Took the liberty of adding you to my blog ...

---

From: Betty Reid Soskin

To: Linda 

Subject: Took the liberty of adding you to my blog ... (with no identifying mark except for your first name)

Date: Nov 26, 2012 8:02 PM

---

...was really interested in your response. It pointed up just how naive are my opinions at times, even when I dig deep for meaningful answers to great questions. My somewhat sheltered existence comes to the surface in a disconcerting way, especially when confronted with Linda, whose career and life experiences are so much more expansive. I've lived my entire life within 30 square miles, and have never been in a foreign culture except for a trip to Hawaii -- if that counts at all. It wouldn't have dawned on me -- the deadly threat to those living overseas had Osama been held for trial. It just didn't occur to me that he would not be, under our system of governance. My reaction to the brutal assassination and the sadness that followed over many months may have had to do with my needing to come to terms with a new national reality that is clearly far more gray than black or white.

I'd completely forgotten about the backgrounds of those two Nobel Laureates, Yasser Arafar and Menachem Begin, two former revolutionaries who dared to outlive their colorful pasts to become "Men of Peace." Our president's record is in no way comparable, of course.

One must factor in the Marshall Mcluhan effect before drawing conclusions. That I neglected to do, unfortunately.

Betty

Re: Wheels ever turning ...

---

From: Linda

To: Betty Reid Soskin

Subject: Re: Wheels ever turning ...

Date: Nov 26, 2012 9:28 AM

---

Betty, I've been meaning to respond to your amazingly thoughtful email. Please excuse my delay - holiday eating and shopping caught up with me.

I do hope you'll place these ideas in your blog. They are powerful and certainly release a host of heated themes. That said I often wonder if a president should be judged by his character and actions within the handcuffs/context of the era in which he governs.

The delicate race balance is a fascinating issue. Though, your comments on how Mr. Obama has worked to perpetuate the changing shape of war: endless war against unknown individuals. Though this is more a testament of the civil strife he inherited, no? Osama had, in a sense, become the only KNOWN unknown individual, a person who could be crushed and possibly symbolize the end of this type of war, the transcendence to another way forward. (just playing devil's advocate here). I do believe placing Osama before a global court of law would have been the just thing to do - though it would certainly have placed Americans living abroad in harm's way (including myself at the time).

"How on earth did he end up the only Nobel Peace prize recipient with a kill list?" I remind you that Yasser Arafat is also among the recipients.

How does America continue to be a beacon of opportunity and hope when there are such coordinated global efforts to trample it? Constitutionally speaking, it's by making sure no one is above the law. Though when has America ever truly operated under this mandate? Obama had us convinced that he would be the first and by doing so would refresh America's brand. This did NOT happen. And in that sense I truly understand your grievance.

So fascinating to engage in dialogue with you. And I'm glad this exchange helped. It appears my editor is taking the economic route for the larger in-depth video. I am disappointed, but Peter cheered me up  by reminding me of our documentary (a work in progress which will be done on our terms).

Meanwhile, we'll be sending you a wedding invite today. We're so happy that you'll be a part of our really special day.

Love,
Linda

Message From: Betty Reid Soskin To: Linda Subject: Wheels ever turning ... Date: Nov 21, 2012 1:17 PM

Been thinking since your recent message -- about just how I'm feeling about this second term.  I've learned a lot, not the least of which is that -- while I'm generally quite satisfied with his first term, there are some profound disappointments as well.  And they're not race-based, surely not as much as one might expect. I've been getting some practice in trying to field questions posed by the audiences during my twice-weekly presentations in the little theater of the Visitors Center. Your recent message inviting me to wonder about the comparisons between then and now (the Inaugurations), really started the wheels turning. Whether or not such thoughts are of any value to your (potential) assignment, I've learned a lot from these me-to-me "discussions."

I'm finding that -- where there is a general feeling of satisfaction with Obama's first term, and a good deal of hope for the second, there are some major disappointments as well.  Obviously, he's had to toe the line in a delicate balance in an effort to be president of "all the people" in the face of dashed hopes of African Americans who've been waiting in line for justice and equality since the Emancipation Proclamation, at least. I'd hate to have been faced with that impossible choice. With Prof. Cornel West and Tavis Smiley leading the charge, it must have been extremely difficult at times.

But in the end, it was not the racial issues that were the most disturbing. The most crushing disappointment for me personally, was trying to come to terms with a side of his personality that was unseen prior to his ascendance to become undisputed Leader of the Free World. It was his abandonment of the Rule of Law -- the bedrock of our whole system of governance. I remember weeping as I watched him stand at the lectern to announce that we'd brutally killed Osama Bin Laden. The stark presence of an air of vengeance in that moment was almost too much to bear. Why had we not captured and tried Bin Laden in our courts for the whole world to see?

When had we entered into wars against individuals? At my age, I had experienced WWII, and painfully come terms with the essential wars of defense against governments.

