A couple old reflections for this Veteran's Day

Let's fight to keep what they served to protect

One here, remembering my family members who have gone before from an All Souls Day post, that includes some veterans on the list.  

And here, where I unpacked more my favorite veteran - my late dad, as well as others.  

Also here is a less pleasant one, a post dealing with Catholic BLM activist Gloria Purvis.  In it she claimed a celebrated war hero from WWII was never honored - I'll let you guess why she implies he was never honored.  Yet as readers of the comments section will note, and something I later verified myself, in a war that saw war heroes lifted up and celebrated for any reason possible, he was actually quite honored and celebrated in the day.  Far more than many heroes of the time. 

Whether partisan driven laziness or willful ignorance or whatever on Purvis's part, I don't know.  I'll take a charitable assumption and guess she just wasn't driven to find out the facts ahead of time (which was discoverable on none other than Wikipedia). And those who reposted her post back then with tears and sorrows for our racist nation assumed that she had done the required research.  

But given Veteran's Day as a day to remember those who served, and given that we saw such a repudiation of those like Purvis and their style of leftwing activism that seeks to tear down and besmirch what those veterans served for, it seems a fitting thing to link to on this day of remembrance. 

And just in case we need a reminder for those striving for goodness and virtue against the Left's alternatives:  

L to R: Not a Hero, Hero

RIP Pete Rose

Never run home when you can dive - a Rose trademark

Every now and then someone whose name was practically etched into your cultural brain comes along, and Rose was one of them.  When I was a kid, and the Big Red Machine was smashing records, every third kid in my school wanted to be Pete Rose. 

I recall my mom and dad driving to Cincinnati to watch them during those crazy, wild days when the Reds were a juggernaut in the sports world.  I even went down a couple times with my dad and the family.  Once my dad and his best friend from the railroad, along with his friend's son, took me all the way down, through torrential rain squalls, to see them play.  It was a little beyond me, since I was never a huge sports fan.  History was my interest even then.  

Yet I knew there was something especial about everything happening. I knew there was something memorable about using my dad's binoculars to see fairly up close (very good binoculars) these players who were household names - Ken Griffey Sr., Johnny Bench, Dave Concepcion, Joe Morgan, George Foster, Cesar Geronimo and - standing high above them all - Pete Rose.  I can still remember in third grade, we had to give a presentation to the class about someone we admired.  I can't even remember mine.  But I remember Cindy C., standing in her Reds jersey and proudly announcing that her hero was none other than Pete Rose.

The all time Hit Champ in baseball history (the most hits of any pro ball player ever), his reputation became marred by the scandal involving his betting on the game. In those days, there was still a residue of the old 'if you do the crime, you do the time.'   And he did it.  Even many fans in the Cincinnati area had to concede that he violated major rules and laws, and that's what happens.  It was sad, it didn't take away from his accomplishments, but he was going to pay a steep price for his violations.

The problem, of course, was continuing to punish him into the modern era, where players may or may not be punished for assault, or cheating, or getting tattoos.  Perhaps someone who sent an off color email twenty years ago will be canned, but another accused by multiple women of assaulting them might go up in the league.  And now, that sports betting is legal and college kids are becoming millionaires as amateur athletes, is this the age that can still hold ol'Pete to the fire?  

Nonetheless, before that conversation could be brought back up, time did what time does, and Pete Rose has died.  Opinions were strong with him, but his fan base and his legacy were strong.  For me, he occupies a place in my memories and my childhood.  So massive his fame that I can't recall the world without him.  But I will have to now.  And pray that he finds some peace that he lost in this life, as well as peace for his loved ones and millions of fans who are left behind. 

The Big Red Machine

Time to remember

 Time to reflect comes later:

My granddaughter was born almost as far away from 9/11 as I was Pearl Harbor.  I thought that was noteworthy.  For now, remember those who fell victim to the attacks and all the suffering that came after. 

RIP James Earl Jones

As must happen to everyone, the great James Earl Jones has passed away.   To my generation, he will forever be the voice of Darth Vader.  To be brutally honest, that honor wasn't bestowed on him for me and many of my peers until closer to The Empire Strikes Back.  Until then, our younger eyes only saw 'David Prowse - whoever he was - as Darth Vader' on the snippets of credits that we saw.  Even a year later, Star Wars was still generating around the block lines.  The theaters we went to rushed us out the doors to make way for the next batch.  And before VCRs, there wasn't much of a chance to read the credits.  Or desire for that matter. 

So it came as a shock, sometime near the end of the 70s, getting ready for the new SW sequel, that we discovered Darth Vader wasn't entirely Prowse at all, but also someone named James Earl Jones.  Perhaps once or twice I glanced the name, purely by accident, but my young mind likely didn't process it.  But by Empire, I was heading into middle school.  A little smarter and more aware.  

When he did Conan the Barbarian, for many I know that was our first glance at him.  And what a glance. I know today his hairpiece gets quite a ribbing by folks.  But back then, I don't believe I had ever seen him before.  We had nothing to go by.  I was sure it wasn't his real hair, but for all I knew, it wasn't far off.  Not that I saw the movie - too young - but I saw plenty of articles and photos.  

