Daily Blues & Views

 They are using all the superlatives today.  His performance was breathtaking.  You don't see this very often.  This could be the horse of a lifetime.   After Flightline won the Malibu Stakes opening day at Santa Anita, the pundits and old-timers, the youthful and the addicted gamblers, the occasional fan, and the newbie were all stunned by his performance.   It wasn't merely good, it was off the charts.  This horse has the potential to be beyond something special. The veterans of the sport, who have seen it all before,  know it's way too early to get this excited.  Still, given the current state of affairs in this difficult, if not miserable world today, the possibility is there.  It's a good thing that Flightline's trainer, John Sadler, has handled horses of this caliber before.  That helps because patience with a capital P is often the key. These days, when I watch a horse race, it's at home and by myself.  I often...

 I knew the day would come.  But it conveniently was so easy to put off.  Yet, these days of pandemic boredom and too much time on my hands brought the inevitable forward.  I've got a job to do.  A very sensitive job, but one that very few care about.  Still, it's time. I have a very small family.  I could probably fit everyone in my living room.  Just one cousin on my mother's side, a sister, and nobody on my father's side.  Most are gone, and within 20-25 years half of those left will be too.   Yet their lives in photographs, ephemera, a few personal items, and miscellaneous objects remain.  To this, I can add my personal collection of journals, watercolor paintings, books, poems, photographs, memorabilia, and 30 years of classroom odds and ends from my teaching career.   What to do with this stuff?  That is the question.  It wouldn't be such a big deal if only there were a few more relatives or my own chi...

 My reading this week has taken me from the frying pan into the fire.  I'd better be careful with these fiery metaphors because it's easy to be misunderstood or offend when writing about grisly topics such as the Holocaust or lynchings in America. Nevertheless, I'll proceed.   Having just finished T he Tattooist of Auschwitz,   I then picked up the new biography of Malcolm X called The Dead are Rising , by Les Payne and his daughter Tamara Payne. Both, in their own ways, are love stories, and that ironic twist makes them even more fascinating to contrast.  The latter is also another kind of love story in that Tamara Payne finished the book after the untimely death of her father, Les. For Les Payne, this book was a labor of love that saw him through to the end of his days.  He felt so strongly about filling in the gaps from various media distortions over the years, that the book is meticulously researched, hence his near 30 year stretch working on ...

 I think I'll sell my cowboy boots.  They are lightly used and a damn good pair.  Originally priced at $300, I'd take $20 for them.  Someone who wears a size 10 and likes a solid black leather boot will be very pleased.  These boots have a story.  They come from one of the best boot makers in the country (Texas) and represent a victory in the Kentucky Derby that a friend of mine enjoyed and passed along to me. Here's what happened.  Frankie befriended me when he saw me reading a copy of Bloodhorse magazine in our local Bay Area coffeehouse.   "Pardon me," he said,  "Do you think I could take a look at that, for a minute when you are done?"  Of course, he could.  I said something like, "be sure to read the article I wrote too."  Thus began our unlikely friendship. Frankie worked with his hands; I worked with my head.  He was a recovering alcoholic, I never drank more than two beers or two glasses of wine at a time...ev...

 I imagine you      Thinking of me, Across a bridge of decades,      I was alone With a way forward,      Cleared to live in the moment, People always find me when I appear lost,       Wandering a grocery store, Some idle checker will offer...      But what I seek is not on a shelf, Sitting on a stoop, I have met saviors,      As they chanced to pass, Eyes looking upward,      Our time together was brief But powerful, Years do not diminish your memory,      Or is it my memory? I am buried by these bridges,      But no longer in need, Just the thought of your face,      As it was, As it might be now,      Is enough.     

  "Those who see gian ts are still looking at the world through the eyes of a child."                                                                                                        -Anais Nin I love this quote by Anais Nin.  The reasons for my admiration will be forthcoming, but for now, let's consider Ms. Nin, herself.  There was a time back in the early 1970s when it seemed as if there was hardly a young woman who wasn't reading one or more books of The Diary of Anais Nin.  Her personal journals were both fascinating and informative.  he was known as a writer and friend and confidant of some fairly famous folks in the literary circles of her time.  But, it took years of writing erotica under ...

