Thursday, June 25, 2015

The Circle Game

Tivoli Circle (via Wikimedia)

The fallout from the racially motivated shootings in Charleston has traveled to New Orleans and reignited a discussion among its citizens about statues and buildings named for heroes of the Confederacy or for former slave owners. This thorny point was addressed by Mayor Mitch Landrieu, who announced this week that he is now in favor of removing several statues erected to Confederate heroes, including the famous statue of General Robert E. Lee at Lee Circle.  During the Reconstruction era and before the statue of the Confederate general was erected in 1884, New Orleans citizens referred to the intersection of the upriver and downriver sections of town at present-day Howard Avenue and St. Charles Avenue as Tivoli Circle or Tivoli Gardens. This was because of the popular Tivoli Carousel that was there.

With the capture of New Orleans in April of 1862, the Confederacy lost its most valuable port and the longest Union occupation of any city began. While some merchants cheered the arrival of the Federal forces, others did not. New Orleans was made the seat of government for the state. Tempers ran high during the remainder of the war and the institution of a Reconstruction government became a sore point among business leaders. This antipathy came to a head most especially during the disputed gubernatorial election of 1872. The Democrats had claimed victory for John McEnery, while the Republicans held that William Kellogg had been elected.

An attempt to put a new, Democrat-backed government into power was put down by federal and New Orleans Metropolitan Police forces at the Battle of Liberty Place in 1873. After four days of insurrection, the Reconstruction government was put back into place and not one of the 5,000 Crescent City White League members was charged or put on trial for the attempted coup. Union forces only departed under a presidential order in 1877.

It was a decade later and five generations ago, my first family member  - my maternal great-great-grandmother -  fleeing oppression and seeking a better life, arrived in New Orleans. Sometime prior to her arrival, city fathers had erected the monolithic column topped with the former Confederate general at Tivoli Circle as a sign of defiance to the former Reconstruction government. The citizens had dubbed it Lee Circle. Neither my great-great-grandmother nor her daughter or son-in-law and their family had anything to do with the Civil War, nor slavery. They sought refuge in a city that was not always welcoming to them either. My family found strength and comfort in living in what was then the largest Jewish segment of town located near the Dryades Street commerce corridor. My great-grandfather was a barber and all of the family members lived together. Indeed, my grandfather's original drugstore was eventually located just two blocks away from Lee Circle, adjacent to the Jerusalem Temple of the Shriners.

Other than the biblical references to slavery, my family has endured nothing of the savagery of slavery, although it is probable they were persecuted as Jews to varying degrees in the series of pogroms that characterized life in Eastern Europe and the Russias. While my family has been the victim of anti-Semitism in this country, it no doubt falls far short of the organized pattern of discrimination and racism endured by African-Americans, many of whom died for taking their stands against the forces in power.

I am not insensitive to the feeling that runs through the African-American community when dealing with the issue of slavery and the glorification of the Old South.  Jews, too, have been targeted by rebel flag waving hate groups - some in white robes and some in custom-made suits - for a number of generations.

But I recognize that the principles of tolerance and understanding will not generate with the destruction of monuments or the renaming of buildings. The changes that we all seek for acceptance and equal opportunity will not come from without, but from within each of us. The power to forgive the shooter who was so full of hate came rapidly from the members of the Emanuel AME Church in Charleston in the face of inconsolable loss. That was the lesson of love that surmounted all of the death and destruction sought by the murderer.

It is an important issue to recognize that reminders of slavery and the War Between the States still exist today and that they still give rise to negative feelings for many of our citizens. However, it is just as important to recognize that even if we were to erase every Civil War vestige and reference or place them in mothballs via museums, we would still have to confront the larger question of how do
we accept each other without prejudice and hate in our hearts?

That will take soul searching, open discussions and, I am afraid, much more than enraged committees and wrecking balls.

Sunday, April 19, 2015

American Pie - Updated


In 1972 I was working at my college radio station, WTUL, when Don McLean’s American Pie came out. Speculation ran rampant then about what could he have meant with respect to all of the allusions to popular music. I remember one time doing a very funny routine (or so I thought at the time) which parodied the entire song on the radio station live as it played. But I really had several thoughts about what McLean was trying to say and generated my own analysis, which I kept to myself. 

Nearly a generation ago, Madonna's cover of the song regenerated interest in McLean's verses and I took the opportunity to write down my own interpretation for the first time.


Recently, on April 8, 2015, McLean sold the original lyrics to the song for $1.2 million to an unnamed collector. He took the occasion to offer comments for the first time about this song that hailed rock and roll music, but bemoaned several trends within it. Prior to this recent sale and the accompanying notes that went with the manuscript, McLean had steadfastly refused to explain the meaning of his lyrics. 

