My cell phone buzzed Saturday evening as I left the “wine and spirits” store with a selection of fine vino. It was my cousin Drew. I hastened to answer because when I miss a call from Drew, it’s hard to reconnect. Drew is confined to a wheelchair and can’t use his hands like he once could. He has multiple sclerosis (MS), one of the unusually high number of Gulf War veterans afflicted by the neurological disorder. He lives at the Veterans Administration (VA) facility in Butler, Pennsylvania. I grew up a mile from that VA building, the same time that former Pennsylvania Sen. Rick Santorum’s parents worked there. It’s just down the road from the Butler Farm Show Grounds where Donald Trump was shot on July 13. Sirens had wailed past the building as the former president was rushed toward Butler Memorial Hospital in town. Among vets from the Korean War, Vietnam War, and World War II, Drew stands out. He’s only 57 years old but has been confined to a wheelchair for years now. Growing up, Drew was an athlete, a wild man, and a fun guy to be around. He was the quarterback for his high school football team, an impressive achievement anywhere in western Pennsylvania, where our high school QBs become college QBs and sometimes NFL Hall of Famers: Dan Marino, Joe Montana, Jim Kelly, Joe Namath, Johnny Unitas, and George Blanda. Drew went on to play in college, though scholastic life wasn’t for him. He instead joined the military and served his country in the 1991 Gulf War, commissioned aboard a battleship. Something happened during that time that severely affected Drew’s health. He has various theories. Shortly thereafter, his body shut down from a strange form of MS. The condition has been called Gulf War Syndrome. Drew had called to talk about Pennsylvania college football — Pitt was getting trounced by Louisville and Penn State barely edged out Minnesota. Our conversation turned to Thanksgiving at our grandparents’ house. This would be my dad’s parents and Drew’s mom’s parents. I haven’t talked about that side of the family in my columns for The American Spectator. I tend to focus on my mom’s side, the Italians, who are crazy, raucous, loud, loving, and in so many ways plainly indescribable. Every wedding was like the scene from the start of The Godfather. My dad’s side was nothing like that. It was quiet, subdued, smaller. Those gatherings were comprised of about a dozen in all, unlike the Italian side, where hundreds amassed and shouted and laughed and acted like maniacs. Unlike the Italian side, we visited my dad’s parents in New Kensington, Pennsylvania, only once or twice a year. That included Thanksgiving. Drew and I last Saturday reminisced about those Thanksgivings, recounting every type of food and drink we imbibed every November. Aside from the obvious — turkey and stuffing and pumpkin pie — we recalled a unique kind of nut-roll cookie that my grandma always made as well as Rice Krispie Treats done in her special way. There was also an odd type of local mint ginger ale that my grandfather picked up. Drew and I remembered the name: Tom Tucker Ginger Ale. As Drew and I talked, we laughed. And as usual, he never once complained about his situation at the VA. He never complains. He has always been thankful. He was thankful again as we talked about Thanksgiving memories. That brings me to new Thanksgiving memories, being made today. Here at the Kengor household in November 2024, we’re making our own. Some very unique ones. As I write, I hear gobbles outside. They emanate from our turkey coop. Currently, I have only two, a male and a female. They’ll be spared the blade this Thanksgiving because our freezer already holds several from the previous harvest. These two are for mating, for creating little turkeys next spring. The male will do his part to help ensure the eggs laid by the female are fertilized. Each year, that happens like clockwork, part of the natural biological order divined by the Creator. No “gender dysphoria” there. I will do my part by incubating and hatching the eggs. This time next year, my current gobblers will face their dénouement and find themselves an unwitting part of the Thanksgiving feast. As I write, I also hear the crowing of our rooster. In July, we picked up from Agway, 12 newly hatched Barred Plymouth Rock chickens. We had thought that all were female — i.e., egg-layers. But as often happens, you sometimes accidentally end up with a rooster. He truly rules the roost. There’s no gender-identity confusion for this cock. The woke liberal might insist that my rooster suffers from “toxic masculinity.” Lately, he has been hopping on the backs of the hens, sinking his beak into their necks as the poor gals scream. One such violation that I witnessed this week was so vicious that I grabbed the Louisville Slugger, approaching the male perpetrator Buford Pusser-style. With cocky defiance, the rooster thought about taking me on but relented from the hen’s neck and strutted off, biding his time until the next female victim. Dear progressives, you might think a lecture on misogyny would have been best at that moment, but I instinctively went for the baseball bat. Your crowing about sexism would have made no difference with this crude creature. Upon observing such violent displays, I resolved that the rooster needs to face the blade this Thanksgiving week. As I wrap up this column, I’m heading out to the coop to wrestle him, grab his spurred feet, shove him into a cage, and cart him off to Amish country to be butchered. Wish me luck! And don’t feel bad for the feathered beast. If he can’t get along with his peers, even the gentler sex, drawing blood from them, stressing them out (they’re not laying eggs), then he must go. Rejoice, feminists, he will be punished for assaulting the hens. Capital punishment. All of which is to say, we’re expecting a hearty feast at the Kengor house this Thanksgiving. We’ll be enjoying a home-raised turkey and perhaps a fresh chicken as well. For that and more, I shall give thanks. We’ll say grace and I’ll express gratitude for the cooked birds, for my family, for the freedoms bestowed by America’s forefathers, for God, and for my cousin Drew — who’s always thankful, no matter his circumstances. READ MORE from Paul Kengor: ‘We Win, They Lose’: Remembering Richard V. Allen Justice Comes to HHS: Trump Taps Kennedy That’s How You Overturn an Election The post Giving Thanks for Thanksgiving Memories appeared first on The American Spectator | USA News and Politics.

