Wait... you said WHAT now?

I happened across two very different but startling things in the past 12 hours. The first was a nearly five-minute report on CBS co-anchor Savannah Guthrie's 84-year-old mother being missing, perhaps kidnapped, from her Arizona home. It was the story that led the news.

I was surprised merely to find that this story led the night's news and then became more and more disoriented as the report went on and on, including a sherif nears tears worrying about the poor woman. Perhaps this was part of the "new" CBS that Bari Weiss has envisioned, but to devote over 20 percent of the entire "live news" slot to a story that had zero effect on, well, anyone other than the Guthrie family, was startling. 

I realize that reporters and viewers may tire of the constant stream of horrific behaviors across the world, but how was that report supposed to help or assuage or even entertain? 

Kathleen was amused by my bemusement and suggested that it was a good thing that there were few earth-shattering events to cover that day. Maybe she's right, but it struck me as the worst sort of self-service to focus so much on something that would not merit a second normally. But she's the mom of a CBS "star"!

Then, this morning, I was reading a commentary on the Atlantic site by a college professor that basically was a love letter to himself as a teacher. He started with the plain fact that college students do not seem capable of reading long passages, much less novels, and immediately claimed that this was mostly because professors didn't ask them to.

He teaches a literature class that covers 400 years of American literature in a semester and rhapsodized over the fact that by sheer force of his argument he convinced his students to delve into Thoreau and Melville and even Jonathan Edwards ("Sinner in the Hands of An Angy God"). That they not only were able to respond with joy and insights but that they did so in on-the-spot essays written in class. 

I had several questions starting with the very idea of survey of literature class that claims to cover 400 years in 16 weeks. That's 25 years per week, from one perspective, sort of like touring Europe is eight days. "Well, I've done THAT."

But then I wondered about his purpose in making this argument. I tried to imagine his approach being applied throughout our vast university system, not to mention K-12. 

Here is the final paragraph: "The students I taught last semester turned enthusiastically to Faulkner and spent their time reading about the journey of the Bundren family to bury their mother’s body. Why did they do this? Because I asked them to, and told them it was worth it. I said that time was precious, and that we needed to take some of it back for ourselves. So we did."

Imagine my chagrin when I realized that success in education will flow through the sheer power, the magnetism, and the sincerity of a teacher championing reading deeply. Why did no one share this with me 50 years ago when I began my career?

Heaven forbid that I would doubt the professor's success, but this resembled the CBS report on a missing elderly women in its navel gazing. 

In both cases there was a blissful lack of audience awareness and a fixation on talking about themselves. 

My current thoughts are "I hope the old lady is OK, though I honestly had to look up who Savannah Guthrie is," and "it's great to know that what education needs are magnetic and passionate teachers who can lead their captive student audience to illumination." 

Journalism and education are far too complex for easy solutions to their challenges. Those two reports remind us of that.

The best laid plans may never have even been imagined.

An early online discussion thread in my CSU Strategic Writing class asks students to choose one career option of interest, do a quick bit of research on number and pay and prospects, and then share with the class. Everyone is required to respond to at least two of their classmates. 

I was browsing and commenting randomly myself on some of the early posts this morning and I am intrigued by how many of those students seem to have a fairly firm idea of what they would like to do in the future, at least initially. I mean, who knows where life will take us as technology and history and personal interests expand?

When I compare them to my own memory of dreams of a career, I find that I had almost no idea when I was in my early 20s about the future, much less about what I might do to earn a living. 

I think I had some dim notion of law school as an option but once the Air Force, marriage, and fatherhood became a reality, I don't think I seriously returned to that idea. I remember being momentarily interested in working for the post office... my military service would give me a boost in getting hired, and a steady paycheck sounded attractive after leaving the service. After all, for my first few months in the Air Force I was paid $100/month. Kathleen got another $100 as a dependent stipend once we married. My pay tripled early in 1972 when Nixon signed a new defense bill. So we were raking in $400 a month there.

No wonder Kathleen took a job at the officer's club running the cash register and hosting. It was a day job, which was nice. I have no idea how much she was paid, but anything would certainly help.

On the other hand, our monthly rent for our little bungalo in Lakenheath village came to about 100 pounds per month (about $240 U.S.) and Kathleen remembers each bag of groceries she picked up in the BX averaged $5. 

