Photographs of the Month

State Street Subway, February 11

Illinois Institute of Technology, February 

Back in the Day

The other day while looking at a Facebook site devoted to Chicago, I came across a post accompanied by this picture. The post's author asked if anyone recognized the building on the left of the frame. "Ooh, ooh..." I said to myself "...I do I do". I scrolled down the responses to see if anyone else recognized the building with the distinctive tower. One person suggested it was the iconic Wrigley Building on the north bank of the Chicago River at Michigan Avenue. Another suggested the London Guarantee Building directly across the river. Still another thought it was the Jewelers Building one block to the west. The wisenheimer in me was ecstatic as I would get to tell everyone they were wrong.

Don't get me wrong, I don't always take delight in correcting people, but truth be told, sometimes I do. However many years ago I learned from a close associate that that behavior is unbecoming, especially when it is accompanied by smug overconfidence, which apparently I exhibited when I corrected him one too many times. These days whenever I'm with friends, family, acquaintances, colleagues or perfect strangers, I usually keep my cards close to the vest, not interrupting all but the most egregious factual errors, and sometimes I even let those go. But online is different. While I appreciate my friend's advice, there is still satisfaction every once in a while to come out and say that someone is, pardon the expression, full of shit. That's probably why social media has become so damn popular, the anonymity it provides gives us the opportunity to act like a jackass without being publicly outed as such. If you don't believe me, just check out the comment section of any YouTube post.

Anyway, the confusion about the building is understandable, given that it, like the three Facebook suggestions was built in the Beaux Arts style which was popular in the first decades of the 20th Century when these buildings were created. What threw everybody off no doubt was the assumption that the building is in Chicago. It is not. It is the Municipal Building in Lower Manhattan. I know that to be true because I know the building well, as it was from the cupola at the pimmacle of the Municipal Building where I made the original cover photogaph for the book, The Architectural Guidebook to New York City, written by Francis Morrone.

Here is the picture I made from the top of the Municipal Building, you can see the shadow of the cupola where I was standing at the lower right of the frame:

You don't have to know anything about New York City architecture to realize this picture was made before September 11, 2001. It was in fact made in September, 1992, one year before the first attempt to destroy the World Trade Center via a bomb placed in a rented truck parked underneath the North Tower (in this picture, the tower on the right) in 1993. That attack took the lives of six people. Engineers at the time speculated that had the truck been parked in a more strategic spot when the bomb was detonated, there was a chance the blast might have weakened the structure to the point where it could have brought the building down. My photograph took on a new meaning after that. The truth is, before that first bombing, I never much cared for the World Trade Center; in fact for the sake of the picture at the time I shot it, I would have preferred if the two towers had not been there at all, leaving the frame dominated by that great work of early 20th Century architecture, the Woothworth Building, and New York's glorious City Hall, built in the first half of the 19th Century, seen at the bottom of the frame.

But the thought that one of the towers could have collapsed, taking with it the lives of tens of thousands of people, rocked me to the core and I never looked at that complex the same way again. I'll never forget the last time I laid eyes on the WTC. I was in a taxi en route to Newark Airport. We had just emerged from the New Jersey side of the Holland Tunnel, the sun was setting and its bright rays reflected off the towers making them glow like two enormous golden beacons. For the first time I saw those buildings as beautiful and I resolved to photograph them from across the Hudson in exactly the same light when I returned to New York. Needless to say, that never happened.

Life for everyone, everywhere changed in both enormous, and infinitisimally small ways after that dreadful late summer day in 2001. I was reminded of one of the small ways when I decided to respond to that Facebook thread.

I didn't have a readily available picture of my own of the Municipal Building to provethat I had the right building, so I asked Google to come up with one for me. It brought up a site that not only showed the building, but described the remarkable privilege of being able to set foot in the "off limits" Municipal Building cupola and view what is certainly one of the most spectacular vistas in the city.

Here is a link to that site.

I did feel incredibly privileged to experience that amazing view, but it certainly was not off limits 28 years ago. In fact I was flabbergasted at how easy it was to get up there. Here's how I did it: I walked into the building, hopped aboard an elevator and took it as far as it would go. I got off and found another elevator that said, "tower elevator" and rode to its  top floor. Then I walked up a few flights of stairs, saw a door, opened it and there I was. There were plenty of people around, but no one said boo to me. Once outside, making sure I had something in place to prop the door open, (as didn't want to be trapped out there),  I had Manhattan, Jersey City, and part of Brooklyn all to myself, or so it seemed. It was one of the most exhilerating experiences of my life.

