October 31, 2018--Death of a Friend

My longest standing, best friend died. 

Ivan ("Flash") Kronenfeld was remarkable in so many ways. I will attempt to write about them and him for Thursday.

October 30, 2018--October-November Surprises

The big October surprise, which was supposed to leach over into the first week in November, was the fear Trump would instill in midterm voters about the "caravan" of migrants heading from Honduras to the American border.

The fear was further fueled by Fox News sycophants who in a stream of fake news "reported" daily without evidence about how the thousands marching north were infiltrated by "Middle Eastern terrorists." 

Just as that was building into a political wave--poll numbers began to trend in support of Republican candidates--the stock market started to gyrate so that the so-called Trump rally lost all its gains for 2018 (giving the lie to his claim that the economy had never in history been better), a new mad bomber appeared, sending explosive devices to more than a dozen Trump critics from George Soros to the Obamas to of course Hilary and potential 2020 opponents Kamala Harris, Cory Booker, and Joe Biden.

(As an aside, how much like chopped liver do Bernie and Elizabeth Warren feel for not receiving bombs of their own? Just like anyone not on Nixon's "enemies list" expressed disappointment for not being included.) 

Trump harmed himself politically by making light of this, referring to it as "that bomb thing." And didn't do much better when an anti-semitic mass murderer attacked a synagogue in Pittsburgh, killing 11 worshipers. After a few perfunctory comments Trump referred to it as a "bad hair day." Something he should be an expert about, having one 365 days a year.

As a result, the polls appear to be reversing themselves again and it is looking likely that the Democrats will gain control of the House and lose only one or two seats in the Senate.

So much for October-November surprises, though there is still a full week before the election, lots of time for Republican dirty tricksters to pull a few stunts.

On that subject, though I am not prone to believing in conspiracy theories, there's a Pulitzer Prize awaiting a journalist who gets to the bottom of how the migrant caravan was organized to culminate in ugly confrontations at the border the day before Election Day.

I suspect that the political party that gave us Roger Ailes, Lee Atwater, Karl Rove, and Roger Stone might somehow be tugging on the strings. If we can get that story out even Fox News would have to offer some coverage.

October 29, 2018--The Bambino

During my childhood, on the streets in Manhattan where the UN is currently located, as unlikely as it may seem, there were slaughterhouses and meat packing plants.

One plant, Paramount Meats, was owned by my Uncle Eli. He and Aunt Tanna and their son, my cousin Chuck, lived less than a half mile from us and so, on occasional weekend mornings, Uncle Eli would pick me up at about 6:00--he and I were very early risers--and take me with him to have breakfast at Garfield's Cafeteria, an glitzy dairy restaurant on the corner of Church and Flatbush.

We would get in line and slide our trays along until we got to the grill area where we would order eggs or pancakes or various kinds of pickled and smoked fish.

Being there with him, talking as we did about things I was reluctant to raise with my parents, we discussed everything from politics (he hated Eisenhower), the state of the world (not good), and family matters (complicated). We also spoke about the "birds and the bees"--he gave me a book about this, The Stork Didn't Bring You, But above all else, in this way, he was the first person to treat me like an adult and not a kid. And so I loved him and our time together.

One Saturday he got permission from my mother to take me, after breakfast, to his plant. He had a new Buick and it also felt good and adult to drive in it with him across the Brooklyn Bridge and then up the East River Drive to Paramount. 

There was a garage across the street from it and he had a reserved spot, another reminder that his life was different than most of my other more immigrant-cultured relatives, many of whom did not own cars or speak unaccented English.

"You know, Babe Ruth, from the Yankees also parks in this garage," Uncle Eli said as he left the car with a dollar tip to the garage attendant. He knew I was a passionate Yankee fan.

"Really? The Bambino?"

"Himself. In fact, you may get to meet him. In our smoke house today we're making pigs knuckles, and once that smell gets out into the street, if the Babe is coming to pick up his car, he may stop in. More than anything else he loves pigs knuckles right out of the oven. I always put a few aside for him."

"Really? For the Babe?" I was more excited about this than our talk earlier about storks.

"First let me show you the smoker. It's pretty big so we can walk into it and you can see the pork butts and cow's tongues we'll be smoking along with the rack of pigs knuckles. We have to be careful not to let the door swing closed. We could get trapped in here and get smoked ourselves!" I knew this wasn't true, that he was fooling with me, which also made me feel grown up. He talked with me as if I were one of his boys.

From the garage we walked to his office where I would spend the rest of the morning helping him add up his bills. He read out the numbers and I would enter them in the adding machine. I wan't sure if this needed dong or if he was creating something for me to do to make me feel important. Which it did.

Rather quickly the smoke oven heated up and fumes from it permeated the plant and poured out onto 45th Street. It did indeed smell delicious and I couldn't help but think about the pigs knuckles and The Babe.

With that, framed in the office door was the shape of an enormous man, and from what I could see--he blocked the light--he was wearing a double-breasted camelhair coat that almost reached the floor and a signature Babe Ruth cap, both of which, from pictures of him in the newspapers, confirmed that indeed it was the Sultan of Swat.

"Are you making what I hope you're making?" Ruth asked Uncle Eli with a gravelly voice. It was well known he had a serious case of cancer. 