Have you ever met someone and become instant friends? All my best friends have been instant friends. One shared a tent at summer camp when we were eight years old and that was it. One sat at the back of a political conference next to me and we chortled out loud at the same absurd assertions. One walked into my biology class and made a beeline, hand outstretched for a shake, to another friend and me, and became our permanent third bestie through grad school. One sat across the room from me in a support group and I just knew I had to know her and sure enough, instant friend. One was the parent of my daughter’s best friend and I called her and said I wanted to be her friend. We’ve watched our children grow up together and now wait for grandchildren. And so it was with Michael Valentine. He was a donor to The American Spectator and I needed to get to know him better, so I set up a phone call. Two minutes in, he was an instant friend. Like me, Michael is a midwesterner. We discussed our families and their migration. We discussed interstate rivalries and personality differences between Michigan, Ohio, and Indiana. We discussed business regulations and politics and policies. We didn’t talk about radar for cars (something he invented), and we didn’t talk about my previous life as a doctor. We discussed important things like children and homes and dreams for the future of the country. Instant friends. Michael died just over a month ago and it grieves me to think of it. He was a good man; decent and kind and devoted to family. He’s the sort of man who makes America great: an engineer and inventor who put it all on the line to do something no one else had done. America is full of these men and women. These are people who don’t take their freedom for granted but use it and make something for their fellow citizens — and in this case, something very useful to avoid getting caught speeding. Freedom, baby! The death of Michael caused me to meditate on friendship of the best and instant kind. What magical thing happens to cause this sort of connection? It can’t really be explained — the attraction and inner knowing. In one case, it was shared laughter and an eye roll. In another, it was a warm, strong handshake paired with a booming voice and eye contact. In another, it was the absurdity of owning chickens and having them in her suburban backyard. Her open face and self-awareness, made me feel that thing. In another, it was the quiet intelligence and wry comments. There was more to this lady. I think back to meeting a different friend at a conference. He was young, nerdy, and overly confident in his outrageous opinions. I thought he was full of shit and immediately liked him. My friends tend to be a strange cast of characters. I like individuals, mold-breakers, the people who are wholly and unapologetically themselves. It’s probably why I like writers so much even though, as a species, they’re royal pains in the ass. They have points-of-view and they’re whip-smart, usually funny, and with an “off” sense of reality. At The American Spectator, I have the privilege of interacting daily with these lovable weirdos. I’m better for it. I admire people who ever seek truth and a court jester’s ability to see through the artifice and reveal the contours of our culture while making us laugh at the same time. Writers have called me at midnight and said things like, “Melissa, I have this story. I can’t write about it yet, but I just had to tell somebody!” I’ve had the privilege of doing first passes on chapters of books and giving feedback. Sometimes, writers even listen! It’s an honor to sit alongside writers, encourage them, watch their thoughts come to fruition, and see their anguish as they get their work across the finish line. Creation is an arduous business or can be. How blessed am I to have the friendship of these amazing people? I’m so grateful. So this Thanksgiving, a shout-out to instant friends who become friends for life. What started with kismet, that ephemeral soul-knowing, in so many cases, turned into enduring kinship. When one of these instant friends dies, it’s a painful reminder of the impermanence of life. I felt confident that Michael would just be there. He was relatively young (although, as I get older, young keeps getting redefined) and so alive. It seems impossible that he’s gone. It’s been over five years now since one of my other instant and lifelong friends died of cancer. She shared a tent with me when we were eight and we knew all, and I mean all, of each others’ secrets. I miss her every day. Friendship, of all the blessings we have as humans, is quite possibly the greatest because it’s not, as C.S. Lewis points out, necessary. Friendship just adds color and texture to life. Friendship makes life worth living. Michael Valentine made a difference in the world in so many tangible and important ways. What I’ll remember him for, though, is the instant friendship we formed on a phone call a couple of years ago. It was a small connection that made a significant difference in my life. For him, I am grateful. May his memory be blessed. READ MORE from Melissa Mackenzie: Mitch McConnell Did Not Win a Mandate What Trump’s Cabinet Picks All Have in Common: They Don’t Give a ____ About Tolerance The post Thankful for Instant Friends Like Michael Valentine appeared first on The American Spectator | USA News and Politics.

