Thursday, July 30, 2015
The New Blog
If you are (were) keeping up with this blog, the new blog is called "The Morgantowner" and one can find it at http://www.themorgantowner.blogspot.com.
Wednesday, July 22, 2015
Our July Vacation, Housewarming and The End of Year Three
We were looking for a place to go over July Fourth weekend. It was Joe's only weekend off this summer, what with weddings and bar and bat mitzvah celebrations to officiate. He asked me if there was somewhere we could drive to (we hate to fly-sorry GP) that we hadn't visited. I suggested Virginia Beach, where our friends Ellen and Spencer live. My sister's home in Greenbelt is almost exactly halfway, so we made up with Robin to stop in on the way in and back.
I met Ellen and Spencer at least twenty-seven years ago in Los Angeles. Ellen was a member of my mostly-gay-and-lesbian temple. I approached her at her job, teaching English at Le Conte Junior High in Hollywood, where I often worked as a sub. I incorrectly assumed she was a lesbian. As she explained, there wasn't a place for a childless-by-choice feminist in an average Reform temple, so she joined ours. Spencer worked in the film industry, doing special effects for movies. He told me he was from Norfolk, fled after high school and never wanted to return.
That will teach you to never say "Never." Ellen, after writing three books, getting a master's in Jewish Studies and later becoming a certificated cantor, decided to become a rabbi and they departed for Philadelphia just before (I think) Joe and I left L.A. for Crescent City. Between changes in technology and outsourcing to foreign countries, Spencer's work had dried up.
Ellen was responsible for most of the cantor jobs I got after 1997. I followed her to Rodeph Shalom, where I worked for three holiday seasons and most Friday nights for two and a half years. We both worked at different times at the temple in Downey, a suburb of Los Angeles.
Anyway, they decided after Ellen's ordination last year in June, that Virginia Beach would be a good place for a rabbi to start out, and Spencer's mother, who is a spritely ninety-one, is there. Spencer's return to southeast Virginia is as unlikely as finding me in Morgantown, West Virginia married to the town's Reform rabbi.
So we hung with them for a few days. We attended a Conservative synagogue in Norfolk Saturday morning, July Fourth. We know the rabbi-long story. We braved the mobs on the beach to see the fireworks that evening, and attended a cookout in our honor Sunday. Spencer gave us a tour of Norfolk Saturday afternoon and Joe and I went out exploring on our own later while they stayed in to cook for Sunday's party.
I remembered that the military had asked for an appropriation to prepare military bases for climate change. Our own Congressperson in Northern West Virginia, David McKinley, made sure, with the help of troglodytes in his party, that there would be no money, since there is no climate change. Unless you go to Norfolk and see a city rife with military bases, surrounded by tidewater that is measurably rising. It's easy to see the imminent demise of this beautiful city.
I was surprised to see palm trees. Many of them looked sickly, as they had frozen in the winter, but those directly on the water seemed to be thriving. We also noted, given the racist history of Virginia
(public schools closed to avoid integration in 1959) how diverse was the racial makeup of the crowd at July 4 and how many interracial couples there were out that night. Most of the people were young, so maybe they don't know or care about the local history.
Robin came back with us from Greenbelt. We decided to have people over to our semi-unpacked house the Saturday of her visit. Robin took over the planning. She and I picked out a menu from our local Panera. Everything went well. Our house turns out to be a good place for a party, so we will have more people over.
July 11 we celebrated three years in Morgantown, and thus the end of Year Three. Our big news for the year was buying a house. We didn't know what we were missing. Tomorrow (Thursday) a guy is coming to measure our bedroom windows for blinds. This house was a gift from my late mother. It's my share of her mutual fund that paid for the down payment and much of the new furnishings. The mortgage payments will come from Joe.
Year Three was amazing for us. We flew to San Francisco and Los Angeles, our former homes, last summer, drove to Memphis for Joe's cousin's bar mitzvah in September, and visited New York at the end of 2014 and saw friends and relatives, as well as "Beautiful! The Carole King Musical." I got behind on my monthly county visits, but managed to spend time in Barbour and Berkeley Counties in West Virginia, Bath, Bedford and Bland Counties in Virginia, Belmont County, Ohio and Beaver, Bedford, Berks and Blair Counties in Pennsylvania. I taught a six-week class last fall at OLLI on the music of the British Invasion: 1964-69.
People ask "So what are you doing now that you are retired?" I keep busy.
I also made a conscious decision this year to be happy about living in Morgantown. Joe is doing well with his work, we have finally met some age-appropriate gay people to hang with, as well as becoming friends with many of the people from Tree of Life. Lots of people in town know and like us now. We could not have afforded this house in urban California. We've dealt with two bitterly cold and snowy winters, and we find we can deal with the weather. I look forward to more fun and challenges in Year Four. Watch for a new blog.
The first five pictures are from Norfolk on July 4.
I met Ellen and Spencer at least twenty-seven years ago in Los Angeles. Ellen was a member of my mostly-gay-and-lesbian temple. I approached her at her job, teaching English at Le Conte Junior High in Hollywood, where I often worked as a sub. I incorrectly assumed she was a lesbian. As she explained, there wasn't a place for a childless-by-choice feminist in an average Reform temple, so she joined ours. Spencer worked in the film industry, doing special effects for movies. He told me he was from Norfolk, fled after high school and never wanted to return.
That will teach you to never say "Never." Ellen, after writing three books, getting a master's in Jewish Studies and later becoming a certificated cantor, decided to become a rabbi and they departed for Philadelphia just before (I think) Joe and I left L.A. for Crescent City. Between changes in technology and outsourcing to foreign countries, Spencer's work had dried up.
Ellen was responsible for most of the cantor jobs I got after 1997. I followed her to Rodeph Shalom, where I worked for three holiday seasons and most Friday nights for two and a half years. We both worked at different times at the temple in Downey, a suburb of Los Angeles.
Anyway, they decided after Ellen's ordination last year in June, that Virginia Beach would be a good place for a rabbi to start out, and Spencer's mother, who is a spritely ninety-one, is there. Spencer's return to southeast Virginia is as unlikely as finding me in Morgantown, West Virginia married to the town's Reform rabbi.
So we hung with them for a few days. We attended a Conservative synagogue in Norfolk Saturday morning, July Fourth. We know the rabbi-long story. We braved the mobs on the beach to see the fireworks that evening, and attended a cookout in our honor Sunday. Spencer gave us a tour of Norfolk Saturday afternoon and Joe and I went out exploring on our own later while they stayed in to cook for Sunday's party.
I remembered that the military had asked for an appropriation to prepare military bases for climate change. Our own Congressperson in Northern West Virginia, David McKinley, made sure, with the help of troglodytes in his party, that there would be no money, since there is no climate change. Unless you go to Norfolk and see a city rife with military bases, surrounded by tidewater that is measurably rising. It's easy to see the imminent demise of this beautiful city.
I was surprised to see palm trees. Many of them looked sickly, as they had frozen in the winter, but those directly on the water seemed to be thriving. We also noted, given the racist history of Virginia
(public schools closed to avoid integration in 1959) how diverse was the racial makeup of the crowd at July 4 and how many interracial couples there were out that night. Most of the people were young, so maybe they don't know or care about the local history.
Robin came back with us from Greenbelt. We decided to have people over to our semi-unpacked house the Saturday of her visit. Robin took over the planning. She and I picked out a menu from our local Panera. Everything went well. Our house turns out to be a good place for a party, so we will have more people over.
July 11 we celebrated three years in Morgantown, and thus the end of Year Three. Our big news for the year was buying a house. We didn't know what we were missing. Tomorrow (Thursday) a guy is coming to measure our bedroom windows for blinds. This house was a gift from my late mother. It's my share of her mutual fund that paid for the down payment and much of the new furnishings. The mortgage payments will come from Joe.
Year Three was amazing for us. We flew to San Francisco and Los Angeles, our former homes, last summer, drove to Memphis for Joe's cousin's bar mitzvah in September, and visited New York at the end of 2014 and saw friends and relatives, as well as "Beautiful! The Carole King Musical." I got behind on my monthly county visits, but managed to spend time in Barbour and Berkeley Counties in West Virginia, Bath, Bedford and Bland Counties in Virginia, Belmont County, Ohio and Beaver, Bedford, Berks and Blair Counties in Pennsylvania. I taught a six-week class last fall at OLLI on the music of the British Invasion: 1964-69.
People ask "So what are you doing now that you are retired?" I keep busy.
I also made a conscious decision this year to be happy about living in Morgantown. Joe is doing well with his work, we have finally met some age-appropriate gay people to hang with, as well as becoming friends with many of the people from Tree of Life. Lots of people in town know and like us now. We could not have afforded this house in urban California. We've dealt with two bitterly cold and snowy winters, and we find we can deal with the weather. I look forward to more fun and challenges in Year Four. Watch for a new blog.
The first five pictures are from Norfolk on July 4.
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| Spencer, Ellen, Mrs. Gill, Cookie, me and Joe, July 5 in Virginia Beach |
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| Me at Greenbelt Lake July 6 |
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| Robin at the historic synagogue in Cumberland, Maryland on the way back to our house |
Monday, July 13, 2015
Letters To The Editor
It's not like I haven't been writing the last two weeks. Yes, we were on vacation in Greenbelt, Maryland and with our friends Ellen and Spencer in Virginia Beach. My sister came back to Morgantown from Greenbelt with us and it's just been one glamorous party after another so far this month. I've gained a few pounds. This morning (Monday the 13th) I was back at the gym.
In my last post, I said I wasn't going to answer the editorial in the Bland County Messenger decrying the fluidity of gender, race and sexuality in our society. Then I couldn't sleep, so I did write a letter. Jeff Simmons, the publisher of the newspaper, asked if he could run my response as an op-ed the next week. Here it is, titled "A Visitor's Perspective":
Since moving to Morgantown just three years ago, my crazy retirement project has been to visit every county within three hundred miles, one a month, in alphabetical order. If a county is more than two hundred miles away, I stay over two nights. This is how I came to visit Bland County..
I was warned that there would not be enough here to keep me occupied, and indeed, the tourist literature usually makes it clear that Wytheville is the center of this region. Wythe County will probably be the last county I visit. I should be ninety-nine by then.
I was fortunate in the weather here, and the beautiful scenery. People were kind to me, like the women at the motel who came in and brought fresh towels and straightened up late in the afternoon after I told them they didn't have to because I was asleep after lunch when they would have cleaned. The man at the Virginia Welcome Center spent time listening to why I was traveling, and helped me find a short stretch of the Appalachian Trail to hike. The woman working at the library listened to my rant about what I read and don't read on trips, and the young man at the sub shop offered me extra napkins.
I'm sixty-five and not looking for a night life in any case, or fancy stores selling overpriced junk. I was fine with what was available here to do.
I picked up The Bland County Messenger today, and I was disturbed by the editorial, concerned about "moral relativism," the nature of truth, and what is a lie. In my trip this week, I only mentioned a spouse once, although I wear a wedding ring. My spouse is another man who is a few years younger than I and works full time. I often travel alone. We were fifty-five and forty-eight when we met ten years ago, and the idea of marrying each other was off our radar, until it became possible in California, where we lived in 2008. We did it because it was available to us, and like everyone else who marries, it was a way of affirming to our family and friends that we are a couple. I now think it was the best and most conservative thing we could have done.
As to the media changing people's perceptions of morality, I generally agree with your editor. We don't watch network television to not be influenced by advertisers and people who do not have our interests at heart. I cringe when I hear about celebrity couples who are "engaged" when they have children together. I lived in Los Angeles and saw streets filled with homeless people while others owned multiple houses and collected cars.
I strive for compassion for others. I wonder at the need for "American Owned and Operated" signs on establishments here. I saw how a woman working at a restaurant gave the skinny tattooed couple who came in for a sandwich a disapproving look.
I remarked to myself at the things I was able to hide here. I dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and jeans today. I look youngish and healthy, but I wear support hose for my bad veins, and I have bruises on my arm because I take blood thinners. I'm basically Caucasian, but my racial heritage is ambiguous. I'm Jewish by birth and by choice. My grandparents were immigrants. And yes, I'm a gay man married to another man.
I couldn't help thinking that I might not have been treated as well here had I been with my spouse, or if I spoke English with an accent.
There is no danger of Bland County being overrun by gay people, transgendered celebrities or foreigners. Still, I would hope that a gay, lesbian or transgender kid growing up here would be accepted as a part of the community, and not bullied, shamed or called a sinner.
This new morality isn't necessarily new. My parents found out I was gay forty years ago, They didn't take it well at first. My mom died before I met my spouse, but she told me she would attend my wedding to another man, if I ever found one.