I am gratified to learn that much of what I had interpreted is acknowledged by McLean to be correct. While I admit that there are some areas that still need clarification, I offer to you my own updated spin on these enigmatic lyrics.

A long, long time ago,  
I can still remember
How that music used to make me smile.
Don McLean wrote American Pie circa 1970, about a year before the same-titled album was released on United Artists Records. As a boy, McLean was profoundly influenced by the impact of rock and roll music. Whether he is referring here specifically to the happy doo-wop vocals of the era or to comical songs like the Diamonds’ Little Darling or the Coasters’ Charlie Brown, remains to be seen. Suffice it to say that McLean recalls the early rock and roll era was great fondness.
And I knew if I had my chance,That I could make those people dance,And maybe they’d be happy for a while.
McLean gives us insight here that he wanted to become a performer even back then. Popular rock and roll parties all involved dancing couples as a means of social interaction. It is important to remember that these were the Eisenhower years. The movie Pleasantville alludes to much of the repression of the times.
But February made me shiver
With every paper I’d deliver.
Bad news on the doorstep.
I couldn’t take one more step.
Here he refers quite pointedly to the Cold War and the fear of mutual assured nuclear annihilation between Russia and America. McLean was, reportedly, a newspaper delivery boy at that time, so the allusion to the doorstep is a literal one too. By specifically mentioning February, however, he summons up the image of that dreaded February 3, 1959 Iowa plane crash that took the lives of Texas rocker Buddy Holly, Latin idol Richie Valens, and J. P. Richardson, known as "The Big Bopper." For many people like McLean (the Beatles and the Rolling Stones included), Buddy Holly was one of their most profound influences. His death created a void that was never filled.

I can’t remember if I cried,
When I read about his widowed bride.
Holly left behind a pregnant wife, Maria Elena, who had only recently been married and, unfortunately, suffered a miscarriage shortly after the tragedy. 
But something touched me deep inside
The day the music died.
The loss of Holly, Valens, and Richardson on that snowy February day in Iowa sent shock waves across the country. For many people it became the day the music died, but I believe that McLean is also using it here metaphorically as a jumping off spot to comment on the state of rock and roll since 1959.

(Refrain) So, bye-bye, Miss American Pie,Drove my Chevy to the levee,But the levee was dry.
The chorus is a bit enigmatic. I believe that the term summons forth a metaphor of innocence and naiveté. Chevrolets were, of course, the cars of choice for many teenagers at the time and I believe that this poetic device summons up their free spirit as well as pointing to the Fifties in a general way.

It is very interesting that McLean mentions levees. Two of the major cities along the Mississippi River have extensive levee systems, namely Memphis, Birthplace of the Blues, and New Orleans, Birthplace of Jazz and Home of Rhythm and Blues. Were it not for blues and rhythm and blues, rock and roll would never have evolved into the popular medium that it proved to be. Jazz, of course, is the only true indigenous American art form.

And them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye

Singin’ this’ll be the day that I die,

This’ll be the day that I die.
The ending of the chorus alludes to several things. Underage drinking being the norm, many parents and role models ignored or looked the other way at rock and roll parties. Good old boys suggests a Southern influence such as found in Elvis Presley, who hailed from Mississippi, and Buddy Holly, a Texan. One of Holly’s most noted songs was That’ll Be the Day That I Die and McLean makes a specific reference to it here.
Did you write the Book of Love?And do you have faith in God above,
If the Bible tells you so?
McLean begins his first uptempo verse with a reference to the Monotones Book of Love, one of several songs of that generation that defined boy-girl relationships. Also, there were several songs at the time which were spiritual in nature that enjoyed great success. The Platters’ My Prayer and several songs by the Jordanaires, who backed Elvis Presley, were quite popular at the time. The song Jesus Loves Me contains the verse "Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so" and I believe that McLean’s similar prose is intentional.
Now, do you believe in rock and roll?

Can music save your mortal soul?

And can you teach me how to dance real slow?
Rock and roll music became something of a religion for the teenagers of the time. Buddy Holly and the others, in a sense, became the first of many martyrs of rock and roll music. It gave the young adults of the era something to follow that was distinctly theirs and apart from their parents. 

Some years later, the Lovin Spoonful asked Do You Believe in Magic? Within it are the lines "It’s like trying to tell a stranger ‘bout rock and roll." Coincidental? Maybe.

Slow dancing between teenagers became a part of the ritual of the rock and roll dance. Slow ballads like In the Still of the Night or Twilight Time encouraged intimacy at rock and roll dances.

Well, I know that you’re in love with him
‘Cause I saw you dancin’ in the gym.
You both kicked off your shoes.
Man, I dig those rhythm and blues.
Touch dancing, which lost its popularity with the influence of dances like the Twist, the Watusi, the Frug, the Swim, and the Mashed Potato (among others) during the Sixties also suffered due to the extended guitar solos prominent in many latter day songs. The gymnasium was the place of choice for many school dances and, in order to protect the floor surfaces, students were encouraged to take off their shoes. This is where the term "sock hop" emanated.

