By Edwin Cooney
I thought it might be fun to celebrate Presidents’ Day -- however belatedly -- simply by telling you something about every President which you may not have known before. Here we go:
• George Washington (1789-1797) was exceedingly cool toward his mother Mary Ball Washington, because she often embarrassed him by complaining, sometimes quite publicly, that she was being forsaken by her children — George included. She died at age eighty-one a little more than three months after he became President.
• John Adams (1797-1801) was the first President sworn in by a Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. The Chief Justice was Oliver Ellsworth of Connecticut.
• Even though President Thomas Jefferson (1801-1809) complained that the President’s House was big enough for “two emperors, one Pope and the Grand Lama”, by the time he left it in 1809, he’d added the East and West Wings and furnished them with French furniture.
• James Madison (1809-1817) was our smallest President. He stood five feet four inches and weighed only one hundred pounds. Dolley Madison, his famous wife, was taller than he. Additionally, Madison, even with his towering intelligence and considerable intellect, was deathly afraid of Indians.
• James Monroe (1817-1825) holds the distinction of being the only President to have been physically attacked by a member of his cabinet. The attacker was Treasury Secretary William H. Crawford. Angered by Monroe’s refusal to make appointments he’d recommended, Crawford proceeded to brandish his cane and chase Monroe around the room while calling him “an infernal scoundrel”. The President fended Crawford off with a pair of tongs from the fireplace. Crawford, as he was being escorted from the premises, apologized and Monroe rather grudgingly accepted the apology.
• John Quincy Adams (1825-1829) was caught swimming in the “buff” one morning by a woman newspaper reporter Anne Royall. She sat on his clothes until he’d completed giving her an interview while standing chin deep in the Potomac River.
• Even if Senator John McCain is elected president in 2008, he won’t be the first prisoner of war to become President. Andrew Jackson (1829-1837) and his older brother Robert were prisoners of war in Camden, South Carolina during the Revolutionary War. The boys were held for two weeks in April of 1781 and severely mistreated by their British captors.
• Martin Van Buren (1837-1841), nicknamed the “Little Magician”, was the first President who was not born a British subject. He was born on December 5, 1782, a year and two months after the battle of Yorktown.
• William Henry Harrison (March - April 1841) was the only President elected while holding a purely local public office. He was Clerk of the Court of Common Pleas of Hamilton County, Ohio at the time of his 1840 election.
• John Tyler (1841-1845) was the father of fourteen children. He had four daughters and three sons by his first wife Liza. He had five sons and two daughters by his second wife, his White House bride Julia Gardner.
• In 1812, at the age of seventeen, James K. Polk (1845-1849) was sent to Danville, Kentucky for the removal of gallstones with only liquor to dull the pain. This was before anyone knew about sterilizing medical instruments. It was also before the invention of ether or other anesthetic.
• Zachary Taylor (1849-1850) automatically returned the letter sent him by the 1848 Whig convention informing him of his nomination. This was because, as a Mexican War hero, he’d been receiving so many letters with postage due that he had the local post office send back postage due letters. The Whig Party Chairman promptly paid the two cents postage and Taylor did accept the party nomination eventually becoming our twelfth President.
• In a post-presidential visit to Britain, Millard Fillmore (1850-1853) impressed Queen Victoria as being one of the most handsome men she ever met.
• Franklin Pierce (1853-1857), “handsome Frank” as he was often called, is the only President so far to govern four straight years with the same Cabinet.
• James Buchanan (1857-1861) was the only Pennsylvania born President and he was the last of six Presidents to have been Secretary of State.
• Abraham Lincoln (1861-1865), “the rail splitter” and “the Great Emancipator”, is the only President to have applied for a patent from the U.S. Patent office. His invention was an inflatable device attached to ships at the water line to lift them over shoals. It was never marketed because it was too heavy. Lincoln whittled a wooden model of the device and it is now on display at the Smithsonian Institute.
• Apprenticed to a tailor as a lad, Andrew Johnson (1865-1869) continued to practice his profession even after being elected to public office. When he was Governor of Tennessee, he made a suit for the governor of Kentucky -- a former blacksmith -- who sent Johnson a homemade shovel and a pair of tongs.
• Born Hiram Ulysses Grant, his eventual name, Ulysses S. Grant (1869-1877) evolved during his West Point days. He found the idea of the initials HUG emblazoned on his trunk embarrassing, so he began signing his name Ulysses H. Grant. Meanwhile, he discovered that his local congressman, who had arranged his appointment, had recommended him as Ulysses Simpson Grant, which suited Grant just fine. Henceforth, he signed his name Ulysses S. Grant or U. S. Grant. His friends began calling him “Uncle Sam Grant” or Sam for short.
