In the late 19th century, as Native American reservations faced dissolution at the soiled hands of White settlers, the Catholic Church decided to establish boarding schools for Indian children. The purpose was an ill-fated effort to assimilate, involuntarily, indigenous youth and decimate their culture.

It was cruel. Schooling by the Catholic Church intended to impose its values and behavioral expectations on people who only wished to be left alone, without thoughtless interference.

I first learned about this ugly episode in American history when my daughter Kate and family lived in Bend, OR. When we would visit the High Desert Museum, just outside Bend, we would find our interest drawn to an exhibit about the abysmal boarding schools.

To our dismay, information gathered after our visit was crystal clear in detailing the abuse imposed by priests and nuns on children uninterested in assimilation. The implication was hurtful: only if you were forced to adopt the White culture and the Catholic religion would you act civilly and become integrated outside your reservation.

Does it seem holier-than-thou?

Indeed, in an arrogant and malevolent way. It was social engineering at its worst and ugliest.

Just two weeks ago, the U.S. Conference Bishops issued an official apology. The group acknowledged the injurious impact on families ripped apart by the trauma of losing children to board schools. The bishops apologized for the drug abuse, ‘“neglect and abandonment”’ that consequently imbued Native American reservations.

This onerous program scarred our country from 1860 to 1978. Our government was a player too.

According to a New York Times article, more than 500 boarding schools—87 operated by the Catholic Church—viewed assimilation as a worthy idea. It contributed to a culture torn apart by forced dislocation and misguided thinking.

The apology seems late and lackluster. The damage is done, grievously so. Mea culpas like this one are useless.

Why did the bishops even make a lame effort? I can only guess that the conference issued an apology to complement the one offered by Pope Francis during his visit in 2022 to Canada for the similarly inhumane treatment of Indigenous people by the Canadian government. And assuaged its own guilt.

I wonder why the Catholic Church thought it wise to try to assimilate Native American children. Build the flock? Spread the gospel, so to speak? Project themselves as the arbiters of White behavior and values?

As I pose these questions, I become disgusted by the hubris, as well as the documented abusive treatment of children yanked from their homes. The reasoning wreaked of destructive self-importance, missionary zeal and racism.

To the Catholic Church and the U.S. government, the indigenous children were inferior human beings for whom assimilation was their only hope to escape a second-class existence as perceived ill-advisedly by the church. According to a U.S. Department of Interior in 2022. At least 500 Alaska Native, American Indian and Native Hawaiian died at the schools.

At the risk of seeming overly harsh of the Catholic Church and its inhumane treatment of indigenous people, with government complicity, I must commend its intention to heal its relationships with Native American tribes in the United States and Canada. For that, it deserves credit.

I would hope, however, that the church, under siege for its sexual abuse over the years of children, would work to improve living conditions on the reservations. Say sorry with conviction. For example, gambling addiction tied to the increased number of casinos demands attention. I do understand the economic benefit of legalized gambling to Native American tribes.

While atonement for sins trumps denial, action to address lingering social problems must happen.

Columnist Howard Freedlander retired in 2011 as Deputy State Treasurer of the State of Maryland. Previously, he was the executive officer of the Maryland National Guard. He also served as community editor for Chesapeake Publishing, lastly at the Queen Anne’s Record-Observer. After 44 years in Easton, Howard and his wife, Liz, moved in November 2020 to Annapolis, where they live with Toby, a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel who has no regal bearing, just a mellow, enticing disposition.

What did Willie Mays and Donald Sutherland have in common? Nothing.

Except an overriding desire to excel in each’s craft.

Mays was a true wonder to watch as he dominated baseball with an innate ability to hit well, exhibit acrobatic feats in centerfield and steal bases. His glove work in the wide expanse of centerfield was something to behold.

Mays was the whole package, a star in the baseball constellation. He embodied an unparalleled flair.

Sutherland was an oddball actor with huge ears who filled the cinematic screen with artistic antics that drew audiences to his idiosyncratic roles. Who can forget his acting in “The Dirty Dozen” or “M.A.S.H.”?

Sutherland carved out his persona, not as a leading man, but as a first-team supporting actor. He, too, was special.

Both died this week. Mays was 93. Sutherland was 88.