It’s horrible but true. Two days ago I was 80 years old. That’s OLD and the next step is eternity. I will write more about this in the near future but for now, just a few thoughts: First, I am grateful beyond words to be married to my wifey, Alexandra Denman. We have been together since 1968 as man and wife. We’ve had quarrels but the end result is that we are together. She is a saint of forgiveness, kindness, beauty, intelligence, and love of country. From the first moment I laid eyes on her on July 4, 1966, I knew she was the one and only girl for me. I have been blessed beyond words to have had many girlfriends. But my wife is superhuman in terms of saintly qualities. There is no one like her on the earth. Second, I am blessed beyond words to have been born in America. So were my parents and grandparents. My wife’s ancestors were American war heroes going back to the Revolution. My wife’s father, Col. Dale Denman Jr., fought against the Nazis in World War II sufficient to be awarded the Silver Star. In Vietnam, he did more. His brother, Bob Denman, both of them from Arkansas, fought like a banshee against the Chicoms in the horrendous battle of the Chosin Reservoir. His courage was literally indomitable. Don’t ever tell me anything bad about Southerners, Neil Young. They are my heroes. God has been wildly good to me in many, many regards. One of them was to allow me to work alongside John R. Coyne Jr. and Aram Bakshian Jr. in the White House, led by the Ultimate Peacemaker, Richard M. Nixon. I have also been deeply privileged to be a friend of Julie Nixon Eisenhower, as fine a human as there has ever been. I’ll write more about all of this very soon. LOVE, BEN READ MORE from Ben Stein: We Need to Tell Them ‘Clothes Make the Man’ A Letter to My Favorite Grocer Inflation, Houses, and You The post From Here to Eternity appeared first on The American Spectator | USA News and Politics.

The year that is drawing toward its close has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added, which are of so extraordinary a nature that they cannot fail to penetrate and even soften the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever-watchful providence of Almighty God. — Abraham Lincoln, A Thanksgiving Proclamation Thanksgiving is that wonderful day where we gather around a table with friends and family and indulge in turkey made slightly better by cranberry sauce and an ungodly amount of pie, while desperately distracting ourselves from unpleasant topics of conversation by watching a Football game and the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. That, at the very least, is the way our modern agnostic America celebrates it.  And why shouldn’t we? What we were all told in grade school was that the very first Thanksgiving was celebrated shortly after the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock. Going by the construction-paper pilgrim hats and drug store window stickers, it’s rather difficult to tell whether they were giving thanks to their Native American benefactors or some deity.  A slightly deeper dig into the matter via a quick Google search generally results in a rather depressing array of articles with titles like: “Rethinking Thanksgiving Celebrations: Native Perspectives on Thanksgiving” or “The true, dark history of Thanksgiving.” While these academic diatribes are, to the pessimist, an interesting read, they hardly capture the spirit of the matter. Instead, they turn the holiday into a guilt fest — and guilt is never a good reason to indulge in large quantities of food. It’s also, frankly, not fair to the Pilgrims, who left plenty of written records behind them. They talked long and hard about their dreams for the future, about the kind of society they wanted to establish (John Winthrop’s “Shining City on a Hill” is an oft-used and abused example), and about their goodwill toward their Native American neighbors, but they didn’t talk much about this grand Thanksgiving dinner they were supposed to have had. We have just one contemporary record of the event. A paragraph in a letter written by Edward Winslow in 1621 doesn’t once use the word “thanksgiving.”  