DICK TRACY and ME

Regretfully, the comic book industry deep state has been overly aggressive with demands for diversity, political correctness, and expressing horror at “toxic masculinity.” Comics are now in the persuasion business and calculated to create agendas.

It would seem current comic book editors, writers, etc. has completely bought into the Alinsky-driven leftist agenda. If one is not alert…and carefully discriminate, the irony is huge – these days the far left has become the religious right.

This brings me to my “funny papers”– comic book relationships of decades long ago. Growing up with the comic page, there was “LITTLE ORPHAN ANNIE”; “The PHANTOM”; “TERRY & the PIRATES”; “BLONDIE”; “SMILING JACK” (with Jungle Jolly);” Li’l ABNER” (in Dogpatch, USA); and later “POGO”, and “PEANUTS. All were great.

But, still not in the “DICK TRACY” league, according to Wallace’s meter.

Dick Tracy, detective, was aided by Chef Brandon, side-kick Pat Patton, Tess Trueheart (later his wife), and his adopted son, Junior. Sam Catchem would replace Pat Patton in 1948. The strip was totally creative in its rogue’s gallery of characters.

The “Tracy” comic strip was recognized from Police Associations across the country: Associated Police Communication Officers, Inc.; National Police Officers Association; The Honor Legion of the Police Department of the City of New York; Illinois Crime Prevention Officers Association, and multitudes of others.

“Dick Tracy” first appeared in the Detroit Mirror (October 4, 1931) – then one of the Tribune owned papers, then the New York Daily News, then the Chicago Tribune, taking the country by storm. So popular was the comic strip that it appeared on the front page of the New York Daily News for 45 consecutive years; it was seen in 27 foreign newspapers.

The cultural necessity was to fight against a growing criminal class; many historians hark back to Prohibition as causing America’s growing big-time crime rate – increased criminal behavior. The wonderful Richmond News Leader carried the comic strip on weekday afternoons, and the Times Dispatch published it on Sundays. The News Leader won me over forever….with this one gesture.

Chester Gould’s classic criminal characters were a rough crowd of crooks: Little FaceThe Mole (digging in the earth has made the Mole’s hands very strong) – B-B EyesPruneface (Anesthetic, YOUR EYE – you set the leg. I’ll take it with my eyes open)88 Keys….and one of the worse: Flattop.

Near the end of World War II, we were introduced to Vitamin Flintheart (Ah, my little dove) – reminiscent of the exaggerated actor, John Barrymore. Who could forget The Brow – Gravel Gertie (ah! A man) – ~Shakey~ and his daughter, Breathless Mahoney……plus B.O. Plenty? Then there was Itchy (How fortunate! I think I have just the thing for you. Won’t you come up?)…and millionaire industrialist, Diet Smith (your call is waiting, sir).

Themesong was obnoxious (I’ll stand on my constitutional rights! I want a mouthpiece); Mandolin–playing Sparkle Plenty (daughter of Gertie & B.O.) was not obnoxious. Mumbles continued to be difficult to understand.

Measles was my favorite. His mother was a prison matron, accidently killed in the “pump machinery” by our Gravel Gertie, a current inmate. Along the way Measles would introduce us to a waitress, Paprika, (Always you are playing the radio and dancing. That is no good. Come, get busy). I studied this girl before I knew what her name meant.

Sketch Paree (I am sorry to frighten you, baby); Canhead; Pouch (snap), and George Ozone (You wouldn’t believe I was 84 years old) would round out my adolescent years.

Finally, The Two-Way Wrist Radio developed by Brilliant – more than 50 years before the iPod and iPhone, was the precursor to all miniature and hand-held electronic gadgets….(It contains tiny tubes, battery, microphone, and speaker. Look, by pressing the other button, it receives). Brilliant’s invention financed by Diet Smith was difficult to accept.

After completing my paper route for the Times Dispatch, I would later visit Milton’s Westhampton Inn (much later Smokey’s – at Libbie & Grove). The magnet was it dalliance-ridden, sketchy newsstand. Curious pre-teens consumed the chance to peek at nefarious tabloids as Police Gazette, Variety, Confidential, Billboard, and of course the New York Daily News.

The Daily News was where you could get Dick Tracy’s comic strip a week AHEAD of Richmond’s publications. It’s always gratifying to know how events turned out before you’re supposed to

 

 

 

I’M CERTAINLY CONSIDERING IT

Death remains mysterious.

At my age, there is not a day that passes that the cessation of one’s life does pass through my thoughts for consideration. I have realized that for the last four decades; my life had passed its half-way point if it remains healthy.

