Take Andrew Jackson off the $20 bill

MSNBC ^ | June 21, 2015 | Mary Kathryn Nagle

[2ndDivisionVet]

I hate using ATMs. It’s not the lines that bother me, nor is it the inevitable awkwardness of the person lurking behind you, seemingly in a rush and looking over your shoulder as you type. No, I hate ATMs because I know when I swipe my card, when the machine dispenses pieces of my livelihood, I have to see that face. His face. On the $20 bill.

When historian David Greenberg thinks of Andrew Jackson, he thinks of democracy. When I see Andrew Jackson, I think of my grandmother’s spit.

* * *

The trip was long. And for an eleven-year-old, somewhat painful. Wedged in the backseat between my younger sisters and their respective mountains of Barbies, the eight hour drive felt like an insufferable eternity.

Girls, my father’s voice would boom every time our incessant complaining crossed his fatherly-defined threshold: Quiet. We are going to visit the grave of a president.

When we finally arrived, I jumped out of our minivan and began exploring. But when I caught a glimpse of my grandma, my legs came to a standstill.

I watched as my grandma walked straight to the president’s grave. She stood for half a second, then her neck arched back, her body heaved forward, and for the first time in my life, I saw my grandma spit. It wasn’t a casual spit. It was a once in a lifetime spit. I watched as the saliva of our ancestors flowed through her mouth and hit that grave with an echo that turned heads and stopped conversations.

She turned and walked straight back to the minivan. Let’s go. And so we left....

[savedbygrace]

So, the author’s grandmother story is made up out of whole cloth?

[paul544]

Another battle lost... We’re on a losing streak of epic proportions lately. The SCOTUS will rub salt in the wound on Thursday.

[CyberAnt]

Okie Dokie

[Hulka]

“When I see Andrew Jackson, I think of my grandmother’s spit.”

Sounds like an emotional personal problem.

Seek help.

[Brad from Tennessee]

[So, the author’s grandmother story is made up out of whole cloth?]

First the author and her family would have to pay admission to get into the Hermitage. A family ticket is $54. I don't know what it was 20 years ago but it was likely comparable. Then they would be escorted by handlers on a tour with other visitors that would include Jackson's tomb. If she could have spit far enough—a feat qualifying her for the West Texas Spittin’, Belchin’, and Cussin’ Contest—she would have been confronted by outraged tourists and ejected from the property by Hermitage security personnel if not turned over to local police.