Dave Brubeck is 90

Today is jazz great Dave Brubeck's 90^th birthday and that brings back some wonderful memories for The Ancient One.  I first saw the Dave Brubeck Quartet in 1959 at  Baker's Keyboard Lounge in Detroit.   What a night!   Brubeck was joined by Paul Desmond on Sax, Joe Morello on Drums and Eugene Wright on Bass. It was truly the way straight ahead jazz was meant to be heard; a small rather smoky little club. 51 years later The Anceint One has not forgotten.

A Voice and Memory From the Past

The Ancient One spends too much time on Facebook. But every now and then something happens that makes it all worthwhile. A few weeks ago I received a "friend request" from a woman who wondered if I was someone she knew many years ago when our families were friends and near neighbors. As soon as she mentioned her maiden name I knew who she was; I had not seen her or anyone in her family since some time before I left Detroit nearly 50 years ago. I accepted the friend request.

Earlier this week, my new old friend posted the following photo on Facebook:

When I saw the post, I gasped. I recognized it immediately. It was taken around 1943. It shows my mother, Martha Cohen (on the left) and her good friend Dorothy Masserman, in their Motor Corps uniforms. They were among a large group of women serving their country during World War II. With so many of the men away fighting in Europe and the Pacific front of the war, these women drove newly manufactured military vehicles from the automobile plant assembly lines to the railroad yards where they were shipped to military bases to be used by the troops.

The Ancient One was only about 5 years old when the picture was taken. But I clearly remember mom in her uniform. I am not sure who the photographer was but it might have been my father who was a photo buff and took a lot of pictures during that period, many of them of the Motor Corps women and troops who passed through the USO in Detroit.

Oh, what a memory. Thank you Sally.

Memories of Old Homes

The Ancient One has lived in many locales over his 6-dozen+ years. Born and raised in Detroit (MI), he spent 4 years in Chapel Hill (NC), followed by 7 in Albany (NY), then 9½ in Springfield (IL) and finally bringing back Donna home to southern California nearly 30 years ago. Memories of some of those early homes were brought to mind (and eye) earlier this year.

First, son Seth and friends started the MLB baseball season touring stadiums "back east." After watching my beloved Tigers at Comerica park in downtown Detroit, he called and asked for my "boyhood address." Soon thereafter, my cell phone vibrated and the following visual message appeared:

That is a photo of 2265 Chicago Boulevard in Detroit where The Ancient One spent much of his youth. His family moved in 1-week before his 7^th birthday (1/19/45) and remained there for 12 years. It looks better now than I remember it being then. Looks like folks have taken good care of that old house in the more than 50 years since I left it. (As a side note, most of the time we lived in that house, the house to the left was occupied by the Campeau family and for a few years the house with its edge just visible on the right housed my aunt and uncle Sibby and Sam Glucksman.) It was a grand old house and at some point in the future I may proffer some memories of momentous occasions that took place within its walls.

Then, a couple of months ago, oldest son Bill's boyhood friend Derek Reynolds was back visiting his parents in Springfield, IL and posted a picture on Facebook of the house they still occupy. I messaged him and asked if he might have a chance to take and post a picture of the house 2 doors away where I lived. A few minutes later, this appeared:

There you see 820 S. Park in Springfield, IL. I'm not sure exactly what year I moved into the house; my guess is that it was about 1975 or 76. Bill spent summers there when he was visiting from Hawaii. I was living there when Donna moved to Springfield and married me and that's where we lived when daughter Alicia was born. Central Illinois was so flat that Donna liked telling folks that our driveway was the steepest hill in Springfield. We always liked that big front porch and it looks like the wooden swing is still hanging there. That house is now nearly 100 years old. There are interesting stories about it that I hope to share one day.

Well, that's it. Two houses from The Ancient One's distant past. Thanks to Seth and Derek for the pictures. Enjoy!

Random Views in NYC

Donna and The Ancient One have completed the first 2 full days of their visit to New York. These were the try to "see things days" prior to the "family event days" beginning tomorrow. The highlight of the visit will be the Bat Mitzvah of granddaughter #1 on Saturday.

