Who Do We Idolize?

Wouldn’t it be great if all the people who watched ‘Idol’ had to vote not only for a contestant but for a candidate. Wait, here’s a better idea. Why don’t all the candidates compete on Idol, in addition to all the primary States. Maybe that’s the way to resolve the dilemma of Florida and Michigan. The big three made their first appearance the other night on the Idol Gives Back special. They rightfully weren’t considered as important as Terry Hatcher singing what I thought might be karaoke, or Robin Williams doing worn out shtick pretending to be the winner of Russian Idol, so they got bumped. It seems that Idol, like all the other entertainment awards show, couldn’t keep on schedule so they ran over-and someone had to go. Or three someones had to go.

Maybe that was good news for Democrats because the second night the ratings were much lower and the person who emerged as the best Idol Presidential contestant - or at least the person who seemed most authentic in his pitch for donations-was John McCain. Hillary and Barack did same old, same old- “the world would be a better place if only we all came together to make it happen,” (who didn’t know that). Why didn’t they just sing “We are The World?” I love that song. Or maybe the suggestion of “holding hands across America” would have been a nice touch. McCain said, “American Idol is a lot like the Presidential primary election except for the people who live in Michigan and Florida-their votes will actually count.” He was real and the youth of America can feel that.

Here’s what frightens me. The other day I heard a staunch Democrat say, “McCain is a nice guy and he wouldn’t be a bad choice.” What does nice guy have to do with anything? He could be the nicest guy in the world and still be inflexible, short sighted, right wing, willing to continue a senseless war despite the cost in lives and resources, (otherwise known as caught up in macho bull doody) and too old to really understand the direction in which this country needs to go. He doesn’t understand the economy, he doesn’t care about freedoms to choose, and I’m not sure he has the moral compass-and I mean that in the nicest possible way. It’s just that when you’ve served as much time in the Senate as he has, it impacts on what’s right and wrong. He would be a terrible choice. He is not, as is now being touted by Republicans, a moderate middle of the road kind of politician. He is not! He is not! He is not! I think I have made my point.

Speaking of more of the same. I find The new flack over the word “bitter” to be tedious but not without ramifications. It simply proves the Presidential campaign has gotten stupider. Of course the candidates are going to track everything their opponents say and try to find something negative that resonates with the public. The Reverend Wright stuff backfired because Obama used it as an opportunity to have a conversation about race. The hateful Reverend Hagee endorsement of McCain went unnoticed because the press are still enamored of this candidate. The Tuzla controversy was a big deal because Clinton repeated it even after the truth was revealed-and then Big Bill went on to repeat it after the press had already moved on. I would truly like to know what has happened to his mind. His brilliant political instincts. Maybe when he had the heart trouble he didn’t get enough oxygen to his brain for too long a time. It’s pointless trying to figure out what Bill Clinton thinks or does-like the finger pointing - which makes everyone think about his initial Bill Clinton/Monica denial. I wonder if it’s the arrogance of the Clintons or again, a severe case of stupid.

Does the fact that Hillary spent the evening doing shooters with the guys mean she gets what real people are suffering through? (Her drink of choice is Crown Royal - not an ordinary guys drink). Or does the fact that Barack said working class people turned to guns and prayer in their desperation, make him an elitist. It’s simply more campaign noise, about which people are getting tired - I hope. Here’s the truth, as I see it of course. People are bitter about a great many things which will impact the election. Unlike when Gary Hart said “I got stuck in New Jersey” and he lost the state. (Of course he did-too many people chose to get stuck in New Jersey). Obama is absolutely right. People are pissed off that their jobs are gone overseas or filled by cheap immigrant labor. Maybe he misspoke about the shooting and praying, but people are angry. For a guy great with words, he didn’t choose these words carefully. But so what. Should we care about this foolish screw up more than we care about his vision for where the country is going to go, the fact that he ran a terrific campaign, and found a message which resonated with old, young, black, white, rich and poor. I don’t think so but I’m only one person. And should we look at Hillary and say, “wow, she’s really one of the guys.” Or should we remember that she and Bill have, since dinosaurs were eating people and plants, never been regular people. And additionally, have made about 100 million dollars in the last few years. It’s not unlike “W” saying, “Gas prices are high?” You cannot have 24 hour security, a staff that does everything for you - including carrying your money-and be in touch with real people. Because you are no longer real people when you serve in the Senate or run for President. Obama was a real person for longer than the other two candidates as well as the President, but he still hasn’t filled his own car up with gas for the last six months.

Do we as voters have unrealistic expectations about the people who are our leaders? Not if we elect them. We are not counting celebrities and religious personalities in this discussion. We want them to make judgments based on an understanding of what we, the majority of the public are suffering. Whether it be gas prices, food costs, loss of our jobs or homes, cost of education for our children, or a war that indirectly impacts on everything we are as a country. How then do we decide who is the one person who should be in charge? It’s not an easy decision to make. But maybe we should do it like the Idol does, and vote for the person who we think can best represent us on the world stage. Maybe listening to the lyrics of their songs without the noise isn’t a bad idea. We're just sayin...

Crank Up the Gefilte Fish, Please

I’ve been in Nevada for the last week, trying to capture some of the elusive sense of what it’s like out here. Las Vegas (literally “the fertile valleys”) has erupted over the past two decades from a desert oasis where Dean Martin drove giant finned Cadillacs, to an absolutely enormous amalagam of people, stuff, and lots of money. Two million people now call the place home, more arriving every day. Until recently (like everywhere) the real estate market was doing one of those “lower left to upper right” curves.. now there is much for sale, and, also like everywhere, a question about whether those ‘good times’ will ever come back.

The startling thing about the place is how it just kind sticks up out of the sandy desert. The origins of the place go back to a natural spring which must have been quite a treat for cross country travelers two hundred years ago. But with all the building, and there is plenty of that, you almost feel like you’re never more than a three-wood from the sandy brush which typifies the desert. Down the pike about twenty easy miles if Hoover Dam and the town which housed the thousands of folks who built it in the ‘30s, Boulder City. One of the café’s there advertises itself as “best restaurant by a dam site…” Must be nice to always be able to edge out the competition.

This morning, in quest of something wonderful (inspite of it all, those amazing photo moments have been rare this trip) I headed out south, towards Needles, California, the town I remember from my youth as always being the ‘hottest in the country’ on a very regular basis. Giant power line structures criss cross the land, taking the Hoover power to ungrateful Californians. It’s always worth getting up and out early if you are a photographer. It may not mean you will always get a picture. But the whole adventure of chasing early morning light is rejuvenating, even if you don’t come back with something so wonderful that you can’t help but share it. (You won’t find THAT picture here this morning.)

Vegas continues to grow in most directions, especially south and east towards Henderson. Anything you want to know about the current state of the ‘Malling’ of America can be found out here. Whole Foods, Costco, Walgreens and Walmart, all present and accounted for in untold numbers. But the best thing is seeing that in all that influx of new blood coming in, there are Koreans, Vietnamese, Latinos, Chinese, and even Japanese. It has sprouted, happily, one set of great eatieries after the next. And in a town where chains abound (Dennys starts to look up scale), the addition of the very affordable Ichiskey “sake bar” for late nite sushi alternatives to bad burgers is quite welcome. Most of us now and then become enamoured of a dish, try and get the recipe, and may even make an attempt to try it at home. Usually it’s never as good, which is why restaurants with self confidence know that giving you a recipe won’t make you never come back, but more likely will lead you to return more often. Last night I sampled some “boiled baby bok choi” with sesame oil and very thin sliced fried garlic. Sublime. Each bite of garlic I tried to deconstruct how it got to be the way it was. “Deep fried” the waitress confessed. But it made a smashing impression. And no doubt next weekend, it would probably be a good idea to have some hanging around for.. well.. you know… since it will be Passover.. some Gefilte Fish. I walked into Whole Foods after shooting this morning, and found a phalanx of phish at the front entrance. Yes, folks, it is that time of year: Passover in a week, and already the sounds of fishing being chopped are resounding off table tops and VCRs.

