The Worst in Our Past is Today's Monster

Although millions of Trumpists in the USA might not care, it appears a lot of people in the rest of the world think President Donald Trump has failed to make America great again. Next week we expect to all see what voters in this country think of Trump's performance in his pursuit of greatness. 

We also expect to see what the USA collectively thinks about a president selling the notion that it was only in our best interests that he lied continuously about a health crisis, a pandemic that has now killed over a quarter million people in the country and crushed the economy. We expect to see what the nation's voters think about a president who, as part of his low-road effort to win reelection, would sabotage the operation of the United States Postal Service. We expect to see what the voters think about a president who openly encourages hate groups to don military get-ups and carry firearms in the public way to intimidate Americans calling for racial justice.

Of course, the list of Trump's instances of willful malfeasance, while in office goes on ... and on ... but by now I trust most patient readers have gotten my drift.

Yet, it's also fair to say that all of the bad things that have happened since January 20, 2017, supposedly in the name of "conservatism," can't be blamed on Trump alone. So this screed isn't just about the loathsome and dangerous stuff Citizen Trump has done to benefit himself however he pleases. It's also about citing the so-called "conservatives" in Congress, cowed members of the Republican Party who have stooped to carry out Trump's orders, no matter how immoral. 

Oh, and let's not leave out the millions of Americans whose support for Trump apparently hasn't wavered -- people who continue to turn a blind eye on Trump's mountain of malfeasance. At this time I won't try to analyze their motives, but next week we expect to find out how many of them are still blithely swallowing "alternative facts," cooked up in a parallel universe.

Nonetheless, I will say this to today's devoted Trumpists: Like it or not, the rest of the real world is not ignoring what the hell has happened to the USA since Trump took office. So historians probably will not see the practiced patter of the cult's members as a legitimate continuation of the conservative movement's principles, as once espoused by its icons, such as William F. Buckley, Barry Goldwater and Ronald Reagan. My prediction is that historians will view what we now call "Trumpism" as an anti-liberal form of populism and a cult of personality.

Moreover, the rough beast slouching toward Bethlehem that the facilitators of the Trump's corrupt agenda have set loose on the landscape has nothing to do with American greatness, now or any other time. Today's slouching monster has been conjured up from the worst in America's past. Trump's time in the White House will surely be remembered as a dark period as long as there are decent people somewhere in the world, good people who care about the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. 

In the meantime, six days before the vote-counting in America starts, hope still exists and voting is...

-- 30 -- 

-- Art and words by F.T. Rea

Antifa in the Eyes of a Beholder

Well, since I don't know much about it, firsthand, I'm going to guess at what the nature of Antifa is. First: I have to say that it seems most of the people who opine about this subject on social media probably don't have credentials any better than mine. So here goes:

Second: Perhaps the plain truth about Antifa is somewhat like what it is with beauty, in that it probably depends on the eye of the beholder. Consequently, the same goes with how much of a true threat Antifa poses to everyday people, folks who mind their own business. And, how much of a threat Antifa poses to the agenda of armed Neo-Nazis stomping around in public in self-styled military get-ups. 

Third: most of the people who have been viewed by outsiders as Antifa “operatives” could be more accurately described as “sympathizers.” That, because they weren't really part of an organized group taking orders from higher-ups. Instead, they were acting in conjunction with a handful of like-minded friends, mostly young people, who agreed in a general sense with what they perceived are Antifa's goals. 

Fourth: whatever hardcore insider operatives that exist under the Antifa banner are not acting in such a way as they can be easily discovered online. They probably don't issue orders that can be intercepted by just anyone. Some have probably watched “The Battle of Algiers” (1966) more than once. So they know better than to set up a hierarchy that can busted, unraveled and then simply be rounded up. 

Fifth: Thus, all that said, I think Antifa looks like more of a movement than an organization with a chain of command. Still, since it is surely opposed to fascism that puts it totally at odds with white nationalists, the Ku Klux Klan, the Proud Boys, etc. And, it more or less aligns Antifa with a progressive movement such as Black Lives Matter. 

