I imagine that pieces like this are sometimes written purely for the excuse of publishing a title that catches the eye, and while there is truth to that here, there is also a bit of history to remember.

If I read my history correctly, Hernando Cortes died five hundred years ago today when his troops tried to escape from Tenochtitlan, the island capital of the Aztec Empire which is now the site of Mexico City. Cortes had been welcomed by the emperor, Montezuma II, some months before, perhaps in keeping with the maxim attributed to SunTzu, “…keep your enemies closer.”

Relations between the Aztecs and Cortes’ forces soured after close to eight months as guests in Teonochtitlan. Cortes took Montezuma hostage in the palace, but the tactic failed resulting in locals throwing stones at the Spaniards and at Montezuma. Possibly as a result of the stoning Montezuma died and, on this date Cortes and his company tried to escape across an unguarded causeway from the island capitol. Cortes was killed in the retreat, but others escaped to territory of others hostile to the Aztecs. The date is now known as La Noche Triste.

Montezuma’s reign was the height of the Aztec Empire, which rivaled that of others around the world at the time. It was the home of planned cities, enormous wealth, and a calendar they set up to run until our year 2012. Some modern doomsday wags assumed the Aztecs had predicted the end of the world in that year. I suppose if they had been right, we would have been spared 2020.

In ten years or so from Cortes death, the Aztec Empire faded into history, the result of poor leaders after Montezuma, rebellion and perhaps most of all smallpox, which the Spaniards had brought to the land.

All this is to say (with more than a taste of tongue in my cheek) that perhaps my title above might have a ring of truth. You might say that Montezuma had his revenge eight years after his calendar ended and we experienced the apocalypse we know as 2020.

Share

At times, I stop in awe to consider the legion of plagues that have come to define 2020. Apart from the coronavirus, which is biblical enough in scope and deserving of all the concern the pandemic warrants, there have been enough disastrous events to wonder if God, having sworn off worldwide flood, has decided to let loose most of the rest of his arsenal on us simultaneously. And yes, the year is not quite half done yet.

There were the Australian wildfires in January. A close call followed from an asteroid a mile wide, destined to pass even closer in 2079. Earthquakes in New Zealand and Mexico took their place in the litany of events. We have seen economic devastation that only the stock market has failed to take more than passing note of. Locusts in Africa and the arrival of murder hornets ensued. Presently we are seeing a cloud of Saharan dust envelope our land.

All these are sure to take their toll, but the long overdue racial reckoning we are experiencing has risen to the point we may at last face our nation’s past and seek meaningful change, if not as one, then at least among enough to matter.

I am an old white man, and anything I can say about how we got to this moment or what to do about the viral plague or our unreckoned moral one will seem shallow, hollow and simpleminded. Still, I can see we are living in an historic time. I hope and pray and try to do all I can in the hope that when all is said and done, we will all be better and better to each other.

Share

I ended a long-standing personal debate yesterday and quit Facebook, certainly for now and probably for good. The final straw that broke this camel’s back was the decision of Facebook’s owner not to block incendiary posts from one particular user. As I wrote in leaving, it has been the standard in this country for 101 years that you can’t shout “fire” in a crowded theater. What the unnamed, but well known, user posted incited violence, which by any standard is far worse and deserving, even warranting, censorship.

In all likelihood, that same user is likely to seek government-sanctioned censorship of a book to be published by John Bolton said to be critical of him, a double standard by any standard, but this brief post is meant to be about my own incongruity in continuing to post on Facebook for so long.

Facebook has long welcomed all comers, except in countries where it abides by a government’s own censorship. The only true consistency in its motive seems to have be what yields the most revenue. One could largely block offensive rhetoric in one’s own feed, but you knew, at the same time, that the site continued to amplify ignorance, hate, and lies under the guise of promoting free speech.

I was taught growing up to abide by what we called, “Thumper’s Rule,” which came from a line in the film Bambi, “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.” I have a friend who will tell you I still (mostly) live by that rule, but I know that life is not as simple as that adage. There are moments, I think, when one must speak one’s mind, though with enough humility, intelligence, and thoughtfulness to be understood through whatever anger and hate may color a hearer’s perspective.

