Category Archives: people

Do you know how to tell—

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—if a politician is lying?

His lips are moving.

This old and cynical joke that cavalierly diminishes all of those who seek to serve honorably has found new circulation thanks to a New York congressional candidate who told lie after lie during his campaign, got elected, has grudgingly admitted to some of his lies, but is unrepentant and as of the writing of this entry plans to take the oath of office.

George Santos is a Republican and (so far) the leadership of his party has been pretty silent about his admissions and the additional lies uncovered by reporters. About the only thing that seems to be true about him is that he’s a Republican. For now, anyway.  If his clay feet, which have crumbled at least ankle-high, continue to crumble, he might be most appropriationly listed as (P-NY), for “Pariah” from New York.

“I am not a criminal,” he told The New York Post. “This will not deter me from having good legislative success. I will be effective. I will be good.”

Whether he is not a criminal is open to some question. Did his claims constitute fraud?  Did he lie to obtain campaign donations, thus defrauding donors?  Did his lies result in financial gain?  Did he lie on his campaign financial disclosure forms, a potential criminal act? And those are starter questions..

He claimed to be the grandchild of Ukrainian natives who escaped the holocaust by going to Belgium and then to Brazil. Investigators say he is not.  He’s a native Brazilian and there are shadows over his life there.

He claimed to be Jewish. He released a position paper during his campaign saying he was “a proud American Jew.”  That was then. Now he says he never claimed to be a Jew and that he’s Catholic who is “Jew-ish,” a comment that the word “outlandish” is inadequate to describe. He says his grandmother told him stories about being Jewish before she converted to Catholicism. His grandparents were born in Brazil.  The Democrat he beat in November says Santos’ lies about his Jewish background are more than offensive—“It’s sick and obscene,” he says.

In the campaign he claimed that he had been openly gay for more than a decade and is married to another man.  But another news organization has learned he was married to a woman that he divorced in 2019 and has found no record of his marriage to the man Santos says is his husband.

He claimed to have worked with two of the biggest names in the financial industry—Citigroup and Goldman Sachs, neither of which says his name ever appeared on their employee rolls. He says he probably could have used “a better choice of words” in making that claim.

He claimed to have attended New York University and to have graduated from Baruch College. Now he confesses, “I didn’t graduate from any institution of higher learning.” He says he is “embarrassed and sorry for having embellished my resume.” But he excused himself by commenting, “A lot of people overstate in their resumes or twist a little bit.”

Embellished his resume?  And it’s okay because “a lot of people” do it “a little bit?”

What he has done is more than “a little bit.”  He lied and now he’s lying about lying. In fact, he has created a waterfall of lies including how much property he does or does now own, and how many dogs his nonprofit dog rescue group rescued.

The silence of his party’s leadership, particularly his future colleagues in the United States House of Representatives is tragic in this time when distrust of those who seek public service or those who win positions of public service is so strong.  Santos tars all of them with his irresponsible campaign and his petulant responses to those who have exposed him for what he is—a man who was incapable of truth during his campaign and seems incapable of admitting the depth of his lies after his election.

Unfortunately, the public doesn’t see him as the exception to the rule. Unfortunately, the public has come to believe his kind IS the rule.

But I know from years of front-row coverage of politics and politicians that people of his kind are the rotten apple that spoils the barrel.

The Santoses of the political world damn the saints of the political world. It is up to those who will take office for the first time in 2023 to be the kind of people who eventually leave public life having uplifted public opinion about those who go from being “one of us” on election day to being “one of them.”  It will be a heavy lift.  Honor is a great weight.

Failure of his party, particularly those who will be leaders of his party colleagues in Washington, to censure—even expel—him will deepen mistrust in all of those in either party, further damaging our republic and furthering the aims of those who seek to capitalize on distrust in it to strengthen their hopes for control.

“Disgrace” is spelled S-A-N-T-O-S.

Notes from a quiet  street  (Happy New Year edition) 

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For the rare and cherished few who expect to find something new on this site a couple of times a week, we must explain that it is not because we had run out of pithiness. It is because a company that calls us a “valued customer” apparently doesn’t value our customership very much at all.

On September 29, Mediacom laid a cable on top of our street to restore our internet service after the Socket folks ripped up the buried line while digging to install their fiber optic cable.  A couple of weeks later I suggested to the folks at the local Mediacom office that it would be good to bury that cable before the first big snow brought out a snowplow that would collect it—and who knows how many above-ground connector boxes and private mail boxes that the cable pulls down as the snowplow proceeds down the street.

