The Klan Rags: A true story of a fight against bigotry and for freedom

 

The Klan Rags: A true story of a fight against bigotry and for freedom

This is a true story about my great-uncle, Louis Miller, my grandfather's younger brother. I put it out now because we need to remember that people fought to preserve freedom and against hatred, bigotry and racism. Published many years ago in a Huntsville, AL paper.

The Klan Rags

The Ku Klux Klan was all-powerful in Huntsville. It controlled the politicians, made its own laws and had its own judges and juries.
No one dared oppose them except for one young Jewish emigrant who worked as a rag dealer.
He had traveled thousands of miles to come to the land of the free and no one was going to take his dream away from him.
If Louis Miller had to fight for the right to call Huntsville his home he was ready.
By Larry Weiss
When Louis Miller, owner of the Tennessee Poultry and Hide Company, arrived at work one morning sometime in the 1920s his attention was riveted by a crude handwritten notice nailed to the front door. "GET OUT OF TOWN. [Signed] KU KLUX KLAN."
Feelings of shock, anger and disappointment clouded his mind as he read and then reread the scrap of paper.
He had thought America was going to be different.
Many years later Miller told his son Buddy, how he felt after he read the notice: "I was mad as hell. I had traveled half way around the world to find a place where I could live in freedom, and I'll be damned if I was going to let those sons of b..... s run me out of Huntsville!"
Miller had immigrated to the United States in 1913. "Ever since I could remember, I wanted to leave Russia and come to America," he would tell his children in later years. In the Czar's Russia, Jews were periodically attacked by anti-Semitic thugs who stole property, burned homes and businesses, and vented their hate by murdering Jews. Louis only had a seventh grade education by the time he arrived in New York because anti-Jewish quotas in Minsk schools prevented him during some years from attending class.
Miller later said that the most beautiful sight he had ever seen was the Statue of Liberty as the ship which brought him to the United States pulled into the harbor of New York. The statue represented a dream that he had ever since he was "old enough to think." He wanted to come to this country, and now he was here. Freedom from quotas and murdering gangs. Here he was in America!
His father had been a Melamed in Minsk, Russia - a teacher who taught young boys Hebrew. It was an honorable profession, but very poorly paid. Just before Louis left Minsk to come to America, his father said to him, 'We have a lot of famous Rabbis and people well known in our family. If you change your name as most people do when they go to America, nobody will know who you are."
Label Mishkind - Louis Miller's name at birth - promised his dad that he wouldn’t change his name in America. It turned out, though, that Label couldn't keep his promise. He stayed with his older brother in Brooklyn who had already Americanized his own name to "Miller" when he first came to this country. Before Label could speak English people had already started calling him "Louis Miller" because of his brother. After some time, Label Mishkind legally changed his name to Louis Miller because everybody called him that anyway.
Miller thrived in the freedom of the new land. By day he worked for his brother who owned a small candy store, and by night he went to school to learn English and take citizenship classes. Patiently, he studied, worked, and saved his money, determined to become an American citizen. He had already fulfilled the dream for which generations of his family had prayed - he was in a country where a person was judged by his own merit and free to practice his own religious beliefs.
After a few years in New York, Louis ventured out to Paris, Tennessee, to visit a sister who lived there. His first exposure to Southern culture came as somewhat of a shock. He later laughed as he told the story
of how people he passed in the railroad station would smile and say, "Good morning, how are you." As he walked down the street complete strangers greeted him in a friendly manner. This was quite unusual, but certainly pleasant for the young emigrant. Miller chuckled in later years as he remembered his feelings, "I thought I must have looked like somebody they know, otherwise they wouldn't be speaking to me. In New York people who lived next door to each another rarely spoke to one another, much less complete strangers."
After Miller realized it had not been a case of mistaken identity, but rather that the South was simply a friendlier place than New York, he decided to settle here. Traveling down to Decatur, Alabama, he quickly found a job, and sent his brother a telegram asking him to pack up his stuff and send it south.
Hard work and attention to details soon made Miller a prized employee, and when his boss purchased another company in Huntsville in 1918, he asked Miller to manage it for him. The company, named the Tennessee Poultry and Hide Company, dealt in items such as poultry, hides, eggs, furs, wild roots, scrap iron, and wiping rags. The store quickly became a boon to the community and began to prosper. For many of the rural farmers it proved to be a blessing in the off-season when they were unable to farm. Whole families would gather ginseng and run trap lines for furs which Miller bought, often providing the only income they had during the winter months.
The community soon learned that Miller was a fair man, paying fair prices and keeping his word.
In time, his reputation literally became the business, a fact that his employer probably realized when he agreed to sell the company to Miller.
Louis Miller was an asset to his adopted hometown. He joined the local Temple, became active in community affairs and was an outspoken advocate of the individual right to freedom. Unfortunately he was so outspoken he soon came to the attention of the local Ku Klux Klan.
Huntsville's original Klan had been founded in 1867 as a means to combat the consequences of Reconstruction. In 1872, after a Congressional hearing held in Huntsville exposed many of its brutalities, the Klan disbanded only to rear its ugly head again in the early 1900s in response to the release of the film, "Birth of a Nation."
By 1920 the Klan had become a powerful organization in Huntsville. They had their own laws and government and even conducted their own trials. They had become, as one historian put it so aptly, "the invisible government."
Businessmen felt they had to belong in order to do business, and politicians felt, they had to belong in order to do politics. Even if you did not agree with them, the local wisdom was that it was better to keep your mouth shut. In a perverse fairness it must be stated that the local Klan did not discriminate. They hated everyone equally --Blacks, Jews, foreigners, and Northerners.
Miller fitted most of the above criteria, a fact that the Klan quickly realized.
Louis Miller hated the Klan, and he publicly took issue with them. He simply could not understand how, in a land of the free, a group of bigoted nightriders could intimidate a whole community. In his anger at the Klan, he said in public more than a few times that one day, he was going to buy those Klan robes and tear them up into wiping rags.
He had no idea at the time of how prophetic his words would prove. Miller’s threats infuriated the Klan who soon put out word that he was a marked man.
After finding the Klan eviction notice on his door, Miller sent word to the Klan leaders that if they came after him, he would be ready for them. At five-foot-four he was not physically a very imposing man, and
