Wobblies

"The majority of mankind is ground down by industrial oppression in order that the small remnant may live in ease.” Helen Keller, IWW member, 1911

Wobblies was a nickname for members of the Industrial Workers of the World (IWW), a radical union founded in Chicago in 1905 whose leaders included Eugene Victor Debs and Big Bill Haywood.  Believing in “One Big Union” and organizing industry-wide rather than by trades or crafts, the IWW had considerable success in western states, signing up farmworkers, lumberjacks, miners, and unskilled workers ignored, for the most part, by the cautious American Federation of Labor. The Wobblies used songs (“Solidarity Forever”) and colorful slogans (“Get the Bosses Off Your Backs”) to spread their mass appeal.  It had an estimated 150,000 members in 1917 before its members were persecuted and its leaders jailed, deported or murdered during World War I and the Red Scare. Its spirit lived on, inspiring many New Leftists during the 1970s including David Ranney, who belonged to the socialist groups New American Movement and the Sojourner Truth Organization.

In 1976 David Ranney hired in at FAROC, a small job shop in East Chicago, Indiana, that rebuilt centrifuge machines, used in rendering plants processing carcasses of pigs, cows, and horses into solids and liquids converted to other uses. Ranney found the listing in the Daily Calumet and drove to the plant from South Chicago via the Chicago Skyway.  In “Living and Dying on the Factory Floor” Ranney recorded his first impressions:

    From the Skyway I can see miles of bungalow homes, smaller and larger factories, and two steel mills, all going full tilt. As I get near East Chicago the acrid smell of steel production gets even stronger than it is in South Chicago.  Smoke fills the air and visibility is limited.  Massive integrated steel mills, including Inland Steel and U.S. Steel Gary Works, run around the clock. One of the operations in these mills is burning coal to make a product called coke that burns hot enough to combine limestone and iron into steel.  There are also huge mills that use the raw steel to produce sheets, beams, tubes, and rails. Other factories nearby use steel to make blast furnaces and giant ladles that are needed for the steelmaking process. At one point, five steel mills in the area employed over one hundred thousand workers.

At FAROC, which employed between 15 and 20 workers, there were many hazards, caused in part by the fact that there never seemed to be adequate time to clean up after a job was finished. Ranney wrote: “There are pallets of parts and motors lying in the aisleways.  Tools are sitting around everywhere, and the place is filthy.”  Ranney is injured twice in five months, once in the hand while using a drill bit and then when he tripped over a small ball bearing on the slippery floor, opening a large gash in his head when he fell into a piece of metal on a pallet and necessitating a trip to the ER.  The following Monday the boss fired him. Ranney objected saying, “That’s illegal, you know – to fire a guy because he is hurt on the job?”  The boss responded, “I’m firing you because you are not worth a shit.  Sue me!”

Seeking work, Ranney learned that Inland Steel was hiring. Arriving at the plant, he joined a line estimated to be a mile long only to be told that the positions had been filled. Over the next six years he worked at another half-dozen small plants, sometimes terminated when companies learned of his leftist background, other times penalized for trying to bring together white, Latino, and black workers.  He discovered that in most cases the unions supposedly representing the labor force seemed in cahoots with management and a common theme at all the plants was, in his words, “exploitation of backbreaking and dangerous labor and the often unhealthy and unsafe working conditions.” In a concluding chapter Ranney reflected on lessons learned and beliefs reinforced by his years working as an industrial worker. Labor in a capitalist society, he believed, is reduced to a commodity, and progress for workers is the result of militant labor struggle.  The precipitous decline in American manufacturing job was the result of a corporate strategy to relocate overseas and to replace its work force with robots and computers who don’t demand decent wages or complain about health and safety concerns.

While at the University of Maryland, I played on a softball team composed of History grad students; we called ourselves the Wobblies in honor of our kindred labor activists.

During my three-year career as pitcher (it wasn’t slow pitch but no windmill deliveries were permitted) we were one of the best teams, the others being Physical Plant and Upward Bound, the latter composed of incoming African-American students.  One year I took teammates to Boys Village of Maryland, where I worked teaching kids ages 13-15 who were either delinquents or foster children who had run away from where they’d been sent.  Most weren’t bad kids, and they were impressed that my teammates had come to play ball with them and quite good at hitting up my friends for money and in one case his glove.

