Thanksgivings: Past and Present

A long time ago, before my life became chaos, my family had traditions. When we lived in New York City, my parents took me to the Macy’s Parade. I remember sitting on my father’s shoulders looking at the balloons, marching bands and waiting for the big moment when Santa would arrive. We watched the parade from somewhere around Columbus Circle – 59^th street. And so, we would get home fairly early and head across the Washington Bridge in our 1948 Hudson. We would be having our dinner with Sophie, my Godmother and my mother’s best friend, and her siblings, George and Mary.

The three had purchased a house together in Clark, New Jersey and lived there. It was a fairly large house and my parents and I would sleep in a guest room. As I got older, I slept by myself in the wing which was both a bedroom and guest area.

George was a big football fan. But the NFL didn’t dominate the day like it does today. There was a traditional morning Thanksgiving game in Detroit every year. But the annual game in Dallas was well in the future, as the Cowboys didn’t join the NFL until 1960. In that era, high school and college football ruled. People would go to see the local high school finish the season against its arch rival. And then the afternoon was devoted to college. George always wanted to watch the battle between Texas and Texas A&M and dinner was scheduled for around five after the game was over. By then, everyone had a huge appetite and your’s truly would get a drumstick. That evening, we would gather around the television to watch a family movie such as “March of the Wooden Soldiers” on a black-and-white television with a giant 21” screen.

After my parents separated, my mother and I would still visit them for the holiday. But Sophie was becoming very ill with rheumatoid arthritis. It is a horrible disease. It fiercely attacks the joints and as Sophie became more and more disabled, her fingers were twisted beyond recognition. As she was at her worst, she stubbornly sat in a special chair and slowly broke up the bread for the stuffing. She only added seasoning as cutting vegetables and meats were beyond her ability. At dinner, everyone would rave how good the stuffing was, but we all piled on gravy to take away the dryness.

It was the last time I saw Sophie alive. She died the next year as she spent her last days in a morphine-induced has to relieve her of her incredible pain. By that time, I was living at Bonnie Brae Farm for boys and I didn’t attend her funeral. I cared very much about that woman. She was caring and consistent. She loved me almost as much as my mother. But she was calm and consistently kind, unlike my mother who was ravaged by alcoholism.

The next year, George and Mary weren’t up to it and so we were left to our own devices. George died a few years later and the last time I saw Mary was at my mother’s funeral in 1985.

As I grew older, I would avoid the drama of dealing with the cooking of a huge meal and take mom out to dinner at a restaurant. After I got married, we would have the ex’s family and her at our apartment in Queens. When we moved out to Long Island, Thanksgiving celebrations were held at the ex’s sister and sort of alternated years between her family and my mother. In 1984, my cousin Rita was aware my mother had gotten lung cancer and arranged for a Thanksgiving dinner at her home in rural New Jersey. Her mother, my Aunt Nellie, was mom’s sister. After my parents separated, my mother became increasingly angry with their family and it reached a point where she said she would refuse to go to my wedding if they were invited.

That Thanksgiving was the last one with any family. Before the next one rolled around, both sisters were dead and after the funeral, I lost touch with my cousins for almost 25 years.

In my dysfunctional life, traditions don’t last. The Dover-Morristown High School football game on Thanksgiving is a thing of the past, disbanded when the state went to a state championship format. And Texas and Texas A&M are no longer in the same conference and don’t play one another. Perhaps worst of all was the result of my divorce. I lived in Oregon, where my son and the ex live, for a few years. And my son had to play a delicate balancing act about who to invite for the holidays and when. Once upon a time, I had a hope that my parents would get back together that lasted until my father died. I still hold a hope that the ex and I will be able to go to events involving our granddaughter. But that too, seems unlikely.

***

But even though I’ve managed to ramble for about 800 words, that isn’t what this story is about. It’s about the Thanksgiving of today.

If there is one thing I feel thankful for, it’s my job at Bonnie Brae. On weekends, I sit at the reception desk and connect the boys who live there with their parents, friends and relatives. It is gratifying work. I often have the opportunity to permit parents to unload on me. It’s extremely hard to be separated, especially during the holidays. Most of the boys will go home this weekend. But there are some who can’t.

Some of them have parents who have long since disappeared. Others have parents that the juvenile justice system has been forced to ban from seeing them. Many of the boys have had so much trouble with the law they aren’t permitted to go home for a visit without court permission. And some simply can’t handle their lives as it is. We have ongoing suicide threats, especially close to the holidays. There are those who are still unable to deal with the temptation of drugs that were so available in their neighborhood. Too often we have boys who have been clean and sober for many months come back under the influence and have positive urine test results.