That line was still lying on the street until the afternoon of December 22.  It snowed and as I had told the foretold in the Mediacom office and the first snowplow did yank out the.  I saw several feet of orange cable in the yard of a neighbor up the street. On the 20th, I had visited the local office for a second time and a friendly lady behind the desk said repairs are usually made within 24 hours. I told a nice Mediacom lady from Iowa who answered the company trouble line that I expected this problem to be solved regardless of the temperature (which was below zero, you might remember) within 24 hours. The company sent us a notice that it would be a week before anything was done, that repairs would be made on the 28th and required us to be at home between 10 a.m. and noon.

On the afternoon of the 27th, Mediacom—without ever calling us or ringing our doorbell—stretched a new line across the top of the street. The line was only partly covered so vehicles going over it did not damage it. The next day, the Mediacom tech person who was supposed to respond rang our door bell. We had a nice discussion in which he told me, among other things, that we would lose our internet service as many times as the snowplows came out this winter.  Too bad. But that’s Mediacom Life.

I sent a letter to the editor of the News-Tribune, who published it yesterday. Several folks at church or at the noontime restaurants we checked out told me they agreed with it. They’re apparently valued customers, too.

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I made a big mistake the week before Christmas.

I bought a new computer because my old hard drive was dying.

For the price I paid for the computer, I could have bought about eight of Donald Trump’s superhero cards.

Buyer’s remorse has not yet set in, though.

If you bought any of them, would you let me know if any of them show him as a Capitol policeman on January 6, 2021 or as a Ukrainian freedom fighter?

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There’s this old and somewhat indelicate saying, “When you’re up to your ass in alligators, it’s too late to drain the swamp.”  The release of the January 6 Committee report has called that observation to mind in reference to someone who once promised to drain a certain swamp.

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One of the fun things about researching history is prowling through the millions of pages of old newspapers at the State Historical Society.  And reading the old advertisements is often fun.  I made a copy of a headline for one and it’s magneted to our refrigerator.

It says “Ice Cream is Real Food.”

Now that’s real truth in advertising.

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State Conservation Department Director Sara Pauley Parker wrote in her Missouri Conservationist  “Up Front” column in December of 2021 that she’s a dog person. She wrote, “I especially appreciate dogs that will look you in the eye, know their role in life, and want to serve honorably.”

I’m hoping the Missouri House and the Missouri Senate will be kennels, starting Wednesday.

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It’s hard to beat honey by itself and honey-butter on a hot roll is an unacknowledged delicacy.  A old newspaper ad I came across recently urges people to “Get that quick relief that brings back the normal ‘pep’ and energy. Don’t suffer a minute longer than you actually have to.” The cure?  Dr. Bell’s Pine Tar Honey for Coughs and Colds.

If Dr. Bell’s cure isn’t tasty enough, you might try a spoonful of a variation made by the Certified Hospital Products Company: Pine Tar Honey and Eucalyptus (Mentholated).

Menthol.  That will do the trick.

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Retired Missouri football coach Gary Pinkel has been inducted into the National Football Foundation College Football Hall of Fame, something he could not have imagined after his teams had gone 10-14 in his first two years in Columbia.  In fact, he admits he started wondering if he’d made a mistake going to Missouri and if he would last much longer.

In his first four years the Tigers were 22-25.   But Missouri kept him.

The Tigers played their 34th bowl game a few days before Christmas. (Their 35th bowl game was Covided out a couple of years ago).  Their fourth bowl loss in a row left Eliah Drinkwitz’s record at 17-19.

The fourth year will be a critical one for him, as it was for his predecessor, Barry Odom.  Odom was sacked when his Tigers were 25-25.  But Gary Pinkel was only 22-25 after four years and Missouri kept him.

How have other Mizzou coaches done after four years? Larry Smith was 18-27.  Bob Stull was 12-31-1 before he left the field and became an athletic director at another school.  Woody Widenhofer was 12-31-1 and Al Onofrio was 22-24.

Incidentally, Don Faurot, whose name is on the field on which Drinkwitz’s players perform, was 0-4 in bowl games.

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Separation  (12/12/22)

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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?

 

Enheduanna’s descendants

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About twenty descendants of Enheduanna met at the Missouri River Regional Library yesterday afternoon.  I might have been the only one, certainly one of the few, who knows about this relationship.

It was a gathering of mis-Missouri authors, all of whom had their books for sale.  I sold five in two and half hours but I had some lively conversations with with some of the other descendants.

Enhe—who?

I am a member of the Archaeological Institute of America and a former member of the National Geographic Society.  Do not be impressed.  That only means that I subscribe or subscribed to a magazine.

