25th Anniversary of 9/11

For those of us who remember, precisely, where we were when the news started breaking about the attacks on September 11, 2001, it is a bit surreal to realize that 25 years, a quarter of a century, have passed. 

At the end of this post, I have included the actual post I created last year which includes the links to all the other posts on my blog.

For now, I want to reflect on two articles in the September issue of The Atlantic which I read a few days ago. 

The first was about a firefighter who died on that tragic day. It described his life to that point, his passion for fighting fires, and how his two sons spent a number of years participating in the search for his remains. It was sad, of course, but also uplifting in that it detailed a man who loved his life and the work he did, in service of his community, and how his example has been passed down to his sons. It also illustrated, not only the camaraderie that existed in the station, but how the sense of family that they created did not end when someone was killed. The sons of that brave firefighter continued to be welcomed in their circle, to be treated as if their own sons. 

As I read the article, titled "Kevin Dowdell's Sons", being unfamiliar with his story, I half expected that there would be some type of closure; that Dowdell's sons would find their father's remains. While they did find his Halligan bar, a tool used by firefighters in the course of their job, they never found anything else. Since his last known location that day was in the South tower, after it was struck by the jet but before it collapsed, it is easy to assume that he was obliterated by the half a million tons of concrete and steel that descended upon him, and anyone else still inside the building. That the steel tool was all that was found is certainly no surprise.

The article after that also addressed that horrible day by posting the question "Did Al-Qaeda Succeed?" 

Now, one might consider publishing those two articles back to back a risky endeavor, especially in light of the push by the current administration to decry information that portrays America in a bad light. 

Or asks difficult questions. 

Or requires self examination on a national scale.

Or makes us think.

For me, I began reading that second article with some very strong per-conceived notions. But, as is true when we read, there was some interesting information presented, some details about the last 25 years, that I did not know, and some assertions, on both sides of the yes or no answer to the title's question, that made me rethink part of my own conclusions. And, that like all simple questions, there is no simple answer.

On one hand, there is the belief that Al-Qaeda never accomplished anything close to its stated goals, at least Osama Bin Laden's stated goals, of forcing America out of the Middle East, both in influence and in terms of a physical presence. Bin Laden underestimated America's ability to track down and kill himself as well as his successors. At this point, for better or worse, American is even more involved in the Middle East than before 9/11, and one might even say has more friends there. 

Most people forget that it is widely believed that the funding for the training and recruiting of the men who flew those plains into our buildings was provided by Saudi Arabia, yet now the Saudis are much more friendly (are better at using us some might say) than ever, and certainly no friend of Iran. 

While there are still some people who are waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the next big attack on American soil by Al-Qaeda, most analysts believe those days are gone. That the new leadership is barely listened to by the ideologues that foster terrorism against our interests. In fact, there was a surprising point made by the author that the attacks of 9/11 were harmful to the movement, if we assume that establishing a recognized state was the ultimate goal. Some of this part of the article went pretty far into the weeds, but still presented a picture that was far more nuanced than "they hate us, so they attacked us."

While I have not altered my opinion in its essence, I at least have some more information to meld into that perception.

In the end, I believe that by attacking our strengths, Bin Laden succeeded in injecting doubt into our national psyche. Even though we have been attacked before, the British in the War of 1812, some Spanish incursions during the early 20th century, and of course, Pearl Harbor, the attacks on 9/11 were far more damaging because they happened to both our financial and political capitals, New York and Washington (at the Pentagon). In some ways, it doesn't matter than Al-Qaeda has done virtually nothing to us since, it only matters that we still have that memory of such a direct and effective attack.

America is a bit less free since 9/11/01, freedom being our biggest strength. We have sacrificed personal freedoms through laws like the Patriot Act which allow surveillance of Americans by our own government. We have a host of things we can't bring on planes, nor can we board a plane without a passport or Real ID. We can't go into federal buildings without specific papers. 

It is like death by a thousand cuts, but cuts which individually seem insignificant, yet taken together sound like Big Brother. All as a reaction to being attacked om 9/11

More importantly, the War on Terror began a now 25 year run averaging $1 trillion dollars or more, each year, in deficit spending, over $2 trillion each year since 2020. Yes, the 2008 financial meltdown as well as the stimulus packages associated with COVID added considerably to that expansion of debt, but this year will feature another $2 trillion in deficit spending, some due to a war in the Middle East.  

https://www.us-debt-clock.com/data/deficit-by-year 

I guess my point is that we have grown so used to printing money that we don't have, so used to kicking the can labeled national debt down the lane, that we have no way to go back, and I believe some of that blame rests on the damage to our national psyche that the 9/11 attacks created. We believe without doubt that we must spare no expense to defend our way of life and to punish those who attack it, that we are willing to bankrupt ourselves in the process. 

To me, that is the one and only victory that could be assigned to Bin Laden and Al-Qaeda, that, just as we outspent the Soviet Union and pushed them to the brink of bankruptcy, we have done the same thing to ourselves.  

Perhaps worse, we appear stuck in a cycle of revenge seeking, first for all the deaths and destruction which occurred on that horrible day, but now even against ourselves. Whether its called "owning the libs" or released through depictions of those who align with MAGA as in a cult (yes, I am guilty of that), we are a very divided nation. 

Can that be considered a result of the 9/11 attacks? Perhaps it is a stretch, but when any people feels threatened, especially an aging population as we have in America, it is not uncommon to seek someone to blame. Sometimes, that tendency results in a unification, as when America was as one in condemning the attacks on 9/11, or the bombing of Pearl Harbor. When it is obvious who the enemy is, it is much easier to become united.

But now, especially with the daily rhetoric of the current administration, we have turned much of our anger inward. One might say that can be good, a bit of self reflection to determine why our enemies hate us, perhaps even an acknowledgement that some of our actions in the past created an environment for ill feelings against our country. 

But that is not what is happening now. We have reached a point where on daily basis we are being told that we have identified the enemy, and it is us. In our haste to blame someone for our national ills, we are no longer united in defining our enemies. In fact, there are some who tell us that our traditional enemies, Russia in particular, are our friends, and our historical allies, other democracies, especially Canada right now, are our enemies.

And, of course, if we choose to vote for or support the wrong party or candidate, that too is a sign that we are enemies.

I have written a story in which the world, let alone America, is united by a common, in this case, extraterrestrial enemy. 

But I fear that even that possibility will not work, as is evident by the pandemic of 2020 in which we were unable as a country to unite to defeat the spread of the disease, and that even to this day there are people who draw a line, those who believe COVID was a hoax, and those who don't, to determine who if a friend, who to trust. 

That inability to rally around helping the most vulnerable to survive a global pandemic tells me that it will be worse when the next one comes, and that we may have lost the ability to recognize who are enemies are in the first place.

Or are unable to reject the constant stream of propaganda that tells us who to hate, from the media, from the president, from our religious institutions.

Whether we are able to alter the path we are on, remains to be seen. I remain a pessimistic optimist, assuming it will only get worse, hoping to be wrong. 

----

As I said above, here is the post from last year, reproduced rather than linked to, but which does include links to the older posts concerning this pivotal event in our history.

 

Today marks the 24th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks.

24 years.

Most children born that year, and the four years following it, are in their early 20's. Perhaps on college campuses as we speak, or in the work force as they begin their adulthood adventures.

I am sure many have children, despite the declining birth rate. Experiencing the joys and anxieties associated with raising an infant. The struggle to balance work and home life, day care expenses, and the challenge of leaving their care free young adult lives behind in lieu of responsibilities, bills, and budgets.

The wars that were inspired by that horrific day are behind us, although the threat of war is still prevalent, the wrath of those who would destroy our "way of life" still widespread. 

I have posted a number of times under the label of Nine Eleven, twice in the first year, then for the first and second anniversary. But only a few times more since then, in 2016 and last year. Perhaps there are others that I haven't been able to identify, but I am less than happy that I have allowed this anniversary to be pushed out of view, at least my view, so often. 