I knew immediately that I wanted a photograph of the view toward the the WTC and Woolworth Building, just one of many amazing views from that spot, to be the cover of our book. So I returned on a subsequent trip with a large format camera and holders filled with color film. The rig necessary for the cover photograph included a tripod, a camera bag, and a large box containing the camera. This I was sure would draw stares but once again I walked into the building and boarded the elevator with no one paying the least attention to me. Like most photographers in the days before 9/11, I felt that in order to get the picture, it was usually better to ask forgiveness rather than permission. Today that cavalier attitude can get you into serious trouble. But even then, the ease with which I was able to access this amazing place, left me feeling a little uneasy. So I told a building engineer what I planned to do and asked if was OK. He couldn't have been nicer and told me that workers in the building go out there for lunch all the time, just make sure the door didn't lock behind me. I didn't let on that I already knew that, and went about my business.

I don't know exactly when the cupola of the Municiapl Building became "off limits" to regular folks. I'm guessing that after the first WTC attack just a half mile away, at the very least my closed bag and big box would have drawn the attention of security.

After the 9/11 attacks all bets were off, everywhere. Here in Chicago, buildings that had always opened their doors to the public, ceased to do so. Even the magnificent lobbies of architectural gems such as the Rookery Building, hands down the highlight of any tour of Chicago's Loop, were inaccessible to all but officially sanctioned tour groups.

Things have loosened up a bit 18 years since the attacks, but I'm guessing we'll never have the same access to buildings, even ones considered public, that we once did.

I'm not going to trivialize the memory of the lives of people lost to terrorist attacks by complaining about not being able to wander around buildings the way we used to back in the day. It is a small price to pay to help keep people and our cities safe. But along with the hightened security, something significant has been lost. I'll give one specific example.

The US Capitol Building in Washington DC is probably the most important physical symbol of American Democracy. It's no coincidence that Pierre L'Infant placed this house of the people, not the house of the Chief Executive, precisely at the center of his design for the nation's capital city. Thomas Walter's magnificent dome was constructed during the Civil War as a symbol of the continuity of the republic, despite the great cost and grave situation that was taking place at the time. And despite a number of violent incidents that took place in and about the building over the years, from its original construction in the late eighteenth century until quite recently, this people's house used to be open to the general public to wander about for the most part, as they pleased.

I have fond memories of visiting the Capitol, walking up the same steps where presidents traditionally were sworn into office*. Once at the top of those stairs the public could walk through the doors of the East Front (in later years through metal detectors) directly into the Great Rotunda where the bodies of presidents from Abraham Lincoln to George H.W. Bush have lain in state, as well as a very small handful of significant Americans such as Rosa Parks who have lain there in honor. From the Rotunda you could wander into National Statuary Hall where each state contributed two likenesses of its favorite sons or daughters. There you could stand upon a marker on the floor and if you listened closely, hear conversations taking place on the opposite side of the great hall. That unintentional echo chamber was an architectural feature that early 19th Century congressmen took advantage of, listening in to the private conversations of their unsuspecting rivals on the other side of the hall, back when the room severed as the chamber for the House of Representatives.  

If you kept moving south, you could enter the current House Chamber even when that legislative body was in session. That chamber is one of the most recognizable interiors in the United States as it is the setting for all joint sessions of Congress including the president's annual State of the Union address. 

When I first visited the Capitol over thirty years ago, it was a little more complicated to get into the Senate Chamber on the other side of the building as you needed to obtain a pass from one of your senators. But that was hardly a problem as you could descend into the basement and hop aboard the Capitol subway which would shuttle you to and from the Senate office Building a few blocks away.

Granted it is still possible for the general public to visit the US Capitol Building, but access is greatly limited. Not only can you no longer enter the building from the East Front, but if you so much as attempt to climb the stairs leading up to it, you will be stopped by security personnel. To gain access to the building, ordinary folks have to enter the US Capitol Visitors Center a half block away. 

Here is a link to a video produced by the CVC as an orientation to what you can expect, and what you cannot expect when you visit the Capitol Building. 

As you can see, the CVC is a user friendly place that educates as well as serves as an entrance portal to the House of the People. Today, it is much like a museum with a plethora of exhibits, a cafeteria, and of course a gift shop. Naturally you can also visit the Capitol Building, but only under the watchful eye of a tour guide, no more wandering about on your own.

It shouldn't come as a surprise that access to the Capitol has been restricted, albeit in a palatable, even enjoyable fashion. After all, the building was likely the target of hijackers who commandeered the fourth airliner during the September 11th attacks, and was spared only by the quick thinking, selfless and heroic actions of the passengers of United Flight 93 who took out the hijackers, crashing the plane in the process just outside of Shanksburg, PA.  One shudders to think of the profound psychological damage the loss of that building would have been to the American psyche, especially on top of the carnage that already took place in New York, and just across the Potomac in Arlington, VA. No greater monument to the victim/heroes of Flight 93 could possibly exist than the Capitol Building itself. 

But constructon of the CVC (which had been on the drawing board for years) was put into action in response to another attack, one that took place at the Capitol in 1998, when a gunman stormed through the metal detectors and shot and killed two Capitol police officers. The bodies of the two men, Officer Jacob Chestnut and Detective John Gibson were themselves laid in honor inside the Capitol Rotunda.