• Rutherford Birchard Hayes (1877-1881) was the first President to use a telephone while in office. He was also the first sitting President to visit the west coast.
• James Abram Garfield (March-September 1881) was a man of unusual physical strength and intellect. He could write in English with one hand while simultaneously writing in Greek with the other. Some say he was capable of holding any Cabinet position under him.
• Chester Alan Arthur (1881-1885) is probably the least known of all the presidents. A Republican who became president upon the assassination of Garfield, Chet Arthur was a superb administrator, a stylish fashion plate and a polished gentleman. As a young abolitionist lawyer, he represented a black woman, Lizzie Jennings, in 1855 when she sued a Brooklyn streetcar company for refusing to let her ride. He won the case and thus ended discrimination on public transportation in New York City.
• Grover Cleveland (1885-1889 and 1893-1897) was born Stephen Grover Cleveland. Having married twenty-one-yearold Frances Folsom when he was forty-nine, their first child Ruth was born in 1891. Known as “Baby Ruth”, it was she and not the Babe Ruth baseball player for whom the candy bar was named.
• Benjamin Harrison (1889-1893) was the grandson of President William Henry Harrison. Last of the bearded post Civil War Presidents, Harrison was a splendid orator but cold as ice to meet. It was said that one needed a top coat in Washington D.C. even in August, if one was going to shake hands with President Harrison.
• William McKinley (1897-1901) was one of the most likeable men ever to become President. Always attentive to his ailing wife Ida, patient and courteous to visitors and to his political opponents, it was said he had no political enemies, just political opponents. (Ironic that he was assassinated, isn’t it?)
• Theodore Roosevelt (1901-1909) had two goals as President which he never achieved. First, he wanted to institute a more phonetic spelling within the English language. Second, he wanted “In God We Trust” removed from our money.
• William Howard Taft (1909-1913) was the only man to serve as both President and Chief Justice of the United States. He once told of the little boy who observed him as he was walking down the steps of the Supreme Court one day in 1925. The boy ran up to him and said, “Oh! I know who you are! You used to be President Coolidge.”
• Woodrow Wilson (1913-1921) was born Thomas Woodrow Wilson. Possessed of a long bony face, fronted by a rather prominent nose, and bottomed by a long chin followed by somewhat large ears, this is how he described himself: “As for beauty I am not a star. For others are more handsome by far. But my face I don’t mind it, for I am behind it. It’s the people down in front that I jar.” Wilson, however, was very vain about his intellect and his spirituality.
• Warren Gamaliel Harding (1921-1923) looked like a President. His mother had wanted to name him Winfield, but gave in to her husband’s wishes that the lad be named Warren Gamaliel after his great uncle, a Methodist minister in the Wisconsin prison system. However, Warren’s mother usually called him Winnie.
• Calvin Coolidge (1923-1929) used to like to hide on the Secret Service. He’d press one of the buzzers that were installed in the White House to let the Secret Service know where the President was headed, then hide in a closet keeping the door open a crack so he could watch the Secret Service looking for him.
• Herbert Clark Hoover (1929-1933) was the first President born west of the Mississippi River. He was nearly murdered while working in China during the famous 1900 Boxer Rebellion against the rule of “Western imperialist domination.”
• Franklin Delano Roosevelt (1933-1945) married Eleanor Roosevelt on St. Patrick’s Day 1905 in New York City. Eleanor’s uncle Teddy Roosevelt came down to give the bride away. Two receiving lines were set up after the ceremony. After a very short time, Franklin and Eleanor decided to join Uncle Teddy’s receiving line since they didn’t really seem to have one after all.
• Harry S. Truman (1945-1953) was dead serious about civil rights. He desegregated the military, proposed fair housing and voting rights legislation for blacks, and, on January 20, 1949, made band leader Lionel Hampton the first black to perform at a presidential inauguration.
• Dwight David Eisenhower (1953-1961) once told Vice President Nixon that he, Ike, would never quit smoking again. “You mean, Mr. President, that you’ll never start smoking again?” asked Nixon. “No, Dick,” said the President, “I mean exactly what I said. I’ll never stop smoking again.”
• John Fitzgerald Kennedy (1961-1963) called Caroline “Buttons.” She called him “silly daddy”. He called his son “John John”. John called his father “fo fo head”. Jacqueline Kennedy called her husband “bunny”. There’s no record of what JFK called Jackie.
• Lyndon Banes Johnson (1963-1969) nearly did not become President. While serving in the Naval Air Corps during World War II, he was assigned a plane called “The Wabash Cannonball.” While waiting to take off, LBJ left his seat and, by the time he returned, it was taken. He was then assigned to another aircraft called “The Heckling Hare.” LBJ didn’t know why he left his seat aboard the “Wabash Cannonball”, but it’s a good thing he did because it never returned.
