DC Reflections

Writing life makes me a lucky man -- my favorite articles

[Updated in 2024] I've been very lucky in this life. 

From the time I joined the school newspaper in eighth grade (the "Battlecry" at Riverdale Junior High in Riverdale, Georgia) on through today, my prowess with the pen has opened the door to a lifetime of extraordinary experiences. My odd but rewarding journalism career got its start with a post-collegiate, post-world-travel opportunity to serve as a reporter and then managing editor at a bilingual newspaper in Atlanta (Mundo Hispanico).

That opened the doors to a freelance journalism career, then opportunities to serve the cause of conserving land and protecting the environment as a communications manager/director for The Trust For Public Land and for The Wilderness Society. After a sort-of accidental detour into the antiques, collectibles and estate liquidation business, I'm working my way back to writing for a living.

Through it all, I've met amazing people, visited spectacular places, and found joy and sadness in perhaps random happenings.

I've written for Salon about the vicious mental disorder of hoarding and the work I've done cleaning hoarders' homes when asked by family members to help -- and, more painfully, when someone hires us for one thing but doesn't realize she's afflicted by the disorder and needs help I'm not qualified to provide. 

I've enjoyed a night of rapture beneath a Silent Sky and a President's box pondering Lincoln's last thoughts at Ford's Theatre.

I've penned a book review about the world's most fascinating animals -- wolves -- for the Washington Independent Review of Books. Yellowstone Wolves: Science and Discovery in the World's First National Park is a brilliant, understandable and inspiring epic published in December of 2020. It's a must-read for everyone who cares about nature, conservation, and how both can make us better as human beings. I've also written reviews about other great books including the posthumous wisdom of Barry Lopez in Syntax of the River; Quiet Desperation, Savage Delight by David Gessner; A Forest Journey: The Role of Trees in the Fate of Civilization.

Most of what I write now is about nature and the environment, including this piece for Canada's Rewilding magazine about the rewilding work my wife and I do in our yard to replace lawn grass with wildlife habitat and food for ourselves. I dabble in poetry, too -- like this poem for A Thin Slice of Anxiety about a mind-bending hike along the Northwest Branch of the Anacostia River. 

I've followed mentor Henry David Thoreau's charge and sucked all the marrow out of life that I can. Along the way, I hope I've made a difference. I recently wrote a Thoreau-related book review on "Quiet Desperation, Savage Delight: Sheltering With Thoreau In The Age Of Crisis" by David Gessner. I tore it apart and sucked the marrow out of that, too, as it's more of a book about how to live better and make the world a better place than a treatise on Gessner's and my friend Thoreau. 

One of my current passion projects is a multimedia website that my wife and I launched in March 2020 called Eye On Sligo Creek. It's aimed at inspiring more people to experience the transformative power of nature along the Anacostia River Tributary Trail System here in Maryland. In the coronavirus era, we're also doing all we can to create content that brings nature to people stuck at home. It's already full of reporting, heart-felt essays, poetry, photography, videos, audio and more. And we're just getting started! One of my essays here even helped land me one of 12 spots in the 2023 Orion Magazine Environmental Writer's Workshop this June. I'll be heading to the Writers for the Wild workshop with David Gessner and Craig Childs in May. 

My nature writing sometimes lends itself to poetry, too -- like a free verse poem I wrote for A Thin Slice of Anxiety about a time-bending hike on the Northwest Branch of the Anacostia River.

I share here some of the other pieces I've written that have meant the most to me. I'll keep adding to this list as time and publication warrants.

 "Pounding It Home: Visit animal control provides lessons about people who care -- and the many who do not" (Creative Loafing): Researching this story turned my stomach but the piece caused two important things to happen: it introduced me to a damn good dog, the blue-eyed lass on the cover I named Orion and cherished for 10 years; The shelter set a one-week adoption record the week after my story came out. Download Pounding It Home

"Putting Hate On Trial: Lawyer Morris Dees" (Biography magazine): Entrepreneur-turned-justice-seeker Morris Dees is an Alabama man who puts his life on the line every day to fight for victims of hate crimes. Download Putting Hate on Trial 

"Beyond The Border: What a mill town in the Deep South might show the rest of the nation about integrating the newest wave of immigrants" (Hope magazine): Former Congressman Erwin Mitchell pioneered an education program that broke down the wall between America and its youngest immigrants. Download Beyond The Border

"Profiles Of Wealth: Elena Diaz Verson-Amos" (Hispanic Business magazine): The widow of AFLAC founder John Amos didn't rest on her riches. She used her money to make a difference. Download Profiles Of Wealth -- Elena Diaz-Verson Amos (Takes about 10-15 seconds to download.) Also check out the cover story I did about potential new business opportunities in Cuba.  Download The Promise of Cuba

"Refuge On The Edge Of Space" (Wildlife Journal magazine): A visit to Kennedy Space Center at Cape Canaveral offers more than a glimpse of the final frontier. It's also a chance to explore one of the great wildlife refuges on the east coast. Download Refuge On The Edge Of Space (Takes 7-10 seconds to download.)

"Wild World Of Sports: Thrills, spills, and yes, even chills. Real-life entrepreneurs share their secrets for riding the wave of a sports trend" (Entrepreneur magazine): Article can ideas can strike any time, even when I'm in couch potato mode. Thank you, American Express. Download Wild World Of Sports

"Shaking Hands With History: Genealogical research at the Georgia Archives links families to the past" (Gwinnett Business Journal): There's a coincidence in this one that's so unlikely that I even wrote in the piece that it staggers the imagination. I'm no math genius but I don't think anyone could calculate the odds of it happening. Download Shaking Hands With History

"The Gift Of Closure: WW II veteran returns books to Germany after more than sixty years" (Fine Books & Collections magazine): I'm a fanatic book collector myself so I found this man's unselfishness to be truly impressive. The story struck such a nerve that I turned around and blogged about it after the story came out.

"The Unknown Revolutionary: Alexandria tomb with Legion roots often overlooked today" (American Legion magazine): My heart aches every time I visit the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier of the American Revolution. Hard to locate even if you're trying to find it on purpose, it rests in a tiny, hidden cemetery -- tucked in a corner with its back up against a wall. And it just may be my second favorite place in the D.C. area -- and one you should visit immediately. (The Library of Congress ranks No. 1.) Download The Unknown Revolutionary

 The American Revolution (Various pubs): I am in no finer company than when I convene with this nation's founding mothers and fathers. I spend enormous amounts of time studying and writing about this subject. My idea of a dream vacation is going to Boston and spending my time in some of the founder's footsteps. I collect antiquarian books on the subject and review modern-day editions such as "Following The Drum", a recent book about the women encamped at Valley Forge. Closer to home, I frequently visit George Washington's home at Mt. Vernon, consider joining the Continental Army, finally find a group I feel like I belong to, camp out with Ben Franklin in Philadelphia, and anchor myself in rare books and manuscripts at the Library of Congress. Naturally, I've built my own humble library of 18th and 19th-century books about the American Revolution -- writing a guide on the subject for Fine Books & Collections magazine. See "Collecting the Revolution: A budding collector's search for early American people, places and books." I also previewed the opening of George Washington's new library.

Tennis, Anyone?: I've played and followed tennis all my life. I even got lucky enough to cover pro tennis for World Tennis Magazine for a couple of summers starting in 2011. I covered the Roger' Cup in Montreal, giving me the opportunity to write about and talk to the greats including Roger Federer, and explore what makes Novak Djokovic so menacing. I also witnessed one of the most stunning upsets in recent years -- completely obscure Ivan Dodig knocking off Rafael Nadal. I also started doing on-camera interviews with a wide range of men's and women's tour players. The lesser-known players often had the most powerful stories to tell. Jewish player Shahar Peer nearly brought me to tears with accounts ranging from a teacher she'll never forget, to a tour of Auschwitz concentration camp. I interviewed Madison Keys well before she became a household name -- though I knew that would change.

