Contemplating the United States at 250

At what ended up being my only 'real' graduation in June 1976, I received a certificate - and the first $100 bill I'd ever seen - from the local American Legion for being the 'best' or 'one of the best' history students in my class. I was proud, my Dad being my history teacher and all - and also shocked, as I had no idea it was coming. 

I share my graduation story not to toot my own horn; rather, I admit that, like many people, I've forgotten more of our country's history than I remember. How bad are things? 

According to a Cato Institute poll, "nearly half (46%) of Americans don’t know what America’s 250th anniversary commemorates. A little more than half (53%) correctly answered that it was the adoption of the Declaration of Independence." 

That's why it was so much fun to stumble on the Time Magazine Special 1776 Issue tucked in with some of my Dad's papers. According to Henry Grunwald, then Time's managing editor, the issue was "an attempt to reconstruct, with the tools of both history and journalism, and in our distinctive newsmagazine format, at least part of the life and soul of the events that gave birth to our nation." The issue was dated July 4, 1776.

Here are a few examples of what it covered.

• New Yorkers tearing down a statue of King George III on horseback, cutting off (and shooting) his head, and carrying it off, after having heard a reading of the Declaration of Independence; the statue was later used to make ammunition for the war effort. Resistance? Yeah, it's in our blood.
• A discussion of who in each state is allowed to vote, or more importantly, who isn't, including variables such as no Papists (Maryland) or Jews (NY), people who don't own property (12 states), or people who couldn't afford to pay for the privilege. That last part, having to pay to vote? Discouraged then, and illegal now, with poll taxes banned, even as we look at 'unofficially' implementing some if the Save America Act becomes law.
• Thomas Paine's condemnation of King George as "the greatest enemy this continent hath," echoed today by the varied condemnations coming directly from the White House almost daily, and from each party's followers to the other's, as the need arises.
• Some background on John Hancock, owner of the largest and most prominent signature on the Declaration; he was "one of the richest men in the Colonies and one of those most adored by the crowds. He is also one of the vainest." Remind you of anyone these days, a man with a giant signature, tons of wealth (growing every day), and so vain he had his name slapped on a living memorial to another person? 
• How the states created their own constitutions, filled with similarities - and differences, too. That continues today; regulation, taxation, education, social benefits, wages and pensions, and more are handled differently. Heck, in some states individuals can collect a bounty for spying on, and telling on, their neighbors, something that would never happen in other states.
• Concerns about the young nation's finances, including the shocking $15,000,000 debt of the Continental Congress; a trade deficit with England - and a trade surplus with the rest of the world; concerns about whether economic independence could be achieved without establishing a 'manufacturing society;' and the threats from inflation, caused in part by the costs of war. Is this "like Deja vu all over again," as Yogi Berra said? 
• Smallpox and whether or not inoculating soldiers was a good idea. Boston's leading physician, we're told, thought that inoculation was an 'infatuation' and a 'heathen' treatment. General Washington banned inoculation of soldiers (even as he ordered it for his wife) out of respect for the differing opinions of the states; he even threatened officers who chose inoculation for themselves with being "cashiered and turned out of the Army...as an enemy and traitor to his country." Again, we're seeing history repeat itself, with a ban on flu vaccines for the Hegseth army, until a major outbreak forced the shots to be restarted. 

In the closing essay, titled 'The Future of the Experiment,' there's a discussion of whether the states, "separated, moreover, not only by miles, but also by religion, customs, habits, and temperaments" can hold together; these differences, as well as history showing how hard it is to keep a vast empire together, were "already raising the specter of civil war - or wars - if the British presence is removed." The essay continued, 

Adding to the fear of anarchy is the fact that there are some Americans who oppose all central governments, even their own, and who view the Declaration of Independence as a declaration not against Britain alone, but against all large governments. Unity, for them, is a means and not an end...

Aside from all the military, political and economic problems, Americans must ask an equally important question: Is independence really justified? Are the principles, the view of man, underlying last week's Declaration valid, and can a commonwealth based on them endure?

...Perhaps the greatest peril to the future of the American experiment is that contending groups, properly encouraged to strive for their self-interest, will do so with such heedless vengeance that the needs of society as a whole will be forgotten.

The essayist concludes by posing a key question: Is independence justified - and will it work? Here's the answer:

The delegates in Philadelphia, and most of their fellow citizens, would answer yes - if man is indeed the rational, moral creature, capable of self-control for the greater good, that the Americans of 1776 believe him to be.

Fast-forward from the bicentennial year's look at 1776 to today, when we celebrate our nation's semiquincentennial in what feels like a deeply divided country, including over whether we even have anything to celebrate. 

People put so much time and effort into 'defining' things, whether it's trying to label 'the other side' or label each side's respective ideas. People argue daily about who is a 'real American,' who is a 'patriot,' and who is a 'threat to our very existence.' People gleefully report each other to law enforcement, to people's employers, or they dox them, causing all kinds of trouble, simply because they can't stand hearing another voice. I've been reported at least twice for social media activity.

There's an almost feral desire among political parties to cement their power and tighten their grip on whatever slice of the government they hold, regardless of how that impacts the country. Don't believe me? We have a president - right now - calling for changes that he thinks will ensure his party will be in power for the next American century, and that's not all that's going on. 

And yet? I love this country, even if I'm often driven nuts by the people in charge exercising power not theirs, those who refuse to exercise the power they have, and anyone who refuses to allow me the power I have as a citizen. 

I love this country, even if many of my fellow citizens - politicians, media people, influencers, and yes, people I'm acquainted with - think I can't possibly love America because I don't agree with them.