Yesterday was spent in "the City," more specifically in midtown Manhattan. After lunch with son Bill (father of the Bat Mitzvah girl), we wandered and walked and walked and wandered leading up to the evening's highlight, a wonderful performance of Altar Boyz. A few pictures were taken, 2 of which are offered here. First, a kind stranger shot a photo of The Ancient One and Donna just after their ride on the Merry-Go- Round in Bryant Park. (Those who know her will truly appreciate that Donna is astride a frog, rather than a horse):

Then, as we wandered up 5^th Avenue, we spotted the spires of St Patrick's Cathedral and decided to stop by for a visit. In this picture I sort of like the juxtaposition of this great edifice with the glass high rise behind it.

Today we wandered through the area where son Bill and family live and where our hotel is located, the Bay Ridge neighborhood of Brooklyn. We did have some good food and visited a lot of stores and The Ancient One took just one photo along the way. It is of a rather common stone urn on the porch of a home on 86^th Street between 3^rd and 4^th Avenue. Why this picture? Well, there were 2 flower urns just like it in front of the house in which The Ancient Grew did much of his growing up, on Chicago Boulevard in Detroit (ages 7-21 from 1945 to 1959). It just hit me when I saw it and the photo became necessary.

And the day ended on a high note as The Ancient One was surrounded by Donna, all 3 of his children and both of his granddaughters this evening at the Brooklyn Cohen's residence in Bay Ridge. The next few days will surely bring forth many tears of joy. This is one of those wonderful weeks we occasionally get to experience to the fullest extent possible.

Such are the random thoughts and views of the first part of our visit.

It Was the 4th That Was

We had a relaxing, and somewhat different, 4^th of July this year that was a lot of fun, brought back some old memories and led The Ancient One to some thoughts about Independence and Freedom.

Of course, the morning walk took precedence and it was a beautiful day without the "marine layer" that seems to have been hanging over the peninsula for so long. A special treat came about because the city of Palos Verdes Estates moved their 4^th of July Celebration from Malaga Cove to the grounds of Lunada Bay School. This resulted in a panoramic overview along the morning's route. (Unfortunately, the camera was not in hand). While my vantage point was from well above the site and from afar, the crowd and lines of flags could be seen. And voices carried well on the morning air as I listened to a young woman singing My Country Tis of Thee. . . and heard a couple of the orators holding forth.

Later in the day we joined some friends who were staying at the new, recently opened Terranea Resort in Rancho Palos Verdes, less than 6 miles from our home. It was pleasant walking the grounds as Jim and Diane gave us the grand tour and then enjoying a wonderful dinner in one of the many restaurants before returning to our own home. It was at Terranea that old memories came flooding back.

This new resort is built on the land that was Marineland many years ago. When Alicia and Seth were pre-school age (she'll be 28 later this month and he's 26) we had season tickets to Marineland. We would often pack a picnic lunch and spend an hour or two there, generally seeing one of the shows (Orky and Corky were the resident performing killer whales) and always stopping by the marine hospital that cared for wounded sea life (especially sea lions), nursed them back to health and returned them to the ocean just below the cliffs. That was the pleasant part of the memories. The less than pleasant part came when the company that owned Sea World in San Diego bought Marineland and then suddenly shut it down, marked by the spiriting away of the many sea animals in the middle of the night. Folks around here have never quite gotten over that bit of corporate chicanery. It's nice to have this sparkling new resort but it isn't the same.

At various points during the day and evening, The Ancient One's thoughts turned to the meaning of the 4^th of July, reflections on independence and freedom and what is happening in the world today. Now I appreciate the flying of the flag, the wearing of lapel pins and all the patriotic speeches as much as anyone. But they are only the out trappings of freedom and patriotism. When I look at the level of intolerance around me in this country it seems that there is a disconnect between the outward symbols of patriotism and what so many of our citizens believe. Some examples.

When referenda are passed that take rights away from a minority of citizens, we hear that it must be honored because we are a democracy based upon majority rule. But those majoritarians forget the other half of the democratic principle that guarantees inalienable rights to everyone, including minorities, regardless of what the majority wants. The drafters of our constitution added a Bill of Rights for that reason although it took a long time for that ideal to start to take hold and it generally has been the judiciary that has had to take on the mantle of defining and protecting minority rights.

