The Art of the Mis-Deal, A Senate Quid Pro Quo, Media Values and Lessons from Frederick

The Art of the Mis-Deal: What a thoughtful Christmas gift Donald Trump gave the world: Turmoil in the Middle East and anywhere else Islamic extremists operate. I do not envy pilgrims to Bethlehem during this holiday season, or tourists walking the maze-like corridors of the Old City of Jerusalem. Nor did the tumulter-in-chief do any favors to Jews the world over by sanctifying Jerusalem as Israel’s capital Wednesday. Jews already considered Jerusalem that way, but by caring more for fulfilling a campaign pledge to evangelical Christians than the safety of Israelis and Americans traveling abroad and here in the United States, the provocateur-in-chief has imperiled any hope for a substantive restart of negotiations between Israel and the Palestinians for a two-state solution. 

Maybe that was his intention all along, a stealth strategy in support of Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s lip service endorsement of a two-state plan while all along enacting and enabling actions that undermine such a solution ever having viability.

Let’s not mince words—Jerusalem is the eternal capital of Judaism. But under Netanyahu’s capitulation to ultra-Orthodox political parties the city has lost much of its religious appeal to Conservative, Reform and Reconstructionist Jews who are accorded second class status there. 

Trump cared not what leaders around the world cautioned him not to do. It is not too outlandish to presume that if he does not see positive movement by Palestinians toward the negotiating table Trump will radicalize them even more by first recognizing Jerusalem as Israel’s “undivided” capital, followed by a declaration that the entire West Bank captured in the Six Day War is to be considered part of Israel.

Here’s a Trade—Al for Roy: Is it too outlandish to ask the U.S. Senate to operate under a quid pro quo system? If Democrats require Al Franken to resign because of alleged sexual harassments, Roy Moore should, in turn, be denied the seat he covets from Alabama. Such a tit-for-tat arrangement would not upset the balance of power as Franken would be replaced by a Democrat appointed by the Democratic governor of Minnesota and Moore (assuming he wins next week’s special election) would be replaced by a Republican chosen by a Republican governor.

Here’s a message my friend Linda sent along that bears consideration:

“Seriously! If baking a cake for a gay wedding is endorsing homosexuality, then voting for a pedophile is endorsing pedophilia.” 

Now that the twitter-in-chief was not named Person of the Year by Time, how long before he tweets an attack on the magazine and the women it recognized for their courage in speaking out against harassment?

If you’re an All in the Family fan, you might remember a Christmastime episode about a vacuum cleaner present Edith Bunker did not receive from Archie. The poor fellow had to fess up that the Christmas bonus money he would have used to buy the vacuum was docked because of a shipping mistake he made at work. He sent a package to London, England, instead of London, Ontario. 

I was reminded of that faux pas by the recent mistake ABC News chief investigative reporter Brian Ross made that earned him a four week suspension without pay. Ross had erroneously reported “candidate” Trump had asked Michael Flynn to contact Russians. He corrected his report to say “president-elect” Trump had made the request (http://money.cnn.com/2017/12/04/media/abc-news-president-brian-ross-flynn-correction/index.html).

It was a big mistake, made all the more grievous by the extraordinary times we live in, when a president and his surrogates berate legitimate news media for delivering “fake news” and when a president and his surrogates repeatedly lie to the public. 

Mistakes in reporting happen. That’s why newspapers and magazines, and electronic media, print or air corrections. No one is infallible. But the Ross snafu transpired during a time when the credibility of the media has taken some extraordinary hits, not because of errors in reporting but rather because of character flaws. 

Charlie Rose. Matt Lauer. Roger Ailes. Bill O’Reilly. Glenn Thrush. Eric Bolling. Bob Beckel. The list of prominent journalists and TV hosts accused of sexual or racial improprieties undermines the credibility of the fourth estate at a juncture in our nation’s history when the value of a free, independent and credible press cannot be overestimated.

Frederick the Great: One of the favorite books Gilda and I read to our children and now to their children is Frederick by Leo Lionni. While his four fellow field mice gather food for the coming winter, Frederick spends his days seemingly shirking any communal responsibilities. He sits on rocks admiring flowers. He absorbs the warmth of the sun as the other mice scurry about collecting grain and tasty foodstuffs for the desolate months ahead.

The other mice chastise him for not collecting winter provisions. To which Frederick responds he is indeed doing his fair share. He is collecting sun rays for the cold, dark winter days, colors for winter is grey, and words for winter days are long and many.

Inside their home once winter arrives the mice munch away until they are almost out of food. They ask  Frederick to talk about his supplies. His words warm them with memories of summer days. 

Frederick is a charming book with a strong message that work is not just physical labor, that poetry, appreciation of nature and the transmission of culture are just as  important to sustain life. (For those not familiar with Frederick, click on this link for an animated reading: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SFCLWytjcUY&t=33s).