I believe in our founding principles of equality and the pursuit of life, liberty, and happiness. I believe we are a nation of immigrants. That includes my ancestor who came over on the Mayflower and the rest who started our various family lines here, and in my opinion, we need to remain one going forward. We are a nation of resisters, too, and need to remain one.

I believe we can continue our experiment and grow our nation, and that someone, somehow, will rise to the occasion, motivate all of us to become better Americans, and bring us back from what so often feels like the brink of disaster, if "man is indeed the rational, moral creature, capable of self-control for the greater good," as most thought in 1776, and as I remember most did in 1976 when I graduated high school.

Perhaps Thomas Paine had the right idea back then?

In the Progress of Politics as in the common occurrences of Life we are not only apt to forget the ground we have traveled over, but frequently neglect to gather up experience as we go.

In our 250th year and beyond, let's remember to do that, and to do it together. 

Random Thoughts 6/27/26: Asylum No More

Yesterday I was doing some 'weeding thinking' and mulling over the Supreme Court decision allowing the administration to keep asylum seekers out of the country. Effectively, the decision eliminates asylum as an option for immigrants, because our law requires them to 'arrive' in the US to begin the process.

Here's where my mind wandered:

The person who might figure out how to cure Alzheimer’s is waiting on the other side of the border; so, too might be the person who can end our reliance on things that generate all the bad crap we get in our food, water, and the air we breathe.

The person who might come up with a way to allow us to identify who's sending all those UAP/UFOs, and help us interact with lifeforms from other planets, could be standing right next to her, staring up at the stars.

Someone who could figure out how to effectively provide reliable energy for new and existing homes, businesses, schools, hospitals, the dreaded data centers, and vehicles, without putting the environment and people’s health at risk, could be there, too.

The person who can calculate how to reliably fund a responsive government without spending trillions of dollars it doesn't have, and without unfairly taking from those who have less while favoring those who have more, might be waiting in their shadows.

The team of people who can figure out how to better and/or more cost-effectively prepare our children for their future (and for protecting ours) while we navigate AI, environmental calamity, global economic and military threats, and challenges that are not yet fully understood could be there, waiting, too.

The young adult who might eventually write the next Great American Novel could be standing at our border, eager to come in and go through our lengthy, underfunded, understaffed, misunderstood, neglected, outdated, and almost incomprehensible immigration process, all to have a chance to experience their own American Dream, the one they’ve heard about all their life.

Now, those things - the cures and the science and the ideas, might not happen.

Now, that book might never get written.

Instead, the book could tell a story of a great divide, far wider than any of our actual borders, between who Americans think we are and how we are presented to the world, or between who the parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents of the author understood Americans to be, compared to today's Americans who slammed the door shut.

It could tell of an America that will send thousands of people back to the "shithole countries" they fled (the president's term, not mine), countries our government has declared totally unsafe - for Americans, anyway.

It could tell of an America only welcoming to wealthy white people fleeing a black majority country, or to Christians being 'persecuted' by religious majorities, while feigning ignorance of the promises we made to refugees from other countries, including those whose lives are at risk solely because they helped America during our wars against their country.

It could tell of a president who has said that America, once the beacon of hope to the entire world, was a ‘dead country’ until he got back into office, that only he can save us, and who has worked to strip America of the things that make us ‘America’ as he labors to cement his legacy, the country's legacy be damned.

It could tell any of those stories, and more, seen through the eyes of someone stuck on the outside looking in, rather than the story we love to read about us: that of an outsider, threatened where they lived, who was welcomed into our country’s embrace and offered the experience of a lifetime: a fresh start, here, in America.

This morning, sitting on the porch with my coffee and sleepy kitties, I'm still mulling this over, and thinking about what we stand to lose compared to what we stand to gain with this decision.

On the losing side? The interwebs gave me a list of notable asylees, which, if correct, includes Albert Einstein, Madeleine Albright, Henry Kissinger, Elie Wiesel, and Gloria Estefan. Four of the five are recipients of the Presidential Medal of Freedom. Einstein died before the honor was created, but he, Kissinger, and Wiesel were awarded Nobel Prizes. Two were Secretaries of State; one is a Kennedy Center honoree. Their collective other accomplishments would fill a page or two, I'm sure. Would we have been better off not letting these folks in?

Also on the losing side: any effort to address what I described above as our "lengthy, underfunded, understaffed, misunderstood, neglected, outdated, and almost incomprehensible immigration process." What would be the point of trying to fix it when the current administration's goal, and that of those on the successor shortlist, is simply to slam the door shut on anyone who doesn't meet a very narrow definition of an ideal American?

I can think of lots more that could fall on this side of the ledger, but what's on the other side, the 'winning' side?

It's been several minutes since I typed the sentence above, and I've not come up with much for the win column, other than financial benefits.

Oh, sure - we have better control of who's being let into the country through legal channels (because asylum-seeking *was* a legal channel) if we don't let anyone in.

More importantly, based on what I've read and heard? We may save money because we won't have to temporarily house and care for these folks until they get jobs and start paying taxes, including the critical contributions they make to Social Security. We won't have to pay to educate their children, and, at least in theory, there'll be more jobs for Americans, assuming Americans are willing to take the jobs these folks will be leaving behind.

And, we might be able to clear the backlog of pending asylum cases, assuming anyone wants to address the backlog in the first place, and assuming there are still folks here who've applied for asylum and haven't self-deported out of fear and frustration, or haven't been detained and deported as the administration rounded up "the worst of the worst," or whatever it was it claimed to be doing.

Do those 'wins' outweigh the losses? I'm not at all convinced they do, although I'm convinced I could name several people in my own circles who'd disagree with me.

That may be the most American thing about this whole mess.

A Future Tale (Part Four)

In Part One of our Future Tale, our narrator took a walk in the city where she's lived for decades. 

