Henrietta Hay's Column

Every four years on a Wednesday morning early in November slightly less than half of the Americans are mad and convinced that civilization, as we know it is doomed. Slightly more than half are celebrating a great victory, which will bring us glory and prosperity. It is a time of despair or a time of hope.

I have lived through a lot of post-election Wednesday mornings. When I was a kid, my house on the morning after the election was either a happy, wonderful place to be, or a place for a kid to get out of as soon as possible. My mother never ran for office, but she was a true political person. Once I suggested to her that the world would not come to an end if she split her ticket and voted for just one Democrat. After the horror -- that a child of hers could utter such blasphemy -- wore off, she gave me a lengthy lecture. She told me that the two party system cannot survive unless the party faithful vote straight tickets. I did not agree then and do not agree now, but I have always had great admiration for her political integrity and her political enthusiasm.

I cast my first vote in 1936 when Franklin Roosevelt won his second term. All that I remember is my mother's anguish. The world was surely headed for destruction.

A more recent Wednesday morning stands out very clearly in my memory, the one following the election of 1984. The morning after Geraldine Ferraro and that guy she ran with were defeated I couldn't stand myself and went out to breakfast at 6:00 am. When the poor waitress tried to be pleasant I snarled at her that I was there to sulk and to let me sulk, skip the kindness please. She did.

On Election Day in 1948, Thomas Dewey went to bed as President of the United States, or so he thought. When he woke up on that fatal Wednesday morning he was somewhat startled to find that Harry Truman was president. Probably he skipped breakfast.

Then there was the Wednesday in 1964. By that time Nixon had turned me into a Democrat and my High School son was a rabid Goldwater supporter. When morning came I tried not to gloat and took him out to breakfast.

We tend to think that each national election is special, the only important one, the one on which the future of the country rests. Not so. We have lived through 52 of them and the Republic still exists. It is even thriving in spite of all the dire predictions.

We got all excited over the debates this year, stiff, formal and useless as they were. Lincoln and Douglas would have been horrified at the scripted performances, but they might have enjoyed the comfort of air-conditioned studios. Their seven debates took place in the broiling Illinois summer sun, pitting the short, powerful "Little Giant" Douglas against the 6 foot 4 inch "Honest Abe". Both were skilled politicians, brilliant orators and experienced dissemblers. They went head to head, one on one in front of a handful of people who couldn't even vote. Now those were debates. One does wonder about the progress television has brought.

Character assassination isn't a new invention. It's just that without television and radio, not as many people knew about it. In 1824 the high-minded candidates described each other in less than gentlemanly terms. Candidate Adams was a slovenly monarchist who had an English wife. Candidate Clay was a drunkard and a gambler. Candidate Jackson was a murderer and an adulterer. One popular campaign ditty went: "Oh Andy! O Andy! / How many men have you hanged in your life? / How many weddings make a wife?" At least in this century we haven't had any duels like the one in 1804 between Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr.

Sexual accusations have been flying around from the beginning. Jefferson was repeatedly asked about Sally Hemmings. Did he or didn't he? Guess we'll never know for sure.

So what's new? I'll stay up half the night November 5 and go out for a breakfast Wednesday morning. It was pretty nasty, but it's over. This year I won't snarl at the waitress.

What goes around comes around -- every four years.