he wasn't really a very good shot, either. However, at that time there was a shooting gallery next door to the Tennessee Poultry and Hide Company. Every day Louis visited the gallery, plunked down his money, and practiced shooting with rifles and pistols. After a while he became a superb marksman, a fact he made sure that everyone knew. He also made sure that the Klan realized that if they came after him, they might get him, but they were likely to lose some of their own in the process.
Still, despite his bravado, he realized the danger. He constantly kept a gun close by, at work and at home. His orders to his wife were: "If anybody knocks at night when I am not at home, don't open the door." Not knowing when the men might come after him, Miller would answer the door with a rifle or pistol in hand.
The citizens of Huntsville probably expected a bloody confrontation, most likely ending with someone lying dead in the streets, but suddenly, for no apparent reason, the Klan stopped its harassment of Miller. It would be years before he ever knew the reason why.
Miller had a few friends and business acquaintances who were also members of the Klan, and it was one of them who eventually told him the whole story.
The Huntsville Klan had put Louis Miller on trial in absentia at a special Klan meeting called for that purpose. Louis was charged with speaking in public against the Klan. Among other specific examples, he was charged with insulting the Man by threatening repeatedly in public to tear its robes into wiping rags.
The trial was a major event in the local Klan community. Both a prosecuting attorney and a defense attorney were designated. The man who eventually told Louis the story offered to serve as defense attorney. Klan members in the hall were the jury. When it came time during the trial for the defense attorney to say his piece, he argued, "I've known Louis Miller for a number of years. In fact I've known him ever since he came to Huntsville. He left Russia to find a place of freedom - I know that because he told me. Yes, he is in disagreement with the Klan. Louis Miller has a right to speak against us just as any other American does. He even has the right to speak against his government, but he is speaking against the Klan. I don't find that to be anything he should be put on trial for. I don't think it is wrong."
During his summation the defense attorney made his point as strongly as he could: "I joined the Klan because I thought it was a worthwhile organization but, I'm submitting my resignation from the Klan tonight, because I don't feel like it is the kind of organization I need to belong to."
He did resign, and eventually he told Louis about the trial. In part because one solitary person had dared to oppose the Klan, it quickly began losing public support. Members drifted away and in a few years the Huntsville Klan had almost disappeared.
The story might have ended there if it had not been for a phone call Miller received in the early 1930s.
"Louie, are you still dealing in wiping rags?"
Miller, thinking it was just another business call in an already hectic day replied, "Yes, if the price is right."
The caller went on to explain the purpose of his call. "I've been renting a meeting hall to the Ku Klux Klan, but they haven't been active for a couple of years and they haven't been paying any rent. I'm going to have to rent it to somebody else, but I got a bunch of their old robes on the floor in a pile in the meeting hall, and I was just wondering if you would be interested in buying them."
Remembering his threats years earlier to sell the Klan's robes as wiping rags, he tried to control his excitement. 'Where are you now?" asked Miller.
The caller replied, "I'm at the meeting hall," and gave Louis the address. The rag buyer was already grabbing for his hat and coat as he yelled into the phone, "Don't you leave! I'll be there in ten minutes. I'll buy them from you. I'll buy them all from you!"
On the short trip to the now defunct meeting hall he began having second thoughts about the price, "I want to buy them, but there's only so much I can pay for them to make them into wiping rags." But then he thought about what was really important to him. "It doesn't make any difference," he thought to himself, "no matter what he wants for them, I'm going to pay that. I'm going to get them. I'm going to do what I said I was going to do."
So Louis Miller, Jewish dealer in wiping rags, soon showed up at the former Klan meeting hall to buy a pile of Klan robes. With little dickering, the deal was struck. They shook hands with Louis telling the seller, "I'll send two or three men to the hall in about an hour to pick up the robes and I'll send you a check today."
Actually, if it had not been for the hate the robes represented they would have been quite attractive. Made out of white linen, the robes were decorated with large colorful embroidered dragons and Celtic crosses.
If people were wondering what a Jewish dealer wanted with Klan robes they soon found the answer. Every morning Miller would have an employee push a pallet loaded with Klan robes out to the space between the sidewalk and the street. They would remain there all day, every day as a reminder to people of what the robes really were--simply a pile of discarded rags.
Miller often sat in his office watching the reactions of people as they walked by. The robes were in a pile, but you could tell what they were because all of the embroidered Klan emblems. Some people would stare. Some would do a double-take. Some people simply hung their heads and pretended not to see the pile.
After a couple of months of displaying the robes, a friend of Miller's called. "Louie," the friend said, "I know that you said you were going to buy these robes and make them into wiping rags, and I know you've had a lot of fun displaying them. But you know, I was a member of the Klan. Don't you think you've had enough fun with those robes now?"
Miller responded to his friend's question with a question of his own: “Let me ask you this; are you asking me, or are you telling me?” His friend gently, and probably sheepishly, replied, "I'm asking you."
Louis said, "Well, OK, but if you were "telling" me, those damn things would stay on display for years! But we'll take them in and I'll do what I said I'd do with them."
One day, shortly after he agreed to stop displaying the robes, Louis received a call from a widow woman who was a friend of his and who had heard about the robes.
"Louie," she asked, "what are you going to do with the embroidered emblems?"
"Well, I guess I'll have to take those off before we make them into wiping rags." The robes were made out of first class white cotton, and they would make a premium grade of wiping rag.
The widow woman then explained her proposition. "If you send those uniforms out to my house, I'll take the emblems off them, and all you have to do is wash them and tear them up into wiping rags. I won't charge you anything, but I want the emblems."
Miller quickly agreed to the deal and had an employee take the robes out to her house.
One day, long after Louis got the robes back without the emblems, and long after all the Klan robes had been torn into wiping rags, Louis got a call from his friend, the widow woman. "Come by the house sometime and I'll show you what I did with the emblems."
A few hours later Miller was standing in the lady's house, in awe of her creation. Transforming the symbols of hate into a thing of beauty, she had sewn a gorgeous patchwork quilt out of the emblems. The biggest emblem was in the middle, surrounded by the next biggest emblems, and those surrounded by the next biggest in swirling, colorful profusion to the very edges of the quilt. As he stared at the woman's extraordinary creation he said, half to himself, "You know, I would have never thought that something so bad could be turned into something so beautiful."
The daughter of the woman who made the quilt now has it, and she still lives in Huntsville. Louis Miller, the young man who emigrated from Russia in search of freedom, died in 1966. The Tennessee Poultry and Hide Company is now known as L. Miller & Son, Inc., and is operated by Louis' son, Buddy, and Buddy's son, Sol.