In my latest edition of the AIA’s Archaeology magazine is the story of Enheduanna, a poet and a composer of hymns to the temples of the Akkadian Empire.  She was a priestess and a princess, the daughter of Sargon the Great who founded the world’s first great empire by uniting northern and southern Mesopotamia,  and his spouse, Nanna.

Enheduanna, whose name translated means “Ornament of Heaven,” was the high priestess at the temple to Nana-Suen, the moon god, in the ancient city of Ur, once a coastal city near the mouth of the Euphrates River on the Persian Gulf in what is now southern Iraq.  Time has caused the coastline to shift and the site of Ur is on the south bank of the river, about ten miles from Nasiriya, a city not far from the Gulf.

There is a portrait of her—sort of a portrait—found on a 4,000 year old disk excavated in 1927.

She is shown in the long dress, two male servants behind her and another in front of her, prayerfully working on one of her poems or hymns.  The disk dates from about 2250 BCE.*

She is important in today’s observation because she is the world’s first author.

Or at least the earliest person whose writings have survived with an author’s name attached.

Kate Ravilious, in her magazine article, quotes Assyriologist Anette Zgoll: “The rituals that Enheduanna performed were instrumental in creating the new power structure by reconciling the city states and the wider realm.”

One of her hymns is Temple Hymn 26: To the Zabalam Temple of Inanna:

O house wrapped in beams of light
wearing shining stone jewels wakening great awe
sanctuary of pure Inanna
(where) divine powers the true me spread wide
Zabalam
shrine of the shining mountain
shrine that welcomes the morning light
she makes resound with desire
the Holy Woman grounds your hallowed chamber
with desire
your queen Inanna of the sheepfold
that singular woman
the unique one
who speaks hateful words to the wicked
who moves among the bright shining things
who goes against rebel lands
and at twilight makes the firmament beautiful
all on her own
great daughter of Suen
pure Inanna
O house of Zabalam
has built this house on your radiant site
and placed her seat upon your dais

She wrote in cuneiform and her works are preserved in 4,000-year old clay tablets.

Perhaps you have been moved to write a poem (beyond your elementary school English classes where a teacher might have had you write one as an assignment), or a published or unpublished book.

Or maybe you blog.  Or perhaps your literary tastes are confined to Facebook or some other social media platform.

Those who write are literary descendants of a woman who lived for that four millennia ago and whose words are preserved on clay tablets.  Some of us also write on tablets but our works probably won’t be found by archaeologists thousands of years from now.

Enheduanna would be considered the patron saint of authors, probably, except she probably is considered a heathen by those who confer official sainthood.

A lot of people, perhaps most people, have an urge to write. Something.  Some make a living doing it. But only a minuscule percentage of writers are in that category.

I don’t think any of the people at the tables in that library room make a living from writing, but mot would agree that writing makes living better.

You can be the Enheduanna of your household.  Publication is secondary to the reward of just writing, whether is poetry, a memoir, a family history, or an attempt at the great American novel.

Don’t worry about where to begin. Just start.  The beginning point and the ending point will come later.  But write.

Enheduanna has had a lot of descendants.  Be one more.

*BCE is an archaeological term for “Before the Common Era,” which provides a process of dating that does not favor a particular religion.

(photo credit: wikicommons)

The last man

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We have enjoyed some of the images sent back to earth from the Artemis spacecraft and its crew of three mannequins as it made its first rehearsal for a trip to the Moon.

We suspect an 87-year old man in Albuquerque, New Mexico has noticed them, too.

Harrison Schmidt not only saw the Moon from that perspective; he walked on the moon.

He is one of four surviving Moonwalkers. He is the only survivor of the last manned landing. Harrison Schmitt, Gene Cernan, and Ronald Evans were crewmates on Apollo 17 which lifted off from Cape Kennedy at 12:33 a.m., Eastern Standard Time.

Cernan, the mission commander, climbed back into the Challenger moon lander after Schmitt went up.  He signed a piece of artwork for me shortly before he died five years ago.  The third member of the crew, Ronald Evans, stayed in the command module while Cernan and Schmitt explored the surface.

Schmitt is the only scientist to have walked on the moon. He was a geologist who made one of the more startling discoveries in the Taurus-Littrow region where they landed. On their second excursion outside the Challenger, Schmitt excitedly proclaimed, “There is orange soil!” Cernan assured listeners back on earth, “He’s not going out of his wits. It really is.”

