WHAT INCREDIBLE PEOPLE!

By Edwin Cooney

Every June, for the last five years, I’ve taken the train east to treat myself to some of the most incredible folks I know. They consist of family, friends, and some whom I invariably meet for the first time.

This year I decided to fly rather than take the train. Air travel is every bit as awe-inspiring as travel by rail. Perhaps future generations won’t even think of this, but there’s an anticipatory feeling as your jet speeds along the runway and finally, effortlessly -- it seems -- glides into the air with all of that weight on its slender wings. As I headed northward from Oakland toward Seattle and then aboard another aircraft eastward toward Chicago‘s busy and even treacherous O’Hare Airport, I realized how magnificently we are insolated from the technical feats performed by the professionals who provide safe air travel. It’s all so clean, smooth, and precise!

As American Eagle Airlines flight 4213, bound for Buffalo, sat on O’Hare’s tarmac, a thunder and lightening storm burst upon Chicago with an intensity that stopped all airport activity outside of the bustling terminal. “We could fly in the storm as planes are struck by lightening everyday,” insisted Jenny, the young flight assistant based out of Phoenix. “The problem is that members of the crew who load the bags and supplies onto the aircraft aren’t allowed to work on the tarmac during thunder and lightening storms. Then, of course, there’s that little problem of the fueling truck…” She certainly needed to say no more about that!

Two and a half hours would pass before American Eagle flight 4213 finally headed toward Buffalo, New York and my friend Bob.

Bob is an exceedingly warm, generous man who likes to keep his genuinely caring nature a secret. Bob lives his warm generosity, leaving it to you to discover it all by yourself. Although extremely efficient and businesslike in almost everything he does, his "all business" manner takes a back seat to his love for his family, his friends, his God and his country. He doesn’t want you to talk too much about it, but he’s a man of genuine patience and considerable tolerance. Every year he meets and escorts me about Western New York with the solicitude of a guardian.

The main event of my first four days was our annual New York State School for the Blind Alumni Association reunion. During these days, old friends and acquaintances recall their youth within the cloistered grounds of that institution we call NYSSB. Like all “families,” there is the intimacy of familiarity with all of its degrees of misunderstanding and affection. Each year, we learn of one another’s struggles and successes at school and after leaving school.

Most dramatically this year, there was David who first attended school a year or so after I entered NYSSB. David struggled through both institutional and parental mistreatment well into adulthood. He overcame such mistreatment through his capacity for deep spirituality and is now President of the Board of Directors of the Self Advocacy Association of New York State. SANYS -- a non-profit organization -- advocates for the dignity and the aspirations for those most readily shunned by society through no fault of their own. Despite his trials, David, now a professional, seeks to bring out the best in everyone he meets.

Musical entertainment is always a big part of our alumni weekends. We have our stars -- Sukosh, Joe and Pastor Charlie -- whose talents stand out with special brilliance. There are those, however, whose talents grow on you over the years. Two such are Richard and his wife Gayle who, along with blindness, suffer from substantial hearing loss. Yet, he on the trumpet and she on the guitar provide a special kind of entertainment. Their double disability only serves to magnify their talent. Even more impressive is their spontaneous good nature that inevitably draws both respect and genuine affection to them.

Also, there is my buddy Paul whose sunny disposition and generosity makes you enjoy every second of every minute of every hour of his companionship. We were roomies this year and we will be again next year unless one of us finds that special lady to dominate our time.

Next, there is Ken. I’d never met a “Hall of Famer,” until my friend Ken Meyer was recently elected to the Massachusetts Broadcasters Hall of Fame. Ken loves to entertain and he’s superb at it.

My “brother” Chet and his wife “Lady Linda” are a combination of love, depth, and candor and are thus invaluable to those lucky enough to be close to them. Chet both challenges and acknowledges you with genuine and generous intensity. As a friend, he’s a real keeper!

Then there is Helen, the wife of our late and much beloved orchestra teacher, who is not only a magnificent musician in her own right but a wonderfully sensitive Braille transcriber and mapmaker. Although forever saddened by the loss of her husband, it is impressive that she has had the energy to play the viola for the Genesee County Orchestra (which they both helped found in 1947) well into her eighties. Even more wonderful is the supporting love and encouragement she offers to those she holds dear …even me!

Dr. Wayne, a man I shall cherish forever, has lent me his encouragement for nearly forty years now. (Don’t tell him I mentioned the number of years!) Our annual luncheons are always a delight. We discuss old acquaintances, current events and, of course, politics. I’m grateful for his good health, which allows his wisdom to flow.

