Democratic Socialists and American Prosperity

Back in 2019, Alexandra Ocasio Cortez (AOC), the now famous Democratic Representative from New York City, claimed that an entire generation "came of age and never saw American prosperity." I suppose that she and other Democratic Socialists still believe that they have not prospered in America. 

She only has to look in a mirror to disprove such a preposterous claim. The image at the left shows her in a designer gown that she wore to a fancy dress gala at New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art that was packed with other successful people like herself. Her clothes, jewelry and make up probably cost more than most ordinary people pay for food. Didn't she grow up in Westchester county, one of the most prosperous areas in the country? Before she entered politics weren't the drinks she served as a barista signs of prosperity?

She also should look at the end of her arm and behold the ever-present mobile phone in her hand. How can the generation that has never seen American prosperity own these expensive phones with their equally pricy monthly plans? What about the laptops and other devices that are owned by practically everyone? They have the world's best libraries in the palm of their hands.

Moreover, every day these mobile phones and laptops have to be plugged into the electric grid so that their batteries can be recharged. Electricity is one of our basic human needs in the modern world but it is remarkably cheap compared to other things we buy. People hate their electric bills but most probably spend less on this vital resource than they pay on beer and coffee. Speaking of coffee, the ubiquitous Starbucks, where so many young people like to meet and hang out and pay exorbitant prices for a latte are certainly a sign of prosperity. 

AOC's words made me think of my own generation and compare it with the prosperity of her generation. Let's look at housing first.

I was 21 in 1960, and about to enter my Senior year at Fordham University. I had lived at home with my grandparents in the borough of Queens ever since my mother had died 10 years before. They owned a three family house on busy 69th Street, and we lived on the first floor. There were only two bedrooms and one bathroom. I did not have my own room but slept in the rarely used dining room adjoining the small kitchen. The bathroom had a tub with a makeshift shower attached.There were no countertops, granite or otherwise, in the bathroom or in the kitchen, Food was prepared on the kitchen table or on the stove. We never ate out. It was unthinkable for my grandparents to eat at a restaurant.

My father, stepmother and two brothers lived next door above a deli. Their apartment also only had two bedrooms and an even more primitive bathroom. At the same time, my future wife lived on the first floor of a two story home in White Plains, NY. with her parents and four siblings. Their apartment had only two bedrooms and one bathroom, as well as a tiny kitchen with no countertops. She and her two younger sisters shared the same bedroom.

 

What about communications? Cell phones had not yet been invented and I don't remember that my grandparents even had a landline by 1960. They communicated with neighbors and family on the front steps or in the back yard under the grapevine. To call a girl for a date I had to walk a couple of blocks to a payphone.

Like most families we only had one car. My grandparents never learned to drive, and my father, who dreamed of owning a Cadillac, had to settle for used Chevys. I only got my driver's license after graduating from college. Transportation by bus oe subway was the norm, although we did walk a lot. I never even rode a bike. Motor bikes and scooters were unheard of. Unlike my grandchildren, I never thought of traveling abroad, although by 1960 attending high school in Manhattan had opened my eyes to the wonders of NYC.

Although I never thought of it, I guess even with our modest lifestyles we were sharing in American prosperity. By 1960 my father and grandparents had converted their homes from coal to oil heat. No more backbreaking shoveling coal every morning. By then there was only one TV in the living room but with no remote. There was no gigantic flat screen color TV in every room. I had one pair of shoes and one pair of sneakers for sports. Everyone wore Keds back in 1960. There were no designer sneakers.

In 1960 I was about to enter my Senior year at Fordham University.  My father certainly could not afford the tuition but I had won a scholarship from his employer, the Bulova Watch Company. As the first in my family to ever attend college, It never occurred to me to live on campus, and so I had to take a bus and subway ride of over an hour each day just to get to campus.  It turned out to be a blessing in disguise as NY City with its libraries, museums, theaters, and movies became my campus.

In 1960 I had $250 in a small savings account, and no prospects for the future. If I had ever thought of it, I might have complained that I had not shared in American prosperity. But in the next year I graduated from Fordham with a fine education and no debt, won a NY State Teaching scholarship to attend Columbia University, and met the young nurse who would still be my wife today. 

I don't think my story is unusual for any generation. 

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Dragonfly

Here is a poem from my younger brother Robert DeStefano, a retired science teacher who will never retire as a committed naturalist. This poem is from his most recent collection of poetry about the flora and fauna of the pond behind his cabin in the Berkshires. Entitled A Nobody it is currently available on Amazon. His explanation appears below the poem.

A

dragonfly

landed on my 

shoulder

neither of us

frightened

by its 

impetuosity

for

we share an

extreme natural

curiosity

I

stood motionless

as

this magnificent creature

examined me

with two enormous compound eyes

I

 stood in

awe

for

this 300-million-year survivor

made me feel

 so insignificant

I

know this 

resilient

species will easily

outlive

me

a

Homo sapiens

merely

300,000 years old

###

Yes, it’s true, dragonflies often land on me. The first time, I admit, I was a little nervous even though I knew that dragonflies do not sting or bite like wasps. The dragonfly sat on my shoulder and appeared to be examining me with its large compound eyes. I have had many encounters with dragonflies and have learned a great deal about them over the 20 years of watching them near the pond by the log cabin. Sometimes a group of over 50 seems to appear out of nowhere. I once encountered such a group resting on the dock and rowboat. When I arrived, they all focused their eyes on me, and some took turns landing on me. I have noticed that different species of adult dragonflies emerge at different times of the year, with the earliest being the Spring Darners and the latest being the Pondhawks. The pond temperature and individual food preferences are reasons that explain different timing of a species’ emergence. Dragonflies feed voraciously on flying insects such as mayflies and mosquitoes. A single adult will easily eat over 100 mosquitoes daily. I have watched dragonflies gather in a large group and fly in a circular pattern, herding flying insects into a smaller and smaller area. To me, this behavior mimics killer whales, who often hunt in groups and use teamwork to force seals closer together and make them easier to capture and kill.