Three friends in their late 70s, two raised in and around New York City and the other in Oklahoma City, engaged enthusiastically in email chatter this week about Mays and his amazing athleticism. The baseball nostalgia was infectious( and devoid of politics). Periodically I would interject, in vain, to effuse about Cal Ripken and Brooks Robinson in “who’s the best in baseball annals?”

Mays was the emailers’ primary choice. I watched from the digital sidelines. Memories of heroes fade, but not disappear.

One of my NYC friends shared a story about a visit that Willie Mays made to this friend’s former elementary school in 1973. I suppose it ran in a school magazine. The short narrative was more about the school cook, who had dated Mays, a Harlem native, in their teens, than about the baseball great. She dominated the welcome party and the gracious Mays’ attention.

As Hawkeye Pierce in M.A.S.H., a movie set in Korea during the Korean War, Sutherland portrayed a gifted surgeon who irreverently flouted Army rules while pursuing nurses with abandon. His devil-may-care attitude and prankish behavior masked his hatred of war. He had no respect for authority.

While Mays sought perfection, Sutherland mastered the art of humor. If a movie were a canvas filled with bright colors and dark clouds, Sutherland sought to project an off-color presence, a thorn in the side of conventional conduct.

Had Sutherland performed in a baseball movie, he would have faced the pitcher dressed outlandishly, brandishing a bat as if it were a sword to puncture the deadly serious duel between the batter and the hurler.

Modern-day baseball offers amazing athletes to the appreciative public. But few, if any, measure up to the incomparable Willie “Say Hey” Mays.

The world of commercial film, informed by talented actors, is bereft of an iconic performer like Donald Sutherland. He was determined to imbue his characters with the vision of creative directors and his inimitable style.

Columnist Howard Freedlander retired in 2011 as Deputy State Treasurer of the State of Maryland. Previously, he was the executive officer of the Maryland National Guard. He also served as community editor for Chesapeake Publishing, lastly at the Queen Anne’s Record-Observer. After 44 years in Easton, Howard and his wife, Liz, moved in November 2020 to Annapolis, where they live with Toby, a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel who has no regal bearing, just a mellow, enticing disposition.

In his commencement speech on May 19 at Brandeis University, renowned filmmaker Ken Burns identified the real culprit in the poisonous mix of tribal polarization in our nation: us.

We are the enemy of racial, religious and cultural harmony in our not so united country. We expend unproductive time demonizing “others,” those people who think, look and act differently.

We find ourselves shackled by self-imposed chains and barriers, unwilling to see the goodness of others who simply disagree with us. They become “them.” They become our enemies. If friends and family, they become estranged, emotionally, if not physically pushed aside.

I am guilty too. I wish it wern’t so. But truth hurts.

In email traffic with treasured friends, politics emerges as a treacherous battleground. When right-wing friends offer their conservative thoughts to me, I sometimes lash out. I add fuel to an already boiling cauldron of opposing perspectives.

I regret my angry response. I fail to respect another viewpoint. I forsake my predilection for civility. I set a verbal trap for myself and find it inescapable momentarily. I first apologize to myself and then to my friend.

Tribal thoughts enslaved me. I added to the destructive dialogue that engulfs our country.

In his 21-minute speech, Burns said, “But it is clear as individuals and as a nation, we are dialectically preoccupied. Everything is either right or wrong, red state or blue state, young or old, gay or straight, rich or poor, Palestinian or Israeli, my way or the highway.

“Everywhere we are trapped by these old, tired binary reactions, assumptions, and certainties.”

“Othering” is a national disease as insufferable as a pandemic. It afflicts the soul. It hardens sensitivities. It blocks us from listening and liking. It is easier to hate and harass. We find it difficult, if not impossible to understand and respect a person who dares to voice a political or cultural opinion that conflicts with ours.

Consequently, we isolate ourselves. Our tribal connections strengthen. Our ties to proponents of counter-arguments weaken. We fail to build or sustain relationships.

If one listens, wisdom does flow from commencement speeches, a rite of passage for graduates, their parents, siblings and friends. I enjoy them. The candor is refreshing.

I listened to Burns on YouTube. He hit a home run for this oft-impatient consumer of information.