That is what makes the comparison between Senator John McCain (R-Ariz.) and Charles Krauthammer, columnist, fascinating, yet distressing, even disastrous.

In his diminishing days of life, the Senator from Arizona has issued a number of angry, almost petulant, statements regarding his deep dislike for President Trump. He has never forgiven Trump for comments in the 2015-16 Republican nominating campaign. He certainly has that right.

In a recent statement the Senator indirectly blamed Trump for the chemical weapons attack in Syria, suggesting that Trump’s recent comments about U.S. troops leaving Syria “very soon” would embolden Syrian President Bashar al-Assad. McCain has questioned Trump’s worldview, and mocks his receiving Vietnam War deferments for….bone spurs.

He thoroughly and theatrically enjoyed gigging Trump in his late-night defeating vote on Obamacare. On his death bed, his anger seems marginally worse. Rightly or Wrongly.

Contrastingly, Charles Krauthammer, who has only weeks to live, writes in his heartbreaking message:                                                                                   I leave this life with no regrets…It was a wonderful life – full and complete with the great loves and great endeavors that make it worth living. I am sad to leave, but I leave with the knowledge that I lived the life that I intended.

The comparison is not only rich….but simply opportune.

Both men face the deep mystery – seemingly quite soon, but very differently. Possibly some are more humbled by the death-thing than others; the majority do not have the luxury or benefit of preparation.

Malcomb Forbes wrote a little book years back, They Went That-A- Way: How the Famous, the Infamous, and the Great Died. Tabloid-bordering in its approach, it does reveal differences in the death of the swells of the western world.

I am comforted by an old Matthew Arnold quote about leaving the building:   “In each class, there are born a certain number of natures with a curiosity about their best self, with a bent for seeing things as they are, for disentangling themselves from machinery, for simply concerning themselves with reason and the will of God, and doing their best to make these prevail…and this bent always tends to take them out of their class and to make their distinguishing characteristics their “humanity.’”

In my mind that might be a preferable exit strategy. I’m certainly considering it. Charles Krauthammer clearly showed me how.

                      

                                                                                                   

 

                     

 

 

I

 

PROFOUND CULTURAL OBSERVER

Tom Wolfe, Richmonder.

The Wall Street Journal designated author Tom Wolfe as one of America’s losses – one of its greatest men of letters – a journalist, novelist and profound cultural observer.

Maria Spalding Hadlow, daughter of Henry and Kaye Spalding, wrote a superb master’s thesis at James Madison University on Virginia author, William Hoffman, including his relationship with Wolfe. Hoffman’s work often referenced the lure of trees (mountains); the water…. that is where his characters and literature struggled.

It is striking how Tom Wolfe’s and William Hoffman’s work harks back to my friend, Don Gehring’s observation: “There’s a whole bunch of us…in us.

While Tom Wolfe was a Richmond native attending St. Christopher’s – then on to Lexington and Washing & Lee; William Hoffman hailed from Charleston, West Virginia, attended public school, graduating from Hampden-Sydney College.

Hoffman’s character-development included depravation of place – grasping justifications – unexpected virtues of simple resilience – desperately searching for an elusive integrity. Tom Wolf stirred the internals of American culture, never once avoiding “balloon puncturing” always spotting the grim modernist…and instructing all the way. Hoffman was serious: Wolfe was simply delicious in his words.

As a 1950’s Hampden-Sydney College student, I witnessed the “early Hoffman” in that special place – cool, understated, wise-for-his-time, war-scarred young novelist, journeying to where his creativity would beach. We shared our membership installation to O D K Honorary Fraternity.

Students affectionately called him “shaky” with his occasional World War II shell- shock spasms. All took deep pride in having a novelist-in-residence. His stories reminded us that there’s a little bit of ostrich in all of us – never to abate.

Daniel M. Hawks, Assistant Curator for Jamestown-Yorktown Foundation, recalled his Hoffman Creative Writing Class: one morning each student in the class was required to read the opening paragraph of the “piece” he had been assigned to write. One of the men near the front of the class (whose name I cannot remember) began by saying, “The air was filled with excitement”. Hoffman immediately jumped out of his chair pointed his arms into the air as if he had a hunting rifle and yelled “Bang, bang, bang! I just killed excitement!”

Tom Wolfe and Bill Hoffman were old friends. A wonderful reunion of the young old friends, Wolfe and Hoffman, happened at Washington & Lee University; it was recorded. They discussed a year in Virginia letters – their year – in Lexington, now six decades ago.