The Ancient One is similarly puzzled when our citizens and some political leaders insist that it is our destiny to impose their definition of democracy on other countries and cultures. It seems to me that the heart of America's own fight for independence was to reject having someone else's system of governing imposed on us. Our earliest settlers escaped persecution and came to a land where they could live their lives within their own belief systems. In a line in the play You Can't Take It With You, Grandpa tells his granddaughter, "who says that they're right and we're wrong." I might add that the reverse is equally true, "Who says that we're right and they're wrong."

The essence of America ideally is tolerance, respect for others and their way of life. We believe in freedom. I remember an old saying that "one man's freedom ends when his fist reaches another man's nose." It seems to The Ancient One that this should apply to other countries as well. We no more have the right to impose our system on other nations than they have in trying to impose their systems on us. The ability to live together in a complex world and respect those whose beliefs are different than ours is the essence of patriotism.

Okay, time to get off my soapbox and get back to my daily life.

A Reunion and its Consequences

We were in San Diego for 4 days for a Brenner family reunion. Relatives were there from Missouri, Florida and across southern California. Part of the reunion was a celebration of Sy's 87^th birthday. It was a wonderful long weekend even though there was less than an hour of sunshine the whole time.

Like any good family reunion, most of the activity was carried out in the midst of food. Dinner Friday at Harbor House in Seaport Village, Saturday night at the Jamacha Grille in El Cajon, Sunday brunch at our hotel with deli brought in from D.Z. Akin's, and a serendipitous dinner Sunday night at Brian's Eatery in downtown San Diego. Food, food and more food! Talk, talk and more talk! Memories galore. Remembering places and people long forgotten.

Oh, was it fun. Oh, was the food good. Do you think The Ancient One's cardiologist will believe him when he says that he really lost weight over the past three months . . . but then gained 8 pounds just by attending a family reunion? Well, we'll see what happens at this afternoon's appointment.

I mean, how can you go to a family reunion and not overeat? It's part of a full life. You understand, don't you Doctor?

Remembering Bea Arthur (1922 – 2009)

I met Bea Arthur on January 31, 2004 at the James Armstrong Theatre in Torrance, CA where she had performed in her Tony nominated show Just Between Friends. It was a wonderful evening and was, in part, a benefit for the South Bay Conservatory and its scholarship program.

After the performance, Ms. Arthur graciously came out to the lobby to give autographs and chat with audience members. As I waited in line, I could hear those ahead of me telling her how much they loved her work, usually mentioning either Maude or Golden Girls. When I reached the head of the line and handed her my Playbill (pictured above with her autograph), I mentioned that my favorite line of hers came from the 1970 movie Lovers and Other Strangers where she played the role of Bea Vecchio, a stereotypical Italian mother. At the wedding of one of her sons in the film, another son and his wife told her that they were getting a divorce. She kept asking why and finally they said simply that it was because they were not happy. Her reply was, "You should never look for happiness, it will only make you miserable." I saw that movie at a particularly low moment in my own life and that comment truly lifted my spirits.

I would like to think that Ms. Arthur appreciated someone remembering a performance of hers other than those most often associated with her career. She did laugh when I quoted the line and she mentioned having fun doing that movie. Some 34 years after I had seen Lovers and Other Strangers, she once again brought a smile to my face. That evening in 2004 was magical. I will cherish Bea Arthur's memory and the joy she brought to all of us who saw her perform whether on stage, TV or film.

A Memory Evoked

The Ancient One arrived in Wilmington, Delaware to visit daughter Alicia for the beginning of Passover. She and her radiant smile looked great to me. We had a pleasant dinner and saw her apartment and then back to the hotel.

This morning is beautiful; bright sunshine, cloudless sky and cool (!) temperatures (just under 40 degrees). As I stepped outside, I was greeted with a sight I haven't seen in nearly 30 years. There was a Robin Red Breast hopping along the ground outside our door. It evoked memories of long ago when the appearance of the first robin was a true sign of spring. But we don't have robins in southern California, at least none that I have seen in the nearly 3 decades I have lived on the left coast.

What a wonderful way to start the day and our visit to Delaware!