Soon after I started teaching at IUN, several students (Ivan Jasper, Dave Serynek, Tom Orr) asked me to pitch for their softball team, Porter Acres, named for a former motel where many of them lived, enjoying a counter-culture lifestyle that my family became part of, at least on weekends and after games. We weren’t very good at first but enjoyed one glorious championship season where we even won a tournament against more highly ranked A and B division squads.  The team disbanded after Ivan Jasper and Tom Wade moved to the Bahamas, but I still get together a least once a year with several old teammates and reminisce.  Phil and Dave were bat boys for Porter Acres, and a decade later while they were IU students Dave and his friend Kevin Horn started a team (it had various names depending on who’d sponsor us and pay for our shirts) and needed a reliable pitcher. In slow pitch softball control is the chief requisite and I hardly ever issued walks. One game I hit a line drive down the first base line.  The rightfielder dove for the ball but missed and it kept rolling and rolling.  I was chugging into third base intending to stop, but Dave, coaching third, waved me in.  A good throw would have nailed me, but the surprised second baseman who took the cutoff, heaved the ball over the catcher’s head. Voila, my lone career home run.

Our team often finished first during the regular season but faltered in post-season tournaments when rival teams often brought in ringers. In 1996, however, we won it all. In the semi-final we were clinging to a one-run lead in the bottom of the seventh when a batter hit a little nubber in front of the plate.  I was known for making throws to first underhand because I had a sore shoulder and better control than if I threw overhand.  Knowing that I’d have no chance to beat the runner underhand, I whipped the ball overhand and nailed the guy by a half-step.  My teammates couldn’t believe what I’d done.  In the final game we had a five-run lead after our final at-bats, but our opponents got four runs and had men on first and second with two out and a feared home run hitter, Jim Wilkie, at the plate (a ringer whom I knew from coaching Little League). Pitching him inside, I gave up two colossal foul balls, then pitched one with at least a 12-inch arc. Had he hot swung, it would have been called an illegal pitch, but Wilkie, fearful of taking strike 3, hit the highest fly ball I’d ever seen to short leftfield.  Kevin Horn camped under it, squeezed his glove around it, and we were champs.  I still have the t-shirt from Portage Park Department, inscribed in letters now fading, 1996 Imagination Glen Men’s Champions.

During this time former student and Porter Acres teammate Terry Hunt, a Vietnam vet, asked me and son Dave to play for a Glen Park Eagles team. Terry and I shared pitching duties and normally one of us would play second base when the other pitched.  One evening in the last inning Terry asked me to play first base, which I’d never done before.  I objected, and he insisted, claiming it was as easy as sitting in a rocking chair. With darkness fast approaching and two outs he fielded a grounder and threw to me.  I muffed the throw, putting the winning run on.  The next batter hit a grounder to our shortstop, who had a rifle of an arm.  His throw to me seemed like a speeding bullet, but miraculously it landed in my glove; otherwise it could have done serious harm to me.  Game over.  I told Terry never to ask me to play that position again. My teammates loved to party, but I rarely visited their clubhouse (“Aerie”) because so members smoked and it had a low roof. I occasionally still wear my “uniform,” a shirt with my nickname “Doc” on the back and the number 55, my age at the time.  Two years later, I retired after getting hit by two balls, a line drive at my ankle and a grounder that took a bad hop and got me in the face. With the mound just 15 yards from home plate and realizing my reaction time may have slowed down, I reluctantly gave up the sport that had given me so many cherished memories.

Suckers

“Never give a sucker an even break,” W.C. Fields

In addition to being slang for a lollipop and used to describe someone easily duped, sucker refers to an organ found in numerous species for the purpose of holding or sucking, in the case of female mosquitoes, the blood of humans, for nutrients needed for their eggs.  Mosquitoes’ mouth or proboscis consists of thin needles that pierce the skin and take nourishment from blood vessels.

David Quammen’s essay in New York Review of Books, titled “Suckers,” asserted that mosquitoes have changed the course of history and that almost half the human beings who ever lived succumbed to malaria or other diseases spread by these deadly insects.  Passing on information gleaned from Timothy C. Winegard’s “The Mosquito: A Human History of Our Deadliest Predator,” Quammen wrote:

If Alexander the Great hadn’t died of malaria in the sumpy outskirts of Babylon, on his way to Arabia and North Africa (and Gibraltor and Europe?) in 323 BCE, the Western world and its history might look much different. If the Visigoth king Alaric hadn’t succumbed to malarial fever in the autumn of 410 CE, after sacking the city of Rome but not gaining control of Italy, who knows?  If the Holy Roman Emperor Otto II hadn’t croaked suddenly at age 28 of the same inescapable ailment, just short of consolidating the Germanic tribes in 983, maybe Voltaire would have grown up speaking German. If Oliver Cromwell hadn’t suffered malaria unto death in 1658, because he was too stubbornly Puritan to take quinine, a remedy associated with Jesuits, then what? No Stuart restoration, possibly no more British monarchy ever?

