Showing posts with label History. Show all posts
Showing posts with label History. Show all posts

Saturday, April 27, 2013

"X" is for X Planes

The "X Planes" (X for experimental) are the series of research aircraft flown mostly by NASA, the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, and its predecessor NACA, the National Advisory Committee on Aeronautics, sometimes in cooperation with the U.S. Air Force.  They've served various purposes over the decades, but the flights that most captured the public's imagination are the ones that set speed and altitude records.  The first and most famous of the X planes was the Bell X-1 in which the great Chuck Yeager broke the sound barrier in 1947, reaching the pinnacle of the test pilot hierarchy and becoming an american hero and legend.  The literal summit of the X Plane flights came courtesy of the North American X-15, the first spaceplane, in which, between 1961 and 1968, pilots like Neil Armstrong reached the edges of outer space and helped blaze the trail to the moon.


However, like so many of my blog posts about "things," this one isn't so much about the thing itself, but what the thing represents.  The X planes represent many things; the can-do attitude exemplified by President Kennedy's speech challenging America to reach the moon by the close of the 1960s, explosive innovation and exploration, and a time when almost all of the countries of the world looked at America with admiration for our audacity and technical leadership.  They also are part of an all but bygone era predating modern computer-aided design, when advancements in flight required men with the "right stuff" to strap on rockets, stare death in the face and laugh, and go blasting off into the stratosphere.


Friday, April 19, 2013

"Q" is for Quick

Before it was the trade name of check-balancing software and a loan company, "quicken" was a real word, though one rarely seen.

My first and only encounter with it was in the context of formal, corporate prayers said in church services. "Quicken our hearts, we pray" was a common phrase, one I liked, but it seemed a bit odd. Make our hearts beat faster?

No, make our hearts alive, as in Ezekiel 36:26.  I later learned that before it was another way to say fast, quick meant living.

The Quick and the Dead isn't just a clever title for a western flick.  The phrase originates in three passages in the King James version of the New Testament and is well known from the Apostles Creed.  In all those instances it refers to Jesus judging the living and the dead.  In the movie title then, we, and undoubtedly the film's creators, recognize the double meaning, but the two meanings amount to the same thing; quick means alive - especially for a gunfighter.

Other words begin to make sense when we know the archaic meaning of quick.  The quick is the living tissue under the fingernail, and where we get the phrase "cut to the quick."  Yeah, it hurts. Quicksand seems to trap its victim with purpose, like a living predator.  And to anyone who has ever rolled mercury around in their hand (back before such a reckless act would have the hazmat squad whisking you into quarantine and stretching yellow caution ribbon around your house), it's easy to understand why quicksilver isn't just the name of a totally awesome Kevin Bacon movie.


Sunday, April 14, 2013

42

Disclaimer: I'm a baseball fan, history nut, and a third-generation Dodger fan, and Jackie Robinson is one of my personal heroes, so if you're looking for a clear-eyed, dispassionate and disinterested movie review, you're in the worst possible place.

I'm here to tell you that 42 is the best movie I've seen in a long, long time.  42 more than lives up to the hype. It met and surpassed my expectations, which were pretty high; I don't remember the last film I anticipated so much. I'm sure critics and historians will find things to quibble about, but I'm neither of those, so I have the luxury of enjoying movies while I watch them. Yes, things can get a bit syrupy, and some artistic license was taken as should be expected, but the major events of the movie all happened. There's not an "Aw, come on, are you kidding me?!" moment in the whole film. Yes, the gas station scene is historical (though Dodger scout Clyde Sukeforth didn't really show up there), and yes, Phillies manager Ben Chapman really did say all those things.  Pee-wee really did put his arm around Jackie.

42 is a visual and auditory feast. From costumes to automobiles to streetscapes to music to speech patterns, it is rich and evocative, with eye-popping recreations of National League ballparks like Ebbets Field, Forbes Field, Crosley Field, and Shibe Park, all of which succumbed to the wrecking ball decades ago. (The scene with Branch Rickey alone in Ebbets Field is magical, and die-hard baseball history fans will recognize the Forbes Field left field wall in Pittsburgh as the site of Bill Mazeroski's 1960 World Series-winning home run). Recreating a time when the most colorful commercial endorsements in baseball were on the outfield walls is sure to invoke nostalgia. 42 is pitch-perfect, period-perfect and picture-perfect.