Here are links to all the other posts concerning this topic.

https://wurdsfromtheburbs.blogspot.com/2024/09/twenty-three-years-have-passed.html 

https://wurdsfromtheburbs.blogspot.com/2016/09/another-911-anniversary.html

https://wurdsfromtheburbs.blogspot.com/2013/09/another-911-anniversary.html

https://wurdsfromtheburbs.blogspot.com/2012/09/another-911-anniversary.html

https://wurdsfromtheburbs.blogspot.com/2011/09/reflections-on-911.html

https://wurdsfromtheburbs.blogspot.com/2011/08/jumpstart-to-911-discussions.html

In reading them now, I am struck with the lack of progress we have made, as a country, in regards to our relationships with the rest of the world. In fact, disappointed would be a better word, especially considering the current administration's apparent desire to eliminate all the soft power programs that provided food, medicine and monies to assist those in the world with less. 

 

Those efforts, which helped cement the opinion that America was a great nation, willing to help the less fortunate, are being replaced with, at best, an isolationist attitude, at worst with the very clear message that we only care about ourselves. America first.

 

Certainly it is true that telling everyone what to do, how to run their country, who to elect, what their values should be, was a mistake, even if it was meant to help. 

 

But a 360 degree shift is not the answer either.

 

When we end programs that save children's lives, provide medicine and food to reduce poverty and disease, food, by the way, grown by American farmers who are also suffering with this change in philosophy, we diminish the connection we have developed with those whose only crime was to be born in a country not America. In essence we tell them, too bad, no longer interested in sharing our blessings.

 

And, we provide an opening for other countries, China in particular, to fill that void and establish their country, their belief system as one which aides those without resources. 

 

Even worse, along with two of the worst bullies on the planet at this time, Putin and Netanyahu, who are responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands of women and children, our president seems aligned, if not with all their actions, the actual methodology they represent; might makes right. 

 

Not that America hasn't endorsed this motto often, but now it has taken a whole new meaning with Trump's threats to Greenland and Canada, his obvious disdain for all leaders of our traditional allies/democratic nations, his love affairs with Putin, Orban, and Jung Un, each a dictator in his own right, and even the outright attack on Venezuelan ships in international waters, judge, jury and executioner.

 

We seemed to have learned nothing. 

 

As is Israel with their attempts to eliminate every Hamas leader from the face of the planet, women and children as collateral damage be damned, America seems on a headlong path to eliminate friends who have stood by us, reduce the population of countries that historically depended on our largess, and create even more enemies in the world.

 

Or maybe the plan is to make new friends among our old enemies by moving away from democracy towards a version of performative democracy like in Russia and Hungary, or outright autocracy like in North Korea.

 

As I have said a number of times, the decline is real, it is only a matter of how far and to what degree. 

 

And how long, hopefully, it might take us to recover. 

 

Labor Day and "Winning"

As a former employee in the retail industry, I worked my share of Labor Days (and other "holidays"), especially in my last decade and a half of full time work at the PLCB as our new collective bargaining agreements reduced the number of paid days off, and in the last few years of semi-retirement at our local grocery store. The good news is that I was often paid double time, meaning paid for the hours I worked plus paid for the holiday. The sad part, of course, is the lost time with family and friends, or the rush to get to a holiday party after working, and the lessened energy that one might arrive with.

I did, in fact, work yesterday, Labor Day 2026, for a little over 6 hours, but straight time, now that I am a part time employee. Fortunately, there was enough time in the afternoon and early evening to enjoy a visit from two of my best friends from youth. 

I have posted on Labor Day twice in the past. Here are links to those two efforts.

https://wurdsfromtheburbs.blogspot.com/2014/09/happy-labor-day.html

https://wurdsfromtheburbs.blogspot.com/2011/09/happy-labor-day.html 

After reading them again this morning, it is clear that any hope I expressed about our society moving away from expecting 24/7 service meaning stores and services available 365 days a year, was misplaced. It is only getting worse, even to the point that I don't think the majority of Americans even consider the fact that some people, many, many people, work on holidays. 

When I wrote those two posts, the prospect of AI taking many jobs from humans, especially service jobs, was not on my mind, not part of the everyday conversation. If we continue to pretend, or forget, that holidays should equate to time off from work, then it will be no surprise when those jobs are taken by robots, entities that do not require days off, or health care for that matter.

If one hundred years from now the concept of Labor Day is but a cute relic of the past, because no one labors any more, those jobs having been relegated to robots and other forms of automation, will that be a utopia or dystopia future?

In one of the above posts, I mention a conversation I had with my son as I drove him back to college. It was about taking pride in one's job and whether we have working for the weekend was a mantra that was bad for our culture, as well as our soul. If the majority of people get little or no pleasure from their work, there will be no pushback as those jobs are taken over by automation. 

Worse, if jobs that actually do provide most of those involved some type of personal satisfaction are also turned over to robots and AI, jobs like teaching, health care, childcare, perhaps even those which employ engineers, lawyers and other professions that require advanced degrees, will that also be accepted without a fight, without questioning what kind of work is suitable for humans?

Again, a lifetime without work; utopia or dystopia?

---

In the last few days, a post I wrote in July of 2019 called Winning At All Costs, has been "hit" an inordinate number of times. I read it this morning our of curiosity as I couldn't recall the specifics of it. As occurs at times, when I read something I wrote in the past, I was impressed with its content. It begins with a quote from Iris Murdoch. Here it is, not by link, but word for word.

--- 

A quote from Iris Murdoch (from an edition of Lapham's Quarterly)

 "One of the secrets of a happy life is continuous small treats."  

I have mentioned before that we tend to consider the times of our lives, the years between our birth and death, but most specifically those years when we are most conscious of the significance of events which surround us, as the most important years in history. Our egos insist on it. I imagine there has been a  multitude of conversations about the historical nature of "today", whether those various debates occurred among Greeks unaware they lived at the beginning of the years we know as AD, peasants of the 9th century, tradesman of the 16th century, or World War 2 veterans who escaped death in Europe or the Pacific. 

One might even argue that anyone born in the first 2 decades of the 20th century, and who survived for most of that century, was witness to the most diverse and dramatic changes which have occurred in human history.  Should similarly seismic advances in technology, communication and travel occur in the next 70 years, how unrecognizable everyday life will be for those who walk the planet in 2095 as compared to today.

What draws me to Lapham's Quarterly, is that the topics explored, as often reflect the similarity of perception over the ages, as the differences, despite the profound alterations of how life is conducted via technology, etc.

I began thinking about this post intent on discussing how winning at all costs seems to have infected the thinking of our culture, but perhaps that in itself is just another reflection of how we believe we live in the most (fill in the blank) time in history.

If continuous small treats can produce a happy life, then perhaps winning at all costs is one method of accomplishing that result, as long as we always look forward to the next "win" and not reflect on the cost of any particular win, such as winning by cheating.  As flawed humans, we have all cheated at times, perhaps to gain a better grade, a better job, a better sexual experience.  For some, this kind of shortcut to happiness eventually reveals itself as a mirage, producing less satisfying results over time.  For those who never learn this lesson, more intense experiences are required, sometimes producing the kind of addictive behavior which we see manifested in our opioid crisis, our polarized politics, our seemingly endless dissatisfaction with what we have which leads us to crave things we don't need. 

I have often heard people deride "participation" trophies as an indicator that we are getting soft, that needing constant reassurance and reward is bad.  If only winning matters, then trophies for 2nd, 3rd, even last, seem ridiculous.  

But what if competing, improving your skills, learning to function as a member of a team, and understanding that cooperation is the best formula for success is what playing is all about?  Then perhaps participation trophies aren't rewarding mediocrity, but are rewarding and recognizing the importance of the intangible lessons of team activities.  After all, the vast majority of our children who join local teams, will never be paid professionals, but will all (hopefully) contribute to society as parents, employees, coworkers, and perhaps even fellow volunteers, if they have truly learned the lessons of teamwork.

I have not read any of Iris Murdoch's works.  I know she was a British novelist and philosopher, born in Ireland, educated in England.  (Oddly, and I did not know this until I researched her a bit), Murdoch was influenced by Simone Weil, someone whose works I have commented upon in past posts.  I would like to think that Murdoch would not have recommended constant winning as a source of continuous small treats, but might have touted a rearrangement of one's perception of the definition of small treats.