"I am," Uncle Eli said, "I was hoping you were in the neighborhood. They should be ready in just another few minutes and I'll get you a couple. In the meantime, let me introduce my nephew. He's a big Yankee fan, which can be dangerous when living in Brooklyn. Everybody there roots for the Dodgers."

"Did I ever tell you I was their first base coach back in '38? Most people don't remember that, but I was. I wasn't very good at it, but I could use the money."

Uncle Eli left to check the status of the pigs knuckles.

Alone with the Babe, shyly I said, "That's the year I was born." 

"Let me take a look at you," he said, "So you must be about nine. You're pretty tall for nine." I walked toward him and he tousled my hair, smiling broadly. "I'll bet you play baseball."

"Not really," I said, "Sometimes on the street. You know, mainly punch ball and stick ball. Also, softball. The guys on my block aren't good enough to play hardball."

"Stick with it," he said, "If you keep growing you never know."

Uncle Eli was back with a couple of ham hocks. 

The Babe reached out for one and with great relish took a big bite out of it. "Hot," he said, "I like 'em hot like this. There's nothing better than right out of the oven. Thanks, Eli, I need to get going. And nice to meet you kid." He reached out to shake my hand, careful not to use the one with which he was holding the pigs knuckle. What's your name again? I'm not always good at remembering names."

I told him and with that he was gone.

Two weeks later, Uncle Eli came by to pick me up and again we went to Garfield's. "I have something for you," he said as we turned up Church Avenue. "It's in that bag on the back seat. Reach back there and get it. Which I did.

"Open it. It's for you, from a friend of yours."

A baseball fell out of the bag and landed on my lap. "Is it . . . ?"

"Take a close look at it." 

On it, the Bambino had written, "For Steve. From your pal, Babe Ruth."

It became my proudest possession. I kept it on a shelf next to my bed so I could see it last thing at night and right after waking up.

Of course I showed it to my neighborhood pals. Most didn't believe me, contending I was trying to pull a fast one on them. "I'm not," I said, not caring if they believed me. I knew the truth, I knew what I had experienced.

Later that summer, Heshy said, "Why don't we play a little hardball. I have a hardball bat and you have a baseball. You know, the one from your pal." The rest of the guys chuckled derisively. 

I went upstairs and came back with the baseball. We played with it for a couple of days and then lost it when it fell into an open sewer that we had been using as second base.

And then in the middle of August, The Babe died.

October 26, 2018--My Neighbor: Jackie Robinson

When I was a kid growing up in East Flatbush, on East 56th Street, as the seasons revolved and the days lengthened, our favorite thing was to head for the streets after supper to resume our punchball or stickball games.

One evening, impatiently waiting for Heshy who was the best punchball player on the block, we finally spotted him racing toward us, pumping his arms frantically.

Gasping for air, he could hardly get the words out but managed to say, "You're not . . . going to believe this . . . but I just heard . . . Jackie Robinson . . . of the Brooklyn Dodgers . . . moved into . . . the neighborhood . . . to East 53rd Street!" 

Heshy was also a prankster. Many of us tried to keep up with him but at that he also excelled. And so we didn't believe him.

"What are you up to?" the ever skeptical Irv asked.

"Nothing. It's the truth. I swear. My father told me. He's a glazer and they hired him to replace some of their windows. Jackie Robinson! And his wife. And children. From the Dodgers!"

It was early summer 1947 and Jackie Robinson had recently joined the Dodgers. The first Negro to cross the color line in the Major Leagues. 

He was already a hero to us though he was still having to deal with racist comments and threats from opposing players as well as from some of his own teammates. 

"My father said they are very nice people." Mr. Perly was a communist and like all other communists we thought he was a supporter of Negro rights. He believed they should be allowed to live wherever they wanted and to go to school with white people. So we were a little skeptical about this as well.

Sensing this, Heshy said, "Let's walk over and take a look. I'm telling the truth. I promise this time I'm not making this up."

So we jogged the four blocks to East 53rd and Tilden Avenue where Heshy said the Robinsons had bought a house, still not believing he was telling the truth. And we wondered what kind of stunt he was going to play on us.

It took just a few minutes to get there and sure enough there was a big moving van parked at the corner. It was clear someone was moving in but we still doubted it was the Robinsons. How could it be? I thought--it's just like Heshy. What a kidder.

But to give Heshy more credibility  stepping out of the front door was a Negro woman clutching a sobbing child.

I suppose that could be Mrs. Robinson, I thought. There were no Negroes at all in our overwhelmingly Jewish and Italian neighborhood. Could it be that . . . ?

We stood in the street shamelessly gaping at all that was going on.

Smirking, Heshy whispered to the four of us, "I told you so. I'm sure that's his wife. Just like my father said."

After a few minutes, realizing it wasn't polite to stand there staring, we turned to return to our block.

"Can I get you boys a glass of milk or a soda? I'm afraid I don't have much to offer you."

We turned back to look at her. She stood on the porch, smiling broadly and waving at us.

"I have to do my homework," Bernie said, shyly with lowered head. 

"Surely you have a moment to have a drink. It's still quite hot out, and if you wait just a little longer, Jackie, my husband should be home very soon and I'm sure he'd like to meet his new neighbors. The game ended an hour ago. Against St. Louis." She continued to smile while jostling her young son on her hip.

"I suppose we could . . . ," I sputtered, "Tomorrow's Saturday and . . . You know. We could maybe . . . just for a minute or two. Our mothers will be worried." 

