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October 17, 2021

The Talbot Spy

The nonprofit e-newspaper for the Talbot County Community

Arts Delmarva Review Top Story

Delmarva Review: The Leonids by Anne Yarbrough

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Author’s Note: “We were driving back to Delaware from D.C. along Route 301 one night in November during the Leonid meteor shower. The Eastern Shore contains dark-sky patches along there, so I saw the shooting star. M’sing is a mysterious Lenape figure, somewhat deer and somewhat human, thought to have been a local forest guardian. The poem aims to evoke a disquieting unknowability and our human desire for some bright-lit gate (in this instance, the Delaware City Refinery) to protect us from that, even though it doesn’t, really.”

The Leonids

The earth turns toward darkness. The river a dark lash
outward, slips down toward the vast surrounding ocean.
The sense of down, of something falling. Night falls on
the earth the sky falling down, turning dark. The ground
black, the water unfathomable. Not fathomed.
Its measure cannot be taken. M’sing, guardian
of the forest, recedes now into its fathoms
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa where he will wait.

No way to measure the distance along the path,
whereon each step recedes into darkness. Darkness
rises up, collides with darkness falling. The vast
sky collapses onto the water, the ground dis-
appears. The stars recede into the depths of the
sky, which cannot be fathomed. There was a shooting
star, falling down into some unknown place. You might
not have seen, it slipped so traceless by. On this night
we would be glad to gaze upon that bright-lit gate
across the water, that guards the edge of nothing.

♦

Anne Yarbrough’s recent poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Delmarva Review, Poet Lore, Gargoyle, Philadelphia Stories, and Amethyst Review. Her new collection, Refinery, is forthcoming from The Broadkill River Press. She lives in New Castle, Delaware.

Delmarva Review publishes compelling new poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction from thousands of submissions selected annually from the region, nationally, and beyond. As an independent, 501(c)(3) nonprofit literary publication, it is supported by individual contributions and a grant from the Talbot County Arts Council with funds from the Maryland State Arts Council.

Editions are available from Amazon.com, other online booksellers, and from regional specialty bookstores. The 14th annual review is forthcoming in November. Website: DelmarvaReview.org.

Chesapeake Lens: End of the Line by Albie Sayer

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There was a time when Maryland’s Eastern Shore was one of the nation’s largest producers of peaches and other stone fruit. Produce was shipped by rail or delivered to ships for distribution up and down the Eastern seaboard and across the country. Alas, in the 1930s, a blight (“brown rot”) that started in New England reached our orchards. Thousands of trees had to be destroyed and Maryland’s fruit industry literally withered on the bough. “End of the Line” by Albie Sayer

Looking at the Masters: Vik Muniz by Beverly Hall Smith

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Vicente Jose de Oliveira Muniz, born in San Paulo, Brazil in 1961, struggled in school because he was dyslexic and turned to drawing to accomplish his school assignments. When he was 14, his math teacher suggested he enter an art contest, and he won a partial scholarship to an art studio. His interest in art grew, and at age 18 he enrolled in a publicity and advertising course in Sao Paulo. He took a job in an advertising agency where he redesigned bulletin boards to make them easier to read. That same year he was shot in the leg while trying to break up a fight. The shooter offered him money not to press charges. He used the money to travel to Chicago where he stayed with his aunt.  He studied English, but learned Polish, Italian, Spanish and Korean from his fellow students. A visit New York in 1984 included a trip to the Museum of Modern Art, where he was inspired by the photographs of Cindy Sherman and the balloon sculpture of Jeff Koons. 

After the visit to New York, he moved there that same year. He lived in the east village and eventually opened a studio and started to make sculptures. His first exhibition was in 1988. After spending a year and a half in Paris, he returned to New York City in 1992 with a new concept for his art.  He began to use historic art images with new and unusual media to bring them back to life in a new light. 

Valentina, the Fastest” (1996)

Muniz’s series “Sugar Children” (1996) (14’’ x 11’’) (gelatin silver print) brought him to the attention of the art world. “Valentina, The Fastest” (1996) is a portrait of one of six children he met and photographed during a visit to the Caribbean. The children’s parents and grandparents had worked on sugar plantations in Saint Kitts. Valentina has a big smile and looks like a happy child. Muniz created the portrait by placing white sugar on black paper until he achieved a photographic likeness, and then he photographed the work.  He then wiped the paper clean and repeated the process for the next image. Thus, the original work of art was temporary and destroyed.

 

The titles Muniz assigns to the portraits of the other five children make the viewer smile: “Jacynthe, Loves Orange Juice,” “Big James, Sweats Buckets,” “Lil’Calist, Can’t Swim,” “Valencia, Bathes in Sunday Clothes,” and “Ten Ten’s Weed Necklace.” They are all young, and they all smile at the viewer. The images are happy and sweet. “Sugar Children” also is ironic. Valentina can be described as a sweet young girl, but she is poor and lives in a slum. Sugar is desired the world over, but do the “Sugar Children” have their fair share? Furthermore, these are the children of slave laborers that produced the sugar. 

Muniz’s artistic success continued with photographs of iconic images that he created with unusual materials. “Last Supper, after da Vinci” (1998) was drawn with chocolate syrup, “Medusa, after Caravaggio” (1997) with marinara sauce, “Marilyn Monroe” (2004)  with diamond dust, and “Narcissus” after Caravaggio” (2005) was drawn and colored with trash.

