Eighteen years ago tomorrow, our homeland was attacked by terrorist hijackers who crashed American passenger planes into the World Trade Center towers in New York City, the Pentagon and a farm field in Shanksville, PA. It was an unforgettable and unforgivable day in our history.

Loss of lives totaled nearly 3,000. Loss of a sense of security in our nation was incalculable.

I lost a friend and lacrosse teammate that day. His name was Michael San Phillip. He was working on the 104th floor in the second tower as an investment adviser for a small firm, Sandler, O’Neill. On the clear blue day, 83 people reported to work that day; 66 never returned home to family and friends.

Mike, whom his fraternity brothers and teammates called “Sal,” was a football player turned lacrosse defenseman. A steady performer, he was well-liked. After graduation in May 1967, I never saw him again.

When I learned of Sal’s death, I had just become president of my class at the University of Pennsylvania. I knew I wanted to do something to memorialize an unfortunate victim of a heinous, cleverly planned assault on America and its national psyche.

I decided that a scholarship in his name would be a positive reaction to a horrendous act of war. Fortunately, I was able to persuade the university and the powers-to-be in my class to support the fundraising necessary to create a meaningful memorial to my teammate.

The next step was to meet with the family to gain its endorsement of a scholarship, since I knew we would have to gear up a significant awareness campaign among my 1,400 classmates. So, accompanied by a staffer in Penn’s development office, I drove in January 2002 to Ridgewood, NJ, one of several communities in the northern part of the state that sends a horde of communities daily to work in New York City. 

We had lunch with Mike’s widow and youngest daughter. We learned that Sal was one of 13 Ridgewood residents who did not return home on Sept. 11, 2001. We learned that Lynn and Carrie had collected his wallet in January 2002 from a police precinct. I wondered how a person’s wallet could have survived a fiery death. I learned that Mike didn’t like to carry his wallet with him and had put it in a desk drawer.

Lynn requested that the scholarship be directed to scholar-athletes, since she knew how much he loved sports. I thought the request was reasonable and hoped that the university would agree. It did.

Fast forward to 2019, and we have raised nearly $900,000 in market value for this endowed memorial fund. The school distributes proceeds to three recipients every year. Once a year, I meet these incredible young men and women at an annual scholarship celebration. Jill Abbott, Mike’s oldest daughter, joins me, along with her daughter, Mickey (Michelle), named after the grandfather she never knew.

I tell this story, because it represents my little effort to do something positive amid the ramifications of a terrible tragedy. When I was promoting the new scholarship to my classmates—only a few of whom would have known Mike San Phillip—I used the pitch that perhaps, just perhaps, one of the San Phillip Memorial Scholarship recipients might be able to help find a solution to the deep-seated hatred and estrangement that motivated terrorists to destroy 3,000 lives and instill fear and trepidation among Americans as they gather in densely populated venues.

My idealism may have been misplaced 18 years ago. But, as I wrote, I had to find a way to react positively to an event that still sickens me. I was in a position to take action that would provide hope, not just for me but my classmates—and the stricken San Phillip family.

Though raising hundreds of thousands of dollars from generous classmates has been challenging, I have considered the effort one of the most worthwhile in my life. I mourned like many. I was agitated like most. And I was determined to find some glimmer of redemption amid horror and hatefulness.

Another deeply satisfying aspect of helping to create and sustain a fund for good was observing the response of a 9/11 victim’s loved ones. Jill, who lives in Wilmington, DE, was a source of strength throughout the process. To observe her as she talks every year with the scholarship recipients and exhibits genuine interest in them allows me to take even greater pride in the San Phillip fund.

Jill and I make sure that the more than dozen recipients over 18 years know something about her father, and why the scholarship was created. We hope they understand, but can’t be sure. We hope they will try to make this world a little better. 

Centuries-old animosities are difficult to extinguish. Death of Michael San Phillip by terrorists committed to human destruction has enabled a glimmer of hope. 

That’s my dream.

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. In retirement, Howard serves on the boards of several non-profits on the Eastern Shore, Annapolis and Philadelphia.

If I were an unrepentant cynic, I would suggest that the upcoming repair work on the westbound Chesapeake Bay Bridge is a clever ploy by the Maryland Transportation Authority (MdTA) to galvanize fervent support of a potential third span. As Jim Ports, MdTA executive director, has said, traffic back-ups will be commonplace–and annoying (my word) –during the upcoming two-year project.