Elevating Fiction to Fact

When I was in college, over 50 years ago, I recall seeing a debate between our campus team and a visiting team from England. One of our bright lads buttressed his arguments with quote after quote from published writers. Not to be outdone, the first English debater stepped forward and proclaimed, "The quickest way to elevate fiction to fact is to quote someone else as having said it." I never forgot that moment.

About 30 years later, I discovered what I believed to be the quantitative corollary to the English debater's premise, to wit, "The quickest way to elevate fiction to fact is to hand someone a computer printout." People seemed to accept without question what computers spewed out, forgetting that the results were only as accurate as the data some human being fed into the computer.

A similar corollary is one that I heard from the professor on the first day of my first statistics class. He opened his lecture with the declaration, "You can prove anything you want with statistics; it's just a matter of selecting the right ones." I always think of that during election campaigns and the flow of political and economic discourse.

I don't know why I have been thinking about these things today but I have and decided to share them.

Brenda Arrieta Killian (1977-2009)

I was scanning my home page on Facebook Friday night when a message popped up on the screen. It was from a young woman who had been stage manager for a play I did several years ago at California State University, Dominguez Hills (CSUDH). She asked, "Have you heard about Brenda." When I answered "No," she told me, as gently as possible, that Brenda had died of cancer that morning.

I first met Brenda at CSUDH when we were both cast in the play Boy by Diana Son. I was Papa Uber Alles and she was one of my daughters. Brenda was a wonderful actress and a better person. It seemed she always had a big unforgettable smile on her face. After she graduated in 2001, she went off to England where she obtained a Master's degree. When she returned, I first saw her when she walked into the lobby at Palos Verdes Players one night when I was working the box office. She was there to review the play for a local newspaper. We talked for a while, reminiscing about her trip to England, our time on stage together and a friend of mine at PV Players who had been her high school drama teacher.

The next time I saw Brenda was the fall of 2007 when I was cast at CSUDH in a new play, The Little College on a Hill which she had co-written for the Dominguez Bridge Theatre Company (DBTC). There was that huge smile and a warm hug for Papa from one of his many stage daughters. After the play closed, I saw Brenda one last time the late winter (or early spring) of 2008 when she told us at a DBTC meeting that her family was moving to Oregon. After that my only contact with her was when we became "friends" on Facebook and exchanged a note or two.

Brenda was too young and too bright to be taken from our midst. Her 2 young children lost their wonderful mother much too soon. There are a lot of us who have been struggling through this weekend trying to cope with this tragic, enormous loss. A full obituary written by Don Colburn of The Oregonian can be found here. It included this picture taken by Stephanie Yao Long of The Oregonian.

Look at that smile!! I'll never forget it or the young woman behind it! RIP Brenda. . . .

Inky Finger Tips and Old Memories

A little over a month ago, I applied for a temporary job with the Census Bureau and took the qualifying exam. About 10 days ago I received a call offering me a position as an enumerator which I accepted. That means I'm a counter of some sort working in the field, possibly interviewing families although I think that part of the job won't come until next year which is the official U.S. decennial census year. This year involves all the preparation for the census itself.

My training was scheduled and rescheduled. I asked a few questions and know that my work will be in the area where I live and the job is part-time for 12 weeks. I figure that the income will finance a couple of east coast trips we have scheduled this year. So, what does all of this have to do with inky finger tips and old memories?

Before I can start training, I had to go in for fingerprinting and the filling out of forms. My appointment was yesterday (Friday) afternoon. The line was appropriately long but moved right along. The pleasant lady who took my prints was very talkative and had a lot of questions as she was rolling my fingers one-by-one on the ink pad and applying them to the cards on which the prints were recorded.

She asked me when was the last time I had been fingerprinted. I thought for a moment and told her the only time I could remember was when I enlisted in the Marine Corps Reserve in March of 1956. She then asked me about that service; how long, where and that kind of stuff. That's where most of the memory kicked in.

I was 18 when I enlisted for 6 years in the Marine Air Reserve. I was assigned to VMA-222, a fighter squadron at Grosse Isle Naval Air Station down river from Detroit. After testing, I was given an MOS of 6600 which classified me as an air radio technician. The squadron flew AD-4 sky raiders, a prop driven plane that served yeoman duty in the Korean War. (In fact, one of my brothers and a cousin had served in the same squadron in Korea.)