• Richard Nixon (1969-1974) was the first President born in California. As a young lawyer he applied to become an FBI agent, but wasn’t accepted. J. Edgar Hoover had two reasons. The first was because the agency’s budget was cut. The second was that Nixon’s file was misplaced. Most would agree that Mr. Hoover just didn’t lose files.
• Gerald Rudolf Ford (1974-1977) was born Leslie Lynch King, but was adopted by his mother’s second husband and given his name. Ford is the only Eagle Scout to have become President so far. He is also the only President to have been drafted by the NFL out of college. He was chosen by the Detroit Lions and the Green Bay Packers.
• Jimmy Carter (1977-1981) like most boys was a baseball fan. His father and uncle were officials of the local team which sometimes played exhibition games with major league teams on their way north from spring training. When Jimmy was about ten, he went down on the field before a game at his father’s suggestion to acquire an autograph from St. Louis Cardinal Manager and Cardinal star infielder Pepper Martin. Frankie Frisch (who was destined for the Baseball Hall of Fame) signed his peanut bag. Pepper Martin, however, spat some tobacco juice, which nearly hit him and told young Jimmy, “Get your ass off the field, boy.”
• Ronald Wilson Reagan (1981 – 1989) was called “Dutch” because his father said he looked like a “fat little Dutchman” as a baby. Somewhat superstitious, President Reagan frequently knocked on wood prior to taking an uncertain trip or venturing on an uncertain project.
• George Herbert Walker Bush (1989 – 1993) was an outstanding athlete in high school as well as at Yale University. He played first base at Yale and batted .280 leading Yale to the College World Series in 1947 and 1948.
• William Jefferson Clinton (1993 – 2001) was the youngest state Attorney General and the youngest Governor of Arkansas. His father, William Blythe III died in an auto accident before he was born. At sixteen, he legally adopted his stepfather’s last name, Clinton. As Governor of Arkansas, he signed his name as Bill Clinton. As President, he signed his first executive order as Bill J. Clinton.
• George Walker Bush (2001 – present) holds quite a distinction as a speaker, believe it or not. According to a recent Yahoo internet survey, President Bush is the sixth most quoted president in U.S. history. He ranks one behind George Washington and one ahead of John F. Kennedy.
Sources: “An Hour Before Daylight” by Jimmy Carter; “Presidential Anecdotes” by Paul F. Boller; “Presidential Fact Book” by Joseph Nathan Kane; “Complete Book of Presidents, 4th ed” by William Degregorio; “The World Almanac of Presidential Facts” by Lu Ann Paletta and Fred L. Worth.
RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,
EDWIN COONEY
Monday, February 25, 2008
Monday, February 18, 2008
BEYOND THE REASON WHY
By Edwin Cooney
Like most everyone else, almost any time I hear of a tragedy, the first reaction that enters my mind or crosses my lips consists of the word—why? Very often, however, the question why just isn’t enough.
The tragedy that has recently gripped my attention happened during the third week in January in Drexel Hill, Pennsylvania about six miles from Center City, Philadelphia. Fifty-three year-old Barbara Killian -- blinded from an accident when she was a baby -- and her little white lap dog A-Rod died in the basement of their home by the hand of Barbara’s eighty-four-year-old father Robert Killian who then turned the gun on himself. Mr. Killian had just been released from a local hospital having been treated for advanced cardiovascular disease. Convinced that he didn’t have long to live, Mr. Killian apparently believed he had to provide a permanent solution for what he perceived would be Barbara’s troubles in his earthly absence. Thus, believing, as he did, that Barbara would be both alone and helpless in the world, he decided that her life should end with his. So, sometime between Tuesday, January 15, when Killian was released from the hospital, and Saturday evening, January 19 at six pm, Robert Killian shot Barbara, their little dog, and himself to death in the basement of their home on Cheswold Road.
According to the sum of all reports out of Drexel Hill, Pennsylvania: Barbara and Robert Killian had lived alone since the death of Shirley, Barbara’s mother and Robert’s wife, in 2001; the Killians “minded their own business”; Robert Killian was extremely protective of Barbara; and, finally, there was a lot of love in the Killian home as evidenced by Mr. Killian’s constant devotion to Barbara.
So there you have it: the who, the what, the where, the when, and, superficially, the why of the story. Surely, however, knowledge of these guidelines which every news reporter knows brings one no satisfaction. If you’re anything like me, perhaps you need to pause and take it all in before reading on.