According to The Star Democrat, reporting on his briefing of the Queen Anne’s County Commissioners, “Ports said state projections expect at least a three-mile slowdown of traffic and did not rule out areas facing longer lines during peak times. Similar work on the other span off the Bay Bridge is expected to begin in five to 10 years.”

County Commissioner Steve Wilson stated the obvious when he observed that “‘The state had signed up for a permanent traffic jam until the project is done.’ “

Now, MdTA can easily and honestly justify the $27 million the project based on real needs: resurfacing the westbound lanes must happen to avoid possibly disastrous consequences in the future. Work begins Sept. 9.

Just imagine two years of constant congestion and rising blood pressure as all of us on the Eastern Shore have to endure disruption of our lives, not only amid the summer beach mess, but during the year. Patience will be in short supply in this quarter.

Not too many years ago, maybe 2008, MdTA also undertook a renovation project that seemed to last a lifetime, but was mercifully brief—but awfully inconvenient and aggravating to this commuter. The upcoming reconstruction will be horrendous.

Though I no longer commute, I, like of a lot of people, consider the Bay Bridge a lifeline, a vital way to travel to see family and seek medical treatment. My gaming of bridge travel will reach a new level of creativity and frustration.

I repeat. I am not questioning the need for constant repair and maintenance of the Bay Bridge for safety reasons, if not for prolonging its useful life. Unfortunately, reason conflicts with lifestyle needs.

It’s tough being magnanimous when standing still and not moving forward. It’s tough organizing one’s life around a steel, 4.3-mile structure that inflicts itself on you in sometime unpleasant ways.

On to another lofty subject, and that is the matter of a third span. MdTA will be studying four options (including no-build), all three of which traverse Anne Arundel County, and two of which go through Queen Anne’s County; one includes a corridor through Kent and Queen Anne’s counties. One terminates in Talbot County. The likely route, already supported by Gov. Larry Hogan, would adjoin the existing two spans.

My preference, if a third span is inevitable, is the one adjoining the existing two spans—but offering only one mode of travel: rapid transit. It would be expensive. It would present significant logistical challenges. It would be environmentally friendly.

This option is not on the table. Nonetheless, it makes sense to me.

My second choice is no-build. As Anne Arundel County Executive Steuart Pittman said in so many words, shame on us if we are still dependent on automobiles by 2040, the date in which the existing spans would be virtually impossible to cross without constant congestion, according to MdTA.

A traffic engineer I am not. I understand, however, there are ways to manage the traffic patterns. It would require ferries, rapid buses, off-peak tolls and other creative approaches. It would preserve the environmental value of Eastern Shore living. Rampant development, as resulted after construction of the two spans in 1952 and 1973, cannot be allowed to recur.

Hearings are scheduled soon. Land protection, preservation of farmland, retention of special character and reduction of vehicular emission of carbon dioxide must be the primary arguments against the construction of a third Bay Bridge.

A cartoon in the Sunday Sun on Sept. 1 may have been scarily prophetic about the value of a third span. It implicitly questioned the impact of sea-level rise and consequent erosion on the Eastern Shore and thus the future of our quality of life. It’s worth thinking about.

Hearings begin Sept. 24 at Kent County High School in Worton, Sept. 25 at Queen Anne’s County High School in Centreville and Oct. 3 at the Talbot County Community Center in Easton—all from 6 p.m. to 8 p.m.

It matters little if some of us may not be around when a new bridge, estimated now to cost $10 billion, is built. The future is our legacy.

The Eastern Shore has provided a direct link to Maryland and Delaware beaches for nearly 70 years. We have supported fun, frolic and spending at the beaches. We have suffered inconvenience.

Enough is enough.

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. In retirement, Howard serves on the boards of several non-profits on the Eastern Shore, Annapolis and Philadelphia.

After receiving the 2019 Mid-Shore Distinguished Citizen Award from the Del-Ma-Va Council of the Boy Scouts of America last Tuesday night, Aug. 20, at the Tred Avon Yacht Club, Dick Bodorff reacted in his typical fashion before about 200 people.

With notable humility.

He thanked everyone for their support of the Boy Scouts, enabling many to participate who otherwise might not. He then paid special recognition to representatives of the Academy Art Museum, the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum (CBMM) and the YMCA of the Chesapeake—all organizations with which he has been, or still is affiliated.