Even with the Maryland estate liquidation company I run, Orion's Attic, I still get to have a little fun writing. I took a virtual time machine to 500 B.C. to explore Etruscan pottery. I learned how to see Elvis through my mother's eyes. 

Elderly Bicyclists Leave Me Tired And Inspired On The W&OD Trail

Taking a break from churning the bicycle pedals on a lengthy Saturday ride last weekend, I pulled over at a rest stop next to an old man. Very old. Moses would have called him, “Sir.”

His wrinkled skin looked like a white raisin left on a hot beach for a week.

It took my brain a second to absorb that he was doing at least a part of what I was doing — riding the Washington and Old Dominion Trail (W&OD) that runs 45 miles from just beyond Washington D.C., to Purcellville, Virginia. He was clad in flashy cycling attire like a Tour de France rider, and he rode an even more colorful high-end bike.

The old man caught me in mid-astonishment and asked me how many miles I was doing.

“About seventy-two,” I said, thinking that was a good day’s work.

I politely asked him how many miles he was putting in, expecting him to say that he was on course to do perhaps 10 or 20 miles.

“Seventy-five,” he chirped!

The number punched me in the face.

What?

The old man said he was recovering from cancer and that his life-long love of biking was helping him do it.

My jaw dropped further as he continued: He said he was training for a century ride (100 miles) in October — Maryland’s famous Sea Gull Century. I know that ride well. On that very jaunt years ago, I realized I never again wanted to be away from the woman I was dating: She’s my wife now.

The old man said he used to do century rides all the time. Two of his buddies rolled up a minute later. They were just as old. They said they plan to do the century with him.

I stood there, stunned. My brain couldn’t process the information fast enough.

I couldn’t believe that the first raisin was not only kicking cancer’s ass, but that he was loving life. Living it with gusto.

I’ve been struggling to work through far more minor health issues — trivial, compared to his — and I’ve had a hard time getting motivated to do all the things I love.

But look at this guy.

Life throws him lemons; he not only turns them into lemonade but puts the mixture in his hydration pack — and slurps it down as he rides! Maybe I should up my cycling game and try to get back to century rides, I thought.

Every time I see men and women a few decades older than I am (I’m in my 50s) who are still out there pounding the pedals, I am absolutely inspired. Happens to me every time I ride. Minus the cancer part, I want to be that old man 30 years from now.

If you’re a cyclist and you happen to be in that age category, I hope you realize what a huge, life-affirming impact you’re making on other riders just by still being out there doing what we all love.

I had to bid the old man adieu before my not-as-strong-as-his legs locked up. I heaved myself back onto the trail and began fighting my way through the last 20 miles. I got passed twice, going uphill, by women in the same age group. (None of the folks I saw today were using electric bikes, by the way — just muscle.)

I wanted to thank the ladies for their inspiration, too — but I couldn’t catch them!

Christopher Lancette is a Maryland-based freelance writer with an enormous love for outdoor sports, nature and all wild things. A former journalist and environmental organization communications director, he spends much of his time exploring and writing about his favorite creek at EyeOnSligoCreek.com. He has written for some 50 national and local publications ranging from the Atlanta Business Chronicle and Biography magazine to Salon and the Washington Independent Review of Books.

Tremendous tour guide brings Louisa May Alcott to life at Orchard House home

Concord, MA -- Our Louisa May Alcott's Orchard House tour guide, Beth, captured my and my wife's attention from the second we entered the 19th century author's home. Her passion for the subject was palpable and she made it clear from the onset that Won-ok and I weren't going to just tour a farmhouse that was the setting for a famous novel; we were going to genuinely get to know the writer who lived there.

Orchard House

I confess I knew next to nothing about Alcott before today except that she was friends with my dear friend Henry David Thoreau -- the person we took this vacation to see. Won-ok knew as little as I did until we made a serendipitous visit (that turned out to be the first of many) to the Concord Free Public Library. The place is packed with material by and about its literary rock stars. Won-ok perused the engaging children's section and spotted a number of Alcott books including Little Women.

"I grabbed that book and started reading that and her bio," she told me a few hours later, as we compared notes about who had more fun reading that night. "I was touched by her writing and her life story. I could already tell that she was a feminist and a very decent human being. Then I decided to read a book of her short story collections. The Brownie And The Princess was so sweet. It made me feel like a little kid again."

Won-ok's eyes lit up again on our Orchard House tour when Beth pointed to a shelf full of Alcott books that had been translated into other languages. Turns out that she was much more familiar with the Korean title of Little Women.

Her new bond with Alcott grew stronger with each room we visited. Beth told us about Alcott's life-long commitment to serving other people. Among her many other humanitarian efforts, she was a strident abolitionist whose family housed a fugitive slave on the Underground Railroad for a week. Alcott's unselfishness came despite the fact that she herself endured poverty throughout her young life -- which forced her to work a variety of hard jobs from an early age. She also had to move 22 times in 30 years. She stepped away from her burgeoning writing career to head to the Washington D.C. area to serve as a nurse during the Civil War. She spent six weeks there before being struck with typhoid and forced home.

Louisa May Alcott

"She was in pain for the rest of her life," Beth told us as we stood by Alcott's bedroom desk. "She even taught herself to write with both hands. She would write for hours and hours each day and then collapse."

I glanced at my own perfectly healthy hands and realized that I clearly have no excuse for not doing more with my own writing. 

Beth told us the story of how Little Women came into existence. I was the only one in the room who didn't know that the book was a semi-autobiographical account of her childhood but we were all mesmerized by the unlikely success of it. Beth shared that Alcott had so little confidence in the idea of her book that she wrote Part 1 just to show her editor that he wouldn't be interested and that no one else would care. Her editor quickly told her that she was right. Alcott's 14-year-old niece got a look at it, though, and she absolutely loved it -- prompting Alcott to change her tune.

Me, Won-ok and tour guide Beth

"Part One was instantly popular and it sold out right away," Beth said. "It became so popular so fast that people started knocking on the front door here. The success of her book amazed her. When Louisa came home with a check from her publisher, she couldn't believe it."

I felt a little bit indignant on behalf of Thoreau, whose works didn't exactly fly off the shelves in his lifetime. Beth grinned at me and my "Thoreau Sauntering Society" T-shirt from the nearby The Thoreau Society gift shop at Walden Pond and tried to give me a historical nugget to make me feel a little better.

"America was coming out of the Civil War," she said, gently, as if she were easing her way into telling a child that Santa Claus isn't real. "Her book wasn't this treatise on transcendentalist philosophy; it was a simple book about girls getting angry with each other."

Thoreau's flute at the Concord Museum

That made sense to me. Even I can only absorb so much transcendentalism at a time. I was also happy enough just to be spending time in yet another place Thoreau frequented. Beth told us that he spent a lot of time in the Alcott home and regaled me with stories about him playing the flute there. She also introduced us to the poem, Thoreau's Flute, that Alcott published in The Atlantic after his death. She wrote it from that very bedroom in which we stood.

The literary part of my brain wasn't the only one spinning. One of the many great things about a tour of a home like the Orchard House is that it opens up all kinds of new avenues for learning, like the Orchard House's monthly "Welcome To Our Home" Living History Tour with a costumed guide. Play 19th century games and sing parlor songs? We'll come back for that! This town is even hosting a Little Women Week" from from Dec. 15-22, 2019 dedicated to the book and the upcoming release of the Little Women Columbia Pictures movie starring Meryl Streep, Saoirse Ronan and Emma Watson. The line-up features a wide array of activities and events for all ages. Won-ok would love to make it back for the Luncheon Tea with Louisa May Alcott at Colonial Inn. Orchard House Executive Director Jan Turnquist will portray the author. (OK, I should be honest here: I wish I could attend this, too.) 

