A Bloom County Tale of Satire, Respect, and Enduring Civility
Buy this book. You won't be disappointed. https://a.co/d/97gCtTY
You cannot change someone’s heart and you cannot change someone’s mind unless you actually talk to them.
In the frosty chaos of December 1981, Bloom County’s North Pole teetered on collapse. Santa’s elves, fed up with crafting complex toys like VCRs, revolted. On December 19, they formed PETCO—Professional Elves Toymaking and Craft Organization—a nod to the real-world PATCO air traffic controllers’ strike. By December 21, PETCO issued demands: hot tubs, higher pay, and, yes, “short broads” (forgive the impropriety, this was actually in the comic). Christmas hung in the balance as toys went unbuilt. Milo Bloom and Opus watched, aghast, as the crisis escalated. Then, from the Oval Office, President Reagan appeared on TV, his resolve unyielding. “Great, the Gipper’ll fix this!” chirped an elf, hopeful. But Reagan’s verdict was swift: “You’re fired!” Echoing his 1981 firing of 11,000 PATCO strikers, he replaced the elves with jobless air traffic controllers. Toys rolled out—clunky but delivered—saving Christmas. Breathed’s satire was at its best, nailing labor disputes and Reagan’s iron fist (at the same time) with a holiday spirit thrown in, proving you could insult both sides of one issue at the same time.
Fast forward to autumn of 1983, as the leaves turned gold against the Rocky Mountains, I found myself at the University of Colorado in Boulder. I was a young Regan Revolutionary amid a sea of liberals. I was there to see Berke Breathed, the brilliant mind behind Bloom County. His satirical jabs at everyone from politicians to pop culture, had captured my imagination. When I heard he was lecturing on campus, I had to go.
Boulder was, and remains, well, liberal—a place where tie-dye and tofu reigned supreme. I, however, was not. I believed in the promise of smaller government, economic resurgence, and a defiant stance against the socialism. The early 1980s were a time of transformation. Ronald Reagan had swept into office in 1980, ending the malaise of the Carter years with his "Morning in America" optimism. Inflation was taming, the economy boomed with tax cuts and deregulation, and the Cold War simmered with Reagan's bold rhetoric—calling the USSR an "evil empire". Yet, beneath the surface, divisions festered: debates over nuclear arms, environmental policies, and social issues like abortion and civil rights polarized the nation. Satire thrived, with cartoonists like Garry Trudeau and Berkeley Breathed. Breathed’s Bloom County was an equal-opportunity offender, going after liberals and conservatives alike, reminding us that humor could bridge divides.
During the lecture, Breathed talked about a cartoon that playfully mocked Reagan and how the next morning, his phone rang. "Hold for the President," the voice said. Berke’s audience erupted in boos. But Breathed raised a hand. "Hold on," he said, pausing for effect. "You know what I did?" The room fell silent. "I held for the President. Because that's what you do when the President calls." He went on to recount how the conversation unfolded warmly; Reagan, ever the charmer, engaged with genuine interest. In the end, Breathed sent a signed original of the comic to the White House—a gesture of goodwill.
This moment crystallized something profound: respect for the office, regardless of who was there. Breathed, likely leaning left himself, didn't let ideology eclipse decorum. In the early '80s, such civility wasn't rare. Reagan and Tip O'Neill, the Democratic House Speaker, sparred fiercely over budgets but shared Irish jokes and bourbon after hours. The era's political battles were intense—think Iran-Contra or the air traffic controllers' strike—but they often ended with handshakes, not fisticuffs. Media was slower, less fragmented; The evening news fostered a shared reality, unlike today's echo chambers.
As a conservative Republican, I've carried this lesson forward. I've disagreed vehemently with liberal presidents from Clinton to Biden. Yet, if given the opportunity, I would answer their call. Politics should not be a litmus test for friendship; my circle spans the spectrum, bound by shared humanity rather than party lines. In our hyper-polarized present—marked by social media vitriol, and endless culture wars—we've lost this ability. Tribalism turns neighbors into enemies, institutions into battlegrounds. Young generations, bombarded by algorithms that amplify outrage, might learn from Breathed's anecdote: Satire can critique without canceling; disagreement needn't destroy dialogue.