 

“Marat” (Sebastiao) (2008)

Muniz decided to move back home to Rio de Janeiro in 2008. There he encountered the Jardim Gramacho, one of the largest landfills in the world. Muniz formed lasting friendships with Tiao (Sebastiao Carlos dos Santos), the young leader of the catadores (garbage pickers), and many of the other catadores. The result was a collaboration between Muniz and seven catadores to create art Muniz would then sell, the profits going to the catadores. There were over 1,700 garbage pickers who looked for plastics, paper, and metal, and any recyclable items they could sell in order to buy food and necessities. Their work supported nearly 15,000 people who lived near the landfill. 

The left image of the two in “Marat” (Sebastiao) (2008) is the photograph of Tiao in a bathtub Muniz used for his painting.  All of the original photographs were shot in an impromptu studio set up in the landfill.  The historical painting used here is “The Death of Marat” (1793) by Jacques Louis David.  Marat, one of the first leaders of the French Revolution, was assassinated in his bath. Muniz established a large covered space where he could project the photograph onto the floor. He then painted the image in brown tones. The catadores helped to pick and place the trash to form the background. The “Death of Marat” is an interesting choice. Tiao was the leader of the catadores, and he was in effect organizing a revolution. Fortunately, Tiao’s revolution did not end in bloodshed. He became president of the co-op he organized. The Association of Recycling Pickers of Jardim Gramacho now coordinates recycling services in Brazil.

“The Bearer” (Irma)’’ (2008)

The subject of “The Bearer” (2008) (Irma) (Leide Laurentina de Silva) was a cook for the catadores, preparing food from leftovers found in the landfill.  “The Bearer” is a painting on the large studio floor, where all of the portraits were painted.  In this piece, trash forms the basket Irma carries on her head. The basket is large, and its weight is increased when one realizes it is made from trash. The Jardim Gramacho had been in operation for 34 years and was almost 300 feet high, covering an area of 14 million square feet.  Nine thousand tons of trash were dumped there every day.

Muniz photographed the giant images from above. He found the catadores were generally in good spirits and had developed close bonds of friendship and cooperation: “These people are at the other end of consumer culture. I was expecting to see people who were beaten and broken.”  But they are survivors. Irma is a strong, determined and self-confident woman. The images are also poignant and capture a humanity that is palpable.

“Mother and Child” (Suellen) (2008)

The ranks of the catadores included very young children and seniors as old as 87. The oldest of the catadores was Vater dos Santos, who knew recycling from bottom to top.. He was described as the resident bard who loved to talk in rhymes and tell moral tales.  “Mother and Child” (Suellen) (Suellem Pereira Dias) (2008) represents the young catadores. The composition of the painting recalls Raphael’s “Madonna of the Meadows” (1505-06) that depicted Mary with the young Jesus and John the Baptist. Suellen wears a veil over her head, the baby is wrapped as if in swaddling clothes, and the young boy wears a loose cloak. The expressions on their faces challenge the viewer.  

“The Sower” (Zumba) (2008)

“The Sower” (Zumba) (Jose Carlos da Silva ala Lopez) (2008) is based on Millet’s “The Sower” (1850). Ironically, Millet chose to illustrate the value of hard work at a time when such images were not in favor.  Millet’s subject is sowing seeds to feed his family and others. Muniz’s has no seed nor field to plant. However, Zumba happily engages the viewer while standing in the middle of a field of trash. He holds a bag to gather whatever he can find. In fact, Zumba, who had worked as a catadores since he was nine years old, kept all the books he found in the landfill in his hut, and lent them out to others. When the money from this project was returned to the catadores, they used some of it to build a library holding over 7000 books and including an IT room with computers and a learning center. 

Muniz took the art to an auction house in London where it all sold. He donated the profits to the catadores. “Marat” sold for $64,000. The catadores were able to purchase a truck, build the library, and  buy cell phones, computers, and technology necessary to keep their co-op running.  

“Wasteland” (2010)

 

The project culminated in “Wasteland” (2010), a film recording the three-year process, including interviews with the catadores. The catadores believe the art and the film have helped to change people’s minds about the negative social stigma that existed.  Muniz stated in the film, “I’m at this point in my career where I’m trying to step away from the realm of fine arts because I think it’s a very exclusive, very restrictive place to be. What I want to be able to do is to change the lives of people with the same materials they deal with every day.”

“Wasteland” premiered at the Sundance Film Festival in 2010, and it was nominated for best documentary at the 2011 Academy Awards. Reviews of the film called it “an uplifting portrait of the power of art and the dignity of the human spirit.” 

 In 2011, UNESCO nominated Muniz to be a Goodwill Ambassador “in recognition of his contributions to education and social development through his artistic career.”  In 2015, Muniz started a school of art and technology in Rio de Janeiro for the underprivileged. 

The Jardim Gramacho was closed by the Brazilian government in 2012 because of the pollution it caused. The film was largely responsible for this important decision, and the Brazilian government showed it to encourage recycling.  Recycling plants were established. The catadores and the company that is harvesting the methane gas from the landfill negotiated severance pay of 11 million dollars to be distributed to the workers.

Muniz once observed, “A lot of time you keep looking for beauty, but it is already there. And if you look with a little bit more intention, you see it.”  