As to rhythm and blues, New Orleans became a major breakout center for popular music of the day. Allan Freed, the Cleveland disc jockey credited with popularizing the term "rock and roll" was chiefly responsible for getting white middle-class teenagers to open up to the largely black influences of gospel, blues, and rhythm and blues that defined rock and roll music. "Race music," as the black music was called, was rarely allowed to be heard over popular Top-40 formats of the day. In fact, many white teenagers first heard Fats Domino’s Blueberry Hill not by Fats at all, but by squeaky-clean, buckskin-wearing Pat Boone! His cover version was deemed more acceptable by middle-class radio station program directors. 

When Sam Phillips at Sun Records was able to get a good looking white male, Elvis Presley, to sing the songs of these black acts, he helped crown the next King of Rock and Roll, making the music accessible to white America. But remember, too, that Phillips was also responsible for getting country acts like Johnny Cash to incorporate their repertoire into the rock and roll genre and made it possible for Buddy Holly and the Crickets to rise to the top of the charts.

I was a lonely teenage broncin’ buck
With a pink carnation and a pickup truck
But I knew I was out of luck
The day the music died.
Dion and the Belmonts recorded A Lonely Teenager and A Teenager in Love around this time. My take on "broncin’ buck" is that many Western songs were popular in the day, such as those by Frankie Laine and Marty Robbins. Robbins’ A White Sport Coat and a Pink Carnation is obviously used for reference here. I might suggest that the following line could well cover some of the songs dealing with teenage automobile deaths like Teen Angel by Mark Dinning or Last Kiss by J. Frank Wilson, but that might be stretching it a bit.


I started singin’
(Refrain) 
Bye-bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’ this’ll be the day that I die,
This’ll be the day that I die.
The refrain brings us back to consider Buddy Holly and the influences of blues and rhythm and blues in rock and roll. It might be added here that much of this music was heard in music club venues or "joints" that readily sold alcohol to their patrons.

Now for ten years we’ve been on our ownAnd moss grows fat on a rolling stone,
But that’s not how it used to be.
McLean continues the song with a veiled reference to Buddy Holly’s plane crash and he uses the expression of "a rolling stone never gathers moss" to make reference to Bob Dylan. Dylan’s Like a Rolling Stone was his first major hit, but his influence among performers like Peter, Paul and Mary and Joan Baez had already been firmly established. In the early Sixties, Dylan’s folk music and, later, electric rock changed the American musical landscape through his penchant for poetry and his de-emphasis on simplistic lyrics and tunes.

When the jester sang for the king and queen
In a coat he borrowed from James Dean
And a voice that came from you and me.
Bob Dylan is, of course, the jester. Elvis Presley would, undoubtedly, be the "King" of Rock and Roll and Connie Francis would, probably, serve as his queen. Francis’ wholesome qualities and runaway best sellers would categorize her as the best female artist of the era.
As McLean suggests, Dylan’s voice was not especially pretty, almost laughable to some. But the voice wasn’t the big draw for Dylan’s legions of fans. It was what his music had to say to them. Dylan’s first album, The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan, pictured him on the cover in a windbreaker which, except for the fact that it was not red, could have passed for the jacket that Dean wore in the movie Rebel Without a Cause. Many promotional pins and posters of the day promulgated from Columbia Records suggested that Dylan was a "rebel" and exhorted his fans to "Be Different – He Is." The roots of Dylan’s music were categorized as American folk with Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger having both had prime influences on him. Yet, while his music ceased to be purely folk in the intervening years, it could still be thought of as music stemming from all of America, hence "in a voice that came from you and me."

Oh, and while the king was looking down
The jester stole his thorny crown.
The courtroom was adjourned.
No verdict was returned.
Elvis joined the Army in 1958 at the absolute zenith of his fame. RCA Records continued to release his records over the course of the next two years when he was in the service so that the public never knew that he was away from the recording studio. Nevertheless, when he returned to both a movie and recording career in 1960, Presley’s popularity had waned. He was still very popular, but his effect had diminished appreciably. Buddy Holly had stirred the public’s imagination during Presley’s absence, but after his untimely demise, Bob Dylan was the one who became the force to be reckoned with. The reference to the "thorny crown" has biblical implications of martyrdom or the price that one must pay for celebrity. Presley, for example, was never able to go to a film theater by himself, opting, instead, to buy the entire movie house out. Likewise, Dylan became something of a recluse during the Sixties. McLean’s lyrics here about the courtroom could be taken literal, but I believe they are figurative. I believe, rather than what others might think, that it is not a reference to the Chicago Seven, etc. It is my opinion, rather, that he is talking about the court of popular opinion about whom was the undisputed "king." Dylan inherited the mantle by default, filling the vacuum left behind by Presley’s departure from the music scene when he opted for a more prominent and lucrative film career.