I'm usually disappointed with at least some of the casting in most historical films, but in that regard I found 42 brilliant without exception. Brett Cullen, Christopher Meloni, Max Gail and John C. McGinley play Montreal manager Clay Hopper, Brooklyn managers Leo Durocher and Burt Shotton and broadcaster Red Barber exactly how I've always imagined them. Andre Holland and Nicole Beharie portray reporter Wendell Smith and Robinson's wife Rachel Isum Robinson with feeling and nuance.

Harrison Ford is truly Oscar-worthy as the colorful, visionary Branch Rickey, in all his Methodist, bow-tied, bushy-eyebrowed glory. There were people who thought Rickey was nothing more than a grandiloquent, pious, mercenary hypocrite (Walter O' Malley called him a "psalm-singing fake"), but I think them probably unfair, and Ford makes him neither a saint nor a scoundrel, but rather the multidimensional man that he was.

Not only is Chadwick Boseman a near-perfect physical match for Jackie Robinson, but it's hard to imagine anyone doing a better job with what must have been the daunting role of a lifetime (imagine more pressure in playing anyone outside of the Bible). Boseman as Robinson is strong, stubborn, determined, courageous, resilient, dignified, sensitive, intelligent, outspoken, smoldering and hates to lose.  I've said before that with all of the amazing things about Jackie Robinson to commend him, what stands out most to me is simply his manhood, and I was gratified to see how well Boseman conveys it.

42 is stunning, authentic, evocative, triumphant and important. What it promises, it delivers. It doesn't preach, it documents; it trusts its audience to draw conclusions.  There were times in the movie I shook my head, hung my head, threw it back to laugh and put hand to forehead. There were times it was hard not to cry. There were times it was hard to watch and listen and that's why I think every American aged twelve or thirteen and up ought to see it. I'm glad my preteen daughter was with me.  For her, Jackie Robinson will ever be more than a black-and-white photo or someone her old man talks about, and his importance will never be a mere abstraction.


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Friday, April 12, 2013

"K" is for Koufax


Sanford Braun "Sandy" Koufax.  Like Jackie Robinson, with whom he's tied for my all-time favorite athlete, he's far too large to capture in a blog post.  Like Robinson, he's an incredible athlete and man, and like Robinson, his life transcends the game of baseball.  Though both received their fame and recognition through baseball, neither one needed baseball to live a life of importance.

Arguably the greatest left-handed pitcher of all time, Sandy Koufax burned like a meteorite across the baseball firmament and then was gone, retiring at age 30 at the peak of his career, his elbow arthritic, his arm spent.  Early in his career, he damaged his elbow trying to throw each pitch harder than the last, before discovering that by easing up he could throw just as fast and with more control.  Early on, he was frustrated by how little the Dodgers pitched him, but once they discovered what they had, they worked him like a plow horse. The famously weak-hitting Dodgers of the early '60s depended on their pitchers for championships but, not uncommon for the times, seemed callously and myopically unconcerned with their longevity or health.  In getting out of the game "while I can still comb my hair," he avoided the temptation that so many great athletes succumb to, to play out their string for too long past their prime and decline before our eyes on the field.  He left on his terms.  The game needed the man who once famously refused to pitch a World Series game on Yom Kippur, more than he needed the game.
 
In an abbreviated eleven year career from 1955 to 1966, he amassed a record matched by few pitchers working twenty years. From 1962 to 1966 he dominated.  I'll leave it to the reader's initiative to learn about the MVP award, the Cy Young awards, the pitching Triple Crowns, strikeout record, World Series championships, and the four no-hitters (first player to reach four), including a perfect game (the eighth in baseball history).  That at his Hall of Fame induction in 1972 at age 36 he was the youngest inductee ever.  A player can be judged by what his adversaries say about him; Pittsburgh legend Willie Stargell said that hitting against Koufax was "like trying to drink coffee with a fork."  Although he tipped off his fastball and curveball to hitters by variations in his windup, Willie Mays, arguably the best all-around player ever, said "I knew every pitch he was going to throw and I still couldn't hit him."  More than once, the word "unfair" was used.

