Saturday, August 14, 2004
FIGHTING IGNORANCE
I have known adults who could not read or write.
I have had mixed feeling about most of them; partly feeling sorry for them for being in such a miserable plight in the modern world, and , more often, being piqued with them – on the very edge of disgust and chagrin with their seeming refusal to conform to standard operational procedure of society today. Some few, I admit, may well have had medical, psychological or physicalconditions which would forbid their learning to read and write but they would be few, indeed. I found that, more often than not, it was the result of sheer laziness, either on their own part. or that of unloving parents or guardians.
You probably know someone who is on the fringe of being functionally illiterate. They are often expert in cover-up techniques and you may known them by the veneer they wear and not realize they are unable to read and write. Having the ability to scratch out a name as a symbol of who you are supposed to be is not “writing” nor is having memorized street signs and traffic signals and TV chatter and patter, is not “reading.” Think twice about the person who drives your our car pool group to work some mornings - that man or woman who brags laughingly about “never having read a book since I got outta high school.” That's an all too common admission of such basic ignorance that is quite often voiced by people who are ashamed of their “handicap” but not ready to admit they are “at fault” in any way, shape or form.
Another trait to be aware of is that such a person has developed a remarkable knack of getting others to do things for them. An older man will elicit the help of a school kid to solve problems; the man or woman in business hires secretaries, clerks or others who constantly make him or her “look good” in the eye of those he courts, respects, hates, envies, fears or loves. A father, aware of the simple fact that his children comprehend more of what the present-day world is all about than he ever will, tends to shower them with gifts and rewards others find to be questionable or to joint them in sports and outdoor activities. What family member is going to refuse to balance a check book for a person who has “arthritis so bad in his or her fingers and hands they can't steady a pen or pencil” and they can't tap keys with pain. Such individuals shun “self-service”facilities of all kinds arguing that they like “the personal, real-people touch. The personal computer has been a godsend such intellectually handicapped people, because it enables one to return again and again to a set story or theme until,.it is structured into ones memory..
It may well be, you see, that we have discovered to a tricky way to get at such non-learners. I think the computer is educating more and more people all the time and in basic reading and writing skills in particular.
I have known people who could not read or write, as I said earlier, and I have also known people who, with a few pushes here and there, became people who read and write much more- much better - than they did not too long ago.
You part is to realize there are such persons among us today. Then, and only then, can anything be done about it.
A.L.M. August 13, 2004 [c593wds]
Friday, August 13, 2004
TIME NAMES
Every generation, it seems, is faced with a problem of naming itself and, so often, the name that is chosen , or comes to be used, is not one which sets the era apart as being noble and worthy of respect. At times, it seems the names are too critical of events of the era.
What about the time known, generally spoken of as “The Gay Nineties?” It would seem they rather drab times for many, and gaiety was evident in only in the frivolous margins of social life where money smoothed away troubles for a time. In a decorative sense, the time was given to oversize, overstuffed household clutter and life itself was what we would call stuffy and staid. Dictatorial styles play a strong role in just about anything anyone undertook to do and Freedom of expression was derided. The Gay Nineties” were a time when the rich played and the poor worked hard to see that their betters lived comfortably and in keeping with others of their kind. I often get the feeling that some of the less admirable characters devised by novelist Charles Dickens and William Makepeace Thackery were but caricatures or genuine characters who peopled the world during the l850' plus. Other than excessive accounts of the playfulness of the idle rich of the time, we seem to find little genuine gaiety among the general populace of the nineties end of the century. Yes, there was some grand music in the era for the late of the day, but the popular songs were deary with guitar, mandolin and violin discretely appended to coalface with moralistic lyrics.
What about the “Flapper Era?” I knew some young ladies who might have qualified for such a strange title, but they were not a generally known group. The idea of having fun and enjoying life to the fullest, which the name of “gay” nineties suggested, seems to have welled over into the first two decades of the new century. “We”...and I can say I had a part in it even though I was just an impressionable youngster at the time. I joined them in playing the ukulele. I can remember quite vividly the kielodoscopic swirl of short skirts, silk stocking, myriads of bright color and loud, tensely clipped music miss-named , I say, as “jazz”. The music was alert and alive; the mood for men and women was more of “trial and error” than and it culminated in a thing and time called “Prohibition” and subsequent days of the “Bootlegger” and “Speakeasy “ eras. Much or the world, I would say, most of the world, went along ignorant of this theme of such non-conformity. Some work at being different; others did not, and we survived it all in time. Once again, notice, our music changed for the better with the transitions we attempted.
