This hope pass, like his others, depends upon his faith in the “correct” positioning of others — specifically, that Democratic primary voters will align themselves with his quixotic mission and loftily obtuse rhetoric instead of the steady, plodding loyalty and efficiency of Vice President Al Gore.

The daunting odds that Bradley will actually pull this off have never seemed more in his favor. In a late August Boston Globe/WBZ-TV poll of 800 likely voters in the New Hampshire Democratic primary, the out-manned, out-funded, out-organized Bradley appeared to be in a statistical dead heat with Gore, 36 percent to 40 percent, with a margin of error of plus or minus five points.

Buoyed by the news that his efforts were finally showing results, the lanky, intellectual underdog headed back to the Show Me State where his hometown, 30 miles south of St. Louis, welcomed him with open arms.

Bradley was greeted at the airport Tuesday morning by his friend Dick Cook. Cook steered off the interstate a little early, just so Bradley could relive the thrill of heading down Herky Hill, an age-old touchstone.

“I’m coming home,” Bradley said as the car headed down the slope.

But Crystal City, population 4,088, is no longer the Rockwellian dreamland Bradley speaks longingly of on the stump, a town of one traffic light and three policemen.

There are now four traffic lights and 17 cops.

But there’s also a bleakness about this town than doesn’t mesh with the mythical tranquillity the candidate describes when he speaks of the place “where the world of possibility and hope all began, a world that I want to open for all Americans.”

The Pittsburgh Plate Glass factory, which employed 3,500 workers at its peak, started declining, symbolically, right after Bradley left for Princeton. In its heyday, PPG funded the town fire department and paid for the lights for high school football games. But as glass production became an automated industry, PPG started dying. In January 1991, the firm’s remaining 263 employees were finally canned.The plant has since been demolished; a weedy field of 100 acres stands in its place.

“It’s as if somebody ripped out the pictures from our family album,” Bradley said Wednesday as he stood by the site where PPG once stood.

Crystal City is now largely made up of retirees and commuters to St. Louis. Early Wednesday morning, both bars on the city’s main stretch on Mississippi Avenue had customers.

To hear the worshipful citizens of Crystal City tell it, however, one item of the Crystal City legend has remained constant throughout all their town’s various economic and sociological changes: their favorite son.

In many ways, Crystal City is an eight-square-mile shrine to the man deemed special way back when he was just an outstanding basketball player for the Crystal City High School Hornets, scoring 45 points in the school’s 81-47 rout of Owensville in December 1959.

A glass case of Bradley memorabilia stands in the lobby of the City Hall, packed with high school and college All-American trophies, his two Sports Illustrated covers (“Best in the Nation: Princeton’s Bill Bradley” from the 1964 special college basketball issue and “How Good? New York’s Bill Bradley” from 1968), a first edition of McPhee’s literary valentine to him (“A Sense of Where You Are,” from 1965), his 1964 Olympic jersey, a 1990 reelection poster painted by LeRoy Neiman, some of his books. And on and on.

Local residents have adopted him as their own. “I’ve known him ever since he was a child, everybody knew him,” said Laverne Reecht, 78, a retired medical secretary whose son Rick shot hoop with the former All-American. “You couldn’t find a nicer young man if you searched the world over. He’s honest and decent; he’s the kind of man we’d like to have as president.”

“I’ve known him since he was a small boy,” testifies Robert Koester, 75, who once managed the Sears & Roebuck. “He was very, very intelligent and very polite. Down-to-earth. When he got older, and started playing basketball, I went to every game, wherever it was. As far back as grade school I remember him practicing for hours and hours.” (Pronounced “Ahrs and ahrs.”) “I’d see him after school shooting baskets in the gym. Then I’d see him at home shooting baskets at night. I always knew he could do whatever he set his mind to.”

According to local Bradley lore, the candidate has always been interested in leading — and not just on the court. When he was in fourth grade, Bradley brought in “I Like Ike” buttons and handed them out to his classmates. When he was just 12, Bradley turned to his 13-year-old friend, Eddi Evans, and told him a secret: “One of these days, I’m going to be president of the United States,” he said as the two boys stood on Mississippi Avenue.

