11.26.2020 – seems fit and proper

seems fit and proper
gratefully, one heart, one voice
in thanksgiving, praise

My wife asked me if any other election in United States History was so contentious as the one we just experienced in 2020.

I would point out the election in 1860 led to one third of the States trying to leave and start their own confederation of States.

But it wasn’t the same type of tension.

Sure there was an election.

An election that somehow Abraham Lincoln learned that he had been elected that night.

No computers or nothing and they had a tally that night.

Go figure.

Also the incumbent President, Mr. James Buchanan, who had a frozen neck and had to stand sideways to look you in the eye, could not wait to get out of office.

But history records that pretty much everyone knew Mr. Lincoln would win the night HE WAS NOMINATED.

The election was pretty much a formality.

Back then Blue State Voters outnumbered Red State Voters 2 to 1.

But half the Blue States were in the South.

When the Democratic Party nominated Stephen Douglas, a known compromiser on the election issue of the day, the Blue Staters in the South bolted the party and formed their own non-compromise party.

The non-compromisers nominated non-comprise candidate, John Breckinridge.

This is were is gets really weird.

Miss Mary Todd dated the young Stephen Douglas.

Miss Mary Todd’s cousin was John Breckinridge.

Miss Mary Todd married Abraham Lincoln.

That is just weird, but I digress.

When the Red States nominated Mr. Lincoln as their candidate for President, the math said it was all over.

Sixty percent of the voters were Blue Staters, true.

But thirty percent were for comprimise.

Thirty percent were for non-comprise.

And forty percent were for the Red State.

Stephen Douglas knew it was all over.

The guy he had debated and beaten in the 1858 Illinois Senate election would be elected President and the country was going to split in half.

What did Judge Douglas do about it?

He took his campaign and went . . . South.

He traveled around speaking on the dangers of splitting the country.

He pointed out what was going to happen if the Southern Blue States followed through and voted their non-compromise ticket.

He might as well have argued with the stump as stand on it to deliver his speeches.

Mr. Lincoln was elected.

As Mr. Lincoln said four years later, “Both parties deprecated war but one of them would make war rather than let the nation survive, and the other would accept war rather than let it perish. And the war came.”

And the war came.

Boy Howdy but that feller Lincoln had a way with words.

And what was the issue of the day?

Again as Mr. Lincoln put it. “One eighth of the whole population were colored slaves not distributed generally over the union but localized in the southern part of it. These slaves constituted a peculiar and powerful interest. All knew that this interest was somehow the cause of the war. To strengthen perpetuate and extend this interest was the object for which the insurgents would rend the Union even by war while the government claimed no right to do more than to restrict the territorial enlargement of it.”

I have to say all the discussion, ink, paper, time and effort that goes into the question, “What caused the Civil War” kind of drives me batty as Mr. Lincoln it explained so very simply.

He said, ” … slaves constituted a peculiar and powerful interest. All knew that this interest was somehow the cause of the war.”

Helloooooo.

ALL KNEW.

Gee whiz.

Mr. Lincoln noted that, “In the midst of a civil war of unequalled magnitude and severity, which has sometimes seemed to foreign States to invite and to provoke their aggression, peace has been preserved with all nations, order has been maintained, the laws have been respected and obeyed, and harmony has prevailed everywhere except in the theatre of military conflict; while that theatre has been greatly contracted by the advancing armies and navies of the Union. Needful diversions of wealth and of strength from the fields of peaceful industry to the national defence, have not arrested the plough, the shuttle or the ship; the axe has enlarged the borders of our settlements, and the mines, as well of iron and coal as of the precious metals, have yielded even more abundantly than heretofore. Population has steadily increased, notwithstanding the waste that has been made in the camp, the siege and the battle-field; and the country, rejoicing in the consciousness of augmented strength and vigor, is permitted to expect continuance of years with large increase of freedom.”

And why did all this happen?

Mr. Lincoln said, “No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. “

Where then?

Mr. Lincoln said, “They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy.”

And because of this, Mr. Lincoln said “It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently and gratefully acknowledged as with one heart and one voice by the whole American People.”