I make my living as an estate liquidator and antiques and collectibles dealer so I totally geeked out on seeing a house full of period furniture in context. I was able to picture Alcott and her family living with their beautiful, then-modern furniture -- which we now call American Empire style antiques, among others. I also loved studying the more modest furniture like Alcott's blue-striped dresser made by the humble touch of a craftsman who clearly wanted to make pieces that were pleasing enough to the eye but affordable. 

Beth broke me out of my antiques daze when she made a point about the lack of equality women faced in that era.

"Louisa made more money than Twain but couldn't vote," she said.

Silence hung in the air.

Beth said that Alcott invested her earnings wisely in railroads and real estate and spent her money and her life taking care of three generations of her family -- continuing to write and to fight for justice and equality on multiple fronts.

"Caring for people was in Louisa's DNA," Beth said.

Won-ok's favorite site of our vacation

Giving high-energy tours was clearly in Beth's. We told her that we were outright historical tour snobs and that hers was one of the best we had ever taken. She made Louisa May Alcott absolutely come alive for us and she instantly inspired us to want to get to know the big-hearted author even better.

We gave Beth a hug goodbye and exited the Orchard House with adrenaline of learning pumping through our veins -- Won-ok with an armful of Alcott books from the gift shop and me with the sound of Alcott's poetry and Thoreau's flute playing in my head.

Christopher Lancette is a former journalist with a life-long love of all things Boston and Concord. He and Won-ok Kim own Orion's Attic, an estate liquidation, antiques and collectibles company in Silver Spring, Maryland. The two plan to return to New England as fast and as often as possible.

Paying our respects at Sleepy Hollow Cemetery

 

Honoring Vietnam Veteran John Young -- My Hero, and America's

[It is my honor to share here the remarks I gave at the funeral of my uncle, Sergeant John Young. May this small tribute honor him, the 9th Infantry Division, Charlie Company and everyone who served our country in Vietnam.]

Picayune, Mississippi -- I knew there was something special about my Uncle John Young from the time I was knee-high to an infantry rifle. My earliest memories of him came from the old Atlanta airport in the early 1970s. My mom and I would go to the airport and wait for him to come in. He was easy to pick out from the crowd because he was always wearing his Army uniform, not a wrinkle on it or him.

People would stare at him and all the colorful stuff on the chest and shoulders of his uniform. My mom would start sobbing. Uncle John appears, mom starts crying – that’s how it went. When he went back into the airport, more crying. I’m not completely sure I remember exactly the parting words he shared with me each time as leaned down to look in my eyes but I’m pretty sure it must have gone to the effect of, “Take care of your mom, Neph.”

From the time I was a little boy until the last time I saw him, he always called me that – Neph. I in turn also eliminated syllables and called him Unc.

As I grew a little older, I picked up little hints about what made my uncle special. I’d hear the grown-ups use words like “hero” and say that he had served his country in some place called Vietnam. I didn’t really know where or what that was or why everybody tensed up whenever the word was mentioned but, whatever Vietnam was, I knew it had to be important. I knew it had something to do with who my uncle was, what made him special.

I hit my teen years and began to recognize there was also something secretive about him. He was always deep in thought, as if he were in some place other than in a room with me. He didn’t talk a lot – very unlike my mom and Aunt Susan. I sensed a certain tension in him and even as I hit my 20s, it was not something I felt comfortable bringing up with him or my family.

I just put the bits and pieces gleaned from my family together as best I could. I had a rudimentary understanding of the Vietnam War by that point from what little my high school and college spent on the subject but mostly from watching TV, movies and reading about it. 

I very clearly learned other things about my Uncle John that made him special. It didn’t take me that long to figure out he was perhaps the smartest man I ever met. He didn’t read books: He consumed them. He had the intellect to read one book one time and then explain it to me in a depth and context that was more riveting than even my best history classes. He and I shared a great love for history.

I also began to recognize the writing gene I was born with may well have come straight from his DNA. The former journalism major didn’t share much of his writing with me but the little he did left me spell-bound. The “hero” image began to take shape, in fact, when I realized he did not go to Vietnam because he got drafted. He could have deferred his service because he was in college. Instead, inspired by President Kennedy, he voluntarily chose to enter the Army and go to Vietnam. I cannot imagine having the courage of convictions to make a similar choice when I was in college.

Throughout my uncle’s life, he was a patriot. He did not believe in letting someone else go do impossible jobs in his place. He believed it was his duty to fight for what his country asked of him.

Throughout my 20s and 30s, I so desperately wanted to ask him to tell me about his experiences in Vietnam but I didn’t have the courage to do that, either. I knew the place birthed in him demons that he would spend much of his adult life battling and I wanted to know about that, too, but I was just the little nephew. How do you ask someone to open up about Vietnam?

I’d get glimpses of it from time to time. Once, we were sitting out in front of my aunt’s house in Minnesota. The two us were probably debating the issues of the day when all of a sudden he disappeared again. Not physically, just mentally. He started staring at his hands and rubbing furiously them against each other as if he were trying to wash something off of them.

“Neph,” he said, “You don’t know what these hands have done.”

We sat there in silence for I don’t know how long. I desperately wanted to find words to make him feel better, as if I had any remote idea of what he was talking about – but he was my “Unc” and I couldn’t stand to see him in pain like that.  He certainly wasn’t much of a hugger so that option was absolutely not on the table.

Most of the moments we shared together were not that dark, though. He often used his intellect to help me crystallize my own thoughts. As a grown man sitting with him after dinner one day in Georgia, I was talking to him about my uncertainty about the next part of my career path. I was giving him pros and cons about different options and my anguish about having such a hard time figuring out what was next for me.

“Neph,” he said. “You don’t like to get jobs. You like to enlist!”

He was exactly right. I only liked working for causes, for employers with missions I believed in with my whole heart – and there was no sense in this old dog trying to learn new tricks.

In my 30s and 40s, we spent most of our time together in person, on the phone and with email debating the big issues of the day.  Man oh man could we debate some politics – him the gun-toting conservative, me the screaming liberal.

I’m not quite sure that “debating” is the right word as that sort of implies that there was a fair competition – as if I might have ever won one. Neph always came out on the short end of the stick with him.

He’d inevitably make a point that made me go quiet, one I could not defeat. After a lunch some years ago, he left me so stumped that I told him I’d have to come up with something. My poor girlfriend Won-ok over there didn’t see me for a week; It took me that long to come up with a response that I sent him by email.

The breakthrough I always longed for with him, though, finally came. It came because of Professor Andrew Wiest and his book, The Boys of '67. My uncle became a guest lecturer in Wiest's classes at the University of Southern Mississippi, lead summer sessions in Vietnam with him and served as the launching point for the book.

“To my favorite nephew,” Uncle John wrote in the beginning of his inscription. I’m reasonably certain I’m his only nephew but I’ll take it! “I’d write what I really feel,” he continued, “but then I’d be all weepy. Good luck in all that you do.”

I was the one who wept: I wept for 367 pages.

I’d read a few chapters and sob hysterically into Won-ok’s arms. I’d let a day or so pass, muster up the strength to read more, and then sob hysterically into Won-ok’s arms. I was starting to get the hang of my mom’s routine.

I now knew what my Uncle’s hands had done, what they had to do, and what all the Boys of 67 had to do to stay alive. I also learned for the first time the things he did to save the lives of other men.

I grieved for my uncle. I grieved for the men America lost and for the ones who made it home. I wanted to hop on the next plane down here to Picayune, break the John Young rules, and hug the stuffing out of him.

The book, of course, was such a hit that it got turned into a TV documentary on the National Geographic channel, which caused Uncle John to come up to Washington D.C. where I live twice within a relatively short time.

We spent our first visit sparring about politics and national events as we ate lunch. I remained dazzled by his intellect. I didn’t know why the restaurant closed so quickly after lunch, I told him – until we both realized they were now closing after DINNER. Time had just flown by. Turned out he did not think Hillary Clinton was a particularly nice lady.

