By Edwin Cooney
Last week, I offered the observation that “mad” was America’s favorite mood.
It seems that anytime people make an historical or political point, they inevitably refer to the “founding fathers,” (a phrase not introduced into the American lexicon until Warren Harding) or to our two great documents, the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution of the United States, as their authorities of timeless wisdom.
This is natural, otherwise it wouldn’t be done, but it’s inevitably misleading. The honorable men who founded this nation, some of whom were acquainted with the great philosophers of the Enlightenment (such as Voltaire and Rousseau), drew from their knowledge and understanding of the best ideas of European Enlightenment for the structure of government. Nevertheless, to suggest that a perfect government was drafted by those “Founding Fathers,” is to place a burden on these gentlemen too great for their reputations to possibly sustain.
How many times has some political orator observed that George Washington and Thomas Jefferson wouldn’t recognize America if they could be here today? This, as I see it, is nonsense. Invariably, our parents and grandparents would need a period of adjustment to “get with the program” were they able to rejoin us today. However, it’s also realistic to observe that we’d be pretty unhappy campers if we were forced to live in “the good old days” minus the internet, the cell phone and sports replays on television, not to mention the miracles of modern medicine (note that I said medicine, not healthcare) and modern transportation.
My point is that one of the things today’s opinion makers seem to have in common is their willingness to start us off by being mad that today isn’t yesterday. True, the life we’ve led is invariably the life we know and the life we’re about to lead can be more than a little frightening, but the life we’re about to lead is all the life there is. As the song says: “…and that was yesterday and yesterday’s gone.”
Of course, just because yesterday’s gone, doesn’t mean that it doesn’t possess wonderful lessons, songs, poems and stories to guide us through today’s and tomorrow’s way of life. Tomorrow, however, will never be yesterday nor should it be. If Washington and Jefferson would “turn over in their graves” today, it’s significant to note that both these gentlemen might well have turned over in their respective graves during the “glorious” days of Abraham Lincoln and the Civil War. We know that George Washington would never have approved of Ronald Reagan’s worthwhile “START” Treaty with Mikhail Gorbachev’s Soviet Union.
Historians and social commentators could, it seems to me, aid our tomorrows by objectively rather than subjectively reminding us of what came before. The tall redheaded Tom Jefferson was both pragmatic and enlightened in that he took advantage of his resources as a slave owner while, at the same time, bemoaning its evil. Even today, millions of people would rather see others do what they say rather than what they do. This is especially true of us parents.
All parents seek to pass on to their children the best of what they know and the lessons they’ve experienced. One thing parents invariably must face, however, is the reality that their children will live their own lives, not the lives of their parents.
As a student of history, I love yesterday’s stories and I revere many of yesterday’s people. Some of them were quite heroic (for example, John Adams, though politically ambitious, defended the British soldiers charged with murder during the 1770 Boston Massacre) and others were decidedly selfish (such as Vice President Aaron Burr during the aftermath of the bitterly contentious 1800 presidential election.)
Having observed last week that America’s favorite mood appears to be “mad,” I assert that much of the reason for this “mad” is because we keep comparing ourselves to the best of our history and find ourselves wanting. We’re constantly being warned by some that the United States is headed in this or that direction (usually toward a new world order of Socialism or Corporatism—take your pick) and that it will be a world of misery and regimentation. No matter what, “it sure won’t be as good as yesterday!”
Just as we must defend ourselves in an often hostile and unpredictable world and uncertain tomorrow, we can, as I see it, do so more wisely if we’d stop grieving for yesterday.
Yes, indeed, “yesterday’s gone.” Tomorrow’s up to you and me.
RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,
EDWIN COONEY
Monday, January 25, 2010
Monday, January 18, 2010
MAD!—IT’S AMERICA’S FAVORITE MOOD
By Edwin Cooney
I can’t prove this, but it seems to me that, more than ever before in our entire history, we Americans are an angry people. If such is not the case, than all of the media advertising, and the persuasiveness of our professional opinion makers is in vain.
