My Back Pages

“Half-wracked prejudice leaped forth, "rip down all hate," I screamed
Lies that life is black and white spoke from my skull, I dreamed
Romantic facts of musketeers foundationed deep, somehow
Ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now”

“My Back Pages,” Bob Dylan (1964)

On YouTube I found a 1994 “30^th Anniversary Concert” performance of the Bob Dylan classic “My Back Pages,” which was a 1967 hit for Roger McGuinn and the Byrds.  On stage and each singing a verse were Dylan, McGuinn, Eric Clapton, George Harrison, Tom Petty, and Neil Young.  When Dylan first recorded “My Back Pages,” it horrified the folk music establishment because the lyrics seemed to recant his previous commitment to “finger-pointing” protest songs.  Looking back, I view it as an admission that the world was more complex and solutions less obvious than once believed and that Dylan, hailed as the voice of a new generation, was uncomfortable in that role. I saw Dylan perform at the Holiday Star in Merrillville in the 1990s with a group of Saturday Night Live regulars led by bandleader G.E. Smith, responsible for putting together the 30^th Anniversary Concert.

Dunes artist and former Edgewater neighbor Dale Fleming, 81, passed away, his cousin Jill informed me, after a fall from which he evidently never recovered. His sister Phyllis recalled that from a young age he loved to draw and in 1955 fell in love with the Northwest Indiana dunes when an art teacher took the class to Marquette Park in Gary’s Miller Beach neighborhood. After graduating from the American Academy of Arts in Chicago, he briefly worked for an advertising agency but hated the “9 to 5” routine and opted to become a freelance artist.  He lived simply a few blocks from Lake Michigan, his only luxury being a passion of model trains.  Sister Phyllis wrote:

    Friends and family found that if you sat still too long in his house, he would sketch you for free because he had a generous heart and used his art to express his love. His pride and joy was son Carl, as were his grandchildren and greatgrandchildren.  He tells in “Steel Shavings: Tales of Lake Michigan and the Northwest Indiana Dunelands,” edited by James B. Lane, that he enjoyed being with Carl at the dunes, “whether it was flying kites, skipping stones across the water, or sliding down a dune on a piece of cardboard.”  He was a very kind, gentle soul, a friend to all with a great sense of humor.

Dale's house; Dale and Carl

Diana of the Dunes by Dale Fleming

When John Laue and I approached Dale to sketch drawings for an oral history of Portage’s Edgewater neighborhood, he readily agreed and would accept only a few hundred dollars. He’d study a building or outdoor scene for a few minutes and then draw at a frenzied rate. With a keen eye and talent for detail he preserved images of a dying community, since all properties were eventually razed to make way for the what is now the Indiana Dunes National Park. After the magazine was published, many admirers attended an opening at Lake Street Gallery to greet what was for him a rare public appearance. Sister Phyllis summed up his character perfectly; he was a kind, gentle soul content to live a simple life.

Dale’s cousin Jill, a former school library media specialist, wrote:

    I was searching online for pictures of Dale’s artwork, to show my kids, and came across your blog, where he was featured.  I grew up in Gary and Merrillville and find your blog fascinating! Also, I realized you once interviewed my aunt, Dr. Marie Edwards! My Dad was her brother. I’ve been sorting through pictures and family history and just found your article on her. I cherish this information! I adored my Aunt Marie and often wish I had talked to her more about her life in the Navy and early teaching years. I was a history major at Ball State (class of 1978), partly because of her influence! 

 

I interviewed Lew Wallace teacher Marie Edwards when researching my history of Gary, “City of the Century,” and published excerpts in Steel Shavings, volume 34 (2003), titled “Age of Anxiety: Daily Life in the Calumet Region during the Postwar Years, 1945-1953.”  Edwards recalled:

    We came out of the most devastating war in our history stronger economically, socially, and politically. In Gary the mills had been at top capacity.  Our high school senior boys had been encouraged to work 4-to-12 shifts.  One huge boy was always going to sleep in my class. I had the office call his mother.  The next day she called and said, “When he got home, I got out the whip.” And then she told me the boy was working the 4-to-12 shift.  It kind of broke my heart.