Fifty years ago, in the early morning hours of today, I watched the Saturn V rocket begin taking these three men to the moon.  To say that it “lifted off” is a gross   misunderstanding of what those of us at the press site witnessed that night. It was, simply, the most awesome thing I have ever seen.  Or heard.  Or felt.

The press site was three miles away from Launch Pad 39A. The flames from the rocket were so bright that the camera’s exposure setting barely captured the rocket as it broke ground.  The colors have faded but the memory remains vivid.

We were three miles away but I still was about 100 yards closer than Walter Cronkite and the other broadcasters describing the event.

Imagine a rocket so tall that if it was on the railroad tracks below the capitol would be as high as the statue of Ceres on the dome.  It had to carry so many tons of fuel that the flames and the smoke seemed to boil about it for several seconds as the engines built up the thrust to push all of that weight toward the sky.

For several seconds, night became day for miles up and down that part of the Atlantic coast.

The roar drowned out my voice as I tried to record what I was seeing and what I was seeing was beyond my powers of description.  The ground shook so much that an alligator in the swampy area between us and the Launchpad was startled and crawled up on the shore, causing some of the reporters to scatter.

If you have ever been close to a cannon going off, you probably have felt a concussion against your chest from the explosion of the shot. Imagine feeling that same concussion constantly, powerfully, during that slow climb that soon took the great rocket past the tower and into the darkness of that early December morning. And the roar could still be heard minutes later as the fire of the engines merged into a single distant dot.

My God!

Three men were on top of that thing!  And

They

Were

Going

To

The

Moon.

We knew they were the last, for now.  We had no idea it would be fifty years before another spacecraft capable of carrying humans to the Moon would do it again.

They were 28,000 miles out when one of the astronauts—history has lost which one—turned a 70-millimeter Hasselblad camera back toward where they had started.

It’s called “The Blue Marble” photograph.  It, and Apollo 8’s “Earthrise,” are two of the most widely produced images in photographic history.

No human eyes have seen us this way since Cernan, Schmitt, and Evans saw us a half-century ago.

The Artemis spacecraft is headed back to earth now. It’s to splashdown on Sunday. It will be two or three years yet before another Artemis capsule carries people back to the Moon.

I wonder if any of the twelve men who walked on the moon will be around to greet the next people to go there.

Schmitt is 87.  Buzz Aldrin, the second man to leave footprints there, will be 93 next month. Apollo 15’s Dave Scott, the seventh man to do it, is 90. Apollo 16’s Charlie Duke, the tenth man and the youngest Moonwalker, is 87. Schmitt, the 12th man to touch the moon—although Cernan was the last man to be on the Moon—is the second-youngest.

Only six others who saw the moon up close but never landed are still with us. Frank Borman, who commanded the stirring Christmas visit to the Moon on Apollo 8, is 94.

One of his crewmates, Jim Lovell, who later commanded the most successful failure of the space program on Apollo 13, is the same age. Bill Anders, the third member of that crew, is 89.  Apollo 10’s Tom Stafford is 92.  Apollo 13’s Fred Haise is 89, and Ken Mattingly from Apollo 16 is 86.

My brother-in-law, Curt Carley, who went with me on that trip and who shot the launch image with my camera while I was off trying to verbalize the impossible, and I went to our motel, finally, had a good morning’s sleep, then headed back to his home in San Antonio.  It took a couple of days.  We stopped in Houston at the Johnson Space Center and watched television screens showing us that the men of Apollo 17 were seeing.  In the time it took us to drive to Houston, they had reached the Moon.

There were supposed to be three more Apollo missions but they were cancelled because of shrinking budgets and shrinking public interest.  Short-attention span Americans and their “been there, done that” nature, had other things to do.

It was a time when nothing seemed impossible.

Fifty years have passed.  And I can still feel the pounding against my chest and see with my mind’s eye the moments when night became day at 12:33 a.m., December 7, 1972.

 

The People, Yes

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Carl Sandburg was a great American poet from my home state of Illinois.  His multi-volume biography of Abraham Lincoln remains one of the great works about the Sixteenth President.

In 1936, Sandburg published his epic poem, The People, Yes. It’s a powerful work that captures the American people in their contradictory, dynamic nature.  It’s a great read.  Sometimes when I’m explaining the Benton mural at the Capitol, I quote it when I emphasize to students and—a few days ago—to newly-elected legislators that politicians come and go but the people are forever and the greatness of a state rests with the people and their hopes and efforts and thoughts:

The people will live on.
The learning and blundering people will live on.
They will be tricked and sold and again sold
And go back to the nourishing earth for rootholds,
The people so peculiar in renewal and comeback,
You can’t laugh off their capacity to take it…

In the darkness with a great bundle of grief
the people march.
In the night, and overhead a shovel of stars for
keeps, the people march:
“Where to? what next?”