Beverly Hall Smith was a professor of art history for 40 years.  Since retiring with her husband Kurt to Chestertown six years ago, she has taught art history classes at WC-ALL and Chesapeake College’s Institute for Adult Learning.  She is also an artist whose work is sometimes in exhibitions at Chestertown RiverArts and she paints sets for the Garfield Center for the Arts.

 

CBD Rising by Angela Rieck

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Just a quick search on Amazon reveals over 800 hemp oil products. I am sure that many of these are duplicates; but it is an impressive list. Hemp oil (or CBD oil) is often heralded these days as a cure for what ails you.

We have a habit of rushing to the newest herb or vitamin. At one time, petroleum jelly was a miracle cure, and its advocates would consume a teaspoon a day.

For those who don’t know…CBD oil is a compound found in marijuana and hemp that has medicinal benefits but does not produce the “high” that people experience with marijuana. The compound that produces the psychotropic effect in marijuana is THC. Hemp has less than .3% THC.

But hemp oil and CBD oil has rapidly jumped into our medicine cabinets and is available to anyone without a prescription. I wanted to understand its meteoric rise; especially since marijuana is still classified as a schedule 1 drug; meaning that it is as dangerous as heroin, and it has no potential medical benefits.

Despite its classification, grassroots (no pun intended) efforts have put marijuana on the ballot and citizens are voting to decriminalize and even legalize marijuana. There are 36 states, DC and four territories that offer medical marijuana through prescription. Twenty seven states (and DC) have decriminalized marijuana and another 18 have legalized it.

The movement has far surpassed scientific research.

How did this happen so quickly? Why is CBD and hemp oil available to all of us?

One of the avenues to CBD popularity were parents of epileptic children. Desperate parents watched their children have upwards of 50 epileptic episodes daily; knowing that that the cumulative effect of these seizures would be brain damage. They had tried all the FDA approved medications to no avail. Approved medicines have no impact on 1/3 of the patients; and many drugs have serious side effects.

In their frantic search for treatment, some parents (including a neuroscientist) discovered research in England that demonstrated that CBD oil could be a promising treatment. But since marijuana is a schedule 1 drug in the US, research was prohibited. Some parents made their own tinctures and one, Charlotte’s web, is available commercially. In many cases, CBD proved to be an effective treatment with no side effects. In some patients, CBD reduced the number of seizures to single digits and stopped brain damage. It didn’t work for everyone; but it has been clinically demonstrated to be effective in also reducing side effects from FDA approved drugs. The parents’ relentless campaign was so effective that there is now an FDA approved CBD drug.

But that movement alone would not bring CBD oil to the US. CBD and hemp oil needed a political heavyweight. Buried in the 2014 farm bill was limited approval for farmers to produce previously banned hemp and in the 2018 farm bill, it was legalized. And can you guess who we have to thank for this?

Mitch McConnell. No, this is not a misprint. Mitch McConnell and Rand Paul have been powerful advocates for hemp oil.

Hemp oil is now widely available, and its advocates believe that it can reduce pain, improve sleep, reduce anxiety, cure skin conditions, and treat PTSD. Most of these claims have not been scientifically validated. But scientists believe that CBD and hemp oil is relatively benign since the body typically absorbs less than 10% of the active agent. But as long as there are herbs and the ability to buy remedies without a prescription…there will be products to sell.

A third of the population has used CBD oil. There are creams, oils, gummies, and pills. I accidentally discovered its benefits while I was helping with a hemp harvest. After a week, I noticed that some neurological skin disorders that defied Dermatologist’s medications had improved. I give hemp oil to my PTSD dog (I haven’t noticed a lot of results with that though); and I use it occasio`nally to sleep.

In the meantime, research is trying to catch up. Scientists have discovered how it works. Surprisingly, we have THC receptors throughout our bodies…and CBD reduces absorption of THC at the receptors. Unlike other medications, CBD and THC work backwards from the synapses. Early research suggests that THC and CBD can be effective treatments for some neurological disorders. There are double blind studies on its impact with anxiety and stress in autistic children.

For now, hemp and CBD oils are the “wild west.” Manufacturers are not required to validate the potency claims of their product. And hemp and marijuana contain over 100 different compounds; in an unregulated world, we can’t know if there are dangerous levels of other compounds. And perhaps its benefits stem from a placebo effect.

But if people are finding relief, isn’t a placebo effect as good as the real thing?

Angela Rieck, a Caroline County native, received her PhD in Mathematical Psychology from the University of Maryland and worked as a scientist at Bell Labs, and other high-tech companies in New Jersey before retiring as a corporate executive. Angela and her dogs divide their time between St Michaels and Key West Florida. Her daughter lives and works in New York City.

Island Life: Jay Fleming’s Celebration of Those at Peace with Adversity by Jeff McGuiness

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Editor’s note. It is with profound sadness that we must note that Dwight Marshall, a central figure of Jay Fleming’s book and whose photo graces its cover, passed away as he was working on the water yesterday. The Spy has decided to publish Jeff McGuiness’ article of Jay’s work today as a tribute to Dwight, his family, and their remarkable contributions to our Chesapeake Bay heritage and culture.

Its title deceptively simple, Jay Fleming’s magnificent new book, Island Life, uses brilliant photography to address a fundamental issue of our time, dealing with overwhelming change while joyously appreciating the beauty surrounding us as we do. His photographic essay is so moving that ever since I saw the book’s proofs, I’ve had a recurring dream that is a metaphor for what our lives have become.

