Replace The National Bird?

The hard right wing of the Republican Party keeps proving there is no limit to their lunacy.  It is so pronounced that we are surprised they haven’t advocated replacing the Bald Eagle with the Loon as our national bird. Maybe they’re too busy cooking up conspiracies to get to that.

Out with the elephant as the party symbol. In with the Loon.

I have decided these people need a sense-of-humor transplant for starters.  Have you ever seen any of them indicate any sign of sincere happiness about anything?  But if they got the transplant, who would be the first ones they would laugh about?  The mirror holds the answer.

There seems to be no end to their absurdity, to wit:

Not content to maintain that the 2020 election was rigged, they now are all a-twitter (or maybe all a-X) about how the NFL has rigged the playoffs and the upcoming Super Bowl so the Chiefs will win and Taylor Swift and boyfriend Travis Kelce will announce they endorse Joe Biden for re-election.

I kid you not.

Dominick Mastrangelo and Sarakshi Rai wrote for The Hill last week that Swift, a person of the year for Time magazine and the dominant figure in the entertainment world led some artificial intelligence-composed fake images “broke the internet,” has become an obsession with the nutcase caucus of the GOP.

Swift endorsed Joe Biden four years ago and has been “somewhat active” politically otherwise. “Swift’s incredible popularity is also bringing to the forefront various ugly sides of 21st century American life, from explicit AI-generated deepfakes of the superstar that briefly closed down Taylor Swift searches this week on X to unfounded conspiracy theories,” they wrote,.

Vivek Ramaswamy, a paragon of reasonableness, wrote the morning after the Chiefs beat the Ravens for the AFC championship, “I wonder who’s going to win the Super Bowl next month. And I wonder if there’s a major presidential endorsement coming from an artificially culturally propped-up couple this fall. Just some wild speculation over here, let’s see how it ages over the next 8 months.” None other than Elon Musk responded, “Exactly.”

Other inmates running the far right asylum chimed in. Jack Lombard, an activist who lost a bid for the House two years ago, went on social media to proclaim that he has “never been more convinced that the Super Bowl is rigged.”

Somebody named Mike Crispi who is described as the host of a Rumble video on Musk’s social media site says the NFL has “totally” rigged the Super Bowl, “all to spread DEMOCRAT PROPAGANDA.”  And, he says, halftime entertainer Usher is going to have to share the spotlight with Swift, who “comes out at the halftime show and ‘endorses’ Joe Biden with Kelce at midfield.”

“The NFL is totally RIGGED for the Kansas City Chiefs, Taylor Swift, Mr. Pfizer (Travis Kelce),” Crispi said “All to spread DEMOCRAT PROPAGANDA. Calling it now: KC wins, goes to Super Bowl, Swift comes out at the halftime show and ‘endorses’ Joe Biden with Kelce at midfield.”

This isn’t something that just became obvious to the loon flock. The writers for The Hill record that Jesse Watters, a FOX News host, said a few weeks ago that this conspiracy isn’t just focused on the Super Bowl.  The Pentagon’s psycholical operations unit has tought about turning Swift into “an asset.”

A lot of people think she already is, and a good one, but in an entirely more complimentary way. “It’s real,” Watters is quoted as saying. “The Pentagon psy-op unit pitched NATO on turning Taylor Swift into an asset for combatting misinformation online.” Somehow a report by Politico that a presenter at a NATO cyber conference referred to Swift as a powerful influencer has turned her into a tool for the psy-op unit.

Over on the pro-Trump Newsmax channel, talking head Greg Kelly warned that public admiration of Ms. Swift could bring the wrath of God down upon her followers because it’s idolatry. “If you look it up in the Bible, it’s a sin,” he proclaimed, without mentioning any concerns about what has been called the Trump Cult.

And what would the loon caucus be without George Soros to drag into any discussion?  Alison Steinberg, a host on another pro-Trump channel (One America News) complained with not a scintilla of evidence that she is “owned by Soros.”

FOX News recently noted that her short flight in her personal jet from New Jersey to Baltimore to watch the AFC championship game produced three tons of CO2 emissions. The story was a personal attack on her, however, rather than an explanation of why the burning of that fossil fuel contributed an infinitesimable amount to climate change. Ignored in the enthusiasm to attack someone who might influence voters away from the network’s favorite ex-president was any mention that said ex-president is an ardent protector of coal mining that continues to produce the fuel that has powered the Industrial Age from the beginning and is a major contributor to mankind’s contribution to our changing climate.

Rolling Stone magazine has reported that the former president is still smarting because she was named Time magazine’s person of the year instead of him. Citing a person close to the former president and another source, it says, “Trump has also privately claimed that he is ‘more popular’ than Swift and that he has more committed fans than she does.”

None other than Trump lawyer Alina Habba, whose defense of the former president resulted in an $83 millon judgment against him, has asked on social media, “Who thinks this country needs a lot more women like Alina Habba and a lot less like Taylor Swift?”

Boy, is THAT ever a hard question to answer…………

The fact that Taylor Swift IS a significant influencer and that her influence has grown since 2020 has put some fear into the hearts of people who cannot grasp that things happen that are not the result of a conspiracy against them and their leader(s).  And there are grounds for their fears.

A Newsweek poll done by Redfield and Wilton strategies of 15-hundred respondents showed 18% of them were “more likely,” or “significantly more likely” to vote for someone Swift endorses.

And that is precisely what the MAGA crowd  wants to discourage. FOX personality, Brian Kilmede, has given some advice that Swift can sweep aside without a thought: endorsing Biden would be “the single dumbest thing a mega superstar could ever do.”