There was “The Great Depression” but we do not look at that world-wide abberation in the same way we respect “eras”, “ages”, or “times.” The, following the years of want and need, can the Era of Recovery. This phase has been pillioned by having far too many cots of political and social veneer
applied; to it until none can say for sure that it was properly or ill-conceived. It did seems to be an improvement and we went for it in at big way.
We left the times of the business “tycoons”, “robber barons”and other such political and social scoundrels behind us and proceeding to happy times for -no, not “all” - but for many who found a better world.
We went through the celebrated Nast cartoon cleansing phase, and we have seen nations rise and fall attempting aggression one upon the other. Modern history is much too complex to assign names to parts of it and we admit to be living in a time of curious Terror which threatens it all. Little chunks of history become apparent to us ...often “colorized” without any claim to originality. We've got a real one this time - a corker ...a lulu ...a wild one ...a confused, mutilated and miss-managed one -
What will we, eventually, call the era in which we are living today?
A.L.M. August 12, 2004 [c706wds]
Thursday, August 12, 2004
BEST OF THE “OO'S”
At some point in our lives we all seem to have a need for what can only be called a note of ”sadness” or a “weird” offbeat sound in the music we most enjoy.
The Highland Scot, I suppose, would, usually take first place with anyone preferring weird sounding music. The bagpipes exemplify pretty much what most people call “the sour note” element which is so much a part of our serious music enjoyment. There are many people who will insist they do not have a choice of any particular type of music and are , non-musical. Every soul, I feel, has its thematic thread of intensely intimate and unique relation ship to the very composition of being. Music - that is, the artful arrangement of elements of living in a pleasing, inductive pattern. Music is, basically, mathematical and life itself is structured on such principles, so all parts of of it will co-adhere to such a standard.
The sensual sound of being off-pitch and, hence, in need of change, is not confined to the Highlander's complicated package of reeds, chanters and connective pipes. Westerners hear it in Oriental music quite often - a plaintive, questioning wail which defies natural acceptance; a sound which seems not to belong but which is accepted with enthusiasm by Orientals. The same, in a sense, is true of the cruder styles of music which assail us on all sides today. One generation sets forth a standard which, often tends to mock that which has gone before and causes trepidation among older music lovers. There are also occasions - not so frequent, perhaps - when the new generation chooses to ignore former standards and , more or less, start over again with basic elements and fundamental principles in their primitive state.
Have we experienced such a lapse in the present era of “rock” and “rap”? I hesitate to call it music at times, yet it seems to meet a need of those who are devoted to it. Certainly the “weird” elements are contained therein - even unto excess. No one, as of yet, has contained the rock and rap elements into a presentable package to allow comparison and study. It is still fragmented; at odds with itself at many points and running free and virtually unrestrained.
Imagine, if you can, what the “record show” or Disc Jockey entertainment of the next decade will have to be when Radio-TV-or Whatever attempts to reproduce the “best of the 00's” of our century!
Talk about something being weird ... that show will be the ultimate.
A.L.M. August 11, 2004 [c440wds]
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
FOR US
Each of us here in the Commonwealth of Virginia, and of the nation for that matter, owe a great deal to a man who, at the age of forty-two, stood on the deck of one of the nations newest warships performing what would prove to be one of his first and his last act of serving as the nation's fifteenth Secretary of the Navy.
It must have been a proud moment of achievement for Thomas Walker Gilmer, born in Albemarle Country, Virginia . He was a well known lawyer and newspaper owner and editor there in Thomas Jefferson country. The events of that day are said to have awakened the American people to the dangers of allowing their leaders to be placed at hazard through the simple act of being at the same site in times of danger.
Tom Gilmer had been nominated by President Taylor in John Tyler and on the date in question- February 28, 1844 - he was standing on the deck of the nation's first, screw-propelled steam warship. The two vibrating lever engines heated three tubular iron boilers, burning hard coal to drive a six-bladed, fourteen-foot diameter screw type propeller. She made her trial run on the Delaware River October 12, 1843 . She engaged in speed tests and competitions and was fitted out for active sea duty. In New York the vessel - called the “Princeton”- was fitted with her two large guns - big enough, impressive enough in design to have individuals names - the “Oregon” and “The Peacemaker”. That gun was a spoken of as an improved version of the “Oregon”. And it was, naturally, a piece of ordnance the Secretary of the Navy wished to demonstrate to his guests.
