“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