However, since some Antifa sympathizers have been willing to physically battle opposing groups in the street, Antifa cannot be seen as a force strictly for nonviolent protests. For a historical reference, maybe think Malcolm X, rather than Dr. Martin Luther King. Of course, I could be wrong, but that's how it looks to this geezer.

Note: To watch "The Battle of Algiers" click on the link. To see English subtitles click on settings and scroll down and click on it.

What It Is Ain't

Fiction by F.T. Rea


Jan. 24, 1991: Bright sunlight lit up the thin coating of freezing rain that had painted the city the evening before. In the crisp air, Roscoe Swift, a slender middle-aged man, a freelance artist/writer, walked at a careful but purposeful pace on the tricky sidewalk.

The ice-clad trees along the street were dazzling, as seen through Swift's trusty Ray-Bans. The woolly winter jacket his girlfriend, Sally, had given him for Christmas felt good.

Since the freelancer couldn’t concentrate on his reading of the morning’s Richmond Times-Dispatch, he left half a mug of black coffee and a dozing cat on his desk to walk to the post office. He hoped the overdue check from a magazine publisher was waiting in his post office box.

Anxiously, Swift opened the box with his key. It was empty. He shrugged. An empty box had its upside, too -- there were no cut-off notices in it. With his last 20 bucks in his pocket, the freelancer hummed a favorite Fats Domino tune, “Ain’t That a Shame,” as he headed home.

Before the end of the workday Roscoe had to finish an 800-word OpEd piece and drop it all off on an editor’s desk in Scott's Addition. With the drum beat for war in the air he wanted to focus on the inevitable unintended consequences of any war. Yet, with the clock ticking on his deadline he was still at a loss for an angle.

The country was still mired in an economic recession. With the national debt climbing an invasion of Iraq was looming. War seemed all but inevitable. Pondering what demons might be spawned by an all-out war in Iraq he detoured a couple of blocks, to pick up a Washington Post and a fresh cup of coffee.

Approaching the 7-Eleven store Roscoe noticed a lone panhandler standing off to the left of the front doors. The tall man was thin and frail. He wore a lightweight denim jacket over a hooded sweatshirt. Snot was frozen in his mustache. The whites of his heavy-lidded eyes were an unhealthy shade of pink.

When Roscoe had run the Fan City Cinema, in the '70s, he had determined his policy should be to never in any way encourage panhandlers to hang around on the sidewalk in the neighborhood surrounding the theater. The rigid policy had lingered well after the comfortable job had faded into the mists.

On this cold day it wasn’t easy for Roscoe to avert his eye from the poor soul’s trembling outstretched hand. Not hearing the desperate man’s hoarse plea for food money was impossible. When there are always so many lives to be saved in our midst, Roscoe wondered, why do we have to go to the Middle East to save lives?

Inside the busy store Roscoe poured himself a large coffee. Black. Fretting profusely, he snapped the cup’s lid in place. It was one of those times when the little Roscoe with horns was standing on one of his shoulders, while his opposite, the one with the halo, was on the other; both were offering counsel.

Roscoe's longtime "policy" caved in seconds later. Still, he decided to give the freeloader food, rather than hand over cash to perhaps finance a bottle of sweet wine. It might change my luck, he thought as he smiled.

Trying to max out the bang-for-the-buck aspect of his gesture, Roscoe settled on a king-sized hot dog, with plenty of free stuff on it -- mustard, chopped onions, relish, jalapeno peppers, chili and some gooey cheese-like product. Not wanting to push it too far, he passed on the ketchup and mayonnaise.

Outside the store, Roscoe found the starving panhandler had vanished. Roscoe looked up and down Cary Street but saw no sign of the poor soul.