Mr. Lincoln then said, “I do therefore invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens.”

Which leads us to where we are today.

A Day of Thanks.

Mr. Lincoln asked that thanks be given, “. . . with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience.”

Mr. Lincoln closed it all up and said, “fervently implore the interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it as soon as may be consistent with the Divine purposes to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquillity and Union.”

Restore full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquility and Union.

Alistair Cooke wrote about Mr. Lincoln, “Lincoln had a gangling gait, a disturbing fondness for rough stories, and a maddening habit of being, in kind of a tooth-sucking way, wiser and sharper than you, (To make matters worse, most of the time, he was.)”

I am thankful for Mr. Lincoln.

I am thankful for so much else as well.

I am perverse and disobedient.

And God forgives.

And for that, you can bet your life, LITERALLY, I am very thankful.

Here is the full text of President Abraham Lincoln’s Thanksgiving Proclamation of 1863.

Washington, D.C.
October 3, 1863

By the President of the United States of America.

A Proclamation.

The year that is drawing towards its close, has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added, which are of so extraordinary a nature, that they cannot fail to penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever watchful providence of Almighty God. In the midst of a civil war of unequalled magnitude and severity, which has sometimes seemed to foreign States to invite and to provoke their aggression, peace has been preserved with all nations, order has been maintained, the laws have been respected and obeyed, and harmony has prevailed everywhere except in the theatre of military conflict; while that theatre has been greatly contracted by the advancing armies and navies of the Union. Needful diversions of wealth and of strength from the fields of peaceful industry to the national defence, have not arrested the plough, the shuttle or the ship; the axe has enlarged the borders of our settlements, and the mines, as well of iron and coal as of the precious metals, have yielded even more abundantly than heretofore. Population has steadily increased, notwithstanding the waste that has been made in the camp, the siege and the battle-field; and the country, rejoicing in the consciousness of augmented strength and vigor, is permitted to expect continuance of years with large increase of freedom. No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy. It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently and gratefully acknowledged as with one heart and one voice by the whole American People. I do therefore invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens. And I recommend to them that while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him for such singular deliverances and blessings, they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience, commend to His tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it as soon as may be consistent with the Divine purposes to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquillity and Union.

In testimony whereof, I have hereunto set my hand and caused the Seal of the United States to be affixed.

Done at the City of Washington, this Third day of October, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, and of the Independence of the United States the Eighty-eighth.

By the President: Abraham Lincoln

William H. Seward,
Secretary of State

11.22.2020 – customs, old-fashioned

customs, old-fashioned
propriety remind us
of how things were once

In an article about the Obama Autobiography, David Olusoga writes in the Guardian that:

“After a presidency like no other, after a corrosively acrimonious election and in the midst of a transition still being obstructed by the incumbent, Obama seems almost like a time-travelling visitor from an earlier age, a man whose antiquated customs and old-fashioned sense of propriety remind us of how things were once done and how far we have wandered.

The Obama of 2020 speaks, at times, with a slight tone of controlled exasperation. He has the air of a disappointed parent surveying the damage wreaked by a raucous teenage party that took place while he was out of town.”

Good gosh, what more needs to said?

Let the after party clean up begin.

I am reminded of a time when my brother, beyond all real reason and counsel not too, took the job as ‘Interim High School Principal’ at the school where he taught.

I mean, who and I mean WHO would volunteer for such a job?

While he held the office there was some senior prank and kids got caught in the act.

My brother had to deal with the situation.

Part of the situation he had to deal with was angry parents who were angry that anyone thought that anyone would be angry over what their kids had done.

Come on.

Kids will be kids.

Senior prank.

Just get over it.

No one got hurt.

No one died.

As I remember it the conversations my brother had to endure went on far longer and caused more angst admittedly than any ‘penal process’ could hope to deliver in the way of penance.

But my brother stuck in his guns.

In the end the kids in question were told they would spend a Saturday scraping, sanding and painting the old bleaches that lined the school’s baseball field.

In a show of solidarity and maybe defiance, most of those kids parents came along and worked with their kids to show my brother up.