Bad people doing bad things? Good people doing good things? What do we need?

To say that there is a lot of disagreement in the world today, including in the US, is an understatement. We also hear folks, sometimes including me, saying that those who say (and, especially, do) reprehensible things are bad people. But many religions, and indeed most folks who are thoughtful, would note that there is a distinction between what people say or even do and who they are. One formulation is “hate the sin, love the sinner”. Certainly, the Jesus Christ of the New Testament is a prime example of that approach, loving and caring for thieves, prostitutes, and other people who did “bad” things. It is disappointing, to say the least, that a very high proportion of those who claim to follow his teachings cannot even follow his example in supporting and caring for those who are victimized: the poor, the sick, the migrant.

But I still think that there is a point where doing bad things makes one a bad person. If you do enough bad things, and they are bad enough, and you consistently keep doing them despite knowing that they are bad, I think you are a bad person. Redeemable, perhaps. But bad. On the other hand, what about people who do good things? Does that make them good people? Do they have to do some minimum number of good things, that are good enough, with enough consistency? Some folks – most folks – do both good things and bad things. If you believe in a religion in which there is a final reckoning, they will be judged. If, like me, you don’t, you can do your own judging. Except mostly it’s beside the point, since there is little we can do to change others. I can laud the good things that people do and condemn the bad. I can be happy that we live in a world where so many people do good things, and sad that we live in a world where so many do bad ones. One theory of child rearing is to praise good behavior and ignore bad, hoping that will extinguish as a result. It is a nice theory, one that can translate to both adults and dogs, but it may not always work. And sometimes the bad behavior of children can be so dangerous, to themselves or others, that it is very difficult (and probably wrong) to just ignore it; it needs to be corrected. Adults, of course, should know better than to stick a fork in an electric outlet, but don’t seem to always be able to not drive crazily or drunk, or wave a loaded weapon around people, or abuse family and friends physically, sexually, or mentally.