We can think of several dumber things.  Instantly.  Because a lot of mega, or MAGA, superstars have done a lot of dumb things. As far as we know, Taylor Swift never recommended people drink bleach to ward off COVID or other made other similar squirrelly recommendations, for example.

“Why would  you tell half the country that you don’t agree with them in this highly polariezed time? You stay out of it…it would be the craziest thing you could ever do. And Biden isn’t worth it,” he said.

Jeanine Pirro, another FOX personality chimed in that Swift should not “get involved in politics” because she might “alienate her fans.”

How odd that these critics worry about the costs she might incur from exercising her freedom of speech while their own idol complains his freedom of speech is being limited because his message is the exact opposite of hers.

Former CNN talker Chris Cuomo, now doing a similar show on Nexstar’s News Nation, calls these ravings a “mashup of madness” and confesses, “I don’t know what they’re talking about. I don’t know what they’re playing at. It’s completely divorced from reality. No one with a working brain can believe this energy that they’re putting into this. She hasn’t even endorsed anybody. Who cares who she endorses.”

The Biden campaign, Chris. It has indicated the obvious, that he’s open to the idea. She endorsed him in 2020 and her endorsement likely will carry even more weight now. think of how many more people would show up for a Taylor Swift political rally than show up for a Donald Trump political rally.

We have never met Ms. Swift and doubt we ever will. But she sounds far smarter than those who are incubating the latest crop of loon eggs. She is highly capable of making her own decisions without counsel from Kilmede and others who conveniently overlook the log in their own eyes*, thank you—and that is precisely what this bunch is afraid she will do.

Taylor Swift scares the bejeesus out of this crowd because she is admirable for the way she encourages others through her music to be better and to do better. They hate her because she is intelligent and sincerely enthusiastic about things like football and one player—-who seems to be a nice guy away from the ferocity of the game—in particular.  And she speaks her mind— intelligently. I bet you could get a cogent answer if you asked her about the Civil War.

While on the other side, we hear only the tremulous sound of the loon.

(*Matthew 7:3-5: Why do you see the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when there is the log in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother’s eye.)

(Photo credit: National Audubon Society)

A Christmas Carol Some Christians Wouldn’t Want to Sing

A final thought about Christmas before we focus on the challenges of 2024:

Ken Kehner, the extremely talented pianist who accompanies our great Director of Music Ministry and incredible organist, Greten Hudepohl, at the First Christian Church here in Jefferson City,played a Christmas hymn during our communion service yesterday.  I recognized it on about the second note as one of my favorites.

It’s one of the Alfred Burt carols and it’s too bad that they are not better known or more frequently performed.

Alfred Burt was the son of a Michigan Episcopal cleric who graduated from the University of Michigan in 1942 as an outstanding student in music theory, and played trumpet, primarily jazz trumpet, in orchestras and bands.  But once a year, for 15 years between 1942 and 1954, he carried on his father’s tradition of writing a Christmas carol that was sent out to friends instead of Christmas cards. He was only 34 when he died.

Actually, Burt wrote the music and Wihla Houston, the organist at the senior Burt’s Church wrote the lyrics.

In 1951, they produced “Some Children See Him:”

Some children see Him lily white
The baby Jesus born this night
Some children see Him lily white
With tresses soft and fair.

 

Some children see Him bronzed and brown
The Lord of heaven to earth come down
Some children see Him bronzed and brown
With dark and heavy hair.

 

Some children see Him almond-eyed
This Savior whom we kneel beside
Some children see Him almond-eyed
With skin of yellow hue.

Some children see Him dark as they
Sweet Mary’s Son to whom we pray
Some children see him dark as they
And they love Him, too.

 

The children each in different place
Will see the baby Jesus’s face
Like theirs, but bright with heavenly grace
And filled with holy light

 

O lay aside each earthly thing
And with thy heart as offering
Come worship now the infant King
To his love that’s born tonight.
 

This should be a hymn/carol of our time, a time when some who are convinced only their interpretation of Jesus is acceptable or that skin color is a measure of humanity, opportunity, and place, or that believe origins presently or long ago define the quantity of equality to be granted.

But there will be some calling themselves Christians who will reject the idea that other faces see the face of Jesus differently.

Alfred Burt had lung cancer.  He died on February 7, 1954, just two days after he finished scoring the last of his songs, “The Star Carol.”

Ten years later, the singing group “The Voices of Jimmy Joyce, recorded Burt’s carols. It has been in my heart for all these years since.  Although Christmas already is fading from our lives and memories on this New Year’s Day, it might be worth listening to Alfred Burt’s carols that I hope stay with you, too, from Christmas to Christmas.

(58) Jimmy Joyce – This Is Christmas: The Complete Collection Of Alfred S. Burt Carols in 4k (1964) – YouTube

A grander performance was done by the Boston Boys Choir and the Tanglewood Festival Chorus accompanied by the Boston Pops Orchestra under the baton of John Willliams, the great movie theme composer.

(58) John Williams: The Carols of Alfred Burt – YouTube

Alfred Burt, who died 70 years ago this year, gave us a great and abiding gift with the carols he and Wihla Houston composed.

Would that we could see each other the way “Some Children See Him.”

Bigots are People, Too

And don’t they deserve to be represented in our Congress just as the rest of are?  Those of us who are saints?

One person’s bigot is another person’s saint.  But which one is which?

The question has been played out in our dysfunctional Congress where easy name-calling has taken the place of hard work and consensus.