Clearly the creation of the CVC was a prudent move to control crowds and provide security to the Capitol Building and the people inside it. From all appearances (I have never set foot inside), the Visitor Center seems to be a tremendous success from a design standpoint, as well as a crowd pleasing tourist attraction.

However I wonder how well it truly serves the Capitol and its role as the symbolic house of the people. My most memorable visit was in the mid-nineties when I had the opportunity to show a friend from Germany around. As I had already taken the official tour, I played guide and showed him the Rotunda, the hall of statues with its echo chamber, and the House Chamber which he recognized from internationally televised speeches. What truly impressed him was that despite this building being the center of government of a great nation, anyone, young or old, rich or poor, black or white, powerful or meek, could walk right in and make themselves at home, and if they so chose, rub elbows with a law maker and offer him or her a piece of their mind. 

Which come to think about it, is what participatory government is all about and what made our Capitol unique.

That part has been lost.

It's true that the CVC provides convenience, creature comforts and a meaningful visitor experience. As the orientation video points out, visitors to the Capitol no longer have to wait in long lines braving the elements just to get in, and have plenty of ammeneties to entertain themselves while they wait to get inside the Capitol. When they finallly make to the great building, they don't have to worry about figuring where to go, their guide will take care of all that for them.

As as attraction, the US Capitol has become another item on the bucket list of Washington attractions to check off.

What we no longer experience there, is the feeling of ownership. While the building belongs to the people of the United States, limiting its access to officially sanctioned tours means the public has been relegated to the role of casual observer, rather than active participant. In that sense, the US Capitol might just as well be another museum, the Kremlin, or a brewery,

More concerning is that limited access means legislators get to do their work in more seclusion than than ever before. It's no secret that our particpatory government has always been subverted by money, special interests, and less than scrupulous politicians. But by constantly bumping into everyday Americans at their place of business, be it in the hallways, eating places or the Capitol subway, lawmakers at least would be reminded to whom they ultimately have to answer. Well, not so much today.

They say that the price of liberty is eternal vigilance. There are always tradeoffs, and in our world we are faced with the constant choice between freedom and safety, two ideals which are mutually exclusive. We can have a perfectly safe world but not without giving up our liberty. Likewise a perfectly free world would be impossible without unacceptable risks. Therefore a balance must be struck.

As I said, the growth of terrorism, both foreign and home grown, has affected us in big and small ways. Limiting access to our government by restricting public access to the Capitol may seem like a small price to pay for helping keep us safe. On the other hand, if we keep whittling away our liberties in small inperceptable pieces, bit by bit, everntually there will be none left.

Just something to think about.

*Presidential inaugurations (not including intra-term ceremonies following the death or resignation of a president)  took place on the East Steps of the Capitol Building from the swearing-in of Andrew Jackson in 1829 until the 1980 inauguration of Ronald Reagan when they were moved to the West Front which faces the National Mall. 

Whom Do You Trust?

I listened to a report on the radio the other day that dealt with the Russian campaign of disinformation aimed at Americans through social media. As we all know by now, in an attempt to inspire chaos ahead of the 2016 elections, Russian trolls hoping to widen the already deep gulf that exists in this country, targeted Americans of all political stripes by setting up bogus social media accounts that spread false, often scurrilous information about whomever the targeted audience found offensive.

In turn, the American public on both sides of the fence ate up these blogs, tweets and Facebook posts, often re-posting them with the misunderstanding that these bogus sites were legitimate news sources.

The reporter in the story, NPR "social science correspondent" Shankar Vendantum, sited a University of California, Irvine investigation that showed that these trolls created sites that pretended to represent real groups on both sides of the political spectrum from Black Lives Matter on the Left to Gun Rights Advocacy Groups on the Right, and everything in between. Vendantum's conclusion was that "if you show someone you're on their side of an issue that is close to their heart, it becomes much easier to nudge them on other issues."

In other words, it's all about trust and tribalism, which Vendantum says is at the very heart of how we humans learn in the first place: "we first figure out whom to trust..." (starting with our parents). "...and then we learn from those people."

What makes the work of these trolls so diabolically effective is that if you're not careful, once they gain your trust, they can convince you just about anything, especially if it has to do with people you already distrust.

Sadly this nation today is dominated by folks who define themselves not by what they believe, but by what they don't. The majority of this country, consisting of both liberals and conservatives, two groups who don't agree upon much, have one thing in common, their disdain for Donald Trump. On the other side, that Trump base we hear so much about, is not united so much in their support of the current president per se, but in their disdain for the Left, and the values they associate with it such as elitism, political correctness, acceptance of alternative lifestyles, support of abortion, immigrants' rights, the list goes on and on.

These days it seems the best way to gain people's trust is to prove you hate the same groups of people they do.

Recently we had a story that perfectly illustrates the sad situation in which we find ourselves.