Perhaps I should have given up on Facebook’s electronic soapbox long ago. Looking back, I suspect so now. I stayed as long as I did because I wanted to share a smile with old and new friends at times when I felt they might need one, often knowing that I certainly did. I thought I added enough value to be heard over others’ who shouted, less to be heard as to drown out others’ voices. Sometimes though, you have to stand for something, and it felt like it was time to leave; that is, to “say nothing at all.”

This little blog has no followers, as best as I can tell, and perhaps that is for the best. I can be my own small voice crying in the vast wilderness of some virtual cloud, and unlike the voice referenced by Isaiah, I have little to say and less that others care to hear.

As I alluded to above, it’s hard to know when enough is enough, but sometimes you know it is. I wrote a little poem to say something about this some time ago, and I’ll leave you with it.

Enough Is Enough

                  “He who knows that enough is enough will always have enough.”

                  Lao Tzu

We often say to leave well enough alone

but then we rarely know it when we see it

We may well say enough 

when we’ve had too much

But in search of well enough

we forget that perfect is its truest enemy

You may know its brothers – good and fair – 

and its sisters – just and barely 

But by any name enough is indeed enough

Share

The Cable News Network, CNN, began broadcasting forty years ago today. Originally, and still technically, based in Atlanta, CNN was the idea of the city’s famous Ted Turner, who had turned a local UHF television station into a national cable channel. CNN aired footage of its first day today and published this article as well.

At the time, the FCC required all television broadcasters to air a minimum amount of news time each day. Rather than use entertainment programming time for news, he developed the audacious idea of a 24 hour news channel, expecting, correctly, that the FCC would change its requirement.

Many critics questioned whether there was enough news to fill 24 hours and how one could be hosted from anywhere other than New York or Washington. Of course, the naysayers were not only wrong but wrong many times over, as Fox News (if you call what they air news), CNBC, MNBC, CNN Headline News, CNN International and many others have proven. In fact, there was an audience for a channel devoted to weather, and another where you can watch paint dry (HGTV).

CNN has become as respected in broadcasting as the New York Times is in print, among all but those that prefer to be pandered to. Sure, it could do better at times, but when you are live 24 hour a day and have to report as fairly as possible on someone as unhinged, erratic and other less kind terms, as whom Garrison Keillor calls the “present occupant” you might occasionally fall short of your best.

In an odd turn of events, CNN ended up now being owned by AT&T, as part of its move into video programming. When radio was in its infancy and it became clear that the medium would primarily be a vehicle for entertainment and not communication, the company started its own programming. The reason you don’t know about that adventure is because it was an utter and abysmal failure.

For the sake of CNN and legitimate reporting, I hope AT&T will honor its promise of CNN’s editorial independence.

Share

An American hero died yesterday. Her last name may be familiar, as that of the first American to orbit the Earth and the first astronaut turned Senator, but she was known as Annie Glenn.

As the wife of the other hero, she lived in the spotlight, with media always nearby in search of a story, but hers was hard to tell. If you don’t know, Annie Glenn stuttered.

Her story is briefly told in today’s New York Times. A life-long stammerer, she plumbed the depths of the mind with her will and learned to excel in an era before handicaps were at least nominally accepted. Her accomplishments and contributions are many, but overcoming her handicap ranks, to me, with those of her husband, John.

It’s hard to fully comprehend what some must overcome to live in a world we take for granted without walking at least a few steps in their shoes. With that in mind, I wrote this piece some time ago. This is in Annie’s honor, whose name belong among those mentioned.

Making Light

Beethoven put joy to music though we know he was

deaf to that symphony we hold in awe

Monet painted his lilies from memory

in the dying of the light with his own sight fading

Da Vinci wrote in reverse because he was dyslectic

a word I can’t spell in either direction

Milton wrote Paradise Lost while blind and penniless 

selling it for five pounds and left to explain why it did not rhyme

Yogi was wise beyond simplicity

a philosopher with pith in the subtlest of games

Edison first great invention was the phonograph

though I doubt you knew he was near deaf since childhood

James Earl Jones – the voice of God himself – and

Marilyn Monroe – Helen incarnate – both stuttered

Albert Einstein too was dyslectic and

Then there was Stephen Hawking 

The list is as endless

as their achievements humbling

No one it seems is perfect

but my the beauty of that spark within

Share

Today marks fifty years since the National Guard fired on students protesting at Kent State, killing four and further polarizing sides in the Vietnam War debate.