In the emotional wake that occurs as one learns of this tragedy, there is the natural tendency to be outraged, not only with Killian’s murder of his daughter, but even more with what was clearly his demeaning attitude about Barbara’s very existence as a person with blindness. There are reports that neighbors called area social services from time to time to complain that Barbara was being “held captive” by her parents in her home, the response to which caused the Killians to retreat further into seclusion with their daughter. Inevitably, one wonders what exactly went on in that household upon Mr. Killian’s January 15th return from the hospital. How long had Robert Killian contemplated this irrevocable deed? What religious or moral matters did Mr. Killian consider before taking Barbara to the basement of their home to meet her death? Did Killian tell Barbara in advance of his intention or was there a reasoned or even gentle pretext to the basement visit? Did Robert Killian see his act as one of love or one of despair?
Information out of greater Philadelphia regarding Barbara Killian’s existence is sketchy but still revealing. A 1973 graduate of Overbrook School for the Blind, Barbara was shy, intelligent and fun loving. She was a baseball fan of the Yankees, especially Alex Rodriguez whom she had met through an organization for the blind. Thus, she named her little dog A-Rod.
What happened to Barbara Killian has to be very personal on some level to everyone who lives with a disability—especially those who live with blindness. All of us, whether born able-bodied or disabled, are vulnerable to our parents’ individual environments, values, and attitudes. Even more relevant to the Killian family tragedy is the strong parental instinct, the overwhelming need to protect our children from the world’s many outrages.
While we’re certainly justified in our righteous anger toward Robert Killian, that anger alone is as destructive to you and me as Killian’s thirty-eight caliber pistol was to Barbara. It would be more helpful, I think, for us all to re-examine what it means to love and protect one another as well as one’s children.
It would be arrogant for any of us to question Mr. Killian’s love for his daughter. However, Robert and Shirley Killian’s love for Barbara was clearly misdirected as evidenced by their decision to reject a college scholarship, choosing to have her stay at home instead of broadening her horizons. Their legitimate mission was to protect her life and to empower others to ensure her security after they were gone. It’s quite apparent that Mr. Killian was more overwhelmed by his fears than he was sustained by “the better angels of his nature.”
Nothing we can say or write, no wish we can wish, no prayer we may pray can undo what was done to Barbara Killian by her father. Love is a powerful force. As such it can nurture, sustain, encourage, and therefore foster growth and even greater love. However, if love is administered with jealousy or fear, it can destroy. It appears that the Killians’ powerful love for Barbara went awry and, hence, it destroyed.
Sadly, Robert Killian believed that the world wasn’t sufficiently trustworthy to match his love for Barbara, hence he took her with him for her own protection.
Happily, most of us know that the world is worthy because you and I are worthy of the kind of love that sustains and nurtures.
So, in the words of a hit song from the 1970s: “Let your love flow…”
RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,
EDWIN COONEY
Like most everyone else, almost any time I hear of a tragedy, the first reaction that enters my mind or crosses my lips consists of the word—why? Very often, however, the question why just isn’t enough.
The tragedy that has recently gripped my attention happened during the third week in January in Drexel Hill, Pennsylvania about six miles from Center City, Philadelphia. Fifty-three year-old Barbara Killian -- blinded from an accident when she was a baby -- and her little white lap dog A-Rod died in the basement of their home by the hand of Barbara’s eighty-four-year-old father Robert Killian who then turned the gun on himself. Mr. Killian had just been released from a local hospital having been treated for advanced cardiovascular disease. Convinced that he didn’t have long to live, Mr. Killian apparently believed he had to provide a permanent solution for what he perceived would be Barbara’s troubles in his earthly absence. Thus, believing, as he did, that Barbara would be both alone and helpless in the world, he decided that her life should end with his. So, sometime between Tuesday, January 15, when Killian was released from the hospital, and Saturday evening, January 19 at six pm, Robert Killian shot Barbara, their little dog, and himself to death in the basement of their home on Cheswold Road.
According to the sum of all reports out of Drexel Hill, Pennsylvania: Barbara and Robert Killian had lived alone since the death of Shirley, Barbara’s mother and Robert’s wife, in 2001; the Killians “minded their own business”; Robert Killian was extremely protective of Barbara; and, finally, there was a lot of love in the Killian home as evidenced by Mr. Killian’s constant devotion to Barbara.
So there you have it: the who, the what, the where, the when, and, superficially, the why of the story. Surely, however, knowledge of these guidelines which every news reporter knows brings one no satisfaction. If you’re anything like me, perhaps you need to pause and take it all in before reading on.
In the emotional wake that occurs as one learns of this tragedy, there is the natural tendency to be outraged, not only with Killian’s murder of his daughter, but even more with what was clearly his demeaning attitude about Barbara’s very existence as a person with blindness. There are reports that neighbors called area social services from time to time to complain that Barbara was being “held captive” by her parents in her home, the response to which caused the Killians to retreat further into seclusion with their daughter. Inevitably, one wonders what exactly went on in that household upon Mr. Killian’s January 15th return from the hospital. How long had Robert Killian contemplated this irrevocable deed? What religious or moral matters did Mr. Killian consider before taking Barbara to the basement of their home to meet her death? Did Killian tell Barbara in advance of his intention or was there a reasoned or even gentle pretext to the basement visit? Did Robert Killian see his act as one of love or one of despair?
