Exposing Our Greed and Venality Trump Distracts Attention From Damage to Our Protections

By now we should be used to his excessive vulgarity, his racism, his lying, his cheating. It should roll off our consciousness like water off a duck’s back.

Surely Melania must know about his sleaziness. No doubt, she has made a Faustian compact to live in a gilded palace, and now the White House, in return for accepting his casual infidelities, if not in actual deed, for certain in lewdness.

The rest of us, and the world, have to endure a considerably less than perfect projected presidential image of America. 

The real tragedy of Trump is that he has exposed the venal selfishness and bias inside too, too many of our citizens and the men and women chosen to represent us in the legislative and administrative arenas intended to benefit us all.

Trump’s characterization of Haitians and Africans squares effortlessly with the persona recognized by anyone who has followed his career. The surprise from this incident is the failure of public officials and ordinary citizens to emulate Senator Lindsay Graham (R-SC) and Senator Richard Durbin (D-IL) to express revulsion in the face of racism, bigotry and the denigration of the standards of the office of the president. (One wonders what was Trump’s response when challenged by Graham. Bullies usually back down. Did he express remorse or did he continue to violate proper decorum?) 

Reminiscent of the “I cannot recall” testimony of Republican operatives in the Nixon White House during the 1973 Watergate hearings, and 14 years later by Rear Admiral John Poindexter during the Iran-Contra hearings, Senators Tom Cotton (R-AR) and David Perdue (R-GA), astonishingly claimed they heard nothing. Surely if Graham admonished Trump, as he said he did, it could not have been in whispers. Nor in private. Were Cotton and Perdue, along with other attendees House Majority Leader Kevin McCarthy (R-CA), Rep. Robert Goodlatte (R-VA), and Rep. Mario Diaz-Balart (R-FL) sleeping through this meeting?  Or playing with a fidget spinner?

Cotton and Perdue have tried to blunt the report on Trump’s language by casting doubts on Durbin’s integrity. “I’m saying that this is a gross misrepresentation, it’s not the first time Sen. Durbin has done it,” Perdue said on ABC’s This Week. But Graham, recently thought to have a close relationship with Trump, has not denied Trump’s vulgar language (http://www.cnn.com/2018/01/13/politics/trump-remark-reaction/index.html).

Trump has declared he is not a racist, but his actions (against black athletes, minority voters, Hispanic immigrants, Muslims and Jews) and at times silence in the face of White Nationalist provocations have been more affirmative than any rejection of the appellation. 

Those Americans who voted for Trump are a mixed bag. The true believers, among them evangelicals of all religions who have abandoned their respective god’s principles to idolize a vengeful, egotistical leader devoid of compassion, absolve him of any wrongdoing regardless of its accuracy or provenance. Theirs is a belief grounded in zealotry and intolerance (https://amp.cnn.com/cnn/2018/01/12/politics/trump-supporters-react/index.html).

Economics drives those who held their noses and voted for Trump. They might not like what he says or how he acts but they like the rise in their stock portfolios. They have sold their principles, along with environmental protections and American world leadership, in exchange for riches. But as Jesus told his followers in Matthew 6:24, “You cannot serve God and mammon.”

As a nation we have aged beyond the time when a Walter Cronkite could express on the CBS Evening News disenchantment with the war in Vietnam and a president (Lyndon Johnson) could reportedly have said, “If I’ve lost Cronkite, I’ve lost Middle America.” Today we tune into cable telecasts (hard to call them newscasts) that reinforce our prejudices (https://apnews.com/2761a6d6cedc4b91b739a6db93a3a236). There is little opportunity to build a national consensus of truth and facts.

A duck gliding smoothly across a lake is an image of tranquility. As is often noted, however, the real action is below the surface where the duck’s legs are busily paddling away. 

Trump is no serene image but he is a distraction to the destructive activity underway in the halls of government, not the chambers of Congress, rather the offices of agencies and departments now supervised by men and women dedicated to dismantling regulations that protect consumers, workers, voters, the environment, international agreements and other initiatives intended to balance the greed of the wealthy and empowered with the needs of the common populace (Here’s the latest in Politico’s weekly review of five things Trump did while you weren’t looking: https://www.politico.com/agenda/story/2018/01/12/trump-policy-medicaid-immigration-trade-000619.)

Trump garners our attention. He galvanizes the resistance. He will bring voters to the polls, against and for him, in numbers a Mike Pence or any other Republican would not. But, in substance, he is no worse than what any other conservative Republican would be doing. 

