Monday, December 31, 2018

BEGINNINGS AND ENDINGS - TWO INEVITABILITIES OF LIFE!

By Edwin Cooney

Our annual new year’s celebrations compel many of us to contemplate the past, the present and the future or, if you prefer, beginnings and endings. Since beginnings and endings are both inevitable and constant, the question is how can we best manipulate them to our advantage?

As this year comes to a screeching halt, we find that with all the frightening setbacks we have experienced these past 365 days, 2018 has produced at least three victories over traditional obstacles to a happy future. First, just a few days ago, I read an article announcing that medical science is close to a cure of the AIDS virus. Second, the year 2018 is likely to mark the permanent advancement of women and other traditional minority groups in American politics and government. Finally, 2018 may well mark the long overdue reform of our penal system.

These advancements may seem very small to most of us who have no one important to us in prison or who have little interest in politics or have not known anyone who suffers from HIV or the full-blown AIDS virus. You can be sure, however, once you think about it, that even one of these three achievements matters to millions of people.

My thoughts about beginnings and endings are, I suppose, largely due to the passing of the gentleman Harry Potter whom I wrote about two weeks ago. I hurt for those who loved him best and I long for the days I knew him, but love and longing exist within a much larger reality.

Life is that reality. None of us choose to be born, but we’re all born into a world we didn’t create and we possess a limited capacity to control it. From the very outset of life comes the challenge to sustain life.

Even more, we assume that life here on earth, as difficult as it too often is, represents that which is most sacred. Subsequently, we are indoctrinated to fear the end of life to the extent that we establish political and legal institutions such as government, war, and legalized murder (capital punishment) to protect society in general and ourselves in particular from the ravages of outrageous death.

Perhaps the most vital as well as powerful antidote, even against the inevitable, is our outlook on life itself. Every day, men and women in the uniforms of firefighters, police, and medical personnel courageously confront conditions that could  instantly and cruelly kill them. We invariably ask ourselves, how can they dare to do that? The answer is obvious. They allow the possibilities and the necessity of life itself to drown their immediate fear of death.

Imagine for just a moment what life might be like if we didn’t fear death — especially natural death! Might that not sufficiently loosen the grip of death? Suppose death was merely regarded as a natural extension of life? Suppose further that we could comprehend the possibility that those who matter most to us will always be connected to us, especially when we’ve passed beyond the dimension of existence that we call life. I’ve just described the central element of a belief system that we call religion. The knock on religion is that it’s unrealistic! Ah, but it is only unrealistic in our earthly realm. Realists (bless both their logic and their souls!) are, I believe, too often imprisoned by their belief that logic and reason are the only effective tools we possess that are capable of moving humanity forward in humankind’s long path “…from the swamp to the stars.”

Twenty days after 2019 begins, President Donald J. Trump will enter the second half of his presidency. His major task will be to function according to the dictates of the record he has set. Two years ago, Americans largely voted for him because he wasn’t Hillary Clinton. Today, he no longer has Hillary Clinton to “…kick around anymore.” Thus, Mr. Trump’s 2019 beginning will invariably be affected by who he is rather than who he isn’t. We, his constituents (whether or not we approve of him and his administration — which this observer definitely does not) have an obligation to make him accountable for who he is and for what he does. Like the times themselves, presidential terms must deal with beginnings and endings. Even the most successful presidencies have suffered endings in their popularity. FDR never achieved the heights of popularity and influence he experienced in his first term after attempting, in 1937,  to “pack” the Supreme Court. LBJ lost his political way when he broke his 1964 election pledge to make Asian boys rather than American boys fight the Vietnam War. Ronald Reagan wasn’t the same in the wake of Iran Contra in the fall of 1986. Finally, both President Bush’s tripped themselves up by increasing taxes and by overestimating the threat Saddam Hussein was to our national security. 

Tomorrow will be different than today. In some ways that’s both good and bad. Some wonderful traditions may be about to die while others are about to be established. Still other traditions will be preserved after considerable struggle.

Closing his acceptance speech for a second presidential term at the GOP National Convention in San Francisco back in August 1956, President Dwight D. Eisenhower quoted Henry Ward Beecher when he said: “Every tomorrow has two handles. We can take hold of it by either the handle of anxiety or the handle of faith.”

