Washington College students rudely disrupt a talk by a conservative scholar.

Stanford University Law School students rudely interrupt a conservative federal judge.

University of Pennsylvania students, disappointed by the school’s fossil fuels investments, rudely interrupt a Homecoming football game by storming the field at halftime and delaying the game for an hour. They hoped to gain attention (as they did) and alumni affirmation (which they didn’t).

Is free speech, as selectively applied by students displeased with a speaker’s political allegiance, fair speech? I think not.

Encouraged to be critical thinkers, students instead are favoring mob rule. Their treatment of people who think differently than they is abysmal. Their listening skills are defective. They believe that disagreement nullifies polite behavior. Their immaturity is astounding.

We are experiencing an epidemic of student activism similar to the protests that characterized the 1960s. Then, the Vietnam War and Civil Rights demonstrations ignited actions by young adults to occupy university administration offices and join marches in Washington and New York. The spark continued to inflame the first half of the 1970s. 

Families steeped in the Great Depression and World War II became splintered. Privileged youth felt empowered to disclaim a war corruptly executed; unfortunately, they unfairly disparaged soldiers who had nothing to do with conceiving the Southeast Asian conflict. They justifiably condemned racism; they bravely suffered physical harm.

Nearly 65 years later, college campuses again are becoming battlegrounds for academic dissatisfaction. Those whose political philosophy is decidedly right-wing face uncalled-for disparagement from their liberal peers. Behavior has morphed into self-righteous indignation—and abject failure to listen.

Rudeness is the norm. It is unconscionable, destructive of civil discourse. Young undergrads don’t care. What matters is abject opposition. Free speech is weaponized.

Should undergrads accuse me of exercising judgment based on my advanced age, I would oppose that interpretation. Free speech is a Constitutional right, preferably devoid of heckling. It bears an unspoken responsibility to listen and treat the speaker with respect.

Or students can find something else to do with their time. That’s their right.

I must digress ever so slightly by referring again to Penn, my alma mater. The subject is fraught. The Palestine Literature Festival convened this past weekend, much to the angry despair of Jewish students and angrier dismay of alumni. Several speakers were known anti-Semites, including Roger Waters, a British singer who claims he is not an anti-Jewish, but someone who is critical of Israeli treatment of Palestinians.

In a world dominated by nuance, American Jews too criticize the Netanyahu government for its oppression of Palestinians living on the West Bank. However, they do not voice anti-Semitic comments, only disappointment at the diminution of democracy in Israel.

Highly attuned to anti-Semitic comments and actions, Jews consider criticism of Zionism and Israeli policies toward Palestinians as code for anti-semitism. They may be right.

I am saddened by the university’s lack of judgment and its unwillingness to change course. And while I support the festival’s literary intent and free speech—if not a devious tactic to voice bigotry—I have spent painful time trying to divine the intrinsic value of free versus hateful discourse. If the latter leads to dangerous conditions imposed on Jewish students, then my tolerance weakens.

Anti-Semitic remarks sting me, as if fired by a stun gun. Still, a rude reaction is not my style. Agitated behavior accomplishes little but  continuation of toxic dialogue. 

University students, wherever they roam academic villages, achieve little but immature self-satisfaction when they exercise their free speech to thwart the expression of viewpoints antithetical to theirs.

Rudeness is avoidable. It also is inexcusable. Guest speakers who are not espousing viewpoints that can incite harm deserve tolerant hospitality.

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.

 

 

 

Amid the unusual ugliness of the campaign for president of the Easton Town Council, one person stands out for his personal decency and longtime service. That is former Mayor Bob Willey, who also served at one time as town council president.

For the 20 months remaining in the term created by the election of current Mayor Megan Cook, I endorse Willey. He will work well with Cook and inject stability and experience as the town of Easton grapples with medical care, growth and economic development.

The despicable mailers financed by Scott Wagner underscore the pressing need to restore civility and dignity so important to a place that prides itself on friendliness. The harsh mailers attacking Willey belong elsewhere, where politics is rough, ready and repulsive.

Willey is neither flashy nor bombastic. He loves his hometown. He deserves election to a post that he once occupied.

I am disappointed that former Council Member Al Silverstein failed to take a stronger stand during his Friday interview in the Talbot Spy against Wagner’s attacks on a person that Silverstein considers a friend. In fact, his hands-off approach is appalling.

Silverstein has a strong voice and forthright manner; he failed to use both in the current controversy surrounding Wagner’s use of Silverstein’s comments about Willey in a letter to the Spy.