Mosquitoes played a critical role in the colonization of the Americas and the enslavement of Africans, as well as the outcome of conflicts. During the Civil War, for example, General U.S. Grant’s army had ample amounts of quinine while Confederate soldiers did not.

Years ago IUN historian Rhiman Rotz and biologist Bill May team-taught a course called Microbes in History. Both were excellent instructors, and I recall how excited Rhiman would get (we shared adjacent offices) talking about the readings for upcoming classes. How I wish I’d audited them.  After he died in 2001, we kept a file draw containing his lecture notes, but I fear they disappeared in the subsequent departmental moves (from Tamarack to Lindenwood to Hawthorn to the Arts and Sciences Building).

In the Journal of American History Dennis Deslippe reviewed Timothy J. Lombardo’s “Blue-Collar Conservatism,” about Philadelphia mayor Frank Rizzo.  Capturing City Hall in 1971, the former police commissioner served two terms used thuggery and law and order rhetoric geared to whites resentful of civil rights activists and affluent liberals.  One of Rizzo’s many provocative sayings was that “a liberal is a conservative who hasn’t been mugged yet” and “a conservative is a liberal who got mugged the night before.”  Deslippe wrote:

The central actors in the book are the city’s white skilled workers in trades and construction, and white police and fire fighters.  These unionized, relatively high-paid workers had some security in a city with an increasingly weak industrial employment sector. Their work was a cultural touchstone for neighborhood stability and a sense of masculine respectability amid the rapid social changes of the period.  Rizzo’s stock rose as affirmative action threatened to undo the tradition of family and co-ethnic recruitment to these positions.  Challenges to police practices came under fire from civil rights supporters and civil liberty allies during the 1960s.  

During the 1970s, Toni’s family came to visit most summers.  After we exhausted sight-seeing in Chicago and dunes excursions, we took Toni’s mother Blanche, sister Mary Ann, and brother-in-law Sonny to places in Gary.  We had just gotten onto a City Hall elevator when Mayor Richard Hatcher joined us.  He greeted us warmly and asked where our visitors were from.  Hearing Philadelphia, he said, “Oh, Frank Rizzo’s city.”  I knew Sonny admired Rizzo and that Hatcher certainly did not and was thankful that an argument didn’t break out.

 Richard Hatcher and Vernan A, Williams

The Gary Crusader devoted an entire issue to honoring the late Mayor that included scores of photos and tributes from civil rights and political leaders. Gary Roosevelt grad Vernon A. Williams called Hatcher “a man among men, a public service icon,” writing:

  His first year in office was festive.  Curtis Mayfield penned the hit song
“We’re a Winner” to capture the historic moment.  Gary Roosevelt won its first state basketball championship and with Black and Gold colors, Mayor Hatcher instantly became an honorary Panther as he led the celebration in the parking lot of City Hall.

  That summer, this cool young, smart new mayor brought a concert to Gilroy Stadium that included Stevie Wonder and the Jackson Five,  I remember taking a photo of the mayor working the crowd in his Nehru suit and sunglasses.

 Tito Jackson at West Side by Kyle Telechan: below, Horseshoe groundbreaking

Three Jackson brothers, Tito, Marlon, and Jackie, were in town to participate in the groundbreaking ceremony for the new Horseshoe Casino near the Borman Expressway.  They found time to attend a West Side Leadership Academy student production featuring dance, voice, and theatrical skits.  Taylor Iman got a hug after his group sang the Jackson 5 hit “I’ll be There.”

I joined Banta Senior Center in Valpo ($24 for six months) because I’ll pay two dollars less each time I play duplicate bridge there.  Another perk is a well-stocked library (mainly novels but with plenty of biographies) where one simply borrows a book on the honor system and returns it at his leisure. I found humorist Dave Barry’s “I’m Not Taking This Sitting Down” (2000), which begins by explaining the title as mainly an excuse to put a toilet on the cover.  The first chapter describes appearing on Bill Maher’s talk show “Politically Incorrect,” where guests are encouraged to express strong opinions, and being yelled at by singers Vicki Lawrence and Micky Dolenz of the Monkees. My bridge partner Mary Kocevar (a life master with over 500 master points) and I finished first out of 12 couples with a 61.48%.  Next week, Barbara Walczak is arranging a celebration for Joe Chin, who became an Emerald Life Master, accumulating an amazing 7500 master points - about 7440 more that I.