Yes, The Ancient One was a weekend warrior in his youth. I had enlisted under the Reserve Forces Act of 1955 which required that at some point during my 6 years of service, I was to do 180 days of active duty training. The rest of the service would be in the form of one weekend a month and 2 weeks during the summers. But there was a loophole in the law; it did not say when that active duty was to take place and the squadron leaders seemed to be oblivious to the fact that I had not gone to boot camp or been designated for my active duty training. (The loophole was closed in late 1956 or possibly 1957 when the Act was amended to state that new recruits were to be assigned specific dates for their active duty at the time of enlistment.)

In my case, the fact that I had not been called up for my 180 days of training wasn't discovered until the fall of 1961. I had moved to Chapel Hill, NC to attend graduate school at the University of North Carolina. To complete the final 6 months of my enlistment, I was assigned to a squadron based at the Naval Air Station in Norfolk, VA. That was when it was discovered that I had not done my 180 days but since I had less than that amount of time left in my enlistment, the Commanding Officer decided that it made no sense to send me to boot camp at the end of my term of service.

Yes, I was among a small cadre of Marines who volunteered to be available if my country needed me but never went to boot camp or received any combat training. I did get pretty good at removing and installing the radio gear in the AD-4's and that's what I did on my service weekends and summer training for 6 years. These are the memories evoked by my inky fingertips yesterday afternoon.

One last memory of that time. One morning, as I was getting ready to leave for my weekend training, my father (the original cantankerous old curmudgeon) saw me as I came down the stairs in my uniform. He looked up with a mischievous grin on his face and commented: "This is protecting me?" Dad's been gone over 44 years now and I still miss his sense of humor. At least I think he was kidding.

My Draft Card. . .

I was cleaning out my wallet the other day and I came across my Draft Card. Actually, its formal name is my "Selective Service System Registration Certificate." It looks like this (front and back):

What is this, my children might ask. When I was young, all males were required by law to register with their local "draft board" within 10 days of their 18^th birthday. The front of the card indicates that I complied, having registered on January 27, 1956 (the 56 disappeared over the years as the card became a bit frayed); it was the day after my birthday and (as noted in a post last month) my graduation from high school. You can see the selective service number assigned to me and my address. (This was a time before zip codes and the local postal zone was entered after the city name.) There was no draft at the time but registration was designed to help the government find eligible young men if it should ever be reinstated. With the exception of a few volunteers, women were not in the armed services in those days and there was never any intent to include them in a draft if it became necessary to conscript citizens into the armed forces.

On the back of the card you can find my vital statistics at that time and the fact that I was registered with "Michigan Local Board No. 97." I really can't recall when the requirement to register ended. But apparently I took the bottom admonition seriously. I have carried my draft card with me ever since that day over 53 years ago although I'm not sure exactly when I stopped providing the Board with my changes in address.

Times certainly have changed. Now we rely entirely on volunteers to fill the ranks of the military. I must confess that I was never completely comfortable with the idea of a volunteer, or professional army. For some reason, I felt there was less chance of the military becoming a political force in this country if it was filled with conscripts counting the days until their discharge back to civilian life. I guess my fears were a bit misguided. But I do feel badly for those who stayed in the reserves or joined the National Guard after their tour of active duty only to be recalled to service in a time of need, separated from their families and sent into combat.

But I'm a dreamer. I somehow still think it is possible to achieve the kind of peace that does not require combat ready militias ready to go into battle at a moments notice. Donna does refer to The Ancient One as a Pollyanna.

The Day I Turned 18

It was 53 years ago today on my 18^th birthday. I graduated from high school; Central High School in Detroit, Michigan to be exact. The following week I started college at Wayne State University (also in Detroit).

I mention this because I recently came across my final high school report card, both sides of which are pictured below:

This report card is interesting for a number of reasons. To start with, it is far different from the computer generated reports that are turned out by schools today. The writing on the front of the card (other than the grades themselves) is mine. At the beginning of each semester, every student had to fill out his/her own card. The back of the card shows my mother's signature for the first two reporting cycles. In the mid-1950s, my mother would never sign anything with her own first name; it just wasn't done. It was signed as "Mrs." before my father's name. That was a married woman's identity; in some ways we have moved forward a long way in the past half-century even if the glass ceiling has yet to be fully shattered.

