Chapter Nine: Hitchhiking Trips, Part Two

                                                             Rachel's Dad

                Chapter Nine: Hitchhiking Trips, Part Two 

Rachel was grateful that her dad had filled in the gap created by his missing journal, the one which detailed most of 1980, and specifically the hitchhiking trip that had taken him completely across America. She wasn't sure when he wrote the three chapters about his hitchhiking trips, although it had certainly been decades later as it was all saved on his computer, the computer he only owned in the last decade of his life. 

She poured another glass of wine and settled in to read part two.

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I arrived at the rim of the park that night and camped, then headed into the main park the next morning as I was running low on funds. It had been quite cold that night, and I was forced to sleep with clothes on, in my sleeping bag.

It was not a short walk from the camping areas where I had slept to the tourist area of the park as I had camped at the top of the valley while the tourist area was on the valley floor but it was beautiful. I had arranged with my mom before I left that I would contact her when I needed some cash and she would wire it to me at a bank or Western Union office. The process had worked once already so I did not expect any difficulty, but, alas, after checking at the bank numerous times with no luck, I was faced with a weekend without resources having already spent my last dollar to secure a two night stay at the walk-in campground. Yes, it was 50 cents a night!

However, this was California, and even then, California was on the forefront of environmental awareness. The park had a recycling system whereby one could turn in empty cans and bottles for a nickel each. I gathered enough to provide money for dinner, then after eating, made the acquaintance of my some of the other campers, most of whom were of similar age, which meant that many beers were consumed. I made a point of asking for any recyclables from those who were not making use of the program which turned out to be virtually all of my fellow campers. In addition, while meeting other campers, I encountered one young man who decided that he might "save" me over breakfast the next morning.

As I said, the park itself was in the valley as compared to where I had slept that first night so it was much hotter. As opposed to the night before, all my clothes on, inside the sleeping bag, I slept with very little on, on top of my sleeping bag, a process I would replicate for the rest of my stay. 

As it turned out, I was able to eat without issue the entire weekend, either by finding cans and bottles in a paper bag which I left outside my tent for donations, or through the generosity of strangers. I distinctly recall considering an extended stay there, as it seemed quite clear I could live for free, free defined as collecting and returning disposed cans and bottles for a nickel each. Or, I was told that there were always jobs to be had at the restaurants and other businesses within the park that were filled by young people for the summer tourist season. While I did stay about a week, I did not choose to go for the job option. It was another one of those decisions, like my choice to leave Coalinga, that we make during our lives that change our future, but which we don't fully comprehend when it is made. 

Of course, had I chosen to stay there all summer, all the adventures that were to come would not have happened although it is easy to imagine that they would have been replaced by other, different escapades.

While at Yosemite, I went on many hikes to see the various tourist sites, El Capitan, the Falls, etc. On on of those mini-trips, I went with three other young people, two young ladies and a young man. As it turned out, the other guy decided to hook up with one of the women, so I ended up sharing a tent with the other one. While nothing eventful transpired, we did write to each other for a while when our respective adventures out west had ended. I had forgotten about her until I was rummaging through all the letters I had received, and saved, from those years of travel, and found a few from her. It was strange as I recalled her being not very interested in being "together", yet her letters were far more personal, far more indicative of an attraction.   

Anyway, from Yosemite, I thought I might go to Las Vegas. But as happens when dependent on the kindness of others, my route was altered. The fact that Death Valley National Park lay between Yosemite and Vegas was also a major factor as I was, to be frank, scared into not trying to cross by a few of the people I had spent time with at the park.

Sometime that afternoon, having left the park, I was picked up by two young men in a pickup truck, which meant that I had to ride in the back, in the bed. Fortunately, they had a lawn chair stashed there, so, stretched out on the chair, the wind whistling all around as we zipped down the highway, I avoided the alleged danger of being stranded in Death Valley. Sadly, for the second time on the trip, I attained a very serious sunburn having, again, not applied any sunscreen for the couple hour ride through the desert. 

