A Battle over History

Over the last several weeks, since the shooting in South Carolina, there has been increasing cries for the taking down of the Confederate battle flag.  This past week, members of both parties in the South Carolina legislature with support from people across racial and political lines lowered the Confederate battle flag for the last time.  One can argue for the meaning of the symbol and there are certainly different interpretations, but what must be agreed upon is that it was time.  Yet, this does not allow for a blanket Confederate application.   

Throughout American history, South Carolina has stood as one of the most obdurate states in the Union.  In 1828, it threatened to succeed over the issue of a tariff passed by the John Quincy Adams administration.  First in 1856 and then in 1860, it threatened to succeed over a possible election of a Republican.  When Abraham Lincoln won in 1860, South Carolina carried out its threat in the following month.  For over a century, the state has been defiant over federal encroachment.  So, it is fitting that it is only South Carolina that should determine when to lower the flag. 

However, my stance on the flag does not extend to all things Confederate.  Recently, Baltimore officials and those throughout the state are having a conversation about removing all symbols and references to the Confederacy, including statues and other memorials dedicated to Confederate soldiers and leaders.  As a history teacher, I have a particular problem with this for a couple of reasons.

One, the monuments are to the fallen; those considered by the U.S. government as veterans.  The idea that some officials, including the embattled mayor of Baltimore, would do away with the dedication to those who fell during the Civil War is shocking and an affront.  Our monuments do not take into account the personal beliefs of those honored – merely considering their dedication and willingness to sacrifice for their country.  Such measures are unacceptable and should outrage Americans. People want to get rid of a statue of Robert E. Lee – why?  Because he fought with a belief in slavery?  So did some in the North.  The North was not a paragon of racial equality and harmony.  Should we get rid of those statues and monuments as well?

Two, this is an attack on history.  One cannot wipe away the history of an era simply because one does not like it.  History is replete with those who seek to alter or abolish history and typically, such people are numbered as some of the worst dictators and tyrants.  What is being considered here sets an abhorrent precedent that leaves history to the whims of fancy.  In their minds, Baltimore officials may think they are striking a blow against prejudice and hatred but what they are actually doing is robbing a people of a history that is never perfect and never pure.  History’s “humanness” is in its imperfection, its constant struggle to get things right.  To judge the past by the standards of the present is to write off much of our past.

The battle flag is a symbol resurrected during the mid-20^th century to represent not the South but the worst of its character.  The abolition of the flag from public buildings and events is right.  The wish to alter or wipe out the past by taking down statues and monuments to those who served and died for the South is ridiculous.  Once a group of people take it upon themselves to edit that history which they find objectionable, we are indeed in dangerous territory.  We risk losing ourselves when we lose our history.

Addressing Baltimore

I’ve been debating how and in what vein to write about my hometown of Baltimore.  The fact that the city I love now belongs to a rather nefarious alumni of cities with civil and social unrest surrounding the death of a black man in police custody is enough to make me shake my head.  As I watched the events of a week ago today, I felt sick to my stomach.  I felt for the family of the young man who died and felt angry at the people who took it as a moment of opportunism.  There is much that needs to be addressed in Baltimore and there is plenty of blame to go around.

Issue 1 – Jurisprudence.  The six police officers who have been charged in the death of Freddy Gray need a fair trial.  I understand the demands of justice but what will happen if justice as the protestors sees it is not realized?  If, in their hearts, the protestors are demanding a conviction, that is not justice but a railroading the likes of which the black community have dealt with throughout their history.  In order for justice to be served, the police officers need a fair hearing, a legitimate legal counsel and an honest deliberation by the jury – and the Baltimore community must accept it. 