I enjoyed my stay here and I do respect the people who live here. I have a blog post about my trip at http://www.yearthreemorgantown.blogspot.com.
Barry Lee Wendell
Lots of people congratulated me and Joe when the Supreme Court decision came down allowing same-gender marriage nationwide. There were howls of protest from our Republican Senator, Shelley Moore Capito, and our Republican Congressperson, David McKinley. There was a nasty letter from a minister in a church in a rural community not far from here. I wrote back, and that letter was published Sunday, July 5, in our local paper, The Dominion-Post. Here it is:
I've seen this movie before. During the 1964 Democratic primary in Maryland, when I was in ninth grade, George Wallace ran and won on a platform of segregation and states rights. Some churches quoted Scripture on why God wanted the races separated. Now it's the Republicans, not (mostly) the Democrats, screaming "States Rights" and many of the same churches quoting Scripture against the decision allowing same-gender couples to marry.
It's still religious bigotry. Reform Judaism, the Episcopal Church, Unitarians, some Presbyterians and other churches choose to bless same-gender couples. Those that don't scream "God's law!" and "Biblical marriage!" Please read the Bible. Multiple wives, concubines, buying a teenage girl from her father. That's Biblical marriage.
I've been married to another man for more than six years. All this ranting and raving will not change that. We are religious people. If you are a politician in Morgantown, and you are dissappointed in the Supreme Court decision, or think the state should decide who can marry, let me talk to some engaged couples so I can vote on whether or not they should be allowed to marry. If you think you represent me, and you oppose my marriage, you don't represent me. Please stop sending me your newsletters and requests for support. If you are clergy and you oppose my marriage, let me know where your church is and I promise not to ever go there. And stay out of my religious life, where you have no right to interfere.
I'm retired and my spouse's job is secure. The people I worry about are those same-gender couples who have bravely stepped up and declared their love for each other, risking their livelihood against bosses who feel they have the right to interfere in the most intimate part of an employee's life.
Barry Wendell
There was a letter today from a woman near Morgantown. She quoted Leviticus about "abomination."
I found out from a quick internet search that she is a widow, probably in her 80s, and that she and her late husband attended a Nazarene church. I felt sorry for her that she has nothing better to do then worry about other people while she is (I presume) eating her morning bacon and eggs. Bacon is also an abomination in Leviticus.
I still have to write about our trip and the week since we've been back. We are now, as of the evening of July 11, in our fourth year here in Morgantown. This may necessitate a new blog. Stay with me.
In my last post, I said I wasn't going to answer the editorial in the Bland County Messenger decrying the fluidity of gender, race and sexuality in our society. Then I couldn't sleep, so I did write a letter. Jeff Simmons, the publisher of the newspaper, asked if he could run my response as an op-ed the next week. Here it is, titled "A Visitor's Perspective":
Since moving to Morgantown just three years ago, my crazy retirement project has been to visit every county within three hundred miles, one a month, in alphabetical order. If a county is more than two hundred miles away, I stay over two nights. This is how I came to visit Bland County..
I was warned that there would not be enough here to keep me occupied, and indeed, the tourist literature usually makes it clear that Wytheville is the center of this region. Wythe County will probably be the last county I visit. I should be ninety-nine by then.
I was fortunate in the weather here, and the beautiful scenery. People were kind to me, like the women at the motel who came in and brought fresh towels and straightened up late in the afternoon after I told them they didn't have to because I was asleep after lunch when they would have cleaned. The man at the Virginia Welcome Center spent time listening to why I was traveling, and helped me find a short stretch of the Appalachian Trail to hike. The woman working at the library listened to my rant about what I read and don't read on trips, and the young man at the sub shop offered me extra napkins.
I'm sixty-five and not looking for a night life in any case, or fancy stores selling overpriced junk. I was fine with what was available here to do.
I picked up The Bland County Messenger today, and I was disturbed by the editorial, concerned about "moral relativism," the nature of truth, and what is a lie. In my trip this week, I only mentioned a spouse once, although I wear a wedding ring. My spouse is another man who is a few years younger than I and works full time. I often travel alone. We were fifty-five and forty-eight when we met ten years ago, and the idea of marrying each other was off our radar, until it became possible in California, where we lived in 2008. We did it because it was available to us, and like everyone else who marries, it was a way of affirming to our family and friends that we are a couple. I now think it was the best and most conservative thing we could have done.
As to the media changing people's perceptions of morality, I generally agree with your editor. We don't watch network television to not be influenced by advertisers and people who do not have our interests at heart. I cringe when I hear about celebrity couples who are "engaged" when they have children together. I lived in Los Angeles and saw streets filled with homeless people while others owned multiple houses and collected cars.
I strive for compassion for others. I wonder at the need for "American Owned and Operated" signs on establishments here. I saw how a woman working at a restaurant gave the skinny tattooed couple who came in for a sandwich a disapproving look.
I remarked to myself at the things I was able to hide here. I dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and jeans today. I look youngish and healthy, but I wear support hose for my bad veins, and I have bruises on my arm because I take blood thinners. I'm basically Caucasian, but my racial heritage is ambiguous. I'm Jewish by birth and by choice. My grandparents were immigrants. And yes, I'm a gay man married to another man.
I couldn't help thinking that I might not have been treated as well here had I been with my spouse, or if I spoke English with an accent.
There is no danger of Bland County being overrun by gay people, transgendered celebrities or foreigners. Still, I would hope that a gay, lesbian or transgender kid growing up here would be accepted as a part of the community, and not bullied, shamed or called a sinner.
This new morality isn't necessarily new. My parents found out I was gay forty years ago, They didn't take it well at first. My mom died before I met my spouse, but she told me she would attend my wedding to another man, if I ever found one.
I enjoyed my stay here and I do respect the people who live here. I have a blog post about my trip at http://www.yearthreemorgantown.blogspot.com.
Barry Lee Wendell
Lots of people congratulated me and Joe when the Supreme Court decision came down allowing same-gender marriage nationwide. There were howls of protest from our Republican Senator, Shelley Moore Capito, and our Republican Congressperson, David McKinley. There was a nasty letter from a minister in a church in a rural community not far from here. I wrote back, and that letter was published Sunday, July 5, in our local paper, The Dominion-Post. Here it is:
I've seen this movie before. During the 1964 Democratic primary in Maryland, when I was in ninth grade, George Wallace ran and won on a platform of segregation and states rights. Some churches quoted Scripture on why God wanted the races separated. Now it's the Republicans, not (mostly) the Democrats, screaming "States Rights" and many of the same churches quoting Scripture against the decision allowing same-gender couples to marry.
It's still religious bigotry. Reform Judaism, the Episcopal Church, Unitarians, some Presbyterians and other churches choose to bless same-gender couples. Those that don't scream "God's law!" and "Biblical marriage!" Please read the Bible. Multiple wives, concubines, buying a teenage girl from her father. That's Biblical marriage.
I've been married to another man for more than six years. All this ranting and raving will not change that. We are religious people. If you are a politician in Morgantown, and you are dissappointed in the Supreme Court decision, or think the state should decide who can marry, let me talk to some engaged couples so I can vote on whether or not they should be allowed to marry. If you think you represent me, and you oppose my marriage, you don't represent me. Please stop sending me your newsletters and requests for support. If you are clergy and you oppose my marriage, let me know where your church is and I promise not to ever go there. And stay out of my religious life, where you have no right to interfere.
I'm retired and my spouse's job is secure. The people I worry about are those same-gender couples who have bravely stepped up and declared their love for each other, risking their livelihood against bosses who feel they have the right to interfere in the most intimate part of an employee's life.
Barry Wendell
There was a letter today from a woman near Morgantown. She quoted Leviticus about "abomination."
I found out from a quick internet search that she is a widow, probably in her 80s, and that she and her late husband attended a Nazarene church. I felt sorry for her that she has nothing better to do then worry about other people while she is (I presume) eating her morning bacon and eggs. Bacon is also an abomination in Leviticus.
I still have to write about our trip and the week since we've been back. We are now, as of the evening of July 11, in our fourth year here in Morgantown. This may necessitate a new blog. Stay with me.
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
Bland County, Virginia
It's been a hectic month, this one. We moved, I had multiple medical appointments with non-lethal bad news. I've been feeling crappy from all the immunizations and pills I'm taking. And then Tappuz bit my arm and it got infected.
Meanwhile, Joe has been preparing bar and bat mitzvahs, and trying to put our new house in order. While I dealt with the agent and the mortgage people, he did most of the packing, and now the unpacking.
Still, I'm behind on my goal of visiting a different county every month. I visited Blair County, Pennsylvania earlier this month, but that was scheduled for March. This week didn't seem a good time to go, especially since we are leaving next week for a few days with my sister Robin in Greenbelt, Maryland and our friends Ellen and Spencer in Virginia Beach.
Of course, it's never a good time to do anything, so I left yesterday for Bland County, Virginia. Wikipedia says it is the sixth least populated county in Virginia, but the man at the tourist center on I-77 says it is the second least populated.
Bland is located between two east-west mountain ranges (like the Santa Monicas) just south of the southern end of West Virginia. I-77 bisects the county. There are tunnels under the two mountains at the north and south end of the county. The tourist guy said Bland residents were able to vote on whether to blast through the mountains or tunnel, and they voted to tunnel. Good choice.
There are four historic places on the National Register in Bland County. Two are farms, one is an obsolete bridge and one a church. There are no traffic lights, one small grocery store, a Subway, a Dairy Queen with a truck stop-convenience store, and a gas station in downtown Bland with a convenience store and a few tables. They make sandwiches for lunch there. There is one motel. Both the motel and gas station have signs that say "American Owned and Operated."
Bland County is overwhelmingly white and Christian, conservative, overweight and elderly. The Bland County Messenger today (Wednesday, June 24th) complained in an editorial "In a climate of shifting genders, fluid ethnicities and the relentless redefinition of traditional norms, it seems that Americans are becoming increasingly confused about the nature of truth and the long-term consequences arising from a lack of clarity." I've been thinking about how to start an answer to that, but I may just drop it.
I don't mean to be negative about my trip. I've been overtired and managed to get some rest. The scenery and weather were beautiful with only a few drops of rain and some thunder and lightning Tuesday night.
I chatted up two different librarians, people who worked at the motel, and two people at different times at the Virginia Welcome Center. They were all helpful, kind and interesting.
The Appalachian Trail runs through the center of Bland County. I had trouble locating it. I was looking for signs, but it turns out there are none. The young man at the Welcome Center suggested a piece of the trail for me to hike and gave me a map to help find it. It turns out that "Hiker" is pejorative here for "smelly outsiders."
I met a young man named "J.C." from Plant City, Florida, on the trail this afternoon. He told me he is hiking the entire trail, and hopes to be in Maine by the end of September. There are pines, maples and other trees I don't recognize, and like the forests in Del Norte County, California, ferns and rhododendron.
I'll be home for dinner tomorrow (Thursday). Joe tells me the cat has been hiding. Meanwhile, there is still unpacking to be done, a bar mitzvah this weekend, a likely Supreme Court decision on same-gender marriage tomorrow or Friday, a turntable that needs to be fixed (in WestVirginiaspeak it "needs fixed") and we are leaving again Wednesday.
I have a new camera that arrived yesterday. The pics should be better next trip.
Meanwhile, Joe has been preparing bar and bat mitzvahs, and trying to put our new house in order. While I dealt with the agent and the mortgage people, he did most of the packing, and now the unpacking.
Still, I'm behind on my goal of visiting a different county every month. I visited Blair County, Pennsylvania earlier this month, but that was scheduled for March. This week didn't seem a good time to go, especially since we are leaving next week for a few days with my sister Robin in Greenbelt, Maryland and our friends Ellen and Spencer in Virginia Beach.
Of course, it's never a good time to do anything, so I left yesterday for Bland County, Virginia. Wikipedia says it is the sixth least populated county in Virginia, but the man at the tourist center on I-77 says it is the second least populated.
Bland is located between two east-west mountain ranges (like the Santa Monicas) just south of the southern end of West Virginia. I-77 bisects the county. There are tunnels under the two mountains at the north and south end of the county. The tourist guy said Bland residents were able to vote on whether to blast through the mountains or tunnel, and they voted to tunnel. Good choice.
There are four historic places on the National Register in Bland County. Two are farms, one is an obsolete bridge and one a church. There are no traffic lights, one small grocery store, a Subway, a Dairy Queen with a truck stop-convenience store, and a gas station in downtown Bland with a convenience store and a few tables. They make sandwiches for lunch there. There is one motel. Both the motel and gas station have signs that say "American Owned and Operated."