Here are some of the things Americans have been urged to be “outraged” about over just the past couple of months:
There’s no single payer health plan in the proposed healthcare reform bill — Liberals are irate;
There’s too much regulation in the bill that’s likely to pass -- Conservatives are furious;
The inability of our intelligence agencies to stop underwear bombers. Everyone wonders why President Obama was with his family in Hawaii on Christmas day instead of rushing back to guard us from the White House Situation Room;
Whether we should wish one another “Merry Christmas” or “Happy Holidays”—everyone’s unsettled over that controversy;
What the current Senate Majority Leader observed about President Obama’s race nearly two years ago as opposed to what another Senate Majority Leader said about someone else over seven years ago — the GOP is madder about that than Al Sharpton;
Whether the trial in Federal Court over the legitimacy of California’s Proposition 8 (the 2008 California anti-Gay marriage proposition) should be televised —Hollywood’s gotta be worried about the fate of the movie industry during the trial;
The way Tiger Woods treated his trophy wife — feminists are really riled about that one;
Whether Mark McGwire should be forgiven for having taken steroids and human growth hormone in the 1990s;
The fact that the Pro Bowl is being played ahead of the Super Bowl…
It goes on and on.
Now, America has never been a peaceful realm of serenity or even -- in my view -- “a city on a hill.” Seldom, however, have the American people been so bombarded by articulate professionals insisting that the problems we face are so formidable that only ideologists of purity can solve them.
When I was growing up, commercials were about things like which soap or detergent would best clean your clothes or kitchen, which foods were most nutritious, which gasoline would enable you to drive your car the furthest, and, oh, yes, which beer or cigarettes our sports heroes and cowboys preferred.
Now consider the following. All of those appeals were solutions to everyday problems brought on by everyday living. We all had laundry to do, kitchens to clean, growing children and each other to feed, and automobiles that needed to be operated efficiently. Everyone accepted the idea that as unhealthy as they were, cigarettes and beer were an effective way to relax and ease tension. Advertising, like the news stories we’re supposed to worry about today tell the story of human error or, even worse, deliberate neglect.
Turn on your radio or television, boot up your computer, and these are just some of the problems that the products and services being peddled today will solve: entrepreneurs clamor to get you out of debt which was brought on by unscrupulous credit card companies; law firms and tax experts promise to save you from your government; someone wants to sell you gold in exchange for increasingly useless dollars so you’ll have something to spend when Uncle Sam goes broke due to those useless dollars being demanded by those same gold sellers; bankers and life insurance companies want you to know that even if your mother-in-law is against you, the companies are on your side. Toothpastes, cleaning products and herbal remedies are being sold on the grounds that more traditionally manufactured products deliberately pollute.
Many years ago, I heard Secretary of State Dean Rusk assert that “America is too powerful a nation to be infuriated.” Mr. Rusk was, of course, referring to our nuclear capability if sufficiently humiliated by a potential foreign foe.
Perhaps the angriest nation in recent history was Germany after the Treaty of Versailles. We all know what Germany took us through until she was forced to get over her mad by the American, British and Russian armies. America’s woes may be more numerous, but Germany’s chip on the shoulder insofar as the treatment she received due to the Versailles treaty was far more debilitating than anything we’re suffering from today.
What’s rather scary is that Americans think their anger is justified by their sophistication, “common sense,” patriotism, and even their religious faith.
Even more frightening is the following analogy: Germany’s mad in the 1930’s caused that nation to strike out at the world. America’s mad in the 21st Century, principled, well-documented and righteous as it may be, has its own citizens in its angry sights. Hence, our deadliest enemy invariably is us!
RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,
EDWIN COONEY
I can’t prove this, but it seems to me that, more than ever before in our entire history, we Americans are an angry people. If such is not the case, than all of the media advertising, and the persuasiveness of our professional opinion makers is in vain.
Here are some of the things Americans have been urged to be “outraged” about over just the past couple of months:
There’s no single payer health plan in the proposed healthcare reform bill — Liberals are irate;
There’s too much regulation in the bill that’s likely to pass -- Conservatives are furious;
The inability of our intelligence agencies to stop underwear bombers. Everyone wonders why President Obama was with his family in Hawaii on Christmas day instead of rushing back to guard us from the White House Situation Room;
Whether we should wish one another “Merry Christmas” or “Happy Holidays”—everyone’s unsettled over that controversy;
What the current Senate Majority Leader observed about President Obama’s race nearly two years ago as opposed to what another Senate Majority Leader said about someone else over seven years ago — the GOP is madder about that than Al Sharpton;
Whether the trial in Federal Court over the legitimacy of California’s Proposition 8 (the 2008 California anti-Gay marriage proposition) should be televised —Hollywood’s gotta be worried about the fate of the movie industry during the trial;
The way Tiger Woods treated his trophy wife — feminists are really riled about that one;
Whether Mark McGwire should be forgiven for having taken steroids and human growth hormone in the 1990s;
The fact that the Pro Bowl is being played ahead of the Super Bowl…
It goes on and on.