Our little movie “The Gefilte Fish Chronicles” which is finally being broad cast this year beyond just New York, has started another little flood of wonderful reactions. Folks who visit the website leave their impressions, and those are probably, more than any other reason, what has kept our own interest up in the film. It was on Channel 13 in New York last Monday night, and over the next two weeks will be on in the following cities: (Some stations we didn’t have the detailed information for.. but check and see if it’s on a PBS station near you..

kcpt Kansas city sunday 4/13 @ 9:30pm
ktca St Paul 4/13 5pm & 10:30pm 4/14 8pm
maine PTV Bangor (can't find a listing)
wcny Syracuse (can't find a listing)
wcve Richmond 4/20 3pm 4/22 11pm
wgbh Boston (can't find a listing)
wmht Troy ny 4/20 7pm
wmvs Milwaukee (channel 36) 4/14 8pm
wned Buffalo (can't find listing)
wpbt North Miami 4/20 6pm [Ch 2]
wpto Dayton (ch 14) 4/15 8:30pm; 4/16 2:30am; + others
vermont PTV Colchester vt 4/21 9pm; 4/27 2pm
newj Trenton 4/17 9pm
wsbe Providence 4/16 8pm
wxxi Rochester (cant find listing)

And don’t forget to think about the horse radish. All else pales in comparison to horse radish, happily. And it goes on everything! We’re just sayin’…David

Woe Is Us

Mark Penn finally got fired – almost. Beyonce got married – maybe. And Moses is dead—definitely. General Petraeus says we need to pause the withdrawal of troops—oh please. American Idol is giving back – hooray! Which of these things has the most impact on your life?

I’ve been thinking long and hard about it because some of them maybe important in the greater scheme of my life, but, as the generous philanthropist George Soros says “do they have some relevance for greater mankind.” Ah, a question to ponder. Don’t get a headache thinking too hard. They all have some significance in the world of deception, pop culture, and religion. I hope I don’t need to explain which is which.

Speaking of me, (because as in the past, it usually is all about me), I am so tired of being angry about this war that I can almost not blog about it. But I’ll try. When I watched the hearings I just wanted to scream at the good Senators, “Ask a real question. Follow up with something that requires an answer. Ask the guy to define his terms like success and goals. Ask the guy to explain why we are funding a war that has lead to us paying over $3 a gallon for gas, while the Iraqi’s are making a profit on –guess what, selling their oil. Ask the guy what will it take to bring the troops home. Ask the guy if keeping his job is more important than the loss of thousands of lives.” I mean does he think we don’t know that Generals and other people who wear military gear, want wars because it gives them something to do. If they don’t have a war to fight than they wind up tripping over each other at the Pentagon. You can only imagine what it’s like to have spent your entire life studying military maneuvers, shooting, and marching and then having no one to order to march, shoot or whatever they do to maneuver. How bored you would be. It’s like asking a Broadway producer if they want their show to be mounted on a stage with performers … or would they rather wander aimlessly and castless looking for a venue for production. You don’t ask someone with a vested interest to defend something on which they are totally dependent not only for their livelihood but for their self image. Remember the theater analogy and insert it wherever appropriate.

This morning the White House Press Secretary Dana Ditzie, was being interviewed and she assured the public that the President wouldn’t enter into any agreements with the Iraqui government without Congressional involvement. But that was only because the Senate found about what may have been yet another disastrous commitment on the part of the “Bush” people. She also outlined the President’s concern about the war. “He’s going to limit deployment from 15 months to 12 months”, she said with a straight face and like it was a gift. “It would not be in the best interest of the country to pull out until the people of Iraq can govern, defend, and sustain themselves.” What then, I want to know, what would be in the best interest of the country. To have our children keep fighting in the retched war and getting killed or wounded for eternity—or until who can defend, sustain and govern themselves. What is going to happen that will make next year, the year after or five years from now any different than it is today. We are in the middle of a civil war—which if we didn’t start we certainly can’t control. We have antagonized even people who like us to the point that they are no longer standing by our side singing “We Are the World”. And where there were no terrorists before, it seems they have done what the old testament suggested — “gone out and multiplied, as a result of this administration’s desire to “save face”.

And what does it mean to save face. Saving face is a macho “boy toy”. For whatever reason, women don’t need to save face. Sure we obsess when we screw up. We blame ourselves and our own ability, we even shed tears. But the only way I know that women save face, it to do it surgically or with very good make-up.

Based on what Petraeus said, we are in a “fragile” state in this war. As opposed to what? The state of things when we invaded and we protected the oil fields instead of the museums. Or the state of things when we decimated the capital and where there was once an infrastructure—water and electricity, now simple services are only sometimes and temporary. Again, these guys just talk and no one follows up with a question that forces them to say anything specific, so there are no answers to any questions the public might ask.

We did see the next President of the United States asking the General and the Ambassador several questions. McCain might as well have been sitting at the table rather than facing it, because we know he is not going to challenge the decision of a General—it’s another military game that people who were in the service play. Obama asked good questions and showed he could be a leader—which is all he needs to do. Clinton asked substantive questions and indicated her displeasure about their lack of substance in any of their answers, but neither of them went for the jugular. I get that everyone wants to be respectful, but when there are lives on the line, the public deserves more. We want a headline beyond “It’s business as usual.”

Speaking of business as usual, my friends went to an Obama, thank you to people who have maxed out in contributions, and they couldn’t get in. (Being maxed out means you have given as much money as legally permitted). They had invitations in their hands and they couldn’t get in the door because they hadn’t maxed out enough, “and besides”, they were told, “they had given old money and now the campaign wanted new money”. Needless to say, they were insulted and angry about this ill mannered rejection, but they were more concerned about the appearance of business as usual in a campaign that is based on hope and change. I hope it changes. My guess is that in Washington this will happen with some frequency, but in more civilized society donors are donors, and they are thanked as well as welcomed. I could be wrong and if it’s true than what can we say beyond, woe is us. We're just sayin...

Reality Stinks

When the elevator door of my mom’s apartment building opened, I came face to face with a hospital gurney which was blocking my exit. It was in a vertical position, but not empty. There was someone on it, in a body bag –it was a first for me. Talk about coming face to face with reality. Just FYI, Mom is Ok, but Rosemary is not.

While elder care has become an important element in so many lives, it has also become an incredibly lucrative business. The people who own and run independent or assisted living facilities, as well as the people who pack nursing homes with people who cannot care for themselves, are generally not in it to do the righteous thing. They are in it to make money. A great deal of money. And they will succeed because there are so many families that can not take care of the elderly relatives for whom they assume responsibility.

Rosemary lived in my mother’s apartment complex. It is not called an assisted living facility. It is called a retirement community. Although there may not be much of a difference in how people are cared for in assisted or retired homes, there is subtle difference between the words and an enormous difference in attitude. Just think about the words assisted and retirement. One indicates an independence and the other a frailty. Here’s a subtle difference. When Mom resided in assisted living, she noticed that there was no salt, pepper or ketchup on the table. The staff seasoned your food — if it was permitted. All the coffee was decaf. There was no discussion about the caffeine and there was no choice about what she preferred. As it happens, she likes regular coffee in the morning. In the place termed assisted, the common rooms were lovely, the staff was nice, but there was no question that the residents were treated like entities in a profit center. The retirement community is less fancy, but the residents are encouraged to make their own decisions. They are treated like adults who have simply aged.

Rosemary sat at her meal table with four other people, but had no friends. I am told she was quiet and had very few visitors. She chose not to participate in activities, they were not what she called “her cup of tea”. So no one forced her to be uncomfortable in a group situation. Unlike Rosemary, my mother is quite social, and when she was in assisted living, the staff insisted she participate in everything that was offered. So she ran from activity to activity until she was exhausted. We think she thought that since she was paying to be there, she had to join in every activity. It was like attendance was mandatory. At the Madison Avenue Retirement Center where she lives now, she sometimes goes to a sing along, a birthday party, or a movie. But she doesn’t feel compelled to do anything. She doesn’t feel the need to pass the time in group commotion. She is calm but not bored spending her time alone in her apartment, watching the Hallmark station or a game show on her cable TV. She seems more at peace. But the most important thing is that she is no longer racing around trying not to be frightened about being alone. She is happy because my brother and sister-in-law live close enough to see her almost every day.

There is hardly a person who doesn’t want to face old age. Consider the alternative. But getting old is not easy on the elderly and it is certainly not easy on the people (unpaid) who are responsible for their care—if there is a person. In too many cases there is no one. Take for example the elderly woman I saw begging on 45th street in NY. At first I passed her by, but there was such a sadness in her eyes that I went back to give her a dollar. Her voice was small and apologetic when she thanked me and she shared a little of her story. “It wasn’t always like this for me. My husband left me years ago. We had a child who was very sick. It was very expensive to care for him. Then he died and I had nothing. My government check was too small to pay for the rent, food, utilities, and medicine. I had to move out of my home and now I live in an overcrowded kind of shelter, but I still don’t have enough money to pay for my medicine. It’s so expensive you know. I hope you are blessed with someone to take care of you.” Then she walked away. The cynic in me said she was making up a story because she wanted to be begging on a NY street corner. But the political philosopher, (some might say hack), added, what does it matter, “there but for God go I.”