In fact it was still quite light out and we knew our mothers were fine with us playing on the street until it was almost dark.

And with that, he arrived, smoothly gliding his convertible to the curb. He slid out of the front seat and hoisted a big bag onto his shoulder. It had Dodgers stenciled on it's side. Without doubt it was Jackie Robinson. 

He bounded up the steps and kissed his wife and son. Then turned to us, "I see, Rachel, you have some new friends." 

She smiled, nodding, "I was just about to bring the boys sodas. Will Cokes be all right?" she asked us. We all muttered that would be perfect.

"Why don't you go and get them?" he said, "Maybe we'll throw the ball around while you're doing that." He reached into his bag and extracted a couple of bats, two gloves, and three or four baseballs.

"Let's hit the street," he said to us, full of energy.

He skipped down the steps and out into the middle of the street. "Who wants to bat first?" he asked. "If any of you know how to bunt maybe you'd go first. You could lay one down and get us off to a good start. I sometimes like to lay one down and get a rally going. I'm not that interested in home runs. I prefer walks and hits and stealing bases." We knew that already from watching the Dodgers on TV. Even in his rookie year he brought excitement and speed to the Dodgers' game.

And so, many evenings after day games, after a gulped-down dinner, we went over to the Robinson's and Jackie joined us in the street where he played with us, all the while coaching us about the subtlety of the game. 

This went on for nearly three years. It was nothing short of a miracle to have him as a neighbor and for him to be so generous and forthcoming.

Then toward the end of the third year when we arrived at the Robinson house it looked vacant and forlorn. We went around back and again there was no sign of them. From the stoop we could see into the living room and it too was empty. It was if they and our time together had vanished. 

No one on the block who we asked about the Robinsons had any idea what happened and where they were.

I asked my mother. She and Rachel Robinson were elementary school teachers and I thought she might know what happened.

When I asked, my mother changed the subject. This was very unusual for her. She never held anything back from me. And so I asked again. This time she did not respond at all. Also not characteristic of her or our relationship.

I asked a third time as I knew she was not telling the truth. That she was hiding something. The truth. 

"They had to move," my mother finally said.

"Had to? Had to? Why did they have to?

"Not everyone was as happy as you, having them in the neighborhood."

"Meaning?"

"Well, you know they're . . ." 

She didn't finish their thought. There was no need to.

On the left, the Robinson house

October 25, 2018--Say-Hey Kid: The Catch

Uncle Jack had tickets for two box seats for the first game of the 1954 World Series. It was a day game and the New York Giants were hosting the Cleveland Indians at their home field, the vast Polo Grounds in upper Manhattan. The tickets were for himself and his son Lewis.

Jack owned and ran a thriving international business and so it was not unusual that he had something urgent to deal with just at the time the game was scheduled to begin. So he asked me, I was16 at the time, if I could fill in for him and take cousin Lewis to the game. He was just ten and so I felt flattered to be trusted with so much responsibility and excited to be going to my first World Series game.

And so packed in with other fans we took the rickety elevated train line all the way up to 157th Street and Eighth Avenue, to the former meadow, Coogans Bluff in the center of Harlem, where the Polo Grounds was located.

It was a huge stadium, perhaps the largest of any Major League stadium then or now. Deepest center field, for example, was 455 feet from home plate. Typically a center field wall was and is no more than 420 feet from home plate. As at the Yankee Stadium at the time. And so the Polo Grounds could accommodate 55,000 fans.

I had been to Yankee Stadium once but as a Brooklyn boy, Ebetts Field, which had 32,000 seats, a cosy place by comparison, was my frame of reference.

But we had box seats--also something I had never experienced--and so I anticipated being close enough to the playing field to see the spin on curve balls. Or the spit on spit balls!

An usher peered at our ticket stubs and said, "Good for you boys. I see you have box seats with yours being in the first row of the lower deck. Just head that way," he said pointing,"And enjoy the game."

We raced in the direction of the Giants' dugout and when we got there realized our seats were still further, out toward right field. But when we got there, out of breath, we saw we had to keep going, all the way to center field. From this I knew we would be too far from the diamond that I could forgot any thoughts about seeing the spin on pitches. 

In fact, the Polo Grounds was so vast that we might have to strain even to see the pitchers and batters. But we would have a closeup view of the Giants' centerfielder, the incredible Willie Mays. The Say-Hey Kid. 

"We'll at least be able to see him chewing tobacco," I said to Lewis. In truth feeling a bit deflated. Though Mays played so shallow that even that might not be possible.

It was a pitchers' duel with the score tied 2-2 at the top of the 8th inning.

Cleveland immediately threatened. The Giant's pitcher, Sal (the barber) Maglie, gave up a walk and a single and so there were two men on and nobody out.

Vic Wertz stepped to the plate. He was one of the League's most fearsome sluggers. He had hit 29 during the season. Giant fans suddenly grew quiet.

Wertz got ahold of a fast ball and hit a monster drive to deepest center field. 

At the crack of the bat Willie Mays turned his back to the plate and, running full speed, raced right by where Lewis and I were seated--actually, along with everyone else, where we were by then standing--and right in front of us, close enough that we could almost reach out and touch him, over his shoulder, with his back still to home plate, he caught the ball, cradling it basket style, his signature move, and then wheeling about, threw the ball toward the infield, tumbling to the ground from the effort.

The ball flew directly to the second baseman, a perfect strike, who in turn did not allow the runners to advance.

