Henry and Jimmy

 Thank you Death.  You got it right this time.  Approaching 100, Jimmy Carter is still here reminding us of love and hope.  At the same time, you fought to finally pry life from Henry Kissinger’s cold hands.  Yes, you approached Carter a few years back with cancer, but you ultimately backed away. When it was time for him to live in hospice, he did so quietly and with grace.

And where was Henry Kissinger, who sent millions to you?  At 100, still convinced that he was always right, he was on a trip to China demanding to still be relevant in the world of conquest and power.  

So let’s enjoy what time we have left with Jimmy Carter.  You left a good man among us.

Complicated

 Things are so complicated now, it feels like everything has come to a halt.  Today I was reading an article about the British academic, Jacqueline Rose.  It's from an old issue of the New Yorker, but spoke to today.

Here's the paragraph that grabbed my attention:

Rose describes herself not as an anti-Zionist, but as a critic of Zionism, a reader of Zionism, focusing on the nationalist movement's insistence on its own innocence.  She warns against letting victimhood - best understood as an event - something that befalls a person - become an identity. "We need to be endlessly vigilant in not allowing victimhood to become who we are."

The statement brought swift censure.  She was called "an ashamed Jew."  "I lost friends" she said.

Always More Stories

 My class on the Literature of Baseball is more fun that I hoped it would be.  There are twenty two on our team, three women.  The other two gals are just as steeped in the stats as the guys.  I’m just a bench warmer but feel totally welcome just the same.

We’re discussing now one of the game’s greatest moments:  Babe Ruth pointing to the stands and delivering the ball to that very spot.  You’ve heard about it, I know you have. No surprise, the story has twists and turns.  FDR threw out the first pitch. (Yes! FDR.) Charlie Root, the all-time winningest pitcher for the Cubs, and Ruth’s opponent on the mound, disputes the hand gesture.  “If I had thought he was pointing, I would have plunked him with the next pitch.”

That’s what we talk about back and forth. There’s always more to the story.  And there are always more stories.

Labor Day

A few times my life has touched, however tangentially, that of a hero.  For Labor day, I’ll repeat this little story. Walter Reuther’s first heroic act was when he helped organize the takeover of the Ford Motor Plant and thus fought for the creation of the UAW.

He went on to be a scandal-free leader of the auto workers.  Many look back at this time as the birth of the American middle class.

Years later, and after he had been shot, Walter Reuther moved across the street from us.  I wouldn’t have noticed as I was a teenager doing teenager things.  Except for the guards that patrolled his place around the clock.

Whenever I pulled up in front of my house with a date or a girlfriend lucky enough to drive, a man would wander over.  “Okay, move along.  We can’t have you parked here.”

Looking back, still a hero.

 

Unexpected

 Yesterday I was doing a crossword on my phone.  Every few minutes an ad pops up.  This time it was from teepublic, advertising t shirts.  “Wait a minute!”, I said to myself with a jolt. The name “horberg”  was in the space bar.

I texted Bill.  “Are you selling t shirts on the internet?”  “Yes”, was his answer.  T shirts and sweatshirts with his drawings of authors and others in the film noir genre.

So now, I’m going to get a Raymond Chandler sweatshirt.  Chandler to Chandler.

But here’s what’s driving me crazy.  How did my crossword, or teepublic, know to put “horberg” and me together in the ad? 

An internet mystery.  Not worthy of a Chandler plot, but just the same.

P.S. That's the man, not the drawing.

Blind Sided

 

I loved the movie The Blind Side.  And now I feel bad. Confused.  I know enough about movie making to understand that “based on a true story” leaves a lot of room for the plot to work.  I know a little about who gets paid and how much to not be surprised by any of the stories of where the movie money went.

What makes me feel bad is this:  am I a “white savior?”  What does that even mean?  When one of my favorite writers, the leftie Dave Zirin, says the movie was trash because of the “white savior” thing, I am paying attention.