Bland County is overwhelmingly white and Christian, conservative, overweight and elderly. The Bland County Messenger today (Wednesday, June 24th) complained in an editorial "In a climate of shifting genders, fluid ethnicities and the relentless redefinition of traditional norms, it seems that Americans are becoming increasingly confused about the nature of truth and the long-term consequences arising from a lack of clarity." I've been thinking about how to start an answer to that, but I may just drop it.
I don't mean to be negative about my trip. I've been overtired and managed to get some rest. The scenery and weather were beautiful with only a few drops of rain and some thunder and lightning Tuesday night.
I chatted up two different librarians, people who worked at the motel, and two people at different times at the Virginia Welcome Center. They were all helpful, kind and interesting.
The Appalachian Trail runs through the center of Bland County. I had trouble locating it. I was looking for signs, but it turns out there are none. The young man at the Welcome Center suggested a piece of the trail for me to hike and gave me a map to help find it. It turns out that "Hiker" is pejorative here for "smelly outsiders."
I met a young man named "J.C." from Plant City, Florida, on the trail this afternoon. He told me he is hiking the entire trail, and hopes to be in Maine by the end of September. There are pines, maples and other trees I don't recognize, and like the forests in Del Norte County, California, ferns and rhododendron.
I'll be home for dinner tomorrow (Thursday). Joe tells me the cat has been hiding. Meanwhile, there is still unpacking to be done, a bar mitzvah this weekend, a likely Supreme Court decision on same-gender marriage tomorrow or Friday, a turntable that needs to be fixed (in WestVirginiaspeak it "needs fixed") and we are leaving again Wednesday.
I have a new camera that arrived yesterday. The pics should be better next trip.
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| Bland County Courthouse, Bland |
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| The view across I-77 from my motel, west of Bland |
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| Mountain Glen, southeast of Ceres |
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| Looking north from Big Walker overlook across Bland County |
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| Old Wolf Creek Bridge, Rocky Gap |
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| Looking north into West Virginia from the state line |
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| Along the Appalachian Trail |
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| Rhododendron along the Appalachian Trail |
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| On the Appalachian Trail |
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| Ceres, possibly Sharon Lutheran Church |
Thursday, June 18, 2015
Morgantown, Revisited
This blog is called "Year Three Morgantown." I started it last July, to chronicle our third year in Morgantown. Joe was offered a five-year contract starting last July 1, to continue as rabbi at Tree of Life Congregation on South High Street. I guess I was hoping for a two-year extension so we could go somewhere else. We both like the congregation here and agree that Joe is a good fit as rabbi.
I wonder why the movies I want to see rarely play here. I want a better grocery store, a decent bookstore or a newsstand. I want to be able to walk and bicycle all over town on sidewalks and wide streets. I would feel more welcome if many of the local politicians didn't make it clear they do not represent gay people.
I agreed to go with Joe where he got a job, and that was Morgantown. We have made friends here, and even found a social group where there are gay men of all ages. The people in the student LGBT groups are too young for us to hang with, even though the few we have met have been friendly to us.
This time last year, I was thinking about what I needed to be happy here. We lived in a townhouse near the football stadium and the two big hospitals. We were the oldest people on our block by at least thirty years. Our student neighbors were mostly unfriendly. Our car was egged one night in the driveway. There was noise from the stadium, from helicopters and ambulances every night. We lived there because we needed a place quickly when we first moved here, and most developments wouldn't rent to us because we have a cat.
I had some cash left from my mother's estate, and we were able to use that as a down payment on a small house in Suncrest. It's not fancy, but we will be comfortable there. In a month we've spoken to more neighbors than we did in three years at our former apartment. We sleep some nights with the windows open. Only the birds wake us.
We were at a party a few weeks ago at the home of friends and congregants by the cemetery at the end of High Street. It was a warm, clear night, and we were outside. We were the only same-gender couple there. We knew many of the people from temple, but we met others we didn't know. My friend Roann was with us, visiting from Ann Arbor. She asked people about Morgantown, and everyone said they had found a home and a community for themselves.
People ask me where we will go next. and I guess the answer now is "Probably nowhere." I have to live in the present. The present is that I live in Morgantown, West Virginia, with my husband and our dopey cat, in a house I like that we can afford. I travel, I teach rock and roll history to seniors, we eat out often at unpretentious restaurants, and we are included as a couple at many social events. Our city councilperson saw me outside this morning as she was walking her dog. She said "Welcome to the neighborhood. I heard you guys bought a house here." We are known and liked in Morgantown.
So, I guess I'm saying I'm happy, and happy to be here, and I'm not planning on going anywhere else.
Joe calls it "magical thinking," but I am grateful to God that things have worked out so well for me and for us.
I wonder why the movies I want to see rarely play here. I want a better grocery store, a decent bookstore or a newsstand. I want to be able to walk and bicycle all over town on sidewalks and wide streets. I would feel more welcome if many of the local politicians didn't make it clear they do not represent gay people.
I agreed to go with Joe where he got a job, and that was Morgantown. We have made friends here, and even found a social group where there are gay men of all ages. The people in the student LGBT groups are too young for us to hang with, even though the few we have met have been friendly to us.
This time last year, I was thinking about what I needed to be happy here. We lived in a townhouse near the football stadium and the two big hospitals. We were the oldest people on our block by at least thirty years. Our student neighbors were mostly unfriendly. Our car was egged one night in the driveway. There was noise from the stadium, from helicopters and ambulances every night. We lived there because we needed a place quickly when we first moved here, and most developments wouldn't rent to us because we have a cat.
I had some cash left from my mother's estate, and we were able to use that as a down payment on a small house in Suncrest. It's not fancy, but we will be comfortable there. In a month we've spoken to more neighbors than we did in three years at our former apartment. We sleep some nights with the windows open. Only the birds wake us.
We were at a party a few weeks ago at the home of friends and congregants by the cemetery at the end of High Street. It was a warm, clear night, and we were outside. We were the only same-gender couple there. We knew many of the people from temple, but we met others we didn't know. My friend Roann was with us, visiting from Ann Arbor. She asked people about Morgantown, and everyone said they had found a home and a community for themselves.
People ask me where we will go next. and I guess the answer now is "Probably nowhere." I have to live in the present. The present is that I live in Morgantown, West Virginia, with my husband and our dopey cat, in a house I like that we can afford. I travel, I teach rock and roll history to seniors, we eat out often at unpretentious restaurants, and we are included as a couple at many social events. Our city councilperson saw me outside this morning as she was walking her dog. She said "Welcome to the neighborhood. I heard you guys bought a house here." We are known and liked in Morgantown.
So, I guess I'm saying I'm happy, and happy to be here, and I'm not planning on going anywhere else.
Joe calls it "magical thinking," but I am grateful to God that things have worked out so well for me and for us.
Thursday, June 11, 2015
Blair County, Pennsylvania
I'm way behind on my monthly visits to a county within three hundred miles of Morgantown. Last week, after we had been in our new house less than a week, I took off to spend twenty-four hours in Blair County, Pennsylvania. The county seat is Hollidaysburg; the largest city is Altoona.
According to the US Census, the county has been losing population since the 1980 census. I have two friends in Morgantown who are from Altoona; the parents of my younger friend still live in Blair County. Altoona was a steel mill town, and a center for the railroads, according to my friend Lee. It was prosperous, and his family did well in the steel business. That is mostly gone now. My friends speak highly of Altoona, but I sense they are nostalgic for a town that no longer exists.
Much of downtown has been redeveloped with a medical center, a chain drug store, state and local offices. The railroad still runs through the middle of town. There are warehouses and now a museum along the rail lines. Most of the commercial business is along Pleasant Valley Road, which parallels I-99, the main north-south road just east of the city. It's a typical commercial strip, undistinguished. There is a mall southwest of downtown. It has a Macy's, which we don't have in Morgantown, but the mall was less bustling than ours here in Morgantown. There is also a "town centre" development like the one in Morgantown. I skipped it.
Two active synagogues are in Altoona. The one downtown is listed on some sites as Conservative, but is apparently not affiliated.The other, across from a park in the wealthy part of town, is Reform.
Although Penn State is just 45 miles north of Altoona, there is a Penn State campus in Altoona.
Hollidaysburg is the county seat of Blair County. It's a well-preserved old town at the foot of a mountain, less gritty, but only seven miles south of Altoona. I had lunch there at a café a few blocks from the County Courthouse. Everyone there seemed to know each other. Lots of well-dressed women, tall men with silver hair and good suits. A man came in wearing a t-shirt that said "Tattoed Dad." He had tattoos on both arms. Two little half African-American boys were with him. One of the kids said "Daddy, why is everybody here White?" I was wondering that, too. The food was mediocre, the service was lousy. Maybe it was better if the waitperson knew your name.
I visited Canoe Creek State Park, east of Holllidaysburg. There's an artificial lake, mountains, camping. It was starting to rain, so I didn't stay long.
Altoona seems a smaller and more intimate Pittsburgh, which is one hundred miles to the west. Pittsburgh is gentrifying, Altoona is not.
I enjoyed being in Blair County. I found what I was looking for: synagogues, a mall, a University campus, historic sites, a beautiful park.
I'm hoping to catch up at some point, maybe later this summer. I would have to visit five counties by Labor Day.
According to the US Census, the county has been losing population since the 1980 census. I have two friends in Morgantown who are from Altoona; the parents of my younger friend still live in Blair County. Altoona was a steel mill town, and a center for the railroads, according to my friend Lee. It was prosperous, and his family did well in the steel business. That is mostly gone now. My friends speak highly of Altoona, but I sense they are nostalgic for a town that no longer exists.
Much of downtown has been redeveloped with a medical center, a chain drug store, state and local offices. The railroad still runs through the middle of town. There are warehouses and now a museum along the rail lines. Most of the commercial business is along Pleasant Valley Road, which parallels I-99, the main north-south road just east of the city. It's a typical commercial strip, undistinguished. There is a mall southwest of downtown. It has a Macy's, which we don't have in Morgantown, but the mall was less bustling than ours here in Morgantown. There is also a "town centre" development like the one in Morgantown. I skipped it.
Two active synagogues are in Altoona. The one downtown is listed on some sites as Conservative, but is apparently not affiliated.The other, across from a park in the wealthy part of town, is Reform.
Although Penn State is just 45 miles north of Altoona, there is a Penn State campus in Altoona.
Hollidaysburg is the county seat of Blair County. It's a well-preserved old town at the foot of a mountain, less gritty, but only seven miles south of Altoona. I had lunch there at a café a few blocks from the County Courthouse. Everyone there seemed to know each other. Lots of well-dressed women, tall men with silver hair and good suits. A man came in wearing a t-shirt that said "Tattoed Dad." He had tattoos on both arms. Two little half African-American boys were with him. One of the kids said "Daddy, why is everybody here White?" I was wondering that, too. The food was mediocre, the service was lousy. Maybe it was better if the waitperson knew your name.
I visited Canoe Creek State Park, east of Holllidaysburg. There's an artificial lake, mountains, camping. It was starting to rain, so I didn't stay long.
Altoona seems a smaller and more intimate Pittsburgh, which is one hundred miles to the west. Pittsburgh is gentrifying, Altoona is not.
I enjoyed being in Blair County. I found what I was looking for: synagogues, a mall, a University campus, historic sites, a beautiful park.
I'm hoping to catch up at some point, maybe later this summer. I would have to visit five counties by Labor Day.
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| Tom and Joe's Restaurant and Cathedral of the Blessed Sacrament, Downtown Altoona |
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| Broad Avenue Historic District, Altoona |
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| Baker Mansion, Altoona |
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| Temple Beth Israel |
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| Penn State, Altoona |
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| Hollidaysburg Historic District |
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| Canoe Creek State Park |
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| Blair County Courthouse, Hollidaysburg |
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| Agudath Achim Congregation, Altoona |
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| Mishler Theater, Altoona |
Thursday, June 4, 2015
Real Estate, Last Part
We are in our new house as of Monday, June 1. I got it into my head on May 22 to ask the maintenance man (actually the building contractor) at our old place if he could find us a painter. He came over to look at it that day, and said he could do it himself the next day. I ran out to the big box store and picked out colors for the two bedrooms and the kitchen. While we were looking at the room, a mover I had called called back, and we were set. Meanwhile, Joe and I checked out the discount flooring place recommended by a friend. They sent someone out to look at the basement and the carpets. He suggested we just clean the carpets. We went back to the store to figure out what we would do with the basement floor. We are going with carpeting. The locksmith also has a carpet cleaning business, so that got done before we moved in.The basement floor will be done next week.