James “Ooker” Eskridge, waterman and mayor of Tangier Island, Virginia

I wake up in our home in St. Michaels with unsettling images of a vanished life. I am walking through the home we left in Northern Virginia that was torn down by a developer, a house in acres of woods that was part of a land of pastoral farms in verdant fields of clover that became cloverleafs, shopping centers, mega developments, and office towers, all within a thirty-year span. As I open my eyes, I wonder what the dreams are of those who live a few feet above sea level on the distant islands of Smith and Tangier in a remote part of the Chesapeake. Do they sleep with images of the heaving waters around them, the enormous skies of the lower Bay, workboats disappearing in the shimmering haze of summer, winter gales sweeping over the frail soil, the land underneath gnawed away by salt water?

Tangier Island, Virginia

These islanders and those that came before them live with that water constantly in sight, a still pond one day, a sea surging past their doorsteps the next. They trace their heritage to those who emigrated from Cornwall, Devon, and Dorset in southern England in the 1600’s after the death of Queen Elizabeth I. Their ancestors settled along the shore and on the islands of the lower Chesapeake, planting crops and drawing sustenance from the area’s bountiful waters which, unlike the privations faced in other New World settlements, made starvation impossible. Their descendants have lived on these islands for eight to ten generations, first primarily working the land, then as fortunes changed, moving onto the water. Those who have remained on the islands prefer the slower pace of life, separation from what our world has become, the intimacy with elemental forces.

A red fox taking home a striped bass.

During the War of 1812, the British Navy used Tangier as the base from which they sacked America’s new capital and burned its White House. After returning for a two week break before heading to Baltimore to continue their mayhem, the British asked Tangier’s leader, Joshua Thomas, to “exhort the soldiers” during a ceremony as the marines and sailors prepared to board the fleet. Thomas chose instead to tell the troops that they were making a big mistake, that they would “not succeed,” that Baltimoreans were different from Washingtonians, and that they should “prepare for death.” What prescient message can those distant souls on Tangier and Smith give us mainlanders struggling with life today? 

For decades, tourists from metropolitan areas have traveled by boat to this separate world to gawk at the locals and listen to their unusual dialect before smugly returning to the security of their well-ordered communities. Then the Pandemic hit. Those communities emptied as Americans roamed about searching for a different, less vulnerable place to live. For decades, Smith and Tangier have been the target of requiems and elegies from mainlanders focused on the Chesapeake’s waters slowly overtaking the islands’ shores. The writers ask, often condescendingly, don’t you people know what is going to happen to you? Now the islanders can ask, don’t you know what’s happening to you because of the consequences of your hypergrowth? Are you prepared to deal with it? The lesson of COVID is that no one is immune from unexpected change, so the question is, how to do we survive, prosper, and find happiness amid uncertainty? 

Daniel Dise paddling home after fishing his crab pots on Tangier Island.

Island Life is Jay Fleming’s answer. He burst onto the Chesapeake Bay photographic scene five years ago with his first book, Working the Water. We were immediately captivated by his boundless energy and infectious enthusiasm. Never before had we seen someone grinning ear to ear while immersed in a pound net full of fish so things could be photographed from the point of view of the captured. In a world saturated with photographs of the Chesapeake, Fleming’s vivid colors, unusual perspectives, and bold, simple designs set him apart. Soon his work was hanging in galleries, featured on magazine covers, and displayed in design houses. The book, now in its fourth printing with nearly ten thousand copies, is an achievement for someone who is his own publishing house.

Jay Fleming in his studio in Stevensville, MD. Photograph by the author.

Working the Water is a magnificently illustrated guide to everything that goes on in Chesapeake waters—fyke netting, haul seining, gill netting, crab scraping, bank trapping, pound netting, crab potting, and purse seining, for example. It is required reading for any Chesapeake boater not involved in commercial fishing. No more puzzling over what all those flags, floats, and poles are as they slide past your stern.

Oyster dredging on a rough winter day, Tangier Sound, Virginia.

Island Life goes in a different direction. It is a story of resilience in a world both beautiful and haunting. Unusual marine life in green water harvested in challenging conditions that becomes a delicacy on a dinner plate hundreds of miles away. The making of Mary Ada Marshall’s Smith Island cake, the iconic Maryland state dessert she ships from the edge of the world all over the east coast. A nesting colony of brown pelicans in tall grass hovering over their hatchlings who will soon be able to fly in formation a few feet off the water searching for menhaden. But it is Fleming’s oneness with the lives of the islanders and his depiction of their strong sense of community produced by their isolation and the challenges of their unique way of life that makes the book so distinct. 

Mary Ada Marshall shipping her Smith Island Cakes from her dining room on Smith Island. Dwight Marshall is behind her in their living room.

Over the past few years, Fleming has spent months on Smith and Tangier working on his photography and conducting workshops to the point he is no longer an outsider looking in. He is an island waterman in his own right, piloting his center console Privateer, a photographic platform custom built by Mary Ada and Dwight’s son, Kevin, as he documents who the islanders are and what they do. His is a studied observation that has created a connection, a bond, with these god-fearing souls that allows him to see life through their eyes, feel the water’s unpredictable grip, and dream the dreams they dream. Yes, the islanders live amidst fierce forces as they have for centuries, but so now do we all, and the way he shows how they see the wonder of life while living along peril’s edge can be a guide for all of us on the mainland.

A puffed-up northern pufferfish, Tangier Sound, Virginia.

