Yellow Dog Democrats

Now that the Obamacans are finally seeing that they are well and truly doomed in November without the rest of the Democratic Party to vote for The Precious - you know, the part Chris Bowers scornfully declared he didn't want in the party, panhandling at the door of Whole Foods Nation - you'd think they might try a little persuasion, a few apologetic sweet-nothings, a box or two of policy bon-bons, but you'd be wrong. Instead, they are doing their best to browbeat Democrats for Life into voting for their arrogant Dear Leader. Threats that we had better come around or else get left behind (hint - kids, we're the ones with the key to the car), that we need to make amends (we're the ones who have been attacked, if you didn't notice), that our candidate had better bust her ass to prove she's worthy of Dear Leader's largesse (news flash, our candidate busts her ass every day for *the people*, not some party boss. I know they play by different rules in Chicago...), and what they think is the clincher, that we aren't real Democrats if we don't vote for Obama.

People have reregistered as Independents to protest the arbitrary and lawless behavior of the current Democratic leadership, the people who seem more intent on securing their own power bases against "Bubba" than winning elections. People have even said they will vote McCain to ensure the deafeat of the current party regime - and trust me, after this last weekend, this opposition is not to Obama alone, but to all his enablers. I don't approve of voting Republican because I think Abu Ghraib alone is reason enough to force the Republican Party from power until every current official is in his or her grave. I also think now is the time to build up our strength in the party so we are poised to seize it back after the humiliating defeat facing the Obamacans in the fall.

But the bullies and bullshitters backing The Precious keep whining about how we need to be Yellow Dog Democrats. Maybe they need to brush up on the story:

The first known usage to date of “yaller dog” in relation to Democrats occurred in the 1900 Kentucky gubernatorial contest which turned into quite a dogfight. Irvin S. Cobb wrote a first hand account in his book Exit Laughing, published in 1941, now in Canadian public domain and authorized for academic and non-profit use. It details the saga of the Kentucky Governor William Goebel, who killed a man, exploited the split Democratic Party in Kentucky, and was assassinated in 1900 -- shot in the chest the day before being sworn into office, and dying two days after taking the oath of office.

Mr. Cobb relates
—
“the most devastating retort I ever did hear. It was delivered by Theodore Hallam, a battered-looking, hard-hitting, hard-drinking, little Irish lawyer, and an ex-member of Morgan's Rangers — and that for nearly half a century qualified a man for social and political distinction anywhere in the border South and particularly in Kentucky. Despite a high, strident voice, Hallam was perhaps the greatest natural orator in a state of natural orators and had a tongue pointed with a darting, instantaneous wit.”

“Hallam lived in Covington, where Goebel likewise lived, and as a comrade in war and an ally in peace of Colonel Sanford, the Conservative whom Goebel pistoled to death, he hated Goebel mightily. Having bolted when Goebel seized the gubernatorial nomination by craft and device — and at the last moment, by open violence — Hallam promptly took the stump against him and went about over the troubled common wealth joyously sowing dragons' teeth and poison ivy.

The seceding wing of the party picked on Hallam to open its fight, and chose the town of Bowling Green as a fitting place for the firing of the first gun, Bowling Green being a town where the rebellion inside the ranks was widespread and vehement. But Goebel had his adherents there, too.

I could fairly smell trouble cooking on that simmering-hot August afternoon when Hallam rose up in the jammed courthouse to begin his speech. Hardly had he started when a local bravo, himself a most handy person in a rough-and-tumble argument, stood upon the seat of his chair, towering high above the heads of those about him.

"I allow I want to ask you a question!" he demanded in a tone like the roar of one of Bashan's bulls.

One-third of the crowd yelled: "Go ahead, Black jack!" The other two-thirds yelled: "Throw him out!" and a few enthusiastic spirits suggested the advisability of destroying the gentleman utterly, and started reaching for the armpit or the hip pocket, as the case might be. Despite the heat all hands were wearing their alpaca or their seersucker coats which, if you knew our sturdy yeomanry in those parlous days, was a bad sign.

With a wave of his hand Hallam stilled the tumult.

"Let it be understood now and hereafter, that this is to be no joint debate," he said in that high-pitched shrill voice of his. "My friends have arranged for the use of this building and I intend to be the only speaker. But it is a tenet of our faith that in a Democratic gathering no man who calls himself a Democrat shall be denied the right to be heard. If the gentleman will be content to ask his question, whatever it is, and abide by my answer to it, I am willing that he should speak."

"That suits me," clarioned the interrupter. "My question is this: Didn't you say at the Louisville convention not four weeks ago that if the Democrats of Kentucky, in convention assembled, nominated a yaller dog for governor you would vote for him?"

"I did," said Hallam calmly.

"Well, then," whooped the heckler, eager now to press his seeming advantage, "in the face of that statement, why do you now repudiate the nominee of that convention, the Honorable William Goebel?"

For his part Hallam waited for perfect quiet and at length got it.

"I admit," he stated blandly, "that I said then what I now repeat, namely, that when the Democratic party of Kentucky, in convention assembled, sees fit in its wisdom to nominate a yaller dog for the governorship of this great state, I will support him — but lower than that ye shall not drag me!"

Lower than that, ye shall not drag me.

Anglachel