Taking creative writing classes, Hoffman and Wolfe helped launch W & L’s prestigious literary magazine: Shenandoah. Fascinating exchanges between these old friends brought published intricate insights. Each of them remembered the title, plot, even character names of the first story the other published.

Tom Wolfe observed that fictional characters had their ways. “I think clothes often are a give-away of who a person thinks they are…a kind of a little window that opens.” Hoffman laughingly agreed.

Richmonder, Elizabeth Seydel Morgan, publisher of poetry, directed this awareness to Hoffman readers. “There they were, two Virginia gentlemen talking about the writing life, double-breasted suits, and their halcyon days at Washington & Lee.”

Hoffman often dressed conventionally, while Tom Wolfe was noted for his white (my mother called the Panama) suits. The one time I had a short opportunity to speak with Wolfe, I reminded him that he reminded me of Senior Senator Harry F. Byrd and his white outfits. Wolfe told me he would take it advisedly.

I suspect Maria Hadlow is warmly comforted by this.

 

 

 

 

TV 6, HAPPY 70th

In April, i948, few Richmonders really knew what “television” meant. Dinah Shore’s Buttons and Bows; Art Mooney’s I’m Looking Over a Four Leaf Clover, and Nat King Cole’s Nature Boy…led the pop charts – on radio.

Quietly dismounting, resembling a 78-rpm record, a jerky “test pattern” appeared on small television sets, appointing itself “Channel 6.” Used equipment from the 1941 World’s Fair was freighted to a former bus garage at 3300 West Broad Street, becoming a rudimentary TV studio.

WTVR, owned by Wilbur Havens, became “the South’s First Television Station” on April 22, 1948. Havens had experimented in – WMBG 1380 AM, (Magnetos, Batteries, and Generators) early radio, and WCOD-FM 98.1. Richmond’s TV 6 began televising limited hours daily – with pioneer covered wagon artwork as it first identity symbol.

Without local competition, Havens’ FCC application stood alone – his license prevailed – the last to be awarded before the Federal Communications Commission froze future station applications until 1955. Havens had a guaranteed competition-free Richmond market.

TV signals were transmitted at first by a small tower from Staples Mills Road at Broad where Anthem Blue Cross resides today. In 1953, I studied the “Big Tower” slow-motion construction of Channel 6’s ultimate tower; few men worked on the 1,069-feet-above-sea-level structure. When Hurricane Hazel passed over Richmond in October, 1954, it brought an interesting slight sway to Richmond’s new icon.

Our Westwood subdivision of fifty new homes included a dozen neighborhood TV owners. As pre-teens, we asked if we could come in….and view it. Most agreed. We learned what heightened excitement came from small round Zenith screens.

Those popular shows which were new to us, often landing in strange slots: I Love Lucy episodes rant at 10:30 p.m. Saturday nights, preceding Amos and Andy (sponsored by Blatz beer). What’s My Line (sponsored by Stopette) aired 2 p.m. Sundays. Name That Tune with Robert Q. Lewis, and Life Begin At 80 (which really intrigues me now) with Jack Barry, would follow – all kinescopes of live telecasts.

The Aldrich Family (Henry, Henry Aldrich!) was live Friday at 9:30 p.m. in New York, but televised Sundays at 5:30 – nine days later in Richmond.

There was no kinescoping of TODAY – with Dave Garroway and Jack Lescoulie presiding live. Rising early to view the first TODAY from the RCA Exhibition Hall on 49th Street seemed magical at 7 a.m.

With variety shows, NBC rejuvenated old vaudevillian and silent movie careers. Shows like Four Star Review with Ed Wynn, Jack Carson, Jimmy Durante (“Ha Cha, Cha, Chaaa”), and Danny Thomas; Your Show of Shows with Sid Caesar and Imogine Coca; Colgate Comedy Hour with Eddie Cantor, Abbott & Costello, Judy Canova, and Martin & Lewis, were so New York. Texaco Star Theater with Milton Berle, and The Bob Hope Show were separate institutions.

Kukla, Fran, & Ollie, Garroway At Large, and Don McNeil’s Breakfast Club with Aunt Fannie, plus singer Johnny Desmond, emanated from Chicago – as did Hawkins Falls, a high-end soap with Bernadine Flynn; and Super Circus, a children’s show with Mary Hartline.

We thrived on Howdy Doody, The Gabby Hayes Show (“Howdy, Buckaroos”), and Andy Devine in Wild Bill Hickok….and the Mexican Robin Hood – the Cisco Kid (‘Oh Poncho!…Oh Cisco!”).