It would be over the subsequent years, as I grew up, that I was introduced to Mr. Jones's impressive body of work.  And his impressive presence.  George Lucas stupidly apologized for saying Jones was chosen for Vader's voice because Lucas was looking for a darker, more sinister voice.  Because darker, black, you know.  It's today.  

But sane people in a sane age get what he meant.  With a voice that would make George Sanders green with envy, he couldn't help but play parts of authority and commanding respect.  Wise, sage like, solid, dependable - these became the stock of characteristics he always seemed to convey.  Even in comedy, you could count on him to the solid as a rock person in a room full of crazy.   Just look at him.  

I know little about his private life, and to be honest, I'm happy with that.  All too often disappointment can follow when you pry into the lives of those you know on screen.  As it is, the gist I had was that he commanded the same respect off screen that his characters did on screen.   Which isn't bad.   

He remains a major part of my cultural awareness.  He was that solid character that perhaps Peck or Gable filled for generations before.  You knew when you saw him that he would bring at least a full letter grade improvement to any film or project.  Despite it all, he will still be Vader with that voice that sent chills down my elementary school spine all those years ago.  RIP Mr. Jones.  And thanks for the lifetime of memories. 

UPDATE:  I wasn't aware of this, but apparently in the original theatrical releases, his name wasn't in the credits.  That came later.  And it was at his initial request.  In a later interview, he explained that he believed he wasn't really 'acting', but was more part of the special effects.  He compared it to the controversy over Mercedes McCambridge and her role in the Exorcist as the dubbed over voice for Linda Blair.  It wasn't until later that, due to a growing awareness of his role in voicing Vader, that he acquiesced and Lucas then added his name, and retroactively added it to future releasees of the original.  Hence why I wouldn't have known in those early years, Star Wars mania though it was.  Fun stuff sometimes, the internet. 

Eighty years ago

An elderly French couple prays over the body of an American GI killed in front of their home

The press is paying particular attention to this anniversary since it is likely the last of the 'milestone' anniversaries that will have many, if any, actual D-Day veterans present to remember.  So one last time, for old times' sake. 

D-Day is basically the WW2 remembrance day.  In a vast global struggle that saw people die by the tens of millions, and entire regions decimated, all over the world, D-Day sort of encapsulates the whole conflict for those youngsters who even have heard of it.  

Which is a good thing.  At least it is remembered.  And so far, remembered well.  This too shall pass, however.  As all things do.  But it's right to pause and reflect. To recall a different time and a different generation. By no means a perfect generation.  But one that possessed qualities worth celebrating.  

As if from another world, FDR summed up the national mentality of time and the event rather well: 

My fellow Americans: Last night, when I spoke with you about the fall of Rome, I knew at that moment that troops of the United States and our allies were crossing the Channel in another and greater operation. It has come to pass with success thus far.

And so, in this poignant hour, I ask you to join with me in prayer:

Almighty God: Our sons, pride of our Nation, this day have set upon a mighty endeavor, a struggle to preserve our Republic, our religion, and our civilization, and to set free a suffering humanity.

Lead them straight and true; give strength to their arms, stoutness to their hearts, steadfastness in their faith.

They will need Thy blessings. Their road will be long and hard. For the enemy is strong. He may hurl back our forces. Success may not come with rushing speed, but we shall return again and again; and we know that by Thy grace, and by the righteousness of our cause, our sons will triumph.

They will be sore tried, by night and by day, without rest-until the victory is won. The darkness will be rent by noise and flame. Men's souls will be shaken with the violences of war.

For these men are lately drawn from the ways of peace. They fight not for the lust of conquest. They fight to end conquest. They fight to liberate. They fight to let justice arise, and tolerance and good will among all Thy people. They yearn but for the end of battle, for their return to the haven of home.

Some will never return. Embrace these, Father, and receive them, Thy heroic servants, into Thy kingdom.

And for us at home -- fathers, mothers, children, wives, sisters, and brothers of brave men overseas -- whose thoughts and prayers are ever with them--help us, Almighty God, to rededicate ourselves in renewed faith in Thee in this hour of great sacrifice.

Many people have urged that I call the Nation into a single day of special prayer. But because the road is long and the desire is great, I ask that our people devote themselves in a continuance of prayer. As we rise to each new day, and again when each day is spent, let words of prayer be on our lips, invoking Thy help to our efforts.

Give us strength, too -- strength in our daily tasks, to redouble the contributions we make in the physical and the material support of our armed forces.

And let our hearts be stout, to wait out the long travail, to bear sorrows that may come, to impart our courage unto our sons wheresoever they may be.

And, O Lord, give us Faith. Give us Faith in Thee; Faith in our sons; Faith in each other; Faith in our united crusade. Let not the keenness of our spirit ever be dulled. Let not the impacts of temporary events, of temporal matters of but fleeting moment let not these deter us in our unconquerable purpose.

With Thy blessing, we shall prevail over the unholy forces of our enemy. Help us to conquer the apostles of greed and racial arrogancies. Lead us to the saving of our country, and with our sister Nations into a world unity that will spell a sure peace a peace invulnerable to the schemings of unworthy men. And a peace that will let all of men live in freedom, reaping the just rewards of their honest toil.

Thy will be done, Almighty God.

 Amen."