On the field he was a fierce competitor who once said that "Pitching is the art of instilling fear."  Both on and off the field, as was Robinson, he's the epitome of class and grace.  He didn't call attention to himself, argue with umpires or show up other players; one said "He'll strike you out but he won't embarrass you." Ever a man of dignity and integrity, he has never done anything in his playing days or in retirement to let down his fans or diminish his reputation. Even in a room full of politicians, scholars, celebrities and other luminaries, he's the one whose autograph everyone wants.  He's a famously private man who declines his own celebrity, which is often mistaken for reclusiveness, but he's simply cut from a different cloth from a society that is increasingly, pathologically obsessed with fame and celebrity.

After an absence of several years, Sandy was back with the Dodgers this spring training, to the delight of both fans and players.  He may refuse the mantle of hero, but he remains a hero to them all.

I highly recommend Sandy Koufax: A Lefty's Legacy by brilliant writer Jane Leavy.



Thursday, April 11, 2013

"J" is for Jackie

With the eagerly-awaited biopic “42” hitting theaters tonight, I can’t think of a better word for “J."

There is far too much to say about Jack Roosevelt Robinson for me to do him any justice in a blog post, and I feel like the less I say the better.  (Can my words either add to or subtract from greatness?)  If all you know about him is that he broke the major league baseball color barrier, or played for the Dodgers, you really ought to discover more about the man for yourself. Consider it your homework assignment.

There are any number of extraordinary things about him that, taken individually, are praiseworthy, but there's one that is front and center for me, that I've never seen anyone else mention.

When it comes to Jackie Robinson, what it all boils down to for me, is that he was such a man.   In every episode of his life, in every possible sense of the word, he was a true man, a mensch.  I'll leave it to the reader to ponder that.




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Monday, April 8, 2013

"G" is for the Good Old Days

Circa 1982, I was a preteen boy more interested in airplanes than just about anything else (with certain of the girls at O.J. Actis Junior High a close second). I knew with absolute certainty I was going to grow up to be a pilot, no question. I read about aviation, built model airplanes (I know, not exactly guaranteed to get said girls' reciprocal interest) and loved going to airshows. It was at one such show on a spring weekend that I crawled around and under the immaculately restored B-17 Flying Fortress Sentimental Journey and happily forked over three of my dad's dollars to walk through it. Afterward, standing in the shade of her broad wing, surrounded by the sounds of radial engines and Glenn Miller pumped out of the tinny PA system, I remarked to a trim, gray-haired gentleman in a leather flight jacket who had flown in B-17s during the war, “Sometimes I think I was born forty years too late.”

I’ll never forget the man's reply.  “Ah, don’t ever say that.  Everyone is born when they're supposed to be.”

Even at the know-it-all age of twelve, I immediately recognized the wisdom of his words. I knew he was telling me that every age has its share of good times and bad, challenges and opportunities, and that it's up to everyone to seek out the adventures of the era in which they find themselves.

I'm still insufferably nostalgic, though. I've always loved old technology, old films, old music, old style, and I still think there's a lot those things can teach us. There are so many things about people's lives in earlier times that I find fascinating and think ought to be preserved and not forgotten.  I think old people are a treasure.

But as the noted American sociologist Billy Joel observed, the good old days weren’t always good.  It’s one thing to want to hold on to the good stuff from the old days; it’s another to forget there was bad stuff, too.

So I’m glad to have missed out on a time when lots of Americans still thought that Hitler fellow over there had some pretty good ideas.

I’d hate to have seen American citizens be robbed of their property and herded into barbed wire enclosures in various badlands because they had a surname from the wrong country.

It would have been scary to see so many children my age in leg braces and iron lungs.
  
I don’t want to return to an era when “separate but equal” was perpetuated in law instead of recognized as a baneful fiction, when sitting down at a lunch counter could be a radical act.

I'll pass on thinking it was ever okay for a man to manhandle or otherwise disrespect a woman.

I’m glad I wasn’t around to see America's veterans come back home to be spit on and slandered.

So I see nostalgia for what it is and keep it in its proper place on the shelf. I keep loving old cars and motorcycles, and listening to Sinatra and shaving with a mug and brush and wishing I wasn’t so paranoid about letting my children play outside.  And I gratefully live in the present, ever looking for God’s purpose in having put me in this place and this time, right here, right now.

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Sunday, April 7, 2013

The World Must Never Forget

Today is Yom Hashoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day.  We will never forget the enormous crime perpetrated by evil men against the Jewish people and we reaffirm our vow that it will never be allowed to happen again. 


Update:  This is a post of mine from 2009 on Holocaust denial.