Congresswoman Marjorie Taylor Greene of Georgia might have grounds to complain about bigot-abuse after Vermont Congresswoman Becca Balint of Vermont went off on her a few days ago on the floor of the House of Representatives.  And Representative Rashida Tlaib of Minnesota might complain of bigot-abuse from Greene. In fact she has. We’ll get to that later.

Greene had introduced a resolution to censure Representative Tlaib, a Muslim, for participating in a pro-Palestine rally that Greene claims is “an anti-American and anti-Semitic Insurrection.” She also claimed that Tlaib “followed Hezbollah’s orders to carry out a day of unprecedented anger.”  It took her five minutes to explain her resolution.

Video: Marjorie Taylor Greene Introduces Resolution to Censure Rashida Tlaib | C-SPAN.org

Balint was on the floor hours later with her counter-resolution that took her eleven minutes to sum up what she sees as Green’s sins.

Video: Rep. Balint Offers Resolution Censuring Marjorie Taylor Greene | C-SPAN.org

Tlaib has called Greene’s resolution “unhinged” and has said it is “deeply Islamaphobic and attacks peaceful Jewish anti-war advocates” who want a cease-fire between Israel and Gaza. “I will not be bullied, I will not be dehumanized, and I will not be silenced,” she said. “I will continue to call for ceasefire, for the immediate delivery of humanitarian aid, for the release of hostages and those arbitrarily detained, and for every American to be brought home. I will continue to work for a just and lasting peace that upholds the human rights and dignity of all people, and ensures that no person, no child has to suffer or live in fear of violence.”

This exchange puts us in mind of a song from the motion picture South Pacific.

(Video) You’ve Got to Be Carefully Taught – Song from South Pacific by Rodgers & Hammerstein (rodgersandhammerstein.com)

Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein were attacked, especially in the South, for putting the song in the musical.  James Michener, who wrote the story in his book Tales of the South Pacific on which the play was based, told Hammerstein biographer, “The authors replied stubbornly that this number represented why they had wanted to do this play, and even if it meant the failure of the production, it was going to stay in.”

When the play was presented in Georgia, State Representative David C. Jones considered the son a threat to the American way of life because it sanctioned interracial marriage. Some suggested the song was inspired by Communists.

Hammerstein wrote to one critic, “I am most anxious to make the point not only that prejudice exists and is a problem, but that its birth in teaching and not in the fallacious belief that there are basic biological and psychological and mental differences between the races.”

The play came out in 1949.  The movie came out in 1958. The song was kept for the film. It has been recorded many times since in various forms.  And the lyrics are still powerful.  And accurate.

You’ve got to be taught
To hate and fear,
You’ve got to be taught
From year to year,
It’s got to be drummed
In your dear little ear
You’ve got to be carefully taught.

You’ve got to be taught to be afraid
Of people whose eyes are oddly made,
And people whose skin is a diff’rent shade,
You’ve got to be carefully taught.

You’ve got to be taught before it’s too late,
Before you are six or seven or eight,
To hate all the people your relatives hate,
You’ve got to be carefully taught

In today’s world we see the accuracy of this song being played out in so many places, even in the halls of our national government and in some of our statehouses.  We see blatant efforts being made to make sure our children—and even we adults—are “carefully taught,” and we are seeing some places, including some of our pulpits, where edicts and laws are being issued to make sure  our children and our grandchildren are “carefully taught” to “hate and fear.”

Maintaining silence in the face of those who profit personally or politically by that careful teaching should never be an option. Let us be  unafraid to learn our history, warts and all as Tom Benton would put it.

Separation  (12/12/22)

We have wondered from time to time how to reconcile public performance with personal behavior or belief.

We recently heard a choir perform a song that struck us as a hymn, or potential hymn.  Some of our readers who are more in tune with popular culture will recognize these lyrics.  I am old enough to be disconnected from the appeal of People magazine, for example and I probably would not have known the significance of a good percentage of the women who caused extensive gushing from observers as they strutted along the red carpet at the Oscar ceremonies recently. I have never known why the word Kardashian should occupy any of my attention whatsoever.

So I heard this song and I evaluated it for its lyrics and its sentiments.  And that’s the only thing I considered.

I used to think that I could not go on
And life was nothing but an awful song
But now I know the meaning of true love
I’m leaning on the everlasting arms

If I can see it, then I can do it
If I just believe it, there’s nothing to it

I believe I can fly
I believe I can touch the sky
I think about it every night and day
Spread my wings and fly away
I believe I can soar
I see me running through that open door
I believe I can fly

That seems to be a pretty uplifting sentiment, one that has been expressed in prose, poetry, and music—and inferred in scriptures of various faiths—for centuries: by placing trust in “the everlasting arms,” a person is capable of great things.

At the least, the song is a statement reminiscent of Norman Vincent Peale’s best-seller, The Power of Positive Thinking, which is still in print sixty-five years after it was first published.  Peale wrote, “A positive mental attitude is a belief that things are going to turn out well, and that you can overcome any kind of trouble or difficulty.  Those who seek positive thinking in the Bible point to the first chapter of Luke where it is said, “For with God nothing shall be impossible.”  The sentiment also appears in the nineteenth chapter of Matthew.
I’m leaning on the everlasting arms

If I can see it, then I can do it
If I just believe it, there’s nothing to it

I believe I can fly
I believe I can touch the sky


The rest of the lyrics are al continuing affirmation of that idea, the idea that by leaning on the everlasting arms, anything is possible:

See I was on the verge of breaking down
Sometimes silence can seem so loud
There are miracles in life I must achieve
But first I know it starts inside of me.