Once he completed his brief remarks, Richard Tilghman, the emcee, rightly said that by deflecting any self-congratulation, Bodorff showed why he is an “‘amazing person.’ “

I’ve known Dick Bodorff particularly well for roughly five years. His quiet, understated manner and wry sense of humor bely a terribly effective attorney and civic leader. We have served together for most of that time—except when he was chairman of the board of the YMCA—on the board of governors of CBMM.

I got to know this gentleman when he chaired the search committee for a new CBMM president. I was amazed and impressed. While juggling the demands of his communications law practice at Wiley Rein LLP in Washington, DC, he led an intense six-month effort to hire a search firm and then conduct a search that resulted in the hiring of Kristen Greenaway. It was not unusual to receive emails sent by Bodorff late at night.

A man of many talents, he holds the rank of Eagle Scout and a Vigil member of the Order of the Arrow. He joined the Boy Scouts in his hometown of Rockford, ILL. 

I’ve met in recent years several former Eagle Scouts, who, like retired members of the U.S. Marine Corps, still hold scouting dear to their hearts. Invariably, they will talk about their long-ago Eagle Scout projects and sometimes a favorite mentor. These men have enjoyed successful careers and devoted themselves to the betterment of their communities.

The Boy Scouts provide an opportunity for young men and women to learn teamwork, mission accomplishment and service above self. The latter is most important and lasting in my book of expectations; truly selfless actions are genuine. 

Scouts seem to take to heart the Scout Law: “to help people at all times; to keep myself physically strong, mentally awake and morally straight.”

A young neighbor of mine, now in his second year at the U.S. Merchant Marine Academy (USMMA), became an Eagle Scout, the first in his family. When we met to talk about his application to USMMA, I asked him why his scouting experience meant so much to him. He zeroed in on teamwork and the opportunity to grow and mature in environments outside the comfort zone of one’s home.

At the recognition ceremony for Bodorff, at least two speakers mentioned that scouting is an antidote to today’s societal problems. They meant drugs and destructive behavior. While they were beating the drum for the intrinsic value of the Boy Scouts, they also were referring to other activities that enable young men and women to pursue healthy endeavors away from the temptations of drugs and alcohol.  Organized sports provide the same disciplined environment, as do drama and musical groups.

My friend Dick Bodorff was an ideal choice. In his modest but determined way, he has achieved great success in the legal and philanthropic worlds. He is a decent person with many friends and admirers.

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. In retirement, Howard serves on the boards of several non-profits on the Eastern Shore, Annapolis and Philadelphia.

After an agonizing physical and mental journey the past 11 months, I’ve come to a place once foreign to me: an acceptance of a stark new reality: the need to be content with who I am now, not who I was, physically. The awkward structure of this sentence reflects my struggle.

I promised in past columns I would share my quest for medical answers and treatment of a non-fatal, but disabling and life-altering medical condition. And so I will, without excessively mind-numbing detail.

Beginning with an uncontrollable fall on Oct. 1, 2018 in a Kent Island restaurant, I have seen more doctors and undertaken more tests than I thought was possible, or even desirable in my life. The process was far from linear. The falls continued, all but the first one out of public eye.

I pursued some paths that led nowhere. I wondered at times whether I could find an answer; uncertainty was frustrating. I came to realize that medical care is more an art than a science in many instances.

The complex can be confounding, despite the best intent.

What I know is that I have a vestibular disorder that affects my balance and can create dizziness. The balance nerve, particularly in my left ear, is damaged; the right-ear nerve is in relatively good shape. The damage is irreparable. The cause is unknown. No medicinal cure or abatement is possible at this time. Vestibular physical therapy, something I’ve already undergone and will resume, is the only avenue currently available for coping with my condition.

I walk with a cane. It’s my security blanket, a third leg to offer stability and foreclose falls.

The good news is that a battery of tests—including a brain MRI, neck MRA (looking at the arteries to my brain), an MRI of my spine and extensive blood work have produced “unremarkable” results. That fact, particularly related to my brain, would surprise no one, especially family members. Simply, my overall medical condition is good—nothing “big or bad,” according to a Johns Hopkins Hospital neurologist who specializes in dizziness.

My wife and I feel confident in this excellent doctor; with whom we spoke for nearly 30 minutes by phone last week. He not only understood the physical attributes of my medical condition, but also empathized with the emotional component. The effect on my life is inescapable.

