Maggie in Ollieland

National Review, Nov 6, 1987 by Maggie Gallagher

MAGGIE IN OLLIELAND

AUGUST 15 was Oliver North Day in Philmont, New York. I traveled to Philmont not knowing what to expect, but hoping to find some insight into how Lieutenant Colonel North retained his sense of purpose in a world where Ronald Reagan is a macho politician.

It was pretty rough going.

The paunchy guy with the handle-bar moustache who shared a taxi with me was my first chance to get the inside dope on North.

ME: You excited about Oliver North Day?

PAUNCHY GUY: Naah, I just want to get out of town and escape the crowds:

ME: Do you remember Ollie?

PAUNCHY GUY (shrugging): He was just a kid.

They called it Oliver North Day, but what it really was was Philmont's 15 minutes in the sun. No one in Philmont seems to know what to think about Oliver North, but they are all very proud that someone they once knew is now famous. None of North's family lives there now, but Philmont remains much as it must have been thirty years ago: graceful, tree-lined avenues; big, old farmhouses and small country churches; laconic men and friendly, heavy-bellied women.

So you want an image of small-town America? Imagine this:

Townsfolk gather on the sweep of green grass known locally as The Hearth. Tucked away on a nearby lot is Oliver North's former residence, but no one is paying it any mind. We're all listening to the afternoon's entertainer who, Casio keyboard in hand, is belting out Elvis's "Jailhouse Rock.' One grey-haired matron can't resist the music. First one hip, then the other, starts to rock. A soul brother, wearing red plaid pants and a flame-red tie, performs something very like an Irish jig, all the while holding aloft his pro-Ollie placard, which is a remarkably detailed anti-Communist statement, almost illegible jiggling at ten paces. Today in Philmont, being a reporter, I am royalty. So when a bystander spots me squinting at the sign he signals the mad, plaid piper to hold still and let me see his message to the world: COL. NORTH SHOWS THAT IF CONGRESS HAD SUPPORTED THE ANTI-COMMUNIST FREEDOM-FIGHTERS IN NICARAGUA AS THEY SHOULD HAVE THERE WOULD BE NO NEED FOR COVERT ACTION AND THERE WOULD BE NO NEED TO HAVE CONGRESSIONAL INVESTIGATIONS OF PATRIOTS.

SO I'M SITTING in the grass watching all the good folks of Philmont watch these anti-Communist dancers, wondering why the lefties have all the good slogan-writers, when all of a sudden it happens: the perfect photo opportunity. Santa Claus strolls up; the plaid piper seizes him and they waltz in circles across the lawn, anti-Communist manifesto displayed across Santa's broad red back.

There were quite a number of similar photo ops in Philmont that day, and scads of photographers to take advantage of them. The festivities began at ten o'clock, when representatives of "pace' groups, from the National Lawyers Guild to the Friends of Benjamin Linder, staged a press conference in front of the post office. A number of protestors appeared confused about which decade they were living in. One concerned citizen against nuclear war appeared wearing a tie-dyed purple peace-sign T-shirt with a matching purple kerchief tied around his straggly brown hair. His jeans were faded denim, with the de rigueur holes. "Excuse me, sir,' I wanted to say, "but you've obviously just awoken from a twenty-year sleep. Here, have a tie.'

I don't know which group was responsible for the chilef anti-Ollie slogan, but I was impressed: HONESTY IS THE BEST FOREIGN POLICY. Short, snappy, obviously untrue. But that's what it said on the hundreds of blue helium balloons they passed out free of charge. The anti-North protestors were met by some rather loud townspeople who had a different point of view. "When was the last time you went to the Soviet embassy to protest the slaughter of Afghanistaners?' yelled one pro-Norther. He had a point, I thought, but the discussion soon degenerated into a debate over the value of honesty in general. Then I saw the genius of the anti-Ollie slogan. Those defending Philmont's favorite son were soon reduced to saying lamely that everybody in government lies, but at least North was honest enough to admit it.

One grande old dame, whom I would personally nominate as a successor to the recently, regrettably deceased Clara ("Where's the Beef?') Peller, marched up to the post office to do a little protesting of her own. Cane in hand, she went up to a fat old guy with a VFW hat and a couple of pro-Ollie signs. She said, "Give me that,' grabbed a sign and struck a pose. A gaggle of eager photographers formed. She must have been 75 at least and wore a plaid dress and an old blue sweater. But the best way to describe her is in her own words. "My kids are going to say, "You look like a Salvation Army less,'' she smiled. "But I think I look like a prima donna.' A large HONESTY IS THE BEST FOREIGN POLICY sign caught her eye. "Yeah,' she snorted at the unfortunate protestor, "well, you're not very educated if you believe that.' Just then a young man who said he admired her frequent letters to the editor interrupted to ask for her autograph, and I lost sight of her in the crowd.