And while Lenin read a book on Marx
The quartet practiced in the park,
And we sang dirges in the dark
The day the music died.
We were singing
(Refrain)
The impact of Beatlemania is first mentioned here. The Lenin is actually John Lennon, not Vladimir Lenin, yet the poetic license here is brilliant. John Lennon’s politics were decidedly leftist and controversial, so to use the image of the renowned Bolshevik as a figure for the leader of the Beatles is quite fitting. The quartet – The Beatles – was so popular they couldn’t tour in clubs or small theatres. They had to book into large stadiums and arenas, many times unable to hear themselves above the din of the crowd. The reference to dirges might again be interpreted as McLean’s take on the way that popular music had evolved from rock and roll to album-oriented rock music featuring songs with long guitar solos and little or no opportunity for dancing.
Helter Skelter in a summer swelter
The birds flew off with a fallout shelter
Eight miles high and falling fast.
The Beatles’ Helter Skelter (from their so-called White Album) came out after the Watts Riots of 1965 and the "Summer of Love" in 1967, but it is metaphorically used to convey the confusion and resentment in the nation with regards to Civil Rights and the Vietnam War. Nuclear proliferation was at an all time high as both the United States and the Soviet Union teetered toward nuclear destruction and McLean makes note of that by mentioning the fallout shelter. The Byrds, considered by many to be the first American supergroup, and many others began experimenting with marijuana and other drugs including LSD. Their song, Eight Miles High, was banned by several stations because its lyrics purportedly sponsored drug usage.
It landed foul out on the grass
The players tried for a forward pass
With the jester on the sidelines in a cast.
McLean mixes both a football and baseball metaphor here. Obviously using grass, or marijuana, caused many musical players, John Lennon included, to run "afoul" of the law. A forward pass in football could be interpreted here as a "passing" of a "joint" from one to the other in hopes of further experimentation with their various music forms. Some have suggested that McLean was referring to The Rolling Stones as the players trying for widespread fame, but I am not so certain. Because of later lyrics, I believe he is referring to the Beatles. Dylan, as "the jester," was noticeably absent during this time due to an almost-fatal motorcycle crash that literally kept him in a cast for several months.
Now the half-time air was sweet perfume
While the sergeants played a marching tune
We all got up to dance,
Oh, but we never got the chance.
McLean begins this verse with a reference that I believe is to the Beatles’ gig at Shea Stadium. The sweet perfume may simply mean that the Beatles fans were following their idols’ beliefs that "all you need is love." It may also be intimating the fact that drug usage was beginning to become popular among youth or that some might be feeling attractions to Eastern religions like Buddhism that utilize incense in their worship. Some have gone so far as to suggest that these words refer to the riots at the Chigago Democratic National Convention with the "sweet perfume" representing tear gas. While that may never be determined, the sergeants are, in my estimation, the Beatles whose Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band album revolutionized album rock. Again, McLean bemoans the lack of dancing in the popular music of the day.
‘Cause the players tried to take the field,
The marching band refused to yield.
Do you recall what was revealed
The day the music died?
We started singing
(Refrain)
While at Shea Stadium, the Beatles and, later other groups, could not be intimate with their audiences ever again. The marching band, while a slight reference to Sgt. Pepper’s, is in reality an allusion to the huge numbers of police who were present there and at other concert venues. Performers like the Beatles were unable to mix with the crowd because of security concerns from the police. Fans who wanted to get close were kept at a distance by the swinging batons of the local constabulary when the crowd charged the stage.
Oh, and there we were all in one place
A generation Lost in Space
With no time left to start again.
There is very little doubt that McLean is pointing to Woodstock at the very beginning of this verse. The reference to the generation "Lost in Space" has a double meaning, of course. This Woodstock generation was also the first television generation, whose consciousness was raised by programs like Star Trek and Saturday morning’s Lost in Space. They suggested that the human race could advance into space with dignity and humanity not encumbered by differences in race, creed, or national origin. The real space race was going on at this time, of course. Neil Armstrong walked on the moon only days before Woodstock became the largest concert of its kind. With antipathy towards America’s involvement in the Vietnam War and drug usage at an all time high, it is no wonder that so many felt helpless and discouraged, willingly embracing the lifestyle of the so-called "hippies."
So come on,
Jack be nimble, Jack be quick,
Jack Flash sat on a candlestick,Cause fire is the Devil’s only friend.
Mick Jagger and the Rolling Stones are, of course, the focus of these verses. Jumping Jack Flash was a major hit for them at the time. McLean tends to see Jagger as an anti-Christ figure and suggests that the Stones were following a much darker path in their music. The Stones always maintained a close tie with the blues, so it is only natural that their music be conceived by the religious right as that of "the Devil’s." Ironically, one of their early hits was Play with Fire. The reference to the candlestick is to Candlestick Park which was suggested, but ultimately rejected, as a venue for the Rolling Stones free concert that was eventually held at the Altamont Motor Speedway in 1969.


