Not too long ago, there was a movie called "Charlie Wilson's War" that was based on the book of the same name. The book was a fascinating account of a highlight in the career of one of the more colorful figures to serve in the U.S. House of Representatives within recent memory. The movie not so much.
This was disappointing because the cast certainly featured some talented people, like Tom Hanks, who played Good Time Charlie, and Julia Roberts, in the role of tne conservative Republican socialite who lured the liberal Democratic congressman from Lufkin in East Texas to shaking sufficient loose change from the perennially beleagured federal budget to provide weapons that helped the mujahidin kick Soviet butt out of Kabul and the country.
Such a riveting, rollicking patently surreal tale deserved a better fate than having the look and feel of something slapped together on a weekend when everyone involved had something better to do and wished they were doing it.
Charlie Wilson, 76, died on Wednesday. The medical explanation was cardiopulmonary complications, as far as I can figure doctor talk for a heart attack. But anyone who held onto the sissy bar tight enough and long enough for even a part of the congressman's wild and whacky ride could have told you it was nothing short of a cockeyed miracle that Charles Nesbit Wilson"s exhaustively tested ticker served him tolerably well right up until two years ago when he had a heart transplant. The film focuses on the most intriguing adventure of Wilson's overly adventurous life, and one of the few Wilson tales one can relate to polite company.
For it is the improbable story of how Joanne Herring, the right-wing temptress whose siren song led Charlie not to the rocks but to an Afghan refugee camp in Pakistan where he witnessed maimed freedom fighters and vowed to help their cause. And it chronicles at least a few of the highlights of how the playboy congressman interrupted his 24/7 cycle of hard drinking and prodigious sex long enough to finagle and funnel federal dollars until he'd raised as much as $5 billion for the mujahidin.
Charlie used his seat on the House Appropriations Committe and its foreign operations subcommittee for accumulating the funds to thwart what was erroneously called a Soviet invasion. The Red troops were actually invited into Kabul in 1979 by the existing puppet pro-Communist government to put down a rebel insurgency.
As the New York Times reported, Wilson's support went beyond money. When rebel forces suffered a communications breakdown he bought $12,000 worth of walkie talkies from Radio Shack and got them to the freedom fighters. Transportation problems? He sent them Tennesee mules.
And finally the Soviet troops trudged out of Afghanistan, a full 10 years after they entered as a well-equipped, wel-trained army. When they departed, however, there were 15,000 fewer of them; they were demoralized and humiliated by what they initially viewed as Stone Age warlords fighting with sticks and stones and came to appreciate that guerrilla tactics trumped state-of-the-art military force. Wilson went on to making headlines away from Capitol Hill, including his wee hour partying and drinking antics that led to the totaling of two automobiles. He was also charged with election irregularities and fined $90,000.
Once when a congresswoman and her legislative aide were waiting to cross Pennsylvania Avenue on their way to a quorum call on the floor of the House of Representatives, Charlie drove up to the curb with the wildest blonde east of the Rockies draped over him like an extra outer garment. "Charlie," the congresswoman said, "tell this young man what you told me the day you missed roll call when my bill came up, after you promised your vote." The tall Texan's face broke into a sheepish grin as he said, "I told you I was sorry but that it was my day to get laid."
The late Molly Ivins was fond of telling of her visit to Charlie's office in Washington where it seemed that every few feet there was another top-heavy young woman with a waist one hand could encircle. When the harem tour was over, Molly asked where he had found such a pulchritudinous assortment of staffers. To which Charie replied, "Molly, you can teach them to type, but you can't teach them to grow tits."
That was Good Time Charlie Wilson. Washington hasn't been the same since he left and now that he has departed the world, it is bound to be just a tad drearier
No comments:
Post a Comment