Kevin Bateman and Frank Gunsallus very well may have political futures in local politics. For 20 months, however, Willey’s steady hand is necessary for the proper governance of Easton.

I watched the 90-minute candidates forum hosted by the Talbot Spy and moderated by Spy columnist Craig Fuller. I spoke with several residents. The result is this endorsement.

A vote for Willey has layered implications. One is the election of a competent town council president. The other is restoration of civility amid examples of cruel politicking.

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.

When you live in one place for 44 years, as my wife and I did in Easton, you cross paths with many people. You retain emotional contact with them. Then reality sets in.

Two weeks ago, on a brief visit to our still treasured home, we ran into a friend and asked about her husband. He had died, we were told. We knew nothing.

That disturbing revelation drove me to learn about others who had died during our nearly three years in Annapolis. I studied with dread the website for Helfenbein, Fellows and Newnam Funeral Home.

Though not a close personal friend, Tom Fountain, an estate and wills attorney, was someone whom I considered a friend and gentleman of the first order. He was our lawyer, too. He was eminently likable, well respected by his legal peers and clients. A U.S. Navy veteran, Tom approached the practice of law as public service, as I viewed his manner and expertise.

Adrienne Rudge was another first-rate person, one of three daughters of a well-known Easton attorney, Charlie Wheeler. An active board member of Talbot Hospice and Critchlow Adkins Children’s Centers, she seemed preternaturally friendly and engaging. Her presence was always soothing. People gravitated to Adrienne because of her authentic personal warmth.

Stacie (Anastasia) Wrightson was a lovable character, always affable and talkative. I liked her from the moment I first met her. She had graduated from Oldfields School in northern Baltimore County and sat on its board. Since my daughter Kate also was an Oldfields alumna, Stacie and I had much to talk about. She was straight-forward and gently blunt. At the end of each conversation with her, I marveled at her energy and liveliness.

My path crossed frequently over the years with Mike Newnam, a longtime funeral homeowner and civic leader. Mike had a presence, abetted by his height, voice and bearing, the latter developed by his Marine Corps service. He sponsored me for the Elks. He sold us a lovely house adjacent to the funeral home at the corner of Harrison Street and Brookletts Avenue. He buried my in-laws in Baltimore. He was a notable usher at Christ Church, Easton. He conducted himself in a stalwart, professional manner.

We live with fond memories of friends who enhanced our quality of life in the unmatched town of Easton. Some of our encounters were longer and more substantive than others. Still, they all had an impact. They meant something. They still do.

I mourn the deaths of Tom Fountain, Adrienne Rudge, Stacie Wrightson and Mike Newnam. I had no chance to express my sympathy to their loved ones. I suppose this column provides a platform to voice my condolences.

A memorable quotation from Thornton Wilder’s poignant “Our Town” is fitting for this column:

“We all know that something is eternal. And it ain’t houses, and it ain’t names, and it ain’t earth, and it ain’t even the stars…everybody knows in their bones that something is eternal, and that something has something to do with human beings. All the greatest people have been telling us that a thousand years and yet you’d be surprised how people are always losing hold of it. There’s something way deep down that’s eternal about every human being.”

Easton is a better place because of these four special people.

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.

During the past few months, after the Supreme Court decision ruling against affirmative action in admission policies at Harvard University and the University of North Carolina, legacy admissions have become a favorite punching bag for pundits.

As I understand the media attention, by eliminating legacy admissions, more openings would be available supposedly to low-income applicants.

Then the word “elite” appeared in headlines. The usage was pejorative. The herd mentality took over.

I question the description of Ivy League schools as elite. Selective, but not elite.

Jim Brown was an elite athlete. LeBron James is an elite basketball player.

Army Rangers and Navy Seals are elite soldiers and sailors.

Meryl Streep and Tom Hanks are elite actors.

American astronauts exhibit elite skills in life-threatening situations.

Nobel prize winners are elite scientists, writers and diplomats.

Students attending Ivy League universities are not elite scholars. I know. I was one. My grades drew no academic plaudits.

Ivy League undergraduates might be driven and ambitious. They might be disciplined and focused. However, they do not differ from their public university counterparts. They are not assured of professional or personal success.

Their parents were not necessarily wealthy and privileged. If so, the expectations were enormous and relentless.

This essay compels me to comment also about legacy admission; to some analysts it is tied to elitism. I expect disagreement. That does not deter me.