Friends and family have wondered how this disabling dysfunction happened. My first response is that it makes no difference now. Then, realizing that people want to learn from others facing medical challenges, I offer what doctors have said were possible causes: a virus or antibiotic or blood pressure medication. Simply, the cause is unclear.

What I have learned through this grueling process?

Support from friends and family has been heartwarming and critical to my state of mind. As I’ve experienced, vestibular disease promotes social withdrawal and hints of depression.

Though I applaud and appreciate the medical profession, I realized early on that self-advocacy and forthright communication were absolutely imperative. I can’t speak to whether the medical world is swamped at the moment—that is outside my knowledge base.

But I am adamant about the need to follow up continuously, sometimes annoyingly. I was persistent. I had to be.

And one other obvious conclusion voiced by many with whom I’ve spoken is that we are indeed fortunate to have access to Hopkins Hospital, one of the best in the world. Its panoply of medical specialists, operating in a world-class research institution, is awfully consoling when seeking a solution to a complex medical matter.

I have to accept my current reality with a positive attitude. I have to accept what is, not what was. I have to understand that many in our community—including the suffering folks whom I see when I visit Hopkins—have worse afflictions than mine.

I have to be empathetic as so many have been toward me.

I refuse to yield to self-pity, hard though that might be at times. I refuse to yield to anger, however easy that is.

I have to deal with loss. That’s difficult. We all lose parts of ourselves as we age. It’s unavoidable. Grieving is permissible.

So is optimism.

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. In retirement, Howard serves on the boards of several non-profits on the Eastern Shore, Annapolis and Philadelphia.

I paid my respects Saturday morning to a person who’s very much alive. His business, however, is closing Thursday, Aug. 15 for reasons beyond his control.

For the first time, we spoke as friends. We conducted no business. We both sat down on worn furniture. He sat back flashing his wonderful smile as he discussed his tenure as the face for 20 years of the go-to shoe repair business in Easton. His customers came from far and wide, I suspect.

Of course, I’m talking about Leroy Potter, who has worked nearly 55 years at Caldwell Shoe Repair, located since the 1960s in a small brick building at 15 N. West Street in Easton. His craftsmanship, his welcoming demeanor and promptness were all high-caliber. Potter has managed the shop since 1999.

The shop opened in 1935, operated by Charles Caldwell and his brother Stanley. Charlene Caldwell DeShields, Charles’ daughter, took over ownership after her father and uncle died in the late 1990s.

The shop always seemed shop-worn. Shoes and purses lay everywhere. The machinery looked old and dirty, sodden with coagulated glue. Yet, Potter would quickly find one’s shoes with little or no effort. He never seemed hurried or harassed. Your shoes were always ready when he said they would be, and flawlessly repaired.

Potter recently retired after 44 years with the Talbot County Public School System, 30 as head custodian at Easton Elementary School. I believe he spent part of his career at Easton Middle School, which my daughters attended. Unfailingly he would ask about my oldest daughter, who somehow grabbed his attention. He remembered her name.

I was not alone Saturday morning as I sat with Potter. One gentleman arrived full of bonhomie, obviously as fond as I of the smiling, reserved cobbler. He too wondered what life would be like without Leroy’s reliable skill and professional approach. This man, unknown to me, and I were tripping over each in praise of a man and special small business in a non-descript building.

Potter said he had been the beneficiary of similar visits from long-satisfied customers ever since the local media announced the closing.

He told me a story about a woman who lives in England and would bring her shoes—and a gift—every Christmas to the shop. As it turns out, I know this woman, who was raised here. She, like this writer, enjoys acquiring shoes and then taking care of them.  

Potter mentioned maybe continuing as a cobbler on his own. The business is looking for a smaller space, according to a Star Democrat article. I encouraged that possibility. My guess is that he would have a steady, loyal stream of business. I would happily join those who like to deal with Leroy Potter.

Perhaps it’s my age and outlook, but I bemoan the loss of community assets, be it Caldwell Shoe Repair or the News Center, which closed last summer, or the Ben Franklin Crafts store. While small business sell products and services, they also generate emotional connections. The space and employees become part of our lives and memories.

Godspeed, Leroy Potter.

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. In retirement, Howard serves on the boards of several non-profits on the Eastern Shore, Annapolis and Philadelphia.

Death of a loved one is devastating.

Death of a friend is wrenching.

Death of a relationship founded on familiarity and need tears at your sense of place.