So when Mayor Grant Johnston, standing at the entrance of CCHS, began Wednesday’s ceremony by saying, “Senator, we have waited a very long time for this day,” everyone knew what he meant.

A little over an hour before his announcement ceremony was to kick off, at 9:45 a.m., campaign manager Gina Glantz stood in the CCHS superintendent’s office and looked out the window. It was raining. She picked up the phone, called Bradley at his childhood home, which he still owns, and told him that they’d have to hold the ceremony indoors.

“No, we won’t,” Bradley said. “It’ll stop.”

“It’s pouring,” she said. “We’re looking at a weather map on TV and there’s a big green glitch hovering over the town.”

“Give it a few minutes,” Bradley said. “It’ll stop.”

And it was so.

Stepping out into the humid Missouri air, Bradley’s wife, Ernestine Schlant, introduced her husband with spark and emotion. She described her first visit to her husband’s hometown, the tour he took her on of his house on Taylor Street, to Grace Presbyterian Church, to CCHS, to Crystal City State Bank, where his father worked his way up from “shining pennies” to becoming majority shareholder.

Schlant, a German-born comp lit professor who choked up at the beginning of her remarks, described the town as the place “in which Bill grew his roots and from which he went out and achieved.”

Then she introduced her husband, whose lackadaisical performance managed to suck all the oxygen from the air.

Bradley spoke a bit about playing basketball, how he “absorbed the idea that a team is not just about winning. It is not about applause, or endorsements, or even championship rings. It’s about shared sacrifice; it’s about giving up something small for yourself in order to gain something large for everybody.”

“And y’know?” he said to the crowd of roughly 2,000, “it’s the same for our country.”

Recalling Robert Kennedy’s admonition that Dow Jones numbers “are not the measure of all things,” Bradley excoriated the fact that “the positive effects of globalization and technological change are falling on us unequally.”

“Median family income seems stuck,” Bradley said. “Personal debt and bankruptcy are at all-time highs. One out of five children in American still live in poverty. And while kings and dictators come to this country for the best health-care treatment in the world, you and I both know that this care is not available to the 45 million citizens who have no health insurance at all.”

“Shouldn’t we be fixing our roof while the sun is shining?” he asked.

In a rhetorical tick strikingly similar to George W. Bush’s “prosperity with a purpose,” Bradley called for ” a deeper prosperity.”Deeper not just in the fact that it will reach down deeper into the underclasses, but “deeper in the sense we have a prosperity that adds up to more than the sum of all our possessions, a prosperity that makes us feel rich inside as well as out.”

A couple of weeks ago in Iowa, a woman approached Bradley after a speech he’d given about political involvement. She told him, “It all sounds so wonderful. If only it could be true.”

Bradley thinks it can be true because he has faith both in humanity and in himself, and not necessarily in that order.

While offering little in the way of tangible policy points — a recent education speech by the fairly substance-less Bush was “Das Kapital” by comparison — Bradley promised that “we can reduce childhood poverty, we can increase the number of Americans with quality health care, we can mute the voice of big money in our elections, and we can put in place long overdue gun control.”

“If we do these things,” he said, “if we do them, we will be safer, healthier and more in control of our future.”

It’s a lot to shoot for, clearly, and it can be argued either way as to whether Bradley’s Senate record of legislative accomplishment implies that he could carry even half of it off.

Some say he’s too decent a man, for one. “I was hoping he wouldn’t run; he’s too nice,” said 86-year-old Herb Bosch, a retired policeman in a white Cardinals baseball cap who drove from St. Louis to see his man speak. “It’ll tear him apart. He deserves something better than that.”

After Bradley’s seven-week-long speech (which his press secretary says only actually ran 26 minutes), the town opened the CCHS gymnasium and, with an array of thousands of homemade cookies on hand, heard from 10 or so Crystal Cityans who knew him when.

There was his aunt, and his second-grade music teacher, and a neighbor, all of them gushing momentously for the man of virtue and ethics and ideals, a man whose most notorious act of juvenile delinquency was committed when he accidentally spat on a man’s shoe at a St. Louis bar.