Another curiosity: at that time, the school system in Detroit (as in many other communities) operated strictly on a semester system. Children entered kindergarten in either September or January, depending on birthday. And high school seniors graduated in January or June when they completed 12^th grade. Since I started school in January, I graduated in January. The grade "12A" on the front of the card indicates that this report is for my 2^nd semester in the 12^th grade. The first 12th grade semester, which had begun the previous January, was "12B."

The listing of courses is rather sparse. I was a graduating senior and I was able to have a relatively light load my last semester; my 2^nd semester of Chemistry, 4^th of composition and 3^rd of Journalism. Economics was required. During my 1^st 12^th grade semester I took Trigonometry (which at that time was the highest level of math offered in high school in Detroit unless you were at a "technical" high school"). The periods of the day for which students had no classes, they were assigned to Study Hall. I still remember Henrietta Carr, my study hall counselor, who oversaw the records, progress and behavior of all the members of my family.

An interesting sidelight: When I graduated, I completed 2 generations of our family to attend Central High School, although when my parents were students, the school was in a different location (which later became and still is the Old Main building at Wayne State). To my knowledge, the Central my generation of Cohen's attended is still there and in use. I last was in the building when I went back for my 35^th reunion.

Oh, the memories this old report card has conjured up. It just seems fitting to share it on my birthday.

It’s a New Day and a New Era

My first presidential election was 1960 and I proudly cast my ballot for John F. Kennedy. It was a transforming election; JFK was the first Catholic elected President of the U.S. He brought class to Washington. And although he was taken from us too soon to have a major, direct impact on national policy and culture, Lyndon Johnson was successful in bringing about much of what Kennedy had laid out, most notably the Civil Rights Act of 1964 which led to a changing of the demographics of American voters and helped establish the framework that made possible the outcome of the 2008 election.

Today is the beginning of another new era, the result of last November's election. Today was President Barack Obama's inauguration. He is the first person of color to hold the highest office in the land. And it has been a very emotional day. Not just for me but, apparently, for most Americans. Every seasoned commentator I have heard on TV today has said that there never has been an inauguration like this one. The last estimate I heard was that there were about 1.9 million people attending the event in Washington. There was laughter and tears. It must have been the biggest party ever seen in this country.

Obama's inaugural address was brilliant. To use a phrase I think I first uttered after hearing JFK address the American people on January 20, 1961, we now have a President who is both literate and literary. But I truly believe the changes that are coming are more than just in the improvement of the language and style of our new leader. While skeptical when he announced his candidacy 2 years ago, I have come to believe that Obama is a man of substance, in his view of governing, his policy preferences and his temperament.

In spite of the derision of his early work in community organizing by partisan opponents, it is that experience that taught him to listen and to trust people to give back to their country. As editor of the Harvard Law Review, the young Obama could have clerked for a Supreme Court justice or had his choice of jobs in prestigious law firms when he graduated from law school. But he chose to go back to Chicago and work with the community; he believed in people and he worked to convince them that they could empower themselves. When he stands up there and tells the crowds, "this is all about you", I believe him. He has walked that walk.

So I am looking forward to the next 8 years as we work our way out of the economic morass that Obama has inherited. I am looking forward to again having leaders who listen and who want this country to earn the friendship and respect of people and leaders from around the world. I know we are better than the public face of the outgoing administration. I am confident that Barack Obama will steadily lead us in a renewal of all that is good about America. Amen!

W.D. Snodgrass (1926-2009)

His name jumped out at me as I glanced at the obituary page of the Los Angeles Times this morning. W.D. Snodgrass, "Pulitzer winning poet and teacher. In truth, I hadn't seen the name in decades but it brought back many memories. I was a student at Wayne State University (in Detroit, Michigan) from 1956-1961. Snodgrass joined the faculty in 1958 and he was there for 10 years. In 1959, his first book, Heart's Needle was published and was awarded the Pulitzer Prize in poetry in 1960.