My point is that I certainly had no lofty dreams of a big income. Niether of us did.

We both ended up working for the government in one way or another, me for the Iowa City public schools and she for the UI. Kathleen likes to tell the story of getting a job in a copy center on the Iowa campus soon after we returned from North Dakota (after my discharge). 

I had set up an interview for myself for the part-time gig but something happened and I couldn't attend. Kathleen showed up instead, impressed (obviously) and got the job. The led to her soon moving to a customer service job with UI Printing.

I was at the end of my undergrad degree in 1975 and looking for local teaching jobs. I honestly have no memory of why that profession. I had always been good at school and I certainly had some fine teachers in my past. 

I made an appointment with Father Gene Benda, then principal at Regina, my alma mater, who had once been my Religion class instructor. He almost immediately offered me a job, though there were no English openings. He did have a 7th and 8th grade math and science job open, plus coaching options. 

I told him I really didn't have much training in math or science but he assured me that just keeping a page or two ahead of the kids would be enough to get me going. Pretty high standards! The next year, June Braverman retired and an English job opened, along with advising the yearbook and newspaper. 

Bottom line in my wandering career story: things seemed to just happen. I'm sure we made decisions and had a few options, but Iowa City was not a big place and options were not limitless. And we now had two daughters who we had to take care of. 

Not surprisingly, it all turned out well, as far as we were concerned. Humans are great at seeing the path when it's in the rear view mirror, of course. Hindsight is 20-20, etc. 

That is why I find it a little strange that I teach a class that includes career planning, writing resumes and cover letters, and other professional documents. 

Perhaps I should share the truth: most of our plans get changed along the way. The good news is that we can still do OK. It certainly helps to have a partner as it all works out.

I guess Kathleen and I are still gliding forward, often surprised by what we find. 

Spitting into the wind... again.

One of the trending theories about America's current problems is called the "dual state," and it makes a lot of sense. 

In Nazi Germany, only a small percentage of the population was a member of the party. About one percent of the population was Jewish. Most people could go about their day, safe and secure. Problems only occurred when people acted or spoke in ways the regime didn't like. 

Gradually, of course, the country that passively accepted fascist leaders became de facto fascist, and WWII happened. 

All the professional commentators seem to agree that the United States is quite different from Germany in the 1930s... we are too big, have too long a democratic history, have institutions that retain a lot of power... And that sounds comforting.

Most Americans are quietly going on with their lives, even as the murders and outrages pile up... even as our clearly declining and increasingly desparate leaders lie and attack and pervert without fear of any repurcussions. If we aren't living in a version of the dual state, I don't understand the theory. And maybe I don't.

But when we watch ICE stormtroopers execute innocent Americans in the streets, immediately followed by bizarre and clearly fictional explanations by our federal government, followed by cruel and unhinged attacks on those murdered? I'm not sure that some hopeful musings about "it couldn't happen here" are comforting to me.

Can ICE ever regain any positive reputation among the majority of Americans? 

Is it remotely possible that Trump and his toadies would simply declare success and remove the ICE agents from Minneapolis? 

Can legal channels function quickly enough to force any changes, no matter how obvious and necessary?

Is there any chance that ICE, which now has access to a huge budget, larger than most other nations' entire military expenditures combined, would be quietly wound down and embrace something that resembles normal law enforcement?

My answers to all those questions is no. I can imagine most of the thugs leaving Minneapolis, but they would simply be sent elsewhere. Denver seems like a good spot for a crushing invasion, for instance. 

Until a few Republican congressmen decide that their dormant ethics need to be strengthened due to fear of losing their next election... until those mystifying cowards decide that all their private hopes that Trump will somehow change are silly, and consider that there could be life outside Washington, D.C., for them... 

Until those unlikely things happen, we are left with the prospect of three more years of constant struggle and chaos and immorality and division ahead of us. Last night I watched both Stephen Colbert and Jimmy Kimmel speak in tones reminiscent of Old Testament prophets, clearly distraught and without equivocation. This was on late night TV and I know few Americans pay much attention to those shows.

But I was struck by their emotion and their discarding the expectations that they would be funny. Trump is even ruining silly comedy monologues. 