It is fascinating to watch people who have strong feelings about something they know nothing about.  I'm talking about all the fuss about "critical race theory" being taught in schools.  Most who think they oppose this idea don't seem to know what it is much less that it isn't being "taught,"  By way of definition, critical race theory refers to the practice of viewing history through the lens of race.  Imagine teaching the history of this country any other way.  Since its inception, race and the social pyramid that sees one race on top of the power structure and others below has been the state of play.  If you support changing that narrative, then you support both a skewed view of history and a dishonest one.   My decades in public education tell me that there is no way any person or body, public or private can prevent a dedicated teacher from suppressing the truth.   When the door closes and the discussion begins it's only the students...

My other uncle was a New Yorker.  Born and bred.  He was a world traveler because of his job.  As a reporter for King Features Syndicate, he covered all kinds of news stories from a Miss Universe Pageant to political news.  If I'm not mistaken he may even have covered the major events of WWII.  He revealed himself to me through the U.S. Postal Service.  That's because he'd meander into the darkroom at work and pick up 8x10 glossy black and white photos that hit the cutting room floor and send them to me.  90% of what he sent were baseball action shots or famous baseball players posing for news stories.  He knew I was a Giants fan, thus many photos were of the classic Giants teams of the 1950s.   His manilla envelopes were easy to spot.  My name was boldly scrawled in his almost illegible handwriting. One cardboard stay and the words "Do not Bend" accompanied these coveted gifts. Uncle Murray had one daughter.  When he assumed o...

 I had two uncles.  One was on the East Coast and the other on the West Coast.  But geography was far from the differences they shared.  My East Coast uncle was a newspaperman, world traveler, and the husband of my mother's sister.  The Californian had married my father's sister during WWII and post-war they settled, along with my family, in the San Fernando Valley.   At that time the Valley was full of all manner of migrants, clean air, mountain vistas, and affordable homes.  Uncle Cleary, and Aunt Dorothy lived about 10 miles from my family home. We did Christmas, they did Easter, for the first 16 years of my life.  We saw them, occasionally, too on special trips like Sunday afternoon drives, Disneyland, and perhaps a neighborhood birthday or anniversary party.   My Uncle Cleary was always a bit of a mystery to me.  He looked, dressed, and talked unlike my parents or other relatives.  That's because his roots were in Mon...

      It's called a slow-moving coup.  The term seems to have now entered the political lexicon.  TV comedian and political commentator Bill Mahr seems to have been the one who coined the term,  but it has now entered the discussions over network and cable news stations. Of course, this new phenomenon refers to the handiwork of one Donald J. Trump in his one-man mission to dismantle the U.S. Constitution and regain the White House.  Slow-moving because it trudges alone here in 2021 and will gain momentum until the next presidential election in 2024.  By that time the coup will have in place all the necessaries to question the results, sue the appropriate public servants, deny the vote to as many non-followers as possible, and gin up the troops for another go at storming the Capital.     It would be laughable if it weren't so right on the money.  This is really happening to us...in real-time.  The trouble is, that most folk...

 c2021BLGreene He was unknown the first time I saw him.   He wasn’t supposed to be on television that night.   But, an unexpected early knockout left the Friday Night Fights telecast with some time to kill.   It was a four-round bout.   Two skinny’ young Black men, teenagers really’ took turns landing big shots on one another.   This frenzied bout saw both hit the canvas before the kid named Cassius finally prevailed.   He said nothing after the fight.   No interview.   Just another Gillette Blue Blade commercial and a quick sign-off.   The two fledgling warriors I’d seen were a guy called Curly Lee and his opponent Cassius Clay.   The record doesn’t reflect this fight. Maybe it was an amateur or Golden Gloves bout?   Still, I swear this is who I saw.   As sure as I can still repeat the lyrics of the Gillette commercials, (Look sharp! Feel sharp! Be sharp)! Lee vs. Clay was the extra fight that night.   Far as I can t...

