Choosing the Hard Path

Choosing the Hard Path, A Personal History and Memoir, my book, is published. It isn't just a story, it's a series of stories, one right after the other. It's the story of a young family in New Jersey looking for a better life, one different than the previous generation of immigrants and working class folks who had to fight for every inch of recognition and success. 

It's the story of those immigrants and early Americans from places like Ireland, Scotland and Germany. They were butchers and farmers, seamstresses, and bakers, working and living hard in Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York and Michigan. 

It's the story of the 60s where change was coming at high speed. Where parents scratched their heads at new music, new fashion and new ideas. The cars were faster and sleeker. Polaroid cameras gave people what they considered near instant pictures and tape recorders and high fidelity record players were things every one wanted.

It's the story of the civil rights movement. White liberals and religious groups got involved in things like Freedom Summer, Selma and Freedom Rides.

It's the story of a young man looking for his place, his vocation, his calling and all of the people he met.

Along the way and woven through these stories, one gets a sense of conflicts and choices needing to be made by lots of people, lots of players. Families struggled to understand each other. Political movements and leaders learned about and utilized new tactics to bring about change.

John Lewis, Dorothy Day, Dan and Phil Berrigan are a few of the people you'll meet but there are so many more.

Writing this book has been exciting for me. There are people who needed to be written about and that has been a joy. There are records and stories that needed to be set straight or clarified. I hope it offers something to historians and inquiring minds. Perhaps to people who are faced with their own hard paths and choices.

So, go to Amazon.com, books and search for Choosing the Hard Path: A Personal History and Memoir by Jim Wilson. The book is $16.95 + shipping and handling. Enjoy!

 

Followup & Return Trips To Selma

As you read below, please remember there are now 253 bills in 43 states to restrict voting access. Voter suppression is alive and well.....And this weekend the 56th reenactment of the march will take place virtually. Find out more at www.selmajubilee.com

Return Trips

In February of 2003 I got a phone call from a journalist friend. I'll always be grateful to her for that call. She told me that during a regularly scheduled conference call with the press, Congressman Amo Houghton who represented the Southern Tier region of NYS, had mentioned a trip he was taking with Congressman John Lewis to Selma, Alabama in March for the reenactment of the bridge crossing that had happened there many years before. Gwen mentioned to the Congressman that she knew someone in the district who had participated in the original march. Within days of that call I was contacted by Congressman Houghton's office and invited to participate in the pilgrimage back to Selma.

It turns out that the trip was much more then a trip to Selma. John Lewis and Amo Houghton had been working together for a number of years with an organization called the Faith and Politics Institute. At that time the organization was led by Doug Tanner. Lewis and Houghton were trying to work on the principle of civility in congress. They were true brothers in that effort. They were from completely different backgrounds but they had found common ground and were committed to working together. The pilgrimage had been going on for a number of years and continues to this day. During the pilgrimage, Lewis and other leaders of the civil rights movement take a large group of Senators and Congressman, along with guests to the historical landmarks of the civil rights movement - Montgomery, Birmingham and finally on Sunday to Selma and the crossing of the Edmond Pettus Bridge. But it is different than it was in 1965. On Sunday and throughout their trip they are escorted by black and white troopers and sheriffs. Throughout the trip, John Lewis told stories in only the way he can, about the experiences of black America in the 60's and before.

But let me tell you about my experience returning on that March in 2003. I drove to Washington, DC and met Congressman Houghton at the Capitol on the morning we were to leave. I got on the bus that we were taking from the Capitol to the airport and sat down with elected officials of the United States Congress along with people like Jack Kemp, former Congressman and football great from Buffalo. A police escort with sirens blaring took us through Washington and to the airport. I was mesmerized and a bit confused, out of sorts, out of body perhaps. Things didn't seem right. This was all very legal. I don't think anyone, including myself realized what a shock all of this was going to be to me. I was literally dumbfounded.

We visited all of the important places that honor the civil rights movement and its leaders and foot soldiers. Here are a few pictures of that trip. The first is of Congressman John Lewis and myself. John Lewis is a personal hero of mine. He was beaten to the ground in 1965 at the front of the march along with Rev. Hosea Williams. The second is a picture of the Mayor of Selma, James Perkins, myself and Congressman Amo Houghton at the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma.

As Amo Houghton and I walked toward the bridge in Selma, we drifted toward the back of the crowd away from the media crunch that always seems to be following the folks up front. We chatted as we walked and eventually were joined by a man to our left. It turned out to be James Perkins, Jr. the first black Mayor elected in Selma in 2000. We told our stories. Perkins was 10 when the original march took place. He could have been one of those youngsters who inspired me so many years ago with their song and spirit - fearless young leaders. He could have been my co-conspirator and partner running through the woods to the courthouse through the public housing pictured below across from Brown Chapel. As we neared the bridge, he put his hand on my shoulder, took my hand and said, "You know the only reason I'm the Mayor of this city is because of you and people like you." We hugged. It was an emotional moment for both of us.

Fast forward to 2010. That was the year I decided I was going to go back to Selma again but on my own. I was going to get in my car and make my own pilgrimage and I did. Only it wasn't on my own. I invited my older brother and oldest son, both living in New Jersey to join me. Again, these trips are emotional for me and this time we were able to see more of Selma and the poverty that is a part of the landscape today. But we also met good people both black and white who understand their history better than us. We were a bit lost one day and my son asked two bike patrol officers for some directions and information. We ended up seeing these officers over and over and suddenly came to the realization that the city was pretty small and directions pretty simple. At one of these encounters one of the young officers came over and engaged me in some conversation. He asked if I was one of the original marchers? I answered in the affirmative. He was white and his partner was black, both in their late twenties or early thirties. What he said next was another one of those emotional surprises. He apologized to me for the actions of law enforcement officers in 1965 and he meant it. He was ashamed of their actions and the way people were treated. I thanked him for his kind words.

I went back for the 50th celebration and reenactment in Selma in 2015. I shared that time with my youngest son Brian and my wife Jeannette. The tradition and experience should go on. Make the trip.