When I was hitchhiking in my youth, I used food as a source of small treats/rewards, setting my goal for each day's travels, then eating a small meal once I had arrived at that location.  I still use food as a small treat, sometimes even a simple egg sandwich on the way to work.  Of course, the best small treats are those that do not require money. Things like:

The silvery look of the tree branches after the first overnight snow.

The sun dipping just over the horizon, especially over water, and the colors of the sky which it leaves behind.

A lonely white cloud in an endless sky of blue.

A puppy bounding to the door when you arrive home.

The look of virtually any young child when you smile or wave at them.

A walk on a tree lined path, and the feeling of sun on your face when you emerge from its shade, then the coolness of the shade when you return to its protection from the glaring heat of the day.

Singing in the car, at full throat, as you drive, and seeing others do the same, especially when they stop in mid-song when they notice you hear them.

Winning at all costs is not just about the basketball player who looks to the sky every time he is called for a foul, but complains bitterly after every shot, claiming he has been fouled.  It is not just about aligning your self with the politician who will make sure your bank account grows, even though that growth hurts those not in agreement, or who look, worship, or love differently from you.  And it is not just about seeking dirt on your political opponent from foreign agents. 

Winning at all costs is a mindset that subordinates everything else to achieve a result, regardless of consequences to anyone who might stand in your way, or who become a victim as a result of your success.

And, with its cousin, "winning isn't everything, it is the only thing", they combine to create a society in which the strong are allowed to take advantage of the weak, the powerful are allowed to pervert the rule of law, and the advantaged are allowed to take even more from the less advantaged, even while they equate their fortune as divinely blessed while those with less must be less deserving, even less loved by the Creator.

And then there are those who claim victory even when they have lost, so tenuous is their grip on their self worth and self esteem. 

My advice.  Seek small treats, especially those that do not require money, and lose every once in a while, graciously. 

-----

Can you imagine getting such advice, specifically that last part, from the current resident of the White House? 

It seems so easy to me to see the signs of our national decline, not just from the antics of DJT, not just from the odious laws being passed to justify cruelty, and not just from the obscene amounts of money that a few individuals have amassed but because far too many Americans are OK with all that is happening, perhaps even support it, or sadly, have accepted that they cannot change the inevitability of the consequences that are imminent. 

Rather than analyzing the winning that I mention in the title of this post, they accept any fool's definition, even when that definition claims we are winning a war (that is not a war depending on the day of the week) when the costs of everyday energy use are much higher than they were before the war. 

I started this part of the post with the words of Iris Murdock who claimed that  

 "One of the secrets of a happy life is continuous small treats." 

Would it be so bad if we redefined winning in that manner as well? 

 

  

   

 

Dolly Parton and AI

I have never been a country music fan although there has certainly been a song here and there which I enjoyed. And, while I have become more aware of her talents as a singer-songwriter, I would be hard pressed to be able to name more than a few of Dolly Parton's biggest hits. In fact, it was only in the last year that I became aware that she wrote "I Will Always Love You", a song made famous by Whitney Houston in the movie "The Bodyguard."

To be honest, I was more familiar with her work in movies, Doralee in 9 to 5 and Truvy Jones in Steel Magnolias. And even there, she appeared in many other films, as well as cameos on various TV shows, unbeknownst to me. 

Obviously, then, to say I was a fan of Dolly Parton's music and entertainment efforts would be an exaggeration. Still, I was saddened to learn of her death this past week simply because we don't have near enough people like her, especially influential people.

There have been numerous essays and opinions honoring her legacy already, and I imagine many more to come. I would feel certain in predicting that a Dolly Parton biopic will be forthcoming now that she has passed, along with multiple other accolades, i.e, naming parks, streets, events, after her. 

She was a person that transcended the bitterness of our times, someone who found admirers on both sides of the rancorous political scene in which we are engulfed, not by taking public stands, not by sending opinion pieces to mainstream newspapers, not by appearing on popular pod casts but by expressing her Christian faith through good works. It is people like her that make me think that the belief that faith alone is necessary to attain eternal life in heaven is misguided, at best, more about power and control, at worst.

What will be interesting is if, in the next few months as various people sing her praises, will they recognize that she truly believed in her faith and acted accordingly, a viewpoint, that Christianity can (and should) be a force for good in the world, is sometimes lost on people on the left who tend to focus on the hypocrisy of those on the right who continually tell us who to hate while ignoring the good works that many true followers of Christ perform.

Similarly, will those who admire Parton's open and proud admission that her faith was part and parcel to her success in her marriage and other relationships, as well as her public life, take the lessons of her most famous movie, 9 to 5, which addressed the inequality of work success based on genders (google the words to the song she wrote of the same name as the movie) albeit in a comedy format, or her work to improve communities like the one she grew up in through her various charities, or the large donation she provided to help develop the COVID vaccine.

Or, to me, her ultimate achievement, the launch of Imagination Library which provides a book every month from birth to age 5, to encourage literacy and a love for reading, as opposed to those who prefer to make lists of books to ban.

Will she be lionized for these accomplishments, or provide a link between the two sides that seem to be ripping our country apart? Perhaps, although I have already read articles from people who only see the part of Dolly that agrees with their preconceptions and biases.

At the end of this post, I have copied a post which I wrote in February of 2025, which includes a story, and is related to my emphasis, above, about good works being the true measure of one's life, and perhaps the only true way to gain entry into heaven.

My other topic for this post is a brief foray into the burgeoning AI industry. In the last year or so, as AI penetrates every aspect of our lives, there has been bipartisan pushback, especially as related to the proliferation of data centers.

While I have not made up my mind completely, I tend to worry about AI's insertion into our lives, mostly because I believe that it will be controlled by the super wealthy, a group of people for whom I have very little trust. It is very easy for me to imagine the decision about AI being dominated by people with very little compassion for the everyday person, an attitude that, at best, will cause suffering for the vast majority of us, at worst, be specifically designed to replace human labor with machines that don't eat, need time off, or require medical and retirement benefits.

All that being said, I just read a positive article in the August edition of National Geographic about the scrolls that were discovered in Herculaneum, the suburb of Pompeii that was buried in 60 feet of lava and debris when Vesuvius erupted. 

In the article, after decades of just storing these scrolls, which could not be deciphered let alone unrolled, through various uses of AI programs just developed in the last decade, these scrolls are finally being "read". While they are not revolutionary in terms of what they say, they do provide a much richer understanding of the people who lived in a first century AD Roman town. 

So, while AI technology can easily be utilized to benefit a slim slice of people who control its development, it can also be used to provide information about humanity, for all to access.

In other words, like any tool, AI can be used for good or bad. I guess we can only hope for the former while keeping our eyes peeled for forays into the latter.    

 

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A Dialogue With The Almighty

Merriam-Webster defines atheist and agnostic as

Atheist -  a person who does not believe in the existence of a god or any gods

Agnostic -  a person who holds the view that any ultimate reality (such as God) is unknown and probably unknowable

I have toggled back and forth between identifying as an atheist or agnostic for much of my adult life, although I generally considered my more agnostic leanings a reflection of a belief that while there must be some sort of force that exists that is not able to be understood by humans, our definition of God could not be accurate, that God could not be anything like what we have constructed in our minds and through our religions. And that certainly, there is no religion (or religious definition of God) that is any better than any other. 

So, imagine my surprise when I was recently contacted by The Almighty.  

At first I thought I was having a lucid dream. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term, a lucid dream is one in which you are aware that you are dreaming thereby allowing you to influence or control the content or narrative of the dream. While I fly in my dreams more infrequently than when I was a younger adult, flying defined as soaring through the air like superman, I invariably knew I was dreaming while in the air. I was lucid dreaming during those flights.

As I said, at first I thought it was a lucid dream as I have often mused and even written about an encounter with The Almighty. But in this instance, that wasn't the case. For whatever reason, The Almighty had chosen to initiate a communication with me.

"Joe, it is The Almighty. I want to spend some time with you, if that is OK. I hope you will allow me to dominate the conversation but I will endeavor to entertain questions, if there is time."