She entered an alley in Part Two - a very strange alley, which we experienced with her in vivid detail. 

And in Part Three, she faced a decision on how to get out of it: step into a ridiculously out-of-place revolving door, or go back, through the terrorizing part of the alley, to the gate where she entered.  Here's where we left her.

The thought of stepping into the hug of that door was paralyzing.

I stood there for what seemed like an eternity; in reality, it was probably only a minute or two, as I considered my options. I had only two choices, I realized: try the door, or go back the way I came. Slowly, I turned my body slightly to the right, and took the measure of the alley.

Where there had been the giant screen, I saw nothing. Where I had seen all those dimly lit, frightening doorways, I saw only solid walls. I could barely make out the gate at the end of the alley, still shrouded in the confusing mid-day darkness.

I turned back to the left, towards the revolving door, and to the right again, in the direction of the gate, where this all started. I turned both directions again, and a third time, before making my decision.

Choking back my fear, I started walking.

Which way did she go? Let's find out. 

Towards the revolving door I went, with more than a little bit of trepidation. 

That was really the only choice... I mean, what sense would it make to go backwards? As I asked myself that question, the answers were numerous: I know what I'll find there; I've been there, done that, and so I know exactly what to do; they know me there, and I know them, so it'll be easier; the future is a scary place, especially right now, so why put myself through that? Why not go back the same way I came?

At the same time, I didn't want to go back through that alley, that very strange alley, with all the time-shifting, am-I-looking-ahead or am-I-looking back stuff that was, truly, frightening. There must be a better way, I thought, and that meant tackling whatever was waiting for me in the revolving door. 

I put my hand on the brass plate and gave a little push, to see if there was even a chance I could get out this way. At first, there was quite a bit of resistance. That wasn't surprising; who knows how long it's been since anyone else was in this alley? I gave another push, thinking how much this was like pushing the gate at the other end of the alley. When was that, anyway? How long have I been in here? I have no idea.

Finally, on the third push, it actually moved noticeably, if slowly, with a bit of a grinding noise, as if it needed to be oiled. Or, thinking back to when I was a child, maybe it just needed some kids to push and push and keep pushing, going round and round in their little cages within the door, like I did, chasing my older brothers... or, were they chasing me?

Thoughts of anything chasing me right now were unwelcomed, and I pushed those memories aside, focusing on the task at hand: getting this darn thing to move and, hopefully, finding a way out on the other side. I leaned in a bit, putting some oomph into it, and finally, the door moved, with purpose. 

I kept up steady pressure on the door, and then I was fully inside it, and that made me stop for a brief second. I stood, holding my breath, feeling my heart start to beat a little faster. And then, throwing caution to the wind, I pushed, hard, once more, and around I went. I couldn't tell if there was a door on the back side for me to duck through; I was moving quickly now, surprisingly fast given the outward appearance of the door. 

I started pushing again, walking and pushing, pushing and walking, thinking this has to be the biggest revolving door ever. It seemed to take forever to make it to the front, where I entered, and then to move around to where I expected an exit to be. I went fully around a second time; I'm not really sure why. On the third trip around, I slowed enough to spot an opening, right where it should have been, if this was a normal revolving door. I took a deep breath, and jumped into the darkness.

I landed, awkwardly, barely managing to stay on my feet, and waited for my senses to adjust. What did I hear? What could I see? What did it feel like, wherever I was now? As before, it seemed like an eternity for me to get my bearings. And when I did, I realized I wasn't in a room, I was outside still. 

I felt a breeze, the kind the wind makes, not the breeze from a fan or air conditioning. I could hear traffic - cars, and trucks, and the funny noise made by buses that run on natural gas, and the obnoxious sound of a motorcycle, racing almost above my head. That made me duck, and I laughed at how silly I must have looked, had anyone been there to see me.

As my eyes adjusted, I could see broken glass, fast food trash, empty cans, and a very tall wall to my right. Was I actually back in the alley again? I couldn't be!

I looked up the wall, and higher, seeing the huge beams and girders above. I put my hand  on the wall, feeling the vibrations that told me I was underneath the elevated highway that bisects my city, in one of the 'cheap-monthly-rate' parking lots, cheaper by their distance from the city center. I slowly moved towards the light I could see to my left, and eventually made it out from underneath the interstate and into the fading daylight. 

Left was west, and as I looked far down the street, I could see the setting sun off in the distance, and make out the streetlights, the traffic lights, familiar buildings, and people on the sidewalk. 

I headed in that direction, towards the place I started my walk, however long ago.

A Future Tale (Part Three)

Our Future Tale began with a woman wandering around her small city, observing and describing the places and people she saw, and ended with her hesitantly entering an alley between two buildings, the first some 100 years older than the second. 

At the end of Part Two, our narrator was deep in the alley, uncomfortably confronting the past - her past, and our collective past. Or, maybe she was seeing into the future? 

Here's where we left her.

Every recess in the wall, every dirty lightbulb, every door I encountered, brought more of the same.

Our real history

Medical care - no patients refused

Judgment-free zone 

All words welcomed here

Free hot meals

A bed for a night

There were a few more doors, offering only more confusion, until there was only a giant screen hanging in front of me, above my head, filled with images, wonderful and horrible, a cacophony of voices and music and noise, piercing the quiet that had surrounded me in the alley. It was my history, my lifetime, and histories and lifetimes before mine, all jumbled together. Good and evil, love and war, despots and dictators, politicians and orators, their words almost physically assaulting me, surrounding me, deafening me. 

I wanted to get away, to escape, to avoid what was playing out in front of me, but the cobblestones were damp and slimy as I tried to run, the trees were hitting me in the face and arms, and the din moved with me with me as I slipped and slid down the alley, tears and grime streaming down my face. 