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Why I Love the Vietnam Vet




I have the utmost respect, admiration and gratitude for all veterans of all our armed services.  But I've always had a special affinity for the Vietnam-era veteran.  And not just because I'm the proud son of the one pictured above.  I feel a special duty to try to make up for the honor and recognition they deserve but were denied for so long, to make sure as many Vietnam vets as possible know they are appreciated.

Vietnam-era veterans, following the example of their fathers and grandfathers, stepped up when their nation called, and wrote a blank check for an amount up to and including their very lives.  They fought with every bit as much determination, valor and love for their brothers as did their fathers in the Greatest Generation, even as they were maligned and mistreated by a nation that lost its way.  Don't believe me?  Read the citations of Medals of Honor awarded for gallantry in Vietnam.

While so many others their age at home turned to chemically fueled self-indulgence, exhibitionism and apathy, our Vietnam warriors looked outward in dedication and sacrifice.  While many of the ones who were fortunate enough to return came home broken in body and spirit, and were spit on and abused, in years to come a conscience-stricken nation vowed to never again let its warriors be so mistreated.  Our current fighters reap the benefit of this and of the example of honor set by their fathers and grandfathers of the Vietnam generation.  And unlike their tormentors, Vietnam veterans can now walk with their heads held high, knowing that whatever was lost by the press and politicians, they won their war, outfighting a skilled and determined enemy, and did so with consummate skill, courage and honor. 


Thank you, Vietnam veterans.


Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Duke Snider, 1926-2011

In the 1950s, New York was the Capital of Baseball, and three teams, the New York Yankees, New York Giants and Brooklyn Dodgers seemed to hold sway over the game and the imaginations of fans (back in the pre-internet/24-hour cable news coverage/overexposed superstar days, when fans' imaginations were an essential part of experiencing the game).  Three of the biggest stars of the era were the teams' respective center-fielders, Mickey Mantle, Willie Mays and Edwin "Duke" Snider, who died Sunday at the age of 84.

To the casual fan, Mantle was the game's greatest slugger, Mays, its all-time greatest all-around player, and Snider... well, the name is vaguely familiar but does not really compute.

Too bad, and not only because for the throngs of fans that lived and died by the outrageous fortunes of "Dem Bums," whether scaling the centerfield wall to snuff out home run hopes, knocking a hard but graceful liner over the right field wall, or donning top hat and monocle to ham it up for the camera, Number Four, The Duke of Flatbush, was royalty.  During the time when the three of them played concurrently, big, powerful Snider led in home runs and RBI, and though which one was the best centerfielder of the '50s is a debate for the ages, the Duke himself stated at his 1980 Hall of Fame induction that since the three of them were now there, it didn't really matter.

More important to me than his stats, and they were good, is what he represents.  He is the last regular position player of Roger Kahn's famed "Boys of Summer" of the Dodgers of the '50s to pass on, joining Carl Erskine, Carl Furillo, Gil Hodges, Roy Campanella, Jackie Robinson and Pee Wee Reese. He was one of the last living links to a time when kids dodged cabs and played stickball near open hydrants in the streets of Crown Heights and Bensonhurst and sat on fire escapes or in open bedroom windows to listen to the Dodgers on transistor radios when they weren't sneaking into Ebbets Field to catch a Saturday doubleheader.  (Back when working families could afford to go to big-league games and kids actually could sneak into a major league ballpark).  A time before Walter O' Malley ripped the heart out of Brooklyn and became a hero to grateful Southern Californians.  Before free agency strained the moorings between players and fans, before the designated hitter sheltered American League pitchers from having to stand at the plate and take their cuts, and before unnaturally augmented sluggers looked like linebackers and fouled the record books with asterisks.

That's why baseball fans everywhere are sad at the passing of Duke Snider.  So long, Duke.  Say hi to my grandparents (die-hard Dodger fans) for me.  You'll find them at that great Ebbets Field in the Sky, probably chatting to Campy from behind home plate.