WTVR’s local TV productions were modest. John Shand reported Eyes on The Times news. Joe Swartz’s Weather was elementary. Near a map outline of Virginia, referring to notes, he would mark current temperatures in six circled city locations. Sportlight with Jack Lewis was local TV Sports – later replaced by Tim Finnegan. Decades later, Finnegan recalled that his future colleagues were incredulous when they discovered he had NO competition.

Mavis Gibbs, home economist, ran The Cooking Show while John Shand, her side-kick, would do his soft shoe. Story Book Lady, Helen Langton, was always introduced by Bill Maust, A Miller and Rhoads representative. Grove Ave. Baptist Church, with Rev. Byron Wilkerson, was studio-live Sunday mornings.

Color TV emerged in late 1954. Advertised as “NBC’s first 90-minute color television spectacular,” the dreadful Satins and Spurs, with Betty Hutton was live. Channel 6 invited stand-in-line viewers to visit their studios and witness color TV – seemed half of Richmond attended.

By the mid 1950’s, competition arrived – Channels 8 in 1955, and 12 in 1956. Test pattern TV became distant – those pioneering pop hits too. We’re Gonna Rock Around The Clock by Bill Haley & His Comets filled the music charts. The 40’s culture subsided. As did Richmond’s Confederate social obsession too – all became diminished.

Happy 70th Birthday, TV 6 !

              

 

                 

 

A VERY SERIOUS THOUGHT

I have learned over the years that most of us are neither sage nor scientist; but at the age of 80, I believe I am wise enough to know that life does not proceed by leaps and bounds. It simply unfolds. While our experiences accumulate, and our opinions evolve – if not glacially, then at least gradually anew.

For what matters in life is not whether we receive a round of applause, what matters is whether we have the courage to venture forth despite the uncertainty                                                                                                              

After all, authenticity of thyself matters.

Sadly this idea will not be ours…and frankly, should lead to a little unfamiliar humility on our part.

Whether it could be an Episcopal Diocese of Virginia project, or a St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church project….or the work of those we do not know, it really is spot on….in helping those REALLY in need.

A church in Texas raised money for a Debt Forgiveness Charity, ultimately eliminating over $10 million in medical debt for over 4,000 veterans and families. Covenant Church, under the leadership of Pastor Stephen Hayes, donated $100,000 to RIP MEDICAL DEBT.

The nonprofit is a former debt collection agency that is now a debt forgiveness charity.

Every dollar donated to the organization translates to $100 of debt they are able to cancel on someone else’s behalf. That church’s donation enabled RIP Medical Debt to payoff $10,551,618 in medical debt for 4,229 Dallas families.

Not only is the debt itself gone…and paid…. but also, any negative impact that debt has had on their credit history is wiped clean. It’s the easiest decision we’ve ever made,” Pastor Hayes said.

Hayes added that his family’s personal experience with medical debt inspired him to lead his church and their community in this way. “My family has known the crushing weight that can come with medical debt.”

Hayes further said that he wanted the community to know we care….if we show them what it means to be a Christian before they ever step foot in one of our churches, we believe that will have even a greater impact.

The church worked together with RIP Medical debt to locate every veteran saddled with medical debt in a 20 mile radius of the church’s four locations.

“Our prayer to God in the past has been ‘Give us our city.’ We recently have changed that prayer to ‘God, give us to our city,’” Hayes concluded.

I think the Episcopal Diocese of Virginia, or St. Stephen’s Episcopal parish really needs to take a look at what we can do LOCALLY. Something serious to ponder, yes?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

LENT CAN TRAUMATIZE

Lent can traumatize.

Predictably LENT began with Ash Wednesday – a first day of fasting in Western Christianity. It occurs 46 days (40 fasting days, if the six Sundays, which are not days of fast, are excluded) before Easter.

As most practicing Christians know, Ash Wednesday derives its name from the practice of blessing ashes made from palm branches blessed on the previous year’s Palm Sunday. The irony of this year was Ash Wednesday shared February 14th with non-other than St. Valentine’s Day, a highly commercialize, thinly surfaced, sweet affair.

Although the account AElfrie of Eynsham shows that on about the year 1000 the ashes were “strewn” on the head; the marking of the forehead is the method that now prevails in English-speaking countries. It is the only one envisaged in the Occasional Offices of the Anglican Church of Papua New Guinea Church of Papua, a publication described as “noticeably Anglo-Catholic in character”.

These some odd 40 days remind worshipers of their sinfulness; clearly, their mortality; and finally – their need to repent in time. Living life authentically connects…”as he breathed the chill night air, he was no longer afraid.”