Information out of greater Philadelphia regarding Barbara Killian’s existence is sketchy but still revealing. A 1973 graduate of Overbrook School for the Blind, Barbara was shy, intelligent and fun loving. She was a baseball fan of the Yankees, especially Alex Rodriguez whom she had met through an organization for the blind. Thus, she named her little dog A-Rod.
What happened to Barbara Killian has to be very personal on some level to everyone who lives with a disability—especially those who live with blindness. All of us, whether born able-bodied or disabled, are vulnerable to our parents’ individual environments, values, and attitudes. Even more relevant to the Killian family tragedy is the strong parental instinct, the overwhelming need to protect our children from the world’s many outrages.
While we’re certainly justified in our righteous anger toward Robert Killian, that anger alone is as destructive to you and me as Killian’s thirty-eight caliber pistol was to Barbara. It would be more helpful, I think, for us all to re-examine what it means to love and protect one another as well as one’s children.
It would be arrogant for any of us to question Mr. Killian’s love for his daughter. However, Robert and Shirley Killian’s love for Barbara was clearly misdirected as evidenced by their decision to reject a college scholarship, choosing to have her stay at home instead of broadening her horizons. Their legitimate mission was to protect her life and to empower others to ensure her security after they were gone. It’s quite apparent that Mr. Killian was more overwhelmed by his fears than he was sustained by “the better angels of his nature.”
Nothing we can say or write, no wish we can wish, no prayer we may pray can undo what was done to Barbara Killian by her father. Love is a powerful force. As such it can nurture, sustain, encourage, and therefore foster growth and even greater love. However, if love is administered with jealousy or fear, it can destroy. It appears that the Killians’ powerful love for Barbara went awry and, hence, it destroyed.
Sadly, Robert Killian believed that the world wasn’t sufficiently trustworthy to match his love for Barbara, hence he took her with him for her own protection.
Happily, most of us know that the world is worthy because you and I are worthy of the kind of love that sustains and nurtures.
So, in the words of a hit song from the 1970s: “Let your love flow…”
RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,
EDWIN COONEY
Monday, February 11, 2008
WHAT’S THE ROOT OF OUR NEED TO ROOT?
By Edwin Cooney
According to my trusty old dictionary, to root is to noisily applaud or cheer for a team or to lend support to someone or something during a contest. In that context, the word goes back to 1889. Hence you might say that many Americans went rooting on Sunday, February 3, 2008.
Okay! Make whatever you need to out of this: I was sorry to see the New England Patriots lose the chance to be only the second team in National Football League history (after the 1972 Miami Dolphins) to enjoy a perfect season and post season playoff record.
I went to my favorite libation location--and believe me it’s a very fine location indeed! --to watch Super Bowl XLII a week ago last Sunday. The crowd, like most crowds in my experience, was rooting for the “underdog” New York Giants. Thus, practically the whole place erupted with woops of joy when Patriots’ quarterback Tom Brady and company ran out of time.
Throughout the next couple of hours, the denizens of Linguini's, Alameda, California’s finest restaurant, periodically exercised and vocalized their joy over the defeat of the favored New England Patriots by the New York -- or is it the New Jersey -- Giants.
Call me “Sour Sam” if you must, but part of me wondered, in the wake of the Giants’ victory, if these folks were genuinely happy or merely momentarily appeased. I confess that I experienced a temporary sense of relief as I pondered the depth of the crowd’s joyous post game celebration.
Now, as a Yankee fan, I’ve been atop baseball’s annual Cloud Nine—let’s see now—ten times since 1954 when the New York Yankees became supreme in my baseball heart. Very few people, myself included, would categorize me as a rooter for the “underdog”. Since it’s unlikely that very many of us seated at the bar that late Sunday afternoon were everyday Giants or Patriots fans, our pleasure or displeasure over the result probably had more to do with the core things that bring us individual satisfaction than it had to do with either of the two teams.
As a Yankee fan, I applaud success, because the Yankees have been identified with success more than most professional sports teams (with the possible exceptions of hockey’s Montreal Canadians, and basketball’s Boston Celtics). The truth is that my pleasure over a successful Yankee World Series triumph primarily validates my sense of expectation. After all, I’ve never played or worked for the New York Yankees. I’ve certainly made little money as a result of the Yankees’ triumphs—although I did win a spaghetti dinner when the Yankees defeated the Brooklyn Dodgers in the 1956 World Series. For me, the success of the New York Yankees probably strengthens and renews that bond I had as a boy with my late Uncle Joe. Baseball and the Yankees were special to Uncle Joe and Uncle Joe was special to me and still is across “the veil of time,” as Winston Churchill might put it. For other fans, a sense of local pride often is what creates their bond with a sports hero or franchise.