Yes, I marched with MLK when he was in Chicago.  One of my best friends, Chuck Markels, went south to register voters and I cheered him on. I cried when Lyndon Johnson said “We Shall Overcome.”  Is that “white savior?”

So, now I’m feeling bad about feeling bad.  Don’t tell me I’m one of those people who want to “black out” history because I might feel bad.

So, who am I?

Stranger to the Stands

 This fall I am taking a class on "The Literature of Baseball."  I'm already immersed in the reading.  I thought it was a good moment to publish again one of my favorite baseball stories.

Stranger to the Stands

My step-father Harry was a sweet man.  He was a doctor who, during World War II,  had been a Captain doing research in the Air Force.  One of the men on his team had been the trainer for the Detroit Tigers.  Grateful for not being in combat, he said to Harry: "When this mess is over, I want you to be my guest at a game.  I'll roll out the red carpet for you."

When Harry found out I was a huge Tigers fan, he made it happen.  We had great seats behind the dugout.  I got to shake hands with some of the players. They autographed my ball.  I was busy explaining the action to Harry when he drifted off to sleep.

Many years later when I was working at the American Medical Association, I looked up Harry in the archives.  I found out that he had a distinguished career and had worked on the invention of ultra sound and the fetal heart monitor.

Harry had great stats.  He is a member of my personal Hall of Fame.

Emergency Grammar Prevails

 

I was at the doc's office the other day when he recommended that I go to the Emergency Room.  The nurse said:" We're required to recommend an ambulance.  If you want to go on your own, you need to sign here."

This reminded me of one of my most strenuous encounters with the English Language.  I was playing ping pong at a Senior Tournament at the Cultural Center.  While attempting to return a slam, I fell and broke my wrists.

One of the employees at the Center arrived and asked if I wanted an ambulance.  My friend Bev said: "It will be faster in a cab."  The young woman wrote:  Joan Chandler don't wants an ambulance. Sign here.

I left muttering:  "Doesn't want! Doesn't want!

Barbie Explains Everything

 This oldster wanted to know what all the fuss is about.  My friends said the movie was about “girl power”.  “Like Legally Blonde?” , I thought to myself. 

Barbie and Ken leave BarbieLand for The Real World.  Waiting for them is Greta Gerwig.  And the human power of creativity.  I’m overwhelmed by how she made something so meaningful and important out of plastic and pink.

The moment for me was America Ferrara’s soliloquy on being a woman.  

Okay.  Maybe I’m taking it all too seriously.  

You know who else isn’t brushing off Barbie?  The men who went to the theater and now feel “barbi-qued.” And, the bloviating politicians who are screaming foul. 

The Pinocchio ending is perfect.

Repaired

 I hired a computer guy to come take a look at what Apple calls my "vintage" computer. (Age 8.)  My main questions were: "Why is this happening?" and "Why can't I do this?"  He dove right in with what he called "forensics."

As he clicked here and there, opening and closing messages, even he was momentarily stumped a few times before he declared: "Ah, ha!"

I watched as he restored severed connections, corrected improper installations, and finally created an integrated today out of a fractured yesterday.

I thought: "Wow. My computer's story is my story."

I feel repaired.

Unavoidable?

 

My friends Trudy and Phyllis pass along their copies of the New Yorker to me.  Unlike sharing passwords —  sharing books, magazines, and lively conversation still takes place privately.  Feeling the need to include the word “still” sends a shiver up my spine.

A recent article written by the popular Zadie Smith got me thinking about the “inevitable.”  She was referring to how her British roots were always nudging her to write a historical novel.  And, when she finally gave in to that inevitability, Charles Dickens was everywhere.  Too high a mountain to cross, burrow through or go around.

I quipped to Phyllis: “Is Zadie Smith, the writer, giving in to Dickens the same as you and I, the consumer, giving in to Amazon?”

On what basis do we pick our fights?  Or acknowledge surrender?  Or hide in the shadows, hoping to remain out of reach?