 Terry Bauer, Mary Kocevar, Carol Miller, Chuck Tomes

At Village Tavern in Porter I met former Porter Acres softball buddies Dave Serynek and Sam Johnston.  We lamented the passing of old teammates and retold stories about our championship season, parties at Porter Acres motel, and a group vacation in the Bahamas.  I see David at book club when he’s not in Florida.  He grew up in Glen Park not far from IUN’s present location.  In fact, he recalled taking a running start and diving into the Gleason Park wading pool when the matron wasn’t looking and a black family being told to leave when they had the temerity to show up with young kids.   Our waitress complimented Sam’s sweater; he responded that all his clothes were from Goodwill.  “Even your underwear,” she asked.  “Since you asked, they’re  from a dollar store, but I paid two dollars for them because they’re extra-extra-large,” he replied.  

As always  at such reunions, we told anecdotes about Ivan Jasper and Tom Orr, the heart and soul of Porter Acres.  On one occasion, they returned from the Virgin Islands, where they had moved in the early 1980s, with two Swedish beauties.  All four stayed several days with Dave, then Sam, and finally with us at our Maple Place home.  Before moving away, Ivan had gotten rid of many possessions, including a  softball shirt I inherited with the name “Ivan” and the number 0 (zero) on the back.  One evening I gave it to the blond with Ivan and suggested she wear it to bed.  The next day, to my surprise, Ivan was not pleased, as he and Tom were expecting to part ways with the women once the trip ended. 

From a previous reunion get-together at Village Tavern I knew to leave my coat in the car (no big deal because the temp was in the upper 40s). Smoking is still allowed inside, and plenty of the blue-collar  lunch crowd were puffing away, including one person with a portable oxygen device. Arriving home, I stripped off my clothes in the garage and jumped in the tub with my hair still smelling like smoke.

 Ben Studebaker

The father and son combination of Paul and Ben Studebaker delivered the Saturday Evening Club talk on the subject of climate change, Ben from a political point of view and Paul as an engineer.  They began by announcing that climate change is real and they weren’t going to debate it but instead deal with what can be done.  During my allotted time afterwards, reiterating that the crisis requires worldwide cooperation, I noted that 100 years ago, Woodrow Wilson attempted to form a League of Nations strong enough to deal with worldwide problems but couldn’t even convince the U.S. Senate to ratify the Versailles treaty – shades of Trump’s head-in-the-sand global-warming denials. Franklin Roosevelt helped establish the United Nations Organization in 1945, but Cold War realities kept it weak so its true potential was never reached. Ben will soon defend his PhD thesis at the University of Cambridge, and we compared notes on how the procedure differed from what I went through at Maryland.  While my final defense, arranged by adviser Sam Merrill, was largely pro forma, Ben indicated that Cambridge candidates are often required to make significant revisions. Bummer!

Rocks in the Road

“There will always be rocks in the road ahead of us. They will be stumbling blocks or stepping stones; it all depends on how you use them.” Friedrich Nietzsche

Steve McShane

With very little warning word came that the Calumet Regional Archives (my campus home) has to be moved from our quarters on the third floor of the library.  Here’s Steve McShane’s recap of this bombshell:

  Our library director, Latrice Booker, called an “emergency” staff meeting, concerning the library renovation project.  We knew our library building was scheduled for a replacement of its mechanical systems, aka Heating, Ventilation, and Cooling this winter/spring and that the new mechanical system equipment would be installed in the northwest corner of the 3rd floor, rather than on the roof (sounds crazy, but that's the plan).  We learned that the contractors and facilities people want the entire 3rd floor vacated—books, furniture, computers, and, yes, people.  No one, except contractors, tradesmen, and facilities staff would be allowed on the 3rd floor beginning the first week of January and until sometime in the month of May (but today, we learned the project could extend to Fall semester). There will be no heat, no ventilation, no power, no computers/computer access.  There will be wires hanging down, ceilings torn out, and other construction debris and equipment.  I’m uncertain if I will even be allowed up there.  Of course, they’re concerned about safety and liability. 