Friday, February 25, 2011

Book Review: Brothers in Arms, The Epic Story of the 761st Tank Battalion, WWII’s Forgotten Heroes

Book Review: Brothers in Arms, The Epic Story of the 761st Tank Battalion, WWII’s Forgotten Heroes

In the flush of outrage and patriotism in the days and months following the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, Americans by the hundreds of thousands volunteered to serve in our nation's armed forces. It was no different for black Americans, who were ready to fight for their country, even one that still treated them as decidedly second-class citizens.  Eager to maintain the support of black citizens for the war effort, the government attempted to placate them by accepting blacks into the still racially segregated armed services in support roles such as cooks, mechanics, quartermasters (supply troops) and the like, while never actually intending to let them fight.  This is well-known, but to this day, a myth persists that no blacks fought in combat during World War Two, except perhaps in isolated instances such as the famed Tuskegee Airmen of the 332nd Fighter Group.  But in fact, driven by the urgent need for combat replacements in the last year of the war, tens of thousands of black soldiers fought and were killed and wounded in front line combat, mostly in all-black units.  The 761st Tank Battalion was just such a unit.

With Brothers in Arms, The Epic Story of the 761stTank Battalion, WWII's Forgotten Heroes, NBA Hall of Famer and historian Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Author of On the Shoulder of Giants: My Journey Through the Harlem Renaissance, and co-author Anthony Walton, finally do justice to the remarkable but almost completely unknown story of the 761st Tank Battalion, whose motto was "Come Out Fighting!"

Highly trained, but manning poorly-designed Sherman tanks that were in many ways mobile death traps and were in all ways under-armored and outgunned by the vaunted German Panzers, the 761st fought their way over 2,000 combat miles from the hedgerows of Normandy to the concentration camps of Mauthausen.  You could say they had to fight a two-front war - not only against the best Nazi Germany could throw at them, but also the worst to which some of their own countrymen could subject them. Both in stateside training and European combat, they fought to overcome indifference, stereotypes, outright racism and even violence.  They struggled against mistrust, disrespect, disdain, ignorance, doubting leaders, poor leadership and tactics, neglect and exhaustion.  They dealt with the ambiguous and contradictory feelings toward them personified in their erstwhile commander General George S. Patton, who had made it plain in past writings that he thought blacks couldn't think quickly enough for armored warfare, yet was willing enough to have their support in critical battles.  They fought for weeks and months without more than a day's break from combat, adequate winter clothing or even a change of uniform. To drag a wounded comrade to safety under fire or to scout ahead or attack German positions on foot was nearly an everyday occurence.  Rather than being part of a self-contained armored division staffed with infantry trained to support tank operations, the 761st Battalion was a detached unit (known to themselves and the rest of the Army as a "bastard" battalion) that was shuffled around different armored or infantry units according to need or the whim of commanders.  They would be placed alongside an all-white unit whose reactions to them ranged from caution to outright contempt, and win most of them over with their courage, skill, dedication and humanity, demolishing stereotypes that blacks weren't brave or intelligent enough fight or lead.  Then they would be abruptly bounced to another unfamiliar unit and have to start again from scratch, suffering the crushing indignity of going from heroes and life-savers one day to "n----r tankers" the next.

Through it all, they fought with unheralded but unexcelled valor and determination, and often with conspicuous gallantry.  And when they returned home, sure that their bravery and sacrifices in blood and lives would open America's eyes to their worth as men and finally gain them full participation in American life, they found a country mostly eager and determined to go on as if they had never even set foot overseas.  Their status as an unattached unit hampered record keeping, as did "lost" commendations and paperwork and old stereotypes, to the extent that even other black Americans refused to believe that they had fought at all, let alone from inside the iconic Sherman tank. Their skill in maneuvering thirty-two ton tanks through difficult terrain and demolishing German fortifications and machine gun teams with 75mm armor-piercing shells did little to prepare them for the postwar workforce and the reluctance of white managers to hire them, even after some obtained college degrees.

It would have been little wonder had they given up and retreated into bitterness and disillusionment.  But instead, we see in almost all of them a determination to start families and make new lives for themselves.  (We also see that men whose courage had been forged in bitter fighting against elite German armored units and SS troops were not easily intimidated by jeering crowds and phalanxes of police with nightsticks, dogs and fire hoses).  What is surprising is that so many people had to work so long and hard for them to receive the recognition that should have been theirs from the beginning.

While not without minor flaws, such as the need for more maps, the thoroughly researched and well-written "Brothers in Arms" illuminates an important part of black history and American history (including the history-shaping involvement of one John Roosevelt Robinson with the unit).  The experience of the black serviceman in World War II is an important prelude to the Civil Rights struggles of the '50s and '60s.  It's hard to read this account knowing that what they went through was part of a fight that would stretch on for another two decades. It's hard, knowing they thought they had won peace for their children, but their children would have to continue the struggle.

