York. And so I sent in my withdrawal from the candidacy and in bitterness of spirit, signed it yours truly. Once a decent man, but now Mark Twain ip mt BSDT FC and loathsome embracer.
- [29:52]
Andy Borowitz
John Cameron Mitchell.
- [29:57]
Meg Wolitzer
That was Mark Twain's fictional piece Running for Governor performed by John Cameron Mitchell. The unsettling bit is how contemporary Twain's complaints feel. The unfounded finger pointing, I think you'll agree, is something that feels ingrained in our politics. I've been reading Mark Twain since I was in grade school. He's one of those writers who seems as if they can do anything. Mostly I think of the characters he created in his novels and the settings that he has made so famous. But as wet as Twain's Mississippi river is, the wit of his political writing is correspondingly dry. When we return, Richard Nixon plays dress up with Andy Borowitz. I'm Meg Wolitzer. You're listening to selected shorts recorded live in performance at Symphony Space in New York City and at other venues nationwide.
- [30:45]
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- [32:06]
Meg Wolitzer
Welcome back. This is Selected Shorts, where our greatest actors transport us through the magic of fiction, one short story at a time. I'm Meg Wolitzer. This week we're laughing at history and politics. Whatever your yen, we'd love to hear about it. Please write to us@pledshorts.org or on your favorite social media app. If you're getting a kick out of this program, you can listen to a bonus podcast interview with Andy Borowitz on the episode page@pledshorts.org Next in this program we're calling History's Clown Car. Let's hear a story from Washington Post columnist Alexandra Petri. She published the book Nothing is Wrong and Here Is why, which was a Thurber Prize finalist. This story was one she included in her latest collection, Alexandra Petri's US History Important American Documents. I made up. This epistolary narrative about the comically sensual side of a founding father and his bride is read by two actors. One we heard earlier in this hour, the comedian and writer Ikachuku Ufamadu. The other is Ophira Eisenberg, a comic and writer who hosted NPR's Ask Me Another for many years and who currently hosts the podcast Parenting is a Joke. Here's Andy Borowitz on stage at Symphony Space.
- [33:30]
Andy Borowitz
John and Abigail Adams tri sexting the second US President. John Obnoxious, suspected and unpopular Adams and Abigail remember the ladies. Adams spent good chunks of their marriage on opposite sides of the Atlantic Ocean, a situation that seems ripe for some kind of effort to keep things spicy. We have the rest of their correspondence. Why not this too?
- [33:59]
Meg Wolitzer
That was Andy Borowitz, and now Ophira Eisenberg and Ikachuku Ufamadu perform Alexandra Petri's PG rated story. John and Abigail Adams tri Sexual.
- [34:20]
Ikachiku Ufamadu
Peacefield Old house, Quincy, Mass. April 1, 1778 Dear John, what are you wearing?
- [34:32]
Richard Nixon
Hotel de Valois, Paris, France, May 21, 1778 My dearest friend, I'm wearing a good thick woolen coat of sound construction, as well as my customary stockings, long linen shirt and knee breeches. It is a brisk chill day here in Paris, yet as I stamp and rub my hands in the cold or shove them more deeply into my stout brown coat's pockets, I am passed by many a Man clad gaily like a field in riot with sunflowers. Such are the exigencies of fashion here. I feel a very wren amidst so many peacocks.
- [35:14]
Ikachiku Ufamadu
Peacefield, June 8, 1778. Dear John, I delighted very much in your description of the fashions. I must be candid, John. I inquired as to what you were wearing in the hopes that we might engage in simulated coitus via letter. I apologize if that was unclear in case you should wish to alter your description of what attire you are wearing.
- [35:45]
Richard Nixon
Hotel de Valois, June 23, 1778. My dearest friend.
- [35:51]
John Cameron Mitchell
Ah.
- [35:52]
Richard Nixon
What would be the benefit of such an exchange? It's. It seems to me that sheets of cotton and sheets of parchment Offer very different possibilities for marital Disportment.
