09 Aug Mulling the Loss of a Good Man
The other night, against my better judgment, I wandered into Reed Galen’s Twitter/X feed. It was pretty awful: a whole bunch of “You’re stupid!” posts, “You’re evil!” posts, posts insisting that “Your world is going to come to an end in November!” and other assorted ugly, angry quips and retorts to and from various players in American politics. In short, it was exactly the type of Twitter/X feed one would expect a co-founder and the most active member of The Lincoln Project to maintain. It was politics at its worst.
Among the questions you may be asking yourselves right now are “Why would you do that to yourself?” and “Why would anyone want to subject themself to that kind of base political rage?”
Truth be told, I didn’t want to do that to myself, and I don’t think anyone else should ever do that to himself either (which is why I didn’t link to the feed). But I was looking for something. I was looking for confirmation of something I had seen hinted at elsewhere but couldn’t verify. Although I didn’t find that confirmation in Reed’s feed, I did eventually find it in a tweet posted by Stuart Stevens, a political consultant and colleague of Reed’s who joined The Lincoln Project in 2020. It read as follows:
It is with great sadness that we learned today of the passing of Rich Galen, Reed’s dad. I first worked with Rich many years ago on a very difficult campaign in which the candidate asked Rich to shade the truth in public statements. Rich refused and told the candidate that he would resign and urge others to follow if he weren’t honest with the public. It was a lesson I never forgot.
Rich was a warrior, but he fought for his side with decency and good humor, never questioning the motives or patriotism of those with whom he disagreed. He loved his country and understood, as John F. Kennedy said, “Sometimes, party loyalty asks too much.” America has lost a good man.
Our thoughts are with the family.
About 100 years ago, when we were still gainfully employed as analysts by a big (now defunct) brokerage house, my then-boss Mark Melcher and I would host a monthly breakfast meeting. Or, rather, Mark would host – and hold court – while I would watch and listen and eat. The breakfast was always attended by four regulars: Me, Melcher, Claes Ryn, and Bob Feinberg. Ryn is a Professor of Politics and the Founding Director of the Center for the Study of Statesmanship at Catholic University, as well as one of Mark’s dearest friends and the author of the incredibly insightful and influential book The New Jacobinism. Feinberg was the one guy in the world who could out-Woody Allen Woody Allen. He was a banking consultant and an absolute gem of a person. Despite being maybe 5’5” and 110 lbs., Bob always looked like he was stuffed into a sports coat that was two sizes too small, and at every breakfast he would say something or make some observation that would have Mark and me laughing for weeks – right up to the next breakfast.
In addition to the four of us who would always be there, three others came to breakfast almost every month, as their schedules allowed. Two of these were our colleagues at said brokerage house: the inimitable Chuck Gabriel and Jim Lucier, who knew (and presumably still knows) everything about everything as well as everyone who ever lived or worked in Washington. The third was Rich Galen. As was typically the case with people like Rich, Mark or I had mentioned how great we thought his “Mullings” column was, and Lucier (who, as I say, knows everyone) would ask, “Would you like me to set up lunch or invite him to breakfast?” Atypically, Rich got along with everyone at breakfast so well that he became a regular attendee. He was the only one who ever showed up who could stand story-for-story, joke-for-joke, idea-for-idea with Mark. When he was there, breakfast was sure to stretch into almost-lunch and a good time was had by all.
I can’t say that I agree with Stuart Stevens about much these days, but I do agree with him about this: America has, indeed, lost a good man. In addition to being smart and funny, Rich was politically wily. He was solidly conservative, (having worked for both Dan Quayle and Newt Gingrich), and he understood messaging, positioning, and framing. He was kind and helpful and patriotic. When the Iraq War campaign started to flag – during the runup to the 2004 presidential election and beyond – Rich stopped writing his “Mullings” column and gave up his reasonably well-paying sponsorships to join the administration, to travel to Iraq, and to help the Bush Team (as well as the nation itself) as a messaging and communications expert. If you Google his name or search for him on social media, you’ll find nothing but stories from people throughout the conservative movement talking about what a great guy he was or how he helped them with this, that, or the other, or the wonderful advice he once gave them. I can’t imagine anyone who ever knew the guy who disliked him.
And to be clear, Rich wasn’t just kind or helpful or friendly to people in the conservative movement. He was a regular on MSNBC, after all, and he treated all people of all political persuasions as friends and equals. He knew that politics is important, but he also knew that it isn’t everything.
As you may have guessed, this last bit is one of the reasons I wanted to write about Rich and his passing today. I don’t want to kick his son Reed (known to “Mullings” readers as “the Lad”) when he’s down, but there’s a reason why I’ll miss Rich so much, despite not having seen him in nearly two decades and despite the fact that he quit writing “Mullings” several years ago. Rich’s approach to politics stands in stark contrast to the approach to politics taken today by the “warriors” on various spots along the ideological spectrum – including and especially that taken by the folks at The Lincoln Project.
I don’t blame Reed or think that he’s a bad person for not taking the same approach his father did. If anything, I feel sorry for him. He and I are about the same age, and I too reel in horror at some of the stuff that people with whom I disagree say or do. That said, I think that the contrast between Reed’s approach to politics and his father’s is important, largely because it is indicative of the deterioration of political discourse in this country. Politics today is ugly, nasty, and unkind. Everyone, it seems, is busy telling everyone else that they’re stupid or they’re evil or their world is going to come crashing down around them in November. It’s grotesque, and that says a great deal about our society, its pathologies, and the stakes involved in the acquisition and maintenance of political power.
As I say, I haven’t seen Rich Galen in close to 20 years, and haven’t read him in at least five years (maybe longer). Nevertheless, I’ll miss him – as will the people of this great nation, whether they know it or not.
R.I.P., old friend, and may your memory be a blessing to the Lad and the Mullings Director of Standards and Practices.