Everyone knows there is a health care crisis. The elderly seem especially hard hit. Maybe because they aren’t prepared. (How many of us now young and healthy, even think about buying long term care insurance.) Some of them never expected to live beyond the time they had the means to support themselves. Some just never expected to have to face all the issues of getting old in a nation that doesn’t take care of the people contained within it’s borders.

In Europe, where there is socialized medicine, people may not have a choice of doctors, but if they are sick the costs are not such they have no choice but to die. They can go to the hospital without worrying about having medical insurance and they get the medicine they need to cure them of whatever disease without skipping lunch. If they can’t be cured, the government pays for them to die with dignity. In fact, if you get sick while you are vacationing, don’t call the American Embassy, you are not in their job description. But the country where you are visiting will provide care free of charge. I’m not saying socialized medicine is the route we need to go, but certainly whomever you vote for in the next election needs to make sure something changes. There are simply too many of the aged who now have to decide if they will eat, pay rent, or be well. The nameless woman I met on the street was just a little too close to home.

The next President will need to think about the consequences, not only for the elderly, but for those of us who will be there someday, because the impact on the economy and the culture will be disastrous and unimaginable if they look away. The next election is, unfortunately, not going to matter to Rosemary. But it is going to matter to those of us who want happy and healthy lives for ourselves and our families — without it costing so much that we can’t afford to live. Right now the reality stinks, but the only way it will change it is if we demand that the new President pay attention to all the ways in which we age, and all the positive possibilities that should be made available to do it gracefully. We're just sayin...

The Old Disappearing Act

Is it good news or bad that the President seems to be among the missing. Oh, we know where he is physically, but he has left the explanations of all the policy decisions up to the policy people he appointed. Maybe he doesn’t understand the policy decisions he, or someone in the White House has made, but at this point, I am not surprised about his absence and really, who cares.

Difficult as it is for me to say anything nice about the Administration, I do find it refreshing that there are people who serve “at the pleasure” of Mr. Bush, who are both articulate and intelligent. Mr. Paulson is quite impressive. Granted, I do not know or understand anything about the reorganization of economic institutions, but I do understand the importance of a rhetorical presentation and his was good. Additionally, General Hayden, the Director of the CIA makes a good case for what he has been doing at the CIA. And let me be perfectly clear about this, I do not know what they do at the CIA, because if I did they would have to kill me. But when I heard him speak last weekend I thought his approach to terrorism was, how should I say this, quite sensible. He talked about the importance of knowing what terrorists were up to in order to protect ourselves from the danger of another attack. But he did it in quite a patriotic and moving way. He did not sound like Cheney or Rumsfeld in his approach to the rest of the world. The “they are all trying to get us” approach to diplomacy. He did not lick his lips while he talked about attack, conquer, mutilate, disembowel, waterboard, or any of the good stuff. He talked about the survival of democracy, and in that context, why the tasks they performed at the CIA were important.

This is not to say I agree with anything he said, because this was all with regard to spying on the American public, but he was the first person who explained his position in a way that was neither threatening nor confrontational. It was a just a simple explanation of a complicated policy. It makes you miss Colin Powell, who also seems to have disappeared. I guess the humiliation of being lied to by the President and then defending the lie was too much for him. I wonder what would have happened if Connie Rice, instead of being George Bush’s policy wife, had told her impetuous head of state husband, that the war was wrong and we didn’t need to allow the killing and maiming of the nations children to continue—just because he was wrong. Her ability to tell the truth seems to have disappeared right along with her sense of justice. She must be negotiating some whopper of a job in corporate America. Although word has it she wants to be the commissioner of baseball. Keep in mind I know nothing about a great many things but…

And speaking of disappearance—which I may not have done but I meant to—where was the animus between the candidates yesterday and the day before. Or did I miss something? You’re probably going to say, but what about Bill Clinton’s tirade over the Richardson endorsement. I know it’s hard to remember this, but Bill Clinton is not the candidate. It seems Obama has moved on to better things like bowling, a college tour of Pennsylvania — where he answered questions from the students, not about his underwear, but about issues that affect them like the economy — and tuition. In his desire to be President, the realization that his target has to be McCain, seems to have become obvious. Further, he doesn’t need to get into the mud with McCain as of yet, he needs to assure people he can be a leader.

I guess Hillary was too busy answering the phone. Since it was a 3am call, she was probably too tired (additionally, no make-up or hair), to spend quality time attacking Obama—and at this point it would have to be quality time for it to make any difference. The Hillary advisor’s think this “3am call” is working. I think it’s just another way to give late night talk show hosts more material with which to ridicule her. But maybe that’s what she wants because when it appears she’s being picked on by any of the boys – be they the media, politicians, or comedians, that’s when she wins. We’ll see if it works on April 22nd.

Not that I miss him and I still have the sense that he is lurking in a dark corner waiting to pounce on discussions about international issues, but since his incredibly pithy “So” in response to questions about the war, we haven’t heard word one from the Vice President. The bigger question for those of us who remember Dick Cheney during the Ford and first Bush Presidency is, when did that pleasant guy with what seemed like a moral core, disappear and this caricature of Darth Vadar arrive. Many people think that it was when he left his job as CEO of Haliburton . The speculation is that hanging out with all those corporate “white guys” at companies like Haliburton sucked out his humanity and maybe his soul. I’m sure you will remember how uncomfortable he was during the last election when he had to come to terms with the public outing (media inquiries) about his lesbian daughter. He insisted he loved her, which I’m sure or at least I hope he does, but he insisted that her life choices were not choices he would allow for the rest of the country. And just who is he to think he should be allowed to make choices for the rest of the country. There’s the rub, as most of my pirate friends would agree. The pirates also agree that we don’t want the government making choices about how we live our lives. Where’s the threat to humanity if people who love one another want to marry or even pick their noses.

When I met the Cheney’s in the 80’s Lynn Cheney, the now second lady (I guess that’s what you would call her if you didn’t want to say dirty words), wife was an assistant producer for the Mark Shields (a former Udall campaign manager and presently a liberal TV commentator and Washington Post columnist) at the Maryland PBS station. I was a guest on the show and afterward she asked me if she could write a piece about my adventures. The article was later published in important journals like the American Airlines magazine. But she was a warm, pleasant, smart person, who if not ever a close friend, certainly a kind of Washington buddy. Talk about disappearing. When did Frankenstein and his bride take the place of these seemingly lovely people. They are a perfect example of power corrupts or maybe money and power corrupt or maybe take care of your friends and they’ll take care of you. You, unlike the President may have noticed the price of gas and cost of the war. How much money, is enough to buy back your soul. I for one prefer the Bill Gates, Warren Buffett approach to money and power.

There is good news about disappearing. It appears, earmarks for Congressional pet projects are going to disappear for at least a year. This is bad news for lobbyists and Cong. Murtha—who has turned the district he represents in Western Pennsylvania, into a place with a plethora of government funded projects. But it’s good news for taxpayers who have built bridges to nowhere in Alaska and funded studies about the difference in wine drinking in restaurants in cold and warm weather climates. Not that wine drinking is a bad thing, but it’s not up there with cancer research, finding a cure for the common cold or the feeding children programs.

Where is the abra-cadabra in our lives? It would be great to be a magician and decide what else disappears, but I can wait until until next November.

A Sense of Being Lucky

I don’t think we have really started to understand much of what the new paradym is throwing at us. I happen to be spending this week in that Fantasy Land of America, the place where nothing happens on its own, but everything happens with intent: Las Vegas. I’m here shooting pictures for a few days, and believe me. It’s not like being assigned to Kansas City or St. Paul. Vegas does it better than anyone else, with the possible exception of Orlando. Sitting at dinner last night I was reading one of those “To Do” Magazines you find in your hotel room, trying to make mental lists of things which might be interesting enough for some kind of follow up. You never really know where you can make a good picture, and as I always remind young photographers, good pictures lurk everywhere. Sure, it’s great to have some exotic location in front of you, full of exotic people, exotic looking stuff and surroundings, as a potential visual target. But good pictures are everywhere, and you have to keep reminding yourself that the important thing is less exoticism than keeping your eye sharp and on the look out for compositions as life unfolds before you. When students complain that the reason their pictures aren’t good enough is that either they had the wrong lens, or something was quite ‘exotic’ enough… I remind them that looking at the work of Cartier-Bresson from the 30s and 40s would break that argument down. Like Seinfield, the show about ‘nothing’, good images can happen in the plainest of circumstances, as long as you don’t get lazy with your eye, your camera, and your trigger finger.