As a filmmaker of documentaries such as “The Civil War,” “Benjamin Franklin,” “Hemingway,” “The Viet Nam War” and “Baseball,” he understands our imperfect human condition.

Good and bad.

Columnist Howard Freedlander retired in 2011 as Deputy State Treasurer of the State of Maryland. Previously, he was the executive officer of the Maryland National Guard. He also served as community editor for Chesapeake Publishing, lastly at the Queen Anne’s Record-Observer. After 44 years in Easton, Howard and his wife, Liz, moved in November 2020 to Annapolis, where they live with Toby, a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel who has no regal bearing, just a mellow, enticing disposition.

As the school year has ended for U.S. colleges and universities, I hope that academic leaders closely examine their culture of tolerance and codes of conduct. Their decisions will be telling, if not determinative of the future.

Protests,  encampments, anti-semitism and poor behavior have marked schools throughout the country. Local police have had to intervene. Congressional committee members grilled Ivy League presidents with lack of disrespect and disdain.

Some alumni foreswore their loyalty and donations. They publicly castigated the colleges and universities they presumably loved.

Though I have found alumni reaction misguided, if not arrogant, I understood why lack of leadership in condemning anti-semitism and protecting the safety of Jewish students rankled alumni. My fealty, however, is rock-solid, though shaken a bit.

At my alma mater, the University of Pennsylvania, I gladly received as an alumnus, actionable recommendations to create a climate of tolerance toward Jews, Palestinians, African Americans, Asians and students of other creeds. I was disappointed to learn, however, from a campus official that the newly revised code of conduct, a foundational necessity, would not require a signature for reasons known only to lawyers.

During orientation for all new students, it must be the first order of business. It cannot be a nice sidebar. Call it an honor code, call it an acceptance of common values. It requires more than bureaucratic lip service. Not only staffers, but faculty, trustees and alumni leaders must sign a document and be accountable for its behavioral standards.

The great nation-builder, Ben Franklin, founded Penn. He injected his well-defined sense of pragmatism into the curriculum. He sought usefulness. I cannot vouch for his affinity for the classics.

I opine that Dr. Franklin, though a revolutionary leader, would have considered the protests and consequent disruption of studious conduct antithetical to an opportunity for intellectual enrichment. Simply, he would have been sorely disappointed. He expected much of himself and others.

Leaders like Ben Franklin are hard to find nowadays. Nonetheless, college and university presidents must display moral clarity and ensure that protests are short-lived, if not prohibited, as is now the case at Penn. For the common good of all students seeking a degree. And in deference to the surrounding community that must endure immature actions.

Some may argue that protests are acceptable on campuses as a pure form of free speech. A natural passage for students trying to express themselves in a visible way. There’s a thought that those being disruptive represent a minority of students.

All true, I suppose.

The corollary then is that it is permissible for a few to interfere with many. A skewed sense of democracy, though arguable.

I recently read that the Johns Hopkins University president negotiated with the student protesters, assuring them that they would have the right to review possible divestment of Israeli defense investments if they dismantled their encampment. I wrote to Ron Daniels, the president, criticizing him for capitulating. He has yet to respond to explain his absurd decision. I suspect he will not.

What do I recommend as an all-knowing Spy columnist to academic leaders?

Act morally. See bigotry for what it is and condemn it. Vigorously defend free speech but prohibit hateful, threatening speech.

College students have unformed minds—feed them knowledge, including unequivocal recognition of right and wrong. Demand accountability and forsake coddling.

Treat alumni with respect but ensure the relationship is not transactional; donations sustain higher education, but not to the point that academic freedom suffers.

While I understand the need to listen to lawyers during a crisis, I question absolute acquiescence to their advice. A strong leader must use his/her own instincts based on experience to make wise decisions. A crisis has many facets, only some of which require legal counsel.

Preparation of the presidents of Harvard, M.I.T., and Penn by a Washington law firm was abysmal. All three offered the same legalistic answers to a gotcha question from Rep. Elise Stefanik (R, NY) concerning anti-Semitic comments voiced on their campuses. The responses were devoid of outrage.

The outcry afterward resulted in the resignations of Claudia Gay (Harvard) and Liz Magill (Penn). Common sense fell victim to inappropriately mechanical replies.

Soul-searching by college and university presidents, as well as board members, is a must to retain credibility for high-level pedagogy and character development.