Or even to not actively work to oppose those who are doing good. Some of the best things that people do (which might contribute to making them the best people) are to go out of their way to work to help those who are the most disadvantaged. An example, in my community of Tucson, are those who go out into the hot (or at night, especially in winter, cold) and arid deserts, leaving water for migrants who are wandering in remote areas with no water, and are in danger of dying. Two groups in particular do such good work that they need to be named: No More Deaths/No Mas Muertes and Samaritans, and there are others. But there are people who do not think this is good work. They blame migrants for a variety of things, and don’t want them to come into the US. They want the government to stop them. They want to stop them themselves. They want to stop the people who help them by providing water in the desert. Some of them are now out roaming the desert with weapons, looking not only for migrants but for those who try to keep them from dying. One member of Samaritans talked about the fear: “They carry guns. We carry water.”

I can’t know what motivates someone to not only think that it is a mistake to bring water to the desert, where desperate people who cannot pass at legal checkpoints are brought and abandoned by human coyotes to survive or not, but to also wish to stop – even at gunpoint – those others who are trying to help. The names of those helping groups are meaningful; No More Deaths is explicit. Samaritans refers to the parable in the book of Luke where a man beaten and left by robbers in the road is quickly passed by the “responsible people” of the community (a priest and a Levite), but helped when a Samaritan, a people generally disliked by the Hebrews, stops for him. The folks currently using that name try to emulate this. I am not sure who those who oppose and threaten them are trying to emulate. A recent article discussed how some Republican legislators, not just in Arizona but across the US, are attacking agencies like Casa Alitas, a project of Catholic Charities in Tucson, which has for many years provided a very temporary landing place for migrants legally dropped off by the CBP (Border Patrol); a bed and food and clothes and perhaps a ride to the airport or bus terminal to get to their ultimate destination. One politician from another state talked about the “secret” locations where these people are served. They are not secret, but they now need more security to protect not only migrants but volunteers. Of course, they are usually in poor and remote sections of town, but if the politician in question would like to offer up a facility near his home, I’m sure that there are organizations that would be grateful. 

I am reading a book called “Cooked” by Carol Karels, who started first as a nursing student and then as a nurse at Cook County Hospital in Chicago in 1971. I also worked there, in the late ‘70s as resident, and then in the ‘80s and ‘90s, so it is of personal interest to me. One theme is the contrasting descriptions of it – huge, poor, under-resourced, decrepit, a “terrible place” according to a LOOK magazine article she quotes. It is also, however, a place where Chicago’s many poor and uninsured could – and can – go for care. The waits were long, the resources limited, but people in need were not turned away, and got the best care those who worked there could provide. Karels’ mother was a volunteer who collected donated clothing and other goods and spoke of the nurses and doctors who worked in the hospital as “saints”. I wouldn’t say that, especially having been one – although there were some who really probably were – but they, we, were committed to the idea that everyone deserved the best care we could provide. And it often became political; the year before I started the interns and residents went on strike. Not for more money (which the County government would have understood!) but for things like EKG machines – and grounded electric outlets that could take their plugs – and resuscitation equipment, and people to draw blood for lab tests. The residents called these working conditions, which of course they were. And 12 residents went to jail when the County told them to go back to work. But I digress. A little.

I tried to do work that was good, and that helped people. I didn’t want to be or expect to be a saint, whatever that is, but I also didn’t want to be someone whose marginal benefit to society was minimal. So maybe the work that other doctors and me, and Carol Karels and other nurses, and her mother and other volunteers, made a difference in the lives of people. And maybe, if we hadn’t been doing it, others would have. Or maybe not. It is usually easy to find someone to do better-paid, better-perked, better status work.  

Anyway, I leave it to you to decide what is good and what is bad and doing how much of either makes the person doing it good or bad. But I know one thing: We need a lot more people doing a lot more good.

Should progressives vote? Of course!

In the 2022 election, the Arizona legislature continued to have the narrowest of Republican margins, 16-14 in the Senate and 31-29 in the House. As in the previous legislative session, where they had the same margin, it has not (and did not) keep them from passing the most viciously reactionary anti-person bills that they could. But there was a big difference. Arizona elected a Democratic Governor, who set a record vetoing many of these bills, including those almost banning abortion, forbidding treatment for trans children, decreasing funding for public schools while increasing private school vouchers, destroying the environment, etc.