Let's look at that guest list, for a moment.
President John Tyler and his entire cabinet and about two hundred distinguished guests formed the main party aboard. All were on-board at the same time to witness an ordnance trial.
It is recorded historically that “The Pacemaker” was, indeed, fired over the stated objections of Captain Robert F. Stockton, Commander of the craft, and moments later Thomas Gilmer, after only nine days in office, was among the dead. The cannon exploded. The Secretary of State Abel P. Upshur was also killed; two members of the Congress- Rep. Virgil Maxey , Maryland and Rep David Gardiner, New York. Captain Beverley Kennon, Chief of the Federal Bureau of Construction, Equipment and a personal servant of the President of the United States were dead. A score suffered serious injuries.
There was, naturally, an official investigation of the tragedy and a Court of Inquiry exonerated Captain Stockton, his officers and crew of all blame in the matter. It was concluded the gun exploded due to the fact that it had been overheated from use the previous day.
The story of the “Princeton” explosion is said to have awakened many people to the need for better care of our government officials. Today, faced with Terrorist puzzles such as we have never confronted before, it is obviously imperative that we do all we can to keep governmental leaders apart from each other and less subject to group attack. I hear people complain from time-to-time that our Presidents and Vice-Presidents are not always together at vital historical times. It is remarkable how many people still do not see the wisdom of separation against attack. The potential loss of official life on the “Princeton” that day should be remembered as a warning signal to all of us ...then ...and now.
A.L.M. Aug 10, 2004 [c598wds]
Tuesday, August 10, 2004
LEVELS OF FEAR
There can be numerous plateaus of we call “fear:”
And, being aware of that fact can be an important part of our nationwide efforts to prepare for possibilities of Terrorist attacks. A “little bit of fear” and anticipation of potential danger may be a very good precautionary thing to have, but the grander versions can be best held for use if and when such problems become more real and threatening.
We have in place today nationally, a rather hastily devised system of color coding which enables us to let all concerned be warned of potential trouble and the extent and intensity there of. I think it has proved itself to be worthy and a good step for introductory purposes. It is essential that all people be made aware of the danger we might face. I remember, quite vividly, the wail of the air raid siren during World War II in England. There was nothing more desolate among common sounds and yet it held a sincere message we felt it best to be attentive to when we heard that mournful wail.
Our present color code system does so in much the same way but without the dramatic element of sound which could send a genuine chill down the spine of many hearers - sensitive, young children and older folks - give way to tears. There has been strong condemnation of the color code system, largely because, as a provisional thing, it is inaccurately described until such time as we can more accurately identify the threat. It is not the perfect plan and does pretend to be, so let's use it wisely for what it is intended to be and not the method which will, in time, replace it, if required. It does make us aware of potential dangers, however slight our actual protection might at this moment be. We, at least, have the feeling that something is being done to add to our protective shield. That is a basic fact for which cannot be disregarded. In the worst case an individual might feel that he or she has been deserted and forgotten as others are guided to safety. We must all learn to work for the common good seeking the best guidance for all and not for just for a selected individuals or groups.
It is unfortunate that the need for such a system coincides with the presidential election campaign. In spite of everything which might be done to seek to prevent it, party stalwarts will politicize such aspects of living heartlessly and mindlessly often we fear, to our national disadvantage and shame.
Fear, true enough, can be a fantasy. It can also be a very strong reality and a controlling factor in our lives for much good, if we learn to control , sustain and cherish its power which serves in so many ways to guard our person against evil of all sorts, those thing deemed not to be good for our well being.
A.L.M. August 9, 2004 [c505wds]
Monday, August 09, 2004
TEARS
Usually, men tend to avoid being seen crying in public.
It is considered to be a mark of manhood to forgo tears , a thing women and weakling men are expected to do , but not red-blooded American he-men. It simply is not done.
I remember one time, however, in which I witnessed a group of widely experienced, life-hardened men - all weeping.
I can recall only on occasion on which I saw this happen and I dare say it is a common sight at the same location just about any day.