I hope I am proven wrong, but is there anyone who can seriously see the light at the end of the tunnel right now? 

If you want to tell the story of ICE, tell the story of one kid

The power of photography is incredible, and the deluge of images and video coming from citizens and professional journalists in Minneapolis is a demonstration of that power. 

The five-year-old with a bunny hat and a Batman backpack being ushered into a vehicle by what we can only think of now as thugs (employed by ICE) after being used to lure his father out of the house is a prime example. 

A private citizen shared the photo with the school district, which then gave permission for it to be widely distributed. 

It's a tough sell for even the most avid supporters of removing undocumented immigrants to get us to believe that this kid should be a focus of the intense roundups in Minnesota. The original lies about deporting the worst criminals have been shown to be excuses to go after pretty much anyone... particularly if "anyone" is not clearly white. 

That the United States contains a substantial number of racists is also tough to dispute. After all, Trump was quite clear when labeling the entire country of Somalia as barely human, unworthy of anything other than scorn and hate. His explicit racism was hardly mentioned by the news media. His racism and our current regime's racism is simply baked into the pie, so to speak.

The world is often quite cruel to children, as we continue to see in Gaza, just as an example. We see video and photographs of slaughtered children on a daily basis, if we care to look. 

The most cruel among us simply describe those deaths as unfortunate, as the result of the actions of their parents and other adults. Our five-year-old's father probably is undocumented. That makes him a criminal, technically, though it's a civil offense that hardly requires masked thugs with automatic weapons and full tactical gear to effect arrests.

At this point, there is no "fixing" the increasing problems with untrained and unrestrained ICE agents. They are clearly not what we would think of as law enforcement. They are not suddenly going to behave as our police behave. They aren't going to behave as our professional military behaves. 

ICE agents are, as a group and by design, using superior power and weapons to bully and taunt and forcibly remove people weaker than them. I worry that our professional military, for whom we ostensibly pray and offer support, is also suffering irreversible ethical and moral damage... that the reputations of all being forced to do the bidding of committed racists will not recover.

Trump and his minions have bombed many countries in the past year and a number of people within our country have been killed. The common thread is that those being bombed and killed are weak. In fact, most of humanity is weak when compared to a military force backed by the most deadly and powerful weapons and funded by a country with nearly unlimited resources.

I am ashamed today to be an American. 

America: we can always count on the hate

It's Martin Luther King Day, which is a reminder of the nation's trauma but also its promise, along with now being a symbol of "normal." And we are not living in "normal" times... Trump has taken care of that.

Do I need to say more than he sent a text to Norway's prime minister that one reason he wants to take over Greenland so bad is that the country didn't give him the Nobel Peace Prize. Good Lord! The prime minister responded by noting the government of Norway has nothing to do with awarding Nobel prizes, but our delusional dictator is unable to understand simple facts.

But it appears that the majority of Americans are pretty much OK with Trump and with the state of affairs we find ourselves in... though I'm not sure what anyone can do about the insanity, the lawlessness, and the immorality. After all, our elected leaders have been reduced to watching it all happening and our system has been exposed as relying almost exclusively on our leaders "acting right." We are now learning a very hard lesson and I have no idea how things will go.

But MLK Day is also a chance for me to remember my one Black friend growing up in Iowa City: Mike Cooper. We both went to Roosevelt Elementary and he lived at the bottom of what then seemed like a horrifying hill that Benton Street plunged down just east of the school. 

I mention Benton Street hill because the mere act of walking or biking down that hill to Mike's house was daunting enough to keep me from visiting very often. He may have felt the same about the arduous climb up the hill, but we rarely were in one another's homes. Most of our relationship happened in the school and on the school grounds. 

I did go to his house a few times after school, and I mention this because the Coopers had some albums recorded by Black musicians -- early Motown, maybe? -- and he would play some for me. He called them "soul music," and that was the extent of our discussion of race. His parents may have been home, or maybe not. They both were associated with the university. Maybe professors? In Iowa City, professors' kids were a dime a dozen and no kids really paid attention. I found that to be true much later while teaching at City High. 

I had the audacity to teach English to the children of English teachers... and rarely even gave that a thought. I now wonder whether they spend time dissecting one of my many flawed lessons. 