The Future Wins

 

When he lost the first set 6-0, I almost turned off the TV. "He's not ready.  The moment is too big for him."  But it was early Sunday morning and I had no plans.  "I'll stick around to see how he does in the second set."

Almost five hours later, I was standing and clapping in a fan's moment of amazement and joy.  What a match!  Right up there with the giants I had loved for so long.  I was having such a hard time saying goodbye and figuring out who the new ones were going to be.  

When the English lady was interviewing him, and he was thanking all of his support team, she said: "You know, the King of Spain came here to watch you today."

Carlos Alcarez smiled and said politely:  "That's very nice."  Maybe he was thinking: "You may be King, but the Crown belongs to me today."

Tornado!

 My phone started buzzing and when I looked at the screen there was an emergency tornado alert for the area.  I turned on TV where all local channels were following the storms.  When the TV guys and gals were showing the tornado path headed for the lake front, I picked up my phone and my keys and headed downstairs. My neighbor Abe was already in the lobby with his bag packed!  He was going to the garage (no windows). I settled on the couch with two women and their dog,  

When the sirens went off, I remembered when Daley got criticized for using them to celebrate the White Sox World Series victory.  This time they meant business.  I also remembered that, when I moved to Oak Lawn, people were still talking about the tornado that touched down on busy 95th Street back in 1967. Eighteen lives lost.

As the danger seemed to pass, I was anxious to get back upstairs to watch the ESPYs, my favorite sports awards show. The most moving award of the night went to the emergency medical team of the Buffalo Bills who rushed to the field to provide immediate care to the fallen Damar Hamlin.  Damar was overcome as he introduced the men and women who saved his life.

Danger and safety seemed the theme for my ordinary Wednesday night.

A New Country

 One of my favorite Fourth of July memories was when I was in California with my daughter-in-law Elsa and her friend Ignacio.  Elsa had recently come to America from Cuba.  Ignacio had come from Cuba a few years before.  Both were young, artists, full of adventurist spirit.  

We wandered around the tourist town of Long Beach.  Elsa visited a fortune teller.  I bought a sequined cap with an American flag design.  I don't remember if we ate hot dogs but it was a very American day.

The country was new to them, and made it fresh and new to me.

Locked Up

 

Walgreens recently opened a store where most of the stuff is locked up and only available upon request. I guess they’ve decided to forget the proceeds from browsing and impulse buying in favor of a crackdown on shoplifting.

I wonder if the other places where you pick out your purchases and take them to the check out line will follow Walgreens?  That would be a dramatic shift indeed.

Costco has a good approach. They have an employee who takes your receipt and checks it against what’s in your cart as you leave the store.

Is shoplifting an epidemic now? I wonder if it is the more respectable way of expressing economic despair?  More than carjacking or a hold up?

There’s certainly a lot of despair on display in my “good” neighborhood: The lines for food everyday in front of the food pantry next door.  The people who wait for a handout at my McDonald’s or any stoplight on a busy street.

Walgreens made the national news.  I guess it touched a nerve. 

Could Queer Eye Heal America?

 

Could Queer Eye Heal America?

I noticed that Season 7 is back on Netflix.  This is one of my favorite shows.  And, apparently I've got company.  Seven seasons is gold.  The guys are masters at approaching the "everyday bloke".  Using their charm, good will, free stuff and empathy, they win them over every time.  Transformation is powerful.

We keep hearing about how we need to listen to grievance-laden voters and take them seriously.  Isn't that how the Queer Eyes guys spread their love?

Can't to wait to watch them again.

They're Everywhere

 

No, this is not a robot writing today's blog.  Are you there God?  It's me Joan.

Is the writers' strike just another futile effort to hold off the machines?  Are the scribes today's luddites?  The same arguments can be made that were made when the industrial revolution "ruined" labor or produced "progress". Which?

It used to be science fiction that described the moment when robots decide for themselves what the future -- and history -- will be.  

And now, the daily news.