It was distressing when we drifted into wars against 'terrorists' under the Bush administration, but I'd believed that was an aberration, and -- when they left office, sanity would return. Instead we've drifted into an endless war against unknown individuals who might have been dealt with by Interpol at an earlier time. Instead, I've grown less and less comfortable with the continuance of Guantanamo and the disturbing image of military technicians sitting in bunkers somewhere in Colorado -- lobbing Drones into faraway lands to slay those who've been judged as "terrorists."

It's been a slow decline from WWII when 54.8 millions lives were sacrificed, worldwide, and when we were still counting civilian death -- to now, when any casualties but our own are summarily dismissed as "collateral damage."

Why do I lay this at the feet of our president (for whom I had such high hopes)? It's because his education and background -- even before his experience at community organizing -- was in constitutional law. How on earth did he end up the only Nobel Peace prize recipient with a kill list? Has he really abandoned the Rule of Law, and if so, what hope do we have for not becoming the scourge of the world?

That night as he announced the killing of Bin Laden, there was more than a hint of having avenged a wrong. "An eye for an eye" is a step back into the dark world of the past, and somehow I hoped that we were better than that, and that he would lead us to our better selves.

Disturbing thoughts on the eve of his second inauguration, right? Maybe my hopes were just too high. Perhaps we should be satisfied with his domestic successes - which are considerable. But in a fast-changing world that is shrinking so fast through technological advances and unprecedented mobility, we're impacted by forces that are shaping our future in ways that we can hardly comprehend. It was impossible not to feel the urgency of the "Arab Spring," and to not share the hopes and dreams of other peoples in other places over our breakfast coffee and the first search of the Internet each morning. We can't afford "vengeance," at a time when the world is crying for "democracy" of the kind that both our president and our people (of whatever color) have been yearning for over the millenium. We need to keep being the hope of the world, and if Obama has a mandate, it's international, and achievable -- I believe -- and if his abandonment of the Rule of Law is any indication of his mindset -- I'm not sure I want to know it.

Betty

‹ Previous | Next › | « Back to Sent

Request for a proposed interview by a major newspaper started the wheels a-turnin' ... .

... and the torrent of unexpressed thoughts and opinion roared into consciousness.

The inquiry came from a dear friend, and a member of the press whose work in the international media is truly impressive.  (Not having her permission, I resist the urge to name names here).

It came in the form of, "I'm proposing some ideas to my editor for a piece about the up-coming inauguration for the second term of President Obama, and one might be asking you to talk about how you feel now in comparison to what you felt in 2009?"  I'm guessing that she was referring to my hopes, and whether or not they'd been fulfilled.

I lay it aside for a few days, always with a nagging feeling that there was something resistant in me to form the words that had been lurking in the dark corners of my mind for some time now.  I realized that allowing myself to "go there" could enable me to more comfortably field the questions that come up in the small audiences who attend my commentaries in the little theater of the Visitors Center twice-weekly.  Since I do mention the first inauguration, and my responses to it, at some point such question will surely arise. This I needed to think about, and Linda's proposal just might provide an opportunity that I might otherwise have casually tossed off.   Whether an interview would ever actually be published, or that any product beyond the conversation between us would be the outcome became less important than that I think it through.  Her editor disappeared from the foreground, and the following exchange took form:

(With her permission, I'd like to post both my response along with hers.  I learned much from her more sophisticated worldly response, so the two make for an interesting counterpoint. I'll seek her permission before day's end.)

Marcy Wong stopped by the Visitor's Center today ... .

... and was reminded of an unfulfilled item on my bucket list; that of getting Marcy Wong, Astronauts Mae Jemison and the late Sally Ride; brilliant  and feisty Rachel Maddow; courageous journalist Amy Goodman, et al, recognized as present-day successors to Rosie the Riveter.  This park must not end up dying because it became a mausoleum for women of the past.  While celebrating those of us who served our country on the home-front at a time of need is a worthy cause, the social changes that accompanied our emancipation have continued to have an impact on the nation and must be noted.  Today's young women's lives are a reflection of our on-going struggles for equality in the workplace.  Equal pay for equal work is not yet fully realized, and the Equal Rights Amendment has never been ratified.  Even equal representation in Congress, though growing, falls far short of the 50% that would be needed to match our percentage of the population.

Marcy is the award-winning designer/architect responsible for the restoration and reconstruction of Ford Point, the old Ford Assembly Plant at the end of Harbour Way South -- on the scenic shoreline in Richmond.

Ford Point - Craneway Pavilion

The magnificent quarter-mile long structure was designed by Albert Kahn in 1931, and built to assemble Model A autos.  About ten years later, the plant was taken over for the assembling of 43,000 tanks and jeeps for the war in the Pacific theater of WWII.