It makes a big difference. And it demonstrates that voting IS important. I know a lot of people who say it doesn’t change the basic system, and it doesn’t, but it can make a real difference in preserving the non-fascist parts of that system, and importantly, in the lives of many Americans. A lot of the folks urging non-voting live in states that will go Democratic even if they, and their friends don’t vote, such as California, New York, Massachusetts, Maryland, Oregon, etc. And while few of them live in very “red” states, it may not matter there – they’ll go Republican anyway. But in “swing” states like Arizona it makes a big difference. While the GOP held their narrow margin in the legislature and even flipped two congressional seats (going from 5-4 Democratic in 2020 to 6-3 GOP in 2022) through gerrymandering, they cannot gerrymander the statewide vote; thus our Democratic governor – and Secretary of State and Attorney General and all statewide offices.

Of course, the Republicans can try to manipulate the vote, who is eligible to vote, and how the votes are counted (see “Kari  Lake”), disenfranchising many, and that is another big reason to turn out to vote and turn them out! It is bad enough that we have an undemocratic Electoral College resulting largely from an undemocratic allocation of Senate seats (Wyoming, population 585,000, has 2; California, population 39 million, has 2. And each of the 52 Congressional districts in California has more people than the whole state of Wyoming!) At this point we are still able to have non-gerrymandered statewide votes that elect better state officials and control the state electoral vote.

There are more states where this can make a difference than the “usual suspect” swing states of Arizona, North Carolina, Wisconsin, Michigan, Pennsylvania and maybe a couple of others. I used to live in deep “red” Kansas, where the legislature is overwhelmingly Republican, but the voters elected a Democratic governor, which they do sometimes to limit legislative excesses – because the governor is elected statewide and not subject to the gerrymandering of legislative districts.  And in 2022, 60% of votes in a statewide referendum rejected an anti-abortion amendment to the state constitution. In nearby Missouri, a former swing state, the GOP controls the legislature, governorship, and statewide offices, and has used their power to gerrymander and further limit the influence of urban centers like Kansas City and St. Louis. Other states, including Ohio, can be in the same situation. Referendums have had significant clout in many states like Arizona, which is, of course, why the legislature continues to try to overturn them, to make them harder to pass, and has even tried to outlaw them. Their approach is “if democracy doesn’t go your way, limit it”. And stack the courts. Twice in this 21^st century, 2000 and 2016, presidents have been elected with a minority of the popular vote, and at least in 2000, the election was essentially decided by the Supreme Court. For the first 20 years of this century, only once did a Republican win the popular vote (George Bush in 2004) but they have held the presidency for 12 of those years.

We need to continue the struggle for human rights, against climate change, against destruction of the environment, and for the rights of workers, drastically limiting the amount of control that corporations and billionaires have, and the wealth that they have that leads to that control. Voting for Democrats is not enough to make it happen. But it is the most likely method we have of maintaining a system that permits the organizing and other work to make progress, rather than criminalizing it.

"The reason for the season": Whatever our religion, we need peace and goodwill all year round!

The thing that I like best about the holiday season is the open and frequent call for “peace on earth” and “goodwill to people”(at one time, “men”). OK, at one time, many decades ago, I most liked the presents. Of course, the main “holiday” in the US is Christmas, a Christian celebration. But, as someone who is not a Christian, and was not brought up in any Christian church, I like those sentiments, expressed in Christmas cards and banners and the ubiquitous holiday movies like “A Christmas Carol” and its descendant “It’s a Wonderful Life” (Do you know how long it takes a working man to save $5000? A lot longer back in 1946!). What I hope that they mean is that Christianity, the dominant religion in the US values them.

It is important because it could, at most times of the year, be hard to identify these as the values held by the bulk of those who call themselves Christian. Peace, and goodwill, and empathy, and caring about others including strangers, are not – by a long shot – the dominant sentiments or behaviors we see among Americans (and others). War is big. Hate is big. Castigating and oppressing the other is big. Excluding, not welcoming, the stranger, is huge. Anger, rage, meanness, violence, and close-mindedness often seem to dominate the landscape.

While not Christian, I have read the New Testament, but more important have watched what many people who are Christians say and do in all seasons. There are many thousands who volunteer to help the needy, to feed them, to build houses for them, to offer both financial and moral support. In my area, southern Arizona, groups such as Samaritans, Humane Borders, and No More Deaths (No Mas Muertes) welcome the stranger and reach out, giving of themselves and taking real risks to help. As a doctor, I see others who travel around the world to impoverished countries and even war zones to offer their skills, usually at their own expense. These people are around all year, doing amazing things, motivated by their faith. I do not share their religion, but I am awed by the good works that they do. There are a lot of ads for St. Jude’s Hospital for Children on TV at this time of year. I knew that Danny Thomas, the late actor, was deeply involved in supporting it, but I looked it up and discovered that he founded it. And took responsibility for raising money to build it and to operate, and “never send a bill” to a patient or family. The former president and first lady Jimmy and Rosalynn Carter built houses for the needy with Habitat for Humanity.