There was grade school chum Evans, who recalled Bradley’s mother, Susie, taking an early stand on civil rights by raising hell when, on a Little League trip to Joplin, a hotel manager spoke of refusing to rent a room to Evans, who is black.

There was Juanita Jennings, the daughter of Bradley family assistant Alex Maul, who broke down and only regained her composure after Bradley embraced her. From early on, Bradley spoke of being president, Jennings said, “so he could bring about complete freedom and equality for all of the people” and “champion the cause of the weak, the poor, the oppressed and the disenfranchised.”

“If you ask children today who their hero is, you’ll hear ‘Stone Cold’ Steve Austin more than any other political figure,” testified former neighbor Rolla “Duke” Herbert. “Bill Bradley is a hero to most of us today; he could become a hero to the rest of the nation.”

Sam La Presta, who met Bradley on their first day in kindergarten, recalled being moved when his friend read the Rudyard Kipling poem “If” during a Missouri student council convention. So he repeated it for the crowd, 40-or-so years after he first heard it from his friend’s lofty lips.

“If you can dream — and not make dreams your master/If you can think — and not make thoughts your aim/If you can meet with triumph and disaster/And treat those two imposters just the same … Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it/And — which is more — you’ll be a Man my son!”

Then, two buses full of reporters and cameramen loaded up for the Bill Bradley Magical Mystery Tour. (One probably not unlike the one he took his future wife on, only with two buses full of disgusting reporter types whom he probably wouldn’t invite in for a cup of coffee, much less marry.)

Beginning at the Bradley home on Taylor Street, Bradley guided the media hordes across the street to the Presbyterian church, the tranquil sight of which would calm his father after tough days at work. He took us through the expansive grassy churchyard in which he played touch football, to the bank where his father worked. We passed by the grave of PPG, his Little League baseball diamond, through the oak-tree-lined streets adorned with bicentennial-era flags, up and down the roads Bradley would run when he was getting in shape for the basketball season each fall.

Our last stop was the Plattin-Rock Boat Club on the bank of the Mississippi.

“Every time I come to town, the first thing I do is get in the car and come down here,” Bradley whispered. “Usually when I come down here no one’s here.”

When Bradley normally comes here, alone, he walks out on the dock and looks back up toward the land. “I would be still, and I would listen to the wind blowing through the cottonwood trees, look at the current carrying what it’s carried for half a continent … It’s not only a world of solitude, this place, this river, these bluffs are to me a sense of permanence.”

It was a dramatic moment. Bradley. His thoughts. The wind. The river. And 100 sweaty members of the media, eating it all up.

Bill Bradley’s been both chef and consumer of this diet of sugary hero-worship since he was in high school, if not longer, and it’s remarkable that through it all he’s managed to keep his feet mostly on earth.

Now, however, he’s trying to become ruler of said planet. With such stakes, it’s only fitting that Bradley will have to rely on more than just his own virtue to get the golden fleece. The town of Crystal City could build an eight-story-high solid gold statue in his honor and he would still have to contend with the fact that he has the legislative record not of a God, or a Myth, but a U.S. senator — just a politician.

The Gore campaign has already begun hammering Bradley for once speaking open-mindedly about school choice. The RNC is coming at him for being almost as liberal as Sen. Ted Kennedy, and for hypocrisy on his new interest in campaign finance reform. Bradley supported “16 out of 17 tax hikes, costing your family $8,600,” an RNC press release said, accusing him of being “almost as liberal as Massachusetts Senator Ted Kennedy.”

On campaign finance reform, “the record shows that this ‘Dollar Bill’ has two faces,” added RNC Chairman Jim Nicholson.

That’s a bit harsh, of course, especially considering the RNC’s unabashed embracing of the big-money corporate set. But when Nicholson fouls Bradley he illustrates one of the biggest obstacles in the cager’s past: He has to compete with his own myth.

Bradley’s campaign bears some similarities to that of Republican Sen. John McCain. Words like maverick — and even hero — are often tagged to Bradley’s name (though McCain’s heroics were clearly of a much more important kind). But unlike McCain — who wears his flaws like some Republicans wear the flag — Bradley is seldom self-critical. (He’ll admit that he’s a fair speaker at best, but he’ll argue, convincingly, that oratorical skills are a shallow measure of a man.)