So they will spend their holiday in their cottage. And they will be upset, perhaps to the point of acting out irrationally. Most of the boys in their cottage will be home. But they won’t. I can’t really blame them for their rage.

And so, as you give thanks today, please say a prayer for those who are in crisis. As for me, I will spend my Thanksgiving working with these boys and their families. The feast at home will be the next day.

I weep

I was involuntarily watching the “Family Feud” quiz show today and a survey asked for occupations where one lied a lot. Politicians and lawyers were the top two. But journalists came in third.

This hurts, bad. I have spent much of my life as a local newspaper reporter, editor and magazine writer and editor. To my knowledge, I have never written a lie.

I suppose the “fake news” accusations of the President have had a strong impact on the survey. And I don’t watch Fox and rarely MSNBC because of their bias. There isn’t a single so-called Internet “news” site I give credibility to.

And the newspapers I grew up writing for are either gone or reduced to half the pages they once were. The late and lamented Dover Daily Advance in New Jersey had a circulation of about 20,000 in the early 1970s. The editorial staff included about 10 municipal reporters, a county courthouse reporter, two investigative reporters, three sports guys, three women’s interest women, three photographers, an editor, and four desk editors including a ‘lobster shift” overnight person.

Often, politicians did not like what we reported, especially when we looked at things like spending taxpayer dollars. But while they were angry about it, they never said we lied. 

We tried to be objective. When there was controversy, we tried to get interviews from all sides of a story. And when we were unable to, we noted that a source did not respond to our call.

I started my career with the Morris County Daily Record. There were usually two 16-page sections. Now, the second section is often four pages. Today’s local newspaper survives mainly from two types of advertisers – the supermarket chains and other big box stores and classified legal advertising. Employment advertising used to be huge, as were car classified ads. But we now use Internet sites. Car dealers can show buyers every car in stock and change it on a daily basis. The social announcements such as engagements, weddings, births, service group and church activities are rare, moving to social media.

And with that came a loss of readership, and that meant fewer advertising dollars. So our newspaper industry is near death. Most local newspapers hire kids fresh out of journalism school. But J-school no longer focuses on the newspaper business, opting instead for television and Internet.

In the mid-1990s, Disney bought ABC. ABC, in addition to being a television broadcast and cable network provider, owned a number of other highly-profitable newspapers and trade magazines. Disney quickly jettisoned those businesses, often selling them to their competitors, who absorbed them and often discontinued them. Disney practically gave them away, rightly believing they would be irrelevant in ten years. . . and they were.

So while we know the business of journalism is floundering, if not dying, why is there so little trust in our reporters?

I once heard that the freedom of the press is held by those who own the press. Back in the 1970s, I worked for a newspaper whose editorial staff opposed a major shopping center due to environmental issues such as flooding. But the publisher refused to print editorials opposing the center and ordered only positive editorial coverage. The only thing the staff could do was ignore the story.

I also worked for a newspaper that supported an amusement park in Budd Lake. The lake was already severely polluted due to overdevelopment and the lack of municipal sewage. In this case, the owners relocated their plans to South Jersey and the park became a part of the Six Flags empire. Budd Lake, meanwhile became a hub for apartment complexes and retail sites.

So now we have owners of presses, television networks and Internet sites with agendas. The Murdoch empire, for example, has expanded and changed the political landscape. Fox News coverage of the recent presidential election has emerged as not just a conservative platform, but also one whose coverage included racial bias.

And so, I hang my head in shame. I grew up with reporters and columnists like Jimmy Breslin, Woodward and Bernstein, Murrow, Cronkite, Huntley and Brinkley. And those were people we trusted and respected. Cronkite was called “Uncle Walter” as he led us through the space age and the murders of the Kennedys and Martin Luther King. He was influential in ending the war in Vietnam. Murrow stopped the McCarthy era and Woodward and Bernstein forced a president to resign.

A weeping Walter Cronkite announces the death of President John F. Kennedy. 

What happened? I was ashamed when such icons as The New York Times and The Washington Post published so much anti-Trump venom during and after the campaign. Yet they are so disrespected that even though they have brought forth much to impeach the President, the people give no credit to these reports due to the lack of credibility from the election.

And so journalism has entered a vacuum. It isn’t trusted and in the present environment, I doubt if it will be in the near future. I have Facebook friends who repost both support and oppose stories about the President with regularity. On both sides, claims are often distorted, if not false. Once upon a time, the Internet was referred to as the “new media.” But now anyone can create a news website.

