The Golden Boy

There lived in a small village in Bavaria (though some say Bohemia) a pious but penurious cobbler. After his wife died in childbirth, he raised his only child, a son, teaching him reading, writing, portions of the good book to memorize, and to follow the strait-and-narrow path of virtue that he himself had trod throughout his life. The boy was a good learner, and with his shining blond hair and good character, he was called by the other villagers “The Golden Boy.”

When he reached his majority, the son set off from his father’s home to seek his fortune in a larger world, eventually, after several moves, settling in the city of C. Because of the difficulty of travel—long distances and uncertain roads—the son returned to his home village only once or twice over the years. 

Years later, one night when the old cobbler was dozing by candlelight in his favorite chair, he was awakened by a loud knocking at the door. When he opened it, he found a neighbor, Herr H., panting and gasping for breath.

“What is the matter?” the cobbler asked.

“I have been riding all the night from the town of P.; my horse is dead on its feet. But I had to rush here to tell you of the news that was passing through the town. It seems that the people heard from a traveller from the Capital City that your son, the Golden Boy, was arrested for many murders and rapes and was sentenced to be hanged. The dreadful event is to take place tomorrow.”

Choking back tears, the old man thanked Herr H. for rushing to tell him the terrible news and shut the door behind him.

Confused and tormented, the old man did not know what to do. But finally he pulled himself together and got down on his knees to pray.

“Oh Lord, although I have prayed to thee every day of my life and have tried to follow in thy footsteps, I have never before tonight asked thee for anything for myself.” As tears cascaded down his cheeks, he continued: “But hearing the news about my son, I must ask, plead, and beg of thee, that thou grant me one favor—allow me to trade my life in place of my son’s and for me to bear his terrible fate.”

*

The old cobbler is standing outside the gates of heaven while Saint Peter examines a parchment in front of him. “I’m sorry, Herr K., but according to this document, you may not pass through the Pearly Gates. You have been consigned to The Other Place.”

“But I have lived an honorable life. I have broken none of the Commandments; I have dealt falsely with no man: I have spoken evil of none. Why am I turned away from Heaven?”

“I cannot answer that,” replied the saint. “It would be best to inquire below.”

*

The Devil stands with his back to the yawning maw of the entrance to The Other Place. “Yes, Herr K., you belong here,” he says to the frightened old man. 

“But why do I belong here? I asked Saint Peter but received no answer.”

“He did not have the facts of the case, which came directly to us. Because you pleaded to take the place of your evil son, you took on his crimes when you did so. Thus, sir, you are damned in his place. But even worse, because you pleaded to allow him to live and, therefore, to continue his murdering and raping, you are doubly damned. . . . Enter, please, Herr K.  

  

A Phantasm of Alternative Facts

For most people in the United States today is Columbus Day. For others, the day has been repurposed as Indigenous Peoples Day.  

Thus, it seems right to use the day for re-evaluations. Hence this blog post: “A Phantasm of Alternative Facts.”

*

George Washington took only a week to write “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.”

Amelia Earhart is living in South Bend, Indiana.

Shakespeare’s plays were written by D. H. Lawrence—except for Julius Caesar, which was written by Cicero.

Michael Jackson opted for show business instead of joining his uncle Andrew’s cabinet as Secretary of the Interior.

Moulin Rouge is the color of Sarah Palin’s makeup.

Exxon is a Viking rune.

Icarus had no pilot’s license, so he couldn’t use his father’s helicopter.

Paris Hilton officially transitioned into a hotel in 2017.

Mynah birds, tired of feeling inferior, have petitioned for a name change.

A new book by a leading bureaucrat is entitled Lord of the Files.

The Titanic sank in three feet of water.

After Andrew Lloyd Webber composed “Memory,” he forgot where he put the sheet music.

Mike Pence is in for a pound.

Mike Pence’s third cousin is Miss Moneypenny.

New York Yankee players are forbidden to eat southern fried chicken.

George Bernard Shaw, Irwin Shaw, and Artie Shaw were all the same person.

Columbo and Quincy hired Hercule Poirot to discover their first names.

Tired of writing poetry, William Wordsworth opened a five-and-ten-cent store under a pseudonym.

Originally called “pollo,” polo was played in Spain with live chickens.

