Chuck and Dave Without Vera

Two men born in 1926 about five months and five thousand miles apart have made deep impressions on me. One is Charles Edward Anderson Berry, known to most of the general public as "Chuck" and the other is Sir David Frederick Attenborough.

Of all the people in the world, David Attenborough is the person I might most like to trade lives with. No one has witnessed more fascinating natural events than Attenborough and I challenge anyone to fashion a reasonable argument for somebody else. For those who do not know of Mr. Attenborough, he has for over fifty years researched and presented scores of television programs for the British Broadcasting Corporation, the vast majority of which involve filming flora and fauna throughout the globe. He has traveled to every continent, through dozens of countries, and seen creatures many of us would never have heard of if it weren't for him. A national hero in the United Kingdom, anyone on the west side of the Atlantic who is unfamiliar with his work and even remotely interested in biology is advised to seek out "Life on Earth", "The Living Planet", "Blue Planet", "Planet Earth", "The Life of Birds", "The Life of Mammals", or any of the rest of his absolutely astonishing television series.

And now, Chuck. From the man of science to one of sheer musical genius. Chuck Berry made music so definitively rock & roll and so American, it seemed like it must have always been there, the kind of of songs nobody in particular wrote but were always around. But somebody in particular did write "Maybelline", "Johnny B. Goode", "Let It Rock", "Sweet Little Sixteen", "Almost Grown", "Brown Eyed Handsome Man", "You Can't Catch Me", and "Around and Around."

His songs could be harmless fun or they could be stirring and profound and some of them--lots of them--could be either or both depending on the mood of the listener! "Brown Eyed Handsome Man" is a whimsical number in which the Venus DeMilo, identified in the song as "Marlo Venus", loses "both her arms in a wrestling match to meet a brown eyed handsome man". It's a fun song that gives silly names to classical sculptures. But what about the guy "rounding third and headed for home"? Does that refer to Willie Mays or perhaps another black baseball player, a "brown eyed handsome man" tearing up the big leagues following the relatively recent collapse of the color barrier?

The best word to describe Berry's music is glorious. It's not quite as lyrical as the best work of Bob Dylan, nor quite as melodic as the best Beatles, nor quite as angry and edgy as the best Rolling Stones, nor quite as driving and danceable as the best James Brown, nor quite as earthy and arresting as the best Howlin' Wolf and Muddy Waters, but it combines all those elements into something more liberating than any of them. If Freedom itself had a radio station, the first song played would be one of Chuck Berry's.

David Attenborough celebrated his 83rd birthday on May 8th while Chuck Berry turns the same age today, October 18th. Attenborough remains active in television and Berry still performs once a month at a night club near his native St. Louis, Missouri. I hope for many more birthdays from these two and that anyone previously unacquainted with their genius gets a taste of it soon.

Call It A (Not Terribly Welcome) Comeback

The reason for my recent blog inactivity is a valid one: I'm working on a novel. It's good, too! I'll concede parts of it are rambling and convoluted but that tends to be the style I employ, for good or ill. I will dish out an obligatory summary of recent events, for what it's worth.

First, I wanted Chicago to get the Olympics. I love it there. It's far from a perfect place, but I consider it the definitive American city full of all the contradictions for which this country is known, loved, and loathed. However, I'm pleased South America finally gets an opportunity to host. Africa ought to be next. Cape Town put together an unsuccessful bid for the 2008 games but whether they're poised for another run in the near future is uncertain.

Reasonable opponents of Obama's health care plan could probably formulate sensible arguments and propositions, really adding something substantial to the proceedings. Indeed, they have probably done so already, but their voices are, for the most part, being drowned out by histrionics. Equating the Obama Administration with Nazism is offensive, over the top, and deeply insulting to people who actually had to endure the Third Reich. If it wasn't fair to compare the Bush Administration to Nazis--and it wasn't--it isn't fair to hurl the same epithets toward Obama.