I once lived in an area around Lake Ronkonkoma, Long Island. There were three municipalities surrounding the lake. One was called Ronkonkoma (part of the town of Islip) and the other was called Lake Ronkonkoma (part of the town of Brookhaven). I attempted to create an on-line newspaper called “Ronkonkomas.com” that covered the two towns. If and when I expanded, I would cover the third one. It was the old-fashioned type of coverage that I grew up with in the 1970s. I covered town councils, planning and zoning boards, boards of education, civic groups and more. Though I built up circulation to more than 4,000 daily ‘hits,’ I simply could not get enough ad support. This information was widely available on Facebook and town websites.

So what kind of journalism can survive? Something that provokes outrage. And the problem is that to provoke outrage, one must attack and never, ever tell the entire truth.

It is not journalism. Yes Donald, I can’t stand you but there is too much “fake news.”

And I weep for a time when people believed we had integrity. 

James, Tristian, Tony and Pete

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear not evil  -- ‘cause I’m the meanest S.O.B. in the valley.” (Vietnam-era Tee Shirt)

Has anyone here seen my old friend James? Can you tell me where he’s gone?

I never knew James Alford. He was my grandfather and my middle name is Alford. I passed that on to my son Matthew, who really doesn’t like it. Perhaps the name will carry on among my cousins’ clans?

James died in the trenches of France during the First World War. A patriot, he also fought in the Spanish-American War as a member of Teddy Roosevelt’s famous Rough Riders, His death was only a few months before the war ended.

Having been born after the Second World War. I never knew him, but his death has shaped much of my life. He left behind his wife and three daughters, Margaret, Nellie, and Mary. Margaret, who legally changed her first name to Peggy, was my mother.

Nellie was my aunt and was Irish to the core. She had three children, two boys and a girl. One boy served in the Air Force during the Korean era and the other in the Navy during the Vietnam era. I rarely see them, though. For many years my mother feuded with her sister and now every few years we get together as I travel through the area where they live.

Mary never made it to her teens, dying from Scarlett Fever after a long, slow process. My oldest cousin, Rita, has been a treasure trove of family history for me and says she was remembered as being pleasant and kind, though confined.

But war and sudden death have taken a generational toll. Left with three children, my grandmother, also named Margaret but commonly called Maggie, was destitute. In those days, there was no life insurance for servicemen. So she struggled cooking, cleaning and doing laundry for others. The most regular job was cooking for a Jewish family on their Sabbath. They were not permitted to perform work on that day.

But it wasn’t enough. Nellie had to drop out of school in her teens, dressed older than she was she became a telephone operator; and my mother, at about the age of 9, became “Baby Peggy,” who performed in local Vaudeville in Jersey City. There were many “Baby Peggy” acts at that time. Little Irish girls who could sing and dance were very popular.

But as Peggy grew up into the Roaring ‘20s she became a “flapper” – a very liberated party girl. -- a fashionable young woman intent on enjoying herself and flouting conventional standards of behavior. Smoking, drinking, and sexual experimentation were characteristic of these young woman. Short hair and shorter skirts added to the effect. One thing was certain: Despite the potential political and social gains or losses, the flappers of the 1920s sure managed to have a good time. In this era, Prohibition was in effect; so much of the drinking was in speakeasies, illegal nightclubs that served alcohol. I am certain my mother chose this path to escape the burden of struggling to get past her father’s death. She became an alcoholic and smoked two packs of cigarettes until her final days when she was confined to a nursing home, senile and dying from lung cancer. I remember sometimes seeing her perform her baby act when she was in her sixties and drunk when she thought no one was watching.

Her alcoholism had an effect on me. A touchstone moment was when she drunkenly told me at the age of 7 “Tell your father I’m leaving” and left in a taxi.

Later living with her constant drinking really screwed up my life. It wasn’t until she was diagnosed with the lung cancer in her late 70s that I was finally able to confront her about what her drinking had done to me. Her apology came way too late but enabled me to care for her in her last few years, though she was mostly in hospitals and a nursing home. I sometimes feel I live in a closed loop, traveling into my youth. I live in the town where she left and frequently go to a nearby town where I graduated from high school. The other day, I took my fiancé to the hospital there and as we drove back, I pointed out the place where I lived; where a friend lived; where a candy store was; where I worked; a park where my father and I went during his visits; and much more. I realized that I have probably done it several times before, slipping in and out of a past long gone.

Has anybody here seen my old friend Tristian? Can you tell me where he’s gone? 

Tristian Whitney Hayes was my best friend in my freshman year of high school. We were in Boy Scouts together and I often visited his house. He was a very nice guy, rarely getting into trouble. He was into various toy soldiers, the small metal kind. We went into New York City a few times and he would go to a couple of stores around Times Square and look at them. He knew the many uniforms from many wars.