When we finally stopped near Barstow, California, I was, as the stereotype says, red as a lobster. And hurting. We had stopped at an ice cream establishment which presented me with a difficult choice; eat the ice cream or spread it on my face and arms. While I chose the former, I am still not sure it was the correct option to this day.

My luck at attaining a ride deserted me at this point. I ended up sleeping under a bridge that night, hurting from my sunburn, and a bit anxious that it had been the first time where I stood for multiple hours without procuring a ride. While this wasn't Death Valley, it was still hot and lacking in potential rides.

Fortunately, mid morning the next day, I was picked up by one of only two woman who were to provide transportation during, not only this trip but all three of my extended hitching trips. I thanked her as I jumped into the front seat, and she immediately greeted me with two facts. One, she was pregnant, very pregnant, and two, she had a gun at the ready. 

At first, conversation was stilted, but when she noticed my obvious sunburn, her demeanor softened. She suggested that I make use of a truck stop to shower and get some food. After determining where I was headed, she dropped me off at one that she thought might also provide me with a ride in the direction I was heading after I took care of cleaning up and eating.

I flipped a coin, eat or shower first. As it turned out, I was glad that fate told me to eat first, as the shower was more an experience of water bouncing off my reddened skin than a cleansing experience. Still, tummy full and at least smelling better, I went back to the highway in hopes that I would be more successful than the previous day. As luck would have it, my next ride not only moved me down the road but provided a night, inside, on a couch.

At this point I was traveling east of Interstate 40. When I approached Kingman, Arizona, I noticed on my trusty 3" x 5" map that Vegas was not too far away. As I had never been to Las Vegas, I thought it might be fun, but, to be honest, it wasn't at the top of my bucket list. I decided that I would go north towards Vegas or further east depending on the direction my next ride was going. 

I never made it to Sin City, instead going east via route 40 as was the direction of my next ride. 

Going across route 40, featured two memorable rides, both in New Mexico. The first notable ride began like many rides, in that when the vehicle stopped and, it being a station wagon, I tossed my bag through the open rear window, then hopped into the front seat. The driver greeted with the usual "how far are you going" as he eased back onto the highway. 

It was then that I noticed two peculiar things. First, he was wearing very large goggles, resembling those worn by Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. The second, more immediate and sensory, was that he was wearing the goggles to keep the bugs out of his eyes as the car was sans windshield. That's right, as we picked up speed, so did the wind ripping through the car right out the back window, which was also devoid of glass. 

One thing I haven't mentioned to date, is that I was wearing contact lenses at the time. Not those soft almost dish sized lenses that are in use today, but the hard contacts, like little pieces of plastic in your eyes. I had struggled a bit with them a few times during the trip, especially when removing them at night as I was not very proficient at accomplishing this task, and removing them while outside or in a tent did not improve my technique. Needless to say, while we did talk during the ride, I couldn't look up. After about an hour, I cried uncle and asked him to drop me at a rest stop, even though he was going a bit further. 

After a visit to the bathroom to remove my contacts and hydrate my eyes, I once again ventured onto the ramp to the interstate.

The next memorable ride was significant for two reasons. One, it was an experience which I have never encountered since, and two, it put me on a path to meeting relatives I did not know existed before a conversation I had with my grandmother before I had left on this trip.

I was riding in another pickup truck, although in this one I was in the cab, wedged between the driver and his buddy. At the time, there was road work being done on the interstate, and as we drove along it, one lane had been resurfaced, the other not yet, so there was a 4 inch rise between one lane and the other. 

Being young, the driver had been passing cars by going "down" to the left hand lane, then back up to the right hand lane. We had probably executed this maneuver half a dozen times when I noticed that the driver was both slowing down and looking in his side mirror. Suddenly, he applies a bit more pressure to the brake until we are going maybe ten MPH, then he opens his door and leaps out of the truck! At the time, I don't believe the short version WTF existed, but that is what I was thinking, and what the other passenger said. Just as I see the driver gain his balance as he recovers from jumping from a moving vehicle, our driver side wheel passes the truck. Not the tire, the entire wheel, rim and all. As I finished slowing the truck while steering it onto the shoulder, the driver's buddy also exited the vehicle to assist his friend in running down the wheel and return it to its home.