Celebrating Selma and John Lewis

Next weekend, March 5-7, the march over the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Al., will be celebrated virtually and for the first time John Lewis will be missing from the front row of marchers. I have compiled some writing on my experiences in Selma and share it here. But let's all be clear. As history from 56 years ago and the fight for voting rights is celebrated, over two hundred laws suppressing the right to vote are being proposed and passed in State Legislatures across the country. How far we haven't come since those bloody days in Selma.

SELMA, ALABAMA 1965 - By Jim Wilson 2/2021

 "Selma,  Alabama became a shining moment in the conscience of man. If the worst in American life lurked in its dark streets, the best of American instincts arose passionately from across the nation to overcome it. There never was a moment in American history more honorable and more inspiring than the pilgrimage of clergymen and laymen of every race and faith pouring into Selma to face danger at the side of its embattled Negroes." Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., March 25, 1965 - Montgomery, Alabama

In March of 1965, I was a college student at St. Anselm's College in Manchester, NH, famous for Presidential Debates even in those years. But how I got there is worth some time and explanation. I had come to St. Anselm's from Maryknoll Seminary in Glen Ellyn, Ill. I had left the seminary the previous year, wasn't sure what I should be doing but chose St. Anselm's partly because my brother was in the Benedictine Monastery associated with the College. Maryknoll was and is a religious missionary order known for its association with social justice issues. Part of why I left the seminary was because it just didn't seem that I could get involved in those social issues quickly enough. It would be eight years before being ordained to the priesthood and before being sent on a mission to some developing nation. In Chicago, farmworkers and others were protesting and demonstrating against Campbell Soup Co.. Priests and seminarians from Maryknoll got involved but it wasn't enough for me. Of course my grades weren't that hot either. So I left in the middle of my Sophomore year, took the summer off and hit St Anselm's running the following fall.

I very quickly found like minded students and professors at St. Anselm's. People concerned about poverty, peace and justice. There was a small, tight group that became involved in the Young Christian Students movement. The organization was involved in various social issues that were facing our world at the time. Lots of things were going on - the war in Vietnam, the draft, the civil rights movement, and much more. Our group got together, discussed issues and got involved in demonstrations and other political action in Boston, Mass.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and the Southern Christian Leadership Council were asked to join other groups that were already working on voter rights demonstrations and issues In Selma, Alabama in late 1964. An injunction had been put in place making it illegal to even talk to two or more people at one time about civil rights or voter registration issues in that city. Dr. King spoke to a mass meeting at Brown Chapel in January of 1965, directly defying the injunction. On February 18, 1965, an Alabama State Trooper shot a young man named Jimmie Lee Jackson as he tried to protect his mother and grandfather in a cafe where they fled while participating in a night time civil rights demonstration in Marion, Alabama. Jackson died 8 days later. On Sunday March 7th, in response to the shooting, about 600 people marched east out of Selma.  Governor George Wallace denounced the march and declared he would take whatever measures necessary to prevent it. The march was led by John Lewis and the Rev. Hosea Williams. They made it only as far as the other side of the Edmund Pettus Bridge, a mere six blocks from Brown Chapel. There, State Troopers and Dallas County Sheriff's and deputized citizens, some mounted on horseback, waited for the marchers. Then in the presence of the news media, the lawmen attacked the peaceful demonstrators with billy clubs, tear gas and whips. As people watched horrified on the TV news, the event quickly became known as 'Bloody Sunday'.

My friends and I, along with millions of other people watched those newscasts taking place on TV. We were shocked and outraged at what we saw and as enthusiastic and probably a bit naive young people, we determined that something had to be done to right this wrong. We began to make arrangements to fly to Selma as soon as possible. We were going to go as a group of 10 or 12 students. At the same time, Martin Luther King, Jr. put out a call for religious leaders and people from the north to head to Selma. He was planning another march on that Tuesday, March, 9th. He sought a court order to prohibit the police from interfering with the march. Instead of a court order, the federal judge issued a restraining order preventing the march until he could review documents and issue an opinion. So, as Dr. King was planning his second march, students from St. Anselm's were planning their trip and arrival in Selma.

Plane schedules and tickets were gotten; people began packing small bags and getting ready for the trip to the airport. As I was cleaning up in the dorm bathroom and showers, my group of friends all came in with long faces. I asked what was wrong and one of them spoke up and said they couldn't go. I said "what do you mean you can't go?" One of the fellows volunteered that they had all called their parents and were told they couldn't go to such a dangerous place. I laughed and asked "why did you call your parents? Of course they'd say no." Right or wrong I had no intention of calling my parents. I had my tickets and planned on making the trip. The rest of the group, along with one of our Benedictine professors drove me later that night to Boston for the long trip to Alabama. I would arrive on Tuesday, alone and scared to death.

So there I was on a small plane to Alabama. Basically I was AWOL from college and later learned I was to be expelled for leaving campus without permission. That changed once it was recognized that St. Anselm's was one of the first colleges represented in Selma.

Dr. King was facing his own political issues as he and the leadership of the Southern Christian Leadership Council along with the Student NonViolent Coordinating Committee were planning the second march across the Edmund Pettus Bridge. It was decided that they would walk across the bridge, kneel and pray and then turn around and return to Brown Chapel. This action wouldn't violate the injunction that had been placed on the march by a sympathetic judge, who in the end, King believed would support the march to Montgomery. But King didn't tell the 2500 marchers who had traveled to Selma about his plans and many became angry and frustrated at what became known as the turnaround march. People had come great distances to be there and to show their support. Dr. King asked people to stay. He explained that another march would take place once the injunction was lifted but many people left.

I landed in Montgomery and was immediately met by a white volunteer who took me to an airport exit and quickly pushed me into a waiting car driven by a young black man. Both of us in our early twenties on an unknown adventure. We exchanged a few words. He thanked me for being there. He told me that he would be driving me to Brown Chapel in Selma. It was beginning to get dark and he warned me that if there were any cars behind us or cars coming toward us that I should duck down and not be seen. When I asked why he told me that Ku Klux Klan members and others knew that local blacks were transporting people from the north to Selma and that they were prepared to beat or kill both drivers and passengers. Suddenly the reality of my trip began to sink in. The fear that I felt that evening stayed with me the whole time I was in Selma.