If you follow the news media

You likely forgot that today is the anniversary of the horrible Covenant Christian school shooting in Nashville at the hands of a transgender activist.  That last part of the sentence being why you likely missed it, and why it was swept under the rug as soon as possible.  I had to Google "Covenant" to see it pop up among multiple other stories.  Only when I Googled "Covenant School Shooting" did I find a long list, and then almost all focused on gun control.  

I know that during the great Liars for Jesus kerfuffle many went way off the rails about lying.  In a way of legalism that would shame a pharisee, they boasted that it's better to let a thousand children be murdered than so much as tell a white lie in a desperate bid to save them.  Personally I liked what an Orthodox priest said who I was talking to about that time.  He said it's not lying as much as honesty. Truth. Sure, we shouldn't lie if at all possible - and never for our own gain. But it's because Truth matters most.

We live in an age of endless lies upon lies upon mendacity upon more lies and subterfuge and lies galore.  We are told C-A-T spells DOG, squares are round, teaching math is racist, and O'Brien was holding up five fingers.  And there is no end to the cheating lies that continually pour our way in order to sustain the endless falsehoods.  

That's never good. We often salve our wounds by insisting everyone in history is was bad as this.  Everyone has always lied and been selfish and what have you.  I've always thought you have to be pretty lousy if your go-to excuse after decades of trying to save the world is 'it's always been this bad.'  

But as for the cowardly, the faithless, the polluted, as for murderers, fornicators, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars, their lot shall be in the lake that burns with fire and brimstone, which is the second death.    Revelation 21.8

When we see the evils riding pig-a-back on the endless streams of lies, falsehoods and deviousness that is dumped on us on a daily basis, it isn't difficult to figure why all liars were included in such a list. 

A chapter closes

Lou Conter's ship, the USS Arizona, in happier days

And an era ends.  As they always do.  Lou Conter, the last survivor of the USS Arizona, has passed.  God bless him.  

As usual, there is a fine write up over at The American Catholic, where I first saw the solemn news.  

It was WW2 that introduced me to history.  And Pearl Harbor became a point of interest for me like few other events in history.  

I don't know, I guess I'm someone who likes the biggest and best.  The definers and the milestones.  Consider what I like: Citizen Kane and Star Wars for movies, The Lord of the Rings among my favorite novels, The Beatles and Frank Sinatra and Mozart for my musical tastes.  I'm not saying that's all I like, but clearly I gravitate toward those who transcend being merely good at their craft. 

The same for history.  Part of what fascinated me about the Jesus story as an agnostic was the Crucifixion.  I remember watching an old show introduced by David L Wolper titled Appointment with Destiny: The Crucifixion of Jesus Christ.  That struck me at how the world changed forever because of what wasn't worth paying attention to in the halls of Roman power that year. 

Likewise Hastings, the Titanic, and Pearl Harbor also figure high in my interest level.  Perhaps due to proximity to my lifetime, Pearl Harbor especially struck me as a thick dividing line between the before and the after.  The world, at war though it was, on December 6th, compared to the world ever since beginning on December 8th.  

Because of that, I've read many, many, many books and articles over the years.  I've watched interviews and documentaries galore.  And within the broader attack, the ill-fated USS Arizona more than anything captured my imagination.  I don't know why.  

Years ago I missed the chance to meet an Arizona survivor.  My family went to the Dublin Irish Festival for the first time.  It was summer of 2001.  In the 'Genealogy' tent, there was an old codger walking about with a cane.  He had one of those veteran caps on.  But standing behind him I couldn't see what it said.  I pushed my way through the crowd to get in front of him to see.  And then I saw it: WW2.  US Navy.  USS Arizona.  

My jaw dropped and I froze.  I wasn't sure what to say.  How does one say anything in that situation?  I could kick myself in later years, but at the time I remained silent.  I wonder if it was Mr. Conter.  

Whether him or likely not, we mourn his passing and the virtues and best values that his era brought to the world.  A world in desperate need of the best they had to offer.  Hopefully his was a life of peace, and he will now indulge in that peace and joy of a better life than this one.  

The USS Arizona meets its end; how Lou Conter spent his morning on that sunny Sunday

Prayers for Gary Sinise and his family

May his memories be made of times like this

Gary Sinise has announced that his son, Mac, died of cancer this January.  It was after a fire year battle.  He was diagnosed with cancer in the same year Gary's wife was diagnosed.  In one of those 'why this guy God, he's one of the good guys!', you're reminded that it rains on the just and the unjust. 

Gary Sinise is one of those rare 'good guys of Hollywood.'  He's our generation's Bob Hope.  Though I fear that Hope had far more love and appreciation for his devotion to our military than Sinise has.  Keeping himself as far from partisan politics as he can, he nonetheless has devoted himself to our veterans and  to doing everything he can to support them and aid them in their troubles. 

He's best known, of course, for his role in Forrest Gump as the longsuffering Lieutenant Dan.  One of the most memorable performances of the 1990s, and possibly of all time.  He took that role and his identification with the character and turned it into his devotion to our armed forces in the years after the 9/11 attacks.  He hasn't looked back since.

I know.  People experience such tragedies all the time.  Why single this one out?  I guess, again, because he's one of the good guys.  Like the late Roddy McDowall, he's known to be someone who has no enemies in an industry awash with enemies.  And people from all sides of the ever more contentious aisles appear to respect him, as well they should.