The building was almost totally destroyed by the Loma Prieta earthquake in 1987, and -- for a time its continued existence was seriously threatened by those who firmly believed the property would be of  far greater value if the hopeless ruins could be dismantled and hauled away. Fortunately for us, the preservationists won out in the end and the iconic structure was saved

Visitors Education Center

Enter the dynamic developer, Eddie Orton, of the Emeryville-based Orton Development Company -- with brilliant Marcy Wong onto the scene, and not only was it restored to historic preservation standards, but its Craneway Pavilion's cathedral-like grandeur is now available for public events on a scale previously undreamed of.  Not only that, but the building is filled to capacity with green businesses, plus being included as one of the scattered sites that form the Rosie the Riveter /WWII Home Front Historical National Park.  Our Visitors Education Center now welcomes visitors from throughout the country and the world.

I mentioned this to someone yesterday, and the fact that we might want to be thinking about creating a Feminist Hall of Fame someday, a place where young women who have found their way into the workplace in non-traditional careers and occupations might be recognized and celebrated.  He reminded me that Maria Shriver had established such a place in Sacramento, and that I should look into it:

... so?  Should there be only one such site?  Does that site reflect the relationship between women entering the trades, politics, arts and culture, and corporate leadership with Rosie the Riveter's entrance into the American workforce?  If it doesn't then it's missing a critical linkage between then and now.  We can establish that connection.  Someone should.  The Women's Movement of today is but one expression of the struggle that has been going on since early in the 20th Century -- and before.  Today's young women harken back to Lucretia Mott, Susan B. Anthony, and Sojourner Truth, but the historic record tends to skip over the times celebrated by Rosie's era; at least until we came into being ten years ago as the omission was finally realized.  The Movement needs to double back and pick up those unlearned lessons in order to fully understand our history in order to move into the future better informed.

Maria Shriver's contribution to the cause of the women's and human rights is immeasurable.  Her televised annual conferences were/are unforgettable and profoundly effective.  That's indisputable.  But it doesn't stop there.  There's still work to do, and -- the responsibility for continuing that work falls to those of us who temporarily have the public's fickle attention.

Marcy Wong personifies a great achievement in her field, and public recognition does more than simply add to her list of personal achievements, but also serves as a model for young women whom she might inspire to follow in her footsteps.  In my imagination, her work on Ford Point and the Visitors Education Center are equal to that of Maya Lin, Kazuyo Sejima, Zaba Hadid, or Julia Morgan, and should be celebrated as such.

Sincerely dreaming,

Betty

A fragment from the life of Leontine Breaux Allen, family matriarch for many decades ... .

My mother's younger sister, Aunt Vivian Allen-Jernigan, adored her grandmother, and loved to tell about how -- once the chores were completed in the fields, and at the end of the day,

"When I was a small child "Mammå" would sink into the living-room rocking chair and with an ever-so-slight motion with her hand would send me to a secret place beside the fireplace to bring forth a little corncob pipe and tobacco pouch from behind a loose brick.  She made me feel as if this was a secret shared between us.  She would then send me to bed while she remained seated -- silently drawing on her pipe until the house of many people would settle down for the night.  It was only then that she would climb under the mosquito netting of the big bed -- until the first morning light."

By far the most intriguing story had to do with the critical role Mammå played in the little community of St. James.  She was the town "medical assistant," serving as "intern" for the circuit-rider doctor who came through on horseback about every 3 months.  She also served as the town's midwife and delivered not only family babies, but for most of the women in their village.  I suspect that this would have been for African Americans, only, though I'm not sure about this.  After visiting the African American Historical National Park in Anacostia -- and seeing the exhibits of those women who served as midwives -- it wasn't made clear.

During the few days before the doctor's visit it was she who rode her horse through St. James calling on all those who may need medical attention.  The routine was that she'd place a white towel on the gate posts of each home where help was needed, and that this determined just where he would stop. According to Vivian's account, the doctor would confer with Mammå  on patient's aftercare, and that it was she who would be accountable for their health issues until his return months later.

Those stories made her one of my personal heroes early in life, and during the 1995 honoring ceremonies -- being named one of ten outstanding women by the National Women's History Project I had cause to wonder ... one never feels worthy, I suppose, but I came to terms with the proceedings upon realizing that I'd spent my whole life -- never seeking public office or acclaim (though surely was courted from time to time) but that, instead, I'd been completely satisfied to find fulfillment in draping symbolic "white towels" over imaginary gateposts anywhere help might be needed throughout not only my community, but as a field representative for the 14th Assembly District in later life, and, now in my role with the National Park Service.

"Children will listen,"

It is her work that provides shape and form to mine to this day, and she is cited in my commentaries at the twice-weekly theater presentations -- and with great pride and humility.  She and I are players in the great American narrative, as are so many extraordinary ordinary people.

The story of Leontine Breaux Allen; my great-grandmother ...