I never took a class from Professor Snodgrass, but I did attend a few of his on-campus poetry readings. The details from 50 years ago are cloudy in my mind but I remember him as a man one does not easily forget. I also remember the hoopla on campus when he won the Pulitzer for Heart's Needle.

Our paths crossed ever so briefly when I was a young undergraduate student with a minor in English. While I had not thought about him for many years, he was not forgotten. I was saddened to read the news Snodgrass' passing. May his poetry live on. May he rest in peace.

A New Year, Anniversary and HDTV

It must have been a good New Year's celebration. It's been a week since I last wrote anything. And it has been a good and busy week. New Year's Eve was spent with friends; movie (Frost/Nixon), dinner and back to our house for desert and greeting 2009.

And then an anniversary! Donna and I were married on New Year's Day in 1981. She has put up with me for 28 years which is no small feat to which both she and previous wives can attest. Basically, it was a quiet day. No offspring around this year. We did get out to dinner although our preferred restaurant was closed.

We also began the search for an appropriate anniversary gift. Many years ago we established a tradition of buying a mutual gift rather than giving each other separates gifts on this momentous day. Usually it takes several days or weeks before the purchase is made.

This year we decided to join the 21^st century and buy a High Definition television set (HDTV). We visited several stores and learned about such things as LCD v. plasma, 1080p v. 770p and 120 Hz v. 60 Hz. Then we started revisiting stores, leaving one when the salesperson who only wanted to sell us the most expensive brand proceeded to lie to us and say that an opposing store did not sell the brand we were interested in (although I had seen that brand at the opposition the day before). We moved on and ended up at our friendly Costco where, much to my surprise, we found the most knowledgeable, least pushy sales person. Needless to say, we bought ourselves a 42" LCD, 1080p, 120 Hz set at Costco (with the added n bonus of an additional 2 year warranty at no extra cost).

Once home, Donna and I started the unpacking/setting-up process. Luckily, son Seth stopped buy which sped things up dramatically and we are now enjoying high definition television. It is a far cry from the 10" Philco my father brought home in 1948 when an appliance store owner client of his couldn't pay his legal fees and provided us with the "first TV on the block" instead. (In those days we watched a lot of test patterns and I remember watching the Howdy Doody show and Milton Berle's comedy hour sponsored by Texaco. It was long before coaxial cables and live TV and all the new fangled stuff.)

Hopefully, I will not become too enamored of the new TV; that might take me even further away from my writing. Now that the anniversary gift is taken care of, I plan to get back to regular posts and more focus on family history, events and photos. And knowing how my mind works (or doesn't work), I might even repeat some things I've said in the nearly 2 years I've been a member of the blogosphere.

So welcome to 2009 and thank you for stopping by and checking on what The Ancient One has to say. If you're in the neighborhood, come see our new TV.

Mother Was (Almost) Always Right

One month from today will be the 25^th anniversary of my mother's death. She was 79 years old at the time. I mention this because the weather in southern California today leads me to offer a memory about Mom now rather than on January 17.

I moved to the L.A. area from Springfield, Illinois to start a new job in January, 1982. At that time, my mother was living here. The weather was delightful! I moved from snow and slush and cold to sunny days and warm weather. That seemed like heaven. Then as Spring arrived, the sun was harder to find. It seemed like it appeared only briefly during April, May and June (contrary to Chamber of Commerce claims). I learned new terms from local TV weathermen; they referred to fog as the "marine layer" and the daily lack of sunlight as "June gloom."

One day as I was complaining about the continually overcast weather, my always optimistic mother proclaimed to me, "The sun shines every day in southern California. Some days you just have to wait a little longer for it to appear." For the most part Mom was right. There were only a few exceptions; today was one of them. We are having our 2^nd rain storm in a week. (I'm not looking for sympathy from my freezing, snowbound friends in other parts of the country.) Today, I did not see any sunshine.

Alas, my mother's assertion was wrong today. But that's all right. Just thinking about her and that statement brings a smile to my face nearly 25 years after her death. Once again I think of how "wise" I was in the "selection of my parents." :-D

I still miss you Mom!