Let's rejoin her now.

And then it stopped - the barrage of words, and music, and noise - it all just... stopped, as abruptly as it began. It was deathly quiet, and pitch black in the alley, and I stood there, afraid to move. Catching my breath. Slowing my heart. Trying to find my equilibrium. 

Ahead, I saw a light high up on the wall, much brighter than the lights above the doors. It cast a long beam, and I followed it. I moved slowly, cautiously, even gratefully toward the light. And there, at what must be the end of the alley, I saw a door.

A revolving door. 

A revolving door? It was so completely out of place, I almost laughed out loud, but caught myself at the last second. Laughing seemed as out of place as the door, after what I had just been through, what I had yet to fully process. Heck, who am I kidding? I hadn't even begun to process what had happened behind me in the alley; I didn't even know where to start, but I knew laughing wasn't it.

I stopped a few feet away from the door, all glass and brass, ornate like the doors you find in classy old hotels, and simultaneously filthy like you find in abandoned ones. I half expected there to be a bellman in the vestibule, but this wasn't a hotel, there wasn't a vestibule. I'm in an alley for Pete's sake, I told myself, not in some old movie. 

At the very moment that thought crossed my mind, about being in a movie, I became much more tentative about the door. I could get in, push it, and go out on the other side, like in old movies with happy endings, but I had no idea what was out there. What if it was worse than what I just went through? 

I could get in, give it a push, and have it stick, unmovable like in a horror movie, trapping me for who knows how long in a little cage, waiting for someone to find me, to help me. But I'm in an alley by myself, an alley that's nothing like anything I've ever seen before... Would anyone even think to look there? Does anyone even know I'm not home? And what kind of person would be in this alley, anyway?

The thought of stepping into the hug of that door was paralyzing.

I stood there for what seemed like an eternity; in reality, it was probably only a minute or two, as I considered my options. I had only two choices, I realized: try the door, or go back the way I came. Slowly, I turned my body slightly to the right, and took the measure of the alley.

Where there had been the giant screen, I saw nothing. Where I had seen all those dimly lit, frightening doorways, I saw only solid walls. I could barely make out the gate at the end of the alley, still shrouded in the confusing mid-day darkness.

I turned back to the left, towards the revolving door, and to the right again, in the direction of the gate, where this all started. I turned both directions again, and a third time, before making my decision.

Choking back my fear, I started walking. 

A Future Tale (Part Two)

Part One of this Future Tale began with a woman wandering around her small city, observing and describing the places and people she saw. Here's how that chapter ended.

The old iron gate at the head of the alley looked as if it hadn't been opened in years. Weeds, garbage, broken glass, and more encased the bottom. It was heavy with generations of handprints, rust and dust, soot and exhaust, bird droppings, coffee and alcohol, and who knows what other human or animal excretions. Layered upon layer upon layer, a challenge to the forensic experts, the anthropologists, the historians who might one day try and make sense of it all. 

I stopped by the gate, which stood chest-high and strong. It, too, offered a dare, like the building nearby. "Try me - go ahead, give me a push."  

I looked left and right; nobody was paying any attention. I gave the gate a shove; it didn't move. 

I pushed, harder, then as hard as I could, struggling against time, and weeds, and trash, and crud, and slowly, creakily, it opened. 

I snuck into the alley.

And now, we rejoin our storyteller for Part Two.

I tugged the gate closed behind me; I don't know why, really, but it seemed the right thing to do. Given the difficulty I had getting it open, I was surprised by how easy it was to push it closed. I saw my handprints and fingerprints, which formed the newest layer in the gate's long history; my footsteps would soon be added to those that had already smoothed the grimy cobblestones that made up the alley floor.

Narrow, and long - confusingly long, to be honest - the alley had a curtain of vines hanging over it several feet away from the gate, reminiscent of the beaded ‘curtains’ we used to hang back when I was in college. Or, more in keeping with the mood of the day, reminiscent of the giant spiderwebs we used to accidentally run into playing in the woods as kids; we'd struggle, half screaming half giggling, trying to get the spider's handiwork out of our hair and off our faces. Taking a deep breath, I walked toward, then under the vines.

I slowly picked my way forward, letting my eyes adjust to the uncharacteristic mid-day darkness, trying not to slide on the slippery cobbles under my feet. I walked for what felt like several minutes, dodging the spindly sumacs and scrub maples that popped up randomly, as if testing my mettle. “Does she have what it takes? Can she handle the truth?” I felt the questions, and I resolved to stick it out.

Eventually, I could see faint spots of light up ahead, not way high on the buildings, but at a more human level. I stopped, and after my eyes adjusted, I recognized that I was seeing deeply shaded lights above doorways or recesses in the alley, and I understood that I was nearing what I had been called here, by someone, somehow, to see. 

Tentatively, I walked up to the first light. In the recess, there was a chair, with a dingy hand-lettered sign resting on it: safe abortions performed inside. I paused, startled by the seeming contradiction between the sign's messiness and its promise, and by recollections of the horrible history of back-alley abortions. I was confused; where was I? Had the alley taken me into the past, or was it giving me a glimpse of the future? Was that sign old, or new? I had no idea.

I turned slowly away from the source of my confusion, and looked down the alley. A few feet away, on the other side, was a dim light, bugs flying around it. I was tempted to turn and head back towards that darn iron gate, the thing that drew me here in the first place, but I felt compelled to keep going. 

As I moved across the alley, I saw another sign, this one professionally painted but still dirty, hanging from a nail on the door: Books you can’t read anywhere else. There were several names original to the sign: Angelou, Orwell, Vonnegut, Morrison, Lee, and more, names I recognized. There were others, too, that I had never heard of: Evison, Thomas, Alexie, Spiegelman, Craft, scrawled on the sign with different colored markers. A mix of old and new, another yesterday-today-tomorrow quandary. 