And for continued support by parents, politicians and alumni. Prestige can fall victim to questionable leadership.

Columnist Howard Freedlander retired in 2011 as Deputy State Treasurer of the State of Maryland. Previously, he was the executive officer of the Maryland National Guard. He also served as community editor for Chesapeake Publishing, lastly at the Queen Anne’s Record-Observer. After 44 years in Easton, Howard and his wife, Liz, moved in November 2020 to Annapolis, where they live with Toby, a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel who has no regal bearing, just a mellow, enticing disposition.

A bookcase in my home office, filled with the normal clutter and memorabilia (and some books), has a vial of sand.

I look at it daily.

The origin of the sand is Omaha Beach, a scene 80 years ago on June 6, 1944, of the greatest amphibious invasion in military history. The purpose was to crack Adolph Hitler’s insidious grip on Europe.

The assault succeeded. Nazi forces were on the run.

D-Day defines a cloudy day on a serene Normandy, France beach. Nearly 2,500 American troops lost their lives, striking a blow for the restoration of democracy and human rights.

Democracy is still tenuous.

Russia’s dictator, Vladimir Putin, is trying to overrun Ukraine. Should he succeed, he likely will set out to destroy freedom in former Soviet republics that broke away from the authoritarian empire. Putin ruthlessly imprisons and frequently kills his political opponents.

Our vigilance never ceases. It would be foolish to believe otherwise. Putin-types seek power at any human cost.

Today, it behooves us to pay homage to leadership, heroism, and sacrifice that marked a moment of unforgettable history 80 years ago. A vial of sand represents a constant reminder.

Columnist Howard Freedlander retired in 2011 as Deputy State Treasurer of the State of Maryland. Previously, he was the executive officer of the Maryland National Guard. He also served as community editor for Chesapeake Publishing, lastly at the Queen Anne’s Record-Observer. After 44 years in Easton, Howard and his wife, Liz, moved in November 2020 to Annapolis, where they live with Toby, a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel who has no regal bearing, just a mellow, enticing disposition.

Sen. Gary Hart, a rising star in the Democratic Party, was running for president in the 1988 primary when a photo of a woman, not his wife, sitting on his lap on a boat became public. He was cheating on his spouse.

The yacht’s name was “Monkey Business.”

Hart’s campaign and political career ended immediately and unceremoniously. He lost public trust.

Rep. Robert Livingston (R, La.) was preparing to become Speaker of the House in 1999 when reports circulated about his extramarital affairs. Like Hart, his political career hit an immovable roadblock. He too was cheating on his wife.

But the political environment has changed for the worse, as Craig Fuller suggested a few weeks ago in his weekly Spy conversation. He is right, sadly, and sordidly so.

American voters have become more tolerant and forgiving. They care little about a public statement of shame. Careers stay afloat. Everyone is entitled to human weakness and temptation, so the thinking goes.

Standards of behavior have diminished.

Former President Donald Trump’s extramarital escapades and crude sexual references have had no impact. His supporters excuse his awful behavior. When he encounters criticism, he and his disciples play the victim card; liberal elites are at fault for their self-righteous attitudes.

His wife says nothing, at least publicly.

My theory about the change in the voters’ moral judgments combines two elements: distrust and partisanship. And a third factor might be an alarming lack of a middle ground and shared values.

Democrats and Republicans, wealthy and non-wealthy, educated and non-educated, white collar and blue collar, affluent suburban and lower-middle class residents—they view each other as enemies, or at least as polar opposites on the socioeconomic scale.

They mistrust each other. Criticism of tribal members is brushed away.

The wagons not only are circled, but they are also ramparts protecting the wrongdoer. Critics are subject to verbal abuse and threats by zealous supporters.

It appears as if morals and ethics are negotiable. No one norm guides us. Your tribe determines right and wrong. Any other thoughts are disregarded, anathema to the unwritten rules of behavior for a particular group.

Puritanical guidelines for appropriate societal interactions matter little to those who assume a transactional approach to life.

Wrap these tribal differences into right-wing or left-wing political positions, and you find it easy to dismiss others’ opinions as biased and thoughtless. And battle lines harden.

What is especially alarming is the erosion of a universal belief system. Remnants remain.