The last time I saw him, Won-ok and I took him out to dinner. At the very end, Uncle John made a joke and laughed. I had to hide my face for a second, as a tear shot from my eyes. Won-ok knew it and asked me about it the moment we dropped him off at the hotel.

“I’m in my mid-40s,” I said. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard him make a joke and laugh.”

That book and his relationship with the professor and all the reunions with his Army buddies had changed his life for the better and given me the chance to get to know a new Uncle John for the first time. The old sergeant had discharged his demons.

At the end of that dinner, I decided to break rank. I gave him a hug. How a man of his slight physical stature could have performed the feats I now knew about, I have no idea.

He survived the hug.

For the first time in my life, I thanked him both for his service to the United States and for being my uncle. Though such words made him squirm in his boots, I told him he was a hero – mine, and America’s.

 

Finding more than a bargain at the Colonial Market Fair 2017 in Ellicott City

I drove north to Ellicott City on June 11, 2017 feeling a little bit sheepish -- and maybe a tad embarrassed, too. I've been a student of the American Revolution most of my life. I fell in love with the subject in fifth grade and the passion is still with me as I push 50. Yet there I was, a resident of Maryland for 10 years but making only my first visit to the Benjamin Banneker Historical Park and Museum that sits in Catonsville. That's just a stone throw or two from Old Ellicott City, Maryland.

I knew that Banneker played a key role in mapping the newly formed District of Columbia but that was about all I knew -- at least as the day began. I pulled into the complex to attend the Colonial Market Fair 2017 and became spellbound the moment the mouth-watering scent of bread cooking in an 18th century earthen oven wafted over me. It smelled like heaven.

My stomach already grumbling, my brain developed hunger pains just as quickly. I entered the museum building and fought against a sudden onset of Attention Deficit Disorder, though I often refer to my own affliction as Attention Surplus Disorder. I like to concentrate on ten things at once. I heard fife and drums echoing from outside. Inside, I saw all kinds of displays I had to check out. I grimaced in pain as I examined a table full of antique surgical "instruments." I moved from exhibit to exhibit before entering the main room dedicated to Banneker. I had no idea that he was the first African-American giant of science, that he was an exceptional astronomer or that he published superb almanacs. I didn't know that he was a powerful advocate for the abolition of slavery.  

I headed outside to throw myself into all the action taking place there, transporting myself back in time more than two centuries in the process. The fife and drum corps continued playing with military precision, giving way to a man playing a stringed instrument resembling a mandolin. Skilled tradesmen and women wove baskets, made soap, crafted fine leather bags and gunpowder horns, stitched cane chairs, and lovingly made dolls for children. Yet other people toiled away making corn brooms, cleaning laundry, and using wood to craft tools and other necessities. I perused displays of jewelry, fine lace and candles.

Bang! A soldier in the distance fired a musket and nearly sent me flying out of my shoes.

A town crier rang a bell and directed people to a wide array of entertainment. I turned to my girlfriend Won-ok and asked her to film a video clip of me introducing the fair in case we ended up shooting a segment or two for a YouTube channel I've long dreamed of launching -- a place to tell the stories of the fascinating faces and places we encounter all the time. (Watch the Colonial Market Fair opening video.) We shot the intro and continued our stroll through the 142-acre grounds. A man walked by who quite resembled the namesake of the historic site.

"Are you Benjamin Banneker?" I asked.

Indeed he was. I asked him if I could interview him, recognizing that we HAD to launch Faces and Places TV that very day. Banneker kindly granted this one-time scribe's request. Won-ok and I would go on to film a total of eight segments by day's end -- essentially a whole episode of a TV show. Watch all eight Colonial Market Fair 2017 videos here. Banneker told me about his early life, the arduous task of using astronomy to help map the new federal territory in the dead of winter and the importance of education.

"I didn't attend school for very long but I was able to read," said Banneker, whose 21st century name is Bob Smith, a professional actor and storyteller out of Baltimore. He remained in perfect character throughout our chat. "I had access to books. As long as you can read, you can learn to do anything." (Watch the Banneker video.)

I thanked Banneker for his time and walked away elated from the unexpected encounter, the chance not just to learn about history from the pages of a book but to literally shake hands with it. I was pumped and ready for more!

A song caught my attention, spilling out over the field -- from a voice deep in pain, one crying out to God above for the strength to survive. The voice belonged to songstress Brenda Tucker, who shared her gift of Negro Spirituals with all who would listen. She sat down with us afterward and conveyed why it's so important to her to sing those songs.

"You put yourself in the place of the person who created the music, those who sang it," she said, the brim of her hat occasionally giving way to her beautiful deep, dark eyes that conveyed as much pain and hope as her words. "They were out in the fields picking cotton and picking tobacco, working in the rice fields and working as domestics. They were out in the fields in the hot, burning sun and they had to keep going. So you put yourself back where your ancestors were." Tucker's words did exactly that, causing her to break out into a spontaneous song -- "Lord, How Come Me Here."  Goosebumps sprouted on my arms and I had to fight back tears. You have to watch the video. You have to hear her sing. (Watch the Tucker interview.)

Emotionally spent, I turned to something a little easier on my soul. I chatted with book artist Martha Edgerton about book binding in the 18th and 19th centuries. I'm a rare book collector myself and collect the American Revolution. I always love seeing the old tools of the trade. Turned out that Edgerton also currently has an exhibition of her work on the subject of slavery on display at the Reginald F. Lewis Museum on Pratt Street in Baltimore. That will be next on my list of places to visit. (Watch the Martha Edgerton interview.)

Mysterious forces then pulled me to the display of "Edmund Howarth," a natural philosopher whose trade is "the collecting and trade of natural curiosities." I saw taxidermy squirrels, little alligator heads, animal bones and a seemingly infinite number of oddities tucked inside specimen jars. He quoted his hero, American scientist Charles Willson Peale, in telling me that "Nature is simply a book and we are meant to read it by turning its pages." Howarth (a science educator and living history instructor whose modern name is Dean Howarth) pays further homage by assembling his own library of natural wonders. (Watch the Dean Howarth video interview.)

I spotted a man in plain white garb approaching a tent to perform. Branch Morgan III is a retired school teacher with a passion for sharing his love of historic African and African-American rituals and the origin of dance. He brought the whole crowd up to join him in "The Ring Shout," a ritual practiced by slaves who moved around in circles shuffling their feet and clapping their hands. They did not cross their feet, Morgan stressed. That would be dancing, and that was the devil's work. Morgan told me that slaves often had to wander deep into the woods to perform "The Ring Shout," lest slave masters see them and think they weren't working the slaves hard enough. The thought left me speechless. (Watch the Branch Morgan III interview.)

The day drawing to a close, I made my way back inside the museum for a pit stop between the 18th and 21st centuries. I met Justine Schaeffer, the director of the Benjamin Banneker Historical Park and Museum. The fair marked her last day at the post with the Baltimore County site. I didn't know until that moment that the place was run by the county. I tipped my tricorn hat to her and the county for a job exceptionally well done. I asked her what she'll take away most from her tenure at the historical park.

"I think it's an appreciation of the accomplishments of a free African-American man and what that means to us today," she told me, with a life-sized Banneker figure listening in. "He was a man who overcame obstacles throughout his life at a time when most people with his skin color were enslaved. There are messages in his life for each of us. There are things for older people, that we can accomplish things in later decades ... for younger people, who can overcome those obstacles to achieve [their] goals ... his message as a human being, those universals that drive us all. It has been an honor for me to be here, to learn about him and to teach others about him." (Watch the Justine Schaeffer interview.)

Her words hung in the air as I exited the museum and made my way out of the Colonial Market Fair 2017. I wasn't quite sure what I was going to say on-camera, how I was going to sum up the profoundly moving day that I had just spent with Benjamin Banneker and colonial America. The impact of it was moving through me like the slow, undulating spiritual I heard Tucker sing. I asked Won-ok to just hit record on her phone and that I would say whatever came from my heart. (Watch the closing thoughts video.)