As it turned out, we were not able to fix the problem, had to wait for a tow truck, then were towed to a nearby gas station. I decided not to hang around for the repair when told it would be hours, and headed back to the interstate.

I mentioned a few paragraphs back that my grandmother, upon hearing that I would be traveling west, gave me the phone number of her pen pal, a woman who shared her first name, Elvira. The western Elvira lived in Colorado, was related to my paternal grandfather, her father being his brother. I was not all that interested in genealogy at the time, and couldn't imagine seeking out a woman of the age of my grandmother, but I loved my Nonna and graciously accepted the slip of paper with the contact info. 

At this point, I was in a town, off I-40. Not a big town, so I began walking to its end, with my thumb out. Hitching in a town can be fruitful in that some drivers are more likely to stop because they can see you more clearly, can evaluate, so to speak, but also because they are going slower so it is less inconvenient to stop. 

The down side is that I can see them also, can put on my best "please stop I am not a psychopath" look, so when dozens of cars pass without stopping, their drivers doing their best not to meet my gaze, it can get frustrating. 

At some point, a bit concerned that I might get to the highway outside of town without a ride, I noticed a car pulling into a fast food outlet with Colorado plates. Yes, in the back of my mind I was beginning to consider making use of my Nonna's cousin, but also my starting point, Vale, was in Colorado so it was a win-win to head in that direction. 

As it turned out, the driver pulling through the drive through was a young lady. So, I did what I very rarely did while hitchhiking, I approached her and asked for a ride in as non-threatening way as I could muster. While she didn't call the police, she did not invite me into her car. Chagrined, I continued walking through the town.

About 45 minutes later, having now reached the edge of town and finding myself once again on I-40, I debated how far to walk. Again, the psychology of having one's thumb out on a major highway (as opposed to an on ramp or interchange area) can result in a good Samaritan stopping because he believes you are stranded, perhaps with a vehicle broken down somewhere nearby. Of course, since you can't walk to where you are going, it can also mean that you could wind up actually stranded, without food, water or shelter. I was hedging my bets, in that I had only walked half a mile or so, close enough to return, but still possibly qualifying for the "stranded" scenario. 

Suddenly, I noticed that there was a car, stopped at the side of the road in the near distance. I decided to walk to it. 

I have mentioned fate a time or two during these reminiscences. What happened next was easily the most outrageous and fortunate example of fate, for the car stopped on the shoulder was the very same car driven by the young woman who had spurred my request for a ride not an hour earlier.

I can't say who was more surprised. If there is anyone who has heard a story from a woman about this event, perhaps one of those "I can't believe this happened to me" stories, or if for some even further fate driven reason that very woman should read this story, only she can answer that question. But be assured, I thought it the most unlikely event of my trip, nay, my life, to date.

It was quickly determined that she had a flat, and that the spare was useless. I expressed a willingness to take the offending tire back to town to have it fixed. She acknowledged that that would be wonderful, and so, off I went, tire in hand, across the highway to hitch back to town. 

Thumbing with an actual tire made for easy pickings so I was soon back to the stranded young lady and her car, and, having accepted that she should give me a ride now, soon we were heading north, towards Colorado. As it turned out, she was not going as far into the state as I required, but she believed that it was her duty to take me a few towns past her destination, to Aguilar, Colorado.

At this point, with evening approaching, I had decided that a visit to my cousin's might be a good idea. Upon entering the town, I was dropped at the first grocery store we encountered, and we parted, the damsel and the knight, both having rescued each other.

