Fifteenth Holiday Spectacular - 2020

Well, it’s that time of year. Welcome to my 15^th, yes 15^th, Holiday Spectacular. To celebrate, I kind of broke a rule this year, but, it’s my blog, so there are no consequences. Actually, I’m breaking another rule. I’ve always wrote these Holiday Spectaculars in one straight shot without thinking beforehand what I would write about. But, this year I had some stuff I never posted left over, seeing how I spent most of the last few months writing about politics and social issues, and I threw in some other stuff. I’d rather not have written all that political stuff, to tell the truth, but felt I should. I am sure more people probably read a single tweet from the least famous Kardashian than all the people who have ever read my long-ass blog posts by a multiple, but, still, it probably was, for a few weeks, the most visits to my blog I’ve ever had. Then again, so what? If I did it for fame I’d be sorely disappointed. The other rule I’m breaking is I’m posting early in December, because I really have a lot of Xmas shopping to do.

Another rule I’ll be breaking this year. I won’t be making everything red and green (not sure if I’ve always done that) because, I’m aware that it makes it harder to read, and, I just don’t feel like it. Last, no top 20 Xmas songs this year because I don’t think they’ve changed much or at all since last year. So . . .

Let’s start with something Chrissmassy. A nice Xmas Eve murder, because you might enjoy it, but also because many have actually have heard a version of it and didn’t know it:

Stack

It was the night before Xmas, 1895, and in St. Louis, Missouri, Lee Preston (whose nickname was “Stack” or maybe it was “Stag” – it was a long time ago) and his friend, Billy Lyons, went out for a drink. They were not good guys, being notorious underworld characters. Stag was a pimp and a gambler. He was also a carriage driver, which sounds incongruous, but, so it was. It’s not clear why they called him Stag or Stack – maybe because he went “stag, that is, without friends, maybe he took it from a well-known riverboat captain, maybe from a riverboat itself, a floating brothel. No one really knows and it doesn’t really matter much. He was 30 years old that year. He was also captain of a group known as The 400 Hundred Club (which, at least outwardly, was a moral society for young black men), although I’m not really sure what the “captain” of a club is. He also was one among a group of pimps known as the Macks, who were famous for their outlandish dress habits, not that different from nowadays. It is said that on this Xmas Eve, Stack was wearing a black dress coat, gray striped pants, an embroidered yellow shirt with a high collar and an elaborate red vest, not to mention shoes with mirrors on them so they’d flash when he walked. Gold rings, a cane . . . and a Stetson, which is the important part.

Stack and Billy went to a bar at a brothel appropriately nick-named “The Bucket of Blood,” although I have a feeling that wasn’t the only bar to bear that name. Anyway, Stack (a Democrat) and Billy (a Republican) got to drinking and then arguing over politics. Apparently, Stack smashed Billy’s bowler hat. Billy, who, naturally, was displeased, grabbed Stack’s Stetson off his head and demanded satisfaction. So, Stack clobbered him on the head with his gun, and on top of that, shot him in the stomach. He was not a nice man, but, to be fair, it was a Stetson, and you know it just brings the gunfighter out in some people.

Sure enough, Billy dies, one of five men in St. Louis that Christmas Eve, and Stack, who got his Stetson back, fled, but was later arrested. He was tried twice. In the first trial, in 1896, his lawyer was Nat Dryden, a white lawyer who was famous as the first lawyer to get a conviction of a white man for murdering a black man. And he did well for Stack. He claimed self-defense and the jury was hung. Seven said it was murder, two said it was manslaughter and three wanted to acquit him. The next year, 1897, he was tried again. Unfortunately, Dryden is unavailable, having died from drinking too much.

This time the jury quickly came to a verdict of murder. Stack gets 25 years. But, then . . . he is pardoned by the governor in 1909.  But then . . . he gets in trouble a couple of years later – just another murder, but this one during a robbery, and goes back to jail. In 1912, he dies there of tuberculosis.

So, what’s this all got to do with Xmas? Well, the shooting was on Christmas Eve and it’s just an excuse to tell the story. But, I did say some of you probably heard a version of this story without knowing the back story, and that’s true. The same year – before Stack was even tried the second time - one Prof. Charlie Lee played variations of a song called Stack-a-Lee at the Kansas City Negro Press Association. And it took off like wildfire. The lyrics change a lot and even the song title – Ballad of Stackerlee, Ballad of Stagalee, Stack O’Lee Blues, Stack-a-Lee and Stacker Lee, Stagolee, etc., also became common. In 1931 Woody Guthrie records two different version – one he calls by the name you know – Stagger Lee. Too many artists have recorded it to list on a Holiday Special (one website lists I believe 426 versions), but just of people you might know of other than Guthrie - Cab Calloway, Duke Ellington, Pat Boone, The Isley Brothers (their guitarist was Jimmy Hendrix), Ike and Tina Turner, James Brown, Elvis!!! (not released, but on bootleg), The Grateful Dead, the Clash, Neal Diamond and Tom Jones. Not to mention Louis Armstrong, who I you heard of, played coronet on a recording by an early successful female blues singer named Ma Rainey, who I doubt you’ve heard of. Oh, and as a side project while he was with the Stones, Bill Wyman and the Bootleg Kings. And even Bob Dylan. Done? No. Huey Lewis & the News. And many more, of course. Maybe the most famous version is by the otherwise unknown Lloyd Price (now unknown - he's actually in the RnR HOF) who went number one with it in the year of my birth, 1959.  If you watch professional wrestling you might remember two wrestlers, Junkyard Dog and Koko B. Ware, both of whom did a turn as masked wrestlers named Stagger Lee. He’s mentioned in books and movies. Really, for a hoodlum who died over a hundred years ago who has no claim to fame except murder - he’s all over the place.

I’m done with fun facts about Stagger Lee. I just remembered he has an historical marker on his grave. Unless I kill someone, I won’t. Rot in hell you murderous bastard!!! But Merry Xmas. 

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That’s it for Xmas stories. I had another ready, but I know your ADHD tendencies. So, just going to go for two top ten movie lists, because who doesn’t like them.

First list is the greatest movie themes (or kind of themes) in my lifetime. As usual, it is an official list, which means you may not differ with it. If I just say the name of the movie, it’s the theme song. I’ll try to mention if it’s another song from the film.