Of the dozens of photographs in Island Life, the one that knocked me off my chair shows Darlene and Morris Marsh in their home in Ewell on Smith Island. Morris is seated comfortably in their living room reading the Bible next to a Christmas tree decorated with American flags. Why the flags? Because the Holiday season has not yet arrived. Darlene is in the foreground looking directly at the camera. And what is she doing? Holding a knife while picking crabs. Now, most people who pick Chesapeake crabs are appropriately attired for the collateral damage that occurs when crustaceans are dismembered. Darlene is dressed as if she is about to go out for the evening. She would look no different if she were using the knife to butter a dinner roll at a church social. 

Darlene and Morris Marsh at home on Smith Island, Virginia.

When I first saw this image, I was reminded of Grant Wood’s American Gothic, the iconic painting that hangs in the Chicago Institute of Art depicting a middle-aged couple standing in front of an Iowa farmhouse in the early years of the Depression. He holds a pitchfork while she, primly dressed, looks prepared to deal with any challenge thrown her way. American Gothic has come to be regarded as one of the finest representations of resilience, fortitude, and dignity in the face of mounting hardship on the early twentieth century prairie. If the Baltimore Museum of Art is searching for the twenty-first century Chesapeake equivalent, Jay Fleming’s image of the Marshes of Smith Island is worth consideration.  

Island Life will be released in November. It is available for purchase on Jay Fleming’s website and will soon be available in book shops, museums stores, and art galleries throughout the Chesapeake region. The Trippe Gallery in Easton, MD, will hold a book signing for Jay on Saturday, November 13, 2021, as part of Waterfowl Festival.

Jeff McGuiness was the senior partner of a public policy law firm based in Washington, DC, and founder of HR Policy Association. A fine arts major in college who served as a photographer in the Air Force during the Vietnam War Era, he has picked up where he left off 50 years ago with Bay Photographic Works. He lives in St. Michaels, MD.

 

Is the Biden Presidency a Train Wreck? By J.E. Dean

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On Monday afternoon, I clicked on Google News to see what was happening. I was looking for good news. Something other than news of a new school shooting, bickering on Capitol Hill, forest fires in California, or an uptick in COVID-19 deaths. Instead, the top news was all about President Biden. Well, not all of it directly about the president, but about the looming demise of the Biden Presidency.

The lead story, from Fox News, was that veteran journalist Al Hunt, questioned Biden’s competency. Another story, from Politico, explained how the White House blamed the president’s strikingly low approval ratings on the pandemic. Another story referenced the “Biden-Harris Train-Wreck.”

Biden is in trouble. And, so far, he and his team don’t seem to know what to do to right the ship. To the contrary, on two of the biggest challenges that the president faced in his first eight months, he is 0-2. He fumbled the Afghanistan exit and failed to address the crisis at the border. If you add to that the in-fighting between progressives and moderates within his own party, two words come to mind—failed leadership.

It’s OK, I think, to worry about the Biden presidency and still be glad he is in the White House. Biden is heading for a presidency that looks more like Jimmy Carter’s than FDR’s, but he did not try to foment an insurrection. And the word “Pinocchio” has largely disappeared from newspapers. I give credit to Biden for all that and more, but I expected more from him. I continue to wait for him to unify and inspire the country.

In reviewing Biden’s record to date, fairness requires that we keep the challenges he faces in mind. Biden is not to blame for the “delta variant” or for the mischief that Trump and most Republicans on Capitol Hill are causing. It’s hard to get anything done in Washington when the opposing party makes the failure of your presidency its top priority. Biden also cannot be blamed for Xi Jinping threatening Taiwan or for Putin remilitarizing Russia.

If you give Biden the benefit of the doubt, you can say that he has been an unlucky president. That doesn’t generate much sympathy from me. Lincoln, FDR, Hoover, and many other presidents have also inherited major crises or had their presidencies hijacked by wars, natural disasters, or, as one friend once told me in the case of Jimmy Carter, by “malaise.” (I choked on that one.)

So, what to make of Biden? Given that Mr. My Pillow’s prediction of Trump returning to office in August proved wrong, we are stuck with Biden for another three plus years. Does that mean that the next 39 months must look like the last eight months? I don’t think so.

Biden can step up his game with a reset. Here is my advice.

Stop finding excuses. Instead of lamenting how bad the pandemic is and how evil Trump is, start taking some dramatic actions. The top priority should be to do more on COVID-19. This means toughening vaccine requirements, expediting the availability of booster shots, and doing more to get things back to normal. Biden has taken steps in this direction. He needs to take more, quickly.

Develop and implement a humane, fair plan at the border. You cannot blame the current crisis at the border or the inhumane treatment of migrants on Trump. (Remember those videos of the border agents on horses keeping migrants from crossing the border?) Get the resources you need to process legal immigrants and have the courage to tell would-be illegal migrants that the U.S. will not tolerate uncontrolled illegal border crossings.

Start worrying about the possibility of a recession. This means rethinking the $3.5 trillion “human infrastructure bill” to reduce the risk of triggering more inflation. My suggestion would be to break it down into several focused bills. Securing Republican support for projects addressing climate change, better education, and improved access to healthcare is possible given the strong public support for these initiatives. My advice to Biden is to prioritize.

Discipline your own party. Bernie Sanders, AOC, and a host of other progressives have demonstrated their willingness to throw Biden and even Speaker Pelosi under the bus. It’s time for Biden to take control of his own party. If he doesn’t, the impasse of the last five months will continue.

