A titan among men

He was one of the greats. Priest, educator, compassionate advocate for civil rights, anti Vietnam War demonstrator -- Ted Hesburgh (Father Ted as he was known to millions) was the perfect model of what a religious man should be, but too rarely is.

As you know I am no longer a Catholic and I in fact hold the church in great disdain, but this man was special. My favorite memory of Father Ted is from the dark, dark days of May 1970. The Ohio National Guard had just murdered four students for protesting the war in Vietnam and the enlargement of that war into Cambodia. Campuses across the country erupted in protest. I clearly remember sitting in the first floor lounge of Flanner Tower while a heated debate raged on just one subject: should we march to the ROTC building and burn it down?

We didn't; we channeled our anger into other forms of protest. Ted Hesburgh had a lot to do with that; this is from Notre Dame's web site:

When Father Hesburgh learned of a plot to burn down the ROTC building, he spoke at a student rally, expressing his support of their opposition to the Vietnam War as well as his support of ROTC on campus because of the need for a well-educated military with a conscience. His speech was well received by students, and a large number of them came to his office for copies of it to have them signed by South Bend residents and mailed to President Richard Nixon. The students collected over 23,000 signed copies, which Father Hesburgh then mailed to the President.

Also from the Irish web site: "He was a charter member of the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights, created in 1957, and he chaired the commission from 1969 to 1972, when President Richard Nixon replaced him as chairman because of his criticism of the administration’s civil rights record."

Hesburgh had stood up to Nixon over Vietnam so it was no surprise that he did so again over civil rights. That he lost his job for it made us love him -- and hate Nixon -- even more.

For your sake, Father Ted, I hope you're right that there is a heaven, for you will certainly be there already, smoking the best cigars in the universe.

Two pianos, two flutes, two brothers

I was supposed to be at Carnegie Hall last night for a performance by the Choir of Trinity Wall Street — along with the Trinity Youth Chorus, Washington Chorus, Washington National Cathedral Choir of Boys and Girls and Novus NY(!) From that very crowded stage we were to hear Ginastera’s Turbae ad Passionem Gregorianam and the Symphony No. 4 by Charles Ives.

What, you don’t know the Ginastera? Well, you're not alone. I've never heard it and couldn't find a recording on Spotify, iTunes or amazon. To call it an unknown twentieth-century gem would not be an exaggeration, though of course its status as a gem remains, to me at least, uncertain.

But I love choral music and was looking forward to it. My friend Cathy, a Yale tutor, was going with me.

The weather gods had other plans. They sent another eight inches of snow our way, followed by a topping of ice, so I decided not to trek into the city.

I went instead to the local city, New Haven, where one of Ransom’s students was performing his degree recital. As you can imagine, I've heard quite a few flute recitals in my day, but this one was particularly good. Jake Fridkis plays beautifully and is talented enough that he should have a major career ahead of him. He’s also handsome and a hell of a nice guy — qualities that can only boost his career.

The photo -- sorry for the quality -- shows the stage in Morse Recital Hall. The second piano was not in use and I’ve always wished they would move it off stage when not needed, but it tends to sit there.

The second flute was very much needed and the person playing that flute, on your left, is Gabe Fridkis, Jake’s younger brother. Gabe is currently at SUNY Purchase, where Ransom has worked with him. In fact Ransom conducted Gabe in the Ibert concerto back in November and, I can tell you, there’s a lot of talent in that family. It was a beautiful performance.

Last night Gabe and Jake shared the stage to play the Rigoletto Fantasy by Franz and Karl Doppler — another set of brothers. It was enchanting and the music’s beauty was heightened by the sight of these siblings, who obviously love each other very much, playing so well together. I couldn't help but think of my brother and wonder what kind of music we might have made together if ours had been a musical family.

Jake also played sonatas by Brahms and Richard Strauss and a Romance by Saint-Saëns. It was an excellent recital and I will cherish the memory of the emotional highpoint, Jake and Gabe smiling and playing together.

Still harvesting

The snow continues to fall, the temperature continues to dip into the single digits and the tree harvest goes on. I took these pictures yesterday after work. This morning I talked to one of the guys working here and he said they had filled the log truck five times already, with what you see still waiting to go. That's a lot of wood! But don't worry, this plot of land is several hundred acres. There are thousand of trees left standing.

Not sure why this process fascinates me so much, but it sure does.

I guess the quitting whistle blew before these could be dragged up the hill:

Harvest

Fall has long been my favorite season. I especially like those brisk, windy days that blow away the summer’s languor and freshen the air with the promise of crisp, cool nights and quiet evenings by the fire. It’s harvest time, when the abundance of the land blows me away. I’ve never lived on a farm — and in fact only visited one once or twice — but I imagine it’s thrilling to bring in the harvest and revel in the rewards of hard labor and the magic of growth.

Harvest comes in the fall and looks like this, at least if you're an artist selling to Target or WalMart:

But not here in CT. Not here on Peck Hill Road anyway. Here, harvest looks like this:

We live next to land owned and protected by the South Central Connecticut Regional Water Authority. They are perfect neighbors, as their land will never be developed. Acres and acres and acres of woods abut our house and provide long and lovely walking trails for us and the dogs as well as habitat for deer, foxes, coyotes, wild turkeys, owls and an arkful of other friends.