As for our bond to entertainers, my guess is that we root for their success primarily due to our artistic or emotional response to the feelings they bring out in us. My youthful fondness for Elvis Presley was brought about by the excitement his voice and expression conveyed in me when he sang a song of intense love for, or loss of, someone or something special.
Our ties to political leaders have pretty much to do with our sense of self within America’s body politic. When I root for, or support, a politician, I do so not so much for his or her success, but for the success I perceive he or she might bring to the greatest number of people. Most of us have a political agenda that is connected to our emotional and spiritual orientation as well as to our needs and hopes for the future.
Did it matter much to me who won the Super Bowl this year? No, not really! What did matter that afternoon was the good beer, tasty food and, even more, pleasant company. I personally identified with the opportunity the Patriots had to achieve a perfect season. As a native of New York State I might have chosen to root for the Giants, as I do for the Yankees. However, when it comes to sports, more than anything else, I admire perseverance toward perfection under pressure.
As a student of history, I identify most with those who have sought opportunity and success for the greatest good. Hence I root—if you will—for the perpetuation of their decisions, deeds and lives.
As to what lies at the root of our decision of for whom to “root” in sports, at the Grammies, in politics, or in anything else, it really is our sense of self.
Nature and “Nature’s God” may dictate our racial makeup and nationality, our parents may form our core personal values and original religious convictions, but you and I do the rest according to our individual senses of well-being and satisfaction.
That’s okay with me! Whatever or whomever “floats your boat”, keep rooting for them!
RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,
EDWIN COONEY
According to my trusty old dictionary, to root is to noisily applaud or cheer for a team or to lend support to someone or something during a contest. In that context, the word goes back to 1889. Hence you might say that many Americans went rooting on Sunday, February 3, 2008.
Okay! Make whatever you need to out of this: I was sorry to see the New England Patriots lose the chance to be only the second team in National Football League history (after the 1972 Miami Dolphins) to enjoy a perfect season and post season playoff record.
I went to my favorite libation location--and believe me it’s a very fine location indeed! --to watch Super Bowl XLII a week ago last Sunday. The crowd, like most crowds in my experience, was rooting for the “underdog” New York Giants. Thus, practically the whole place erupted with woops of joy when Patriots’ quarterback Tom Brady and company ran out of time.
Throughout the next couple of hours, the denizens of Linguini's, Alameda, California’s finest restaurant, periodically exercised and vocalized their joy over the defeat of the favored New England Patriots by the New York -- or is it the New Jersey -- Giants.
Call me “Sour Sam” if you must, but part of me wondered, in the wake of the Giants’ victory, if these folks were genuinely happy or merely momentarily appeased. I confess that I experienced a temporary sense of relief as I pondered the depth of the crowd’s joyous post game celebration.
Now, as a Yankee fan, I’ve been atop baseball’s annual Cloud Nine—let’s see now—ten times since 1954 when the New York Yankees became supreme in my baseball heart. Very few people, myself included, would categorize me as a rooter for the “underdog”. Since it’s unlikely that very many of us seated at the bar that late Sunday afternoon were everyday Giants or Patriots fans, our pleasure or displeasure over the result probably had more to do with the core things that bring us individual satisfaction than it had to do with either of the two teams.
As a Yankee fan, I applaud success, because the Yankees have been identified with success more than most professional sports teams (with the possible exceptions of hockey’s Montreal Canadians, and basketball’s Boston Celtics). The truth is that my pleasure over a successful Yankee World Series triumph primarily validates my sense of expectation. After all, I’ve never played or worked for the New York Yankees. I’ve certainly made little money as a result of the Yankees’ triumphs—although I did win a spaghetti dinner when the Yankees defeated the Brooklyn Dodgers in the 1956 World Series. For me, the success of the New York Yankees probably strengthens and renews that bond I had as a boy with my late Uncle Joe. Baseball and the Yankees were special to Uncle Joe and Uncle Joe was special to me and still is across “the veil of time,” as Winston Churchill might put it. For other fans, a sense of local pride often is what creates their bond with a sports hero or franchise.
As for our bond to entertainers, my guess is that we root for their success primarily due to our artistic or emotional response to the feelings they bring out in us. My youthful fondness for Elvis Presley was brought about by the excitement his voice and expression conveyed in me when he sang a song of intense love for, or loss of, someone or something special.