So, the crestfallen philanthropist took the meal-on-a-bun with him as he walked, softly singing a Buffalo Springfield song, “For What It’s Worth.” With his strides matching the beat he kept to the sunny street, to avoid the sidewalk in the shade.

There’s somethin’ happening here,
What it is ain’t exactly clear.
There’s a man with a gun over there,
Tellin’ me I gotta beware.
I think it’s time we stop, children, what's that sound,
Everybody look, what's going down.

A line from that song’s last verse -- “paranoia strikes deep” -- suddenly snapped an idea for the OpEd into place, which launched an instant mini-mania. The freelancer picked up his pace and began whistling a jazzy version of “For What It’s Worth.”

Back in his office/studio, rather than waste money, he tore into the feast he had prepared for a beggar. It seemed the food scared, or perhaps offended, the cat, who fled. Between sloppy bites the freelancer wiped his hands off.

About an hour later the heartburn started. Eventually, it got brutal. Roscoe pressed on. He wrote about the way propaganda always works to sell war -- every war -- as glorious and essential to the everyday people, who risk their lives. That while the wealthy, who rarely take a genuine risk on anything, urge the patriots on and count their profits.

Thinking of the war in Vietnam that thinned his generation out, he wrote:

After the war the veterans were largely ignored, even scorned.

Roscoe lamented the popular culture having gone wrong, so there was no longer a place for anti-war protest songs. Feeling righteous, he asked:

Where are today’s non-conformists? Today's questioners of authority?

With time to spare, the freelancer finished the job and turned in his work at 4:20 p.m. He even managed to pick up the overdue check for $200 he was owed. An hour or so later his sour and noisy stomach began to calm down during his second beer at the Bamboo Cafe.

Sally showed up with a smile and joined the group gathered at the elbow of the marble bar. When Roscoe recounted the tale of breaking his rule and buying the stuffed frankfurter he got a laugh. He explained how the old Buffalo Springfield song gave him an idea for his OpEd piece.

Roscoe's small audience groaned on cue when he finished it off with, “Sometimes it's a thin line that separates heartburn and inspiration ... for what it’s worth.”

* * *

All rights reserved by the author.

Our Third Revolution?

The following quote comes from John Adams' letter to Thomas Jefferson, dated August 24, 1815. 

What do we mean by the revolution? The war? That was not part of the revolution; it was only an effect and consequence of it. The revolution was in the minds of the people, and this was effected from 1760-1775, in the course of fifteen years, before a drop of blood was shed at Lexington. The records of thirteen legislatures, the pamphlets, newspapers in all the Colonies ought be consulted, during that period, to ascertain the steps by which the public opinion was enlightened and informed concerning the authority of Parliament over the Colonies.

I agree with Adams that the "revolution" began well before the shooting started, so I'll defer to his judgment and take his word for choosing 1760. Nonetheless, I have to include the war, itself, in what I see as what made for the American Revolution. Accordingly, for my purpose with this piece, I think the best beginning and ending dates to put on it would be 1760-1788. The reason for choosing 1788 is that it is the year in which the U.S. Constitution was ratified and adopted. 

Thus, I see the Revolution to include the dismantling the old system and the establishment of the new one. However, what I also want to say here is this: it was just the first revolution in this country. 

The second revolution, perhaps I should call it Revolution 2.0, occurred in the mid-1800s, which should include the abolition of slavery, the bloodshed of the Civil War and the Reconstruction Era that ended in 1877. When the second revolution started is harder to pin down, but this time I'll opt for 1854, because that's the year the notorious Kansas-Nebraska Act was passed. Many see that move by Congress as what made the Civil War's start inevitable in 1861, in that it expanded slavery in wicked defiance of the burgeoning Abolition Movement. Plus, it should be noted that England, France and other European nations had already abolished slavery. 