I was a legacy at Penn, as was my youngest daughter. We brought loyalty. We realized that a selective university builds upon a foundation laid by legacies and alumni.

Pride was our calling card.

Penn now has removed any preference for legacies. Hopkins, Wesleyan, MIT and Amherst have done the same. As if legacy admissions were a stain on the current perception of Ivy League schools.

The pendulum has swung, foolishly so.

The presumption is that legacy applicants are not fully qualified to gain admission without what many conceive as an unfair advantage. The fallacy in that argument is obvious. An applicant whose parent or grandparent attended a selective school has, based on my anecdotal analysis, equally superior grades, test scores and community activities as the regular applicants.

They deserve admission, even a slight preference, but not eschewal. They bring a heightened sense of community, a desire to contribute to the campus environment.

They understand and appreciate the culture. They represent a subset, along with first generation students, of a viable academic village.

They need no encouragement to love the school and its academic excellence.

They are committed to bettering a university so important to their family—and their non-legacy classmates. They have not pushed aside first-generation students.

Their academic credentials match, if not surpass, those of their classmates. They enhance the school’s reputation. They exhibit no inkling of elitism.
During my 56 years as an actively and avidly involved alumnus, I have met mostly scholarship students. They are exceedingly bright and ambitious. They feel proud and determined to succeed. They turned down full-bore financial aid at a public university in their home state.

They gained admission based on merit, as is true of the legacies. Differentiation is meaningless to them. They too would like their children to attend Penn.

My perspective challenges what many consider a more egalitarian outlook. It runs up against the dismissal of legacy applicants as worthy of admission to an Ivy League university. This argument posits that legacy applicants are advantaged because their parents are presumably wealthy. It conjures the misuse of the word “elite.”

Exclusion of legacy applicants is the current vogue. It is misguided thinking. It represents symbolism instead of substance.

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.

 

 

Succulent and sumptuous, steamed blue crabs are a delectable part of our Maryland culture. They are loved and treasured, albeit increasingly expensive.

Not in Italy, specifically the Scardovari lagoon, Po’ River Delta, near the Adriatic Sea, in northeast Italy. Our beloved blue crabs are considered “invasive.” They are eating clams so intrinsic to pasta and other Italian food. The clam farmers are scrambling, striving to love the voracious crabs, reluctantly.

Some restauranteurs in Venice are trying to adjust their menus. Viewing blue crabs in a negative light risks the joy of an iconic crustacean. An open mind is critical to acceptance of a different food choice.

It just seems wrong-headed when a treasure is in your midst. I am at a loss for words (just a misapplied expression). My love for crabs is unconditional.

If you are thinking that the Italians can send the blues our way, a Chesapeake Bay Foundation scientist put the kibosh on that idea. She questioned whether they would represent a health threat to the Bay, possibly bearing disease and ‘hangers on.’

And she opined that these imported crabs would compete with our local variety.

While I commend the Maryland-first mentality, I am just a bit skeptical. If I am not mistaken, jumbo lump crab meat is shipped from Thailand to the shores of Maryland. That’s a long journey, across several time zones.

For some reason, I find it amusing that blue crabs have “invaded” the food-loving country of Italy. They were not invited. They came by way of a ship’s bilge. Not very exotic or comfortable travel conditions. They arrived in warm waters, aided by hospitable climate change.

I would suggest to the bereaved clam farmers that blue crabs deserve love and attention. They are an utter delicacy in Maryland and Virginia. They bring joy; crab feasts are an epicurean delight. They can last for hours, accompanied by corn, beer, garlic bread, cole slaw, an appealing desert and plentiful camaraderie.

Dipping crabmeat in olive oil is customary.

Amid a crisis created by a foreign invader, Italy must adapt, taste and enjoy incomparable crabmeat. Whining is unproductive, even tasteless.

Here’s my suggestion for our global neighbors: invite Maryland’s watermen, crab dealers and restaurant owners to Italy (suspect they would savor the outreach) and seek their advice in creating a market for blue crabs.

Seize the moment. Consider the economic benefits.

Forget the strange appearance of blue crabs. Look beyond the shell. Behold the unparalleled taste.

Just maybe, Marylanders may adjust their travel plans to digest not only pasta and gelato, but also blue crabs, crab soup and crab imperial. Tourists always like a taste of home. McDonald’s has a limited menu.

Mind you, I am not gloating over the demise of 90 percent of the clams in the Scardovari lagoon. It is a sad and tough economic blow. The clam farmers are distressed. Change is difficult.

