Puerto Rico

It has been three months since Hurricane Maria hit and devastated the island of Puerto Rico and still, about half of her residents are without power. Imagine, three months. Many of us can't live without power for three hours. But what about three days, three weeks, three months? And electric power impacts many other things like water, commerce and life in general. The real question however is, where is the outrage? Where is the anger? Where is the accountability?

Would this be acceptable in any state - Texas lets say, or Florida, or New Jersey? We all know the answer. There is no way that any of this would be acceptable or tolerated. So why do we accept it in Puerto Rico? Is it the distance, the fact that it's an island? Is it because most of her people are brown and speak another language? Is it because we don't even realize that her people are US citizens?

I would guess that it's for all of those reasons and more but there's something worse going on that I don't totally understand. It seems that we have accepted the incompetence of the federal government and its leaders. We have accepted Donald Trump's failure in meeting this emergency as well as others and in the process, we have said it's ok. We have accepted the failure of our Congress, FEMA and other federal agencies. Think for a minute about how horrible that is.

We are so engaged in the joke of a reality presidency that we have all lost sight of what used to be our greatest values - those of caring for each other and making sure our government worked. In the meantime the people of Puerto Rico fight for their lives or leave their homes behind as they migrate to Florida or New York.

The media, the resistance movement, and just plain citizens have fallen short in terms of Puerto Rico and that really needs to change. Every White House briefing, every interview, every protest, march or visit to an elected officials' office has to begin with and include questions about Puerto Rico and her people. Demand accountability.

Two Oaks

12/23/17

Two massive Oaks

Stand and watch

Over Seneca Lake.

Still holding leaves

In late December

Brown and brittle.

One leaf dances

In the wind as

Others remain quiet. 

Beautiful Oaks

Guarding the lake

In mist and snow

And waiting.

Roger Allen LaPorte 1943-1965

On Nov.10th, 52 years ago, a young man by the name of Roger Allen LaPorte died. It was a difficult and painful death but it had tremendous meaning to a group of people who knew, worked and spent time with him.

The times were difficult. It was 1965 and the war in Vietnam was raging. There were people resisting, mostly young men and women. They were protesting, refusing induction into the armed forces, writing, burning draft cards, laying down guns and refusing orders. In addition they were working with the poor and the devalued, trying to do good and change attitudes. Yes, trying to change the world. Some were religious, some not, some were philosophers, some were purely humans struggling in an imperfect world. They were future prisoners, authors, teachers, husbands, wives and lovers. They were a community who needed and depended on each other.

Roger was impatient. He wasn’t overly practical and most importantly he was sick of what he saw happening in Vietnam and in his own country. He watched and participated in protests against the war. He was frustrated with the slow pace of peacemaking and he worried about his friends and whatever suffering he perceived that they might encounter. He was upset with the pain of the war that fell on children and soldiers alike.

On November 9, 1965, in the early hours, Roger bought a small container of gasoline, walked to the United Nations, sat down, doused himself with the gasoline and lit a match. Roger was 22 years old, a former seminarian, a volunteer at the NYC Catholic Worker and a friend. Roger died the next day on November 10th at Bellevue Hospital. His action and death caused shock and confusion among that circle of friends who knew Roger. Why was he so impatient? Why didn’t he talk about it? What was he thinking? Could we have stopped him?

Here we are 52 years later. The war in Vietnam took close to 10 years after Roger’s death to end. Many other wars came and some went. The Bowery where Roger mingled with the poor and the addicted has become gentrified but the poor and the homeless still exist. Presidents and other leaders have come and gone and today we have Donald Trump and Kim Jong Un playing with nuclear weapons and people’s lives.

All of this led me to and on a pilgrimage of sorts. I have thought about Roger often over the years but especially in October and November. Over time, I found out that he was born about 16 miles from where I currently live and that he was buried in Tupper Lake, NY, the town where his family moved and where he grew up and left for the seminary. In late October of this year, I took a trip to Tupper Lake to visit Roger’s grave site. I had found the cemetery and his grave location through research. We, Jeannette and I, arrived at the cemetery at about 10am on a beautiful late October morning, sun shining with a light breeze. We parked and then walked to the end of the row and found Roger’s marker, a granite cross with the words “In God Alone” above Roger’s dates of birth and death. I stood for a moment and said what I suppose was a prayer - “Hello Roger, it’s been a long time and I’m sorry for that.” We walked back to the car to get a white ribbon that I had prepared a few days earlier. I had written a brief message on the ribbon. “Peace Roger - Jim, Nicole, Paul and other friends." It was also adorned with the international symbol for Peace. As we were walking back to the marker, Jeannette said “What’s that singing?”. I paused and asked “What singing?”. Then I stopped and listened and heard it too. It was far in the distance but no mistake, it was singing, more like chanting by women and men. In my mind it sounded like monks and nuns at some religious ceremony. A few days prior I had re-read parts of Nicole d'Entremont’s book, “City of Belief” (info click here) that chronicles Roger’s death and all of the things leading up to it. I remembered passages in the book that talked about Roger’s relationship to and memories of monks chanting. I was a bit numb but went to the marker and tied the ribbon to it. I continued to kneel, listening to the sounds of singing and said a final prayer in my own unholy way. “Thanks for the sign Roger. Thanks for the embrace of not just me but all of your friends at the Catholic Worker. I’m going to find those singing nuns and monks to see who they are and if they'll keep singing.” I believe in spirits and signs and hope. Like many my age, I question formal religious dogmas but I do believe in people, friends and the earth that surrounds us. My final act was to clip some grass by hand around the edge of Rogers grave, trying to leave a place nicer than I found it.

We drove toward the back of the cemetery, to this side and that side. Sometimes the singing disappeared. We finally found it coming from behind but to one side of the cemetery. I pulled out of the drive and turned to the right on my quest to find the monastery or church where these holy people were chanting. Just past the cemetery there was a formal looking entrance to what turned out to be the Museum of Natural History of the Adirondacks. We made the turn, drove down a wide drive and past a large building called "The Wild Center". As I parked the car and we got out, there it was, the mysterious chanting coming from the woods. We began to walk toward the sound. A young woman just arriving for her shift at the museum found us and led us toward a back entrance to the museum. I asked her about the music and the chanting. She explained that it was an exhibit of what she called immersion art where an artist had placed the chants and music throughout one of the paths in the woods, where it mixes with the sounds of the wind, leaves and birds. We told her we had heard it in the cemetery. She became concerned and wondered if it was a bother. I said no, of course not. We walked down the path, sat on a bench and listened to the marvelous sounds that weren’t really religious but that did sound like chants and they were beautiful.

I have been reminded recently that this brash, impractical young man named Roger LaPorte, who lies on the edge of the Adirondack Preserve, has ironically taught us patience. His friends have grown old. Many battles have been won but some big ones have been lost. If we ever needed patience and strength to continue resisting, it’s now. And we need memories about Roger and he needs to be remembered. At the time of his death and throughout the years, some have tried to dissect his act. Please don't bother. There is no value in the task. Leave it be. I hope those chants continue for awhile at least, and that they bring Roger and all of us some peace. I hope we all continue working for peace. Try your best and as hard as you can for everyone's sake.

To that small circle of friends who knew and worked with Roger, it's all good.

And here is a re-posting of Remembering Roger Allen LaPorte from November 2015 on this site:

In the early morning hours of Nov. 9, 1965, a young man named Roger Allen LaPorte completed his trip to the UN carrying a container of gasoline. He sat down on the pavement, poured the gasoline over his body and ignited himself in flames. This self immolation was Roger's protest against the war in Vietnam. Roger was taken to Bellevue Hospital with burns over most of his body. He identified himself as a Catholic Worker and indicated that he was against war, all war and that he did this as a religious act.

Roger was 22 years old, a former seminarian and someone who volunteered at the Catholic Worker's House of Hospitality close to the Bowery in NYC. I knew Roger and worked with him. I was 21 and was in the middle of my own protest against the war. There were many other people who knew and worked with Roger. We were living in a somewhat surreal time. We worked with the poor and the marginalized. We cooked soup, gave out cloths to those who needed them. We sat up at night singing songs, drinking beer and arguing with each other about war, peace and our actions and reactions to the politics of the time. The times were intense. People were making decisions about their lives and about their futures.

Roger was quiet and thoughtful. He watched what was happening around him. A week earlier, another young man, a Quaker named Norman Morrison, had set himself aflame in front of the Pentagon and the office of the Secretary of Defense.