Our ties to political leaders have pretty much to do with our sense of self within America’s body politic. When I root for, or support, a politician, I do so not so much for his or her success, but for the success I perceive he or she might bring to the greatest number of people. Most of us have a political agenda that is connected to our emotional and spiritual orientation as well as to our needs and hopes for the future.
Did it matter much to me who won the Super Bowl this year? No, not really! What did matter that afternoon was the good beer, tasty food and, even more, pleasant company. I personally identified with the opportunity the Patriots had to achieve a perfect season. As a native of New York State I might have chosen to root for the Giants, as I do for the Yankees. However, when it comes to sports, more than anything else, I admire perseverance toward perfection under pressure.
As a student of history, I identify most with those who have sought opportunity and success for the greatest good. Hence I root—if you will—for the perpetuation of their decisions, deeds and lives.
As to what lies at the root of our decision of for whom to “root” in sports, at the Grammies, in politics, or in anything else, it really is our sense of self.
Nature and “Nature’s God” may dictate our racial makeup and nationality, our parents may form our core personal values and original religious convictions, but you and I do the rest according to our individual senses of well-being and satisfaction.
That’s okay with me! Whatever or whomever “floats your boat”, keep rooting for them!
RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,
EDWIN COONEY
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
REMEMBERING THOSE TRUMANS
By Edwin Cooney
Dated Monday, February 4, 2008
The passing of Margaret Truman last Tuesday, January 29th in a Chicago, Illinois assisted
living facility brought back a flood of memories and reflections of three remarkable people.
Born Mary Margaret Truman on February 17th, 1924, she was the daughter of then Jackson, Missouri County Judge Harry S. Truman and Elizabeth (Bess) Virginia Wallace Truman.
She was just twenty-one that rainy Thursday afternoon of April 12, 1945 when the phone rang in the Truman’s Connecticut street apartment in Washington D.C. The time was about 5:45 p.m. Margaret was dressing to go to her next door neighbor Annette Davis’s birthday party and from there on to dinner and the theater with her then boyfriend Marvin Braverman. It was her father—the Vice President of the United States--on the other end of the line. She began teasing him because he was going to the Statler Hotel to play poker with his Independence, Missouri buddy Eddie McKim--who was in town on business--instead of coming home that evening as usual. However, Margaret stopped in mid tease when her father told her in a steely voice to get her mother on the line. Returning to her room after handing the phone to her mother, Margaret was shocked when her mother, tears streaming down her face, appeared almost instantaneously in the doorway of the bedroom Margaret shared with her maternal grandmother Wallace.
“President Roosevelt is dead,” was all she said.
From that instant onward the outwardly plain, small town Trumans would be one of America’s most prominent families—and for the next seven years and nine months, the nation’s first family.
Outwardly as ordinary as a package in a plain brown wrapper, inwardly Harry Truman was a veracious reader, talented pianist, first rate public administrator, as well as a quick study and a solid judge of men and circumstances. “He had to be,” Margaret would often insist, “he married my mother, didn’t he?”
Bess Truman grew up an excellent tennis and baseball player. It was said she could knock down a hot grounder and throw a runner out at first as well as any boy in Kansas City. She was argumentative, as was Margaret, and enjoyed reading murder mysteries. A good housekeeper—except that she hated to cook—Bess Truman avoided public speeches, but she was an excellent host and could shake hands as effectively as any politician.
Margaret was thirty-two when she married journalist Clifton Daniel on April 21, 1956. Having been a singer, an actress, and a radio and television personality, Margaret would begin writing in her mid-forties. There would first be an autobiography called “Souvenir” in 1956, followed by books about White House pets in 1969, her father in 1973, her mother in 1986, and first ladies in 1995 to name a few. There would also be a series of murder mysteries with such titles as:
“Murder in the White House”
“Murder in the Supreme Court”
“Murder at the Kennedy Center” —and a number of others.
Margaret seems to have been a combination of her parents. She was argumentative like her mother, artistic, loyal, and outgoing like her father.
Mostly there was Harry Truman, the center of the family. No matter how great his office, Harry Truman was loyal to family and friends regardless of the political cost.
As Vice President, he openly attended the funeral of Tom Pendergast, the Kansas City political boss who had served time for fraud and other charges. After all, Tom Pendergast was a friend.
Then there was the time Washington Post music critic Paul Hume wrote in a review that although Margaret Truman was attractive on stage, she wasn’t a particularly good singer—that she was often flat.
Soon Hume received an angry letter on White House stationary telling him that he’d need a new nose, plenty of beefsteak and perhaps a supporter below if he ever met the president!
Fiercely partisan, he could be crude -- such as when in 1960 he suggested that anyone who would vote for Richard Nixon could go to hell as far as he was concerned…or when he suggested that President-elect Eisenhower knew as much about being President “…as a pig knows about Sunday.”