Every recess in the wall, every dirty lightbulb, every door I encountered, brought more of the same.

Our real history

Medical care - no patients refused

Judgment-free zone 

All words welcomed here

Free hot meals

A bed for a night

There were a few more doors, offering only more confusion, until there was only a giant screen hanging in front of me, above my head, filled with images, wonderful and horrible, a cacophony of voices and music and noise, piercing the quiet that had surrounded me in the alley. It was my history, my lifetime, and histories and lifetimes before mine, all jumbled together. Good and evil, love and war, despots and dictators, politicians and orators, their words almost physically assaulting me, surrounding me, deafening me. 

I wanted to get away, to escape, to avoid what was playing out in front of me, but the cobblestones were damp and slimy as I tried to run, the trees were hitting me in the face and arms, and the din moved with me with me as I slipped and slid down the alley, tears and grime streaming down my face. 

A Future Tale (Part One)

It was late afternoon. 

I walked slowly down the main drag, as I've done a million times, looking through the slightly dingy windows of the shops, observing the customers inside. 

Many of them appeared disengaged, as if they were only going through the motions. They sported the worn-out look that comes from reading and hearing the same thing over and over, from the same people in the same echo chamber over and over, watching the same news for hoursdaysweeksmonths on end. They looked beaten down by it all. 

I didn't want to linger there; I wondered if ennui by association was a thing? I meandered, turning randomly, until I ended up in the old warehouse district, a jumble of multi-story brick buildings. 

The ends of giant old timbers were visible in spots, copper accents and granite keystones and old leaded windows that gentrifiers adore, and put to pricey use. Many buildings had been redone; fabulous restaurants now, condos and studios and extravagant apartments; bakeries and fancy shmancy coffee shops; places to get faux-leather wing-tips and hemp pocket squares; places to see and be seen, to be vibrant, and young, and successful, or vibrant, and old, and successful, all the while sporting the tired, worn-out look that comes from reading and hearing the same thing over and over, from the same people in the same echo chamber over and over.

Moving to a less crowded part of town, I walked past smaller mixed-use buildings housing attorneys, CPAs, ad agencies, cell phone stores, payday loan joints, cigar shops, gyms, and whatnot on the lower floors, and more apartments on the upper floors. Everyone I passed in this part of town had the same look, and looked the same as everyone else I had already passed.

My pace slowed as I neared the alley halfway down the block, tucked in between a 1970s-era office building and an 1870s-era beauty. Empty but still defiant, figuratively lifting its chin in the air, brandishing the chip on its shoulder, as if daring someone to smash the windows, destroy the inside, or tear it down. 

"Try me," it said. "Just try me."

The old iron gate at the head of the alley looked as if it hadn't been opened in years. Weeds, garbage, broken glass, and more encased the bottom. It was heavy with generations of handprints, rust and dust, soot and exhaust, bird droppings, coffee and alcohol, and who knows what other human or animal excretions. Layered upon layer upon layer, a challenge to the forensic experts, the anthropologists, the historians who might one day try and make sense of it all. 

I stopped by the gate, which stood chest-high and strong. It, too, offered a dare, like the building nearby. "Try me - go ahead, give me a push."  

I looked left and right; nobody was paying any attention. I gave the gate a shove; it didn't move. 

I pushed, harder, then as hard as I could, struggling against time, and weeds, and trash, and crud, and slowly, creakily, it opened. 

I snuck into the alley.

Wondering on Wednesday (v210)

Ready... Set... Wonder!

There's a lot to wonder about tonight - let's dive right in!

I'm wondering why all of the people who are upset about NASCAR banning the Confederate flag are so upset? I mean, how many flags of other countries we defeated in armed conflict do we regularly display in such a manner?  And if we did - you know, drive around with Japan's flag, or Nazi Germany's, to name just a couple, on our trucks and cars and on our jeans and camisoles and hats, and tattooed all over our bodies, and on our lawn chairs and cornhole games and our beer koozies and cigarette lighters and stuff - if we did that, how many of the same people who want to keep the stars and bars would feel the same about those two flags? 

Same with naming military bases after generals and soldiers from the losing side? What's up with that, I wonder? I mean, I just asked my husband, who was stationed at both Fts. Bragg and Benning after he was drafted, and he says he didn't learn anything about the names of the bases or anything else -- he learned how to shoot and how to jump out of planes and live to tell about it. It's not like people were sitting around talking about the dead guys the bases were named after.  

Not that there's much chance of it happening anyway, especially since the commander in chief has pronounced his off-kilter view of what makes a military base part of our history.

These Monumental and very Powerful Bases have become part of a Great American Heritage, and a history of Winning, Victory, and Freedom. Therefore, my Administration will not even consider the renaming of these Magnificent and Fabled Military Installations. Our history as the Greatest Nation in the World will not be tampered with. Respect our Military!

Call me silly, but I'm wondering if any more than 1% of all adult Americans would recognize a picture of any of these bases, without any identifying flags, insignias, vehicles or signage, and know whether they were looking at Bragg, Benning, or Big Bird's Campground. But maybe that's me. I also think that 99% of the people who talk about that evil man George Soros wouldn't recognize him if he hit them with his grocery cart at Wegmans, so I'm consistently not sure there's all that much to a name. 

I'm reminded of George Bush's 'freedom fries' - remember, when the French fries in the Congressional cafeterias were renamed to reflect our displeasure with France's opposition to our invasion of Iraq?  THAT was a strong America, don't you see - banning the name of a country who opposed us. Not naming our military bases after them!  USA! USA! USA!  (Sorry, I lost my head for a second there.)