We are still living with boxes and clutter, unable to locate things or maneuver around. There are no curtains or blinds on the master bedroom window. Still, it's a relief to be in. Joe has set up shop in the basement, which will be much more comfortable when it is carpeted and decorated. We put our living room couch in the additional room in the back of the house, and Joe likes to read there. The second bedroom is now my office. I like the color I picked out, and I feel I have a room of my own, which I didn't in the old place. We sleep better without the ambulances to and from the two hospitals and the helicopters to Ruby Memorial. We've spoken to six of our eleven neighbors, more than we spoke to in three years in the old house.
Tappuz was traumatized by the move. We took her to the new house on moving day at seven A.M., and locked her in the bathroom upstairs with her litter box and food. I looked in on her when we showed up with the movers around noon. She was curled up behind the toilet, petrified. She's better now. We have a glass storm door out front. She can stand there all day and look out, but when we decided to let her go out, she took one step, then turned and ran back in the house.
We still have things that need to be done to make this house completely work, but so far Joe, Tappuz and I are happy to be in our new home.
We are still living with boxes and clutter, unable to locate things or maneuver around. There are no curtains or blinds on the master bedroom window. Still, it's a relief to be in. Joe has set up shop in the basement, which will be much more comfortable when it is carpeted and decorated. We put our living room couch in the additional room in the back of the house, and Joe likes to read there. The second bedroom is now my office. I like the color I picked out, and I feel I have a room of my own, which I didn't in the old place. We sleep better without the ambulances to and from the two hospitals and the helicopters to Ruby Memorial. We've spoken to six of our eleven neighbors, more than we spoke to in three years in the old house.
Tappuz was traumatized by the move. We took her to the new house on moving day at seven A.M., and locked her in the bathroom upstairs with her litter box and food. I looked in on her when we showed up with the movers around noon. She was curled up behind the toilet, petrified. She's better now. We have a glass storm door out front. She can stand there all day and look out, but when we decided to let her go out, she took one step, then turned and ran back in the house.
We still have things that need to be done to make this house completely work, but so far Joe, Tappuz and I are happy to be in our new home.
Marriage, Republicans and the 2016 election
I have been thinking all week about the Republican candidates for United States President and how none of them think they can be seen as a supporter of marriage rights for same-gender couples. What I found in my research is that with a few exceptions, notably Mike Huckabee and Bobby Jindal, among possible major candidates, those running don't really want to alienate supporters of marriage equality. Their problem is that certain church denominations demand that candidates deny any possible compromise on marriage. The candidates all pander to the right when they feel they have to, like Rand Paul, who said at a recent prayer breakfast that there is a " moral crisis that allows people to think there would be some sort of other marriage."
Otherwise, like Rick Perry or Marco Rubio, they think states have the right to define marriage. Or like Scott Walker who said "I don't comment on everything out there," when asked. Ted Cruz, however, going against the "States Rights" argument, introduced a constitutional amendment to ban any recognition of same-gender marriages. I'm old enough to remember George Wallace using "States Rights" to protest Federal intervention in school desegregation or voting rights. Religious groups at the time used the Bible to support segregation.
More locally, Cindy Frich and Joe Statler, state delegates from Monongalia County, both voted for a resolution to support that amendment.
Part of me thinks that all the gay people in Texas, Louisiana, Arkansas and yes, West Virginia, should just pick up and leave. When Joe was looking for congregational jobs, I made the decisions about where to apply, and I vetoed Michigan and Nebraska because I saw them as anti-gay states. We only ended up in West Virginia because Morgantown is a college town, and the congregation here looked like a good fit. And now we've decided to stay here despite Cindy Frich and Joe Statler (and the two other Republican delegates from here). The house we just purchased is in the City of Morgantown, partly because the city council passed a resolution supporting same-gender marriage and a non-discrimination law.
One last thing I found in my research. Our real issues are economic. Rick Santorum's entry into the campaign did not focus on denying gay people rights. I'm sure he'll get to that, but meantime he wants to end "Obamacare," cut any regulations that he sees as "job killers" (i.e. environmental protection, minimum wage increases, anti-discrimination rules). He talked about what he will do for American workers. He meant what he will do for corporate leaders.
The Democrats have come out firmly, finally, for marriage equality. The more important issue is will they work for economic equality. Joe and I will be married no matter what the legality of it is. I will be more hurt if Social Security and Medicare are cut.
Joe and I will celebrate ten years together this coming December. We will be legally married seven years in November. People who think our marriage shouldn't be allowed are too late, by a lot. And they have no right to expect me to be even polite to them or their religious denomination.
Otherwise, like Rick Perry or Marco Rubio, they think states have the right to define marriage. Or like Scott Walker who said "I don't comment on everything out there," when asked. Ted Cruz, however, going against the "States Rights" argument, introduced a constitutional amendment to ban any recognition of same-gender marriages. I'm old enough to remember George Wallace using "States Rights" to protest Federal intervention in school desegregation or voting rights. Religious groups at the time used the Bible to support segregation.
More locally, Cindy Frich and Joe Statler, state delegates from Monongalia County, both voted for a resolution to support that amendment.
Part of me thinks that all the gay people in Texas, Louisiana, Arkansas and yes, West Virginia, should just pick up and leave. When Joe was looking for congregational jobs, I made the decisions about where to apply, and I vetoed Michigan and Nebraska because I saw them as anti-gay states. We only ended up in West Virginia because Morgantown is a college town, and the congregation here looked like a good fit. And now we've decided to stay here despite Cindy Frich and Joe Statler (and the two other Republican delegates from here). The house we just purchased is in the City of Morgantown, partly because the city council passed a resolution supporting same-gender marriage and a non-discrimination law.
One last thing I found in my research. Our real issues are economic. Rick Santorum's entry into the campaign did not focus on denying gay people rights. I'm sure he'll get to that, but meantime he wants to end "Obamacare," cut any regulations that he sees as "job killers" (i.e. environmental protection, minimum wage increases, anti-discrimination rules). He talked about what he will do for American workers. He meant what he will do for corporate leaders.
The Democrats have come out firmly, finally, for marriage equality. The more important issue is will they work for economic equality. Joe and I will be married no matter what the legality of it is. I will be more hurt if Social Security and Medicare are cut.
Joe and I will celebrate ten years together this coming December. We will be legally married seven years in November. People who think our marriage shouldn't be allowed are too late, by a lot. And they have no right to expect me to be even polite to them or their religious denomination.
Thursday, May 21, 2015
Real Estate, Part Something
After some drama, we closed on the house Tuesday May 12. We were promised the HUD-1 statement, which lays out exactly what your costs will be at closing, by Thursday or Friday, with closing scheduled for Monday afternoon. When we didn't have it by Friday noon, I called the agent and the mortgage broker. Neither of them picked up, nor did they return my call. I could feel my chest tightening. I couldn't read, couldn't nap. Joe was out. I thought the whole deal would fall through. Then I called Sarah, the young assistant mortgage person, and got her on the line. I told her we couldn't close Monday if we didn't have our HUD-1 by Friday afternoon. She said she would check on it.
Then everyone called me back. The lawyer writes up the HUD-1 and he had other closings, leaving him with no time to finish our report. We could get it at closing. "No," I said. "We were promised it for Thursday or Friday. We need twenty-four hours to make sure it is correct and get the cashier's check from the bank. "
They were all angry. The sellers live out of town and were planning to come in for the day Monday, they whined at me. The lawyer is supposed to be away Tuesday.
"Oh, well," I said. Their problem. We got the report Monday, declined our title insurance, and got the check from the bank. Our closing cost was 14.9% over the "good faith estimate." It can't be over 15% higher. The extra cost was because the appraiser charged an extra hundred dollars because the house is semi-detached and she had to walk an extra fifteen feet around the other house to find the meters.
It all went smoothly, ultimately. They shoved lots of documents under our noses to sign, and acted impatient when I wanted to know what they were. I don't get why we couldn't have had all these documents a month before to look over. Neither of us really know what we signed. They gave us back $1200 because there was a mistake. I told the mortgage lady, Sandra, that I was sorry for giving her so much grief, but that her industry has a horrible reputation, and no one can be trusted. She said she was trying to correct that.
In the last ten days, we have most of the last packing done, and the locksmith came and changed the locks. The tile people are coming Tuesday to look at the basement floor. The tile that was there was pulled up, leaving dry black glue on the floor. They will look at it and give us options. We want to paint the bedrooms, but can't find an available painter. We haven't looked for a mover. People ask if we'll get a U-Haul and have friends help. We are sixty-five and fifty-eight. That's not going to happen.
I thought we could take a few things, get sleeping bags and camp out on the floor until everything is done. I'm ready to be out of our current house. I see more and more the advantages of the new place: Entering on the main floor instead of a flight of steps below, a tree in front of the house instead of a dying bush, our closest major intersection (because we will be in Morgantown proper) having a four-way "walk" light, fewer students who don't speak to us living on the block and a lower density and more space. I want to be away from the two hospitals with the ambulances and helicopters all night, away from the Christian commune where they use power tools all day Saturday right behind our kitchen. We will still be too close to the football stadium, although far enough away that we won't be able to hear the fans, and will be able to get in and out of our street before and after the games.
Tappuz is freaked about all the boxes in the house. She knows something is up, but we don't have a way to explain it to her. She will miss her two second-floor balconies, but hopefully, she will take to our fenced back yard.
Limbo is not a fun place to live. I hope we are out soon. I'll update.
Then everyone called me back. The lawyer writes up the HUD-1 and he had other closings, leaving him with no time to finish our report. We could get it at closing. "No," I said. "We were promised it for Thursday or Friday. We need twenty-four hours to make sure it is correct and get the cashier's check from the bank. "
They were all angry. The sellers live out of town and were planning to come in for the day Monday, they whined at me. The lawyer is supposed to be away Tuesday.
"Oh, well," I said. Their problem. We got the report Monday, declined our title insurance, and got the check from the bank. Our closing cost was 14.9% over the "good faith estimate." It can't be over 15% higher. The extra cost was because the appraiser charged an extra hundred dollars because the house is semi-detached and she had to walk an extra fifteen feet around the other house to find the meters.
It all went smoothly, ultimately. They shoved lots of documents under our noses to sign, and acted impatient when I wanted to know what they were. I don't get why we couldn't have had all these documents a month before to look over. Neither of us really know what we signed. They gave us back $1200 because there was a mistake. I told the mortgage lady, Sandra, that I was sorry for giving her so much grief, but that her industry has a horrible reputation, and no one can be trusted. She said she was trying to correct that.
In the last ten days, we have most of the last packing done, and the locksmith came and changed the locks. The tile people are coming Tuesday to look at the basement floor. The tile that was there was pulled up, leaving dry black glue on the floor. They will look at it and give us options. We want to paint the bedrooms, but can't find an available painter. We haven't looked for a mover. People ask if we'll get a U-Haul and have friends help. We are sixty-five and fifty-eight. That's not going to happen.
I thought we could take a few things, get sleeping bags and camp out on the floor until everything is done. I'm ready to be out of our current house. I see more and more the advantages of the new place: Entering on the main floor instead of a flight of steps below, a tree in front of the house instead of a dying bush, our closest major intersection (because we will be in Morgantown proper) having a four-way "walk" light, fewer students who don't speak to us living on the block and a lower density and more space. I want to be away from the two hospitals with the ambulances and helicopters all night, away from the Christian commune where they use power tools all day Saturday right behind our kitchen. We will still be too close to the football stadium, although far enough away that we won't be able to hear the fans, and will be able to get in and out of our street before and after the games.
Tappuz is freaked about all the boxes in the house. She knows something is up, but we don't have a way to explain it to her. She will miss her two second-floor balconies, but hopefully, she will take to our fenced back yard.
Limbo is not a fun place to live. I hope we are out soon. I'll update.
Thursday, May 14, 2015
David Fyffe
What would you do if you were a sickly gay boy growing up in Chillicothe, in Southern Ohio in the 1960s? You might become a hairdresser in the big city- Columbus. And if that were not enough? You might move to Los Angeles and become a Jew. Unlikely? That's what my friend David Fyffe did.
When I first met him at Beth Chayim Chadashim, probably in 1986, when I first joined that temple for gay men and lesbians, David introduced himself. He told me I was handsome, and that he was HIV positive. He was blind. "Figures," I thought. Of course the one who can't see me thinks I'm handsome.
He eventually regained some limited vision through a new kind of operation. He walked up to me at the first service he attended after his operation and asked if I had seen the really hot guy in this month's Playgirl. I hadn't. "How did you know I was Barry?" I asked. " I just knew that's what you looked like, even before I could see you."
We couldn't be a couple. I had given up being gay a few years before , from pure terror about AIDS, and was just taking baby steps to come out again. And here was someone HIV positive talking to me. I visited his apartment on Formosa Avenue in West Hollywood, and it was even more chaotic than mine, with everything randomly strewn all over everything. Neither of us would be housekeepers.
