Club WASP

Dissent 41

January 18, 2000

Club WASP

By Big Bill [Roy Bauer] 

      “Shift that fat ass, Harry. But slowly, or you’ll swamp the damned boat.” [--George Washington]

     I must say, I’m still reeling from that fine display of patriotism and tootage provided by Lee Walker’s “Sons of the American Revolution” last month (Dec. 13). That night, many of us, and not only Mr. Frogue, were struck by the same thought: How can I join the “Sons”?

     Well, probably, we can’t. Upon opening the website for the National Society of the Sons of the American Revolution, I soon discovered that the SAR “is a ‘lineage’ society, which means you must have an ancestor who supported the cause of American Independence during the years 1774-1783.” Oh.

     I wondered how many “Bauers” are Sons. Then I wondered how many Latinos, Asians, and African Americans are Sons. Not many, I bet. Actually, if you become a member of the SAR, you’re not called a “Son”; you’re called a “Compatriot.” Looks like Compatriots are a bunch of white guys with names like “Washington” and “Walker.” No wonder Mr. Frogue wants to join!

     I wiped away a tear—no doubt, I’m a descendant of those devilish anti-Revolutionary Hessians—and then read on. “The SAR,” says the site, “is a historical, educational, and patriotic non-profit...corporation that seeks to maintain and extend,” among other things, “an appreciation for true patriotism” and “a respect for our national symbols.”

     National symbols? Sure enough, the SAR are pretty political, and they’ve come out in favor of an amendment to the Constitution “for the protection of the American flag.” Evidently, these Compatriots will defend with their lives—in weekend reenactments—the right of lawmakers to jail a guy for expressing his contempt for this fucked-up, flag-happy country.

     The website, which is littered with photos of people who could easily have appeared in “Deliverance,” indicated that the SAR has a magazine, the articles of which were available with the click of my mouse. I clicked, and there appeared an article entitled “George Washington: the Greatest Patriot of All,” written by Compatriot Larry D. McClanahan.

     Mr. McClanahan, who hails from Tennessee, complains that “recent historical efforts have been aimed at discrediting George Washington, his deeds, and the ideals defended by him and other founding Patriots.” I guess Larry means the slavery thing. George did own hundreds of slaves. Plus, he lost most of his battles and was into guerrilla warfare—and all because he didn’t like his tax bill!

     McClanahan doesn’t want to talk about any of that, for he is obsessed with the notion that our national Dad was guided by the Lord, for, at one point, he notes that “Many students of George Washington’s life believe that he was led and protected by divine providence.” “Evidence,” writes the perspicacious McClanahan, is provided by George’s voyage to Barbados, where he became infected with smallpox but didn’t die. Imagine! Another time, he was in this battle, see, and he found bullet holes in his coat but not in him. Pretty spooky, I’d say. An Indian chief said that George was protected by the Great Spirit, and so that clinched it.

     McClanahan, ever the scholar, goes on to relate an “account,” according to which George “received a prophecy for the new nation from a specter [a malignant dwarf] who appeared to him late at night as he sat in his tent near the fire.” Wow.

     In the end, says M, George died of a cold. No one knows if his coat died of that cold, too.

     Another Compatriot, one James R. Westlake, offers an article entitled “Mount Vernon.” Like McClanahan, Westlake isn’t into “discrediting” George. Here’s how he describes Washington’s Mount Vernon estate: it “became a self-sustaining entity, which housed, fed, and clothed the many persons who lived on the lands and worked the farms. [Washington] was indeed a successful gentleman farmer....” Those “many persons” were pretty happy and carefree, I bet—when they weren’t being flogged and branded and stuff.

     I looked and looked, and nowhere in the SAR site could I find my favorite George Washington story, which comes straight from General “Ox” Knox, who accompanied Washington across the Delaware—just before his troops sneak-attacked the Hessians on Christmas Day. According to Knox, when Washington stepped into the boat, he nudged his 280-pound friend and said, “Shift that fat ass, Harry. But slowly, or you’ll swamp the damned boat.” —BB