What else? Thomas Lane, one of the police officers who stood by as George Floyd was murdered has been released from jail after making bail. Which makes me wonder, what about the anti-bail reform people, are they OK with this? I mean, if a person shouldn't be allowed to be out on bail for dealing drugs, why should a former police officer charged with manslaughter and aiding and abetting murder be allowed out on bail?

Oh, uproar of uproars - Elmer Fudd will no longer carry a gun, and HBO Max won't show Gone with the Wind any time soon. Has the earth stopped spinning, I wonder?

That's all that'll fit for tonight.  What's got you wondering, I wonder? 

The Irony Board: I Hereby Proclaim

There are many things Donald Trump is without: ethics... compassion... empathy... kindness... humility... courtesy... and irony - don't forget irony.

We've long celebrated November as Native American Heritage Month, under President George W. Bush, President Obama and even president Trump.

This year, in addition to celebrating our Native American heritage, we are celebrating several other things, including National Veterans and Military Families Month, with a proclamation noting that

Each warrior who fights for our Nation, along with their families, has earned our eternal gratitude, and I ask that all Americans thank and support them.  Together, we remain committed to fostering a national community of support for these brave heroes and their families.

This president signed this proclamation? This president, the guy who mocked a Gold Star family for speaking out against him; who assaulted the life and memory of John McCain; who deports  immigrant veterans despite the promise of citizenship for their patriotic service or the immigrant families of our veterans and soldiers; and who most recently has turned his "eternal gratitude" on Lt. Col. Alexander Vindman? This is the guy who proclaims

I encourage all communities, all sectors of society, and all Americans to acknowledge and honor the service, sacrifices, and contributions of veterans and military families for what they have done and for what they do every day to support our great Nation.

I can't even.

We're also celebrating, for the first time, National American History and Founders Month, a time for us all to remember that

...the United States will always remain steadfast in our dedication to promoting liberty and justice over the evil forces of oppression and indignity.  This same truth fuels us in our efforts to confront the challenges that face our citizens here at home, including protecting precious religious liberties, securing our Nation’s borders, and combating the opioid crisis.

Unless, of course, you're a Muslim, a person legitimately seeking asylum, a thoroughly vetted refugee, LGBTQ, a person with Temporary Protected Status, a political opponent born in the US or a naturalized citizen, and so on.

But let's include the opioid crisis as an "evil force of oppression and indignity," while we try to strip health insurance away from millions...  Also,

This month, we acknowledge the tremendous strides we have made as a people and recognize that our democracy’s survival is dependent upon a well-informed electorate.  To ensure the success of our future generations, we pledge to continue to build a more educated citizenry. We heed the warning of President Ronald Reagan that “freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction.”

This is laughable, really, coming from a guy who lies in press conferences, lies in rallies, lies in Cabinet meetings, lies in tweets -- who lies about everything! All of his minions also lie, constantly, boldly, like clockwork, in lockstep with him, as if hearing themselves repeat something false will miraculously make it true. And knowing that if they are hearing themselves repeat something false, the president is hearing them, too, and that is good. For them. Not so much for us, but very good for them. And his supporters? Some of them believe the lies, all the lies, lie the lies right along with him, and call others liars for not agreeing with the lies. And no, 13,435 false and misleading statements do not a truth make... But,

To continue safeguarding our freedom, we must develop a deeper understanding of our American story.  Studying our country’s founding documents and exploring our unique history — both the achievements and challenges — is indispensable to the future success of our great Nation.  For more than two centuries, the American experiment in self-government has been the antithesis to tyranny, and our Constitution has secured the blessings of liberty.

This president doesn't give two hoots about the Constitution - it's just another thing about which he can uneducate the citizenry. His actions fly in the face of our founding documents, except the parts that serve his purpose-of-the-day, and he pretends the parts that don't serve him don't exist - you know, like the oversight stuff, or the Congress appropriates the money stuff, and more.

He proudly and officially compliments dictators, wishing that he had what they have -- an obedient press, subservient women, obscene military parades, and threatening people who don't agree with him. And he's got that last part, in spades.

Emoluments...government spending at Trump properties... promoting his children's personal financial interests... members of his administration doing the same...

As we sit today, he's obstructing Congress in an impeachment inquiry, he has his lawyers on a path of obstruction in ways the likes of which have never been seen before, even to the point of arguing that Trump could in fact kill someone in the middle of 5th Avenue and not even be investigated, much less indicted, while he's in office. (The president just loves that "the likes of which have never been seen before" stuff, so I thought I'd give it a whirl.)

Trump has got this American History and Founders stuff nailed, don't you think?

And the irony part? Yeah, well, that's going to have to wait for another day.

I'm Not Smarter Than a Michigan First Grader

I was going through some stacks of reading (a trend I've noticed, lately) and came upon a tiny blurb in the 'Only in America' section of The Week, a magazine that compiles US and international media reports. 

Here's what I saw that caught my eye:

Conservative lawmakers have stripped Michigan's social studies curriculum of any reference to civil rights, climate change, or "core democratic values." State Sen. Patrick Colbeck said these phrases are "not politically neutral."  Other referenced removed include Roe v. Wade, the NAACP, and gay rights. Students will be taught that "the expansion of rights for some groups can be viewed as an infringement of rights and freedoms of others."

Now, as the daughter of a social studies teacher (and a straight A student throughout my elementary and secondary educational career in that particular subject), you can probably imagine why this one was intriguing.