I’d alter that statement to stress the handle of hope rather than faith. Hope is the seed of expectation and progress. As such, hope energizes creativity and progress.

As hard as it may be, force yourself to continue your interest in civic affairs and, to the degree you can, take part in them. Tomorrow may even fall short of today when it comes to a question of perfection. On the other hand, tomorrow just might outshine all of the eras that have come before it. You can be absolutely sure, however, of one certainty.

Tomorrow will be far from boring! You won’t want to miss the endings that make tomorrow’s substantial beginnings inevitable!

RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,
EDWIN COONEY

Monday, December 24, 2018

A VERY SPECIAL STATE OF MIND!

By Edwin Cooney

Although I’ve always loved Christmas whatever my fortune may be, I know there are millions of people who’d just as soon pass on it. In that sense, Christmas is like every other day, to “use as you choose!”

In Puritan New England in the 1600’s, Christmas was banned. Celebrants of Christmas were fined as much as five shillings should they be discovered “Christmas-ing!” (my word of course!).  Puritans found no scriptural justification for Christmas. Furthermore, Christmas, as too often practiced by Anglicans and Catholics, was an exceedingly rowdy holiday with sports, drink, rudeness and even lewdness.

Tomorrow will be my 73rd Christmas.  Some Christmases, due to the thoughtfulness and generosity of many (as well as my willingness to suspend believability in exchange for self-gratifying imagination) have been wonderful. Other Christmases have been made uncomfortable by illness, saddened by separation and divorce, empty due to loneliness. Nevertheless, I’ve never felt a sense of indifference about Christmas.

If I describe something as magical, what does that mean to you? Of course, there is magic in Halloween ghosts, goblins and witches, but I’m in capable of handling ghoulish magic. To me, what’s magical is inevitably wonderful and I can tell you when that began for me.

I had just turned eight years old after Thanksgiving of 1953. My dormitory room was on the second floor of the south end of Hamilton Hall at the New York State School for the Blind in Batavia. We’d be in bed by 7:30 and as the 8 o’clock hour began I’d hear Christmas carols coming from an organ in the room just below mine. It was wonderful to hear and it put me in a happy mood. “Christmas must be just around the corner,” I told myself. My favorite carol turned out to be “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear.” I knew the words and I imagined myself as a shepherd boy in the fields with the sheep as an especially bright star hovered overhead and an angel appeared with “good tidings of great joy.” Baby Jesus was newly born and I was invited to visit the baby. I loved long hikes back then, so a hike that ended with a Christmas party was very exciting. I anticipated that we shepherd boys would visit the baby and the party would begin. Of course, there would be cake and ice cream, cookies, doughnuts, candy, oranges, tangerines, juice, milk, hot chocolate and lots of presents given by Santa Claus to both baby Jesus and we shepherd boys. How could it not be that way? Even later, as I became familiar with world geography,  although I always knew better, I loved imagining where Santa was on Christmas Eve. Of course, the North Pole was somewhere near Alaska and, although I could never decide for myself how Santa managed to make his world tour, land on all those roofs and eat all the cookies and milk children everywhere left out for him, it was still fun imagining it all.

Ultimately, Christmas is a state of mind. Even more, Christmas is personal. Nothing you believe about it has anything to do with right or wrong. Historians and theologians will remind you and me that Jesus was probably born sometime in April rather than during the winter solstice, but so what? As for the over-commercialization of Christmas, Christmas always has been and always will be the permission we extend to ourselves to celebrate one another, to give and receive.

The older I get, the less I feel the need to receive presents, although surprises and gifts will always be pleasant experiences. The ultimate power of Christmas is beyond our individual capacity for imagining. The power of Christmas is in our willingness to do what we can to make one another feel worthwhile.

Christmas, as addressed here, is a Christian holiday, but Christians have no monopoly on either thoughtfulness or generosity. Generosity is both secular and religious. Acknowledgment of the needs and hopes of other people is, in the final analysis, what the “Christmas spirit” is all about.

Christmas is indeed a very, very special state of mind! All glory be to its name!

Merry Christmas, everyone!

RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,
EDWIN COONEY

Monday, December 17, 2018

HE AIN’T NO WIZARD, HE’S JUST FOLKS!