1.     The Good The Bad and The Ugly - The Ecstasy of Gold – Enrico Morricone. I don’t know if he is the greatest film composer ever – but he’s got to be top three. The Ecstasy . . . is so good, I have it two spaces above the actual theme.

2.     The Pink Panther – Henry Mancini. It’s best listened to while watching the animated openings for the movies.

3.     The Good The Bad and The Ugly – Main theme – More, iconic original break through music by Enrico Morricone

4.     Jaws – John Williams. I love Williams too. I have a feeling most people would say he was the greatest ever, and could be. Some claim he rips off classical music, but I have heard the similarities and I’m not bothered by them. He’s a classical composer. This was not among my favorite movies nor my favorite music. But, it deserves its spot.

5.     Rocky – Gonna Fly Now. Bill Conti. On my workout list. I don’t know if there is any movie with music that makes you want to fight as much. Or run up stairs.

6.     Star Wars– John Williams. Unforgettable.

7.     James Bond Theme - Monty Norman (although John Barry, who did most of the soundtracks, says it was him). This is the theme music that runs through the films, or many of them anyway.

8.     Chariots of Fire – Vangelis (although I have to agree with Stavros Logaridis, another Greek composer, who unsuccessfully sued Vangelis for plagiarism, that it does sound a lot like the Logaridis' piece "City of Violets," composed the same year).

9.     The Exorcist - Tubular Bells – Mike Oldfield. This had to be on the list. Absolutely Iconic.

10.  Raiders of the Lost Ark – John Williams. Yes, on my workout list.

Runners up

Dr. Zhivago – Lara’s Theme – Maurice Jarre

Goldfinger – John Barry, who wrote a lot of the Bond and other music.

The Magnificent Seven - Elmer Bernstein.

Superman– John Williams. Also, really inspiring and . . . on my workout lift. If the Theme to Superman doesn’t make you lift more, you are lost.

Close Encounters of the Third Kind – John Williams.

The Mission – Enrico Morricone.

Beverly Hills Cop - The Heat is On – I thought it was written by Glen Frey, but it’s not. He just performed. Harold Faltermeyer (Top Gun also) and Keith Forsey, a musician, both more successful than you’d imagine, composed it. It’s not your typical theme music.

Footloose – Kenny Loggins.

Ghostbusters – Ray Parker, Jr. (Elmer Bernstein wrote the music score for the film).

Flashdance - Giorgio Moroder (who, hard to believe, maybe invented both disco and electric dance music – neither of which I enjoy much; I have to research that someday), Keith Forsey and Irene Cara (who wrote the lyrics and performed it).

The Bodyguard - I will always love you – Dolly Parton wrote it, but, if not for Whitney Houston and this film, how many would know it? It’s not the theme song, but it epitomizes the movie.

Lord of the Rings: Return of the King - Into the West – Howard Shore, Annie Lennox, Fran Walsh - Played over the credits. Still brings a tear to my eye – every time.

Stripes - Stripes March. You know, the Bill Murray and Harold Ramis movie. I think it was the first time I saw John Candy too. But, great music by Elmer Bernstein, yet again.

Rocky III. Eye of the Tiger by Survivor. Another great song.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Second list – Top ten Tom Hanks films. This is also an official list, though I expect controversial:

1.     You’ve Got Mail. The real stars were the Ephron sisters, who wrote the screenplay, but Hanks and Ryan were perfect. I honestly don’t understand why most people I know seem to prefer Sleepless in Seattle, a great romcom, but one which doesn’t make my list. I actually loved Hank’s performance in You’ve Got Mail. My favorite scene with him is when he, Joe, and his father, Nelson (Dabney Coleman), are discussing his elder’s latest break up:

Nelson Fox: “I just have to meet someone new, that's all. That's the easy part.”
Joe Fox: “Oh right, yeah, a snap to find the one single person in the world who fills your heart with joy.”

Nelson Fox: “Well, don't be ridiculous. Have I ever been with anyone who fit that description? Have you?”

But, it’s really not the dialogue that got me. It was the perfect look of epiphany on Hank’s face.

2.     Forrest Gump. I didn’t really like this the first time I saw it. Then, when I saw it on tv, I realized it was not only full of movie gimmicks, but it was a great love story.

3.     Apollo 13. I have a confession. The first time I saw the title on a movie theatre pylon, I thought – Wow, that’s a lot of sequels for a movie. How come I never heard of it? Awesome movie though. Best moment. Hanks play astronaut Jim Lovell, trapped up in a space ship. His wife goes to the nursing home to comfort Hanks’ elderly mother. She doesn’t need it. “Don’t you worry,” she tells her crying grand-daughter. “If they could make a washing machine that flies, my Jimmy could land it.”

4.     Bridge of Spies. Based on a true story about a spy exchange, Hanks’ character, a real life lawyer named James B. Donovan, is the man who made it happen. Hanks didn’t even have the best role. But, this is his best movies, not roles.

5.     Road to Perdition. Hanks plays a gangster who wants to change. Nothing new here, but great movie and performance.

6.     Nothing in Common. Usually not my type of movie – an adult man getting to know his aging father better. But, that aging father was the greatest, Jackie Gleason, and together they were some team.

7.     Bachelor Party. A very silly movie with a young Tom, but very funny. Hanks played the straight man, the nice guy.

8.     Splash. The one that made him famous. Sought of The Little Mermaid.

9.     A League of their Own. Again, I rating the movies, but this was his best performance, I thought, out of a lot of great ones. A baseball burnout who coaches a woman’s team.

10.  Captain Phillips. Another true story, this one of a ship’s captain held by Ethiopian pirates and rescued by Navy Seals.

I know you are going to argue about some of these, because I didn’t put Saving Private Ryan on it, Castaway, or other great movies. It’s a top ten list and these are them. Hanks made a lot of great movies and is maybe one of the ten most likeable celebrities in the world.

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Here’s my biggest Xmas surprise. It’s been a long year and a tough one for many people. I don’t have much to complain about personally, but, overall for the country (and many other countries), it was more than rough. Certainly it is the most difficult year for the country in my lifetime and that includes during the Vietnam War, the Watergate years and 9-11, not to mention Iraq and Afghanistan.