But behold a new future filled with Old Bay seasoning, mallets, tasty claws and lump crabmeat—and customers adjusting to messy but memorable eating conditions. Italian music would still be appropriate, if not a novel native touch.

Maryland’s best, apart from its people, could form a culinary partnership with the wonderful country of Italy. Blue crabs are built for social occasions, infused with chatter, laughter and full-on eating. They invite happy consumers.

One more thing: blue crabs are guests, not invaders. When steamed and seasoned, they bring happiness across all sub-sections of people.

And wine, though not usually associated with crab-eating, is allowable. Spaghetti and crabs, a desirable recipe in the Philadelphia-New Jersey-New Jersey area, can easily find a home in Italy.

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.

When pundits accustomed to dispensing wise words and memorable musings run temporarily out of gas, they often resort to writing about their best friends—their beloved dogs.

I am no exception. I cannot help myself. Please excuse use of a favorite default. I need an August break, and so do you.

Toby, our King Charles Cavalier Spaniel, turned ten on July 30. Our gift was commonplace: our continued love and pampering. He seemed content.

I hope I can write about him again in December to celebrate our two years of joy with a small dog with a big personality. Whenever we look at him, or take him for one of his four daily walks, we smile.

People stop to pet him. Many think he’s a female because he is pretty. His coat of fur is smooth and soft. He enjoys the attention, but not too much.

Endearing words spoken in the course of being touched are unheard. He is deaf. It does not matter to us. His daily ministrations are unaffected. To delve into a cliche, he feels the love. I could be engaging in anthropomorphism, as owners often do in assigning human traits to animals.

We are concerned about Toby’s health. He has a heart murmur. He has a neurological condition (Chiari malformation) that produces constant itching. He seems to have increasing walking difficulties.

I prefer to be in denial; his absence would be devastating.

We are committed to preserving his quality of life. While we cannot overlook his medical challenges, we selfishly treasure our time with him, and the absolute pleasure he brings us.

My thoughts mirror those of most other dog owners. I cannot speak for cat owners, a role that offers no appeal to me (but I know and admire adoring cat fanciers). We are better people for caring for, and about dogs. We have no compunction to experience and show our unconditional love in comparison with the typically complicated relationships with other human beings.

Like his owners, Toby faces a limited life span. We feel sad about his ailments, addressed with medications and periodic visits to the veterinarian. He is a good sport. He barks very little. He exhibits no moodiness. His calm demeanor is beguiling.

When around our daughters’ large dogs, Toby is mellow and oblivious. He seeks no camaraderie with the Chocolate and Yellow labs. We have begun to avoid his being near the aggressive Yellow Labrador, conscious as we are of his heart disease and aversity to excitement.

If readers perceive that we treat Toby as our only child, they would be right. He has captured our hearts and emotions. Senior citizens compensate for a childless space filled with quiet.

A friend recently called Toby an ideal apartment pet. I suppose that is an apt description. Were we still living in our former Easton home, however, he would still be a huge presence. After all, he rarely leaves my wife’s side and gives me enough attention as I need. I am not jealous.

In recent weeks, I have written about an Annapolis hate crime and Robert F. Kennedy, Jr’s off-the-charts conspiracy theories. “Heavy” subjects, to be sure.

Dogs represent a less complex subject.

As I complete this musing, I feel joyful about a dog bearing a lofty breed pedigree and down-to-earth disposition.

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.

About a half mile from our retirement community on Annapolis Neck, a hate slaying occurred in early July in a pleasantly modest neighborhood. The victims were Hispanic. The accused killer was a Caucasian male.

A long simmering feud between the perpetrator’s mother and the next-door Latino family became deadly when the former was angry about the neighbor’s car parked in front of her driveway. Her son, a military veteran, channeled his mother’s pique, prompting him to be charged with killing  three people and wounding three others enjoying a birthday party at the neighbor’s home.

The shooter, Charles R. Smith, 43, faces 42 charges related to the murders, as well as hate crimes. His weapon bore a deadly poison that has brought grief and insecurity to the community.

Hate is a common denominator in mass shootings. It is a contagious pandemic in our violent country.

It is vile and vicious. Deep suffering and emotional trauma are byproducts that afflict families and friends. Nothing good results. Just troubling misery.

An easy answer to thwarting mass shooting is gun control. It seems impossible to achieve. The National Rifle Association (NRA) is too strong, its political power unstoppable. I will waste few words advocating gun control in light of scant political will on Capitol Hill. 