As the aphorism reminds us (was it Eddie Adams or did Eddie borrow it from someone?), when asked about how a good picture was made, the answer is usually “f/8, and be there.” And of course “be there” is really the key. Being at the place where something ‘big’ happens is a knack, a trait that some photographers just seem to carry with them, like an extra roll of film (or memory card), or a pack of chewing gum. Henri Bureau, the former Gamma (he was one of the founders in 1967) and Sygma (he was one of the founders in 1973) photographer was absolutely one of those people around whom events seemed to happen. In the days before digital, before FTP, before even being able to look at the back of your camera and see if you got the image, he was the master of the ‘coup.’ When news would break out, whether it be an earthquake in Turkey, or a coup d’etat in Portugal, Henri would be on the first charter plane out of Paris, usually the first guy ‘in’, and always, the one whose film would make it back to Paris the quickest. You may not know his name, but you know his pictures. A smoky stream of oil fires during the Iran-Iraq war, an Iraqi with an AK47 rifle slung over a shoulder, in the foreground. A picture of a former Lisbon government ‘collaborator’ being surrounded by soldiers as power changed from the old regime to a new one. One editor I knew once said of Henri, “he’s not a very good photographer, he’s just lucky.” I totally disagreed. If, as we sometimes say, we’d rather be lucky than good, Henri brought a whole new meaning to “lucky.” He was the master of the “be there” part of Eddie’s phrase. He just kept bungling into one amazing situaton after another. He just lucked out time after time after time. Luck? No, something more. That amazing fifth sense of what it means to be a photographer. In the good humor that always followed him, even into horrible places, he once joked that when government leaders see him arrive at their airports, they tremble. SOMETHING was about to happen, and not always for the best. I was with Henri in Poland when Martial Law was declared in 1981. He had been in Gdansk, and of course had made the very last pictures of Lech Walensa before his arrest and detention. They were hot pictures. And they were good pictures. And we spent the better part of an hour trying to figure out how to smuggle those films (and mine) out of Poland to the west. (They were stuffed into the bottoms of his fluffy winter boots, and they made it unmolested to Paris.) Just one more time that a “not very good” photographer accidentally bungled his way into a few great photographs.

Thursday this past week, at the newly finished Newseum in downtown DC (it had been in Arlington, VA for the past two decades) there was a ceremony to honor a small group of photographers, who also could be described as something more than lucky. In 1971, there was a major operation, a giant, helicopter supported invasion of southern Laos, by South Vietnamese forces (with U.S. air support) to try and sever the Ho Chi Minh trail supply lines. The idea was to pinch off supplies to North Vietnamese fighters in the South, and strategically help slow the war down. I had been in Vietnam about 3 months, and was as green as they come. I’d been on a few maneuvers in the South with U.S. forces, but this was the first major operation I would see. Dozens and dozens of helicopters, thousands of troops. And because the military was trying to keep it quiet (let me just say, the people who were under attack had absolutely no sense of surprise – they saw it coming) no journalists were permitted to ride in with the ground troops, though many of us had made it on Route 9 to the Laos border. Two days later, when it was clear that we would have a better chance by helicopter, we again gathered at a jump-off base, hoping for a ride. I arrived at few minutes after the others, and the seats for the one allotted press helicopter had already been given to the representatives of LIFE, AP, UPI, and Newsweek. They were some of the best: Larry Burrows, Henri Huet, Kent Potter and Keisaburo Shimamoto. As the TIME photographer, I saw myself being left out of the action, and began to berate the Vietnamese Major with the clip board who was in charge of the chopper. He didn’t really care who I was, nor who I worked for, but I kept grating him, demanding to be allowed to go. Jon Larsen, the TIME bureau chief, came up to me and said “if you ever want to make it to Laos, you should just walk away from here, and cool off….” Which I did, looking back to see the press chopper start to churn up its rotors for take off.

An hour later, while walking by the operations center, an officer came out and with that sense of unease that is sometimes interpreted as ill-timed laughter, the Vietnamese Major said to me “I think maybe your friends shoot down Laos…” then turned around and went back inside. I didn’t know what to think or what to do. But moments later met John Saar, a reporter friend from LIFE who worked with Larry Burrows. I shared the startling news with John, and then was relieved, minutes later to see Hal Ellithorpe walking our way. Hal, a LIFE stringer, had also been on the chopper with Larry, and seeing him seemed to prove that it wasn’t THAT helicopter.

John Saar and guest blobber Dick Swanson (LIFE Magazine)
“Boy, am I glad to see you,” I said. “They just told us a press helicopter was maybe shot down, but as you are here… “

“Oh, I didn’t go. The helicopter was too heavy, and someone had to get off. Larry said ‘Hal, it’s a picture magazine, you’re off.’” And with that, we realized that it was our friends, indeed, whose bird had gone down. The shock of that moment, that day, and knowing that fate might have dealt another hand, has never left me. With a kind of unspoken sense of remembrance, those there that day share the moment of recognition, of loss, even today, 37 years later. Mike Putzel, the AP reporter who was on the scene, and who might have been a whole year or two older than I was, put his arm around me at just the right moment when I started to break down at the Quang Tri press center. Like everyone else there who was shocked at the loss of our four colleagues, there was just no way to make any real sense of it. But when I saw Mike this Thursday at the memorial service, it was like those 37 years had barely passed. And there is a sense that for each of us, having been spared, and allowed to carry on, there is an obligation to stay on the ‘story.’

After literally decades of attempting to reach the crash site, AP writer Dick Pyle and photographer Horst Faas, finally made it there in the early 90s. With help from the U.S. specialist recovery teams in Hawaii, they were able to comb the crash site, and actually found a few remnants which, including a piece of a Leica camera which Larry had bought the previous year, proved it was the site. Pyle and Faas brought back a few of the bits recovered, and this week, with dozens of former Vietnam reporters present, placed those momentos in a small time-capsule like box in the Memorial wing to Journalists killed in conflict around the world.

It was a touching moment, all those once young and vibrant journalists and photographers now sporting grey locks, if any, but most still clear of eye, and purpose. For myself, it was another reminder that everyday you have is one to be treasured and not taken for granted.

A gathering of Reporters (photo: Tom Herman)
In a sense, everyday of our lives we try and get on that helicopter, we try to get to the story, we try to get a little closer to what’s going on and tell that story to the world. There are no guarantees, though we place so much of our confidence in the hands of others. But the commitment to telling the story, with words or pictures is what drives all of us. And whether you’re damned good, super talented or, like most of us, just lucky now and then, the story is what keeps us coming back for more. We’re just sayin…David

A Prayer for Joey

Often when I’m out and about-- which sounds more romantic than walking down the street, I smell a smell, hear a sound or see something that takes me back to a place or time I can remember so vividly, it is almost as if I am there. It’s not exactly like déjà vu, because I don’t feel like I’ve lived the experience before. It’s just a moment during which time I actually relive something that has happened and I know what it is. Like yesterday when I was walking past the Avis car rental place on our block in NY. I looked at the woman behind the desk and I felt exactly like I did when I was working at Snelling and Snelling an employment agency where they made me change my name and then fired me because they said I was not supposed to be a social worker and it didn’t matter if the people liked the jobs I made them take. That must have been the first time I determined I would work in the public interest—or maybe not. They were just crummy people who wanted to make a lot of money at other people’s expense. But they did find jobs for the unemployed. And the employer not the employee paid—so it was not all bad.

This morning when I was driving in Boonton, NJ, the place where I grew up, I passed a park where there were young adults playing, hugging and laughing. For just a moment I felt like I did when I was in high school during recess. I actually felt like I was 16. I mean, I was back at school driving Ronnie’s Edsell (a car for those too young to remember), back to the parking lot and hoping a door wouldn’t fall off—which happened all the time. I smiled when I pictured us carrying the door into the cafeteria on more than one occasion. That took me to my house at lunch time where we (Pam and Joyce and me) went everyday to watch soaps and eat tuna fish sandwiches. And no we weren’t supposed to do that, but we scheduled study halls before and after lunch period so what else was there to do.

I was close to my high school so I pulled into the empty parking lot, turned off the car and sat for while. I was no longer experiencing “the moment”, but it was nice... just nice to reflect a bit about what was and who was...

Some of my friends were cheerleaders or athletes, some were academics, some troublemakers, and some were nuts. We were all from blue collar families, but mine owned a major factory that employed half the town— my parents were not rich, my aunts did OK. We were mostly Protestant, Polish, German or Italian. There were 50 Jewish families, no blacks and there was one Asian guy who owned a small Chinese restaurant. It was a middle class community surrounded by ‘restricted communities’ or as they were called then, Christian Communities. Some of my friends lived in those places and went to high school with us, but neither I nor any of them actually knew what that meant—except Jews and Italians couldn’t live there. Which I didn’t quite understand, because I thought Italians were Christians. It didn’t matter, we never let a gate stop us from getting together. Then we grew up and mostly disconnected.