So, Youngstown, Ohio will lose its daily newspaper, the Vindicator, on Aug. 31 after 150 years in print. The community will lose its pipeline to news and information—a vital part of its socioeconomic infrastructure and its longtime identity.

While 1,800 newspapers have closed their doors during the past 16 years, disappearance of the Vindicator will deprive a good-sized city of 65,000 residents and a metro area of more than 500,000 with no daily newspaper. In many cases, evening papers have ceased to exist while morning newspapers continued to publish.

Last week I wrote about municipal sinkholes. Demise of a local newspaper creates an emotional hole that can hardly be filled, even by word of mouth or the internet.

Healthy communication ceases. Replacement by another tactile newspaper is unlikely due to cost and economic conditions; advertising dollars have flowed to online media outlets.

A blue-collar city already bereft of a large General Motors plant that once employed 14,000, Youngstown now will lack a community asset that provided an inextricable link to democracy. I realize that sounds like a high-sounding reaction to diminution of free press and local news.

What it means to me, as an avid reader of three newspapers that give me invaluable perspective of national, state and local news, is that democracy is nourished and sustained by public engagement. Without information and opinion about current events, including news about government, business, culture, sports, community events, obituaries, education and health, we all suffer from detachment and, possibly, complacency.

Concerning the Vindicator, Joel Kaplan, associate dean of Syracuse University’s Newhouse School of Public Communications, said that “’no one in the community will be covering, on a regular basis, school board meetings, city council meetings, the cops and the courts.

“’Democracy, as we know it, is about to die in Youngstown.’”

A scenario that precludes oversight and accountability of government provided by pesky reporters and editors seems insufferable to me.

A scenario that blocks public engagement and prompts inadequate responsiveness to the needs of a community seems nightmarish to me.

It’s not because I’m a news junkie. It’s because I love living in a democracy defined by constant, often noisy dialogue, controversy and difference of opinion. Letters to the editor, for example, are a highlight of any paper. What an ideal platform for engagement (here I go again) and unvarnished (though edited) viewpoints.

As noted, a newspaper, when it functions optimally, provides a conduit to the community in which we live, work, play and pray. It’s invaluable, a beacon of light, a telltale sign that a community is healthy.

Mind you, I realize that Mid-Shore newspapers tend to shy away from hard-hitting news, the type that elected officials and high-ranking government appointees fear. The tension between our democratic institutions and the free press is necessary, if not off-putting to those under the journalistic microscope.

I’ve been on both sides of the divide. I was a small-town newspaper editor determined to be vigilant and professional. I never sought a Pulitzer Prize. I would have been delusional had I had been so ambitious.

Then, I switched roles as public affairs officer for the Maryland National Guard. My professional life was uncomfortable at times; the spotlight sometimes stung. As the designated spokesperson, I anticipated with dread the automatic inquiries that materialize after a training accident or emergency.

Yet, I loved the give-and-take. And, believe it or not, I inwardly commended the media interest.

I strove to provide more sunshine than spin. I likely did both

I grieve the loss of another newspaper in a nation that’s becoming increasingly underserved by the legacy print publications. Communities are diminished by the dearth of local news.

A former reporter for the Vindicator who grew up reading the paper with her grandmother, Kalea Hall, said,” ‘It was the paper that first taught me the importance of journalism. It was always scrappy and going after corrupt officials (in Mahoning Valley). I was in awe of that.

“’I can’t explain how difficult it is to see this happen, but I understand given the conditions of the newspaper industry. I beg people to support local journalism. It’s essential to democracy.’”

Death of a longtime newspaper is mournful, stifling a cherished sense of place for residents hungry for communication.

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. In retirement, Howard serves on the boards of several non-profits on the Eastern Shore, Annapolis and Philadelphia.

Howard will be off for the next few weeks and will return in late August.

You can’t see it. You may not think about it. And, then, an incident happens, and your daily life is disrupted.

The problem is fixed. Your life resumes, no longer inconvenienced. But the fix exposes a significant problem not only in your community, but in cities and towns that trace their origins to the 19th, if not the 18th centuries.

I’m referring to the aging pipes carrying sewage and stormwater beneath our streets—hidden from view and therefore ignored till too late. The time is now to look at infrastructure in our country.

The issue is a bipartisan one; nonetheless, political stalemate in the U.S. Congress likely will prevent the necessary expenditure of billions of dollars (maybe more). The problem will worsen. Sinkholes will become more common and bothersome.