One of the shooting victim’s sisters criticized law enforcement for failing to react to a litany of complaints about the chronic disputes between neighbors by issuing a peace or restraining order. She may be right. In today’s gun-infested times; the police cannot assume that neighborhood fights will be peacefully resolved in time—or at all.

Personal destruction is a common default. Fruitful lives disappear at the pull of a trigger. 

Bigotry is an incendiary ingredient. It too seems unquenchable. Protected from deletion by the sometimes-horrific human condition, unlike a click on an inhuman laptop.

Recent census data shows that 20 percent of Annapolis’ population of 40,600 is Hispanic/Latino. Such a presence may be bothersome to people like the shooter, who probably feels threatened by people whom he considers as “other.” An argument over parking, involving his mother, triggered the deadly outburst of his fury and weapon. 

Smith achieved little. His future will likely be in a prison. His mother will lose a son imprisoned, possibly for the rest of his life. Neighbors will be unforgiving. Mourning will be endless.

In our cloistered world at the BayWoods retirement community, facing the placid Chesapeake Bay, my wife and engage daily with Latinos. They work in every phase of our senior village. We treasure our relationships. We commend their work ethic and value their souls.

Still not yet adjudicated, the mass shooting seems as equally senseless as the murder of five journalists at the Annapolis Capital Gazette on June 25, 2018. Uncontrollable, unapologetic hostility underscored the shootings. As usual, guns provided the means of expression. 

I do not characterize Annapolis as a dangerous area. While its urbanized environment hardly compares with the peace and tranquility of Easton, Md.—forever loved by my wife and me—I believe its flaws differ little from cities of its size. Readers may consider me too charitable.

Communal harmony is tough to achieve. Sadly so, violence-free living conditions often seem unattainable. I wish these words were unnecessary.

Just as I wish that live-shooter exercises were not a part of my grandchildren’s academic reality.

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.

Most families have their flash points. It seems inevitable. Strong, healthy families overcome the fault lines. Many do not. Relationships dissipate.

Unfortunately.

Money is often the catalyst. But not always. Feuds may have their roots in childhood to slights never forgotten. Psychic wounds may be too deep-seated to heal, even with age and maturity.

Throw in political disputes, and reconciliation becomes highly questionable. This is particularly true in today’s toxic climate. As a source of information/disinformation, Fox TV draws conservative devotees and nauseates liberals and moderates; hence, information sources differ markedly.

The political schism widens.

The dynastic Kennedy family, whose legacy bearers include a president, an attorney general and U.S. senator, a longtime senator, members of Congress and a lieutenant governor, is dealing uncomfortably and dispiritedly with a family member spouting ridiculous conspiracy theories.

He is Robert F. Kennedy, Jr., who is running for president in the Democratic primary. His family members, including siblings, a nephew and cousins, are outraged at his comments and saying so.

Supportive of President Biden, his sister, Kerry, for example, among other clan members, questions his views about anti-Covid vaccines, as does his wife, Cheryl Hines. The latter took umbrage at her husband’s comment that Holocaust victim, Anne Frank, endured better conditions than those forced to wear masks and abide by Covid restrictions.

The close-knit Kennedy family is frayed. Known for its unity, the Kennedy clan is cutting loose with criticism. As a long-time admirer of this gifted family, with its commitment to public service and good works, I am dismayed. Bobby Kennedy is drawing attention for cockeyed notions.

Most recently, Bobby Jr opined that Covid-19 was targeted at protecting Jews and Chinese and harming Caucasians and Blacks. At first blush, the theory is absurd. At second blush, it is full of blatant anti-semitism and bigotry toward the Chinese.

The unrestrained Kennedy said that Wi-Fi causes cancer and ‘” leaky brain.’” Anti-depressants lead to school shootings. Chemicals in the water supply could change the gender of children.

Family members have drawn the line. And so have others long devoted to the Kennedy family.

Upon further reflection, I conflate my disdain for Kennedy’s conspiratorial theories with my utter disgust for our former president’s deranged perspective on the 2020 presidential election. A comparison between Trump and a Kennedy would seem inconceivable—except in today’s confounding world.

If gaining media attention and campaign dollars are RFK’S objectives, he is succeeding. I trust he did not intend to blemish his family’s reputation and draw approbation. He has done just that. He seems oblivious to the damage.