  On Thursday, I took about a dozen contractors and facilities people, both locally and from Bloomington through the CRA and explained that the materials really shouldn’t be moved but rather protected with tarp over the shelving, but they were non-committal.   I asked Gary Greiner, the head of our campus Physical Plant department, if they had a plan to deal with the Archives in this project.  He just smiled and said they’re working on it.  I again stressed to Gary that I'd really prefer not to move the CRA off of the third floor.  There is just too much material, and I can't picture it going anywhere.  After the meeting, I walked Vicki (our VCAA) and Latrice through the CRA, to show them what an impossible task it would be. Vicki expressed concern that the contractors will have some flammable equipment, such as welders, which could spark and start a fire.  I confess I hadn't thought of that.  Latrice suggested that one option might be to move stuff temporarily to the second floor and then back again, doing so in phases.  I'm willing to consider it.

Sigh! Steve did secure three second floor carrels, including one for me, so I’ll have my computer, phone, a bookcase, and enough space for a desk and table.  Moving everything in the Archives elsewhere will be a gigantic task.  One possible option: a building on Grant Street occupied by the Fine Arts department for decade after the 2008 flood caused Tamarack to be condemned and until completion of the Arts and Sciences Building. By week’s end, with much help from Evar and Cortez from Physical Plant and Larry from Tech Services, I moved into my new carrel.  I made a dozen trips with light items and still left a few things behind.

Just as the library Holiday luncheon was about to begin, the fire alarm forced everyone to evacuate the building and not use the elevator.  I had to walk up to the third floor for my coat and then walk down two flights. While outside I asked Kathy Malone why the IUN choir would not perform at next year’s Holiday party.  Unbelievably, someone complained, about the song selection I suppose.  I told her the “12 Days of Christmas” singalong was the reason many people attend.  Three emeritus professors in the choir might cease attending without that motivation. Many others have urged Kathy to reconsider.

I pigged out on chicken wings, salad from Olive Garden, an assortment of raw veggies, and a tamale, plus several deserts. Librarian Latrice Booker invited the work-study students and planned some games.  The event lasted several hours; as I left to go home around 3:30, folks were striving to throw ping pong balls into cups and singing karaoke from their cell phones.  Megan Reinle started performing a lively number, so I sat on a stool and did hand-jive moves while swaying to the beat.

It was good to see retired librarians Tim Sutherland and Cele Morris, the latter interviewed by one of Steve’s students about her bowling days.  Before she left, I retrieved a copy of Steel Shavings,volume 43, for her that mentions her husband, physicist John Morris’ retirement reception, at which Dean Mark Hoyert delivered a hilarious recital of titles to some of John’s more abstruse scholarly articles.  On the cover was a photo of Anne Balay’s “Steel Closets”; the back cover contained a shot of Anne taken from the back wearing a “Steel Closets” jacket and the inscription, “Thanks for eight exciting years.” I noted that my vehement protest over Balay being denied tenure caused the university to disassociate itself from the magazine for two years.  The low point came after I made a case to the Faculty Board of Review that judging Balay’s service contributions inadequate was a travesty.  A day later, a patently untrue rumor circulated that I had called Dean Hoyert a homophobe.  One ridiculous story even had it that I uttered “homophobe” as Hoyert passed me in the hallway.  A fellow Marylander, Hoyert knew I respected him too much to stoop to such a level.

 Mark Hoyert

There has not been an Arts and Sciences Holiday party since Hoyert’s assistants Diane Robinson and Dorothy Grier retired, due in part to budget cuts and silly rules about not serving food from outside sources.  Hoyert shined at those events, often singing a familiar song with lyrics referring humorously to recent division doings.

From a Christmas card I learned that Beverly Arnold, wife of high school friend, will need yet another heart operation. I’ve never met her but we’ve frequently talked on the phone.  She has already overcome great odds and is a fighter.  My former bridge partner Dee Van Bebber, in her late 80s, is in hospice care.  Her son-in-law answered my phone call and reported (ominously) that she is resting comfortably. Her daughter read my recent email to her.

“Laverne and Shirley” star Penny Marshall passed away at age 75.  With a few exceptions, I’ve never been a big fan of sitcoms but could appreciate Marshall’s zany brand of slapstick reminiscent of Lucille Ball.  Of course,  I loved “A League of Their Own,” which she directed, with Geena Davis, Madonna, and Rosie O’Donnell cast as World War II-era baseball players.  The film contains the famous Tom Hanks line, “There’s no crying in baseball!”