Oh, and as I watched him on the stage,
My hands were clenched in fists of rage.
No angel born in hell
Could break that Satan’s spell.
And as the flames climbed high into the night
To light the sacrificial rite,
I saw Satan laughing with delight
The day the music died.
He was singing
(Refrain)

Two of the major hits of the Rolling Stones at that time were Paint It Black and Sympathy for the Devil, the latter of which became inextricably linked with Mick Jagger. The concert at Altamont was a disaster for the Rolling Stones after the Hell’s Angels motorcycle gangs that had been hired as bodyguards exceeded their authority, beating scores of faithful fans and fatally knifing one. To McLean (and others) Woodstock showed the promise of what could peaceably be accomplished, while Altamont pointed out the shortcomings of large rock festivals.

I met a girl who sang the blues

And I asked her for some happy news,

But she just smiled and turned away.

This is a patently obvious reference to Janis Joplin, whose bluesy style was the foundation for Big Brother and the Holding Company. Joplin smiled and turned away, as McLean says, due to her increased involvement with drugs. Her death and those of Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison sent reverberations throughout the music industry.

I went down to the sacred storeWhere I’d heard the music years before,But the man there said the music wouldn’t play.

Having worked in a record store for many years, I can attest to what McLean is relating here. Years ago when Buddy Holly was all the rage and Elvis was still "King," record companies sent out long-play albums with no shrink-wrapping. Albums were played in cubicles, listened to by legions of faithful fans, and purchased on the spot. If one purchased the last copy in stock, it would not necessarily be unplayed or pristine. Once albums began to be shipped out with factory seals, however, it was impossible to play these albums at record stores because they would not be accepted for returns to the manufacturers with the seals broken. This is why record stores had play copies or promotional copies provided by the record companies. So, literally, the music wouldn’t play there anymore. Some have suggested that he additionally may be referring to the demise of music venues like the Fillmores East and West, but I don’t see that.


And in the streets the children screamed,
The lovers cried and the poets dreamed,
But not a word was spoken,
The church bells all were broken.

It is my feeling that McLean is referring to the anti-war movement and the many different clashes by police and demonstrators. The "Love Generation" suffered many lost battles including those waged in People’s Park in Berkeley, California and at college campuses across the country. While the tragedies as Kent State and Jackson State Universities were yet to occur, McLean does not suggest that all’s well here. In fact, far from it.
This was also the time when the prevailing question on covers of news magazines was "Is God Dead?" Thousands of disillusioned youth turned away from the teachings of the established religions, searching for spirituality through worship in alternative religions such as the Hare Krishnas, the Ba’hai Faith, and others. Still others influenced by psychedelic drugs and "free love" established communes that promoted non-traditional lifestyles and families. Methods of freeing one’s self from drugs and achieving spiritual nirvana were also explored within the practice of Transcendental Meditation and others, making the established Church less enticing.
And the three men I admire most,
The Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost,
They caught the last train for the coast
The day the music died.
And they were singing
(Refrain twice)
California became a wild center at the end of the Sixties for all kinds of religious practices. What I think McLean is trying to say here is that traditional religion had lost its luster for the masses. Even songs like Spirit in the Sky by Norman Greenbaum had now come into play, rising steadily up the charts and mixing rock music with religion. Indeed, rock music had become a religion unto itself. The reference to the Trinity might also be seen as a final veiled reference to Buddy Holly, Richie Valens, and the Big Bopper and a comment on the state that popular music was in at the beginning of the Seventies. 


It was a monumental work by McLean and is still very much worthy of examination and analysis even nearly 45 years after it was written.


(All lyrics Copyright Don McLean and MCA Records)                               
(©2000/2015 Alan Smason)


Sunday, December 14, 2014

A whimper, not a bang



My father-in-law died yesterday morning.  After more than a week in the intensive care unit of a local hospital, his systems began to shut down and his heart ceased its rhythmic beating at 98 years of age.

An irascible and difficult man, he lived by his own standards, not caring much for what others thought or said. His opinion was the only one that counted and he moved through life with the ease of a lava flow, alternately wreaking emotional havoc wherever he went as often as spreading joy.

Despite his cantankerous nature and his outward contempt for others, he could be a very charming individual, a man who bred within his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren a deep love for family and the arts.