A notable physical characteristic Mike dealt with was that his left arm was shriveled, barely extending a foot from his shoulder, with a miniature hand dangling. Unsurprisingly, his right arm was massive, doing all the work. He never talked about whether this was a birth defect or the result of a childhood accident. It just was a fact.

We played baseball on the playground and in Little League and Babe Ruth and Mike provided a daily example of how humans can overcome life's challenges. Mike batted just like everyone else, though not being able to snap the bat with the aid of his left hand meant that most of the time he hit to right field. 

He played first base, which made sense since a first baseman rarely had to quickly throw to another player following a play at first. When he did need to throw, he developed a rapid maneuver where he tucked his glove (containing the ball) under his left armpit, grabbed the baseball, and quickly fired it to home or the pitcher or whomever. 

Believe it or not, he could do this so smoothly that he could turn a 3-6-3 double play (scooping up the grounder, throwing to second, and getting back to bag with his glove back on). I saw it several times.

Even when I was in fifth grade, I found this fascinating to watch and quickly came to enjoy the results of other teams underestimating Mike's abilities, whether at bat or in the field. But I also don't remember thinking his unique tactics were particularly heroic or even unusual. Of course he did it that way!

But Mike Cooper was a hero. That he happened to be Black had nothing to with it. 

I was a senior in high school when Dr. King was murdered, and I had lost track of Mike. I think the family had moved. It was in April, of course, and I'm sure I was fixated on my little personal struggles... a girlfriend dumping me... worrying about leaving town for college in the fall... and the general sense that America was ruled by guns and power differentials. Of course it was. 

I was far from the front lines of racism or gun violence back then, so I'm sure I didn't let a little assassination disturb me all that much. 

But nearly 60 years later, it's dumbfounding to realize how little people all around us have changed. I thought we could move past our nation's Original Sin (racism) within my lifetime. 

I was too optimistic.

Whose memories are the right ones?

Memory is tricky. It's slippery. It's changeable. 

When the memories go back a few decades, the confusion grows.

I was reminded of this just this week when I compared two interviews I did with people who I asked about the 1999 Columbine shootings. First, I spoke on the phone with a man who was a senior at Highlands Ranch HS that year. A couple days later, I spoke with the father of a woman who was a 14-year-old freshman at Columbine back then. 

The connection there was that I am researching the St. Luke's church history and have lately been exploring just how much of an effect Columbine had on the St. Luke's clergy, the congregation, and the youth, in particular. The school and the church are about 8 miles apart, and a 15-minute drive. But in 1999, the southern suburbs of Denver were not fully built out and there were many who drove quite a way to find a church that fit their needs.

St. Luke's was known as a progressive outpost and drew people from all over the area.

At Highlands Ranch HS, the office got a bomb threat call the morning of April 20, part of a diversionary effort, apparently. The bomb squad was called in when someone spotted a "suspicious device." They blew it up but it was not a bomb, after all. 

Everyone was herded into the gym during this lock down. Think about that. It's easy to forget that schools did not practice for "active shooters" in those days, and those days are only 27 years ago. 

Say, that makes me think that seniors in 1999 would now be about 45. A lot has happened since then, that's for sure. One thing we now know is that we don't make it easier on the mass murderers.

But here's the two memories, briefly, that started this post.

The guy was a senior then now lives on the west coast and is an attorney. He told me about one young women, a freshman at Columbine in 1999, and how much it haunted him to see her traumatized after the massacre when he saw her during a church youth group meeting a few days later. 

He said he thought she had suffered a lot, saying she had been in the library, hiding under a table, and that she had likely seen others killed. He said he had a picture in his mind of a blond, bubbly, cheerleader type.

That's quite a story!

Two days later I talked to that young woman's father about what he knew about her experience. Turns out she was in the cafeteria, not the library, and that she had been sitting near the duffel bags filled with explosives that the killers had planned to detonate. Thank heaven that didn't work.

A teacher named Dave Sanders ran into the cafeteria and yelled that everyone should run, and she did. She left behind her lacrosse gear... not a cheerleader. She was the last student out of the cafeteria, closely followed by Sanders. At some point, Sanders stopped and went back. Another teacher urged her to get out of the building, and she did.

Dave Sanders later died of gunshot wounds. 