While I was on that drive there was a murder. One of the ministers who had traveled from the north was beaten while walking the streets of Selma. James Reeb, a Unitarian minister had come to town from Boston just days before. He and some friends had gone out to dinner that night. As they walked past a local hang out they were attacked with clubs and baseball bats. Selma's public hospital refused to treat Reeb and he had to be transported two hours to Birmingham where he died two days later. Reeb's beating and eventual death caused outrage around the country and that in itself created more controversy for Dr. King. Many in the local black community as well as members of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee were angry that Jimmie Lee Jackson's death didn't receive the same notoriety or level of concern. They resented the fact that it took the death of a white preacher to get real attention.

I found myself at the picket line on the street in front of Brown Chapel for the next week or so, day and night, singing and praying with the children of Selma. Most of the adults were inside the Chapel. There was a line of protesters and a line of police facing each other. Every time they gave an inch, we took an inch. At a certain point Sheriff Jim Clark and Public Safety Commissioner Bull Connor tied up a clothesline rope and said if anyone crossed that line they'd pay the consequences. That rope became a symbol of confrontation and was dubbed the 'Berlin Wall'. Myself and a few others began singing to the tune of the Battle of Jericho:

They've got a rope that's the Berlin Wall

Berlin Wall, Berlin Wall.

They've got a rope that's the Berlin Wall

In Selma, Alabama.

Hate is the thing that built that wall

Built that wall, built that wall.

Love is the thing that will make it fall

In Selma, Alabama.

On Friday, King asked authorities that marchers be able to go a few blocks to the courthouse steps in Selma to hold a memorial service for Rev. Reeb. His request was refused. On Saturday, small groups of protesters were brought into Brown Chapel, 5 or 6 at a time. Andrew Young, one of King's colleagues who later became UN Ambassador and the Mayor of Atlanta, Ga. explained our next action. Demonstrators outside would try to hold the attention of the police by shouting, singing and going from one end of the street to the other causing the police to change their positions. Basically cause a raucous and raise hell.  He was looking for volunteers to try to continue to fool the police by going out one at a time with a local black companion to make a run for the steps of the courthouse at the same time that all of this was going on. Those who made it would hold the memorial service. I volunteered. My partner was a boy not older than 12. People began going out a side door. People were moving fast. Our time came and we ran like hell across the street, through the projects and through the woods. Branches from trees cut across my face and I was panting hard. In the distance I heard sirens. Jim Clark and his men had discovered our plan. My young partner yelled for me to hurry up and keep running. I realized at that point that we were both a little crazy. We arrived at the courthouse at the same time as the Sheriff and his men. There were others from our group already walking in a tight circle close to the courthouse steps and we joined them. There was always more safety in numbers. Local whites spat on us, swore at us and threatened us physically while deputies laughed and played with their clubs. We were ordered to walk back to Brown Chapel and we did so in a double line to give the impression of a march. Locals jeered us all along the way, spitting in our faces. A small price considering.

At this point, Dr. King was spending a lot of time shuttling between Selma and Montgomery trying to negotiate both the injunction and the court order. More and more people were arriving in Selma as a result of Rev. Reeb's death. There was little housing or shelter other than Brown Chapel, tarps and the projects across the street where black families opened their doors to strangers. Some of us stayed outside in the street. All night and all day. Singing and praying. I eventually got very sick and had to leave for home before the final march from Selma to Montgomery but some of my friends from St. Anselm's eventually got their parents permission and made it. I ended up in the hospital with pleurisy and a collapsed lung.

Eventually 25,000 people including celebrities, students and clergy from all over the country ended up on the capitol steps in Montgomery, protected by the US Army, the National Guard and the FBI. That evening, March 25th, Viola Liuzzo, a white mother of five from Detroit was assassinated by KKK members while she was driving marchers back to Selma from Montgomery. An FBI informant was among the Klansman in the car from which the shots were fired.

Those days and nights in Selma seemed longer than they actually were. It was barely spring. The nights were cool and the rain came for days at a time. What sleep there was, came on a pew in Brown Chapel or on the floor in the apartment of a local black family with other demonstrators. There was no time or place for showers. I had brought the basics with me. When I left Manchester, NH, I really had no idea if I'd be gone for a day or for weeks. The clothes on my back were pretty much what I had - a black suit, white shirt, a black tie, shoes and socks, a black raincoat and a couple of extra pair of underwear. That was pretty much it along with a shaving kit. All of this was basically my uniform from my days in the seminary, black and more black. Intentional or not I looked like a young clergyman from the north. That perception may have saved me once or twice or endangered me more often then I imagine.

Brown Chapel like so many other churches in the south had become the headquarters and center of the demonstrations in Selma. The street in front of Brown Chapel had intersections at both ends and the church was approximately in the center of the block. The street had been barricaded at both ends by the police. The clothesline at the one end had become a symbol rather then a real barrier so the wooden barricades became necessary. In effect, anyone who came to demonstrate became confined in that one block space. There were ways to escape the area. People could find ways to leave a few at a time through the back and on to the streets of Selma. The first Sunday that I was there, myself and two others went to the Catholic Church located in another part of town to attend Mass. We arrived early, went in and met the priest who was preparing for the service. He welcomed us, knew we were civil rights demonstrators and told us as long as no blacks were with us everything would be fine. The church was segregated, I couldn't believe it. I decided not to attend Mass that morning and headed back to Brown Chapel. I didn't really question my religion at the time but I certainly began questioning the people in it.

During the day the block filled with demonstrators singing, chanting and pressing to be allowed to march, a simple symbol of their freedom and rights - denied every day. At this point, a march to the courthouse for a memorial service for Rev. Reeb had become the simple focus. If that could happen, the march to Montgomery would surely follow. During that early period, the crowd of demonstrators was probably 75' deep with other people either in Brown Chapel or milling around in the street. Police presence was always greater at the end of the street where the protesters gathered. Every now and then as part of an organized plan, protesters would move quickly to the other end of the street. Police sirens would wail and cars and horses would ride down a parallel street to meet everyone at the new location at the other end of the block. Frustrations grew and at one point there was talk of meeting force with force but that never happened mainly due to the leadership of Rev. Hosea Williams, Andrew Young and John Lewis.