However, he was brave enough to challenge the Russians over Berlin, to fire the immensely popular General Douglas McArthur for insubordination, to advocate civil rights for blacks, and to stand up in support of or challenge labor unions depending on their behavior.
When it was time to leave office, he departed with both dignity and humility. He simply took the train from Washington D.C. to his home at 219 North Delaware Street in Independence, Missouri and “…carried the grips up to the attic.”
Goodness! It almost makes you think that even you could be President, doesn’t it? Hmmm! There was something awfully “American” about those Trumans, don’t ya think?
RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,
EDWIN COONEY
Dated Monday, February 4, 2008
The passing of Margaret Truman last Tuesday, January 29th in a Chicago, Illinois assisted
living facility brought back a flood of memories and reflections of three remarkable people.
Born Mary Margaret Truman on February 17th, 1924, she was the daughter of then Jackson, Missouri County Judge Harry S. Truman and Elizabeth (Bess) Virginia Wallace Truman.
She was just twenty-one that rainy Thursday afternoon of April 12, 1945 when the phone rang in the Truman’s Connecticut street apartment in Washington D.C. The time was about 5:45 p.m. Margaret was dressing to go to her next door neighbor Annette Davis’s birthday party and from there on to dinner and the theater with her then boyfriend Marvin Braverman. It was her father—the Vice President of the United States--on the other end of the line. She began teasing him because he was going to the Statler Hotel to play poker with his Independence, Missouri buddy Eddie McKim--who was in town on business--instead of coming home that evening as usual. However, Margaret stopped in mid tease when her father told her in a steely voice to get her mother on the line. Returning to her room after handing the phone to her mother, Margaret was shocked when her mother, tears streaming down her face, appeared almost instantaneously in the doorway of the bedroom Margaret shared with her maternal grandmother Wallace.
“President Roosevelt is dead,” was all she said.
From that instant onward the outwardly plain, small town Trumans would be one of America’s most prominent families—and for the next seven years and nine months, the nation’s first family.
Outwardly as ordinary as a package in a plain brown wrapper, inwardly Harry Truman was a veracious reader, talented pianist, first rate public administrator, as well as a quick study and a solid judge of men and circumstances. “He had to be,” Margaret would often insist, “he married my mother, didn’t he?”
Bess Truman grew up an excellent tennis and baseball player. It was said she could knock down a hot grounder and throw a runner out at first as well as any boy in Kansas City. She was argumentative, as was Margaret, and enjoyed reading murder mysteries. A good housekeeper—except that she hated to cook—Bess Truman avoided public speeches, but she was an excellent host and could shake hands as effectively as any politician.
Margaret was thirty-two when she married journalist Clifton Daniel on April 21, 1956. Having been a singer, an actress, and a radio and television personality, Margaret would begin writing in her mid-forties. There would first be an autobiography called “Souvenir” in 1956, followed by books about White House pets in 1969, her father in 1973, her mother in 1986, and first ladies in 1995 to name a few. There would also be a series of murder mysteries with such titles as:
“Murder in the White House”
“Murder in the Supreme Court”
“Murder at the Kennedy Center” —and a number of others.
Margaret seems to have been a combination of her parents. She was argumentative like her mother, artistic, loyal, and outgoing like her father.
Mostly there was Harry Truman, the center of the family. No matter how great his office, Harry Truman was loyal to family and friends regardless of the political cost.
As Vice President, he openly attended the funeral of Tom Pendergast, the Kansas City political boss who had served time for fraud and other charges. After all, Tom Pendergast was a friend.
Then there was the time Washington Post music critic Paul Hume wrote in a review that although Margaret Truman was attractive on stage, she wasn’t a particularly good singer—that she was often flat.
Soon Hume received an angry letter on White House stationary telling him that he’d need a new nose, plenty of beefsteak and perhaps a supporter below if he ever met the president!
Fiercely partisan, he could be crude -- such as when in 1960 he suggested that anyone who would vote for Richard Nixon could go to hell as far as he was concerned…or when he suggested that President-elect Eisenhower knew as much about being President “…as a pig knows about Sunday.”
However, he was brave enough to challenge the Russians over Berlin, to fire the immensely popular General Douglas McArthur for insubordination, to advocate civil rights for blacks, and to stand up in support of or challenge labor unions depending on their behavior.
When it was time to leave office, he departed with both dignity and humility. He simply took the train from Washington D.C. to his home at 219 North Delaware Street in Independence, Missouri and “…carried the grips up to the attic.”
Goodness! It almost makes you think that even you could be President, doesn’t it? Hmmm! There was something awfully “American” about those Trumans, don’t ya think?
RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,
EDWIN COONEY
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