At Chesterton library I checked out “Heirs to the Founders: The Epic Rivalry of Henry Clay, John Calhoun, and Daniel Webster” by H.W. Brand.  The three statesmen represented the West, South, and Northeast respectively and strove to find ways to deal the two great issues left unresolved by the Founding Fathers: slavery and federal sovereignty versus states rights. ” In the library’s video room I found a Kurt Vile CD, “Wakin’ on a Pretty Daze.”  Nephew Bob, a fellow War on Drugs fan, knew that Vile was one its founders and was familiar with Vile’s current hit “Loading Zones.” Two bands he recommended I check out are Caamp and the Tesky Brothers.

Dave Serynek arranged a mini-reunion for members of Porter Acres softball team at Flamingo’s in Miller.  Omar Farag arrived wearing a Santa hat, having come from several appearances as St. Nick, and the bar patrons made a big fuss. One glorious year four decades ago, we were Woodlawn Park league champions. Several guys remembered umpire Chuck Tomes, who I see at duplicate bridge.  Sam Johnston asked how IUN librarian “Annie” Koehler was doing. They’re both Izaak Walton members, but their building in Portage burned down two years ago.  He lamented that his one claim to immortality, a photo of members of an undefeated Babe Ruth youth league team sponsored by the chapter, was lost in the fire. I reminded him of a Porter Acres team photo in a Shavingsissue.  About a dozen of us vacationed in the Bahamas, during which his nickname became “the Bahama llama.”

After we checked into our ritzy Bahamian hotel, a greeter ended her welcome spiel by asking, “Any questions?”Paulie’s hand went up, and he asked if she could get us another pitcher of the rum punch. Upon learning that beer cost five bucks, we found a liquor store selling cases, no matter what brand, for $24.  We spent the week drinking Heineken.

Everyone had favorite anecdotes.  Once, when we defeated a team comprised of motorcycle club members, they wanted to fight us in the parking lot.  Omar got them to party with us instead.  Centerfielder Tom Byerman often showed up for games half-tanked.  One evening an opponent was a player short, so a spectator filled in.  I struck him out the first two times, a rarity in slow-pitch softball.  Next time he came to bat, Byerman strode all the way to the infield despite my protestations.  The guy hit a line drive over Byerman’s head.  After the ball was already past him, he threw his glove in the air but didn’t even turn to run after it.  At the Playboy casino a security guard spotted someone in our group smoking a joint in the courtyard.  First he ridiculed itds punt size, then threatened stiff jail time, and finally demanded $25 a person.  My family was walking along the beach and escaped the shakedown.

It was Ivan Jasper’s birthday, so we left a message on his phone.  He was our leader, and the team disbanded after he moved to the Virgin Islands.  We all had Ivan stories.  In our banner years we played in a Woodlawn Park tournament that included all classes. Against a team clearly our superior with me on the mound, we held a 7-3 lead, amazingly, going into the seventh. In the top of the inning they tied the score. It would have been worse except for spectacular plays by both Paulie and Ivan.  In the bottom of the seventh, I got a hit and was on second with two outs.  The next better got a hit to left, and Ivan, coaching third, indicated I should stop there.  I ran home anyway, knowing we’d get slaughtered in extra innings. A good throw would have nailed me, but the ball skipped by the catcher.  We won, but Ivan was still furious at my disobeying him.

 Paulie, David, Jimbo, Omar, Sam, Rocky at Flamingo's

Everyone had favorite anecdotes.  Once, when we defeated a team comprised of motorcycle club members, they wanted to fight us in the parking lot.  Omar invited them to party with us instead, and they agreed.  Centerfielder Tom Byerman often showed up for games half-tanked. One evening we went against an excellent team that was a player short, so they got a spectator to fill in who I struck out the first two times up, a rarity in slow-pitch softball.  Next time he came to bat, Byerman came all the way in to the infield despite my protestations.  This time the guy hit a line drive over Byerman’s head.  After the ball was already past him, he threw his glove in the air but didn’t even turn to run after it.

 James Madison

When Omar brought up Trump in disgust, the rest of us agreed not to talk about him.  He said, “No more than 5 minutes,”and someone immediately replied, “Five minutes are up.”  As Trump recklessly vows to shut down the government if Congress won’t appropriate 5 billion dollars for his stupid wall, Ray Smock wrote:

James Madison’s famous quotation from a letter he wrote in 1822 is relevant at this time in our history when we are bombarded with falsehoods and when we have been denied information to help us understand what is going on. This is what Madison wrote:  “A popular Government, without popular information, or the means of acquiring it, is but a Prologue to a Farce or a Tragedy; or, perhaps both. Knowledge will forever govern ignorance: And a people who mean to be their own Governors, must arm themselves with the power which knowledge gives.”