Within recent months, as I was walking my dog, I noticed work being done on South Harrison Street in Easton. A sanitary sewer line installed in late 1909—110 years ago and one year after the first Model T Ford was built— required immediate repair. The project engineer said, “The sinkhole was created from the sewer lateral offset of the connection at the main, creating a void for fine sand to enter into the sanitary sewer system, undermining the ground between the road and the sewer.”

Traffic was rerouted for maybe a day. Easton Utilities did its typically efficient job replacing the more than century-old pipe without prolonged disruption on a well-traveled street.

Then, nearly two weeks ago, a storm water pipe burst in Baltimore at a busy downtown intersection at Pratt and Howard streets, creating another sinkhole that appeared to consume a Light Rail platform —and disrupting rush hour traffic. It was not a pretty picture for Baltimoreans struggling to manage their daily lives.

Towns and cities on the East Coast as well as the Rust Belt in the Midwest are showing age, at least underground. Public officials and residents cannot afford to look only at the surface. There’s plenty to worry about with what you can’t see, but surely may experience, sometimes amid dangerous and expected flooding.

Local utilities and public works departments are not sitting back awaiting the next catastrophe. They conduct video inspections that pinpoint future repair and maintenance.

The subject of repair and maintenance is not glitzy. There rarely are ribbon-cuttings and speeches by elected officials when a sewer or stormwater line is replaced. Savvy government leaders do understand, however, that ignoring infrastructure only worsens the problem.

Sinkholes can cost lives; even the word seems ominous.

According to a report prepared in May 2016 by the American Society of Civil Engineers (ASCE), “The cost of deteriorating infrastructure takes a toll on families’ disposable household income and impacts the quality and quantity of jobs in the U.S. economy.” ASCE projected that, from 2016 to 2025, “each household will lose $3,400 each year in disposable income due to infrastructure deficiencies.”

Though this financial loss is alarming, it’s important to understand that infrastructure as defined by ASCE includes aviation; bridges; drinking water; electricity; inland waterways; ports; commuter rail; roads; transit and wastewater. The report opines that businesses affected by disruptions to any infrastructure sector bear costs, which they then pass along to consumers.

This column is focused only on the underground sewage and stormwater system—unseen and disregarded by the public until a sinkhole and flooding happens. Some years ago, I recall that a pipe burst in Montgomery County, MD creating a sudden flood of water that entrapped a mother as she was driving her children to school. The picture of a helicopter rescuing the young family still haunts me.

The incident in Montgomery County brought home to me the importance of infrastructure and need for constant vigilance. The sinkhole on South Harrison Street in Easton—which could have occurred in Chestertown, Denton and Cambridge—certainly wasn’t a terrible inconvenience. Nonetheless, it struck a nerve for me.

While I realize that local, state and federal governments have many pressing problems and too little money to address of them, I recommend that we understand that a complicated and, in some cases, an aging system of pipes demands our attention.

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. In retirement, Howard serves on the boards of several non-profits on the Eastern Shore, Annapolis and Philadelphia.

An article in a major newspaper that tries to capture Eastern Shore culture and idiosyncrasies often falls flat and fails to be funny and clever. Such was the case last week in a Washington Post story in the Style section entitled “Crabby about picking.”

The subject was picking and eating hard-shell crabs. The writer interviewed several people who nearly unanimously complained about the unsatisfying effort to eat a crab, citing little reward in its meatiness, or the smell that remained in one’s hands for days, or the cuts that might happen while eating Maryland’s state crustacean.

I tried hard to glean some humor. But I couldn’t. The writer missed the point—maybe deliberately so, maybe not.

If the writer had chosen to view crab-eating as a cultural ritual, I suspect its content would have been meatier and juicier. Instead, she chose to treat the subject whimsically, implicitly questioning the devouring of a shellfish deemed so undesirable to her.

The more I thought about the writer’s distasteful view of the blue crab, the more steamed I became. I decided to claw back and defend this conveyor of delicious crabmeat.

In many ways, steamed crabs are a uniting force, bringing people together at one table for hours, equipped with crab knives, mallets, beverages, corn, tomatoes—and eliciting joy at eating an incredible delicacy. So, yes, the blue (red when cooked) is a social, even charismatic animal.

People’s moods seem to change when eating crabs. Conversation admittedly is a bit interrupted amid the pounding of mallets, a few finger cuts and a piddling amount of blood and frequent utterances of pure excitement as a piece of lump meat delights the palette.