Dragonflies reproduce by incomplete metamorphosis in that there is an egg, a nymph, and an adult rather than the complete metamorphosis where a butterfly begins as an egg, then a caterpillar, a pupa (chrysalis), and then an adult. A female and male dragonfly will join as the male grasps the female’s head with claspers on his abdomen. The female curls her abdomen to meet the male’s genitalia, forming with him a heart shape. The male then uses a special appendage on its penis to scoop out sperm from the female spermatheca of a previous male. The male then deposits his own sperm. The female usually mates with several males but only uses the sperm from the last male to fertilize her eggs. The fertilized eggs are deposited in water and attach to submerged vegetation. The eggs develop into ferocious nymphs known as a naiads that feed on aquatic organisms. Depending on the species of dragonfly, the nymphs will molt many times over a period of several years until the time comes for them to crawl out of water, attach to a plant stalk, and magically transform into a dragonfly. It begins its final molt as fluid pumps into its body and newly formed wings, which harden as it prepares to fly. The adult dragonflies will hunt and eventually attempt to reproduce but survive for about six months before dying.

Dragonflies evolved about 300 million years ago and were among the first flying insects, quickly becoming predators on newly evolved flying insects such as flies. Prehistoric dragonflies about 250 to 300 million years ago were huge, with a 2.5-foot wingspan. There were much higher levels of oxygen in the Earth’s atmosphere at that time, allowing insects and other animals, such as dinosaurs, to grow extremely large.

The dragonfly is featured in one of the stories about St. George, the dragonslayer. In Romanian mythology, St. George kills a dragon who had been terrorizing a village. The devil sees St. George kill the dragon and becomes envious of St. George’s magnificent horse. The devil transformed the horse into a dragonfly or devil’s horse. The Romanian word for devil is drac, also meaning dragon. Sometime during the crusades, George, who was a soldier, was captured and tortured because he was a Christian. He was eventually martyred by being beheaded. England eventually made St. George their patron saint. England’s flag is derived from St. George’s cross, which is a symbol of military strength and honor.

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Hall of Shame Induction

 

The Weekly Bystander has been content to let former President Joe Biden and his wife Jill slide into oblivion since the last election, but the recent publication of her memoir has brought them into the limelight again. I have not read her book and don't intend to, but reviews make it clear that it has tarnished their reputation even more.

It is now time for Jill Biden to join her husband in The Weekly Bystander Hall of Shame. Five years ago, after a disastrous first year in office, President Biden was inducted. Here is a link to a post that gave the reasons even before we knew what the rest of his term would bring.

Now, after the startling admissions in her memoir, it is Jill's turn. It's not just that she claims that during the infamous debate of June 2024, she thought Joe was having a stroke, but that she also claims that before or since, she has never seen any sign of mental decline in her elderly husband. 

Even more deceitful was her performance after the debate when on national television she effusively praised her husband's performance despite what she had seen with her own two eyes. She now says that she was using a technique employed by educators to encourage schoolchildren who had failed at some task.   Maybe so, but treating the President of the United States as if he was a schoolboy was disgraceful as well as deceitful. What kind of a woman is she? What kind of a wife is she to think he could have served four more years in such a demanding office? Check out this link to a brief video of her post debate reporting.

Below is an excerpt from my account of the June 2024 debate that treated Joe Biden with more compassion than Jill did.  

"My wife and I watched the Presidential debate last Thursday night, and it was obvious that President Biden lost. I rate his performance as a “D” because he at least completed the grueling ordeal. My impression was confirmed by watching the spinmeisters discuss the debate afterwards. Even the most die-hard Democrats admitted as much. It didn’t take words. Their faces told the story.

It was not that you could point to a blunder or two. President Biden looked and sounded weak and infirm. One Democratic commentator noted that there is only three years difference in their ages, but Trump looked and acted thirty years younger.

 

Joe Louis, one of boxings greatest champions, once said of an opponent that “he can run, but he can’t hide.” Well, President Biden may be running but he couldn’t hide during the debate. We finally saw the real Joe, or what was left of him at age 81. Finally, he stood alone without even Jill at his side, and we saw him without teleprompter or prepared remarks although he had spent a week preparing. It was sad, even sadder when you consider that he is the President of the United States.  

 

President Biden’s deportment during the debate would make you think that we have not really had a President for the past three and a half years. I would go even further and say that he appears like a figurehead or puppet, and that during his term I suspect that the country has been run by a secret cabinet of non-elected Democratic bureaucrats and advisors working behind the scenes. 

 

For three years Jill and the others in his inner circle must have observed that he was suffering from old age, and that he was no longer fit for the job. Along with a cooperative media, they have perpetrated a colossal fraud on us. They have hidden the real Joe from us but in the debate we could see and hear the truth with our own eyes and ears."