I can hardly imagine that I haven't put this story to words before now, but a quick scan of the archives indicates that this may be so.  The story is one told by both "Papa" George Allen, her eldest son, and his youngest daughter and my aunt, Vivian Allen Jernigan:

Leontine was born into slavery in 1846 and with her mother, the slave Celestine, was a house servant.  Vivian tells of their cooking in the kitchen of their plantation owner, Edouard Breaux, and walking down to the fields 3 times a day bringing meals to the field hands.  After the Civil War she would marry Corporal George Allen of the Louisiana Colored Troops -- a man who served his country as a soldier on the side of the North.

The lovely family tale is that she was sitting in her front yard pecan tree when the soldiers came marching down the road.  George Allen left ranks and coaxed her down from the limb and carried her on his shoulders for more than a mile before letting her down.  He later became a boarder in the New Orleans home of a family member and their courtship continued.  I believe he was originally from Ohio, but that's not certain.  George remains a shadowy figure in our lives, without even a photograph to remind us of his existence.  It's said that there once was a large portrait hanging on the wall of their little home beside the levee in St. James Parish, but that home was destroyed by fire long after her death and the photo must have been devoured by the flames.

I remember the day that the marriage records turned up in the archives of the Catholic Diocese of Baton Rouge in the form of a brief statement written in French attesting to the marriage of Edouard Breaux and her mother, Celestine ("of no last name").  There it was, his signature and her "X".  That occurred in 1865, at the signing of the Emancipation Proclamation,  At that time, Leontine was 19 years-old. And, yes, Edouard Breaux was the master who owned them both.

Knowing that England had outlawed slavery in 1833 -- and that the importing of human beings from Africa as chattel was no longer legal, the trade no longer involved those shipped into the country, but were now "property" traded for goods; won and lost to settle gambling debts; left in Wills at the death of some owners; and sold and traded within the nation's boundaries as the foundation of the economy.  When it was no longer possible to bring human beings into the country, plantation owners routinely created their own "stock" by brutal rape and other forms of sexual exploitation of black slave women.  Those unprincipled white men were quite literally selling their own children.  Only by a continuing practice of dehumanizing people of color could they have done so, and we have many stories that illustrate this unspeakable truth.

You can imagine my surprise and delight to have discovered this important marriage document that proved that the family lore that told of how the Cajun people -- who were agrarians -- worked the fields with their slaves, and that it was fairly common for deep friendships to be formed, and marriages between Cajuns and black folks were often seen.  Apparently Edouard and Celestine had been in a common-law relationship throughout Leontine's nineteen years, and married in a Catholic ceremony as soon as it was possible to do so -- at the signing of the Emancipation Proclamation.  Leontine's marriage to George Allen, Sr., followed soon thereafter.

In going back through the voluminous packet of legal documents received from the National Archives some years ago, I've been able to pull together (along with those family stories I learned as an inquisitive teenager) a picture of those lives.  Since my great-grandmother, Leontine, lived to be 102, (1846-1948) I was privileged to have actually known my slave ancestor.  I was a 27 year-old married woman and mother of two when she died -- 3 years after the end of WWII.

More later ...

Thoughts about Leadership ... .

A few weeks ago an email notice from our Chief of Interpretation arrived in my mailbox announcing that all of the Interpretive staff were enrolled in a workshop on leadership -- "for personal growth."  Felt the rise of resistance as I read it, and without hesitancy wrote back to say that -- at my age and status in life, it seemed a waste of training resources for me to be included.  Offered to be on duty in the Visitors Center in order to enable other members of staff who would surely benefit more than I.

I wasn't really certain where the resistance was coming from, but it was clear that at some subliminal level I knew that -- for me -- this would be a repeat of past times during my marriage to psychologist, Bill Soskin, when self examination was practiced almost as a religion.  It harkened back to the "Me!" era of EST and Esalan, weekends gazing at our navels -- and sitting on zafus while chanting "Ohm."  Surely there was little here that could possibly benefit either me or the NPS, so I would resist.

Sent in to the workshop leader (and to my supervisor) a note expressing (in good humor) my reasons for opting out, and found them accepting, but gently suggesting that I reconsider.  I did not.

This local election this year with its often raucus and defaming campaigning has brought into focus the question of leadership in some new ways:

The most obvious would be that there are at least two kinds; those who grab their baton and megaphone and head for the head of the parade as a matter of entitlement, and those who become leaders simply by being followed.  And may I hasten to add that I've seen the first evolve into the second on more than one occasion.  I believe that I fall into the second category.

I've never sought or aspired to public office, and it is quite clear that I've been seen as a leader over the past few decades, at least.  I'm not certain of the reason, but I've come to believe that it has to do with those stories told in the kitchen garden of my grandparent's home when I was a child -- and my best friend was Papa George, chief gardener and family raconteur.  Stories about his mother, Leontine Breaux Allen (as we tied the tendrils of the beans to those little poles) serving her village as the midwife and intern for the circuit-rider physician who rode his horse through their little community every 3 months -- have always intrigued me.  Not sure I've ever put it into words in this journal, but I've told the story publicly on at least two occasions as justification for awards I've been honored to receive (in her name).  "Children will listen" comes to mind as I remember ... .