That historical narrative may help relieve some of the guilt woke academics want us to indulge in — after all, it’s hard to feel guilty about an event that may or may not have happened. It turns our Pilgrim’s story into an American myth on the level of Johnny Appleseed. It’s a good myth, but myths are seldom a good reason to celebrate a holiday. Fortunately, we don’t celebrate Thanksgiving because the Pilgrims did — the tradition is both younger and older. The reason has much more to do with Abraham Lincoln. In 1863, the United States was embroiled in a bloody Civil War that set brother against brother and had torn the country in two. The end of the war wasn’t yet in sight (the Confederacy wouldn’t surrender for another two years), although the Union had had a rather heartening run at Chancellorsville, Vicksburg, and Gettysburg (it had lost the Battle of Chickamauga, but not badly). The national mood, one imagines, wasn’t great. Then, on Oct. 3, Lincoln called for a national day of thanksgiving to be celebrated on the fourth Thursday of November.  Americans — Democrats and peace advocates in particular — weren’t happy with the new holiday. They refused to celebrate it. Some of them proclaimed that Lincoln was trying to impose New England Protestantism on the nation, which was not a hard argument to make. Lincoln made it clear that the point of establishing Thanksgiving was to recognize the role Divinity had played in full fields, expanding frontiers, growing populations, and the increase of freedom (Lincoln had signed the Emancipation Proclamation just 10 months earlier).  That said, it was perhaps a little unfair to claim that Lincoln was trying to conduct evangelism via the institution of national holidays. After all, he wasn’t the first president to call for a national day of thanksgiving, that would be George Washington.  At the time, the American Revolutionary War had been concluded for six tumultuous years. Revolutionary soldiers demanding pay had been a constant thorn in the side of a dysfunctional government that was trying to figure out how to write a constitution for the 13 colonies. That Constitution finally went into effect in March 1789, and on Oct. 3 of that year, Washington proclaimed Thursday, Nov. 26 a national day of thanksgiving — and he wasn’t shy about saying that God was to be the object of the nation’s gratitude: Now therefore I do recommend and assign Thursday the 26th day of November next to be devoted by the People of these States to the service of that great and glorious Being, who is the beneficent Author of all the good that was, that is, or that will be—That we may then all unite in rendering unto him our sincere and humble thanks…. and also that we may then unite in most humbly offering our prayers and supplications to the great Lord and Ruler of Nations and beseech him to pardon our national and other transgressions. Washington had intended that future presidents also proclaim days of thanks, and both James Madison and John Adams followed suit. Thomas Jefferson, on the other hand, never did. He was concerned that doing so would infringe on the separation of Church and state and viewed such proclamations as remnants of British rule. Perhaps, in some sense, Jefferson was right. The idea of a national day of thanksgiving predates not only Washington, Madison, and Adams, but even the discovery of the North American continent itself. In medieval (and, at the time, Catholic) England, national days of thanks looked a little different. Back in 1415, for instance, the English victory at the Battle of Agincourt was celebrated by a day of thanks that included a massive festival, a Te Deum (something the Puritan Pilgrims would have been horrified by), religious liturgies, and feasting. (Of course, the British weren’t the only ones, the rest of Europe also partook in extra holidays.) Those celebrations didn’t go away when England turned Protestant. Annual thanksgivings were frequently celebrated on important national anniversaries.  Thanksgiving, in whatever form it has taken throughout the centuries, has always had something our modern American version is missing, namely, a Divine object of gratitude. Our typical course of Turkey and Football kind of misses the whole point — an easy thing to do when our food comes from a supermarket shelf and our household goods show up at our doorstep overnight courtesy of Amazon. The day is, and always has been, one devoted to God in recognition of His benevolence.  So as you gather with your family around a table full of God’s great gifts, consider singing a Te Deum, reciting a Psalm, or simply raising a glass to the Maker of Heaven and Earth whose Divine Providence has seen fit to sustain us for yet another year. READ MORE from Aubrey Gulick: New Film Might Just Be the Next Christmas Classic Now That Trump Won, Catholic Bishops Have a Choice Amish for Trump The post Thanksgiving Is All About Family, Turkey, and Football… Or Is It? appeared first on The American Spectator | USA News and Politics.