Lyrics from another Negro Spiritual I heard earlier came to me -- "Lord I've Been Changed." I used that thought in my closing and called it a wrap. Even after Won-ok and I returned home and spent all night producing the videos, though, I knew two things for certain: I'll absolutely return to the Benjamin Banneker Historical Park and Museum on a more regular basis -- and that doing so will continue to change me in ways I can't yet fully imagine.

Christopher Lancette is a former journalist and avid history buff with a particular passion for all things American Revolution. He would be honored if you helped spread this post far and wide so that more people may learn about the life and times of Benjamin Banneker and appreciate all those who give their time and talent to educating people about history.

 

 

 

 

Making feathered friends with Friends of Sligo Creek

I normally experience my beloved Sligo Creek Trail from Silver Spring, Maryland to Lake Artemesia in College Park on my bike: I cruise along at 12 to 15 miles per hour, my eyes focused on the pavement ahead and my ears filled with the constant whoosh of wind breaking across my face. The Friends of Sligo Creek introduced me to a whole new way of encountering the tail on May 6, 2017, when it organized a walk through the tree canopy.

That's what it felt like anyway.

The trip along Sligo Creek was actually a guided tour -- the first time that either myself or my girlfriend Won-ok Kim had ever formally gone "birding". We've admired a lot of birds in our day but never really taken the time to get to know much about them. We certainly didn't know much about the feathered friends in our own back yard trail, nor had we spent that much time looking up -- or listening. The sounds were what I found the most fascinating. It was like they had all been hidden from my ears until ornithologist David Blockstein and local birder Mary Singer pulled back some kind of magic curtain. The 25 of us who went traipsing through the woods spent as much time straining our ears as we did craning our necks. Had all of these sounds been up there the whole time, Won-ok and I wondered? We were dumbstruck. 

Blockstein, an FOSC member who works as a senior scientist and director of education at the National Council for Science and the Environment, must see that kind of looks on newbies' faces all the time. He asked us why birds sing the way they do. I had never considered that, either. He told us that birds sing to mark their territory and that the males do so to attract the ladies. He said that female birds judge potential mates by the quality of their song. I whispered to Won-ok that I'd be a 48-year-old virgin if women judged me by my singing ability.

Blockstein and fellow volunteer Mary Singer would call out what bird had just landed overhead long before any of us could see it because they knew their songs so well. "Scarlet Tanager," Singer would say -- tilting her binoculars up to the tree tops and helping us all find it. "Yellow-rumped Warbler," Blockstein would usher, pulling out his dog-eared copy of "Finding Birds in the National Capital Area" by Claudia Wilds and teaching us more about the bird in question. 

Won-ok captured brilliant bird photos as we walked, enabling our fellow birders to see birds they missed by looking at the screen on her trusty Canon camera. I shot photos of the people watching the birds and jotted a few notes in my trusty reporter's notebook, a habit from a career long ago. (View more FOSC birding photos.) I focused most of my time, though, just getting lost in the joy of the ambient sound. I couldn't believe how many different sounds there were. It had all been one big blur to me before that day. Much like the process of learning a foreign language, though, I eventually began to be able to distinguish one song from another. Perhaps with more time I'll be able to learn which songs come from which birds.

Blockstein and Singer pulled back the curtains ever-wider, sharing their passion with the group and teaching us more at every step. Blockstein pointed to one bird dart across the air in a peculiar manner. It seemed as if the bird was a plane whose engine kept stalling, causing the bird to drop down before the engine re-started and boosted it back up. He said that the flight pattern was no accident, that some birds fly that way to conserve energy -- flapping their wings, stopping and starting again. I had no idea.

The tour guides taught us about more birds than I can remember, including some that we were not lucky enough to see that day such as the Black-crowned Night Heron. Out on a morning bike ride today, I found myself looking up into the trees as I did down at the ground. I recognized that this was not a good idea for a guy who just spent a year recovering from a violent bike crash caused by mud I didn't spot in time but the Friends of Sligo Creek had inspired me to spend more time with my head in the trees above. I caught a black and white blur going across the top of my line of sight and pulled off the trail. I saw some polar-bear-white-bellied bird perched on a branch it looked too heavy to call home but I couldn't get a good look at it. A white-bearded man with a half dozen cameras dangling from his neck approached. I knew he would know what I was looking at. "It's a Black-crowned Night Heron," he said. 

Beautiful.

I didn't get a good look at him but luck improved dramatically on the way back. There he was again, sitting right in the middle of an Anacostia River tributary. It was lunch time and he was hungry. I crawled down the bank to get the best shot I could using just my phone and wished that Won-ok and her professional camera had been with me. I was able to shoot some neat videos of the big bird as he stared intently into the water but good still photos weren't happening. I gave up on the quest and simply sat on the rocks enjoying the view for as long as he let me. I probably sat there a good 10 minutes watching him hunt. I loved every second of it but had to pedal away to eat my own lunch. I gave thanks to the Friends of Sligo Creek the whole way home for the new gift it has given me to treasure.

Writer Christopher Lancette and photographer Won-ok Kim look forward to getting more involved with Friends of Sligo Creek. Contact them here. 

 

Thank God I'm not on "Survivor" -- or any other reality TV show

Zeke Smith

I thank the heavens above on a regular basis that I have enough sense not to thrust myself on to a reality TV show like "Survivor: Game Changers." Survivor in particular always strikes me as the most physically, emotionally and psychologically bruising show of its genre. I have tremendous respect for people who compete and have no qualms with winners taking home $1 million dollars for being on a TV show. I have always suspected that a show with cameras and microphones trained on me 24 hours a day under highly stressful circumstances would not end well for me. Survivor in particular is a recipe for disaster. Survivor crawls inside the tiniest and darkest crevices of each contestant's psyche and looks for chances to split it apart. One bad moment can ruin lives.

I watched in slow-motion abject horror last night as two contestants' whole lives went off the rails when one chose to out another for being transgender. I couldn't believe my eyes and ears so I had to rewind the scene. Yes, Jeff Varner did reveal the secret that Zeke Smith alone was entitled to keep or share as he pleases. "Why haven't you told anyone here you're transgender?" Varner asked.

"Oh my God," I thought. "Jeff Varner just outed a man on national television. "This is horrible on so many levels."

My heart immediately went out to Smith, an exceptionally likable person who like everyone else on Game Changers is a repeat player. In as much as one can ever really get to know someone through the filtered and edited lenses of television, Smith has struck me as a genuine, introspective, intelligent person trying to prove to himself that he could step on to the national stage and compete in a brutal game with a whole bunch of people hungry for the prize and the prize money. Smith's face went white as a ghost when Varner threw the hand grenade at him. He sat mute for quite a while as the other members of the night's Tribal Council unleashed shock and awe on Varner. 

Varner didn't initially recognize the sadly life-altering mistake he had just made in front of millions of people. He at first tried to defend his decision, stating that he knew he was the one likely to be voted out that night and that he was fighting for his game life. He was trying to convince his competitors to vote for giant threat, Ozzy. He was also trying to show the group that Smith should also be the one to go because he was deceiving everyone without them even knowing it. Varner claimed Smith was secretly working with Ozzy, among other things.

On technical merit to that point, Varner was OK. Smith apparently didn't have conversations with Ozzy -- at least none shown on TV -- but sly 'ol Zeke was absolutely doing what you have to do to win the game. He was making chess moves several steps ahead of everyone else and was in fact working the vote. 

If only Varner had stopped there. 

Jeff Varner

Varner then lapsed into a moment that many people across the country are pronouncing as evil, hateful and unforgivable. He asked Smith the fateful question about why he had not revealed that he was transgender. Even the mild-mannered host Jeff Probst reacted sternly on the show and in interviews appearing immediately afterword. 

