Camelot

 

In July of 1999 on the CBS Evening News, the disingenuously "independent" Dan Rather broke down as he remembered the Kennedy administration ("Age of Celebrity" report by Richard Rodriguez on PBS.org).  You can hear a recording of that moment in the broadcast on Hark.com, complete with sobs.  He quotes a line from the Lerner and Loewe musical:  "Once there was a spot, for one brief shining moment, that was known as Camelot."   

The American Camelot myth that endures so nostalgically is a fusion of a legend with the memory of a presidency that, given a chance to fulfill its promise, would probably have been one of the greatest in our brief history.  But in this, the memory of the Kennedy administration is not blended with the tales of Le Morte d'Artur, but rather with the 1960 play.   

The Arthur of the musical is a wise, all-powerful and benevolent ruler.  He is so powerful, in fact, he seems to have the ability to dictate the terms of the weather.  Here are the lyrics from the song, "Camelot:" 

ARTHUR:
It's true! It's true! The crown has made it clear.
The climate must be perfect all the year.

A law was made a distant moon ago here:
July and August cannot be too hot.
And there's a legal limit to the snow here
In Camelot.

The winter is forbidden till December
And exits March the second on the dot.
By order, summer lingers through September
In Camelot.

Camelot! Camelot!
I know it sounds a bit bizarre,
But in Camelot, Camelot
That's how conditions are.
The rain may never fall till after sundown.
By eight, the morning fog must disappear.
In short, there's simply not
A more congenial spot
For happily-ever-aftering than here
In Camelot.

Camelot! Camelot!
I know it gives a person pause,
But in Camelot, Camelot
Those are the legal laws.
The snow may never slush upon the hillside.
By nine p.m. the moonlight must appear.
In short, there's simply not
A more congenial spot
For happily-ever-aftering than here
In Camelot. 

When I was an adolescent my parents took me to the play at a dinner theater in Norfolk, Virginia.  I loved it then, and I still do.  I have also always been an admirer of President Kennedy (see my blog "My Left from my Right," November 2010).  The blending of Kennedy with Arthur from the musical is a construct I find disturbing, however.   

The tearful yearning for the Camelot of the Kennedy administration is a window into the hearts of present-day Americans.  Not only do we long to be ruled by a benevolent king, but we wish to live in a realm where we can make laws to modify reality.  We don't like heat, we make a law against it.  We don't like snow, we make a law against that, too.  But if you just put down the bong for a moment, you can see that not only are these laws ridiculous, they are harmful.   

We have made laws against homosexuality, alcohol, marijuana, cocaine and racism.  We have made laws against hate, cigarettes, poverty and wealth.  In no case, however, have we eliminated these behaviors and attitudes, and in most cases we make them worse.  In other cases we have engaged in wholesale oppression (homosexuality).  We have more of our citizens imprisoned, both by absolute numbers and by a percentage of our population, than any of the totalitarian nations we despise, including Iran and Venezuela.  When I was a kid it was often said, "well, it's a free country."  Now I never hear that expression anymore, as it is no longer true.   

The wistfulness of Americans like Dan Rather to be ruled by a benevolent king alarms me more than anything else.  To have a king, you must have a monarchy, and to have a monarchy, you must concentrate tremendous power into the office of one person.  That power can be used equally for good and for evil; for every Marcus Aurelius you will have at least one Nero.  It is the nature of power, we are taught by history, to call forth the darker character of the human will.   We would do well to remember that in the play, everything went to hell in the end, and in our desperation to recreate it politically, it will certainly go the same way. 

 

Copyright 2012, Robert Albanese