Jeb Bush – the choice of the shortsighted

http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2015/jun/16/jeb-bush-short-sighted-american-voter-glasses

Version 0 of 1.

Aside from the fact it was partly delivered in Spanish, there was another striking aspect to Jeb Bush’s announcement of his presidential bid: he was wearing glasses. It’s the kind of thing you notice if, like me, you wear glasses most of the time but think twice about being photographed in them.

Though many past presidents have needed glasses, few ever put them on in public. Of the 44 presidents so far, only three wore glasses for their official portraits (William McKinley is holding a pair). But Bush only really looks like himself with his glasses on: in the first 50 images that come up on Google, he’s wearing specs in 41.

It’s generally accepted that Americans don’t vote for eggheads, and while there is no causal link between myopia and intellectualism (if there was, America would be a much smarter country – a third of the population is shortsighted), perceptions still matter. Jeb’s father, George Bush Sr, wore glasses but tended to take them off whenever he could. The very shortsighted Ronald Reagan famously wore contact lenses. Less famously, so did Lyndon Johnson.

To find a really committed glasses wearer in the White House you have to go back to Harry S Truman, who was almost blind without them – he had to memorise the examiner’s eye chart in order to qualify for active service in the first world war. There exists but one photo of President Truman with his glasses off: he’s getting a haircut, and he’s unrecognisable.

Truman’s predecessor, Franklin D Roosevelt, wore specs intermittently, while Woodrow Wilson – America’s first and last egghead president – was never without his. Teddy Roosevelt’s gruff visage was so indivisible from his pince-nez that they’re carved on to his nose on Mount Rushmore. The other three presidents up there – George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln – all wore glasses too, but not for posterity.

Jeb Bush’s shortsighted-and-proud approach may mark a shift in the longstanding notion that eyeglasses on a candidate present some kind of automatic drawback. Another Republican hopeful, Texas governor Rick Perry, started wearing thick designer frames about a year ago. And no one will ever mistake Perry for an egghead.

Tornado typing

The news that I live in some kind of tornado alley – the area between London and Reading, according to University of Manchester researchers, has the highest incidence of tornadoes in the UK – comes as a surprise, but it could be that I just haven’t noticed.

In December 2006 I was in my attic office at home, glued to my computer screen and late with a deadline when a ping announced an email from my sister in America. It said, “How’s the tornado?” I stared at the words for a moment, distracted and uncomprehending. I was about to type back “What tornado?” when I glanced up at the window and saw that the sky had turned black. It occurred to me that I’d been ignoring a persistent howling noise for some time. At that moment lightning struck, the house shook and the lightbulb above my head blew out. I typed “It’s fine,” hit send and went back to work.

Only later did I see pictures of roofless houses on a street a mile away. Apparently the chances of a tornado in this particular hotspot stand at about 6% annually, which equates to one every 17 years. I await the next email with anticipation.

Shoeless and clueless

Three days ago, as I left the house to walk the dogs, one of my feet suddenly to refused to move: I’d shut the end of my shoelace in the front door. I tugged sharply, but it wouldn’t give. The dogs were straining at their leads, with my feet planted as far apart as they’ll go. I pulled out my keys to re-open the door, and then dropped them out of reach – another small bead of humiliation strung along the necklace of my week.

It’s a measure of my lack of presence of mind that I checked the skies for coming rain before realising I could just take off the shoe.

@IAmTimDowling