Except, in the cult of personality he is generating and in his in evocation of powers, real and imagined, presidents before him rarely, if ever, espoused, Trump is a dangerous political phenomenon.

Which leads me to conclude with an excerpt from a reflection written by Jules Harlow contained in the Lev Shalem (whole heart) prayer book read during an ecumenical service Sunday night honoring The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. at Temple Israel Center of White Plains. 

“Help us, Eternal, to honor humility.

Too often we follow the foolish and the wicked; 

Too often we follow mockers and the arrogant.

“Protect us, Sovereign, from ourselves as from others.

Too often we speak slander and violence;

Too often we falter in our faithfulness.”

  

Memories From the Mail

Oliver Munday had no way of knowing, no way of knowing his illustration accompanying a NY Times Op-Ed piece Tuesday on the meaning behind Martin Luther King’s “Letter from Birmingham Jail” would evoke memories of the Nazi extermination of my father’s family in the shtetl of Ottynia, a small town in what is now the Ukraine, but back during World War II was part of occupied Poland.

Munday’s illustration portrays air mail delivery of a letter. It depicts a bird with outstretched wings, wings made to look like jail cell doors, a letter carried in its bill (http://www.nytimes.com/2013/04/16/opinion/dr-kings-righteous-fury.html?ref=opinion&_r=0). Among the treasures my father left are four postcards from his family that trace Ottynia’s fate during the war. The first three bear stamps from CCCP, the Soviet Union. The intertwined sickle and hammer symbol of the proletariat  is at the top left corner of each postcard. At the start of the war, Ottynia fell into Stalin’s hands as part of his Polish partition pact with Hitler. 

Soviet stamps and symbol are on the fourth and final postcard. Though the black ink is fading, the postmark is from September 21, 1941. In red ink, just below the middle of the front of the postcard, is the imprint of another official insignia, a bird with outstretched wings, a swastika inside a circle in its talons. Fourteen days later, perhaps even before the postcard arrived at my father’s residence at 148 Van Sicklen Street in Brooklyn, the Nazis killed most of the Jews who lived in Ottynia, trucking them to a mass grave before shooting them. Only his brother, Willy, survived from his immediate family. Their parents, their sisters and brother, and Willy’s first wife and son were killed. The Jewish presence in Ottynia, initially recorded in 1635 but perhaps from many years earlier, ended after more than three centuries.

My father left Ottynia when he was 16 to live and work in Danzig (now Gdansk). He emigrated to the United States in January 1939. As many from his village who came before (and after) him did, he joined the First Ottynier Young Men’s Benevolent Association, eventually becoming its president for many years. Two Sundays ago, the association held its 113th annual gathering. About 30 of us met in Mendy’s delicatessen in Manhattan for a luncheon, less than one-twentieth the number that assembled in the Hotel Commodore in 1950 for the jubilee celebration of the society. 

My father and Uncle Willy (who came to the States after the war) rarely talked about Ottynia. Indeed, nostalgia for Ottynia was not an emotion I would associate with any of the men and women I knew growing up who came from the town. That’s not to say they didn’t have memories of life there. It’s just that, like my father, they preferred to look forward, not backward. They lived in the company of their surviving friends, not the ghosts of the departed.

In Ottynia, my father said he ate potatoes every day. He became so fed up with eating spuds that upon arriving in Danzig he vowed never to eat a potato again. He kept that promise to himself for about a decade until one day a waitress coaxed him into trying some potatoes with his meal. Well, the rest, as they say, is history. He was a meat and potatoes man for the rest of his life. He rarely ate any other vegetable. Just potatoes. Hardly anything green ever graced our dinette table in Brooklyn. 

Though he would return now and then to Ottynia—one of my favorite pictures is of him dressed in peasant pants and shirt, almost like pajamas, lying on the fender of a large car in Ottynia—he'd always go back to the city life of Danzig. 

In my father’s house in the 1950s and early 1960s, the telephone was a necessary evil not to be used for prolonged conversation unless it was being used to communicate with his society brethren.

Ottynia had a very personal meaning to my brother Bernie, my sister Lee, and me. It meant a tight knit group of eight couples that formed monthly floating poker games, men in one room, women in another. Nickel, dime, quarter stakes. I learned how to mix highballs for them. When I was around ten, they would let me sit in for a few hands whenever my mother or father would take a break from the game. It was a lot rougher playing with the women. They took their poker very seriously.  The men would coddle me. The women were after my nickels.

