Yes It’s True: We love stories, but are they real?

I lit my purest candle close to my

Window, hoping it would catch the eye

Of any vagabond who passed it by,

And I waited in my fleeting house

Before he came I felt him drawing near;

As he neared I felt the ancient fear

That he had come to wound my door and jeer,

And I waited in my fleeting house

“Tell me stories,” I called to the Hobo;

“Stories of cold,” I smiled at the Hobo;

“Stories of old,” I knelt to the Hobo;

And he stood before my fleeting house.

— Tim Buckley, “Morning Glory”

It seems we Americans are more than fond of stories. They take up a lot of space in books we enjoy. They dominate many television, radio and movie programs.

Even the Bible is filled with many stories that have impacted our lives so much. They teach us valuable lessons.

We often consider storytellers to be national treasures, people such as Mark Twain, Garrison Keillor, Harry Chapin, Paul Harvey and Dr. Seuss.

Politicians who are storytellers are somewhat rare, but the ones who could do it were hard to beat at the polls. I speak of the greatest example I can think of, Ronald Reagan.

Many people who have fondly recalled our 40th president often have mentioned his gift of gab when spinning yarns. His fans and supporters loved them and were mesmerized by his folksy and appealing approach. Reagan often told them to make a point, just like Jesus Christ did with parables, as written in the Gospels.

But sometimes these stories should be regarded as cautionary tales. Sometimes, there is no evidence they are true.

The historical author Haynes Johnson wrote an interesting account of the 1980s in his book “Sleepwalking Through History.” One particular passage that interested me greatly was Johnson’s account of Reagan’s telling of an instance of bravery during World War II.

Reagan’s tale was about a military plane that had been struck by enemy fire and its passengers had to evacuate by parashooting. The tail gunner screamed out in pain because there was no way he would be able to remove himself from his position to go to a place of safety.

Amid all of the wailing and gnashing of teeth, the plane’s pilot went over to the young man and told him, “Take it easy young fellow. We’ll take her down together.”

Reagan then waxed eloquently about the posthumous award the pilot received.

The problem with all of this was that there was no record of this ever happening and no record of any award that the former president was describing.

Johnson’s issue was that it was just a good story, well told, but not true, intended to blow smoke up somebody’s backside in the political arena. And Reagan was a master at doing just this.

“No,” said the Hobo, “No more tales of time;

Don’t ask me now to wash away the grime;

I can’t come in ’cause it’s too high a climb,”

And he walked away from my fleeting house

“Then you be damned!” I screamed to the Hobo;

“Leave me alone,” I wept to the Hobo;

“Turn into stone,” I knelt to the Hobo;

And he walked away from my fleeting house.

— The last two verses of “Morning Glory,” written by Larry Beckett, sung by Tim Buckley, 1967