History, like humankind, has its days of hope and many more that might best be described with the words, “What were you thinking?” On August 6, 1946, the US dropped the first nuclear bomb on Hiroshima, killing between 90,000 and 160,000, mostly civilian, Japanese. The photo above is the shadow of a man and his ladder imprinted on a wall by the force of the blast that morning.

America has long rationalized the use of “the Bomb” as a means of shortening World War II, and I’m not qualified to debate that question, but I do recognize the horror of such weapons, as should we all. There are now enough in the hands of nine countries to wipe out all of humanity and most of nature many times over.

Some say that the existence of nuclear weapons has deterred wars (though not the Cold War) over the past 80 years, and in a perverse way, that thought may have a kernel of truth to it. In a way that seems like the argument that if we all had guns there would be less killing. Just weeks ago the US used the largest non-nuclear bomb ever constructed to deter Iran from becoming the tenth nuclear state. That act runs counter to such an argument, but trying to reason over violence and war is perverse, if essential.

I have no good answer to all of this, but please put me down as rooting for humanity’s survival, one small act of kindness at a time, hoping they add up to enough.

And as it happened, one meaningful act occurred sixty years ago today, with the signing of the Voting Rights Act of 1965 by President Johnson. For 100 years after the Civil War, voting rights for all (well, women had to wait) were granted by the 14th and 15th Amendments, but had been deterred by numerous laws and practices, most notably in the South. Voting Rights have had their ups and downs since then, but the Act changed the balance once, for all and for good.

Today is a good day to do some good.

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On July 16, 1945, 80 years ago today, the US detonated the first nuclear explosion in New Mexico. The moment and the events leading up to it were the subject of the 2023 Oppenheimer film. There had been concern my some in the team that the explosion might grow out of control and destroy the earth. As it was, the explosion was four times stronger than predicted. The Truman administration followed up in less than a month with the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the only times to date in which nuclear weapons have been used in war.

After the test, Oppenheimer was said to have quoted from the Bhagavad Gita, “I have become death, the destroyer of worlds.” Today, nine nations are believed to hold nuclear weapons and could lay claim to that epithet.

The question we live with today’s threats, from nuclear weapons on one hand and climate disasters on the other, is whether we may all die, “not with a bang, but a whimper,” to borrow from TS Eliot in his poem, The Hollow Men. May we live long enough perhaps to prevent both.

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The first “Summer Blockbuster” film was released on this day, June 20 in 1975. Jaws, by the then little known director, Steven Spielberg, became the highest grossing film of all time, only to be bettered several years later by Star Wars. Its history and story are well known and is still celebrated in Martha’s Vineyard, where it was filmed.

The effect of the film can still be seen today, as shown by one person’s recent swim around the island, just this year, and by the instantly recognizable soundtrack, “Dun Dun Dun Dun” beat that ran when the shark appeared.

I can personally attest to the film’s effect myself. I refused to get in the ocean for seven years after watching the film and still listen for that beat on the rare occasions when I step off a boat. On one occasion years ago, what appeared to be a massive shark followed my boat into Virgin Gorda Sound. We stayed out of the water out of caution, only later to learn that it was a whale shark, which is no danger to humans and not even a shark.

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Memorial Day is an apt moment to reflect on the heroism and tragedy that define wars. Several years ago I shared here a story and poem about an experience I had at the Vietnam Memorial:

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War represents the worst of mankind in many ways and, at the same time, the nobility of self-sacrifice for causes higher than our own well-being. We should remember both, especially on this day.

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January 8 is the birthday of Elvis Presley, and wherever he is in the universe, today he would be (is?) ninety years old. I’ve written about the King before, but it’s worth pausing to imagine his gyrating hips at such an advanced age. Perhaps it’s best that he left our world when he did, so that we don’t have to witness his forever farewell concert tour like so many other rock and rollers who never seem to die, or at least to quit. Fortunately though, we will always have Keith Richards and Willie Nelson. As great as they are, though, Elvis, the King of Rock and Roll, still rules.

I’ve made my pilgrimage to Graceland, like so many faithful, and I’m sure the is still, as there was when I was there, an aging big-haired woman prostrate and crying at his graveside, not knowing the King still lives, if perhaps not among us.

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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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