Well over a year ago, maybe two, this sign appeared on a tree at the end of the water company property:

Seemed like a good idea to us; I figure thinning the herd is good for people and for forests. The same day the sign went up a huge piece of “tree equipment” was parked at the top of the trail.

There is sat for weeks until one day it was removed. Not a tree had been cut, not a branch trimmed. The sign remained; the promised work remained just that: only a promise.

Then last week the equipment was back and this time two men with chainsaws could be heard doing their business. It was 12 degrees the first day we saw them. There’s at least a foot of snow on the ground.

It’s gotten colder since, and snowed twice more, but they have returned several times. Their handiwork is visible everywhere I look:

Harvest in New England I guess. Not lettuce, but lumber. Not waving fields of wheat, but shuddering giants felled by metal teeth and gasoline. Why now, in this weather? Who the hell knows.

We're not there yet

Shades of Governor George Wallace, the racist politician who defied the federal government’s attempts at integration in 1960s Alabama and who famously proclaimed “segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever.” History proved him wrong and will do so again to his brother-in-hatred, Alabama's chief justice, Roy S. Moore.

Moore, as you likely know, ordered local probate judges to ignore a federal court’s ruling that was to allow Alabama to start issuing marriage licenses yesterday to same-sex couples. Judge Moore has a history of ignoring the federal government and has lots of popular support in a state that doesn’t cotton well to the feds.  In 2003, he defied a federal court order that he remove a monument to the Ten Commandments that he had installed in the rotunda of the Alabama Judicial Building in Montgomery.

His monument was removed and, yesterday, his order was ignored, at least by some of the probate judges throughout Alabama. Same-sex couples were wed in Birmingham and Montgomery, though not in Tuscaloosa, my husband’s hometown.

George Wallace delivering his hate message (top);

Judge Moore, below. Is that chewing tobacco in his cheek?

The courts will eventually resolve this mess and I'm betting President Obama will not have to send in federal troops as LBJ did in 1964 – although I wouldn't completely rule that out. What’s of more concern to me are the attitudes beneath the surface of the same-sex marriage debate.

The brilliant Frank Bruni, in Sunday’s New York Times column "Do Gays Unsettle You? Same-Sex Marriage, Republican Scorn and Unfinished Work," worries that the deeply seated attitudes of even gay marriage supporters are not yet what we would like them to be. GLAAD, formed in 1985 as the Gay & Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation, found in a recent Harris Poll that of people who APPROVED of same-sex weddings, twenty percent still said they would feel uncomfortable attending one.

In the more general sample 45% of respondents said they would be reluctant to bring a child to a same sex wedding and 36% said they were uncomfortable just seeing a same-sex couple hold hands.

Hold hands! As I said, we’ve got as long way to go.

To read Bruni’s piece, click here.

Blame Don

My brother asked me the other day if I still blogged. I replied, “Of course I'm still blogging.

Just infrequently.”

Why has it been over two months since I've written anything here? Well, several reasons I think.

First of all I fear that anything I have to say would be stultifying obvious, or has been said already by many others. A very recent example: OF COURSE Christians did horrible things in the name of Christ. That’s a fact. So why does the right wing get all hot and bothered when President Obama says so? I suppose it’s because they simply don't like unpleasant facts.

Take climate change. That was an unpleasant fact. Republicans and conservatives denied its existence until they realized they were the only people left on the planet still doing so.

I've also hesitated to write because everything I’d say is so depressing and so redundant. As the Aurora, Colorado, shooter’s trial gets underway I've thought about gun control and bemoaned the fact that nothing ever changes. I mean, how is it at all possible that Sandy Hook changed nothing? TWENTY CHILDREN MURDERED BY GUN-TOTING MADMAN and yet nothing changes? What the fuck is wrong with us?

I've also been busier than usual, at least in the last month since I've been auditing a Yale class, LGBTQ Cinema with Ron Gregg. It entails a Tuesday night screening, a Wednesday afternoon seminar and LOTS of reading. And not just reading, but academic reading that is at times a real slog for me. Talk about through a glass darkly! I sometimes read entire paragraphs and have no idea what I’ve just read. I read it again and am still lost. Are these Yale kids way smarter than I, or do they just fake it?

But the real reason I fail to post more often is my nearly 50-year friendship with Don. Back in 1965 when we were beginning this remarkable journey we used to talk on the phone for hours. When I complained that I had no privacy, using the phone out in the hall, he gave me a 25-foot telephone cord so that I could lie in bed and talk to him. I told him about everything that happened in my life and we talked about everything imaginable, sometimes, literally, for hours.

Fifty years later we still do, though the medium has changed. We still talk on the phone regularly but we exchange email constantly, all day long most days. (Don has not picked up the texting thing yet, so we use emails back and forth like younger people use texts).

There are days when I might send Don ten or more new emails and each of those might become a thread with many back and forths.

After all that typing and all that sharing, is it any surprise that I don’t hit the blogosphere as often as I might? I'm worn out. I have nothing left to say. Don is the perfect sounding board and offers a bonus the blog does not: nearly instant feedback.

But my loyal fans might have missed me, so I'll try to be here more often.

Let me first email Don the news.