Start planning for the next foreign crisis. Do we know what Biden will do if the Chinese attempt to “unify” Taiwan with China? I don’t. I hope detailed planning is taking place now on how to respond if the next wave of Chinese bombers heading for Taiwan is not a military exercise.

Have a serious chat with Vice President Harris. Fears that Harris wasn’t prepared to serve as VP are proving well-founded. Harris has made several gaffes, seems AWOL on her assignment to address the border crisis, and is getting lampooned in the press. All this would not be a huge problem if Biden were not 78 years old in the first year of his presidency. Biden needs to sit down with Harris and get her on the right track.

All the above will not necessarily save the Biden presidency but could end several consecutive months of declining approval ratings. I hope that happens.

Donald Trump, despite the hopes of many of us that he would fade into the sunset or otherwise go somewhere where the sun doesn’t shine, waits in the wings. Democrats have less than a year to sufficiently turn things around to have a chance at holding their slim House and Senate majorities. They have a little more than two years to have a chance to retain the presidency in 2024. It’s time for them to move to a higher gear. Our Democracy may depend on their doing so.

J.E. Dean of Oxford is a retired attorney and public affairs consultant writing on politics, government, birds, and occasionally goldendoodles.

 

Hash and Covid 19 by Al Sikes

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“We lack the courage to take even the smallest step unless we can calculate its effect into the smallest detail.”
Angela Merkel

What an unappealing hash—Covid 19 in an age where too many seek glory in polemics and social media networks facilitate the spread of hearsay, rumor, buzz, gossip—well noise. 

Public health agencies, to successfully shoulder their burden, must cause the public to understand their limitations without dismissing their findings. Science is the tool of curiosity which must be continuous. At any given point science provides insights, but rarely certainty—“here is what we know but our studies will continue.”

We have all been paying some attention to scientific conclusions. This is not a foreign war about which most have long since lost interest. This is personal—death maybe. And this is a subject of opportunity; public health agencies and health care companies get to prove their mettle. The media gets to prove its usefulness. Obscure public health officials are suddenly given a star turn. 

Unfortunately at the beginning of the viral illness was politics. For Donald Trump it was the “Chinese flu” and the need to be front and center daily. He did, however, push a race to a vaccine—science. While the public health people were buffeted by what they couldn’t  know and the rip-tide of media-motivated politics, geneticists were leveraging what America does best—create, invest, adapt, make— swiftly.

The goal, simply stated, was a return to normalcy while saving the vulnerable along the way. If normalcy had been polled, it would have drawn only dissent from the people who make a living dissenting.

America’s preening politicians at times made the autocrats in Asia look good. And their camp followers found new microphones in social media. In seconds you could go from watching a news conference by the Center for Disease Control to posting your own opinion on Twitter or Facebook. 

As we learned, America, indeed the globe, needs more granular measurement. What is an individual’s risk of death or near-death? What circumstances raise or lower that risk? What public interventions in the high risk categories can move the dial in the right direction? In short, how can we live with the reality of a mutating coronavirus?

This is, of course, complicated stuff. As they say “way above my pay grade”, but the technology exists if the will and capability exist to do a lot better in public health.

Many are now predicting the public health policy will evolve to endemic not pandemic rules. Where, we will all want to know, will we be most likely to become infected? And who, at the personal level, is most likely to suffer a fatal or near fatal case? How can we live with it?

I have a close friend who is in his 90’s. Last January before going to a family gathering he got tested and discovered he had an asymptomatic case. Telling everybody from 65 years of age and up that they better avoid family gatherings undermines public confidence.

And how should the media deal with outlier events? We are told young people are very unlikely to have fatal or near-fatal reactions. Then a young person dies of Covid and the headlines make it seem as if you need to pull your child out of school.

We need the tools of risk assessment and discretion. Intuitively we know that immune-compromised persons are at greater risk, but what about people whose medical history is good? Should they shelter in place or go to school or a family gathering or to a concert? Education, families and the arts have often been pandemic fatalities.

And what about being in an interior space with other people who have been vaccinated? Are those circumstances that lead to so-called “breakthrough cases”? And, how dangerous are those cases?

Let me step back. My questions are the tip of the iceberg. But what I think we all know is that scaring the public with generalized data is a losing strategy and one that undermines the progress that we have made. Today there is a dramatic gap between what public health officials say we should be doing and what we are doing. Watch a sporting event, for example, with people packed into stadiums yelling and screaming their enthusiasm. 

Michael Lewis’ new book Premonition features a lively and alarming view of public health. Essentially Lewis finds his heroes outside or on the periphery of government agencies. The outliers he featured used science as a tool to probe ceaselessly and act quickly.

Broadly speaking, the public health mission needs to become more urgent and present. It is hard to attract leaders into a career if adrenalin only pumps once every generation. It’s like guarding a building in a low crime neighborhood.

So here is a thought starter on a more diverse and urgent set of missions. Is crime a public health issue? What about advertising that preys on our weaknesses while undermining our health? What about more personal environmental conditions that lead to a lowering of life expectancy? 

Yes, I know, other agencies will fight any incursion on their turf but if violent deaths and debilitating environments persist, and they do, it seems to me we need some competition.

It is clear that co-morbidities are the hubs of vulnerability. Should public health agencies have a more active role in reducing human inflicted circumstances that weaken resistance? 