Some said the catch was the best of all time, others that Mays's throw was what was remarkable.

Probably both were right.

The Indian's spirit was shattered and after the third out in the 8th in effect they collapsed and the Giants won, 5-2.

And they continued to win, sweeping Cleveland in four-straight games.

Another cousin somehow found this picture and enhanced it so you can see me in my striped shirt and my mouth open in wonderment.

We can't as yet locate Lewis.

October 24, 2018--Take Me Out to the Ballgame

I will return tomorrow with the first of three baseball stories. It is after all World Series time.

October 23, 2018--Political Slut

Midterm election day is just two weeks from today. 

Two weeks at the end of a campaign can be a lifetime in voter mood swings. And, if you agree that this is the most consequential election of our lifetime, I hope you will consider how I am viewing it.

More than anything else voters need to restore some check and balance to the current political situation. James Madison was right--our system is designed to have divided government in order to prevent the emergence of a totalitarian leader. We face that prospect today. It is aided and abetted by the fact that the president and both houses of Congress are in the control of just one party.

Since the president is not on the ballot (except as a self-nationalizing surrogate), it is essential to flip at least one House. I think, forget the Senate. If anything, Republicans are likely to increase their majority there by at least two seats. Three or four incumbent Democratic senators are likely to lose and at most two states will switch from red to blue. Thus, the Senate will almost certainly remain in Mitch McConnell's gulag.

The House, though, is another matter. There, I am projecting, that as many as 35 Republicans will be defeated but only two or three Democrats. Enough to return the House to Democratic control.

But with Trump, the unusual often turns out to be the new usual. He has made this election about himself and has demonstrated the capacity to bring about electoral surprises. For example, two years ago by winning the presidency.

So, I say, when considering who to vote for forget totally issues that may be close to your heart. Become the same kind of political slut I am--obsessed about only one thing: winning.  

If you are passionate about gun control (I am) ignore the fact that the Democrat from your district running for the House is against what you consider to be meaningful gun control, hold your nose and vote for him or her anyway. (The Democratic House challenger here in Maine is featured in his TV ads as comfortable at a rifle range.)

If you are committed to single-payer healthcare--Medicare for all--(as I am) and if your Democratic candidate opposes this because he or she sees it as a budget-buster, for the moment forget that and vote for her or him.

And if you feel so strongly about preserving unfettered abortion rights that in all other circumstances it would be a litmus-test issue for you (I generally do feel this way), for the good of the larger cause, take a few deep breaths and pull the lever for the Democrat running in your district who supports some limitations on abortion--say, late term abortions--because unless he or she does take this position, to line up with the will of her or his potential constituents, the Republican will win and this will undermine the larger agenda--the desperate imperative to win back the House.

You get my point.

After we win, we can go back to debating issues. To do so now is a luxury we cannot afford. 

Also, during this final two weeks get involved. 

Make get-out-the-vote calls. Especially to Hispanic voters. Even if you are agoraphobic or have medical issues, you can do this from home in your pajamas. There is no excuse just to vote. Get directly to work. It is that important. 

There is no underestimating how empowered Trump and his people will feel and be if the Republicans retain control of all three branches of government (also, add the Supreme Court with its 5-4 conservative majority to this list). Unless some limitations are imposed on Trump's power by defeating him in at least the House (where serious investigations can take place as soon as January 1st) it will be a dangerous and depressing two or six more years.

Trump needs to be deflated. Right now. In two weeks.

October 22, 2018--1.5 Degrees Centigrade

Though barely noticed, the climate last week was prominently in the news.

First, there was a landmark report from the United Nations’ scientific panel on climate change, "Global Warming of 1.5 Degrees Centigrade," paints a far more disturbing picture of the immediate consequences of climate change than previously thought and says that avoiding the damage requires transforming the world economy at a speed and scale that has “no documented historic precedent.”

The report describes a world of worsening food shortages and wildfires, and a mass die-off of coral reefs as soon as 2040--a period well within the lifetime of much of the world's population.

One good thing about getting to be my age--by then I should be long gone.

This report landed with a thud on Donald Trump's otherwise empty desk where it lay, undoubtedly unread. When he was asked about it, in effect, to his base, he said, "Who knows. We'll see."

Also pandering to his political base was the frontrunner in Brazil's upcoming presidential election, Jan Bolsonaro, a far right congressman who says that Brazil's environmental policy is "suffocating" the country's economy. Thus he plans to unfetter the country's agribusiness sector and allow it to accelerate the massive deforestation of the Amazon Rain Forest, often referred to as the "lungs of the Earth."

Stretching across two million square miles, most of it in Brazil, the forest acts as a giant filter for the carbon dioxide emissions that humankind as a whole generates.

Bolsonaro's proposed deregulatory policy is designed to create more farm and ranch land to capitalize on the increasing global demand for soy beans and beef. Some of this demand the result of Trump's regressive trade policies.

Thus, this presidential contest is by far the most consequential one underway anywhere in the world, including our midterms, as every inhabitant of Earth will be negatively affected.

Bolsonaro's opponent, Fernando Haddad of the Workers Party, is far behind in the polls. In the first round of voting last month, he received just 29 percent of the vote while Bolsonaro received 46 percent.