I was a year ahead of him and as he moved into high school, we slowly lost contact. One day, in the summer of 1967, I was reading the paper and saw his photo from his high school yearbook. He had died in Vietnam, one of the first from our town. The story did not reveal details. I suppose that changed my mind about Vietnam. I had planned on joining the Coast Guard, but wound up in the Army. Stationed at Fort Knox, I would do volunteer work for Presidential Candidate George McGovern in the evening.

Many years later, I chaperoned my son’s eighth grade trip to Washington DC. We visited “The Wall” and I found Tristian’s name. I started to tell the students about the eighth grader I knew so many years ago. I spoke about the war and the many differences that filled that era. I talked about my Army experience, and the counter-culture of that time. And I concluded that somehow we seemed to survive. Somehow America worked. By that time, about 20 other people were listening to me.

The memory of Tristian rarely left me. And I eventually looked him up as search engines like Google became available. I was stunned to discover he had won a Bronze Star for his action in combat. It was like the scene in “Forrest Gump” where his squad was attacked and he took command, leading his squad to safety while carrying his wounded leader on his back. He was wounded and a few weeks later, for reasons unknown, he killed himself.

At that time I was a teacher, and every Friday preceding Memorial Day, I would show my eighth grade students what war’s real consequences were.

In 2011, I learned about my high school’s “Wall of Fame.” The school, whose core building is approaching a century in age. It had a magnificent stairway at the main entrance. In my time there, the staircase was reserved for seniors and towards the end of the school year, there was a “senior skip day” where many seniors simply skipped a day of school. And on that day, the juniors “rushed” the stairs, taking over for at least a day. While it was a fun ritual, these days the school has expanded, more than tripling in size. And the main entrance is further down the street. The area is now open to anyone and has been turned into a “Wall of Fame” to honor graduates and teachers who have made a difference in people’s lives.

Taking resource material I found on line, I nominated Tristian for the wall, and he was accepted. But there was a problem. Tristian had no survivors. An only child, his parents were diseased and there was a cousin somewhere who couldn’t be found. Tristian died before siring his own children. I was asked to speak. Of course, I was honored to accept. It was a very weird feeling returning to speak at the auditorium. I had been on that stage many times – in plays, choir performances, and athletic awards. Here I was, speaking in front of about half of the student body, and more importantly, to some of my teachers. One teacher in particular was Joseph Dempsey, who assigned us reports about Vietnam before it heated up. He knew that it would explode into a war and wanted us to understand it.

I began by asking everyone to stand, in accordance with military tradition, when medals were awarded. I read the Bronze Star citation and when concluded, it was giving a standing ovation. I then spoke about Tristian. I told people about how Mr. Dempsey had made us understand Vietnam and recounted an incident during football practice where he grabbed Tristian’s facemask and told him to “play until the whistle blows.” And I concluded by saying that Tristian had indeed played until the whistle blew. I was given a second standing ovation as I left the stage. But, to me, it was the “welcome home” Tristian never had. I believe it was the noblest thing I have ever done in my life.

Has anybody here seen my old friend Tony? Can you tell me where he’s gone?

Tony was my father-in-law and managed to live through the African campaign of World War II. He was one of two survivors in his unit who fought for a hill in the desert against Rommel’s top Nazi troops. Wounded in his back and butt, he dug a foxhole with a stone and managed to literally crawl back to his lines and safety. Like Tristian, he also received a bronze star and purple heart. But he never, ever, forgot.

Probably filled with survivor’s guilt, and later diagnosed with PTSD.  He spent the three decades I knew him talking about the war and his experiences — except the actual combat. He had seven siblings and he talked about them, and his buddies. Some of the time he was ignored. But he was never disrespected about it. He had a summer home in Orange County, NY where a flag was proudly raised every day he was there. He saved a lot of letters he and others wrote during the war and began doing research. His last task was writing about every one of the winners of the Congressional Medal of Honor. I once told him the only reason he didn’t get one was no one was left alive to see what he went through. He laughed.

As he aged, he became very ill. And became a frequent visitor to the Veterans’ Hospital where he died around 2006; and was buried at Calverton Military Cemetery with full honors. I managed to donate his papers to the history department of my university and a wonderful letter from a professor to my wife helped ease her sorrow. And even after my wife and I were divorced, I visited his grave a few times, taking photos for my children. He was a real war hero and even after the divorce I had to honor him when I was in the east. You may see me at Joe’s grave in Jersey City and Tony’s grave on Long Island this Monday.