- [36:08]
Ikachiku Ufamadu
Peace Field, July 7, 1778. Dear John. Here, John, I have drawn a map. You are indicated with an X. I am indicated with another. And we may see by examining this map closely that you are on one continent, Whereas I am on another continent. So any pursuit involving cotton sheets, however desirable, is, alas, impossible. Paper sheets are what must pass between us. I will now attempt to describe what I am wearing, that you may carry my picture in the glass of your mind. I am attired in a woolen gown and a cap of a stiff linen material, as well as five petticoats, my bustle and my customary stays. I was wearing stockings, but I am not wearing them any longer.
- [37:22]
Richard Nixon
Hotel de Valois, July 31, 1778. Dear Abigail, the map was very helpful. I shall endeavor to apply myself to this enterprise with a will. I see that you are wearing five petticoats. I hope that soon you shall be wearing merely four.
- [37:47]
Ikachiku Ufamadu
Peace Field, August 13, 1778. Dear John, the cows do not thrive, and we are having great difficulty about the farm. Also, I have done some arithmetic, and at our rate of letters travel, it is going to be christmas before I get down to one petticoat. So I have taken the liberty of removing all five. All five of the petticoats. In order to expedite the proceedings somewhat. I hope this shall not be taken as undue forwardness, but you must concede that one petticoat a month would be sorely trying. Suppose that one of our letters should be lost at sea. We might be left in a great ambiguity and confusion as to how many petticoats remained. And then we might be mired for several months Endeavoring to remove petticoats that have already been removed. I seek to avoid such a quagmire. What is the state of your own Attire.
- [38:57]
Richard Nixon
Hotel de Valois, August 20, 1778. Dear Abigail, I have not heard from you since my last letter and hope the cows thrive and that all on the farm is easy and pleasant. All is well here. The sun shines brightly upon your John, who longs for you, as the magnet is reported to long for certain metals and perhaps also electricity. In a metaphor drawn from those thrilling experiments which I as yet imperfectly comprehend, I am still attired in my stockings and breeches. I hope that soon you shall be wearing merely three petticoats.
- [39:40]
Ikachiku Ufamadu
Peace Field, September 5, 1778. Dear John, I see from your last letter that you did not receive my last letter. As I feared, we are now in a quagmire. My last letter noted that it would be imprudent to remove merely a single petticoat with each letter, and therefore I took the liberty of removing the remaining four. But as you are unaware of it, I suppose I better revert to three petticoats.
- [40:13]
Richard Nixon
Hotel de Valois, September 7, 1778. My dearest friend, it grieves me to hear about your struggles with the cows. I could wish you a pleasanter avocation than that one. It is prudent what you have thought about the petticoat. And in keeping with the spirit of your suggestion, I'm removing my thick woolen greatcoat of sound construction.
- [40:38]
Ikachiku Ufamadu
Peacefield, September 23, 1778. Dear John, I believe that you are receiving my missives out of order, and I think we had better halt proceedings until we can sort out this matter. How many petticoats am I wearing exactly in your mind? I will make no further movement on the petticoat front until I have heard from you.
- [41:06]
Richard Nixon
Hotel de Valois, October 1, 1778. My dearest friend, now I have removed my long shirt.
- [41:20]
Ikachiku Ufamadu
Peacefield, October 20, 1778. Dear John, I see from your recent missive that you did not receive either of my last letters. And now we have entered into the very quagmire I most dreaded where there is an indeterminate number of petticoats hovering between us across the roaring Atlantic. I believe I must put a halt to things until we can ascertain how many petticoats you believe me to be wearing. Please do not attempt to continue the proceedings until we have settled on a number.
- [42:00]
Richard Nixon
Hotel de Valois, October 31, 1778. My dearest friend, it is either three petticoats or zero petticoats.
- [42:11]
Ikachiku Ufamadu
Peacefield, November 13, 1778. Dear John. Yes, this is the matter I am seeking to resolve. Shall we settle on zero, then.
