Back in the 1940s, all of America lived in fear of Joe McCarthy and his monstrous pet, HUAC. Get caught buying a book of Russian poetry? Must be a Red spy. Profess your love for cute Siberian tigers? Must be a Red spy. Wear a lovely red sun dress out on the town? Enjoy your treason trial, shithead.
McCarthy saw a Soviet mole in every man, woman, and unborn child. In his mind, America was overrun with hidden agents, its airwaves filled with the insidious murmurs of foreign operatives disguised as blue-blooded Yanks. During the Cold War, these moles were largely figments of Old Joe’s hyperactive loyalty to the Stars and Stripes. He persevered, though, and at one hearing famously shouted, “I have here in my hand a list of two hundred and five people that were known to the Secretary of State as being members of the Communist Party!”
The import of this may be lost on modern students, so I’ve worked out an easy translation into 21st century terms: “I’m holding a raisin-filled Blue Room cinnamon roll!” Continue Reading