Sandburg also wrote in the poem about Lincoln.  What he wrote about Lincoln has some resonance today:

Lincoln?

He was a mystery in smoke and flags

Saying yes to the smoke, yes to the flags,

Yes to the paradoxes of democracy,

Yes to the hopes of government

Of the people by the people for the people,

No to debauchery of the public mind,

No to personal malice nursed and fed,

Yes to the Constitution when a help,

No to the Constitution when a hindrance

Yes to man as a struggler amid illusions,

Each man fated to answer for himself:

Which of the faiths and illusions of mankind

Must I choose for my own sustaining light

To bring me beyond the present wilderness?

Lincoln? Was he a poet?

And did he write verses?

“I have not willingly planted a thorn

in any man’s bosom.”

I shall do nothing through malice: what

I deal with is too vast for malice.”

What will we look for in the elections of 2024—candidates of malice or candidates who think, “What I deal with is too vast for malice?”

Let us not be so cynical as to believe there are no candidates in the latter category. We might need to persuade some to jump into the arena where they ae badly needed.  We must not tolerate an atmosphere so toxic that those to whom malice is beneath them will lack the support to lead a people who still dare ask, “Where to, what next?”

 

Tomorrow is Utopian Community Day

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Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day. Many of us will simulate a day in Plymouth Colony more than four centuries ago although the way we do it will be a far cry from what really happened.  Often not acknowledged by those who cling to that idea is that the colony we celebrate today was an experiment in socialism and that experiment was repeated several times in Missouri.

Plymouth is an early example of the human search for Utopia, a place defined by British social philosopher Sir Thomas More a century earlier as a place of a perfect social and political system. California historian Robert V. Hine defined such a community as “a group of people who are attempting to establish a new social pattern based upon a vision of the ideal society and who have withdrawn themselves from the community at large…”

Plymouth began as a socialist utopia not by the wishes of the religious group seeking to escape the oppression of the Church of England but by the demands of the businessmen who allowed them aboard the Mayflower.

The Council of New England created a contract that was signed by the church separatists we now call Pilgrims in the summer of 1620. The new colony would be jointly owned for seven years. But the separatists, not having funds to invest in the colony, would have to work off their debt. Profits would go into one pot with expenses paid from that fund. After seven years the profits would be divided according to the number of shares that each settler held.  Land and houses would be jointly owned and the separatists were required to work seven days a week. When several of the group dropped out, the organizers of the expedition recruited other adventurers to take their place.

So the Pilgrims became, in effect, indentured servants in a socialist colony.  Their debt was not fully paid off for 28 years. By then the Puritans, who had first arrived in 1629, far overshadowed the Plymouth Colony. John Butman and Simon Targett in New World, Inc., record that Plymouth and Massachusetts Bay merged along with the islands of Martha’s Vineyard, Nantucket, and the provinces of Nova Scotia and New Brunswick to become the Province of Massachusetts Bay.

By then, the leaders of the socialist colony of Plymouth had realized communal ownership and communal sharing was not working.  Colony leader William Bradford and his supporters decided to allow private ownership of the land. Each family was given a parcel. “God in his wisdom saw another course fitter for them,” he wrote.

The search for a utopian community in America did not end with Bradford’s pilgrims giving up on communal living. And in some places, it still goes on.

Roger Grant wrote in the Missouri Historical Review in 1971, “Missouri’s Utopian movement, which became one of the largest in the country in terms of number of colonies established, followed the national pattern of having communities that were both religious and secular, communistic and cooperative.”

The first group of utopians to come to Missouri, he says, were Joseph Smith’s Mormons in 1831 who arrived in Jackson County, planning to establish a “New Jerusalem,” a communistic religious community, near Independence.  But Missourians felt Freedom of Religion did not include Mormons—much as the Puritans of New England felt that those who did not follow their strict Puritan policies had to be expelled—thus leading Baptists Roger Williams and Anne Hutchinson to found Rhode Island.

German mystic William Keil created the towns of Bethel and Nineveh in northeast Missouri after becoming dissatisfied with the Methodist Church. As he was forming his movement, some dissatisfied followers of “Father” George Rapp joined up, bringing with them Rapp’s communistic ideas but not bringing with them his ideas about celibacy. But he became worried that the outside world was encroaching on his kingdom, so he took his followers to Oregon, where the movement died when he died.  Bethel still exists as a community.