Smith emerged from his cocoon of shock and did so with a class and grace beyond what anyone could have expected of him in that moment. Smith chose his words carefully as he sat there next to a fire with his game still alive but his private life now snuffed out. Smith said that he did not intend to make public that part of his life. He didn't want to be seen as Zeke the first transgender Survivor player but just Zeke the Survivor player. He even had the wits about him to connect the moment to the immunity contest his tribe had just lost, failing to beat the other tribe in completing a word puzzle spelling out the word "metamorphosis". He said that he realized that if any good could come to another person out there watching on TV, he would embrace the opportunity. 

Ever so slowly, the reality of Varner's decision set in on him. He collapsed in tears, apologized profusely to Smith and admitted that he knew he was wrong to do what he did. He said he hoped people wouldn't paint him as something he's not, though I knew that a great many people would be quick to pull out their brushes without a second thought. I knew Varner was going to be made public enemy No. 1 within the hour. So that I make myself absolutely understood on this point, Varner's decision and his words absolutely deserve the condemnation they are receiving. The LGBT community is right to say that his remarks are unacceptable. The rest of us have the right to say Varner had no business interfering in Smith's, let alone on national television.

Before all of America condemns Varner for his motives and forces him to live under a rock the rest of his life, though, I think we should all take a breath. Attributing motive to statements made by a person we've never met can often be a murky enterprise. It's one thing with a public figure like Donald Trump. Our president is without question a vile and disgraceful human being with a lifetime of statements and actions proving exactly that. It's another with an unknown private citizen who until the fateful moment in question also seemed like a good guy. People across the country have been quick to portray Varner as a hate-monger, some sort of evil man with all kinds of nefarious beliefs.

I've obviously never met Varner and know nothing more about the man than what I've witnessed on his multiple seasons of Survivor and what I've read about him. That said, I would suggest we all try to follow Zeke Smith's lead. Smith returned Varner's hug as Varner again apologized and exited stage right. Smith said that he'll be OK and opened the door to forgiveness. He has also said in subsequent media reports that he has spent the last eight months or so trying to forgive Varner. I can't imagine Smith's pain. I can't imagine his feelings about what happened. I applaud him for responding to perceived hate with love and compassion. Love, compassion and encouragement are the only productive responses when you're genuinely trying to encourage someone to change their views. (I admit that I haven't yet found the ability to practice Smith's sterling manner with Trump supporters.)

That said, it's hard for me to imagine that Varner had hate in his heart when he revealed that Smith was transgender. Varner happens to be a middle-aged gay man from North Carolina. Having grown up in the Deep South myself, I know that Varner's life could not have been easy. He must have endured no shortage of hardship. That fact about his own life made it all the more bizarre that Varner would take it on himself to share something about Smith that he should have been able to empathize with.

What I saw on television last night was a man playing a game I could never play. I may sometimes dream about competing in "The Amazing Race" (I've won twice and lost once in my dreams) as that's more my style but I think that show would end poorly for me. I could never, ever go on Survivor because I KNOW that would end terribly for me. I don't think most of us can really imagine what it is like to have a camera and microphone trained on us 24 hours a day. I personally can't imagine what being on an island in that environment for even two weeks is like. With my high metabolism, I start turning into a bear if I eat lunch or dinner even an hour late. I turn into a migraine-headache-riddled monster if I don't have a Coca-Cola by exactly noon each day (I don't drink coffee in the morning.) I can barely sleep in the comfort of my own bed; I could not sleep with a bunch of stinky strangers on tree limbs and sand. There is no way I could survive Survivor's grueling physical demands and still be mentally sharp enough to play the social or cerebral game. 

As if the grueling physical demands wouldn't be hard enough on me, I am also aware that it would be a 50-50 proposition as to whether I went down as the most loved Survivor contestant ever or the most hated. There are other truths about me that spell trouble. I can on the one hand be the most charming person you'll ever meet -- lighting up a room and working a crowd with the best of them. I am also equally capable of unleashing flashes of temper and going off on verbal tirades with the worst of them. I try to keep those tirades to the pages of my private journals but they do come out in public every once in a while. Add to the mix the fact that I am a highly competitive person. On any sports field, in any work environment or even debating politics with friends, I play to win. I am intense.  Most of the time, that comes out in a healthy way -- most of the time.

I also happen to be brutally honest. As my mom once said to my current girlfriend, "Chris would rather hurt your feelings than tell you a lie." As a former girlfriend and still dear friend told me recently, "I've always loved how honest you are. Even when you were a dog, you owned it."

The last thing I would want is for the worst moment in my life to be captured on national television for eternity. To everyone slinging arrows at Jeff Varner, I would ask you to think of the 20 worst things that you have ever said, done or thought in a weak or stressful moment and ask whether you'd want to be publicly tried and sentenced based on even the ones that don't make the top ten. Now imagine No. 1 happening on national TV.

I am not excusing the words Jeff Varner said to Zeke Smith. We're right to bash those words. I think we should, however, all think about what we would really be like with hungry bellies, sun-burned skin, bugs crawling all over us, no sleep and a million dollars at stake -- money that could change our lives forever. I think we should also look at what we've seen of Varner as a whole. There is nothing about the man that we have seen on TV that would otherwise suggest he hates transgender people or any other group of people, that he would wish ill on anyone or that he understood in that split second how malicious he was being to Smith. He did obviously come to understand it moments later and his reaction seemed genuine. I think would should all look to Zeke Smith and follow his lead. Let's salute his compassion and his one-day-at-a-time-struggle to cope with what happened to him and to move forward in a positive way that makes us all better as human beings. Let's use this as a time to dig deeply into ourselves, a time for enlightenment and growth. "Metamorphosis" is a puzzle we could all benefit from solving in our own lives.

The remaining Survivor contestants, though, should blindside Smith immediately if they want to win the game the million dollars. They should do ALMOST anything they can to "Outwit, Outplay and Outlast" Smith. There's no one more dangerous in the game of Survivor than a sentimental favorite.

 

 

 

 

Love Trump and plan on attending Inauguration Day in D.C.?

In the spirit of our new Insulter-in-Chief, I give Trump supporters my guide to making your visit to D.C. the greatest trip in the history of travel. Believe me, because I have the best words …

A lot of you Trump supporters will be coming here to our nation’s capital for the first time on Inauguration Day. You may find the District of Columbia an alien place in many ways so please allow me to give you my top do’s and don’ts to make the most out of your stay. Most of us locals hope it will be brief.

You will find an enormous stretch of pretty green grass in the heart of the city that runs through the middle of the Smithsonian museums between the U.S. Capitol and the Washington Monument. This is called the National Mall. It is not a front yard. Please do not park your vehicles on it.

Avoid visiting the Library of Congress. It is filled with books, knowledge and facts. You will be confused by this, get scared and may well suffer a panic attack.

You can leave your waterproof gear at home. Believe it or not, there is no swamp here – just countless people who care deeply about our country and who go to work every day performing largely thankless jobs that make our country great already.

Do make the time to tour the U.S. Capitol as it offers you a great chance to realize you should stop blaming D.C. for creating the swamp you perceive: All the perpetrators of the alleged misdeeds you proclaim to despise came here from YOUR states. You just re-hired all the very same officials who already had control of Congress and you’ve elected a man to the presidency who is filling his cabinet with the very same kinds of insiders he rebelled against. There’s only one “local” in Congress, by the way, and she isn’t even allowed to vote.

Your senators and representatives and their staffs work in offices across from the Capitol. Statistics show that you likely don’t know your district’s and state’s officials’ names so dropping by their legislative office buildings will give you time to find out who they are. When you soon realize neither they nor your hero are going to accomplish what they told you they would, or when they do and it goes horribly wrong, you’ll also know where you can send your complaints.

