The Prince

“There you see what it is to serve a prince!  We should be wary of their vacillations of temper.” George Cavendish to Thomas Cardinal Wolsey referring to King Henry VIII in Hilary Mantel, “Wolf Hall” (p.45)

 

Like King Henry VIII, would-be autocrat Trump is loyal to no one but himself and his immediate family but demands total obedience from others.  Still, he has no compunction about jettisoning them if expedient.  Who doubts that his lapdog vice president will be replaced if DT believed another running mate would help him be re-elected?  Ditto even his most obsequious cabinet members. “Prince” Donald Junior (whose half-brother, I kid you not, is named Baron) is his political hatchet man, spreading the most egregious lies and conspiracy theories about political rivals and critical commentators, while palpably unqualified son-in-law Jared Kushner is put in charge of a “shadow” coronavirus task force and the Mideast peace process. In “The Prince” Niccolo Machiavelli wrote that “the first method for estimating the intelligence of a ruler is to look at the people he has around him.”  By that standard our leader fails badly.

 

Machiavelli also said: “It is much safer to be feared than loved because ...love is preserved by the link of obligation which, owing to the baseness of men, is broken at every opportunity for their advantage; but fear preserves you by a dread of punishment which never fails.”  So far this tactic seems to have allowed Trump to stifle dissent within Republican ranks.  Senator Mitt Romney stands virtually alone in calling out Trump’s outrageous lies and attacks that harken back to the rancid days of Joe McCarthy. He deserves a "Profiles in Courage" award. This from Ray Boomhower: “I do not want to see the Republican party ride to political victory on the Four Horsemen of Calumny—fear, ignorance, bigotry and smear.” Margaret Chase Smith, who died on this day in 1995

 

George Floyd

Minneapolis is under the microscope since the killing of George Floyd at the hands of police, one of whom pinned the victim’s neck with his knee for nearly ten minutes while the handcuffed black man, allegedly suspected of cashing a counterfeit $20-bill, pleaded for his life and repeated, “I can’t breathe.”  As usual, Trump has weighed in, calling the mayor a radical leftist and unruly protestors thugs.  It is dismaying to see a small minority looting stores and setting fire to cars and buildings, but incendiary rhetoric by the president is the last thing Minneapolis needs at this time.  I couldn’t help thinking of the late Twin City icon Prince’s song “Purple Rain” (“I know times are changing/ It’s time we all reached out”) and how his music championed the diversity of America.  To see his city in flames makes one weep.  Gary native Ben Clement wrote “Mourning Sickness” to express his grief:

Here we go again.

Waking to nightmares that aren’t dreams.

They’re real. Too real. Surreal.

You saw what I saw.

Not through lying eyes

But, dying eyes. His...dying...eyes.

And his final pleas, “Please!”

Your ears did not deceive. They didn’t lie.

You heard the man. Clearly.

Plaintiff wail. Begging. Pleading. Praying.

Unanswered prayers.

That’s what makes me sick.

The man cried for his mama!

Doesn’t that bother you?

Aren’t you bothered?

Aren’t you disturbed?

Aren’t you sick?

I am.

Every morning when I wake and George Floyd is still dead.

 Coincidentally, the Mayor of Gary is named Prince.  Born in 1964, Jerome Prince graduated from Lew Wallace in 1982 and enlisted in the marine corps.  After a career selling insurance and real estate, Prince unseated 40-year Fifth District Gary council veteran Cleo Wesson. After two terms he was elected to the Lake County Council and later Lake County assessor.  He defeated incumbent mayor Karen Freeman-Wilson by emphasizing the need for economic development.  One of his first appointments was Indiana National Guard Lieutenant Colonel Richard Ligon as the city’s new police chief.  When the current pandemic abates, I hope to interview Prince as part of an effort to update “Gary’s First Hundred Years.”

 

John Fraire shared brother Gabriel’s poem “The Perfect Flour Tortilla”:

Less than four years old

Standing on a chair

Tiny tummy leaning

into the counter

hands on pin

rolling dough balls

into flour tortillas

It is all black and white

Grandma by my side

With her faded flower apron

Short greying hair, eye glasses

Scowl on her face

She snapped orders

For the few things she did not do herself

Never once did she say,

“I love you.”

But I felt it in those hands

That cupped mine

As she showed me how

To knead

and roll

The perfect flour tortilla