Now, America has never been a peaceful realm of serenity or even -- in my view -- “a city on a hill.” Seldom, however, have the American people been so bombarded by articulate professionals insisting that the problems we face are so formidable that only ideologists of purity can solve them.
When I was growing up, commercials were about things like which soap or detergent would best clean your clothes or kitchen, which foods were most nutritious, which gasoline would enable you to drive your car the furthest, and, oh, yes, which beer or cigarettes our sports heroes and cowboys preferred.
Now consider the following. All of those appeals were solutions to everyday problems brought on by everyday living. We all had laundry to do, kitchens to clean, growing children and each other to feed, and automobiles that needed to be operated efficiently. Everyone accepted the idea that as unhealthy as they were, cigarettes and beer were an effective way to relax and ease tension. Advertising, like the news stories we’re supposed to worry about today tell the story of human error or, even worse, deliberate neglect.
Turn on your radio or television, boot up your computer, and these are just some of the problems that the products and services being peddled today will solve: entrepreneurs clamor to get you out of debt which was brought on by unscrupulous credit card companies; law firms and tax experts promise to save you from your government; someone wants to sell you gold in exchange for increasingly useless dollars so you’ll have something to spend when Uncle Sam goes broke due to those useless dollars being demanded by those same gold sellers; bankers and life insurance companies want you to know that even if your mother-in-law is against you, the companies are on your side. Toothpastes, cleaning products and herbal remedies are being sold on the grounds that more traditionally manufactured products deliberately pollute.
Many years ago, I heard Secretary of State Dean Rusk assert that “America is too powerful a nation to be infuriated.” Mr. Rusk was, of course, referring to our nuclear capability if sufficiently humiliated by a potential foreign foe.
Perhaps the angriest nation in recent history was Germany after the Treaty of Versailles. We all know what Germany took us through until she was forced to get over her mad by the American, British and Russian armies. America’s woes may be more numerous, but Germany’s chip on the shoulder insofar as the treatment she received due to the Versailles treaty was far more debilitating than anything we’re suffering from today.
What’s rather scary is that Americans think their anger is justified by their sophistication, “common sense,” patriotism, and even their religious faith.
Even more frightening is the following analogy: Germany’s mad in the 1930’s caused that nation to strike out at the world. America’s mad in the 21st Century, principled, well-documented and righteous as it may be, has its own citizens in its angry sights. Hence, our deadliest enemy invariably is us!
RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,
EDWIN COONEY
Monday, January 11, 2010
LIFE ON THE EDGE
By Edwin Cooney
Perhaps the most admirable people we ever meet are those who “live on the edge” of life. It might be the soldier, the explorer, the policeman or fireman, a person living with a disability or with a life threatening illness. Surely, one who has weathered life’s inevitable storms to reach 100 years of age could be said to be “living on the edge of life.”
On Wednesday, December 30th, 2009, I traveled from California to Western New York State to celebrate the 100th birthday of the dearest person I know. Her name is Edith Gassman.
Nearly forty-six years ago, “Mrs. G.” as I then referred to her, a houseparent at the New York State School for the Blind in Batavia, altered my life by inviting me, an eighteen-year-old, into her family under the cloak of her loving care.
Born on Saturday, January 1st, 1910 at home on Potomac Avenue in Buffalo, New York, Edith was the fourth in a family of seven children. Much of her childhood was spent under the loving but exacting rule of Scotch Presbyterianism. Her mother died at the age of 34 in the 1918 Spanish Flu epidemic a year following the birth of Edith’s youngest sister. Several years later, Edith’s father Robert, a salesman and storekeeper, married for a second time and Edith’s half sister was born.