A few days before Roger's action he had attended a draft card burning demonstration at Union Square. He stood in the crowd and listened to hecklers telling the young men on the platform to burn themselves, not their draft cards.

Roger made a choice. He didn't tell any of us of his plan. He went to the UN early, before people would see him and intervene. He sat down and acted.

At 5:16 pm that evening, NYC and much of the northeast went black with a large power outage. Traffic lights, elevators, and lights throughout the city stopped working. At the Catholic Worker, the evening meal was being served. We were lit by candles and the light from a bicycle turned on its handle bars and seat with people taking turns turning the pedals. After dinner a small group walked the streets in wonder at how everyone was helping each other out. Pedestrians were directing traffic, people were helping each other cross streets. We sat together in an apartment talking about, praying about Roger. Wondering, thinking in silence and sometimes breaking into a song.

Roger died the next morning. There are those who spent and continue to spend time analyzing Roger's action. Was it this or was it that? It was what it was, a young man seriously frustrated and angry about a war that seemed to have no end.

Roger was a good young man and he should be remembered as such. That's the way I remember Roger LaPorte fifty years after his death.

Lessons of War - What Have We Learned?

We are in a time when this question needs to be asked by everyone - supporters of wars, opponents and those in between. We are in a period where choices need to be made. Yes, a period where decisions that could effect generations for years to come may be made very quickly, by a small handful of people.

According to most experts, we are closer to a nuclear incident then ever before. In addition, there are enough nuclear weapons to wipe out the entire planet many times over. We have seen and lived with the horrors of war for centuries. History is filled with facts and stories about war and combat. One thing is certain in all of this history - there are winners and there are losers. There is also brutality and death of both combatants and of innocent civilians. Some have always said that those deaths are inevitable and one of the prices of victory, freedom or fighting for any cause.

So what else have we learned about war and its consequences? We've learned about theories of justifiable war but we've learned about a soldier's responsibility to refuse orders per the Nuremberg trials. Due to technology's evolution, we've learned about atrocities first hand, watching villages being burned and civilians being shot on newscasts for everyone to see. We've watched live events of Towers burning and crumbling from planes flown into them. We've watched drones controlled from thousands of miles away hone in on targets, sometimes getting it right and other times making terrible errors, killing civilians at weddings and family gatherings.

We've also learned that people can make a difference in opposing wars. We've learned that mass movements take time and require that people who may not agree on all kinds of things, can agree on one or two core principles. We've learned that political and religious leaders can stand up against wars and violence. We've learned that movements take leaders, organizers, people who are prepared to work hard at making views known.

So what does it take? Ads in major publications signed by religious, political, scientific, literary leaders could be a start. Bringing attention to what's wrong with nuclear tit for tat, etc. Large demonstrations, organized well and focused, in major cities do work. Nonviolent resistance has always been key to effective change. Violence in the streets works against any movement for justice.

Leaders are certainly needed from both past and current generations and these generations need to talk to and learn from each other. It's too serious to not have this happen. So do what you can to start the conversations and the organizing. Tell stories, sing about the past and the present, support causes, encourage young people. Let people know that taking a stand against war is not only important but it works.

A Day At Union Square

A Day At Union Square

52 years ago, five men burned paper at Union Square.

Friends supported them while others screamed and swore.

An old man, a preacher, preached and blessed the flames.

An old woman said she was old but believed in the young opposing a war.

52 years ago, lives changed at Union Square.

Some began and some began to end.

Many lives, already there and a few yet to come were impacted.

It was an attempt, a grasp for peace.

52 years ago families were divided by Union Square.

Suffering and rage continued for years to come.

But time and age helped with healing along the way.

New life, new relationships and new times began.

52 years ago today at Union Square actions became words.

Are we better off? Perhaps, perhaps not, but we are here.

We are here, listening for other words, watching Ken Burns Vietnam.

We are here, waiting for other actions and hoping for peace.

11-6-17

Some Thoughts About Peace, The Catholic Worker and Community

These are two pieces I shared earlier today on Facebook. Both are important because they give some sense of the Catholic Worker philosophy. We are in difficult times. People are not listening to each other. So I'm sharing these thoughts from two of my heroes, Peter Maurin and Dorothy Day.

The first appears below and it's a result of thinking about how separated we all are right now. I'm reminded of this Easy Essay by Peter Maurin, co-founder of the Catholic Worker with Dorothy Day. It goes like this:

Community or Crowd?

People say:
They don’t do this,
They don’t do that,
They ought to do this,
They ought to do that.
Always “They”
and never “I.”

The Communitarian Revolution
is basically/a personal revolution.
It starts with I,
not with They.

One I plus one I
makes two I’s
and two I’s
and two I’s make We.
We is a community
while “they” is a crowd.

And then as I think about war and peace in this difficult and dangerous time I tend to go back to my roots in the peace movement - listening to and reading Dorothy Day speak about the topic. So it seems that it's important to review some important thoughts about peace. As a barely 21 year old volunteer at the NYC Catholic Worker in 1965, this is some of what I heard from Dorothy:

Weapons of Peace

"One of our Catholic pacifists asked me to write a clear, theoretical, logical, pacifist manifesto, and he added so far, in these thirty-three year of The Catholic Worker, none had appeared from my pen.

I can write no other than this: Unless we use the weapons of the spirit, denying ourselves and taking up our cross and following Jesus, dying with Him and rising with Him, men will go on fighting, and often from the highest motives, believing that they are fighting defensive wars for justice for others and in self-defense against present or future aggression.

To try to stop war by placing before men’s eyes the terrible suffering involved will never succeed, because men are willing (in their thoughts and imaginations at least) to face any kind of suffering when motivated by noble aims like the vague and tremendous concept of freedom, God’s greatest gift to man, which they may not articulate by merely sense. Or, in their humility (or sloth, – who knows?) men are quite willing to leave decisions to others “who know more about it than we do.” Without religious conversion there will be few Franz Jagerstatters to stand alone and leave wife and children and farm for conscience sake. But as Jagerstatter said, it was God’s grace that moved him, more powerful than any hydrogen bomb."

The Danger of Tying Local Elections To National Issues

The national and Presidential elections in 2016 caused reactions from cheers to tears and new commitments to resistance, organizing and political action. Many people were outraged. They were dismayed, depressed and shocked. Demonstrations took place across the country and people marched through the streets. I was among them.

But there were also calls for very practical and real responses. People were encouraged to run for office, any and every office. Women were encouraged. Millennials were encouraged. People of diverse cultures, races and economic status were encouraged. The calls went out and people responded. Trainings popped up with good information from experienced campaigners. All of this was good and meaningful from a political organizing perspective. More people were getting involved in the political process and treasuries of political opposition were being filled. In general, people felt good about these efforts and still do.

But as with everything else in life, things get complicated fairly quickly. I believe that after the initial melancholy and then exuberance, it was easy for people to get waylaid or lost. I've seen examples of it in local elections and campaigns. Many seem to have forgotten that old political maxim "all politics is local" as office holders are challenged and office hopefuls look to change "things".

What I've seen on just about every level are simple slogans and messages that go something like - "Vote for Change", "Turn (county, town, state) Blue", "Vote Democrat". In addition, I've seen local candidates tweeting and posting things on Facebook about national issues including immigration, tax reform, national health care, impeachment and foreign policy. Obviously these are all important issues and everyone has a right and sometimes a duty to talk about them, but.....and here's the but. These issues have little to do with what will probably win local elections for school boards, town boards or county legislatures.

Outrage and anger have to get us more then outrage and more anger. Part of why people, voters and non-voters alike, are frustrated and disgusted with politics, is because politicians have so little to offer in terms of real solutions and real work. How will we create jobs? How will we provide more and better public transit? How will poor people and people in need of basic services be treated and supported in our schools and communities? How will we protect and provide basic services like water or sewer service to communities? How will we work together, across party lines, building coalitions to get real work done? To me, these are the issues and the things people need to be talking about in elections. No matter how angry people may be about national election results, it is a huge mistake to think that people will vote for parties vs  candidates who have real solutions and a commitment to work for constituents to bring about change.

I applaud people who make the commitment to run for office, but I for one, want to hear about local issues and local solutions.