By now you must have seen the video or at least one of the many photo stills that have been pulled from it. In front of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, DC. A young man wearing a silly grin and a "Make America Great Again" baseball cap stands directly in front of an older man, an elder from the Omaha Nation who is singing and beating a drum only inches from the boy's face. Social media erupted with millions of posts that were quick to point out that MAGA boy, one of the tamer nicknames for him, from a Catholic high school in the greater Cincinnati area, was on a field trip with his class to attend a Pro-Life rally in the nation's capital.  For many in the anti-Trump tribe,  including myself, it was all too good to be true. When I first saw the photograph of the high school boy and the Native American man, I commented on a friend's post saying something to the effect that these so called Right-to-Lifers feel their opposition to abortion gives them carte blanche for engaging in all sorts of unbecoming behavior. Like many who saw the image, I couldn't help but think of how much I'd love to wipe that smirk from the kid's face. I even had a blog post all ready to write, it was to be titled, "The Stupid Face of MAGA" or something of that nature.

But then I took a closer look at the videos made during the incident. At one point the camera pans away from the standoff between boy and the man to show several of the boy's classmates who were performing the infamous "tomahawk chop", an insensitive sports cheer originally made famous by fans of the Florida State Seminoles college football team. This I felt was truly repulsive and only confirmed my disdain for the kids. Then the camera panned back to the boy and the man, their gazes still transfixed upon each other. It was a truly bizarre confrontation, the boy holding his ground while the man continued to beat his drum and chant, barely a foot away. I couldn't help but wonder why this man was singing and beating his drum right in the boy's face. In all honesty, despite my original feelings based in no small part on personal bias, it was a little hard to tell who was disrespecting whom. To me it was clear that the confrontation between the boy and the older man was consensual and reciprocal, both individuals were doing their own thing, neither one of them giving an inch.

In the days following the event, both the boy, Nick Sandmann, and the man, Nathan Phillips have spoken publicly about the incident. 

In interviews, Mr. Phillips said that he and his group who were attending an Indigenous Peoples March in DC that day, witnessed a confrontation between a small group of African American men and the high school students He described the anger he felt coming from the group of mostly white teenagers in MAGA hats, many of whom he claimed were chanting "Build that wall", and "Trump 2020".Despite what he describes as his group's fear of the angry young white men, Phillips and several of his companions decided to step into the fray by singing a Native American song of peace in hopes of diffusing what might have been a dangerous situation. He told CNN this:

I seen the mass of people. I had realized where I'm at and what I was doing, and I realized there was other people with me and I didn't want them to get hurt because there was 100-plus of these young men who were well-fed and healthy and strong and ready to do harm to somebody. And they just wanted that point of "This is it" and spring. If this young man thought that he was that point and what I was trying to do, I realized where I was at. I needed an out. I needed to escape. I needed to get away. I needed to retreat somehow, but the only way I could retreat at that moment, is what I see, is just to go forward, and when I started going forward and that mass of groups of people started separating and moving aside to allow me to move out of the way or to proceed, this young fellow put himself in front of me and wouldn't move. If I took another step, I would be putting my person into his presence, into his space and I would've touched him and that would've been the thing that the group of people would've needed to spring on me. Because if I would've reached out with my drum or with my hands and touched him, that would've given them -- I did that. I struck out, and that's not what I was doing. The song I was singing, the reason for it, was to bring unity and to bring love and compassion back into our minds and our beings as men and as protector of what is right. I was raised away from my family. I was put in foster care and so I didn't have a traditional indigenous upbringing. I was brought up just like these young guys were brought up. Well, maybe I wasn't Catholic school, but I was public school. And when I went back home to my reservation and I ask questions -- "Do you have an Indian name? Do you know where I could get some moccasins?" ... I wanted to know, and that cousin of mine that was sitting there, standing there and I was asking him these questions. He says, Go home, white boy." That hurt. 

Young Mr. Sandmann with the help of a public relations firm hired by his parents, released a statement that said the African American men, whom it turns out belong to a fringe group who call themselves, Black Hebrew Israelites, were hurling racially charged insults at the high school students. In response, the boys started chanting their school's sports cheers. Then Sandmann said, the group of Native Americans approached his group and one man, Mr. Phillips, singled him out, "locking eyes"and coming within inches of his face singing and playing his drum the entire time.  Sandmann goes on to say that he didn't interact with Phillips, or make any aggressive gestures. He expressed his confusion as to why he was singled out and said his stoic stance and facial expression were simply a means to in his words: "diffuse a tense situation." Sandman told the Today Show that he didn't see any need to apologize for his actions but in retrospect, he and his schoolmates should have turned away rather than confront the Native Americans.

Here you have a classic Rashoman situation where witnesses to the same event come up with completely different stories told of course from their own perspective. Whom you believe it turns out, depends upon which tribe you belong. If you belong to the anti-MAGA tribe as I do, you are much more likely to have sympathy for and trust Mr. Phillips's narrative. Conversely the MAGA tribe has weighed in considerably in favor of the young Sandmann. Unlike most Rashoman situations, there is video, lots of it, documenting the event, and unfortunately for my own tribe's preferred narrative, the inconvenient truth is that much of it backs up Sandmann's story while refuting at least part of Mr. Phillips's. 