On Thursday, June 25th, 1931, twenty-one-year-old Edith began her happy thirty year marriage to Howard (Michael) Gassman of Attica, New York. In order to do this, Edith, who was known as Jackie by her college sorority sisters, dropped out of Geneseo, New York’s “normal school.” This very much disappointed her father, but he was far from disappointed when little Sharon was born followed by son Michael.
“Big Mike” Gassman died suddenly on Thursday, October 5th, 1961 of a heart attack following cataract surgery. Devastated by her husband’s sudden death, Edith decided to give up her job as a secretary to go to work as a houseparent at the School for the Blind in nearby Batavia.
Though tiny in physical stature, she began nurturing a dormitory of over forty energetic, sometimes mischievous teenage boys beginning in the fall of 1963. Only seldom did she raise her quiet voice. Edith always maintained the respect and abiding regard of her charges because they knew she genuinely cared about them. She would remain a housemother until her retirement at age 65 in 1975.
Like any person who lives to a great age, Edith has experienced the ravages of death on many occasions. There was the traumatic loss of her mother in 1918 and the sudden passing of Big Mike in 1961. In the 1920’s, Edith suffered a serious lower jaw infection due to the use of contaminated dental equipment. Her chin swelled to the point that it temporarily rested on her chest. This was before penicillin. During her first pregnancy she developed ureic poisoning which threatened her life, but was unlikely to harm her baby. She once told me that she used to sew baby clothes while weeping over the possibility that she wouldn’t live to care for what was to be her and Big Mike’s “beautiful little girl, Sharon”. Just last August, at the age of 99 years and seven months, she suffered an attack of pneumonia, the effects of which are still with her.
To think of and love such a person as Edith Gassman, there is a tendency to paint everything about that person as heroic. Edith possesses many wonderful traits. She is smart, reflective, nurturing, and sensitive, possessing a spiritual quality worthy of her religious upbringing. A petite blonde when young, she was considered quite beautiful. She is also very human and subject to the misjudgments and foibles we all share in varying degrees. Still, her virtues far outweigh anything that could be dreamed up as less than admirable about her.
Recently, someone asked Edith what she’d done to live to one hundred. Her response was:
“I drink almost no water. I never exercise—and I eat lots and lots of ice cream.” Her favorite food is strawberry shortcake.
Her brother David, sister Winifred, brother Gordon Douglas, brother Robert, and half-sister Lois are all gone. Only her sister Mary Jane remains. (I asked her over the weekend what it felt like at her age to be a baby sister. Her response was: “Just fine, thank you very much!” Aunt Jane has always kept things in wonderful perspective.)
Certainly there is joy that Edith has lived to be one hundred years old. However, Edith’s 100-year trek has not been without its price. Many she has loved the best are gone. Three neighbors, two of whom were close friends, and another who was only 35-years-old, have recently died. This wonderfully thoughtful, nurturing and sweet lady often wonders why she has been allowed to live so long.
Although Edith has lived long, for those of us who love her, as selfish as it may seem, she hasn’t lived long enough. As for how she feels about being 100, she doesn’t see it as an achievement. Much about it is a lonesome struggle. However, neither Edith nor anyone else attains that great age out of fear of the future. With all its struggles and meaning, life is what it always has been—another day to live, to offer and to accept love.
As she was departing from her grandmother’s last Sunday night, one of Edith’s granddaughters assured her that she looked forward to celebrating “GG’s 101st, 102nd, and 103rd birthdays…” and she only stopped counting because to continue would have been pointless.
The question the rest of us invariably ponder is whether we might live to this great age with all of its joys and challenges. The best answer I can offer with all of its inadequacy is: “You can if you may and you may if you can.”
If living past 100 isn’t living on the edge of life, then life must have no edge.
RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,
EDWIN COONEY
Perhaps the most admirable people we ever meet are those who “live on the edge” of life. It might be the soldier, the explorer, the policeman or fireman, a person living with a disability or with a life threatening illness. Surely, one who has weathered life’s inevitable storms to reach 100 years of age could be said to be “living on the edge of life.”
On Wednesday, December 30th, 2009, I traveled from California to Western New York State to celebrate the 100th birthday of the dearest person I know. Her name is Edith Gassman.
Nearly forty-six years ago, “Mrs. G.” as I then referred to her, a houseparent at the New York State School for the Blind in Batavia, altered my life by inviting me, an eighteen-year-old, into her family under the cloak of her loving care.