So it's always tough when people who have devoted themselves selfishly for the cause of good appear to get hit and hit and hit again with tragedies.  It's times like this that you're inclined to say "Not fair God, why not drop these horrors on someone who has it coming, and I can compose a list pretty quickly.'  Until, again, you realize that's now how it works.  

For just like making the stupid mistake of calling hellfire down on the rich without realizing to some in the world I am rich, the same goes for the good guys and the bad guys.  Whatever I think of others who I feel deserve such trauma in their lives more than Sinise, there are others far better than me who could say the same about me.  But then, that's what makes them far better than me. 

In the end, on this side of heaven, we think of Corrie ten Boom's illustration of this life as a needlepoint  work of art knitted by God.  We see the business end on the rear of the picture - loose ends, dangling threads, knotted confusion.  God sees the beautiful picture on the other side. 

Whether that helps Mr. Sinise, I couldn't say.  He speaks of his son's strong Catholic Faith. Apparently Gary is also Catholic, having entered the Church in 2010.  I pray that faith of theirs will see them through the coming months and years as they deal with one of the worst things a person can experience, and the worst thing a parent can experience.  

When the righteous cry for help, the LORD hears, and delivers them out of all their troubles. The LORD is near to the brokenhearted, and saves the crushed in spirit. Many are the afflictions of the righteous; but the LORD delivers him out of them all.  Psalm 34.17-19

For all the veterans

Veterans Day and Memorial Day can often run together.  Most of the time, as I've watched today, the emphasis seems to be on those who gave that last measure of devotion.  Or, if not, then on those who served in combat or during war.  Even if it's not stated that way. 

But properly, Veterans Day is for all veterans, war or peace, who served our country.  Even those today, serving in a hot mess dumpster fire military defending a dying nation.  We still 'honor' them, a word that seldom means much today, but we're told we should do in this particular case.  But then, the news recently said on Suicide Prevention Day that we should honor suicide victims.  Which I thought was wrong thinking to the extreme. 

But I agree that we should honor veterans.  Including those who had the good fortune to serve in peace time.  Therefore I post this picture:

It's of my dad, his dad and his two older brothers some time in the 1950s (his younger two brothers - also veterans - are not there).

To the left is his oldest brother, who flew in a B-17 during WW2.  Hollywood handsome and very proud of his service, he obtained a pilot's license after the war and maintained a passion for flying throughout his life.  He was also the most decorated brother, being the first US airman to shoot down a German bomber by himself (a Ju-88).  In those days any special accomplishment made you a celebrity in the name of ginning up support for the war effort.  Of all family members, he was most willing to discuss his wartime exploits.  In later years, those discussions did take on a more introspective tone. 

Next is my granddad.  He was not the best father.  Today he would be unforgivable in keeping with our enlightened developments as a society.  Struggling with drink and being what we call abusive, there was no love lost between him and my dad.  But he was a war veteran as well, serving in the merchant marine in the First World War.  Since I think I only met with him a couple times, and then as a toddler or younger, I can't say anything else about his service.  After all, Dad seldom mentioned anything about him other than his hunting for food and prowess at gardening (one of the few things Dad gave him credit for). 

On the far right is my dad's next oldest brother - and the one he was closest to.  One of those famous types who are gentle as a lamb - unless you push him too far.  One Christmas Eve, while driving in downtown Chicago, he was cut off by a city bus.  Enraged, he managed to swing in front of it, then stop the car, shut the engine off, and throw the keys on the floor.  The downtown traffic was backed up to Minnesota within minutes.  In WW2, he served with Patton as a medic, and was part of the Battle of the Bulge.  He was awarded a late commendation shortly before he passed from cancer.  That's when he asked my dad what the Ardennes was, and my dad explained that it was the Bulge.  His response was typical for him - all he could remember was it being very cold and people shooting at him. 

Finally there is my dad.  His younger brother and he went into the 1950s without much thought of serving.  His youngest brother was fourteen years his junior, and too young.  Eventually he would join and serve in combat during the Vietnam War.  

But my dad's younger brother didn't seem interested in living up to their brothers, and that suited Dad just fine.  Dad was, at that time, the 'rough one' of the brothers, and more concerned about getting in trouble with his friends (one such friend went to prison for murdering a man during a robbery - but  he was the one who encouraged Dad to date my mom, so there you go).  That side of him eased up once he became a father. 

One day Dad learned his younger brother had joined the army, simply because he didn't want to be left out.  The Korean War was going on, and he decided to keep the family tradition of combat veterans alive. That prompted Dad to join, since he didn't want to be the one in the family not to serve.  The two of them did basic together at Fort Knox (Agony and Misery), with Dad eventually spending most of his time at Fort Hood.  They didn't have a chance to serve in combat, because by the time they exited basic training, the Korean War armistice was signed.  

Serving in the armored engineers, Dad learned all you can know about building things and taking automobiles apart.  Hence that farmhouse he rebuilt from the ground up that I've written about.  He had a chance to go to school and learn how to work on helicopters (a new thing back then). But that would involve flying in helicopters, something he wasn't keen on doing.  Plus, he was older than most of his peers in the army, and was itching to get back to civilian life and continue his lifelong career in the railroad.  