I was born in Spain which means I love to eat and drink. And I write for an American audience every day. In other words, I am professionally and ethically compelled to join in your traditions. So every year in my Spanish household, Thanksgiving is the perfect excuse to work a little, eat a lot, take a nap, discuss food a little, curse hipsters, eat again, have a few drinks, turn the music up, and hug a pretty girl. It’s my favorite day if we don’t count all the others where, throughout the year, I find a good reason to do exactly the same thing. Since Trump’s victory, I confess, every day I find a good reason for a party and more reason for Thanksgiving! This year for the first time I was planning to cook turkey. I bought one. I christened it. And I kept it in the garden because every time it came into the house it got insolent and wouldn’t listen to reason when I told it: “Stop pecking at my underpants.” Or “I need silence to write.” And, “It’s not a good idea to look out the window from the second floor if you’re not sure you know how to fly to the ground.” The problem is that the garden is too connected to the rest of the forest that I don’t own, and we occasionally get visits from strangers. I couldn’t tell you if it was a wolf or a fox, but Little Kamala (the turkey’s name) died. Now I have to choose between cooking the heap of feathers that I found scattered on the floor or calling a turkey delivery service. I had already bought ingredients for the stuffing and cornbread and the onions, celery, carrots, thyme, rosemary, and parsley. I will most likely make some toast and just put everything else on top if I can balance it all right. The roast turkey I’m ordering doesn’t come stuffed, but I don’t think it is acceptable to serve the critter on one side, and the stuffing on the other. I’ve got it all figured out. I’m going to blindfold the diners and tell them to eat it all together. I doubt they’ll be able to tell if the stuffing is inside the turkey or around it Before the turkey, I will prepare some appetizers: my famous canapés alla negroni, which consists of cutting into very small portions the pizza from the night before, and serving it accompanied by a generous glass of Negroni. It will be just as forbidden to have seconds of the pizza as it will be to not have seconds of the Negroni. The idea is that the diners will get to the turkey so drunk that none of them will dare to ask me about Little Kamala. I don’t want to have to tell the terrible story previously mentioned. This is the first time there has been a crime in my house, at least against a family member, and Little Kamala was already one of us. These things tend to get talked about, spreading around the neighborhood, and sinking your reputation. That’s how Hunter Biden started. As for the music chosen for the evening, you will love it! During the meal, I will play elevator music, very common for any ceremony, with the exception of pontifical funerals. During the siesta, I have a magnificent selection of children’s lullabies. These are songs that have never put a child to sleep but are incredibly effective with adults. Then comes the most awaited moment — the pumpkin pie. It is the first time I have made it, but I have the recipe from Grandma Goose herself (it was passed to me, in her will, by Little Kamala, hours before her tragic end). I have done a preliminary survey and none of the diners like pumpkin, so its role will be defensive. By which, I mean I intend to throw it in the face of my brother-in-law, the one who whenever he has two drinks begins to sing Bolivarian revolutionary hymns. His theme at the last Christmas lunch was the sex change of inclusive pets. He did not know if he was for it or not, but he blurted it out with the intention of provoking an altercation. And this time he will come in excited about Trump’s victory, who he will call a “fascist pig” while chewing with his mouth open, so his odds of receiving a pumpkin pie to the face are good. In addition to the pumpkin pie, I will also make an apple pie. I’ve been at a friend’s house picking apples from his garden. The guy said to me, “Come over for coffee and I’ll give you apples.” I went for coffee, brought a big tray of expensive pastries, and finally, once there, I asked him where the apples were. The bastard gave me a ladder and pointed to the top of a tree. Do I look like I know how to climb a tree? My revenge will be terrible. I can’t wait for him to come home one day and ask me, “Hey, do you happen to have any eggs?” Finally, after dessert, I’ll turn up the rock music to politely get rid of the over 60s, change the music to a 1980s jam session to politely get rid of the under 20s, and turn on a smoke machine to politely get rid of my idiot asthmatic cousin (a real ladies’ man). I’ll serve sex on the beach (the cocktail) dressed as a Hawaiian, to politely get rid of all the other guys, and I’ll have an amazing evening with my three neighbors, who are a cross between the Spice Girls and Taylor Swift, but right-wingers with brains. You can imagine mine will be happy, but I also wish you a happy Thanksgiving. READ MORE from Itxu Díaz: Why We All Have a Chair Full of Clothes Escaping Politics to the Serene Countryside … It’s Too Cold Ten Priorities for Trump’s New Administration The post Thanksgiving: Eat, Talk About Food, Sleep, Repeat appeared first on The American Spectator | USA News and Politics.