Why People Take A Knee

With all of the controversy about the NFL and players getting down on one knee during the playing of the national anthem, it may be helpful to just think about the act of getting down on a knee or knees. There are many reasons that people take a knee. I'm not the greatest sports follower or authoritiy but I've seen team members, even opposing team members, taking a knee when another player is hurt on the field. It's a sign that someone's in trouble and that they may need help and that others should pay attention.

And we're all familiar with the act of genuflection on one knee as a sign of respect and adoration in the religious sense. People also take to both knees to pray. But under certain circumstances, prayer or the symbol of prayer may take place on one knee.

Many times I've seen first responders and other emergency workers, taking a knee as they assist someone in distress. Some of it has to do with comfort and the ability to assist a person in that position.

I'm sure there are other examples but these are a few that come to mind. The point is, taking a knee is not all that odd in and of itself.

So almost a year ago Colin Kaepernick began sitting and than getting down on one knee during the playing of the national anthem. He was very clear about his reason. He spoke about it openly because he wanted to. He wanted to make a statement about the lack of justice relative to the treatment of black people in the United States. "I am not going to stand up to show pride in a flag for a country that oppresses black people and people of color," Kaepernick told NFL Media in an exclusive interview after the game. "To me, this is bigger than football and it would be selfish on my part to look the other way. There are bodies in the street and people getting paid leave and getting away with murder."

Now, the valid protest that he started, is being turned into an attack on the flag, the anthem and the military. It is a bizarre twisting of facts and reality. Agitators and protesters have most always been attacked and turned into the bad guy. Prophets, men and women, have been arrested, jailed, beaten, killed and demonized. Authoritarian leaders most often use nationalism and patriotism as the justification to insult and harass those who stand up for justice. Flags are symbols. They are fabric and cloth. Values are real and some need to be protected. Injustices are also real and need to be identified and dealt with.

Perhaps we should view taking the knee today as a sign, a warning that our nation is in trouble, that some of our people are hurt, they may need help and we should all pay attention. 

How Bad Can It Get?

When the President of the United States starts name calling the leader of a country who has acquired nuclear weapons and seems to believe it's a valid foreign policy strategy, we're in some deep trouble. Nuclear war is but a tweet away and few seem to take it seriously. And this week Donald Trump will take on the United Nations as well. Sadly, many have become desensitized to Trump's tweets. This is not only sad but dangerous. Ignoring his tendency toward destructive behavior against all of us just seems to empower and encourage him and that's the last thing we need.

It doesn't matter if it's John Kelly, Congress, Melania or just us, the ordinary people of the United States, but someone has to let him know when enough is enough. The reality is that we seem to have a very sick man the White House. He is a danger and a threat to himself and others. The last thing he needs is unlimited power or attempts at unlimited power where others seem afraid to provide legitimate checks.

His tweet this past weekend showing a video of him doing harm to his former opponent by a golf swing and a golf ball is distasteful and wrong on so many levels. It is another attack on women. It promotes violence and violent acts under a cloak of humor. It exposes a number of his obsessions. Interestingly, Hillary Clinton as the spouse of a former President, is protected by the Secret Service. Perhaps this tweet depicting violence against her will be or should be investigated as a violent threat against a protected subject. Perhaps the Secret Service could protect all of us against an out of control President. Then again, Twitter could stand up and be useful by enforcing its own rules and blocking Trump's account because of the dangers he is presenting through violence on so many levels.

The real question I guess, is how quickly someone will act to check or control this madness? How bad can it get? We're about to find out.

The Big Question - What Do You Do In Retirement?

I guess it happens to everyone who retires. People are always asking what are you doing in retirement? In the beginning of my retirement in 2011, I actually found myself making things up because there seemed to be this expectation that you had to do something. I actually told one person that I was going to read the internet. He looked confused and moved on. People of course had their own ideas on how I should be spending my time and most of it didn't appeal to me. What I have found is that people evolve in their own retirement. They find their own interests, projects, community and people that they choose to spend time with.

Having experienced the question fairly often, I was happy the other day to hear what the great songwriter, John Prine, says about his daily life. It seems to fit my routine pretty well. “I do as little as possible. I do a lot of little chores; ones that most people would take care of in half an hour, I stretch them out over a day. I always try to include lunch. If it’s a really slow day, I include a nap. By the time the 5 o’clock news rolls around, my day is done.” Amen!

Now John Prine is nowhere near retirement. He continues to write, tour, sing and he has a great way with words. He's a great storyteller and I love a good story. I've told a few myself and retirement is a great place to hone the skill. Prine has a book called Beyond Words that gathers thoughts and pictures and songs together. But here's an example of his storytelling about his first job at Skip's and his thoughts about bees John Prine and his job at Skip's. You can skip the ad in 4, 3, 2, 1 seconds.

Donald Trump Must Go

The time has come. We have to recognize that Donald Trump is a very sick man. He is a shameful person. He is a narcissist. He is evil in his sickness and he is a danger to everyone including himself and he has to go. He is pushing buttons that he has no idea what they will do or what their functions are. He has spoken from his heart and has shown everyone that he believes in values that are dangerous, repugnant and un-American. He has supported the actions of domestic terrorists. He has kicked dirt in the face of every foot soldier for freedom, peace and justice. People who have been beaten, imprisoned and killed for peace and justice now suffer the ultimate insult. Their actions are minimized and ignored.

He has made us realize that democracy is very fragile. There is little that stands between us and a totalitarian government, a dictatorship. Donald Trump is governing through anger, fear and bullying. People who should know better have been silenced by his bullying and anger. As a result we are in very deep trouble. He has told us himself, numerous times and in numerous ways, that he will not give, he will only double down. We saw that in his sparing with the press, yesterday (8/15/17). He doubled down and equated Nazis and white supremacists with people who stood up against their hatred.

Some have said we just need to accept his reality and he should be contained and isolated by the people around him and by other branches of government. Certainly others in government should stand up as leaders, come together and govern in spite of him and yes, isolate him. But there seriously needs to be more. He needs to be gone, either voluntarily or by use of the 25th Amendment.

Yes he needs to be gone and the sooner, the better. He stays and there will be more, much more violence and disruption in our country. I believe more people will die if he stays. This is hard to say and hard to talk about but we are at one of the most important times in our history. Remember our history. There is a huge test coming. Will our leaders pass? Will they stand up and help Donald Trump leave his office now?

The President of Chaos

That's who he is, Donald J. Trump, the President of Chaos. It's who he is. It's where he came from. His entire career has been built on creating and constructing chaos. Every deal, real estate and everything else, has been embroiled in confusion and chaos. That's how he has gotten things done. When facts have gotten in the way, he has diverted, created smoke, mirrors and distractions.

Why then are we surprised when that same mode of operation is being used to 'lead' and 'govern' the US? Part of the answer is because most people have some level of decency and ethics and therefore expect someone they put in charge to have similar values. And lets be clear, like it or not, we did put this character in charge.

But Donald Trump is proving everyone wrong or some of us right depending on your perspective. He has stretched every limit - ethics, presidential powers, relationships, appointments, etc. He has pushed everything to the most extreme edge, including how a 71 year old man in a leadership role presents himself and talks to an audience of boys and young men. Yes, he's pushed us to our limits. He has bullied and maligned his own staff. He has insulted allies and praised traditional enemies. Yes, it is Donald Trump and his brand of chaos. He is who he is.

We have to realize that it's his way of doing business, it's his way of governing and it's disgusting. It's an insult to all of us - those who support him, those who oppose him and those who work for him. He is doing great harm to all of us and he's enjoying it. Frankly, I'm not sure he really has any idea of what to do or how to govern and this boorish behavior is partly his way of compensating.

Yes, we have to admit it. The President of the US is theatre. He is his own reality show. He is a clown and a buffoon to boot. He is also dangerous. People seem confused about his recent treatment of Jeff Sessions. Watch closely what he's doing and prepare for the worst. The public shaming of Sessions has had and will have its effect. He (Sessions) will be pushed to more conservative actions related to leaks and pressure that will be put on the press and free speech. He will be pushed on immigration and sanctuary cities. Sessions now has to prove himself to a brutal boss. Donald Trump in his creation of chaos will continue to push these issues to whatever limit there is. Mueller may be fired. Sessions will continue to be shamed and bullied and sadly Republicans in Congress will wring their hands about when, what and if they say anything.

The worst behavior however was the speech this week to 12 to 18 year old Boy Scouts. Talking to these young men about issues like Medicaid, Medicare, Health Insurance - issues that their parents are struggling to live with and understand is beyond irresponsible. Talking to these same men about his election and airing grievances about opponents is sad and embarrassing. To lead these young men to boo a former President is without any class.