Poker aside, what Ottynia meant to Kopel Forseter was continuity. It meant commitment to family and friends. Ottynia meant helping those in need. It meant remembering one’s traditions and roots. For all its simple peasant-like charm, if I might use that word to describe Ottynia, Ottynia must have had qualities that imbued in my father and scores of others a set of values that served them well throughout the four corners of the earth. What my father learned in cheder (Hebrew school) and in the public school he attended through sixth grade in Ottynia laid the foundation for a successful business and personal life that has extended into his children and grandchildren and hopefully will continue for generations.

  

Topics Today: Giants, Titanic, Blue Ivy, Dieting, Europe, January 15

I won’t keep you in suspense any longer—I watched the NY Giants defeat the Green Bay Packers on the wall-mounted 52-inch LCD, High Definition Sharp Aquos television in my bedroom, thus shattering the superstition that my team needed me to view its success on the 35-inch Mitsubishi TV in our den.

One superstition down, one more to go. Can the Giants beat a Ryan-less team? Over the last four weeks the Giants have vanquished four teams with Ryans on their roster of either players or coaches: They thumped coach Rex Ryan’s NY Jets, his brother and defensive coordinator Rob Ryan’s Dallas Cowboys, quarterback Matt Ryan’s Atlanta Falcons and running back Ryan Grant’s Packers. I checked. There are no Ryans on the San Francisco 49ers squad, their next opponent, unless someone is hiding a middle name.

I’m never confident going into any game, and I also have a logistics issue, now that I no longer fear watching the game in my bedroom. You see, we DVR two shows at 9 pm (Downton Abbey on PBS and CBS’s The Good Wife) on the bedroom TV, meaning the technology wouldn't permit me to concurrently watch the game on that set. Should I start the game in the bedroom before shifting to the den and hope the Giants are sufficiently ahead to hold onto a lead on the TV in the den, or should I maintain consistency throughout by starting and finishing in the den? For those wondering, there is absolutely no option of staying in the bedroom.

Who knew football was such a baffling, complicated sport?


The Hand of James Cameron? Surely anyone following the tragic capsizing of the Italian cruise ship Costa Concordia had to think back to the sinking of the Titanic after it struck an iceberg in the Atlantic 100 years ago this April 15.

Perhaps their thoughts also locked onto James Cameron’s epic film recreation of the disaster. How could they not if they read a NY Daily News article on survivors’ stories with the following account of a British dancer’s posting on her Facebook page:

“My name is Rose, it’s Friday the 13th and I’m one of the last survivors still on board the sinking cruise ship off the coast of Italy. Pray for us to be rescued.”

Rose Metcalf was saved, “plucked off the slanted deck by a rescuer hanging from a helicopter,” the Daily News reported. In Cameron’s version of Titanic history, Rose DeWitt Bukater was plucked out of the icy Atlantic waters after her love, Jack Dawson, sank beneath them.


How should Beyoncé feel? Not worthy enough, apparently, to have persuaded rapper-husband Jay-Z to stop calling women bitches. It took the birth of their daughter, Blue Ivy, to elicit a promise from the music and media mogul to disdain from slurring women in the future, at least when it comes to using the “b”-word. Here’s an excerpt from a poem he wrote eight days after Blue Ivy arrived on the scene:

Before I got in the game,
made a change,
and got rich
I didn’t think hard about using the word bitch.
I rapped, I flipped it, I sold it, I lived it
Now with my daughter in this world
I curse those that give it.
I never realized while on the fast track
that I’d give riddance to the word bitch,
to leave her innocence in tact.

Let’s hope Jay-Z stops his misogynous attacks and that he influences fellow rappers to see the light. Let’s also hope he realizes he dissed Beyoncé by waiting until Blue Ivy showed up. She, and all women, deserved better.


Suggestion of the Day: Not sure what the over-under betting line is on how many days it will take Beyoncé to regain her pre-Blue Ivy shape, but here’s a dieting suggestion I heard this morning on WCBS 880 news radio—one way to eat less is to switch your fork to your less dominant hand.

Seems your dominant hand works without your thinking too hard so it mindlessly shovels food into your mouth. Switching to your other hand will slow down your intake and make you think if you really want to clean every last morsel from your plate, or, heaven forbid, go back for seconds.


Hackergate: I think The NY Times has hacked into my notebook. No, not my computer notebook (actually, my Mac), but rather the spiral notebook I carry in my back pocket in which I jot down story ideas and even occasionally long-hand blogs.