 

By coincidence, when I wrote the June 2024 debate post I found a letter by an eighteenth century critic of the British government on the eve of the American Revolution. In one passage the letter discussed the Duke of Bedford, an aging aristocrat and minister whose policies contributed to the American war and the eventual loss of the American colonies.

“ Let us consider you then, as arrived at the summit of worldly greatness; let us suppose that all your plans of avarice and ambition are accomplished, and your most sanguine wishes gratified… can age itself forget that you are now in the last act of life? Can gray hairs make folly venerable? And is there no period to be reserved for meditation and retirement? For shame, … let it not be recorded of you, that the latest moments of your life were dedicated to the same unworthy pursuits, the same busy agitations, in which your youth and manhood were exhausted. Consider that, although you cannot disgrace your former life, you are violating the character of age, and exposing the impotent imbecility, after you have lost the vigor, of the passions.”

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Battle of Midway: June 4, 1942:

 Today marks the 84th anniversary of the Battle of Midway, one of the most significant naval engagements in history. Below I repeat a blog post that I have posted almost annually featuring Samuel Eliot Morison's account of that battle that changed the course of WWII. The older I get, the harder it is for me to think or read about war, and the young lives lost on both sides. Nevertheless, at the end I add a link to an extremely well done documentary video about some of the resourceful and brave naval aviators involved in the Pacific war on both sides.

The anniversary of the Battle of Midway coming as it does on June 4, is usually overshadowed by remembrances of the Allied landings on the coast of Normandy on D-Day, the sixth of June, 1944. Nevertheless, if not for the American naval victory in the Battle of Midway on June 4, 1942, D-Day might never have happened.

Nowhere is the story of Midway told better than in Admiral Samuel Morison’s epic history of United States naval operations during the Second World War. Admiral Morison was a rare combination of sailor and historian. Before the war he had written a magisterial biography of Columbus that still ranks with anything ever written about that great sailor. As part of his research Morison even used a sailing ship to cover the route Columbus had taken.

When the war broke out, the U.S. Navy asked Morison to be its official historian. The Navy took pains to put him on actual ships that were very likely to see action. He was not at Midway but his account reads like an eyewitness. Below are excerpts from his depiction of the pivotal two minutes of that epic battle.

First, a little introduction. After their stunning success at Pearl Harbor in December of 1941, the Japanese had rolled up one victory after another. By the spring of 1942 Japanese strategists thought that an attack on the tiny island of Midway in the central Pacific would entice the American navy into a decisive engagement that would completely solidify Japan's hegemony over most of Asia, and force the USA out of the war.

They sent a huge naval task force including four of their best aircraft carriers and most of their best pilots to take the tiny island in the middle of nowhere. Even though the American navy had been battered at Pearl Harbor, it was able to send a carrier force to intercept the Japanese after code-breakers deciphered enough of the Japanese naval code to reveal that Midway was the target. 

The Japanese had already bombed the small garrison at Midway when the American carriers came into range. Admiral Raymond Spruance was in command of the American fleet and he followed the advice of Captain Miles Browning who shrewdly predicted the location of the Japanese force. Spruance launched an immediate attack and the American planes quickly found the Japanese. Unfortunately, the initial torpedo bomber attack was thwarted by Japanese fighters (Jekes). Not one torpedo reached its target and practically all the torpedo bombers were shot down. It seemed like all was lost for the Americans. Morison relates what happened next.

Lt. Commander McClusky

   

“The third torpedo attack was over by 1024, and for about one hundred seconds the Japanese were certain they had won the Battle of Midway, and the war. This was their high tide of victory. Then, a few seconds before 1026, with dramatic suddenness, there came a complete reversal of fortune, wrought by the Dauntless dive-bombers, the SBDs, the most successful and beloved by aviators of all our carrier types during the war. Lieutenant Commander Clarence W. McClusky, air group commander of Enterprise, had two squadrons of SDBs under him: 37 units. He ordered one to follow him in attacking carrier Kaga, while the other, under Lieutenant W. E. Gallaher, pounced on Akagi, Nagumo’s flagship. Their coming in so soon after the last torpedo-bombing attack meant that the Zekes were still close to the water after shooting down TBDs, and had no time to climb. At 14000 feet the American dive-bombers tipped over and swooped screaming down for the kill. Akagi took a bomb which exploded in the hangar, detonating torpedo storage, then another which exploded amid planes changing their armament on the flight deck—just as Browning had calculated. Fires swept the flagship, Admiral Nagumo and staff transferred to cruiser Nagara, and the carrier was abandoned and sunk by a destroyer’s torpedo. Four bomb hits on Kaga killed everyone on the bridge and set her burning from stem to stern. Abandoned by all but a small damage-control crew, she was racked by an internal explosion that evening, and sank hissing into a 2600 fathom deep.

Lt. Commander Leslie

The third carrier was the victim of Yorktown’s dive-bombers, under Lieutenant Commander Maxwell F. Leslie, who by cutting corners managed to make up for a late start. His 17 SBDs jumped Soryu just as she was turning into the wind to launch planes, and planted three half-ton bombs in the midst of the spot. Within  twenty minutes she had to be abandoned. U.S. submarine Nautilus, prowling about looking for targets, pumped three torpedoes into her, the gasoline storage exploded, whipsawing the carrier, and down she went in two sections.