But the chaos continues, tweeting military policy without a plan on implementation, tweeting insults, bullying whoever gets in his way or who he perceives as changing the script to his movie. People of conscience and people in leadership positions have to begin speaking up as loudly and as clearly as possible. The joke, the theatre has gone too far.

Buddy's Story

This is a follow up to my last story on my Brittany, Buddy. I had to take Bud to the vet this morning and have him euthanized. Not easy and certainly not fun. Last night we almost lost Buddy to his breathing disorder. He had been out walking, laid down at a certain point and just couldn't get his breath as his larynx closed up on him. Anyway after that last experience, I knew we had to let him go. We spent good time together beforehand and had plenty of time to say goodbye.

But here's some of Buddy's story. I got him 10 years ago from a nearby shelter. I had recently lost another dog and my brother was up visiting from New Jersey. He convinced me we should spend part of a day going to few shelters and just taking a look at some dogs. Off we went. We saw and met all types and breeds of dogs. Some were great looking but didn't have the best personality. Then we found Buddy. His shelter name was Dingle. He was beautiful as you can see from his picture. On the top of his head was a little tuft of reddish hair that always grew longer than the rest of his head hair. He was a bit dirty and stinky from his three month kennel stay.

The folks at the shelter gave me the most history they had. Supposedly he had run away from somewhere, was picked up and was a hard sell kind of adoption. They estimated his age at between 5 and 6 which I think was an over estimate. Part of the reason Buddy was a hard sell was because of his behavior. He had been beaten badly by his previous owner. There were deep scars on his head. As a result, he cowered and feared human contact, especially from men. When he came out to meet me, he sat at my feet shaking and peed and peed and peed. In his cage he played with his feces. I left the shelter thinking no, this wouldn't work.

My brother went back to Jersey a few days later and I returned to the shelter, spent some time with Buddy and made the arrangements to adopt him. Since I was over 60 and he was over five, I got a special senior to senior discount and we were on our way. I wanted to make sure he peed before we got in the car. All set, we loaded up. Buddy was put in the front seat and we began our journey home about 45 minutes away. Soon after I got on the highway, Buddy got down on the floor by the front seat, curled up in a ball and shook all the way home. Somehow though I think way down deep, Buddy knew things were different and that everything was going to be ok. He loved rides from that day forward and I'd always laugh thinking of that first scary ride for both of us.

When we got home, I left Buddy in the garage which he promptly used like his cage at the shelter. He relieved himself and played with the results. Buddy still had to meet Samantha, Sam for short. Sam was an older Beagle that had lived with us for awhile. She had her Beagle quirks and would be the alpha dog in her and Buddy's relationship. They met, he liked her and she tolerated him, to a point.

But it was Buddy and me who's relationship grew. I took him everywhere to help to socialize him from his downright fear of people. People would look at him or walk past him and he'd lean against my leg, shaking and looking anxious and sometimes wetting himself and my shoe. Over time he lost his fear of people and was one of the sweetest and friendliest dogs I've ever known.

Buddy would always sleep with me but interestingly when we had guests, if it was ok, he would always sleep in bed with them. It was almost like a welcome gesture and a reaching out for another friend.

So that was our journey together. We lost Sam along the way but had great times, walking, rolling in the grass and Bud doing actual somersaults on his long leash and then running and body slamming me. He was a true Brittany, loved to run in circles all day long. That's Buddy's story, a guy who was beaten up badly but who found a good home in the end. His last truly funny act was the Pound Cake and the berries (see previous post) which he seemed to enjoy immensely. The best thing is, he knew he could get away with it.

Pound Cake, Strawberries & Blueberries

I've been craving a piece of pound cake topped with some strawberries or blueberries. The season is right and we all deserve a little something special every once in awhile. So yesterday I ventured out. I went to my favorite little farm stand knowing that they would at least have some of the ingredients.

Along for the ride came Buddy, my Brittany who's struggling with a serious health issue that I'll explain. Buddy and I had an awful time last week. Buddy has a condition that basically is an intermittent paralysis of the larynx. It happens if he gets overly excited or if there is pressure on his throat. He can't control his breathing if his larynx closes and he loses oxygen and can collapse. When it happens I calm him and try to talk him through the incident. Our Vet is aware and we've gone over all of the alternatives. Buddy is 14 but in pretty good health with the exception of this condition.

I took him to the groomer last week and he had one of these incidents while being bathed. They took him to a close by animal hospital and called me with the news. When I got there Buddy had been sedated and put on oxygen. Tests were run to make sure his lungs were free of liquid and that his heart was ok. We got out of there 3 or 4 hours later and I spent most of last week and the weekend trying to make a decision about putting Buddy down - decided for it, against it and so on. By Monday I had decided we would hold off at least for now and continue to get the most out of life as long as we could minimize these incidents.

That brings us to the trip to the farm stand. I decided Buddy would come along for the ride because he loves being in the car. So there we were looking at all of the fresh fruit, vegetables and baked goods. I spotted a beautiful homemade Pound Cake on the table. I grabbed it along with a quart of strawberries, a pint of blueberries and a nice yellow melon. Everything got bagged up except for the melon which I always choose to have roll around freely in the car.

I had to make a quick stop at the pharmacy so I made sure the bag was wrapped and tucked. Cracked the windows for Buddy, ran in, picked up what I needed and came back out, in what I thought was record time. Too late though for a Brittany with a bottomless stomach. There was Buddy still into his work. The Pound Cake was completely gone, bag and wrapper destroyed in the process. Strawberries and blueberries were out of containers, poked by a nose, half eaten and spread out on the floor and in the back seat. The only survivor was the melon. Buddy had no shame. No cowering or guilty look and no problem breathing. His paws were a mix of red and purple juice as was my back seat upholstery.

I did my best at disciplining Buddy, ordering him to the front seat before realizing that his paws were soaked in red and purple. Too late! Sped home, worried about the berry effect on a Brittany's digestive system and trying to think about the cleanup project ahead of me.

Buddy enjoyed a nice afternoon nap, but as the evening wore on and went into the night, a stomach ache seemed pretty evident. At 3 in the morning we were both up, Buddy looking for water and the nearest exit and me searching for a flashlight. We survived the Pound Cake, all of its butter, the strawberries and blueberries in more ways than one. Buddy is well, looking forward to his next ride in the car that smells like a fruit scented cleaning product.

Secrecy, Accountability & The Press

Our government is moving more and more toward secrecy, a lack of transparency and accountability. If it was only Donald Trump, maybe we could write it off and say "well that's just Trump", but sadly, that's not the case. Of course he is the leader of the party in power and he also clearly would like to operate without accountability as he did in his private businesses. The fact is however that this goes much deeper. This secrecy is really the preferred choice of people in power and it really doesn't matter if they are Republicans or Democrats, private or public entities. Religious organizations, fraternal groups and on and on, seem to have it in their DNA - business behind closed doors, executive sessions, and private settings are the acceptable order of the day.

The most recent and perhaps blatant example is the US Senate (GOP majority this time) crafting and developing a healthcare bill that will impact all Americans. Somehow it has become acceptable that this was done in secret. Mitch McConnell, who is touted by many pundits as a great political mind and tactical politician, finds it acceptable to work on, design and develop our country's healthcare plan behind closed doors with a group of 13 all white, male senators. We of course, have allowed him to think this is acceptable. He and others act insulted if anyone questions the process he established. He says we've been debating the issue for seven years or more. In the end, it turns out that the group of 13 hadn't really seen the draft themselves. Somehow the concept of open debate and consensus building has totally disappeared from the US Senate and that's a shame. The Senate was the one institution people could look to for fair and open debate in government, but ultimately power does corrupt.

While all of this goes on and plays out, the White House has decided that reduced access by the press will help those in power control their message and messaging. So what we've seen happen recently are less briefings, orders not to release audio notes and orders not to bring or use cameras during specific briefings. On top of that one network has been chosen for interviews by the President and his press spokesperson. Controlling the message this tightly is a real threat to our democracy. We also have to remember that these are the same people, leadership of the Senate, the President and his spokespeople, who are so concerned about leaks and stories that they can't control. They don't seem to realize that all of their actions give rise to and cause more leaks, more questioning, and more concern. A state network is far from the answer.