But the problem lies not in the fact that Bill Bradley has always believed the toadying that’s come his way.

The problem is that we have.

And when Gore starts throwing elbows his way, or if Bradley wins the nomination and the Republicans start charging at him, the tarnish will come off both the man and the statue. The legend will be rewritten.

Bradley can stand to come down from his pedestal a few dozen yards before he’s within reach of most of us mortals, but there are still a lot of people who want to believe that — as was concisely summed up by Crystal City’s Danny James, 11 — “he’s the coolest guy in the world.”

In a way it’s a shame. How much longer will that myth remain?

Now that Mitt Romney has won the Republican nomination, two key features prevail over the 2012 campaign — and both were also plainly evident in 2004. First, the incumbent president’s reelection fortunes are far from certain; and, second, the incumbent faces a decent but nevertheless weak challenger who is further hampered by internal problems within his party’s coalition.

Because incumbents can’t run for reelection promising “change,” and because “hope” during a lingering recession was also off the menu, the Obama campaign’s 2012 theme of  “forward” — a word that often follows “plow,” mind you — was the best available alternative. That said, and substituting the economy for terrorism, Obama is implicitly if not explicitly advancing the same theme Bush did in 2004: America suffered a tough blow, but the situation could have been worse and, more to the point, under my stewardship the nation is steadily regaining its footing.

This counterfactual campaign theme — vote for me not because of what happened, but what might have but didn’t — is a common thread for Bush and Obama. It’s not an uplifting message, but it sufficed in 2004 and Obama is counting on it working again in 2012.

Politics 101 further dictates that when an incumbent’s reelection is in doubt, he must go negative against the challenger. Obama political operatives in the White House and at the Democratic National Committee long ago made it abundantly clear they were willing to do just that. Team Obama may not go negative against Romney to the degree the Bush camp did against John Kerry in 2004. (By mid-summer 2004, 75 percent of Bush’s TV ads were negative attacks on Kerry.) But don’t be surprised if attacks on Romney’s record and even character are plentiful, harsh and relentless. In 2008, America saw candidate Obama’s toothy grin; four years later, expect to see President Obama’s fangs.

Expect the Obama camp to emphasize two major critiques of Romney: that he is a flip-flopper willing to say anything or reverse any position to win; and that he is an economic royalist whose personal and public life suggest a person incapable of understanding the lives and struggles of average Americans. Again — note the unusual parallels with 2004.

Although Romney is a Republican former governor and Kerry was at the time his state’s Democratic junior U.S. senator, the two Massachusetts pols make for similar targets. Each man is an extraordinarily rich preppie and Ivy Leaguer. Each represents the liberal wing of his respective party. Each has shown a propensity for ruining an otherwise valid point with sloppy, backfiring language. And each has a reputation for lacking political spine.

The flip-flop frame is candidate character assassination of the first order. Like the lone negative number in a string of multiplied positives, the critique that nobody can trust any statement or claim made by a politician has the potential to negate every accomplishment or promise. If it sticks, it can be fatal, as Kerry learned in 2004.

Obama and the Democratic National Committee know their electoral history and, sure enough, last November — a year before the election and two full months before a single Iowan had caucused — the DNC released a four-minute “Mitt vs. Mitt” ad and its accompanying website with the damning tag line, “the story of two men trapped in one body.” The site is a brilliant homage to the Bush campaign’s 2004 windsurfer attack ad and the devastating, 11-minute ad the Republican National Committee produced chronicling Kerry’s “evolution” on Iraq.

And then there is what might be called “the Willard factor”: Romney as Richy Rich, the Monopoly Guy with the Bain Capital background and the Swiss bank account. His bio would be political gold to Romney’s opponent any election cycle, but it’s gold-plated platinum in the first full presidential campaign following the biggest economic crisis since the Great Depression, the rise of the Occupy Wall Street movement, and the long overdue national debate over income inequality.