Joey Consintino was in his late fifties and still about four feet tall. Hence he was always called, Little Joey – which was obvious to anyone with even one eye. Children can be terribly cruel about people who are different, so his life was never easy. But that didn’t stop him from having a kind word or a prayer for whoever needed one. When we were kids, and he was a little younger then we were, he liked to hang out with my friends – the supposed popular students. I earned my popularity through humor—I was never a good student, not particularly beautiful, or an athlete (we had no girls sports whatsoever. We had red gym suits and ran around the track trying not to mess our hair—that was it), but I was always funny. Funny was almost as much a plus as cute—which did I mention, I also was. And we adopted Joey like he was our mascot or worse, our puppy. This did not mean he got invited to all the parties or special exclusive events—like getting drunk in the peach orchard—but he could sit with us at the diner or a football game. We weren’t overly generous, although we could afford to be since we were popular. And it wasn’t that we were cruel, but as teenagers we didn’t have the time or desire to really know Joey. He was just there—Little Joey. Most teenagers are good at superficial and unconcerned about deep. We were just good at having fun and maybe being a little callous.

Most of us grew up and some moved away. But not Little Joey. He stayed at less than four feet and never went anywhere. Whenever I would see him, I always got a big smile and a hug. Sometimes, when I didn’t see him but he saw me, he would chase after me and give me hell for not acknowledging him. He never let anyone get away with not being nice—whether it was intentional or not. When my mom got sick, he e-mailed me every week to ask how she was and say she was in his prayers.

I hadn’t heard from Joey for a few weeks when I got a note from Tommy Mac two days ago saying that little Joey had died. He had kidney problems. His body stopped working and he was gone. Even though our meetings were infrequent, I will miss him and, of course, his prayers. So if you have just a minute when you finish this blob, put Joey in your prayers— he would have done it for you. We’re just sayin...

Still a Perfect Place

Key West was a perfect place to launch a book. It is also a perfect place to launch a boat – but I don’t have a boat and I do have a book www.soyouthinkyoucanbepresident.com. Actually, Key West is perfect for anything.

Iris & Clay signing books at the Dewey House
When you are there, whether you open your eyes in the morning to a purple sunrise or close them, after a few rum drinks on the beach and a brilliantly orange sunset, it remains a perfect paradise. Perfect and paradise maybe repetitious but in this case well deserved.

This was not the case after Wilma hit in October 2005. It was only a few months after the devastating Katrina hit Louisiana and Mississippi and because the Keys had escaped serious damage from that storm, the destruction Wilma caused was almost a surprise. Key West is an Island. You can just hop on over if you want to drive three hours from Miami, fly from points north but with a change in aircraft, or venture by sea—like on a cruise ship. It is well worth whatever effort it takes to get there, but it is not as easy a vacation destination as others might be—which makes it even more agreeable. But people who make their living from the tourist business, as well as people who chose to own property so they could escape to paradise every year, found it difficult to recover. Restaurants, shops, even bars disappeared in large numbers. A property that had been selling for a million dollars immediately dropped 10 to 20%. People whose homes were severely damaged were forced to move to trailers or worse, to leave the Island. The trailers were the same lot that went to Katrina victims so they were delayed, non-existent or, and here’s the best part, only to be used in non-hurricane areas during non-hurricane season. So even if you got lucky enough to finally get a trailer (and it didn’t rot) you weren’t allowed to have it for very long.

Needless to say when people were looking for a place to mellow out and relax, they gave second thought to traveling to Key West which was what they considered “chancy”. My pal and co-author Clay Greager had a store called Last Flight Out for twenty-two years. Given the diminished number of tourists, he finally closed the store this past January.
And as I have said, he was not alone. They are starting to rebuild but there is still a kind of pall hanging over the community. The people who are Key Westers no longer trust or like the Government of the US – it is just too dumb, most agree. And so they find solace in their own Republic which was “established by secession of the Florida Keys from the United States of America, on April 23rd, 1982 in response to a United States Border Patrol Blockade setup on highway U.S.1 at Florida City just to the north of the Florida Keys. This heinous act effectively isolated Keys Citizens from the U.S. mainland since the blockade was on the only land artery to and from the mainland. This roadblock portrayed Keys residents as non-U.S. citizens who had to prove their citizenship in order to drive onto the Florida mainland! Hardly an American thing to do!” In a 1982 declaration of independence - in the name of The Conch Republic, they wrote:

“DEDICATED TO THE FUNDAMENTALLY AMERICAN SPIRIT OF A PEOPLE UNAFRAID TO STAND UP TO ‘GOVERNMENT GONE MAD WITH POWER’ THAT EMBODIED THE FOUNDING OF THE CONCH REPUBLIC IN 1982. AS THE WORLD’S FIRST FIFTH WORLD NATION, A SOVEREIGN STATE OF MIND SEEKING ONLY TO BRING MORE HUMOR, WARMTH, AND RESPECT TO A WORLD IN SORE NEED OF ALL THREE, THE CONCH REPUBLIC REMAINS THE COUNTRY WHO SECEDED WHERE OTHERS FAILED.”

The Secretary-General of the Conch Republic, Sir Peter Anderson
In their humor there is a sweet sadness reflecting only a part of their frustration with the high price of fuel – the cost of fish has remained the same but oil to run the boats has quadrupled. Additionally, People who work in high priced places like Key West can’t afford to live where they work and have to commute – which costs a lot if you have to do it by boat or car—and how else can you do it. The residents are tired of the lack of concern, services, diplomacy, and general effort of the part of the government to deal with this, as well as many other problems in “vacation” communities.

I know, vacations are not a priority if people can’t eat, be educated, take medication, have health care, drive their cars, etc. But vacations are not the point. People just trying to survive and maybe use a few extra dollars for which they worked very hard, are exactly the point. And so we decided to launch our book, a test that, in a humorous way—like the Conch Republic, introduces the reader to the overwhelming scope of what it takes to be President, in a place that has suffered the consequences of government ineptness.

People came in droves to celebrate the success of one of it’s own. And they wanted to see what this piece of political literature was really about – they wanted to take the test. But more than that, they want the next President of the United States to have passed some kind of a reality check. They are no longer willing to hear Bush say he didn’t know gas prices were high or Cheney to say “So?” as a reaction to the war, or even a speech like the Obama speech about race. Maybe if, like the Conch Republic, every state secedes in protest over incompetence or arrogance we will actually stand a chance to succeed as a nation. We’re just sayin... Iris

Once Upon Whatever

Once upon a time there was a princess, a prince, a big bad wolf, and, of course, some serfs. And a few too many court jesters. All of this royalty lived in a kingdom that was seriously lacking in leadership, vision, and a sense of the right thing to do. The Kingdom had a good share of famine and disease, for which there was no immediate cure, and a war that took the lives of too many young warriors-most of whom were handsome knights from all over the land. And, in addition to all these problems, their economy sucked.

No one knew what to do. Did I mention the King was a dope and they eventually had to drag him from his throne kicking and screaming about all the important things he had done, and so what if the peasants, farmers, cobblers and hair dressers (yes, there were always hair dressers), were suffering. They were of no importance to him. You see he was the arrogant kind of king who did things simply to prove he could, and for the financial benefit of his friends.

The people put out a call to Robin Hood, but alas, he was tied up in another far away Kingdom trying to sort out their problems and, of course, protecting Maid Marian. So the Prince and the Princess, both of whom wanted the job (it's nice to be King!), decided to have an election. But the Big Bad Wolf said that unless he could run as well, he would simply eat them. What could they do but pick sides and all run against each other.

The contest got very nasty, the jousting dirty and swords were laced with poison. And believe it or not, the big bad wolf emerged as the only candidate who thought waging war against other lands was fine, but he refused to wage it against the Prince and Princess. Besides, they were so busy killing one another off, that he didn't have to do anything, but sit back and wait. Oh my, oh my!

This history lesson was brought to you by a friend of Mickey and Minnie Mouse who was so depressed by anything other than bliss the he bought a condo in Orlando and charged people to come and visit. The End.

Unfortunately, this Fairy Tale is not unfolding nicely. But there are certainly lessons to be learned from history, whether they be fact or fable. In days of yore there was a smart, funny, elegant Prince named Mo Udall, a one eyed Mormon from Utah (although he was Congressman from Arizona), who decided that he could be the leader of the land-as opposed to the leader of the band - that was Dan Fogelberg, may he rest in peace. Anyway, Mo had neither name recognition nor any money. But he had a sense of humor beyond compare and he loved kibitzing with the media. Mo, much like the Father of the country, was incapable of telling a lie. Sure, he could spin a tale but when it came to a lie -- about policy or an opponent - he couldn't do it. In return, the press made him their hero, never said anything bad about his campaign, and wrote wonderful stories about how what a great leader he would make.