In the early 1990s, when I didn't have a car, I would see David on the bus on Santa Monica Boulevard or Fairfax Avenue. We would get into long discussions about the nature of God, the reason for Good and Evil existing in the world, or sometimes just about friends, ex-lovers, and who had died recently. David was modest, but he did brag that he was the last survivor of two different AIDS support groups at temple. The threat of disease and death was hard, but the loss of so many friends in their twenties and thirties was devastating.
We both assuaged our consciences by volunteering to be parachaplains- rabbis without the title who would visit Jewish patients at smaller hospitals that couldn't afford to have a rabbi on staff. I visited Hollywood Community Hospital, just off Vine Street, for several years. They had a dedicated AIDS ward - mostly hospice care, until better meds came out and people stopped dying. David also volunteered at a hospital.
Arlan Wareham showed up at temple in the mid-90s. There's a long, interesting story about how Arlan came to BCC, and eventually decided to be a Jew. He was smart, handsome, funny. I thought we might be a couple, but something held me back. I just couldn't see us together. Then one day David came to me and told me he had a new boyfriend- Arlan. It all fell into place. Arlan and David. Of course!
They had a grand wedding at BCC- not in any way legal in the 1990s, but that didn't stop Rabbi Lisa Edwards from blessing their union, nor did it stop their many friends from celebrating. I remember mostly that they made their own chuppa or wedding canopy.
They settled in San Bernardino County, where Arlan came from, but drove in sixty miles to services every week. I should have apologized for laughing in their face when they told me in 2005 that they were moving to Israel. Arlan admitted that it seemed crazy. It wasn't.
I last saw Arlan and David face-to-face in 2007, when a group of us from BCC toured Israel and visited them at their home in Tzfat, a medieval town in Galilee, where most of the residents were Orthodox. David fit right in with his long unkempt beard, plain white shirt and navy pants. Even the tube for his insulin pump, if you didn't look too closely, could have been tzitzit, the ritual fringes worn by Orthodox men. Arlan and David showed us where a missile from Lebanon had damaged their house.
They decamped for Eilat on the Red Sea, warmer and more resort-like than Tzfat. Arlan kept up a presence on Facebook and a blog. I didn't hear much from David. He was on Facebook, but didn't post much after 2011. This year, Arlan's posts grew more dire. David's mind and body were shutting down. David Fyffe died this week in a hospital in Beer Sheva, Israel. He was fifty-nine.
I remarked to Arlan a few weeks ago how fortunate they were to live in Israel, where medical care is better than in the United States, and covered by the government. They were blessed in their lives. I do sometimes go off into magical realism, where I attribute good events to God. David did that, too, but he also made good decisions - leaving his family in Ohio, becoming a Jew, falling in with many friends at BCC, finding and keeping Arlan. Despite being HIV positive for thirty years and suffering from periods of crippling depression, he managed to keep going when others didn't.
David was a holy man, a deep thinker, a crazy wonderful friend. He is survived by his husband Arlan Wareham and members of his biological family in Ohio. People who attended BCC before 2005, and other still remaining AIDS activists from Los Angeles will also mourn his passing.
Arlan Wareham has a blog: http://www.arlansday.blogspot.co.il
When I first met him at Beth Chayim Chadashim, probably in 1986, when I first joined that temple for gay men and lesbians, David introduced himself. He told me I was handsome, and that he was HIV positive. He was blind. "Figures," I thought. Of course the one who can't see me thinks I'm handsome.
He eventually regained some limited vision through a new kind of operation. He walked up to me at the first service he attended after his operation and asked if I had seen the really hot guy in this month's Playgirl. I hadn't. "How did you know I was Barry?" I asked. " I just knew that's what you looked like, even before I could see you."
We couldn't be a couple. I had given up being gay a few years before , from pure terror about AIDS, and was just taking baby steps to come out again. And here was someone HIV positive talking to me. I visited his apartment on Formosa Avenue in West Hollywood, and it was even more chaotic than mine, with everything randomly strewn all over everything. Neither of us would be housekeepers.
In the early 1990s, when I didn't have a car, I would see David on the bus on Santa Monica Boulevard or Fairfax Avenue. We would get into long discussions about the nature of God, the reason for Good and Evil existing in the world, or sometimes just about friends, ex-lovers, and who had died recently. David was modest, but he did brag that he was the last survivor of two different AIDS support groups at temple. The threat of disease and death was hard, but the loss of so many friends in their twenties and thirties was devastating.
We both assuaged our consciences by volunteering to be parachaplains- rabbis without the title who would visit Jewish patients at smaller hospitals that couldn't afford to have a rabbi on staff. I visited Hollywood Community Hospital, just off Vine Street, for several years. They had a dedicated AIDS ward - mostly hospice care, until better meds came out and people stopped dying. David also volunteered at a hospital.
Arlan Wareham showed up at temple in the mid-90s. There's a long, interesting story about how Arlan came to BCC, and eventually decided to be a Jew. He was smart, handsome, funny. I thought we might be a couple, but something held me back. I just couldn't see us together. Then one day David came to me and told me he had a new boyfriend- Arlan. It all fell into place. Arlan and David. Of course!
They had a grand wedding at BCC- not in any way legal in the 1990s, but that didn't stop Rabbi Lisa Edwards from blessing their union, nor did it stop their many friends from celebrating. I remember mostly that they made their own chuppa or wedding canopy.
They settled in San Bernardino County, where Arlan came from, but drove in sixty miles to services every week. I should have apologized for laughing in their face when they told me in 2005 that they were moving to Israel. Arlan admitted that it seemed crazy. It wasn't.
I last saw Arlan and David face-to-face in 2007, when a group of us from BCC toured Israel and visited them at their home in Tzfat, a medieval town in Galilee, where most of the residents were Orthodox. David fit right in with his long unkempt beard, plain white shirt and navy pants. Even the tube for his insulin pump, if you didn't look too closely, could have been tzitzit, the ritual fringes worn by Orthodox men. Arlan and David showed us where a missile from Lebanon had damaged their house.
They decamped for Eilat on the Red Sea, warmer and more resort-like than Tzfat. Arlan kept up a presence on Facebook and a blog. I didn't hear much from David. He was on Facebook, but didn't post much after 2011. This year, Arlan's posts grew more dire. David's mind and body were shutting down. David Fyffe died this week in a hospital in Beer Sheva, Israel. He was fifty-nine.
I remarked to Arlan a few weeks ago how fortunate they were to live in Israel, where medical care is better than in the United States, and covered by the government. They were blessed in their lives. I do sometimes go off into magical realism, where I attribute good events to God. David did that, too, but he also made good decisions - leaving his family in Ohio, becoming a Jew, falling in with many friends at BCC, finding and keeping Arlan. Despite being HIV positive for thirty years and suffering from periods of crippling depression, he managed to keep going when others didn't.
David was a holy man, a deep thinker, a crazy wonderful friend. He is survived by his husband Arlan Wareham and members of his biological family in Ohio. People who attended BCC before 2005, and other still remaining AIDS activists from Los Angeles will also mourn his passing.
Arlan Wareham has a blog: http://www.arlansday.blogspot.co.il
Thursday, May 7, 2015
Lavender Graduation at WVU
I am on the LGBT Equity Commission of West Virginia University as a "community" member. Princeton University rates colleges on a number of values every year. One of them is "gay-friendly." We were already living here before WVU filled out the questionnaire for this rating for the first time, so no earlier than 2012. They failed. The equity commission came out of that. WVU is trying to be more inclusive.
There are LGBT student groups now for undergraduates, law school students, and people in medical school and health sciences. There may be an LGBT student center next year. This is the second year of Lavender Graduation, a special ceremony to honor LGBT graduates. I didn't go last year.
This year, it was scheduled for May 2, a Saturday, at 2:30. Joe agreed to go with me after morning services and a potluck lunch at temple. I got dressed up for services and added a purple plastic Mardi Gras-style necklace to my ensemble for the Lavender Graduation.
I wasn't expecting much from this. After all, we are liberated now, and there isn't a need for a separate ceremony, right?
Most of the grads were women. I figured it is harder for young men to be out than it is for women. I was a year and a half out of college before I could admit to anyone that I was gay. Most of the girls looked like the rest of their classmates: long, straight hair, short skirt, and sandals. They could have hid. Some of the men were more "open" looking.
University president E. Gordon Gee spoke. He stressed the importance to WVU, and to him personally, that WVU be gay-friendly. He described himself as a "devout Mormon" and how, growing up in a small town in Utah, he didn't know any non-Mormons until he went to college. He seemed surprised at himself- that he has come so far. Joe and I were invited to dinner with him last month as a couple,which should seem just natural, but still felt to me like a big step. I have great respect for President Gee.
The grads were shy. Everyone was offered a chance to speak briefly, but very few did. Of those that spoke, most of them thanked Daniel Brewster, a professor in, I think, Sociology, and an advisor to student government generally, but also a mentor to gay students. One young person, long hair and dress, spoke. "I know I can't pass," she said in a deep man's voice, then ran out in tears. A friend followed, comforted her and brought her back in.
The program listed hometowns for the students. Some were from nowhere towns in rural West Virginia. I realized how hard it must be for them to be gay or lesbian. One student listed Benghazi as his hometown, and one man, who wore a suit and came with a beautiful woman, listed Tehran as home. I spoke with him at the reception after the event. He is trying to figure out how to stay in the United States. Returning to Iran is not an option. The woman with him is a friend, also from Iran.
In line for the food at the reception, I spoke to a young man, Jewish from Baltimore County, a Pikesville High grad and an actor. I told him I had attempted an acting career in Los Angeles. He was with another young man, an actor also. They asked me for advice, as if I had anything intelligent to say. I suggested not going to Los Angeles cold. I don't think they liked that, but they both have actor-related plans after graduation elsewhere. I introduced them to my husband, the rabbi, and wished them luck and blessings. They already work hard and have talent. I've seen them both in WVU theater productions.
I greeted Professor Brewster as we were leaving, and I thanked him for being a mentor to so many students. He told me that one of the men had never come out to anyone before that day. I was almost crying with emotion as we headed back to the car.
It's easy to be jaded after years of being out, but I was reminded how life-changing it is for a young person to be openly gay. It can mean a total break from family, friends, religion, and even one's country of origin. I applaud these new grads, and wish them a life full of love and blessings.
There are LGBT student groups now for undergraduates, law school students, and people in medical school and health sciences. There may be an LGBT student center next year. This is the second year of Lavender Graduation, a special ceremony to honor LGBT graduates. I didn't go last year.
This year, it was scheduled for May 2, a Saturday, at 2:30. Joe agreed to go with me after morning services and a potluck lunch at temple. I got dressed up for services and added a purple plastic Mardi Gras-style necklace to my ensemble for the Lavender Graduation.
I wasn't expecting much from this. After all, we are liberated now, and there isn't a need for a separate ceremony, right?
Most of the grads were women. I figured it is harder for young men to be out than it is for women. I was a year and a half out of college before I could admit to anyone that I was gay. Most of the girls looked like the rest of their classmates: long, straight hair, short skirt, and sandals. They could have hid. Some of the men were more "open" looking.
University president E. Gordon Gee spoke. He stressed the importance to WVU, and to him personally, that WVU be gay-friendly. He described himself as a "devout Mormon" and how, growing up in a small town in Utah, he didn't know any non-Mormons until he went to college. He seemed surprised at himself- that he has come so far. Joe and I were invited to dinner with him last month as a couple,which should seem just natural, but still felt to me like a big step. I have great respect for President Gee.
The grads were shy. Everyone was offered a chance to speak briefly, but very few did. Of those that spoke, most of them thanked Daniel Brewster, a professor in, I think, Sociology, and an advisor to student government generally, but also a mentor to gay students. One young person, long hair and dress, spoke. "I know I can't pass," she said in a deep man's voice, then ran out in tears. A friend followed, comforted her and brought her back in.
The program listed hometowns for the students. Some were from nowhere towns in rural West Virginia. I realized how hard it must be for them to be gay or lesbian. One student listed Benghazi as his hometown, and one man, who wore a suit and came with a beautiful woman, listed Tehran as home. I spoke with him at the reception after the event. He is trying to figure out how to stay in the United States. Returning to Iran is not an option. The woman with him is a friend, also from Iran.
In line for the food at the reception, I spoke to a young man, Jewish from Baltimore County, a Pikesville High grad and an actor. I told him I had attempted an acting career in Los Angeles. He was with another young man, an actor also. They asked me for advice, as if I had anything intelligent to say. I suggested not going to Los Angeles cold. I don't think they liked that, but they both have actor-related plans after graduation elsewhere. I introduced them to my husband, the rabbi, and wished them luck and blessings. They already work hard and have talent. I've seen them both in WVU theater productions.