So, I’m keeping it short and ending it with a poem I wrote this year. Not really. I can’t write poetry that doesn’t begin with “Roses are red,” or “There once was a man from . . .“ But as inspiration, I will repeat (not the first or last time) my favorite real poem, that is, not including Dr. Seuss. It never gets old. I always tell people I send it to, you don’t have to live up to it (he didn’t), but you can aspire to it. I should probably end it like this every year.

If by Rudyard Kipling 

If you can keep your head when all about you   

    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,   

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

    But make allowance for their doubting too;   

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,

    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;   

    If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;   

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

    And treat those two impostors just the same;   

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

    And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

    To serve your turn long after they are gone,   

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

    Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,   

    Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

    If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

    With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,   

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,   

    And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

Happy Holidays. See you next year.

Stories from my "religious" training - Oy!

I remember being in a Hebrew school class when around 11. To say the least, I hated, and I mean hated, being there, which I will get into more later. My present interest in languages had not emerged, although I knew I had a capacity for it if I desired to learn (I rarely desired anything strongly back then) and all learning that wasn't random and perhaps unimportant had little interest for me either. A lot of other factors come into play, mostly though, that I found it objectional to have religion shoved down my throat.

I knew everyone in the class, having grown up with them. I'm sure I knew the teacher that day too, probably one of the Temple members, although I cannot precisely recall him. It was a man, middle-aged, and I can vaguely visualize him. I think I remember his name, but it's not a strong memory, nor important, so I'll leave it out.

We were learning some prayers in this particular class, which was itself particularly galling to me. Or, the class was learning. I really didn't participate. Except, there was one prayer I decided to learn to recite super-fast, just to befuddle the teacher as to why I couldn't seem to learn anything else. 

In any event, we were having a contest. There were two teams, and though I don't remember this part, I'm pretty sure that whoever got me on their team would not have been happy about it. It was hard enough to keep me awake, and my lack of interest in things Jewish was hardly unknown in the school.

As best as I can recall now (this happened roughly 40 years ago), I was asked to say something in Hebrew from one of the prayers. Worse, it would decide the game. Just happened to be my turn. On other occasions, I might have just said "I don't know," or passed, or did something so that the teacher would just leave me out of it. But, I thought I knew the answer, so I answered. Let's say, for argument's sake, the answer was "Blah blah bleh blah."

So I said "blah blah bleh blah." Or maybe I said "blah blah blah blah." To my shock, pandemonium* broke out. There was a dispute as to whether I had said "Blah blah bleh blah" or "blah blah blah blah." The teacher looked at me, unsure himself. So, he asked me what I had said.

I've always loved the word "pandemonium,"  originally "Pandæmonium," coined by John Milton about 300 and some odd years ago in his Paradise Lost, as the capital of Hell and home of all demons.

In my memory, everyone is looking at me and I wanted to disappear, not wanting to be the center of attention or decide who won the game. And, in my memory/imagination, some seconds passed in dead quiet. I was pretty sure I knew what I had said, though I doubt I could have sworn to it even then. Now, of course, I can't remember any of the words involved. I do remember the dispute was over one vowel though, which I guess had importance in what word I had used. So, I said what I thought I previously stated, being pretty sure, but not completely. 

"Blah blah bleh blah." 

Which, it turned out, was the right answer. Or, at least it was the correct one for the contest, anyway. 

More uproar. Have the class determined that I was lying, half telling the truth. Guess how it was determined whether I was telling the truth or not? I know you know - it depended exactly on what team they were on. 

The important thing for my little story is that it is the first time I remember as an adult looking back, thinking - oh, whether you tell the truth or not, people are going to believe you or not according to their own interests. Maybe I didn't think it in such a sophisticated-sounding fashion. Nevertheless, it's a valuable lesson, and maybe I was slow to learn it. I tried to pass it on to my kid. I'm sure she doesn't remember my saying it, but, she seems to have internalized it, and that's the important thing. I had the lesson reinforced for me not too long after that when playing ball in the street with the neighborhood kids. My teammates got mad at me for admitting I had been "out" at first base. It had been close, but I was definitely out. One kid, who, frankly, was a jerk most of the time, said, "Oh, your sooooo mature, David." Trust me, if you think that might read like a compliment, when laced with sarcasm, it was clearly not. And, again, obviously stuck with me.

Back to Hebrew school, the same class sometime later that year, I had another experience, even worse. But, first, I have to explain why I hated Sunday/Hebrew school so much.  I had been an atheist for about four years, i.e., since I was 7, which might make you laugh, thinking about a kid with theological views. But, I had them and they were important to me. At least, they were important to me if someone was trying to impress religion on me. I always joke that I was religiously discriminated against by my own family, but in a way it's true. My parents didn't care what I thought. I was their kid and they had sent the other four through Sunday and Hebrew school before me. There was no reason for them to think I shouldn't go too. So, though very shy and well-behaved in regular school, I was not that well behaved in Sunday School at all, although that came later.

But, in this class, I still felt shy. One day, the teacher decided that we were going to sing a prayer, one at a time. Now, maybe that's normal for kids to do, particularly in Hebrew school. I guess it is, but those kids probably grew up singing. Not me. It wasn't in my family's playbook. We did have one sibling who sang, but she was an anomaly. I wasn't about to sing for anyone for any reason. I didn't know how to and I didn't want to. The only time I remember singing in school was some time early on in grade school where we were asked to sing a song we knew - and I didn't know any songs. So, I tried to sing Happy Birthday and wasn't sure of the words. No, really. I can imagine that sounds impossible . . . but. . . . 

Worse, the mere fact of being in Sunday/Hebrew school already troubled me greatly, and though I could recite a prayer if asked and I knew it, singing seemed to be an emotional investment I wasn't prepared to make. I mean, it was bad enough my feelings about religion were ignored, but by singing, I would be participating in a way that seemed . . . well, I guess like I was participating. Worse - that I believed in God, which I didn't get at all. And it really upset me. So, when the teacher got to me I just didn't sing. I didn't say anything. I just sat there. He didn't just move on to the next kid either. He insisted. Probably he thought it was the right thing to do, that I was shy - which I was - but that had nothing to do with it. After a few really awkwardly painful moments, tears started coming out of my eyes. Finally, he said - "Ok, you can leave the room for a few minutes." He wasn't being mean - he was probably thinking - What the F' is this about? and perhaps was a little traumatized himself. As an adult, I know I would feel bad if I made a kid cry, even if I thought it was for their own good.