Mass meetings were held at night inside of Brown Chapel. Songs were sung, speeches given and strategies developed. News of Dr. King's negotiations with the federal government were relayed and recounted. I personally enjoyed taking the night shift outside. The crowd was smaller and we were just really making sure there was a presence continually at the barricade during these times. Most of my partners during those evening and nighttime hours were youngsters. They had beautiful voices and enthusiasm. Sometimes there were 10-15 of us standing there singing to police in helmets and riot gear. It was a time when both sides could look each other in the eye and even converse. There were plenty of mean men but there were also those who pleaded with us to come to our senses and stop what they considered the madness. They told us violence would occur and they didn't want to hurt anyone. They themselves were learning about the power of nonviolence and were uncomfortable with the potential orders they would have to follow. It rained and it poured one night. A tarp was set up and it effectively caught water that eventually would overflow and come down on our heads and necks. A fire burned nearby and we would warm ourselves for short periods. Food and coffee were brought to us from neighbors living along the street. These were the sights and sounds of Selma in 1965 as I remember them now.

What did I feel, learn and see in Selma? Here are a few words and concepts that remind me the most of Selma. Fear - absolute and real; Music and its importance for body and soul; Spirituality - the spirituality of the black people of the south in particular; The children of Selma - children, 7 or 8 to 15 or 16 and all ages in between. They were fearless and offered leadership to their parents and visitors from the north; the seniors of Selma - the elders who had seen it all and who knew things had to change; the hatred of the white community, my race; The absolute authority and abuse of power by the police.

So we know that Selma helped to change our country and civil rights, but how did it change me? What impact did it have on my life - then and in the future? It certainly matured me at least from an experience standpoint. I saw things I had never seen, felt things I had never felt and met people with tremendous passion and leadership qualities. Selma really did help to define me and to define my beliefs about many things. It helped me begin to study the world and people differently. Selma was my introduction to the philosophy of nonviolence. When I went, I knew a little about non-violence but mostly as a tactic. I didn't have any real experience with it. Arriving in this place where violence and intimidation were acceptable when blacks tried to do something as basic as register to vote or to speak up about it, I began to realize that non-violence was much bigger. I became more curious because of what I saw and what I witnessed. Selma opened my eyes to the likes of Gandhi and Dorothy Day and to pacifism as a belief and way of life. It certainly didn't happen overnight, but my mind was opened to writings and ideas that spread the word not just of peace but also about conscience and acts of conscience, civil disobedience and activism. Selma set me off in a new direction and it really was the first time I realized the power and importance of conscience. I would be arrested numerous times for acts of conscience in the future. I would be a part of other movements against violence and injustice and it really all came from that short but important experience in Selma, Alabama in 1965.

Fifty Five Years Ago At Union Square

On Nov. 6, 2020, it will be fifty five years since five men stood together on a platform at Union Square in NYC and burned their draft cards celebrating free speech, opposing the draft and the war in Vietnam. They were joined on the platform by two giants of the peace and social justice movements, Dorothy Day, co-founder of the Catholic Worker movement and A.J. Muste, clergyman and political activist. The action took place in front of 1500 supporters as well as a large group of counter protesters. It was organized by a coalition of antiwar groups at the time. The lead was taken by the Committee for NonViolent Action. Other organizations involved included the War Resisters League, the Catholic Peace Fellowship and the Catholic Worker.

The five men were Tom Cornell of the Catholic Peace Fellowship, Marc Edelman a young draft resister, Roy Lisker, a writer and activist, David McReynolds of the War Resisters League and myself, Jim Wilson, a resister and Catholic Worker. As it happens I was the only participant who was actually classified as 1-A and eligible for the draft. 

In the first attempt at burning our cards, someone in the crowd shot a fire extinguisher at the flames associated with our burning cards. Due to earlier shouts by counter protesters that we should burn ourselves instead of our cards, we and others thought it may have been gasoline being sprayed and we all stepped back briefly. Regrouping, we relit the pieces of paper that symbolized thousands of young men being called upon to fight a war that many questioned.

There were three aspects to the draft card burning at Union Square. One was to protest the war in Vietnam that was becoming increasingly unpopular. It should be remembered that this was very early in protests against that war. The second was to protest the draft itself and the selective service system that was choosing who would fight in that and other wars, predominantly the poor and men of color. The third aspect was to speak up for the First Amendment and protect the right to free speech and protest. Earlier in the year, Congress had passed a law that specifically made it illegal to destroy a draft card. The penalty was five years in prison and/or a $10,000 fine. This legislation was a direct result of more and more people speaking out against the war and public demonstrations that included draft card burning. The legislation was meant to stop the protests and intimidate protestors. A month earlier, in October of '65, David Miller became the first person to publicly challenge the new law and he was quickly arrested and charged. 

On Nov. 6th, the five men mentioned above publicly burned their cards in solidarity and in support of Miller. Three, Cornell, Edelman and Lisker received sentences of six months in prison after a lengthy court battle. One, David McReynolds, wasn't charged due to his age. I plead guilty to the charge and received 2 years probation but I was quickly inducted as a direct result of the card burning. I refused induction and served two years of a three year sentence in Federal Prison.

Today there are many who don't know what draft cards were or what they symbolized. There are those who have no memory of the Selective Service System of that time, the lottery that many feared or the draft itself. Ultimately the draft ended, in no small part because of demonstrations and sacrifices made by many during this period of unrest and protest. Relative to the five protesters that day, Tom Cornell and I are the only participants of the demonstration who are still alive.

Three days after this event at Union Square, a young man and fellow Catholic Worker by the name of Roger LaPorte immolated himself on the sidewalk in front of the United Nations to protest this and every war. He died the following day.