So there you have it.  Veterans all, including those who were fortunate enough to dodge combat.  Mom's oldest brother and father were also combat veterans. Her dad served in the army in WWI at the end of that conflict, serving in the Argonne Forest.  Her bother served in the  South Pacific in the Army Air Corps.  It was his unit that was responsible for shooting down Admiral Yamamoto.  Her other brother couldn't serve owing to health problems (he lost a lung when he was little).  There were also other relatives, great uncles and all, who served in and out of war time.  But whether combat or peace time, this is a day to honor them all, and so I do.  

RIP Mike Flynn

Mike Flynn, known to me through his website The TOF Spot, has died.  I can't say how sad that makes me.  Mr. Flynn was quite brilliant, and one of those people who seemed to approach every topic he wrote about with a zeal I seldom manage for a last minute clutch football game. 

I was first introduced to Mr. Flynn through Mark Shea from back in the 'Catholic and Enjoying It' days.  Mark was quite a fan, and it isn't difficult to see why.  Though writing fiction of the science sort was his passion, he was also a keen observer of the world, of media stats and fallacies. and human nature in general.

Ed Feser has a fine write up, and says what I would say but better.  I agree that the thing about Mr. Flynn was his ability to remain, well, a gentleman.  Even in the world of online discourse.  More than once I saw people invoke the usual internet variations of 'your mamma wears army boots' when arguing over something Mr. Flynn wrote.  Yet never did I see him do anything but calmly demonstrate that he was the one with the facts on his side. 

Over the years he spoke to various topics, from climate change to politics to history.  Always he seemed interested in upending the dominant narratives presented by our modern betters, and getting us to see past the slick veneers meant to cover the obvious.  Over the years he blogged less and less, but I still visited at least once a week to make sure I didn't miss anything.  One of the few old blogs that I continued to follow.  

So may God welcome him into the reward we hope for.  To use the old cliche, our loss is heaven's gain.  God's blessings on his family and friends, and all of use who will be a little less blessed in this world for his passing. 

Remember?

 I'd like to forget. 

We didn't realize that as went the towers, so would go the country

9/11 was what Imperial Japan had hoped Pearl Harbor would be, but wasn't.  Within weeks we were beginning to turn on one another.  I had OSU Football tickets for September 15 that year.  Of course I did.  The game was postponed and moved to October, OSU's bye week that year.  My wife and I went to that game in October, warry of any airplanes that might be overhead.  On the way, we heard on the radio news (I always listen to the game news when I go to a game) a story about some pushback against the late Rush Limbaugh.  Apparently he said something about the Democrats going after Bush and it had everyone upset.  That was in October.  A little over a month after the attacks.  The threads were already beginning to fray.

On the day of the attacks I recall the late Peter Jennings slamming George Bush for his absence and apparent inaction.  A criticism that picked up speed in the weeks following.  I also remember race peddler Al Sharpton being interviewed and accusing us of racism for assuming that the attackers were Muslim.  Even though by then much of the information was being driven by what we knew.  Clearly this was going to be what Japan wanted Pearl Harbor to be, not what Pearl Harbor became.

A big problem was that our president was an empty suite.  A man over his head.  When he arrived at Ground Zero and gave a rousing pep rally speech, that ended his positive contributions to the cause.  His 'Our civilization is under attack, quick!  Go shopping!' call muddled the response and confused a nation.  He was clearly not prepared for an opposition party that was immediately more concerned about making sure he didn't benefit politically from the attacks than actually fighting the ones who attacked us.  Recall that, until the attacks, our nation was still wracked with protests, charges of an illegal election, and calls to have his presidency scrubbed since he was not a valid president.  It wouldn't take long for his opponents to recover that priority.  Not to mention his 'It's the Religion of Peace!' moment, which played into the post-9/11 theme that the attacks were horrible, so what did we do to make them hate us?  After all, we had met the enemy, and it was us. 

Within months, it was easy to see things begin to fall apart.  From the AP musing on whether it's appropriate to call the attackers terrorists (a problem we apparently resolved on January 6th, 2021), to reports that the Flight 93 passengers maybe weren't so heroic, or nobody said 'Let's Roll!', it was easy to see the writing on the wall.  American liberalism was clearly more concerned with continuing the post-Cold War deconstruction of our nation than fighting to preserve it. 

Of course the fabled 'New Atheists' made bank on the attacks, being able to be interviewed by journalists with a straight face as they insisted the problems of the world were always because of religion.  Seeing our general appraisal of religion, especially among younger Americans, after the attacks compared to before was like night and day.  

When professor and scholar Ward Churchill made his hateful '3000 Eichmanns' statement about the 9/11 victims, he eventually lost his job.  Which was fine by me.  But I was stunned by the debate in the media.  It was reported as '9/11 victims as Eichmanns who got what they had coming - a polite discussion tonight on the evening news.'  Again, no 'we vow to remember the 7th of December' there.  