Again, the wealth-personified line of attack mirrors the out-of-touch, Martha’s Vineyard yoke the Bush team put around Kerry’s neck in 2004. Right on cue, in the first public event of his reelection campaign, last week Obama attacked Romney by name and invoked the economic disconnect card with relish. “He sincerely believes that if CEOs and wealthy investors like him make money the rest of us will automatically prosper as well,” said Obama of Romney, adding that “corporations aren’t people – -people are people.” (For the record, Kerry is actually wealthier than Romney, who would become one of the richest men ever to occupy the White House, should he win.)

Obama will also try to shift the national debate toward areas of strength, as Bush did. Historically, this meant the same strategy, but with inverse implications for each party: The so-called mommy party Democrats would encourage voters to focus on more favorable kitchen-table economy issues — healthcare, jobs, education — and away from less favorable “daddy party” Republican issues surrounding foreign wars abroad and culture wars. Because Obama is net-positive in foreign policy approval and net-negative on the economy, rather than mirroring by inversion, Obama will try to duplicate Bush’s shift-in-emphasis in 2004. GOP complaints that Obama is politicizing the killing of Osama bin Laden reveal Republican fears that Obama is going to play the terrorism card in 2012 just like Bush did eight years ago.

The 2004 parallels extend beyond message. Obama will be amply resourced and enjoy a field technology by virtue of his campaign’s state-of-the-art Web, donor, volunteer and social media innovations. Remember the Bush reelection campaign’s vaunted “72-hour” voter turnout model? That seems like an Edsel compared to the Ferrari the Obama team will be sporting this summer and fall. Among the perquisites modern presidential incumbents enjoy is the option to test-drive the best mobilization machines before anyone else.

Finally, what most connects Obama 2012 to Bush 2004 is the stability of the electoral map itself. Only three states — two net to Bush — flipped from one party to the other between 2000 and 2004; only nine states flipped between 2004 and 2008. Split the difference and a good, back-of-the-napkin over-under for number of states likely to flip between 2008 and 2012 is six. And thus, like the lead sailboat during a windless race, Obama doesn’t need or want conditions to change much from 2008: He merely has to replicate the map that swept him into office, with the burden of figuring out how to shake up the Electoral College falling to Romney, just as it did for Kerry against Bush. Even Karl Rove’s mapping of the 2012 election concedes this reality.

The 2008 election was memorable; to borrow the title of one best-selling chronicle, it was a “game changer.” But 2012 will not be. In many respects, it will be a game repeater, with Obama playing Bush to Romney’s Kerry of 2004. The president may be asking Americans to look “forward” in 2012, but the best preview of his reelection campaign can be found by looking backward eight years.

Republicans lost their popularity on security issues for one reason: George W. Bush’s foreign policy was a disaster. And yet, the party’s nominee, Mitt Romney, has assembled a foreign-policy team composed almost exclusively of individuals with the same war-always mentality and ideology that served Bush — and the United States — so poorly. In some cases, the exact same men responsible for Bush’s catastrophic national security policies are advising Romney. The former Massachusetts governor could have included some of the pragmatists and realists from the George H.W. Bush administration. Instead, a Romney presidency seems like it would be Bush 43 all over again.

Richard Grenell, who served as United Nations spokesman under Bush, may be gone from the Romney campaign after an uproar over his sexuality, but there are plenty more former Bushies. First off, there are Romney’s “special advisors.” There’s Michael Chertoff, W.’s Homeland Security director. Chertoff oversaw DHS’s failures during Hurricane Katrina, and amassed unprecedented powers of secrecy. Next up is Eliot Cohen, counselor to the State Department for Bush’s last two years and on the Defense Policy Advisory Board for the president’s entire term. Cohen was an adamant supporter of the Iraq War and advised Bush directly on the issue. Or take Cofer Black, the man who infamously said to Bush in September 2011 about al-Qaida that “When we’re through with them they will have flies walking across their eyeballs.” Black went on to become chairman of Blackwater, where he resigned after the company illegally bribed Iraqi officials.

Then there are the 13 “working groups” composed of equally worrisome individuals. The Middle East and North Africa Working Group is co-chaired by Bush’s Assistant Secretary of Defense Mary Beth Long, and Meghan O’Sullivan, Bush’s special assistant and deputy national security advisor for Iraq and Afghanistan. The remaining co-chair is Walid Phares, who never worked for Bush but advised Lebanese warlords in the 1980s. Romney has reportedly promised Phares a top job in his administration, despite his virulently anti-Islamic views.

