The Great American Wimp
A tribute to the unsung cowards of history
story by Declan Desmond
illustration by Shaun Doniger

Our history tells many a great tale of those who wrote it – men of courage, character and honor. The pages of the past abound with stories of bravery, sacrifice and gallant men who laid down their lives so that others could be free.

Of course, it is also filled with cowards of the highest order.

There are busts of great men littered all about the hallowed spaces of cities like Washington, D.C and Rome. Their pictures adorn walls of classrooms and their adventures fill the pages of social studies textbooks across America.

What none of those textbooks mention, though, are the wimps that lurk in our past – and in great number.

Our grandfathers filled our budding minds with stories of the fire-bellied soldiers in places like Valley Forge and Normandy – brave souls who drove forth in a hale of bullets, doubt and death – all to attain the glorious victories that would shape our country and national character. What Gramps didn't tell you about are the guys who dropped the flag and ran the other way when they thought no one else was looking.

The Great American Wimp has gone by many names; traitor, deserter, draft-dodger, pussy, wuss (a crafty combination of 'wimp' and 'pussy') and chicken (incidentally the least favorite of Marty McFly). Though their names and faces may change, their lack of courage does not, nor does their prevalence in our culture.

The wimp has always been with us, and though he has let us down time and again, he has – believe it or not – made his own place in history and greatly affected ours.

It is only fitting then that he receive honorable mention here. Let it be known that this is the first memorial to the cowards we call our own. Enshrined here for your educational benefit are the great wimps of American history.

Gen. George B. McClellan

One of the first commanders of the storied Army of the Potomac, George B. McClellan seemed to have everything going for him: charisma, experience, and a near blemish-free military career as a top West Point graduate and Mexican-American War Veteran (though he wasn't exactly in ‘the shit’).

After a royal screw-up in Bull Run, the first battle of the Civil War, by the Army's first commander, McClellan seemed to be the answer to everyone's prayers. Upon his appointment to the post by everyone’s favorite stovepipe hat-wearing president, he was immediately lauded by the press as the savior of the Union. While he was genuinely skilled at turning the hastily-organized Army of the Potomac into a well-oiled military machine (arguably his sole contribution to the war effort), he sadly lacked the guts of guys like ne'er-do-well Ulysses S. Grant and his patchy-bearded pal, Henry Tecumseh Sherman – not to mention, the entire Confederate Army.

To Lincoln's dismay, McClellan proved to be a total dough-belly on the battlefield.
Confederate General James Longstreet was quoted as saying that in one such instance, "had McClellan pursued with just 10,000 men (he actually had that and more), it would have been the end of the Confederacy." But he didn't. Meanwhile, Lincoln wasslapping his forehead and yelling "give me a f*cking break!"

McClellan always had some lame excuse for why he just couldn't make a move against the Rebels. His troops were never quite ‘ready’ or the enemy had overwhelming numbers just beyond that hill over there. Lincoln put up with the first few cop-outs, but then started to get royally pissed off when McClellan's ineptitude caused more embarrassing blunders. In the few instances he actually did engage and turn back the Rebels (at the cost of a ridiculous amount of men’s lives), he never chased them down to finish the job, always instead opting to hold his troops 'in reserve.'

Eventually common sense prevailed and McClellan was replaced ... by another coward (with neat sideburns) and then sanctimoniously awarded the Democratic Nomination for President in 1864 to challenge Lincoln for the office. He lost handily.

One of our nation's greatest wimps.

President Jimmy Carter

Never in our history has so profound a wimp reached so high an office. It's a testament to the American belief that “anyone” can achieve “anything” they want in this country, and I guess that couldn't be more true of our 39th President.
A mild-mannered peanut-farmer from Georgia, he gained national notoriety by becoming Georgia's governor, and doing a decent job of running it. He also came off as honest and, hey, this was right after the tenures of guys like Lyndon B. Johnson and Richard Nixon, so it's no surprise that the major parties were looking for candidates who appeared trustworthy. These were cynical times.

He eventually won the White House in the 1976 election, and broke precedent by becoming our first president to be a wimp.

Too trusting of dubious foreign leaders and too much of an apologetic, feel-good type for his critics, Carter amounted to little more than a hippy with nice clothes and a regular habit of shaving and bathing. It’s because of our 39th President that the office has been significantly de-balled since his time serving in it.