I greeted Professor Brewster as we were leaving, and I thanked him for being a mentor to so many students. He told me that one of the men had never come out to anyone before that day. I was almost crying with emotion as we headed back to the car.
It's easy to be jaded after years of being out, but I was reminded how life-changing it is for a young person to be openly gay. It can mean a total break from family, friends, religion, and even one's country of origin. I applaud these new grads, and wish them a life full of love and blessings.
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| WVU President Gee speaking at Lavender Graduation |
Thursday, April 30, 2015
Baltimore
I grew up in Baltimore. I lived inside the city limits until I was almost four, and then again during my last three years of college, and for three years in my twenties. I left in January 1978, and have only been back to visit.
People don't believe me when I say Baltimore was as segregated in the fifties and early sixties as any place in the South. African-Americans did not attend movie theaters or Gwynn Oak Amusement Park, or dance on The Buddy Deane Show, except on specific days when the white kids didn't come. Someone once told me "Hairspray" was a "nice fantasy" but except for the happy ending, John Waters perfectly captured Baltimore in 1963.
Baltimore's schools integrated in 1954, and that, coupled with inexpensive new houses in the suburbs, led to an exodus from the city to Baltimore County, which surrounds Baltimore on three sides. African-Americans couldn't buy houses in the suburbs. The county schools I attended had only a handful of African-American kids, and then only beginning in 1959, when Baltimore County closed the separate schools. They came from formerly rural neighborhoods older than the suburbs.
The Civil Rights Act of 1964 opened up public accommodations for people who had money, but those who didn't were often excluded from good jobs and the deindustrialization which was already happening. There were riots in many American cities throughout the sixties, but not in Baltimore, where home ownership was more widespread and there were still jobs. When Martin Luther King, Jr. was shot, the city exploded. I was in college; my parents and sister left the day of the shooting for spring break with my grandparents in Miami. I was home with my uncle, trying to finish my coursework for my freshman year in college. The city and then the county were placed under curfew. Among my friends, many had parents who owned stores in the inner city that were looted and firebombed. Friendships were tested when this group of friends, angry at the rioters, confronted friends who were sympathetic to the rioters.
Baltimore today is very different than it was. The formerly white working-class neighborhoods are being gentrified at a fast clip; the African-American neighborhoods have been hollowed out by losing the middle class to the now-integrated suburbs. The once segregated and largely Jewish neighborhood where I grew up in Baltimore County is now mostly African-American.
I don't remember anyone ever being fond of the Baltimore Police Department. When I was in college, in long hair and bell bottomed jeans, the police always seemed just plain mean. There was a police riot at the downtown Flower Mart held the first week in May in 1968. The press said it was disrupted by thugs, but the truth was, it was peaceful until the police moved in. Nationwide in the last year especially, there has been a focus on police brutality and the killing of young Black men, with no action taken against the officers. I read on AOL this morning that a police report states that another inmate in the same patrol car heard Gray banging against the fence in the car, trying to injure himself. That seems self-serving from the police. A report from a group called "The Fourth Estate" says that Gray had back surgery before this incident. Even the police don't believe that story.
Like in Ferguson, it's time to blame the victim. Friends on Facebook posted Gray's long rap sheet. I had to tell one friend to say one hundred times "THE POLICE DO NOT HAVE THE RIGHT TO EXECUTE ANYONE." Others have complained that Jeopardy was preempted or the baseball game was canceled, or it took a long time to get home from work.
Back in the day, when I protested the war in Vietnam by helping to block major streets in Baltimore during rush hour, people were ready to kill us for the inconvenience we caused. As opposed to the inconvenience of having your house burned by napalm, or your son killed in action or coming back a broken drug addict.
That's how I feel about this current unrest. People were inconvenienced. The ghetto in West Baltimore hasn't been a good place to live in a long time. There are blocks of empty houses, not many stores. It's bleak. And the police still apparently have the reputation for sheer nastiness they had in the 1970s.
I saw the looters in online videos (we don't have a working television). They were carrying rolls of toilet paper and boxes of diapers. As my late grandmother would say "It's a pity on them, they should have to live like that."
I lived through the Baltimore riot of 1968, safely out in the suburbs. Same with Miami's riots in 1980, only then I was laid up with hepatitis and couldn't go anywhere anyway. I lived off Vermont Avenue and Beverly Boulevard in Los Angeles in 1992, when the police were acquitted in the Rodney King case. I was in the middle of it then, but even before that, there was anger when a Korean store owner got probation after shooting a fourteen year old girl in the back. The local bus service had also been cut that year.
Los Angeles in 1992 was a terrible place. In Baltimore this week, neighbors came out after one night of looting to help clean up. Most of the protests were peaceful, although that wasn't entirely clear from the news broadcasts. I think Baltimore's mayor was right to delay asking the Governor for help. And I think bringing in the National Guard in full combat gear is excessive. It's not Iraq out there, it's just people frustrated and angry that the system is rigged against them.
I pray for the peace of Baltimore, as I do for Jerusalem, another deeply divided city.
People don't believe me when I say Baltimore was as segregated in the fifties and early sixties as any place in the South. African-Americans did not attend movie theaters or Gwynn Oak Amusement Park, or dance on The Buddy Deane Show, except on specific days when the white kids didn't come. Someone once told me "Hairspray" was a "nice fantasy" but except for the happy ending, John Waters perfectly captured Baltimore in 1963.
Baltimore's schools integrated in 1954, and that, coupled with inexpensive new houses in the suburbs, led to an exodus from the city to Baltimore County, which surrounds Baltimore on three sides. African-Americans couldn't buy houses in the suburbs. The county schools I attended had only a handful of African-American kids, and then only beginning in 1959, when Baltimore County closed the separate schools. They came from formerly rural neighborhoods older than the suburbs.
The Civil Rights Act of 1964 opened up public accommodations for people who had money, but those who didn't were often excluded from good jobs and the deindustrialization which was already happening. There were riots in many American cities throughout the sixties, but not in Baltimore, where home ownership was more widespread and there were still jobs. When Martin Luther King, Jr. was shot, the city exploded. I was in college; my parents and sister left the day of the shooting for spring break with my grandparents in Miami. I was home with my uncle, trying to finish my coursework for my freshman year in college. The city and then the county were placed under curfew. Among my friends, many had parents who owned stores in the inner city that were looted and firebombed. Friendships were tested when this group of friends, angry at the rioters, confronted friends who were sympathetic to the rioters.
Baltimore today is very different than it was. The formerly white working-class neighborhoods are being gentrified at a fast clip; the African-American neighborhoods have been hollowed out by losing the middle class to the now-integrated suburbs. The once segregated and largely Jewish neighborhood where I grew up in Baltimore County is now mostly African-American.
I don't remember anyone ever being fond of the Baltimore Police Department. When I was in college, in long hair and bell bottomed jeans, the police always seemed just plain mean. There was a police riot at the downtown Flower Mart held the first week in May in 1968. The press said it was disrupted by thugs, but the truth was, it was peaceful until the police moved in. Nationwide in the last year especially, there has been a focus on police brutality and the killing of young Black men, with no action taken against the officers. I read on AOL this morning that a police report states that another inmate in the same patrol car heard Gray banging against the fence in the car, trying to injure himself. That seems self-serving from the police. A report from a group called "The Fourth Estate" says that Gray had back surgery before this incident. Even the police don't believe that story.
Like in Ferguson, it's time to blame the victim. Friends on Facebook posted Gray's long rap sheet. I had to tell one friend to say one hundred times "THE POLICE DO NOT HAVE THE RIGHT TO EXECUTE ANYONE." Others have complained that Jeopardy was preempted or the baseball game was canceled, or it took a long time to get home from work.
Back in the day, when I protested the war in Vietnam by helping to block major streets in Baltimore during rush hour, people were ready to kill us for the inconvenience we caused. As opposed to the inconvenience of having your house burned by napalm, or your son killed in action or coming back a broken drug addict.
That's how I feel about this current unrest. People were inconvenienced. The ghetto in West Baltimore hasn't been a good place to live in a long time. There are blocks of empty houses, not many stores. It's bleak. And the police still apparently have the reputation for sheer nastiness they had in the 1970s.
I saw the looters in online videos (we don't have a working television). They were carrying rolls of toilet paper and boxes of diapers. As my late grandmother would say "It's a pity on them, they should have to live like that."
I lived through the Baltimore riot of 1968, safely out in the suburbs. Same with Miami's riots in 1980, only then I was laid up with hepatitis and couldn't go anywhere anyway. I lived off Vermont Avenue and Beverly Boulevard in Los Angeles in 1992, when the police were acquitted in the Rodney King case. I was in the middle of it then, but even before that, there was anger when a Korean store owner got probation after shooting a fourteen year old girl in the back. The local bus service had also been cut that year.
Los Angeles in 1992 was a terrible place. In Baltimore this week, neighbors came out after one night of looting to help clean up. Most of the protests were peaceful, although that wasn't entirely clear from the news broadcasts. I think Baltimore's mayor was right to delay asking the Governor for help. And I think bringing in the National Guard in full combat gear is excessive. It's not Iraq out there, it's just people frustrated and angry that the system is rigged against them.
I pray for the peace of Baltimore, as I do for Jerusalem, another deeply divided city.
 |
| This is a picture I took last June of a street in the "Old West Baltimore Historic District" near where the rioting occurred. |
Thursday, April 23, 2015
Berks County
At the CCAR convention in Philadelphia last month, I met the rabbi from Reading, Pennsylvania, the city in Berks County. I had read that Reading was the poorest city in America. He said "We've moved up to second or third poorest." He told me his synagogue, Oheb Shalom, is located outside of Reading's city limits.
I got into this with him because Reading was the next place I planned to visit on my monthly trips away from Morgantown, and Berks County is the largest in population I plan to visit in Year Three.
I felt guilty about leaving Joe. We close on our new house May 11, and we are trying to get all our stuff packed. His administrative assistant at temple has been out sick for a few weeks now, making his work life more difficult. Still, I left him alone for three days partly because of my own obsessiveness about this travel project, and partly to take a break from my own stress about moving.
We've had some good weather, unfortunately not for this trip. There were a few drops of rain as I left, but before I had even gotten out of Morgantown there was a storm of driving rain, hail, and sleet. That continued across the mountains into Maryland where it was only windy and rainy.The weather has remained cool for late April. Today's high in Reading was only about 47, overcast and windy. The trees are all in bloom, just a few days behind Morgantown.
Downtown Reading isn't much of a walk-around place. There is some attempt to restore older storefronts, and I notice just a hint of gentrification downtown, old houses with cleaned-up brick, new shutters and planters outside. The hipsters live across the railroad tracks and the Schuylkill River in West Reading. Beyond that is Wyomissing, half old-money big stone houses and half suburban. Oheb Shalom is in the suburban part of Wyomissing, as well as Berkshire Mall, the better of the two indoor malls I found. There is a lovely park along a stream with an ominous sign warning that the park is for "residents and guests only." I suppose I could have been arrested for taking a picture. I had mall food court fast Chinese for dinner Wednesday. They had baked fish, asparagus and fried plantains, so I took advantage of those options.
I thought I would have time to find thirty historic sites from the National Register. Normally, I only look for ten. Of the first thirty on the list, five were in Reading. I looked for those before sunset Wednesday. I found one, partly because I didn't know where I was going, partly because construction blocked some streets, and partly because sunset is twenty minutes earlier at 76 West longitude than at 80. I did find an old school building in a residential and industrial neighborhood before going back to my hotel.
Thursday, I planned to find ten places in the morning, another ten in the afternoon, and the last nine in the evening. That was too ambitious. The morning went well enough. Lunch at an all-you can-eat pizza place slowed down my afternoon, and I couldn't get phone service for directions. Altogether, I found fourteen places on the National Register, and got pictures of eleven of them. It's interesting being in a county where European settlement took place before the American revolution. There are lots of semi-forgotten places out in the countryside going back to our earliest era in this country.
Berks County is only an hour drive from Philadelphia if the traffic is moving. I noted new houses in that direction for under $300,000. Probably a good deal compared to being closer in. Reading looks like Philadelphia, with blocks of row houses. It reminds me more of Baltimore, at least the way it was when I was growing up. Many of the row houses are tiny, like in East Baltimore, and there are small stores on many corners. To the north and southeast, there are larger row houses, like those near Druid Hill Park in Baltimore or in West Philadelphia, but not nearly as grand. Southeast of downtown is a mountain of sorts with a grand park. I might have explored more had the weather been better. At the foot of the park on the main road are two synagogues - one is the former home of Oheb Shalom; the other is a Conservative synagogue, Kesher Zion, in a classical brick-and-columns building with "Happy Are They Who Dwell In Your House" written on the lintel. That synagogue is still in operation. Reading has a Chabad, just north of town, in an urban neighborhood close to where I stayed.