That freshman girl ran across the street, knocked on the door of a house, and used a landline to call her mother. She caught a ride from someone to her nearby house. Her dad estimated that she was home within 30 minutes. 

She had no close friends hurt or killed. She saw no one being shot. No bullets whizzed by her head. She did suffer PTSD and needed extensive counseling before returning to her former self... and perhaps she never did really "get over it." 

So, those are two very different tales. Which is true? My guess is that her father is closest to accurate, but it would be difficult to be 100 percent certain.

The then-senior's story was quite dramatic, though filled with holes, and the storyteller in me had vague hopes it might be true. But, like many such memories, his had morphed, likely incorporating some other stories over time. He had created a myth, of sorts, and I am not sure I will let him know that. People cling to their myths.

The now 40-ish woman would rather not be interviewed about it all, which I completely understand. But I do wonder if she would provide a third perspective that could take the story in a whole new direction. 

Truth turns out to be nearly as slippery as memory.

We want to be welcoming, but we only have so much space

Last night we went to something called "Pub Theology" at a local watering hole and about three dozen St. Luke's members talked about the connection between personal faith and social faith. Well, I think that was the prompt, and there was a John Wesley quote in there somewhere.

Our District Superintendent was present to lead things, and she was fine... in fact, like a different person compared to how I remember her when she was a co-pastor six or seven years ago. And our current senior pastor, who ended up being one of the youngest in the room, was there. He is unmarried and seems to basically devote his entire life to church stuff. 

What most people talked about was that we just need to be good people. That was the key. A few people wondered aloud about inviting people to such occasions as pub theology or just to a church service. If only people could "see us in action," so to speak. One person specifically said, "If each person here invited one other person to the next pub theology..."

I sometimes joke that my classes only have three rules: Know where you're supposed to be. Get there on time. Act right while you're there. It sounds like a joke, but actually the world would be a better place if everyone could just follow those three simple requirements. But that's for another post.

As usual, most of what I heard was that mainstream religion (as in Methodists) had a lot going for it in responding to our difficult times. What we have is a communication and marketing problem. No one is listening. 

Of course, St. Luke's itself is doing quite well... lots of outreach and innovative programs and a welcoming attitude. Most of us in our section of the long table did not really know each other's names, despite most of us being long-time members, so you would be justified in wondering just how welcoming we are. But a group like this tends to feature a lot of self-congratulations. And I know a handful of people a tiny bit better. Not the worst outcome.

I made an impromptu point that our tendency is to say that organized religion is not doing well, but our local church? Not too bad.

It's the same for public education. Schools across the country? In crisis. The school our kid attends? Not too bad. Maybe even amazing.

It was only after we got home that I thought about the repercussions of, just as an example, each of the nearly 40 in attendance bringing one additional person to the next monthly gathering. It would be chaos, of course. The bar had a separate room for larger parties, and we basically filled it. Doubling our numbers? Impossible in the space.

The bar only had, as far as I could tell, four people working. There was a female bartender who doubled as a server and a cook who also brought out food, and the harried guy who took all the orders... and (maybe) a cook frantically prepping all the orders. But maybe that first cook was it, so three working. Who knows?

Bottom line: if over 75 people showed up, there would be a system meltdown. 

And THAT led me to wonder what our hopes really should be about these sorts of "get outside the church and welcome people" efforts. Unless we would require pre-registration, which would exclude some people and therefore send the opposite message intended, maybe we should just be happy that the loyal three dozen showed to talk about church and community and (at least in our group) provide quick anecdotes about growing up Catholic or Presbyterian or Southern Baptist... with a couple "cradle" Methodists to add some flavor. 

The original idea behind Pub Theology, I was told by a minister, was to attract younger people with the promise of a beer or two and some casual talk. There might have been two unmarried 20-somethings in the group, and they were with parents. What actually happens is that the "usuals" -- mostly longtime members in their 60s, 70s and 80s, get together with people who have become their friends. Communities are tough to come by, after all. Attending a church for decades together is as good a "tie that binds" as any and better than most.

When we get to be over-60, the need for community doesn't diminish, it turns out. But hanging with the old-timers? Not all that enticing to the young adults the event planners once imagined.

In the end, what is needed is a lot more such gatherings, in sizes that can be handled by local watering holes, and that positively affect the zeitgeist. Just in smaller "bits."