Issue 2 – The race paradigm.  If the six police officers’ indicted are indeed found to be responsible, protestors need to rethink how this issue is being characterized.  The recent incidents of police officers and young black men have been found to have as much to do with idiocy and incompetence as racism.  Yet, the death of Mr. Gray was initially framed as a race issue.  How will it be portrayed now that half of the accused officers are black?  The race issue was used to inflame the situation into the inferno of Monday and if racism is not a part of it, it needs to be removed from the dialogue so that a more productive, less toxic conversation can be held. 

Issue 3 – The faults.  Various black community leaders in Baltimore and interested observers have suggested that this incident needs to be a catalyst towards permanent change and reform.  I whole heartedly agree.  However, changes are required all around.  The police department certainly needs to get its house in order if the charges prove to be accurate.  City officials need to be more consistent in how it helps those in need and how it provides the means of citizens to help themselves.  The black community also needs to change what it is doing in the name of civil rights.  One can’t look at the last forty years and declare it is entirely the government’s problem.  The black community has soul searching to do in addressing problems surrounding the family, community and personal responsibility. 

Issue 4 – The perception problem.  In recent days, there has been a conversation (more a diatribe) on the characterization of the looters and rioters.  Some officials and community leaders have lashed out over the term “thugs” being used about those in question.  I’ve mentioned in other forums that those who cannot even honestly discuss an issue are not likely to solve it.  One could call it ballet but it comes down to the same thing – there needs to be a blunt and direct conversation over what happened and how to move on from here.  The word thug is no more racist than door but has only taken on those dimensions because of the characterization of young black men and women taking part in destroying their own block, neighborhood and city.  Stop trying to find ways of being offended and start helping the situation.  I said start because this tactic is helping no one. 

I know the city of Baltimore will rebound from this.  Our city is more than what one sees on The Wire or on the evening news.  There are beautiful neighborhoods, communities, culture, food, history and heritage.  The city is filled with good people, many of whom were out the day after the riots cleaning up and reclaiming.  However, remarks that much is left be done are absolutely right.  There must be honest efforts to ensure everyone has the chance to do well.  Baltimore has had rough periods in its history before.  It will need to rise again as worthy of the anguish that has poured out of people the last week.  Still, to paraphrase a famous line, there is nothing wrong with Baltimore that cannot be fixed with what is right about Baltimore.      

Why We Need Radio

When I was young, I had a radio on my bed side table.  At night, I would turn it on and listen.  Sometimes, I would tune in to local DJs in the Baltimore area but on some magical nights, my little bed side radio could pull in voices from Pittsburgh, Philadelphia and New York.  I fell asleep to voices reading the news or sports, talking to strange callers or playing music but I had to have a radio on – still do.  Predictions about the end of radio have been constant but radio persists and thrives. 

There were several things that drew me to radio.  One was the power of the voice.  The right voice can draw you in and spin a web you don’t want to leave.  I’m fascinated with voices and there are some I can listen to all day.  Dick Cavett has one of those voices.  He could be reading the ingredients from a milk carton and I would be riveted.  The voice can be a powerful tool and as a teacher, I’m conscious of my voice and how I come across to my students.   

When I worked in radio years ago, I wanted to have a signature voice – something people listened to just because it was me.  At the same time, it couldn’t be fake.  I’m speaking of both the voice and the meaning behind it.  That is what makes the Morning Zoo format that became so popular in the 1980s so appalling.  The fake congeniality and laughter distorted the most honest thing about radio – the voice.  It wasn’t just its fabrication but also the perversion of its honesty. 

The second thing that drew me to the radio was the feeling that the personalities were free – they could do as they pleased and seemed to be having a great deal of fun.  Growing up in Baltimore, I had a plethora of people I gravitated towards in the city.  WIYY or 98 Rock was a mainstay for young people, envious of the DJs who played music all day and goofed off in the process.  Chuck Thompson was the great voice of the Baltimore Orioles and he was, like Dick Cavett, possessing of a voice that could draw my hyperactive self to a stand-still.  His successor, Jon Miller, was just as magical and both projected the sense they had the perfect life and job.    