I spent time with the members of my sort-of adopted family. Edith, the lady I often called “Mother,” who lived to be 100 years and 10 months old and died last October 1st, was for me its heart. I met with Sharon, Edith’s daughter, who is sweet, considerate, and gentle just like her mother. Next, there’s Ann -- Edith’s niece -- who often tries to hide her deep concern for others behind a teasing manner. Then, there’s Gordon -- Edith’s nephew -- whose mild manner and willingness to listen, compels people to want to always be close to him.

My final five days were spent with my best friend Roe who, in addition to editing these weekly musings, concerns herself with the comfort of others more than just about anyone else I know. To describe her as precious is an understatement. Her husband Mark cares and shares as does his wife.

Finally, it was time to board the first of three separate aircrafts run by Delta and head westward to California. The cool interior of each plane masked the hot airport runways, to say nothing of the high mountains and turbulent weather it skirted as we crossed the rivers, the plains and the highest of the Rockies. On the way, there was Maureen and her sister Beth, Stacy and Amy who provided pleasant conversation thus breaking the inevitable boredom of cross country travel, however sanitized and comfortable.

Like each of you, I’ve known lifelong personal failures and disappointments, each for which I must bear some responsibility! However, every year I’m reminded once again of the quality of the friends I have tried to describe here to you, however inadequately. To know them is to be blessed. They are even more magnificent than I’ve portrayed them.

William Butler Yeats once put it this way: “Think where man's glory most begins and ends, And say my glory was I had such friends.”

RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,

EDWIN COONEY

FATHER’S DAY--NOT AS LOVELY, BUT JUST AS NICE AS MOTHER’S DAY

By Edwin Cooney

The history of Mother’s Day is the story of white and red carnations and sentimental tears. It’s the story of states, anxious to get in on the ground floor of the celebration of mother love, rapidly endorsing Mother’s Day. Additionally, it’s the story of the effort of Anna M. Jarvis, the founder, who wanted to stop its increasing commercialization.

Father’s Day was also initiated in love, but it took a more circuitous path to full acceptance. Initially celebrated in Fairmont, West Virginia, not far from Grafton, West Virginia (the home of Mother’s Day), Father’s Day was originally designed to celebrate the 210 lives lost in the December 6^th, 1907 mining disaster in nearby Monongah, West Virginia. The date scheduled for the first Father’s Day celebration was July 5^th, 1908. Mrs. Grace Golden Clayton, the actual founder of Father’s Day, wanted the first celebration to be as close to the birthday of her late father as possible. That occasion was obviously swallowed up by the simultaneous Mother’s Day movement out of nearby Grafton. Fairmont’s inaugural celebration of Father’s Day was lost to posterity until 1972.

Two years later, Sonora Dodd of Spokane, Washington spearheaded a more successful national Father’s Day movement to celebrate her dad and all other dads. In 1913, President Woodrow Wilson went to Spokane to celebrate Father’s Day. A bill for the national recognition of Father’s Day was introduced into Congress, but defeated out of fear that it might become a commercial venture. The same thing happened a second time in 1916. By the time of Congress's second rejection of Father’s Day, forty-five states had already passed Mother’s Day into state law.

In 1924, President Calvin Coolidge issued a resolution in support of a Father’s Day celebration but stopped short of having it introduced as an act of Congress. "Ole man" — that’s how Coolidge privately referred to his male friends including members of his cabinet and his congressional colleagues — Calvin was too smart to trust Congress with such an important idea as Father’s Day!

During the revenue--starved 1930's, the Menswear Retailers Association established a committee on the promotion of Father’s Day. The committee's name was changed in 1938 to the National Father’s Day Council.

Unlike Anna M. Jarvis, the founder of Mother’s Day, Father’s Day founder Sonora Dodd didn’t at all object to the commercialization of Father’s Day! Hence, shirts, ties, handkerchiefs, and hats sold almost as fast as flowers. Good cigars probably weren’t far behind!

In 1957, Margaret Chase Smith of Maine, one of the lovelier members of the United States Senate, scolded her colleagues and everyone else for having short shrifted American fathers during the past forty years of Mother’s Day celebrating.

In 1966, Lyndon B. Johnson, the modern daddy of all good things, signed a resolution making Father’s Day the third Sunday in June.