The Kennedys are not saintly. Their flaws are abundantly apparent. Their luster has dimmed. Nonetheless, adjectives such as “crazy” and “unhinged” normally do not apply, as they easily characterize Bobby Kennedy.

Political campaigns can bring out the worst in aspiring candidates. They feel empowered to utter ridiculous statements, if only to feed their supporters and stir media interest. They are intentional, sometimes dangerously so, in sowing fear and hatred. Though irresponsible, it can be effective.

I fully admit my admiration for the Kennedy family, beginning when I was a young teen. Though revelations over the years about personal behavior have dulled my adulation, I deeply respect their strong commitment to making our country and world a little better. Their sincerity is unquestioned.

Kennedy Jr. is embarrassing himself with his adoption of weird conspiracy theories. His utterances undermine his credibility. He travels the same twisted lane as Trump. The comparison brings no value.

He is besmirching the Kennedy name. That fact may be the worst cut of all for me.

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.

When the pandemic began in 2020 to wreak havoc in our lives, the digital meeting site of Zoom became a ubiquitous part of our communication outlets. Social distancing was irrelevant as we viewed and spoke with colleagues, family and friends.

It was not perfect by any means. Rapport through face-to-face interaction is nullified. But it allowed life to continue, both personally and professionally, when our lives had changed dramatically.

Our individual worlds became isolated, painfully so for an extrovert like this writer.

Zooming has not disappeared. Every three months, the Penn Class of 1967 gathers for 60 minutes to listen to a presentation by a classmate, followed by questions. The effect can be magical. The only obligation is to listen.

Such was the case two weeks ago. A classmate discussed his days as a rower at Penn, followed by years and years of coaching and writing. His four-book series on rowing has brought him international renown. He also won a gold medal in the Olympics in a four-person scull.

My classmate views rowing as a metaphor of life. He learned that rowing required trust in his boatmates, a lesson he learned the hard way in the pivotal position of “stroke.” His prowess had to blend, not dominate. 

His aspiration to win and excel had to be a shared value.

In his senior year, certain he would row as stroke (seat eight and the hardest, nearest the stern), he was demoted from the number one to number two lightweight boat. He was devastated. He pressed his coach for an answer. He had known that his boat had lost speed. He learned that in believing he bore a self-imposed burden to add swiftness to his boat, he was depending less than he should on his crew mates.

My classmate, whom I hardly knew in college, shared his painful story without exhibiting any self-pity. After college, he continued to devote himself to competition, understanding he had turned a personal disappointment into renowned success on the water. 

He grew a heightened sense of awareness. Disappointment can do that to all of us.

More than 30 classmates in their late seventies seemed mesmerized on our zoom by a classmate’s athletic life more 56 years ago. He willingly and poignantly revealed a vulnerability. His message was clear: life goes on, filled with success and defeat, despair and determination.

Youthful stories often become embellished over the years. They sometimes border on bragging. The recent class zoom attained a balance between triumph and terror.

Zooms can be stilted, lacking spontaneity. Camaraderie suffers. Lack of one-on-one contact is limiting. But not a dealbreaker. 

I have found that the longer a zoom conversation lasts, the more likely that participants will inject questions, comments and even humor. The comfort level expands.

My theory as class president and facilitator is that my classmates want to learn. Empty conversation is worthless. Cohesion is more probable if the subject draws attention. My goal is enrichment. Not to seem too pedantic.

During the past 12 months, we have heard a classmate and financier living in London and France analyze and criticize Brexit; another, a law school professor, talked about human rights in the world—he was particularly adamant about Russia’s transgressions–and yet another explained his longtime research about penguins in Antarctica and their declining population due to climate change.

What can be challenging is ensuring the absence of politics, a sure way to ruin dialogue should the conversation veer into divisiveness.

Covid-19 forced all of us to use formerly unknown communication vehicles. It worked. We enjoyed a link to the outside world, safe and maskless. It is marvelously effective in eliciting participation from throughout the world. No one is excluded due to lack of proximity.

During my years at Penn, I chose to apply my limited athletic talent to lacrosse on a grass field. The cold, wet environs of the Schuylkill River in Philadelphia held no attraction for me. I would much rather have held a lacrosse stick than an oar. Teamwork, nonetheless, was still critical to success.

Men and women in their late 70s are willing and able to let their guard down and reveal disappointments. They neither seek applause nor approbation. Self-honesty and self-awareness are on full display. Psychological shields are in the past.

My rowing classmate impressed all of us with his candor.

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.