But again this isn't just Donald Trump, Congress, or one political party. This goes on in board rooms all over America. It happens in every little town and community, at village meetings, school board meetings, town and county meetings, etc. At the same time local reporters and press representatives are fairly relentless, trying to get information, quotes and data for their stories. They do this because we can't be at every meeting. They do it because we get bored listening to the facts or the circular conversations, or the personal attacks of elected officials against one another. They do it to inform us, the public and to try to keep the conversation honest.

I'm not sure we appreciate the importance of these reporters, opinion writers and commentators enough. From major networks to our hometown weekly or daily paper or the low powered FM or AM radio station reading the girl scouts news release or breaking a story on fraud or neglect, stories get told every day. Yes there can at times be problems with accuracy or fact finding but honestly most of that can be traced back to a lack of transparency on the part of the source.

All of us have a responsibility to push for and to demand as much transparency as possible. Our democracy really does depend on it. We will all be better off in the end with public discourse and public facts. So keep watch, demand accountability and speak up when the those in power close doors.

So, Where Do We Go From Here?

A pretty open question in this day and age that could probably be asked fairly regularly. But I'm asking it on the evening of June 14, 2017. We woke up this morning to reports of shots being fired at a GOP Congressional baseball team practice in the suburbs of Alexandria, Virginia. As the day went on we heard about the extent of injuries to Congressmen, aides and Capital Police. We heard from the President, the Speaker of the House, the Minority Leader, witnesses, participants, team managers, the police, the FBI, etc. We saw tapes, we listened to the same interviews over and over. Eventually we heard the name of the shooter. Then we saw his picture as more and more information came out about who he was and where he lived. His political beliefs and frustrations became known and were out there for everyone to react to. Then we heard that he didn't survive the attack and law enforcements response.

Many are in shock about all of this, but should we be? I'd suggest that we should have seen this coming and probably many of us did. The political rhetoric, the anger and the disrespect that we see every day was cetainly going to lead to something. Civility disappeared before, during and after the Presidential election this past year and few seemed to care. It became acceptable to attack people based on religious beliefs, ethnicity, wealth, poverty and political affiliation. The disrespect and plain, lousy treatment crossed every political spectrum, left, right, center and more.

As terrible as today's event was, I can't help but believe that Congress and people in government are reacting to this tragedy in a somewhat disengenuous way. There are terrible acts of violence happening in neighborhoods across the country. There are horrific acts of violence that our government participates in on a daily basis in countries around the world. There are acts of violence without weapons that take place by the withholding of food and clean water.

So, where do we go from here? My own belief is that we all have to look in the mirror. We have to think about what part we've played and why we felt it was necessary? We have to figure out how we can all help break down walls, leave our tribes and talk to people who don't agree with us. We have to really spend time talking about how to respect differences. We also have to understand that violence doesn't just come from guns, missiles or fists. Violence comes from words, attitudes and simple body language. There will be more violence and more incidents but we have to try to do what we can about it. Lets try to do this together.

Acceptable Boundaries?

As many of us watch the testimony of James Comey, former Director of the FBI, speak about his interactions with the President of the United States, I'm struck by the boundaries that have been crossed by various parties.

Obviously the President himself has crossed boundaries that shock many. He either doesn't understand or doesn't care about protocol, ethics, legal roles, the independence of law enforcement, separation of branches of government or leadership itself. Many knew this based on his past actions and statements about women, minorities, immigrants and muslims. Traditional boundaries were easily ignored during his campaign. So there really shouldn't be much of a surprise relative to Donald Trump's actions, statements, etc. Trying to influence or stop an investigation and bragging to representatives of another nation that he has stopped an investigation are some of the newer actions. What a low bar has been set for acceptable behavior by a President. Policy by Tweeting is an established method of administrative operation and communication.

Directors of the intelligence agencies are allowed to refuse to answer questions from oversight committees of Congress with no justification of classified information, executive privilege or Fifth Amendment protection. Others would face consequences for sure. Contempt of and for Congress is accepted by Congress and this administration. Staff working for Donald Trump seem to believe they have to walk on eggshells and leave any ethical standards at the door every morning.

But what about the rest of us? What about the President's political party - the GOP? Most leaders and elected officials in the Republican Party sit in silence or worse, defend or excuse the actions that play out in front of them. Some are ashamed but most are afraid of Trump and his base and a few others shamefully believe in the President's iconoclastic actions. Ads are put together to attack people who try to act with some level of integrity.

Democrats are no better. Most have forgotten how to reach across an aisle or a table to work with colleagues. Much of their outrage is false. They have helped create an environment of confrontation and non cooperation. Their poor leadership on a national party level is insulting to the electorate. Their treatment of dissenting voices leaves them with little respectability.

Of course then there's us - the electorate, the voters, the non-voters, the sheep. We excuse the election of an inexperienced government chief executive due to frustration and anger. We celebrate democracy in other countries and don't practice it at home. Many don't vote. Some of those who do, allow themselves to be manipulated by others. We accept incompetence. We accept non accountability.

Many are exhausted from this Presidency, this show, this theatre. One melodrama after another takes place. It all unfolds slowly. Donald Trump is exhausted, the people working for him, Congress and people in general are exhausted. Worse yet the United States has become an embarrasement around the world. Some actions taken or not taken by the Trump administration have made the world a more dangerous place.

Boundaries have been tossed aside, crossed and torn down. We're all responsible and we all need to take responsibility. The emperor has no clothes. He stands naked before us. Shout it and make sure others hear you.

A Federal Budget That Hurts

Here's my main question. What kind of people develop and present such a mean spirited and hateful budget to Congress and the American people? While Donald Trump holds meetings abroad, he has Mick Mulvaney present a federal budget that slashes programs for not just the poor, people with disabilities, and the elderly but also for rural communities, farmers and children.

I just can't comprehend the meanness, the lack of caring that is represented. This is from a campaign that presented themselves as Christian and pro-life. How can it be that people who are so pro-life don't care about children losing health insurance or people with disabilities dying from lack of supports? But there's more to it - small rural airports will lose out on aid they depend on in the transportation budget. Small towns and cities will lose community development block grants.  Students will lose needed educational support grants.

The military and wealthy Americans are the winners. The military-industrial complex never really left us but now it's certainly back in full swing. The biggest and the best Navy, Coast Guard, Air Force, etc. if we need it or not. Military contracts loom on the horizon for industrial moguls as other aspects of the budget are slashed and cut. Tax cuts for the wealthy rule vs spreading the responsibility of cost to those who can certainly afford it.

Mulvaney, Trump's Budget Director, states that there won't be any of Obama's crazy climate money in this budget as ice caps melt at record speed. The harm to the environment as well as to fragile lives is breathtaking. It's all done with a half smile or a smirk.

This is the art of the deal being played out in front of us. Present the worst and negotiate from there and do it with a straight face. Do it while putting people down or presenting them as losers. Senators can talk about a budget that's dead on arrival but the reality is that some of these proposals are going to stick. There's so much to chose from. Why do we need the Corporation for Public Broadcasting or cancer research or NASA for that matter?

This is a budget that's based on 3% growth annually for the next ten years at a time when people are beginning to realize that we are near or at full employment. The numbers just don't add up. But once cuts or reductions are set in motion turning them around will be difficult. The worst of it is that many people won't react until they are directly impacted by this budget. That includes elected officials in state, county, town and village governments. By the time they react it will be too late. People themselves need to react. People need to get on the phone, email, Tweet, march, vote and resist all of this over and over.

Thoughts And Sympathy To The People Of Manchester England

Perhaps it's all that we can offer to the people of Manchester and all of Britain - sympathy, thoughts of hope, peace and comfort. Terror and the murder of innocents, especially children is a terrible thing to live with especially when people were sharing good times at a concert. Families and friends separated as an explosion takes place. Panic, fear and terror as youngsters run and parents search and wait for loved ones. In these instances all we can do is stand in solidarity with each other.

But terror and young people are universal to every nationality and every geographic region. We can't fail to realize that terror comes in many colors, in many names and is perpetrated by many who see themselves as righteous and holders of true beliefs. Terror doesn't discriminate against people in Britain, France, Ireland, the US, African Nations, Japan, Yemen, Afghanistan, China and so on. Terror doesn't discriminate relative to age, race or religion. Terror's methods include suicide bombers, drones, fighter planes, beheadings and prisons. Innocent children at a concert in Manchester or at a wedding in Yemen, or on a boat fleeing war are all innocent children. We have to begin to understand the causes of terrorism and take action against them.