   The Navy set up a 14-month program to teach Japanese. At the end of 1942 they issued the invitation to a hundred women.  I couldn’t resist.  Some of my students had been killed.  We waged the war in Washington. I came back to Wallace in September of 1946. Some veterans returned and got their high school diplomas, including a former student.

   I got my first car in April 1947.  Previously I had taken the streetcar and then the bus.  Coming out of the Navy, I went up and down Fifth Avenue and Washington Street just begging someone to take an order for a car.  Nash was the only one that took my order.  It was the best car I ever had. I was living with my parents and would pick up other teachers.  It was a nice fellowship group.  Many teachers lived at the Hotel Gary, and another teacher would pick them up.  I was perfectly happy living at home.  I had the best of all possible worlds.  I came home, and dinner was ready.

On March 3, 1949, 45-year-old Lew Wallace language teacher Mary Cheever was murdered as she was walking to her Eighth Avenue apartment following a PTA meeting.  Marie Edwards recalled her shock at her friend’s death:

    I hadn’t felt that it was an unsafe neighborhood, but when I came home, I’d honk the horn and my father would be in the garage with the lights on and the door open.  In the morning he’d go out with me and open the door.  Whenever I took anyone home at night, I always waited until they were in the house. My Y-Teen group was still coming downtown by bus to the Y once a week. Nobody ever thought of it being dangerous. I often walked to the Y at night and then home without any fear.

     Mary Cheever’s death was a catalyst.  It marshalled a whole movement, the WCC (Women’s Citizens Committee). We started going to city council meetings.  One time we walked from City Methodist Church and filled the City Hall stairway all the way from the council chambers to the street. I went on Operation Shoe Leather in front of a gambling joint. I remember the photographers arriving and our being determined.  Some ridiculed us, but we got a lot of attention.  Ultimately, the publicity became nationwide.

Marie Edwards in 1991

  In 1949 I selected a masters thesis topic on the developing labor movement in Japan.  My committee at Northwestern recommended me for doctoral work.  On the G.I. Bill I kept going summers, and by 1952 I was in Japan doing research.  I had my doctorate by 1956. I tied my graduate work in the teaching of political science and economics. I never wanted to do anything but teach.  This was a time when women weren’t going too far. One assistant superintendent said, “Why don’t you become an elementary school principal?  We’ll give you a job there.”  I said, “No, if I want anything, I want your job.”

Marie Edwards eventually did become director of social studies for the entire Gary school system.

GARY LAKEFRONT TODAY by Elaine Spicer and Omar Farag

Global Warming

 “Which hands get to turn the final page?

In whose throat belongs the swan song

Crisis, warming, denial, change?”

         Parquet Courts, “Before the Water Gets Too High”

An article in New York Times Sunday magazine listed “Before the Water Gets Too High” by Parquet Courts as one of 25 songs that matter right now.  Robert Blaszkiewicz turned me on to the Brooklyn indie punk band, and I saw them live at Pappy and Harriet’s in Pioneertown, CA during a trip to see my mother timed around their appearance at my favorite watering hole.  One verse goes:

Glass barely bends before it cracks
Embedded down into our path
Paved in the crimson of our tracks
Without the chance of turning back

Favorite band Weezer’s “Can’t Knock the Hustle” also made the “songs that matter right now” list.  According to critic Lydia Kiesling, the tune is “relentlessly bouncy” but dark commentary on the gig economy, with such morbid lines as, “The future’s so bright I gotta poke my eyes out/ Running up my credit cards/ Selling lemonade by the side of the road.” 

Popular songs warning of environmental catastrophe date back at least to 1971, with Marvin Gaye’s lament “Mercy, Mercy Me (The Ecology),” which included the lines, “Ah things ain’t what they used to be, no, no/ Oil wasted on the oceans and upon our seas, fish full of mercury.”   In 1989 Frank Black and the Pixies predicted that “Everything Is Gonna Burn” in “Monkey Gone to Heaven.” As Pixies composer Charles Thompson put it:

There’s a hole in the sky

And the ground’s not cold

Though scientists have long been warning of the consequences of inaction and the first Earth Day occurred a half-century ago, troglodytes in the Trump administration persist in minimizing the crisis.  As Bill Clinton’s former vice president Al Gore put it, “There is an air of unreality in debating these arcane points when the world is changing in such dramatic ways right in front of our eyes because of global warming.”

