Phew. As quickly as we knew Biden’s goose was cooked, we knew from Kamala’s uncannily canny and convincing performance on the debate stage, that America’s goose might be saved. Acute, savvy (and speed-typing) journalist Josh Marshall (who’s worth every penny), remarked that to each question the moderators posed, he’d anticipate one answer and Kamala would opt for another – and better. Roger that. Another instant pundit extolled (how do these pros produce their prose so fast, wonders this slowpoke), Kamala’s was “a masterclass” in highwire televised debating, as jaw-dropping as Heifetz or Hillary Hahn on the fiddle. Amen to that – and to my prayers for rescue. If America selects the nasty, bitter, clueless, dangerous demagogue Kamala’s prodding exposed, we deserve him. Trump’s was a bravura show of vileness, villainy, and contempt – of both democracy and humanity. From all fair-minded judges, the reviews were instant and unanimous, no need here for another rave.

Curiously, what woke me after a few hours’ sleep – and woke Jane, because I was roaring – was fury, not joy: fury that America required such an improbable savior to evade our demise. Prodigies like Kamala do not come along predictably, but once in a blue moon. Perhaps Biden’s most munificent contribution to America (and they are manifold) was not his policy achievements, not even his willingness to end his reelection attempt, but his choice of Kamala as Vice-President. At a moment of crisis, she was present, ready, and deft. I nominate her for the Ulysses Grant Award.

Phew again. But what is wrong with us – we the people – that a major party’s candidate for our highest office was this moral debacle? How could these two be running “neck and neck” (the cliché gives me hives)? Trump reflects us – Americans – no less than I do. As. T.S. Eliot’s Gerontion groans, “After such knowledge, what forgiveness?” (Gerontion means “old man.”)

I understood how the parent of a demented school shooter must feel, to be related to this depravity, and thus, to some degree, to blame. I am of the tribe that produced Trump. Color me aghast.

There was good news in this bad news. The mere possibility of Trump should alert us all to our moral responsibility. We the people have permitted our collective soul to sicken. We have neglected our essential obligation as human beings, one to another, to do the right thing. Woe to those who endorsed this villain, knowing better! Woe to the pusillanimous Republican Senators who failed to impeach him – twice! – knowing better. Woe, alas, to any Republican who today does not eject him like projectile vomit, for he has poisoned their once-proud party. Woe to journalists who treat these two candidates as equivalents in candor, decency, probity.

Old guys – like Eliot’s Gerontion and yours truly – are typically discarded from society in favor of the younger and stronger. And so we should be. Past a certain age, we are unfit for active duty. (cf. the Strom Thurmond/Dianne Feinstein Award). But we are not unfit for moral duty. I may not be able to lift, run, or piss as I used to, but I can still roar – and must. All of us who can must. November Fifth, with any luck, our fever will break, we will dodge death and make a fresh start. But it is only a start. We must preach and teach and screech that morality matters. Decency, civility, and generosity are not fuddy-duddy nice-to-haves but essential virtues if we the people are to survive as free.

Our lives are what we make of them. Let us, wakened and chastened by Kamala, make something worthy.