I really must do that since my great-grandmother has become an important element in my commentaries in the Visitors Center theater.  There's no time for going into enough detail at such times, but -- at some point, I'm feeling the need to flesh that story out.

I don't believe the connections are at all hard to understand since these later years have become the time to connect the dots -- make the summations for the younger family members who may be looking for themselves in my story as I do with those who preceded me in the family hierarchy.

She is so present in my life ... in my current work ... and as I interpret leadership, I believe.

Look for that story, and soon, it feels increasingly important.

Blue Spark

Photo by Heather Hiatt

For Director Heather Hiett's accounting of the Sea Shadow caper ... .

the story

This is the link that will take you there.

You'll find additional photos, as well.

(click to enlarge)

Let it be a dance!


Maybe words are not really needed  ...


True beauty speaks with eloquence enough to command attention without the spoken or written word ... .

Maybe its name is Faith.












Just maybe ... the Sea Shadow is having her say ...

Betty and Athena

It was less dance than simply movement  -- from somewhere deep within.  It felt wonderful to be
responding spontaneously to the exotic sounds filling that cavernous space after decades of voluntary wall-flowering.  I'd forgotten what it was like, and found that just yielding to the rhythms was sensual, heady, intoxicating.  How long has it been since I'd allowed myself to simply surrender my body to the moment?  The only thing that mattered was now!





How my Big Sur poet friend, the late Ric Masten, would have enjoyed this scene!  I fell asleep last night with a fragment of one of his songs, "Let it be a dance!" playing against the night:

... everybody turn and spin

                                                             Let your body learn to bend
                                                             And like a willow with the wind
                                                             Let it be a dance.
                                                             A child is born, the old must die
                                                             A time for joy, a time to cry
                                                             So take it as it passes by
                                                             And let it be a dance ... !
                                                       
Ric would have so loved this scene.


Photos by Heather Hiett

... and then the Sea Shadow enters from stage left ... .

... as if I didn't live life in a constant state of surprise ... there was still the unanticipated, totally out-of-the-blue and spectacular introduction of this bizarre chapter in the ongoing saga called "... So You Think You've Seen It All!" 

It was an ordinary afternoon of rangering at the Visitors Center when my cellphone vibrated in my pocket.  Surely this was another of the frequent calls from Dorian -- calls that I've had a lifetime of having to accept.  My daughter is incapable of understanding that there are hours in the day when Mom is inaccessible -- and Heaven knows this time it just could be that emergency that is always in the wings waiting to happen ... but it was my niece, Gail, calling from the Out Back,  a little dress shop where she works part time -- and that is the informal Point Richmond gathering place for some of the community's most interesting women.

"How would you like to be a fairy-spirit in a filming to be done day after tomorrow?"  Just my kind of madness, and before she added the rest of the story I was already on board for another adventure.  I stopped by the shop later in the afternoon where I met Heather Hiett, photographer/surfer/exciting artist and director of the project; was outfitted with the suitable gown and jewelry for the shoot; and given the details that were head-spinningly exciting!

Leslie, one of the Out Back patrons and her husband had recently purchased at auction, the Sea Shadow.  This is a secret ship developed by the CIA at Lockheed during the Seventies.  It is currently housed in the humungous hangar-type Howard Hughes-built structure in which it was constructed, and that now sits on a great barge moored at Treasure Island in San Francisco Bay.  Intrigued?  So was I.

After make-up session, waiting to go on ...

The condition of purchase was that whoever acquired the vessel would have to dismantle it within two weeks -- and into pieces no larger than 5 feet.  (Now why would anyone want to do that remains a mystery.)  However, while it remains intact, a group of photographer/artists would have a last chance to use it as a setting for concept pieces that would exist beyond its life.  The 4-hour afternoon event would be videotaped, simultaneously, from many angles for a variety of projects -- that I'm assuming -- will be designed in the editing process.  The finished projects will be posted on YouTube.com; become podcasts, still photographs, etc.

We gathered last Wednesday at the site; Faith, a statuesque and stunningly beautiful model and her little daughter, 6 year-old Athena; Leslie, who -- with her husband -- is the current owner of the ship; Dori, the beautiful District Attorney of Marin County; and Betty, the ridiculously late-blooming author of this blog!  Dori and Leslie were wearing masks and wings, but my mask was my own, and my wings were the white scarf that would allow me to feel airborne -- and it did.