Finally, there are and will always be stubborn people who seem to relish the opportunity to say “hell no, I’m not going there.” America allows stubbornness; our Constitution guarantees it. Public health and its private partners need to be stars so that the “hell no” crowd is outmuscled at the ballot box. 

Heroes

Headlines in the last couple of weeks have featured recipients of Nobel Prizes. We celebrate creativity; that is a good thing. But, why aren’t we celebrating the scientific teams that in record time created vaccines.

When a sports team wins it all they come to the White House and are toasted by the President. President Biden, lead America in celebrating the extraordinary accomplishments of a handful of scientists and their historic accomplishment.

Al Sikes is the former Chair of the Federal Communications Commission under George H.W. Bush. Al writes on themes from his book, Culture Leads Leaders Follow published by Koehler Books. 

Out and About (Sort of): Reassessment by Howard Freedlander

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A few weeks ago, I opined that General Mark Milley, chair of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, should resign for failing to adhere to the chain of command for having two conversations, at the end of 2020 and beginning of 2021, with his Chinese counterpart, hoping to tamp down concern about potentially hostile actions that China feared might happen during Trump’s last few months in office.

Revelation of these conversations appeared in two different books and a magazine article.

Understanding that General Milley served a reckless, irrational and irresponsible president, capable of questioning and trying to overturn the results of a legitimate election—as verified in courtrooms in response to frivolous lawsuits filed by Trump supporters—I still thought that the nation’s top military officer violated the primacy of civilian rule in a democratic country.

He served his country in a way unfamiliar to his commander-in-chief. He upheld his oath.

I have changed my mind. As he testified in two congressional hearings, Milley had received approval from the then Secretary of Defense Mark Esper to call his Chinese counterpart. Both Esper and Milley had received intelligence that China dreaded combat actions by the volatile, unhinged and impulsive Trump.

Writing this column is as difficult as the previous one. During Trump’s presidency, Americans learned to accept, reluctantly and distastefully, his unpredictable decisions and statements. But few of us would have imagined that he would have deliberately incited an insurrection against the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021.

A president who delighted in breaking norms had no compunction in lighting a fuse under a mob of rioters. Domestic terrorism waged against our citadel of democracy proceeded with Trump’s blessing.

Who among us, except the most devout Trump supporters, could have expected such a horrific spectacle?

Who among us, except Trump devotees, felt anything but disgust and revulsion on Jan. 6?

I thought I was watching a horror film. It ended poorly. Perhaps the Chinese did as well.

As noted, I called for Milley’s resignation. I hesitated doing so. It was a painful assertion. I respected him far more than I did our feckless commander-in-chief. I do not agree, however, with Milley’s statement, made during a congressional hearing, that resignation is a political act.

When retired General Jim Mattis resigned as Secretary of Defense in response to Trump’s decision to withdraw from Syria, I never would characterize his stepping down as anything but honorable and admirable. Because he strongly disagreed with the president’s decision, one he simply could not support for its disregard of the value of alliances, he resigned.

As I previously wrote, those serving a president impervious to sound thinking and advice found themselves constantly having to decide if their integrity and honor outweighed their desire to serve their country under a defective leader and person. This dilemma must have plagued competent and decent people in the Trump White House.

Pangs of conscience were an occupational hazard when serving Trump.

Resignations of Jim Mattis, Gen. John Kelly, Gary Cohn and John Bolton, among others, represented a grasp of reality: their sense of selfless public service conflicted with the self-centered, unmoored perspective of the White House.

Gen. Milley acted responsibly in his patriotic contacts with his Chinese counterpart. His boss, Secretary Esper, blessed his calls. The White House knew about the communication. He did not contravene the sanctity of civilian control over the military.

(As I repeatedly proofread this column—as I do with all the ones prior to it— I am aware Trump backers will resent my extensive use of derogatory adjectives when describing our 45th president. They will characterize me an unapologetic Trump-hater.

What I despised was his lack of respect for the presidency and the legacy of its occupants, who, though flawed, viewed service to the nation as superior to themselves. Not one would have instigated a riot).

General Milley was a hero. He and his boss, Secretary Esper, wanted to avoid hostile action by a rival concerned about an erratic president. Hence, Milley tried to reassure an apprehensive world power.

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.

“Ropes Off!” By Jamie Kirkpatrick

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Think of this as a postcard from Fire Island Pines, one link in the chain of narrow barrier islands that separate Long Island Sound from the Atlantic Ocean. My wife and I are here to visit her brother Matt and his husband Rolando. Their home here sits atop an engineered dune overlooking the ocean. We spend our days taking long walks, eating one delicious meal while discussing what to make for the next, or just sitting on the deck chatting while we watch for dolphins or even the play of light on the water. When it’s time to retire for the night, we’re lulled to sleep by the music of the waves breaking against the shore.

Idyllic as it sounds, Matt and Rolando’s island home is a weekend (or sometimes slightly longer) retreat from their busy lives on the Upper West Side of New York City. To get to the Pines, they have to ride a crowded subway downtown, take a Long Island Railroad train from Penn Station to Sayville on the island’s south shore (a trip of about an hour and a half), then hop on a van for a quick trip to the ferry dock where they board a boat for the twenty minute ride across Long Island Sound. There are no cars on Fire Island so from the Pines’ ferry dock, it’s another ten minute hike along the raised boardwalks that wind through the dunes before they reach their front door. It’s not an easy commute but once they’re here, it’s clearly been worth the trek.

