Cathedral City, California is not a dangerous city like East St. Louis, nor is it as quirky as Mound Hill, Nevada(where the plaque honoring the heroic Pony Express is inside a brothel, a legal brothel). Cathedral City is nondescript.
This Blogger considers a city nondescript when he cannot drive further on a residential street, full of track homes, because of a giant tumbleweed blocking his path. There is nothing more nondescript in life than a tumbleweed blocking your journey.
Cathedral City is the nondescript companion city to flamboyant Palm Springs; which is right next door. Cathedral City has the most nondescript post office in America, not one memorable thing nor memorable feature about it.
For many years, the most nondescript city in America, Cathedral City, within its nondescript post office, had the most nondescript postmaster in history, Patrick McMahon. In that nondescript man, in that nondescript post office, in that nondescript city, in Patrick McMahon, was the living embodiment of why America was the greatest nation in the history of the world.
One day, the nondescript City Officials of the nondescript City of Cathedral City decided to give a reception to honor Patrick McMahon, the most nondescript historical figure in human history.
This Blogger went to that reception, to see and meet the most nondescript historical figure in history, Patrick McMahon.
A PT (Patrol Torpedo) boat was used by American forces in the South Pacific during World War II. The PT was a piece of crap, made of plywood. It was fast and agile, and carried torpedoes. The PT boats were supposed to launch suicidal runs against Imperial Japanese naval vessels, launch their torpedoes and then escape destruction by agility.
John Ford made a great film about PT boats, and their crews. The title of that film explains everything one needs to know about the PT Boat, and their crews. The title of that film was THEY WERE EXPENDABLE.
John F. Kennedy was the second son of one of the richest families in America. His father, Joseph Senior was a former Ambassador to the Court of St. James, a notorious womanizer ( his father’s affair with movie screen legend Gloria Swanson of SUNSET BLVD fame was legendary); his grandfather had been Mayor of Boston.
John F. Kennedy was rich, very, very rich. He was a Harvard Graduate; his Harvard thesis had been published as a book, WHY ENGLAND SLEPT, and had been a best seller.
JFK was handsome, but he did not consider himself too handsome, not as handsome as his brother, Joseph Junior. In high school, he had developed a wondrous knack of bedding every woman he had encountered; he attributed that knack not to his looks but to his personality. He had had his way with the Catholic girls of Boston, the Brahmin coeds of Boston, the future duchesses and countesses of England. He was a Golden Boy by birth and achievement.
To sum up, he was rich, very rich, smart-very smart, with a way with the ladies and a wondrous future, a wondrous future.
During World War II, Kennedy was commander of a PT boat in the South Pacific, PT-109.He was 26.
One night, while his PT boat was on patrol, it was rammed and split in half by an Imperial Japanese destroyer; two of its crew members were killed.
Kennedy saw a distant island, and ordered his crew to swim for that island. All the surviving crew members could swim for it, all but one. The one who could not swim was a 37 year old machinist mate, who had volunteered for the war even though his advanced age would have exempted him from wartime duty.
That old machinist mate was so badly burned he could not swim for it.
That is when the Kennedy scion, that scion of one of the wealthiest families in America, that very rich, very smart, bona fide Casanova, with the great future did something existentially remarkable.
He went back for the burned crew member; he went back to save the 37 year old working class peon because, well that is what Americans did in those days. The fit Elite saved the working class peasants if they were in trouble.
Kennedy, a swimmer at Harvard, clenched the serf's life jacket strap between his teeth and towed his badly-burned 37 year old enlisted machinist mate to the island.
That machinist mate was Patrick McMahon.
Mr. McMahon was the living history at the reception; standing in front of this Blogger was this nondescript workingman, whom a bona fide prince had risked his life to save. During the course of the reception this Blogger circumnavigated Mr. McMahon, looking for anything unique or special which would make him worthy of being saved by a future President. Was he Spider Man in disguise? Trust me Reader, there was absolutely nothing unique, nor special, nor noteworthy about Mr. McMahon.
As this Blogger watched Mr. McMahon, it was apparent that President Kennedy, as a rich young Casanova, had not saved a future Jonas Salk, or a future Bob Dylan, or a future Steve Jobs, or a future Paul Newman, or a future Neil Armstrong or a future Andrew Wyeth, or a future somebody.When the White Ship had floundered, Prince William Adelin had drowned trying to rescue his sister; but in the history of the world, no Prince had died trying to rescue a nobody. In fact, in all of history what Prince would have even risked his life to save a grunt?
As this Blogger watched Mr. McMahon, it was apparent that President Kennedy, as a rich young Casanova, had not saved a future Jonas Salk, or a future Bob Dylan, or a future Steve Jobs, or a future Paul Newman, or a future Neil Armstrong or a future Andrew Wyeth, or a future somebody.When the White Ship had floundered, Prince William Adelin had drowned trying to rescue his sister; but in the history of the world, no Prince had died trying to rescue a nobody. In fact, in all of history what Prince would have even risked his life to save a grunt?
President Kennedy, as Prince, had risked his life saving the most nondescript man in the world, a cipher, a grunt, a nobody. President Kennedy had risked his life, a life full of money, intellectual cachet and beautiful women for a Letter Carrier. That is the stunning existentialism which made Periclean America the greatest nation in history.That one act explains why, between 1941 and 1992, Periclean America was the greatest nation in the History of the World.
After the war, after being saved by a future President of the United States, Mr. McMahon became an honorable Postman, a letter carrier, and then finally the Postmaster in Cathedral City, California. President Kennedy had risked his life to save a future postal worker.
Looking back on that reception, observing the saved postman, all this Blogger can reflect on is how great America was, when a Princeling would risk his live for a non descript man.
Mr. McMahon died in 1990 at the age of 84, outliving President Kennedy by 27 years. He died a perfectly happy piece of living history.
JFK in the South Pacific, right before he saved Patrick McMahon
In the 1952 Massachusetts Senatorial Campaign, JFK’s opponent was Henry Cabot Lodge Junior; Lodge was the scion of an ancient American Anglo Saxon Protestant family; his father had been a Senator.
In 1936, he has been elected to the Senate, at 34.
When World War II came, Senator Lodge went to combat, as a Senator; his troops were the first American tank squadron to engage German Panzers in the war, at Gazala.
He was re-elected to the Senate in 1942. He resigned from the Senate to fight again; he served with distinction in Italy and France; he single handily captured a four man German patrol.
In 1952, the voters of Massachusetts had a choice between the good looking Irish Catholic hero, and the distinguished WASP hero.
It was a Homeric time.
Cathedral City Postmaster Pat McMahon was appointed by President John F. Kennedy.
Lieut. (j.g.) John F. Kennedy rescued his wounded-crewmate Pat during World War II in the Solomon Islands, while serving on U.S. Navy PT-109 (patrol-torpedo craft). Pat was a machinist's mate first class.
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