Born on Saturday, January 1st, 1910 at home on Potomac Avenue in Buffalo, New York, Edith was the fourth in a family of seven children. Much of her childhood was spent under the loving but exacting rule of Scotch Presbyterianism. Her mother died at the age of 34 in the 1918 Spanish Flu epidemic a year following the birth of Edith’s youngest sister. Several years later, Edith’s father Robert, a salesman and storekeeper, married for a second time and Edith’s half sister was born.
On Thursday, June 25th, 1931, twenty-one-year-old Edith began her happy thirty year marriage to Howard (Michael) Gassman of Attica, New York. In order to do this, Edith, who was known as Jackie by her college sorority sisters, dropped out of Geneseo, New York’s “normal school.” This very much disappointed her father, but he was far from disappointed when little Sharon was born followed by son Michael.
“Big Mike” Gassman died suddenly on Thursday, October 5th, 1961 of a heart attack following cataract surgery. Devastated by her husband’s sudden death, Edith decided to give up her job as a secretary to go to work as a houseparent at the School for the Blind in nearby Batavia.
Though tiny in physical stature, she began nurturing a dormitory of over forty energetic, sometimes mischievous teenage boys beginning in the fall of 1963. Only seldom did she raise her quiet voice. Edith always maintained the respect and abiding regard of her charges because they knew she genuinely cared about them. She would remain a housemother until her retirement at age 65 in 1975.
Like any person who lives to a great age, Edith has experienced the ravages of death on many occasions. There was the traumatic loss of her mother in 1918 and the sudden passing of Big Mike in 1961. In the 1920’s, Edith suffered a serious lower jaw infection due to the use of contaminated dental equipment. Her chin swelled to the point that it temporarily rested on her chest. This was before penicillin. During her first pregnancy she developed ureic poisoning which threatened her life, but was unlikely to harm her baby. She once told me that she used to sew baby clothes while weeping over the possibility that she wouldn’t live to care for what was to be her and Big Mike’s “beautiful little girl, Sharon”. Just last August, at the age of 99 years and seven months, she suffered an attack of pneumonia, the effects of which are still with her.
To think of and love such a person as Edith Gassman, there is a tendency to paint everything about that person as heroic. Edith possesses many wonderful traits. She is smart, reflective, nurturing, and sensitive, possessing a spiritual quality worthy of her religious upbringing. A petite blonde when young, she was considered quite beautiful. She is also very human and subject to the misjudgments and foibles we all share in varying degrees. Still, her virtues far outweigh anything that could be dreamed up as less than admirable about her.
Recently, someone asked Edith what she’d done to live to one hundred. Her response was:
“I drink almost no water. I never exercise—and I eat lots and lots of ice cream.” Her favorite food is strawberry shortcake.
Her brother David, sister Winifred, brother Gordon Douglas, brother Robert, and half-sister Lois are all gone. Only her sister Mary Jane remains. (I asked her over the weekend what it felt like at her age to be a baby sister. Her response was: “Just fine, thank you very much!” Aunt Jane has always kept things in wonderful perspective.)
Certainly there is joy that Edith has lived to be one hundred years old. However, Edith’s 100-year trek has not been without its price. Many she has loved the best are gone. Three neighbors, two of whom were close friends, and another who was only 35-years-old, have recently died. This wonderfully thoughtful, nurturing and sweet lady often wonders why she has been allowed to live so long.
Although Edith has lived long, for those of us who love her, as selfish as it may seem, she hasn’t lived long enough. As for how she feels about being 100, she doesn’t see it as an achievement. Much about it is a lonesome struggle. However, neither Edith nor anyone else attains that great age out of fear of the future. With all its struggles and meaning, life is what it always has been—another day to live, to offer and to accept love.
As she was departing from her grandmother’s last Sunday night, one of Edith’s granddaughters assured her that she looked forward to celebrating “GG’s 101st, 102nd, and 103rd birthdays…” and she only stopped counting because to continue would have been pointless.
The question the rest of us invariably ponder is whether we might live to this great age with all of its joys and challenges. The best answer I can offer with all of its inadequacy is: “You can if you may and you may if you can.”
If living past 100 isn’t living on the edge of life, then life must have no edge.
RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,
EDWIN COONEY
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