My dad was a creative social studies teacher back in the day, working to get kids thinking about his favorite subject not as a standalone thing, but as something connected to the world we live in. He also tried to have fun; I distinctly remember his trivia questions (pre-Internet, folks) and having to get the answers right myself so I could grade those while he read the essays he was famous for assigning. One question I was sure he had to have made up was the one about a river catching on fire (Cuyahoga River, 1969). I also remember shortened summer vacations, as he frequently was involved in negotiations and also curriculum development - stuff like they're doing around the country these days.

Anyway -- back to the Michiganders and their abolishment of the facts, or whatever it is they're trying to do. What they're trying to do is what many red states have tried to do: take back their curriculum from the liberals. This happens when there's a flip in the balance of power from D to R, from L to R, as it were.

Texas almost let students and dinosaurs walk to school together. Florida let any citizen challenge the curriculum, including statements that the United States is a democracy; it's a constitutional republic, in Florida and too, Michigan. You can read more about that in this article from the Washington Post back in 2015, which concludes after a detailed argument,

But there is no basis for saying that the United States is somehow "not a democracy but a republic." "Democracy" and "republic" aren't just words that a speaker can arbitrarily define to mean something (e.g., defining democracy as "a form of government in which all laws are made directly by the people"). They are terms that have been given meaning by English speakers more broadly. And both today and in the Framing era, "democracy" has been generally understood to include representative democracy as well as direct democracy.

I'm sure that settles nothing, right?

So - Michigan has slowed the process considerably on the modifications, which you can read for yourself  - all 142 pages of it. The documents outline the entire social studies education plan from K-12. I haven't yet read the whole thing but what I did read scares the crap out of me.

Why? Because, to be honest, I'm not going to be able to pass first grade.

Seriously.

 Assuming the edits get approved in their entirety, here's what I'm supposed to know at the age of 6. Under the goal of 'Understand the core values and principles of our unique form of democracy, called a constitutional republic' I should be able to:

Explain fair ways to make decisions and resolve conflicts in the school community. 

The example provided for that first one is majority rule. Which wouldn't have meant all that much to me at that age. I mean, if my brothers and I all wanted to stay up past our bedtime, that would have meant 100% of the children wanted to do the same thing; not only that, but the three of us outnumbered the two parents - so what's am I supposed to be learning here, again?

Next, I should be able to:

Identify and explain how important symbols of the United States of America represent core values.  

And here are the examples of important symbols: Statue of Liberty, Uncle Sam, White House, Bald Eagle. OK, those I can handle, I think. I could probably even color pictures of them, with the right crayons.

The core values? This where it gets fun:

• equality 
• rule of law 
• unalienable rights 
• limited government 
• social compact theory, and 
• the right of the people to alter or abolish an oppressive government

Limited government? Social compact theory? Altering or abolishing an oppressive government?  Come on! I'm SIX!

I get told when to get up, what to eat, what to wear (or perhaps, what not to wear would be more accurate), and when to go to bed. I have no unalienable rights, my 'government' is my mom and dad, and my rights to alter or abolish them is nonexistent.

I'm not going to get out of first grade, I swear.

The Hotel Syracuse: Looking Back, Looking Forward

There are times that it pays to pay attention.

Lobby ceiling detail

Back in December I got an email from the Onondaga Historical Association (OHA) letting me know there were still tickets available for a 'Ghostwalk' at the Hotel Syracuse. As many of you know, the Hotel Syracuse was a gem in Syracuse, dating back to the 1920s. Built by the firm that went on to do the Waldorf, she's getting ready to be restored to as much of her former glory as can be saved, and she should reopen, we learned today, on March 16, 2016.

The opportunity to get inside before the renovations kick in was too much to pass by, and I managed to get our tickets just in the nick of time.

The OHA doesn't look for ghosts on tours like this - it's not a seance or anything like that. Instead, they have actors portraying people who would have been around back in the day. Today it was folks who would have worked at the Hotel, including the concierge, the hotel detective, a bell captain, and a maid.  We also were thoroughly entertained by a singer who did a pretty good Al Jolson, Ole Blue Eyes and John Lennon.

Hotel Syracuse Lobby

Back in the 1980's I worked the Greater Syracuse Chamber of Commerce; at the time, the offices were on the street level of the Hotel on the Onondaga Street side. There were several Chamber events held in the Hotel itself.  Between those meetings, and holidays parties, and the piano bar, 'prom-watching' from the MONY Plaza, I have lots of fond memories of the hotel, but my personal history of her pales in comparison to what we learned on yesterday's trip.

According to the concierge, the Edward Joy Company (the same one you drive by on I-690 heading east out of the city) did all of the electrical work, including the sprinkler system, and there was some Stickley furniture too. All of the furnishings, including the Stickley pieces, were supplied by the E. W. Edwards department store on Salina Street. Bedding and other linens, miles of carpeting, all of the china (locally sourced from the Iroquois and Onondaga pottery companies, which eventually became our beloved Syracuse China), silverware and furniture and chandeliers and sconces (like the one in the Persian Terrace pictured here), and pretty much everything else you could see or touch in a grand hotel was delivered from just up the block.

If you're interested, there's a store directory from Edwards on the Department Store Museum blog, as well as some additional history from folks who remember it. It notes that 'our' Edwards dated to 1889, with expansion into other upstate cities (Rochester, Buffalo, Camillus and Dewitt!) happening later.

We learned from the entertainer ghost that the hotel was wired so that music played anywhere - in the ballrooms or the clubs - could be heard everywhere: the 1920's version of whole-house audio. The room he performed in eventually became the Library disco (one of only four in the country), the home for Wise Guys comedy club (recently closed in its third or fourth location) and then Viva Debris (comedy and magic).

Persian Terrace

I think the most fascinating part of the trip for me was the time we spent in the Persian Ballroom. I had no idea that there were fashion shows broadcast live from that beautiful room, while the fashionable ladies of Syracuse lunched. We learned this from two delightful performers, one the host of the show, and one the fashion director who fabulously ad-libbed as tour members modeled hats of the day.