Here's the weirdest part. I can't put my finger on exactly what emotions I was feeling, although there was definitely resentment and shame involved. All I needed to say was - I don't know it. The problem was, I did know it and it seemed to me even more shameful to lie than the shame of being forced to participate in a religious way against my will. I was not pleased that I had to put up with religious education at all. You can see that I will probably get a few beatings in the coming re-education camps.

How did I handle it? I just refused to leave the room. As far as I was concerned, the teacher could sit there and move on to the next kid knowing that I was sitting there with tears in my eyes because I wasn't budging and wanted him to know how I felt. 

Honestly, I did not have a lot of traumatic moments in my young life. Whatever unpleasantness, bullying, etc., occurred, wasn't that bad. I was really lucky to sail through life with few traumatic instances. But, obviously, that instance bothered me, or I'm sure I wouldn't remember it to this day.

Something else happened (I think the year before, maybe the year after - not sure) in Hebrew class which was always Wednesday afternoon after public school. We had a reader, a short book which I think had pictures and not that many words - but in Hebrew. It was, of course, not an advanced reader as we were just learning. We did a page a day, I think. One night, not sleeping as usual, I started looking at the book I had been ignoring. Within a few hours, I had memorized the entire book, Hebrew and all. That's when I discovered I either had a capacity for language or it was really easy. It could be that other kids could do that too, but, for some reason, they weren't. I don't think I gave that any thought then. However, when we went to Hebrew school that Wednesday, I told my instructor that I had memorized the book. What happened? Nothing. He didn't believe me and, in my usual way at the time (and sometimes still), I didn't try to prove it to him. 

However, it soon became evident that I understood more Hebrew than everyone else and someone, maybe my teacher trying to get rid of me, wanted to put me in the next class - sort of skipping a grade. Well, let's just say the politics of it were not pretty, even in a middle-class, Jewish neighborhood. Other kids told me that it was they were going to be promoted instead of me and older kids did not want me in the class. I wasn't alone. There was another boy, whose name I think was Dean, a friend of mine, who went with me. I don't know why they promoted him as though he was an intelligent kid, I didn't see that he had learned what I had. 

In our new class - the first session we attended - it was clear the teacher was hostile to our being there. She pretty much said so. Then, she tested Dean, by asking him to conjugate a word. I knew how to conjugate it - he didn't. She immediately said we weren't ready to be advanced. I was shocked that she would do that without asking me - so Mister "I'm not participating" suddenly said, "Can I try?" to her. And she said "No." I was shocked at her behavior. Looking back on it, I probably didn't have a clue as to the politics going on behind the scenes. Still, it had an impact. If I didn't care before - I definitely would not care at all anymore about learning the language. Wouldn't do a lick of work. Of course, that was true in regular school too, where I was on my way to being thrown out of all the honors classes. There were lots of reasons for that, I think, predominantly physical exhaustion from almost never sleeping, but our psychological reasons are too complex to easily pick apart and say this caused this and that caused this and that. Still, I had experienced, not just in Hebrew school, but, in my own family, in public school, and even previously at summer camp, hostility, probably jealousy, to any achievements I was capable of by other kids and sometimes their parents. It definitely scarred me in some way and I rarely want people to know what I can do or know.  

While I didn't change behavior in public school, during the next year or two, I transformed myself in religious school. As our bar mitzvahs neared, I became more offended by being put through it. The thought of standing up in front of the temple and "becoming a man" by reading a service horrified me, as it would seem a full public acceptance of the religious beliefs, despite my internal rejection of religion. I couldn't be that hypocritical. I'd like to think my parents wouldn't want me to be a hypocrite. I was wrong about that, but we will get there.

So, I started to become the Bart Simpson of my Sunday School. Even still, I was not a bad kid, and my misbehavior was relegated to talking in class, not participating in what other kids took for granted as their duty and I guess wanted, and some pranks. Still, I was not exactly wanted by teachers. I recall some time in the next few years walking into the first class of the year and the teacher looking at me and saying, "Oh no, not you."

I told my parents that I did not want a bar mitzvah. They tried to bribe me with the gifts I would get, which offended me more - I asked my mother if she wanted me to be a hypocrite just to get presents. She said yes. She said I could give a sermon on anything I wanted. I said, could I say that the whole thing was a fraud and I didn't believe in it at all? No, she said, not that. So . . . . 

My mother was a very good and accomplished person. This isn't the post where I will go into her life in detail - maybe someday. My father was by far the more difficult of the two from a child's perspective. But, my mother was the one who was much more insistent on my having a bar mitzvah, which I knew could never happen - I simply would not have said a word even if they had forcibly led me up to the altar. It would have been a repeat of the school story above, except I think I was past getting choked up. After seventh grade, I rarely got choked up until my 30s after my daughter was born.

To my surprise, my father, who was almost absent in child-raising except to be punitive, said, "Let him decide." I'd like to think he just wanted me to have the choice. Perhaps he thought, given the freedom to make a choice, he will do what we want. But, we really never had personal conversations, even when I was grown and she had passed, so I don't know.

The agreement I reached with my mother was that I actually had to take all the lessons for a bar mitzvah and then I could decide. So, I took the lessons, or, in my way. I don't really remember anymore what I learned or not, but, my gut tells me that I did not try hard enough so that I would have been successful - probably not by a long shot. After all, I knew it wasn't happening. As we neared the planning stage, my mother said I had to make my choice. I told her I couldn't. She stared at me. I never saw my mother behave like that before and it was, in my memory, one of the most traumatic moments of my life (I know you might be thinking - that's the worst? But I did say, I was lucky and didn't have a lot of trauma). 

So, she told me to call the rabbi in front of her and tell him. I had already had a couple of conversations with the rabbi and he was not empathetic to my feelings about religion. I remember once I was sent to him and he played the game where he wanted me to speak first. After listening, he said - "Do you think you are smarter than us?" I did not give him the right answer. I said - "About this I do." I did think I was smarter when it came to religion.

After my mother and I stared at each other for a few seconds I think I reached for the phone with dread in my heart. I could care less about what the rabbi thought, but I knew I was deeply hurting my mother and I didn't want to do it in front of her. I wasn't a cold person at all. I was very empathetic and hated the thought of hurting people, not least my own mother who had always been good to me.