"Brothers in Arms" also retells an important part of military history.  The flawed and bloody campaign for the Saar, a low point in Patton's career, has been almost completely overshadowed by the Battle of the Bulge and the final drive through Germany (in both of which the 761st also fought) and receives deserved attention here.

But I recommend "Brothers in Arms" simply because the men of the 761st Tank Battalion, as well as all black WWII veterans, deserve for their story to be told.


Book Review: Descent into Darkness Pearl Harbor, 1941 (The True Story of a Navy Diver)

August 21, 2010

The standard narrative of World War II in the Pacific long engraved on the American psyche moves from the devastation at Pearl Harbor to the dark days of Bataan and first good news of the Doolittle raid.  From there, the tactical defeat but strategic victory at the Coral Sea, the stunning turning point of Midway, the Marines' savage struggle for Guadalcanal, fighting in the jungles of New Guinea, and the bloody island-hopping campaign.

But while all this was happening, Pearl Harbor was a beehive of activity, and not just with the comings and goings of Navy ships and in-transit personnel.  Every day, civilian and Navy "hardhat" divers like Edward Raymer donned almost 100lb of bulky diving gear and descended into the blackness of the oil-covered waters of Pearl to undertake the important and hazardous task of salvaging what they could of the once-proud battleships sunk and damaged in the attack and refloating as many of them as possible so they could be repaired and sent to the fight that had been over for them almost as soon as it had begun.  In Descent into Darkness Pearl Harbor, 1941 (The True Story of a Navy Diver), retired US Navy Commander Edward C. Raymer (formerly an enlisted sailor and the first person to dive on the sunken U.S.S. Arizona) weaves a fascinating tale of a relatively unknown but important part of the war in the Pacific – the attempt to undo as much as possible the damage from the Japanese sneak attack on the Pacific Fleet.  In so doing, he brings to life a motley cast of ordinary but brave, dedicated and hardworking sailors who are a microcosm of the Greatest Generation who triumphed in World War II, and who, like the combat sailors, sometimes gave their lives in doing so.

The nature of the divers' work dictated that it be done alone and unsupervised.  The kind of officers that would normally try to micromanage things were only too happy to leave the terrifying work up to the enlisted divers once they experienced it themselves.  This work involved painstakingly moving through fully fueled and armed battleships that were ripped apart and strewn with wreckage and debris.  It was up to the individual divers to overcome countless problems and hazards that had never been encountered in peacetime salvage diving, whether it was jagged steel, the removal of 2,000lb high explosive shells from magazines or the deadly buildup of explosive gases.  And because the work was inside sunken ships in water covered and saturated in fuel oil and debris, it was all done in pitch darkness and had to be accomplished with the help of radioed directions from ship's plans and done completely by feel – a feel that was finely honed in the months and years they toiled in the inky blackness.  The cadre of divers were true pioneers who invented solutions and procedures that became adopted as standard later on.  And from the Publisher's Weekly review, "Raymer's memoir is useful above all as a case study of the hands-on, un-bureaucratized approach to problem-solving that the U.S. brought to WWII from the beginning."

Raymer hilariously relates off-duty antics as the divers ingeniously circumvented prohibition (of liquor) in order outmaneuver an entire island of soldiers, sailors and Marines to secure female companionship for a series of covert beach parties.  But he also sensitively treats the difficult subject of encountering the bodies of sailors still entombed in the ships.  Phobias – fears of the dark, confinement, drowning and being buried alive all came into play as every day brought new challenges to be overcome.  (Even arachnophobia was a problem in an incident that will either terrify or amuse, depending on one's feelings towards spiders).

Raymer and a fellow diver spent a hardly peaceful interlude in the jungles of Guadalcanal and the waters of "The Slot" between the Solomon Islands.  Dodging the nightly "Tokyo Express" of marauding Japanese cruisers and destroyers, the sailors worked to repair ships and resupply the Marines on the island, for whom they gained a profound respect after observing and sharing in some of their hardships.  A high point was doing underwater repair work in crystal clear sunlit waters – something they had not yet experienced in the war.  The low point was the torpedoing and sinking of their home away from home, the repair ship U.S.S. Seminole.