Our Men’s group at St. Stephens Episcopal Church met these fasting days head on. Some began by positing that Lent was passé – no longer relevant in their personal lives. Others attempted to bring a twenty first century revision (spin) to this outdated period as well.

Some wanted to go directly to Bonnie Ware’s “The Top Five Regrets of the Dying.” Ware, a palliative care professional, who helps terminal patients facing the last three to 12 weeks of their lives, wrote of their regrets: “I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me” (… when people clearly look back, they discover they have not honored even a half of their dreams)…and I wish I hadn’t worked so hard” (…they missed their children’s youth and their partner’s companionship). Unfulfillment haunts.

Lent in a way can be seen as a recovery period. The recovering addict is often counseled to take a “spiritual inventory,” which deals with one’s behavior toward another. What do I need to clear up in my personal life?

Alcoholics Anonymous, (AA), has its twelve steps composed in the early I930’s, with the aid of Catholic Nuns in Akron, Ohio; Christianity has its seven (7) sacraments: Baptism…..Eucharist…..Confirmation…..Reconciliation (Confession)…..Anointing of the Sick…..Marriage…..Holy Orders. It is not difficult to conclude that these spiritual steps have direct kindred to the Lenten Season. They make it matter.

Robert Dilday, managing editor of the Religious Herald, fellow parishioner, with his weekly meditation for the Second Sunday in Lent, edged nicely in to Lenten thought. Quoting Parker Palmer about a life led in God’s image, Dilday envisions the task of becoming truly human, is to listen carefully to our deepest self and nurture an environment in which it can flourish. Bringing it to what it was meant to be takes deep commitment and serious work.

Historian Shelby Foote wrote to novelist Walker Percy about life distances from one place to another: “As if across a valley, a valley that I suppose would be called Unbelief – or Belief.” Questions of faith abide. It always comes to THAT.

Easter Day is April 1. Much is to be done in seeking and finding that growing humility, which opens doors for new possibilities. Giving up something for Lent is traditional, and easier. Opening spiritual doors is not for the faint of heart.

Dilday rightly concludes that answering these personal challenges takes patience – probably a lifetime of it. Lent isn’t nearly long enough to see it through. It offers plenty of space to begin …we’ll have to settle for that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

LIKE THE ONE WE USE TO KNOW

As one ages, even in the Christmas season – with a tendency to exhibit a prickly demeanor – he stands awed by the rapidity of the period. The pace picks up year after year.

When I attempt to adjust to this reality, the old Marx Brothers film, Animal Crackers (1936), comes to mind. There, Groucho Marks sings his famous in-and-out ditty: ”Hello, I must be going, I cannot stay, I’m glad I came, but just the same, I must be going.” Another Christmas passes.

This 2017 holiday season is so different, with its tawdry headlines, when compared to one remembered in 1943. This could have been the year when Christmas music (most of a religious, classical nature) was complicated and inundated with new pop creations.

Christmas, 1943 was complicated for little guys like me. There was Spike Jones & His City Slickers hit, “Der Fueher’s Face”….it was a parody of the Nazi anthem, accompanied with real Bronx cheers. The other pop hit was “White Christmas” sung by the groaner, Bing Crosby – otherwise known as Der Bingle – a nickname created by the Germans. So we had the City Slickers vs Der Bingle that 1943 Christmas time. Not surprisingly Crosby prevailed.

In those early years of mine, my grandparents owned the Customs House overlooking the Rappahannock River and high above the Riverside Hotel across Prince Street, Tappahannock, VA. In those days the Hotel was a beehive of seasonal activity; it was frantic with planned Christmas parties and dinner gatherings – all sharing the festive new contemporary Christmas music. No O come, all ye faithful; Joyful and triumphant there. That was when we were introduced to one Irving Berlin (Israel Baline) and his “White Christmas – a runaway smash hit for World War II holidays, becoming the best-selling record of all time.

Remember, American families were separated by war, distant work, and worried to death about the war’s end. Irving Berlin shared: “Songs make history, and history make songs.” In our river-world we did not long for Christmas snowfalls – we knew them as “snowstorms.” But those careful lyrics were particularly influential on Northeasterner, now uprooted to the non-seasonal, snowless West Coast.

Philip Furia brought huge insight to what was a seamlessly sentimental song – verging on melancholy Christmas celebrations; with vast separations Furia points out how different the structure the song became: “I’m”…with a whole note, then racing over the other syllables before the next whole note “w-h-i-t-e”, Christmas. Simultaneously, lecturer Rob Kapilow notes that the minor chords for “listen” and “glisten” border on simple heart break, and sadness.