Suddenly, she said, "Never mind. I'll do it. You can go." Maybe she was testing me. Maybe she was hoping I'd change my mind. We did talk about it once more. On her deathbed. Maybe it was months before she actually died, as the conversation took place in the hospital and most of her family had gathered to be with her. She said some nice things, saying that everyone always said that I was her favorite (true). Not that she was directly saying it - but I think she was strongly hinting at it. Ask my brothers and sisters. I think they'd all say I was the favorite. She also said that she knew it was difficult for me coming to see her like that in the hospital (it was). But, the one thing she couldn't forgive me for - I knew before she finished the sentence - was refusing to get a bar mitzvah. I just nodded, I think. I didn't feel guilty. I thought she was wrong to feel that way, but I was not about to tell a dying woman, "Yeah, well, too bad."

I guess as a punishment for not having the bar mitzvah disguised as needing to be religiously educated more, I was required to continue to go to Sunday school until I was 16. This was not a good thing for the school as my misbehavior increased with every passing year. One teacher took me aside and told me I was a leader and asked me to be a positive one. The next class, when I was anything but a help to him, he said I disappointed him. I said, believe it or not - nicely, that he had disappointed me by trying to use praise to get me to behave in a place where I felt I was being punished. Probably he was right in trying. Why not? I've had sort of similar talks with students as an adult and at least once, it worked spectacularly.

On one occasion the principal of the school, who we called Woody because of his name (Woodman?) substituted for our teacher. He, of course, sat in front and I sat among the circle of desks, to his left, the opposite side of where the door was. Every time he turned around, I quickly stood and silently moved a few chairs towards the door. Naturally, no one in the class said a word. And then, whoosh, I was out the door when his head turned again. I went out of the building, up the stairs and sat down directly above where the door was. A few minutes later he popped his head out the door and I looked down on his head, literally. But, he never looked up. So, when class ended, I just went to my mother's car and escaped. 

On another occasion, I remember being sent to the principal's office for some misbehavior, probably just for talking. Can't remember. My mother happened to be coming to the Temple for her own reasons at that moment that I was sitting outside his office. When she found out what happened she slapped me in the face, one of two times in my life that had happened. The first time was justified, though I was 4. This time, I'm not sure. Maybe it was. I don't think I should have been forced to go at all but I should not have been disrupting a class.

On still another occasion, I had to go on a bus to a weekend retreat with the other kids. I was really not pleased with this. It became obvious that the teachers were trying to install in us what it would have been like to have been in a concentration camp. It was so stupid. Unless they were going to torture or kill us, it wouldn't have much effect. I don't remember much about that weekend except my non-participation and some other kid getting mad at me and expressing himself by saying that I was a hypocrite for wearing a shirt outside and a coat inside. He didn't really know me (to this day I feel relatively colder indoors than out - I just do - I think it's something about expectations), and I knew he was just taking out his frustration about my behavior. I ignored him.

And on another occasion, we took a field trip to NYC to see a temple. I had already been going to the city by myself at that point for a couple of years and felt pretty comfortable there. Bored to tears walking around the Temple, I and another mischievous fellow named Adam snuck off for an hour or so and walked around Central Park. Apparently, the teachers and parents in charge were terrified at our absence. When my mother found out she insisted that I write a letter of apology. I absolutely refused and asked who was going to apologize to me for insisting I go. I'm not saying that I was right about these things, but, I was unhappy about having to go and that's how I showed it. 

I'm sure lots of other stuff happened. But, these are my strongest memories and they were not the most pleasant. I can't say they were all that unpleasant either. Occasionally I had fun (like stealing out of class or hightailing it to Central Park). I've heard some real horror stories of kids who did not meet their parents' or teachers' expectations in religious schools, particularly Catholic ones, including a lot of violence and far more traumatic sounding punishments than my once getting slapped in the face. 

And, I'm not bragging about any of this either. That's how I felt and what I did. In terms of affecting my life, it is dwarfed by other aspects, such as no one recognizing that my constant state of exhaustion needed to be addressed (they didn't have sleep centers back then) and my family's own particular brand of dysfunction which leads us all to joke as adults that we were raised by wolves.

For reasons such as the above stories, which I don't mind sharing, there are some people who think I'm actually anti-Semitic. I'm not at all. My whole life, probably at least half of my friends have been Jewish, including some of my closest. I detest anti-Semitism as I do any virulent prejudice. And, I support Israel, although not the way some Jewish people do. I support them because they are our ally and one of the best of them. And because they have been surrounded by a sea of hostility their whole existence and because nations worldwide seem to have the anti-Semitic bug. And Jews, worldwide, have a truly magnificent record of accomplishment, which I'm sure they are proud of (and others hate) and I guess I would be if I identified more with it. Still, like with our own country, I do not approve of everything Israel does and don't hesitate to say it when I think they are wrong. But, I don't dislike anti-Semitism more than other prejudice just because of the accident of birth that I was born to a Jewish family. 

As to whether I consider myself Jewish, when asked, if I believe what the questioner really wants to know is whether my parents were Jewish, I just say yes. If I think they want to know what my beliefs are, then I say they are secular, or I'm not a believer and I don't consider myself Jewish that way (and, ask ten Jews what it means to be Jewish, you might get 10 different answers). I'm obviously biologically Jewish (whatever that means exactly) and culturally. I was raised on the holocaust and Marx Bros. Recently, I purchased a copy of a decades-old The Encyclopedia of Jewish Humor because I wanted the same one that sat on my parents' coffee table when I was growing up. 

Well, that's my story. L'chaim.

How can John Brown and Gandhi both be great men?

Back before the young radicals destroyed what we old folks used to call a sense of humor, someone might have started a joke with Thoreau, Tolstoy, King and Gandhi go into a bar.

Well, maybe they shouldn't go into a bar during the pandemic. But, let's say they did. Would they, speaking to one another, express pride in today's purported successors? The carnage with which of the BLM movement has left of some of the inner cities, the damage they've done to actual justice by demanding it be social (by which they mean according to skin color or other superficial characteristics and not according to actual justice), the numbers of dead, mostly minorities at other minority hands still going on over two months after George Floyd's death, the viciousness and illogic of their arguments, and also the a-religiosity of it, would have left them all cold (except for Thoreau, who would have cared only about the immorality of it). 