The city population is largely Puerto Rican. At the mall, I saw them and Mexicans (different look and different accent in Spanish), Asians, well-dressed and also less elegant Caucasians and African-Americans. I didn't see any real tension. I also didn't speak to too many people on this trip. I'm not an extrovert.
I had suggestions from friends on Facebook about outlet stores, a theater, an artist exhibition space, and Daniel Boone's original homestead. Only the Boone homestead was on my list. It was one of the ones I didn't get to. I was feeling schvach ( Joe and I are taking an intro Yiddish class at OLLI) when I got back to the motel to rest at 4:30. I didn't think I could eat anything, but managed to get out to the Chinese buffet across the street from the pizza place where I had lunch. I ate only healthy stuff, except for the desserts. A little tea and sugar fixed me right up.
I'm considering different routes for the trip home tomorrow. I promised to be back for Shabbat. The Pennsylvania Turnpike is the fastest way, but it costs $15 in tolls and the food options are not great. We'll see.
Here are some pics:
I got into this with him because Reading was the next place I planned to visit on my monthly trips away from Morgantown, and Berks County is the largest in population I plan to visit in Year Three.
I felt guilty about leaving Joe. We close on our new house May 11, and we are trying to get all our stuff packed. His administrative assistant at temple has been out sick for a few weeks now, making his work life more difficult. Still, I left him alone for three days partly because of my own obsessiveness about this travel project, and partly to take a break from my own stress about moving.
We've had some good weather, unfortunately not for this trip. There were a few drops of rain as I left, but before I had even gotten out of Morgantown there was a storm of driving rain, hail, and sleet. That continued across the mountains into Maryland where it was only windy and rainy.The weather has remained cool for late April. Today's high in Reading was only about 47, overcast and windy. The trees are all in bloom, just a few days behind Morgantown.
Downtown Reading isn't much of a walk-around place. There is some attempt to restore older storefronts, and I notice just a hint of gentrification downtown, old houses with cleaned-up brick, new shutters and planters outside. The hipsters live across the railroad tracks and the Schuylkill River in West Reading. Beyond that is Wyomissing, half old-money big stone houses and half suburban. Oheb Shalom is in the suburban part of Wyomissing, as well as Berkshire Mall, the better of the two indoor malls I found. There is a lovely park along a stream with an ominous sign warning that the park is for "residents and guests only." I suppose I could have been arrested for taking a picture. I had mall food court fast Chinese for dinner Wednesday. They had baked fish, asparagus and fried plantains, so I took advantage of those options.
I thought I would have time to find thirty historic sites from the National Register. Normally, I only look for ten. Of the first thirty on the list, five were in Reading. I looked for those before sunset Wednesday. I found one, partly because I didn't know where I was going, partly because construction blocked some streets, and partly because sunset is twenty minutes earlier at 76 West longitude than at 80. I did find an old school building in a residential and industrial neighborhood before going back to my hotel.
Thursday, I planned to find ten places in the morning, another ten in the afternoon, and the last nine in the evening. That was too ambitious. The morning went well enough. Lunch at an all-you can-eat pizza place slowed down my afternoon, and I couldn't get phone service for directions. Altogether, I found fourteen places on the National Register, and got pictures of eleven of them. It's interesting being in a county where European settlement took place before the American revolution. There are lots of semi-forgotten places out in the countryside going back to our earliest era in this country.
Berks County is only an hour drive from Philadelphia if the traffic is moving. I noted new houses in that direction for under $300,000. Probably a good deal compared to being closer in. Reading looks like Philadelphia, with blocks of row houses. It reminds me more of Baltimore, at least the way it was when I was growing up. Many of the row houses are tiny, like in East Baltimore, and there are small stores on many corners. To the north and southeast, there are larger row houses, like those near Druid Hill Park in Baltimore or in West Philadelphia, but not nearly as grand. Southeast of downtown is a mountain of sorts with a grand park. I might have explored more had the weather been better. At the foot of the park on the main road are two synagogues - one is the former home of Oheb Shalom; the other is a Conservative synagogue, Kesher Zion, in a classical brick-and-columns building with "Happy Are They Who Dwell In Your House" written on the lintel. That synagogue is still in operation. Reading has a Chabad, just north of town, in an urban neighborhood close to where I stayed.
The city population is largely Puerto Rican. At the mall, I saw them and Mexicans (different look and different accent in Spanish), Asians, well-dressed and also less elegant Caucasians and African-Americans. I didn't see any real tension. I also didn't speak to too many people on this trip. I'm not an extrovert.
I had suggestions from friends on Facebook about outlet stores, a theater, an artist exhibition space, and Daniel Boone's original homestead. Only the Boone homestead was on my list. It was one of the ones I didn't get to. I was feeling schvach ( Joe and I are taking an intro Yiddish class at OLLI) when I got back to the motel to rest at 4:30. I didn't think I could eat anything, but managed to get out to the Chinese buffet across the street from the pizza place where I had lunch. I ate only healthy stuff, except for the desserts. A little tea and sugar fixed me right up.
I'm considering different routes for the trip home tomorrow. I promised to be back for Shabbat. The Pennsylvania Turnpike is the fastest way, but it costs $15 in tolls and the food options are not great. We'll see.
Here are some pics:
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| The park in Wyomissing |
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| Cotton and Maple Streets School, Reading |
.jpg) |
| Dreibelbis Station Bridge, Greenwich Township |
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| Dreibelbis Mill, Perry Township |
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| Boyer- Mertz Farm, Maxatawny Township |
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| Bethel A.M.E. Church, Reading |
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| City Hall, Reading |
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| Askew Bridge, Reading |
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| Bahr Mill Complex, Colebrookdale Township |
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| Bellman's Union Church, Centre Township |
Thursday, April 9, 2015
Shopping
I joined a new gym the first of the year, and I've been going regularly. My old gym was for people over sixty, and most of the men wore jeans and tee shirts to work out. The new gym is open to anyone, and I am in the top one percent by age. People wear gym clothes: Under Armour or Adidas. The younger and more built, men and women both, wear short shorts and tank tops. Many show off tattoos on their bulging muscles. I've been going in wearing ten year old shorts that I use for bicycling. They are tattered. I pair them with plain cotton workout shirts I bought over a year ago.
Since I am often unshaven when I work out in the morning, and I don't really know the people I see at the gym, it occurred to me last week that they probably think I'm some old homeless guy. I had to fix this.
I visited T. J. Maxx, a chain of discount leftover clothes at greatly reduced prices. It is at University Town Center, northeast of Morgantown, off I-79. The center has big-box stores: Target, Walmart, Sam's Club, Petco, Dick's, Giant Eagle. There are chain restaurants like Cheddar's and Olive Garden. There is a Best Buy, a Barnes & Noble and a Regal multiplex. The center is spread out and up a hill. It's almost impossible to walk from one store to another. When we moved here, temple members told us they never go there. Of course, it's mobbed, and traffic going in and out the one entrance is always backed up.
At T.J. Maxx, I found three mesh work-out shirts, three pairs of workout shorts, three casual shorts, three pairs of semi-dress slacks and three short-sleeve shirts. The work out clothes were from Adidas and Reebok, the other clothes Geoffrey Beene, Perry Ellis, Calvin Klein, Levi's and other designers. I paid $280. List price for the clothes I bought would have been over $800.
Back home, I went through drawers and closets looking for clothes to get rid of. Five bags. Mostly raggedy, but some I just don't want to wear any longer. I decided if I could find a picture of myself wearing an item in Los Angeles, so at least five and a half years ago, I should give it away. I made exceptions. We are moving next month (if all goes well). It's appalling how much stuff, including old clothes, we have. We are much better off than we think we are.
Last night (Wednesday) Rabbi Joe conducted a funeral in Fairmont, about fifteen miles south of here, for Jack Golden, the co-owner of Golden Brothers Department Store in downtown Fairmont, started by his father and uncle. He and a first cousin were the second generation owners. Jack's five children live near Washington or in Florida; three spoke at the funeral, in addition to Joe. The store was several stories tall. Jack was usually on the second floor. They gave credit before credit cards, gave discounts to people on welfare, clothed coal miners and dancers in their day. Jack asked customers what they needed, and made periodic trips to New York to buy what his customers told him they needed. He knew many of his clients by name. One daughter reported that Jack said "You don't have to wear designer clothes to be stylish." Golden's closed in 1979.
Fairmont has an elegant bridge leading into town across the Monongahela River. There is a beaux-arts domed courthouse. Downtown is beautiful, but mostly empty. Madison Street, the main street for merchants, is more parking lots than anything else. The synagogue in town closed and was torn down. South of town, a few exits on I-79, is a mall and some "Town Center"-style shopping areas. University Town Center, where I shopped at T.J.Maxx, is maybe twenty miles north of Fairmont.
Jack Golden's funeral was at an old-fashioned funeral home around the corner from where Golden's used to be. His Elks Lodge performed a beautiful short ceremony before the actual funeral, and the Lodge hosted a reception in their historic building, a short walk from the funeral home. Being there was a taste of what Fairmont once was.
I have an early memory of getting dressed up and riding a streetcar with my mother to downtown Baltimore. The last streetcar in Baltimore ran when I was six, so before that. Baltimore had four department stores on one corner: Hutzler's, The Hecht Company, Stewart's and Hochschild-Kohn. I don't think any of them exist anymore, certainly not downtown. Reisterstown Road Plaza, the suburban center on the Baltimore City-County line, near where I grew up, had a Hecht Company and Stewart's, both beautiful stores in their day. Both gone. There were a variety of clothing stores, like Hamburger's and Calby's, that had all the clothes we bought for school. I got to know some of the salespeople, and the grandson of the original Hutzler was my counselor at day camp when I was nine. My father helped create clothes for Joseph Banks, London Fog, and other companies that used to actually make their clothes in Baltimore.
I'm just exercising an old person's right to wax nostalgic about how things used to be. It doesn't do any good to complain about how times have changed, or to feel guilty about shopping at a national discount chain in a poorly sited and designed impersonal shopping area outside of town. It's just the way it is now.
Still, I like my new clothes, and as I was walking into the gym in my new threads yesterday, a pretty young girl smiled at me and said "Hi."
Since I am often unshaven when I work out in the morning, and I don't really know the people I see at the gym, it occurred to me last week that they probably think I'm some old homeless guy. I had to fix this.
I visited T. J. Maxx, a chain of discount leftover clothes at greatly reduced prices. It is at University Town Center, northeast of Morgantown, off I-79. The center has big-box stores: Target, Walmart, Sam's Club, Petco, Dick's, Giant Eagle. There are chain restaurants like Cheddar's and Olive Garden. There is a Best Buy, a Barnes & Noble and a Regal multiplex. The center is spread out and up a hill. It's almost impossible to walk from one store to another. When we moved here, temple members told us they never go there. Of course, it's mobbed, and traffic going in and out the one entrance is always backed up.
At T.J. Maxx, I found three mesh work-out shirts, three pairs of workout shorts, three casual shorts, three pairs of semi-dress slacks and three short-sleeve shirts. The work out clothes were from Adidas and Reebok, the other clothes Geoffrey Beene, Perry Ellis, Calvin Klein, Levi's and other designers. I paid $280. List price for the clothes I bought would have been over $800.
Back home, I went through drawers and closets looking for clothes to get rid of. Five bags. Mostly raggedy, but some I just don't want to wear any longer. I decided if I could find a picture of myself wearing an item in Los Angeles, so at least five and a half years ago, I should give it away. I made exceptions. We are moving next month (if all goes well). It's appalling how much stuff, including old clothes, we have. We are much better off than we think we are.
Last night (Wednesday) Rabbi Joe conducted a funeral in Fairmont, about fifteen miles south of here, for Jack Golden, the co-owner of Golden Brothers Department Store in downtown Fairmont, started by his father and uncle. He and a first cousin were the second generation owners. Jack's five children live near Washington or in Florida; three spoke at the funeral, in addition to Joe. The store was several stories tall. Jack was usually on the second floor. They gave credit before credit cards, gave discounts to people on welfare, clothed coal miners and dancers in their day. Jack asked customers what they needed, and made periodic trips to New York to buy what his customers told him they needed. He knew many of his clients by name. One daughter reported that Jack said "You don't have to wear designer clothes to be stylish." Golden's closed in 1979.
Fairmont has an elegant bridge leading into town across the Monongahela River. There is a beaux-arts domed courthouse. Downtown is beautiful, but mostly empty. Madison Street, the main street for merchants, is more parking lots than anything else. The synagogue in town closed and was torn down. South of town, a few exits on I-79, is a mall and some "Town Center"-style shopping areas. University Town Center, where I shopped at T.J.Maxx, is maybe twenty miles north of Fairmont.