My wife and I, once the crab season is in full throttle, consistently order our crabs at Gay’s Seafood on Easton Point and rarely are disappointed. We figure we are eating truly local crabs harvested from the Miles and Tread Avon rivers. I’m struck by how simple the operation is, yet the results are sumptuous.

In the Post article, the writer observes, “For locals who don’t like picking crabs, the summer is full of yellowed entrails, foul marine odors, social engagements to avoid and loyalties to defend.” Now, I admit that I know people who either are allergic to shellfish, or simply don’t want to go to the trouble of picking a crab. 

I understand we all have our culinary likes and dislikes. However, dissing on hard-shell or soft-shell crabs is uncommon, if not disrespectful.

Deliberate avoidance of social shellfish occasions? That’s going a bit far.

Taking the side of reluctant, if not recalcitrant crab-eaters, the Post writer states, “And that (feeling forced to eat), for the crab-averse, is the worst part of all. Not only are they expected to dismember and disembowel a bottom-dwelling animal, spending hours tweezing out tiny morsels of meat as shell puncture their skin, but they’re also expected to like it.”

Now, this last comment really offends my fancy for, and dedication to crabs. It just seems so unnecessarily negative. Does crab-eating take time and possibly inflict a few cuts along the way? Yes. Is eating a crabcake far easier? Yes. 

Is forsaking the pure joy of eating delicious crabmeat (and all the comes with it) with friends and spending time talking for hours between bites a desirable course of action? No. 

I haven’t mentioned the cost, which can be hefty in an urban area, maybe as much as $125-$150 a dozen. That’s costly. I agree. At Gay’s, I pay $40 a dozen. At $3.33 per crab, it’s well worth the price. 

I’ve made my case in defense of a tasty and habit-forming crustacean. I grant the naysayers their distaste. We each have our particular food attachments.

But, I urge the Washington Post writer to find some hard-shell devotees the next time she writes about the blue crab. And that she understands that a crab feast knows no political boundaries.

We Americans like to commemorate public anniversaries of the ending of wars, assassinations of presidents and transformative leaders, passage of momentous federal legislation and, of course, the founding of our nation. These events of reverence and recognition give us a sense of place in our country, defining who we are, through whom, and what we honor and cherish.

As a former journalist and devout believer in the freedom of press as expressed in the First Amendment of our U.S. Constitution, I felt touched when reading about the first anniversary on June 28 of the gruesome murder of four journalists and an advertising assistant at the Annapolis Capital Gazette. A memorial garden was dedicated 11 days ago at Acton’s Cove Waterfront Park in Annapolis.

Family members, Capital employees and public figures attended the morning ceremony. On the same day, a moment of silence was observed at the time of the attack at 2:33 p.m. in the offices of the Capital, Baltimore Sun (part of the same media group as the Capital) and throughout the country.

The accused perpetrator of the worst attack on a newspaper in U.S. history will be tried on murder and other charges. He is pleading not criminally responsible. He had held a grudge against the newspaper for writing about a legal proceeding charging him with criminal harassment of a woman.

At a time when media outlets have come under unrelenting bombast by President Trump, characterized by him as the “enemy of the people,” I believe just the opposite. The media protects us from corruption and self-dealing in government, churches, military, corporations and every aspect of American life. It provides valuable information and insight that allow all citizens to feel part of their communities. 

It represents the basic infrastructure for sustaining our freedom. 

Unlike Russia and China, our news flows uncensored and uncontrolled. Consequently, news coverage of government leaders may be unflattering and disturbing. Truth remains the ideal; it triumphs over misinformation and manipulation.

Of course, inherent in the gathering of news and accurate reporting, the media—print and electronic—can be intrusive and bothersome. Good reporters, whether armed with a pen and pencil or a camera, are trained to “get the story and get it right,” often irritating the source. 

The obligation of a media professional is to compose and produce a balanced piece of journalism.

“Balance” can be in the eyes of the beholder, or in many cases the subject of the coverage, as well as the public. What I think is balanced and fair may and does differ from someone either invested in the story, or reading/ watching it with a different point of view.

The scene in the Capital newsroom on June 28, 2018 was horrific. Yet, the staff still produced a newspaper that day. They did so while in shock. In the weeks and months following the senseless mayhem, reporters from newspapers throughout the country took leaves of absence from their normal jobs to help the Capital continue to serve the community.