All told, Romney lists 37 holdovers from the George W. Bush administration — the very same administration he and all other Republican candidates barely referenced during their many debates because it was so discredited and toxic, even to the Republican base.

It didn’t have to be this way. There are, in fact, people in Republican circles who are sensible on international affairs. The Cato Institute, in particular, has experts that could dramatically change the direction of American foreign policy. Men like Justin Logan and Christopher Preble were prescient on Iraq and a host of other issues. Similarly, the Center for the National Interest (formerly the Nixon Center) has a host of solid scholars, including ones like Dimitri Simes and Geoffrey Kemp, who have valuable government experience in the Nixon and Reagan administrations, respectively, and a history of perceptive analysis. Richard Haass, president of the Council on Foreign Relations, would have been another good pick.

So why aren’t guys like this being tapped? Why is the GOP sticking with a discredited foreign-policy approach rather that looking to its own past for wiser counsel? “Most of the realists and pragmatists have simply been driven out of the Republican Party,” says Stephen Walt, who writes a blog at Foreign Policy and teaches at Harvard. “The neoconservatives have been driving the agenda since Bush was elected and they remain well-entrenched.”

Another factor is that the Republican Party’s base remains strongly militaristic and reluctant to recognize limits on American power. Jon Huntsman’s failed presidential campaign illustrated that problem. The good news is that nobody seems to be calling for nation-building and occupying foreign countries in the mold of Iraq and Afghanistan. But that’s the only lesson that seems to have been learned from the last decade of foreign-policy debacles.

Finally, it may just be that the United States has too much power to change course. While the Unites States has undoubtedly made disastrous decisions in the last decades, it is so powerful that it is largely insulated from the consequences of them. If Romney’s foreign-policy advisor list is anything to go by, a Romney administration would have to teach the U.S. all over again about the problems with trying to police the world. Prepare for Bush redux.

Based on published histories and his firsthand observations, and adapted from a lecture delivered in November, the article calls the administration’s rationale for its use of torture — which he nonetheless insists only on calling “extreme interrogation” and “coercive methods” — “radical,” “an amazing contention,” “untenable and extreme,” “unsustainable,” “an unprecedented program of coolly calculated dehumanizing abuse and physical torment,” and, finally, simply a “mistake.” He concludes: “This was a collective failure of American public leadership, in which a number of officials and members of Congress (and staffers) of both parties played a part, endorsing a CIA program of physical coercion without any precedent in U.S. history.”  In fact, “The only defense against criminal prosecution would be that officials acted in good faith reliance on the advice of their government lawyers.”

Part of what makes Zelikow’s analysis so damning and definitive is its judiciousness. The article is deeply empathetic of the uniquely fearful situation under which the Bush administration was initially operating. Zelikow calls the Sept. 11 attacks a “collective trauma” and a “shoc[k] to mass beliefs.” He notes that Bush and others spent time in burn units, morgues and with survivors of the attacks. One traumatic experienced often overlooked — overlooked because it appeared in Stephen Hayes’ stenographic biography of Dick Cheney — was that the vice-president’s daughter was (falsely, it turns out) told that her house with her children in it had tested positive for anthrax. Similarly, Cheney and National Security Advisor Condoleezza Rice were told that they and others had been exposed to an extremely lethal toxin in a particular area of the White House — and might soon die as a result. “The alarms did not stop and they too were not abstract … The pressure on Bush and his senior advisers was so direct because so much of the response had to be invented and improvised,” the article reads.

An additional factor in the power of the article is Zelikow’s credibility and history. Before entering government, he was a civil rights lawyer in Texas battling the Ku Klux Klan and then a highly esteemed Harvard historian specializing in U.S. foreign policy — he co-authored one book with Rice. He then served on the National Security Council under President George H.W. Bush and directed the 9/11 Commission before becoming counselor to Rice at the State Department from 2005 to 2007. He currently volunteers part-time on the President’s Intelligence Advisory Board under President Obama.