Has anybody here seen my old friend Pete? Can you tell me where he’s gone?

Pete was a high school classmate. I didn’t know him very well, though we shared some classes. But when our 45th class reunion approached, I became better acquainted. A man who had recently lost his wife, we met in a bar where he often drank. Four of us wound up trying to bring him back into the world that night and, after he got into a bit of trouble, with the help of friends he managed to get his act together.

Pete, unlike Tony, held his memories of war close to the vest. He was a MP in Vietnam. He opened up to me, a fellow Vietnam-Era veteran, and other vets but rarely to others. We all shared a common thread of the lack of recognition for our military efforts. In many cases we were despised. I vividly remember coming home on leave in 1971. It was summer and I had a convertible. I drove down to the Jersey Shore just to sit on the beach and chill out. I spotted a pair of girls hitching and picked them up, perhaps hoping I would get real lucky. As we talked, they asked me why my hair was so short. I said I was in the Army. The girls quietly talked for a few moments and then asked to be let out. As I drove away, they screamed “baby killer” at me. Hell, I had never left the states. Alas, it wasn’t unusual.

Pete was Vietnam causality, though it took close to 50 years to kill him. He died of complications from his exposure to Agent Orange. He’s buried in a veteran’s cemetery in Texas.

There are others out there in my personal universe. Paul was wounded in Vietnam and Larry served in the Air Force. Mike served along the coast on a Navy carrier. And perhaps the place I most revere is Valley Forge. To walk among the fallen in America’s bloodiest battle is a lesson I wish all of us could understand.

And so, I will skip the Bar-B-Que this Monday and go to burial grounds. And as I go, I realize that I am approaching 70 years of age this year. My health sucks. It’s because I have spent a lifetime binging on food. And I know I have few years ahead of me. So perhaps, if I am truly blessed by God, one day someone will think they saw me walking over the hill with James, Tristian, Tony and Pete. It is certainly something I don’t deserve.

President Chump

I have gone from an attitude of Donald Trump winning and I’ll have to accept it to remembering the Watergate era and a President who was forced to resign.

The sudden firing of FBI director James Comey rings of Nixon’s Saturday Night Massacre.

The Saturday Night Massacre refers to President Richard Nixon's orders to fire independent special prosecutor Archibald Cox, which led to the resignations of Attorney General Elliot Richardson and Deputy Attorney General William Ruckelshaus on October 20, 1973, during the Watergate scandal. Cox led the investigation about Nixon’s role in the attempted robbery of files at the Democratic National Committee’s office at the Watergate office complex in Washington D.C. These days, with everything on computers, a digital robbery is far easier and easier to get away with, as is the case of Russian/Wickileaks release of Hillary Clinton’s confidential e-mails.

Both Comey and Fox were investigating two Presidents whose paranoia is very obvious. Trump also fired Sally Yates, the acting attorney general holdover who remained in the position pending Senate approval of Trump’s nominee, Jeff Sessions. She was allegedly fired because of her refusal to support Trump’s aborted Muslim ban but she was, like Comey, investigating the Russian connection to the Trump campaign.

Towards the end of the Watergate investigation, as evidence mounted against Nixon, the then President became increasingly paranoid and tapes from his office confirmed his increasing anger to the point of rage. Trump doesn’t need to express himself in the privacy of the White House. His rampages take the form of Twitter tweets, often making little sense.

And then there are the attacks on the press. I was the editor of a weekly newspaper in suburban New Jersey during Vice President Spiro Agnew’s and Nixon’s resignations. Even a local weekly newspaper that covered town council and board of education meetings had tons of hate mail. We were accused of being impartial and slanting the news. Hard core Republicans insisted most of the editors were Democrats. In fact the owners of just about every newspaper in the country were Republicans. And how does this resemble Trump’s “fake news?”

Even in the Nixon era, the President addressed the working press. I vividly remember Nixon’s exchange with Dan Rather, the then CBS White House reporter. Nixon was asked a question by Rather and he responded by asking if he was “running for something.” “No,” replied Rather. “Are you?”

But these days, news organizations such as the New York Times, the Washington Post and CNN have been banned from the White House press office at times and Trump as repeatedly refused to answer questions, calling it “fake news.” At the same time, his chief advisor, Steve Bannon, was the CEO of Breitbart News  -- an ultra-conservative news organization well known as misleading and inaccurate according to fact checking organizations.