The New York Times has a thoughtful piece on the incident and its consequences. More thoughts and a musical tribute by the Isley Brothers can be found here. Wikipedia covers the event in detail, adding its own historical perspective, and there will certainly be many other retrospectives in the media.

I recall watching the news that day and trying to make sense of what was, from any perspective tragic and senseless. I won’t comment here on the merits or on other’s comments, but there does seem to me to be some commonality in the moment to the Boston Massacre of 250 years ago, which I discussed recently, in which rebels and troops there were at odds.

During the Sixties and for some years thereafter, I clung to the belief that my generation would make the world safer, cleaner and more united. Derided now as “Boomers,” the best of us have done too little, and too many have formed a non-“Silent Majority” more reactionary than the parents who brought them up.

Some argue that when a group feels threatened they cling to shared social constructs as undeniable truths. The fact that they are not true, or not entirely so, is not only irrelevant, but something that unites them further, a bit like we “Elvis Lives” believers, though not so tongue-in-cheek.

When I see pandemic protesters in the news, I tend to think they are not protesting having to shelter at home or even being told what to do. They may not be thinking deeply enough, but they may be acting out of fear for a way of life they see fading away. Politicians who play to those fears risk confrontations we mark in history books, with all the unexpected consequences they may unleash.

Kent State will be quiet today, as most of us are occupied by a moment in history we hope to survive. Perhaps a quiet and contemplated remembrance on this day is best.

Share

The first modern print report of a sighting of the Loch Ness monster was published on this day in 1933 in the Inverness Courier. The creature had long been a local legend, dating back as far as the Sixth Century. The publication of a photograph, a year later fueled the legend and boosted local tourism, though it was later deemed a fraud – the photo but not necessarily the legend.

I’ve driven down the coast of Loch Ness, and though I never saw any monster, plenty of tour boats were in evidence in the otherwise placid scene, prompting me to wonder if perhaps we were the true monster. Eventually, the thought led to this prose poem:

A Reflection

“The important thing is that I believe in myself.”

Unknown

First of all, I’m not a monster.  It’s just you haven’t see the likes of me for longer than you measure time and to tell the truth it’s even been long for me.  And while that makes me a bit lonely, I’ve grown used to it after a few of your millennia.  I’ll have you know, I swam to these waters long ago and liked it enough to stay, which is a good thing since there seems no way out for now.  I may well be the last of my kind, but I’ll have to wait for the waters here to rise again to learn.  

I know that may seem long to you, who live and breed like fruit flies.  But to me time matters little, having seen the land rise from the seas that were my home and even some stars come and go, as I expect in time will you.  When that comes and you go, it should be peaceful again without your boats and tour guides that tell their tales of sightings as if I can’t hear them or simply don’t care.  

The truth is though I once found your company comforting in a way, scurrying along this lake’s long shoreline and fishing above me. Only now I hear the constant heartbeat of your motors running up and down my home in search of me, all the while believing I’m a myth; only I’m not.  

I sense now in the warmth of the air and this water that perhaps it is you who may soon be the stuff of myth, and one thing I can do well is to wait.  If that makes of me a monster to you, perhaps you should stop your useless searching for me and look into your own reflection in the waters above me.

When all is said, I suppose Nessie may have the last word.

Share

Sometimes a timely look back can provide perspective to make a safer path forward. On this day in 1954, the first field trials of the polio vaccine developed by Dr. Jonas Salk began in an elementary school in McLean, Virginia. Polio is now an almost forgotten concern, almost like times before the iPhone and Internet. It has not been entirely eradicated, however, and cases still occur occasionally even here in the U.S.

The disease, poliomyelitis, is hinted at in history records, but reached epidemic levels around the beginning of the Twentieth Century, reaching 58,000 new cases in the U.S. in 1952 and killing 3000. It affected children most severely, and those it didn’t kill often suffered paralysis and deformity. FDR was perhaps the most famous victim. I remember myself tales from my parents and theirs of what we now call social distancing during the Summer months when outbreaks of polio were most common.

Dr. Jonas Salk worked in the 1940s on flu vaccines before turning to address polio. His process was to kill the virus and then inject it into the bloodstream, which prompted a person’s immune system to develop antibodies against the disease. Famously, he tested his vaccine on himself and his family.