Don’t be alarmed when you hear locals shouting “On your left!” while you’re descending Metro escalators. This is not a political statement. It means you’re clogging up the escalator. Stand to the right so the rest of us can scurry down on the left. We have places to be.

If you choose to visit the National Archives, please be prepared for the shock of seeing the Declaration of Independence and the United States Constitution. Please examine them carefully. You will learn that neither document allows you to justify discriminating against African-Americans, lesbian/gay/bi-sexual and transgender Americans or any other Americans. We the people are all equal and we all possess the same rights.

You might as well bring as many of your Confederate flags and silly “Lock her up!” signs as you would like. Waving them around will make it harder for you to spot all the undocumented workers, Muslims and other people that you dislike and wish to ban from the country.

There’s no need for you to bring your guns, though. Thanks to the other candidates you have championed over the years, guns are in ample supply throughout America including here in Washington. If you wander in the wrong neighborhood and happen to get shot by a person wielding an assault rifle, especially one bought on the spot at a gun show without a background check, your family can look for your obituary in the Ironies section of the Washington Post.

Pay really close attention to the Lincoln Memorial when you visit. If you stand there long enough, you can see the 16^th president shake his head every time you try to refer to your political party as “the party of Lincoln.” He knows, as do you, that nothing could be further from the actual truth. If anything, Lincoln would be a RINO today. He would certainly be ashamed of the Republican Party today.

For most Americans, sitting inside the Supreme Court is an awe-inspiring experience. If you’re ever lucky enough to observe the justices in action, you’ll see that they have dedicated their lives to the virtue of deliberation – objectively assessing and analyzing multiple points of view and voting for what’s genuinely best for the country. This is not something you’re familiar with so I’m not sure if I should recommend putting the Supreme Court on your itinerary.

Visiting the Newseum comes with several caveats you must consider beforehand. On the plus side for you, it honors the First Amendment, which is what gives you the right to say all the inaccurate things that you used to justify your vote for Trump. You should be grateful. On the other hand, you may be perplexed by the Newseum’s focus on the history of print and electronic communication. It turns out that gathering and reporting real, actual news is a skill practiced by people who believe seeking truth is a noble public service. You will be crestfallen when you realize that the overwhelming majority of real journalists are under-paid truth seekers who do not have a collective left-wing agenda. They instead take pride, often at personal sacrifice, to serve as watchdogs of democracy. Our country desperately needs these professionals to hold politicians accountable for their words and deeds.

There’s one other disconcerting aspect of visiting the Newseum. You can see the Canadian embassy from there. It will break your heart to realize that the embassy is not filled with Americans rushing to leave the country because your hero has been elected president. Hillary supporters and other progressive thinkers are staying right here. As the popular vote totals show, there are more of us than there are of you and we’re going to stay right here and fight like hell to make sure that you don’t return for another inauguration in four years.

 

Finding my president in a pile of frozen fish guts

Even I wasn't sure why I was watching every minute of the Democratic National Convention in Philadelphia. I generally don't have much use for either of our major political parties and have been politically homeless for quite some time. Maybe at first I was just curious to see if the Democrats would perform as poorly with their convention as the Republicans did the previous week in Cleveland. Maybe it was because I wanted to see First Lady Michelle Obama speak or because I have a mad crush on Eva Longoria, the drop-dead gorgeous actress who is a champion of noble causes like fair wages for migrant workers. I tried to convince myself of more maybes with each passing hour of the first two nights.

My ears perked up when former President Bill Clinton told Americans about the job his wife Hillary Clinton once briefly held a job in Alaska sliming fish in 1969. He said that she had made her way there after college and ended up working in a cannery, where her job was to scoop the entrails out of salmon. 

I set out to do the same thing after I graduated from the University of Georgia in 1991.

Twenty-five years ago this very summer, I stood in a Kodiak Island, Alaska cannery surrounded by nasty smelling fish that had just come in from the sea. I ended up there after a blind throw of a dart to a world map landed on an island so tiny that a professional darts champion couldn't hit on purpose. I sold my car for just enough money to buy a plane ticket to Kodiak Island, asked my parents for camping gear as a graduation present and took off for adventures unknown in "the last frontier." I envisioned working in the canneries and saving up a lot of money that I could use to travel the rest of Alaska and other destinations.

I landed on the remote island and quickly realized that I was in way over my head: I was a city boy who was out of my league trying to become Grizzly Adams overnight. I nearly puked the moment I entered the cannery. Everyone in the building was wearing heavy duty rain gear, shivering and standing in fish parts that ran up their boots. I don't eat seafood anyway and the smell of all those fish and fish guts was too much for me, as was every potential assignment the boss told me I could take. I wasn't strong enough to handle lifting and stacking cement-like ice blocks. The boss told me he thought the best job for me to start with would be "de-slimer." He showed me a hand tool and told me that my job would be to pick up the fish coming down the line, scrape the tool across the fish and remove the slime from them. He said I could start in a few days upon the end of the current strike -- some squabble between American and Japanese fishermen and canneries.

Neither Hillary nor I lasted even a week at our putrid tasks. She says she got fired for asking too many questions about the poor quality of the fish. I didn't wait around for the strike to end because I knew full well that the long hours and painfully freezing, odious work conditions were not the environment I wanted for phase one of my global travels. I survived a few days on a gravel workers camp nearby and promptly made my way off the island. I reached the city of Anchorage with only a bright orange rain slicker as evidence I had even been on Kodiak Island. I still treasure the slicker to this day.

What struck me about Bill Clinton's telling of the fish story, though, was that it was the first time that I felt like I could relate to Hillary Clinton ... the first time I felt a human connection with her. 

Allow me now to confess some of my own shortcomings as a human being and as an American citizen: I have never cared for or voted for Hillary Clinton but my reasons don't stand up to the rigorous political and philosophical standards I usually hold myself to. As a rule, I don't believe that a person's "likability" should enter the equation when choosing a candidate for president or any other political office. A person's intellect, qualifications, platform, record and vision should be the deciding factors. She lacks her husband's gifts through absolutely no fault of her own. As shallow as it is, I have allowed superficial factors to shade my view of Mrs. Clinton -- factors I haven't held against other candidates. I have allowed issues of personal appearance, voice and lack of telegenic warmth and charm to get in the way of my ability to consider her fairly. That's wrong and I need to apply the same criteria to her candidacy than I have of every other person who has ever been on a ballot. At the end of the day, I'm looking to vote for the best person to run our country -- not to attend the prom with me.

I am also aware of many layers of my own cognitive dissonance when it comes to Mrs. Clinton.

Politically, she shares most of the same views as President Obama -- a man I voted for twice and the first Democratic presidential candidate I ever voted for. I actually only started listening closely to him when he first ran because I had planned to vote against whoever was running against her in the Democratic primary. He ultimately captivated me in a way that caused me to reassess every political view I've ever had, a process still going on eight years later but that's another story for another day. I have been throughout most of my adult life an ardent supporter of the Libertarian Party, which is to say that I have been socially progressive and fiscally conservative. I even helped run a U.S. Senate campaign for a Libertarian candidate in Georgia in 1996. Mrs. Clinton shares a great many of my views of social and environmental issues.

In my middle age, I find that my question is no longer a Democratic, Libertarian or Republican query about whether it's better to have a bigger or smaller federal government. My quest is for government, regardless of size, to be effective. I want it to do good for the people it serves. I also better appreciate now that there are some things that the private sector, non-profits and individual citizens just can't do by themselves. State governments, either. Visit any of America's national parks with me and I'll show you just one example of something our federal government does phenomenally well and that makes me proud to be a tax-paying citizen.

