In praise of editors

When I listen to The Donald speak, I'm convinced that what he needs is not so much an active kill switch as an editor in the know … who can expeditiously turn his torrent of superlatives and relentless repetitions into a dusting of fine snow. I’m not saying the person needs to be a hero who can make him over as Churchill, Shakespeare, Steinbeck or Jean-Jacques Rousseau … just a worldly, workmanlike wordsmith able to filter out Trump’s most glaring lies, contradictions and blows that are alarmingly low. As a cub reporter, the folks I used to loathe most in the world were the editors kneading my brash bombast into healthy dough. But now that those stalwarts have gone the way of the poor dodo, I miss them … like I miss sweet reason from those in politics’ main show. In life, you may not be able to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, but what you say or write can always use more polish and glow. And editors are the barbers of prose, stylists of poetry, tailors of well-fitted writing ... and urologists of word flow. For want of a horseshoe nail, it is said, a kingdom was lost. For want of editors, we’re at sea ... or trapped in some farcical hollow.