Many years ago

But not so long ago as that

A nation lost its Emperor, in a bloodless coup. It was brought about in part by that public spectacle, no doubt, that day the Emperor paraded down the broadway in that magnificent, diaphanous, light-as-a-spider’s-web suit-of-no-clothes the swindlers sold him, a bill of goods.

Now, the swindlers sold the old man the new clothes, intending no good, I suppose, except for their gain. Their elegant plan, however, happily exposed many stuck-in-the-mud bureaucrats neither smart nor fit for their posts, and revealed as such – in a cunning twist – by the attempted denial of their stupidities.

After the coup, the old man retired to his bungalow in the foothills. He pondered his past foolish vanities, there with a loyal footman or two, there, perhaps, to learn a lesson or two, and just maybe do a good deed or two in the twilight. Out of the center of things and not so exposed.

Certainly not as exposed as he was on that day that began with such promise, which began to sour when the swindlers showed him the invisible suit of those magnificent clothes, and fully collapsed with that shout of that child: “He hasn’t got anything on.”

And so — let us leave him to his solitude.

Meanwhile

The populace exulted, savoring the coup, and the new ruler thus installed; their very own, chosen by them and swept onto the throne more by the tide of the populace’ need for a new broom to sweep clean the dust-covered arrogant halls of their dust-covered arrogant denizens. The Emperor had no clothes; he had to be replaced.

Yes; this was more about the people than any designs of the new Emperor himself.

He had been put up to the post by two familiar-looking men, quick with the needle and thread. The citizens had seen them somewhere before, but where?

The men brought him forth: a magnificent diaphanous, light-as-a-spider’s-web suit.

A suit-of-no-clothes? No; a suit, to be sure. A suit of artifice most cunning, A handsome attire, expert in line, in drape, form, color, in pattern and texture. Meticulous, and iridescent; a Coat of Many Colors. Broad in the shoulders, where a suit should be broad. Narrow at the waist, where a suit should narrow.

And thus displayed: hung on a frame of the finest palm-wood, dense and striated, polished to a high shine. Hung from a height of 6-and-a-half feet, seeming to float – perhaps actually floating – in mid-air, two inches above the tops of a virgin pair of dark leather shoes, polished to shine, as if unworn and unbroken. The suit, faintly rippling in the Aeolian zephyr, scintillating, tantalizing, perfectly lit in a nimbus of warm, golden light.

The crowds roared in awe, overjoyed, beside themselves. It was a new holiday. Jubilation used to be a word; now it was no longer just a word. The crowd roared; loud as many waters.

All eyes were on the magnificent suit. No one looked at the child; no one heard the child.
No one heard what he said.

*** ***

Post-script

I just had to get that out of the way, for my own sake. It is not meant to be wholly cynical, rather skeptical instead. Missourians, they of the "show me" state, would understand.

There is some valid hope to be had, of course. Just because a man comes into his fortune prematurely does not doom him to mis-spend it. And here is Mr. Obama, possibly sleepless now, in the middle of the night perhaps, at the end of two-and-a-half years of an "exploratory" campaign. He is not learning from his mistakes, not planning for the next time, not 2012, when he will make his "real" run. He has obtained the prize. A sound wells up in his throat; whether a laugh or a sob no one can say.

He made a tentative, hesitating grab for the brass ring as the merry-go-round went 'round, and the ring came away from the post; it is there in his hand.

Surprised? Perhaps. But he has had two years to adjust to the growing surprise.

A man may grow into his station, and an intelligent man more so. Habits can be broken. Greatness can emerge.