Others tried to form utopian communities as years went by. Andreas Dietsch founded New Helvetia in Osage County. He believed agriculture was the key to a good life, that all property had to be community property because, as Grant wrote, such an arrangement would prevent “man’s greed from destroying the good life.” But he died before his community could be established.

Cheltenham, a secular community, was founded in 1856 by French communist Etienne Cabet, floundered early and his flock moved to Nauvoo, Illinois after the Mormons abandoned it for Salt Lake City. This movement also died when its founder died. Cheltenham is now a neighborhood in St. Louis.

Alcander Longley created several communal colonies, beginning with Reunion, in Jasper County in 1868, Friendship in Dallas County in 1872 and another Friendship Community in Bollinger County in 1879, Principia in Polk County in 1881, Jefferson County’s Altruistic Society in 1886 and others in other years in other places, and Altro in 1898.  Lack of Capital doomed all of these places within a short time.

Agnostic George H. Walser founded Liberal, in Barton County, as a town that restricted religious buildings and saloons and tried to replace religion with intellectual organizations.  He built a fence to keep churches out but Christians moved inside the fence and held services over Walser’s objection. Liberal survives but not as the isolated intellectual utopia Walser hoped for.

So tomorrow, we celebrate socialism in Plymouth, throughout this country, and in Missouri.  And we celebrate the triumph of capitalism over socialism, as happened in so many utopian communities in our nation’s and our state’s histories.

“Socialism” has lost its meaning as an effort for all to share equally in the bounty of our nation and has become a political epithet spoken largely from one side of the political aisle.

Perhaps there’s room to give thanks tomorrow for the things that have been branded as “socialism” in our history— “every advance the people have made,” as our own Harry Truman put it. “Socialism is what they called public power…social security, bank deposit insurance…free and independent labor organizations…anything that helps all the people.”

The Pilgrims, and people such as Walser, Longley, Kiel, Cabet, Dietsch, and others here and elsewhere show us how Socialism does not work.  But when a farmer is able to turn on an electric light, when the retired person gets a social security check, when our money is safe if the bank is not, a little socialism sure is nice.

The Pilgrims never found the utopia they came here to enjoy.  All these years later, we’re still looking for it, too.

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Thirty years ago—–

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I remember a young Attorney General who could envision an almost limitless political future for himself.  The governorship was within his grasp. And after that, there would be Washington, the U.S. Senate.  And from there?   I don’t know how much he dreamed of things beyond the Senate but he had followers who did.

He had won a bruising primary election for governor, outrunning the Secretary of State and the State Treasurer.

But then he lost the general election for governor.  And a few months after that, he lost a lot more.

Bill Webster, son of a state senator once considered one of the most powerful men—some thought he was THE most powerful man—in state government had withstood months of intense news coverage and weeks of campaign commercials linking him to major political scandal.

In June, 1993, Bill Webster, facing two federal felony charges of conspiracy and embezzlement pleaded guilty to one charge of using his office staff, equipment and supplies for his campaign.   He was sentenced to two years in prison.

Webster lost his political future and his law license. The last we heard, however, he has done well as a Vice-President of Bartlett and Company, a major agri-marketing firm in Kansas City.

We started thinking about Bill Webster when we learned of a court ruling involving another now-former attorney general who has visions of greatness.   Last week, Jefferson City Circuit Judge Tom Beetem ruled that Josh Hawley’s taxpayer-financed office staff used private email accounts and equipment to “knowingly and purposefully” conceal public records of communications with political consultants involved in Hawley’s campaign for the U.S. Senate.

Josh Hancock, writing last week for Missouri Independent, reported, “The emails, text messages and other documents at the center of the lawsuit show that early in his tenure as attorney general, Hawley’s campaign consultants gave direct guidance and tasks to his taxpayer-funded staff and led meetings during work hours in the state Supreme Court building, where the attorney general’s official office is located.”

A spokesman for Hawley’s campaign, Kyle Plotkin, has maintained that investigations have found no wrongdoing. One such investigation, he claimed, was done by “a Democratic state auditor.”

He apparently has not read a state auditor’s report suggesting that Hawley and his staff might have misused state resources but their use of private email and text messaging made a definite determination impossible.

Webster went to prison for misuse of state resources.  Hawley has gone to Washington

The Appointing-est Governor—and some other election history

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Governor Mike Parson is going to have to do it again.

He’s going to have to appoint a new State Treasurer and a new Attorney General.

This time he has to appoint a new Attorney General to replace an elected Treasurer that he appointed Attorney General who now is off to Washington to become the second straight Attorney General Parson will replace.   Let’s walk through our governor’s record of appointing more statewide elected officials than any other governor.