I ended the day with a couple LaBatt Blues and listening to Kurt Vile’s “Wakin’ on a Pretty Daze,” which includes the track “Never Run Away.”  When Steve McShane first broke the news about the Archives needing to relocate, he joked, “Maybe I’ll take early retirement.”  Steve’s steady hand and expertise will prove invaluable as we begin a year of uncertainty with rocks in the road ahead.  I countered, “Maybe we can look at this as an opportunity for expansion and better temperature control of our facilities.” He reacted with a faint attempt at a smile.  But we’re carrying on.  “Never Run Away.”  True both for beloved colleagues and loved ones.

Cupidity

“What blind cupidity, what crazy rage impels us onwards in our little lives.” Dante’s “Inferno”

Chris Young’s students have a map assignments about the so-called “Trail of Death” on which 800 Potawatomi Indians were forced west to Kansas.  At the outset three chiefs, Menominee, Pepinawa, and Black Wolf, were put into a jail wagon, where they were kept for two weeks until a Catholic priest secured their release.  The journal of George Winter described the disgraceful denouement:

         In 1838 a large emigration of the Potawatomis took place under the direction of General John Tipton and Colonel A.C. Pepper, and immediately under the superintendence of General Marshall and his subordinates.  Much that is sad and touching relates to their removal westward.

 It was only by a deceptive (in a moral point of view) and cunning cruel plan, they were coerced to emigrate.  By convening a special Council of the Principal Chiefs and Head men at the Catholic Mission at Twin Lakes [Indiana], near Plymouth, under the pretense of a Council of Amity and good will, General Tipton secured them as prisoners.  A high-handed act, for such it was.  For its execution, stern necessity must be the apology.  The policy was as painful as it was successful.

Historian James Madison wrote: “Carelessness in organizing the march brought sickness and hardship and contributed to the death of 42 Indians, most of them children.”  Miami tribes were pressured into accepting a similar fate in 1846.  Madison quotes Hoosier Hugh McCulloch, who knew both the Indians and the rapacious agents and politicians responsible for their removal: “There is cause for national humiliation in the fact that their disappearance has been hastened by the vices, the cupidity, the injustice, the inhumanity of people claiming to be Christians.”

I picked up “First Ladies,” based on a C-Span series and including material on Bess Truman by IUN History professor Nicole Anslover from her TV appearance.  The chapter on Harriet Lane, bachelor James Buchanan’s niece, focused on her hosting Washington politicians in groups of 40 twice weekly as well as a White House visit by Edward, Prince of Wales and daughter of Queen Victoria, whom Harriet had impressed while Buchanan was Ambassador to the Court of St. James.  At a Westchester Library “New Nonfiction” display were two books on 1944, “The Longest Year” by Victor Brooks (primarily a military history) and Jay Winik’s “1944: FDR and the Year That Changed History.”  Winik’s previous effort about April 1865 was a page-turner but exaggerated in its claims that it was “The Month That Saved America.”  Reviews indicate that “1944” indicts FDR for not liberating Hitler’s Death Camps sooner, comparing the failure to, in Winik’s words, “when America shrugged its shoulders and stood on the sidelines” in Pol Pot’s Cambodia and during the tribal slaughter in Rwanda.

In Vanity Fair 77 year-old George Takei claimed his biggest regret was berating his father for not protesting the federal government’s World War II internment camp policy.  All his father said was, “Maybe I should have.”  Takei realized later that he had shamed his father but never apologized.  Asked what he’d like to come back as in his next life, Takei replied, “A pet dog to a gay couple.”

Dave Serynek sought my advice about a Dwight D. Eisenhower biography.  I suggested ones by Geoffrey Perret, Stephen Ambrose, and Jean Edward Smith.  Perret’s is the most scholarly, Ambrose’s the most readable, and Smith’s the most recent.

At Dick Hagelberg’s urging we saw “Rock the Kasbah,” a Barry Levinson comedy of sorts starring Bill Murray with ever-dependable Bruce Willis, Kate Hudson, and Danny McBride in supporting roles.  I’d have preferred “Jobs” and Toni’s first choice would have been “Goosebumps.”  I love Bill Murray and Toni adores Bruce Willis, but she was not pleased upon discovering that the locale was war-torn Afghanistan.  Murray plays Richie Lanz, an over-the-hill music agent who, despite the objections of her Pashtun ethnic family, gets a local singer (Leem Lubany) to perform Cat Steven’s “Wide World” and “Peace Train” on Afghan Star, a version of American Idol.  Willis is a mercenary seeking to publish his memoirs, Hudson a lovable hooker, while McBride captured perfectly the cupidity of government contractors profiteering from a senseless, endless, undeclared war.  “Rock the Kasbah” reminded me of “Good Morning Vietnam” with Robin Williams, witty and slightly subversive. 