"I Never Watch That Stuff"

 

The death parade continues.  Today, it’s Jerry Springer.  I liked him as an engaging person who endured successfully in the rocky world of trash TV.  His “who’s the daddy?” show came way before the Kardashians or the Housewives.  Unlike those glitzy gals, It was for and about the “other.”  College kids adored it.

The thing about Jerry was that he never took himself or his show seriously.  That doesn’t mean he was patronizing towards his participants or their audience.  He came across as having empathy for their plight.  “My world is crazy and I don’t know what to do, so why not have a moment on TV to set me apart from the rest?”

Did you know that he had once been Mayor of Cincinnati?  He probably could have been a successful politician.  You know, from trash TV to President.  

Jerry would have done it smiling.

A Wonderful Life

 

Harry Belafonte.  I've been thinking about and learning about him all day today.  I saw him perform once at the Empire Room.  That was a rare treat. He was a close friend and major supporter of Martin Luther King.  Did you know he was the one who bailed him out of the "Birmingham Jail?"  Or,  that he used his smarts and connections to make sure the March On Washington was a celebrity infused and thus popular media event?

I met him once.  It was when I was on the staff of Adlai Stevenson's presidential campaign.  I attended a dinner hosted by a wealthy donor and Belafonte was the featured guest.  While charming us all, he excused himself to spend time in the kitchen with the workers there.

Elsa met him through a mutual friend and his connections with Cuba.  At Elsa's birthday dinner to which Belafonte was invited, she was actually able to enjoy him singing Happy Birthday.

Harry Belafonte would have been beloved as a marvelous entertainer.  He was so much more. He fought for justice and he never slowed down.  Now he is gone at 96.  This is one of those times when you acknowledge sorrow, as you smile and celebrate his wonderful life.

Karma

 

Remember the O.J. Simpson trial?  We all knew he did it.  But Johnnie Cochran figured it out.  Keep proving and talking about the corrupt police.  By the time the case went to the jury, the police were "convicted" and O.J. walked free.  Karma.

Remember the Central Park Five?  When Trump (who had promoted the death penalty for them) had to face the Judge in the same courtroom where the boys had been wrongfully convicted, one of them whose young life had been stolen, had one word for it:  Karma.

Remember the Supreme Court Hearings for Clarence Thomas?  Remember Anita Hill's testimony?  Thomas cried: "this is a high tech lynching."   Hill was promptly ignored.  Thomas stopped crying after he triumphed over the rope.  And, he's been laughing at us ever since. Are you outraged?

Karma.

Not Too Scared to Win

 

I'm still on a high from Tuesday's election for Mayor of Chicago: Brandon Johnson winner!  But I have to admit  I have needed listening to some fierce leftie voices to keep it going.  So if you're happy like me right now, call on all of the support you need to stay this way.

Immediately, you're going to hear:  "There will be another era of 'council wars.'  "We're going to be the ultimate sanctuary city flooded with migrants."  "There's no money for these programs."  "He has to move to the center." "We need more and tougher police."

I'm sticking with this:  Brandon Johnson ran as a leftie.  He beat every "establishment" Democrat, black and white, who were too scared.  So they endorsed a known loser. 

So, if Brandon Johnson isn't scared, then let's get used to that for a change.

A Know Nothing Attends a Lecture on Math

 

I attended a lecture on math today at the Senior Center.   Math was always the subject that eluded me all throughout my education.  I still don't get it but that doesn’t mean I’m not interested. I was fascinated by the stories of the people and the philosophical implications related to the math discoveries.

The quote I liked is:  Math=Truth
                                Everything else=Opinion

I’m still contemplating whether everything the human mind can discover or imagine already exists and we can only reveal what is already there.  As a writer who feels alive and worthwhile when I a writing in my diary or publishing my blog, it pains me to think of life this way.  But I know I would probably lose an argument if obliged to defend my thinking up against the minds  described in the lecture.

P.S.  The photo is of Terrence Tao who = The real Young Sheldon.