We can't continue to let leaders of any group or country preach hate and build stereotypes against the evil west or the religions of the east. We all share in that responsibility. We can't fix terror by duplicating it. It just doesn't work.

But we have to offer whatever support we can to the victims and their families in Manchester today. People are suffering in their loss and are struggling to understand why they are today's targets of hate and misunderstanding. We offer what we can. We support you and send thoughts and love as well as hope for peace and understanding.

They're Committed To Killing Us

Before you decide that I should either be medicated or locked up, give me a minute to explain. I'm old enough to have actually hidden under a desk in school in the 50's to escape a nuclear attack. I'm old enough to remember people like Dorothy Day, Ammon Hennacy and others picketing and being arrested for refusing to go to public shelters in NYC during Civil Defense Drills. The whole point of their arrests was to let people know how useless and ineffective it would be to try and hide underground in subway stations during a nuclear attack. They were correct by the way. Just do a quick search of the internet on the results of a nuclear blast in your own geographic area and then contemplate your survival. Pax Christi also has an important piece on The Reality of Nuclear War. Take a minute to read it.

So here we are, years later, with foreign leaders and our generals and president talking about the actual use of nuclear weapons. Crazy, yes. Stupid, yes. Irresponsible, yes. All of those things and probably more. People have spent years educating the general pubic about the reality and the dangers of nuclear war. Some of us thought humanity had actually gotten it and understood how futile it was for people to even conceive of the use of nuclear weapons. But corporations, generals and politicians have really never changed. They are committed to killing us, and not enough of us realize it. Not enough of us are willing to call fools fools and stand up to the forces that would easily kill us.

No one should miss or downplay the most recent news that the government of South Korea is more interested in discussions with North Korea as opposed to joining the threats of war. There certainly are no easy answers relative to North Korea or other states who currently have or who are developing nuclear weapons, but threats of preemptive attacks aren't going to help. Worse yet, such talk and  actions could lead to the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people and eventually lead to the destruction of the world as we know it. Pointing out whose arsenal is bigger and which leader is crazier than the other does little in this nuclear age. Building more real weapons of mass destruction helps no one but the profiteers. You only need a finite number of nuclear warheads to destroy the world as we know it.

So speaking up and taking action is critical. We can't let despots at home or abroad lead us into catastrophic war. Remember, these people really are committed to killing us.

Where Oh Where Has The Gadfly Been?

Someone asked me the other day if the Gadfly was on a Sabbatical. Someone else inquired about the Gadfly's health. So I figure I owe my loyal readers and explanation of sorts. I'd like to say I'm half way through the great American novel but alas, no luck there. A Sabbatical probably isn't a bad description. Like many others, I'm a victim of Trump fatigue, Trump disgust, Trump shock, etc. I spend a good part of my day shaking my head, talking to myself and wondering how we got to where we are. Some days, after another stupid or shocking development, I find myself in a fetal position with a blanket over my head, just wanting the bad dream to end.

So that's part of it. There's also a frustration that there's so much to write about that I just can't keep up any more. The topics come and go. They repeat themselves and sadly, some tend to be pretty depressing. So, there's no lack of material. It's more a matter of time and thought and weariness.

In addition, I find myself mesmerized by the performance art of our current president, his administration, the controversies and the media coverage. Its a Ying and Yang type thing. I want to pull away but can't. Then eventually I get totally sick of both the topic and the non stop analysis and talk.

But life does go on. Friends and family are faced with challenges, illness and celebrations. My little acre of paradise on Seneca Lake requires upkeep and maintenance. My ukulele, my guitar and various percussion instruments stare at me waiting to be plucked or tapped to some rhythm in my head. My dog, Buddy, is facing some serious health challenges that have me going to the vet for counseling more then anything else. Buddy's got a paralysis of his larynx that only happens sporadically for now, but as I've been told it will get worse over time. If he gets overly excited, easy for a Brittany, he gets himself into a state where he can't breathe and gasps for air through a smaller passageway. Lacking an incident, he's in perfect health and fitness so it's hard to think about putting him down. Anyway that's another story.

I've also had my own health challenges since about February. Nothing too serious just the reality of years of smoking taking hold and having an impact. I got an awful cold during a mid winter trip and it seems to have exasperated my COPD. So there are times when Buddy and I kind of compete for breathing challenges. I've gone through a couple of medication changes that I never deal with very well. On top of that, like any good consumer, I read the warnings on all of these medications. There's a thrill for you. By the time your through reading, you think you might better just lie down and call the ambulance.

So, I've probably given you much more information then you need or want at this point. Suffice it to say that I will not let Trumpitis or Trumpolio keep me down forever. No promises on frequency though. You just never know how much effort it's going to take to keep up with the latest shock of the day or how much head shaking will be necessary before I can get a thought out.

Hate Remembered - 1965 Selma Al

Every year at about this time I reflect back on a short period that I spent in Selma, Al in 1965, as a foot soldier demonstrating and trying to cross a famous bridge to march to Montgomery, Al. Next weekend, marks 52 years since that march and those demonstrations that were held for the most basic of American rights, the right to vote.

But this year is different. Other times I have been able to reflect on how far we've come and how proud I was to be a part of the movement for social change and civil rights. This year I remember and reflect on the hate that I saw in Selma. It was real and it was deep. It was reflected in white faces, young and old. White haters who spat, cursed, pushed, shoved and hit demonstrators. There were people killed in Selma and Montgomery and small towns in between. I could taste and feel the hate.

I feel sad and depressed this year because the hate has been allowed to appear again, to raise its head with the blessing of an elected leader and his spokespeople and team. There may be denials. There may be tamp downs. But the reality is that hatred has been given a very big and very bright green light. It has become acceptable to spew hate, to divide and to demean.

I know there are good and decent people but there are also the sons and daughters of those haters who I saw in Selma 52 years ago. It was wrong then and it's wrong now. I was naive. I thought it was over. But now I know - it's a constant battle this fight against hate. Give it a breath of air and it comes back. Give it a leader who allows it to come back and it will.

For those who may not have ever experienced this kind of hate, get ready. It is ugly and dangerous and it will pit people against each other. I'm tired, I'm getting old but I know this. I, we, have to stand up another time. We have to speak up and speak out against this hate and division. Lets do it together.

A Free Press

As a blogger, writer, sometimes journalist and opinion writer, I have to speak out on the attacks we have recently seen on the main stream media and the media in general. I certainly don't like everything I see or hear that is written, recorded, filmed or photographed. Some of it is stupid, silly gross, disgusting. Some of it however is genius, beautiful and mesmerizing and I would be the loser without my ability to see, touch or celebrate it in some way. My children would lose. My granddaughter would lose. I of course have to make choices about what I see, what I trust and how I verify reality from fantasy. That's my responsibility.

Now to the point. Recently, the leader of the United States of America, Donald Trump said bluntly that the media is the enemy of the people. He is wrong. Leaders who want to control what people read, here or see are the enemies of the people, plain and simple. His statement is un-American in every sense of the word. Excuses are now being made about what he really meant and who he was really talking about but it won't wash. His real effort is to undermine people's trust in the media and he has found some fertile ground.

I believe at this point that it's up to every journalist, writer, artist or producer to speak up as strongly as possible for a free and open press. That is what this Gadfly is doing and what I will continue to do. Again, my responsibility.

Are We Seeing The Birth of A Dictatorship In US?

It seems like an impossibility in the USA, but three weeks into the presidency of Donald J. Trump questions of a potential move toward a dictatorship are being openly discussed. I initially hesitated about even putting this in writing but then I watched Stephen Miller, a top advisor to the President speak in a series of interviews last weekend. The reality began to hit home. "The powers of the President will not be questioned." (partial quote). Unlimited power in opposition to the Constitution of the US is what we all should have heard. And things went down hill from there.

It is important to understand history and how dictators come to power. As we look historically, we see  the violent overthrow of governments as well as elections relative to dictators taking power. We also see actions and policies that should have provided warnings to the rise of authoritarian regimes. Things like demonizing the media as well as any open opposition. Turning all opposition into enemies of the people and the government. Squashing dissent. Creating and provoking violence and protests that can then be put down with police authority. Not only criticizing but ignoring or overruling other branches of government. Providing police and military authorities with budgetary and policy support including more power to surveil and harass dissenters.