Much of the video shot that day comes from smartphone cameras belonging to the Black Hebrew Israelites. Their video confirms Sandmann's accusation that their group was indeed taunting the students. Their video also backs up Sandmann's contention that the students responded to the taunts not with acrimony but with school spirit cheers. Of course all the video in the world cannot show what is going on inside people's heads, but from watching the video shot by the Black Israelites, which includes scenes of them taunting the Native Americans as well as the white students, it's difficult to understand Mr. Phillip's contention that all of the anger was generated by the students.

There is plenty of video evidence that shows the white students behaving badly with the aforementioned tomahawk chops, giggles and snickers clearly inspired by the Native Americans' presence at the scene. But Mr. Phillips' claim that that he heard chants to build the wall simply were not to be found in any of the videos. What is clear is that it was the group of Native Americans led by Mr. Phillips who confronted the students rather than the other way around. Mr. Phillips' contention that his only means of retreat, moving forward, was blocked by Sandmann, is simply not borne out by the video. The students did not surround the Native Americans who could have easily retreated by moving backwards, had they chosen to do so, instead of engaging the students. Mr. Phillips claimed that had he taken another step forward he would have been in Sandmann's space, possibly inciting violence from his classmates, but the fact is that he was already well within the student's personal space, and could he have taken one more step forward, he would have been behind Sandmann. And his contention that the song of peace was intended to ease the tension between the two groups is debatable as nowhere does he point out to the students that he was in fact singing a song of peace. Instead I imagine, the song had a similar impact on the students as if John Lennon and Yoko Ono would have sung Give Peace A Chance at the top of their lungs while standing one foot away from an unsuspecting non-English speaking Laplander.

What is more likely I suspect is that Mr. Phillps and his companions were triggered by the white faces underneath those red hats, just as most people in the anti-MAGA tribe, yes myself included would have been. When the videos of the incident went viral on social media, main stream media outlets like the New York Times found themselves beaten to the punch, scooped once again by social media. Making up for lost time, they weighed in on the story using no critical judgement, as if they too were triggered by the white faces under the MAGA hats. In reporting the story as they did, with little investigation of the nuances and complexities behind it, and blindly supporting the anti-MAGA narrative, these otherwise respectable news sources, lost much of their credibility.

A few days after the incident upon the release of the other videos, many of these news sources backed off at least on their criticism of Sandmann, admitting they had jumped the gun in reporting the story without checking out all the facts. Meanwhile other less mainstream sources on the Left doubled down on their attacks and went after the Times and other sources for not staying the course.

I strongly believe that it makes no sense to feel the need to take sides between Sandman and Phillips, their companions and yes even the Black Hebrew Israelites, nor does it make sense to defend or to condemn any of them. They were all in Washington to do what Americans have done for a very long time, gather in one of our nation's most sacred spaces to express their opinion. We may love or hate what they have to say, and what is in their hearts, but at the very the core of democracy lies the idea that all of us have the right to express our opinion, no matter how distasteful. What we saw last week in Washington may not have been pleasant, but it represents what is truly magnificent about our country, especially the First Amendment.

Proof of the success of that magnificent document wrtten so long ago is the fact that the confrontation between these disparate groups was truly inconsequential, people spoke their minds, and no one got hurt or arrested in the process. We as Americans, at least those of us who believe in freedom and democracy should be grateful for that.

What is irksome to me is the way the incident was manipulated by people who had the power to do so. Our president, the Great Divider, unwilling and incapable of delivering words of healing to a nation that deperately needs them, needless to say took sides by saying that Sandmann and his classmates were treated unfairly by the mainstream media. What truly pisses me off is that the MSM, by their sloppy journalism has at least this time, has proven the president right.

It is own intolerant, intransigent, unwavering viewpoints, and our preference for news stories that confirm what we believe rather than those based upon verifiable facts, that has made it painfully easy for interlopers to step in and create chaos, which is exactly what has happened in this country.

Yes it's true that many of the teenagers behaved badly and disrespectfully in Washington the other day. That behavior is an embarrasment to their community and to their school and they deserve to be reprimanded. The best puishment in my opinion would be to force them to take a two semester seminar where they have to sit face to face and talk with real live Native American kids. No drums, no MAGA hats, the kids just talking to each other as fellow human beings, not as stereotypes.

Shankar Vendantum missed an important point in his NPR piece when he spoke about how important trust is in learning. Yes we begin learning as children by trusting our parents and what they teach us. But eventually we grow up and with age comes wisdom and with wisdom comes critical judgement. With that we learn to question the things we are taught. and as we grow up we sadly learn that our parents and others we once blindly trusted don't necessarily have all the answers.