If I can see it hoo, then I can be it
If I just believe it, there’s nothing to it

I believe I can fly
I believe…

 A flash mob performed this song in, of all places, an airport in Stockholm: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HCucos4qGQw

But will we hear this song sung in future gospel festivals?  Will we hear it sung by our church choirs?   Will its message be dismissed because of who wrote it?

R. Kelly—

—-who will be sentenced in February on three counts of production of child pornography and three more of enticing a child.

This is the point where some of us ask whether a performer’s works should be ignored because of their personal actions or political positions.  Or can we, should we, separate the person from the performance?  Does the idea that we find a performance worthy of praise somehow automatically mean that we support who the performer is or was as a person?

In the 1960s, plenty of people attacked actress Jane Fonda and folk singer Joan Baez because of their personal political positions on the Vietnam War. And we have seen similar reactions to more contemporary performers such as athletes who kneel during the National Anthem. Many of those who are vehemently opposed to those who kneel during the song cheer when that same player does something good on the field.  Clearly there is room for separation.

Several years ago. I attended a worship service at Martin Luther’s church in Wittenberg, Germany.  At the close of the service, with the centuries-old organ playing behind us, we stood and sang, “A Mighty Fortress is Our God,” Luther’s great hymn. Goosebumps seldom come to me in church regardless of how good the sermon is. But they did that night.  Afterwards, as we talked to the young Lutheran minister from Ohio who was preaching English-language sermons in the church, we were led outside and shown a carving high up on the wall of the old church. It showed people suckling a pig, an anti-Semitic carving on Martin Luther’s church, a reminder that even Luther was not above political sentiments of his time.

I am bolstered at times by the music of Richard Wagner, whose music is informally banned in Israel because of his anti-Semitic writings that influenced the Nazi movement and apparently were appreciated by Adolf Hitler.  But does my appreciation for Wagner’s music mean I agree with his nationalistic writings?  I hope not. Does my appreciation of Jane Fonda as an actress mean that I supported her actions in Vietnam? I hope it doesn’t mean that. Do I have to agree with those who attack kneeling athletes to be a good American, or do I think I need to kneel, too, to be a good American?

So does R. Kelly’s apparently pending disappearance into the prison system for some decades and the reason for it lessen the inspiration that listeners might feel listening to—or even performing—“I Can Fly?”

Why can’t I believe I can fly even if the person who suggested it is beneath my respect?

 

Hymn to the Fallen

Originally, this was Decoration Day, a day set aside in 1868 at the suggestion of Union General John A. Logan to remember the dead of the Civil War. By 1890 all of the northern states had adopted May 30 as “Decoration Day, a day to decorate the graves of those Civil War soldiers who had died “to make men free,” as the song says.

Two world wars turned the day into a day to remember our nation’s dead from all wars.  It became “Memorial Day” in 1971 when a three-day holiday was created with the last Monday in May, regardless of the date, as the observance.

The Jefferson City Community Band is holding its annual Memorial Day Concert today at the First Christian Church, the usual venue for this concert.

The program is always patriotic music or music with a military orientation.

One of the selections this year is John Williams’ Hymn to the Fallen from the 1998 Stephen Spielberg movie “Saving Private Ryan.”

The movie is the story of a World War II Army Ranger unit’s search for a Private James Ryan, an Iowa farm boy whose three brothers have been killed in action.  The Army wants him sent home, alive, but first he must be found.

The unit is led behind enemy lines by Captain John H. Miller to find Ryan before the War Department has to send a fourth letter of profound regret to his mother.  The unit finds Ryan but pays a tragic price by losing several men to save this one.  Miller is the last, telling Ryan, “Earn this” as he dies—to live a life worthy of the cost of saving him.

The musical motif is repeated at the end of the film as we see the face of Private Ryan (played by Matt Damon) morph into the face of James Ryan (played by Harrison Young) fifty years later, visiting the cemetery at Normandy with his wife, children, and grandchildren.  He finds the simple cross that marks Miller’s grave and kneels.

Old James Ryan: “My family is with me today.  They wanted to come with me.  To be honest with you, I wasn’t sure how I’d feel coming back here.  Every day I think about what you said to me that day on the bridge. I tried to live my life the best that I could. I hope that was enough.  I hope that, at least in your eyes, I’ve earned what all of you have done for me.”

His wife approaches. “James?..”

She looks at the headstone. “Captain John H. Miller.”

Ryan stands and looks at his wife.  “Tell me I have led a good life.”

“What?”

“Tell me I’m a good man.”

“You are,” and she walks back to the family members who have been watching, quietly, as Old James Ryan straightens, and salutes the cross with Miller’s name on it.

Writer John Biguenet, in a 2014 Atlantic Magazine article about the movie concludes that “the living are called not merely to bear witness to the achievement of the fallen heroes; the living are in fact the achievement itself.  Like Private Ryan we cannot help but ask what we’ve done to deserve such sacrifice by others and beg their forgiveness for what we have cost them.  And like James Ryan, all we can do to justify that sacrifice is to live our lives as well as we are able.”

On this Memorial Day, when self-centeredness, too often further corrupted by meanness, burdens our daily discussions, perhaps we can find a moment to justify the sacrifices of those intended to be honored today by living our lives better than we are living them.

Of Me I Sing

(Many of us are too modest to display our singing talents in public, preferring to save our performances to times when there is water flowing about us.  But The Carpenters advised us many years ago:

“Sing, sing a song.  Sing out loud.  Sing out Strong.  Sing of good things not bad. Sing of happy not sad….Make it simple to last your whole life long.  Don’t worry that it’s not good enough for anyone else to hear. Just sing, sing a song.”