It was early evening, and we were being filmed underneath the Sea Shadow with the Oakland skyline behind us through the opening of the HMB-1 superstructure that held us all.  As a tape of exotic music played and under glaring lights, we (the spirit-fairies), would emerge from the shadows and dance toward the cameras.  It took only a few minutes to accomplish, but -- in my "fashion-forward" chiffon garb with a filmy scarf I emulated a kind of ectoplasmic ethereal Theodora Dumbkin spirit.  What a wondrous experience!  It felt great to be dancing after years of wall-flowering!  I may be the only 91 year-old fairy you'll ever see, but let me tell you -- it was absolutely magical!


Photo:  Leslie Cameron photo.  Gail Clifton in background.

It seems like only yesterday ...

... and another of those unimaginable moments in history

Prior to Democratic Convention in 1972.  Candidate McGovern was so gracious ...

Another of the iconic figures of my life -- now gone.  It feels good to remember
that I was able to give him his flowers
while he could still appreciate their
fragrance ... .

The urgent need to defend ...

What do these people  have in common?

Photographed on the Richmond Greenway

Dr. Martin Luther King
                Rosa Parks 
                Malcolm X
                Susan Sarandon
                Joan Baez
                Tim Robbins
                Daniel Ellsberg
                Jane Fonda
                Cesar Chavez
                Cindy Sheehan
                Brothers Berrigan
                Danny Glover
                Alice Walker
                Harry Belafonte
                Gore Vidal
                Lewis Hill
                Jane Stillwater
                Rep. John Lewis
                Muhammad Ali
                Helen Keller
                Sojourner Truth
                Susan B. Anthony

                                               A. Phillip Randolph
                                               Doris Haddock (Granny D)
                                               James Baldwin

      plus the entire American Revolutionary Army who told King George to get lost!

All were dissenters who questioned authority under the protection of the 1st Amendment-- and by so doing helped to change the course of history.

... and of course, internationally, we have Nelson Mandela,  Ghandi, and who can ever forget Burma’s courageous and beautiful Aung San Suu Kyl?

To this illustrious list I’d add my long time friend, Marilyn Langlois, for a lifetime of speaking truth to power, and whose values and principles have served us all by calling attention to human and environmental injustices.

The recent and sustained personal attacks upon her character have revealed the ignorance of those opposing her candidacy for public office.  They obviously have no idea of how important and essential is the role of the dissenter to participatory democracy.

Whatever would the world have done had these brave souls not walked among us, holding us to live up to our highest ideals -- and the nation to keep to its promises granted by the Constitution and Bill of Rights?

How dare they?

For those of you who believe that I'm gone to join the ancestors ...

Not yet.

There has never been a time -- since this blog was created in 2003 -- when so much time has been allowed to elapse between posts.  There also has never been a time when life has been so all-consuming.  It takes everything I have to keep up with the rhythm that my life has created -- and I've begun to fall into bed each night content to just savor time ... .

Work goes well and I've never felt so complete.   Questions still rise and answers have begun to become tantalizingly, teasingly, awesomely, near.   And it all seems to come back to that axiom that I ran across long ago -- quite accidentally -- embedded in the middle of the page in some ordinary magazine; "there are two simplicities; one that comes before -- and one that comes after, complexity."  Somewhere in that hauntingly lovely sentence is the essence of truth.  I think the words can be attributed to the Monk David Rendl-Nast, and may be one of the most elegant secrets of life.   Mine appears to have broken through to the second -- slipping silently into a dimension where I'm finding myself having outlived my rage without losing my passion, which appears to be a forerunner to that ultimate simplicity.  It isn't so much that important things don't matter anymore, it's just that they matter differently now.  More about that later.

Celebrated my 91st birthday two weeks ago, and it was a non-event.  Not that my world ignored another milestone, it was just that there is no way to ever surpass my 90th, celebrated with the "Road not taken" concert with Bob and Margaret, and surrounded by a warm blanket of friendship that exceeded all of our expectations.  Hardly anyone mentions it, but I have the feeling that the event ranks for us all as one enchanted evening.  However many birthdays are left to me will be simple markings of the passage of time.  I need no more celebrations. 

In this new space and time I'm finding as much newness as at any other time of life.  I'm still waking to challenges and still slaying an occasional dragon; still awed by dawns and sunsets; still thrilled by the magical glint of sunlight on the waters that lie ahead as I round the corner of the Visitors Center each morning  -- and pause just long enough to appreciate my beautiful Bay's expanse across my universe ... .

Disappointment doesn't go down too easily when things have been going so well for so long ... .

I don't normally work on Sundays, but feeling that the Port Chicago video shouldn't be out in the world without the young men being aware of its release, I planned to be the presenter in our little theater for this important screening.  Having been with them on the SS Red Oak Victory two years ago when the filming was being done, it only seemed logical.

One week ago (two days after receiving the first copies), I searched our records for their contact information, and -- being successful -- tried to reach each by phone.  I did make contact with Peter Gray and told him that there would be a showing on the next Sunday at two o'clock -- then I tried to connect with the other four but found myself leaving messages on voice mail.  One week ago I wrote out invitations to each inviting them to the premiere showing, and extending the invitation to their friends and families.