Now I don't pretend that this all began with 9/11.  I recall Max Lucado, that smooth Christian writer who rose to prominence with books that presented the Gospel message in very vanilla terms.  When everyone was rushing about saying 'Don't let this change us!  That will let the attackers win!', he had a different take.  He wrote an editorial that said he hopes it does change us.  Our nation's only hope is if it does.  He pointed out that , if we were honest, we shouldn't want things going in the direction they were going on September 10th, 2001.  In hindsight, and with an honest appraisal of all those years ago, he was clearly correct.  By 2023, a growing number of Americans are committed to nothing other than continuing the vision and the goal of those hijackers on that bright Tuesday morning. 

Sorry to be a David downer.  I know this is a time when everyone remembers, and rightly pays tribute to those who lost their lives and those who gave the last full measure of devotion. Nonetheless, this seldom comes up anymore.  It's as good a time as any to state the obvious.  Unless things turn radically and quickly, the epitaph for that day will not be 'a day of infamy'.  It will be 'and that's all she wrote'. 

All those years ago

Today is the anniversary of D-Day. Specifically, the amphibious assault on Normandy by the Allies in 1944.  For many years now, likely decades, this has been the sum total of 'remember World War II' day.  Pearl Harbor would get its annual nod.  You might the beginning of the war, at least in Europe, mentioned.  And the end.  Often just said in passing, with more emphasis on the end in the  Pacific, focusing on the atomic bombs.  That's been World War II remembrance since at least the 90s. 

When we hit the 10's, it would get more attention.  That is the early 1970s, 1980s, 1990s; the 30th, 40th, 50th anniversaries, then there was more focus.  I think, IIRC, the 1980s had the most pro-WWII, saturated focus.  There weren't many pop culture productions about WWII by that time, but the media had several stories I remember.  Usually, by then, a major focus was on reconciliation and putting the past behind us.  This was especially true for our relationship with Japan.  After all, Japan was starting to kill us economically, and we didn't want bad blood between Japanese companies and American consumers (seen in hindsight, if I must admit).

Over the years it's dropped mostly to the few anniversaries above.  I saw the morning news today mention the anniversary celebration at Normandy.  A brief segment.  I saw it on a couple tickers.  I didn't see any major national newspapers, but they might not be published online yet.  Of course I'm sure we all remember the WaPo's article a year or two ago, reminding us not to bless those veterans but damn them as the racists that they were.  Or the Twitter illustration a couple years ago of the beach landings with the caption 'an army of white supremacists landing to fight an army of white supremacists.'  The hatred of our country and civilization now generations deep in some quarters. 

Such is history.  Empires come and empires go.  From the Christian perspective, though man is made in the image of God, sin tends to be the at-rest position in the world.  Sin is easier.  Virtue is tough.  After all, when was the last time you heard someone say 'You know, all my life I wanted to be a lazy couch potato, but I couldn't overcome the temptation to eat right and exercise.'  So it is with nations and empires and civilizations.  The light of Christian Witness and the subsequent rise in the Democratic era were the exception, not the rule, to the story of humanity.  And since we eventually decided to take away the rock upon which our civilization was built, and replace it with sand, we can probably guess what will happen next. 

That's why golden ages are typically followed by dark ages.  But have hope.  Eventually the kernels of what was forgotten will be remembered, and from the ensuing dark age coming our way, another golden age will emerge.  That's one of the benefits of the Jewish-Christian tradition:  History has a purpose and we should never forget.  Even if we do for a season.  There will be a time when people remember again, and then those who gave their all will not have died in vain. 

As a bonus, here is a nice piece written by Francis Maier at The Catholic Thing.  Worth the read. 

RIP Jim Brown

Brown as Dad remembered him

Legendary professional running back Jim Brown has died.  

Jim Brown was a name that loomed large in my childhood.  That's because my dad was as much a Jim Brown fan as he was a Frank Sinatra fan.  Dad was sort of a Cleveland Browns fan as a result, though I always felt his allegiance was tied more to Jim Brown's time with the Browns than with the Browns themselves.  On my mom's side, her oldest brother and her dad were true, blue Browns fans.  My uncle, in fact, never missed going to a Browns home game until the last years of his life, when health interfered. 

Nonetheless, for my dad, I think had Jim Brown been on any other team, that team would have been a favorite.  He not only liked, but he admired him.  As one not afraid to speak out about America's sins, he didn't mind as Jim Brown became more vocal in his Civil Rights advocacy.  That's not to say he always agreed with Brown.  My dad was of that time where disagreeing didn't negate and sever all ties and relationships. 

For Brown's part, he was definitely one of the greats in American sports.  A running back with few rivals, he was as comfortable running over his opponents as running around them.  Watching old games, it's easy to see how you couldn't imagine him getting up after a particularly brutal hit. Then, when the next play started, he was up and running like a tank. 

Like not a few high profile athletes, especially football players, Brown tried his hand at acting.  Though it wasn't his first line of work, he wasn't half bad.  One of his highest profile roles was in the movie The Dirty Dozen, released in the Summer of Love and a smash hit at the same time.  Strange. 

Brown plays one of the convicts, and the movie wasn't afraid to show the racism aimed at him.  Toward the end of the movie, when the mission is coming to fruition, it is Brown's character who is charged with running across an open parkway, throwing hand grenades down into a series of exhaust vents.  I must admit, the movie is worth watching if, for no other reason, you can watch him run.  In that brief couple seconds of him running, you realize just what made him so legendary as a running back, an athlete, and competitor. 