It was his love of family that may have brought about his demise. Despite an ongoing battle with scoliosis and a bout with prostrate cancer 30 years ago, he was in excellent health up until a few years ago, when his health began to fade slowly. His demise was sudden and unexpected. He had caught the flu while visiting with family members on Thanksgiving Day. His fragile immune system was unable to recover and he began to experience a combination of respiratory, renal and cardiac failures. Because of claustrophobia, he was reluctant to permit the use of feeding tubes and breathing masks, medical devices that probably would have elongated his already long life span.

He was a man full of life - an accomplished pianist and painter -  and it seemed like nothing could ever diminish his zest for living and his larger-than-life personality. He demanded loyalty even if he did not return it. His children felt his brusque reproach at times when he was displeased with them and his grandchildren, similarly, received stern admonitions from him were they did not live up to his expectations. But as difficult as he proved to be, almost everyone loved him dearly.

Everyone that is, except me.

After my wife died nearly 20 years ago, my father-in-law talked directly to me less and less, despite the fact I had done nothing derogatory or unsavory to him save marry and love his daughter. He did dote on my son - his  grandson - as he grew up without a mother and the truth is that I had lost my own father just prior to my wife's passing. I could have used a strong shoulder for support during that time, but he rebuked me by turning away from me and ignoring me when I would offer him greetings. Nevertheless, I encouraged my son to spend time with his grandfather.

I endeavored to be better than him in approaching this awkward situation, but after more than a decade of the cold shoulder treatment, I decided to return ill favor with ill favor. I ceased saying hello or acknowledging him at family gatherings, because I saw no value in striving to take the high road when he insisted on taking the road less traveled.

So, it was in a strange place I found myself this week. There I was, inside his ICU room wearing medical gloves and donning a surgical mask that covered my nose and mouth. I spoke to him through the mask and he responded with a weak and frail voice. I told him I was sorry and that I hoped he would be getting better. For a moment there was no longer a contemptible reprobate in front of me, but a sickly old man, who was preparing to leave this world and enter the next.

I didn't feel joy at his dilemma, only pity. Somehow, the rancor between us was like a veil that was lifted. My antipathy towards him no longer existed and all that remained was regret. Yes, regret. There was regret that had he acted more favorably toward me, we might have shared the joy of life and been close friends and buddies for, lo, these past two decades.

And, yet, I knew it was too late, that time was running out, making this newborn truce between two stubborn forces just a temporary respite.

When his struggles ceased, it was peaceful. There was release and then genuine sorrow. In my lifetime I have lost a great-grandfather, two grandfathers, my own father and now my father-in-law. There are no father figures left in my life, a fact I contemplate as I prepare to become a grandfather myself for the very first time.

And so I mourn for what might have been. I wish our relationship had been closer before death forever separated us. I now join compassionately with my family members in missing and memorializing him.

It is essential, though, I keep inviolate in me the valuable lesson I have learned here: Always strive to open my heart and be of a kindhearted spirit or else risk squandering an opportunity to love completely and be loved in return.


Thursday, October 16, 2014

Blog Action Day - Inequality


When the topic of inequality usually rears its head around my house, there's no one to lord over me. I am, if you Seinfeld people will allow me the decency of using a formerly harmless expression, the master of my own domain.

But inequality exists in many quarters in many nations and is accepted as a matter of course by many societies. It is a fact of Nature observed by Darwin and noted by other eminent scientists in studies regarding survival, pecking orders and those who occupy various levels of the food chain.

Why is it that there still are "untouchables" in India, the largest democracy in the world? Does the caste system there make sense in a modern world? Can we make sense of Bollywood? In both cases, probably not, yet there they are. Too often inequality is tied to wealth or lack thereof. But wealth is not the only determinant. Were Brad Pitt penniless or Jennifer Laurence homeless, I am certain they would not be lonely.

Inequality exists in social settings due to prejudice and the norms of a polite society. To be homeless, for example, carries with it a stigma that many cannot overcome easily. To be hungry is not a choice any rational person would make. But for many who have a roof over their heads and whose stomachs are full, there is an inbred resentment at those who seek assistance. "Get a job!" they think or mutter under their breaths. One time I wish the subject at hand would answer: "I've got a job and I'm happy. I'm my own boss and set my own hours. You, on the other hand, have to answer to a boss, whom you may not like, and have to punch a clock. So, just how happy are you?"

Many times these people have just fallen on hard times or are fighting the insidious disease of addiction and have yet to reach their bottom or find their higher power. That doesn't make it right that they ask for help, but it doesn't excuse them from asking for it either. I remember reading that one of the richest women in Great Britain, J. K. Rowling, the author of the Harry Potter series, was on assistance from the state about 17 years ago. She saw her first million only 12 years ago. She had divorced and lost her mother, but she had the resolve and purpose to pull herself out of the financial mire in which she lived. She came back better than Harry did at Vold...uh...Volde...uh...Voldm...uh...the one whose name dare not be uttered.