 A certain TV commercial currently has my attention.  It's an ad for General Motors and features two guys out in nature, either camping or fishing, or both.  But the rugged scenery accompanied by a rugged truck is not the story here.  What is particularly fascinating is the background music.  A catchy little ditty that most viewers will not recognize but is utterly mystifying is not lost on me.   The background song is none other than "Haywire" Mack McClintock singing his renowned hobo song "Big Rock Candy Mountain."  Of course, the lyrics are heavily edited with only the simpler, more acceptable non-political verses are heard...briefly. So what's the big deal?  Well, friends that song, like its author, is heavily associated with the Industrial Workers of the World, the radical left labor union of historical fame.  The IWW, better known as the Wobblies, were advocates of one big union, and their efforts at organizing played a major role ...

 How do you change someone's mind?  There are lots of theories, tricks, and subtle strategies, but nothing is certain.  All told, the gentle work best. Nobody likes to be bullied into thinking against their will. In the U.S. today, we could use a good dose of mind-changing.  We have a pandemic of the unvaccinated that continues to have a major impact on all our institutions and is slowly eroding our economy, educational system, and what's left of our democracy.   We have a few million people who are determined not to be vaccinated against COVID19 and who continue to throw fits about any sort of mask mandate.  They resist all attempts to do what is necessary for this critical time, so are in need of mind-changing.  But how to reach them? Clearly, this is a value conflict of the first magnitude.  They value their right to not be forced to do these things over their obligation to public health.  Apparently, the concept of a "social contract...

People are beginning to make the comparison.  They see the obvious.  Reactionary politics is the same whether it's Afghanistan or Texas.  But this week, when the state of Texas passed a version of a law that would not only ban abortion but penalize any person or organization that would aid in helping a woman secure one, the concept was obvious. The irony of the unevolved having much in common seems to be lost on very few.  Yet, the optics are remarkable.  Out of one side of the right-wing newscaster's mouth comes the barbarity of the Taliban, out of the other comes the same notion of control of women with the approval and belief in a barbaric law.   So what accounts for this paradoxical symmetry?  At the bottom, as a common denominator is a belief in fundamentalism.  Both the cowboy and the terrorist are unable to change with the times.  They cling to archaic notions and are determined to hold their dwindling power until the end.  B...

 The unexplainable has always fascinated me.  Mostly because I tend to be a skeptical person.  I want my history based on evidence and facts, just like it's a necessity in my writing.  When I was grading entrance exams for the University of California, I recall one of the rubric points... Abundant use of specific examples.  That's a no-brainer for effective prose,   But every now and then, something comes along that defies explanation.  One of life's mysteries that is essentially un effable.  My favorite kind is the mystical variety.  Like a good Zen koan, it must be pondered for a lifetime, with no guarantee of understanding.   We've all had these experiences.  Unexplainable coincidences? Are there coincidences?  Synchronicity?  Perhaps.  Sometimes the only alternative is to just enjoy such experiences and sit back and let life happen. I recall one such powerful experience right before I graduated college....

 It has a name. It’s called anticipation and it’s the first phase of the teaching cycle. This special time of the year for teachers of all levels is one of the most enjoyable.  That manic time before the school year actually starts when teachers have the luxury of thinking ahead and getting excited about the coming year.  All those things you are planning to do differently. The new ideas that you’ll try for the first time. A roll book and a grade book that’s empty and pristine. And those classes you are anxious to meet. The first few weeks in a school year are all about anticipation.  Even though the last couple of years, with virtual teaching and the COVID restrictions calling the shots have taken their toll, this is the time of year that teachers feel the pull of starting over. It’s a good pull. It’s fun to set up a classroom, prepare for those first few days, and meet new people. That includes new colleagues and students. Right now a first year teacher will soon e...

 The Reader's Digest magazine used to have a feature called "My Most Unforgettable Character." Maybe it still does, but I haven't picked one up in years.  I don't think waiting rooms have them anymore.  I never considered writing a piece by that title because I always thought it was something best done in the later years of life.  Now that I've arrived at that distinction, here goes. His name was Bob DeWitt.  We first met at his place in Mariposa, California.  He had a ranch in those Yosemite foothills where he'd built a little barn theater he called the "Feedback Theater." Bob's connection to the outside world was through the Pacifica radio station KFCF in Fresno, Ca.  He'd heard some excerpts of a show that my friend Lenny Anderson and I were doing called "An Evening with Woody Guthrie" and invited us to do the program at his venue.  Apparently, local ranchers, folkies, and interested people from far and near often attended th...