A fellow conservative friend and Club for Growth fan named Janet Cantor emailed recently to express her ongoing bafflement at the Never-Trump crowd. Like me, she wonders how lifelong conservatives such as former Weekly Standard editor Bill Kristol, former Congresswoman Liz Cheney, and former Vice President Dick Cheney could turn their backs on their entire careers as Right-of-center thinkers and leaders and endorse Vice President Kamala Harris, hardly a conservative Democrat, just because they are allergic to Donald J. Trump’s style, demeanor, or rhetoric. Trump’s overwhelmingly pro-market, low tax, limited government, peace-through-strength policy accomplishments in his first term, and his equivalent proposals for his second, did not appeal to these people. And Kamala’s embrace of a polar opposite policy agenda did not repel them. The fact that Kamala Harris makes George McGovern look like Mitt Romney has had no impact on the ex-conservative Never-Trump crowd. They just plain hate Trump, no matter what. “When the Democrat alternative is Communism, anti-Semitism, pro-terrorism, pro-high taxes, and Big Government, to despise and fear Trump is quibbling and so dangerous,” Janet told me. She is correct. Never Trumpers, especially this fall, needed to answer the question: “If not Trump, then Kamala?” If Trump ran against Senator Bob (NOT John!) Kerry of Nebraska, that would be one thing. (The wounded Vietnam warrior is the one Democrat in recent memory whom I might have supported for president, especially had he run against a Brooks Bros. socialist like Daddy Bush.) If the late Senator William Proxmire of Wisconsin were on the ballot or former Senators John Breaux or Mary Landrieu (both from Louisiana), I might see the argument. I would have still voted for Trump and Republicans and conservatives who backed these centrist Democrats would have struck me as very wrong, but not as full-on lunatics. But anyone Right of Susan Collins voting for cackling, Commie Kamala — a full-blown, equity-preaching Marxist? Are you kidding me? For all of his personality quirks, grandiosity, and occasional vulgarity (all of which seem dialed back lately), Trump beats these non-crazy Democrats by light years on public policy. I am no fan of tariffs, other than as a blunt instrument against China and as a bargaining chip against other international mischief makers. Aside from that area of caution, America is in store for massive tax cuts, deregulation, and DOGE’s efforts to depopulate and padlock entire agencies. The demolition of our border is about to end. Illegal aliens — starting with robbers, rapists, and murderers — are about to be imprisoned for decades or returned to the hellholes from whence they slithered. China, Russia, Iran, and their destabilizing friends all know that Daddy is coming home, and they soon must behave themselves. No more breaking each other’s toys in the living room! Teenage girls no longer will be forced to stare at (or shield their faces from) penises and testes attached to “girls” in their locker rooms. Drag Queen Story Hour in children’s libraries is on its last fishnet-stockinged legs. Lawfare is headed into the circular file. Adios, LatinX! We will Make Gas Stoves Great Again. If you like your internal combustion engine, you may keep your internal combustion engine. Period. The federal bureaucrats who bark orders at law-abiding citizens, like rabid Rottweilers, are about to be muzzled, if not put down (metaphorically). Energy dominance, lower prices, abundant opportunity, and robust economic growth are so close that we can taste them. All of these policies and promises have brought more and more women, blacks, Hispanics, young people, blue-collar workers, and union members into the center-Right tent — for now and perhaps for decades. For all of this, we owe Never Trump nothing. Rather, with Thanksgiving upon us, America owes a thousand thank-yous to one man: Donald J. Trump! Deroy Murdock is a Manhattan-based Fox News contributor. READ MORE from Deroy Murdock: Judge Merchan: Dismiss Trump’s Case or Recuse Thyself! Rick Scott for Senate Majority Leader! Are You Better Off Now Than Four Years Ago? The post Dear Never Trump: Thanks For Nothing appeared first on The American Spectator | USA News and Politics.

President-elect Donald Trump has selected Scott Bessent to serve as the 79th Treasury secretary in United States history. Bessent is a Wall Street executive who has praised Trump’s tariff agenda and advocated for making America great again and “Iran broke again.” He allegedly threatened to resign from his position at Soros Fund Management over its consideration of restricting investments in Israel, and he would be the first openly gay Treasury secretary. Just who is Scott Bessent, and what do the people who know him best say about him? Bessent earned his bachelor’s degree in political science from Yale in 1984. During his senior year, he was president of Wolf’s Head Society, one of the Ivy League school’s premiere secret honor societies. Early in his career, he was hired as a research assistant for Jim Rogers, an investment manager who co-founded Quantum Fund with George Soros. In the decades since Bessent has established himself as a hedge fund manager. Bessent’s nomination has drawn praise from across the political spectrum. Gavin Wax, president of the blossoming New York Young Republicans Club, described the money manager as “a fantastic pick that showcases the Republican Party has finally returned to its roots as a tariff party.” Vish Burra, a conservative influencer who worked for former Reps. Matt