Some Things Just Never Change

It is nearly 27 years since I left Illinois and moved to southern California. I had worked for 9 years at Sangamon State University (now the University of Illinois at Springfield). I was originally hired as Director of the Illinois Legislative Staff Internship Program which I headed for about 7 years. I also was the founding Director of the Illinois Legislative Studies Center at SSU.

So, it is understandable that I have been watching, with great interest, as the latest political scandal in Illinois is revealed; the alleged "selling" of Barack Obama's Senate seat by Governor Rod Blagojevich. All that I have been reading this week seems familiar. Many journalists have made reference to the way politics have been in Illinois for a very long time. From the years I was there, I even remember one popular, likable state official who was indicted for getting benefits from state contracts he awarded each year. It seemed to me as the case unwound through the legal system that he never understood what he had done wrong; he was just conducting business-as-usual in the state capitol.

The more I have read this week, the more I realized how much has stayed the same since I left Springfield. I guess that some things just never change!

45 Years Ago Today. . .

I remember exactly where I was 45 years ago today when I first heard that President John F. Kennedy had been assassinated. Everyone who had any awareness of JFK death on that day can tell you exactly where they were when they heard the news. The Ancient One was standing at the coffee pot on the 3^rd floor of Caldwell Hall at the University of North Carolina where graduate students (his position in life at the time) and faculty gathered at various times during the day for caffeine and conversation.

This year there is additional depth to those memories. Kennedy was the first Catholic to be elected President. I remember the hope for a better future that he represented for many of us. This year Barack Obama as President-elect represents another first in the evolution of American political culture. And for the majority of us, he brings hope for significant changes in the role of the United States on the world stage as well as in this country.

It Felt Good. . .

I was driving home from a doctor's appointment this morning when my cell phone rang. It was Donna who proclaimed, "It sure felt good to vote!" She had just left the polling place after experiencing only a short wait before she cast her ballot. At first it seemed like a strange comment to make. Then I thought about all the years we cast our ballots for the "lesser of two evils" and came away feeling that we had fulfilled our civic duty even if it didn't feel very good. I understood exactly what Donna meant. I sent in my absentee ballot over 2 weeks ago and, yes, it did feel good filling it out and posting it.

My first presidential ballot was cast for John Kennedy in 1960. That seemed like a momentous election. But I do believe that this election is the most important one in which I have participated since I became eligible to vote in 1959. So much is at stake this year. While I have not broadcast my political preferences, I suspect that all who know me assumed, correctly, that I voted for Barack Obama. He was not my favorite at the beginning of the year. I voted for Hillary Clinton in the California Democratic Primary but once the convention came, there was no question about how The Ancient One would vote.

I must confess that I have never voted for a Republican in a general election in my lifetime. My political consciousness dates back to the 1940s when I was growing up in Michigan. When I first started teaching political science and my students would be curious about my own political biases, I would tell them that I was a G. Mennen Williams Democrat. Williams (nicknamed Soapy because he was of "that Mennen" family) was a Democratic Governor of Michigan in my youth; it was a time when my deepest political convictions were formed. During the 1950s, before I was old enough to vote, I became active in Democratic Party campaigning in my home state. As I recall, the party's electoral slogan was: "Make it emphatic, vote straight Democratic." I haven't wavered from that behavior my entire adult life and, if pushed, I can give very cogent, rational reasons for my long voting record.

But there is a lot more than the presidential race on the ballot today. There are congressional and legislative races to be decided. And here in California there are far two many referenda on the ballot. One of those has resonated more with me than the others. Proposition 8 attempts to reverse the recent California Supreme Court decision by rewording the California State Constitution to define marriage as only between a man and a woman. I proudly cast a NO vote on Proposition 8. If it passes, I see it as clear discrimination against one group of citizens. In previous posts, I made clear my belief that majorities cannot be allowed to abrogate the rights of minorities. And I also deeply believe that we all must be respectful of the beliefs and lifestyles of others as long as they do not take away from our own right to live our own lives. To those proponents of Proposition 8 who are so sure of the "truth" of their position, I would ask you to ask yourselves, as I suggested earlier this week, "What if you are wrong?"

Okay, time to get off my soapbox. I held off writing these thoughts until today because it is not my purpose to use this space for political discourse. But I do feel good today. I just hope I feel as good when the votes are counted and the results are known.