The sound of the words were very clear, neither commanding nor with a deep resonant base kind of sound as one might expect, but very clear, as if reflecting a confidence. Not obviously a man or woman's voice either, so perhaps "voice" is more a function of a limited perception of communication. As I reflect upon it now, it may have been more of an ESP kind of thing. 

But as I did so, I was a bit taken aback when I focused on the phrase "if there is time", as the thought flashed through my mind that perhaps this was the actual last moments of life, and that my "time" was limited because, well, my time was up.

"No Joe, you are not about to die. It is just that I generally find that these kinds of communications stress the human mind to a degree that they can only last a short time."

"First, I want you to know that I have not abandoned Earth, or Man, or whatever you might refer to as everything going on in the world today. I know your thoughts have moved in that direction, especially these last few weeks, this last decade. Of course, for me, the passage of a decade, or even a century, let alone a few weeks is practically instantaneous, but even so, I am aware of the trends taking place on Earth and I can assure you that I am not missing in action, or off creating life somewhere else in the universe, or just sitting back and waiting for the chips to fall as they may."

"But there is such killing going on", I blurted out, hoping this statement reflected my real question; why did The Almighty allow such death and destruction as was occurring in the Middle East and Eastern Europe, let alone the multiple atrocities that are hidden from the media outlets which most of us access.

"Life is both complicated, and simple. Complicated because of how long it has taken for humans to have become what they are today through the stops and starts of life as it has evolved. And even more complicated because of the slow progress by humans as they have adapted to the environment, learned about the immense variety of species that I have also provided, sought comfort in ever increasing sizes of groups, began to wander about and explore the immense space outside their home planet."

"To be honest, it's been very rewarding to see the progress, the development of what you define as justice, fairness, the respect for life, animal as well as human. Of course, there is still a very long way to go, but I am pleased, in general."

"In essence, that is what makes life simple. You might call it the golden rule, treating others as you wish to be treated. For all the talk about the indoctrination of children towards a more secular perception, treating others as you would like to be treated does not require an association with a religion, just a belief that we should treat each other humanely."

"While I have said that I am pleased with the progress, again, you must understand that my timeline is rather large compared to any civilization's, let alone any one person's. There has been ebb and flow, the pendulum has swung, sometimes rather drastically, in the wrong direction. And I am not just referring to the events of thousands of years ago, but also to events that have transpired even during the lifetimes of many people alive today." 

"So, while pleased with the progress, there is a paradigm shift that is ongoing, that has been ongoing, for a while now. A shift that perhaps seems fairly drastic in the way that humans perceive the passage of time, but not so critical when my timeline is referenced."

"You see, that is the rub, as they say. While I am fully aware of even the most infinitesimal of changes in human development, I am also aware that this process has a timeline of hundreds of thousands of years. For that reason, I am a bit more patient before taking any active involvement."

"To be blunt, one might even say that I am reluctant to intervene because I know that I have provided the proper environment, Earth as you call it, the proper spiritual inspiration, Jesus, Buddha, Mohamed, etc, the requisite mental and physical traits, and, a plethora of possible experiences, joys, and sorrows, that there really shouldn't be the need for me to do more. Without giving too much away, the need hasn't been required in the past with any great frequency."

"Joe, I don't allow war, genocide, brutality, humans do. The real question is why do you allow it, and even more importantly, why do you allow it in My name so often."

"Is there a heaven?", I exclaimed.

There was a pause, brief, but tangible, then

"I will answer that, with the understanding that if humans accept that good and evil emanates from them, and that they should know the difference, then there must be a reward and a punishment for behaving one way or the other. So, yes, heaven and hell do exist but not as humans imagine it. The reward for a life lived as the great spiritual masters have described is far more amazing than anything you can imagine, as is the punishment for turning one's back on those lessons."

"To be honest, if I were to provide the knowledge of what comes after death while you live, the actual reality of each choice, no one would choose hell over heaven. Frankly, most people really don't believe in heaven or hell, despite their declarations that they do, or things like genocide and bombing schools and hospitals, wouldn't exist."

"Why are you communicating with me?", I asked. 

"A fair question, but again, one which reveals the inherent misconception that permeates all religions, that only a small percentage of humans can speak for me, or be contacted by me. All my children have the capacity for good, hence they all have the capacity to communicate what is right and what is wrong. Of course, having that capacity doesn't mean everyone chooses the correct path, or that people should listen to just anyone."

"In your case, you wrote a story called The Line. Do you recall it?"

I thought for a few seconds, remembering the title, but not the story. "No, I really can't remember it's details," I responded. 

Suddenly, there is was, in my mind's eye. 

 

                                                             The Line 

Prologue 

I would imagine that if you asked the next 50 people that you encounter, 49 of them, if they answered seriously, would say that, all things being equal, they expected to go to heaven when they died. I have always thought that most people are good. My days of hitchhiking confirmed that belief, and my experiences at work, and in my community have done nothing to change that opinion. But what if we are wrong? What if the creator expects more of us?

Less scrambling for wealth and more helping those less fortunate than ourselves. Less trumpeting ways in which we are better than others and more recognition that the birth lottery was good to us, now how can we progress the lives of those not so lucky. Less finding reasons to distrust, isolate and kill, more searching for ways to bridge our differences; more love, less hate.

What if, at the end of the day, it is simply a matter of how many we've helped, not how much we've earned?

-------                                                    

The rain pelted the windshield making visibility very limited. There was no place to pull over, so I continued on, slowly. At a blind curve, two headlights lit up the night, temporarily turning the darkness into light. The collision occurred almost simultaneously just as my eyes recovered from the sudden light providing no time to react. The car teetered momentarily at the cliff's edge, then slid down the ravine into the shallow water below. Funny, I thought, no pain.

The line stretched out in front of me to a point where I could still make out the colors of clothes but not the faces of their wearers. There was a bit of chatter around me but it all sounded forced like the interactions one hears in an elevator. I chose to remain silent, only nodding my head at the woman in front of me when she turned around and smiled the smile one sees in line at the grocery store. Or at a funeral.

Gradually, we shuffled forward. We didn't seem to be moving very quickly yet I didn't sense the impatience one usually feels from a group stuck in a slowly moving, long line. I wondered if they all felt as I did, a feeling that the time would come, soon enough, when we would find ourselves at the front of the line. I heard a short, suppressed laugh in the distance behind me. It was a laugh that seemed to have been stopped short, not just by its owner but by the group as a whole, as if to remind everyone in line that this was not the place for laughter.

After a while, more than minutes but less than hours, I was surprised to find that I had a folder tucked under my arm. I glanced around me and noticed that everyone else also carried a similar folder. No one had opened their package and I followed suit.

More time passed and I was beginning to hear the words being spoken at the front of the line. Well, not really actual words, but voices. Soon I realized that every other voice seemed to be of the same pitch and eventually I understood that each conversation featured the voice of someone in line, like me, and the response from the person who was waiting for us. All of the conversations were brief.

For the second time since I had found myself in line, I was surprised. This time, my surprise was the result of realizing that there were two additional lines leading away from the front of the line in which I waited. How could I have missed them before? One moved very slowly and was extremely crowded. It disappeared into the distance and I got the sense that it did not end just out of sight. The second line was sparsely populated and the people moving within it were free to stride or trot or walk casually as they felt. I noticed that all those around me were also aware of the two lines. I imagined that they wished as I did, to be allowed to join those in that second line.

When I turned my attention back towards the front of my line, I could now clearly see the people as they approached the man whose voice I first detected. He was tall and lean, clothed in loose garb. There was nothing special about his clothes but he obviously commanded the attention of each person who approached him. As each individual personal drama played out, the tall man nodded, each person opened their folder, glanced at the words inside then handed the folder to the man. I heard each person say something, heard his voice respond, then watched as the majority of them walked off to the first, much longer line.

I was getting close now. I should have been close enough to hear the words but for some reason I could not. Yet I could tell that most of the conversations were not ending in the manner that was anticipated. While there was no anger being expressed, there was clearly disappointment of the kind that comes when an outcome is exactly opposite of expectation.