Except for perhaps ten people who read these weekly musings, none of you know the gentleman who is the topic of this week’s commentary. I’d tell you his whole name, and perhaps I will at the end, because if I do that at the outset, you’ll think I’m just a name dropper!

Okay, his first name is Harry. I don’t know how many Harry’s you know or have met, let alone how you feel about them, but the name Harry for me has a number of special connotations. Among them are strength of character, reliability, thoughtfulness, and a sunny nature.

My friend Harry was born in the State of Maine the same summer that Charles A. Lindberg flew the Atlantic, Babe Ruth hit 60 home runs, and President Calvin Coolidge announced from his summer vacation residence in South Dakota that “I do not choose to run for president in 1928!”

Harry was raised in rural Maine with a brother named Arthur, another brother named Bob, and a sister Ellen. Born of sturdy stock, his mother lived into her nineties just as he has. Best of all, he captured the affections of one of the loveliest of ladies named Sharon in 1956. In the next eight years, Harry and Sharon would have three marvelous children: Jeffrey, Jon, and Ellen. A sweeter little family I’ve never known! Harry was the rock foundation.

Harry didn’t rule his family, he steadied it. He has an infectious little chuckle that under certain circumstances nettles his wife. He loves checkers and chess and enjoys watching or listening to baseball, especially Red Sox baseball, although unlike some husbands, he never caught hell for being obsessed over it.

Harry has elements of New England reserve and rugged handsomeness along with a slow rural New England drawl. He is affectionate to his wife and children and tolerant but tactful in his relationship with family and friends without being overly demonstrative. His patience is almost endless - so indeed is his interest in others!

One summer during the 1960s, his mother-in-law Edith borrowed a tandem bicycle from the residential school for the blind that I attended and where she worked as a house parent. Harry and I took a spin on it with him driving in front as I eagerly furnished the power and the speed from the rear. As we approached home, Harry started urging “whoa.” Next he was shouting “whoa,” and finally he was laughing and practically gasping “whoa, Nelly!” as we shot into the driveway and beyond where his car was parked… ending up in a huge hedge that separated two driveways.

Harry is New England through and through — particularly rural New England. He owned a set of albums of New England humor by two divinity students. The first was called “Bert and I,” while the second was called “The Bluebird, Number Two.” Harry would almost slap his sides listening to the story about the Maine farmer who won a week’s trip to New York City by winning a radio version of “Name That Tune.” Yes, indeed, he got it: the answer was the Battle Hymn of the ‘Public and then he was off to the big city. Upon his return, the town mayor thought it would be a good idea to welcome the old boy back. Thus, all of the townsfolk were at the depot. “How’d you like New York?” They all almost shouted in unison. The old farmer paused for just an instance before saying, “There was so much going on down at the depot, I didn’t get a chance to see the village!”

I was visiting him and his family one Thanksgiving when the Greyhound bus from Rochester arrived at the bus station in Watertown, New York. At the same time, a taxicab pulled into the station. As he greeted me by the bus, he said, “A cab pulled up just as the bus did and I hesitated because a taxi from Rochester costs a lot more than a bus and I decided that if you’d taken that  cab, you’d be on your own!”

When I first met Harry on Thanksgiving Day in 1964, he and his family lived near Albany, New York where he was employed by the Department of Agriculture. Albany, the capital of New York and the seat of state government, is also the seat of New York State politics. Harry, being a lifelong New Englander, shared my then lifelong Republicanism. I was a real Goldwater “firebrand” back then who was absolutely certain that anyone who didn’t share my conservative Republican values was emotionally and patriotically imbalanced, to say the least! I could tell right off that Harry wasn’t quite as enthusiastic as I was about Senator Goldwater, but he was definitely a Republican - even if he was a “Rockefeller” Republican! “I understand your fire,” he told me one day, “but you have to leave room for others to join you if you hope to carry the majority with you.”

It’s difficult to adequately convey why Harry is so special. A lifelong Methodist, he has never, in my presence, waxed eloquent on his values, his beliefs, or even his faith. In fact, I’ve never heard Harry talk about himself. Nor does he even acknowledge his selflessness. He’s one of those gentleman who focuses on you whenever you’re with him.