Maybe the solution to our problems will come when we just all learn to grow up.
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Sensitive Skin

The latest brouhaha in our ongoing culture wars is over believe it or not, a commercial for razors. As a response to the #MeToo Movement, the Gillette Company has released a new ad putting a twist on an age-old theme, by putting the words "Is this..." in front of "...the best a man can get" followed by a question mark. The ad addresses what has been referred to in the media as "toxic masculinity" which includes bullying, hyper-aggressive behavior, and disrespect of women, among other shall we say lapses of common decency, to put it mildly.

One might think that no one in their right mind would openly support bullying, the mistreatment of women and general bad behavior. Given that, it's hard to imagine that anyone could seriously have a problem with this commercial. But opponents of this ad, and there are many, claim to be truly offended by the "man slamming" they infer from it. Not surprising is that most of the words of protest over the ad can be found in venues that can depended upon to air unquearioning support for a certain president. Borrowing vocabulary from the other side, the offended parties, including some women such as Karol Markowicz of the New York Post, claim that the commercial is filled with stereotypes which unfairly use a broad brush to paint all men as degenerate bullies and sexual predators. She goes on to compare the objections to this ad to objections of "body slamming" several women had a few years ago to a print ad for a dietary supplement showing a trim, bikini-clad woman accompanied by copy that read: "Are You Beach Body Ready?" For the life of me I don't get the connection between the supposed "man-slamming" of the Gillette ad and the very real "body-slamming" of the vitamin ad as there is a world of difference between admonishing reprehensible behavior and admonishing not having an ideal body.

Funny but as a man, after having seen the Gillette commercial, I did not get the impression that the company is implying all men including me are slime, far from it. The truth is, being a member of the male persuasion, I am not in the least bit offended as I know from personal experience that the negative portrayals in the commercial are based upon reality. Self-reflection is a good thing and while I don't particularly consider myself a bully or a sexual predator, I readily admit there are a lot of things I could do better, and I don't have a problem being told as much, yes even by a razor ad.

You hear the word emasculation used quite a lot these days. I find that word poignant whenever I hear it. To me emasculation when used sincerely, says to me that the utterer of it, if it is a male which it usually is, has an irrational fear of something, perhaps a problem being comfortable in his own skin. I can't help but believe that people who use that word without irony, must have deep down issues about their own manhood, just as those who participate in gay bashing must have issues with their own sexual identity.

One particularly offended commenter refuted the popular idea that bullies are cowards themselves. According to him, while it takes no courage to bully someone anonymously online, in his words, "it takes balls to bully someone face to face."

Well that might be true if the bully picks on someone stronger, more self-confident, or belongs to a group that outnumbers his own. But how often does that happen? In my experience, never. Bullies rely upon safety in numbers, and they never, and I mean never pick on somebody their own size.

By the very definition of the word, bullies are cowards of the worst sort, preying on people they perceive as vulnerable, pumping up their self-esteem at somebody else’s expense. acting out a pathological need to feel better than someone else. So why defend this deviant behavior? Well to quote the character Tevye from Fiddler on the Roof, "I'll tell you, I don't know."

I've also heard moans that men, especially white men, are being lumped into a group that is considered unworthy by today's standards because of the sins of a small minority of us. Sounds to me like a classic case of what goes around, comes around, as historically, every demographic group with the exception of white men, has been subject to being stereotyoed in one way or another. Hey, nobody ever said life was fair. Face it companeros, it;s comeuppance time for us white guys, the only question is this: are you man enough to take it?

What seems to be apparent is that there is an outbreak of hyper-sensitivity going around among members of a group of folks of a particular political bent, which inspired a quip I heard that went this way: "It appears that Gillette is just not good for sensitive skin."

Quite right.

What’s the word they like to use for so called “politically correct” people who are easily offended? Oh yes, snowflakes.

Well if the shoe fits...

The bottom line is that Gillette, like Nike who also ran a commercial that displeased the MAGA crowd, is a very successful company not because of their egalitarianism or their passion for social justice, but because they understand their market and above all, the bottom line. Their critics like to huff and puff that by running this ad, Gillette is cutting off their nose despite their face (a truly apt metaphor given their product don't you think?) by offending a large portion of their market.

But it seems to me that by airing an ad imploring its customers to do the right thing, Gillette is telling those who might happen to be offended, as Nike did before them, that it's just too bad, they and like minded peoplein the long run are simply irrelevant.

Given the conservative nature of large corporations and the advertiaing that supports them, most likely they are right.

Pictures of the Month

Old Orchard, Skokie, December 22

Berwyn Red Line Stop, December 17

Loop, December 11

Loop, December 10

Rogers Park, December 8

Red Line Subway, December 7

1968

In human terms a fifty year anniversary is a huge milestone and in this space I spent much of the past year recalling some of the events of that most tumultouous year fifty years ago, 1968. Back then, even as a nine-going-on ten-year-old, I can remember thinking to myself as the year was drawing to a close: "Gosh that was a terrible year."