With the miracle of the Internet, I've had the chance to watch old clips of Brown, and I must say my dad's hype was not overstated.  As an individual, of his life and beliefs, I know little.  I know there was scandal and accusations and the dirty laundry that comes with fame in the mass media age.  In any event, he was someone who my dad admired, and that was not a large fraternity.  Dad divvied out high respect and admiration with an eyedropper.  But if you earned it, he was willing to overlook a multitude of sins (though never deny or ignore them, just like with America).  For that reason alone, I pray Brown will receive that loving grace from the Eternal One, and a small part of the happiness he brought millions, including my dad.  

RIP Bob McGrath

Bob McGrath passed away.  Who was Bob McGrath?  He was one of the original cast on "Sesame Street".  He was the one who reminded me of a friend and coworker of my dad.  That's why he stood out in my mind as a child.

I was never a big Sesame Street fan.  I didn't watch much TV growing up.  As a kid, the only 'must see' kid's show for me was an old Japanese cartoon called 'Kimba the White Lion."   In the evenings I watched reruns of "Hogan's Heroes" and "Combat!"   Otherwise there wasn't much must-see television for me. 

But Mr. McGrath holds a special place in my memories.  When I turned five, my parents moved from our house in the country and bought a house in town.  It was actually the house that was a nursery school my parents took me to the year before.  A small little ranch next to a hive of troublemaking kids.  My days of quiet and carefree fun in the county had come to an end. 

It was right before Christmas, and I remember looking out the back sliding door at the row of snow covered houses facing away from us beyond our back yard.  I remember the smoke coming out of their chimneys in a scene straight out of a Hallmark greeting card.  Living in the country, I wasn't used to seeing that many houses in one place.  Dad was busy working to improve the house we hadn't settled into yet.  Mom was consoling me since it was a big move.  The only house I could remember was a thing of the past.

To help, they got me, among other things that year, a record of Sesame Street sing-alongs.  The first song on the record?  "People in Your Neighborhood" by none other than Mr. McGrath.  I can still see that little record player, and the primary colored record spinning as McGrath introduced us to policemen, mailmen, and others whose names would eventually need changed.  

Again, I never watched Sesame Street much.  For that matter I was one of the few in my school who didn't sit clued to the TV when "The Muppet Show" was all the rage.  Just not my cup of tea.  But I appreciated what it was in its early days and the genius that went behind its creation.  Beyond that, one part is forever engrained in my childhood memories, and that just happened to involve Mr. Bob McGrath.

So RIP Mr McGrath, and thanks for the memory.  

RIP Jules Bass

Jules Bass, of the famous Rankin/Bass productions, has died.  

What kid my age didn't wait with eager anticipation for the avalanche of Christmas specials that came our way in the month of December?  While the best was A Charlie Brown Christmas, Rankin/Bass did yeoman's work cashing in on the American Christmas story and bringing it into every living room possible.

As a kid I looked forward to them.  Mostly because they were my own visual advent calendar marking off the days to Christmas proper.  I remember watching different ones, though I don't think I paid much attention to them.  I did watch Grinch, Charlie Brown (and his Halloween offering The Great Pumpkin).   Those kept my attention. 

The Rankin/Bass were, on the other hand, something I tuned into and then spent part of the time watching or doing other things.  In later years it was easy to see the quality differences.  Some, it turns out, were quite charming and fun to watch, even as an adult.  Others were tough to endure.  It might be Christian bias, but The Little Drummer Boy is a favorite, even with the contrived plot.  After all, it does ultimately center around that baby in a manger.

Which is something, in the end, that the R/B catalogue featured very little.  There were some allusions in Santa Clause is Coming to Town.  The previously mentioned Drummer Boy of course.  But that was about it.  Unless there was some obscure R/B special I'm unaware of, that was about all we got from the Gospel.

Most of the R/B specials, in fact, hammered home that modernist message of messages: Christmas, it turns out, does come from a store.  Or at least Santa's workshop.  Takeaway Santa, you lose the toys.  Lose the toys, and no Christmas this year!  Even Seuss broke from that Wall Street narrative to point out Christmas can at least mean something beyond the packages, boxes and bags.

But not in the R/B catalogue.  Most of the specials were very clear: Christmas is all about getting gifts from Santa. Whether depression or bad weather, whatever keeps Santa from his appointed rounds jeopardizes Christmas itself.  Because there is no other reason for Christmas but gifts from Santa.

I guess it's because it was the 1960s culture and beyond that so many families, including church families, had no problem with the messaging.  In hindsight, it wasn't the best.  Plus, there were often decent enough messages to be found, even if they were often wrapped up in a 60's countercultural packaging.

R/B did other things than Christmas specials.  Chief among those, and my personal favorite, was their 1977 turn with Tolkien's masterful children's book The Hobbit.  I've posted on that more than once.  Always prisoners of the 'television children's time slot', they nonetheless managed to put together a fine, albeit simplified, version of Tolkien's work.  One that inspired me to eventually find and read the book, and in a way that didn't disappoint.  And that's not bad.  In many ways I owe my love for Tolkien to the R/B team, and that's saying something. 