Since 1898, the motto for the U.S. Military Academy has been “Duty, Honor, Country.” Time-honored concepts for West Point—and our country—they signify the best of our attributes, ones to which we should aspire, whether we are leaders or followers.

We should commit ourselves selflessly to our mission and never waver. We should act honorably and respectfully. And our country comes first in and out of combat. Morals matter.

The motto sounds old-fashioned. Some political leaders often put themselves above the country they are supposed to serve. They act corruptly, accumulating money and power at the expense of morality and honesty. They disparage institutions, such as the judiciary.

Honorable behavior is secondary to winning at all costs. Lying is permissible in pursuit of elective victory and character assassinations.

In a speech on March 27, 2024, in Sioux Falls, SD, David Brooks, New York Times columnist and PBS commentator, talked about the dire condition of American society.

He referred to a survey that said that 71 percent of youth believe that people would take advantage of them if possible, and 80 percent opine that most people care only about themselves.

The country suffers from a spiritual crisis, Brooks believes. He proposes a solution.

‘Our every day actions are how we rebuild our country,’ Brooks said. ‘It is not naive to lead with trust. It is not naive to lead with curiosity. It is not naive to lead with genuineness. You will be betrayed. You will be hurt. But it is worth it.’

Should American voters restore a sense of trust and respect, they would view moral and honorable behavior as a signpost for voting and living.

Columnist Howard Freedlander retired in 2011 as Deputy State Treasurer of the State of Maryland. Previously, he was the executive officer of the Maryland National Guard. He also served as community editor for Chesapeake Publishing, lastly at the Queen Anne’s Record-Observer. After 44 years in Easton, Howard and his wife, Liz, moved in November 2020 to Annapolis, where they live with Toby, a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel who has no regal bearing, just a mellow, enticing disposition.

Unbeknown to most Marylanders, the Maryland Constitution came under exacting review and revision 56 years ago. It failed miserably to gain public approval.

My late mother was disappointed but not surprised. She had served as one of two women on the 31-person Constitutional Convention Commission, which rewrote the document, and then served as a delegate to the convention. She spent two years, 1966-1968, on what she considered laudable—and time-consuming–public service.

Ever practical about her political activities, my mother understood that the revised constitution was a political document first and foremost—not a scholarly treatise as envisioned by its leadership that would gain approval because of its inherent quality. She knew that entrenched interests in Maryland would work hard to defeat the enactment of a modern charter.

My determined mother ran up against H. Vernon Eney, the commission chair and convention president. He was a prominent and well-respected Baltimore attorney who eschewed political considerations. She admired him. He refused to promote the revised constitution.

He was dead wrong. He failed to listen to my astute mother and others, I suppose. He stubbornly rejected any suggestion to seek to influence the public will. 

My parents paid for a billboard to boost the proposed constitution. A noble but futile effort.

Mr. Eney was a gentleman. His political instincts, however, were faulty. His other major error was expecting the public to swallow the whole package of changes. It was too much to ask. The goal should have called for a focus on just a few, not the many worthy revisions.

When Marvin Mandel, a legislative magician, became governor in 1969, he extracted bits and pieces of the Eney document and passed laws incorporating them. He understood the value of the defeated constitution.

These bills reorganized state agencies and the judiciary to attain greater efficiency, for example. While I understand that Marylanders portray Mandel as an evil man who went to jail for legislative misdoings—and then was exonerated—he had an exceptional record for passing bills beneficial to Maryland. Few governors before or after could match his mastery of the bill process.

Mandel thrust aside recommendations to eliminate the office of State Comptroller as well as the Board of Public Works. He knew what battles to fight and which ones to avoid.

Ever since the demise of a new constitution, changes have happened through one-subject amendments subject to a public referendum. It is far more politically feasible.

I did not decide to write this column as a paean to my mother. Instead, I view the sinking of the proposed constitution as a notable effort gone array due to lack of understanding of the political landscape by a man of dignity. Radical changes require a concerted campaign to cultivate and win public favor.

Thomas G. Pullen, Jr., a delegate to the constitutional convention, wrote in the William and Mary Law Review, “In democratic society constitutions are considered sacred, and psychologically, changing one is something like making new translations or interpretations of the Bible to religious people. Many far-seeing individuals do not understand that what the people think is far mor powerful than facts.”