Here are links to some of my posts about the year that was, fifty year s ago:

• No fewer than three posts were inspired by what in my mind was the most devastating event of 1968, the assassination of Martin Luther King. On April 4th, the fiftieth anniversary of that terrible day, I asked the question (as I did five years before on the 50th anniversary of the death of JFK) how our world would have been different had Dr. King lived. 
• With only two months to live, Robert F. Kennedy delivered the news of the murder of Dr. King at was supposed to be a campaign rally in Indianapolis. It ended up being perhaps his finest moment.
• Later in April I observed how death has made two icons of the American Civil Rights movemennt, Dr. King and Jackie Robinson, convenient cultural heroes to people who would have certainly despised them when they were alive.
• Here is a link to the piece I posted on the anniversary of RFK's assassination.
• What began as a year of tremendous hope in my father's fatherland, ended up in the summer to be the news event of 1968 that touched me the closest, the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia in August.
• I what I consider to be my best post of this year, I wrote about the student protests against gun violence that took place in schools across the country last March. I connected those protests with the actions of young people that helped change the world back in 1968.

The years that followed 1968 saw more of the same. In light of Dr. King's death, his pleas for non-violence began to seem futile even to his closest followers. The riots that immediately followed his murder, further divided aleady divided American cities along the lines of race. In late 1969 on the west side of Chicago, the police raided an aparment where a number of members of the Black Panther party resided. Gunfire ensued and when the smoke cleared, Panther leader Fred Hampton and Mark Clark who was on security detail for the group were dead. The initial police inquiry into the raid claimed that the police and Black Panthers exchanged gunfire and the deaths of the two men were ruled justifiable homicde. Subsequent investigations however showed that all of the shots fired in that apartment with the exception of one, came from the police.

Earlier that year a splinter group of the Students for a Democratic Society (SDS) called the Weathermen, staged several demonstrations in Chicago, some of them violent. "The Days of Rage" as the actions were called by their instigators, were just a small piece of the reaction to  the continuing escalation of the Vietnam War and the tremendous division in this country over it that defined the next several years.

Here are two poplular songs released in 1969, both from artists I admire, that illustrate the opposite sides of the divide:

This from Merle Haggard:



And this obvious one from John Lennon:




Knowing what we know about the VietnamWar, it's easy today to view Lennon's song as noble and Haggard's, reactionary. Pandering to a segment of society more than happy to eat it up, (as the audience reaction proves), Haggard's lyrics to that song sound today just as they did in 1969, as the slogan "America, Love It or Leave It" was the 1969 equivalent of "Make America Great Again".

But nearly fifty years later, with a little insight and perfect 20/20 hidsight, we can see there is more to "Fightn' Side" than pure jingoism. By the time the song was released, the Vietnam War was already extrmely unpopular in America and around the world, While to the best of my knowlege, reports of veterans returning from Vietnam being spat upon are either greatly exaggerated or flat out untrue, the men and women who served in that war, several of whom were not there by choice, were definitely looked upon with disdain by many of their fellow countrymen and women. It goes without saying that grunts throughout history who risk life, limb, and sanity by being sent off to war aren't the people responsible, just the ones who pay much of the price for any war, and the reception American veterans received when they returned home from Vietnam was an injustice. It took a long period of healing after that war for most Americans to recognize and thank the Vietnam Veterans for their service and sacrifice, which was no different from the service and sacrifice of the veterans of more "popular" wars. Merle Haggard, who made a career out of celebrating the common man, even the common criminal, (something he understood first hand), came to that realization I believe, earlier than most.

In 1982 we were still divided when the Vietnam Veterans Memorial was dedicated in Washington DC. Its design was roundly criticized because in addition to honoring US servicemembers  killed during the war, it also in no uncertain terms refused to glorify war in fact, just the opposite. In 1986, Chicago and other cities across the country held "welcome home" parades for surviving Vietnam Veterans, and finally by that time Americans for the most part, came to terms with that bitter part of our history. 

As far as civil rights went, some of us felt that struggle had been resolved when we elected an African American man to be our president in 2008. The election of the subsequent president proved that theory wrong in no uncertain terms.

I point that out as a reminder that old wounds can heal, even though the scars from those wounds may last a lifetime, and can re-open at a moment's notice. My memories are vivid about how deeply this country was divided fifty years ago. We faced what seemed to be unsurmountable problems that we as a nation had never faced before, or at least so we thought. Today we also face problems that we have never faced before, except of course, the division.

In the words of Mark Twain:

It is not worthwhile to try to keep history from repeating itself, for man’s character will always make the preventing of the repetitions impossible.

Keeping that in mind, somehow someway, the problems and divisions that we are experiencing today will be if not resolved, then narrowed. In the meantime, like the years after 1968, things will probably get worse before they get better, but they will get better, they always do. Then they get worse again! That in a nutshell is the human condition. Oh well, as the melancholy Christmas song song tells us, we'll have to muddle through somehow. We always do.

