Today is September 8, 2024 and fifty years ago on this Sunday, Gerald Ford pardoned Richard Nixon for his Watergate related crimes. Ford said he did so to put the past behind the country, but the pardon offended many and served to solidify the mindset of most finally and fully against Nixon and, by association, Ford.

The passage of two more years did little to assuage the resentment and led to the election of Jimmy Carter and the loss of many Republican seats in Congress. The Republican leadership vacuum led to the rise of Ronald Reagan and a refreshed new era for the party, for better or worse, or both.

One might wonder if Nixon’s crimes and his pardon were somewhere in the calculus of the Supreme Court in its ruling this year on Trump’s immunity claims. By most legal standards the decision went much farther than merely ruling on the questions before it, establishing not just new law, but Constitutional law that Congress, and as a practical matter the people, could not undo. In an all too real sense, the court seems to have attempted to pardon Trump.

Time and history take their time in unfolding, and I hope reason and justice will prevail for our country in due time. This election, though, seems an inflection point in history and a chance to reset our country’s path and assure its future.

Just my opinion. When all is said and done, we will see.

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Almost two years after the Watergate burglary, Richard Nixon resigned as President on this day, August 8, in 1974. In the fifty years since that time, we avoided any similar danger and tragedy, at least until the term of President 45, whose name doesn’t need or deserve to be mentioned. Financial verdicts have gone against him again and gain, and so far, despite felony convictions, he has avoided the consequences of his misdeeds, but as Nixon’s case proved, the wheels of justice do indeed turn slowly.

Like MLK’s phrase, “the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice,” karma should ultimately deliver its due. That has been my mantra since 2016, despite all that has ensued to cast doubt, but I’ve reminded myself and others repeatedly that time itself is patient, as Nixon’s case proved.

In 1972, I turned 18 and paid more than academic attention to the election race between Nixon and McGovern. The residents above my dorm room were young Republicans, which at the time was merely a difference in perspective and not a cause for hatred. They displayed a “Nixon’s the One” campaign sign in their window. My roommate and I responded by our own sign below that said, “to blame.” We were prescient as it turns out, since time did blame Nixon for the burglary and coverup, but both we and our upstairs neighbors enjoyed the joke, which made the campus paper.

I won’t share who I voted for that years, but I do still have a framed McGovern/Shriver bumper sticker hanging in my office, a sense of perspective and a trust that our “better natures” will prevail.

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This April is checkered with notable anniversaries, some of which I’ve clustered here. Today, April 25, happens to be the 50th anniversary of the first practical solar cell, created by (no surprise) Bell Labs. Development and improvements have continued since then, to the point that we can now have solar farms to harvest sunshine, something nature has done through photosynthesis for billions of years, but we are learning.

This year notes the 300th anniversary of the birth of Emanuel Kant. His name is not a household word, but he was perhaps the first modern systematic philosopher. His ethics propounded that one’s actions must be based on principles that apply to all and which respect all persons, not merely oneself. That’s about as close to the Golden Rule as an academic mind could craft.

Tragically, yesterday was the 25th anniversary of the Columbine school massacre in which two students shot and killed 12, before taking their own lives. It was perhaps the first significant school shooting, which have continued unabated since, including the Uvalde tragedy last year. It’s hard to comprehend that our society tolerates such child sacrifice in the seeming name of gun rights.

And last, and perhaps least to most, April is a month to celebrate poetry. With that and the looming rising of two midwestern sets of cicadas, thirteen and seventeen year broods that coincide this season. Our most recent uprising in my area was brood X in 2017, in whose honor I wrote the following bit of a poem.

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It has been fifty years now since April 9, 1974 when Hank Aaron surpassed Babe Ruth’s home run record with his 715th home run. The stadium in Atlanta where it occurred is long gone, but the portion of the outfield wall the ball flew over remains as a fitting tribute to Aaron’s accomplishment.