Special recognition goes to Investors Business Daily. About two months ago, that publication printed an article indicating how fortunate physicist Stephen Hawking was not to be living in Great Britain, since someone with ALS was not "valued" by their health care system and therefore would not have survived to his current age (he's 67). There were two problems with this, one of which proved very embarrassing to Investors Business Daily while the other went largely unremarked. Stephen Hawking, as anybody capable of picking up one of his books or performing an Internet search can easily discover, was born in Britain and resides there yet. The other problem, obscured by IBD's egregiously lazy error or general disinterest in facts, is the sweeping generalization and assumption made in the first place, the idea that anyone can know for certain whether Stephen Hawking, or anyone, would have fared as well in another country. This is pure guesswork because it isn't merely a matter of the health care system employed by one country or another; so many other factors can influence patient outcomes--doctors, nurses, the patient's own behavior--that it is impossible to made accurate predictions about whether a patient would have lived or died in another situation. Besides that, it's crass. Stephen Hawking is alive and well and even if he weren't British, it's very tasteless to imply he'd be dead if he had a different address.

President Obama should not have been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. He has all but admitted as much himself. But he should accept it, then go out and earn it. Receiving an award before you deserve it is unorthodox, but instead of making him complacent, he ought to use it as motivation. That's what I'm hoping for anyway.

Is it just me or are the Pussycat Dolls even worse than most performers of their ilk? Not many contrived girl and boy groups make great music, but the Pussycat Dolls seem so derivative, overwrought, overproduced, and flat-out dull that I simply can't understand the appeal of listening to their alleged music. I do understand that dirty old men and pre-teen boys might find their gyrations alluring even if they are a canned and phony act. They are, in fact, canned and phony even by the standards of the genre. In terms of spontaneity and passion, the Pussycat Dolls make Destiny's Child look like the Donnas. "I Hate This Part", indeed!

Regrettably, there has been no desperate outcry for me to resume blogging. It seems the forces of the world still expect me to earn a living and this stands as yet another bitter disappointment.

It's Not But It Should Be

Fifty years ago, on August 19, 1959, the life of Blind Willie McTell came to an end in Milledgeville, Georgia. McTell's date of birth is a matter of debate; though it is generally accepted his birthday was the 5th of May, the exact year he came into the world remains sketchy. Some sources say 1898, others 1901, and very occasionally a date of 1900 is given.

Today ought to be Blind Willie McTell Day in the United States, if not throughout the world. His story is as rich and fascinating as any blues legend, and that's saying something considering the legendary lore surrounding the likes of Tommy Johnson, Robert Johnson, Huddie Ledbetter, and Sonny Boy Williamson, among scores of others.

Among the most interesting, if unlikely, tales about McTell is the claim he once shot a marauding dog with a pistol. More plausible, though still remarkable, are anecdotes about his exceptional navigational skills in Atlanta, Georgia, where he assisted lost travelers in finding their way. What is known for certain about Blind Willie McTell is that he recorded under a variety of names--including but not limited to Barrelhouse Sammy, Georgia Bill, Pig and Whistle Red--and played the 12 string guitar with rare grace, speed, and beauty. He also had a distinctive voice and wrote pheonomenal songs. The best known of these is probably "Statesboro Blues", but a number of others are equally timeless, such as "Georgia Rag", "Stomp Down Rider", "Atlanta Strut", "Warm It Up To Me", "Dyin' Crapshooter's Blues", and the offensive but irresistible "Southern Can Is Mine."

"...mama died and left me restless; Daddy died and left me wild, wild, wild
No I'm not good looking, but I'm some sweet woman's angel child."
(from "Statesboro Blues")

"Went up the Kennesaw Mountain, gave my horn a blow
Prettiest girl in Atlanta came stepping up to my door
Hugged me and she kissed me, called me sugar lump
Throwed them sweet arms around me like a grape vine 'round a stump."
(from "Atlanta Strut")

"Boll weevil, he told the farmer, don't buy no Ford machine
Ain't gonna make enough money to even buy gasoline."
(from "Boll Weevil")

Don't deny it. Anyone who writes lyrics like this deserves his own day.