So Trump has gone way beyond what Nixon ever did in terms of dealing with the press. And that’s just the beginning. Trump was elected on campaign promises that most of those who opposed him said were unconstitutional or against the law.  A prime example is the Muslim ban. It was outright stopped by a federal court judge based in Hawaii. And the Trump administration blasted the decision. And, of course, there was the judge in a civil suit against Trump that was of Mexican heritage that Trump demanded to step down because he supported a wall.

There are many, many Presidential acts that have been embarrassing to the country and have made us look downright stupid in the eyes of the rest of the world, especially in England, Germany and Japan, our main military allies.  And I worry about Trump’s military orders, sending 50+ missiles into a Syrian airport and dropping a huge bomb. His refusal to state that he would not use nuclear weapons scares just about everyone except the terrorists.

I frankly don’t care that Trump has failed to implement most of his campaign promises. There is no wall. Coal miners and steel workers have not returned to work. And this is because their jobs have become automated, not because of environmental regulations being eliminated.

Nothing yet has been done about NAFTA; the Iran deal remains in effect; and we haven’t done much about ISIS.

Nixon once said, “I am not a crook.” What amazes me is that Trump, with his constant refusal to pay suppliers, declaring bankruptcy many times, cheating people with his “university,” and so much more that was known during the campaign still was elected.

The man is a divisive person, and he has done little to be the president of all the people. I know that people who disgust me are his key supporters. I know that his comments about women and minorities have created hard feelings. I see his cabinet as mostly white males and business and Beltway insiders. The swamp has not been cleaned up.

Today, Trump took a “mental health day” according to his embattled press secretary. My biggest issue is Trump’s mental health. Have the demands of the presidency made him unable to function? He is under attack from all sides, including his Republican allies. Can he hold up? It seems he isn’t doing very well at the present time. His sanity has been questioned in the campaign. Now, even more so.

I make many mistakes when I’m under stress. I say and do the wrong things. I frequently fail to engage my brain before I open my mouth. Trump and I are the same age and I can see my mental capabilities becoming reduced. I have a very hard time organizing my day. I have to write things down to organize simple tasks. I’m currently working on the back yard landscaping. I have to figure out the order of things. I find there are a dozen or so tasks to do and I have anxiety as to what to do next. I can envision Trump having the same issues. I am not surprised that he has family members close by in the West Wing. For several decades he has relied on family, and I hope that they and his advisors are enough to support him.

I doubt if he will be impeached unless there is absolute proof of cooperation with the Russians. The Republican Congressional majority will not permit it to happen. And so I ask that no matter how much you dislike Trump, I want you to pray for him. He is an emotionally fragile man, perhaps for a long time. And he is being overwhelmed by both his duties and the absolute political and personal hatred from so many. Trump, unwisely in my opinion, pays way too much to social media. It is the communication tool of the common people. There are millions who revile him as well as many who support him. He simply can’t set himself above the fray. Like most of us, his humanity is facing difficult tasks; unlike most of us, his tasks are overwhelming. 

What did you expect?

I’ve just taken a week off from Facebook. Everybody was screaming bloody murder about what President Trump, whom I can’t stand, is doing. But I had to get away from the haters. Yes, many are concerned about Trump, with good reason, but I see far too much from “news” sites I never heard of until this year. Yes, fake news.

You know what he’s doing? He’s fulfilling his campaign promises. I don’t understand why so many find it shocking. He’s doing exactly what he said he would. And while I personally think his actions are amateur – and after all, he is an amateur – he is doing the things he was elected to do.

And frankly, the problem isn’t Trump. It’s the Congress. It is overwhelmingly Republican and many of these people are even nuttier than 45.

So why are we so shocked? I, as a former newspaper reporter and editor who covered the Nixon years, am astounded to find I agree with Trump’s contention that the media is the enemy. Let’s look at the inauguration. It was clear that there were fewer people at Trump’s inauguration than Obama’s. So what? The media made a big deal out of it. It’s a non-story. What should have been covered is what the President said in his address. Throughout the campaign, what I read in newspapers I respect, especially the New York Times and Washington Post, was completely unbalanced. I expect slanted news from MSNBC and Fox News, but to see what happened with CNN astounds me. Clearly, there is more than bias.

And there are dozens of different attacks going on regarding his cabinet appointments.  Every President has had the right to name the people whom he wants to work for him. President John F. Kennedy named his brother attorney general. The fact is that people who oppose the status quo are being appointed. Trump based his campaign on opposing the status quo.

We now have Betsy DeVos heading the Education Department. So what? Republicans have already introduced legislation to eliminate it. And the fact is that the department has failed, under leadership in both parties, to fix the mess education is in. And it should be eliminated and given back to the states to handle. How can you make the same national standards to help the children in the slums of New York City and the farm boys and girls in Wall, SD – population: about 800? What is the big deal about Betsy? She’s a businesswoman who will administer the take down of the department.