So whatever messaging may have gone amiss, it did lead to many years of childhood memories and a love of Tolkien.  And those memories and that love continued with my sons.  After all, without R/B, we wouldn't have our annual trashfest of Frosty the Snowman, and that would be a loss!   Thanks, then, for all the memories Mr. Bass, and RIP. 

RIP Angela Lansbury

Angela Lansbury has died.

The first time I likely encountered Ms. Lansbury was in the 1972 children's movie Bedknobs and Broomsticks.  My mom took me to see it when it came out.  A desperate bid by the House of Mouse to recapture the magic of Mary Poppins in a post-Walt world, I vaguely remember seeing it.

I later became acquainted with her work in the popular series Murder, She Wrote.  It, along with Matlock and The Golden Girls, became part of what hipster boomers back in the day called the geriatric nights on television.  Even though I wasn't around home then, my mom and dad liked those shows so it was natural I had a chance to see them on television when I was visiting. 

Like many things, I remember plenty of mockery aimed at the those shows.  Mockery from a generation that they clearly didn't imagine they would some day be in the same age group.  See the same contempt leveled at an elderly Frank Sinatra's 1990 concert tour since 74 years old was just too old to be wandering about a stage singing. You have to hand it to a generation that has spent decades deriding what it is destined to become. 

Years later I discovered she was more than merely an actress capable of playing doting moms and kindly senior citizens.  For my sons, and in the early days of my relationship with my wife, she voiced Mrs. Potts in Disney's Beauty and the Beast.  But in the 1944 film Gaslight, she's almost slappable as the snide while sultry maid who helps drive Ingrid Bergman half mad.  

Of course one of her stand out roles, and a role that elevated her to a level of villain able to make Darth Vader squirm, was as the cold, heartless mother of Lawrence Shaw in The Manchurian Candidate.  Playing a woman so filled with hate mixed with arrogance that she believed she could bring both sides of the Cold War to their knees, you can't watch that without marveling that she was able to play anything but a calculating killer.

I know little of her private life, and perhaps that's a good indicator that she had a life not worth knowing about.  In the entertainment industry, that is cherished virtue.  In any event, she played a big part in a specific time in my life and the life of my parents.  Her influence fell over the early years of my young family, and I came to appreciate her all the more as I found other roles she played in a variety of productions. 

For all of that, and simply because, may she rest in peace.  

One last September morning

 It looked like this:

And then it didn't.  We didn't know it then, but we were watching the beginning of the end of America and the West that day. 

RIP Queen Elizabeth

The only British monarch of my lifetime, she was a giant among giants.  She, and her era, will be missed.  I'm sure there will be no shortage of commentary and coverage in the coming days.  For now, prayers for her, and thanks for the lifetime of service.  

RIP Roger Mosley

L-R: John Hillerman, Tom Selleck, Larry Manetti, Roger Mosley

I saw that Roger E. Mosley has died.  For most who knew of him, especially from my generation, he was Theodore Calvin - T.C. - the chopper pilot friend of Thomas Magnum in the 1980s mega-hit Magnum P.I.  

His character was an important one in those days, and it was mentioned then that his role was not merely of a token black man.  He was not Magnum's black friend as much as he was Magnum's friend, who just happened to be black.  A big difference since many shows back then that featured black characters made it clear their main purpose on the screen was being black.  He also played against stereotypes.

One of the show's running theme-gags was that the high cultured British gentlemen Jonathan Quale Higgins (played by Texas born Jonathan Hillerman), was a man of class, culture and sophistication.  This was set in juxtaposition to Magnum's beach bum, beer and chilidog and baseball cap persona.  While it was clear Magnum was educated and culturally aware, it seldom interested him. Rick, the other main character, was altogether culturally ignorant.  

The character of T.C., on the other hand, was - next to the Higgins character - the most culturally sophisticated of the regulars.  On more than one occasion he could quote literature, appreciated music, loved the ballet and could reference opera.  In addition, while Rick was a philanderer and Magnum's morals were considered cutting edge in those days (though seldom shown), T.C. was the man who spent his off hours helping kids and coaching little league and being a mentor to the down and out in his neighborhood. That went a long way, in the early 1980s, toward breaking old Hollywood stereotypes. 

It's also worth noting that the show itself used T.C. to build on some of its main themes.  In those days, an uber-theme of our society was reconciliation.  That was big in the early 80s 40th Anniversary of WWII.  On multiple occasions I remember the lessons of the war being about reconciling and putting the ills of the past behind us.  Magnum P.I. had more than one episode where that was the point, including stories about past racism, bigotry, wrong doing and persecution.  And they weren't afraid to put the character of T.C. into the mix as both victim and survivor of such wrong doing, but always ready to forgive and reconcile. A different world to be sure. 

Like all characters in high profile parts, T.C. became Mosley's chief identity. But there was more to him than that.  I heard years ago that, in a way similar to his on screen alter ego, he dedicated himself to coaching and mentoring young people in Los Angeles.  While he continued to act and perform, I can't help but think of his work with youth as his significant accomplishment.  How keeping in character can you get? 

RIP Mr. Mosley, and thanks for the memories. 

A Memorial Day reflection

 This is what we civilians see of the heroes who have died:

This is what the heroes see of the heroes who have died:

Hence, why we remember them as heroes.  They endure the unendurable so that we can be free.  May God help us to remember that on this Memorial Day, 2022.