- [42:24]
Richard Nixon
Hotel de Valois, November 14, 1778. My dearest friend, I've received no letter from you. I pray that all is well with you. It is either 3 petticoats or 0 petticoats.
- [42:39]
Ikachiku Ufamadu
Peacefield, November 18, 1778. Dear John, when I saw that ship containing my last packet of letters had foundered, I feared the worst. Let us settle upon zero. Well, Shakespeare writes, trust not to rotten planks. I miss you.
- [43:02]
Richard Nixon
Hotel de Valois, December 10, 1778. My dearest friend, I rejoice that you are in safekeeping now that we have settled upon zero petticoats. Is my greatcoat on or off? And what of my shirt? Ought I to set about keeping a log to make matters clearer? I may ask benjamin franklin for his advice upon this matter. It seems an area in which he would be possessed of knowledge and might offer a sound Recommendation.
- [43:38]
Ikachiku Ufamadu
Peace Field, January 1, 1779. Dear John, A new year dawns. Much time has passed since we began this correspondence. I cannot say that it offers much to recommend itself, but perhaps it will gain an interest once we have made our way through this morass of petticoats. In honor of this milestone, I shall take the liberty of removing my stays altogether.
- [44:10]
Richard Nixon
John Adams. Lodgings, France, March 23, 1779. Dear Abigail Adams, I, john Adams, your husband, am completely naked and stand ready, ready for action. I am wild and cannot be governed. My ardor may only be quenched by being doused, as a conflagration would be quenched by the many divers water buckets of the tremendous volunteer fire brigade organized by benjamin Franklin in philadelphia, the first of its nature. In that place we shall kindle one another's eagerness, like a kite being struck by lightning, as might occur if a man of genius fixed it in his mind to perform a worthy experiment. Place a basket over your head to obscure all the deficiency of fluid in neck and visage that has ensued as a consequence of age. And let us have at it, and we must spare a thought for Benjamin Franklin, a worthy man. Hotel de Valois, March 24, 1779. My dearest friend, do not open the most recent letter. It was sent in error by benjamin Franklin, who was frankly not the man to consult in this matter, and to whom I have composed stern words of reproof. Hotel de Valois, March 26, 1779. My dearest friend, I am sending another letter urging you against opening the last letter in case the ship bearing my last letter letter saying not to open the first letter should have suffered any mischance. My dearest Abigail, the shame and mortification and horror that overcame me when I saw that F Had put his missive in the post cannot be described. I pray that you may forgive me one day. Hotel de Valois, March 30, 1779. My dearest friend, this is another letter beseeching you not to open my most recent letter. Unless you did open it and found it was a letter urging you not to open another letter, in which case that is fine. I am not talking about that letter. I am talking about a different letter. Any letter whose contents are anything other than urging you not to open a letter ought not to be opened. Oh, dear.
- [47:15]
Ikachiku Ufamadu
Peacefield, April 14, 1779. Dear John, I did not for a moment believe you guilty of the missive who arrived you so dreaded. The penmanship was entirely unlike yours, and its praise of Benjamin Franklin far too liberal to be mistaken for one of your own productions. It shewed an admirable directness, I suppose, but offered little else to recommend it. I doubted very much whether you would urge me to place a basket over my face to increase your corporal enjoyment.
- [48:03]
Richard Nixon
Hotel de Valois, May 9, 1779. My dearest friend, oh, the agonies of shame and horror that have racked me when I consider what missive pass from the pen of Franklin to your waiting hands cannot be exaggerated, I fear it has somewhat doused my enthusiasm for this venture, though I rue the cause. I return to Boston next month. In the words of the Bard, let lips do what hands do poorly in these missives, and forego any further attempts at correspondence of this nature.
- [48:39]
Ikachiku Ufamadu
Peacefield, August 30, 1779. Dear John, it was very good to see you.
- [48:52]
Richard Nixon
Peacefield, September 1, 1779. My dearest friend, it was very good to see you.