If the topic wasn't so serious and happening now, I'd write a short play in which Sartre came in at the end, deux ex machina style, and says not - as in the actual play - "Hell is other people," but, "Hell is white people." Or "Hell is white men." Well, isn't that the mantra we have been listening to?

King, Thoreau, Gandhi, Tolstoy were all unique and fascinating people.  I have read biographies, sometimes more than one (in Thoreau's case - many), on all of them. They were all unique individuals, but they had one thing in common. Non-violence. 

For Thoreau it was a matter of reason and morality to resist an unconscionable law (Fugitive Slave Act) by refusing to pay taxes he believed would pay for it. For Tolstoy it was mainly a Christian thing (though he quoted Thoreau in both his fiction and non-fiction), and it took him not just to non-violence as a way of life, but a rejection of government and modern civilization. For Gandhi, non-violence = Truth = God. He was inspired by Thoreau and Tolstoy (both of whom he would quote). For King, the religion and justice were intertwined, and he admittedly based it on Gandhi's Satyagraha, and that he read Thoreau in college and was inspired by the idea of refusing to cooperate with evil.

The historical chain is easy to see. Thoreau inspired Tolstoy. Tolstoy and Thoreau inspired Gandhi, who wrote about both of them; in fact, Tolstoy, shortly before he died, and Gandhi became correspondents. King based his movement on Gandhi's ([The Gandhian philosophy is] “the only morally and practically sound method open to oppressed people in their struggle for freedom.” He read and was inspired by Thoreau and I'm told Tolstoy, although I don't myself remember him quoting or referring to Tolstoy off the top of my head. But, if he read Gandhi, and we know he did, it would be hard to imagine he did not know Tolstoy. In any event, they are all philosophically linked. 

Thoreau started his plea for Captain John Brown with words I could use as a capstone for my own posts on the pandemic revolution -  

"I trust that you will pardon me for being here. I do not wish to force my thoughts upon you, but I feel forced myself. Little as I know of Captain Brown, I would fain do my part to correct the tone and the statements of the newspapers, and of my countrymen generally, respecting his character and actions. It costs us nothing to be just. We can at least express our sympathy with, and admiration of, him and his companions, and that is what I now propose to do."

So I feel in my efforts here, virtually unheard (a voice crying out in the wilderness), to call attention to the lies spread by the media in our own day and the absolutely fascist tactics that are succeeding in our own country.

I will not, again, babble on ad nauseum about what Thoreau said in his plea for John Browna pretty close to one hundred years before I was born. But, I will quote from it a few paragraphs I think particularly relevant - 

"'In his camp,'" as one has recently written, and as I have myself heard him state, 'he permitted no profanity; no man of loose morals was suffered to remain there, unless, indeed, as a prisoner of war. "I would rather," said he, "have the small-pox, yellow-fever, and cholera, all together in my camp, than a man without principle.... It is a mistake, sir, that our people make, when they think that bullies are the best fighters, or that they are the fit men to oppose these Southerners. Give me men of good principles,--God-fearing men,--men who respect themselves, and with a dozen of them I will oppose any hundred such men as these Buford ruffians.'" He said that if one offered himself to be a soldier under him, who was forward to tell what he could or would do, if he could only get sight of the enemy, he had but little confidence in him."

It's not my point at all here that we shouldn't curse (I curse a lot) or should be God-fearing (I'm still an atheist who thinks we should try to behave as if we believed in a benevolent God). I actually disagree with many things that even Gandhi and Tolstoy believed (I mean, Tolstoy was essentially an anarchist and an anti-modernist and Gandhi thought it was better to kill his daughter than that she be would be dishonored [raped?]). The important thing is that this is all about principles, and important principles, the most important ones being refusal to cooperate with evil, non-violent methods of political change, the improvement of ourselves and trying to inspire our enemies, not destroy them. They were not cooperating with their enemies, but they were not trying to destroy them either. Whether you agree or not, with that, it is what made them great men. It is fascism which must be destroyed. Some would say - hate the sin, love the sinner. 

Why then do I (and Thoreau) think Brown was a great man, when his means were violent? He took the war to the slave owners and the system that protected them. The reason is, because it matters who you are fighting and the reasons you are doing it. Gandhi recognized that beliefs were relative and subjective. And, indeed, he wrote that he preferred courageous violence in the face of oppression before cowardice and burying your head in the sand. We are faced in our country with an ignorance based on addiction to a very dishonest media (you know who I mean CNN, MSNBC, The New York Times, Washington Post, the three networks, sometimes even FoxNews - such as when they referred to the violent takeover of several blocks in Seattle as mostly peaceful or supported BLM).

In our modern times, we must fight against those who would, using racism as a club, revive the same views as the slaveholders held - that skin color is what matters in judging someone and that justice should be based on that skin color rather than our individual deeds and intent. It is because of these outrageous beliefs, which took so long to defeat in America, but had been nearing death for decades, that they must continually lie and use the media to mount a false narrative, and the education system to proselytize the children into believing false things.

King famously said that he had a dream that one day his children would live in a world where they, that is, of course, all of us, would be judged by the "content of their characters" and not the "color of their skin." This the modern-day version of purported "civil rights," has turned on its head so that they and we shall all be judged by the color of our skins. What else does "black lives matter" mean, if skin color isn't the key?

Whose side do I think Gandhi and Brown would be on now? Of course, I think mine. But, you know, who cares? I'm sure those on the other side from me would either completely disagree or, probably more typical of the times, just brand them racists - as they have Gandhi. Maybe he was at one time, but clearly the mainsprings of his movement and life were a testament to anti-Racism, or MLK, Jr. would have hardly built his own movement around Gandhi's.

When do we decide that someone who uses violence or the threat of it is okay - that he or she is a good guy or gal as opposed to the opposite? I mean Hitler used and threatened violence against his neighbors, claiming he was simply protecting oppressed Germans. And Churchill used and threatened violence against Germany? And many times the forces I approve of, even hero-worship, lapse into the kind of behavior of which I can never approve. They might even agree, but say, we have to, for all of our sakes. You do your worst, and we will do our best (Churchill if you didn't know), even if it looks like the same thing from the point of view of the one being garroted, beaten, humiliated or shot with or without a blindfold. 