After a 30-day survivors leave in San Francisco, Raymer returned to his brother divers and continued the work at Pearl Harbor on the USS Arizona, Utah, West Virginia, California and Oklahoma. He served as a liaison to news reporters and even a tour guide of the Oklahoma to none other than First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt.  Some of the battlewagons were beyond saving – the Utah was scuttled and the Arizona remained at the bottom of the harbor, becoming a sacred monument and a tomb for more than a thousand sailors.  Others lived to fight again, like the lightly damaged Tennessee and the West Virginia, which was present at the Japanese surrender in Tokyo Bay on September 2, 1945, where the long, costly and bloody war was finally brought to a close.

If you're interested in history, curious about the "rest of" the Pearl Harbor story, love the salty vocabulary and tales of the Navy, are curious about working diving in canvas suits, weighted shoes and copper helmets in the days before SCUBA, wonder what it was like when important work wasn't weighed down with a web of nonsensical rules and regulations, or just want a good read, Descent Into Darkness is highly recommended.


On the Need for Economic Literacy

March 26, 2010

Were I Grand Poobah of the United States, I'd require everyone to read a text and pass a test in basic free-market economics. Why?

To put to rest once and for all, economic myths like the one that sellers in a properly regulated capitalist system can set prices "arbitrarily." Or the closely related myth of "price gouging." Or the myth that the "market" is some cruel, impersonal force, rather than the sum total of the free choices of a population of free people.

So people would understand why price supports result in surplus of a commodity, price ceilings result in scarcity of a commodity and wage controls result in scarcity of jobs.

So that anyone who hasn't had the misfortune to live in a communist country or any other centrally-planned, command economy would know how backward, inefficient and wasteful they are, why they don't work, and why an army of a million government planners can never do what prices do automatically in a free market.

So people would understand that no collection of disinterested bureaucrats could ever regulate an industry as well as consumers when there is real competition. That in a competitive environment, the same company that resists or skirts government regulators will quickly fall in line when customer dissatisfaction affects their bottom line, or lose their business to companies that do. Why true competition in the insurance industry is the best thing that could happen to the healthcare consumer.

So that they would never again be led astray by the lies and promises of politicians and demagogues. So they would be able to figure out exactly why the current healthcare "reform" is so bad for the country, stop demonizing people who oppose it, and maybe even consider the better ideas that have so far been ignored.

There is an ever-increasing population of Americans who have never seen the tragic effects of Marxism, who don't realize it's not a new idea that needs to be tried, and who are easy prey for those who are trying to push us toward it. If that population reaches a certain critical mass, we're in trouble.

My recommendation for an interesting and readable text? Basic Economics, by Thomas Sowell.

Knowledge is power, and the truth will make you free.

Hymn 9 by Isaac Watts

Hymn 9 by Isaac Watts (1674-1748)

Alas! and did my Savior bleed?
And did my Sovereign die?
Would he devote that sacred head
For such a worm as I?

And bathed in its own blood,

While all exposed to wrath divine

Was it for crimes that I had done

He groaned upon the tree?
Amazing pity! grace unknown!
And love beyond degree!

Well might the sun in darkness hide,

And shut his glories in,
When God, the mighty Maker, died
For man, the creature's sin.

Thus might I hide my blushing face,

While his dear cross appears;
Dissolve my heart in thankfulness,
And melt my eyes to tears.

But drops of grief can ne'er repay

The debt of love I owe;
Here, Lord, I give myself away;
'Tis all that I can do.

Why it Matters

July 4, 2009

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. That to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed...

...And for the support of this declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes and our sacred honor. "

These incredible words are a big part of what makes America unique, with apologies to our democratic allies. This is why it is impossible for us to be a true member of a mythical "global community" - because so many in that community don't hold these to be truths at all, so many hate and despise these ideals, so many enslave and murder and rape their own people and those of their neighbors. Unfortunately, so many in our own country find these ideas and the men who penned them, repugnant too.

So have a happy Hot Dog and Fireworks Day, but let's celebrate with our eyes open and our brains turned on.

On Holocaust Denial

June 13, 2009

It comes up every once in awhile, usually in the wake of news events related to the Holocaust, such as last week's tragic and deplorable shooting of guard Stephen Johns at the DC Holocaust museum - deniers of the Holocaust coming out of the woodwork. In fact, the deranged and hate-filled murderer himself was a vehement denier. Another notable example was Iranian president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, prior to his visit to Columbia University in 2007, on the "need to be open to scientific questioning of events", including the Holocaust (scientific rigor being a hallmark of Holocaust deniers). But sane grownups know that the historical reality of the event is long settled. And I don't mean settled in the way that the consensus, based on theory, computer modeling, political pressure and religious fervor, is that global warming is settled. The scientific questioning of events Ahmadinejad asked for already happened, was very thorough, and the verdict was in, sixty-four years ago. The evidence was so far beyond what a person of the 1940's could wrap their mind around, that General Eisenhower was afraid that nobody would believe it, would believe that anything that horrible and bestial could have been perpetrated by humans against humans.  "Take pictures of everything," he reportedly said, "I mean everything, because one day some son of a bitch is going to say this never was." 