Then, despite the fact that I felt that I had been in line for quite a while, I was suddenly at the front of the line. It reminded me of the conversations that I had had with my grandparents when I was a young adult and they in the twilight of their lives. Time can seem interminable, they all said, yet your life can seem so short, and the time of inevitable death can seem so sudden.

I looked up at the man at the front of the line. He was taller than I had calculated while I was standing in line. But it wasn't his height that was his most striking feature. It was his eyes. They were direct, compassionate, and sad. I had seen similar expressions during conversations where tragic news was being relayed. But his sadness went beyond the sadness that comes from just bringing bad news; his sadness seemed to reflect a responsibility in that he had provided the way to avoid this bad news but it had been ignored. He was obviously reading judgements yet these judgements were far from the judicial impartiality that we expect in our courts. He was visibly saddened by the decisions he was rendering.

I opened my folder and found one piece of paper with a sentence in very large print. It said, YOU MAY ASK ONE QUESTION. Below that line were other words in a language that I did not understand but clearly conveyed something to the man.

"How do you earn the right to take the second line?", I asked.

"You made your choice of which line you would walk every day of your life. You earned time on Line Two every time you performed an act of kindness, doubly so when done for someone you didn't know or who was different from yourself. You earned time on Line Two when your life reflected the spirit of your beliefs, when you were nice when it was hard to be nice, and when you defended someone being treated unjustly. You earned time on Line Two when you used the abilities that you were born with to help those less fortunate than yourself."

"You earned time on Line One when you made choices to benefit yourself regardless of its effect on others. You earned time on Line One when you used your religion to define who to love and who to hate. And you earned time on Line One when you did nothing even though you knew what was right but deferred action to someone else. You earned time on Line One when you used the abilities that you were born with to help only yourself."

"I told you how to live, did you not listen? So many men carrying the message of love, did you not heed them? So much suffering to help ease, did you not see it?"

I reflected on my life in an attempt to calculate which line I had earned through my actions and in-actions. I glanced up at the man at the front of the line and moved towards the line he indicated.

 

----- 

 

As the story faded from my vision, The Almighty continued.

 

"You knew something when you wrote that story, or perhaps had fully incorporated the lessons from your parents, or the spirit of the religion you were born into, or perhaps the feedback you received from your life which taught you that when you are kind to others, it is it's own reward, and when you are unkind, it leaves a dark spot somewhere inside you."

"Which brings me to the theory that good works can't get you to heaven. I am not sure why it is so foundational in many religions and religious books, but that is one of the fallacies of a human created version of heaven. Being kind to others, especially those who are different from you in appearance, culture, perspective, even values, is the most difficult way for someone to live, and the trait I value over any other."

"Or, to put more simply, it is easy to treat people well when they are like yourself, when they are your family, or when they share some basic values or perspective, but far more difficult to treat those unlike yourself fairly and with humanity."

"Not for the first time, probably not for the last, there is a selfishness of action that has begun to permeate man's interactions with each other at a level that is making it more difficult for people to listen to the good within themselves, and to judge whether their leaders messages and policies reflect that same goodness. There is confusion and chaos which causes fear, which inspires behavior that rejects kindness while embracing blame and cruelty."

"Will we get past this cycle?"

"The Earth is billions of years old. Life has existed for millions of years, and will always exist is some form with or without humans. If I said it doesn't matter, would you consider ill of me, as if I didn't care if humanity prospers, or merely survives, or is extinguished? If you consider my time line, the veritable eternity that I have been in existence, and the endless time ahead, you might forgive me for such a nonchalant attitude."

"But know this, it is not the big picture of humanity existing for 100 or 1000 or 10,0000 more years that matters compared to how each person is judged."

"Have you reflected the best of what I instilled in each of you? Or have you ignored the lessons handed down through history from those who were able to fully tap into the goodness I imprinted in everyone?"

"Each of you will earn whatever fate comes your way, as will every person you encounter as well as every person unknown to you, and combined, those actions will enable humanity to exist for centuries, or for decades. But regardless, the Earth will circle the sun for far longer, and the sun will radiate light and heat for even longer still, yet that will still be only a fraction of the time of my existence."

"In that way, the cycle you refer to is inconsequential, in the bigger perspective of time without end."

"But if nothing matters, then what is the point?"

"Did I say nothing mattered? Everything you do matters, everything everyone does matters, every action and inaction. I said earlier that I value good works, especially those conferred upon people unlike oneself." 

"But just as powerful are the in-actions we engage in when we turn our heads rather than see injustice, or stay quiet when we know someone is harming others in words or deeds, in fear that if we speak up, we might be next. Or worse, by thinking we won't be next because our looks, or beliefs, or opinions, mirror those of the oppressor."

"To repeat a phrase that you are familiar with, due to your particular upbringing, what you do unto the least of them, you do unto me. That is a very powerful statement, and one which is extremely difficult to live as one's guiding maxim."

"The point is to leave the world a better place through actions you perform and in-actions you reject."

"The point is to strive to be the best version of being human that you can knowing you will fail, often, but acknowledging those failures, and doing even better when the next opportunity arises."

"The point is to live by giving and receiving as much love as you can both to those in your life, your family, your neighbors, your co-workers, your friends, and to those outside your circle. Or maybe a better way to explain it is to make your particular circle of love as immense as you can. As big as the Earth itself, if possible."

With that, the communication ended. I spent the next hour or so trying to remember and record as much as I could before the memory faded as I feared that perhaps part of the process was that I would forget the encounter. That doubt as to source of such a dialogue was designed to provide those who received such a opportunity a reason to pretend it didn't happen, or couldn't happen to an ordinary person. 

And if doubt in the existence of The Almighty was both the problem and solution to living a moral life, or to attain heaven, I wondered if my own agnostic or atheistic leanings were a boon or an obstacle. 

Or perhaps both.

Belief that by leaving the world a better place, we will be rewarded, and doubt that there a such a reward, but that we should leave the world a better place anyway. 

Do right by those you encounter, not out of fear of eternal hell but because that is why The Almighty began the cycle of life millions of years ago which ultimately led to humanity. 

------

For another short story with a religious theme, here is a link to

An Atheist For Christ

https://wurdsfromtheburbs.blogspot.com/2024/04/an-atheist-for-christ.html

 

 

Chapter Eight: Hitchhiking Trips, Part One

                                         Rachel's Dad

                       Chapter Eight: Hitchhiking Trips 

Rachel had heard stories of her dad's hitchhiking trips. Occasionally he related one, usually in connection with a topic already being discussed. For instance, sometimes when the topic of travel and cost might be broached, he would remind whoever was in attendance that the use of one's thumb to travel long distances was reasonably efficient, and remarkably inexpensive. 

Still, here she was, knee deep in his journals which he kept during those years of his youth, and as the trips unfolded. Additionally, there were his writings about those trips which he began compiling as part of his attempt to document his life, an endeavor that progressed but was never finished.

----

I made three inter state hitchhiking trips, one in 1980 and two in 1981. The first occurred the summer after I moved from my parents home to live with a very nice woman named Mary Ellen, in Willow Grove, PA. The second one was to specifically visit a young lady who was part of our core group of friends after she moved to the Rochester, New York area. And the last was to Houston, TX to visit my good friends Mike who procured a job there after college graduation and Audrey, who had been dating Mike for a few years during his college days.

Upon reflection, it is difficult to imagine what was in my head at the time. A desire to continue the wanderlust I had started with the previous year's bus trips? The need to be different, and/or to get attention? A bit of cruel payback to my parents who, as their first child, over protected me as new parents often do? Perhaps even a search for myself, or for a meaning to life, although cliche as that sounds, was certainly in my head consistently during those years.

I kept many journals during my young adulthood, but, at this time, cannot find the one I kept for the first, and longest, hitchhiking trip which means that I am compiling the following summary while relying only on memory, perhaps useful for a based-on-a-true story novel but which most likely will product some fuzziness and convergence of events as opposed to just the facts, ma'am. 

Before leaving, I learned to juggle thinking it might provide a useful prop to obtain rides, although I could never get past 3 balls at once and rarely actually juggled on the highways I traversed. 