And our new attorney general is a bigot. Bigots apparently hold the political power.

There was a raid on terrorists in Yemen. I would venture that at least 90 percent of Americans have no clue where to find it on a map. An American soldier died, as did some civilians, including children. While this is tragic, we are involved in a W-A-R. People, including soldiers, civilians and, yes, even children, will die. Yet the media is screaming about it.

So what is to be done? RUN FOR OFFICE. If you don’t like what is going on, become a board of ed member, a town councilperson, a county politician. Join the political party of your choice and start fundraising and looking towards 2018 when you can take back the Congress.

BUT ABOVE ALL, stop acting like Trump by crying how unfair it is. Man up and realize the next four years are going to be filled with changes you won’t like. Realize that electing someone other than Trump is not the issue. Taking over Congress is what is necessary. Get ‘er done.

Jacksonian or Amateur Politics?

I’m trying to figure out what the 45^th President of the United States is trying to do with his newfound powers. So far, I think it’s either a deliberate attempt to reduce the size of the government, or just plain amateur handling of the most powerful government in the world. Perhaps it is both.

The President campaigned on reducing taxes for all, which I’m not sure isn’t a bad idea as long as we don’t go into further debt. The Bush administration had to borrow money from China to repay a surplus back to taxpayers. Mr. Trump immediately put a hiring freeze into effect, which will slowly reduce the federal employment rosters as people retire or find a place in the private sector. I can agree with that. But his choices for cabinet have politicians on both sides of the aisle scratching their heads and voicing strong concern about their qualifications, or lack thereof. But can you think of a better way to downsize bureaucracy than to put people in charge of government organizations they oppose? In some ways I agree with the idea of destroying the education department. I’ve always viewed education as a state, not federal, issue. Any school board member will tell you that complying with federal regulations takes up a sizeable share of a school budget.

And of course, there are other departments that seem to be going down this path. If there is one bureaucracy that has been very ineffective, it is the EPA. Now the most obvious thing is that the environment is a federal issue. And the EPA does do many good things for the environment. But there are many, many things that are mired in bureaucratic nonsense and should be state issues, especially polluted sites. A good example can be found in the waters of the Greenpoint section of Brooklyn in New York City. More than 100 years ago, oil was stored in the area and leaks were ignored at that time. Now, the area is a major problem as toxic waste water has invaded the ground water among other things. My former sister-in-law became involved in this and if I am correct, she believes that the area has a high cancer rate as a result.

But this area, as well as hundreds of toxic areas throughout the country, has to involve local, county, regional, state and federal government organizations. Millions, and probably billions, of dollars are wasted on study after study. And the federal government provides the funds to clean up these sites. The problem is the feds don’t clean them all up. There’s not enough money in the budget. I wonder if it became a matter for the states to fund, that we wouldn’t have a higher priority for places like Greenpoint where hundreds of thousands are being affected?

I also wonder if we are looking at an attempt to revive Jacksonian democracy, which is a political movement toward greater democracy for the “common man.” Andrew Jackson's policies followed the era of Jeffersonian democracy. And much like today it was a movement to reduce the role of the Federal Government. A major concept of this political idea was that Congressmen (no women then) would serve one or two terms and then let another person serve. If this was the case, I suspect we would have more of the best and the brightest serving. But to paraphrase E. Y. “Yip” Harberg: Each Congressman has two ends – a sitting end and a thinking end. And since his whole success depends on keeping his seat, why bother friend?

Each Congressman has two ends – a sitting end and a thinking end. And since his whole success depends on keeping his seat, why bother friend?

We have term limits for our presidents for good reason. But term limits for Congress would also have the impact of far less political spending. Today, it’s not about serving. It’s about getting and keeping power. And so I doubt that term limits are possible. Republicans have struggled for many years to dominate all three branches of government and since they will determine the makeup of the Supreme Court, I have no doubt they want to keep that power. I am somewhat fearful about this since throughout my lifetime both parties have generally shared power. How will they do so is something those who oppose them will remain a critical idea.

Now if we are going to downsize the federal government, we’re probably going to ramp up state governments. I’m not sure about this since the coastal states tend to be dominated by Democrats and the rest dominated by Republicans. If states choose to refuse the responsibilities a reduced federal government will foist on them. It could cause chaos.