Like most states, Maryland floats along driven by hidden undercurrents. Adroit politicians and public officials study the unseen forces. They know how to fashion a strategy.

My mother seemed resigned to the result. In some ways, it was predestined.

Columnist Howard Freedlander retired in 2011 as Deputy State Treasurer of the State of Maryland. Previously, he was the executive officer of the Maryland National Guard. He also served as community editor for Chesapeake Publishing, lastly at the Queen Anne’s Record-Observer. After 44 years in Easton, Howard and his wife, Liz, moved in November 2020 to Annapolis, where they live with Toby, a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel who has no regal bearing, just a mellow, enticing disposition.

 

Streaming along at night, my wife and I have found ourselves transfixed by the Netflix hospital drama, “The Resident.” If even a small portion of the series is true, hospital care is open to serious scrutiny for its goodness as well as its flaws.

The series is absorbing. The casting is excellent. The operations seem realistic. The frantic nature of the emergency room commands attention. Hospital politics, inflated by egos, is discouraging.

The make-believe hospital is Chastain Memorial in Atlanta, GA, inhabited by medical professionals fighting their own demons. It is a modern hospital that considers itself top echelon.

An evening without “The Resident” seems empty and unfulfilling to us. We are captivated by the fictional expertise and compassion.

We watch as patients on the verge of death live because of the highly skilled doctors and nurses. Operations are complicated; a mistake is deadly. When a patient dies on the operating table, the doctors are distraught. Tears are common.

The relationships between the doctors and nurses often become romantic. When the relations become romantically strained, medical business becomes a balancing act. Not all connections turn out happily.

At times, I wonder if the drama, both medical and personal, is comparable to watching the proverbial hot dog being made and thinking it just might be inedible or unhealthy. But tasty.

One of the doctor’s brilliance is matched by his troubling ego. He undertakes surgeries he shouldn’t. He works too quickly—and recklessly. He has one major objective: make money, gain glory, and destroy the reputations of colleagues who rightfully question his methods and morality. His hubris does diminish.

Another doctor, a resident equipped with extraordinary diagnostic skills—who is rarely wrong—breaks rules to save lives. For those who supervise him, he is an acquired taste. For viewers, he is heroic; his patients and co-workers respect and trust him.

Interns, residents, attending doctors and nurses form an alliance, though not always a comfortable one. One thing is abundantly clear: the nurses, unafraid to speak up, are invaluable. They can sense when doctors are acting irresponsibly, driven by ego rather than common sense.

A common theme of “The Resident” is money. After a hospital chain buys Chastain, its management is ruthless. Compassion is in scant supply. It demands surgeries and more surgeries, even when unnecessary. Its concern about saving lives is secondary to the bottom line. A chief executive officer brought in by the chain is portrayed as heartless and merciless; the actor playing this character captures his role in all of its mendacity.

To be fair, the series offers multiple examples of incredibly caring and effective treatment. The medical professionals go to great lengths to overcome the possibility of death. They work under severe stress. They are selfless.

In almost every case, the characters are fully developed. Viewers get to know them as vulnerable, insecure individuals driven to reassemble medically broken patients. They also pay close attention to their patients’ personal quirks and flaws.

When we all arrive in a hospital for a procedure, we trust the process. We also lose control. Tests and more tests. Constant questions. Waiting. Fear. Decision-making. It’s real. No celluloid drama and underlying music. Most of us have experienced surgery. More times than not, we applaud the skill and concentration for which we owe our health.

“The Resident” brings home the complicated, fraught world of a hospital and its mission and undercurrents. Tough to absorb at times and deliberately designed to stir our emotions, it provides a glimpse into the harried pulse and pace of a modern hospital in a major city.

It is well worth watching.

Columnist Howard Freedlander retired in 2011 as Deputy State Treasurer of the State of Maryland. Previously, he was the executive officer of the Maryland National Guard. He also served as community editor for Chesapeake Publishing, lastly at the Queen Anne’s Record-Observer. After 44 years in Easton, Howard and his wife, Liz, moved in November 2020 to Annapolis, where they live with Toby, a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel who has no regal bearing, just a mellow, enticing disposition.