Dorothy Day was one of many women who supported resisters and who worked against the war. Young men, women and families on both sides of the issue were impacted by the war in many different ways and there are still stories to be told. 

Some places to see or learn more:

The Boys Who Said No - website

City of Belief - a novel

Draft Card Burning Video

Immigration Is Our Heritage

Every family in America who is not a Native American came from somewhere other than this country. We came from someone who crossed borders. My story isn't that different from so many others but all of our stories are important. They're important to tell and retell for family and broader audiences because they speak of experiences and courage. They also help us understand how we're all connected through shared values of looking out for future generations and how our ancestors struggled to make things better for their daughters, sons and grandchildren.

My story begins with a little girl playing near a lake in Ireland. She would play dress up by covering her hands and arms up to her elbows with mud from the lake, showing the other children her fancy made up formal gloves like the well to do women would wear. She was the daughter of a hardworking woman and a father who was a baker by trade. The family had dreams of going off to America as other Irish families had. Bridget grew into her teens and one day went off with her younger brother and sister to begin that trip. The three young people waved to their mother and father who they would never see again and began a walk of twenty some miles to the coastal port of Sligo. They boarded a ship and began their journey to that land of hopes and dreams.

Bridget became Beatrice, changing her name hoping that work would be easier to find with a more Anglicized name. She worked scrubbing floors and cleaning offices. She became a housekeeper at a fancy hunting and fishing club and found her future husband, a guide at the club. The guide's name was Bob and his family had come from Scotland and Ireland but many years before. Some had fought in the Civil War. The two eventually married and moved to New Jersey. Beatrice cleaned rooms at Seton Hall for young seminarians and Bob worked as a mail room clerk and janitor at a large company.

Others of my ancestors came from Germany and moved quickly into German neighborhoods in the Williamsport area of Pennsylvania. Hard working butchers and grocery clerks, who again made those long trips across the Atlantic ocean not really knowing what to expect or how they would find work. Their approach was to find communities of other immigrants and relatives and to stick together, working to provide services to each other. As their families grew so did their experiences and talents. They became tradesmen - carpenters, plumbers. They worked with their hands and backs as bakers, gardeners, and janitors.

I grew up learning from these immigrants. I learned about their love for their homeland as well as their love for America and what it provided to them even though there were struggles for basic needs and jobs at different points. They all went through some level of discrimination and non acceptance by other, more established citizens. Immigration is our heritage and every once in awhile we need to look back and honor it and those who paved the way for us.

And now, today, I'm sure there are little girls and boys playing near a lake or next to a river, thinking about and dreaming about a better life. Maybe putting mud on their arms and prancing around like the fancy people that they've heard about wearing evening gloves or suits and dresses. They may not speak English but they speak an understood language of just wanting and trying to do and be better. Let's embrace and welcome them.

Remembering Hiroshima

On August 6, 1945, I was a one year old playing at home in a small New Jersey town. Thousands of miles away, a US bomber, the Enola Gay dropped the world's first atomic bomb on the city of Hiroshima in Japan. In an instant tens of thousands of lives were lost, men, women and children. Other thousands were either maimed and scarred for life. Most of these Japanese citizens were civilians who had nothing to do with the war that had raged across Europe and the east. Survivors crawled through smoldering rubble and saw terrible sights of the living dead with burning flesh and missing body parts. Families were separated and lost.

The order had been given by President Harry Truman - Tru Man, an odd name as others have pointed out from a biblical sense. The scientists who had built the monstrous bomb knew immediately that they were now representatives of death and questioned what they had unleashed. But it was too late to question now. The harm had been done and others would want to replicate the weapon and the destruction.

There are still survivors from that terrible day 75 years ago and many work tirelessly to end the continued threat of nuclear war. There are others, people committed to peace and to the end of war. They to work tirelessly, marching, demonstrating, educating, praying and petitioning for an end to nuclear weapon building. Some mark this day with fasting and meditating, trying to make sense of how people continue to find horrific ways to destroy each other. In a few days we will also see remembrances of the second city destroyed by an atomic bomb in Japan, Nagasaki. Thousands more, men, women and children killed and maimed.

These are times for good people to commit to peace and an end to nuclear weapons. We all need to find our own way to make the message heard loud and clear. No to war. No to mass destruction. Refuse to accept it and refuse to participate.

Prophets and Saints Among Us - John R. Lewis

I first met John Lewis in 1965. He wasn't famous. He wasn't a big shot of any kind. I had gone down to Selma, Al. just days after the nation watched on TV as a mob of deputies beat and pushed back 600 peaceful marchers. Over the next few weeks I was in Selma, either in Brown Chapel or outside on the street trying to march from the area where police had effectively penned us all in. I was 21, a college student and pretty naive. John Lewis was 25, already a leader and very smart. 

There was a lot going on in that time and place. Much of it I've only learned about years later by reading books and talking to others who participated. While I stood facing a rope that sheriff deputies had put up to fence us in and singing protest songs with local youngsters, John Lewis, Hosea Williams, Andrew Young and James Bevel among others were fine tuning and organizing behind the scenes. Martin Luther King,  Jr. and Ralph Abernathy were away from Selma negotiating with a federal judge about the march to Montgomery. The others were left behind to keep things moving and organized. There were tensions between younger generation protesters represented by the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Council (SNCC) and the leadership of the Southern Christian Leadership Council (SCLC). There were philosophical minefields and some things had to be threaded through the eye of a needle to keep everyone focused on the same mission. This tends to happen in political movements of any type but resolution here was critical.

The nights were cold and rainy. I remember John Lewis huddled with others around a fire in a 55 gallon drum. Some people were mad and arguing about outsiders taking over their protest, their movement. Lewis would go back and forth between the fire and the Chapel and relay messages and feelings from the younger folks to the older (over 30) leaders of SCLC. That's how I remember it anyway, even though I wasn't any part of the conversations. I just knew there was tension and some of us were just supposed to keep the police focused and distracted by our presence at the rope and barricades. 

So that was my first encounter with John Lewis. We probably drank coffee from the same pot and may have shared a sandwich from the boxes that were made by people in the neighborhood. I do know we shared the warmth of that fire in the drum on a few cold nights.