I remember thinking exactly that as we sang it in the Douglas Freeman HS Glee Club so long ago. It has been reported that Berlin got his inspiration in his Brooklyn Jewish youth experience, as that of an outsider. Others surmise that loss of an infant son, Irving, Jr., on Christmas Eve, 1928, brought an edge to his sadness. We lost an infant son in 1966; it remains with us until this day.

“White Christmas”, the song benefited with the invention of the “disc jockey” allowing the 78 record to be played endlessly both on radio, and jukeboxes. So it was.

*                             *                             *                               *

Christmas at my grandparents’ home passed nicely. Big fireplace fires brought security and warmth from the cold winds off the Rappahannock River. The tree was decorated with dancing lights – if one blew, all lights failed. It was testimony of one’s limitations when figuring out which festive bulb bummed out. Chasing dead Christmas lights sometimes consumed hours, becoming part of our holiday ritual. That year, we added “White Christmas” to our holiday inventory.

In Tappahannock, In 1943, I can still hear the melodies stream from the Riverside Hotel, across Prince Street, up the bank to that grandparent’s home of long ago – intuitively knowing it was special then….and probably forever.

Is it really Christmas, 2017?

                                                                                                                                 

 

CAVALCADE OF CREEPS

                           CAVALCADE OF CREEPS

Schadenfreude (SHaden, froide): the German noun….defined as a feeling of enjoyment that comes from seeing or hearing about the troubles of other people – particular those you may dislike – even for total legitimate reasons.

If you have been on the receiving end of such schadenfreude (as I have), one thinks twice before he thrusts such energy in the direction of his worse of enemies – political or otherwise. I am totally watching my schadenfreude as I write this.

Jim Geraghty, The Morning Jolt, has labeled this cultural episode as the “cavalcade of creeps”. The list below, while probably out dated by the time you read this, is going to run its course, and it’ll get worse every day. Revelations in the articles in Variety and the New York Times about former Today host Matt Lauer could make you sick. Lauer confessed that he was “embarrassed” by his actions. Poor baby.

As nasty as Lauer’s story is, he still stands in the shadow of one Harvey Weinstein, chief producer, and deep pockets contributor to the Democratic Party. This film producer is accused by dozens of women of sexual harassment or sexual assaults, including rape. Weinstein denies all allegation of non-consensual sex, but he has apologized for causing “a lot of pain.”

It is hard not to forget the merrymaking of the FNC-haters at the professional demise of Roger Ailes, Bill O’Reilly, even Eric Bolling. Their delight was immeasurable, and all so political. Many on the list below could not celebrate enough over it. Particularly, the Matt Lauer intrusive interview of O’Reilly comes to mind, on the TODAY show only months ago. Talk about karma.

The current Rogues Gallery includes:

Garrison Keillor ( A Prairie Home Companion);  Matt Lauer (TODAY);  Charlie Rose (CBS Morning) ; Rep. John Conyers (D-Detroit); Bill O’Reilly (Fox News);  Glenn Thrush (NY Times);  Jeffre Tambor (‘Transparent’); Sen. Al Franken (D-Minn.); Russell Simmons, (prolific music and TV producer); Matt Zimmerman, Sr. (VP –NBC News);  Rep. Joe Barton (R – TX);  Andrew Kreisberg, (producer of the CW shows “Arrow,” “Supergirl” Warner Bros.);  Louis C.K. (comedian/public masturbator); Steven Seagal, actor; Ed Westwick, actor; Brett Ratner, Director; Dustin Hoffman, Academy Award actor; Jeremy Piven, actor; Michael Oreskes, (NPR News chief);   Kevin Spacey, actor;  William J. Clinton, perjurer, former president;   Mark Halpern, (NBC, MSNBC); George H.W. Bush, former president; Terry Richardson, celebrity photographer; Leon Wieseltier, (The Atlantic and New Republic); James Toback, veteran Hollywood writer/director; John Besh, Chef (Bread Basket); Bob Weinstein, brother of the granddaddy of harassment: Harvey Weinstein; Oliver Stone, writer/director;  Roy Price, (Director of Amazon Studios); Ben Affleck, actor; Teddy Davis, CNN Producer; John Hockenberry, public radio Icon; Rep. Blake Farenhold (R-TX).

Careful counting yields about 4, maybe 5 Republicans – out of the 35 people listed.