As an Atlantan and as someone who appreciates baseball history, Aaron stood out for me in the quiet way he went about his career and his pursuit of one of the great records in the sport. He helped make at least partly true Atlanta’s motto, “the city too busy to hate,” but he did experience plenty of hate and abuse. In the years running up to his record, he had to hire a secretary to sort through the hate and fan mail he received, the worst of which was forwarded to the FBI. He kept both the good and bad in his attic as a reminder of it all.

Any mention of 715 or of his ultimate 755 career home runs, deserves at least a footnote mentioning Barry Bonds’ 762 total home runs that were tainted by his use of performance enhancing drugs. Aaron is rightfully in the Baseball Hall of Fame, but Bonds, for now, is on the outside, though Aaron did gracefully honor Bonds’ accomplishment.

Hank Aaron lived to age 86 and died in 2021. His baseball records remain on the books and many are still unsurpassed. One notable statistic was that even without his home runs, he still surpassed 3000 career hits. Baseball has a way of raising up greats within the sport who are also gentlemen, individuals of personal substance as well as sports prowess. Hank Aaron stood tall among those greats.

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On this day, February 23, in 1954 a group of Pennsylvania children first received the Salk polio vaccine. Many today know little about the disease, which killed or paralyzed thousands in this country and worldwide each year. Children were often the most vulnerable, but Franklin Roosevelt contracted polio as an adult.

The story of the Salk vaccine is an inspiring one and its success, along with the later arrival of the Sabin vaccine, which could be administered orally, has saved countless lives in the seventy years that have now passed. This fact makes it immeasurably sad that vaccine denial could exist today, but I suppose if one chooses to get their news from social media they may be apt to believe anything, no matter how conspiratorial. I’ve shared thoughts about that issue before, but it never seems to go away.

The story of the polio vaccine is a modern miracle, but in thinking about it today, I am reminded of the signs of miraculous healing of cripples I saw years ago while traveling through Germany. We have the God-given ability to do medical miracles as did Jonas Salk and we should use it, but it’s also comforting to see that old-fashioned miracles can happen too. This is a poem I wrote about that experience.

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It’s hard to believe in many ways that it’s been sixty years since the Beatles first appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show, on February 9, 1964. I actually missed the airing, because it was on a Sunday night, a school night, but the girls in the firth grade could talk of nothing else the next day. Each had to excitedly say which one was their favorite. One even chose Ringo, perhaps just to be different.

73 million people watched the show that night, which was 40% of the country’s population, and there were lots of folks who didn’t have televisions back then. For some reason their playlist differs from source to source, but I believe they began with All My Loving,'” then “Till There Was You” and
She Loves You.”

At the end of the show they came on again and played “She Loves You, ” leaving out what had just become their first US #1 hit, “I Want to Hold Your Hand.”

It’s hard to comprehend the sustained impact the four members have had over sixty years. They just won another Grammy this week for a song they cobbled together using an old vocal track by John Lennon. Each was became genuinely accomplished musically, but the dual geniuses within Lennon and McCartney, together and separately continues to inspire to this day and likely will for generations, even as musical tastes evolve.

I wish I’d seen them that night, but I’m glad to have been around for these 60 years and for the soundtrack they gave to my life.

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It was on this day, January 3, of 1924 that the sarcophagus of Pharaoh Tutankhamen was uncovered by British Egyptologist, Howard Carter. He and a team of others had discovered the tomb two years earlier, but the mummy and treasures buried with it were only found on this day.

“King Tut,” as he is often colloquially referred to, reigned from the age of eight or nine for about nine years (1341-1323 BCE). His sarcophagus and items buried with him caused enormous interest one hundred years ago and remain marveled over today. They have traveled the world over that time, but rightfully remain in Egypt, where they illustrate the land’s heritage.