I can recall countless times when a medical professional asked me to rate my pain or discomfort on a scale of 1-10. If I cannot be absolutely sure, I always default to 5 or lower.

Frankly, I find the question a bit silly. If I seem disrespectful of the medical pros, I offer a universal apology. Pain and discomfort come in waves. It seems to subside when you are awaiting the arrival of a provider.

Now, I will apply the scale to daily events, ones that are particularly annoying, and some that are pleasurable. Simply, I will focus on mental angst.

Remaining in the medical arena, I suspect that most of us have endured dreadfully long waiting times in an emergency room. It is a nationwide problem based upon too many patients and scant staff. The unquestionable rating would be a 0.

Since we find ourselves immersed currently in the political season, I would rate the ads and robo calls a 5. Readers might consider this score too generous. I hesitate to be too critical since the ads introduce candidates to the public and provide insight intended to be favorable.

Moving on to the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, specifically the summer onslaught of motorists heading breathlessly to Ocean City, MD and Delaware beaches, I would grant the experience a 2, maybe a 1. The mental stress of slowly crossing the Bay Bridge is incalculable. And the impact on Route 50 is miserable.

Targets for ratings are many. Air travel scores a 2 or 3. Airports are congested. Travelers are pushy and impatient. The planes are packed. If your row companions are not family, you may find yourself sitting next to an unknown obese person who feels empowered to dominate the armrests. Lest I forget, laboring in a line awaiting use of the restroom on a plane tests your patience and fortitude.

Hoping to enjoy a pleasant meal in a restaurant can sometimes turn out to be a wretched experience. If the chef is having a bad day or night, the food could be average or worse. Just the opposite also could be true. And the wait staff too may be suffering from lack of appreciation, resulting in disgruntled employees. My score? It can range from 3 to 10.

My angst is rising as I write this cathartic commentary. Cell phones, to which I have an admitted addiction, can be a source of annoyance in a restaurant or in a line awaiting service. I ascribe one overriding characteristic to self-centered cell phone users: extreme rudeness, a public nuisance. My rating is 0.

I’m on a roll, stepping on toes and egos as I write my weekly view of life. The art of listening is non-existent at times. Daily I may comment on just about anything, hopefully thoughtfully, to a friend or neighbor. Hardly taking a breath, the person relates a similar experience and then pontificates exhaustively for up to five minutes. Why am I annoyed? The person rarely asks questions or inquires about the details or nuance of my comment. It matters not. On a scale of 1-10, the ostensibly two-way conservation achieves a 2 or 3.

Though I may have alluded to traffic when griping about the Bay Bridge on summer weekends, I have found Annapolis drivers, as opposed to ones in Easton, in thrall with their steering wheel horns. I have borne the brunt of the obtrusive horn for reasons I can’t figure out. Am I driving like a tentative senior citizen? I don’t think so. I rate Annapolis drivers as a 4.

At the risk of tilting at windmills, I grade our recent summers, offering high temperatures and stifling humidity, a 2 or 3. They are becoming increasingly worse due to climate change and global warming. The evidence appears on our doorsteps in the form of miserable heat—and the ever-frequent use of air conditioning. Fans bring only fair relief. And I rate climate-change deniers as a 1. They refuse to accept reality. Public will is lacking.

A chronic source of anguish and worry is aging. Acceptance of physical and mental constraints poses a daily challenge. Looking into a mirror and marveling at that wrinkled person looking back is an act of perseverance. Aches and pains are one thing; walking more slowly and deliberately (using a cane in my case) can be discouraging. Since aging is a fact of life, a rating best applies to how a person handles the good and bad. In this case, I will rate myself and default to a 5.

Readers can rate this article. I cannot do it.

Postscript: In this column, I mistakenly characterized mental angst associated with daily events with low numbers on a scale of 1-10. These rankings should have been on the higher end of the scale. I apologize for the confusion.

Columnist Howard Freedlander retired in 2011 as Deputy State Treasurer of the State of Maryland. Previously, he was the executive officer of the Maryland National Guard. He also served as community editor for Chesapeake Publishing, lastly at the Queen Anne’s Record-Observer. After 44 years in Easton, Howard and his wife, Liz, moved in November 2020 to Annapolis, where they live with Toby, a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel who has no regal bearing, just a mellow, enticing disposition.