In the end the bleachers were painted.

The kids lost a Sautrday.

So did the parents.

Somehow, though maybe those parents didn’t agree, I felt justice was served.

(When I met Obama he voiced his belief in the ‘possibility of America’. But the reality is distressing by David Olusoga)

11.19.2020 – faustian bargain

faustian bargain
to commodify, lose your
personality

Since I have been working in ‘online’ since 1995, the way to make money from ‘online’ has always been part of the assignment.

In an article about the new bloggin/social sharing media site named Substack, I was struck by the lanuage in the statement, “It’s a Faustian bargain to commodify your personality.”

Anytime anyone anywhere can work Faust into a contemporary essay is an essay worth reading.

Faust is acknowledged as one of the oldest common legends in print.

The original german story goes back to the late 1400’s.

In 1592 an English translation was published, The Historie of the Damnable Life, and Deserved Death of Doctor Iohn Faustus.

Christopher Marlowe used this work as the basis for his play, The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus around 1604.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. The first part, which is the one more closely connected to the earlier legend, was published in 1808.

It is the story of selling you soul to the Devil tomorrow for short term human gain today.

It worked back then.

It works today.

The article says:

It’s a Faustian bargain to commodify your personality. You’re free from the limiting influences of institutions.

Yet, input from editors is inevitably just replaced with the pressure of analytics.

As teen YouTubers, who were the earliest to experiment with commodifying their personalities confess, the quantification of attention both positive and negative quickly influences our decisions.

There are some sides of ourselves our subscribers want to see, others people would prefer not to …

The author, Sean Monahan, closes with:

In a few years’ time, I predict we may look back at the chaotic information ecosystem of the 2010s as a sort of social media interregnum.

Seduced by the seemingly magical qualities of our new powerful technological tools, we deluded ourselves into believing clout and exposure could be a replacement for dollars and sense.

The fragmentary properties of the internet remain in place. Strong-willed media personalities now have the tools to set up shop and operate independently.

Legacy publications will worry less about trending in social media feeds and more about the conversion rate for subscribers.

Audiences will be less global and more curated.

And most important of all, the social media channels – chastened by the techlash – will return to what they were always meant to be: places for self-promotion, not self-publishing.

Techlash and Faust.

Have to applaud it!

(Why are public thinkers flocking to Substack? by Sean Monahan – The Guardian, 17 Nov 2020)

11.18.2020 – no sadder figure

no sadder figure
than that of the old man, blind
reason deprived

“All history presents no sadder figure than that of the old man, blind and deprived of reason, wandering through the rooms of his palace, addressing imaginary parliaments, reviewing fancied troops, holding ghostly courts …”

William Makepeace Thackeray speaking about George III.

According to Wikipedia; “

“In late 1810, at the height of his popularity, already virtually blind with cataracts and in pain from rheumatism, George became dangerously ill. In his view the malady had been triggered by stress over the death of his youngest and favourite daughter, Princess Amelia. The Princess’s nurse reported that “the scenes of distress and crying every day … were melancholy beyond description.” He accepted the need for the Regency Act 1811, and the Prince of Wales acted as Regent for the remainder of George III’s life. Despite signs of a recovery in May 1811, by the end of the year George had become permanently insane and lived in seclusion at Windsor Castle until his death.

Meanwhile, George’s health deteriorated. He developed dementia, and became completely blind and increasingly deaf. He was incapable of knowing or understanding that he was declared King of Hanover in 1814, or that his wife died in 1818. At Christmas 1819, he spoke nonsense for 58 hours, and for the last few weeks of his life was unable to walk. He died at Windsor Castle at 8:38 pm on 29 January 1820, six days after the death of his fourth son Prince Edward, Duke of Kent and Strathearn. His favourite son, Frederick, Duke of York, was with him. George III was buried on 16 February in St George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle..”

11/12/2020 – then when all else fails

then when all else fails
use meekness as a weapon
it worked on Mom …

Watching and waiting for this Presidential Election cycle to come to a merciful end and wondering if the President will ever figure out what has happened and what he needs to do, I was reminded of my 10th grade English teacher, oh wait, HONORS English teacher, Mr. David Throckmorton, at Grand Rapids Creston High School.