Trouble

Lately, I've been working on a novel. This isn't my first attempt; in fact, I've even made it to the end of the story a few times, though more often than not the effort was aborted midstream. However, this time something is different: I've actually gotten good!

It's hard to say precisely when I turned the corner, nor can I definitively declare that I have, only that it seems so, but my skills at fiction have moved pleasantly from adequate to above average. Who knows what brought on this creative springtime? I just hope it continues.

Sixty-five years have passed since the Normandy Invasion. I don't think we should "retire" all talk of D-Day now that it's come of age, but I do hope we can always remember it without ever having to repeat anything of the kind. The world is not a peaceful place; one need not look very far to recognize this truth. But these days thousands upon thousands of soldiers perishing on heartbreakingly bloody battlefields is almost unheard of. Not that the changes in warfare give one much cause for celebration--guerrilla tactics, terrorism, "smart bombs"--but military institutions appreciate more than ever the value of human life, even if this is not always for the right reasons.

Whether out of compassion or expedient coincidence, wars just don't kill like they used to, not even in the world's most violent conflicts, the possible exception being the horrors within the Democratic Republic of Congo, which has cost an estimated three million lives over six years, mostly due to disease, famine and displacement rather than shells and bullets. Granted, these numbers pale compared to the lives lost in World War II in only four years, but the latter conflict had a far more massive scope and involved many more participants. Congo, however, is a desperately poor country fighting in, for lack of a better term, the "old school" way. This should neither trivialize its plight nor dissuade us from addressing the problem, but it is something of an archaic war being played out in modern times.

But let's face it: Congo's plight has already been trivialized. It's a punch line. Not a funny one, not something that makes most people literally laugh, but something that surprises few, another war-torn nation in the Third World. It diminishes us all to think this way, but what can we do from such massive distances and against such great odds? Whose job is it to stop the fighting, the conscription and exploitation of children, the masses of refugees? Other nations in Africa? The United States? The United Nations? Europe? China? No one is stepping forward into the quagmire. Perhaps they should reconsider from the perspective of enlightened self-interest, since empathy alone seems insufficient. Congo is one of the world's most mineral rich nations: they have diamonds, gold, copper, bauxite, and many other valuable commodities. A stable, healthy Congo benefits not only the Congolese but the entire world. So far, no one has deemed it worth the risk to step in, possibly because some of these industries are being exploited by ruthless factions within the country.

It's a sad example. On the other hand, while Congo's status is not unique in the world, it reminds us that locales enduring high casualty counts are relatively rare these days, at least compared to nations at war in the recent past. Part of that reflects where wars are occurring. Sudan and Afghanistan are large, desolate countries where the population density and the nature of the fighting keep the number of dead reasonably low. Is this what we want? In some ways, war seems crueler, more capricious and random, more absurd than ever. In others, it seems more contained and not as lethal.

Evidently, there are no good old days, not even now. But it could always be worse. We know this because it has been!

The National Insurance Lottery

In the past, I have expressed reservations about a nationalized health care scheme. It is unfair to label the Canadian and Western European health care systems as disastrous just as it is absurd to say they are unmitigated successes. Fact is, like almost all large government programs, they giveth and they taketh away, solving some, rarely all, of the problems they hope to while at the same time creating new ones. Among the citizens of nations that employ these large scale health care initiatives, one is likely to find plenty of cheerleaders, plenty of critics and, most of all, plenty who are both, recognizing the system's virtues as well as its warts.

President Obama's tentative health care proposal represents a hybrid of the current system and a national one and is therefore unlikely to please hard-line conservatives or die-hard socialists. This is just as well, as these two groups make a point not to be pleased most of the time. The President's idea, sound on the face of it but probably not as straightforward as it seems, is to leave what's right about the system alone while building new programs to repair what's busted. Well, okay. I do not profess any expertise on this topic, but I do have thoughts on how to raise money for it.