There are millions of guys named Harry! Perhaps the most prominent Harry was Harry Truman. Well, there’s a touch of Truman in my friend Harry’s plain unassuming nature, although the former president doesn’t even come close to my friend Harry’s soothing temperament.

So, you may well ask, why tell us about someone we’ve never met and probably never will? The answer is at least threefold.

First, what Abraham Lincoln called “the better angels of our nature” are more likely to come forth to our benefit when we’re willing to learn about those better angels that make up other people’s character; Second, the most constant partner in all of our lives is ultimately our good name. Some names just stand out. (Isn’t it always a bit shocking when there’s a headline about a man named Washington who is caught lying?) Third, it might be observed that the worth of your name or mine is initially up to you and me. Since that Thursday, November 26th, 1964, this man named Harry has embodied to me that gentle combination of strength, reliability, and wonderful humor that any person would be proud to be known for.

Sadly, it appears that Harry is approaching the twilight of his time with us. Sharon informs me that he’s captured the hearts of the nurses and medical staff who have cared for him. (I’m not the least bit surprised about that!)     

Since the days of William Shakespeare humanity has asked, “What’s in a name?” My friend Harry has a very famous name which you all will recognize.

Still, Harry Potter is no wizard — he’s just folks!

RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,
EDWIN COONEY

Monday, December 10, 2018

WHO WAS GEORGE HERBERT WALKER BUSH?

By Edwin Cooney

So, who was this man named George Herbert Walker Bush? What made him tick? I think I know. See if you agree!

Born on Thursday, June 12th, 1924, George H. W. Bush was truly a remarkable public servant and even a gentleman — most of the time. Upon his passing on Friday night, November 30th, 2018,  he was the oldest ex-president in our history. Now that he belongs to the ages,” as War Secretary Edwin Stanton said of Abraham Lincoln, there is a sense of loneliness in millions of hearts.

His birthplace was Milton, Massachusetts. He was named after his maternal grandfather, George Herbert Walker, then an investment banker living in St. Louis, Missouri. His paternal grandfather was Samuel P. Bush, an episcopal minister.

His father was Prescott Bush, a native of Columbus Ohio, who was elected to the United States Senate from the State of Connecticut in 1952 as an Eisenhower Republican — fiscally conservative but internationally and socially progressive. (In July 1960, President Eisenhower included Prescott Bush in a private list of the ten Republicans most qualified to serve as President of the United States.) Prescott Bush’s Eisenhower Republicanism would be firmly repudiated by the wing of the GOP which young George would seek to be a part of beginning in 1964.

Dorothy (Walker) Bush, a star athlete from Kennebunkport, Maine, was his mother. Her father was, in addition to being a highly successful businessman and investment banker, the amateur heavyweight boxing champion of the State of Missouri between 1921 and 1923 and was one of the founders of the American Golf Association. He also founded the annual Walker Cup amateur Golf tournament between American and British golfers.

Like so many wealthy parents of that era, Prescott and Dorothy Bush strongly and strictly instilled in their offspring what has often been called noblesse oblige - that is, that not only must they refrain from boasting of their status in life, they had a firm moral obligation to public service to repay society for the fiscal, social and political advantages  which they had gained through society.

In addition to his immediate heritage (his father and his mother as well as his paternal and maternal grandparents), George H. W. Bush has a fascinating collateral ancestry.
His fourth cousin seven times removed is a gentleman by the name of Benedict Arnold. (I don’t recall that cousin Benedict was recognized during last week’s tributes to Mr. Bush — do you?)
President Bush’s fifth cousin four times removed was our fourteenth president, Franklin Pierce. (He was also Barbara (Pierce) Bush’s great uncle.)
Theodore Roosevelt is President Bush’s seventh cousin three times removed.
Another seventh cousin four times removed is Abraham Lincoln. (Those two seventh cousins should have been mentioned during last Wednesday’s funeral service!)
Winston Churchill is Mr. Bush’s eighth cousin only once removed.
Actress Marilyn Monroe was Mr. Bush’s ninth cousin twice removed.
James Danforth Quayle was actually President Bush’s tenth cousin once removed (any questions?).
Finally, President Gerald R. Ford was Mr. GWH Bush’s eleventh cousin once removed.
(Note: The above information comes from William D. Gregorio’s Complete Book of Presidents which drew its information from the New England Historic Genealogical Society of Boston, Massachusetts.)