Ike was prescient in the matter. He foresaw the Holocaust deniers, and so he made sure that as many soldiers, officers, politicians, journalists and German townsfolk as possible viewed the sickening physical evidence firsthand, and gathered a mountain of horrifying and heartbreaking photographic and physical evidence along the way. This, before Photoshop was invented. Would that the deranged murderer, who was a WWII vet himself, had been one of the camp liberators. The mass graves and mounds of dead bodies and the emaciated, hollow-eyed living skeletons gave mute testimony. The large number of Jews today without parents or grandparents or great-grandparents give vocal testimony, as does the dwindling number of quiet, elderly people with tatooed numbers on their arms and horror seared upon their minds and souls.

The deniers are too late. But maybe we shouldn't wish them away.  People aren't going to stop believing the Holocaust happened because of their wild-eyed claims.  They'll stop believing it because it becomes blurred with time and distance and people stop talking about it.  But people are still talking about it because they are determined that the world never forget.  And in a satisfying irony, every time deniers make the news, it adds to the conversation.


Fighting Words





ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒΕ
 (MOLON LABE! – “Having come, take!” i.e., “Come and take them [our weapons]!”)

-- King Leonidas of Sparta to King Xerxes of Persia
in response to his demand the Spartans lay down their arms



“For it is better to die of hunger, exempt from fear and guilt than to live in affluence with perturbation”

-- Epictetus


"Is life so dear or peace so sweet as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? 
FORBID IT, ALMIGHTY GOD!
I know not what course others may take, but as for me, Give me Liberty, or Give me Death!"


--Patrick Henry


"Contemplate the mangled bodies of your countrymen, and then say, what should be the reward of such sacrifices?' Bid us and our posterity bow the knee, supplicate the friendship, and plough, and sow, and reap, to glut the avarice of the men who have let loose on us the dogs of war to riot in our blood and hunt us from the face of the earth? If ye love wealth better than liberty, the tranquility of servitude than the animating contest of freedom, go from us in peace. We ask not your counsels or arms. Crouch down and lick the hands which feed you. May your chains sit lightly upon you, and may posterity forget that ye were our countrymen!"

-- Samuel Adams


“They who would give up an essential liberty for a temporary security deserves neither liberty nor security.”

-- Benjamin Franklin


"I wish to have no Connection with any Ship that does not sail fast for I intend to go in harm's way."

"I may sink, but I'll be damned if I strike!"

-- John Paul Jones


"War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things; the decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks nothing worth a war, is worse. A man who has nothing which he cares more about than he does about his personal safety is a miserable creature who has no chance at being free, unless made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself."

-- John Stuart Mill




"We're paratroopers, Lieutenant. We're supposed to be surrounded."


-- Cpt. Richard Winters, E/506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division, Bastogne


"NUTS!"

-- Brigadier General Anthony McAuliffe, 101st Airborne Division, Bastogne, December 1944, to German commander demanding surrender


"We're surrounded.  This simplifies the problem."

--Col. Lewis B. "Chesty" Puller, USMC, at Chosin Reservoir, Korea


“It is better to be a live jackal than a dead lion – for jackals, not for men. Men who have the moral courage to fight intelligently for freedom have the best prospects of avoiding the fate of both live jackals and dead lions. Survival is not the be-all and end-all of a life worthy of man. Sometimes the worst thing we can know about a man is that he has survived. Those who say life is living at any cost have already written themselves an epitaph of infamy, for there is no cause and no person they will not betray to stay alive. Man’s vocation should be the use of the arts of intelligence in behalf of human freedom.”

-- Sidney Hook


"This ship is built to fight. You had better know how."

-- Admiral Arleigh "31 Knot" Burke to the crew of the USS Arleigh Burke, DDG-51, at her commissioning


"Are you guys ready? Okay. Let's roll!"

-- Todd Beamer, United Flight 93, September 11, 2001