It looks like we are there. Checks and balances that have been seen as a critical part of our Constitution are now under attack by Trump and his administration. Judges are "so-called" and an interference in governing. Congress is ineffectual and cumbersome. The worst came recently in continued attacks on the media where it was identified as the enemy of the people.

The enemy of the people always is dictatorship, tyranny and fascism. We are beginning to see our enemy.

Our Country Has Chosen The Path To War

It seems we are in the the process of starting a war the likes of which has never been seen.  The new President of the United States is determined to take us there and it will be sooner rather then later I fear. In one week he has raised his fist to the rest of the world. He has increased tensions with China, Mexico and the entire Muslim community.

China has moved nuclear missiles close to the Russian boarder aimed at the US. A trade war with Mexico seems pretty imminent and cooperation with that government over security issues is threatened. But worst of all, Donald Trump has in effect declared a war on the Muslim religion with his ban on travel and immigration from Muslim countries. His ban is clearly a religious ban since he has indicated that Christians from those same countries will be allowed entry to the US. His action in this area is most likely illegal and unconstitutional but it is also shameful and goes against every American value. Worse yet it will incite more hatred for the US.

Lets be honest. Terrorism is based on grievances and Donald Trump has just provided more grievances to many people in the world. In doing so he has put us all at risk. Of course if something terrible happens, he and his advisors will point to the actions themselves and not the causes. He and his advisers will take swift and ramped up actions that will again put us all at greater risk. The tough man image and attitude is the last thing needed at this point in such a dangerous world but that is what and who was chosen in the November election.

The only hope we have is that some people who advise him and with specific levels of real authority will stand up to him and let him know that his approach as well as his orders are wrong and dangerous and will not be followed when they cross moral and constitutional lines.

People have argued that he needs to be given a chance. It is only one week he has had in office they say. Perhaps that could have been a valid argument a few days ago but when his actions put us all at risk and in fact go against so much that the US is built on, from values to laws, chance is not the issue. He has shown his mental instability and it could impact the world at this point. We are stuck with a Congress that can't negotiate with itself. They, who should be leaders, are in fact scared followers and weak opponents.

So the path to war is the one we have taken unless Donald Trump changes his ways, his directions and his actions. Everything we've seen doesn't indicate that will happen. In the meantime people who believe in peace have to take actions that they're comfortable with -  from prayer to petitions to protests to active non violent resistance. Our world really depends on it this time.

Judith Gregory 1932-2017 - Memories & Lessons of The Catholic Worker

Judith Gregory, who lived at the NY Catholic Worker in the late 50's and early 60's, died on January 20th, 2017 at the age of 84 in Jaffrey, New Hampshire. She became a close friend of Dorothy Day, co-founder of the Catholic Worker movement. In 1997 Jude wrote the piece below which appeared in the National Catholic Reporter. I have tried over the years to write about and in various ways explain the importance of the Catholic Worker and its influence on me. I have never succeeded very well. There are many others who have written well and captured the experience of the Worker like Nicole d'Entremont and Jack Cook to name a few, but this piece paints a clear picture of the Catholic Worker. The physical space, the work and the characters (including all of us) that made up and continue to make up the Catholic Worker are all found in this article. I knew most of the people talked about here. Good people all. I am certain that my experiences at the Catholic Worker helped me with my ultimate vocation working with and supporting people with disabilities, learning and believing that we are all very equal travelers in this world needing the support of each other.

So I share this piece with all of those who wish to read it, hoping that you get a sense of the seriousness along with the humor that made up life at the Catholic Worker.  May Jude Gregory graciously rest in peace and justice but her memory live on through her written word.
JW - The Gadfly

Catholic Worker Lessons Stayed With Me

Judith Gregory was acquainted with many of the original Workers. She was a member of the Catholic Worker community in New York from 1959 to 1962 and remained an editor of the legendary little Catholic Worker newspaper until 1970. This gives her a unique vantage point from which to remember.

By JUDITH GREGORY

In March 1959, I drove to New York City in my black Chevy sedan to live for an indefinite time at the Catholic Worker house of hospitality near the Bowery. I gave the car to the Catholic Worker community, and when I had handed over the keys I was, I guessed, ready to settle in.

I had no clear sense of what that would involve. My first impression of the Catholic Worker on a visit the year before had been of a uniform gray. The Worker had a loft in the midst of the Italian neighborhood close to old St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

Bob Steed, an editor of the paper who was about my age -- I was then 27 -- showed me where I would live temporarily in one of the neighborhood apartments. Scotch Mary had moved into one of the hotels so that I could have her place. I said that seemed unfair, but Bob told me she was glad to do it.

Bob and I walked up the five flights. I never saw an uglier apartment. It was at the rear of the building, where at least it did have sun, and consisted of two small rooms. The toilet was in a closet just big enough to turn around and sit down.

Hattie Crafts lived in bed in the larger room, just large enough for her old metal bedstead. As far as I know she was not sick; she simply lived in bed. I got to know Hattie during the month I stayed with her and the subsequent months when I visited her, bringing her detective stories and cans of Dinty Moore beef stew, which she considered a great treat. She was a spirited, stringy, very thin old woman, her face and hair both a thin gray color, her eyes alight with intelligence. She never went out after she moved into the apartment. I gathered she had had some close calls while dancing blind drunk on the fire escape at the Catholic Worker house on Chrystie Street.

Scotch Mary’s room was empty except for a bed and a naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling. I peered at the bed, a grayish swirl of sheets touched with a lime-green cast reflected from the walls. I realized that this bed was what I had expected, but what I’d refused to articulate even to myself. This was what life would be like at the Catholic Worker. The sheets obviously had never been washed. That night, I lay on my raincoat on the bed and covered myself somehow with my heavier clothes.

The next day, stealthily -- for I thought it would be impolite to let Hattie see what I did -- I gathered up the bedding and took it to a laundromat. I had no trouble neatening the room, for there was nothing to neaten. I set my belongings in it, made up the bed afresh and walked over to the loft to begin my new work.

We talked about her

A month after I got to the Worker, someone found an apartment for me on Cleveland Place around the corner from Hattie’s, two rooms on the second floor above a small restaurant. Dorothy Day, founder with Peter Maurin of the Catholic Worker movement in the 1930s, was to share this apartment with me when she was in town. Dorothy was 62 the year I came to New York. Much of the time she traveled, visiting friends and coworkers all over the country and speaking on the Catholic Worker movement.

Though Dorothy was often away, her presence was felt. We talked about her, of course, and complained about her habit of arbitrary responses, her volatility, her tendency to change her mind.

Dorothy was not a good listener. She was impatient to be off to her own work, especially to write her abundant correspondence, her articles and books. She liked to see others go ahead and do something, anything, whatever they thought was to be done. She did not like to give directions nor to feel others giving her responsibility for their work. She wanted people to take responsibility on their own.

I remember one noon having deli food (which Dorothy loved) with her and Bob. Bob told Dorothy that he’d heard she was the model for the painting “Nude Descending a Staircase.” She didn’t deny it. She said she’d known artist Marcel Duchamp in Paris. To my eyes she did have the large, angular shape of the “Nude.”

When Bob asked if she had really drunk Eugene O’Neill under the table, she said testily, “When you stay up all night you have to have something to keep you going.” She rarely talked of her youth. We used to speculate that if Dorothy were ever to be canonized, she would, in the missal, be called a penitent like Mary Magdalene, for she was neither a virgin nor a martyr nor a widow. She disliked this kind of talk. She said people talked about her being a saint in order to dismiss her, so they wouldn’t have to think about changing the way they lived in the world.

Dorothy was by no means always repressive and severe. She could enjoy the comic aspect of things. In the winter of 1962, some young people started a magazine called F--- You, and composed it in the Catholic Worker office. When Dorothy discovered this, she told them to leave. They were taken in by the American Friends Service Committee, where they changed the name of the magazine to F--- Thee. When Dorothy heard about this, she laughed out loud.

Dorothy didn’t so much share an apartment with me as take in Cleveland Place on her travels -- “On Pilgrimage,” as she called her column in the paper. According to an apparent law of hospitality, Dorothy’s intended bed in the apartment was immediately taken by someone with no other place to go, despite her instructions to me to save the bed for her.

I settled in this comfortable apartment and lived there for a year and a half, through the summer of 1960 with the exception of the summer I stayed at Peter Maurin Farm. In addition to fixing up the apartment, I learned the usual routine of the office and loft, which had daily, weekly and monthly cycles.