It happened on the old Queen Mary when she was in use as a troop carrier during World War II. On deck, coming into the western end of Long Island Sound, there stood around me a rough, cross-section of the military might which had just crushed Hitler's reign in Germany. The hulk of an individual who stood next to me was clothed in torn, gray sweat shirt and fatigue trousers. He was joking loudly and conversing with others in typically, dirt-tainted, army cross-talk. He was loud and abusive reflecting the mood of a crowd of men forced together by circumstances and being returned to visit a home life they had missed - many of us for several years.
Suddenly he became quiet. I describe his actions among us to avoid telling you of my own reactions to the sight of the Statue of Liberty appearing out of a low haze ahead of us ...off to the left. It was new sight for most of us because most eastbound troopships had departed these shores under cover of protective darkness. The entire group was more or less silent as such as a group
of clumsy, ill-situated men can be. The sweat-scented body beside me had a half-said and admiration-tainted “Damn!” on his lips and generous tears trickled down his beard .Time froze for the moment I think. We were leaving the “Old Girl” astern before conversation returned. He mood was ended, but not really a thing of the past.
We , perhaps, do not appreciate what the Statue of Liberty means to so many thousands of people – citizens and non-citizens of this land of true freedom and opportunity. It has only recently been reopened to visitors after the security and financial closing of the historic site as a part of September 11th precautions. It has been included on Terrorist's lists calling for its destruction and we must do everything possible to prevent such a disaster. True, destruction of the Stature of Liberty might be less costly in human lives than any of the potential sites ...far few actual lives lost but many, many more souls of men and women who revere its presence among us as Frances' greatest gift to the western world.
I challenge anyone to take the Tears Test of watching the Statue of Liberty appear out of mists.
A.L.M. August 8, 2004 [c492wds]
Sunday, August 08, 2004
GET A HORSE!
In days such as these, when two dollar per gallon gasoline prices are common, some of the nostalgia wishes for the comforts and economy of by-gone “horse and buggy days” are not entirely without some note of seriousness.. We long for relief from such expense.
Much of such wishful thinking is taken, of course, without awareness all the work and worry one had to undergo to be a Horse and Buggy type rider. The critter towing the wheeled cart had to be fed and brushed down with regularity and it was a never-ending, every day-every night chore for someone. In its day “keeping a horse and carriage” was expensive and would, by comparison with those day's income patterns and prices, probably equate with the ownership of a first class automobile today. So often, too, it became a natural thing that the person designated to take care of the horse also became it beast's official driver ..a chauffeur to all who needed such assistance and someone to wait for passengers at the other end of a trip.. As custodian of the animal's many needs, the hired hand at the stable became ones “Coachman”. And, I'm told there was rather testy pecking order among some families who chose to keep a carriage as a mark of social attainment.
My personal buggy riding experience is somewhat limited. I remember riding in them on several occasions but our farm folks ran more to work wagon- users rather than owners of fancy buggies. One of our nearby-neighbor families had relations who lived in the country and they used to visit occasionally at which time we were invited to ride along on side trips. There seems never to have been enough room in buggies for all the people who wanted to go, but a small c
children could be seated on the floor board at the driver's feet within tail-switching distance.
We had, during the l930's a fine, old country gentleman from Snowville, Virginia - a wide place in the road a few miles west of the New river, who visited us at our house every Satuday morning he came to the town market. He drove a horse and buggy. The horse's name was “Ruby” and when it came time to leave Mr. Roop, after maki ng sure were were in place, said to Ruby-horse in a soft, kindly voice” “To market, Ruby! To market!” and off we went - not by the front, graveled street but by way of the narrow alley which ran through the block in back of our house .with its unpaved surface and shaded spots. At the far end then end of the corner, Ruby stopped “to let the boys off.” You might say my first buggy rides centered more on the strange nature of the close relationship of understanding between an old man and his horse. I think, for that reason alone I shall always have a soft spot in my heart concerning horse and buggy rigs.
I happen to live today in an area where the Amish culture still makes use of such transportation.. We have parking spaces designated for horse occupancy only. It is quite common for one to meet a number of such horse and buddy units especially of the less-traveled roads here in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia.
Some people today scorn and ridicule their presence on our highways and say they are the cause of traffic troubles. Their time is speedily closing. They will, in time, be gone of course and along with them many memories such as my rather limited ones. They will be gone, but not forgotten by many of us.
A.L.M. Aug 7, 2004 [c619wds]
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