 I just finished The Four Winds , a novel by Kristen Hannah.  My sister recommended the book to me because it's a dust bowl story, and she knows I've studied that period of history for many years and taught both history and English classes using materials, books, artifacts, and films of the period.  This novel is important because it is from a woman's perspective.  That's a criticism that Steinbeck's Grapes of Wrath has long withstood.  Were I still in the classroom today, there's no doubt I would pair these two novels for a richer and more accurate picture of the people and issues that have been so poignantly been portrayed in this culture. Like the existing literature on the dust bowl, The Four Winds includes the bloody labor struggles of the period.  So many of the things we take for granted, like weekends, minimum wage, and paid vacations, came from those labor wars.  The author doesn't shy from the collusion between the big growers and the politic...

 I remember the day.  My colleague who taught right next door to me came over to see me a few minutes before the first afternoon class that day.  She'd been assisting some of the counselors with programing for next year so I wasn't too surprised with her request.   "Is it possible," she asked, "for me to pull out your students one at a time to check in with them about their programs for senior year?"  I had no problem with that.  It was a 90-minute block class and my American Lit students were finishing up an assignment, after which we'd share responses and discuss the play we were currently reading.  My only concern was that everyone is back in the room by the last 15-20 minutes of the period.  She assured me they would. So, that's what happened.  Students were called one at a time and they quietly exited and reentered the classroom until all 30 or so were finished.  Marilyn, my neighbor, popped her hear inside the door, thanked me...

 Portland is doing its best imitation of Death Valley today.  Another record falls today.  As I write today it's currently 108 on its way toward 112 or 113.  Just for curiosity's sake, I checked on Death Valley.  It's 120 the same temperature it was on the day I visited that marvel of a landscape about 40 years ago. While many in the Pacific Northwest are strangers to this kind of oppressive heat, I grew up in Southern California and recall days in July as a Little Leaguer when 3 digit temperatures threatened to cancel our games. They never did. Coming home to a cool shower and some cold watermelon were always waiting and made for a most relaxing end to the day. When I lived in Texas, the heat was laced with humidity.  Same for the time I spent in Louisiana.  I remember one Sunday morning in New Orleans when I was meeting some friends for brunch in one of those old Garden District homes converted into a restaurant.  It was only about a half-mile f...

 The past few years I've been thinking about memory more and more. What gets retained, and what does not? What drifts away and what finds its way back with a little help from our friends? Lately, too, I've been finding that not only does my memory play tricks on me from time to time, but some things that remain crystal clear in my mind are no-shows in the memories of close friends of mine.  Close friends who were right there with me at the time. Loss of memory with age is to be expected.  It comes with the territory.  But what I'm talking about here is the loss of various experiences that one would expect to be saved, if not permanent.  This may have to do with the emotions felt at the time.   In my introductory psychology classes, I often asked students to think about their first memories.  What is your earliest memory?  On occasion, there would be a handful of students who can't recall anything before the age of 5 or 6.  Conversely, th...

 We hit the road a couple of days ago.  The first driving marathon since before the pandemic.  I can still do a 12-hour stint, though I don't advise that for anyone.  But when the temps in the Central Vally are three digits and there is a good bed awaiting you in the next state over, nice to know it's still doable. From Portland to the California line is a beautiful stretch.  Still very green this time of year, but also showing the scars of last year's awful wildfires in parts.  Somewhere between Cottage Grove and Roseburg a melancholy song came on the radio.  It was Dinah Washington's version of "I Got It Bad and That Ain't Good." I was reminded of how smooth and distinct her voice was.  Katie asked if that was Billie Holiday and I said that while that was certainly a good guess, I thought it was Dinah Washington because there are subtle differences.  I wouldn't be surprised if Billie recorded a version of the same tune because it's definite...