“Funny Man” author Patrick McGilligan claimed that many of Mel Brooks’s comedic ideas sprang from childhood experiences.  The farting scene in “Blazing Saddles,” for instance, came from observing scenes in Western movies where cowboys ate beans and drank black coffee around a campfire.  Chosen to play dimwit Mongo, who knocks out a horse, Gary football great Alex Karras nailed the part in his film debut.  McGilligan wrote: “Karras would make the mentally challenged enforcer lovable as well as fearsome.”  At age 91 Brooks was planning a musical stage production of “Blazing Saddles.” Climate change doubter Ronald Reagan once blamed rising temperatures on cows farting.

Herb and Charlotte Read

Bridge partner Helen Boothe attended the memorial service for Save the Dunes activist Charlotte Read, whom the Post-Tribune’sAmy Lavalleyaccurately labeled a “fierce advocate for the Indiana Dunes and an ‘unstoppable force.’”  From a young age Charlotte and husband Herb were indefatigable in fighting to protect the environment.  In addition to serving as the first director of Save the Dunes Council, Charlotte held a similar position with Shirley Heinz Land Trust and was active in the Izaak Walton League.  Jeanette Neagu, who traveled to Washington with Charlotte to testify on behalf of creating a national park, told Lavalley:“She and Herb and Dorothy Buell and all the dunes people made an impression on me. They taught me that even if it seemed pie in the sky, if you work hard and organize, you can achieve.”

I got to know the Reads as a result of my involvement in protests by the Bailly Alliance during the 1970s and early 1980s to prevent NIPSCO utility company from building a nuclear power plant on the shores of Lake Michigan near Bethlehem Steel’s Porter County mill and lakeside communities such as Dune Acres. A combination of legal challenges and direct action delayed the project long enough to convince NIPSCO to scrap it as cost prohibitive.  My sons’ Little League coach, Vince Panepinto, a local building trades union officer, grimaced upon seeing them carrying a sign reading “No Nukes!” During the mid-1990s I chaired an Oral History Association conference session about the Bailly fight titled “Hell, No, We Won’t Glow.”  On the panel were a representative from Greenpeace and Inland Steel union leader Mike Olszanski, who had opposed the plant while head of Local 1010’s environmental committee.  

Adam Higginbotham’s “Midnight in Chernobyl: The Untold Story of the World’s Greatest Nuclear Disaster” is a searing critique of the Soviet bureaucrats responsible for overseeing the nuclear plant that exploded in 1986. Not only were they criminally negligent in ignoring known defects in the reactor but refused to accept the extent of the emergency once the meltdown occurred, exacerbating the damage and increasing the number of casualties.  Higginbotham sees a correlation between that calamity and the subsequent collapse of the Soviet Union.

1981 Bailly Allance rally; Mike Olszanski second from left

 Liz Wuerffel and Allison Schuette

Toni reminded me to vote.  In Chesterton there was only one contested Democratic primary race, but I was interested in supporting a school referendum.  In neighboring Valparaiso, both Heath Carter and Liz Wuerffel, VU professors and friends on mine, triumphed and will be Democratic candidates for City Council in November.  I was disappointed that Gary mayor Karen Freeman-Wilson lost a bid for a third term to Lake County Assessor Jerome Prince, a seasoned politician with close ties to county clerk John Petalas and Sheriff Oscar Martinez, both of whom showed up at his campaign headquarters to congratulate him.  Apparently, a plurality of voters (there were nine candidates) believed city improvement projects were moving too slowly.  Just as the prospect of new casino money being available was an incentive for Scott King to run for mayor in 1995, recent developments permitting a land-based casino and development of Buffington Harbor made controlling City Hall seem more worthwhile.

Jerome Prince 

Ray Smock wrote: 

  Here We Go Again. Trump Exerts Executive Privilege Over Everything. Just Like Nixon, except this time Trump is too defiant to resign and he is challenging the House to impeach him because there are no Republicans in the Senate who will go down to the White House, like they did in 1974, and tell the president its time for him to go, and the Republicans will not vote to convict Trump in an impeachment trial. 