And so, out of sheer adoration, and without winning any primaries, Mo went to the Convention as a contender for the highest office in the land. John McCain and Mo Udall were friends. As the Senior Congressman from Arizona and despite their philosophic and party differences, Mo was always kind and generous to the Junior Senator. They loved and respected one another and when Mo was dying in a Veterans facility John visited him every week.

Senator McCain understood the power of what Mo had done in his campaign and is doing the same in his. And for the present, John McCain is the darling of the press, while his opposition is whiny and their antics tedious. And although McCain can be a loose cannon and has derided any number of press people for questions he didn't like or a perceived slight, they just can't get enough of him. Maybe this campaign is a bit more calculated and contrived than Udall’s, but the appearance of honesty, straight talk and likeability is working. For how long? Who knows. But it might be long enough to get elected.

Speaking of long and elected and despite what you hear, this is not the longest Primary race in history. It only seems that way because we expected it to be the shortest (and yes, it did start earlier). Let's take a quick look at the history of the Primaries. Actually, in 1968, when Hubert Humphrey became the candidate it was unclear right up until the convention that he would be the nominee. 1968 was also a year of change in this country, what with the war, women's rights and civil rights movements heating up. In fact, that may have been the last time we had an honest public discourse about race. Subsequently, 1976 was no picnic and although everyone thought Jimmy Carter would be the candidate, and thanks to the press, there was a perceived contest right up until Convention. In 1984 Gary Hart and Walter Mondale ran neck and neck until the primaries in California and New Jersey in June. And had Hart not issued those now famous words “I got stuck in NJ' there is no doubt the contest would have continued with the newly created Super Delegates weighing in.

My point is that while there were a few “whoever had the most money “ early decisions, (Dukakis and Kerry) most of the races did not end in February. The difference with this race is that Clinton expectations were for an early victory, young people came out in droves to express dissatisfaction with the status quo, and Independents and Democrats decided that hope was not a bad idea and real change was more important than experience.

The Princess felt it was her turn to rule. The Prince, being of mixed race and younger, thought there was no such thing as “turn.” And the Big Bad Wolf is satisfying his hunger with a meal of mollified media. The End? Not yet.
Iris

How Does It Happen?

Where did that week go? I was typing away, blobbing along, finished, posted, and it seems like yesterday. It was a week ago: the week flew..4 days in Florida attending the launch party of Iris' new book "So You Think You Can Be President?!"..

Iris and co-author Clay Greager
which was gobs of fun, and truly, arriving in Key West when it's 34 in Washington is a kind of blessing. As nerdy as you feel in a leather coat and sweater, there is something almost refreshing about the blast of heat you feel as you first step into the muggy warmth.

The first thing you notice when your feet hit concrete is that they are building a new airport in Key West, yet another trashing of a wonderful aging icon of culture -- the single floor, go-thru-security-on-the-sidewalk-since-its-too-crowded-inside, immensely user friendly terminal. Like LongBeach (the Jetblue LA hub) where you can walk across the terminal in three minutes, it reminds you of what airports were when the public was actually trusted not to be complete idiots. As a kid in Salt Lake City, there was a chain link 5' fence which enclosed the terminal, but it was free flowing and loosely drawn, so you really felt at home going outside to watch the planes land and take off . (In 1956 that was second only to watching the out of towners line up for the Sunday Morning Tabernacle Choir performances, on Temple Square.) The chain link, once you stood back a few feet, almost didn't exist... it was as if you were standing on the ramp, watching the DC-6's and Convairs grind the air with their propellers at a very noise inducing distance. Now they are building a double floor, take the elevators up and down, terminal, all in the name, one supposes, of "Security". What hasn't invoked that overused term in the last six years?

I recently came across a set of pictures from the Palm Beach Post, showing in loathesome detail the police response to a large gathering of hopefuls at the Boca Raton city housing office. A limited number of housing vouchers were being made available for what turned out to be a much larger number of applicants. The cops were called in to make sure no one went postal while in line, and once the vouchers were awarded, out of the line, as the crowd went home. If you wondered where all that "Homeland security" money went to for towns like Boca, take a look here: In full dress Riot gear, the cops showed up to keep the families and their kids from getting hostile. In fact, they kept telling people who'd brought their kids (where do you stash them when you're in the middle of looking for a home?) that they should be more careful, I suppose so that if they decided to bust a few heads, they wouldn't be seen hitting any babies. The pictures nauseated me. This is what it's come to. Hot shot ZORRO troops, dressed in black, knee pads, batons and the ever so handy assault rifles (I believe the Shah proved those extremely effective in crowd control). It was the kind of demonstration of power which made you seriously reconsider your position on "Law and Order". Most countries who wrap "Order" into their national slogan end up sacrificing everything else just to keep the order. Are we becoming like that?

This picture pretty much explains Key West
But that is, I suppose a blob for another time. Back to the airport. There must be a 21st century version of the Peter Principle (People rise in the bureaucracy to their level of Incompetence) which states something like "No usable space should be considered inviolate, when it can be razed in favor of a space far more expensive (oh la la!! OverRuns!) and less convenient to those for whom it was designed. But then I guess that assumes the 'designees' are the public, when in fact it's really the TSA guys who demand you take a plier to your nipple ring just to prove you aren't a threat to the Republic. On the campaign charter planes, in the absolute height of common idiocy (the opposite of common sense) the candidates themselves are wanded before they get on their own charters. I kid you not. Cindy and John McCain -- arms out! Hillary and Obama may get a pass since (like the press on her plane) there is a Secret Service screening each morning. But if you actually consider it "security" to have to wand a presidential candidate, then I GUARANTEE you that you are blind to the actual threat. Of course, you get to keep your job, and these days, that is saying something. But the day John Mccain leaps to the cockpit and demands the plane fly to Havana (maybe he does want to meet Fidel after all) is a day I'd like to be on that plane. And speaking of nipple rings, I wonder if any of the TSA folks are carrying such beauty adornments. Maybe there should be a swap-a-roo day, when we, the public (you know, "for which it stands") get to strip search the searchers. Let's face it: It can't make us any less SAFE. Here's to one-story airports. We're just sayin... David

Guest Blobber Dick Swanson, responds to "Friends..

You go girl! (I hate that phrase but it is descriptive of the way I feel). What a great blog! (especially the last couple graphs in your March 26th, Friends, Friends, Friends.

And it’s those ‘graphs that I respond to.

It is always a good thing to be reminded of ones upbringing. I was raised by strong women. My mother was certainly a part of it but I was mostly raised by my grandmothers and great-grandmothers (I had eleven grandparents when I was born, but that’s another blog). My father cared but was gone all the time trying to support us all.

I married and was divorced from two girly-girls and then waited 10 years before marrying an Asian. After 39 years of marriage (I describe her as my “current” wife) I’m still trying to wrest control from her under the rules of who wears the pants (anybody who knows Germaine and the “foreign country” I live in understands what I’m faced with). But in the end I’m an unreconstructed believer in matriarchy.

Obama was raised by women also and probably is why I have more empathy for him than the other candidates.

Where it concerns Hillary, it is becoming apparent that she is trying very hard to be one of the boys which includes lying about her war record. So much for her matriarchal attraction.

Obama is receptive, eloquent, empathetic and has the grace of an “inner pulpit” to make us understand that there are alternatives to the nightmarish Bush years.

To paraphrase Zbigniew Brzezinski, “New leaders must emerge who are mature enough to accept global diversity and who treat foreign friends with circumspection and adversaries with tolerance”.

Our best hope to undo what George Bush and his gang of four or fourteen, whatever, have done, is to listen to Obama (I said in an earlier blog that McCain brings more of the same and Clinton brings chaos and Bill).

Having said all that, if only the candidates would discuss the things that matter instead of, “he said, she said”. Their focus on their tax papers, Rev. Wright, Bosnia (I know a little something about being shot at), stoke the press’ feeding frenzy about such matters. The lunacy of NOT addressing the issues that will make or break us cannot be overstated.

Every moment they spend confronting each other is a moment that they’re ignoring us. I don’t like being co-opted by the media....Dick S.

Friends, Friends, and Friends

Bill Richardson is an old pal. We go back to the Carter days, before he was a Congressman. Probably before he had either thoughts about being an Ambassador or President of the United States. It was a time when there were a small group of us, almost all who were political appointees, and we would party on weekends and other extraneous numerous occasions. We never needed an excuse—just a time and place.