The longest trip, that summer of 1980, was also inspired by a man I met at my cousin's wedding earlier that year. Alan lived in Vail, Colorado, and when hearing of my desire to travel, told me I was welcome at his place if I ever got there. Again, this was before everyone owned a cell phone, and frankly, I don't recall contacting him before I left, but after a modicum of planning, off I went, west, with very few personal items, very little money, an Instamatic camera, a not very specific plan other than to go to Vail first, and a pocket 3" x 5" roadmap which depicted all the states and Canadian provinces. In my mind I guess I expected to get rides from truckers who might even utilize their CB radios to hand me off to another driver, heading west. That was to be the first of many assumptions that I would be wrong about. 

I was able to reach West Virginia that first day, Wheeling, to be exact. As darkness settled, I realized that I would be sleeping outside that night, under the stars. As it turned out, the romance of such a thought was tempered by the reality, which was that I found an business store complex that was unoccupied at night, as they tend to be, and hunkered down at the doorstep of a veterinarian's office. I debated the wisdom of being close to an overhead light or finding a dark spot as if hiding, eventually choosing the former, for no logical reason.

During the 2nd day, I was able to reach western Ohio. At this point, I was picked up by a young man in a yellow VW beetle who was going to Las Vegas. I was able to convince him to alter his planned route a bit to take me to Vail, which he agreed to, I assume, to have the company. We were together all that day, then overnight, then most of the next day. At some point he asked me my last name; we were both shocked to discover that our 8 letter last names were exactly the same except for one letter, the second, mine a U, his an A. There were a few times during my days on the road that I imagined that there was some kind of fate or universal energy at work for me, and this was the first of those times.

He dropped me at Alan's door in Vail. 

To my surprise, I wasn't the only young person using Alan's place as a way station. I spent a night or two there, sleeping on the living room floor among the other temporary visitors. 

Having realized that it might be a good idea to have a tent on my travels, what one might call a V-8 moment, I borrowed one from Alan before heading off to the Grand Teton/Yellowstone National Parks. 

I recall that I thought I might reach the parks in one day, but as it turned out I was forced to pitch my tent at a community park somewhere in Wyoming. Well, at least that is what the sign said, although it looked more like someone's extended yard that was designated a park just to reduce the taxes and upkeep. I slept spottily, but did learn how to put up my new tent. 

The next morning, I set out again, and was picked up rather quickly by a man going to work. He asked me if I had eaten breakfast, which I hadn't, and then proceeded to stop at a local diner. Not only was he generous enough to pay for my morning meal, he told me to grab as much change as I could reach from his back seat after we dined and were on the road again. It was more than a few dollars, as most of the coins were quarters, and would not be the first time that a stranger bought me a meal, or gave me a bit of money.

Quick note here. If you have never been to Wyoming, at least at that time, the one stereotype that was absolutely true was that there are oil derricks all over the place. Nothing huge, just 10, 12 foot derricks bobbing their heads up and down as they removed oil from the ground. Additionally, outside of the few cities such as Cheyenne, Laramie, and of course Jackson Hole, there is a whole lotta space. Wide open space, but also still dotted with derricks.

Anyway, I arrived at the parks the afternoon after leaving Vail, snapping pictures of the Tetons with my Instamatic through the window of the car. And again, that night, the tent was of great use.

I stayed a few days, hitching around Yellowstone, which was quite easy, seeing the sights, meeting people, many my age. It was at Yellowstone that I met the Swansons, (see Chapter Eleven.) It was also at Yellowstone that I got a sunburn on my face, fairly serious, as I made the typical tourist mistake of lounging in a hot spring for a considerable length of time, without sunscreen. To be honest, I didn't pack sunscreen so it wasn't like I forgot to use it, but again, times were different then and sunscreen wasn't used as regularly as today.

The ride back "home" was uneventful, although like the rides I accepted throughout my travels, I didn't always take the most direct route, instead sometimes choosing to just be inside a car going in the general direction, as opposed to stranded on the side of the road.  

I relaxed for a couple of days in Vail, then decided to go all the way west, to California. I can't say that I hadn't planned that all along, but it is also true that never having hitchhiked before, I did not necessarily believe that I might actually be able to go that far, east coast to west coast. But, the quick trip to Yellowstone, in addition to the bevy of nice people I had met already, convinced me to try.

I left Vail, again, naive, if not determined.

For those of you who haven't driven across America, as opposed to flying overhead, the lands between western Colorado and western Nevada are desolate, could even be called dangerous, if you get stranded, or lost. Of course, I was clueless, so off I went.

Fortunately, just outside of Grand Junction, Colorado, I was picked up by a young man going to the Lake Tahoe area in Nevada, which meant that I would need just one ride to cross Utah and Nevada. Unlike my ride from Ohio to Vail, this driver was not adverse to drinking as we talked and traveled. 

And did we drink. 

While I was not acquainted with 3.2 beer before the trip, I soon became very familiar with it. Good news was that you can consume more than would be typical of a 5% beer. Bad news is that from the afternoon, through the next day until we arrived in Provo, Utah, we drank the good part of a case.

While that night wasn't the first that I would spend sleeping in a car with my head against the passenger side window, it was the only night I spent sleeping in a car perched on 2nd base in a baseball field in a community park. When we awoke with the sunrise the next day, we hurriedly sped off the field and back on the road, laughing, quietly, due to our hangover, but still laughing.

As I have mentioned more than once, I never considered before embarking on this trip, about such mundane issues like where I would sleep, where and when I would eat, what I would do if I got stranded, how and where I would shower, not to mention where I might find a bathroom. To be honest, I guess I thought like Forest who, when asked about his running jag, said, "when I got tired I slept, when I got hungry I ate, and when I had to go, you know, I went". But, in retrospect, I'll be damned if I remember actually going.

From the Reno, Nevada area I was fortunate enough to get a ride to San Francisco where I did some sight seeing with the driver who brought me there. The Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz, and just walking around the city. At this point, I parted from my newest transportation buddy, and decided to head to Los Angeles. 

I had been to the LA area once before, as part of my two week bus ride the year before where I stayed with people that were somewhat related to me. I am fuzzy on the details but I do remember being picked up and eventually dropped off at the bus station and that the gentleman who did so was a big Dodger fan. 

The other time I was there, a few years later, was when I was fortunate enough to attend the 1984 Olympics, during which I went to Dodger Stadium to see a few baseball games associated with the Olympics. (More on that trip and my 1976 Olympic adventure later.)

As sometimes occurs when hitchhiking, I didn't make it to LA. Somewhere near Salinas, California, I was picked up by a man driving a rather old, somewhat worse for wear, Cadillac. I climbed into the back seat and was immediately struck with the knowledge that there were already two other hitchhikers in the car. The driver could have been the actor in the Marlboro cigarette commercials of the day; cowboy hat, sun weathered face, cigarette dangling from his mouth.

After a bit, we arrived in Coalinga, California. Collectively, we were told by Marlboro Man that he had business in town, and we could hang out and wait for him or be on our way. The other two guys, who it turned out were hitching together, departed while I decided to wait for further options.

When he emerged, he had good news and bad news. The bad news was that he could not conclude his business yet, but we could go to a local bar and have a few drinks while we waited. The good news was....I guess there really wasn't good news from my perspective, as I wouldn't be getting any closer to my destination, but as Coalinga was no longer on the way to LA, I needed a new direction anyway.

We walked to a near by bar, and must have looked a pair, Marlboro Man and long-haired hippy guy. But soon we were laughing and chatting as if our relationship wasn't just a few hours old. As time went by, two things became clear. First, that he would not be able to finish the business he was hoping to wrap up, which, as it turned out, was to be paid for some electrical work he had done. Second, that we were getting drunk. As the empty bottles piled up, we ate some food to help absorb the alcohol, but after all those 3.2 beers I had consumed earlier in the trip, I was not ready for that many full strength beers.

When he got up to make a phone call, I started wondering what I was going to do for shelter as darkness was well on its way. Of course, being drunk, the urgency of the matter wasn't quite as compelling as it probably should have been.

About fifteen minutes after he returned to the table, a woman strode into the bar, walking straight towards us, shouting rather loudly, and in a manner which bespoke anger.

"What are you doing?", she began. "You're not bringing another stray home!" she exclaimed. "Remember what happened last time?"