A failure as a couturier, Charles II of England decided to become a king.

Oh, finally—Columbus did not discover America. A stiff wind blew his fleet off course, and so he discovered Greenland.

We the People

 

Yesterday, I tuned into the daily podcast of sports talkers Tim & Sid on sportsnet.ca. After fastforwarding past a discussion of the Toronto Blue Jays, I settled in to listen to an interview with Harnarayan Singh. 

Born in Alberta, Canada, Singh was a hockey freak from his schoolyard days. His great desire wasn’t like many a Canadian youth to be a player but to become a hockey broadcaster. He has achieved his dream, but if you look at him, Singh doesn’t fit the image of a typical hockey announcer. Bearded, be-spectacled, and be-turbaned, Singh is a Sikh—and he broadcasts National Hockey League games in Punjabi.

In another interview today on sportsnet.ca,(1) Singh said of Canada, “We’re so lucky to be in a country where these opportunities are available to us.”

It should be noted that the podcast interview was conducted by Tim Micallef and Sid Seixeiro, the former of Maltese descent and the latter of Portuguese.

*

After listening to Tim & Sid, I clicked onto Yahoo News to get my daily ration of angst and agita. The president of the United States supplied it. In Pennsylvania (but not in the City of Brotherly Love), Trump railed (once again) against Minnesota Congresswoman Ilhan Omar. “She’s telling us how to run our country,” Trump complained.(2) As if a naturalized American citizen is not a member of “our” country. I wonder if Trump, after the swearing-in of newly naturalized citizens which was shown during the Republican convention (another Trumpian precedent-breaking mixing of the governmental and political), bothered to inform them that they were not really going to be part of Trump’s country.(3) 

Who are the members of Trump’s country?

In another speech—this one in Bemidji, Minnesota—Trump told a fawning, nearly all-white crowd:

"You have good genes, you know that, right? . . .You have good genes. A lot of it is about the genes, isn't it, don't you believe? . . . You think we're so different? You have good genes in Minnesota."(4)

I must confess that for the first time in my life I have to congratulate Trump on his restraint; he did not utter the words that were crying out to be spoken: “Master Race.” Still, the words that were spoken sent a chill up my spine. As Carin Mrotz, the executive director of Jewish Community Action, stated:

"For Minnesota Jews, it's chilling to hear this language, which echoes the 'race science' used by the Nazis to justify the extermination of so many of our ancestors."

Trump is no stranger to direct anti-semitism. In a recent report, he is alleged to have complained that Jews “ ‘are only in it for themselves’ and ‘stick together’ in an ethnic allegiance that exceeds other loyalties.”(5) 

*

Trump has come for Latins generally and Mexicans specifically; for Africans generally and Somalians specifically; and now there’s a miasma of gas as he (together with the “good people” who are white Christian nationalists) comes for the Jews.(6)

Jared Jewboy, what would it take to rattle your gilded cage?

***

(1) https://www.sportsnet.ca/nhl/article/qa-harnarayan-singh-new-book-importance-representation-hockey2/  

(2) https://news.yahoo.com/where-came-trump-echoes-racist-001407470.html

(3) After a friend of mine, a native of South Africa, was sworn in as a naturalized American citizen, one of the first words out of his mouth was “we.”

(4) https://www.cnn.com/2020/09/22/politics/donald-trump-genes-historical-context-eugenics/index.html

(5) https://nymag.com/intelligencer/2020/09/trump-anti-semite-said-jews-are-only-in-it-for-themselves-racism.html

(6) One is reminded of the words of Martin Niemöller:

First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a socialist.

Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out— because I was not a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

https://encyclopedia.ushmm.org/content/en/article/martin-niemoeller-first-they-came-for-the-socialists?gclid=CjwKCAjw5Kv7BRBSEiwAXGDEleFRelFd5dVWZgwESugBXJCkTLthB93dtCi2GVFgcwPICOmSG2JdqBoC5w4QAvD_BwE

Punishment and Crime

The title character of Gilbert and Sullivan’s The Mikado offers what seems to be an admirable theory of crime-and-punishment:

My object all sublime 

I shall achieve in time 

To let the punishment fit the crime – 

The punishment fit the crime.

Here are two examples of how his theory would work:

All prosy dull society sinners,
Who chatter and bleat and bore,

Are sent to hear sermons
From mystical Germans
Who preach from ten till four.