Inequality exists because it is part of the structure of society. It is overtly simplistic, but true. Some must be relegated to do the jobs that few want to do. Others make or are given the opportunity to enjoy the blessings of a charmed, affluent life. Most of us fall in between those two extremes. Sometimes we are the engineers and designers of the waste control systems. Other times we are the sewer workers.

Education can be a leveler of inequality, but not always. With today's rising costs of higher education and the staggering cost associated with K-12 private school education, the middle class is finding itself priced out of the best educational opportunities. Student loans at colleges carry with them unforgivable burdens that can take decades to pay back. Students paying back college loans may not be able to afford buying a home for at least a decade. That can't be good for housing starts or loans being taken out. Of course, we shouldn't be too worried about the banks. They're gaining advantage from fewer mortgages being taken out that are being paid back as well as those loans that carry high rates as well. If a student were to take a hint, become a banker.

A student who has a K-12 or college scholarship has an unequal leg up on his more affluent classmates. That can counter some - but not all - of the inequality associated with higher education.

On the other side of the equation, the concept of affirmative action to counter the past wrongs of colleges in admissions and acceptance to graduate and professional schools, may have been appropriate three or four decades ago. Nevertheless, its continued practice today raises a question that some may find hard to swallow.  Does it make sense to maintain a system of giving advantage to a group who no longer requires or should take assistance? Inequality for the sake of equality doesn't make sense when the playing field has been leveled and everyone is on par with another.

Think about it in sports terms. In Major League Baseball, the New York Yankees' big pocketbook allows it to build teams of superstars only wished for by others. That is inequality of teams gone awry. In the National Football League, the draft and salary caps help bring parity to all the teams. I guess that makes the NFL - recently criticized for its handling of the Ray Rice and Adrian Peterson cases - the undisputed champion of equality, even though it's among those rich franchise owners.

#BAD2014, #Inequality and #BlogAction

Monday, October 13, 2014

My mistress


I am in love. There is no doubt about it. I am hopelessly, helplessly, unabashedly trapped in a relationship that is, at best, unrequited and, at worst, toxic. My mistress is a constant flirt, shamelessly bestowing her ample charms on anyone who stares in her direction. She cares not whom she seduces - men, women - even mere children - have all given in to her wily ways.

I introduce a new friend to her and she takes him as her new lover, making him smile and giving him joy that I had hoped she would keep just for me. I am furious. I am jealous. I am miserable knowing how easily she can be another's. I vow I must leave her for trifling so with my affections.

But no. My mistress kisses me broadly and smiles, knowing I can never leave her, that my heart is hers for the keeping and no matter how sullied her reputation may be or how gaudy she may be seen by outsiders, she will always have me in her firm grasp.

She does a little pirouette in front of me, promising me that she will be faithful, but it's always the same. She is off entreating others to sample of her charms, her beautiful curves, the savory food she offers to unsuspecting strangers and the hot music that is her very own.

Yes, I am just another victim of this harlot, who will never know the meaning of the word fidelity. She will forever torture me with her lewd and lascivious manner and spread her arms out to bring others to her bosom who, like me, become her powerless victims.

There is no doubt: she is hot. She is sassy. She is steamy. She is my one and true love and I acknowledge I will never escape my mistress. I resign myself to my destiny for I know that even were I to move to the far ends of the Earth, I would be drawn back, siren-like, to be with her again.

I give in to her, my cruel, uncaring and wonderful love. I surrender to her again and again. There is no one else like her and there will never be another to rival her.

Yes, you are my greatest love and inspiration: my hometown, New Orleans!


Monday, May 12, 2014

My friends, my mentors, my loves

As April was about to make its exit, my very close friend Cheryl Baraty, a woman of enormous charm and wit and a brilliant attorney, also made her exit from this earthly plane. Almost as if to not bring attention to herself, Cheryl's departure was quiet and as dignified as possible. She had made peace with the inevitable some time ago, even as relatives, friends, clients and associates hoped a miracle might be found to save her.

The last week of Cheryl's life was hardly anything that could be remotely considered as quality. From reports I received, she was so heavily medicated that the best she could do was sleep and feebly attempt to communicate through those still sparkling eyes.

While I was not there at the end, I had seen her several months ago in December, just as the ravages of the inoperable and terminal cancer began to take its toll on her frail frame. I talked to her over the phone in smidgens and jots of time. She was brave. She was courageous. She was never bitter, but kept a stiff upper lip as she began to deal with excruciating pain. The medication brought her relief, but the cost was to descend into a cloudy existence that dulled her and deadened her mind.

She stopped eating several days before her final passage. She had dropped a tremendous amount of weight and had no strength left in her. I had seen the same thing happen only a few months before in October when my other close Scouting friend, Gene von Rosenberg, went from being mobile and using a walker to having so little strength in his emaciated body that he was confined to a bed for the remainder of his few days. Gene, like Cheryl, was only 57.