…Never has there been a sharper turn in the fortunes of war than on that June day when McClusky’s and Leslie’s dive-bombers snatched the palm of victory from Nagumo’s masthead, where he had nailed it on 7 December.

Midway was a victory not only of courage, determination and excellent bombing technique, but of intelligence, bravely and wisely applied….it might have ended differently but for the chance which gave Spruance command over two of the three flattops. Fletcher did well, but Spruance’s performance was superb. Calm, collected, decisive, yet receptive to advice, keeping in his mind the picture of widely disparate forces, yet boldly seizing every opening, Raymond A. Spruance emerged from this battle one of the greatest admirals in American naval history.

Admiral Spruance

Admirals Nimitz, Fletcher, and Spruance are, as I write, very much alive; Captain Mitscher of Hornet, Captain Murray of Enterprise and Captain Miles Browning of the slide-rule mind have joined the three-score young aviators who met flaming death that day in reversing the verdict of battle. Think of them, reader, every Fourth of June. They and their comrades who survived changed the whole course of the Pacific War.”

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Note: Here is a link to a very informative and, at the end, moving video. 

Memorial Day: The Best Years of Our Lives

The Best Years of Our Lives swept most of the Academy Awards for 1946, and remains a film classic today. It is an emotional heart-rending story of three veterans returning to their families and their civilian lives that will never be the same.

 

William Wyler directed the film, his first after himself returning home from three years of military service. He had won the Best Director award in 1942 for Mrs. Miniver but then volunteered at the age of 40 to make films for the Air Force. In the process, he flew on a number of bombing missions and actually lost most of his hearing. Despite his disability, he won the best director award for The Best Years of Our Lives, a film that relied so much on the use of sound. 

 

The film featured a great cast that included stars like Frederic March, Dana Andrews, Myrna Loy, Teresa Wright, and Virginia Mayo, backed up by a superb supporting cast who shine in some of the best scenes. The film also featured Harold Russell, a real sailor whose two hands had actually been amputated during the war. It is at once heartbreaking and inspirational to see him manipulate the hooks that serve as replacements. Russell won Best Supporting Actor as well an unprecedented special award for his performance as the wounded sailor.

Harold Russell, Dana Andrews, Frederic March

 

Frederic March won the Best Actor award playing an army sergeant, returning to his respectable family and banking career. Actually, that year the Academy Award should have gone to Jimmy Stewart for his performance as a small-town banker in Frank Capra's It's a Wonderful Life.  It was a real sign of the times that both films featured bankers as heroes. In my opinion Dana Andrews could also have won for his portrayal of troubled Air Force bombardier Fred Derry.

Myrna Loy, Teresa Wright

However, the women in the film more than hold their own. Feminist historians would do well to note the powerful women portrayed in this 1946 film. Myrna Loy, Teresa Wright, and youthful Kathy O'Donnell are all towers of strength. Glamorous Virginia Mayo played an unfaithful floozy, but gave the best performance of her career. Ironically, she gets to utter the title line in the film when she complains to her returning husband that while he was flying bombing missions over Germany, she had given him the best years of her life.

 

The supporting cast is equally fine, and again it is the women who shine. One of the most emotional scenes in the film occurs at the beginning.  I will never forget the look on the face of the mother, played by Mina Gombell, when she first sees the hooks of her young son. Toward the end of the film after the dejected and out of work airman decides to leave town, he discards his wartime citations. When he leaves the house, his father then reads them to his step-mother, played by Gladys George, who sits quietly registering on her face the emotions felt by every viewer. 

 

Speaking of scenes, Dana Andrews, playing an Air Force Captain and bombardier who is haunted by horrific dreams and memories of lost comrades, appears alone in the pivotal scene near the end of the film. He has lost his job, and his wife, and a new romance has hit the rocks. He is about to leave his home town and waits at the airport for a flight to anywhere. He sees some de-commissioned and stripped down bombers waiting for the scrap heap. He climbs into one and sits in the dusty cabin and the war memories come back. There is no dialogue but gradually we hear the engines starting one by one, and the awful memories come back. It is one of the most iconic scenes in film history, filmed beautifully by famed cinematographer Gregg Toland. 

 

The final scene is the rendition of the marriage ceremony of the wounded sailor and his high-school sweetheart. Even today it is hard to watch him sliding the ring on her finger with his hooks. But the most moving part of the scene is the simplicity of the wedding ceremony itself. It takes place in the modest home of the bride. She descends the stairs as a couple of children sing, Here, Comes the Bride. Waiting in the living room are the parents and a small gathering of friends and family. A minister calmly directs the couple in the exchange of the traditional vows, and that is it except for congratulations. 

 

Someone once said that the length of the marriage is inversely proportional to the size of the wedding. This memorable wedding scene, and the film itself are powerful reminders of what we have lost in the ensuing years. 

 

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China Summit

 

I have always disliked Communism, its principles and its practices. As a child I recognized that while we may have all been born equal, we did not develop equally either in the classroom or the playground. As I grew up, my studies and experience revealed that Communist regimes were among the most murderous in history, and that their atrocities were directed not just at capitalists but at their own people. 