- [49:08]
Andy Borowitz
Aikino Fira.
- [49:12]
Meg Wolitzer
That was John and Abigail Adams trisexting by Alexandra Petri, read by Ophira Eisenberg and Ikachiku Ufamadu. To be honest, I think that's how many of us over, say, 50 might feel if we tried sexting, and with much the same results, I fear. I just love reading Alexandra Petri in the Washington Post, and until I saw the live stage show, I was not sure how to pronounce her name. But now I'm glad I know, because I find myself often quoting her. Here are a couple of choice lines of Petri's. My parents, worried that I might become popular at school, got me a book of puns at an impressionable age, and at the end of the day, there is Only one way to parent. Wrong. As you heard, she is really funny. A true original. Our final story today is by Andy Borowitz, who was also the master of ceremonies for the live show during which all of these stories were recorded. Here he is introducing his piece from the stage at Symphony Space.
- [50:13]
Andy Borowitz
So let me tell you a little bit about the thought process I went through. I've always been fascinated about what presidents do after they leave office. Like Jimmy Carter, as you know, built a lot of houses. Barack Obama is producing films with Michelle. And our most recent former president, he's been keeping super busy. Super busy. Anyway, I was thinking about another former president who left office a little bit earlier than he wanted to. And I wrote this following story about him. And like everything I write, you know, it's made up, but there is a kernel of truth to it. And so, you know, you listen to it. And who's to say it didn't happen? Maybe it did. You'll decide.
- [50:56]
Meg Wolitzer
That was Andy Borowitz on stage at Symphony Space. Our reader is Carolyn Aaron, an actor recognizable for films from Edward Scissorhands to 21 Jump Street. Erin continues to add feathers to her cap, appearing in recent series such as the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. And now Carolyn Aaron performs Borowitz's story. A Very Nixon Halloween.
- [51:27]
Audience Member
A Very Nixon Halloween. Pat worried about Dick. As he sat brooding in his ratty gray bathrobe. She wondered if moving to the New Jersey suburbs had been a mistake. On paper, Saddle river seemed like a perfect landing spot for the ex president. Leafy, woodsy and 80% Republican. But once they moved in, their house, a rambling contemporary on four acres, became Dick's newest enemy. Every cracked shingle was a betrayal, every repairman a bandit. Worse, it was far from the people he considered important. He had tried summoning guests from Manhattan to all male dinner parties, inviting luminaries in politics, business and the media. The evenings began with Dick pouring lethal daiquiris into outsized tumblers. But the most powerful anesthesia on offer was Dick himself. He delivered soliloquies about his decades in the arena, a favorite phrase since that made him a gladiator. Brezhnev was 100% behind Dick Nixon during Watergate, he'd say. He told me he knew I wouldn't crack under pressure. When you're in the arena, you have to be tough or you'll be impaled. Once word of such performances spread, attendance at these soirees thinned. Now Dick was mostly alone, except for Pat and a Secret Service agent named Dougie, who, guarding A client, in little danger of human interaction had taken up needlepoint. Sitting at the kitchen table, Dick ate the lunch he had every day. A ring of pineapple with cottage cheese in the center. The gutters are clogged to the gills, he'd say. I'm sure that Bandit Armando will charge a king's ransom to clean them. Pat could have repeated what the gardener had told her, that he was giving Dick a discount because he felt kind of bad for him. But she changed the subject. Halloween is coming up. We should buy some candy. A curd of cottage cheese stuck to Dick's right jowl. Unless the U.S. census is wildly inaccurate, this is the most affluent town in New Jersey. Parents here are perfectly capable of providing their children with candy. They don't need handouts from Dick Nixon. Well, actually, I was thinking we could throw a party and meet some of our neighbors. Dick silently stabbed his pineapple. I loved our Halloween at the White House. She went on the staff, built that giant pumpkin for the children. I wore that wild fortune teller dress. We had that actor. Oh, what was his name? The one who played the vampire on Dark Shadows. He wore his cape and he pretended to bite Trisha on the neck. As I recall, he was Jewish. Was he? Well, he spoke in a Jewish accent. No, no. He was being a vampire. That was a vampire accent. Well, dear, I'm glad you have such fond memories of an actor biting your daughter, but Dick Nixon's too busy for Halloween. It's 12:30 and you're still in your bathrobe. I may not look busy to you, but I'm in the throes of preparation. Pat Buchanan wants to interview me on cnn. I'm sure he'll be nice. Well, that's what you said about David Frost. He pushed away from the table. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get my hair cut. Dick's bodyguard, Dougie, sat in the corner of Tom Beriska's barbershop, needle pointing. A Winnie the Pooh pillow for his nephew in San Diego. Tom was shaving the back of Dick's neck. Lyndon Johnson was one mean sob. Dick said he was an animal, really, but he had to be. When you're in the arena, if you're not an animal, another animal will feast on your entrails. Tom, who cut Dick's hair every two weeks, never weighed in on these monologues. He considered it his patriotic duty to listen to the former president talk. He only spoke when Dick took a clearly identifiable pause. How are your daughters, Mr. President? He asked. Wonderful, wonderful. They both read my new book, and they each had very intelligent things to say about it. I'm damn proud of those girls. And Mrs. Nixon. Oh, well, she read it before it was published, of course. No, no. I mean, how is she? Dick sighed. Are you married, Tom? 47 years. Sometimes I think marriage is like international relations. The best you can hope for in certain scenarios is detente. Seeing Tom's puzzled look, Dick explained. You know, Pat has some strange ideas about Halloween. She wants to throw some sort of haunted hullabaloo. I told her that's not my bag. I hear you, sir. Just get a pumpkin and some candy. No, no, no, no, no. No pumpkin, no candy. If I say yes to a pumpkin and candy soon, I'll be saying yes to a party. It's the domino theory, Tom. The barber proceeded with caution. I'm sure you're right, sir. But what? Well, if kids come to your house and no one answers the door. Well, I mean, what are they gonna think declared it here? Unless these children are brain dead, I assume they'll think that I'm out. It's not as if I have nowhere to go. I'm respected around the world. I could be having dinner with Henry Kissinger. I could be in China, meeting with Deng Xiaoping. Oh, forget I. No, Tom, by all means, please educate me. I didn't realize you were such an expert on these matters. If I don't answer the door on Halloween, what do you imagine these people will think? Well, they might think. He took a deep breath. I don't know, but that you're hiding or something. Had this man forgotten whose neck he was shaving? Perhaps it was time to explore other barbers in Saddle River. Dougie, Dick growled. The Secret Service man stopped, needle pointing. This haircut is over. Returning home, Dick put on his battered blue windbreaker bearing a presidential seal. He patrolled his property, dead leaves crackling underfoot. A ladder leaned against the house. Looking up, he saw the gardener cleaning the gutters. He briefly pondered his next move. Armando. He called out, giving him an awkward semaphore like wave. The gardener looked startled. The president had never spoken to him before. Yes? Yes, Mr. President. Is something wrong? Oh, no, Armando. I just wanted to say hello. Dick struggled for what to say next. How is your wife? Oh, I'm not married, sir. Oh, I used to be. I'm divorced. Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. No, well, it was 20 years ago. I see. Well, life is full of setbacks. But we move on, Armando. We move on. Yes, sir. It's been good Talking to you, Armando. Goodbye. Goodbye, sir. Dick resumed walking, a hint of defiance in his gait. Well, that went well, he thought. Very well. He'd show them. He'd show them all. Dick peered out the living room window. The porches across the street glowed with jack O lanterns. He checked his watch. Where is everyone? Our invitation said 6:30, Pat said, twirling in her fortune teller dress. It was as beautiful as she remembered. She looked over at Dick, wearing a blue suit, a white shirt, and a striped tie. He was swigging from a massive daiquiri. How many of those have you had? This is my first, he lied. He scanned the living room. Against his better judgment, he had let Pat go to town with decorations. The room looked like the workshop of a