Democratic Candidates By the Dozen - Almost

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All these will come to light during the various primaries, caucuses and regional contests. The use of television has changed our system of choosing candidates into popularity contests. It would be nice to think that intellectual quality and pertinence of argument — for example, specifically how better to cope with the hideous new military and civilian casualties in Iraq — would be the determining criteria. But the fact is that photogenic appeal and huge amounts of money for TV advertising probably have more to do with the outcome than the platform of any candidate. Our nominating process has become something of a Rube Goldberg machine — impossible to explain, but unaccountably it works.

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A California legislator is sponsoring a bill to make spanking a child under 3 a misdemeanor. I’m not a strong advocate of spanking, but a timely swat — for example, when a youngster disobeys and runs heedlessly into the street — may conceivably save a life. It’s the over 3 I worry about.

My parents never abused me and I had a loving relationship with each and both of them. But I remember well an Easter Sunday when an imp possessed me in church and I waved a flower in the faces of parishioners as we entered. When my father admonished me, I called "Stop pinching me" in a loud voice. Whereupon I was pulled out of the seat and marched up the aisle and out to our Model-T Ford, hoping against hope that it would stall on the hill to our house. Placed across Dad’s knee, I received a few stinging reminders of my misdeeds. I was sent to bed with no supper, but Mother brought me milk toast. My dignity may have been wounded, but I did not repeat the offense.

Cruelty to kids is another matter altogether. I suppose there were some real sadists in schools, especially in Britain, where canings and raps on the knuckles with rulers were commonplace. An inventive teacher ought to find better ways of maintaining discipline. Still, I question whether a strictly enforced no-spanking rule would work. There are times . . .

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Back in 1975 I helped persuade the then Northwest Corner congressman, Toby Moffett, to introduce a bill providing funds for restoration of the railroad bridge across the Hudson River at Poughkeepsie that had been damaged by fire. Congress voted the funds, but the railroad — either Conrail or Penn Central — refused them. It preferred to route freight traffic through Albany. The rail bridge at Castleton is the only rail crossing of the Hudson between Albany and the tunnels out of New York City.

It is hard to believe, but just conceivably the railroad knew more about its business than either Toby Moffett or I. On the other hand, this was a time when Conrail and the Penn Central were in their most dour mood, lopping off lines everywhere. Conceivably a more inventive approach would have found new uses for the bridge route. In any event the span built in 1888 has remained a sort of skeletal reminder of the days when the Central New England and its predecessors ran passenger trains from Boston to Washington over this route and when double-header coal trains of 100 cars or more hauled anthracite to New England during World War I.

In recent years a serious effort has been underway to repair the bridge sufficiently to create a walkway over the Hudson using federal, state and city grants as a starter. Most of the money must still be raised to complete the restoration by 2009, the 400th anniversary of Henry Hudson’s voyage up the river. A fitting local way to commemorate history.

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An article in The New York Times travel section about Vientiane, the once-sleepy capital of Laos, recalls a visit I made 50 years ago this fall. I was on a swing around Asia for The Washington Post and made a trip to Laos in part to visit my brother, who was a foreign service officer in the American aid program, and his wife and infant son. Water buffaloes roamed the streets of Vientiane and munched the lawn of the National Assembly. The Royal Laos Airlines plane on which I flew to Bangkok was a civilian model of the B-16 that preceded the famed B-17 bomber.

Now luxury hotels and casinos line the banks of the Mekong River, new restaurants and bars flourish, there is a bridge in place of the antiquated ferry and I suppose that Vientiane has lost much of its innocence. Coca Cola civilization is everywhere. But I sometimes wonder why other societies seem intent on adopting the most flamboyant tokens of American culture and ignoring the substance.