I met John again in 2003. By that time most everybody knew who the Congressman from Georgia was, including me and I was in awe. I had been invited by my then Congressman Amo Houghton to go along with him on the annual Faith & Politics Institute's Congressional Pilgrimage to Alabama. At that time the Institute was Co-Chaired by Lewis and Houghton, a bit of an odd couple but they had grown to be very close, an attribute John Lewis was famous for. When Amo introduced me to John it was as "this is the fellow I told you about who was with you in Selma." John Lewis' reaction was immediate. He took my hand, pulled me toward him and we embraced while he patted me on the shoulder. "Good to see you. We'll talk along the way" he said and we did. We caught up as they say.

That trip included plane flights, bus trips, hotel stops and meals as well as stops at major civil rights historical sites. John did what he did best. He shared the stories of his past and about those sites, the good times and the bad times, the victories and the dreams not yet met. Along the way, I told John about my history after my experience in Selma. How I had gone to the Catholic Worker in NYC, met and worked with Dorothy Day, opposed the war in Vietnam, refused induction and went to federal prison. He knew of Dorothy, the Worker, her work for nonviolence and peace. He told me he was proud of the action I took against the war and thanked me for it.

His passing is hard. He was like a beacon. I'm glad he got to see that Black Lives Matter painted on the street in Washington D.C.  To look down on it and to stand on the letters. He made that and so much more happen. John Lewis was someone you could believe in. Justice and peace and reconciliation were the things he stood for but that didn't mean he couldn't get angry or raise hell when he had to. The world is a better place because of John Lewis. He knew how to laugh and sing and dance after the hard work was done. He was just one of the prophets and saints among us and we were lucky to have him. Rest in Power John Lewis.

An Anniversary - 55 Years After Selma

This weekend, many people will be remembering and celebrating what has become known as 'Bloody Sunday' in Selma, Alabama. Yes, 55 years since a young John Lewis along with 200 other marchers were beaten back by local police and a posse of men with horses, clubs, baseball bats and tear gas. People were brutalized as a nation watched on TV. These folks were marching for something very basic, the right to vote. Thousands of people heard Martin Luther King, Jr.'s plea for support from people in the north and from all over the country to come to Selma to assist in standing up to the injustice that was being witnessed. Men and women of faith, students and just plain good people showed up in the following days in solidarity with King, Lewis and the people of Selma.  Today, we all face new threats against the right to vote in this country. Instead of making it easier, people are trying to make it more difficult to register and to cast a ballot. I have placed four links below that will take you to a four part series on this history. These are my personal account of the events in Selma. They have been published here in the past but deserve a retelling on this 55th anniversary. This is not nostalgia. This is history and a reminder that we must all be vigilant at a time when our country has moved to a place that we may have thought was gone forever.

Part 1 - Selma, Alabama

Part 2 - Selma, Alabama

Part 3 - Selma, Alabama

Part 4 - Selma, Alabama

In The Still of The Night - Mitch McConnell's Trial Rules

All of us have had some experience with the justice system. If not ourselves, a relative, friend or co-worker has shared their story. Maybe it was a traffic ticket, or jury duty, or a credit or real estate deal with problems. Some have probably experienced more serious issues as the accused or as a victim. Something was stolen, there was harassment or a physical confrontation. And it doesn't necessarily have to be through a court of law. It could be interactions with a Human Resources Department, a School Board, or an organization we belong to. Our view of justice and fairness though comes from these experiences.

With this backdrop, we are all beginning to see how justice may or may not work when you're the President of the United States and your trial is held in the US Senate, currently under the leadership and stewardship of Mitch McConnell. I mention stewardship because the US Senate is one of those institutions with a mighty past that needs protection from those who may want to change its functions forever.

The President of the United States is on trial. It seems that the rules for his trial will be much different than anything many of us are familiar with. It looks more and more like this trial will not allow witnesses or important facts to be presented. It also looks like a real defense will not even be necessary. Instead, it seems that a show trial will be the basis of what occurs. Rules have been established by Mitch McConnell with little to no bipartisan agreement. One of these rules deals with the hours and time frame of the trial itself. Due to the Chief Justice's duties that continue on the Supreme Court, the trial's hours will begin at 1:00pm each day and may continue for up to 12 hours per day for the presentation of the prosecution and the defense. This means that trial presentations will go potentially until 1:00am in the morning. Much of the proceedings will be late at night based on these hours, out of the public view. In the still of the night, prosecutors, defense attorneys, Senators, and the Chief Judge will hold a trial that accuses the President of Abuse of Power and Obstruction of Congress.

Yes, we should all be wondering and asking how this stacks up against our own experiences with justice? Is this the way it's supposed to work? Is this what we can and should expect for ourselves in the future? Can a person with so much power actually walk down 5th Ave and shoot someone with no one flinching and no consequences? Is the silence of the night, the silence we should expect to hear from Senators? Let's hope not, but I fear it may be and that our country is in much more trouble than most can imagine.

Re-Posting of Piece On Pete Seeger's Passing

This piece was written and posted in 2014 after Pete's Passing. Thought it would be appropriate to re-post on the 100th anniversary of his birth on May 3, 2019. Enjoy!

TUESDAY, JANUARY 28, 2014

Thank You Pete Seeger

Lots of us need to thank Pete Seeger for what he showed us and taught us over the years. Pete passed away last night, peacefully in his sleep. Ten days ago, according to his grandson, he was chopping wood for the fire in his cabin home in Beacon, NY, as he did for many years.

Pete Seeger taught us the importance of song and participation. He had a passion for song, music and making sure everyone was part of the expierience. But on top of all of that he believed in things. He believed in peace, the protection of the environment, justice for all, racial eguality and had fun doing it. He was banned, blacklisted and shunned. He was handcuffed, arrested and jailed for singing and protesting. He brought people together through song and showed people how to participate. Sometimes we were embarresed or shy about our voices or what we thought was our lack of musical talent but Pete Seeger made sure we all sounded good.