lunatic. A string of tiny electric pumpkins blinked atop the baby grand. A a skeleton sat in the wing chair. Plastic bats hung from the ceiling. I wonder who decided that bats were evil, he mused. Someone had it in for them. Dick, why are those there? Copies of his latest book, the Real War, were stacked on the entry table. Well, I mean, I thought we'd give them out to the trick or treaters. Well, the older ones might enjoy it. It's gotten excellent reviews. That's not your first drink. Your face is flushed. Is not. Well, look at yourself. She led him to the entry mirror and then gasped. Dick, you're wearing makeup. Just a touch. Gives me a healthy glow. Well, you look like a fire hydrant. He ignored her. He refused make up for that first debate with Jack Kennedy, and everyone thought he looked like hell. Those who fail to learn from history. The doorbell rang. Startled, he almost spilled his drink. They're here. Dougie. Dougie put down his needle point and stood at attention. He was dressed in his regulation Secret Service suit and tie, plus a furry Chewbacca mask. Dick strode purposely to the door as if to greet Mao. He opened it, revealing a 10 year old boy in a football uniform and a 4 year old girl in a powder blue dress carrying a stuffed dog in a basket. Trick or treat. They shouted. Uh huh. Who do we have here? Dick asked. A New York giant, I see. I played football in college. We played rough back then. Not with all the padding you see the fellows wearing today. We weren't afraid of getting hurt, you see. He turned to the girl. And who are you, my dear? I'm Dorothy from the wizard of Oz. Uh huh. Very good. Who are you? I'm President of the United States. No, you're not. Yes, I am. You don't look like the President you're all red. Are you Satan? Dick, momentarily taken aback, regained composure. He knelt down, his face inches from hers. She recoiled, hugging her stuffed dog close. Now I'm not really red. See? This is just makeup. Daddies don't wear makeup. I have to wear it when I go on tv. You never know when one of the networks might call. I'm in a lot of demand. He nodded toward her dog. And who might we have here, Toto? Well, let me tell you a story about a dog we used to have. He was a little cocker spaniel puppy named Checkers. My daughters, they couldn't have been much older than you at the time. Why, they loved that little dog. Then one day some mean men tried to take him away. But I wasn't about to let that happen. Because when you're in the arena Come on in, kids, pat cut in. Happy Halloween. By 8, the living room was packed with trick or treaters and their parents. Dick, guzzling another daiquiri, had cornered a little boy dressed as a mummy. And that's the real reason Teddy Kennedy will never be president, dick said, slurring his words. Oh, the American people. They'll forgive him for driving that girl off the bridge. They'll forgive a Kennedy for doing anything depraved. But the one thing they won't forgive you for is for being soft. And that poor bastard is as squishy as a marshmallow. I have to use the bathroom, the boy said, edging away. Pat approached, carrying some sheet music. Dear, there's been a request for you to tickle the ivories. He squinted at the music. Well, what is this? A song I picked out for Halloween. The children will love it. Before Dick could object, Pat stood on the ottoman of the wing chair and clapped her hands. Everybody, President Nixon is gonna play the piano. A cheer rose up as Pat led her husband, slightly weaving to the baby grand. The partygoers quieted, and Dick cleared his throat. I'm a little rusty, folks, so I hope you weren't expecting Liberace. He smoothed the sheet music on the piano, and he started to play in his impaired state. He hit a few wrong notes, but the guests could still recognize the opening bars. They began to sing, and Dick, reading the lyrics, croaked along. They're creepy and they're kooky, Mysterious and spooky. They're all together. Okie. The Addams Family after the last guest left, Dick surveyed the living room. Styrofoam cups and Butterfinger wrappers littered the coffee table. The skeleton had slipped off the ring chair and was spread eagle on the floor. The stack of his books on the entry table went undisturbed. Pat picked up the candy corn from the carpet. Oh, that was so much fun. Well, this place looks like Saigon after the Tet Offensive. Was it really such an ordeal? You looked like you were enjoying yourself. Well, that was my intention, to look like I