 

Although not on a par with such brutal oppression, one of the worst things about Communists was the way in which they betrayed the hopes and dreams of their most ardent supporters. After all, there is something noble about Communism, despite its sordid history, that attracted and still attracts millions of idealistic supporters all over the world. Slogans from a bygone day like, “Workers of the world unite, you have nothing to lose but your chains” really resonated. 

 

There are countless examples of young idealists going to fight for Communism. I think of George Orwell, an English writer, whose political convictions led him to fight with the Communist backed Republicans against the Fascists during the Spanish civil war in the 1930s. His own experience in Spain led him to realize that in practice Communists were just as bad, if not worse than the Fascists.

 

Older readers will remember Orwell’s political fable “Animal Farm” about a rebellion of oppressed farm animals against the farmer who profited from their labor. The farmer and his men were driven off the farm that then was to be worked by and for the animals. A banner was raised proclaiming, “All Animals are Equal.” All would share equally in the work and rewards of the farm. 

 

Unfortunately, things soon took a wrong turn. The wily pigs took over with the aid of fierce attack dogs and soon lorded it over the other animals. One day the animals noted that the revolutionary banner had been altered to read: “All Animals are Equal, but Some are More Equal than Others.” 

 

The book ends with a very touching scene. One night the ordinary animals stand out in the cold peering through the window of the restored farmhouse. They behold the prosperous pigs enjoying a fine dinner. Their guest is the farmer. The revolution had been betrayed.

 

The above thoughts came to mind while I watched some of the ceremonies of President Trump’s recent visit to China. As Xi Jinping, the leader of the Chinese Communist party, descended the stairs in front of an enormous palace I could only think that he was the latest in the long line of Chinese Emperors. True, he preferred Western business attire to Imperial robes, but it is obvious that the People’s Republic of China is long gone.

 

The Communist Party in China is the largest in the world, but its one million members make up a small minority of China’s 1.5 billion population. Interestingly, workers in China are not allowed to unite. Labor and trade unions are prohibited. Communists and Communist sympathizers in the United States have to willfully blind themselves to the realities of Communist rule wherever it has triumphed. Whether Soviet Russia, China, or Cuba some animals were more equal than others.

 

Nevertheless, I hope the summit does achieve some good results. If President Trump somehow managed to convince the Chinese leader that it would not be in his best interest to invade Taiwan, that would be a huge success. If the trade deals work out, that would also be a major accomplishment. Actually, I think that President Trump understands that trade, rather than military force, is our best weapon in dealing with the Chinese empire.

 

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Marriage Vows

I know it is common for couples today to compose their own wedding vows. When my wife and I married 63 years ago, we never thought of writing our own vows. In our innocence we accepted the traditional words. In turn we said:

I take you for my lawful wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.

I take you for my lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.

That was all we said. I then placed a ring on my bride’s finger “as a sign of our marriage vows.” Although it was followed by a Mass, the actual wedding was a brief ceremony taking no more than five minutes. I still have the little wedding pamphlet from that day, and I notice that the priest did not even say, “I now pronounce you man and wife.” It was our brief vows that made us man and wife.

The pamphlet included an introduction that provided the basis for the simple vows. Reading it today I can honestly say that I was not aware at the time of the awesome significance of the words.  I realize now that the words represented an ideal that would not be easy to attain. 

This union then is most serious, because it will bind you together for life in a relationship so close and so intimate, that it will profoundly influence your whole future. That future, with its hopes and disappointments, its successes, and its failures, its pleasures and its pains, its joys and its sorrows, is hidden from your eyes. You know that these elements are mingled in every life, and are to be expected in your own. And so, not knowing what is before you, you take each other for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death.

Truly, then, these words are most serious. It is a beautiful tribute to your undoubted faith in each other, that, recognizing their full import, you are nevertheless so willing and ready to pronounce them. And because these words involve such solemn obligations, it is most fitting that you rest the security of your wedded life upon the great principle of self-sacrifice. And so you begin your married life by the voluntary and complete surrender of your individual lives in the interest of that deeper and wider life which you are to have in common. Henceforth you belong entirely to each other; you will be one in mind, one in heart, and one in affections. And whatever sacrifices you may be required to make to preserve this common life, always make them generously. Sacrifice is usually difficult and irksome. Only love can make it easy; and perfect love can make it a joy. We are willing to give in proportion as we love.

No greater blessing can come to your married life than pure conjugal love, loyal and true to the end. May, then, this love with which you join your hands and hearts today, never fail, but grow deeper and stronger as the years go on.

I doubt that I read those words back then, or even that I would have understood their full significance if I had read them. It would take a lifetime. 

Maybe the best depiction of the exchange of vows can be found in the final scene of the award winning 1946 film, The Best Years of Our Lives. It ends with the simple wedding ceremony of a sailor who after losing both his hands in the war, returned home to find that his childhood sweetheart was still in love with him. Click on this link for the brief video. 

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Who Was Shakespeare?

The recent visit of King Charles III  of Great Britain brought to mind one of my favorite subjects:  the authorship of the plays and poems of William Shakespeare, the greatest author in the English language.  I confess that I am a Shakespeare denier. I believe that the great plays and poems attributed to William Shakespeare, the man of that name from Stratford on Avon, were not written by him, but by an aristocratic contemporary, Edward de Vere, the Seventeenth Earl of Oxford, one of the most prominent, best educated, and notorious noblemen in Elizabethan England. Below is an essay on the subject that originally appeared on The Weekly Bystander on April 6, 2016.