Note here. I am sure we exchanged names, although not contact info. I wish that I could remember her name, these decades later, or could find my journal. It is one of those details that I regret not being able to share, to both give credit where credit is due, and to more personally acknowledge a person who brought me to Aguilar, and Elvira and her family with whom I would have a pleasant experience in the short run, and then a many decades long correspondence and Christmas cards. 

I dug out the phone number my Nonna had provided, and used a pay phone inside the store. Elvira answered upon the second ring, and after explaining who I was, and hearing, "Oh yes, your grandmother said you would stop by", she told me to wait where I was and that she and her husband would come for me.

Not knowing how big Aguilar was, or where I was in reference to her, I settled down to wait. About three minutes later, a car pulled into the driveway, and into the store stepped Elvira. She immediately hugged me. We went outside to the car, and up the street we went, about 500 feet, to their home. I could have walked there, they lived so close to the store!

I spent about a week in Aguilar with my newly discovered relatives. Coincidentally, I arrived just a few days before the yearly celebration of Aguilar's founding. As a result, many out of town Aguilarians, if you will, were returning, and among them were even more relatives. All in all, I was introduced to a variety of cousins by name, and even more cousins by marriage. I was the talk of the weekend, taken to a number of houses, fed constantly, even handed $20 bills on occasion to help fund the rest of my trip. And yes, it was true that I was related to these generous people, but it was also true that I sported hair to the middle of my back and looked like an out of time hippy, which didn't seem to matter one iota.

After about a week, I was informed that an older couple that had visited for the yearly party, and was related in some fashion to me, had traveled from a town not far from Vail, and, might be willing to take me there if I was ready to leave. 

At our introduction, I was asked if I had a knife, a question I deemed originating from a concern about my well being considering the nature of the mode by which I had been traveling. When I confirmed that I did have one, I quickly realized the question was borne out of concern that I would murder the couple and steal their car. Upon seeing that I was referring to a Swiss army knife, their relief was palpable.

We left the next day, and, of course, they paid for lunch when we stopped along the way. 

They dropped me at Alan's door in Vale.

At this point, I was thinking about returning home. I stayed a few days, ruminating, while also using some of the money I had been given while in Aguilar, to send a plant to Elvira and her husband for treating me so kindly. 

I have mentioned more than once that there were a few times when I felt that the fickle finger of fate was at work during my extended trip. I had procured two separate rides over a thousand miles each on my way west, had avoided being stranded in the desert, and had met a host of people who treated me like family, and not just the ones who actually were family.

But there was one more amazing coincidence to come. As it turned out, one of the other young men who was staying at Alan's had decided to return home and was waiting for his girl friend and brother to arrive, so when he offered me a ride with them, I thought that perhaps that was the universe's way of telling me that it was time to go home as well.

Three days later, they were dropping me off at my door in Willow Grove, as they were from Elkins Park, only 6 miles from my house.

Well, actually, from Mary Ellen's house. 

In the spring of 1980, I had finally moved from my parent's home after answering a newspaper ad (yes, that is how we found places to live back then) to share a home in Willow Grove.

I didn't have a car at that time, so Willow Grove was a good locale given its proximity to my employer at the time. I was one of two borders in a three bedroom home, sharing it with Mary Ellen, Randy the other border, her two dogs and two cats, and her semi-live-in boyfriend. My room was towards the front of the house, just off the living room.

Before leaving for my trip, I had arranged with Mary Ellen that I would return, although not sure when, and she allowed me to pay a month's rent in advance, with the stipulation that if I was away for up to four weeks longer, that would be a wash, in that I wouldn't owe her any more money. 

Since I was gone about six weeks, I assumed I was safe, as I believed that we had established a pleasant relationship in those four months or so that I lived there, even though I hadn't actually told her that I was coming home on that particular day. 

So, you can imagine my surprise when I walked through the door into the living room only to find that my room was gone! Mary Ellen had knocked down the wall separating my room from the living room, thereby expanding it greatly. And it did look much better, I had to admit. Still, the lingering questions, was I still living here, where was my stuff, where would I sleep if I was still living here, dominated my reaction to her pleasant greetings.