In this the last day of 2018, may your joy be bountiful and your muddlings be few. 
Happy New Year!

Christmas Fifty Years Ago

My most memorable Christmas was fifty years ago today, the first Christmas in our new home in Oak Park, Illinois. That was the day our furnace decided to give up the ghost, leaving our house cold and virtually unihablitable. We normally would have gone to my aunt and uncle's home to celebrate the holiday, but had to remain put while the furnace repairmen, no doubt earning triple time, installed the new furnace. So my parents turned on the stove and we huddled in the kitchen for the entire day.

Now it just so happened that the previous day, December 24, 1968, human beings orbited the moon for the first time ever. That distinction for the crew of  Apollo 8, Frank Borman, James Lovell and Bill Anders, was only one of many firsts. They were the first human beings to be sent into space atop a Saturn V rocket, the first to leave earth's orbit, obviously the first to see the moon's surface up close, the first to lay eyes upon the side of the moon that never faces the earth, and the first to set eyes upon the earth from outer space.

The latter distinction I believe was the most significant first as the photographs Bill Anders took of our planet represented the first time human beings back home saw images revealing our home planet in its entirety, cast adrift in a sea of nothingness. Those images had a remarkable impact. For the first time we saw photographic evidence that our planet and its ample resources are finite. I don't think it's a coincidence that the environmental movement gained tremendous influence after those photographs were published. Jim Lovell would later say "That (the earth) is our spaceship and we must protect it."

I vividly remember sitting in that cozy kitchen with my parents and grandparents watching TV as the three astronauts broadcast live from their space capsule, 50,000 feet above the surface of the moon. It turns out my memory is a little fuzzy however about one aspect of those telecasts. Looking at a timeline of the Apollo 8 mission, it turns out that the astronauts read  the story of Creation from Genesis from their spacecraft, on Christmas Eve, not Christmas Day as I recall. Which means I was either watching a recording of that event in our kitchen, or am mistaken and saw it live in our still warm house the night before.

I was reminded of that mission twice this year. The first time was when I visited the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago with my children this summer and showed them the Apollo 8 capsule that has taken up permanent residence there. I recounted to them the incredible excitment I felt at that moment, standing in front of the very machine whose adventures I folllowed so closely all those years ago. The second time was quite accidental, catching on the car radio a remarkable David Kestenbaum This American Life interview with the mission's commander Frank Borman on his feelings about the mission and space travel.

You can hear the interview here.

It turns out that fifty years later, Borman, is quite blasé about the whole thing. Perhaps it's because he spent much of his time in space and during recovery in the Pacific Ocean, sick as a dog. Or it could be that life has soured for a ninety year old man who just recently lost his wife, the love of his life. Whatever the reason, you would never expect a person who has done one of the coolest things imaginable to essentially say, ah, it wasn't such big deal.

Kestenbaum at one point in the interview said to Borman " I don't know if you're the best person to ask about space travel or the worst" to which Borman promptly replied "oh I'm probably the worst." That brought up the notion that there probably should have been a poet on board to which Borman replied "that's the last thing I would have wanted on my crew, a poet!"

Perhaps because he was so indifferent about the experience, one thing Borman said stood out from the rest and could not have been more profound, or I'm sure much to his chagrin, poetic.

It was when Frank Borman spoke about seeing earthrise from the moon for the first time. He describes the moon as a place of utter desolation, no color at all except varying shades of gray. Then all of a sudden the astronauts spotted the earth rising up from the horizon as their spacecraft orbited the moon. It was like a gorgeous blue marble that you could cover up with your thumb he said, the only thing with color that was visible. Borman then got emotional saying "everything that was dear to me, my wife, my children my parents were there."

This is how it looked.

Earthrise from the moon. Photograph by Bill Anders,  December 24, 1968

Nothing would ever be the same after 1968, it was a terrible year in so many respects: the Tet Offensive in Vietnam, the assasination of Martin Luther King and the riots in cities across the country that ensued, the assassination of Robert Kennedy, the riots during the Democratic National Convention in Chicago, the Russian invasion of Czechoslovakia, the general feeling of malaise in this country and all over the world, the feeling that everything was spinning out of control and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

After the crew of Apollo 8 returned to earth, they received a letter from someone who thanked them "for saving 1968."

They also saved a child's Christmas in Oak Park for which I am most grateful.

Here is a link to a Today show segment from earlier this year featuring all three Apollo 8 crew members.

The Apollo 8 capsule on permanent display at the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago
The bottom photograph shows Command Module Pilot Jim Lovell's seat in the center of the spacecraft

It was quite a moment in history and I am grateful to have been around to experience it.

Here I'll give Frank Borman, as of today the oldest living astronaut, the final word with which he signed off the crew's Christmas Eve, 1968 broadcast, which echo my sentiments exactly at the moment:

And, from the crew of Apollo 8, we close with good night, good luck, a Merry Christmas, and God bless all of you—all of you on the good Earth.