One tomb that remains undiscovered is that of Nefertiti, who may have been Tutankhamen’s mother. Some speculate that it lies behind a wall in Tut’s tomb, but Egypt has thus far refused to allow Tut’s tomb to be disturbed further.

Tut’s tomb was relatively small and was hidden by the homes of workers excavating other tombs, thus avoiding robbery, as had occurred with a number of other graves over the centuries. The Curse of the Pharaohs, which was said to doom any who disturbed the Pharaohs’ tombs, and several who were associated with Carter did die untimely deaths after the discovery.

And, of course, no discussion about Tutankhamen should omit reference to the hit song “King Tut” by the comedian Steve Martin and the Toot Uncommons. No doubt Martin’s success led to enough riches for him to rival the boy king.

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A Christmas Carol was first published on December 19, 1843, 180 years ago today. In that time, it has never been out of print, and is unlikely to ever be, at least as long as we celebrate Christmas.

I read the book again at this time each year and am always moved by its message that Christmas can serve as a reminder that we can be better, more compassionate and kinder people. If you have never actually sat down and read the novella, rather than rely on its countless adaptations, doing so is a holiday gift you owe to yourself.

The book is written in five “staves.” Several years ago, I sat down and wrote Stave Six, Afterwards as an epilogue, set decades later. I had committed so much of the original to memory that I only had to check back once to be sure of one reference.

More than a few others have made their own sequels, mostly reminding that maintaining a giving heart over time is difficult and that we need reminding at this time of year. I began mine by taking Dickens at his word that Scrooge was true to his word and lived in the spirit of Christmas the whole year, though perhaps the same message applies.

This holiday season for many is not as “merry and bright” as we might wish, but I wish you hope and enough joy to be able to share the same with others in these dark time.

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The Boston Tea Party took place on this day, December 16, 250 years ago today. History often has its way of twisting facts over time to simplify tales, and that is true here. The protest was not over a new tax on tea, but instead over Parliament’s repeal of most of the Townsend Act’s import taxes. It failed though to repeal its tax on tea. Instead it allowed the British East India company to import cheap tea to the colonies, which was seen as an effort to acclimatize colonists to British rule (and perhaps lesser quality tea). Importantly, the same move also undercut American tea smugglers.

The three ships attacked were actually American ships. The “party” referred to was not an event, but actually the group involved, as in a political party. The perpetrators did dress like Indians, not as a disguise, but rather to add to the revelry. Other colonies had simply refused tea imports, forcing its return to England, but Massachusetts’s governor, whose sons were tea importers, stood firm, leading to the “party.” Sam Adams may or may not have helped plan the attack, but he did much to publicize it and to stir resentment against the British through it.

One possible consequence of the tax, the event, and the ire stirred by it all (other than ultimately the American Revolution), was that Americans, then and today, largely still spurn tea, unlike most of the world, but instead embrace coffee.

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On November 22, 1963, sixty years ago today, President John F. Kennedy was shot and died in Dallas, Texas. As with other moments when time, or at least the world, stops, I remember where I was and how confused I felt at the time. I was nine years old and in Mrs. Wilson’s third grade class that afternoon. Someone came to the door and whispered, leaving her in shock and tears. A few minutes later, a television was rolled into the room, and we all watched the news reports in grainy black and white. As I recall, school was let out early, and I went home with my sister, where we watched into the evening.

Controversy swirled around the shooting, which was my first exposure to conspiracy theories. To this day, the question, “did Oswald act alone?” remains the litmus test for whether one believes in conspiracy claims. As a rule, I dismiss those who espouse such things, though I do like to think that Elvis was abducted by aliens and is still alive out there somewhere.

In ten more years, there are likely to be relatively few alive who will be able to say where they were on November 22, 1963. Caroline Kennedy is the only surviving Kennedy left today, and we are fortunate to have her dignity and to appreciate her lifetime of service.

Tragedies continue to abound and confound our world, but we continue to have hope for a future free of such events. I hope to last long enough to contribute to that dream.

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