The monthly cycle revolved around publishing the paper, The Catholic Worker. Articles would be written by us in New York or by friends and others. Dorothy would read these or delegate someone else to do so. Articles were rarely edited. Proof sheets would come from the press but, at least while I was at the Worker, were seldom read.

A truck delivered the papers and some of the men hauled these up to the loft. Keith produced the packets of cut addresses, arranged geographically, by city, state or foreign countries. Most of us did our stint, folding, labeling, wrapping, chatting, watching the life of the loft.

We mailed about 85,000 copies each month. A subscription cost 25 cents. The Catholic Worker is said to be the only periodical that costs more per year to subscribe to than to buy on the street, where it costs a penny a copy. If you once subscribed, you would receive the paper whether you paid again or not -- in some instances whether you wanted it or not.

When you have helped to mail the Worker, you are astonished that it comes as regularly as it does.

The weekly routine

The main event of the week was the Friday night meeting. An invited guest or one of us would give a talk or we would debate some subject of likely interest. We set chairs in the kitchen and dining area and the room filled with a variety of listeners, local or visiting subscribers, students, friends and those who wandered in -- like a woman I remember who sought shelter because she thought Cardinal Spellman was after her. When the talk and discussion were over, we chatted and drank sassafras tea.

We sold the paper on the street. Some, like Ammon Hennacy, kept a weekly schedule. He sold papers in front of St. Patrick’s Cathedral on Fifth Avenue every Sunday morning. He sold it on Wall Street one weekday, at Fordham University on another, and one day a week he stood on Lexington Avenue not far from a Catholic church whose politically reactionary pastor he loved to bait. He talked with anyone willing to talk with him -- or more likely listen to him.

What most struck me about Ammon were his perfect fearlessness, his good temper and sharp tongue. He would say awful things about people without the least trace of animosity. Some reproached him for his “holier than thou” attitude. “You’re damned right I’m holier than thou,” he’d say, “I’d be in a hell of a fix if I wasn’t.”

Ammon nearly managed to live the impossible ideal of anarchism. In his fear of nothing and in his determination to harm no one -- except verbally! -- he lived his own saying: “Good men don’t need laws and bad man don’t obey them, so what use are they?” When he became a socialist, he thought he also had to become a vegetarian, that it was part of socialism; eventually he preferred it.

Ammon was a thin, active man of medium height, always simply and neatly dressed, with wavy gray hair, cut short except for a stiff, curly flourish in front. He walked briskly with a springiness like his alert gazes and his witty responsiveness in conversation. He worked hard and kept a strict schedule: answering letters on a typewriter in the office, selling papers, fulfilling speaking engagements and fasting every year, starting Aug. 6, one day for each year since the United States bombed Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945.

Ammon seemed to have a talent for fasting and for civil disobedience. He not only believed in the efficacy of these acts, he liked them. Some months after I came to the Worker, he left to join a group that climbed the fence of a missile site in the Midwest, for which he got six months in a federal prison. After he came back, he spoke of the relatively pleasant life in a federal prison compared to state or local facilities.

Once the loft opened in the morning, some ate breakfast, some started to make the great vat of soup for the line at lunch, others wandered in when they felt like it, to answer mail, to talk to visitors or to sit around and talk with each other. The anarchism or personalism so often mentioned in the paper is probably more descriptive of the daily life at the Worker than of any ideal state. People arranged their own lives in the context of the community, often slipping out of it, and back, without giving any sort of notice.

Reliable people could be found to be in charge of the loft, to drive the car -- though someone once drove off with a car -- and to do other jobs. Still, many of us at the Worker were temperamental, eccentric, neurotic or verging on crazy; many were alcoholic. Rules and routine remained minimal.

Bob always said, “There’s a reason for every one of us to be here.” For myself, the Worker was definitely a temporary refuge. I had problems with intimate personal relationships, yet I liked to be around people. The Worker suited me well: It was stimulating, entertaining -- and safe.

All income came from individual gifts, for Dorothy would never take grants, considering subjection to the IRS too high a cost for tax-exempt status. None of us was paid any wage. When we needed money, we asked for it and usually could have it.

The soup line would form earlier in cold or wet weather. Men and a few women climbed the stairs and waited. Slowly they would all be fed. Every morning we got day-old loaves of crusty Italian bread made around the corner. We all ate the same lunch, and it was a good one: a hearty soup, tea with milk and sugar if you wanted it, and bread with margarine.

The floor of the loft was rough and dirty -- swept but not clean. Two toilets enclosed in closets just large enough to stand or sit in stood on one side wall. You would sometimes find wine bottles tucked into the grimy pocket behind the toilet bowl or crammed into the tank, for no drinking was permitted on the premises. The men in the line -- so few women came just for a meal that they did not stand in the line -- seemed, usually, very patient.

Some people liked to say the rosary every day. Millie, a thin, neat, diffident and kindly woman in her 50s, would ring a bell and several people would gather outside the office to pray. Bob would mutter some violent epithet, irritated by this sign of piety, fling down whatever he was doing and get out of earshot as fast as he could.

The daily routine included supper for about 75 people, the entire Catholic Worker community. I looked forward to these meals: good meat, vegetable and potato fare, cooked well considering the conditions. One evening Bob and Michael Kovalek and I were in the loft late. Bob said he wanted to try something. We went into the kitchen and Bob lit the oven in the large stove and opened its door. We watched the exodus of cockroaches, a solid rippling outward from the heat. The cooks always lit the oven before placing the food inside.

I took a liking to roaches. They seemed to breed in the desk drawers. Cockroaches waving their feelers gave me an impression of alertness and a certain shy sociability that I found charming.

After supper, whoever was in charge would hand out tobacco to the regular smokers. Sometimes one of the women or men was drinking or drunk and needed to be guided to a Salvation Army hotel or flophouse.

Peter Maurin Farm

Many Catholic Worker communities have had a farm. Peter Maurin, who died in 1949, wrote and talked about farming communes, living on the land, scholars becoming workers and workers becoming scholars. Peter Maurin Farm on Staten Island was a rural house of hospitality and a working farm as well. There was a modest house with outbuildings. In the barn was a small chapel, its hand-wrought pews, an example of the work Maurin so much extolled.

Deane Mowrer and a dozen others lived at the farm. Slim, who had once lived at the house in the city and been known for his violent temper, washed the dishes, then stood in the yard for hours, looking out over the landscape, or sat inside reading The New York Times. He rarely spoke but his laugh told me he was listening. Hans had been a cook in the Norwegian merchant marines for many years. He made bread, a tiny man with thin arms kneading two loaves at once, one with each hand, his blue eyes shining with pleasure.

Stanley Vishnewski lived in a small room on the second floor, partly filled with his press. He printed prayer cards and stationery by hand. When he was 17 years old, he used to tell us, he was walking across Union Square and saw this old woman carrying a typewriter. It was the 35-year-old Dorothy Day. He followed her and spent his life at the Catholic Worker. He published several books. One summer I was put in charge of the farm, which meant generally keeping an eye on things. Years later, driving from Virginia to New England, my family and I had a breakdown near Trenton, N.J. I called the farm, asked for help and we were put up for two nights while our car was fixed. It was wonderful to be on the receiving end of Catholic Worker hospitality.

The Catholic Worker became my image of Christian life: to live with poor people, with few possessions of one’s own, sharing food and drink and clothing and shelter, practicing all the works of mercy, praying, crying out against injustice, working for clarification of thought and enjoying the immediate company of a diverse and colorful community. Stanley used to say, “We feed the naked and clothe the hungry at the Catholic Worker, and we know one another in the breaking of heads.”

We lived according to no rule, nor out of any book except, in some ways (we hoped), the gospels and -- as Dorothy liked to say -- a novel by Dostoyevsky. No matter. I do tend to think of that life as exemplary. The Worker was a community in voluntary poverty, a surprising, difficult ideal even to strive for, let alone to achieve. The Catholic Worker has over the years made it possible for many of us to live this life for a while and perhaps to achieve at least aspects of it later on in other places.

That such a life is possible, that it has in it much enjoyment, intellectual interest, congeniality and spiritual learning -- though it can often be confining and stressful -- is knowledge that has stayed with me and helped me not to be afraid. The Catholic Worker is still a powerful presence in my life and remains my ideal, however little realized. 

National Catholic Reporter, June 20, 1997