In recounting yet another mass shooting in our nation, this one in a newsroom in a city known to many Spy readers, filled with followers of the First Amendment, I hark back to my unshakeable faith in the American press. I realize it’s less than perfect. Its practitioners may be careless at times. Bias on the news pages and daily broadcasts may be avoidable.

In 1823, Thomas Jefferson wrote his French friend, Marquis de Lafayette: “The only security of all is in a free press. The force of public opinion cannot be resisted when permitted freely to be expressed. The agitation it produces must be submitted to. It is necessary to keep the waters pure.”

Ironically, this American icon was often subject to the whims and wiles of a free, unfettered press.

Some anniversaries are bittersweet. Tragedy often underscores them. The five Annapolis Capital Gazette employees murdered senselessly deserve our heartfelt memorialization. A rose garden planted in their memory in an Annapolis park reminds us of the perils of a free press.

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. In retirement, Howard serves on the boards of several non-profits on the Eastern Shore, Annapolis and Philadelphia.

Think back to July 4, 1968 and celebration of Independence Day in a nation severely divided by the Vietnam War and disrupted by the assassinations of Martin Luther King, Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy.  Glee and pride were in short supply.

By the end of summer 1968, according to Smithsonian.com, 53 percent of Americans opposed the Vietnam War, while 35 percent supported it. Times were tense in America.

Now, nearly 51 years later, as we approach our 243rd birthday, our country is polarized and paralyzed by partisan politics. Civility has suffered. Friendships have ruptured. Compromise has become a mostly unattainable ideal in our U.S. Congress. Our president does little, if anything, to heal and unite.

In a Pew Research Center poll released more than three months ago, 60 percent of respondents believe that the United States will be less important in the world over the next 30 years, while 31 percent opine that the U.S. will be more important. Sixty-five percent believe that the country will be more politically divided; 26 percent think it will be less politically divided.

As was the case in 1968, our national fabric is badly frayed. Pessimism is on the rise, as illustrated in the just-cited figures.

According to the Pew research, “the majority of Americans have little confidence that the federal government and their elected officials are up to meeting the major challenges that lie ahead…when asked what impact the federal government will have on finding solutions to the country’s future problems, more say that Washington will have a negative impact than a positive one (55% vs. 44%).”

Optimism must experience a resurgence and overcome our current malaise.

Income equality must be addressed to reduce, if possible, the widening gap between the haves and have-nots. Capitalism, coupled with a buoyant though fractious democracy, must remain strong and thriving.

Police brutality, tainted by racism, must be minimized. Public trust in our law enforcement agencies needs an urgent boost.

Immigrants must feel welcomed and treated humanely. Lawful entry into our country is critical, but so is flexibility and compassion.

Climate change cannot be disregarded or derided. Scientific evidence is abundant as violent changes in climate, such as increased heat, deadly fires and more frequent storm surges, roil our nation and world. Human behavior must change in reducing the production of carbon dioxide and consequent global warming.

Our young nation is strong and resilient. It has withstood a Civil War in the mid-1800s, a Depression in the 1930s, racial riots in the 1960s, political turbulence at the 1968 Democratic Convention in Chicago and a recession in 2007-2009. 

Without an upsurge in hope and comity, we will face continued degradation of our national soul and ability to forge solutions to complex, gnawing problems, The partisan pendulum must right itself.

Like others who view our country’s future with alarm, I believe that leadership is an inextricable part of the answer to bridging the socioeconomic gap so prevalent in American society. In small and large ways during my life on our sometimes unsettled earth, I’ve seen the impact of a determined, visionary, compassionate and effective leader. I’ve seen where dissonant factions can be encouraged and prodded into committing to a common good. 

It’s never easy. Formerly rigid ways of behaving undergo change, albeit painfully.

Independence Day fireworks illuminate the excitement and value of living in a country known for its moral authority. They bring wonder to the young and old. They fill our communities with joy and togetherness. Barriers diminish briefly.

We recovered from the tumult and social upheaval in the 1960s. We overcame social and political divisions, though remnants remain. We can do the same now. We need leaders on the local, state and federal levels to call for the best of us and display open-mindedness and tolerance.

Is it possible? I hope so.

Is it just a dream that dissipates in the light of day? I hope not.

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. In retirement, Howard serves on the boards of several non-profits on the Eastern Shore, Annapolis and Philadelphia.