Long before the Carpenters were born, Dr. Frank Crane considered a similar sentiment—)

THE INWARD SONG

The poet speaks of those

“Who carry music in their heart

Through dusty lane and wrangling mart,

Plying their daily task with busier feet,

Because their secret souls a holier strain repeat.”

It would be interesting to have the statistics of what number, out of all the human stream that pours into the city every morning coming to their work, are singing inwardly.

How many are thinking tunefully? How many are moving rhythmically? And how many are going, as dead drays and carts, rumbling lifelessly to their tasks?

It is good that the greater part of the world is in love. For love is the Song of Songs. To the young lover Nature is transformed. Some Ithuriel* has touched the deadly commonplace; all is miraculous. The moon, the dead companion to our earth, the pale and washed-out pilgrim of the sky, has been changed into a silver-fronted fairy whose beams thrill him with a heady enchantment. Every breeze has its secret. The woods, the houses, all men and women are notes of that sweet harmony that fills him.

“Orpheus with his lute made trees,

And the mountain tops that freeze,

Bow their heads when he did sing.”

Every man is an Orpheus, so he but carry about in him an inward melody. There is for him “a new heaven and a new earth.”

This world is an insolvable puzzle to human reason. It is full of the most absurd antinomies, the most distressing cruelties, the most amazing contradictions. No wonder men’s minds take refuge in stubborn stoicism, in agnosticism, in blank unfaith.

There is no intellectual faith, no rational creed, no logical belief. FAITH COMES ONLY THROUGH MUSIC. It is when the heart sings that the mind is cleared. Then the pieces of the infinite chaos of things drop into order, confusion ceases, they march, dance, coming into radiant concord.

Marcus Aurelius, that curious anomaly of the Roman world, perfect dreamer in an age of iron, was rich in inner music. The thought in him beamed like a ray of creative harmony over the disordered crowd of men and events.

“Welcome all that comes,” he wrote, “untoward though it may seem, for it leads you to the goal, the health of the world order. Nothing will happen to me that is not in accord with nature.”

None but so noble a mind can see a noble universe, a noble humanity, a noble God.

What a drop from such a level to the place of the mad sensualists and pleasure-mongers who only know

“To seize on life’s dull joys from a strange fear,

Lest losing them all’s lost and none remains!”

What a whirl of cabaret music, what motion and forced laughter, what wild discord of hot viands, drugged drinks, and myriad-tricked lubricity it takes to galvanize us when our souls are dry and cracked and tuneless!

Have you ever had the feelings of Hazlitt? “Give me,” he said, “the clear blue 50sky over my head and the green turf beneath my feet, a winding road before me, and a three hours’ march to dinner—and then to thinking! I laugh, I run, I leap, I sing for joy.”

Whoever does something that makes the souls of men and women sing within them does more to make this earth habitable and this life tolerable than all the army of them that widen our comforts and increase our luxuries.

*Ithuriel is one of two angels sent by the archangel Gabriel in Milton’s Paradise Lost  to find Satan, who is in the Garden of Eden.  He is found in the shape of a toad, speaking to a sleeping Eve in an effort to corrupt her. Ithuriel touches him with his spear, causing Satan to resume his true form, after which he is taken to Gabriel.

 

Us vs. It—part II, Waist deep

At the height of the Vietnam War one of the nation’s greatest folk singers began performing an allegorical song called “Waist Deep in the Big Muddy.”

When Pete Seeger performed it on the Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour more than fifty years ago, the song became part of a national controversy because many people, apparently including the CBS censors, thought that the next-to-last verse criticized President Johnson’s increasing investment of American lives in what some already thought was an unwinnable war.

It didn’t help that Seeger was among those blacklisted during the McCarthy Era (he was part of The Weavers, the group that brought folk singing to early popularity. But the group was too liberal for McCarthyites) and he was still considered somewhat “leftist,” therefore, “subversive.”

The CBS censors cut the song out of the show but when Seeger performed it on a later program—one of the last in the show’s brief run—it was allowed to stay in, perhaps because of the public reaction to its deletion the first time.

We keep hearing President Trump talk about the need to re-open the country or to get big-time sports going again even as he also says we’re headed for the deadliest part of the Coronavirus assault. The shutdown of a part of the economy—the hospitality industry—is a big blow to his personal interests and reopening the country, as he likes to put it, would certainly be to his benefit. We make the observation without implying that he is driven only by his personal economic concerns but his insistence that reopening business in the wake of the ongoing pandemic brings Pete Seeger’s song from another era to mind. It was the next-to-last verse that got Seeger and the Smothers Brothers in trouble then and it might get this observer in trouble today, at least with some people. Have at it in the comment area at the end if you wish—either way. Just remember our civility guidelines.

Waist Deep in the Big Muddy

It was back in nineteen forty-two,
I was a member of a good platoon.
We were on maneuvers in-a Louisiana,
One night by the light of the moon.
The captain told us to ford a river,
That’s how it all begun.
We were — knee deep in the Big Muddy,
But the big fool said to push on.

 

The Sergeant said, “Sir, are you sure,
This is the best way back to the base?”
“Sergeant, go on! I forded this river
‘Bout a mile above this place.
It’ll be a little soggy but just keep slogging.
We’ll soon be on dry ground.”
We were, waist deep in the Big Muddy
And the big fool said to push on.