The tone of the times among the people who were involved in politics a few Presidents ago, was much different than it is today. We were not fearful about the press. Quite the contrary, they had traveled with us on varying Presidential campaigns and had become our friends. In those more congenial, gentler times, the TV personalities, pencil press, and photographers, spent the day working, then filed or shipped their stories and immediately proceeded to whatever hotel bar happened to be the closest to the most people. Here we all proceeded to recount the events of the day and drink ourselves into a stupor—OK maybe not a stupor but enough to make us confess intimacies as well as outimacies (which were sometimes more interesting.)

But what about Richardson and why did he endorse Obama -- you probably want to know. I’ll get there soon. First let me say, Bill is a terrific guy. He is charming, funny, and has an incredible capacity to remember events and people. Even after I hadn’t seen him in ten years, he was able to vividly recount details about evenings which—even under threat of bodily mutilation – I could absolutely not recall. He is a person loyal to friends and generous of spirit. But if you cross him or if you are unkind to anyone he loves, you will assuredly suffer his diplomatic wrath. He will not forget or forget a slight or perceived slight.

That being said, and painful as it is for me to share, the Clinton campaign is infamous for their lack of grace, their sense of entitlement and their ability to anger even the sweetest of people. Although contrary to the Hillary I know, and I am not sure the candidate is aware of the way in which her staff operates, but she should be – this is a reality. So you put these two ‘knowns’ together and what do you get? A former Clinton Administration Ambassador who, although it was certainly not necessary, decided to endorse a stranger instead of a long time friend. Could it be that the Clintons either dissed or dismissed Governor Richardson in some way? I’m guessing this is a possibility.

“There is something special about him”. Richardson said in his speech. “I’m not sure what it is but it is good.” When I heard that statement I thought, come on Bill spell it out. But then I thought, the Governor is in the same place as so many people. I guess what I think is special is that he talks to the general American public like they are grown-ups. Unlike Mr. Gore, or Senator Clinton, he does not seem to care if he is smarter than we are—he wants us only to be smart enough to understand the some important truths. With regard to the issue of race, the truth is that there are Blacks who feel disenfranchised and discriminated against and Whites who are angry about the possibility of being or having been denied their own opportunity at the expense of Blacks and Hispanics.

What was also special about the Speech and the man was that he understood the limits of where he could go. It was not a speech that addressed economic issues, or welfare mothers, or inequity in the schools. It was an elegant explanation of why he couldn’t throw Reverend Wright “under the bus” (wherever did we find that colorful metaphor), how he didn’t agree, denounced, decried, was reviled by and found unconscionable those controversial statements and how he thought it was time to have an honest discussion about racial tensions, misunderstandings, difficulties. He felt the only way to get beyond them was to have a national conversation about them. How refreshing. So this man who wants to lead the country is articulate, honest, a visionary and refreshing. Agree or disagree with the depth and scope of the content, who wouldn’t endorse that?

I hope my speculation about why Governor Richardson did what he did satisfies this readership. Although it’s just a guess knowing the persons and personalities, my anecdotal surveys support these contentions. It has been said that politics makes strange bedfellows – clearly this is true when you look at what’s happened to the Governors of New York and New Jersey. But as a woman, my concerns go way beyond who’s sleeping with whom and how many of them there are. I want to feel assured that Senator Obama, will eventually give the same kind of speech about gender. Although I do understand that in the initial stages of the campaign they needed to be focused on early wins, I now want to see him develop the kind of relationships that will help him to understand the importance of giving women a voice in the White House. Bill Clinton did this to some degree and Hillary, although not in involved in the beginning of the Administration, eventually came to support the effort and she is now supported by the women (and organizations) who had a voice. These are the women that changed the way money was donated in elections, that fought diligently for Title IX, Family Leave, and Choice. Is it any wonder that they remain staunch Hillary advocates? Is it a surprise that they are reluctant to trust any other candidate to support the enormous gains they made. And is it impossible to understand their fear about losing their powerful place in Democratic or Presidential Politics. I would think not.

While he has advocated for Choice and women’s economic opportunity, Senator Obama is an unknown in the world of Gender politics in which these important ‘girls’ play. They look at a fairly inexperienced campaign with young people in senior positions and they say, “ is this new generation going continue to fight, stay the course or think the work is done.” What relationships will the Senator develop that will take him to the place they want him to be? One good sign is Betsy Myers—who headed up the White house Women’s Office in the Clinton Administration. Another is Karen Mulhauser, the former Executive Director of NARAL.

Given the reality of the Primaries, it may be time for women of a ‘certain’ age to trust that Senator Obama really does have a special qualities and they are, as the Governor says, 'good.' What I know for sure is that the more we talk about these things the healthier a Presidential season we will have...Iris

Not Everyone

Not everyone is going to agree about everything. And that’s OK. In these United States of America you hope you will find there are people who have varying opinions. Diverse debate is what makes this country great. Or at least it’s one reason, along with the ability to buy bagels almost anywhere, and get spring rolls or pho ga in even a small town.

From the time we were kids at Brandeis University, (I didn’t go there but my first husband did so we were part of the community) and we had many Israeli friends, they would always say, “When you have two Israelis engaged in conversation you will always have twelve different opinions.” This is no different from having two Americans in a room who are of different races, genders, geographic locations, religions, and cultures. Between these two people you are bound to find a virtual panoply of sentiment about whatever the topic. So I am not surprised about the range of didactic discussion when we are talking about the Obama speech.

Most of the articles in the NYTimes and Post reinforced the idea that Obama’s was a momentous speech which might actually kick start a conversation about race. They interviewed number of people who agreed that, although they might not have been satisfied with his answers about the Rev. Wright, they were moved by the sentiment and thrilled about the possibilities of race reconciliation sometime down the road. And you have to say he was successful given the number of conversations it has produced on talk radio and cable TV.

My surveys were much more anecdotal but not to be discounted. I asked about twenty Floridians (that would be at least 80 opinions) how they felt about the DNC discounting their votes and additionally, how they felt about the Obama speech. Interesting enough none of them felt disenfranchised. Some said they were not surprised, since they didn’t follow party rules. And they were angry at the Governor (a Republican) who made the decision about when to have the primary. A few said they hoped Hillary would get their delegates and a few said they wanted some kind of a recount but they didn’t care as long as they got to go to the convention. “So what”, they said “they’re not going to give us chairs?” Once they had vented their seemingly indifferent feelings (limited frustration) about the primary , I asked what they thought about the Obama speech. (These were people from 20-60, predominantly white). Most felt it was an amazingly candid heartfelt sharing of information and concern. A few said it didn’t explain why he stayed in the church—but many of those sentiments were a result of a conversation with their rabbi or minister. My (pick one: rabbi, minister, priest) said, “If I had given a sermon like that my congregation would have left the sanctuary. Why would Obama – this elected official, have stayed for twenty years?”

This is not a question I can answer because I am sure it is so much more complicated than any of us can imagine. The thing that struck me in the Obama speech was when he said that Wright had been a Marine who served in combat. And that in the twenty years of sermons, these few has been plucked and played over and over. It doesn’t excuse Rev. Wright, but I wonder what kind of rhetoric white ministers used in the South during segregation. I wonder what it must have been like for Black men who served their country and came back to find they still had to drink from a different fountain and their kids were not permitted to go to the “good” schools. I am saying Reverend Wright had no business saying the things he said, and I am not going to try to figure out what Obama’s thinking was about his commitment and dedication to this church and this man. I’m only asking a question in, maybe too circuitous a way, is it possible that what this man, working diligently to be the President of the United States, should not be judged by what one angry and disgruntled character in his life (albeit an important personality) has to say about his own experiences – not those of the candidate? Regardless of agree or disagree with what he accomplished or what the speech lacked, there is general agreement that he did the right thing and we absolutely do need to have an honest discussion about race.

Hillary said she thought it was an important speech. Maybe it is one she should have made about gender. I would have liked —no loved it -- if she had addressed the nation (without whining) about why it is important to have a woman as the Commander in Chief or any important elected position. A woman in that role would have a totally different approach to domestic issues, war and negotiations. We are very different managers – I think much better because we are more likely to build consensus among the people to whom we delegate responsibility. Additionally, we are much more willing to listen to varying opinion. I am not generalizing—it’s just how women operate – when they are not trying to imitate men. But she didn’t think it was important to address gender issues and he felt he couldn’t survive without a conversation about race. As my mother would say “go know’ – translated without my mother’s tone it means, ‘who ever could have guessed.’

But back to my original thought (yes, I have actually had a few). There are always going to be people who agree and disagree about whatever the issue. This is not a surprise since there are still people who deny the Holocaust ever happened, evolution is a myth perpetrated on an unsuspecting ill informed public, and any book by William Faulkner is trash. Not that these are bad things—and I mean that in the nicest possible way, but in my humblest of opinions, they do fall under the “give me a break, you idiot” category.

