By John Burtis
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Boy, where have all the etiquette handbooks gone? You know, the ones that Dana Milbanks is all hot and bothered about in her current Washington Post article. My how times have changed since I was a kid, and I'm only 56 years old.
And now Queen Elizabeth drops out of the doggone sky and everybody is running for books full of tips on how to behave, privately and publicly, and, get this, in front of a lady.
Today there is absolutely no etiquette, bar none, anywhere, especially not in the presence of ladies.
Take elevators for instance. Folks used to wait for you to exit the damned things before piling in. Not now. The folks on the outside run you over, elderly ladies, too, and literally climb on top of you in their frenzy to enter while you're trying to get out, and not a word of apology is ever issued in the hot, noisome, close confines of the modern elevator and its adjoining lobby where Vince Lombardi's famous guard and tackle sweep are regularly practiced on the innocent inhabitants.
Then we have the ubiquitous ball cap, once prized by Navy and Marine fliers, Vinegar Joe Stillwell, whose cap was always fitted with an extra long duck hunting bill, and Captain Marc Mitscher, who always sported one while standing in the wind in the pri-fly of the USS Enterprise (CV-6).
Currently the ball cap, emblazoned with team, gang, or designer logos, is worn backwards, pulled down tight, with the bill often worn to one side. And, in keeping with our current mores, the cap is never lifted for a woman, removed during meals, taken off inside a building, or used to cover the heart during the playing of the Star Spangled Banner. Many dead gang bangers are even buried in their baseball caps, in a casket replete with their colored bandannas, and jerseys -- the new urban uniform, in use at school, at play, in the 'hood, and one which is usually seen by the police from the rear.
Look around any restaurant today, except, for, oh, the most expensive clip joints who manage to maintain some modicum of proper dress in their stables. At almost every table you'll see men sporting cowboy hats, ball caps, razorback hats, boonie hats, Civil War kepis, and fedoras, bowlers, derbys, balaclavas, sombreros, and what have you, while they glom down their meal and pound down corresponding amounts of cheap beer, real good Chianti, high alcohol bourbon laced colas, without uttering a word to their "ladies." Well, maybe you don't see quite so many bowlers or derbys as you used to, but the sombrero is catching on big time, even in Maine and Alaska, and most men don't say a thing during meals except to call for more discounted fortified liquor.
Can you imagine chiseling a backwards ball cap off the head of a strapping young tattoo covered buffalo hunter as he uses a buck knife to eat his peas? Of course not, nobody eats peas anymore either, but a lot of folks carry buck knives and box cutters. Peas have gone the way of broccoli and the other vitamin soaked vegetables we're supposed to eat - the same ones that those other disappearing ladies, mother and grandma, cooked for us regularly when we were coming up.
Men used to stand for ladies. But, as a woman once advised me as I pushed her sodden redolent mass into a police car for DWI, "I ain't no lady." And, brother, there was no doubt about that. Still and all, we, men folk that is, used to stand when a lady entered the room, then we'd introduce ourselves, and sit down only after she seated herself.
Today, thanks to the feminist movement and the de-classification of women, there are no more ladies to be found anywhere, save for the few older women you spy at church, who wear gloves, "hose," a hat with an attached veil, a nice conservative dress with a hemline below the knee, and practical shoes, like that old solid ladies' mainstay, Enna Jetticks.
Churches are on the way out, too. I guess cap wearing toughs, swaggering young bravos, Paris Hilton, gang bangers, the women praised in the latest hip-hop "compositions," and the like don't frequent the Lord's house much anymore, with hats or without. While ball hat sales are sky rocketing to new heights, accompanied by the growing sales of "nouveau" records pegged to the poor neighborhoods of the so called unfortunates, as urban areas are permanently described by smarmy Democrat politicians on the prowl, church attendance is down.
But Americans used to have some sense of etiquette and not too long ago, by historical standards at least.
Don't believe me? Watch an old Cary Grant or Jimmy Stewart movie from the 1930's. Every gentleman in the flick constantly rises and falls for the ladies, doffs his hat, and begs apologies for interrupting and for diving for the head. And he wears a full "suit" of clothes, including socks and laced shoes, an item and an accompanying skill irretrievably lost in the mists of American time.
In fact, in the absence of nationally accepted etiquette books, old movies are just the thing for brushing up on the finer points of etiquette, like walking on the outside when accompanying a "lady" on a stroll. But, alas, nobody strolls anymore, either, especially toward the sound of urban gunfire.
Yep, etiquette is dead, except when the Queen of England comes calling. And then, by gosh by golly, everybody dives for a book on behavior.
Even Bill Clinton, that permanent rock star to the world's oppressed, could use a brushing up. His storied office escapades were no way to treat a lady.
Pursuant to Title 17 U.S.C. 107, other copyrighted work is provided for educational purposes, research, critical comment, or debate without profit or payment. If you wish to use copyrighted material from this site for your own purposes beyond the 'fair use' exception, you must obtain permission from the copyright owner. Views are those of authors and not necessarily those of Canada Free Press. Content is Copyright 1997-2024 the individual authors. Site Copyright 1997-2024 Canada Free Press.Com Privacy Statement