Gaetz and George Santos, similarly praised the pick as having “[an] ideological commitment to executing the America First agenda at the Treasury Department.” Burra also praised Bessent’s competence as a businessman and said the skills he acquired are transferable to his new role. “Scott Bessent will provide President Trump a brilliant talent when it comes to operational capability handling money and markets,” Burra said. Business leaders such as billionaire businessman John Catsimatidis, who founded the conglomerate Red Apple Group, offered high praise for Bessent. “I do like Scott Bessent’s nomination for Treasury secretary. I have only met him a handful of times but he is very competent, hard working and extremely smart,” Catsimatidis said. “He also made ‘a zillion dollars’ for George Soros!” he said. Bessent’s ties with Soros have been a subject of concern for some on the right. However, support for his nomination has not broken down in a predictable way. Some, such as Elon Musk, criticized Bessent as a “business-as-usual choice” before he was nominated. Others — including political outsiders who want to uproot the system — backed Bessent. Steve Bannon is among them. Politics makes for strange bedfellows, as Sen. Lindsey Graham — by no means a populist in the sense that Bannon is — also supported the selection of Bessent. Other business leaders, such as Skybridge Capital founder and frequent Trump critic Anthony Scaramucci, have also praised Trump’s selection of Bessent. “Scott Bessent is a great guy and a safe and stable pair of hands for the country,” he wrote on X. In a recent op-ed in the Economist, Bessent echoed Trump’s longstanding argument that economic relationships should be tied to security agreements. “American security assurances and market access should be linked with commitments from allies to spend more on our collective security and to structure their economies in ways that reduce imbalances over time,” he wrote. Bessent argues that we should modify international trade policy to boost American manufacturing and reduce dependence on China, but holds that we should not withdraw from the international system entirely. In an article for Fox News, Bessent noted that the two underlying assumptions undergirding America’s turn to free trade in the 20th century were that the economic benefits would outweigh the cost of lost jobs and that free trade would incentivize countries like China to democratize. “Neither of these predictions has proven to be correct,” he wrote.  Catimsatidis noted the utility of tariffs as an instrument for promoting domestic manufacturing: “The United States of America could increase our businesses substantially by giving incentives to companies that want to leave to stay by imposing tariffs,” he said. Bessent pointed out that even Alexander Hamilton, America’s first Treasury secretary, favored tariffs. What he did not say, but what is also true, is that even Adam Smith, who authored The Wealth of Nations, the intellectual founding piece for free trade, argued that retaliatory tariffs and national security are justifications for imposing tariffs on imports. READ MORE: 7 Ways to Move Toward a Trump Doctrine Controversial Appointees, Clay Pigeons, and Successful Governmental Politics What Was the Matt Gaetz Attorney General Pick Really About? The post Business Leaders and Political Activists React to Trump’s Treasury Pick: ‘Extremely Smart’ appeared first on The American Spectator | USA News and Politics.

SACRAMENTO, Calif — In a 1988 radio address praising Canadian voters for rejecting a political ticket that described a free-trade deal as “selling out Canada,” President Ronald Reagan noted that “the argument against tariffs” has not only “won nearly universal agreement among economists but it has also proven itself in the real world, where we have seen free-trading nations prosper while protectionist countries fall behind.” Free-trade supporters (myself included) have touted that clip — and other Reagan speeches — as the incoming GOP administration plans a trade policy that seems lifted from Reagan’s Democratic and union foes from the 1980s. “Tariffs are the greatest thing ever invented,” Donald Trump said at a Michigan campaign rally in September. He called himself “Tariff Man.” He certainly is, as he just announced blanket tariffs on Canadian, Mexican, and Chinese goods. Of course, tariff supporters are right that Reagan’s actions didn’t always live up to his ideals. In 1983, Reagan famously gave in to pressure from Harley-Davidson Motor Co. and boosted tariffs on imported motorcycles by 45 percent. The iconic company was in dire financial straits, concerned about competition from the Big Four Japanese makers (Honda, Kawasaki, Yamaha, and Suzuki) and unable to deal with its debt load, quality problems, and cratering market share. Advocates for tariffs still point to the Harley-Davidson protection as a success, as it reportedly gave the company time to rebuild. Harley even called for an end to the tariffs a year early, citing their effectiveness. In 1999, the Bill Clinton White House released a report arguing that the motorcycle tariffs were “evidence that American innovation and effective U.S. trade policy can reap rewards for American companies and American workers.” That seems unlikely.  