At advanced
age, I can’t cheer whole-heartedly the head-swiveling social change from 2008
when both Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton championed gay rights but not
marriage to President Obama’s abrupt change last year and the Supreme Court’s
sudden conversion now.
When
the New Yorker appeared in 1925,
Harold Ross said it would not be edited for “the little old lady in Dubuque,” but
even with the effetely self-mocking Eustace Tilley on the first issue that kept
reappearing every year, neither was it aiming at couples of married little
old ladies anywhere.
During
the glory days of William Shawn from 1951 to 1987, the magazine relentlessly
respected freedom of all kinds and was open-minded on every issue including
homosexuality. In 1957, when Truman Capote seduced (physically he always claimed,
though few believed it) Marlon Brando into an all-night boozy self-revelation
for a piece titled “The Duke in His Domain,” Shawn called it “a masterpiece”
and gave almost an entire issue to it, as Ross had to John Hersey’s Hiroshima
report.
But
neither Ross nor Shawn went in for advocacy, as the current editors do with
their retrospective of pro-gay marriage covers over the past 15 years.
Call
it old-fogeyism of advanced age, but such sudden lurches in what Americans
believe make me queasy about a future when all of them may not be as benign as
giving legal equality to an oppressed minority.
You
don’t have to be a religious bigot not to join in the general applause or to be
unhappy about enlisting Sesame Street in the celebration of what was once deemed
deviant because it sanctioned behavior that runs counter to the biological
process that brought the children who are watching into this world.
Can’t
Bert and Ernie just be good friends without being dragged out of somebody’s
closet?
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