The drapes and paint (a peach/pink/salmon color scheme), the crystal chandeliers and sconces, beautiful stone columns and white-veined black marble under the giant windows, the soaring ceiling, and the faded carpet, are as they were when the hotel closed for good back in 2004. So too is the obligatory parquet floor on which thousands of couples danced.

And now, it's the hint of what's to come for the Hotel Syracuse that has me excited.  We've previously been made aware that the original entrance, on Onondaga Street, will become the primary entrance once again.

Original lobby ceiling

And today, we learned that some of the giant arched windows that have long been covered up or painted over will become functional windows once again; that the lobby will be returned to her original glory, including the gorgeous mural that was recently uncovered, and removing a wall to give us back a balcony. We were told that the ceiling will be restored to its darker, more luxurious hue.

We learned that, underneath the paint in the Persian Terrace, there's a mural that hopefully can be restored. A small section of it is visible, including what someone said was part of an elephant's trunk.

There's so much to look back at, and so much to look forward to, as our grand Hotel Syracuse is restored. She may have a new name then and fewer rooms then she did in the 1920's, but we'll still have her history, thanks to the OHA, and hopefully there will be decades more history to be made there.  I know that I'm not the only one who will be following the progress of her restoration/renovation - and that we're not the only ones already planning on spending the night there come 2016 when she opens once again.

A Kiss Before Bouckville

Every August, My Sweet Baboo and I head both east and back in time to the Madison-Bouckville Outdoor Antiques show. 

We’ve gone every year that we’ve been together, and it’s now part of our ‘must-do’ list. We do own some antiques, nothing special and sadly, we don’t have any of those ‘oh my goodness’ items that we see on Antiques Roadshow. You know, the vase that someone picked up for two bucks on the last day of an estate sale that’s a rare Tiffany and worth tens of thousands? Yeah, that's never happened to us (or anyone I know). 

We will buy things if we can reasonably convince ourselves that we’re getting a deal, but we’re more lookers, happy to wander in and out of booths in our famous hazy, hot, humid weather, working our way up and down row after row after row in a field looking for just the perfect….well, whatever perfect thing we find. 

We’ve had some comical adventures along the way, including two that are always mentioned as our Bouckville trip draws near. The first is the time I took everything I needed – tote bag for carrying purchases, umbrella for the scattered thunderstorms we usually encounter, allergy medicine. Everything I needed, except my wallet. 

It made for interesting shopping, as you might imagine, because my eyes were likely bigger than my own wallet, but definitely bigger than MSB’s wallet. I think I kept my spending to less than $40 that day, and I can confidently say that I repaid him for my purchases immediately upon arrival home.

Another trip started strong – I found a couple of great Christmas things at one of the first booths we visited. Remember, the show is advertised as 1000 dealers, so the things you see at the first place you stop might likely be found at any number of other places - but the price may not be found later. So, being some what impetuous, and having my wallet with me this time, I decide to try a little negotiation. I got the price I wanted, paid for the things, and dropped them in my tote bag. Off to a great start! It didn't take more than about 10 minutes for me to realize that carrying around a tote bag containing cast iron Santas was going to make for a really, really long day. 

One year, we opted to not go into the main show field, but instead focused our attention on the many dealers that set up shop on both sides of Route 20, and we were not disappointed. I would guess that we must have seen close to 500 dealers just wandering around. Signs were up everywhere, pointing to parking, food, and 200 dealers! 75 dealers! 100 dealers! Three huge tents full of dealers! Another hundred dealers! For some reason - we haven’t figured out why - it seemed like a more friendly, more social atmosphere on the street than in the field. With only one or two exceptions, everyone was smiling, laughing, and having a good time. I was able to continue my concerted effort at enjoying myself and trying to overcome our famous CNY malaise, and had some fun in the process. 

One example? We were taking a break and enjoying a rare breeze while nearby a woman was trying to decide if she should pay $25 for a full length fur coat. The owner of the booth told her she looked terrific; we told her she looked terrific, but she wasn’t convinced. She stood on a chair and checked out how she looked in a car window, but she really wanted to see what it looked like. None of the nearby booths had a mirror. We encouraged her to buy, not because we had any skin in the game, but because the coat looked great and even if she only wore it one time, it would have been worth the money. 

As we walked away, she was still talking to herself about whether to get the coat. And then, lightbulb – I remembered I had my digital camera. So, back I went to the booth, the woman and the coat, took a few pictures of her, and let her see what it looked like. As soon as she saw the pictures, she was convinced, and bought the coat, a huge smile on her face. There were many other smiles too; we laughed with a couple who sold art tiles, dating back to the mid-to-late 1800’s, who were astonished when they overheard someone say the tiles were ‘just like the ones they have at Home Depot’, or the person who thought that a gorgeous tile with a $100 price tag really could be had for one dollar. 

There was a lot of stuff that caused My Sweet Baboo to wonder why on earth anyone had made the item in the first place, beyond wondering why anyone would buy it for a second time now. And of course we smiled at our finds: an expandable silver trivet, to go along with the others in my collection; two small art glass tiles that will complement our living room nicely; a bird print; an old brown bottle from a defunct Syracuse business; a great doorknob to add to the garden; and a couple of old printer’s plates that look really cool, even for folks who can’t read backwards. 

Next year, come August, we’ll get geared up for the Bouckville trip again. And like I always do, as we’re leaving the house, I’ll give My Sweet Baboo a kiss and thank him in advance for the day we’re about to have. One way or another, I know we’ll have a good time, even if we don’t buy a thing. And I know if I do find some cast iron, we’ll pick it up on our way back...