I was reminded of Frederick’s message by Trump’s decision Monday to reduce by millions of square feet the footprints of two national monuments in Utah. Ostensibly a move to give local officials more control over land in their backyard, Trump’s action was portrayed as a job creator as it will open the areas to drilling, mining and other activities. 

Coupled with antipathy for funding for the arts and other cultural programs, Trump and his acolytes demonstrate a philosophy that focuses solely on the muscular. Even in his dedication to jobs, Trump supports fossil fuels versus clean energy alternatives, despite the fact that more workers are employed in the solar power segment than in coal mining. 

I wonder if Trump reads books to his grandchildren. I wonder if he ever gets the messages behind those books.

Reading Some Memories

I don’t remember my parents reading to me, though they must have. Or perhaps as their third child my bedtime ritual no longer commanded their intense attention. I do remember lying in bed with my father as he told and retold stories from the Bible, especially the one about Samson and Delilah. He always made the most exciting parts the times when Samson would trick Delilah and the Philistines into thinking his strength had been sapped. 

Though I can’t recall their reading to me, that’s not to say they didn’t encourage reading on my part. We had a wide collection of Thornton W. Burgess books. With illustrations by Harrison Cady, the stories made animals come to life with all the foibles and strengths of humans. Sadly, my parents did not preserve those books for their grandchildren. Like my comic book and baseball card collections, they disappeared from our home by my late teenage years.

I’m thinking about childhood books with more than a little melancholy because of a beautifully written article in Thursday NY Times by Dwight Garner. “Memories of a Bedtime Book Club” evokes the lifetime pleasure of reading to a child and, if you’re fortunate, passing on your mutual love for a particular book to the next generation (http://www.nytimes.com/2013/04/25/books/a-splendid-little-book-club-has-ended-its-run.html?_r=0). 

Garner incorporated 15 recommended books into his article. I can’t say any of his suggestions were part of the Forseter home reading list when Dan and Ellie were young and snuggled next to either Gilda or me as we read, and reread, stories to them each night. We read the same books so often the kids memorized the words. Sometimes, I’d start to drift off while reading. In the stupor before sleep I’d say the wrong words. Quickly I’d be startled back to consciousness by a sharp elbow and Ellie admonishing that those weren’t the right words, that I should read the book the way the author intended. 

Like Garner, we had favorites. Of course, they included Maurice Sendak’s Where the Wild Things Are and other classics like Madeline. But mostly they were books that did not attain cult status, though quite a few, like Wild Things, were Caldecott Medal winners. Here’s a list of 15 Forseter favorites:

Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by Judith Viorst 

A Special Trade by Sally Wittman 

Boy, Was I Mad by Kathryn Hitte 

Corduroy by Don Freeman 

Could Be Worse by James Stevenson 

Even for a Mouse by Lisl Weil 

Frederick by Leo Lionni 

It Could Always Be Worse by Margot Zemach

Sylvester and the Magic Pebble by William Steig 

The Horse Who Lived Upstairs by Phyllis McGinley 

The Little House by Virginia Lee Burton 

The Yucky Monster by Arthur Roth

There’s No Such Thing as a Dragon by Jack Kent 

Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak

Who Wants an Old Teddy Bear? By Ginnie Hofmann

Back in 2009 I wrote that our standard gift to newborns and their parents is a collection of our favorite books, some for newborns like Pat the Bunny, but most for when they are toddlers or older. And they’ll come with the following note:

Children outgrow clothing,

They tire of toys,

But the memory of reading 

Books with your parents

Lasts forever.

Family Reading

In anticipation of our recent trip to Israel we received a request from Gilda’s cousin. She’s an ex-patriot living on a kibbutz, having emigrated to Israel after graduating high school four decades ago. A grandmother now several times over, Tzvia, nee Harriet, would rather not repeat with the new generation what she considers an omission of parenting, namely, not reading to her offspring English language children’s books to increase their facility in her native tongue.

We were happy to oblige her request to bring books for newborns-to-elementary school age children. We picked out about 20 of our favorites, including Frederick, Corduroy, Sylvester and the Magic Pebble, and a handful of Sandra Boynton classics.

I’ve mentioned before our preference for giving books as children's presents, accompanied by a short poem I penned several years ago:

Children outgrow clothing,
They tire of toys,
But the memory of reading
Books with your parents
Lasts forever.


Reading to Dan and Ellie was among the most glorious and rewarding of parenting activities. One reading session stands out, about the time Ellie was 10 and Dan 13. Like most young girls, Ellie loved the animated Disney movie, The Little Mermaid. As part of Disney’s promotional campaign for the film, I received a copy of the video and a handsome, illustrated bound version of the Hans Christian Andersen story. After watching the video several times, Ellie asked me to read the book before bedtime.