He sold the presidential yacht, citing a belief that the president of the American people shouldn't live in such decadence. In one fell swoop, he robbed all future presidents of their ability to scuttle up and down the Potomac and scheme like Emperor Palpatine for the sake of world domination, far away from CIA bugs. Oh, how the rug was pulled out. (since then, skullduggery such as this has been practiced mainly in the Oval Office and on Texas ranches)

Next, he ordered that the members of the presidential military honor guard remove the bullets from their rifles. No, I am not joking. It was too "violent," and violence was now a thing of the past, of course. We all know how that one turned out.
Aside from the embarrassing Iran-Hostage crisis that plagued this milquetoast's presidency, the nation was also suffering from staggering inflation, and an overall loss of national pride. Fresh off the oil embargo debacle that effectively spelled the end of the beloved Muscle Car (forcing brooding American motorists to drive around in compact, embarrassing hunks of metal like the Gremlin, and later the Datsun), America's self-esteem and motivation took a nosedive.

Carter suffered with us. He seemed to linger in the doldrums right alongside his national constituency. And, hey, when your president is saying things suck, he must be right. Of course, not all of these national problems were Carter's fault by any stretch of the imagination, but it sure didn’t help when the Head of State wasn’t being optimistic about them either.
I know what you're saying. “Declan, how can you pick on Jimmy Carter? He won a Nobel Peace Prize!” Of course he won a Nobel Peace Prize ... what other sort of “prize” would you award a wimp?

It should also be mentioned that Carter only had one testical.

Jack McCall

Jack McCall (aka "Crooked Nose Jack") was responsible for killing an American legend. It's not so much the fact that he did it that caused him to be branded "The Coward Jack McCall," but instead how he did it. Worst of all, he didn't even have the decency to silk-screen an "I Got Shot by Jack McCall and All I Got was this Lousy T-Shirt" shirt for the victim.

In the Wild West town of Deadwood one night (yes, that Deadwood), Jack McCall, a soiled drifter from Kentucky, wasn't doing so well at the poker table. When he lost his shirt, none other than "Wild Bill" Hickok offered to buy the loser breakfast the next day. Being a man, obviously, of strong moral fiber and pride, McCall took serious offense at this act of charity, and shot Wild Bill in the back the next day without warning.

He skipped town and went around bragging how he'd killed one of the Old West's most renowned gunslingers. His bragging, and claims that he'd committed the murder to avenge his dead brother – whom he insisted was killed by Hickok – eventually caught up with him, and he met his maker at the end of a hangman's rope.

It should come as no surprise that McCall had no record of a "brother" in existence ... unless he meant 'brother' in the biblical sense, but that's reaching.

In any event, the death of Wild Bill Hickok, who had been a former lawman in other frontier towns, contributed to the continuing chaos that was Deadwood. No longer was there a bastion of that Old West code of right and wrong to keep the thugs honest. Upon the legend's death, anarchy's reign in the small mining village seemed completely unthreatened and continued to terrorize its citizens for years to come. (Of course, I am mostly bullshitting here, but I think it's a good theory)

And it was all because some wimp named Jack McCall with an inferiority complex got his hands on a gun.
It should also be noted that he had only one testical.

Your Dad

Your Dad. For years he has been brow-beaten, berated and bullied by your domineering mother. He has been reduced from the male he was born to a P-whipped pencil neck who aggressively orders every episode of “Full House” from overweight cat ladies on eBay. Unfortunately, that's the only bit of "aggressive" he has left in him.

Having succumbed, long ago, to the relentless brainwashing of the Nazi-like Feminist Movement, he has fallen right in line – where they want him – as the dopey, timid, emasculated and nervous bookworm who was haphazardly assigned the task of being your father. Good thing you moved out.

He was always there, cheering you on – but not too loud – at your little league games. He always listened patiently to your stories about the playground bully who was giving you a hard time at school, imparting to you the time-tested wisdom that the best way to deal with a bully is to “just not fight back." And we can hardly forget the time he taped over your precious "Star Trek: Deep Space Nine" episodes so he could watch Scott Hamilton’s "Stars on Ice" again and again. Dear old dad.

Responsible for nine out every 10 wimps in America today, and, I almost forgot, making sure that no one forgets the candied yams at Thanksgiving!

It bears mentioning that he is suspected of having only one testicle.

There are wimps all around us, and let this document stand as a memorial to their great lack of sacrifice. Thanks to them, our landscape is littered with tales of cowardice, timidity and white-bellied anxiety for all to share around the proverbial campfire for generations to come. It’s hard to imagine the United States without them.
Yes, what would we do without The Great American Wimp?