However, in something only radio can do, I could pull in stations beyond my burgh.  My immature teenage mind was taken by the Greaseman in Washington, D.C.  In other locales, Scott Ferrall in Pittsburgh and Don Imus in New York came through my radio and drew me in.  Ferrall on the Bench is and was one of the more pioneering baffling radio shows because certainly his voice had to be faked but it wasn’t.  Don Imus was the anti-Stern – irreverent but smarter.  Stern never fascinated me like the curmudgeon Imus.  As Mr. Imus’ show changed from “shock jock” antics to a more political and social satire, it fell in line with my political maturation and I was hooked.  When he landed on television, I watched but it was not the same as radio.  Of course, one of my other political teachers was the irreverent conservative radio giant, Rush Limbaugh.   

When one combines the radio qualities of the voice and the freedom of the medium, one comes to the third reason I was always drawn to radio – the use of my imagination.  As a teacher, I see that our students are not nearly as imaginative as they once were because they are not asked to be.  With radio, in trying to visualize the DJ’s antics and the broadcast of sports, imagination is key to truly understanding what is happening.  I still prefer baseball on the radio.  When they say the voice paints the picture, that picture develops in your mind.  Oriole broadcaster Chuck Thompson helped me “see” what was happening on the field.   

 

The point is that radio, often declared dead, has maintained a force in modern media and there is a reason for that tenacity.  My hope is that it is not just older people like me keeping radio alive.  It is a medium of the spoken word – not the image.  That alone places it in stark contrast with most modern media.  The spoken word requires thought – if not from the people on the radio then those listening.  It is the most intimate form of media and requires the most from the receiver.  That alone makes radio deserving of a future.

My First Heartbreak

Under certain circumstances, profanity provides a relief denied even to prayer.
            Mark Twain

Have you ever had your heart broken?  I’m not talking about the unrequited love of a woman or man who did not know you existed or would later prove unworthy of your affections.  I’m talking about the kind of love that was born and fostered with attention, nurtured through time and strengthened through ecstasy and adversity.  Then, they meet someone younger, sexier and all the years, all the tribulations and exaltations are defenestrated as if they never existed – as if they never meant anything at all.  On 28 March 1984, Baltimore Colts owner Robert Irsay, emboldened by greed, spite and alcohol, brought Mayflower moving trucks into the Colts Training Complex in the middle of a snowy night and ripped the heart out of a city.  I know because I was there…crying. 

My wife thinks I need to get over this but I was fourteen years old, growing up in my beloved Baltimore.  I lived in an apartment building in Owings Mills and delivered newspapers to my complex, as well as the slightly nicer ones behind me.  Because of our proximity to the Colts training facility, I had several Colts along my route.  From time to time, Colt players could be seen walking along store fronts or running the track of the nearby middle school.  I once was given a ride home by the great Joe Washington as I left school early, sick.  We watched the games every Sunday and occasionally, we traveled to Memorial Stadium to see them in person.  The players were a part of us and though I lived in a time when that was beginning to change, my world and that of the city’s fans was centered on the Baltimore Colts.   

There was talk about Robert Irsay not being happy with the situation in Baltimore.  The team was not at its best and the fan turnout was not as robust.  There was talk by the mayor, William D. Schaefer, who sought a way of placating the cantankerous owner.  There was an embarrassing scene at the airport when the mayor met the owner, recently arrived from, if reports were to be believed, Arizona.  Were the Colts moving?  A drunken Irsay demanded to know who was saying such things.  He wanted to know who would suggest he was meeting with other cities.  He lashed out at the reporters and, worse yet, the city and Colts fans.  He said if he had been supported by the city and its citizens, none of these stories would have materialized.   

