Make Mullens Great Again

Souvenir from Mullen's Dairy Bar, Watertown, Wisc., 

where Mullens are welcomed and truly appreciated.

Gina, Eda, Don:

We, the four children of Frank and Mimi Mullen, have always known we are special, worthy of singular appreciation. In the Tavern of Life, we sip Tanqueray, Glenfiddich, and Chardonnay among a coarse riffraff chugging down Heaven Hill, Kümmel, and Schlitz.

Our name itself, "The Original Four," illuminates our exclusivity. Lacking equals, Mullens do not belong; we lead. Others may follow, but only at a respectful distance. Majesty flows from us like sweet perfume in a gentle breeze. Yet, we realize our prestigious position imposes upon us not privilege, but duty. Our status requires that we live with a dignity that might compel the world to treat us with the respect that is our right.

And yet, we have been wronged. For over six decades, our glory has been tarnished by an unwarranted insult whose stain has never been cleansed: The Portrait.

Mom certainly wasn't trying to punish us when she hired a cut-rate Glen Cove photographer from the Yellow Pages to take that humiliating picture of us. Her intentions were good, maybe even inspired. It was the early 1960s, the Kennedys were ushering us into Camelot, and throughout the country, spirits soared. No doubt, she thought the photographer--Snappy the Shutterbug, I believe was his name--would provide something like this:

She envisioned the sort of portrait other families displayed on mantelpieces or pianos. What she got was something you'd see displayed on the back cover of Mad Magazine:

L. to R.: Woman From Another Generation, Doofus, Eda, Cueball.

It looked as though the photographer had sat us down, picked up his camera, and said, "Okay, everybody, pretend you're the main attraction in a carnival funhouse, think geeky thoughts, one, two three, and--whoops. Sorry, I don't have time to take another shot--I'm due in Bayville for a Newsday photoshoot for an article about the things that wash up on the beach at low tide."

We made our feelings known. Mom tried to defend the photo, but every thrust was deftly parried.

Mom: Don't be ridiculous. It looks just like you.

Us: Then burn it.

Mom: Okay, it doesn't look anything like you.

Us: Then burn it.

Mom: It captures your inner selves.

Us: Let our inner selves out of captivity. Burn it.

Only Eda survived the photographic assault with some small shred of dignity, but her point was well taken: from schoolyard to White House, we are known by the people with whom we associate. Surrounding a dandelion with dog-doo does not make it a rose.

Finally coming to her senses, Mom conceded her efforts had failed and allowed the vile object to be sequestered in some dark corner. For years, it only came out of hiding on those occasions when one of us would bring home a new boyfriend or girlfriend. You'd usher your nervous sweetheart through the door and find that some dastardly sibling had transformed the living room into an exhibition hall of your old prom pictures, half-naked baby photographs, and, of course, The Portrait. 

The inclination of Mullens to humiliate one another is indeed so strong that one of them will debase all of them in pursuit of the embarrassment of one single Mullen. But, to degrade a Mullen is a privilege reserved only for members of The Original Four. 

It is in this spirit of unity that I have taken it upon myself to right the wrong cruelly inflicted upon us so long ago. 

Let the trumpets sound, flourishes and kettledrums beat a martial cadence.

All the world now stands in awe as we, The Original Four, stately march into the future with a regained sense of pride. 

I present:

The Rightful Portrait.