What was this guy doing teaching in a high school?

Mr. Throckmorton should have been teaching in one of those weird little New England colleges like Brown or Dartmouth or Amherst or someplace with a name that bespoke unspoken deep thoughts from unread deep books.

Instead it was Creston High School for Mr. Throckmorton.

The same high school he had graduated from.

Mr. Throckmorton famously spoke at a Creston High School Pep rally saying, “I have always been a big Creston High School athletic supporter.”

I don’t know.

Maybe it was penance.

I once told my chemistry professor at Grand Rapids Junior College that I would be coming back to teach at GRJC as a history instructor.

She said she couldn’t wait and would take my class for revenge.

Mr. Throckmorton taught the experience of language in english rather than ‘traditional’ subject-verb-object, I before E type of stuff.

Not that he ignored grammar and basic tools but the class was so much more than that.

But he was stuck on how to grade our level of progress as required by the Board of Education.

He settled on two things.

For the first half of the school year we had weekly spelling tests with a massive 200 word final at the end of the semester and the 2nd half of the school grade was based on a weekly vocabulary tests with a massive 200 word final.

This produced a grade for the class.

I got nothing against spelling.

I just can’t do it.

I cannot explain it but me and spelling just do not get along.

Today Spell check is my friend but I also have Mark Twain’s “It is a poor sort of person who can’t spell a word more than one way” branded into my brain.

It was worse in this class as I took it up as a cause that grading class room performance on just SPELLING was stoooooooopid and I wasn’t going to do it.

I was loud in my complaints on this system.

I refused to study.

I was to put it simply, a real jerk about it.

I also got D’s.

I also didn’t care much for Mr. Throckmorton though all and I mean ALL of my friends loved the guy.

Then the semester ended and we moved to the vocabulary tests which I could pass without any studying and my world and relationship with Mr. Throckmorton changed.

I loved the class.

I embraced the teaching.

I embraced the teacher.

We still had assignments for essays and short papers and such.

On one such assignment I did not have my work ready and I got an E written down in the grade book.

I made the effort to meet up with Mr. Throckmorton after school.

I explained why my paper was ‘late’ (I hadn’t written it yet) and my excuse took in the phases of the Moon, the Carter Presidency, the Gadsden purchase and anything else I could come up with.

I apologized and said I understand I was wrong to not have the paper done.

I apologized again and explained that I was aware of the assignment and the due date but I just messed up.

I apologized again and promised that if he could only give me a little break, I would have the paper on his desk first thing the next morning.

The morning after I wrote the missing assigned paper that had been due today but I didn’t say that part.

Mr. Throckmorton stared at me.

Just stared.

I think he nodded his head slowly a few times.

Did I mention that Mr. Throckmorton had an uncanny resemblance to Fidel Castro?

Mr. Throckmorton held me in his gaze as his curly hair and bushy beard slowly went up and down.

Without a word he turned back to his private closet and unlocked it.

He opened the door and dug through a stack of books until he found an old, very worn, anthology.

He looked at me.

Then he paged through the anthology until he came to a certain poem.

He handed me the open book and said “read.”

I read the indicated poem.

I read it again.

I looked back at Mr. Throckmorton and read it a third time.

I closed the book and handed it back.

I nodded and smiled with my lips tight together.

“Thanks,” I said.

And I left.

It is odd how often that poem comes back to me.

Maybe someone could read it to the President.

On Flunking a Nice Boy Out of School

I wish I could teach you how ugly
decency and humility can be when they are not
the election of a contained mind but only
the defenses of an incompetent. Were you taught
meekness as a weapon? Or did you discover,
by chance maybe, that it worked on mother
and was a good thing — at least when all else failed — to get you over the worst of what
was coming.
Is that why you bring these sheepfaces to Tuesday?
They won’t do.
It’s three months work I want, and I’d sooner have it
from the brassiest lumpkin in pimpledom, but have it,
than all these martyred repentances from you.

—John Ciardi, 1916-1986