Gary Johnson

My Libertarian leanings still get at my central anguish about Mrs. Clinton and this presidential election. It would typically be easy for me to simply vote for the Libertarian candidate for president as I've done for most of my life. This is a particularly good year for the Libertarians because they have put up perhaps their best-ever nominee -- former New Mexico Governor Gary Johnson. I do not see voting for third parties as an act of wasting a vote but one of demonstrating a conscience. My ballots in every election during presidential and non-presidential cycles have always included a mix of Libertarians, Democrats, Republicans and write-in candidates. (I'll write in the name of a respected friend before I'll vote for a candidate from any party if I believe that the person in question is not the best person for the job.) Gary Johnson is absolutely qualified to be president of the United States and under normal circumstances would deserve serious consideration.

These are not normal circumstances: The presidential election of 2016 features Donald Trump as the representative of the Republican Party.

The reasons to vote against Trump are more massive than the wall he intends to build along our southern border. His irrational, schizophrenic and temperamental personality makes him even more unqualified than his viewpoints. Trump's views are reprehensible. He has been wrong on nearly every one of the few actual ideas he has put forward. He is wrong on issues of immigration, foreign policy, guns, public safety, economics and more. He is quite proud to be a vile human being, too. He relishes in his own egomania. Trump delights in being nasty. He champions willful ignorance as a virtue. He lives for reaching out to Americans' most base instincts and fears to make America hate again because he knows that trying to turn us against each other is the only way he can win.  

Crime is down. Illegal immigration is down. Unemployment is down. Gas prices are down. Bin Laden is dead. The stock market is up. The auto industry survived. Interest rates are low. The Supreme Court made marriage equality the law of the land. More people than ever have access to health insurance and health care. We are confronting global climate change. The answer to Ronald Reagan's question about whether Americans are better off than we were four years ago (eight in this case) is a resounding "Yes." These are pesky facts for which there is no room in any Trump tower.

Republicans chose not to support high-character and highly qualified candidates like John Kasich. There simply is no rational, reasonable argument to vote for Donald Trump for president. Any Republican voter who chooses to do so is putting political party before patriotic duty. Any independent voter who selects Trump because that voter somehow perceives Trump as a "lesser evil" than Mrs. Clinton is shockingly uninformed. Mrs. Clinton has her flaws and people can rightfully debate her on the merits of her ideas but she does not dwell in the same vile and un-American realm as Donald Trump. 

As Bill Clinton spoke last night, it dawned on me that the real reason I was watching the Democratic National Convention was that I had to prepare myself to accept the fact that the stakes are too high in this election for me to vote for a third party candidate. This election is going to be won by the tiniest of margins. Every vote is going to matter more this November than ever before.

I realize now that I have no choice: I'm With Her -- even if I had to go back to memories of standing in frozen fish guts to figure that out.

 

 

 

 

A GOP presidential debate that Republicans would be wise to remember

I hope that Republicans across America remember last night’s GOP presidential candidate debate when they almost certainly lose the White House again in 2016. Everything you need to know about what’s wrong with today’s mainstream evangelical Republicanism was on full display last night in Wisconsin. Republicans will certainly continue to win congressional and state legislative seats they continue to gerrymander but winning a national campaign represents a different challenge – and one that Republicans are clearly not serious about accomplishing.

Republicans a year from now can look back with regret at many moments from last evening’s well-run debate by Fox Business Channel – which dared to ask candidates intelligent questions aimed at generating answers rather than instigating food fights in a middle school cafeteria. I hope Republicans remember that …

• They booed the most reasonable, practical and moderate person on stage. That’s Ohio Governor John Kasich. They booed him because he began to suggest that if a bank “too big to fail” were about to go under, he would look for ways to help the depositors who would suffer the most. He noted that when someone is actually in charge of running things, idealistic philosophy doesn’t always work. For stating that he would seek to even attempt to help Americans who would be hit the hardest in a bank crash, his party booed him. This is the same party that cannibalized its own Speaker of the House because he was not extreme and out of touch enough. Kasich is too reasonable and capable to win a GOP primary, which is exactly why he could win the White House for Republicans if they could look far enough beyond their own noses to thrust him into a general election.
• They booed former Florida Governor Jeb Bush for articulating a sensible, humane approach to illegal immigration, positions Senator Marco Rubio himself used to support before he decided he wanted to run for president. Rubio like countless other Republicans with reasonable and laudable positions on various issues backed away from to appease the religious right majority in his party. Republicans in the crowd last night cheered for the likes of the ever-misguided Senator Ted Cruz, who tried to couch the problem of illegal immigration as an economic issue -- except that he expressed exactly the wrong understanding of those economics. To be clear, undocumented workers (no human is an alien) are a net gain for the U.S. economy. If you would like to would like to conduct a contest to see what could destroy our economy the fastest, go ahead and deport every undocumented worker and let Donald Trump build his wall. Undocumented workers now as they have throughout our history take jobs that most Americans find beneath them, providing back-breaking labor for low wages. Our agricultural and poultry industries would collapse due to losing its entire workforce and food suppliers would be forced to exponentially increase their prices in order to attract enough Americans to perform those jobs. Countless other industries would suffer, too, and that pain would be felt by everyone in this country. And oh by the way, Republicans, it’s not usually a great idea to constantly antagonize the fastest growing voting demographic in the country. It’s doubly dumb when your only two candidates with Hispanic heritage are leading the charge.
• They failed to understand Senator Rand Paul’s accurate criticism of Rubio’s intellectually inconsistent intentions to provide child care tax credits and increase military spending – both of which Paul viewed as non-conservative ideas. He is right on both points, underlying his roots in a more intellectually consistent political philosophy – libertarianism – and is doubly right in pointing out that a bigger military does not mean a better military. Republicans have conniptions when Democrats say that the answer to a problem is for the federal government to spend more money on it yet are oblivious when they call for the same thing. Paul is also right in calling for the U.S. to lessen our involvement in regions like the Middle East where there aren’t valid reasons for our young men and women to die. More spending does not equal more safety.
• They derided candidates such as Paul and others who recognize that science is actually a thing and that global warming is an issue that threatens our future. Paul artfully called for a balance between our energy needs and protecting the very environment that enables us to live. Bush added to the debate by pointing to his solid record land conservation successes in his state that are playing a role in reducing carbon emissions.
• They applauded tired throw-away lines from the likes of Cruz when he talked about eliminating the IRS. It’s so easy for any candidate to bash the IRS and point to it as the axis of evil. Even if a Republican tax plan became law, we would STILL need someone to collect and process our taxes. No Republican is suggesting that we repeal all taxes and eliminate all revenue from the federal government. The IRS is just a bogeyman. The underlying problem is not with “lobbyists” and “special interests” on K Street in Washington D.C. but with voters who elect officials that create tax laws granting favor to Republican and Democratic interests alike.
• They cheered for blowhards like Trump and policy-challenged candidate Ben Carson. Those two have no business running for president of the United States. There is no need to expand on Trump here as he will fade fast enough as more people realize that he has nothing to offer but insults and bad reality television. Carson is more frightening with his combination of blanket evangelical views that deny equality and equal rights – and more frightening views with much of his other rhetoric. Carson is the man who believes that providing healthcare to poor Americans who can’t otherwise afford it is worse than the institution of slavery (his words), that Planned Parenthood is a plot to control minority populations (his words) by placing abortion providers in them, and who repeatedly makes subtle and vague statements that he refuses to clarify about some nebulous forces or people in the U.S. being worse than Nazi Germany (his words). Then there’s my new favorite – that biblical figure Joseph built Egypt’s pyramids for use as grain storage (his words).
• They applauded candidates who continue to make “Washington D.C.” another punching bag
  in American politics. Do Republicans not realize how silly they look when they wrongly blame the District of Columbia for everything that goes wrong on Capitol Hill and the 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue? Only one member of Congress is actually from here and she doesn’t even get to vote. All the rest come from EVERYWHERE else in the country. The majority of them are from Republican-dominated states. Voters, “We the People,” send every elected official in Congress and in the White House to Washington D.C. If Republicans don’t like what happens here, send us better people! They can start with the ones they booed and ignored last night. Secretary Clinton can start picking out White House furniture if they don’t.