 

The Sergeant said, “Sir, with all this equipment
No man will be able to swim.”
“Sergeant, don’t be a Nervous Nellie, ”
The Captain said to him.
“All we need is a little determination;
Men, follow me, I’ll lead on.”
We were, neck deep in the Big Muddy
And the big fool said to push on.

 

All at once, the moon clouded over,
We heard a gurgling cry.
A few seconds later, the captain’s helmet
Was all that floated by.
The Sergeant said, “Turn around men!
I’m in charge from now on.”
And we just made it out of the Big Muddy
With the captain dead and gone.

 

We stripped and dived and found his body
Stuck in the old quicksand.
I guess he didn’t know that the water was deeper
Than the place he’d once before been.
Another stream had joined the Big Muddy
‘Bout a half mile from where we’d gone.
We were lucky to escape from the Big Muddy
When the big fool said to push on.

 

Well, I’m not going to point any moral,
I’ll leave that for yourself
Maybe you’re still walking, you’re still talking
You’d like to keep your health.
But every time I read the papers
That old feeling comes on;

We’re, waist deep in the Big Muddy
And the big fool says to push on.

Waist deep in the Big Muddy
And the big fool says to push on.
Waist deep in the Big Muddy
And the big fool says to push on.


Waist deep! Neck deep! Soon even a
Tall man’ll be over his head, we’re
Waist deep in the Big Muddy!
And the big fool says to push on!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uXnJVkEX8O4

We are not implying in this entry that President Trump is “the big fool” of today’s “war.” That would be name-calling and we do not believe name-calling either solves problems or ennobles the person who has nothing of intrinsic value to otherwise add to a conversation.

A blogger, Chimesfreedom*, has a nice piece about Seeger’s performance of the song on the Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour. Tom and Dick Smothers were constantly at war with the CBS censors and Seeger’s performance of the song on their season-opening show in 1967 led to a loud public fight about censorship.

http://www.chimesfreedom.com/2014/01/28/the-censored-pete-seeger-performance-on-the-smothers-brothers-comedy-hour/

The brothers’ constant fight with CBS about the content of their show led the network to abruptly cancel it, despite good ratings, after just two years. It was replaced by Hee-Haw.

Chimesfreedom is a blog with an unnamed “editor-in-chief” who describes himself as “a writer and professor in New York.”

Carol

It’s not one of the Christmas carols or hymns we are likely to hear in our churches during this holiday season, but it’s one we need to hear in a year when brotherhood has taken a beating throughout the world.

There are thousands of paintings and other depictions of Jesus, the most ubiquitous—probably—being those of Warner Sallman, particularly his “Head of Christ,” which has been reproduced a half-billion times, some say.  But Jesus probably didn’t look much like the pretty Aryan Jesus made famous by Sallman. And how he really looked is immaterial anyway.  It’s how we see him.

And that brings to Alfred Burt and his wonderful Christmas carol, “Some See Him…”

Alfred Burt was the son of an Episcopal minister in Michigan who began in 1922 the custom of sending special Christmas cards to parishioners that included the words and music for a new Christmas Carol the Reverend Bates Burt had composed. After Alfred graduated from the University of Michigan with a degree in music in 1942, “Dad” Burt suggested he take over the Christmas card custom.  Alfred’s wife, Ann, asked the organist at the Bates’ church to write the lyrics while Alfred wrote the music.

Alfred Burt and Wihla Hudson created fifteen carols before his death because of lung cancer in 1954 at the age of thirty-three.

Their 1951 composition, Some See Him is a favorite in our household and seems appropriate for this year.

Some children see Him lily white,
the baby Jesus born this night.
Some children see Him lily white,
with tresses soft and fair.
Some children see Him bronzed and brown,
The Lord of heav’n to earth come down.
Some children see Him bronzed and brown,
with dark and heavy hair.

Some children see Him almond-eyed,
this Savior whom we kneel beside.
some children see Him almond-eyed,
with skin of yellow hue.
Some children see Him dark as they,
sweet Mary’s Son to whom we pray.
Some children see him dark as they,
and, ah! they love Him, too!

The children in each different place
will see the baby Jesus’ face
like theirs, but bright with heavenly grace,
and filled with holy light.
O lay aside each earthly thing
and with thy heart as offering,
come worship now the infant King.
‘Tis love that’s born tonight!

In a world that sometimes seems pretty short on love and brotherhood, Alfred Burt’s carol seemed to us pretty important—although we aren’t aware of any service where it will be sung.

If you’d like to hear it, we recommend this performance by Santino Fontana and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v83iNif0hEw

And if you are not familiar with the Alfred Burt carols, we invite you to enjoy this first recording of them, in the year after his death, by the Columbia Choir:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RXI6mjujeU8

May we see each other in the spirit of peace this season.

-0-

 

 

 

 

Notes from the road: Solving a great musical mystery

(Boston)—The locals warn out-of-towners to forget about trying to drive in historic downtown Boston.  Traffic is terrible. Roundabouts are hopelessly confusing.  The old streets are narrow and leave strangers bewildered.  Better, they say, to stay in the suburbs and ride the subway into the heart of the city or catch a Gray-Line Tours bus if you want to see the many historic sites in one day.

Those who choose to ride the subway buy fare cards that are inserted into slots that open the gates to the platforms.  The fare cards are known as “Charlie Cards” (which you might want to remember for a trivia contest sometime).  They’re called Charlie Cards in memory of the hapless, trapped, subway rider named Charlie who became world-famous, thanks to a 1949 campaign song for a progressive mayoral candidate who campaigned against the city’s complicated subway fares which included an “exit fare,” a way to increase the taxes without changing the fare collection system at the start of the trip.  The Kingston Trio made it a hit song in 1959.