The Amazon is home to more native people than any other place on Earth and for decades millions of acres of land have been set aside for them. But Bolsonaro has a different plan. He has said that if elected "there won't be a square centimeter demarcated as an indigenous preserve . . . Where there is indigenous land there is wealth underneath."

None of this is good news for the planet.

October 16, 2018--Death In the Family

Rona's last aunt, Aunt Roz, died yesterday at the very respectable age of 98. As we are driving to NYC today to be at her funeral later in the week I will not be positing anything today or for a few days thereafter. I will return to this on Monday.

From Left to Right: Aunt Erna, Uncle Joe, Aunt Roz. Seated: Grandma Sadie. Together again.

October 15, 2018--Male Privilege

"What was that all about?" We had just had a half dozen homemade donuts and coffee at our favorite local general store.

"I also was a little confused," Rona said, "He seemed to be talking about an incident that he probably heard about on Fox News where some guy stoped a bus and threatened the passengers."

"My hearing isn't good today," I said, "But that's what I think I heard. And then did he say they should have taken him out and shot him?"

'That's what I heard."

"Unbelievable."

"How he's a terrorist and that's how terrorists should be treated."

"That they should be taken out and shot?" Rona shrugged her shoulders and nodded.

This from an otherwise peaceful-feeling 70-year-old who sat next to us, eating his bacon and eggs at the counter.

"He said he's lived here for more than 30 years. That he grew up in upstate New York and moved when things there began to change in ways that upset him."

"Yes," Rona said, "He talked about how the thing he likes most about Maine is that very little changes. That he hates change. Including the smallest things. Like when a new owner bought the store, though he was quick to mention he liked that they kept making donuts every morning."

"I like that too," I said, wanting to move on to lighter subjects.

"He seems to live a version of the good life here and I don't understand why he's so angry about what's going on around him. And from the looks of him, including how he was dressed, he seemed to be OK financially. So I don't think it's that."

"We've been talking recently about why so many middle-aged white guys are so angry and how that's affecting our politics."

"Yes," Rona said, "I've been thinking a lot about how it's not primarily about race, but how these men feel threatened by demographics and the resulting browning of America. With their anti-immigrant views underscoring that. That is a big component of their anger, but the more I think about it the more I am concluding most of the problems these men have comes from gender issues. Their relations with women. How they used to feel empowered just because of their maleness, but in recent decades how that sense of privilege has been eroding."

"We have been talking about that and agree that a lot of the things men depended upon to feel powerful no longer operate so automatically."

"There are many things in the larger culture," Rona said, "that have been delivering the same message--that their days of dominance are over. We've been making a list of some of the things that are undermining men's sense of their place in the world. How losing the war in Vietnam, for example, was a huge blow to men who felt that just being an American, American exceptionalism assured their invulnerability. How up to then we had won every war we entered and then we were defeated by little Asians wearing sandals and black pajamas!"

"These are the guys who are prone to chant 'USA, USA' at Trump rallies. As if that restores their sense of self worth."

"The women's movement didn't help. Calls for equity in the workplace--equal pay for equal work--in family life and the bedroom (there was the pill) deeply threatened so many men."

"How many people do we know, how many men do we know, including some in our families who found themselves with women supervisors and how they hated that. How some even quit their jobs to get away from female bosses. And how in a couple of instances doing so ruined their careers."

"Affirmative action also contributed, especially as many men believed it primarily benefitting women. Again in the workplace they saw women they felt to be less credentialed and less experienced getting promoted to positions they felt entitled to."

"And when the Great Recession hit in 2008," I said, "men became aware that women were able to ride it out better than they were. Ironically, partly because women were still not receiving equal pay for equal work they were more likely than their husbands or partners not to be laid off."

Rona said, "This came decades after tens of millions of women who had been housewives entered the work force, often not just in search of career opportunities but because their husbands' incomes were not enough to sustain the household. We know, again from our own families, that a lot of men felt inadequate because on their own they couldn't make enough money for the families' expenses. My father, your father had to send our mothers to work in order to maintain their lifestyles. Or just pay the bills. How did that make them feel?"

"Not good. Diminished," I said, "In quite a few cases the women wound up making more that their husbands and this alone disrupted the emotional balance within many marriages. And now there is the MeToo movement, which has some men thinking that their or their sons' lives can be destroyed by a false accusation of sexual misconduct."

"And so, here we are," Rona said, "Even in this peaceful place there are men so angry that they want to kill people who they consider to be terrorists."

"All that seems so far away from here and yet . . ."

October 12, 2018--Colonoscopies

First published June 16, 2017--

It used to take at least a half hour before any of us would mention colonoscopes. Now we get to it right away. Even before we are served our first cup of coffee.

Just yesterday we not only talked about them but also bladder infections, melanoma, detached retinas, atrial fibrillation, shingles, abscessed molars, Hashimoto's Disease, and kidney stones.

And of course we share stories about health insurance, doctors, and hospital stays. Few of them good.

My colonoscopy story was about my recent visit to a new internist. After taking my medical history and giving me a thorough examination, including a cardiogram, when he was done, he told me things look pretty good except for a heart murmur and my right hand tremors.

Ignoring that for a moment, I asked him about a colonoscopy. "I haven't had one in a few years," I said, "So maybe it's time . . ."

Before I could complete my thought, he said, "At your age we no longer recommend colonoscopies (he's a gastroenterologist no less) because no matter what we might find, at your age, you'll die of something else."

In a way that sounded good, but in truth, on reflection, not really.