Ellie, Gilda and Dan piled onto our queen-sized bed for the command performance. All went well until I started reading the last page. In the movie, Ariel was transformed from a mermaid into a woman so she could marry her human sweetheart. But as I gazed down a few paragraphs, I stopped reading. The kids and Gilda wondered what was wrong. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Gilda’s quizzical look.

She was sitting right next to me. I whispered, “She dies.” Gilda said, “Huh?” “She dies,” I repeated. By now Dan and Ellie suspected something was not right. When I told them the original outcome of the story, like their parents, they couldn’t believe it. How could she die?

Perhaps Hans Christian Andersen wanted to give children a life lesson, that not everything turns out for the best. Or perhaps he wanted to nip in the bud any thoughts different cultures could successfully mingle. Whatever.

The Little Mermaid is one of his most endearing and enduring stories, commemorated by a statue of the mermaid in the harbor of Copenhagen. It’s a comely statue, a big tourist attraction but one without the impact one might expect. Indeed, Gilda and I were less than impressed when we saw it during a trip to the Danish capital, as the backdrop to the statue is an industrial portion of the harbor.

About eight years after the family reading, in a repertoire theater production, Ellie played Ti Moune, the lead in Once on This Island, a musical with significant parallel plot lines to The Little Mermaid. Ti Moune is a peasant on a Caribbean island who falls in love with an upper class islander she saves after an accident (Ariel saved a prince from drowning). As in The Little Mermaid, her would-be husband loves her dancing, but, alas, marries someone else. Just as in the Andersen story, she’s given a chance to save her own life by killing him; she resists, proving love is stronger than death.

On the wall above my desk there’s a picture of Ellie dancing as Ti Moune. It’s among my favorite pictures of her.

Frederick to the Rescue

I can’t wait to read books to my grandson, Finley. He’ll be almost 15 months old when I see him this weekend. Sure, I’ve read books to him before, but he’s starting to understand words now, so the thrill of reading to an infant is again kindling within me, as it did when Dan and Ellie were young.

One of their favorite books, as well as Gilda’s and mine, was Frederick, by Leo Lionni. It tells the story of five field mice. While four of them gather food for the winter, Frederick seems to be shirking responsibility, idly sitting on a rock and seemingly dreaming the fall days away. Chastised by his friends, Frederick says he is working. He’s gathering words and images, colors and memories to cheer and warm them through the long winter ahead. And so he did when their world turned grey and cold.

It’s a beautiful book whose message of an individual’s contributions to a society have taken on added meaning during a time when technology has seemingly invaded and assaulted our private moments, be it technology that links us to friends and family or, more ominously, technology that tethers us 24/7 to the workplace.

Last Saturday night at dinner in a New York City restaurant, a couple sat next to us. To the right of her place setting, the woman’s smartphone rested on the corner of the table. How fortunate, I thought to myself, that I am not part of a relationship where my partner values constant connectivity to a machine more than to me.

Sunday’s Business section of the NY Times carried a story—”Who’s the Boss, You or Your Gadget?”—on the phenomenon of media/communications intrusions into personal lives. The story was illustrated with a picture of a mother and father interacting with their newborn daughter. The mother holds the fingers of her child with one hand; her other hand holds a smartphone (http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/06/business/06limits.html?_r=1&scp=2&sq=mickey%20meece&st=cse).

Perhaps it’s a good thing I retired 19 months ago. I’m not sure I could adapt to the demands of the new marketplace, a region where perspective takes a back seat to immediacy, where deliberation is outweighed by speed, where success is measured more by how many decisions one can make in a day rather than by how many correct decisions one makes.

For all its good, CNN and the 24-hour news cycle perhaps was the jumping off point for a world of non-stop action. Of course, we had all-news-all-the-time radio stations before CNN, but they were local, not national, much less international, in scope and impact. CNN and its derivatives required, nay, demanded, instant analysis. The storyline could change from hour to hour. If you were not connected, especially on the financial news stations, you could be left less informed, or worse, misinformed.

I’m not against technology. I’m against its usurpation of the time to think, the time to reflect, to absorb meaning from our surroundings. Sure it’s nice to bridge vast distances to engage with relatives and friends via Skype or email or text messages. But why need it be at the expense of comrades sitting across a table from you? Is commerce so rickety these days that it is dependent on immediate response during time we traditionally set aside for family and personal satisfaction? Are our pleasures destined to forever be interrupted by electronic impulses?

“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” the proverb warned. Perhaps not dull. Perhaps more financially successful. Probably less compleat and more one-dimensional.


(By serendipidous coincidence, I received the accompanying link today from my friend, Milton. He turns out to be my version of Frederick. Follow the instructions. Enjoy! http://blog.stixblog.com/2010/02/12/sending-you-some-spring/)