The billiard sharp whom any one catches, 

His doom’s extremely hard – 

He’s made to dwell – 

In a dungeon cell 

On a spot that’s always barred. 

And there he plays extravagant matches 

In fitless finger-stalls 

On a cloth untrue, 

With a twisted cue 

And elliptical billiard balls!

*

In all the talk and writing about Black Lives Matter and the rash of murders of Black American citizens by the police—choking and shooting the most prevalent methods of execution—one point has seemingly not been commented upon. That is, the offenses of the victims have been minor, or not even criminal offenses at all. The victims have allegedly violated criminal laws such as selling loose cigarettes or passing a counterfeit bill. Or have allegedly violated a motor vehicle law, such as driving with one’s bright beams on. Or have done nothing worse than sleeping in one’s own bed.

The point I wish to make here is that the police have exacted capital punishment on people who have not committed capital crimes. Whether you believe in capital punishment or not (we can discuss that another time), you must recognize that the state can exact capital punishment only after a legal trial. Being executed by a policeman on a city street doesn’t qualify as even a kangaroo court, much less a legal one. 

*

What the Mikado proposes might be called a Law of Commensurability. His comical example of being condemned to play billiards with a twisted cue and elliptical billiard balls may be hellish to the offender. It is, however, less lethal than being summarily executed for a minor offense. And unlike what is happening in America, a punishment that fits the crime.

School Days

I see that Barbie and Ken of the West Wing are definitely going to send their moppets to school this fall. Makes sense. After all, it’s hard to help screw up the country with yowling brats clinging to you. But for more normal members of our populace the decision to put their offspring at peril of the coronavirus is unnerving.

It is claimed by those favoring an opening of the schools that children who do not attend classes will fall behind in their educational development (and shocking to American capitalists, the children would fall a year behind in becoming wage slaves to business). 

I have thought back to my days in elementary school and have discovered that I remember only one class from those six years—music. I am sure, though, that I must have learned something else—arithmetic—because I became quite adept at mathematics somewhere down the line. I know I never learned spelling; I have been an awful speller all my life.

The music classes, if I recall correctly, were held during the weekly assembly. We were mandated to wear white shirts or blouses, red ties, and blue pants or skirts. One of the proudest moments of my six years was when I was singled out as a mini-GQ as an example of how to dress properly for assembly (thanks, Mom!). 

We did not learn how to play instruments during music class. The closest we came was to pretend we were strumming a ukulele or banjo and singing out, “Plunk-a, plunk-a, plunk.” I felt really bad when Mrs. Livingston,* the dreadnaught who ran the music class, assailed my best friend, Alvin, for a hand that allegedly flopped like a dishrag. 

I have no remembrance of what the plunk-a song was, but I have clear (and, unfortunately, lingering) memories of other songs. There was “Waltzing Matilda,” that puzzling masterpiece of Aussie tramp slang. There was also a song about a creature called a kookaburra, who seemed to be sitting in tree for some reason unknown to me. What all that antipodean musical indulgence was in aid of escaped the brain of at least one Brooklyn boy.

When us kiddies were not being transported geographically to a far-away continent, we were time-traveled to the First World War. We learned to sing “Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit Bag, and Smile, Smile, Smile.” I always heard “old kit” as “oakit,” and wondered (a) what kind of tree was an “oakit”? and (b) how do you make a bag out of a tree? To this day, I still haven’t received any answers. 

***

* I do not recall any other married women among the teaching staff. Also, there were no Jewish teachers, Black teachers, or Latin teachers.

The Pachyderm in the Room

The big news out of Washington this weekend was that the President of the United States was able to identify an elephant. Mr. Trump himself celebrated his accomplishment by claiming that he had “aced” a test. One is glad that he has earned his merit badge in animal naming, and that he announced his feat in—what was for him—a minimal over-the-top fashion. One suspects that if Junior, who likes to kill beasts that can’t shoot back at him, had conquered an elephant, he would have dragged the carcass onto the stage in front of cameras.

In truth, though, it must be admitted that not all Capital observers were buying the Trump story, for it has been whispered that Mr. Trump may have a slight penchant for telling porkies.*

Still, one might be inclined on this occasion to believe him. After all, the elephant is the symbol of the Republican party, so how could he fail to recognize one? 