  Trump thinks he can win this one in the courts, and he thinks he can brand Democrats as sore-losing socialists and win a big re-election in 2020. He has the arrogance and audacity to hide behind the Mueller Report, the very report that shows he has broken the law. He and his defenders forgot what happened in the election of 2018. The investigations will continue. Why the GOP is hanging with Trump is beyond me. Where is there to go but down with this clown? Who can pick up the pieces at put the Republican Party together again?  

Leeah Nicole Mahon, an IUPUI oral history intern, sought information about former Dean of Student Services Golam Mannon, who a half-century ago was an IUN Educational Psychology professor.  I replied:

  I did not know Dr. Mannan, but he appears twice in a History of IU Northwest that I wrote with Paul B. Kern, “Educating the Calumet Region” (Steel Shavings, volume 35, 2005).  The first is in connection with the establishment of a Black Studies program in 1969, incidentally the second in the nation.  He served on a joint task force consisting of 4 faculty and 4 student members of IUN’s Black Caucus to implement the program.  Secondly in 1973 he helped establish a process for evaluating Chancellor Robert McNeill that led to the ineffective administrator’s resignation.

Chancellor McNeill proved incapable of leadership and, as George Roberts put it, “had some kind of emotional or nervous breakdown – he just fell apart.”  Vice Chancellor for Academic Affairs William Neil put it more bluntly, calling McNeill a “wacko”:

 McNeill’s secretary’s typewriter drove him crazy, so at great expense he ordered a door with cork lining to seal out the sound. I’m surprised he lasted as long as he did.  He would accept no responsibility.  He was what in the army we called, to put it politely, poultry excreta. He pushed things off on everybody else and abhorred the thought of getting in trouble with the people in Bloomington.

 McNeill disliked business manager Gene Nacci.  He said, “Who hired that greasy little dick?”  Gene was very Italian-looking and effervescent. McNeill finally fired him. He also zeroed in on Education chairman Don Huddle, an overweight, very cocky operator. McNeill couldn’t stand him and set out to destroy him. 

  I had been asked to fill in for a semester, which lengthened to three and a half years.  It was fulfilling just as my 50 combat missions were fulfilling. I’ve got scars to show from both.

Latonya Hicks; below, Dave with E.C. Central league champs; Nayeli Arredondo third from right 

During an impressive program at East Chicago Central son Dave was honored as the school’s Teacher of Excellence for the sixth time in 25 years.  Dave arranged for his tennis team members and senior class officers to attend.  Introducing Dave, East Chicago Public Library public relations director Latonya S. Hicks said that she was a shy student who lacked confidence until motivated in Dave’s class.  Valedictorian Nayeli Arredondo, on the tennis team and the daughter of immigrants, praised Dave’s commitment to all students, including some that others’ might have given up on.  In the course of his thoughtful remarks, Dave quoted Socrates and from “The Big Lebowski,” to wit “The Dude abides.”  An elementary school recipient was thankful she’d found a job she’d gladly do for free, echoing a sentiment expressed by author Richard Russo in a commencement address.  Among the many people congratulating Dave was Richard Morrisroe, who during the 1960s was almost killed while a Freedom Fighter in the Deep South.  One of the most moving scenes I’ve witnessed occurred in 1979 when Kwame Ture (formerly Stokely Carmichael) was speaking at IU Northwest on the subject of Pan African socialism. Spotting Morrisroe in the audience, the Black Power advocate went over and embraced him.

 Richard Morrisroe

Arriving home as Cubs relievers blew a one-run lead in the ninth, I saw favorite player Jason Heywood hit a walk-off home run in the eleventh, second time that happened in two days (the previous night’s was a 3-run shot by Kris Bryant). When Marlins pitcher Wei-Yin Chen took the mound, announcer Pat Hughes was unsure how to pronounce the name, then added: “As George Carlin once said, one name that never caught on in China was Rusty.”

Miller resident Omar Farag posted a photo taken from his property and asked, “Where’s the beach?”  Neighbor Michael Greenwald responded: “They took it away from us when they built the Port of Indiana pier and changed the flow of the Lake. This was predicted in the 50s. The zero beach point is at Ripley or Pine.”

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.