Such bipartisan, establishment credentials render the breakdown and conclusion of this article all the more damning. He believes that what should have been a political and moral question — should the United States torture captives? — became strictly a legal matter left up to government lawyers, few of whom had any experience with these issues, and who had to take the necessity of extreme measures as a given. “These lawyers then became secular priests, granting absolution to the supplicant policymakers,” Zelikow writes.

The problems began when the Office of the Vice President and the CIA took central roles in policymaking. Cheney felt himself above the rest of the National Security Council, bypassing Rice and other traditional channels of national security policymaking. Ad-hoc decision-making and improvisation became “a habit of thought,” which seemed initially to pay off in the security of the nation, as well as in Bush’s political standing and self-confidence.

With Cheney and CIA head George Tenet “the key entrepreneurs in setting codes of conduct for the War on Terror,” it was essentially left to their obsequious lawyers to decide, in secret, on the interrogation methods America should employ. Bush even told the Senate’s Intelligence Committee chairman that “the vice president should be your point of contact … [He] has the portfolio for intelligence activities.” Decisions were made to jettison international treaties. By December 2001, the CIA was already interested in reverse-engineering methods “heretofore used only to treat Americans to resist enemy torture.” When a senior al-Qaida member was captured in March 2002, the prototype for the administration’s torture policies was already developed. “So, for the first time in American history, leaders of the U.S. government carefully devised ways and means to torment enemy captives.”

Zelikow notes that “None of the policy or moral issues connected with these choices appear to have been analyzed in any noticeable way.” Perhaps worst of all, no serious consideration was given to weighing the costs of benefits of the torture program, with reference to relevant historical precedents and/or examinations of the respective French, British and Israeli experiences in dealing with captured terrorists. “Bush and Rice should have insisted on this,” Zelikow writes.

The 52-page article observes the successes of Obama’s counterterrorism policies after repudiating the use of torture. On the basis of the empirical evidence then, “[t]here is no evident correlations between intelligence success and the available of extreme interrogation methods,” no matter what Bush and Cheney claim. Finally, “The program’s costs — which include the high-level effort expended in order to establish, maintain, and defense the program — appear on the evidence so far to have well outweighed any unique value the program might have had as a method of counterterrorism intelligence collection.” This is apart from the damage to America’s international standing and corrosion of its traditional values.

Zelikow concludes his analysis by arguing that, although the Obama administration has the right to wage war and use extralegal methods to defeat al-Qaida, its claim of that authority to defeat “associated forces” is unwarranted. “The U.S. government should publish and explain any overarching policy and legal documents that guide and confine the conduct of deadly operation against its foreign enemies … the executive branch of the U.S. government has a duty to articulate the scope of its warfare to the Congress and the public.” The Bush administration’s unprecedented elevation of torture to national policy may be history, but the job to get U.S. foreign policy in line with its constitutional and moral obligations is far from over.

That’s quite a fall for a man who frequently spoke of his Christian faith and family values when asked to comment on the mammoth success of his brand in the early 2000s. “When I got saved, God became my art agent,” Kinkade explained in a 2004 video. He went from a childhood in Placerville, Calif. (invariably characterized as “hard-scrabble”) to an apprenticeship selling his work in supermarket parking lots to his apotheosis as the nation’s “most profitable” artist, the Painter of Light™, and multimillionaire. He was profiled in the New Yorker by Susan Orlean.

I first learned about the dark side of the Painter of Light™ — sorry, couldn’t resist that one — when I reviewed “his” novel, “Cape Light,” in 2002. The novel, first in a series, was produced much as his paintings are: by a semi-industrial process in which low-level apprentices embellish a prefab base provided by Kinkade. He wasn’t the only artist to work in this way; he wasn’t even the only novelist. To the best of my knowledge, his novels — heartwarming, fuzzily pious tales of small-town life — have been coming out ever since, one more facet of a lifestyle brand that, at its most ambitious, included an entire Thomas Kinkade-themed housing development.

