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Here’s my George Bush story. George Bush Sr., that is.

The year was 1984. It was summer and I lived in the Oak Lawn section of Dallas, Texas. While I don’t favor attributing human characteristics to a neighborhood the fact was, Oak Lawn was the gay neighborhood. I lived at the corner of two most ironically named streets: Reagan and Congress. I swear to God. Look it up.

1984 was also the summer before the Presidential elections. An election that Reagan won resoundingly. The Republicans held their National convention in the city of (you guessed it) Dallas, TX. So, I’m running around that summer just giggling at the irony of my home address. Reagan and Congress. Right in the middle of queerville. Ain’t that a hoot?

I remember a lot from that summer and the short time the Elephant party was in town. I remember my friend "Linda" just had to go downtown during the convention to see the hullabaloo. She was there that same day that guy burned the US flag. That was the case that eventually ended up before the Supreme Court. She later called me and my friend "Ernie", begging us to: "Get me out of here!"

Linda was calling from the bus station and was so freaked out, she was afraid to walk back to her own, parked car. So me and Ernie drove to downtown Dallas to get Linda out of there.

When we got downtown, we realized why Linda was so damned scared. Almost all the streets were cordoned off, complete with road blockades, armed soldiers and Dallas Police. As we drove further and closer to the Greyhound Bus station we started to look up at the tops of the buildings of our city. There were sharpshooters on almost every roof of every medium sized building. We made it to the bus station. Linda was waiting out front. She jumped in the car and we drove off. I can't even remember if we picked up her car that day. I remember we passed it but I think Linda said: "Leave it."

What I do remember was that that day was one of the most frightening moments of my life. I looked a sharpshooter in the eye. He was standing on the roof of a building in the city where I lived. You don’t forget stuff like that, no matter how much of a party girl you are.

But hey. My George Bush story isn’t about me. It’s about the same summer and coincidentally, took place right outside my house. My house in the gay neighborhood, during the summer of 19-fucking-84. The same year the GOP was in town and I lived at the corner of Reagan and Congress Street. I swear to god. Look it up.

This story if chock full of amazing coincidences as you can already tell. Another coincidence is the guy who told me this story is named George. The same first name as our then Vice President. George lived in the unit behind me on Reagan Street. I was in a unit that faced Congress. Basically, we both lived on the corner of the two streets. We both lived there at the same time. We were both living there during the summer of 1984 and during the Republican National Convention.

I never met George when I lived at Congress and Reagan. I saw him. We probably exchanged one or two hellos. I often spotted him on his front stoop from my Kitchen window. He had a Great Dane. This is all I knew of him then.

It was a couple of years later when I really got to know George. He and I lived across from each other in a different apartment complex. George and I got to be great friends. He used to baby-sit my baby for me when I went to work. He could tell a great story. He was so fun to listen to. I always took the yarns he told me with a grain of salt because George was a proficient bullshitter. I tell you this as a preface to George’s story because I can’t promise you that it’s true. Nevertheless, It’s a hell of a tale.

George’s apartment was half of a red brick duplex that faced Reagan Street in Oak Lawn. George liked to sit and smoke on the steps of his duplex. I saw him do this many times when I looked out the upstairs back window of my complex. Quite often I viewed both he and his Great Dane (Thunder) spending time in their front yard.

Down and across Reagan Street, approximately two blocks away from Congress AVE, was a restaurant that was supposed to be an unofficial Dallas institution. It’s been twenty years but I’m pretty sure the place was called Chiquita’s. I never ate there. I prefer Asian cuisine. However, many of my restaurant buddies told me that restaurant was a big deal. Lot’s of VIP types went there whenever they came to the big D. There were always limousines parked in front of it, which was fairly odd considering it was next to a 7-11.

So anyway, according to George,

It’s the summer of 1984, the Republicans are in town and he’s sitting on his stoop having a smoke. He says he’s just sitting there when he hears the sound of a big motorcade. He looks up and sees that there is indeed, a large motorcade turning from Congress AVE onto Reagan Street.

George figures immediately that this motorcade is headed either to Chiquita’s or further on to the Mansion Hotel nearby. What impresses George is the size and composition of this particular motorcade. There are police cars and motorcycles, an ambulance and at least two or three sedans following and fronting a limousine that has US flags on it. As George is trying to process this image he doesn’t notice that Thunder (his Great Dane) is curious as well. George had left his front door open and Thunder had come bounding out to see what all the ruckus was.

According to George,

The second that Thunder hit the sidewalk the cavalcade came to a stop. All the policemen and all the men from within the sedans drew their weapons on this goofy dog who wasn’t even barking or growling. George begged "Don’t shoot my dog! Don’t shoot my dog!".

After a couple of minutes of yelling and threatening, the cops (and Secret Servicemen?) let George take Thunder back in his house and close the door. He said they admonished him for a bit afterwards and he did his best to keep his cool. Then they all got back on their cycles and into their cars a drove on to Chiquita’s.

George is pretty sure it was Bush Sr. in the limousine. It might have been Reagan but George says his car would have had flags with the Presidential Seal. It could have been any US official rich enough and paranoid enough to travel with that much security. Whoever it was, they were ready to shoot a dog in order to keep to their luncheon appointment.

So, what’s the lesson? The point to this story?

The point is this. Some guys wag the dog. Others will shoot the dog. There are even those who go as far as to behead the dog. The lesson is, we are the dogs. When we ask questions we’re either lied to, investigated, ruined in the press or just plain killed.

1984 was a scary time for me. 2004 is the future I feared way back then. Make no mistake. There is a war going on and it’s not in Iraq. We are in a battle with people who want to turn America from a Democracy into a Neo-Fascist Regime. Our very future depends on this upcoming presidential election. Do not let these bastards treat you like dogs. Get informed. Get involved and VOTE!