As the solid Brent Bozell recently posted in Townhall: “nowhere is the hypocrisy more notable (and deeper) than at PBS and NPR. These were the entities that made sexual harassment the boiling feminist issue when Anita Hill testified during Clarence Thomas’ confirmation hearing in 1991. Here’s an easy question: Why didn’t this sudden spirit of self-discovery and investigation happen back then? Or in any year since?”

It could have happened when the President Bill Clinton settled with Paula Jones in 1998…or even last year as these networks enjoyed reporting on sexual harassment scandals inside Fox News. One must pose the question: in what way, then, is “public” broadcasting morally superior to corporate broadcasting?  The answer is both PBS and NPR are NOT….and never have been.

The “no snitch” culture is evaporating. Sadly, the allegiances of the media, late-night television, Hollywood, stand-up comedy, professional sports, and universities, continue their leftward homilies. Politically correct vulgarity among celebrities is nothing more than a poor substitute for talent – tied in a knot by sexual harassment scandals and other perversion. Yet, with this nasty cultural cloud, there are positive signs.

The economy is growing. Unemployment is dropping and inflation remains low. Middle class incomes are finally heading up….with expansion of energy production, and a growing security on our southern borders.

For those of us who remain deeply concerned, we must simply hang in there – sans schadenfreude.

WANT To KNOW WHERE The Divide Is?

For:   Professor David Marion, Elliott Emeritus Professor of Government, and director of the James Madison Public Service Program at Hampden-Sydney College.

From: Raymond B. Wallace, Jr.  Class of 1960

Re:    Richmond Times Dispatch Commentary Column, November 5, 2017….Today’s Trust Deficit – A Social Cancer.

Memo:   Dr. Marion, Hooray for H-SC with your piece published last Sunday in the Commentary Section…..Tiger pride continues! With your work and that of Dr. Ron Heinemann’s (Harry Byrd bio) column several weeks ago, we all celebrate the RTD ink of H-SC faculty.

I am fascinated with your theory that the possible “trust deficit” is a serious matter. You are correct of course. More fascinating is your quote: A culture that is rooted in the presumed dignity and equality of all person is a pre-condition for moderate politics. That’s the challenge for certain.

Wonder why we have reached this point in America? I think I have come to know:

  • Many can take credit for this deep divide within the U.S. after 40 years of designed separation:
  • the elites of Hollywood film industry has played a huge role: …..the toney academic culture with their total intolerance.……the elimination of open discourse among college students, which enjoys support of faculties, administrators alike – far more serious than anyone recognizes .
  • An uncontrolled, predominant leftist media: CNN; MSNBC; CBS; NBC; ABC, hourly – plus the ever legit NYT and the LA Times. The massiveness of all this is incomprehensible, shameful, and most of all, DANGEROUS. And the people know now.
  • Politically correct speech…..who has not run into that on college campus and in corporations as well.
  • The United States Government with both houses in knee deep elitism (that is what the Rep. Cantor matter was all about); the horrible elitism of both George W. Bush, and especially Barack Obama, with his surly attitude; do not forget K Street conglomerates- looking after well-healed clients.
  • The outright pornification of advertising with its complicit leadership, and the ads which emerge from their shops, both disgusting and lucrative.
  • And finally ‘HILLBILLY ELEGY ‘, which really makes your point of “culture that is rooted in the resumed dignity and equality” a monstrous joke.
  • Rural America’s deeply rooted cultural traditions, religiosity, music, and history of storytelling, and its belief in the nobility of hard work that includes getting your hands dirty, all make up who we are in this country. They could no care less whose editor of NYT or WaPo….but they pray daily which drive the left to distraction.
  • Those Americans who voted for McCain and Romney never, never, ever…..behaved in such fashion towards President Obama, a soon-to-be-phony, who turned out disappointing for everyone. I will make the point which will place me in the “racist’s camp”: if BHO had simply been white, he would never have been nominated by your political party.
  • And yes, the Clergy….not only elitists, but simply political leftists’, certainly social activist – sadly, my Rector fits the bill.
  • The left’s total support, and outrageous sympathy for undocumented citizens (hell, THERE I go) I mean, illegal immigrants.
  • Antifa, BLM (Pigs In a Blanket / Fry em like bacon); the kneeling at the nation’s anthem, and burning American flags that many of our students fought, and died for; fighting horrible lax immigration enforcement (left by Obama)….then knocked down by lefty Federal judges of everything the current administration is attempting to address.
  • And the final blow: a political and speech correctness which attempts to deny us our solid Constitutional rights.

David, you know what haunts me: I do not see any indication from your people in classroom teaching that they have a clue why 50-60MM is so turned off and distrustful. Now they KNOW.