My review was just a goof intended to amuse Salon’s readers, but after it appeared, I began to receive emails from people who had sunk their life savings in Thomas Kinkade Signature Galleries (essentially, mall and shopping-district outlets for his prints) and been fleeced. I didn’t really understand how the financial architecture of Kinkade’s gallery empire worked, and I sure didn’t share their taste in wall art, but these people struck me as decent and sincere. They’d believed in Thomas Kinkade — not just in the man or the company, but in the ethos supposedly represented by his work, one in which (to quote Kinkade’s introduction to “Cape Light”) “people have the time to savor life’s simple pleasures” and lead “deep, satisfying lives.”

My conversations with these victims made me uneasy. Was there some relationship between the franchisees’ naivete, perhaps even their willful self-delusion, and their terrible taste? Was it hopelessly snobby to wonder that? What about Kinkade himself? He seemed to be at best a hypocrite and at worst a crook. Was there a meaningful connection between his bad conscience and his bad art? German thinkers of the 1930s would have said so, and they had plenty of opportunity to observe bad fascist art up close. Hermann Broch maintained that someone who chooses to make kitsch is “ethically depraved, a criminal willing radical evil.” The novelist Milan Kundera believes kitsch to be the natural expression of totalitarianism. That’s a lot of moral weight to place on a bunch of garish cottage paintings, but Kinkade was always the first to present his work as a form of ideology.

I felt compassion for the ripped-off gallery operators, and at the same time I was aware that quite a few of them had probably also fallen for the similarly sanctimonious, bogus folksiness of George W. Bush, thereby subjecting our nation to one of the worst presidents in its history. Kinkade and Bush struck me as of a piece, probably because they had both borrowed from Ronald Reagan in promising that we could get back to a better way of life that never existed in the first place. In nearly every encounter with the press, Kinkade delivered a diatribe against the art-world “establishment” that had shut him out. They were “elites” touting unfathomable, downer junk to hardworking people who needed uplift instead. Art snobs were the aesthetic counterparts of the so-called liberal elites, a group that surely included me.

At the same time, I must admit that I, too, like a cottage. Granted, I like the stylized, art-deco kind painted on bone china, rather than the insanely detailed and phosphorescently lit specimens in Kinkade’s pictures. And I’m in little danger of equating my new teacup with a Brancusi just because it’s cheerier. Nevertheless, I suspect that my idea of what’s pleasing about a cottage isn’t too different from that of Kinkade’s fans: an aura of harmless coziness, of modest domestic beauty and comfort not too cut off from the past. It’s as if we’re speaking the same word, but in different languages.

I suspect this is why Kinkade’s paintings have exerted their weird, hypnotic effect on me. They are so preposterous (especially the stream-side ones; he really needed to sit down with an architect and go over the basics of drainage), so awful. And yet I can still detect — beneath that cacophony of hollyhocks and cobblestones and snapdragons — the whisper of something intelligible. I’m pretty sure I know why the hordes of Kinkade collectors love his work, even if I don’t like it myself. Kinkade’s paintings are irredeemably false, like all kitsch, but through them you can just barely glimpse the honest desires they seek to exploit, sinking under the dreck.

Kundera defined kitsch as “the absolute denial of shit,” meaning it offers an airbrushed, sterilized, sentimentalized view of the world. From that, it doesn’t necessarily follow that art wallows in shit, but art doesn’t exist for the primary purpose of denying it, either. Kitsch is, first and foremost, a lie; its very existence is founded on bad faith.

Kinkade, like Bush, peddled a falsely simplified image of the world — one without mildew or flooded basements, for one thing — which, no surprise, turned out to be plastered over a whole lot of stinky stuff. The true believers, the ones who bought into these men the most during the 2000s, ended up paying some of the highest prices, from the Kinkade acolytes who invested in his gallery Ponzi scheme to the working-class red-staters who sent off their kids to die in a pointless war. Bad taste, harmless as it may seem, can end up costing you a lot.

Further reading

Los Angeles Times obituary for Thomas Kinkade

Susan Orlean’s 2001 profile of Thomas Kinkade for the New Yorker

A 2006 Los Angeles Times story documenting Kinkade’s business problems

Salon’s Janelle Brown visits Hiddenbrooke, a Kinkade-theme housing development in Northern California

Laura Miller reviews “Cape Light,” a novel by Thomas Kinkade and Katherine Spencer