 

Edward de Vere, Earl of Oxford, 1575

 I am an advocate of the theory that the true identity of the greatest writer in the English language has been hidden for more than 400 years. I am not alone. Great writers like Walt Whitman, Mark Twain, and Henry James, as well as great Shakespearean actors like Orson Welles and Derek Jacobi believed that the plays and poems were written by someone other than the simple commoner from Stratford. Even Sigmund Freud agreed. 

While many names have been put forward as the true author, I believe that the aristocratic background, unique education, and life experience of the Earl of Oxford makes him the prime candidate for the true author of the Shakesperean canon. When it comes to Shakespeare, I agree with those who are called by scholars, with a certain degree of contempt, “Oxfordians”. These would include the unfortunately named J. Thomas Looney, an English high school teacher whose groundbreaking 1919 book, Shakespeare Identified in Edward de Vere, the Seventeenth Earl of Oxford, has never received the attention it deserves.

Oddly enough, it was on my first trip to Italy back in 1997 that I saw the light. My wife and I attended a little symposium on the Renaissance held that year in Gardone Riviera, a resort town on the coast of beautiful Lake Garda. We stayed in an old pensione up the hill from Gardone that had a spectacular view of the lake. 

Before the trip I had happened to read a book by Joseph Sobran* that also questioned the authorship of the man from Stratford, and promoted the cause of the Earl of Oxford, but I found it hard to believe given the overwhelming scholarly tradition. Italy changed my mind. Many of the plays are set in Italy, and the playwright seems to have a first hand knowledge of the customs, language, and geography of the country.

The man from Stratford never traveled outside of England. Scholars are reduced to saying that he got his extensive knowledge of things Italian by listening to Italian seamen in London pubs. On the other hand, shortly after he turned 21 and took his seat in the House of Lords, the young Earl of Oxford left England to spend a year and a half traveling on a kind of grand tour, most of which was spent in Italy. Is it a coincidence that practically every town he visited in Italy is featured or at least mentioned in the plays? Venice, Verona, and Padua come immediately to mind. Places he did not visit, like Turin and Bologna, receive no mention in the plays. 

Moreover, my own brief first visit to Italy convinced me that it would be impossible to describe the beautiful countryside, and the fabled cities without having actually seen them. Even today, after many subsequent visits, I find it almost impossible to describe the breathtaking scene of the Tuscan countryside, or a ride in a water taxi down Venice’s Grand Canal.

The young Edward de Vere spent a fortune on his Italian journey and had to borrow heavily to pay his enormous bills. He arrived back in England deeply in debt and even stark naked, having been stripped of his clothes by pirates in the English Channel, in the same manner as Prince Hamlet in the famous play. This incident is just one of many where the life of the Earl of Oxford is mirrored in the plays and poems of Shakespeare.**

Edward de Vere was born in 1550, fourteen years before the man from Avon.  The de Vere’s were one of England’s great aristocratic families, and could trace their lineage back over 400 years. After the death of his father, when Edward was only twelve, he was taken from his mother and made a ward of the Crown. His property and wealth were managed by Queen Elizabeth’s favorite, Sir Robert Dudley, and his education and upbringing were put into the hands of Sir Robert Cecil the Queen’s chief minister, who even non-Oxfordians believe to be the prototype of Polonius in Hamlet. Edward de Vere grew up in the highest circles of English society, and studied under some of the greatest scholars of his time.

On the other hand, it would appear that the man from Stratford on Avon received no more than the barest elementary education. His father was a butcher and his family was illiterate. Scholars are hard pressed to find any evidence that he received even an elementary education. He left no books or manuscripts behind but only a handful of copies of his signature on legal documents that indicate that he could hardly write his own name.

Throughout his life Edward de Vere was associated with the theater. He sponsored and promoted plays and companies of players. However, at the time it was considered disgraceful for someone of his status to associate with plays and players. For this reason Oxfordians believe that he used the name of the man from Avon to cover his tracks. There is evidence that the young man from Avon was amply compensated. After all, what’s in a name?

The greatest objection to the authorship of de Vere is the fact that he died in 1604. Although it is difficult to date the plays, the traditional belief has been that some, like the Tempest, were written between 1604 and 1616, the date of the death of the man from Stratford. However, in recent years scholars have reduced the number of post-1604 plays to one or two and even their dates are questionable. One recent author has even argued that the whole “Shakespeare project” seems to shut down after 1604. 

The other objection involves a kind of reverse snobbery. We live in the age of the underdog and people like to believe that the greatest author in the English language was a common man possessed with great natural genius. We do not like aristocrats and shows like Downton Abbey make us aware of their follies and weaknesses. Nevertheless, greatness in any field still requires education and life experience. Every author writes himself. The plays of Shakespeare are all about Kings, Queens, and other aristocrats. In those plays Edward de Vere wrote about a world of which he was intimately acquainted and in which he played a major role. 

Written around 1604, Hamlet was one of the last plays. The dying words of Hamlet could well apply to Edward de Vere.

O God, Horatio, what a wounded name,
Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me!
If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart
Absent thee from felicity a while,
And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain
To tell my story.

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* Joseph Sobran, Alias Shakespeare, 1997.

**Mark Anderson, Shakespeare by Another Name, 2005, provides an exhaustive account of the similarities between the life of Edward de Vere and the characters in both the plays and poems of Shakespeare.  