Singing This Land is Your Land or We Shall Overcome with Pete Seeger was often a life changing expierience. Thousands had that expierience and won't forget it.

Many years ago I was working at the Catholic Worker in NYC. I fancied myself a folk singer, protest singer, etc. I had written a few songs and sang many of the old ones in the tradition of Seeger, Woody Gutherie, The Weavers and others. One day Pete Seeger was on the phone talking to someone and they told him there was a young fella there who had an interesting anti war song. Next thing I knew I was on the phone with Pete Seeger and he wanted to hear the song my friend had told him about. So there I was, trying to sing my song with no guitar to a legend. He was kind. Said I had something there and should keep singing.

I also found out about thirty years later that a high school classmate of mine, Bob Killian, worked and sang with Pete Seeger on The Clearwater, the sailing ship that he used to promote clean water, particularly on the Hudson River. Bob went on to get involved with an educational sailing and environmental program in Florida.

I'm sure there are hundreds and thousands of stories of how Pete Seeger connected and influenced people throughout the world. His mantra was participation. Everybody sounded good to Pete. They really did. He just loved to hear another voice. One more thing he did. He took the time every Christmas to send cards of encouragement to prisoners of conscience. I was lucky enough to hear from him a couple of times.

So I just want to add my thanks to Pete Seeger for what he offered all of us. A chance to sing, participate and bring about change along with gleeful encouragement. Rest in peace Pete.

Let Me Sing You a Song: Tribute to Pete Seeger by Joe Jencks

Stan Lee, Denny O'Neil, Batman and Dorothy Day

Stan Lee, the genius and leader behind Marvel Comics died on Nov. 12, 2018 at 95. When I heard about his passing in the news it brought back some memories from the 60's in my head. I began to remember a visit to the Marvel Comics office in Manhattan. Colorful posters of comic book characters hanging on walls popped into my head. Why was I there? To visit a friend at the time by the name of Denny O'Neil.

But Stan Lee's passing forced me to do some searching and some memory poking. I needed to fill in the gaps. Lots of information between comic book posters and Denny O'Neil. I have thought of Denny in the ensuing years and had already done some research on him in the past few years but now I needed to know and remember more. You see there was a connection between Denny and the Catholic Worker in NYC where I spent some time in my youth. I remembered going to parties at Denny's apartment where he and his wife lived, somewhere in the East Village. A group of young Catholic Workers would gather, perhaps after a Friday Night Meeting (a tradition at many Catholic Worker Houses of Hospitality, an opportunity for clarification of thought) or after a day of demonstrating against the draft or the war in Vietnam. Denny was supportive of our activities and his wife, Ann, had been involved at the Catholic Worker.

My research found video interviews and articles about and by Denny. In many, he talked about his growing up in Missouri, his Catholic upbringing, his military service, his marriage to Ann and his connection to the Worker. He started at Marvel Comics after taking the 4 page writers test in his early to mid 20's. He eventually moved to DC comics and took on the authorship of Batman and many other characters including Green Lantern/Green Arrow and Wonder Woman. Denny has had a brilliant writing and editing career at both DC and Marvel.

But I still wasn't sure about all of those memories swishing around in my head so I reached out to some of my old friends from that time period to see if we were remembering any of the same things or if my memory could be jogged a bit. Nicole remembered Denny's wedding to Ann. It turns out she was a witness at the wedding which did take place at the neighborhood church frequented by folks from the Worker. She can recall Denny's makeshift ring at the wedding and the parties we attended at the O'Neil's apartment. Paul sent me information on a book Denny authored with some fictional characters telling the story of Denny's comic book life. So he also had some memories too.

The most amazing thing I found though was some writing from Denny himself where he talks about a character he created in the Batman series, Dr. Leslie Thompkins. Denny explains that his character of Leslie was based on Dorothy Day who co-founded the Catholic Worker movement. Here are Denny's own words in an excerpt from an article in 2015:

"I had a real person in mind when I was writing Detective #457, someone I’d once met named Dorothy Day. Dorothy began her professional life as a journalist, wrote a novel, lived the Greenwich Village life. In 1939, she cofounded The Catholic Worker, an organization located in a section of lower Manhattan not much frequented by the white shoe crowd. The Worker had three missions: to serve the poor by providing food, shelter and clothing; to help drunks get sober; and to protest war – all war, any war, and any violence.

We incorporated Dorothy’s pacifism into Leslie. There wasn’t much; I can’t recall any particular story in which it was a major element. But look for it and you could find it."

So yes, Dr. Leslie Thompkins is a pacifist doctor who works in the toughest part of Gotham's criminal slums. She was an old friend of Batman's mother and father. The character appears in 200+ Batman comics.

Yup, that's the same Dorothy Day arrested over the years in protests over war and social justice. The same Dorothy Day proposed for sainthood in the Catholic Church. Funny and appropriate. Now that it's been brought to light can you imagine all of the prelates in Rome, cardinals and priests, perhaps even Pope Francis, pouring over copies of Batman comics and trying to find references to Dorothy and determining if she should be named a saint. Good luck folks and thank you Denny for helping to confuse the confused. Ah, memories!

Roger Allen LaPorte

Every year at this time, I find myself pondering and remembering Roger LaPorte, a young man and colleague at the Catholic Worker in NYC. Roger worked with me and others at the Worker, cooking meals, feeding the poor and providing clothing and shelter to men and women on the Bowery, the skid row of the city at the time. Roger also opposed the war in Vietnam, participated in demonstrations and on the morning of Nov. 9th, 1965, took his own life by pouring gasoline on himself and lighting a match on the sidewalk in front of the United Nations. He died a slow and painful death the next day. Roger's life was important as was his final act. Here are some pieces I've written in the past about Roger, his life and death:

(click here) Roger Allen LaPorte 1943-1965

My Vote Counts for Something!