Not to be outdone, another good politician by the name of Richard Milhous Nixon who in 1972 was seeking a second term as President, signed the bill into law designating the third Sunday in June as Father’s Day. Thus it might legitimately be observed that Father’s Day was, to a considerable degree, the brainchild of smart politicians and practical businessmen with that essential touch of “daughter love” thrown in to give it respectability!

As stated above, most of the state legislatures were agreeing to honor mama’s love while Congress twice rejected the idea of honoring father. Might it be that mothers as loving nurturers elicit a stronger emotional reaction -- especially by male state legislators -- than practical and often demanding, busy fathers? Since commercialization of both motherhood and fatherhood was inevitable, shouldn't we face the rather uncomfortable realization that our most sincere sentiments are most powerfully expressed by the willing sacrifice of our most powerful possession: our money?

Inevitably, some parents are more worthy of their children’s adoration than others, but since our sons and daughters freely withhold or proffer their love, our individual or collective worthiness of that love is legitimately and properly beyond our say-so. Thus, we may accept that honor with those seemingly opposite feelings of humility and satisfaction.

I know, as surely as I live and breathe, that others have done more and done better by their children than I have by my two lads, but I can without the slightest doubt tell you this:

If you’re a man, the highest honor you’ll ever receive is when someone calls you Dad!

RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,

EDWIN COONEY

A BAFFLING ENCOUNTER!

By Edwin Cooney

Okay, here’s how it happened. I was purposefully strolling, cane methodically working, down the street the other night when a lady came along. As she passed me she said, in a rather clipped matter-of-fact tone of voice -- not at all condescending -- “you’re on Santa Clara Avenue headed toward Park Street.” She seemed to be a middle-aged lady, not an old lady, and the air was pungent with her cigarette smoke, but that didn’t put me off. However, I found her assumption that I needed that information offensive.

Now I’ve been offended before by people inquiring of me in something of a piteous tone: “Can I help you? Do you know where you’re going?” Most of the time I reply with something like: “No, thank you, I’m fine” and move on. However, this lady really got under my skin or as some might put it, “got on my last good nerve” so I responded:

“Ma'am,” I said, “do you really believe I don’t know that?”

By that time, she was about 10 feet behind me so I had to turn around to address her back. Her response was, “Well, I just wanted to be helpful!”

Obviously baffled by each other’s perception of that exchange, we proceeded on our way.

I guess I hope that she promptly forgot the conversation. As for me however, thoughts came thick and fast. Immediately, I chided myself for not simply saying “Thank you very much.” That would have been the mannerly way to handle it. I could hear Edith, the lady I often called mother, saying to me: “Ed, did you have to be rude even if you considered that she was being rude or ignorant?”

Of course, my answer to that would have been, “I suppose not, but shouldn’t some people, especially seemingly intelligent folks, be called on their ignorance?” After all, I could have responded more sarcastically than I did if I had asked “Ma'am, can you tell me what city I’m in? Have I left Boston?”

Some years ago, my former wife was walking from her apartment a few blocks away from mine to spend the day with me. As she strolled along she heard a teenager observe, “I’ll bet that poor blind lady doesn’t even know what day it is!”

When she told me of that encounter, I said: “You should have responded—“I do, too, know what day it is, it’s Thursday!” Actually, it was really Saturday.

To that knowledgeable and conscientious lady I encountered the other night, it was somehow believable that I might be wandering the street without a purpose or a clue. Therefore, she would be a good citizen and tell me where I was headed, even if I didn’t know where I intended to go.

To me, it’s inconceivable that anyone, blind or sighted, disabled or not, would be out and about without a plan or a way to get from point A to point B.

To me, that lady was outrageous in what I considered her ignorance. To her, I must have seemed foolish to be out in the dark perhaps not realizing where I’d been or comprehending where I was going. Therefore, from a conceptual standpoint, we were both outrageous to one another.

The problem was, we didn’t know each other. She knew me a tad better than I knew her. She saw me as a blind man with what that often implies. I picked up on her cigarette smoking. Actually, her directions were as clipped as an air traffic controller’s might be. Perhaps she’s worked for NASA guiding astronauts. Perhaps she’s a police or taxi dispatcher. Sadly, or perhaps not so sadly, we just don’t really know one another.