Then, one morning, the city awoke to news reports live from Owings Mills and the training center, the last remnants of our love affair strewn around the parking lot and vacated practice fields in the form of random cars and abandoned equipment.  The team had moved to Indianapolis.  Employees who had worked for the team for decades arrived at the office, only to find their job no longer existed.  I kept looking at my father, trying to understand what was happening but he looked at me sadly.  He had no answers.  No one did.  Mayor Schaefer, who had tried to organize the city legislature to pass a law to keep the team from leaving until negotiations were complete, faced the cameras with tears in his eyes and little in the way of explanation.  He was as dumbstruck as the rest of the city.   

The Baltimore Colts were no more.  Instead, the team, its history and tradition, now rested in a city where, as famed Baltimore reporter John Steadman once said, the best bagel in town could be found in the frozen foods section of the local Piggly Wiggly.  The Mayflower moving company went out of business in Maryland.  I did not know they were still around until a trip to Texas left me gobsmacked as I saw a green and gold monstrosity drive down the interstate.   

Watching them on television in the subsequent years was like watching your ex-girlfriend stepping out with her new guy.  With the Baltimore Ravens in town now, my allegiance has shifted and my new love is great.  Still, from time to time, I look at the old one and wonder what could have been.  If you are not from Baltimore or a sports fan, this post will make no sense.  These are simply the memories of a scarred teenager who could not make sense of the world around me.  Sometimes, I still can’t. 

A Love Letter to Baltimore

I’m from Baltimore, Maryland. The city and its history and quirky nature shaped and formed my development. I’ve lived in the city and I’ve lived in the suburbs. I’ve eaten the coddies and I’ve devoured the crab cakes. I swam the waters and walked the trails. I’ve celebrated the ecstasy of the Orioles winning the World Series in 1983 and suffered the depression of my beloved Colts leaving for Indianapolis the next year. I’ve suffered the comments about Homicide and the characterizations of a city on decline – an antiquated member of the Rust Belt. I’ve heard it all but I know the truth. Baltimore is a great city and I’d like to tell a few of the reasons why the city stays with me to this day.

I’m in love with the neighborhoods and indeed, it is the soul of the city. I think of the Greektown where my parents took me to the shops and little eateries and they bought me my first komboloi or worry beads. As a kid, I was mesmerized by the different accents, different looks, different smells and different items for sale. Since those days as a small boy, even though I’m not Greek or particularly worrisome, I’ve always had my komboloi. It was the nature of these neighborhoods that have shaped my life – one in constant search for new ways, new ideas and new cultures to explore. To this day, accents fire my imagination and it was my upbringing in Baltimore that instilled that in me.

The fact that I’m a history teacher cannot be separated from my hometown. Likely the most important historical point of the city is Fort McHenry – the place bombarded by the British in the War of 1812 and the scene of the writing of the Star Spangled Banner. Fells Point is a neighborhood more known today as a chic hang out but this was once an area for the working man and the history surrounding the shipping industry in the city was based here. Even today, the area’s buildings and small alleyways are a reminder that this was once a residential area with a handful of bars and a multitude of dock workers. The first monument to the country’s first president is not in the capital but in Baltimore, in the historic Mount Vernon neighborhood. These places and others were the destination of many a field trip and in part, shaped my life and career.

And, I remember the food. I remember my father taking me to the Lexington Market – the largest indoor market in the United States. He would take me to a greasy spoon café near the back to get breakfast on Saturdays. It was fattening and, to the uninitiated, a bit gross but it was delicious – scrambled eggs and corn beef hash were the food of the gods. There was a great German restaurant called Hausner’s, known as much for its incredible art collection than its great food. I treasured the times in Little Italy eating at Chiapparelli’s or Mug's but always ending at the famous and wonderful bakery – Vacarro’s. Whatever you wanted, whatever cuisine you craved, it could be found in Baltimore.

To many, Baltimore is beleaguered by crime (though, what major city isn’t), overshadowed by sexier nearby destinations (Washington or Philadelphia) and home to a struggling baseball team. However, it is the city that molded me and a city that stays with me. It always will.