The Son of Reagan

He clears brush on the ranch and swaggers around on city streets in cowboy boots. He favors the diction of the common man, casually mispronouncing words so as not to alarm the public with erudition. He wears his military uniform not with the sober formality of a general, but with the cultivated ease of a Hollywood actor.

No, Ronald Reagan did not invent political machismo; he was just its greatest practitioner in modern American politics. The credit belongs to new-state politicians back in the 19th century who invented what historians call the "Barbarian style." To set themselves apart from and above effete, windy, educated Easterners, the "Barbarians" strolled Capitol Hill in backwoods breeches, packing sidearms, spitting chaw every two minutes and swearing like sailors. Our politicians today who chop wood, ride shotgun in a pickup truck, and butcher the English language – all for the benefit of the television camera nearby – are their descendants.

Reagan’s genius was to update the style for the 20th century, infusing it with the right dose of sensitivity to appeal to the modern voter. His Hollywood horseback training and western backdrop provided the buckskin, which he softened with his ability to read his lines with feeling. This was a cowboy who might sometimes cry.

Given his immense success, it's no wonder that the Republicans have been doing their best to replicate that magic formula ever since – more so now that they find themselves mired in a close presidential race.

To the glee of his political handlers and supporters in the right wing media – the Reagan-izers – Son of Bush is well on his way to reinventing himself as Son of Reagan, just in time for Election Day.

On the last night of the Republican convention, it was clear that W. had finally caught on to one of "Great Communicator's" best tricks, reading a speech with emotion, if not always comprehension. There was a newfound pathos in his voice, and a new sincerity in the eye. To complete the picture of Reaganesque mystique, a wife emerged at the end in a bright red suit to gaze at him in silent adoration. The only thing missing was the Gipper's slicked back do, all Grecian formula and hair oil.

Though revved up in this election year, the process of Reaganizing Bush has been long and ongoing, harking back to 1999 when he bought the ranch in Crawford. W. needed the ranch not just to kick back (he could do that just as well in Kennebunkport), but to have the right backdrop for his upcoming political cameos in the 2000 presidential election.

To really pull on the Gipper's boots, though, W. needed more than just the 1,600 acres. He had to recast himself as a "revolutionary,” just as Reagan styled himself as the Che Guevara of those oppressed by high taxes, welfare mothers and gum-mint.

In 2000, Bush had to content himself with battling the grave domestic peril of Clintonian amorality. He was still missing a furr-in enemy, one that was suitably satanic in spirit and big enough to inspire superpower-size military vengeance – his very own "evil empire." So it must have come as a relief when Osama bin Laden stepped up to the plate in 2001, and made ''evildoers'' an integral part of the presidential lexicon.

Not satisfied with a mere global terrorist organization like al Qaeda, the Reaganizers went on to coin an entire "Axis of Evil," which included a handy list of future enemies – Iran, Iraq and North Korea – just in case anyone expected a simple victory in Afghanistan to vanquish the metastatic foe.

The Republicans have little to complain about when it comes to W., whose word-mangling vocabulary - Eye-rack, New-Kew-Ler – is every Reaganizer's dream. They do dote on every sign of those low verbal SATs.