Upon reflection, I think she had decided to wait for my reaction before explaining the change in the home's logistics. Perhaps to tease me a bit, perhaps just because she was fun to be around and wanted me to be surprised, and hopefully, pleased with the alterations.

After a brief moment during which she was smiling the entire time, I asked about my room, knowing the possessive my was a stretch since it was her house.

Mary Ellen took me by the hand and led me to the back bedrooms, opened the door to Randy's room then semi pushed me inside as she laughed. 

Being a late 50's baby, I grew up on the really good cartoons of the 60's, especially the Looney Tunes featuring Bugs, Daffy, Elmer, the Road Runner, Tweety Bird, etc. 

If you also watched them, you might recall that there many a "tune" that included a vacuum used to remove things en masse, then regurgitate them in a new location, identical to how they looked when first sucked up, so to speak.

Well, that was my exact impression as everything from my old room was now placed exactly as they had existed, but in this new location. I turned to her, visibly amazed, which, again, was the point and part of the surprise, for her.

We went back to the now expanded living room and she told me about kicking out Randy, moving my things into his room, then demolishing the wall that separated my old room from the living room. I can't recall her telling me her methodology which resulted in my possessions being placed so exactly as they had been, whether via a camera, or sketch or vacuum, but regardless of the method, it was astonishing to me as we sat chatting about my trip. 

I lived there for almost two years, with and without Mary Ellen as she moved in with her boyfriend at some point, leaving me with her pets. While she eventually made me get a housemate to improve income flow, for first living arrangements after leaving one's parents, I can't imagine having had a better situation, or landlady.

As I noted above, I was gone for about six weeks. I had traveled across our great country, visited a couple of national parks, met a host of people who helped me along the way. While I can't say I "found" myself, a reason some might offer for the reason for my trip in the first place, I did return with a belief that most people were nice, that most people will help others, related to them or not, if presented with the option. 

While this opinion was challenged a bit during my next two extended hitchhiking trips, and while my faith in humanity has been reduced by some of the events of the 2020's, I still feel that those times were instrumental in creating the foundation of who the future me would be.

 

  

 

American Exceptionalism

In this month's National Geographic there was an interesting article, in fact, it was the lead article, on the ongoing research into slowing, and possibly ending, aging. As I read it, I was reminded again about how our embrace of foreign students into our most prestigious institutions, so often results in major medical breakthroughs, not to mention advances in technology and everything "geeky". 

It is precisely because we encourage diversity, equity and inclusion that brilliant young people come to America to study, that ambitious people come to America to start businesses, and that peoples from all lands help color the tapestry that is America.

The fact that there are those in the White House, in our legislatures, in our courts that actively fight against this very concept that has made America great, strikes me, not just as foolish, but as a slap in the face of every American whose origin is outside our boundaries, which is virtually all of us.

The sad fact that so many of Americans have fallen for this drivel, have forgotten that they are Americans simply because they were born here, a fact that is outside of every person's control, their birth country, would be laughable if not for the damage, and danger it represents for our future.

Way back in October of 2015, I posted the following under the title American Exceptionalism. 

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The phrase "American Exceptionalism" has been a staple of those wishing to convey their patriotism for many decades, but became a rallying cry for certain conservatives who used it during the 2008 presidential election as a way to extend the belief that then candidate Barack Obama was not American born because he implied that America was not the greatest country by saying that everyone believes their own country to be the best. 

Interestingly, the concept of American exceptionalism seems to have first been noted by the French writer Alexis de Tocqueville who used the word exceptional to describe America in his early 19th century work Democracy in America.  The phrase was subsequently linked with the concept of Manifest Destiny which justified America's expansion west of the Mississippi, sometimes through legal purchases such as the Louisiana Purchase, but more often by "claiming" the land from the American Natives who originally lived there. 