At the time, Japanese makers had misread market demand and amassed so much unsold inventory here that the tariff didn’t really affect their products for at least a year, as it didn’t apply to bikes that already were in the United States sitting on dealer lots. European brands such as BMW weren’t affected by the tariffs, as they didn’t sell in high enough numbers to trigger them. The Japanese makers found innovative end-runs, anyway. Kawasaki and Honda shifted production to their U.S. plants. They mainly tweaked engine designs. Tariffs applied to motorcycles with 700cc or larger engines, given that Harley specializes in the large-displacement category. The duties applied mainly to UJMs — or Universal Japanese Motorcycles (referring to the similar, all-purpose design common among all Japanese manufacturers) — with popular 750cc inline-four engines. As Hagerty Media explained, the Big Four simply dropped the bore on those engines to bring them to around 699cc, but their “revised cam timing, higher compression, and revised gearing kept performance close to the 750s that they temporarily replaced.” In other words, the tariffs enticed Harley’s competitors to become more innovative than ever. One can argue that they really weren’t serious competitors to the U.S. brand. I own a Kawasaki Z900RS Café, a newly minted homage to the company’s 1982-83 KZ1000 Eddie Lawson Replica (named after the famous moto racer). The KZ1000 was the kind of technologically advanced Japanese bike that Harley executives apparently feared, but studies show that only 10 percent of buyers at the time cross-shopped Harley and Japanese brands. That’s no surprise. I also own a Harley-Davidson Softail Heritage Classic. Comparing the two is like comparing an exquisite plate of sushi with a New York strip. The Kawasaki’s 948cc inline-four comes on slow, then screams like a banshee at 6,500 rpm (and it can really take the twisties). By contrast, Harley’s torquey 1,746 cc V-twin pulls like a freight train, but its 728 pounds (versus 475 for the Kawasaki) and limited lean angle make it the ideal choice for relaxed cruising or longer distances. And that Harley is a looker. So, Harley-Davidson maybe didn’t need protection from these very different products. The company already gained new owners in 1981 (the merciful end of the AMF era) and embarked on a plan to improve quality control, rebuild factories, and improve its model line. As tariffs expired, the country was exiting a recession. Such improper government intervention probably didn’t do much (except politically) to save the legendary manufacturer. Furthermore, the tariffs — and subsequent devaluing of the Japanese Yen — helped push up motorcycle prices overall, which arguably sparked a longer-term decline in motorcycle ridership. Some analysts argue that by protecting Harley from competition in its core market (heavy, big-engine cruisers, and touring bikes), tariffs encouraged the company to double down on bikes that appeal to its aging ridership and delayed its willingness to expand its appeal. Indeed, Harley-Davidson has struggled to appeal to younger riders with affordable, smaller, and innovative models. That marketing decision — more than its inexplicable former DEI policies — is a key reason the company sells around half the North American units as it did a decade ago. Whatever the cause of its current problems, it’s not clear if the tariffs delayed or exacerbated them. Tariffs shouldn’t be judged by the impact on one particular company but on the overall effect on the economy, consumer choice, and our freedom. With tariffs, the government picks winners and losers — just as Harley lost out when Trump’s steel tariffs dramatically raised manufacturing costs for Harley and automobile makers. Tariff supporters often forget about the size of markets outside of the United States. American consumers buy around a half million motorcycles a year versus 60 million worldwide. Other countries retaliate when our country imposes tariffs. During Trump’s first term, Europe retaliated with large tariffs on American-made motorcycles, bourbon, and blue jeans. Harley then announced plans to build European-bound motorcycles outside the United States. It drew Trump’s wrath but highlights how tariffs can cost more domestic jobs than they save. Granted, it’s ironic given its history to hear Harley-Davidson’s president and CEO Jochen Zeitz complain (as he did during the 2021 trade war) that, “Imposing an import tariff on all Harley-Davidson motorcycles goes against all notions of free trade.” He’s right, but it would be great if everyone — politicians and business leaders alike — just applied that principle all of the time. Steven Greenhut is the Western region director for the R Street Institute. Write to him at sgreenhut@rstreet.org. READ MORE from Steven Greenhut: California Voters Reject ‘California Values’ State Officials Give Nod to Far Higher Gas Prices Californians Reject the Worst Initiatives The post Lessons From a Previous Trade War appeared first on The American Spectator | USA News and Politics.

Motörhead frontman Ian “Lemmy” Kilmister will take up full-time residence at one of his favorite haunts to relax and socialize — Stringfellows gentlemen’s club in London. On December 18th there will be a miniature replica of his custom urn containing a portion of his ashes, which will be installed at the club, ensuring Lemmy can permanently hold court at one of his beloved places. Motörhead guitarist Phil Campbell will be in attendance to say a few words and place Lemmy’s ashes there. Owner Peter Stringfellow and Lemmy go back a long time… to say the least. “When he was in London, Lemmy never missed a night out at Stringfellows. He was a true friend of the club,” said Sadat Banda, operations director for Stringfellows. ### The post Motörhead’s Lemmy Immortalized… Yet Again appeared first on RockinTown.