I was stunned, while Marlboro Man did not respond. She sat down at the table, in as aggressive a manner as I had ever witnessed, and began the questions and accusations again, although with less volume. It took a while, but a few beers for her later, the tension had lifted. To this day, I can't remember Marlboro Man's name, but I will never forget his wife, Wanda.

Anyway, they invited me to stay with them, on a hunting ranch that they managed outside of Coalinga, California. Of course, first we had to get there. I was chosen to drive the Cadillac while following Wanda in her car, as Marlboro Man was wasted. Fortunately, I was able to keep her in view as we maneuvered out of town and into the nearby hills. I say hills because it was dark and all I knew was that we were in a constant upwards direction along switchbacks that seemed no wider than one car width, the rocks and trees of the hill to my left, darkness to my right. It was only when I was eventually taken back into town to continue my travels, that I realized just how dangerous the road had been, and how lucky I was to have navigated it successfully.

I stayed with them about a week sleeping in the bunk house that was used for the hunters who came to shoot the wild animals that roamed within the boundaries of the ranch. There were no booked hunts while I was there, so I was the only occupant for that week. It was very hot every day. I lounged on the property, reading, writing, sleeping. After a few days I got the impression that I could stay at long as I wanted, having ingratiated myself with Wanda, which I guess meant that I hadn't stolen anything and run off, as had, apparently, a previous stray. I also gathered that they had a son but were estranged, which explained Marlboro Man's penchant for providing transportation to strange young men.

Despite the ease at which they allowed me to live, no demands on my time other than conversation, I thought it best to leave when Marlboro Man told me he had to go into town and stay for a few days as he had been hired for his electrician's skills. He gave me the choice to accompany him to start on my way, or stay with Wanda until he returned. Wanda did not encourage me one way or the other. I decided to be on my way and received an extended hug and a bag with some food for the road from Wanda, then a hearty handshake and good wishes from Marlboro Man when we separated in town. 

For a few years I wrote letters to them and sent Christmas cards but never received anything back. I often wondered if they found that replacement son at some point. 

Three years later there was a pretty serious earthquake that struck the town, causing $10 million in damage, injuring 94 people but with no fatalities. The downtown area where I had drank multiple beers with my two new friends was severely damaged. Total destruction, 309 single family homes and 33 apartment buildings, major damage, 558 single family homes, 94 mobile homes and 39 apartment buildings and minor damage, 811 single family homes, 22 mobile homes, and 70 apartment buildings. I knew that their ranch was quite a ways from the center of town but still sent silent good wishes their way for a few weeks after reading of the earthquake.

During my stay, I had decided to head towards Yosemite National Park at some point although, to be honest, I wasn't sure if I would be returning to Coalinga or going to some other not yet determined destination. It was to be the first of a few decisions that I made, to keep on keeping on in this case, that would change the course of my life, even though I wasn't necessarily cognizant of it at the time.

 

 

 

 

The Smithsonian Magazine

I have many posts from this blog about articles I have read in the Smithsonian Magazine. I also have mentioned a time or two that my wife and I visited DC with our children a number of times when they were young, with stops at the zoo as well as the various Smithsonian Museums. And, as a young adult, I hitchhiked to DC a time or two to visit my cousin who worked at the Pentagon, and to tour the sites of the city. The idea that a family can visit our nation's capital and tour so many interesting and educational buildings, for free, has always filled me with a sense of pride that we, the people, continue to support this endeavor with our tax money. And, in addition to providing such enjoyable opportunities for our own population to learn about America, we do the same for people not fortunate enough to have been born here. As far as I know, there is no other city on Earth where visitors can stroll through multiple buildings and learn about the home country's history, accomplishments, and yes, even failures without a fee. 

It is for all this, that it pains me to read about the attacks on the Smithsonian that the current administration has unleashed. Just a few days ago, I saw a (Fox) news article detailing how horrible one of the lead administrators of the Smithsonian is, and how she should resign. More than once, the author used the word "bile" to describe what they considered some of the exhibits in one of the Smithsonian buildings, in addition to the scathing report released by the White House which calls the institute, and its take on American history, as overly focused on our nation's shortcomings, which causes a reduction in love for our country and divisiveness among the citizens.

I just finished reading the summer edition of the Smithsonian, a larger than usual production that celebrated America's 250th birthday. After reading it cover to cover, as I do all the editions of this fine magazine, I was struck by the thought that those people attacking the Smithsonian must not actually read the magazine, or visit the various museums. That they either here from someone who saw or read one thing they didn't like, and so they prefer to focus on just one article or exhibit out of thousands, even ten of thousands,  to deride and condemn the entire organization, a path made so much easier with the "anti-woke" mentality that has infected so many state legislative bodies as well as the White House itself.

As I have said multiple times in the past, it is possible to hold two thoughts in one's head at the same time, or should be, at least. So, yes, one can be proud of the plethora of accomplishments that America and its citizens have achieved in the last 250 years, while also acknowledging that sometimes we have fallen short, exceedingly short of the ideals of our founding documents. 

Should we spend all of our energies discussing the mistakes? No, but neither should we pretend that egregious mistakes didn't occur, and that people didn't suffer and die due to them. In the end, it is really a matter of percentages, and whether you prefer a 50-50 approach or 90-10, the vast majority of people agree that a 100% focus, in either direction, is wrong.

So, highlights, for me, from the June-July-August issue of the Smithsonian.

As is so often the case, the Smithsonian provides insight into people and achievements both little known and mainstream. This particular issue broke its articles into three types; Life, Liberty and Happiness. But before those sections, was a wonderful introduction to the issue as a whole from the Smithsonian Secretary, Lonnie Bunch III as well as an in-depth article about Thomas Paine, author of Common Sense.

Bunch's intro, called "A Common Thread" discussed the nation's innovative spirit that was woven into our cultural, social and constitutional ideas, a truly unifying approach, while the discussion about Thomas Paine emphasized his sometimes overlooked importance to the early push for independence, as well as the formative documents which we now cherish. Of course, the article goes beyond the infantile belief that America and the ideals it represents was somehow divinely inspired by providing a direct connection from Paine's words to the scientific discoveries of Newton, specifically the idea of a balance and equality that existed in the heavens.  

When I hear people proclaim that our rights are God-given, it amuses me, knowing that the very idea that kings were born, by divine direction, to lead nations was widely believed throughout the history of humanity, used by Pharaohs as well as the patriarchs of all the European dynasties, it is painfully obvious that they would scoff at the idea that everyday people have any rights other than those they granted them. The concept of regular men, (although not women or minorities, at this point) might have rights not historically granted by the divine leaders, was revolutionary. And Paine's Common Sense, distributed widely in England as well as the colonies, was a major catalyst for the ideals of forming a nation which reflected such an idea, as well as the rejection of divinely dictated leadership through birth. Again, in our current age where acolytes of DJT express support for a third term or immunity from prosecution of crimes, I can't help but wonder how men like Paine would react.

The Life section featured short articles about Jonas Salk and the polio vaccine, Margaret Fuller and her writings in support of women decades before women gained the right to vote, Aldo Leopold who championed environmental conservation, the research into improving our method of detecting planets with Earth-like environments, and the early attempts at creating computers that could think.

After these pieces was a very illuminating article about the birth of the use of anesthesia, and the controversy surrounding those who tried to take credit for it, followed by an extended story about a man trying to retrace the steps of what he described as the first tourist trail in America which was detailed in the first travel guide (of America), published in 1822. Fascinating.

From there, the Liberty section, with articles about Ben Franklin's alter egos (used when he wrote opinion letters and articles), an early 18th century woman inventor (whose early patents had to be issued in her husband's name since women weren't allowed to hold patents), a quick blurb about Washington's decision not to be president for life as was considered at the time, as well as a nod to the few presidents who hold patents for their discoveries. 

Additional articles discussed the importance of Uncle Tom's Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe, as well as Frederick Douglass's speeches which also defined the evil of slavery and the point of the Civil War, the beginning of journalism that established the idea of reporting as fact finding as opposed to biased reports meant to alter opinions, a look back at the mothers who inspired suffrage for women even though they never voted themselves, as well as a review of child labor laws that put children in schools rather than working dangerous jobs which their size made for a good fit, safety be damned.