There is some logic in a tax increase on unhealthy foods, but I have another idea: there should be a National Insurance Lottery. For, say, two dollars a ticket, purchasers could win a shot at the monthly grand prize, one million dollars and free health care for life. Impractical, you say? I respectfully disagree. If only one in ten Americans purchased only one ticket every week--again, one out of ten and only a single ticket--it would generate about a quarter billion dollars every month, not enough to pay for the program, but a handsome sum of money just the same. And the best part is, it's all voluntary.

Of course, there might be complaints that such a system encourages gambling. But that ship sailed a long time ago. States lotteries around the country already fund dozens of important initiatives and, in the words of the Cornelius Brothers and Sister Rose, it's too late to turn back now.

Get A Job, Man, You're Fifty!

This is my message to the protesters at the London G20 Summit, even the ones considerably under the age of fifty and the ones who already have jobs. Yes, of course, I am painting with a broad brush here; some of those involved in acts of civil disobedience have noble intentions and likely are marvelous people. However, most of the attention falls to hostile, bitter loudmouths who are more interested in shouting slogans and slinging stones than genuinely advancing the cause of the planet's poor and downtrodden.

Understand, the overall points that the global economic system is not altogether fair and that power, money, and resources are concentrated in too few hands are not without validity. Solutions to these problems remain nebulous and elusive but, if nothing else, no -ism or -tion advocated by simplistic catch phrases will resolve the world's problems. As delightfully subversive as overthrowing or undermining the system might seem, it works much better as an idea than as a reality.

It is the ultimate self-delusion to believe destroying property and hurling insults at police officers will somehow change the world for the better or ease the misery of families in Cambodia or Sierra Leone. But a lot of protesters probably realize this already and are more cynical than idealistic; they are, in fact, more driven by revelry and mayhem, by perceiving the victims as themselves, as martyrs fighting for their rights.

Some people interpret criticism of a particular group of protesters as an assault on the right to protest. That's as nonsensical as the idea that one malpractice suit against an incompetent doctor is an indictment against all of modern medicine. The right to air grievances against any and all governments should be sacrosanct--even though it isn't in many parts of the world--but some petitioners raise better arguments than others and we should all be free to criticize those who criticize.

Pardon the Shoe Thrower

Three years for attempted assault? Sorry, but that's absurd. This is not an attempt to embarrass former President Bush nor a defense of journalist Muntadhar al-Zeid's actions; he was dead wrong to do what he did and fortunate to be alive, because when you heave objects at a global leader, getting shot full of about fifty slugs is not unheard of. Critical as so many have been of Bush, he displayed impressive reflexes during this incident. However, following the footwear chucking, I believe he should have requested a meeting with al-Zeid and stated publicly that while he did not condone violence as a method of protest, he understood the frustration of the Iraqi people and the emotional scars left by the invasion.

Bush could not have pardoned al-Zeid, but as targeted victim and leader of the free world, his recommendation for clemency would have carried a lot of weight and perhaps provided a small measure of good public relations for a conflict that has enjoyed very few. Now that Bush is out of office, President Obama might appear to be tweaking Bush, showing him up, if he urged the Iraqi government to let al-Zeid off the hook. If Obama wishes to act now, he must do so by consulting Bush himself and making sure the two are on the same page.

This would be the right thing to do. Throwing a shoe at the President of the United States is reckless, unwise, and bellicose, but the man missed and people should not be punished for speculative damage and injury, except if this had been some type of failed assasination attempt, in which case conspiracy would be added to the charges. If al-Zeid had received a lighter sentence, it would not make sense to intervene, but if we are expected to set powerful examples for the Iraqi people on how to run a democratic government, it is prudent to include mercy and forgiveness among our values, particularly in cases where no real damage was done. Plus, let's face it, the whole thing gave almost all of us a good laugh. Some revered the shoe thrower for his guts and the sheer madness of what he did and others admired Bush for reacting quickly and managing to smile about the incident not long after it happened; but nearly everyone found some humor in it. And the Iraq War has not given us much to laugh about over the last six years.

Muntadhar al-Zeid was way out of line, but let's encourage the neophyte Iraqi government to set him free.