I said, "I guess that gives me something to look forward to. Dying soon."

He doesn't have much of a sense of humor, or maybe his waiting room was full of patients and he didn't have time to schmooze, and so he barely smiled.

The cardiologist and neurologist he referred me too said pretty much the same thing--about the murmur, something else will get me before it becomes a problem; and the same for the tremor--"I'll write you a prescription for L-Dopa," he said, "And we'll hope for the best." He hardly needed to add, "That you'll die before . . ."

I stopped listening.

When I told the story to friends at the Bristol Diner yesterday, one said, "This reminds me of a joke." We all groaned. Lou is not known to be a good joke teller. Undeterred though, he began--"Morty goes to his doctor who gives him his annual physical. When he's done, Morty asks, 'So how did I do?'

"The doctor says, 'Ten.'

 Confused, Morty asks, "'Ten what?' Years? Months? Days?'

"The doctor says, 'Nine, eight, seven, six . . .'"

Not that bad a joke from Lou.

And of course everyone either has a new set of hearing aids or is about to get them. So there's a lot of breakfast talk about that.

"Why do we always seem to be talking about medical issues?" Rona wondered. We were driving to the pharmacy to get my L-Dopa prescription refilled.

"Isn't it obvious?" I said. "We're all getting on in years and stuff happens."

"Wouldn't you think . . ." she began.

"And don't forget that Maine has the oldest population of all the 50 states. And our county, Lincoln, demographically, has the nation's oldest residents."

The next time we were at the diner, when even before the waitress arrived to take our order, Jim began to talk about his diabetes numbers, I said, "Not to sound unsympathetic, but maybe we should try to talk about something not medical."

Jim who is not the sensitive type, without attitude, said, "What would you recommend?"

"Maybe a book or gardening or maybe Donald Trump."

He said, "I rather have a colonoscopy."

October 11, 2018--October Surprises

In election cosmology an October Surprise is a news event deliberately created, timed, or occurring spontaneously that influences the outcome of an election, particularly for the presidency.

With the upcoming midterm elections, since Donald Trump has kidnapped them and made the hundreds of congressional contests all about him--in effect, a referendum on his presidency--by nationalizing these individual races, it would not be unexpected for him to come up with a whopper of an October Surprise. One that would underscore what he claims to be his achievements (tax cuts, renegotiating NAFTA, withdrawing from the Iran deal, a strong job market) a surprise designed to motivate his base to vote for candidates he supports. Essentially, any and all Republicans running for office.

Recent examples of October Surprises include leaking the news in 2000, when George W. Bush was locked in a tight contest with Al Gore, that some years earlier Bush had been cited in Maine for driving while under the influence.

Four years later, to undermine Bush's reelection chances, Osama bin Laden released a videotape in which he took credit for the 9/11 terrorist attack in the hope that this would remind voters of Bush's failures.

The 2008 stock market crash weakened John McCain's chances in his race against Barack Obama. Republicans in general were blamed and the onset of the Great Recession boosted the chances of all Democrats, especially Obama's. So much so that the Democrats took control of both houses of Congress.

And then most recently, in 2016, it is generally agreed that FBI director James Comey ruined Hillary Clinton's candidacy when in late October he summarily released thousands of emails of hers that, even though they contained nothing disqualifying, reminded the voting public that she was not trustworthy.

What then might Trump have in mind for us during the next few weeks? We know he shapes a daily political drama to dominate the news cycle and thus I suspect there will be at least two surprises of magnitude that will suck up all the media oxygen. I predict there will, unprecedented, be at least two such surprises since for Trump more is never enough.

One will involve foreign affairs, the other will focus on domestic theatrics.

Secretary of State Mike Pompeo recently spent a week in Asia. In China but more interesting in North Korea. After his Korea visit he said little progress was made in denuclearization talks. I wonder.

My guess is that he brought with him for Kim Jong-un one of those love letters Trump mentioned the other day. Letters so steamy that even the exhibitionist president said they were too amorous to disclose.

Trump's to Kim likely included a plea--

"Help me out please! I'm about to get shellacked in the midterm elections and need your help. Maybe you could blow up a big missile or two on live TV. I could then say you're on track to getting rid of all your nukes. Of course that's really unnecessary. I just need a good show one of these mornings. Maybe you could time it so it could be shown on Fox & Friends. My favorite."

Then domestically, a couple of days ago, without a formal announcement, Trump launched the Month of the Woman. It began with UN ambassador Nikki Haley announcing on live TV in the Oval Office that she is resigning. 

There they were, Trump and Haley together shamelessly flirting with each other. 

The Month of the Woman will culminate with Trump appointing Dina Powell, a woman, to replace Haley. Unless Trump can convince daughter Ivanka to allow him to appoint her. One advantage for her--it would get her out of Washington (which she hates) and back to New York City.

Recognizing that the so-called "gender gap" is hovering at about 30 points, some are saying it's not a gap but a chasm, realizing that, Trump will do all sorts of things between now and November 6th to focus on how good his presidency has been for women and then will hope that at least a few will show up at the polls in November and vote for him.

If women come out in a wave of votes for Democrats, he'll need more than a couple of surprises to keep him from being impeached in January. There aren't enough angry old white guys to keep him politically safe. We'll see, then, if he can bamboozle enough women to vote for Republicans as he did in 2016.

I'm saying, more than anything else, Kim has to come through for him.