And therein lies the rub. Because the clock never stops its relentless ticking, sooner or later, the day inevitably arrives when it’s time to make the journey in reverse and return to the reality of life in the big city. That moment always seems to hang in the air like a brooding cloud that comes out of nowhere to block out the sun. So, on any given Sunday, when the last passenger has boarded the ferry and the mate calls up to the captain “Ropes off!” for the return trip back across the Great Bay, the bubble bursts and reality rolls in like ocean fog. Why can’t good times last forever?

They don’t because life is full of yins and yangs, all those contrary forces that rule our unruly universe. Departure and arrival; up and down; hot and cold; north and south; right and wrong. It’s impossible for most of us to know one state of being without also knowing its mirror opposite. But it seems to me that most of the time, the line that separates yin from yang is subtle, almost imperceptible, like a new day that gradually emerges out of the previous night. Rarely is the line of demarcation as clear as it is here on Fire Island when the mate yells out “Ropes off!” and the ferry pulls away from the dock. To my two brothers-in-law, that shout with its big exclamation point sounds a lot like a gun shot.

Fortunately, the story doesn’t end here, on the day of Matt’s and Rolando’s departure. In a few days or next week or in the spring, the wheel will turn again and Matt and Ro will come back to their home in the Pines on Fire Island. And on that fine day, when they hear the mate confirm that the ropes are indeed off, the words will have a very different ring, one that’s full of the promise of fun and friends and a spectacular ocean view.

I’ll be right back.

Jamie Kirkpatrick is a writer and photographer who lives in Chestertown, MD. His work has appeared in the Washington Post, the Baltimore Sun, the Philadelphia Inquirer, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, the Washington College Alumni Magazine, and American Cowboy Magazine. Two collections of his essays (“Musing Right Along” and “I’ll Be Right Back”) are available on Amazon. Jamie’s website is www.musingjamie.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s Been Thirty-four Years Ago Now….. by Lyn Banghart

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I don’t think about it much anymore.  But this is my story and please keep in mind that it was 34 years ago and choices I made were so very personal.  Every woman is different.  Every woman has to do what is right for her.  And the times and options were very different then.

Lyn Banghart

I was 38 when I was diagnosed with breast cancer and was shocked by the diagnosis.  I was young, married and had two children.  But I am so grateful that I had wonderful physicians who sent me for all the right tests and did all the right things that were being done at that time.  They had just started testing whether tumors were estrogen negative or positive and mine was estrogen negative which is a more aggressive cancer.  My tumor was less than 1 cm, and I was offered a lumpectomy followed by radiation. My surgeon also talked about reconstruction. But after long talks with my husband I decided a modified radical mastectomy was what I wanted,  and I opted for no reconstruction.

My memory is a bit clouded after all these years, but I do remember some things…The morning of my surgery, we left the house at 5:30 a.m. My very dear friend and neighbor looked through her window as we drove by and smiled and waved.  When they came to take me to surgery, I remember vividly my husband’s face and kiss and his words, “I love you and will be with you.” I watched him standing there as I was wheeled away…

When I awoke from surgery, my husband was there by my side.  I’m a little fuzzy on the timing of everything, but I remember waiting to hear about the lymph nodes.  My husband was hanging all his hopes on the outcome of those nodes.  The surgeon came and informed us that they were free of cancer.  Now we could move on to the next stage.  There is only one more moment I remember in the hospital. The day I got out of bed, walked into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror.  I feel like I should say something profound about losing a breast and how I was horrified and saddened by it.  But I wasn’t.  I think for me, it was all about losing as much of the cancer as I could. I wanted to be around for a lot longer in this life.  

When I got home, reality hit and coping with losing a breast involved mastectomy bras and prostheses and putting cocoa butter on the very long scar on my chest every day. But I couldn’t wear anything but a soft shirt for quite a while and it was indeed very bizarre to only have one breast.  At the time my son was 16 and my daughter was 12. I don’t remember talking to them about my breast cancer, but surely I must have.  I know my husband did. 

Then I started my six months of chemotherapy…. I will say at this point that my husband was my rock.  Through everything, he gave me more love and support than any human could have done.  We are now married 51 years.  

Chemotherapy is awful.  There is no way around that. The sickness, the lost hair, the fatigue is overwhelming.  But I knew it had a job to do, and I wanted that job done! When my chemotherapy was finished, we threw a huge party and invited all the wonderful people that helped me through the surgery and the six months of infusions and blood tests, including family, friends, doctors, nurses, everyone!  And they all came. It was a glorious evening. One I will never forget.  

A year and a half later, I decided to have the other breast removed.  There was so much they didn’t know about estrogen negative cancer at that time, and I had two female breast surgeons say they would do the same thing.   So I did it!  I have never regretted that decision for even a second  I am still here at age 72 and grateful for every day.  I can wear prostheses or go without.  I don’t mind being flat chested.  

I want to end this here and say that my husband is probably the finest human being I know.  Our love has gotten stronger over the last 51 years.  I also want to say that it is not easy having no breasts.  There are still days that I miss them.  But not for long.  Keep in mind that they know so much more now, and breast cancer is found earlier when it is curable and when breasts can be saved.  I was very lucky!  I know that all too well.  October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month.  Please get a mammogram, do self-exams, and know that there can be a long life after breast cancer. With or without breasts.

Lyn Banghart is Vice President and Singing Member of Tidewater Singers. She is a resident of Easton.