I'm not going to tell you that you can never use or threaten violence. Sometimes, many times, you have to. In a civil society, we hope people are so raised and successful in their view of their lives that they will not want to do so, and that it will not be a part of their daily or regular lives. We also hope that is true internationally, on a government level. And there is evidence it is more like this now than it has ever been in history in the last century, even with two horrible world wars (see, Steven Pinker's The Better Angels of our Nature). But, we also know that violence and oppression still has tremendous staying power, because it so often works. Unless we are blind, we see it all over our country and the world.  

I'm not giving away any terrible secret by telling you that this is utterly subjective. One man's this is another man's that, and all that stuff. Of course, it is. And that's why it is so important how we raise our children, so they learn what is important. In my view, if they aren't raised with certain "enlightenment" values, that character matters, that ethnicity does not, that freedoms of expression, conscience and association, among others are critical; that the rule of law and not men which promotes both order and freedom, that history and education are important, and so on, then we are pretty much screwed. You try and have faith that good people will do their best to make sure this will happen, but I'm not sure it is true if they don't see a financial advantage for themselves and those they care about. 

Of course, those on the "other side" will say that this is exactly what they are doing. I expect many or most of them believe it so. It is hard to believe, when you are passionate about these things, that the other side is evil and just wants power. 

So, all I can tell you is where I draw my lines and why I feel both John Brown and Gandhi are both heroic (yes, I know, others too - they are my examples). 

It's this simple - as the great 20th-century spy, Austin Powers, told us - "It's freedom, baby, yeah," and, "Freedom didn't fail. Right now we have freedom and responsibility. It's a very groovy time." 

Yes, the answer to these questions is your view of freedom. Because wrestling is often more like real life than politics, I turn there. It's the reason we root for Hacksaw Jim Duggan and not King Kong Bundy. It's the reason wrestling fans know the moment a "face" becomes a "heel" and visa versa without having to have a deep philosophical discussion with themselves. 

Unfortunately, life really isn't wrestling either. There, we get to be almost omniscient, whereas in real life, particularly in the modern age, we are subject to the power of the media. And, though they can be very good, they can be very bad too. It's a huge distraction, and more people I know who I consider to be on "my side" in this difficult time -- believe that the media is the most dangerous, and disgusting, part of our society right now. 

You know that I can go on forever, down every rabbit hole, and in each one, we will find subjectivism again, and then another paean to freedom. So I will leave it at this - John Brown, who used violent means to try to obtain freedom for blacks in America, and made the ultimate sacrifice, was a great hero. So, was Gandhi, who used peaceful means to obtain freedom for Indians. Because - it's about freedom, baby, yeah!    

     

What is fascism?

 What is Fascism? Good question.

 I used to maintain that the use of fascism to describe almost any American ideology or political party was wrong-headed or even offensive. I’ve started to use it myself, as I see fascist behavior rapidly increasing. The question comes to mind, what are we all talking about? Like most things that seem simple, it gets complicated real fast.

 First, let me get rid of the first objection that I sometimes here and find almost laughable. That is, the “you know, fascism only describes an Italian political movement in the first half of the 20^th century and you really shouldn’t use if for anything else” objection.

Nonsense. Yes, that’s where it came from, but even in Italy, what it meant morphed quickly. Go read Wikipedia if you want to see a history of that. It’s now a word – fascism, just like some people call me (wrongly) a Luddite, thinking I hate technology (I love technology that I love, but it is neutral – neither good nor bad in itself. What I hate is technology that is used for or tends to lead to making people more fearful or capable). In any event, when called a Luddite, I don’t say – “you know, Luddite only refers to groups of English workers who destroyed industrial machinery to protect their jobs,” because a secondary meaning, as with fascism, has arisen. We all know what it is, even if we can’t define it.

I have an easy way of doing this. I could post right her the ENTIRE essay the famous anti-authoritarian author George Orwell wrote on the meaning of fascism right here – because it is really short, but, though I usually ignore the average attention span when I write long posts, I’m trying not to these days for a number of reasons (foremost of which might be laziness). So here are his first and last three paragraphs, which really says it all:

“Of all the unanswered questions of our time, perhaps the most important is: ‘What is Fascism?’

* * *

It will be seen that, as used, the word ‘Fascism’ is almost entirely meaningless. In conversation, of course, it is used even more wildly than in print. I have heard it applied to farmers, shopkeepers, Social Credit, corporal punishment, fox-hunting, bull-fighting, the 1922 Committee, the 1941 Committee, Kipling, Gandhi, Chiang Kai-Shek, homosexuality, Priestley's broadcasts, Youth Hostels, astrology, women, dogs and I do not know what else.

Yet underneath all this mess there does lie a kind of buried meaning. To begin with, it is clear that there are very great differences, some of them easy to point out and not easy to explain away, between the régimes called Fascist and those called democratic. Secondly, if ‘Fascist’ means ‘in sympathy with Hitler’, some of the accusations I have listed above are obviously very much more justified than others. Thirdly, even the people who recklessly fling the word ‘Fascist’ in every direction attach at any rate an emotional significance to it. By ‘Fascism’ they mean, roughly speaking, something cruel, unscrupulous, arrogant, obscurantist, anti-liberal and anti-working-class. Except for the relatively small number of Fascist sympathizers, almost any English person would accept ‘bully’ as a synonym for ‘Fascist’. That is about as near to a definition as this much-abused word has come.

But Fascism is also a political and economic system. Why, then, cannot we have a clear and generally accepted definition of it? Alas! we shall not get one — not yet, anyway. To say why would take too long, but basically it is because it is impossible to define Fascism satisfactorily without making admissions which neither the Fascists themselves, nor the Conservatives, nor Socialists of any colour, are willing to make. All one can do for the moment is to use the word with a certain amount of circumspection and not, as is usually done, degrade it to the level of a swearword.”   

So, Orwell says that we usually mean by fascist, a bully, which is pretty good. I’m going to take his point that you can call pretty much anyone you don’t like of a certain type, whatever side of the political aisle he/she might be on. But, I think bully is just not enough, because while we usually hate bullies, we usually don’t get as angry, worried or or fearful when someone says here comes the bully, as we do when we say – here comes the fascist. It’s sort of like saying a kitty cat is a lion.