Since we’ve all been virtually inundated with President Bush’s good intentions, achievements, kindnesses, gentlemanliness, courage, and conscientiousness, all more than appropriate, I think I’ve finally identified the flaw in his nature that made him a one term president.

His flaw was his inbred but badly managed competitiveness. To a high degree, he inherited this competitiveness from his parents and maternal grandparents.

His mother Dorothy Bush was always competitive. As a teenager, she was runner-up for the national girls’ amateur tennis championship. Additionally, she was a star in baseball, basketball, as well as in tennis. She promised a $5 prize to her first son to defeat her in a tennis match. Her 16-year-old son George was the one who collected the prize.  Dorothy Bush was so competitive that she smacked a home run in a family softball game just before leaving for the hospital to give birth to her first son Prescott, Jr. (Now that’s serious competitiveness if you ask me!)   

Competitiveness at its best can be both inspiring and profitable. However, like every other positive human trait, it can be deadly if misapplied.

When young George moved from his eastern political background to Texas, he had to forgo any sympathy he had for blacks despite his parental training in order to be successful. Hence, in 1964, as he campaigned against liberal Democratic Senator Ralph Yarborough, he had to oppose, as did the GOP nominee Barry M. Goldwater, the Civil Rights Act, despite his father’s sponsorship of the United Negro College Fund. He lost anyway. In 1968, there was enough liberalism throughout Houston to justify his support for the Fair Housing Act sponsored by LBJ which prohibited discrimination in selling or renting to black Vietnam veterans. In fact, young Bush persuaded an initial hostile audience of the necessity that he support such a measure. He later said that up until his election as president, it was the most gratifying experience of his political life.

With all his successes as Ambassador to the United Nations, chairman of the Republican National Committee, America’s liaison to China, and Director of the CIA, Bush turned out to be most vulnerable when he was personally running for office.

In 1980, he nearly destroyed his chance to be Ronald Reagan’s running mate when he labeled Supply Side Economics “Voodoo Economics.” Throughout Bush’s Vice Presidency, many conservatives were dubious about whether they could trust George Bush with “Reaganomics” once the old cowboy rode off into the sunset!

I’m convinced that the fact that Dan Quayle was his tenth cousin once removed had nothing to do with his choice as George Bush’s running mate. For eight years, Mr. Bush was constantly compared and contrasted with Ronald Reagan. If he had selected Robert Dole or even his wife Elizabeth Dole as his running mate, he would have continued to be haunted by speculation that someone prominent and powerful was waiting in the wings to undo him. Dan Quayle would be no political competition.

Mr. Bush often identified politics as the “dirty little price” one had to pay in order to be elected president. Hence he paid it.

His campaign against Michael Dukakis had nothing to do with the specifics of presidential or executive administration. The cleanliness of Boston Harbor was both a state and federal problem. Whether or not everyone should be compelled to salute the flag was only an issue because Governor Dukakis had sustained the individual right on religious grounds to refrain from saluting the flag. As for the issue of crime, President Reagan as Governor of California had a program similar to the program in Massachusetts. Thus, the only factor that divided the two furlough programs was the act of a black prisoner named Willie Horton whose individual moral corruption rather than racial depravity was the cause of his crimes.

Ultimately, his biggest competitive mistake made him a one term president. “Read my lips. No new taxes!” George Bush had to know better than to make such a promise. No responsible and hopefully effective president or executive throws away such a presidential option. Ultimately, Pat Buchanan made President Bush pay for his competitive carelessness.

I admired and even enjoyed hearing and considering President Bush’s ideas and activities during his presidency, but for me there was always the feeling that somehow President George Herbert Walker Bush was crucially more politically expedient than he was substantively wise in comparison to some presidents I can name.

The praise, much of which he richly deserves, is what has brought forth in my mind the conclusion I share with you this week. How could such a knowledgeable, intelligent, well-intentioned and purely decent president have avoided being re-elected? Of course, he had opposition, but it was mostly passionless and based on socio/ideological grounds. There must be, after all, a flaw. As I see it,  mismanagement of his competitive instinct was that fatal political flaw!

What say you?

RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,
EDWIN COONEY