Mike Parson ascends to the governorship with the resignation in disgrace of Eric Greitens (by the way, does anybody know where he has landed after Missourians found him significantly unfit for the Senatorship?).  Attorney General Josh Hawley, who eschewed any ambitions for immediate higher office when he became AG and then did exactly that, becomes a U. S. Senator. Former State Senator Eric Schmitt is elected State Treasurer.  Not all of these things happened at once. They accumulated over time.

Governor Mike Parson appoints outgoing State Senator Mike Kehoe to the Lieutenant Governorship.

He appoints Treasurer Schmitt to the Attorney Generalship to replace Hawley when Hawley lights out for Washington.

He appoints former House Budget Chairman Scott Fitzpatrick as the Treasurer, replacing Schmitt.

Secretary of State Jay Ashcroft quietly watches what’s going on, preferring to wait until 2024 when he will decide where he wants to go.

Roy Blunt decides that being the second-oldest person to serve as a U. S. Senator from Missouri does not mean he should try to become the oldest coot in Missouri Senatorial history, and announces his retirement.*

Eric Schmitt, with nothing to lose because his term as AG doesn’t run out for two more years, sees a chance for greater glory, downs a big glass of Trump Kool-Aid, and wins a race to replace our truly senior senator.

Fitzpatrick, with nothing to lose because his term as Schmitt’s successor as Treasurer, claims the last Democratic statewide office by being elected State Auditor.

As of the morning after the election, Governor Mike Parson has to appoint a new Treasurer and a new Attorney General.  Several ambitious people, knowing that incumbency will have advantages if 2024, think they could give up whatever they are doing now to fill those vacancies.

Governor Parson has until January to decide who will be the latest to get single-digit license plates and a leg up in the 2024 campaign for statewide office.

Secretary of State Jay Ashcroft continues to quietly watch, knowing that one of his potential opponents in the Republican Governor’s primary in 2024 is now otherwise occupied.

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Eric Schmitt will be the fifth Missouri Attorney General to become a United States Senator. He’ll be the second in a row to move from AG to Senator.  Using the Attorney General’s office as a stepping stone to federal office is a fairly recent circumstance in politics.

Tom Eagleton was the first former Attorney General to make the leap, but he did it from the Lieutenant Governor’s office where he served after being Attorney General.

John Danforth was the first to move directly from Attorney General to the Senate.  He was elected in 1976, defeating former Governor Warren Hearnes. Hearnes was chosen by a Democratic Caucus after Congressman Jerry Litton was killed on election night on his way from his Chillicothe home to a victory party in Kansas City. He had upset former Governor Hearnes and Congressman Jim Symington, who had been favored by many people to succeed his father, Senator Stuart Symington.

Some time after that, Danforth’s top lieutenant, Alex Netchvolodoff, told me that Danforth wasn’t sure he could have beaten Litton.  Danforth had voluntarily established campaign spending limits.  Litton had no qualms about spending as much as necessary and although I heard he had spent 96% of his liquidity to win the primary, he was a charismatic figure with eyes on the White House who was capable of raising huge sums of money.

John Ashcroft was the next AG to become a U.S. Senator, but he did it after serving eight years as governor.

Josh Hawley, who took office as Attorney General and said he had no plans to immediately seek higher office, did just that in 2020, as we noted earlier.

And now Eric Schmitt becomes only the fifth Missouri Attorney General in our two centuries of history to make the leap, only the third to do it directly.

*Roy Blunt will be 72 years, 11 months, and 24 days old when the new Congress begins with Eric Schmitt as his replacement.  Only Stuart Symington was older when he left the Senate. He was 75 years, six months and one day old when he departed.

He will become our seventh living former U.S. Senator. The others are John Danforth, Christopher Bond, John Ashcroft, Jean Carnahan, Jim Talent, and Claire McCaskill.

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When Eric Schmitt celebrated his victory last week he said, “We want our country back.”  Hmmm…..that’s the same thing a lot of voters thought they were doing when they reduced the Great Red Wave to a ripple.

Woke

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I’m Woke.  At least I think I am.  If it means being aware of the world around me and not being afraid to learn the world around me is something other than what I have thought it to be, I’m Woke.

Woke is a carelessly-used pejorative that has been used to blindly attack progressive views of almost any level. Not just progressive views, either.  It’s been thrown around in public and private arguments about what we should know about our history and what history our children should be taught.