It tells the story of Charlie, who paid his dime at the Kendall Square Station then changed lines so he could reach Jamaica Plain, a place founded three centuries earlier by Puritans looking for land to farm and eventually became one of America’s first streetcar suburbs. But when he got to “JP,” as local folks call it, he did not have the extra nickel to pay his exit fare, dooming him to roam beneath the streets of Boston forever because “he couldn’t get off of that train.” His devoted wife went each day at the Scollay Square Station (pronounced “Scully” by the natives) and waited for the train to slow down enough that she could pass him a sandwich through an open window. At least, that’s how the song tells the story.

One of America’s great mysteries is why she never gave him a nickel when she gave him the sandwich.

We have done some historical research on that issue because it has bothered us, too, for decades.  We think we have uncovered the entire story in the microfilm room of the Beacon Hill Metropolitan Library, which is a short distance from the former Bull & Finch Pub that is now called “Cheers” because it was the prototype for Sam Malone’s tavern in the television show; its entrance was featured in the show’s opening.  The story found in the records of the Beacon Hill Democrat-Challenger, a long-dead newspaper, turns out to be a rather sordid matter.  But it does have a happy ending because Charlie, in real life, did get off of that train.

Charles J. Faneuil was a descendant of Peter Faneuil, the merchant who in 1740 built a market house that became the centerpiece of the early Boston independence movement.  Despite his historic family name, Charles was a middle-class bookkeeper for a suburban department store.  He was a solid and dutiful husband who left each morning and came home each night from his apparently dead-end office job that paid him enough to keep food on the table and a two-year old car in the driveway.

Mrs. Charles J. Faneuil, born Ann Revere Adams, was a descendant of two early Boston families whose “old money” was spent several generations previous to her marriage to Charles.  They had three children, Samuel Adams Faneuil, Betsy Ross Faneuil, and James Otis Faneuil.  Ann was a housewife but longed to be part of Boston’s upper social strata made up of descendants whose “old money” still existed and had multiplied because it was not squandered by previous generations. She yearned to be part of the kind of organizations that would refer to her as “Mrs. Charles Faneuil” instead of “Ann Faneuil,” as her friends did in the Tuesday Evening Mahjong Society.  In time she came to see her husband as an adequate provider but someone who would never give her a chance to live her dream.

The first public indication that the domestic life of Mr. and Mrs. Charles J. Faneuil was not all peaches and cream (and sandwiches handed through subway car windows) is the notice that Mrs. Faneuil had filed for divorce, charging desertion and abandonment of family.  She claimed Charlie had willfully absented himself from the family home by intentionally taking only a dime with him when he left for work that morning, knowing that he would need another nickel not only to get to work but would need another dime and a nickel to ride the subway back home that evening.  She suggested in her filing that Charlie did so because he had become enamored of one Theodora Williams, whose friends called her “Teddy,” a fellow rider on the subway. And she claimed that Teddy did not loan her husband a nickel, either, because she didn’t want him to leave the train so she could make sure he would be there for her.

The case was filed for Mrs. Faneuil by Quincy Kennedy Kerry, the Faneuil family attorney, whose main reason for representing the family was his attraction to Ann Revere Adams Faneuil. When he had heard of Charlie’s predicament, he had visited Ann to express his sympathy and found her surprisingly willing to accept it, not knowing that she—weary of being a simple housewife and child-raiser—had fantasized about what life would have been like if she had married a lawyer many years ago, instead of good old steady Charlie, and how nice it would be to dine at the club, wear elegant clothes, and travel to beautiful places that lawyers like to visit.

Charlie learned of the action when he read about it in a discarded copy of the Democrat- Challenger that he found on a seat in his subway car after the morning rush hour.  The news stunned him.  He did not know Teddy although he thought she was a fellow passenger during baseball season when she rode the train to Fenway Park. Teddy worked at the will-call window of the ticket booth.  They had hardly spoken other than an occasional “good morning” when she took a seat across from him. In fact, she had shown no interest in having a conversation.

That’s when it also dawned on him that divorce was a reason why Ann never put a nickel in the sandwich bag and, further, never put an additional fifteen cents in it so he could get home.  He had many times regretted not grabbing some extra change from the dish on the table by his front door as he left that fateful morning and had been grateful that he found the dime that he had left in the pocket the last time he wore those pants. Not until he got aboard the train did he discover there was not a nickel in that pocket, too. He would have said something to Ann during the sandwich deliveries, but she always timed her delivery so it happened as the train began to move again, leaving no time for discussion.

Teddy learned about the divorce filing when she heard some of the other girls in the ticket office chattering among themselves that same morning.  “Charlie who?” she wondered.  She also wondered if it might be the strange guy she sometimes saw in the subway who always wore the same increasingly rumpled suit and, in fact, seemed to smell bad in the few times she had been forced to sit across from him.  His hair was much too long and his scraggly beard had not filled out well in the weeks—or was it months?—since she had first noticed him.

Charlie also worried that he had lost his job because of his growing list of absences. His mood darkened in the next few days, likely driven by increasing hunger and his deepening concern about his job, to the point that he was thinking of leaving the train without benefit of nickel by throwing himself onto the tracks from the rear car and lying there until the next train ended his misery.