As I grow old, I sometimes grow weary of trying to make a difference. I have searched throughout my life for ways to change hearts and minds. Sometimes I have been successful, but most times not. People are entrenched. But when I am successful, it is pure joy seeing the light come on in the other’s eyes. I have found one thing to be universally true, though: You will never change a persons heart or mind unless you actually talk to them. And usually only if you have built trust, friendship and mutual respect. You cannot build any of those by belittling, berating or bludgeoning.
Imagine if today's leaders and citizens emulated that 1984 spirit. A cartoonist ribs a president, who responds with grace and mutual respect is created, with the institution in mind. It's a reminder that America's strength lies in its institutions—free speech, the presidency, free press, civil discourse—and in respecting them, we preserve what unites us. In 2025, as we navigate AI ethics, climate crises, and global tensions, let's hold for each other. Civility isn't weakness; it's the glue holding us together. Breathed's story, born in Reagan's America, offers wisdom: Laugh, listen, and lead with respect. Who knows? It might just spark our own "morning in America”.
Boulder was, and remains, well, liberal—a place where tie-dye and tofu reigned supreme. I, however, was not. I believed in the promise of smaller government, economic resurgence, and a defiant stance against the socialism. The early 1980s were a time of transformation. Ronald Reagan had swept into office in 1980, ending the malaise of the Carter years with his "Morning in America" optimism. Inflation was taming, the economy boomed with tax cuts and deregulation, and the Cold War simmered with Reagan's bold rhetoric—calling the USSR an "evil empire". Yet, beneath the surface, divisions festered: debates over nuclear arms, environmental policies, and social issues like abortion and civil rights polarized the nation. Satire thrived, with cartoonists like Garry Trudeau and Berkeley Breathed. Breathed’s Bloom County was an equal-opportunity offender, going after liberals and conservatives alike, reminding us that humor could bridge divides.
During the lecture, Breathed talked about a cartoon that playfully mocked Reagan and how the next morning, his phone rang. "Hold for the President," the voice said. Berke’s audience erupted in boos. But Breathed raised a hand. "Hold on," he said, pausing for effect. "You know what I did?" The room fell silent. "I held for the President. Because that's what you do when the President calls." He went on to recount how the conversation unfolded warmly; Reagan, ever the charmer, engaged with genuine interest. In the end, Breathed sent a signed original of the comic to the White House—a gesture of goodwill.
This moment crystallized something profound: respect for the office, regardless of who was there. Breathed, likely leaning left himself, didn't let ideology eclipse decorum. In the early '80s, such civility wasn't rare. Reagan and Tip O'Neill, the Democratic House Speaker, sparred fiercely over budgets but shared Irish jokes and bourbon after hours. The era's political battles were intense—think Iran-Contra or the air traffic controllers' strike—but they often ended with handshakes, not fisticuffs. Media was slower, less fragmented; The evening news fostered a shared reality, unlike today's echo chambers.
As a conservative Republican, I've carried this lesson forward. I've disagreed vehemently with liberal presidents from Clinton to Biden. Yet, if given the opportunity, I would answer their call. Politics should not be a litmus test for friendship; my circle spans the spectrum, bound by shared humanity rather than party lines. In our hyper-polarized present—marked by social media vitriol, and endless culture wars—we've lost this ability. Tribalism turns neighbors into enemies, institutions into battlegrounds. Young generations, bombarded by algorithms that amplify outrage, might learn from Breathed's anecdote: Satire can critique without canceling; disagreement needn't destroy dialogue.
As I grow old, I sometimes grow weary of trying to make a difference. I have searched throughout my life for ways to change hearts and minds. Sometimes I have been successful, but most times not. People are entrenched. But when I am successful, it is pure joy seeing the light come on in the other’s eyes. I have found one thing to be universally true, though: You will never change a persons heart or mind unless you actually talk to them. And usually only if you have built trust, friendship and mutual respect. You cannot build any of those by belittling, berating or bludgeoning.
Imagine if today's leaders and citizens emulated that 1984 spirit. A cartoonist ribs a president, who responds with grace and mutual respect is created, with the institution in mind. It's a reminder that America's strength lies in its institutions—free speech, the presidency, free press, civil discourse—and in respecting them, we preserve what unites us. In 2025, as we navigate AI ethics, climate crises, and global tensions, let's hold for each other. Civility isn't weakness; it's the glue holding us together. Breathed's story, born in Reagan's America, offers wisdom: Laugh, listen, and lead with respect. Who knows? It might just spark our own "morning in America”.
RSS Feed