There are many other examples of people whose actions demonstrate that they seek to emulate the Jesus of the New Testament who helps the sick and poor. Who commands his followers to treat their neighbor, and indeed the stranger, as themselves. Who reaches out and touches, not just heals, the leper, an act that would have made him unclean in those days. Who brings women into his ministry. Who turns over the tables of the moneylenders at the temple, and warns that it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to get into the kingdom of heaven.

It is quite remarkable that entire church structures have been built on principles at variance with, indeed in opposition to, those teachings and, more important, those actions throughout the history of the last 2000 years. Selling indulgences, passports for admission to Heaven for the rich? Crusades? Capital punishment? Hating the other? Excluding women from central roles? People of color? People with different gender and sexual identities? Fire and brimstone? Given that history, I guess it should not surprise me, then, that so many today who profess to be Christians in fact act on hate and intolerance rather than peace and good will. But it makes me sad.

When folks, I guess particularly Christians, want to justify hate, punishment, exclusion, and generally mean things, they turn away from the New Testament and cite the Old. That part of their Bible, the only Bible for Jews, is chock full of nasty and mean things that you are supposed to do to other people. Leviticus, the third book of the Torah (called the Pentateuch by Christians) is especially rich in meanness. It is where the proscription of men sleeping with men, for example, is found. Of course, there is a whole lot of other stuff proscribed, and to be punished with death (often with a specific type of death, such as stoning or burning – no guns, they didn’t have them, no lethal injections either). Chapter 20 is especially rife with things that folks should be put to death for. One of the most effective expositions of the selectivity with which many Christians choose the parts of that chapter to believe in and enforce is provided by the fictional US President Jeb Bartlet on the old TV show “The West Wing”, where he takes down an ostensible Bible fundamentalist by asking about how he should follow many of the less well-known commands therein. But, by the way, Leviticus also contains a lot of good stuff foreshadowing the teachings of Jesus in the 19^th chapter. Check it out. Some of that chapter is observed today only by the most Orthodox Jews (e.g., not cutting the hair at the sides of the head or the beard, Lev 19:27), but, relevant to today, there is Lev 19:34 “The foreigner residing among you must be treated as your native-born. Love them as yourself, for you were foreigners in Egypt.” This does not seem to be the dominant ideology around now.

A popular phrase not long ago was “What would Jesus do?”, abbreviated “WWJD?”. Taking it at face value, this is what those I have referred to above do. It is hard, reading about Jesus in the Gospels, to believe that he would not, in virtually in every situation or controversy, take the side of the poor against the rich, the powerless against the powerful, the peacemakers against the warmakers, the weak against the strong. It’d be great if that were what we saw that from most people, Christian or not.

There are rich people in the Bible, and I cannot find a call for them to be stoned to death per se. But they do not get the privilege and honor that they receive today. Today those who are billionaires and do not care about others, who keep hoards of wealth that neither they nor their dependents will be able to use while millions go hungry and homeless, are honored. But their behavior is despicable whatever religion or non-religion they subscribe do.

If they are Christian, they must be imagining a needle with a very big eye.

Teasing is never OK: Maybe we did learn that in kindergarten

In 1986, American minister Robert Fulghum wrote “Everything I need to know I learned in Kindergarten”, and it has been revised, reprinted, and widely quoted ever since. It is a good book, and has good insights, most of which are to a large degree wishful thinking – that is, they point to lessons regarding how to behave with others that were taught in kindergarten and should be observed by adults, but too often are not. If my mother was your kindergarten teacher, you learned this – and this was only one of the many ways you were very lucky to have her.

But, at an advanced age, I realize that many of the things that I – and IMO others – need to know was, if taught in kindergarten, not sufficiently emphasized, and we need a reminder. One particular example is teasing, making fun of other people and then, ostensibly, excusing it by saying “I was only teasing,” or “I was only joking,” as if that made it ok. Kind of like shooting someone and saying “I was only trying to wound, not to kill”.

The underlying postulate here, which it has taken me into old age to be sure (IMO) is correct, is that ANYTIME ANYONE says ANYTHING bad about you, it hurts. Maybe more, maybe less; maybe you get over it soon and forget about it, or maybe it sticks around making you feel at least a little (or maybe a lot) bad for a long time. Maybe your whole life. It never makes you feel good, and, contrary to what is sometimes said, it doesn’t even matter if it is true, a little bit true, or completely false. People saying something negative or critical to or about you feels bad.

