We Dreamed We Saw FDR Last Night, As Alive As You and Me
During the President’s press conference last night we had what can only be described as a psychic experience mixed with a strange sense of déjà vu. While our attention was fixed on the major network reporters’ sweaty, pompous faces, an alternate consciousness invaded our faculties. We tried to swat the unwanted intrusion away, but found ourselves in thrall to an unbidden vision. Was it the two drinks we had had, the two belts of the local favorite here in the Near Abroad, seemingly a devilish mixture of the worst features of ouzo, Sambuca and diesel fuel? Was it a buried memory of some past life awakened by circumstance? Was it bad pizza?
We do not know.
All we do know is that while we tried mightily to focus on the visage of Terry Moran, our mind’s eye wavered and fluttered. A slight feeling of nausea waved over us. And, then, before us, clear as day, but with our eyes shut tightly, we saw an image of a muscular man standing before a podium. The seal of the President of the United States was on the front. There were microphones on top of it, but only a few, and they seemed large and clunky-looking to us. The President was a different man, a good looking man, patrician and smiling. And he was smoking!
To our right, a man in a suit stood up, identified himself as being from NBC. A reporter, no doubt. The President looked at him and called his name. President Franklin Delano Roosevelt! FDR himself!
The reporter spoke:
“Sir, a report released today by the Department of War notes that last year, 1943, was a record year for deaths of Americans at the hands of both the Germans and the Japanese. If the “war on fascism” is a success as you say, why is it that more acts of fatal aggression are now being committed by the Germans and the Japanese than ever before, after more than two years of war? Why do you think we are winning? How do we measure success?”
The President began to respond. We tried to hold on to the vision, no longer fighting it now. We heard that strong, reassuring voice we only know through old radio and film recordings. We thought we heard something about “being on the offensive” and “engaging the enemy” and fighting “relentlessly until victory,” but it was too late.
The vision was gone and had passed.
We do not know.
All we do know is that while we tried mightily to focus on the visage of Terry Moran, our mind’s eye wavered and fluttered. A slight feeling of nausea waved over us. And, then, before us, clear as day, but with our eyes shut tightly, we saw an image of a muscular man standing before a podium. The seal of the President of the United States was on the front. There were microphones on top of it, but only a few, and they seemed large and clunky-looking to us. The President was a different man, a good looking man, patrician and smiling. And he was smoking!
To our right, a man in a suit stood up, identified himself as being from NBC. A reporter, no doubt. The President looked at him and called his name. President Franklin Delano Roosevelt! FDR himself!
The reporter spoke:
“Sir, a report released today by the Department of War notes that last year, 1943, was a record year for deaths of Americans at the hands of both the Germans and the Japanese. If the “war on fascism” is a success as you say, why is it that more acts of fatal aggression are now being committed by the Germans and the Japanese than ever before, after more than two years of war? Why do you think we are winning? How do we measure success?”
The President began to respond. We tried to hold on to the vision, no longer fighting it now. We heard that strong, reassuring voice we only know through old radio and film recordings. We thought we heard something about “being on the offensive” and “engaging the enemy” and fighting “relentlessly until victory,” but it was too late.
The vision was gone and had passed.