As I discovered on Wikipedia, an interesting note on its use occurred in the early 1920's as the world experienced Communist revolutions.  In June 1927 Jay Lovestone, described America's economic and social uniqueness.  He noted the increasing strength of American capitalism, and the country's "tremendous reserve power"; a strength and power which he said prevented Communist revolution.  In 1929, then Soviet leader Joseph Stalin called Lovestone's ideas "the heresy of American exceptionalism", the first time that the specific term "American exceptionalism" was used.  

The subsequent Great Depression after the collapse of Wall Street in 1929, seemed to underscore Stalin's argument that American capitalism did not preclude our susceptibility to the economic laws of Marxism.  One might wonder if the recent economic meltdown of 2008-10, was again a reminder that capitalism, despite its advantages, does have flaws and that is an exceptional economic system only when applied for the advancement of the majority as opposed to the benefit of the 1%.

I have said more than once that capitalism is the worst economic system except for every other one.  (Not my original idea).  Like all man made concepts, it can be perverted to limit opportunity and distort the rules to advantage those already with the most, blocking out access to those with the least.  (This is the crux, in my opinion, of the problem, in that some people believe capitalism to be a divinely inspired economic theory that cannot be questioned, just like Manifest Destiny was used to justify all sorts of horrific crimes because it was the will of God that we "civilize" the West).

The simple fact that a significant percentage of the wealth in America is controlled by only 1% of the population, and that that percentage is growing, indicates that the current version of capitalism is not an indicator of our exceptionalism, but more an indicator of the strong taking advantage of the weak, a concept that Americans claim to loathe, yet which is used to justify our interminable activities on foreign lands where we take resources in the guise of business opportunities, and alter political regimes based on ideological differences.  

To me, the biggest indicator of American exceptionalism gone awry is the obscene amount of money that we spend on our military every year, a number that by itself exceeds the GDP of most of the countries on earth.  This juxtaposition of good intentions and self perceived Christian values with the sheer volume of violence and terror that our military industrial complex represents, along with our obsession with guns and the theory that guns in the hands of good people will make the world right, is a huge warning signal that American exceptionalism has been hijacked and has wound its way down a road where no happy ending is possible.

Yet, and I am sure that by now you will be surprised at this statement, I believe in a version of American exceptionalism.  I believe that our understanding of real freedom, even for those who are different from us, has greatly advanced race relations, evidenced by the simple fact that white only water fountains existed in the 1950's while less than 60 years later a black man was elected president. 

And that this understanding has resulted in the recent Supreme Court ruling that the application of the right to the pursuit of happiness intrinsically includes the right to marry whomever one loves.  Yes, it is true that there is some backlash to both advances, but that is expected, and, in fact, is the normal progression of all great societal and cultural shifts.

I believe that our scientific and technological communities also represent American exceptionalism in action.  Everyday, new medical research moves us closer to solving the secrets of how diseases begin, new technological advances bring information about the world into the palms of our hands, and new scientific research opens alternative methods to feed our growing population, and satisfy our energy needs while preserving the beauty and purity of Earth's natural resources. 

Unfortunately, it is our current political system that interferes with tagging America as a truly exceptional country.  It is this polarized system that actually interferes with certain medical and scientific breakthroughs and revelations, by injecting outmoded religious and social beliefs into the dialogues concerning the issues of the day.  

We (and I mean the electorate) have allowed our two party system to run rampant across the land, altering voting maps to guarantee successful reelections, while placing too much emphasis on what is good for the party as opposed to what is good for America.  (Not to mention creating obstacles to our right to vote).  Additionally, by breaking the remaining bonds on the caps on political donations, we have set the table for one issue super pacs to fund one issue candidates who align themselves with a one issue minority of the populace to effectively place blinders on our perspective, and the laws we create to maintain our freedoms.

There are those who like to say that freedom is God given, not derived from government.  One can't argue that a belief in a superior being should include the idea that She would want freedom for her children.  But a quick glance through history, a quick glance at the trouble spots in the world today, and it is also easy to conclude that a strong government, based on laws that respect all its citizens regardless of race, creed, gender or sexual preference, is the best place to live. 