A Difficult Choice

 

Daniel Ellsberg has cancer.  He says he is writing the last pages of the final chapter.  Yes, I knew him in high school and he was a good friend of my brother.  My friends rolled their eyes but indulged my shameless hyperbole as I joked about how, on a date many years later, I convinced him to turn against the Vietnam War.  Thus, the Pentagon Papers.  History.

At a Kingswood/Cranbrook  reunion, I made sure that the Republican Senator Alan Simpson overheard me when I said that Ellsberg was our most illustrious alum.  (Simpson can have the last laugh now as I would gladly place him back in the Senate in exchange for any one of the hapless Republicans.)

Ellsberg is still speaking out.  Still making news.  And, I hope still appreciated for the difficult life he chose.

Another Mystery

 

The mysterious act of kindness the other day prompts me to mention once again one of my favorite moments that remains unexplained.  Shortly after suffering a heart attack, I was on my way to the doctor when I stopped at Whole Foods.  When I returned to my locked car, there was a small enamel cross on the front seat.  My friends wondered as I did: How did it there?  

I ended up not being invested in solving the mystery as much as enjoying how it made me feel:  Alive and fortified for the future.  During the same time, my friend Phyllis gave me a little Buddha.  I said to myself:  "Now I'm really covered."

The Unexpected

 

Recently I was having brunch with my friend Phyllis at our favorite diner.  You know the place.  A huge plastic menu filled with great selections, cheap and delicious.

When it came time to leave, the waitress told us our bill had been paid for.  "By whom?", we asked.  "I really don't know," she said.  When we called the manager over to ask the same question, he gave the same reply.

We gave a big tip and left the diner deep into a discussion of the kindness of strangers.

Today, I dropped my heavy package by the elevators to go pick up my mail.  (I'll be so glad when the election is over and my mailbox is not overflowing.)  When I returned, there was a little card in the shape of a star sitting beside my package.  And a piece of chocolate candy.  The card said, "Oh what a beautiful day."

I came upstairs contemplating the kindness of strangers.  And the delightful mysteries that we never expect.

It's Classic

 

I'm in love with the World Baseball Classic.  When I told this to my friend Myles, he couldn't believe it. "In the middle of March Madness, you're watching baseball?"  "Well", I said defensively, "I did keep turning to the Northwestern vs. UCLA game and I stayed for the few minutes when they got close."

But I didn't miss the grand slam that pulled the USA ahead of Venezuela in the eighth and sealed the victory.  Remember, the USA team is not like Jordan's Dream Team that big-footed USA against the world in the Olympics.  There are just as many major leaguers on the Latin America teams. It's a fair fight.

This brand of baseball is so exciting.  Packed stands.  Giant flags waving.  Players that put every emotion on display in the dugout and on the field.  The players say that are pumped!

USA vs. Cuba tonight.  A game a White Sox fan can really love as we are well represented on both teams.  Can the tiny baseball-mad island beat the giant to the north?

This is the season of upsets.  Time to join the fun.

Hacked

 

Old age?  Lack of computer know how? Self-centered whining?  All I know is that this invasion of my life online dealt me a larger psychological blow than I ever imagined something like this would do.

Like the Ancient Mariner, I felt compelled to tell my story.  What I got back were worse stories from my friends about what had happened to them.  I remembered Harry Browne, the libertarian, who ran for President several years ago.  He said:  “Don’t do anything that requires your signature.”

I’d so love to say now:  “I will not do anything that requires my password.”

No such luck,  Right?

A Welcome Voice

 

Marianne Williamson has announced that, once again, she is running for President in 2024.  You may remember that she also ran in 2020.  But maybe not, as she appeared in the crowd of candidates at the beginning and she didn’t last.

I think this is a perfect time for Williamson.  She is a great messenger for women.  Women’s lives are on the line. This is going to once again be “the year of the woman” whether the powerful like it or not.

Williamson says:  "it's odd for anyone to think they can know who can win the presidency."

Sometimes you just have to allow yourself to be encouraged.

I hope she gets some press at her formal announcement on March 4.  You can find her at marianne.com.