It is a one-word example of today’s bumper sticker politics in which it is easier to call someone a name or disparage their ideas rather than have the courtesy or curiosity to discuss differences.  It is perceived as coming from someone with a “my way or the highway” attitude that replaces thoughtful dialogue with a one-word dismissal.

It’s childish.  Name-calling is a refuge of fools with nothing substantial to say.

A challenge to those who label others as Woke has come from a report by the United Kingdom version of the Huffington Post (HuffpostUK).

Rakie Ayola is an award-winning Welsh actress and producer born of a mother from Sierra Leone and a father from Nigeria. She is now starring in a six-part BBC series called The Pact about some friends who are tied together by a secret. On the BBC Breakfast show the other day, one of the co-hosts suggested some viewers would consider the program “a ‘woke’ version of the Welsh family.”

“If anybody wants to say that to me,” Ayola said, “what I would say first is, ‘explain what you mean by woke – and then we can have the conversation.’”

“If you can’t explain it, don’t hand me that word.

“Don’t use a word you cannot describe.

“Or maybe you know exactly what you mean, and you’re afraid to say what you mean, then let’s have that conversation.

“Not even afraid – you daren’t. Do you know what I mean.

″Sit there and tell me what you mean by ‘woke,’ and then we can talk about whether this show is woke or not.

“Then I can introduce you to a family just like this one – so are you saying they don’t exist, when they clearly do? Are you saying that they’re not allowed to exist? What do you mean by that?

“Let’s have a proper conversation. Don’t throw words around willy-nilly when you don’t know what they mean.

“If you don’t know, then please be quiet because you are incredibly boring.”

Seems to be pretty good advice.

You can watch that part of her interview at:

Rakie Ayola Has The Perfect Response To Anyone Who Uses The Word ‘Woke’ (msn.com)

She makes a good point. Those who throw the word around should be able to define it. And there is some doubt that most can.

Part of the problem with Woke is that most of us are not aware of the word’s history and the reasons for it. So let’s discuss that a little bit.

A significant part of the history of Woke is related to the Ferguson killing of Michael Brown in 2014, in fact.

New York magazine published an excellent article about the history of Woke two years ago. For most of its history, it has been a word of caution within the Black community, not a weapon of division of society in general.

https://www.vox.com/culture/21437879/stay-woke-wokeness-history-origin-evolution-controversy

White folks understanding of the history of Woke is part of the understanding of Black culture and, perhaps, in understanding it, respecting it.

Seeing other cultures and understanding how they see the dominant white cultural history of our country is a matter of respect. Unfortunately some in our political world find it more profitable to denigrate those efforts. History will prove their short term infliction of politically-advantageous pain will have been an unsuccessful bump in the road for the people our grandchildren’s grandchildren will be.

Facing our history, celebrating the noble parts and acknowledging and correcting the bad parts, can be difficult.  But we need not be afraid to do both.

A few days ago I picked up a copy of a 2015 National Book Award-winner, An Indigenous People’s History of the United States by Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz, whose mother—born in Joplin—probably was part Cherokee. Early in her book, she talks of an exercise she has given her students in Native American Studies at California State University-Hayward. She asked students to draw a rough outline of the United States when it gained independence from Britain. “Invariably most draw the approximate present shape of the United States from the Atlantic to the Pacific,’ she writes. When she reminded students the only things that became independent in 1783 were the thirteen colonies, the students often were embarrassed. “This test reflects the seeming inevitability of US extent and power, its destiny, with an implication that the continent had previously been seen as terra nullius, a land without people…The extension of the United States from sea to shining sea was the intention and design of the country’s founders. ‘Free’ land was the magnet that attracted European settlers.”

“…In the United States, the founding and development of the Anglo-American settler-state involves a narrative about Puritan settlers who had a covenant with God to take the land.”

“Indigenous peoples were…credited with corn, beans, buckskin, log cabins, parkas, maple syrup, canoes, hundreds of place names, Thanksgiving, and even the concepts of democracy and federalism. But this idea of the gift-giving Indian helping to establish and enrich the development of the United States is an insidious smoke screen meant to obscure the facts that the very existence of the country is a result of the looting of an entire continent and its resources.”

—And the destruction of dozens of Indian nations, a truth that’s hard to accept in a country in which the cowboys always defeat the savages and the cavalry always arrives to drive them away.

The fact is that this was not “a land without people” at all.  They just weren’t the right kind of people. (Go back to our July 25th comments if you would like more background.)

The insistence by some that we are better if we see our history through the eyes of those who were enslaved or driven from their lands is too often dismissed as “Woke.”

If we are afraid to see ourselves as we really are, and as we really have been, we short-change our opportunities for what we can be.