I have no other explanation for the fact The Times once again printed an article I intended to write but never got around to inputting. This one I had tentatively titled, “What’s So Wrong About Europe”, meant to compare economic, educational, health and social indices for the United States vs. Germany as a counterpoint to incessant Republican accusations that president Obama and the Democrats want to turn our country into Europe.

I had dated the entry in my notebook January 12, 2012. Three days later, just three days!, an Op-Ed piece by Nicholas Kristof titled, “Why Is Europe a Dirty Word”, appeared. He gets paid a lot more than I do, so here’s his commentary to read: http://www.nytimes.com/2012/01/15/opinion/sunday/kristof-why-is-europe-a-dirty-word.html?_r=1


Coincidence? Here’s another interesting coincidence from January 15.

Perhaps no current sport is more identified with the Afro-American experience than basketball. Isn’t it fascinating that January 15 is the birthday of Martin Luther King, one of, if not, the greatest Afro-American leaders, and the date in 1892 Dr. James Naismith published the rules of the game he invented, basketball? I think so.

A Mix of Messages

Today is Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. For most of my professional life I worked this day. It was not included in the 10 authorized holidays my employer observed. It did not share the status of Memorial Day, or the Fourth of July, or even the day after Thanksgiving.

Until, that is, a new vice president of human resources joined our company from Time Warner. She revised the holiday schedule to include MLK Day (unfortunately, the National Retail Federation annual convention usually fell on that day so I had to work, anyhow). As soon as she left the company, MLK Day reverted to its prior status as an official day of work.

Who says one person can’t make a difference? If you haven’t figured it out by now, the VP HR was Afro-American.


Revised Opinion: One month ago I labeled the Boston Red Sox as the team to beat in the American League East. That was even if the NY Yankees could sign Cliff Lee. Of course, they didn’t, so the outlook appeared even bleaker for the boys in pinstripes.

But I’m revising my sense of doom and gloom in light of the Yankees signing of Rafael Soriano, the relief pitching specialist. There’ve been reports he could cause some locker room problems, but his former pitching coach with the Tampa Bay Rays discounts them (http://www.nydailynews.com/sports/baseball/yankees/2011/01/16/2011-01-16_rafael_soriano_was_a_good_signing_by_the_yankees_says_tampa_bay_rays_pitching_co.html ). I’m also hoping that under the soothing influence of Mariano Rivera, Soriano will find a kindred soul (both are very religious) and contribute mightily to making the Yankee bullpen the best in the business.

Last year, Soriano recorded 45 saves in 48 attempts. The Yankees plan to pitch him in the eighth inning and leave the ninth to Rivera. Rivera had 33 saves in 38 opportunities last season. In effect, the tandem make a typical nine inning game into a seven inning contest, assuming the Yankees are ahead. Last year the Bronx Bombers led the major leagues in runs scored, so there’s every confidence they can place many a game in the capable hands of the bullpen masters to protect a lead and win.

Naysayers may point to the Achilles Heel of the ball club, the starting pitching. To get to Soriano-Rivera, the starters and middle relievers will have to limit scoring by the opposition. I’m hopeful they’ll be able to do that.

What else am I going to say?


Nature or Nurture: 14-month-old Finley’s been taking advantage of his mobility on two legs, enjoying walking around children’s museums, especially those with a play kitchen set-up. His mom has told us to keep a sharp eye out for kiddie stoves. As a tag sale devotee, I couldn’t wait for Spring.

Lo and behold, while replacing batteries in the smoke detectors in the attic this morning, I found a Care Bears stove/top burner/sink with lots of dishes and utensils. After more than 20 years of accumulated dust from the last time Ellie played with it is cleaned off, the toy kitchen will be ready for Finley. Of course, there are some who might cringe at this less than manly interest by the young fellow, Iron Chefs notwithstanding. But it made Gilda recall a lesson she learned about what’s more dominant in raising a child, nature vs. nurture.

Not wanting to typecast our daughter with just girlie interests, Gilda decided Ellie would play with generic toys as a toddler. Blocks. Legos. Balls. Cars and trucks. Stuffed animals. Nothing feminine. No dolls.

Ellie was a contented child, but not very enthusiastic. Finally, for Ellie’s third birthday, Gilda’s friends could take it no more. They gave Ellie several dolls and other “gender appropriate” gifts, including a baby doll stroller and the aforementioned Care Bears kitchen set. She immediately radiated excitement, took the presents to her room and played with them for hours.

So much for trying to control development. No one who knows Ellie today would suggest she is anything but feminine. She’s not into organized sports, though she enjoys camping, hiking, mountain climbing, canoeing and other “manly” activities. For Ellie, nature most assuredly won out.