These prideful Americans (Blue collar white and black) have watched their security robbed by the policies of the U.S. Government. They fully understand where they stand in the left’s scheme of things – these are people most of you have never tripped over in your professional or social lives.

My God….this should be evident to every thinking America, particular professors. I can see, even smell, the 1890s all over again, but with their own media and abilities to reach millions upon millions.

Dangerous business, my man.

Raymond B. Wallace, Jr. ‘ 60.

           

 

 

 

              

 

 

WHY SO FAST?

Once upon a time, Tappahannock, VA’s Essex Court House clock chimed over the town hourly. Audible for many blocks, the strikes seemed reassuring – always reliable.

As a small boy, I thought nothing about time….tomorrow was a given. Now, some 70 years later, I’ve discovered there is nothing predictable about time and what it brings. There are always moments in your life that you will never be prepared for. Once a moment is spent, maybe wasted, it can never be recovered. It took me forever to learn to not throw time away on supercilious people or issues.

With my decade of medical misbegotten, this latest summer episode comes off as duck soup – my season of agony, pain meds, and suffering (herniated discs) brought positives, with self-inventory and reassessment. Is it just possible that I am comfortable with myself….without apologies to those who take offense on views held?

How do we emerge spiritually, politically, and philosophically? It started with my grandfather, Allen Douglas Latane, a small town newspaper editor, and Essex County clerk. I remember clearly his recollection that Essex County remained loyal to Democratic presidential candidate, Governor Al Smith – in the 1928 presidential election – over Herbert Hoover. One could feel his shared pride, enthusiasm.

Then there was a July 4, 1963, trip to Washington D.C. for a National Draft Goldwater Committee Rally at the D.C. Armory – with sunburned friend, fraternity brother, Hugh Edmunds. We met early at Union Station, Richmond Va.

William Lundigan, movie actor; Paul Fannin, Governor of Arizona; Efrem Zimbalist Jr., TV/ Film personality; plus the show-stealing character actor, Chill Wills, appeared with great endorsement…of the then Hamlet – like Barry Goldwater, who had refused to appear.

Yet, my take-home lesson from the Armory began with standing in line beside two newly married Hungarian couples – new citizens – about my age. They assured me that Americans had no idea what they were about to lose, with the massive growth of the U.S. Federal Government, its intrusions in all aspects of our lives; they were quite knowledgeable, and very serious.

The Humanities of Hampden-Sydney College had profoundly exposed me to serious individual thought – even the individual mind where one’s accomplishments can birth. It further occurred to me that man cannot survive except through his mind. He lands on earth totally unarmed….his brain is his only weapon. But his mind is an attribute of the individual. There is no such thing as a collective brain.

The man, who seriously contemplates, must think – then act on his own. The reasoning mind cannot work under any form of compulsion. It cannot be subordinated to needs, opinions, or wishes of others. Most important, it is not an object of sacrifice. In so many words, it is the individual against the collective – remember “inalienable rights”?

Naturally, this took me to Whittaker Chambers, and his published book, Witness, on his life of Communism – then the final escape. Riding back with Hugh Edmunds on that train to Richmond, I could think of little else. Those young couples had been THERE – with government abuse and a widening socialism; they were deeply affected….that’s why they showed up.

It was much later that Marilynne Robinson, a Pulitzer Prize novelist, essayist, made me wince – in agreement – with her observation: we are willing to disparage any one if “the reward is the pleasure of sharing an attitude one knows is socially approved”. It certainly did endorse what I’d observed.

Often we seek approval over truth – that is, a deep desire for human bonding…over truth-seeking.

Remember Erich Segal’s Love Story with the famous take-home-trash quote: ‘love means you never have to say you’re sorry. The latest: popularization of a Theodore Roosevelt quote: “Comparison is the Thief of Joy.” For me it’s like clanging a stick in a cage. To live in a non-comparison world is to live in one unmeasured….one which refuses to acknowledge goals; discourages accomplishment, and which equalizes everyone into one sloppy category of mindless, dopey weakness.

Then the classic film: The Third Man, 1949, with Orson Wells. The scene was near the Wiener Riesenrad, the large Ferris wheel where Harry Lime uttered: “You know what the fellow said – in Italy. For thirty years under the Borgias, they had warfare, terror, and murder….but they produced Michelangelo; Da Vinci; and the Renaissance. In Switzerland, they had brotherly love; they had 500 years of democracy and peace… and what did that produce: The cuckoo clock.”

The Tappahannock Court House clock still strikes on the hour; and I’ll get up every day until I can’t; if we are wise, we’ll treat time thoughtfully.