Jack Golden's funeral was at an old-fashioned funeral home around the corner from where Golden's used to be. His Elks Lodge performed a beautiful short ceremony before the actual funeral, and the Lodge hosted a reception in their historic building, a short walk from the funeral home. Being there was a taste of what Fairmont once was.
I have an early memory of getting dressed up and riding a streetcar with my mother to downtown Baltimore. The last streetcar in Baltimore ran when I was six, so before that. Baltimore had four department stores on one corner: Hutzler's, The Hecht Company, Stewart's and Hochschild-Kohn. I don't think any of them exist anymore, certainly not downtown. Reisterstown Road Plaza, the suburban center on the Baltimore City-County line, near where I grew up, had a Hecht Company and Stewart's, both beautiful stores in their day. Both gone. There were a variety of clothing stores, like Hamburger's and Calby's, that had all the clothes we bought for school. I got to know some of the salespeople, and the grandson of the original Hutzler was my counselor at day camp when I was nine. My father helped create clothes for Joseph Banks, London Fog, and other companies that used to actually make their clothes in Baltimore.
I'm just exercising an old person's right to wax nostalgic about how things used to be. It doesn't do any good to complain about how times have changed, or to feel guilty about shopping at a national discount chain in a poorly sited and designed impersonal shopping area outside of town. It's just the way it is now.
Still, I like my new clothes, and as I was walking into the gym in my new threads yesterday, a pretty young girl smiled at me and said "Hi."
Thursday, April 2, 2015
Three Short Pieces: The House, The Legislature, The Lecture
1. The House
The inspector found all kinds of problems: a leak in the addition, rigged up wiring, possible asbestos on the floor in the basement. We also got an estimate of closing costs from the bank. It seemed a lot higher than we talked about. We are to close on May 11, but the tenant is a student and graduation is May 15. We were ready to back out of the whole deal.
We met with Jonathan, the agent. He tried to calm me down. They hired a contractor to make repairs; then there will be another inspection. He explained some of the expenses, and said he would speak to the bank and get back to me about some of the others. The tenant is to move out on May 9.
So I'm feeling a little better. We have packed nothing, and we still haven't had the reinspection. I took thirty books to a charity book sale. I tried to recycle probably a hundred magazines, mostly New Yorker, The Economist ( Joe's) and Rolling Stone (mine). Mon County has recycling only every other Saturday at Walmart south of town. During the week, the City of Westover (five miles from our house, west over the Monongahela River) has recycling. I took our magazines there Monday, but they were closed to repave the parking lot. The magazines went out with the trash yesterday morning.
Where we are moving, in the City of Morgantown, there is curbside recycling.
Joe went out and bought boxes yesterday, and our friends Dan and Daya have given us used boxes from their recent move.
I arranged for homeowner's insurance yesterday.
Somehow, this is going to happen.
II. The Legislature
I haven't been shy about hating on our state legislators. They eliminated penalties for mine owners who flout safety regulations, made it nearly impossible for miners who are injured on the job to sue, proposed many anti-gay bills, tried to fight Federal air-quality regulations, and tried to make it possible for anyone over eighteen to carry a concealed weapon with no training or permit.
OLLI, the Osher Life-Long Learning Institute, cosponsored a "wrap-up" of the last legislative session with the Democratic and Republican Central Committees and the League of Women Voters. All delegates and senators were invited. Four of our five legislators, one of our two Senators and two from neighboring districts showed up. I couldn't wait to ask some pointed questions. I wrote out five or six cards. A woman I know from The League of Women Voters was to pick from the questions submitted those she would ask the legislators.
I wanted to know from Joe Statler and Cindy Frich (who didn't come) why they endorsed Resolution 99 which called for a national constitutional convention to disallow any recognition of same-gender relationships. All three of the Senators sponsored a "religious freedom" bill almost identical to Indiana's controversial bill. It didn't pass. I asked if they have had a change of heart from the fallout in Indiana. Delegate Amanda Pasdon opposed Common Core standards for schools because they don't reflect "West Virginia values." I asked which values she was talking about. Delegate Brian Kurcaba offered a voter ID bill, requiring a driver license or military ID to vote. We live in a college town, but Kurcaba didn't include student IDs as acceptable. I wrote a question about that.
Cindy O'Brien, who picked the questions to be asked, didn't ask any of my questions. She asked one gay rights question- "Why do we not have a state-wide nondiscrimination bill?" Ms. Pasdon and Mr Statler said they couldn't get a majority to vote for it. Mr. Statler said "I don't believe anyone should be discriminated against." A lie. We were not given an opportunity to contradict our delegates. The three senators who came, Roman Prezioso from our district and a Democrat, Kent Leonhardt and Dave Sypolt, Republicans from adjoining districts, were upset that Governor Tomblin vetoed the bill to allow concealed carry by anyone, without training or a permit. Barbara Fleishauer, the one liberal Democratic legislator from our district was polite, but disagreed about the gun law.
That was it. O'Brien asked them a question about a bottle bill, allowing the officials to talk about when they were poor and collected bottles for the deposit, or brag about their recycling habits.
I was livid. Seems to happen often now. I did confront Brian Kurcaba about the voter ID after the formal program. He acted like he didn't know what I was talking about. He's the one who said about not allowing exceptions for rape to the 20-week abortion ban, which passed, that at least a woman who was raped would be left with a beautiful baby.
Joe was with me. He thought I should write to all the parties involved and complain. I apologized to him for wasting his time.
III. The Holocaust Speaker
I was invited to dinner with Rabbi Joe at the home of E. Gordon Gee, West Virginia University's president, before the last "Festival of Ideas" speaker, Marcel Drimer, a child survivor of The Holocaust. Drimer volunteers for The United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. I was proud that Joe was invited, and better, that we were invited as a couple. The other guests were the professor who teaches Slavic and Eastern European History,who arranged this lecture, and her boyfriend, who chairs the creative writing department at WVU. I've met both of them before.
We mostly asked The Drimers about their lives. Marcel often said "I'm covering that in my talk." Mrs. Drimer was born during World War II. Both of them were educated in post-war Poland, came to the United States in the early 1960s, and live in Northern Virginia.
At the program, Mr. Drimer spoke about his experience as a child in the Holocaust. Where he was born in Poland was invaded by Russia in 1939, then by the Germans in 1941. I won't go into the details, but he, his sister, mother and father survived because of his father's persistence, the aid of a Christian family, and luck (or as I would say, blessings). His family went through unspeakable cruelty and horror. That he came out of it as a cheerful, well-adjusted man is amazing.
My pride went away during this lecture. We all sit around and gripe about our childhoods, or a pizza parlor that doesn't want to cater a same-gender wedding. None of us have any idea what a bad childhood is, or how real hatred as a government policy can affect us. Mr. Drimer shares his story, but he is not bitter and angry. I could take lessons.
Mr. Drimer had difficulty with words. He was in his late twenties when he came to the United States, knowing very little English (three hundred words, he said). He confessed at dinner, that at 81, he is having trouble remembering English words. He was only eleven at the end of World War II. There are fewer and fewer people to speak to us about their experience in those years.
The inspector found all kinds of problems: a leak in the addition, rigged up wiring, possible asbestos on the floor in the basement. We also got an estimate of closing costs from the bank. It seemed a lot higher than we talked about. We are to close on May 11, but the tenant is a student and graduation is May 15. We were ready to back out of the whole deal.
We met with Jonathan, the agent. He tried to calm me down. They hired a contractor to make repairs; then there will be another inspection. He explained some of the expenses, and said he would speak to the bank and get back to me about some of the others. The tenant is to move out on May 9.
So I'm feeling a little better. We have packed nothing, and we still haven't had the reinspection. I took thirty books to a charity book sale. I tried to recycle probably a hundred magazines, mostly New Yorker, The Economist ( Joe's) and Rolling Stone (mine). Mon County has recycling only every other Saturday at Walmart south of town. During the week, the City of Westover (five miles from our house, west over the Monongahela River) has recycling. I took our magazines there Monday, but they were closed to repave the parking lot. The magazines went out with the trash yesterday morning.
Where we are moving, in the City of Morgantown, there is curbside recycling.
Joe went out and bought boxes yesterday, and our friends Dan and Daya have given us used boxes from their recent move.
I arranged for homeowner's insurance yesterday.
Somehow, this is going to happen.
II. The Legislature
I haven't been shy about hating on our state legislators. They eliminated penalties for mine owners who flout safety regulations, made it nearly impossible for miners who are injured on the job to sue, proposed many anti-gay bills, tried to fight Federal air-quality regulations, and tried to make it possible for anyone over eighteen to carry a concealed weapon with no training or permit.
OLLI, the Osher Life-Long Learning Institute, cosponsored a "wrap-up" of the last legislative session with the Democratic and Republican Central Committees and the League of Women Voters. All delegates and senators were invited. Four of our five legislators, one of our two Senators and two from neighboring districts showed up. I couldn't wait to ask some pointed questions. I wrote out five or six cards. A woman I know from The League of Women Voters was to pick from the questions submitted those she would ask the legislators.
I wanted to know from Joe Statler and Cindy Frich (who didn't come) why they endorsed Resolution 99 which called for a national constitutional convention to disallow any recognition of same-gender relationships. All three of the Senators sponsored a "religious freedom" bill almost identical to Indiana's controversial bill. It didn't pass. I asked if they have had a change of heart from the fallout in Indiana. Delegate Amanda Pasdon opposed Common Core standards for schools because they don't reflect "West Virginia values." I asked which values she was talking about. Delegate Brian Kurcaba offered a voter ID bill, requiring a driver license or military ID to vote. We live in a college town, but Kurcaba didn't include student IDs as acceptable. I wrote a question about that.
Cindy O'Brien, who picked the questions to be asked, didn't ask any of my questions. She asked one gay rights question- "Why do we not have a state-wide nondiscrimination bill?" Ms. Pasdon and Mr Statler said they couldn't get a majority to vote for it. Mr. Statler said "I don't believe anyone should be discriminated against." A lie. We were not given an opportunity to contradict our delegates. The three senators who came, Roman Prezioso from our district and a Democrat, Kent Leonhardt and Dave Sypolt, Republicans from adjoining districts, were upset that Governor Tomblin vetoed the bill to allow concealed carry by anyone, without training or a permit. Barbara Fleishauer, the one liberal Democratic legislator from our district was polite, but disagreed about the gun law.
That was it. O'Brien asked them a question about a bottle bill, allowing the officials to talk about when they were poor and collected bottles for the deposit, or brag about their recycling habits.
I was livid. Seems to happen often now. I did confront Brian Kurcaba about the voter ID after the formal program. He acted like he didn't know what I was talking about. He's the one who said about not allowing exceptions for rape to the 20-week abortion ban, which passed, that at least a woman who was raped would be left with a beautiful baby.
Joe was with me. He thought I should write to all the parties involved and complain. I apologized to him for wasting his time.
III. The Holocaust Speaker
I was invited to dinner with Rabbi Joe at the home of E. Gordon Gee, West Virginia University's president, before the last "Festival of Ideas" speaker, Marcel Drimer, a child survivor of The Holocaust. Drimer volunteers for The United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. I was proud that Joe was invited, and better, that we were invited as a couple. The other guests were the professor who teaches Slavic and Eastern European History,who arranged this lecture, and her boyfriend, who chairs the creative writing department at WVU. I've met both of them before.
We mostly asked The Drimers about their lives. Marcel often said "I'm covering that in my talk." Mrs. Drimer was born during World War II. Both of them were educated in post-war Poland, came to the United States in the early 1960s, and live in Northern Virginia.
At the program, Mr. Drimer spoke about his experience as a child in the Holocaust. Where he was born in Poland was invaded by Russia in 1939, then by the Germans in 1941. I won't go into the details, but he, his sister, mother and father survived because of his father's persistence, the aid of a Christian family, and luck (or as I would say, blessings). His family went through unspeakable cruelty and horror. That he came out of it as a cheerful, well-adjusted man is amazing.
My pride went away during this lecture. We all sit around and gripe about our childhoods, or a pizza parlor that doesn't want to cater a same-gender wedding. None of us have any idea what a bad childhood is, or how real hatred as a government policy can affect us. Mr. Drimer shares his story, but he is not bitter and angry. I could take lessons.
Mr. Drimer had difficulty with words. He was in his late twenties when he came to the United States, knowing very little English (three hundred words, he said). He confessed at dinner, that at 81, he is having trouble remembering English words. He was only eleven at the end of World War II. There are fewer and fewer people to speak to us about their experience in those years.
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