Now I'll briefly explain why I believe the U.S.A. is about to go through an ordeal, which, in this context, might be viewed as part of Revolution 3.0. Using my characterizations of our first two revolutions as models, in October of 2020 we already have the two essential elements in place: 

The Trump presidency, a time in which great flaws in our system have been revealed and underlined, has been the equivalent to the 15-year period Adams described that led up to the Revolutionary War. Likewise, the last four years of reactions to the abuses of Trumpism -- The Resistance, the demonstrations for racial justice, etc. -- could also be compared to the turbulent period of reexamination of the institution of slavery the nation went through between 1854 and when the Civil War started seven years later.  

The second revolution-making element in 2020 is the staggering death toll of the COVID-19 pandemic. A war-like national suffering greatly exacerbated by the Trump administration's policies and lack thereof. At this writing the number of deaths surely calls out for more than thoughts and prayers; the number of deaths and total infections calls out for something better than "herd immunity." 

The transformational COVID-19 numbers call out for radical cultural and political change!  

Some time after November 3rd -- a day later, or a week, or a month -- either Trump or Biden will be declared the winner. Yet, after the election Black Lives Matter isn't going away and its influence is probably going to grow. In Richmond, those Confederate statues aren't going back up and the Lee Monument is eventually coming down. Moreover, the Proud Boys and their ilk aren't going to fade into the mists, either. The daunting problems spawned by white nationalism and guns will be with us no matter who the president is.

So, the spectrum of political movements already demanding considerable changes are poised to seriously rock the boat after the election like nothing the U.S.A. has seen in a long time; maybe since its first two revolutions. Then, there's COVID-19 and its still raging ability to kill people and sink the economy. And, of course, climate change is not likely to magically stop being the global problem that overshadows all of our other vexations. 

One lesson from history may offer a wee glimmer of hope. Adams, who was the country's the second president, and Jefferson, who was the third president, became bitter political foes during their combined 12 years as president. Which was sad for both men, who had once been prominent figures in the American Revolution and good friends.

Then, as grizzled ex-presidents, Adams and Jefferson eventually became pen pals and reestablished what had once been a close friendship. They even died the same day: July 4, 1826.   

-- 30 -- 

-- Art and words by F.T. Rea

Doing Right by Ashe

With regard to what happened in Richmond over the summer, concerning statues of Confederate heroes on Monument Avenue, this may be a good time to think about what to do with the Arthur Ashe statue (and pedestal) now standing at the intersection of Roseneath Ave. and Monument Ave. First, here's a quote from Arthur Ashe's widow, Jeanne Moutoussamy-Ashe, via Tennis.com:

It was never an idea of Arthur’s to be on Monument Avenue. You have your white Confederates there, and then you have a Black favorite son. It felt divisive, and Arthur wasn’t divisive.

For Moutoussamy-Ashe, that apparently still remains true, even today, with most of the Confederate memorials kaput. The recently-published article in Tennis.com is worth reading. It provides plenty of good background material. 

Next, here's a little more background, from my point of view: In 1996 I was working as a freelance videographer and I took an interest in the Arthur Ashe Monument controversy that surrounded the decision to place an Ashe sculpture at the intersection of Roseneath and Monument. Then there was the aesthetic controversy about the art, itself. It seemed then that some folks in Richmond, including some art critics, of a sort, weren't all that fond of sculptor Paul DiPasquale's depiction of Ashe.

Since Ashe, a fellow Richmonder, was a hero of mine, I decided to assemble a video report of the situation. Accordingly, I taped dozens of interviews of random passers-by opining at the site of the memorial. And, I sought out a few people, in particular, to get their views. Among those I sought out was Tom Chewning, who had been one of the most significant fundraisers for the project.

At the time, Chewning was an top shelf executive with Dominion Energy. He was a prominent tennis player as a teenager, so I remembered him from Thomas Jefferson High School. (He was three years ahead of me and Tom was kind enough to pretend he remembered me, too.) More important, in 1960 he became friends with Ashe. They met at a tennis tournament in West Virginia.