The 1954 trial involved testing the vaccine or a placebo on about two million school children. A year later, vaccinations began involving the public. Surprisingly, some of the recipients contracted polio, leading to the withdrawal of the vaccine. It turned out that about 100,000 doses of the vaccine contained the live polio virus. More rigorous vaccine testing and controls followed, but the vaccination rate took time to grow. In 1957, there were still 6000 cases of polio in the U.S. The advent of the Sabin oral version of the vaccine in 1961 did much to bring polio to its figurative knees.

Polio still exists today, sixty-five years later, in places in the world, even though it is eradicable, since it is only spread from human to human. The telling history lesson from its story, however, is how long a miracle cure can take to be developed for a disease and how missteps can occur in the rush to make it available.

I am not qualified as an epidemiologist, much less as a medical doctor, but then neither are many of television’s talking heads or those in positions of power who spout talk of curing the coronavirus by injecting disinfectants. Even if later claimed to be in jest, such comments are in bad taste (sorry), could cause harm to the foolish or unsuspecting, and perhaps worst, perpetuate false hopes that the coronavirus affecting us now will go away readily and soon.

Even the best benefits from science take patience, testing and time. In the meantime, perhaps we should all consider the past, care for those we can and protect everyone by preventing the spread of the latest of history’s pestilences.

Update: On May 21, the New York Times published a cautionary article on the difficulties in and hazards of hurried vaccine development. That is not to imply that haste is not urgent, but one word of caution should suffice: Hydroxychloroquine.

Share

I’ve written before about the tragedy of school shootings, but the confluence of two news threads brought the subject to mind once again. Today is the 21st anniversary of the Columbine shootings in which twelve students and one teacher were killed by two armed students, who also died. That was not the first instance of such slaughter, but it marked the beginning of a trend in such shootings that eventually became so common they scarcely made the news.

The second thread was the recognition in the press that March was the first month since 2002 without a school shooting. Gun sales have grown during the pandemic we are facing, but schools have largely been closed. One could observe that the former must be deemed more important by society than the latter, but of course, our reality is more complex than a simple direct comparison might reflect.

Still, some reflection on priorities is timely and worthy. This pandemic, as tragic as it is, has also illustrated what we can do as one when we work together. Excluding fringe truthers and the unwitting or dimwitted, the world has worked as one to minimize the spread of the new coronavirus. The sacrifices, economic and social, made by many have been significant, and there are signs that those better able to weather the impact have been willing to help others in need. Of course, hoarding of toilet paper belies such a claim, but then you see instances of people leaving rolls out for delivery people, which counts for something.

So while we are sitting at home, perhaps we can let our minds wander a bit and imagine what other great things we might be willing to accomplish together with some effort, goodwill and sacrifices like those we are making. The environment comes to mind, but maybe we could start with something like keeping kids safe when they return to schools.

Here is my earlier post.

Share

Opening day for Major League Baseball was to be today, a ritual and celebration of Spring and sport greater than Easter to many fans. As with so many things affected by the coronavirus, there will be no baseball today and probably for quite some time. Health and safety trump (lower case) even baseball, as they should, but a moment of silence in lieu of “Play Ball” is still warranted.

With that thought, here is a poem from How Not to Write a Poem, and Other Poems:

Field of Dreams

                  “Baseball is more than a game.  It is life played out on a field.”

                  Juliana Hatfield

The magic that occurs to a little leather ball

in the sixty odd feet between the pitcher’s mound 

and home plate is proof if any is needed

that God exists and that he invented baseball

And if you marvel at the complexities 

of nature and the mysteries of the universe

you can trace the mischief in his fingerprints 

through the mystic depths of the infield fly rule

that quantum state in which a dropped fly

is deemed caught even if it could not have been –

as mysterious as the retrograde of planets

retracing their arcs in the night sky

Where else can cold-blooded statisticians

and grass-stained boys share the uncommon joy

of twelve extra hits in a season

or stand in awe of a sinking fastball

inhale the scent of newly mown grass

hear the crack of hand-sewn leather on ash or

believe the dream of a walk off homer in the ninth?

It may be only a sand lot – but it is also Wrigley Field

Life may feel as cruel and unfair at times 

as a called strike that was high inside

but in baseball every day is opening day and 

hope lives forever in the two words “Play ball!”

Share