To be an exceptional country, we need an exceptional government, and for an exceptional government to work we need strong leaders.  I don't mean bullies whose only platform is that they will get the job done, or whose popularity is based on a lie about our current president, and an even bigger lie about people who live south of the border.  I don't mean a leader who claims favoritism from their god while generating hate for those who believe in a different version of god.  I don't mean leaders who use their myopic perspective to block the work of organizations who actually serve the poor as opposed to those with large bank accounts.

We need leaders who see that there is a looming crisis, and it cannot be defeated with guns or bombs.  A leader who understands that a species which gobbles up all the resources of its environment without regard to the damage it is doing is a species with a limited life expectancy, not to mention a species with a huge bill coming due.  A leader who has a strong personal faith which inspires them to create a better world for all people, not just for those who agree with their particular version of faith.  A leader who represents the everyday people who do all the living, working and dying, without fanfare, and whose work if removed, would collapse our economy, and our way of life.  A leader with the vision to lead even when leading means less popularity. 

But even more so, we need an electorate who places more importance on their vote than on their football pool or their knowledge of who won The Voice.  An electorate which demands the opportunity to vote for any candidate regardless of party affiliation, and in all elections, primary as well as in November.  An electorate that gauges candidates on their actual voting record, not their rhetoric.  An electorate that holds those elected accountable, by removing those who do not improve the nation, or enacting term limits to help them rethink their candidates every 8 years.

American exceptionalism is only a phrase if we do not raise the bar of what it actually means today and stop pretending that past examples of its meaning carry through forever.  It should be the ultimate "what have you done for me lately".  And lately, our exceptionalism seems limited to a broken political system of gridlock, a democracy heading towards a plutocracy, a misplaced belief that Christianity means killing those with a different faith and denying freedoms for those with different perspectives, and the complete disregard for the harm we are doing to our planet.      

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So, here we are, almost eleven years later, and nothing I said in 2015 has improved. As I scan the headlines, national and world news, I would be grateful if we were only treading water, but unfortunately, the situation has only grown worse.

We have a president who daily, tells the other leaders of the world, how great America is, and how horrible they and their countries are, while we are waging actual war against Iran, and economic war against everyone, friends as well as enemies, while here in America, he routinely violates the Constitution, belittles anyone who disagrees with him, is actively interfering in our upcoming election, and clearly believes that the half of Americans who voted against him should be silenced, if not removed.

He rails against the Democrats who he labels communists while rolling out the red carpet for the most powerful communist on the planet. 

He has caused energy prices to rise upwards of 50% but blames the leader of a country who is defending his country from an invasion when he attacks the invader's energy sources, which is the exact thing we have done against Iran since the start of this ill advised war.

Virtually every point I made in 2015, too much money in our political system, too much money for the defense department, too much money in the hands of too few people, and an astonishing plethora of decisions reversing our environmental protections, has become worse.

We are so far from exceptional that just surviving the next two years has become the goal of half of the country. 

To add insult to injury, even should there be a blue wave in November, there is no guarantee that Trump, or Mike Johnson on his behalf, will seat the newly elected representatives. And, even if that should occur, whether it be in January or March or next July, the parade of executive orders will continue unabated because we all know that DJT is a sore loser. And spiteful.

In the end, then, I am happy that there are scientists and researchers working on making our lives more healthy, the goal I prefer over living longer, but to what end? Young people are having less babies for a number of reasons, many totally unrelated to the chaos that exists in our government today. I wonder how many boomers, the ultimate "I want to live forever" generation, will actually pursue such longevity if we continue down the path we are currently on.

Years ago, I wrote a story called The Next Greatest Generation. Just so you know that there is still an inkling of hope within me, here is a link to it.

https://wurdsfromtheburbs.blogspot.com/2013/10/the-next-greatest-generation.html 

 

                 

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?