Of course, there are times when this is intentional. Any criticism of what you do or did, whether at school, or at work, or in your personal life, feels a little bad. And if that is the intent of the critic, it is a separate (but important) issue, not exactly the one I am dealing with here. Sometimes people are doing something wrong (or “wrong”) at their job and need to be corrected, and if it feels a little bad, then that is the price to be paid. Or sometimes the critic is just mean, in general or to the person being criticized. But if the intention is to hurt, I can’t argue that you shouldn’t do it because it might hurt. I guess.

I realized in the work environment that, sincerity aside, when someone says something good about you it feels at least a little good and when someone says something bad it feels at least a little bad. If your boss compliments you, even if it feels insincere (like they just came from a managements seminar where they were told “compliment your employees”) it still feels a little good. And if someone says something mean or critical that you know to be totally untrue and coming from the ignorance, meanness, or vindictiveness of the critic and is without real value, it still feels a little bad. And, of course, the mean and vindictive (and, to be sure, the incompetent who may have no other weapon) know that it does.

But what I am concerned about here is when the critic is (or says they are) not intending to be mean or hurt, but are “only” teasing. There is no “only” teasing. It always hurts, a little or a lot, and the teaser is as guilty of being mean as if they consciously meant to be, and hurt the other person – which often is the case. 

Maybe (probably) folks will say “Oh, lighten up! People need to be able to take criticism! Don’t be so thin skinned!”. Maybe, or maybe not. People should be able to learn from criticism. Especially (and this is too often ignored) if they ask for it. If it is constructive criticism, if it is meant to help someone to do their job better, if it is carefully and specifically stated, if there is in fact something that the person being criticized can do to address the issue (a really important point! Criticizing someone for something they cannot do anything, say a physical or hereditary characteristic is always bad, and never “just” teasing!) then it can be useful. 

But just criticizing? Just teasing? Just making fun of someone? That can never be good.

And maybe I did learn that in kindergarten and forgot. We all need to remember.

Military anthems, militarism, and our youth

 “From the halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli”

Most of us have known these lyrics to the “Marine Hymn” since childhood. Or I guess we have. It is entirely possible that, for a variety of reasons, the service anthems are no longer being taught in elementary schools, maybe not for decades, and kids are not learning them elsewhere. Of course, when we learned them (3^rd grade? 4^th?) we had no idea what those lyrics meant, what the ‘halls of Montezuma’ or the ‘shores of Tripoli’ were. Montezuma was dead for several hundred years when the Marines stormed Chapultepec Castle in Mexico City in 1847 during the Mexican War. There was great loss of life on the Marines’ side (and undoubtedly on the Mexican) and ostensibly the “blood stripe” on Marines’ trousers honors them. It was brave for these Marines on an individual and group basis, but it nonetheless true that they were part of an alien military force invading another country. Also, it was a while before I realized it was ‘Montezuma’ and not ‘Montezulema’, since the actual name is one syllable too short to scan and requires holding the “u” for two beats (“Mon-te-zu-u-ma”). It was even earlier, in 1805, that the Marines invaded Tripoli, on the ‘Barbary Coast’ of North Africa, to remove the Barbary pirates that had been attacking American shipping. And conquer the country.

OK, the rest of the song is comprehensible, if (unsurprisingly) exceedingly macho; that’s the nature of service anthems. But the other anthems had their issues also. The Army’s is called “The Caissons Go Rolling Along”, and we dutifully learned it, but never were told what ‘caissons’ were. None of us had any idea. Turns out that they were horse-drawn carriages that carried cannons and ammunition. Hadn’t been used in WWII. So an explanation would have been helpful. I understand that the lyrics have now changed to “the Army goes rolling along”. At least it scans.

The other word no one explained was “aweigh” as in “Anchors Aweigh”, the Navy song. I imagine we all thought it was “away”, and assumed that if the ships were going to sail they had to get rid of the anchors, so put them away. This makes at least as much sense as the actual archaic word, aweigh. The other thing about the Navy song, which I certainly didn’t recognize as a kid, is that it is obviously a college song from the US Naval Academy, apparently for the class of 1907, and thus a song for the officers rather than a song the Navy’s sailors. (“Farewell to college joys, we sail at break of day – ay – ay – ay” – another scanning problem.) It is also a drinking song, which I assume regular sailors can share with USNA students.

The Air Force song, “Off We Go Into the Wild Blue Yonder” was much more comprehensible, probably because it was 20^th-century. Maybe we even knew what “yonder” meant. The original lyrics were changed from “Nothing can stop the Army Air Corps” to “US Air Force” when the independent service was established. Although my father was in the Army, he was actually in what was the Army Air Corps at the time.