So we need to stop worrying about right wing talk radio show hosts, and we need to look at the reality of this great nation. There is a desperate need for substantive discussion about race, gender, medical research, war, the economy, health care, oil prices, foreclosures, corporate greed, jobs, education, drugs, international relations, care for the elderly and on and on and on. We do need to look at all the candidates and decide who has the vision and courage to be a great (just ‘good’ doesn’t make it anymore), leader. All the candidates need to get beyond the “he did, she did, and their friends did” and start to have a conversation with the public about what they did—or at least intend to do to make this country the best it can be – whole and strong and competitive in a world where there is both chaos and hope. We're just sayin... Iris

Morning Composition in Black and White

Never in a million years. Well, not for the last few anyway. I wouldn’t ever have thought that I would be cheeky enough to put a picture of my feet on the blob. Actually the phrase “my feet” and “blob” seem to go... dare I say it.. “hand in hand?” For a dozen years [Editor’s Note: upcoming is T.M.I.] I have been plagued by what is called in the popular media, “unsightly toenail fungus.”

The kind of stuff that turns otherwise normal looking people into stand-ins for the Creature from the Black Lagoon. Having never spent much time in golf club locker rooms, or gyms for that matter (my exercise bike is home, much more convenient) where those weirds microbes lurk I was kind of surprised when it first struck. My dad had broken a toe in the forties, and for years, that one great toe of his had that yellowy, scary, layered, “I just took out the garbage” look to it. It was a thing of wonder really. Of course just being different made it somewhat interesting, the kind of curiosity you feel when you can’t help looking at someone with some sort of flaw to which you attempt to avert your eyes, but in the end, succumb merely for curiosity’s sake. Aging, it is said, is not for the faint of heart, and when you remain someone with an essentially 14 year’s view of the world, as I do, the tough parts about growing up are not only personally challenging, they can be baffling.

As a kid two of my uncles, Uncle Max and Uncle Joe were favorites. They looked like an Uncle should look. Kindly round unaggressive faces, ever present hints of a smile, and bald heads. Oh, they had a bit of hair ringing their crowns, but essentially, they were prime candidates for the missionaries of the Hair Club for Men. Uncle Max was a special fave since he always, and I mean always, had a roll of Cherry Lifesavers in his pocket and was willing to dispense them virtually instantly. You only got ONE, but you always GOT one. If either of them had actually had a head of luxuriant dark Brylcreem’d locks like my dad, I don’t think I would have seen them in the same way. There was that extra little “worthy of a Nobel Peace Prize” effect that baldness seemed to reserve that made you feel just a bit more comfy in their presence.

ph: Tom Zimberoff (circa 1978)

As someone who once sported a Jew-fro’ of the first order, and was told more than once by the photographer behind me that they would be able to get a much clearer shot if only my hair didn’t stick up so far, it has slowly come to me of late that the richness of that mane is particularly time-sensative. As in, at this time, it will no longer be like that. It must be how women feel who see their hair going from that Virginia Mayo / Lustre Creme commercial richness to a very lifeless grey, something akin to George Washington.

And while many of us would aspire to be worthy of George’s wisdom, judgment, and leadership qualities, his hair would probably not be the object of such 21st century adoration. This is all part of the plot where they tell you that apparently you missed the briefing... What briefing, you ask? Oh, the briefing where they tell you that your body has other plans: that great mane of hair you had, the one that is disappearing from your head, will start to make appearances on other parts of your body. Now can anyone explain to me just why you have to reach your sixth decade for your ears to all of a sudden begin to develop rich, dark, vibrant curls, when for your whole life they were as sleek as a sharks tummy? Is it a vain attempt by your eardrums to send a message? Somewhere inside your ears, do those drums, unable to wave their arms and shout “I can’t hear a frickin THING anymore!” just grab whatever follicles they can, as if to layout a stretch of ground art – like the aliens did in Peru centuries ago? It’s a lousy way to send a message if that is their intent. At the 2004 Olympics in Athens, where, to be sure, there is a different attitude about body hair generally, I shared locker space with a chap from Bosnia. He cannot have been over 35. And he looked quite normal, save for two of the most enormous, untended, wild tufts of hair sprouting, and I do mean sprouting, from the front of his ears, that I have ever seen. Trying to look him in the eye while discussing the results of the bicycle team racing event of that afternoon was like how I imagine it must have been for an interviewer to be sitting backstage chatting with Jayne Mansfield, and look her right in the eye. You just can’t do it. This guy’s ears had the same exact fascination for me as watching the cleanup of an automobile accident. Cracked glass, torn metal everywhere, big dents and twisted frames. You can’t walk by and NOT look at it.

So I find it funny that so much time and money is spent on trying to get us to buy what the pharma companies are selling – on the evening news programs there are ads for Lipitor, Viagra, Nexium, and who knows what else. But forget those serious conditions – blocked arteries, sexual performance and tummy aches are nothing when you have to stare at your very own toes each time you hop out of bed, or take a shower. I had taken one of those drugs for toe fungus called Lamisil for a few months about ten years ago –don’t be put off by the warnings about potential liver and kidney disease, and the notice not to allow it anywhere near where barn animals gather – and it actually started to clear things up. And then one night late, just before going to bed, I accidently dropped a 600 mm (that’s one of the really BIG ones) lens right on my toe. It’s not the recommended treatment for insomnia, believe me, and my ravaged tootsie finally just gave up, and went back to its old ugly self. I stopped taking the Lamisil and have accepted, not unlike the rest of my self, what it will be. So this morning when I hopped out of bed, and answered a phone call, I was amazed to look down and see this wonderful composition: my feet in a box of light that the morning sun was creating next to the bed. I ran downstairs and grabbed my new Ricoh R8 (a very slick tiny tiny camera with a big heart) and shot a few frames.

The key, I think is not to look for too much detail. Imagine these might be Cary Grant’s feet, or even Jimmy Stewart. Actually, I suppose Karl Malden or Leo McKern might be a little more on target. But part of aging is getting to be comfy with what it is that you have, and this morning, by the light of that great softbox in the sky, even my very own clodhoppers looked worthy of a moment to themselves. We’re just sayin..David
addendum:
This picture of the Air Force Memorial, near the Pentagon, was shot in March of this year (last week, actually) with the M4 Leica in the 'fro picture above. Viva la Leica

A Follow Up From Guest Blobber Dick Swanson

Everywhere For 5 Minutes ( You HAVE Been There, Right?)

Obama’s speech on race made me think about the values and pitfalls of experience and the arrogance of empowerment that can come with it (my resumé includes Time, Life, Fortune, Look, Saturday Evening Post, (how’s that for dating myself) Newsweek, National Geographic, The Washington Post, etc., so I’ve done my share of traveling in 40 years).

“Arrogance of empowerment” is a term I first heard out of the mouth of…wait for it…George H. W. Bush! He was being interviewed for a Time Magazine piece (He was CIA director at the time and was asked about his WWII experiences as a Navy pilot). He said that being a fighter pilot was empowering, elitist almost, and his arrogance about it is what put him in harm’s way.

The memory of that honest self-assessment surfaced during Obama’s speech last Tuesday explaining his character and beliefs. I thought, what’s so unusual about understanding other cultures including the black culture?

Hasn’t everybody experienced a rousing sermon in a black church? Hasn’t everyone had the experience of having a meal at the kitchen table of a black family? Hasn’t everyone had the rowdy experience of getting a hair cut in a black barbershop? Well, no.

It came to me that having been everywhere for five minutes (a description of photojournalism that comes from David Burnett) there was a certain “arrogance of empowerment” of being an insider in the cultures of others.

And therein lies the arrogance. One tends to forget that millions of decent non-black Americans don’t understand the depth of anger displayed by Reverend Wright because they had not been exposed to the legitimate grievances of the black community. They hadn’t been to a black church or had a meal with a black family in their kitchen or spent time soaking up the atmosphere in a black barbershop.

To be sure, Reverend Wright’s more lurid accusations about AIDS and race and 9/11 were over the top. But in a larger context he emphasized the perceptions of a large part of the black community.

And that’s what Obama was trying to explain to us. Don’t take for granted that we are all one big happy family. To paraphrase Peppy, a favorite chef of mine, as in any family, dialogue becomes “the glue that binds us together”.

And if Obama’s “crazy uncle” goes off the reservation from time to time, well, so be it. To disown him would be more revealing of Obama that Rev. Wright. To listen to his message and start a dialogue would reveal how far we we’ve come and how far we have to go.