Here’s my definition of fascist: A fascist is someone who uses violence or the threat of violence to accomplish his or her political goals and to control others by those means, and it is most often accompanied by the victim’s self-identification with some allegedly oppressed or endangered group.

I think from there you can figure out what a fascist group, a fascist society or a fascist dictator is.

In other words, dear readers (that is the kind that always reads my posts to the end and isn't a spammer), the kid who asks you for money at the end of the lunch line, the politician who tells you that if you elect the other side it’s going to suck, and so on, are not fascists. Fascists are - even if they call themselves the opposite – the guys and gals who have been stopping free speech, accosting political figures in the street and in restaurants, tear down statues they don’t like, who take over the streets or block traffic or threaten to (or do) threaten to burn down buildings or our system.

And we know who that is in our society right now. No, don’t tell me that could describe those who marched in Selma or many other 1960s era civil rights advocates. They were actually oppressed. They reacted overwhelmingly, in general, with peaceful resistance, except some of them sometimes when threatened themselves.

Here’s the probably more important question. Are the young people of this country, so long proselytized by their educators, the media and now business, going to believe that they are fighting for truth, justice and the American way when they are gleefully watching some violently imposing their will on others? I hope not, but I don’t know. The last four years give me little confidence.

Sorry, ended it on a downer. How about this ending (based on the traditional “One thing we do know” grand finale) – “One thing we do know, our - 'Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor' are again at stake. "  

The Last Debate

 It was the last debate. The last time Trump had a chance to address the American people who don’t follow him on Twitter (and it wouldn’t surprise me if they cut him off totally before the election).

He had so many opportunities for home runs, things which he could catch Biden out on or shut him up. I know, I know, I know, some people think he’s some kind of genius communicator. I don’t think so. I don’t think his constant repetition, going off track (sometime part way through a sentence) or inability to know the facts well enough or string them together well enough to put out a repartee, are strengths. He’s hard to listen to, even for many people who are voting for him, like me.

What could he have done better? One, be prepared. Two, make it more difficult with Biden. To give him some credit, he did it with fracking, and Biden outright lied (or really is so cognitively declined that he forgot a major position – I doubt it). And he did nail him with about who built the cages.

In responding, Trump had to keep in mind that his adversaries are never going to be persuaded to vote for him. They already call him a racist and a fascist, even if that is what they are. He can’t worry about pleasing them or the media, which has become, for the most part, part of the “resistance. Here’s how Trump should have responded to some soft balls:

When Joe Biden said he’s going to be president for all the people (the first time – they gave the challenger the last word), Trump should have said:

“You are going to be president for all the people? Really? It’s this simple Joe. Say like me – “All Lives Matter.” Three little words. I know you can’t say it because you’d lose too much support in your base, but it proves you couldn’t be president for all the people.”

And then, when he wouldn’t, ask the host to ask him if she wants to be fair to everyone.

When asked specifically what he thought of BLM, he should have said:

“Are you kidding? This is the movement that tells people that they are racist because they are white, that is, because of their skin color. This is the group that calls people murder because of their skin color and the color of the skin of the person who died, regardless of what happened between them. This is the group that a think tank that measures violence all over the world said had about 550 violent marches and rallies in America since George Floyd’s death. This is the group that sometimes chants “death to cops,” or to fry them. BLM is the frequent cry in Portland and Seattle where they are trying to tear down government. This is the movement where the violence and rioting and looting, which even Joe opposed has been responsible for hundreds of homicides, mostly of minorities, in the soaring crime rates – while they call for less police. We all know, most black people want the same amount of more police, so the gangs don’t take over.”

When given any chance to talk about what he’s accomplished, he should have teed off”

Joe’s all but admitted in his silence that they built the cages and we stopped it. I stopped the wild attempts for large numbers of people, not refugees, to storm our country by working with Mexico and Salvador. We have done something no other president has been able to achieve in over 40 years, get peace treaties between Israel and Muslim countries. I had America keep its promise to Israel and recognize Jerusalem as Israel’s capital – Obama had his ambassador sit silent in the UN while Israel was condemned. I have a successful campaign going throughout the world to decriminalize homosexuality. I signed a criminal justice act that somewhat stopped the punishment of blacks through Joe Biden’s signature legislation for all his years in Senate, and during which he called blacks “super-predators,” the Crime Control Act of 1990 which destroyed black families. And unlike Joe Biden says he’d do, I worked with the states to stop COVID, and the only reason we had so many deaths we had was because of long time Democratic strongholds like NY and California. Are you blaming them, Joe? And, yes, shame on me, is that what you are saying, my economy before COVID shut down the whole world, we had record low unemployment for blacks, Hispanics, women and others. Shame on you, if you think that’s bad.

When he was accused of being responsible for COVID and so many deaths, he should have said:

“Joe’s been down in the bunker too long because his own side is afraid of what he will say. He may not actually know or remember that this is a worldwide pandemic, and millions of people have died across the world. Europe is spiking? Is that my fault? Is he accusing me of being responsible for deaths in India and Russia and China too? What’s wrong with him is what people should be asking.

When Biden claimed his character was superior, Trump should have said:

Character? Someone who worked for you and is still a Democrat said you sexually assaulted her in a horrible fashion. We just had a business partner of your son say that you got 10% of the money he made off of your name while you were vice president while he was escorting him on Airforce 2 around the world. We saw on video you laughingly threaten Ukraine to hold back military aid to them, which they needed to stop Russia from lapping up their territory unless they fired the prosecutor looking into investigating the company your son was making millions from? We know you got money from China and from Russia. You want to see character, America. CNN and the NY Times won’t tell you go to google and type in Biden fondling women and watch the horrific videos. His own wife had to promise to make him stop. Type in a search engine Biden admits plagiary and lying when he ran for president the first time. You can watch him admit he’s a liar. Character? Like when you threw the Hyde Amendment under the bus, something you pretend is important to you, just so your constituents can demand the government now pays for abortions. I don’t think people even know you because the media has protected you so much.

Okay, I’m done. I want Trump to win, not because I particularly like him or think he’s smart. But, against the most ferocious opposition we’ve seen since Lincoln, he’s accomplished a lot. My advice to everyone is to stop listening to the media harping on what he says and look at what he’s done.

I can’t believe I’m saying this, but COME ON TRUMP!