Minds, hearts, New Hampshire

Some columnists do data dumps. Others consider themselves apostles and prophets. Some write in tongues of men and angels, but have not love. One thing I’ve learned from writing WORLD columns for 23 years and Austin American-Statesman columns for eight, and teaching column-writing at The University of Texas: Good columns appeal to hearts as well as minds, and the best honestly choke you up.

Example: Peggy Noonan’s terrific column in today’s Wall Street Journal (subscription required).

First, she gives us something to think about:

“Donald Trump was dinged by Iowa, but not by losing—loss happens. He dinged himself, perhaps significantly, with his subsequent reaction. He was robbed, we need a recount, he may sue. In politics—in life—you have to know how to lose. The presidency itself involves losing—the bill fails, the talks stall, your numbers plummet. You have to be supple, have some give. ‘All political careers end in failure’—you never get all you want and in the end you slink away or get thrown out. How to respond? You don’t whine, you don’t complain, you don’t act like a little rhymes-with-witch. You take it full in the face and keep walking. Anyone can win with style. A real champ knows how to lose.”

Later, Noonan appeals to hearts as she describes New Hampshire residents in the vein of e pluribus unum, melting pot America:

“I would look at them in the audience: the frail old lady with thin white hair; the big, rough biker-looking guy; the pleasant middle-aged teacher; the silver-haired accountant with two young kids; the beat-up middle-aged woman with rheumy alcoholic eyes who is sweetly gracious, modest, as she moves to give you a seat; the obese, wild-haired man bursting out of his torn, cracked leather jacket; the giggly, chatty middle-aged redhead in the NoLabels.org sweatshirt; the Patti Smith–looking woman, tall, pale and austere; the hunky football player; the skinny hipster girl in architect eyeglasses and torn jeans. Everybody listening so closely to the candidates. Beret guy, too, with a white bandage on his eye and a beard that went down to the third button of his shirt. What a crew we are.”

Here’s her conclusion:

“‘They’re professional voters,’ said a campaign operative at dinner. No, it is more than that. It is more like, ‘We may be a field hospital, we may be high, we may be damaged by the collapse of the American culture, we may be the prime victims of deindustrialization, but we are: citizens. And we do our job. We will pick a president.’ Choked me up as I witnessed it. No joke. Choked me up.”

Frank Capra, Alfred Hitchcock in Saboteur, and other great movie directors knew how to show the lovely diversity of this sweet land of liberty, before it became fashionable to make hate-America films. Just reading Noonan’s column choked me up, too.