Assassins

 

The recent attempt by a self-proclaimed assassin to enter the White House Correspondents dinner and possibly kill President Trump and other members of his administration marked the third attempt on Donald Trump’s life in the last twelve months. 

It makes you wonder why Donald Trump is such a target. The question was put to the President in the brief press conference held right after the incident. He replied that he had studied assassinations and claimed that the Presidency has always been a high-risk job, especially if the President has achieved much.  According to him there is little reason to target an inconsequential President like his predecessor.

I suspect that there is some truth in his remarks, but I think there is something more involved in the attacks aimed at him. I do not agree with those who think the problem will be solved by toning down the “rhetoric.” The rhetoric itself stems from something deeper. I do not believe that the people who claim that Trump is a dictator, a fascist, or another Hitler are lying or hypocritical. They really believe it. In a way, they can’t help themselves. It is as if they have been programmed. Let me give an example.

An incident occurred in our home during President Trump’s first administration that was strange. For years a window cleaner had been coming to our home to clean our windows. He was a nice guy who always did a good job, and my wife really liked him. While chatting with him on one occasion, she mentioned that she liked Trump. Immediately, he picked up his equipment and walked out of the house leaving the job half done. It was as if his psychological immune system had sprung into action and he could not help reacting. 

I thought of this trivial incident while trying to understand why three attempts have been made on the life of President Trump so far. What are the assassins like, and what do they believe?

The case of Luigi Mangione provides some clues. This young man deliberately shot a man in the back in broad daylight, a killing that in former times would have been considered craven cowardice. Yet, Mangione apparently thought he was doing a good deed in shooting the CEO of a large health care insurance company. Moreover, instead of being vilified, he is regarded by many as a kind of hero, even a saint. The CEO he killed was a successful Businessman who somehow deserved to die.  

In the eyes of his haters Donald Trump is the epitome of the Big Bad Businessman. He is rich and flaunts it. He is arrogant and self-assured. He brooks no criticism or insult. He is the personification of the villains of innumerable movies and TV series that I have witnessed over my long lifetime. For years, Law and Order, to name one, has been among TV’s most popular shows. Inevitably, the original murder suspect is usually a poor young Black or Puerto Rican, but then the murderer turns out to be a wealthy businessman.

The pandemic alerted us to the workings of our immune system: how it is programmed to immediately spring into action against harmful invaders. We also learned that sometimes the immune system can overreact and cause even more damage.

I have come to believe that we also have a psychological immune system that has largely been conditioned by what we have been watching over our lifetimes. Any rational person must admit that from the age of the robber barons to our current tech tycoons, the cultural bias has been largely left wing and anti- business.

The opinion page of my local newspaper has no conservative commentators. It cannot afford to offend the sensibilities of its readers or remaining advertisers. The mainstream news media is notoriously biased. The staff at NPR is overwhelmingly Democratic. It’s not much different online. It turns out that over 70% of Wikipedia sources are left wing, and only 1% come from the right. For every conservative on the Yale faculty, there are 36 liberals.  

I admit that I have my own psychological immune system, but I have never hated anyone or thought of killing anybody even if it would benefit humanity.  I can’t bear to watch or read left leaning news but do not hate the Democrats who for years have dominated politics here in Connecticut. I disagreed with many of the things that former Democratic Presidents Biden and Obama did, but I never hated them. 

In thinking about it, I believe that there were some institutions that kept my psychological immune system from over-reacting even when I was a young man. First, there was my marriage. My wife certainly would not have allowed me to be an assassin. Our shared beliefs, background, and values also helped. There were our children. We had to raise them, and I had to work to support them. There were our extended families who supported us and who we had to support in turn. There was our Church whose teaching, culture, and long history were in our blood.

I certainly don’t think that I am unique. On the contrary, I believe that most people still are supported by institutions like these that keep them from doing harm. Unfortunately, over my long lifetime I have seen most of these institutions ridiculed, bitterly attacked, or just regarded as irrelevant. Marriage, children, family, and religion are no longer the ideal. Young men especially are on their own.

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Anti--Catholicism

  HistoriaFamed 

Famous American historian Arthur M. Schlesinger Sr.  once claimed that anti-Catholicism is "the deepest held bias in American history." It began in the days of the Puritan colonial founders, continued through the era of massive Catholic immigration of over a hundred years ago, and persists today in Protestant evangelicals, Progressive atheists, and even lapsed Catholics.

One of its signs is the animus, sometimes comical but often venomous, directed against Catholic nuns. Just last week an editorial in the Wall Street Journal decried the efforts of New York State officials to force the Dominican Sisters of Hawthorne to comply with State LGBTQ rules. This religious order, whose founder was Rose Hawthorne, the daughter of the famed American novelist, is noted for its work in caring for the dying in its hospice at Rosary Hill in New York. It is an exemplary institution not only because the sisters accept no payment but also because they do the work themselves even to the point of scrubbing the floors on their hands and knees.

I personally know people whose parents spent their last days there in peace and dignity. They have nothing but praise for these self sacrificing nuns and their work. Unfortunately, the idea of self sacrifice seems to have gone our of favor today. 

The incident at Rosary Hill brought to mind my review of the film adaptation of Somerset Maugham's novel, The Painted Veil, that also dealt with the idea or ideal of self sacrifice. See below. 