When I asked Chewning about his opinion of the art he laughed and ducked the question. Basically, he said he would leave that part of it to others; he was focused on the fundraising and seeing to it the monument became a real thing. So I asked him why it mattered so much to him. His answer bowled me over.

After telling me about meeting Ashe and becoming friends with him, he told me a story. It seems he was addressing a group of teenagers about Ashe, sometime not long after Arthur's death. Chewning explained how while he and Ashe were both top flight local tennis players, when they were in high school, Ashe wasn't allowed to play in the boys' city championship tournaments in Richmond.

Then one of the kids in the audience asked Chewning a question: If you and Arthur were friends, why didn't you boycott the tournaments he was banned from playing in, simply because he was black?

Chewning was flabbergasted. He tried to explain how different it was in Richmond then. How it wouldn't have changed anything. He told the kids it just never occurred to him…

After his awkward struggle to answer that simple question, Chewning knew he had not satisfied his polite audience. Thinking about it later, he knew he had to do something to put it right. Eventually, that realization became a mission to raise whatever money it took to erect a statue to remember the friend maybe he should have stood by, all those years ago.

Debt paid. 

 

The people who raised money and worked to make it possible to put the Ashe statue on Monument Avenue surely meant well. No doubt, DiPasquale meant well. And since Ashe is a hero of mine I was, and remain, glad he is being honored with a memorial placed in the public way. Still, I recognize it might have originally been placed elsewhere and, yes, perhaps there was a better place. But in 1996 former-Governor Doug Wilder wanted it to go exactly where it is now. 

 

Wilder had his reasons. And it seems to me, that was that. 

 

In 2020, if we Richmonders have learned anything about this sort of thing, it's that public art is something that needs to be considered carefully. And, that includes the matter of who should make the decisions about what it ought to look like and where it should be placed. 

 

So, going forward, I'm not saying Jeanne Moutoussamy-Ashe's opinion is the only one that should be considered. Nonetheless, I am saying it should be considered and from what I've gathered, it was not given proper deference in 1996. 

-- Image from Tennis.com

Fan District Softball League Hall of Fame

The Fan District Softball League (1975-94) established its Hall of Fame in 1986. The first class was elected by the 12-team outfit’s designated franchise representatives. To be eligible then one had to have retired from play and considered to be among the founders. Ten names were selected as the first class of Hall-of-Famers. The plaque, which has not aged gracefully, is pictured above.

The same rule held true in 1987, when six new names were put on the plaque. However, by 1988, a few of those who had been inducted into the Hall had un-retired. So, in 1988, eligibility to the Hall was opened up to anyone who seemed deserving. Those already in got to vote, as well. Nine new members were selected. The voting process was probably no more twisted than any hall of fame’s way of choosing new names.

For 1989 six additional names were added. The class of ‘90 included seven names, and in ‘92 the last five names were tacked on. In all, 41 players and two umpires were tapped.

The men who were inducted into the FDSL’s Hall are as follows: Ricardo Adams, Herbie Atkinson, Howard Awad, Boogie Bailey, Yogi Bair, Jay Barrows, Otto Brauer, Ernie Brooks, Hank Brown, Bobby Cassell, Jack Colan, Willie Collins, Dickie deTreville, Jack deTreville, Henry Ford, Danny Gammon, Donald Greshham, James Jackson, Dennis Johnson, Mike Kittle, Leo Koury, Jim Letizia, Junie Loving, Tony Martin, Kenny Meyer, Cliff Mowells, Buddy Noble, Randy Noble, Henry Pollard, Artie Probst, Terry Rea, John Richardson, Jerry Robinson, Larry Rohr, Billy Snead, Jim Story, Hook Shepherd, Pudy Stallard, Durwood Usry, Jumpy White, Barry Winn, Chuck Wrenn. 

At this writing, by my count (which, of course, could be wrong), 13 guys on the list above have died. Their names are seen in bold italics.   

Given its ways, that the league, itself, lasted 20 years is truly amazing.