Eight days later, on Sunday, I went to the Visitors Education Center to wait.  Having no response to either my voice messages or to the invitation, I was edgy and anxious.  As the hour approached and it was obvious that no one was going to attend, my disappointment became obvious. I did the presentation for the visitors who happened to choose that moment to drop in, but ...

For whatever reason, two o'clock came and went without a sign of the five young brothers.  Since they're from the troubled Iron Triangle district, I have no idea whether the reason was due to the opening of the Olympic Games, or, if there was a political reason for the no show,  or .....  ?

There is growing discontentment throughout the city stemming from the fact that we're in an election cycle which always provides fertile ground for exploitation.  I'm concerned that the racial barrier is being resurrected for political gain, and that differences are being fueled by politicians who might benefit by appealing to those caught in the web of persistent need and denied opportunities.  There are still inequities and injustices to be addressed, and -- we may be paying the price for that.

I just don't know ... 

Wondering ... .

A moving 11-minute film by filmmaker, Doug McMains, may be a life changer for 5 young men who stood in for those lives lost ... .


This is one of the films produced for the anticipated Visitors Educational Center at Port Chicago in Concord.  It memorializes the tragic event that occurred on July 17, 1944 when 320 lives were lost.  The film has been entered into a dozen or so film festivals starting next month in Sacramento.  Will keep you posted on how it is received by audiences and judges.

Meanwhile, on Sunday, July 29th we will be sharing -- for the first time -- the screening of "... Into Forgetfulness -- with these five young men, their friends, and families.  The young men only learned of the story of the horrific explosion and the mutiny trials during the filming, and have no idea that their images have been immortalized in this moving piece as it will be shown for the next few decades in our Visitors Center and with the whole world on the Internet.

They were filmed aboard the historic Kaiser-built ship, the SS Red Oak Victory, where they learned to "square" their sailor hats from Chief Engineer, Bill Jackson, and heard the stories of that fatal day from Park Ranger Ed Bastien who assisted on the shoot.

As is so often the case, I'm cited in the credits, but can't recall a single thing I contributed -- except for being present and accounted for.  But now that the work is done and being publicly seen,  I'm finding guilty pleasure in having my name associated with still one more brilliant artist's creation.  Maybe I shouldn't question the why of it; just sit back and enjoy, right?

... maybe it is a question of simply being -- and not doing.

Photo:  Peter Gray, Aaron Sio, Francois Johnson, Ismaeel Muhammad, and Marquez Johnson.

... into forgetfulness. from McMains on Vimeo.

Can't imagine that I've lost the rhythm so completely ...

Just living takes up all of the available energy these days ... with so little time for reflection, without which writing is nearly impossible.  The words have to mean something, otherwise it makes no sense.

My days are filled with adventure, creativity, newness, never-before-experiences -- and all in italics and living color!

With the opening of the Visitors Education Center behind us, we're settling in to building a routine and figuring out what we'd like the experience to be for those who enter our doors.  The temporary exhibits are highly successful -- even more than I'd ever have dreamed possible.   The installation of the permanent ones is still a year away. Those displays borrowed from other national parks around the country that were relevant to our mission (production, propaganda, health, women's work, civil rights, Japanese internment, etc.) are clearly having the intended impact.   I love to watch people gather around patiently taking in the texts, and experiencing -- in many cases -- history that is unfamiliar, but  truly moving.  Their comments bear this out as many stop at the front desk to tell their own stories or those of their parents or grandparents.  Many are from the generation whose experiences are chronicled here.

My hours have been "upped" for the summer, and I'm in the Visitors Center on Tuesdays and Saturdays for my entire work day.  I present the two o'clock film and give a talk that is generally well-received.  On the other days my project work is done at our administrative offices about ten minutes away from the VC.

I still do public appearances -- the most recent being one of several invited to speak to those on board for the annual LaborFest S.F. Bay cruise of the AFL-CIO.  The photo above was taken at that time and the young woman with me is Shell Marie, the granddaughter of the legendary Harry Bridges, one-time head of the ILWU (Longshoremen and Warehousemen's Union).  (I've referred to Harry Bridges in an earlier post -- July 18, 2005 -- which you can bring up by the little white search bar on the lefthand side of the screen above the banner.)

My talk over the PA system to all of those on board followed narration by 3 union historians of the sites along the San Francisco Bay shoreline as we sailed by.

Having worked along with the rest of the interpretive staff as consultants for several original films made for the purpose, the short films reflect the mission that guides all of our work -- that of making this Rosie the Riveter WWII/Home Front National Historical Park inclusive of all who lived that history.  We're building that baseline against which to measure all of the social progress that we've experienced as a nation since that time.  And, magically, despite the many negative aspects to that painful history, we're managing to create a positive experience for our visitors as we deal with the conflicting truths inherent in the maintenance of the democracy.  I'm not sure how that happens, but it does -- and powerfully.