Let’s look at the differences between the era of Jackson and the 21st century. First of all, the United States had settled little west of the Mississippi River, though that would soon change as the result of Jefferson’s purchase of the Louisiana territory and the Lewis and Clark expedition. But we weren’t a world power by any means. Immigrants were more than welcome although discriminated against. Chinese immigrants built our railroads in the west, but were subjected to much discrimination, including the Chinese Exclusion Act in the 1880s after the railroads had been built. Of course just about every group who came here faced problems. Catholics had little influence outside of Maryland in colonial times, and it wasn’t until 1960 that an Irish-American Catholic became president by a very close margin. My father’s German-American family faced great discrimination during the world war eras. And the sins against Japanese-Americans during the Second World War is a national disgrace.

Perhaps, our greatest shame has been our dealings with Native Americans. An unforeseen part of this was the spreading of “white” diseases such as measles and smallpox. It is estimated that 90 percent of the Native American population died of these diseases. And the greed of whites resulted in constant wars after broken treaty after broken treaty, including today. 

But this is history. Today we are a world power, but not the only one, as some will have you believe. The re-emergence of Russia onto the world stage as well as the development of China as the world’s leading economic power has recreated an economic cold war, which will be impacted by Mr. Trump’s “America First” policies. Now don’t get me wrong. I think NAFTA always has been a dumb idea as good American jobs went both north and south of the border. Well-paying union jobs in manufacturing disappeared almost overnight. Nearly all of our appliances and a growing number of our automobiles are being made in Mexico and Canada has a major share of the auto parts industry. Trains and subways are now built in Canada too. So yes, I actually agree with the President on some things.

But this is history. Today we are a world power, but not the only one, as some will have you believe. The re-emergence of Russia onto the world stage as well as the development of China as the world’s leading economic power has recreated an economic cold war, which will be impacted by Mr. Trump’s “America First” policies. 

But our level of political sophistication has gone way beyond Andrew Jackson’s time. We have nukes, and so do Russia, China, North Korea, India, Pakistan, Israel and France. Iran will, no doubt, develop them (if they haven’t already) and worst of all, terrorists are capable of creating “dirty” bombs containing nuclear material that are just as able to make a city unlivable as a nuke.

Our position in the world, as well as our domestic issues calls for a very sophisticated presence. So can the Trump administration do this with inexperienced “amateurs?”

Now although I do not personally approve of  many of the nominees that have been put forth, many are highly successful businesspersons who, I suspect, will turn out to be fairly good administrators.

But the way the American people have traditionally been informed is through a free press. The profile of the press has certainly changed. Newspapers, then radio and television have been the way to inform us. But this election campaign has seen the emergence of many so-called Internet “news” sites that have done little but rile up people with misleading and false articles without attribution. And frankly, I have been very disappointed in the content of such institutional papers such as the New York Times and Washington Post, which have been clearly biased. As a former newspaper reporter, I have long since learned that freedom of the press belongs to those who own the press.

As a former newspaper reporter, I have long since learned that freedom of the press belongs to those who own the press.

At the same time, the role of whatever press we now have is continuously changing. As a teenager, I had access to many magazines such as Newsweek, Time and U.S. News and World Report. Now, these magazines are a shell of what they are and have drifted politically. As one political comedian pointed out the only person that Newsweek has put more on its cover than Sarah Palin is Jesus.

When I was in high school, we also had Life, Look and The Saturday Evening Post. All gone though the Post has restarted as what is basically a bi-monthly nostalgia magazine.

Yet, the need for a free press remains a backbone of our way of life. While many still feel it was wrong, a free press uncovered Watergate, as well as many political scandals from other eras.

The handling of the White House press corps has been bungled badly. You don’t call CNN liars, especially when they are the most neutral cable news enterprise. You don’t have your press secretary tell “alternate truths” about the size of the inaugural crowds, especially in light of the photographic evidence and DC Metro passenger data.

And finally, we need to ask ourselves if the President the Electoral College has chosen is up to the job. He obviously has a tremendous ego and is very quick to make judgments about things that don’t please him. He is clearly not “acting presidential” and I wonder if this is a good or bad thing. Harry Truman was known as one who also spoke his mind. But he also guided us through the end of the Second World War and most of the Korean Conflict.

Does the new President have the political sophistication to deal with a worldwide economic system and our longest war ever?

But most importantly, during much of my near-70 years, politics has been vicious. I can’t think of a single administration since Eisenhower’s that has not been under a microscope by the press and political opponents. Mr. Trump, it seems to me, must develop a thick skin, and so does his press secretary. Ignoring those who disagree and simply stating his policies and views must be the cornerstone of his administration. I don’t like the man. But he is our President. Mr. Obama once noted that the job of the President is to serve the American people, not just his supporters. I hope Mr. Trump can rise above partisan politics. It’s about time someone does.