October 10, 2018--Predictions

With a little less than four weeks until the midterm elections, I will return here tomorrow with predictions about upcoming October surprises (note, plural, surprises).

October 9, 2018--Swing Time At the Supreme Court

Adam Liptak, who covers the Supreme Court for the New York Times, in a postmortem after the confirmation of Brett Kavanaugh, wrote that with the departure of Justice Anthony Kennedy, the court is now left without a swing vote. Expect, he says, very conservative decisions, among others, about abortion (severely restrict or end them), affirmative action (sack it), redistricting (what states are doing is OK), and voting rights (not to worry too much about them).

While I'm not so sure Kennedy did all that much swinging, it is true that on subjects such as gay rights he usually voted with the liberal minority. Mainly, though, he joined conservatives on the court in a series of 5-4 decisions about presidential power, corporate reach, and the funding of political campaigns.

There may be, though, another way to think about this. Even with Kavanaugh seated, instead of a predictable suite of conservative 5-4 decisions, we may find a surprising number, sill 5-4s, tipped in a surprisingly liberal direction. 

We could see more moderate and even occasional progressive judgements then anticipated with someone other than Kennedy or, God help us, Kavanaugh agreeing with the four-member liberal wing of the court.

I see the strong possibility that Chief Justice John Roberts may turn out to be an occasional swing vote, especially when issues are of such magnitude that he does not want his court to be perceived as acting too regressively or with too much partisanship.

Case in point, the Affordable Care Act (Obamacare) where Roberts struggled to find a way, a rationale that would work for him and allow him to vote to uphold it. Which he did. (Swingman Kennedy voted with the other three conservative judges and argued vigorously to get Roberts to join them.)

Stretching the language of the actual Obamacare legislation, he saw the individual mandate of the ACA to be funded by a tax and not by either subsides or penalties. And, thus, constitutional. A stretch but revealing--he was so eager to find the ACA upholdable that he became inventive when it came to finding a way to sustain it.

Why might that be? Judicial rationalization trumping ideology and even belief?

Because it's his court. Robert's court. Forever in history, whatever the court does or does not do, finds constitutional or lacking in precedent will be attributable to the Robert's Court.

It wasn't the Scalia Court, nor was it the Thomas Court, or for that matter the Ginsberg Court. It's the Robert's Court as it was the Warren Court, the Burger Court, or the Rehnquist Court.

History-minded, as all chief justices are, Roberts may not want his court to be known ever after as heartless and insensitive to the lives of Americans and our institutions. For him to be perceived that way.

I may be indulging in wishful thinking. But, then again, let's wait and see. Stranger things have happened with the Supreme Court.

October 8, 2018--Susan Collins: My Summer Senator

For half the year in Maine, Susan Collins is one of my senators.

A self-described "moderate Republican" I have yet to see much moderation in her voting record. 

On occasion she sounds moderate like when two years ago she struggled publicly about how to vote on a bill to repeal Obamacare (she eventually voted to eliminate it) and then last week when she seemed to agonize about how to vote when the roll was called to confirm Brett Kavanaugh's nomination to the Supreme Court.

Again, she voted the Republican Party line. In fact, she cast the decisive 50th vote. No one up here was surprised by her seeming to have an open mind but when it came to voting acted as one of the most loyal, most robotic of Republicans.

She is so craven that on Friday she took the lead role in dooming the opposition to Kavanaugh.

With a new outfit and dye-job (he hair no longer looking like roadkill), with three female Republican senators like props seated behind her (Deb Fischer [NE], Shelly Capito [WV], and Cindy-Hyde Smith [MS]), with Lisa Murkowski conspicuously absent (she was too busy writing her own profile in courage), Collins spoke for 45 minutes with seeming feeling about the testimony offered by Dr. Christine Blasey Ford. She could feel her pain, she claimed without feeling, but since she said there was no corroboration she was going to vote to confirm Kavanaugh.

Not a word did she offer about the deranged conspiracy-laced statement and testimony Kavanaugh offered last Thursday. Not a word about his judicial temperament, mental stability, or his many contemporary under-oath lies. All that mattered for Collins was a lack of clear evidence about something he may or may not have done 36 years ago.

What a disgraceful show she participated in. Perhaps most disgraceful was her willingness, as a woman, with three female coconspirators backing her up, to ignore the testimony of an impressive, deeply wounded woman.

At least no one wore pink.

I am always loath to make comparisons between events in the United States and Nazi Germany, but I cannot shake the feeling that Collins and her colleague female senators acted like concentration camp kapos. Like prisoners who were assigned by the SS guards to supervise forced labor of fellow prisoners or carry out administrative tasks. For this they were given special privileges. Like blankets and food. 

Collins, who has been in the Senate for 21 too-long years comes cheap. For her staged peregrinations and eventual "capitulation" she chairs just one subcommittee--on aging. How appropriate. 

But for the bit of her soul she sold Saturday, perhaps the majority leader, the already soulless Mitch McConnell (who considers the Kavanaugh confirmation his "proudest moment"), will name her to a real committee, the foreign relations committee, for example which would allow her to junket around the world at our expense.

Mark it on your calendar--she's up for reelection in 2020.

October 5, 2018--Uncurb Your Enthusiasm

The very astute Jim Messina, Barack Obama's campaign manager for the 2012 election, says that when it comes to midterm elections what really counts is how enthusiastic voters are about voting. For midterms it's all about turnout, turnout, turnout.