And one ventures the guess that Mr. Trump also would have had no trouble identifying the symbol of the Democratic party—the donkey. Indeed, he is probably more familiar with its features than that of the elephant. For every morning, when he looks into the mirror to construct the yellow edifice on the top of his head, he sees an ass.

*

Incidentally, at this point in time, there has been no word on what other mammals or marsupials Mr. Trump is an ace at identifying.

***

* Cockney rhyming slang: “lies” = “pork pies,” or “porkies” for short. 

On The Road

I have just finished reading—back-to-back—two articles on the New Yorker website. The first is a report from Munich, Germany on the steps taken by the authorities to fight the spread of the COVID-19 virus. The second is a chronicle of an automobile trip from California to New York during the virus crisis in the United States. I recommend reading both pieces, especially back-to back.

The first article, “How Munich Turned Its Coronavirus Outbreak Into a Scientific Study” by Elisabeth Zerofsky,* details how scientists and medical professionals, having received a million euros from the government implemented a wide-spread testing and tracing program. Scientists established a protocol for home visits:

careful precautions [were] taken to establish public trust: after the initial knock, the team members explained who they were and what they would be doing. Residents don’t have to immediately agree to participate, as a separate team would return to take the first blood samples. The study also attracted a great deal of press attention, so residents often already knew about it.

The program was welcomed. Someone exclaimed, “I was hoping so much that you guys would come to my door!” 

*

On June 23, Michael Specter, a scientist, professor, and writer, hustled his dog into his car for his biannual trip back to the east coast from Palo Alto, California. He recorded his journey in an article entitled “Driving Cross-Country: A Coronavirus Diary.”**

Considering the great number of virus-deniers, non-maskwearers, and crowds he encountered, it would have been astonishing if Specter would have been able to report that people across the country were welcoming PPE-clad testers into their homes. Even Specter’s mask was off-putting to people: “Oh, honey . . .You don’t have to wear that thing in here. It’s a bit much, don’t you think?” said a motel clerk to Specter, who, besides masks and gloves, had brought along on his journey “enough hand sanitizer to disinfect the nation.”

In Las Vegas, Specter “counted a hundred and thirty-seven people during my thirty-minute stroll, and only seventeen wore masks.” Not a very effective way to confront the pandemic. “[W]e were not born with masks on,” a woman accurately and stupidly informed him.

In Utah, Specter read in the newspaper that the state epidemiologist was quoted as saying, 

For three straight weeks now, our cases have been increasing at a rate that isn’t sustainable . . . .We are at risk for overwhelming our hospital capacity. 

And how did the politicians hop to it to see that the populace would be safe? 

Victor Iverson, the Washington County commissioner and a candidate for lieutenant governor at the time, declared that he “will never wear a mask.” He had had it with the pandemic talk. “I think it’s time to get back to normal,” he said. “Our citizens want to be free. And we’re done.”

Things did get better; Specter notes that as he drove east, “rules, in general, are stricter and compliance seemingly better.” But, overall, a very discouraging journey.

As part of his summing up, he says, 

I don’t know what I expected from this trip, but I was surprised at how little attention people seemed to pay to the virus. I once wrote a book called “Denialism,” but I could never have imagined that so many people could be so committed to ignoring reality. 

*

Bavaria is historically a conservative German state. But its efforts to use scientific and medical knowledge to prevent the spread of COVID-19 proves that to be politically conservative does not mean you have to be a flaming loonie.

Then again, there’s yesterday’s headline:

Trump administration seeking to block funding for CDC, contact tracing and testing in new relief bill: report***

*

Americans like to proclaim that they are living in the greatest country in the world. Our deluded northern neighbors, the Canadians, with their much lower per-capita coronavirus death toll and their free health care system, think that they are. Their dollar coin is called the “loonie.”

You don’t have to flip one to determine who’s right.

***

 *  https://www.newyorker.com/news/letter-from-europe/how-munich-turned-its-coronavirus-outbreak-into-a-scientific-study

**   https://www.newyorker.com/news/us-journal/driving-cross-country-a-coronavirus-diary

***   https://thehill.com/homenews/administration/507971-trump-administration-seeking-to-block-funding-for-cdc-contact-tracing