I've spent too many years seeing and experiencing some very bad things that have happened to people, in their lives in general and specifically around their ability or inability to vote. As a youngster I went to Selma, Alabama because I saw people on TV being beaten and chased by horses when they were making a point, a simple point about their right to vote. Their right had been denied and suppressed by rules and tests that were not only foolish and mean but ultimately illegal. They got mad because they had seen their brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers and friends throughout the country discriminated against in the same way. They were beaten, jailed and killed over this right to vote. I was lucky. I was only called names and arrested.

I saw young men drafted and sent to Vietnam, thousands killed while government officials were eventually shown to have lied to the American people while winning elections and asking for votes. Many of those young soldiers never had the opportunity to vote.

For many years I worked with people who had intellectual disabilities. I saw the time when those individuals were housed in institutions with little care, support or education and in addition no right or ability to vote. I remember the times when people would laugh about giving someone "like that" the right to vote.

The list is too long but there are some names that people have to remember, have to think about when we talk about the right to vote. People who were killed in the struggle. People like Jimmie Lee Jackson, Rev. James Reeb and Viola Liuzzo. They all died in the Selma fight. Andrew Goodman, James Earl Cheney and Michael Henry Schwerner all killed in Mississippi while working on voter registration. Medgar Evers, Martin Luther King, Jr. and on and on.

So when people tell me or tell you that our votes don't count, they're wrong. Our votes all count. Mine counts just like those people in Selma who were beaten and killed. My vote counts the same as those young men who lost their lives in Vietnam should have counted. It counts just like all the intellectually disabled people who vote or should vote. It counts like all the women who had to fight for their own right to vote. It's an equalizer, that vote. It's rich and poor, company boss and trade unionist. I get angry and frustrated when I see the same fight happening today. Things that I thought had been corrected. Voter suppression due to skin color or political affiliation.

So don't take it lightly. There are trails of blood and battles we can't imagine. Take it seriously, please. My vote and your vote do count for something. Don't let anyone take it from you and don't give it away by ignoring it. Celebrate it! Vote whatever way you want...but vote.

David McReynolds Obituary

The following is David McReynolds Obituary from the New York Times on August 18, 2018. David was a friend, fellow protester and resister. He and I reconnected about three years ago after fifty years. We continued to be in touch through email and facebook, enjoying each others conversations and information. He was an important leader in the anti war and progressive movement.

David McReynolds, Socialist Activist Who Ran for President, Dies at 88

Aug. 18, 2018

David McReynolds, right, explaining plans to protest the draft at the University of Denver in 1970.Denver Post, via Getty Images

David E. McReynolds, a pacifist, socialist and sometime political candidate whose activism spanned many decades, died on Friday in Manhattan. He was 88.

The War Resisters League, where Mr. McReynolds had been a staff member, confirmed his death. He was taken to Mount Sinai Beth Israel hospital after falling in his Manhattan apartment, a friend, Bruce Cronin, said.

Mr. McReynolds was best known for his demonstrations against the draft during the Vietnam War, his advocacy of pacifism and denuclearization, and his two bids for president in 1980 and 2000 as an openly gay man running on the Socialist Party USA ticket.

“He’ll be known for the lifetime of leadership and the pacifist movements that, to a large degree, he defined in the post-World War II, Cold War era,” said Professor Cronin, the chairman of the political science department at City College of New York. “But what I think helped to define him was that he was as much a humanist as he was an activist.” He had met Mr. McReynolds at a denuclearization rally in the 1980s.

Mr. McReynolds spent almost four decades as a staff member for the War Resisters League, a pacifist organization based in New York City. His activism took him around the world for demonstrations and meetings as a member of delegations in Libya, Japan, Vietnam and other countries.

“There were all these things that made him a giant in antiwar and civil rights and social justice,” his cousin Dusty Kunin said on Friday.

He was also a photographer, a writer and a music aficionado who regularly hosted friends at his home for discussions about art, life and politics.

David Ernest McReynolds was born on Oct. 25, 1929, in Los Angeles. He was raised as a Baptist and was once affiliated with the Prohibition Party, he told The Village Voice in a 2015 interview.

Mr. McReynolds, who was the oldest of three children, described his childhood as “pretty protected.” His father’s job as head of the local water reserve and his family’s access to his grandfather’s farm and livestock helped insulate them from the worst effects of the Great Depression, The Voice reported.

By the time he attended the University of California, Los Angeles, in the early 1950s, he had become an active socialist and an ardent pacifist.

This was during the era of McCarthyism, and the government took notice of his activities. Mr. McReynolds would later write that the F.B.I. had compiled hundreds of pages of files on him, which he obtained through a Freedom of Information Act request.

His work spanned myriad issues. He demonstrated in favor of civil rights and against the Korean War in the 1950s, so that by the time widespread antiwar sentiment had gripped young activists during the 1960s and ’70s, he was an experienced protester.

Mr. McReynolds was known as a mediator with a human touch, and much of his organizing work took place behind the scenes. But he occasionally appeared in news reports, including the time he publicly burned draft documents during Vietnam War protests in 1965.

He first gained wider public attention as a candidate for Congress in 1958. He ran as an openly gay candidate for president in 1980, and again in 2000, although he did not make gay rights a central issue in either campaign.

By the time of his last presidential bid, he was 70 and technically retired from his position as a field secretary with the War Resisters League.

“I think we have a title for me,” he said at the time. “I’m an emeritus of some kind. I’ll have to ask someone up front what my title is.”

Mr. McReynolds resigned from the Socialist Party in 2015 after he was censured for two comments he had made on social media. In one, he expressed concern over Islamist extremism following a terrorist attack on Charlie Hebdo, a newspaper in Paris. In the other, he used the word “thuggish” in reference to Michael Brown, the unarmed black teenager who was shot and killed by a police officer in Ferguson, Mo.

“The failure of the Socialist Party, its tendency to substitute a kind of left rhetoric for serious analysis, is to be regretted because if ever we needed a democratic socialist movement it is today,” Mr. McReynolds wrote after his resignation.

He is survived by a sister, Elizabeth Gralewski, and a brother, Martin McReynolds.

On Friday, the War Resisters League said in a statement that Mr. McReynolds was on its staff until 1999 but had remained a member of the league’s community throughout his life, adding that he “will be remembered for living radical pacifism.”