But that was when conductor H. W. Longfellow (his friends called him “Hank”) noticed Charlie’s state and took the steps that saved his life.  Charlie and Hank had formed something of a bond on the long low-passenger hours during the day shift when Longfellow worked. Longfellow, feeling some responsibility for Charlie’s situation because he was the conductor who told him “one more nickel” arranged for Evangeline’s Pizza to deliver one of its specialties to Charlie each day at the Scollay Square Station, a savvy move for Evangeline’s because the story of Charlie was starting to gain some public attention and Evangeline’s got some great public promotional value out of being Charlie’s food supplier. Longfellow also brought a pillow and some blankets from home for Charlie to use at night to sleep with at least a little comfort. Longfellow has come in for some criticism because in all the time Charlie was trapped on the train, Longfellow did not loan him a nickel.  But it was strictly against MTA policy for conductors to give nickels to passengers who claimed to have “forgotten” to bring one from home. The authority knew that it soon would be dealing with hundreds of “forgetful” passengers if it let its conductors loan nickels or even to let a passenger promise repayment on the next trip.  Employees who showed such kindness had been known to be kindly excused from their jobs, a circumstance Longfellow could not risk because he had a wife and family, too.

But Hank had something else that became important in the long run.  Hank knew a lawyer.

Hugh Louis Dewey was an ambulance-chasing attorney whose grandson, Hugh III, became nationally famous as the busy attorney for two Italian brothers who ran a car-repair shop in suburban Cambridge where they purportedly “fixed” cars they had never seen after diagnosing the problems during a telephone call without consulting maintenance manuals. When Huey Louie Dewey, as he was known in the office on Harvard Square, got involved, the case really got juicy.

Dewey could have paid Charlie’s exit fare to get his client off the train but he advised Charlie to continue to ride while Dewey called the local press and arranged for some sympathetic news coverage. Charlie’s story took up two full pages of the Sunday feature section of The Democrat-Challenger, including pictures of Charlie with his now-long hair and beard and later, clean shaven, trimmed, and wearing a new suit—all of this provided by Dewey to show the man Charlie had become since his wife took up with the family lawyer and stopped providing nickel-free daily sandwiches and then showing him as the man he once was and could be again.

Dewey hit Mrs. Faneuil AND lawyer Kerry with an alienation of affection suit and, since Mrs. Faneuil didn’t have any money, asked for substantial damages from Kerry, whose law firm was one of the upper-crust firms in the city.  If it had been in Memphis, and if John Grisham had been writing novels when all of this was going on, Kerry’s law firm would have been the prototype for a best-selling novel.

And Charlie DID get off of that train. He did not, in fact, “ride forever beneath the streets of Boston,” nor was he “the man who never returned.”  Folk song stories, one must remember, are just stories, not history.

Dewey eventually provided the nickel for Charlie to pay the exit fee a week after the big newspaper article. He was put up in a motel while he waited for the lawsuits to work their way through the courts and while he looked for a new job.  His friend, Longfellow, convinced his MTA bosses to hire Charles J. Faneuil temporarily as the company’s first passenger-relations agent. The move garnered some positive publicity for Charlie and the as well as a modest income so he didn’t have to live on Evangeline’s pizza anymore. It also scored some public relations points for the MTA, which had been pilloried by the Democrat-Challenger, and avoided a lawsuit threatened by Dewey alleging Charlie’s continued presence in the subway constituted a form of kidnapping and the exit tax was a form of ransom.

Dewey also rushed to Fenway Park to meet with Teddy Williams and sign her up for a separate lawsuit accusing Ann and lawyer Kerry of libel.  She also wanted damages for pain and suffering caused by extensive office gossip.

It took about eighteen months for all of this to work itself out.  Charlie did not contest the divorce although he did fight Ann’s efforts to get alimony and child custody.  The judge ruled that Charlie had not abandoned Ann. In fact, the judge said, Ann—by ending the sandwich supply runs—had abandoned Charlie and in doing so had endangered his health. Therefore, said the judge, she was an unfit parent and the children were given to Charlie.  She was allowed to keep their house into which Quincy Kennedy Kerry moved after a respectful interval.  He, however, turned out to be only a member of his law firm and not one of the top partners whose memberships at exclusive clubs were picked up by the firm.

Teddy Williams settled out of court for ten-thousand dollars and a public apology from Ann and Quincy.  She and her partner, Dorothea “Dix” Hancock, used the money to open what became a successful wedding cake business in the Back Bay area.

By the time H. W. Longfellow retired from the Metropolitan Transit Authority, the MTA of folk song fame, had become the Massachusetts Bay Transit Authority.

And Charlie?  He left his job at the MTA when the suburban department store gladly rehired him as an assistant manager, thinking it could capitalize on his notoriety.  He was the store manager when he retired.  The three children grew up to be good citizens and showed no scars of the split-up of the family. By then Charlie had married a widowed high school social studies teacher, had slipped from public view, and was living quietly in a middle-class Boston neighborhood. He refused to take part in the changes at the MTA. “I’m so tired of hearing that damned song,” he once confided to his wife.

On December 4, 2006, the MBTA ended its exit fares and began using “Charlie Cards.”

That afternoon, two elderly men got their cards from a machine and used them to go through the gate to the platform. Charlie Faneuil and Hank Longfellow took a ride to the Harvard Square Station.  Nobody noticed them.   No newspaper photographers were there.  Nobody wrote about them in the next day’s newspaper.  When they got off the train, they caught a cab for a short ride to 73 Hamilton Street, a place known as the Good News Garage, where a couple if Italian guys claimed to have fixed Charlie’s car, a 1960s Dodge Dart. It had 21,294 miles on the odometer, not many miles for a car so old.

That’s because, of course, Charlie rode the MTA.

(photo credits: MBTA, etsy.com)