Cheryl was old enough to have been a mother and raised a son, yet never would enjoy the plaintive sound of her grandchildren's laughter.

Gene never heard the sound of his own children, but reveled in hearing the sound of others' children, including my own son David. Like his father Dale, Gene was both an Eagle Scout and a Scoutmaster, a position he held for 30 years. All the Von Rosenberg men: Dale, Gene and his two other brothers, were Eagle Scouts.

Because she was a woman, Cheryl never had a youth spent in Boy Scouting, but enjoyed a long period as an established Cubmaster in Milwaukee and later became the local chair of the Jewish Committee on Scouting and the Central Region chair of the National Jewish Committee on Scouting. She considered being a Cubmaster as among the most satisfying of her pursuits. In her own way, she thought that connecting the local Jewish Scouts to their own religion might stem the tide of those who saw no relevance to their faith and practice and were tempted towards intermarriage and, possibly, divorce. Through her clients, Cheryl had seen what becomes of divorce and she wanted to alleviate their distress.

As a family lawyer, it was ironic to her that she and her husband had one of the most acrimonious of divorces and that she was unable to prevent years of abusive behavior and disrespect. Even while dealing with her own recalcitrant son, Cheryl reached out to others to push the Jewish Scouting program and help others.

She was a tireless fighter and possessed an indomitable spirit. As she sunk deeper and deeper into a drug-induced fog, she began to lose her most precious of gifts: her ability to communicate. She found she couldn't speak well and eventually used her eyes to indicate her approval or disapproval. Her ability to even hold small objects became a challenge. Yet, there she was hanging tough and persevering, holding on with every ounce of strength within her.

Her colleagues in the northern region at Market America and Shop.com, a firm for which she had been working for the past four years in her spare time, presented her with a special award they established in her honor last April. They named it the Cheryl Baraty Perseverance Award and have made it an annual honor.

Perseverance was a trait both Cheryl and Gene shared. They both fought as best they could before they gave themselves over to God. As always after death, we remember not how they died, but how they lived. The world is a little less interesting without Cheryl and Gene in it. Scouting has lost two of its best illustrations of selfless leaders. While they are gone now, the reasons they became involved with Scouting remain as true today as they were when they first began their associations.

I honor their name by continuing my work to the advancement of Scouting and to improve its image as best I can. They showed me the way to do it correctly and proudly and I salute them and thank the Great Scoutmaster that I had the opportunity to learn from them and work side by side with them. They were among my truest friends, my greatest of mentors and my deepest of pure loves.

Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Under the "C"


 ©Fox News Corporation

So, perhaps there is justice in this world, after all. Perhaps a monster, who captures, chains, deprecates, enslaves, impregnates and, eventually, murders will face a higher judge than many of us had hoped and clearly at a closer date than we could ever have imagined.

For the four victims in Cleveland, one of whom never survived his or her pregnancy, there probably will be a hollow sense of victory. The thought of knowing their captor would never be freed and would be submitted to solitary confinement for most of the rest of what would have been expected to be a lengthy prison stay, may have strengthened them. Now that sense that he would pay with his freedom and would have time to consider his past actions has been stripped from them by his last cowardly act.

I will never mourn his death, because he doesn't deserve anyone to recall his name in any manner. His crime of making women disappear should be his ultimate fate. The memory of his walking this earth, breathing the same air as his victims and inflicting horrible acts behind closed doors and shuttered windows should be as vacuous as the empty lot where his house once stood.

And so for his victims and their families, their is only one thing to remember and that is to forget. Forget his face, his gait, his smell, his touch, his voice and anything that would ever remind you of his terrible visage. Forget the years of imprisonment and torture as best can be expected. It is only when his memory is wiped away fully from their collective conscience,  they will know the true meaning of justice and a measure of true freedom. Only time and their own sense of resolve will heal their wounds.

So, while news crews today and in the ensuing days will recall his suicide seeking responsible parties to blame, I will try to avoid hearing or watching their reports. I don't want to forget what he did. His crimes were heinous. I just want to forget him, blotting out his memory with the same viciousness that he perpetrated his unspeakable crimes against humanity, not just women. 

In the end I wish that those who survived their ordeal can free themselves from the bonds of years of hopelessness and despair by knowing that today it is truly over. Today they have something to live for: freedom and self-determination...and life, something their tormentor will never have. Like the Romans who sewed salt into the fields of defeated Carthage, leaving their fields barren, let us strive to make his name and image just as barren in the recesses of our mind. Let us never forget what he did. In the name of his victims, let us make him the non-entity he so richly deserves. It is by these deliberate actions that we will forget and he will disappear forever.