On the way to the condo we stopped at a Culver’s, whose Reuben and roast beef sandwiches lived up to their reputation.  We played just one round of bridge because the Renslow sisters were hosting an Open House at their Miller beach “Purple House,” Anne Balay’s old place. 

Uninterested in afternoon NFL games with the Bears on a bye week, I watched episodes of “Fargo” (goofy and macabre – with Brad Garrett, the dumb brother on “Everybody Loves Raymond” as organized crime boss Joe Bulo)) and the incredibly poignant “Still Alice” starring Julianne Moore as a linguistic professor with Alzheimer’s.  On Sunday night football the Eagles sucked, but Carolina running back Jonathan Stewart helped my Fantasy cause with 125 yards rushing.   Jimbo Jammers ended up tying “The Cougar.”  All Kira Lane needed Monday was an extra point from kicker Justin Tucker after the Ravens’ second TD, but instead Baltimore coach John Harbaugh, bless him, opted for a two-point conversion.

Monday a truck of Midge’s possessions arrived containing a Martha Washington sewing chest, a half-moon table, a dozen art pieces, and many books, mostly mine but also an autographed copy of Lyndon Baines Johnson’s “The Vantage Point: Perspectives on the Presidency, 1963-1969.”  LBJ began by quoting this excerpt from his 1965 “State of the Union” address:

  My first job after college was as a teacher in Cotulla, Texas, in a small Mexican-American school. . . .  Somehow you never forget what poverty and hatred can do when you see its scars on the hopeful face of a young child. . . .  I never thought then, in 1928, that I would be standing here in 1965.  It never occurred to me in my fondest dreams that I might have the chance to help the sons and daughters of those students and help people like them all over this country.

  But now I do have that chance – and I’ll let you in on a secret: I mean to use it.

The moving company had warned that I was responsible for unloading the 250-pound package, but the friendly driver lowered the huge bundle onto a dolly and deposited it in our garage.  A brass Samovar and the sewing chest once belonged to Aunt Ida Gordon, a wonderful seamstress and special person in my life.  They’ll remind me of the times I made her laugh by being silly. She preferred soap operas, but I got her to watch “American Bandstand,” and she briefly danced the Twist with me.  I’d give anything for a tape of that moment.

Distributing the minutes to last week’s condo owners meeting, I thought of how Rhiman Rotz composed clever accounts of IUN History Department gatherings, imagining we were Bedouin tribesmen, say, or medieval lords.  Perhaps a “Mad Men” board meeting might be an appropriate setting for my next report.

I’ve been thinking about what to say at Friday’s Welcome Project workshop, on “Flight Paths: Stories That Hurt, Harm and Heal,” cosponsored by IUN’s Center for Urban and Regional Excellence.   The phrase “white flight” implies panic on the part of folks uprooting themselves.  While this was sometimes the case, spurred on by the cupidity of block-busting realtors, many upwardly mobile Gary residents simply sought more palatable suburban neighborhoods in places like Merrillville, Munster, and Valparaiso for reasons other than fear of racial change.  I’m confident that many would have welcomed racial diversity.

Forecasters predict a cold, rainy Halloween.  Toni hoped to attend the Saugatuck-Douglas annual Gay Pride parade if weather permitted.  For Nick Pickert’s preschool party he dressed as Mr. Chase from “Paw Patrol” and his mother Kim was Dr. Who, number 12.  Kimmy likes Dr. Who number 11 better but had limited time to prepare for Nick’s.

above, Nick and Kim; below, Liliya and Fred 

Cynic Fred McColly would appreciate the Dante Alighieri’s quote about “blind cupidity.”  Of all my friends I’m confident only he – and maybe Paul Kern – would have read the “Inferno.”  C.S. Lewis is better known, especially “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe” from “Chronicles of Narnia.”  McColly saw politicians for what they were: self-interested narcissists.  The seemingly benevolent LBJ once told a reporter that if you let Mexicans in your yard, next thing you know they’ll be right on your porch and take it over.