In regard to the looming election, by this measure, up until October 1st, things were looking very good for Democrats. Not ideal in the senatorial races because there are up to ten Democrats seeking reelection in very red states, but for the House a Blue Wave was gathering. 

Though some pollsters and pundits felt the Dems had a decent chance of taking control of the Senate, the House was almost certain to flip. Democrats, they felt could gain perhaps 40 to 50 seats and impeachment hearing would commence January 2nd.

But, according to the very latest NPR/PBS poll it is looking as if the Republicans are more than likely to retain control of the Senate and, if current trends continue, maybe even the House.

This is because the enthusiasm numbers, the gap between the GOP and the Democrats, is narrowing fast. In fact, the Republicans have collapsed the enthusiasm gap to virtually zero.

In July "only" 68% of potential Republican voters saw the election to be "very important" while 80% of Democrats were eager to vote. A more than double-digit gap.

As of the October 1st poll, however, 80% of Republicans see the election to be very important and are feeling motivated to vote while for Democrats the number crept up to 82%. The gap is now well within the margin of error. A statistical tie.

What happened?

Simple--the confirmation hearings for Brett Kavanaugh.

The most dispassionate analysts see Republican voters to be motivated by either the excitement of his gaining a seat on the Supreme Court or, if he doesn't, it will be because the Democrats and the "mainstream" media have conspired to vilify and undermine him.

So, they are either excited or enraged. Either emotion more than enough to get Republicans eager to vote.

Thus, progressives beware. This to me is sounding spookily too much like 2016 when Trump came out of a version of political nowhere and won. We need to get even more enthusiastic about voting and work hard to assure a big turnout.

Otherwise . . .

October 4, 2018--A Subdued Trump

Until a day or two ago Trump had been on a roll and, incredibly, at times almost sounded like a normal person.

He spoke moderately about deputy attorney general Rod Rosenstein. After the ("failing") New York Times wrote about how Rosenstein contemplated wearing a wire to record Trump's irrational behavior, when all were expecting him to fire Rosenstein and perhaps even Robert Mueller, Trump said he really wants to "keep" Rosenstein, that he'll meet with him in a week or so, and "we'll see what happens." As if Trump had nothing to do with the what happens.

When Senator Jeff Flake got the Senate judiciary committee to delay a week before voting on Brett Kavanaugh's appointment to the Supreme Court, to allow the FBI time to reopen its background check, rather than returning to ranting about and mocking the Arizona senator ("Jeff Flakey"), he offered temperate comments about this being a good idea. "No rush," he again said, "We'll see what happens." He even offered to withdraw Kavanaugh from consideration if he is found to have lied during his testimony before the committee.

Then he bullied Mexico and Canada to agree to significant changes in NAFTA. Changes even Democrats such as Chuck Schumer praised. A new-seeming Trump barely took a victory lap.

I thought someone in the White House must have slipped some Thorazine into his Big Macs.

Most amazing, after Dr. Christine Blasey Ford's wrenching statement to the judiciary committee, rather than attacking her credibility, Trump spoke softly about how it is important to listen to what she has to say and, again, if it proved to be true, he indicated he would withdraw Kavanaugh's nomination. 

But then, on Tuesday, unable to contain himself, Trump lashed out, mocking Dr. Ford.

At a rally in Southaven, Mississippi, imitating her voice, he spun out this viscous two-character Q&A--

"How did you get home? 'I don't remember.' How did you get there? 'I don't remember.' Where is the place? 'I don't remember.' How many years ago was it? 'I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.'"

That, I thought, is the Trump I know. Playing to his misogynist base.

Where had he been? What had he been up to?

I suspect, probing to find his best political way to respond to all the battering before launching new lines of attack.

And then he found his strategy--

He set his nasty little dialogue in a new context.

At the Mississippi rally he told parents in the audience, in the era of #MeToo, boys are in more danger than girls. Daughters might be threatened by sexually assault but their sons might find themselves falsely accused of committing sexual abuse and thus have their lives ruined. 

He said, "It's a very scary time for young men in America when you can be guilty of something you may not be guilty of. This is a very difficult time."

This is red meat for his base. Especially for middle-age white men who have felt their prerogatives, their privileges threatened, initially by how they experienced the women's movement which, among other things, called for equal pay, sexual parity, control of their bodies, political and executive equivalence, and now by the MeToo movement.

Women with access to a microphone or blog or a corporate human resources office have the power, these disaffiliated men feel, not only to boss them around, but with a simple accusation potentially ruin their lives.

It doesn't help the progressive cause when cable news outlets such as CNN have guests drawing comparisons between Bill Cosby (a convicted sexual predator) and Brett Kavanaugh. No matter how despicable and slimy he feels, Kavanaugh has not been convicted of anything, much less being, like Cosby, a "serial rapist."

We may already be seeing the beginnings of the political consequences from the new Trump campaign to play on this anger, these fears. 

In a number of key Senate battleground red states where Democrats are seeking to retain seats, poll numbers are beginning to swing in their opponents' direction. In North Dakota, for example, Senator Heidi Heitkamp who was running neck-and-neck with Kevin Cramer is now trailing by about 10 points.

We need to get to work. There are just four weeks until Election Day. We know Trump will be campaigning full time. Assuming he doesn't get any more love letters from Kim Jong-un.