The Painted Veil is a 2006 American film adaptation of a novel written in 1925 by W. Somerset Maugham, one of the most popular novelists of the first half of the twentieth century. Although an atheist, Maugham’s novel expressed his deep interest in religion. The book’s protagonist is Kitty, a young English socialite who enters into a marriage of convenience with a man she doesn't love. Things get worse when her husband's work takes her from England to the British colony of Hong Kong where she has an affair with a married British official. Upon discovery, the husband insists she accompany him to an inland Chinese city where he intends to study and deal with a raging cholera epidemic. She suspects that he is taking her there in hopes that she will catch the dreaded disease.

 

I will not divulge much more of the story but just introduce what I consider to be a very significant detail. In the stricken city, Kitty is left largely alone while her husband does his medical research among the sick and dying. To pass the time she visits a Catholic orphanage run by a handful of French nuns who care for children abandoned by their parents. Irreligious herself, she is impressed by the nuns and their work.

 

Maugham’s novel is all about the transformation of the selfish heroine during the cholera epidemic by her encounter with true self-sacrifice: first on the part of the small group of French nuns who have left their homes forever to care for the needy in China, and second, on the part of her unloved husband who ultimately succumbs to cholera himself in trying to help fight the disease. 

 

The modern film version, starring Naomi Watts and Edward Norton, tries to remain faithful to the novel. You can’t blame them for turning it into a love story and altering Maugham’s convoluted ending. Such changes, I believe, alter the letter but not the spirit of the original. Nevertheless, in one respect the filmmakers do violate the spirit of the novel with a gratuitous injection of modern sensibilities. 

 

At one point in the film, Kitty tells her husband how impressed she is with the nuns. Her husband, who in the book has real respect for the nuns and their work, snidely replies that they are merely buying children from their impoverished parents in order to make them little Catholics. This insert of modern cant and prejudice is entirely gratuitous. 

 

The filmmakers go even further. The Mother Superior, played by Diana Rigg, is portrayed as having a kind of crisis of faith. Her initial ardor, that made her give up home and family, has waned and she admits to a kind of spiritual burn out. Again, this is an injection of modern prejudice that totally violates the spirit of Maugham’s novel.

 

Here is an excerpt from the novel that expresses both Kitty’s and Maugham’s real feelings.

 

“Your first thought when looking at the Mother Superior was that as a girl she must have been beautiful, but in a moment you realized that this was a woman whose beauty, depending on character, had grown with advancing years. … But the most striking thing about her was the air she had of authority tempered by Christian charity: you felt in her the habit of command. To be obeyed was natural to her, but she accepted obedience with humility. You could not fail to see that she was deeply conscious of the authority of the church which upheld her. But Kitty had a surmise that notwithstanding her austere demeanor she had for human frailty a human tolerance; and it was impossible to look at her grave smile when she listened to Waddington, unabashed, talking nonsense, without being sure that she  had a lively sense of the ridiculous.”

Later, Kitty relates her feelings to Waddington, a skeptical and agnostic British official who has been stationed in China for many years.

“I can’t tell you how deeply moved I’ve been by all I’ve seen at the convent. They’re wonderful, those nuns, they make me feel utterly worthless. They gave up everything, their home, their country, love, children, freedom; and all the little things which I sometimes think must be harder still to give up, flowers and green fields, going for a walk on an autumn day, books and music, comfort, everything they give up, everything. And they do it so that they may devote themselves to a life of sacrifice, poverty, obedience, killing work, and prayer. To all of them this world is really and truly a place of exile. Life is a cross which they willingly bear, but in their hearts all the time is the desire—oh, it’s so much stronger than desire, it’s a longing, an eager and passionate longing for the death which shall lead them to life everlasting. …

Supposing there is no life everlasting? Think what it means if death is really the end of all things. They’ve given up all for nothing. They’ve been cheated. They’re dupes.”

Waddington reflected for a little while.

“I wonder. I wonder if it matters that what they have aimed at is an illusion. Their lives are in themselves beautiful. I have an idea that the only thing which makes it possible to regard this world we live in without disgust is the beauty which now and then men create out of chaos. The pictures they paint, the music they compose, the books they write, and the lives they lead. Of all these the richest in beauty is the beautiful life. That is the perfect work of art.”

Kitty sighed. What he said seemed hard. She wanted more.

“Have you ever been to a symphony concert?” he continued,

Every member of the orchestra plays his own little instrument, and what do you think he knows of the complicated harmonies which enroll themselves on the indifferent air? He is concerned only with his own small share. But he knows that the symphony is lovely, and though there’s none to hear it, it is lovely still, and he is content to play his part.”

Toward the end, as the widowed and pregnant Kitty plans to return to England, the Mother Superior bids her adieu. 

 “Good-bye, God bless you, my dear child.” She held her for a moment in her arms. “Remember that it is nothing to do your duty, that is demanded of you and is no more meritorious than to wash your hands when they are dirty; the only thing that counts is the love of duty; when love and duty are one, then grace is in you and you will enjoy a happiness which passes all understanding.” 

Despite my caveats, The Painted Veil is a serious film with a compelling story. the acting and cinematography are excellent. A 1934 adaptation is also worth watching especially since it stars Greta Garbo in one of her magnificent performances. Interestingly, this version, coming so soon after the publication of the novel, gives little notice to the nuns and the orphanage.

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Today's Quote: When people cease to believe in God, they will believe in anything. G.K. Chesterton.