We're having clusters of school teachers come through, which is a really important development.  Only last week a group of 25 came through from Lafayette, Louisiana, and spent the afternoon with me viewing the films and doing the guided walk of the Rosie Memorial.

The days are good.  The work continues to provide enough novelty and surprise -- and, yes, -- successes to last for whatever time is left ... but I find myself thinking less and less about those "end of life" issues than was true a few months ago.  There is simply too much to do to waste time anticipating the inevitable.

Blogging less these days ... not that there's nothing to write about ...

To the contrary -- there's a "muchness" about these days that defies everything I ever dreamed were within the realm of possibility.  Imagine this -- at my age ... .

That shadowed figure to our left is moi addressing a pre-game reception for professional women, female entrepreneurs, all devoted major league baseball fans at AT&T ballpark in San Francisco!

Prior to this moment five women executives had given their bios -- all exciting and inspiring and awesome.  Wish I could recall their names, it suffices to say that one was Janice Mirikitani of Glide Memorial; another an executive with LinkedIN; another from Silicon Valley, a banker; and the only woman in all of baseball who is the field announcer -- and for the Giants.  Fast company, indeed.

They were impressive, and so young ... .

I opened with, " I feel like Alice down the rabbit hole!"  And it was an accurate description of the moment, I assure you.  Gave a brief bio of my own and got a standing ovation!  What an amazing moment in time and space.  For just an instant time stood still ... .

We (3 National Park Service rangers and 5 veteran Rosie's from the home front era) were presented down on the field before the fans for the opening ceremony of the series between the Los Angeles Dodgers and the S. F. Giants.

Wished they'd given me a chance to toss out the first ball or to run around the bases and slide to home base, but I suppose that would have been a bit much.  I'm guessing that this was only because I was in the wrong uniform, right?

Wait'll next year!

What a day this has been (isn't that a line from a song lyric?) .... oh yes, now I remember ... .

"what a rare mood I'm in -- it's almost like being in love!"

Today held two different yet related events, each might have provided enough positive energy to stand alone.  The first I've not had the nerve to mention since it involved yet another "honoring", this time being named 'Woman of the Year" by the Delta Delta Chapter of Delta Kappa Gamma Society.  This is an international organization for educators.  I'm beginning to learn to accept the accolades as opportunities to showcase the work of the National Park Service -- and as such -- it feels less weighty somehow. The certificate read

for

Excellence in Community Education

and the dedication, relentless activism, and passion to bring the untold stories of the Richmond Home Front to the community and beyond."  (June 9, 2012)

But there's something else creeping in that is heady indeed.  Today I could give voice to the feeling that  I'm positioned in space precisely as was intended -- and where the entire focus of my life has been heading for what is now the tenth decade.  It becomes more and more difficult to cling to my atheism at such times, or those intriguing speculations on Fate, Kismet, and Predestination.

I could hardly be more comfortable in my shoes, and there's no one else on earth that I would rather be.  Yet, how helpful it would have been to have enjoyed this feeling at some earlier time of life.  But, I'm beginning to suspect that it had to be aged into.

Though I was in a room filled with strangers -- it would have been possible to have started a conversation in the middle of the 6th paragraph with any one of them -- chosen at random.  I was feeling human connections that transformed each into an old acquaintance.  I could see me in their faces as we talked, and though the words I was speaking may well have been taken as boastful at some other time, the feelings were anything but.  I could trust them with even this truth, and we could share the joy because the initial human/feminine connection was firmly in place -- so humility, and, whatever this is, could co-exist. 

It is at times like these that words fail, and we must trust one another to fill in the gaps, and we did.

After a delicious brunch in a beautiful home high in the Berkeley Hills, I drove proudly and "grinningly" down steep Marin Avenue toward the second event of the day; the two o'clock premiere of "Blossoms and Thorns," a Ken Koka short film depicting the Japanese/American internment experience.  This is one of several that take us through the forgotten stories of the Home Front era; films to be shown in the theater of the Visitor's Center of the park.  The work is a gift from local Americans of Japanese descent, the families of the cut flower industry who suffered the shameful imprisonment.  It has taken 70 years for them to share that experience with the rest of us.  I sat in the dark as the credits ran at the conclusion and -- despite the fact that I cannot with certainty point to anything I contributed to the making of this work --  there was my name listed among the others.  It feels irrational now, but I was able to make the connection with the morning's event, and felt quietly deserving of this new honor of "Woman of the Year" bestowed only hours before ... and the headiness returned ... this time with a sense of wonder at the forces that produce such happy outcomes.

Could it be that these honors have more to do with being than doing?

I could hear my own words, " ... I'm privileged to be helping to shape a new national park!"

... and it's quite true, isn't it.

Of course the euphoria won't last.  It never does.  But for now I'm so grateful for simply being alive.