was enjoying myself. I thought it was important that the children think that their president was having a good time, and I believe I acquitted myself very well in that regard. Pat knew there was no point in arguing with him in this condition. At the White House, no one obeyed any command he issued after the cocktail hour. We can get the rest of this in the morning, she said. I'm gonna go up to bed. Well, I'll be up in a minute. He staggered to the bar, fixed himself another daiquiri. It would be easy to admit to her that he'd had a good time, but it would be wrong. When you're in the arena, even the slightest concession is a sign of weakness, and before you know it, you're poleaxed in the face. Nope. It was better for Pat to go to bed, little miffed at him than to think she'd won. He raised his glass to the plastic bats hanging from the ceiling. To us. Tom Boruska answered the phone at his barbershop. Mrs. Nixon. I was kind of hoping you'd call. How did it go last night? Wonderful. Better than I could have hoped, really. Did the President have a good time? Oh, little too good. He's lying on the sofa with an ice pack on his head. He's listening to My Fair lady on the stereo. Well, I hope he feels better soon. Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks for talking to him about Halloween. I knew he would listen if it came from you. He didn't figure out you told me to say all that. Not a clue, Tom. Not a clue. Pat roared with laughter, unsure if it would be disrespectful to laugh along. Tom just kept quiet. I don't want to keep you, pat said, but could I trouble you for just one more favor? Anything for you, Mrs. Nixon. If the subject of Halloween comes up, do you think that you could convince him to be a vampire next year? Tom paused. What a strange turn his life had taken since the Nixons had come to town. He'd cut hair in Saddle river for over 40 years, and no one more important than a school board member had ever sat in his chair. Now the former first lady of the United States was asking him to persuade the former president to be a vampire. Tom hadn't sought his role in the Nixon's marriage, but as a patriot, he accepted it. Mrs. Nixon, he said, I think we can make that happen.
- [69:17]
Meg Wolitzer
That was Carolyn Aaron performing a Very Nixon Halloween by Andy Borowitz. Borowitz's inspiration for this story was a very real photo of the former president greeting trick or treaters in New Jersey. And while none of us will ever know the intimate moments of Nixon's domestic life, it's a lot of fun to imagine. We all know American politics can be disheartening, but as I mentioned, Barwitz named today's show history's Clown Car. And there's a strange kind of optimism to this kind of silliness to visualize our representatives, past and present, as a stream of goofballs popping out of their impossibly tiny vehicle. If we give ourselves permission to laugh, especially during tough times, it can be a genuine reprieve. And if we can imagine playful new possibilities for ourselves and our politicians, there could be more relief ahead. I'm Meg Wolitzer. Thanks for joining me. For Selected Shorts, this week's credits are read by loyal listener Garrett Quealey.
- [70:21]
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Selected Shorts is produced by Jennifer Brennan and Sarah Montague. Our team includes Matthew Love, Drew Richardson, Mary Shimkin and Vivienne Woodward.
- [70:31]
Meg Wolitzer
The readings are recorded by Miles B. Smith.
- [70:35]
Ikachiku Ufamadu
Our programs, presented at the Getty center in Los Angeles, are recorded by Phil Richards.
- [70:40]
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Our theme music is David Peterson's that's.
- [70:43]
Ikachiku Ufamadu
The Deal, performed by the Deardorf Petersen Group.
- [70:47]
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Selected Shorts is supported by the Dungannon Foundation.
- [70:51]
Meg Wolitzer
This program is also made possible with.
- [70:53]
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Public funds from the New York State.
- [70:55]
Ikachiku Ufamadu
Council on the Arts with the support.
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Of Governor Kathy Hochul and the New York State Legislature.
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Meg Wolitzer
Selected Shorts is produced and distributed by Symphony Space.
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Andy Borowitz
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