The Liberty section also has articles about Woodrow Wilson and his attempts to provide labor rights for the everyday worker who lacked sick and holiday time off, not to mention safe working conditions, an article about Ella Baker, an early proponent of civil rights for Blacks, a very interesting item about Sequoyah's invention of the Cherokee syllabary which led to a literate rate among his people that rivaled European countries, and finally the story about how the Dewey decimal system was invented, yes by a man named Melvil Dewey, an underrated invention which enabled the proliferation of information that marked the late 19th century to be organized in libraries making it easier to store, and then find, the books that a library holds.

From there are a few more extended articles, one on the beginnings of storm chasing and understanding thunderstorms which led to today's (mostly) accurate weather reports about upcoming storms, and then an incredibly compelling story about Alan Lomax, a man who recorded tens of thousands of songs, the authentic songs of America, as he put it.

Finally, the Happiness section with articles about the first cooking manual published in America "The Virginia House-Wife", published in 1824 by Mary Randolph, the origin of frozen food as developed by Clarence Birdseye, an article about innovations in sports that changed each, the influence of adolescents (a mid 20th century invention of America) on pop culture ever since, an interesting story about the # sign (hashtag) and it's power to drive conversation, a quick hitter about the cellphone, an origin story about hip-hop, another origin story, this one about comics, a history of Irna Phillips and the "soap" opera, and an article about the early history of the console (video) game industry and a few of the unheralded inventors who moved it along.

Finally, a multi-page article about Georgia O'Keefe, one of America's signature artists, a woman who rejected the style of painting that existed around the world, instead focusing of painting "what she saw", and what she saw was American landscapes.

Sometimes we, as Americans, forget that our nation is only 250 years old. That when compared to the Old Countries, let alone the history of China and Asia, we are at the very end of the timeline of humanity's existence. Yet the accomplishments that have emanated during our brief history seem outsized, almost as if nothing happened before us, at least not when considering how we live our lives today.  

Perhaps that is a bit of false pride, but it doesn't negate the powerful influence on the world that America has generated since 1776. I am fine with those who say we have been a force for good, as long as we acknowledge that some of the greatest achievements made by Americans throughout history were accomplished by people, or the children of people who were born outside our borders. We were once proud to be called the melting pot of the world, yet now seem to think we don't need anyone else. That, being successful, we can now determine who is more American than others, or who deserves to have a shot at the advantages that our country can still provide. 

They say pride goes before the fall, and so I worry that our pride in boasting about our accomplishments without acknowledging our failures, puts us on that very path. For me, having a magazine and an institution like the Smithsonian to remind us of both, is the vaccine we just might need to avoid the destiny that so many other great nations have experienced throughout human history. 

  

 

Project Hail Mary (The Movie)

Since my wife and I missed seeing the movie "Project Hail Mary" on the big screen when it was first released, we were glad to see that it had come to a streaming service that we subscribed to.

First, for those of you unfamiliar with the movie, it is based on a book written by Andy Weir. And for those unfamiliar with Andy Weir, he is also the author of The Martian, which was made into a movie starring Matt Damon, and was released the year following the publication of the book, in 2015. 

In the case of "Project Hail Mary", a little more time passed from the book release to the movie; book published 2021, movie released this year. Just to complete the thought, after researching Weir, I decided to search for other books he wrote and found "Artemis". Both myself and my wife have now read it and we recommend it although, while like The Martian and Project Hail Mary it is a futuristic novel, and all the action takes place in space, in the case of Artemis, on the moon, the main character is not a man, and is not a story that exalts American space exploration and/or the ingenuity and dominance that has been the history of space travel; just in case that matters to you.

So, back to "Project Hail Mary".

The basic premise of the movie is that scientists have discovered that the sun, our sun, is dying, which means that human life on Earth is at risk. An obscure high school teacher who had postulated a theory about the science behind the sun's dying is recruited to embark on a mission to a place many light years away where there appears to be a solar system with the existence of the same deadly material but that is not, apparently, in danger. 

The mission, of course, is called Project Hail Mary as even those who believe in the possibility that their assumptions are correct and that there may be a way to figure out and replicate whatever is unique that is protecting this planet, they also realize that the chances of actually accomplishing this feat are low. For those of you who don't know why the term Hail Mary means long shot, the most obvious example is in American football when the quarterback flings the ball as far as he can on the last play of the game in hopes of a miracle catch and touchdown. The fact that such a play has actually worked a few times, even though the other team knows it is coming, makes it even more of a miracle. 

Now, to be honest, when I used the word recruited, that was an misnomer as the main character, Ryland Grace, as played by Ryan Gosling, is actually drugged and kidnapped, then sent on the mission, a fact that becomes clear to him not right away, so also not right away to the audience. The fact that the two other astronauts sent with him have died during the long hibernation, also doesn't help.  

When an alien spacecraft docks with Grace's, he realizes that it is made of a material that is totally foreign to life on Earth, and that, in fact, the alien itself is made of what appears to be rock, so naturally, Grace calls him Rocky. As it turns out, Rocky is also the last being alive on his space ship, which was also on a mission to save his own planet from the same fate as Earth.

Grace and Rocky figure out a way to communicate, then actually solve the question as to why the planet they have traveled to seems immune to the catastrophe that is effecting every other planet. 

To be honest, it is a cute story, the tried and true man meets rock, man and rock bond tale. Considering that so many Earthlings are caught up in the hate and kill cycle, even though we share virtually all of the same DNA (especially when compared to a man and a rock), one could connclude that the author (and movie producer) wish to teach by example. Of course, there are those that might consider such a story "woke", which even makes the lesson more relevant. I mean, can you imagine, a man forming a relationship with a rock without discussing religion, and an alien to boot, most likely with no papers.

To further hammer home the analogy, during the attempt to capture the element that appears to be the reason why this star is immune to the galaxy wide dilemma, Grace becomes unconscious and it appears that he will perish. Rocky, having joined Grace on his ship, is encased in a bubble that allows him to maneuver around without suffering from the damaging effects of oxygen. 

In true Hollywood fashion, Rocky breaks out of his bubble and saves Grace but appears to die in the process. But only temporarily, as Rocky just needed some time to recuperate. The friends then part ways, each on their way to their home planet with the cure in hand. But then Grace realizes that the cure has breached the breeding tanks and is consuming his fuel, but worse, that the same thing will happen to Rocky except that he and his ship are made of the material that is being destroyed, and that Rocky will not have a way to alter the tragedy that awaits him. 

Grace sends the miraculous info back to earth along with the samples, then reverses course to overtake Rocky's ship, even though he knows that he won't have enough fuel to return to Earth. Self sacrifice for an entity as unlike himself as one could imagine. Talk about a lesson from the Mount!

In the end, Earth is saved from the prospect of the dying sun, and Grace is built an earth-like biodome on Rocky's home planet where he teaches Science to Eridian children. A teacher again.

Now, I haven't read the book, so I have no way of knowing how true to the movie it is. But, assuming it is relatively close to the book's intent, it is certainly a feel-good movie of the highest order. And, like The Martian, has a happy ending.

Speaking of which, Artemis also has a happy ending.  

I am glad that Weir prefers happy endings to his space books, considering all the crap happening all around us on our home planet. And, at least for "Project Hail Mary", the alien is kind, not like those in Independence Day. 

I watched the end of "Earth Girls Are Easy" starring Geena Davis and Jeff Goldblum yesterday. To be honest, I never saw it all the way through, and after watching it, I hadn't really missed much. Except, again, the aliens were nice guys. 

I hope that as the broadcast signals of movies like "Project..." make their way through the vastness of space, that they bring a message of peace to any civilization that receives them. That they represent Earth to them as a place with people that would be good spacemates, good neighbors, a civilized people. Kind of like the aliens in "Galaxy Quest" who, even though they thought that Gilligan's Island was real, looked upon us as people to meet, perhaps even be friends. 

Wouldn't that be a kick, that we end up with a better reputation outside our solar system than we seem to have among ourselves here on Earth.