You're Still Away Mr. President

Prior to flying south again to battle upon "the fields of friendly strife", I felt that I ought to comment on the upcoming holiday...Washington's Birthday. What about Valentine's Day you ask? Look at who you ask before you bring up something so asinine...I say pshaw, nay, I say pshaw with special emphasis. What a silly holiday and I for one could live without it. It is Washington's Birthday that we celebrate and the reason that we make our pilgrimage to Florida. Why Florida? Just like George I cannot tell a lie, I hate cold weather and I would rather play golf than work. And I am sure that if George had a choice, he would have much rather have been in Florida than freezing at Valley Forge.

Actually, we celebrated Washington's Birthday for years on his birthday, February 22nd, until Congress decided to act upon the Uniform Monday Holiday Bill in 1968. Now his holiday falls on the third Monday of every February (even though his birthday never does), which coincidently, puts the holiday between his birthday and Lincoln's birthday. As a result, the day has morphed into President's (or Presidents', or Presidents) day in various States.

You may not know this, but George Washington had one of the largest whiskey distilleries in the United States while he was President. His Secretary of the Treasury, Alexander Hamilton, decided that a good way to pay off the Nation's huge inherited debt would be to tax whiskey. However, a flat rate was set for major distilleries (good for George, although that sounds like a conflict of interest for the Prez), while the unfortunate smaller distilleries had to pay by the gallon. This initiated a Whiskey Rebellion as many tax collectors were harassed and attacked by the unfortunate owners of the small distilleries. Washington, Hamilton and General Henry "Light Horse Harry" Lee (Robert E.'s pappy) led a militia army of nearly 13,000 men into Pennsylvania to put down the rebellion. A sitting President leading his troops in the field, that is hard for me to imagine. If he would have had a carrier at his disposal (like the USS Abraham Lincoln that a later Prez used), George might have landed his post-Revolutionary War jet fighter on the deck and declared the "Mission Accomplished". However, much like the later Prez's false bravado, the Whiskey Rebellion never really was put to rest, as many of the Pennsylvania folks found excellent distilling water in the territories of Kentucky and Tennessee, just outside of the reach of the law.

Bob Dylan later sang about this whiskey tax in "Copper Kettle":

"My daddy he made whiskey, my granddaddy he did too

We ain't paid no whiskey tax since 1792

You'll just lay there by the juniper while the moon is bright

Watch them just a-filling in the pale moonlight."

Also, since I mentioned Abe Lincoln, here's a little story about his friend Edward Dickinson Baker. Baker was a politician from Illinois (sort of) who was a very good friend of Honest Abe (you mean to tell me that there were two politicians who couldn't tell a lie?). Lincoln so admired and liked Baker that he named his second son, Edward Baker Lincoln. Baker was a Congressman from Illinois, but moved on to San Francisco to pursue other opportunities. Although he became quite well liked in San Francisco, he was unable to secure a Senatorial seat in California, so he moved north and within a year became a Senator from Oregon. At the outbreak of the Civil War he returned east and accepted a commission as a Colonel in the Union Army. On October 21st, 1861, at the Battle of Ball's Bluff, he became the only US Senator to be killed in battle. The news of his death was devastating to his friend the President.

When news of Senator Baker's death reached San Francisco, it was announced on stage at the American Theater by the famous actor, Junius Brutus Booth. Junius was named after Marcus Junius Brutus, one of the chief assassins of Julius Caesar. Junius was also the father of John Wilkes Booth, another noted assassin. Baker's remains were finally interred at Lone Mountain Cemetery in San Francisco. This cemetery had just opened in 1854 and the dedication speech was given by...Edward Dickinson Baker.

Next Friday, there will be no bluff on any balls struck by this old gentleman. I shall be engaged in a great civil war as we begin our golf trip with the first round at The Claw. And, by George, with malice toward none, I intend to strike fear into my opponent's psyche from the very first tee.

For those of you fellers suffering through another Valentine's Day, I feel for you and my suggestion is to sit your honey down on the davenport, share a couple of glasses of good sippin', tax paid whiskey and watch the Daytona 500. I'm sure she will thoroughly enjoy this close bonding time together. Cheers Cupid.