The final service anthem, from the oldest service, the US Coast Guard (which is the only one not part of the Defense Department, having landed in Homeland Security after a few other locations), is also pretty easy to understand, once you get past the title which is the Coast Guard motto and in Latin, “Semper Paratus”, always ready. It, like the Air Force, has a reference to dying (“to fight and die”; the Air Force has “go down in flame”), which the others lack, despite the definite possibility thereof.

Back in the late 1950s there was no audible controversy about promoting militarism and a simplistic flag-waving version of patriotism in our public schools. Our dress code included ties for little boys, and on Assembly Days, blue pants, white shirt, and red tie! I definitely remember an Assembly program put on by our 3^rd-grade (I’m sure of this; I remember the teacher) class, in which each of us participating stood up on stage and read from a short script that said “My father was in the Army (Navy, etc.). He served for X months.” Maybe there was another line. Anyway, obviously some kids couldn’t participate. Their fathers were not in the military. Maybe they were disabled and 4F, or were serving in a critical domestic role, or otherwise were ineligible for WWII. Given our age, born about 4 years after the war, none of them could have died in WWII, although it is not impossible that some could have been killed in Korea, a war begun when we were infants, or certainly later died from other causes; indeed I know this to have been the case for some kids.

So it was pretty unthinking, unfeeling, and inappropriate for our teacher (and by assent, the school) to make these kids feel left out and as if their fathers were “lesser”. But it was, and probably still is, part of an effort to encourage military service. It may have backfired for our generation, since in young adulthood many of us resisted and resented the current use of military force, in Vietnam, but it is a useful thing for a society that now depends upon an all-volunteer force that doesn’t think too much about where they are being sent or why.

A recent Facebook post making the rounds professes to be from a teen, and asks for good parenting because their brain is not yet fully developed however “smart” they appear to be. This is, in fact, true; the last part of the cerebral cortex to develop, in the mid 20s, is the frontal lobe, where making connections, coming to good judgements, and exercising “executive function” resides. This is why a young people, however smart they are or how much they know, still often make incomprehensibly bad decisions. (“When you drove into that intersection, what were you thinking?” “Thinking?”) It is also why they can be brave, violent, reckless with their own lives, and very obedient to authority, thus making good soldiers.

However, don’t ask me why adults, well past their mid-20s, make incomprehensibly bad decisions. That is a whole other story.

 

 

Red, yellow, cherry, lemon and cars in primary colors

I seem to like red now. Not red as in “communist” (although maybe that as well) or certainly red as in Republican (which I abhor), but just the color. My car is red, and if I get another one, red is certainly a preference. Hard to find; all cars these days seem to be various shades of beige and gray. Except in Tucson where they are mostly white, to reflect the sun. It is a beige world, but I like primary colors. I wouldn’t mind a royal blue car, and I thought that the FJ Cruiser in yellow looked cool, much better than the baby poop green that is also popular now, especially in Priuses, but probably red.

I’m wearing red, all layers on my upper body today. My old red windbreaker, with the many pockets and hood and elastic strings with plastic pressure clips on the end hanging down. Very good jacket, old and still the best. My fleece is red, thin, says KU Family Medicine. In red. A little stretched out at the wrists, and Pat doesn’t like it, but it is comfortable and not too heavy. Good for inside. And today a red t-shirt, once my father’s, ironically in fact with the logo “Sure, I’m a Marxist”, with pictures of Marxes: Chico, Harpo, Groucho, and...Karl. 

When I was a kid red was definitely not my favorite color. Red was everyone else’s favorite color. Perhaps that was why it was not mine; mine was yellow. I think, however, in addition to iconoclasm, it had to do with the flavor of candies. My favorite flavor in candies – Life Savers, Jujyfruits, Chuckles, Tootsie Roll pops (or any lollipops), popsicles, anything with flavor (of course there were candies like Necco Wafers which had different colors but essentially undistinguishable tastes, mostly dust-flavored) was lemon, and lemon candies were yellow. Red candies were cherry, and I didn’t like those that much, and it was pretty convenient because people were always willing to trade me their yellows for my reds. Of course, there were sometimes when you’d get fooled and a yellow one would be pineapple, or a red one would be strawberry or raspberry. Although I remember learning that blue popsicles – which we called “blue” as if it were a flavor – were raspberry. That tasted a lot better (to me) than cherry. This bled (ooh! blood is red!) over into colors in general; I liked yellow, everyone else liked red.

Later in life, maybe as a teen or young adult, I realized that I loved the flavor of actual cherries, ripe bing cherries, and also realized that that flavor was virtually nothing at all like the imitation cherry flavor in candies and popsicles. Maybe that is where I became more accepting of red as a color, and started buying red cars. They’re much more common than yellow anyway!

And now, to be honest, my favorite color is probably purple, deep purple, and likely always was. It is also my grandson’s favorite color, so we share that in common. And apparently royalty back in the day. Poor conches.