Try this idea on for size. Can you imagine what it might be like to meet you? That’s right -- you! Are you sure that you come across to others as you perceive? How often are you misunderstood? Have you ever been pleasantly surprised that someone liked you better than you thought they did following your first meeting? Are you always aware whether others find you pleasant or hard to take? Of course, how you come across to someone else has a lot to do with that person. Still, it’s highly likely that in several ways our self-perception differs markedly with other people’s perception of us.

If the idea of meeting yourself brings about feelings of ambiguity, join the club.

If you are absolutely sure that the world sees you precisely as you see you, you are even more outrageous than she or me! Congratulations!!!

RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,

EDWIN COONEY

FIGHTING FOR FREEDOM—WHEN AND WHEN NOT?

By Edwin Cooney

Today marks the sixty-seventh anniversary of D-Day, June 6^th, 1944. On that day, the most powerful elements of the world’s "good people" attacked the fortress of the most powerful elements of the world’s "bad people." The day of the Normandy Invasion was truly part of a four year fight for freedom. The most significant instrument of the success of that undertaking was Dwight David (Ike) Eisenhower’s “regular soldier.” Ike’s regular soldier wasn’t a graduate of West Point or Annapolis. He was usually a shopkeeper, a mechanic, a teacher or even a preacher. War wasn’t his profession; it was only a temporary obsession.

At least twice a year, on Memorial and Veteran’s Days, Americans are practically commanded by veteran’s groups (which invariably include the President and some high-powered influential military bigwigs) to celebrate the fallen soldier who gave his life for our freedom.

It can be argued, however, that our freedom has really only been at stake twice in the past 236 years. Even at that, the Revolutionary War, which gave us our freedom, almost didn’t happen.

The shot from Concord or Lexington that was heard around the world was fired sometime around midnight on Wednesday, April 19, 1775. That shot was in response to Massachusetts Colonial Governor Thomas Gage’s determination to capture arms that were being protected by Sam Adams and John Hancock somewhere near Concord. A day or two later, a proposal from the King’s Prime Minister, Lord North, reached the colonies. It offered to negotiate a fair tax policy, separately, with each one of the thirteen colonial legislatures. Sadly, for the fate of 25,000 Americans, the Parliament’s practical temperance was no match for Governor Gage’s aggression and the colonists' war fever would intensify.

No historian would assert that the War of 1812 (which also almost didn’t happen but did due to the late arrival of a British concession), the Mexican, the Civil War, the Spanish American war or even World War I was fought for the sake of liberty. (As for the 1836 Battle of the Alamo, those brave Texans were fighting in part for their freedom to keep black men in chains which was forbidden by the Mexican government and the moral principles of the Roman Catholic Church.)

World War II, the most necessary war since we gained our independence, had its antecedent in World War I, which was really a family feud between Queen Victoria’s grandchildren. After all, did America’s freedom really depend on whether Britain’s George V or Germany’s Kaiser Wilhelm II won “the war to end all wars?” The defeated Kaiser didn’t even go to jail for his aggression. He lost his throne (which had to be pretty galling), but his exile in Holland wasn’t a physical hardship even if it was something of a social come down.

Of course, we’re told that each war has lessons. How relevant are those lessons toward the prevention of future wars? Didn’t our greed for “manifest destiny,” the force behind the Mexican War, ultimately guarantee the Civil War? Did the 2,446 American soldiers who died during the short Spanish-American War die for our freedom or for the expansion of our foreign market?

The Minuteman of the Revolutionary War was a volunteer, as were many who fought the War of 1812, the Mexican, the Civil and the Spanish-American wars. However, by the time World War I (the war which was to make the world "safe for democracy") came along, the government was drafting men under penalty of law should they choose to resist. Hence, the valiant heroes of America’s most legitimate war were largely drafted. Their individual freedom was at stake if they refused to fight for our freedom.

Along with the United Nations, the threat of Soviet Communism, and atomic death, the gifts of World War II included a lesson -- a real gem -- supposedly applicable for all time to come: “never appease a dictator." Hence, peace through strength is the key to real world peace. So, we sacrificed some 58,000 American soldiers fighting Ho Chi Minh --who was not only a dictator, but a Communist dictator. Was that war ultimately for our national security or for our international prestige?

As I see it, men and women become soldiers because their political leaders have failed to protect them. It’s that simple. We’re most fortunate that Ike’s “regular soldier” did indeed love his country! He only became a soldier because two generations of American and other international leaders let him down.

So, let’s remember our wounded and our fallen, not for the soldiers they were required to become, but for the truly great and generous neighbors God originally intended them to be.

RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,

EDWIN COONEY