Hampton Classic ?

It is now Hampton Classic time out here on Long Island and I had another memory jolt. It was not exactly the Hampton Classic, but I was reminded of an early Sunday morning in Mexico City. I was at the stables of the Presidential Palace for an early breakfast. You are wondering, “What on earth was he doing there?” I was too.

It was probably 1965. I was in charge of Youth Employment programs for the City of New York. John Lindsey, the Mayor, asked if I would be willing to go to Mexico to evaluate a youth employment training program called “Instituto Nacional La Juventud”, National Institute of Youth. It was wintertime and I could not be more delighted to leave the City for whatever reason. Mayor Lindsey sometimes referred to my job as, “keeping the city from burning.” (We did that by employing as many as 50,000 kids in summer jobs.)

Once in Mexico City I was treated like royalty with chauffeured car and airplane at my disposal to be able to visit any one of dozens of cities and towns that had Youth Training Programs. I would visit the programs, spend a day or two observing, and make notes. Getting back to the Horse Show.

On Friday evening my host Sergio Alvarez, Director of the Instituto, announced, “Sunday morning we ride with Mexico’s National Equestrian Team at the Presidential Palace in a practice jumping session.” You have to understand that Sergio, a small highly energetic man, spoke in proclamations that came out as major facts that simply could not be denied. Yet I valiantly tried saying, “Segio, I know how to ride a horse but for God sake I would not think for a moment I could ride with Mexico’s best riders. Besides, I know absolutely nothing about jumping a horse over a hurdle and I have no riding clothes.” That last was a desperate attempt to get out of this impending disaster. To Sergio it mattered not. “Roberto,” he announced, “we have all your sizes and your clothes and boots will be waiting for you at the arena.” And so I gave up to Sergio’s determination that this was going to happen.

Early Sunday morning there was Sergio all decked out in boots, jodhpurs, tailored riding jacket, and helmet, assuring me that the very same outfit awaited me at the stable. We arrived at this great hall where dozens of men where already at a breakfast of evueltos con jamon (eggs rancheros). There was no silverware and I noticed people were using there rolls as a way of scooping up the peppers and eggs.

I was greeted as a dignitary from Ustatos Unitos who will honor us by riding in our Le Pista. I was still hoping that the riding outfit wouldn’t fit and that would be my way out. At this point Sergio was insisting that it would be a real insult if I were to withdraw. “Roberto,” he exclaimed,”do you want to insult us by being disdainful of our riding ability? No Roberto, for the sake of the relations between our two great countries you must ride.” Sergio was what some Mexican friends described as a “declamador” who declaimed as though he was addressing the multitudes. Nothing to do but put on the outfit (it fit amazingly well) and make the best of it.

We proceeded to the riding hall and again it was announced that Roberto Schranko from Ustados Unidos would be riding with the equestrian team. As I watched these fabulous riders and their horses go over the hurdles from a foot off the ground to what appeared like six feet, I was in awe of their grace and the ease with which they managed the ride. I did not have a clue regarding how they were being judged. It was getting to be late morning and I thought, “oh well, they probably forgot about me,” when Sergio came to remind me it was time to “mount up.” Back to the stable. There was a beautiful horse held in check by a groom who very graciously with a movement of his hand toward the horse suggested I mount, which I did. Once up in the saddle it seemed to me this was the tallest horse I had ever been on.

Adding to my overwhelming anxiety and prayer that this horse would know what to do, since I didn’t, was the fact that I was sitting on an English saddle instead of a nice Western with that great knob up front you could hold on to when things got hairy. Everything from here on out was now in the hands of the Gods or the horse or both.

The groom led us into the Le Pista and sort of sent me and the horse off to the very first hurdle. I gave the reigns a little lift, which is what I thought was a signal to the horse to jump. Past that first hurdle there was a round of applause from the audience. I thought, “well heck that wasn’t so bad.” Then came the next and the next and the next, and after each one a loud applause. As I approached that final six footer I thought, “man just hang on here or for sure you will be dumped.” But this dear sweet horse just took it his stride and over we went. Now there was thunderous applause. Sergio came forward to congratulate me on my great spirit in making the Mexican’s feel good by knocking down every single pole from the first to the last. “Roberto, you are a great friend of Mehico and we will never forget what you did here today.”

As the trophies were handed out I was given a silver belt buckle with a Road Runner bird on it. I thought that was a perfect portrayal of me at the “Hampton Classic” in Mexico City. This was yet another case of “never look back” for if I had I would have realized how absurd this whole episode was. I did thank the horse for getting me though without a single refusal to jump.

A Letter to the President

Since the beginning of the Iraq war you have been receiving the advice from an assortment of generals. You have made repeated visits to the Pentagon, as well as secret sojourns to Iraq for advice from the General Staff. I am sure when you were flown out to the deck of the Aircraft Carrier Abraham Lincoln some years back you were told by the Joint Chiefs of Staff that our “mission” in Iraq “was accomplished”.

Mr. President, are you at all aware of the fact that an incredible number of people who are well informed and very knowledgeable about the Middle East have suggested that our problem in Iraq is not military but political? That as long as the various tribal and religious groups cannot come to some agreement as to what their country should look like, we can win military victories till the cows come home and it won’t make a hill of beans difference to the ongoing war between these groups?

Now Mr. President, with all due respect, you have been traveling in the wrong direction to get yourself some help with the Iraq problem. I suggest you visit some folks on Massachusetts Avenue in Washington DC who have had it right about the situation in Iraq from the beginning. Very early on in the war Jessica Matthews, the President of the Carnegie Endowment for Peace, was being interviewed on television about the Iraq war. She firmly suggested back then that the war was a very bad idea. She explained that the long standing hatred and bitterness between the religious and nationalist factions, some of which go back for centuries, will not be resolved by any military intervention. When asked what we should do, she said to get out because our presence will just make things worse. When you think about it, it becomes crystal clear that this lady knew what she was talking about. She understood the social and political complexity of the situation. Wouldn’t she be an interesting advisor in our present dilemma?

Now Mr. President, there’s somebody who had it right from the gitgo. Would it not be prudent and wise to listen to people who have a deep understanding of the political, religious and tribal conflicts, instead of Generals who know about making traditional war but don’t appear to know beans about the long history of tribal animosities? The Carnegie Endowment has a large staff of knowledgeable people who just might be able to help us figure out how to get out of there by doing the least amount of harm. Besides all that, a trip over to Massachusetts Avenue would save the taxpayers a lot of money compared to whisking you over to Iraq in the middle of the night with all that Secret Service paraphernalia that has to accompany you. Please do think about it, Mr. President. It just might save the lives of a few more of our dear young men.

As always “thanks Kate”. NHWY. Love, Roberto

Katrina

My wife Kate and I were watching the second anniversary of Katrina and all that didn’t happen. By now the constant showing of the Gulf Coast destruction and the failure to do anything about the 9th Ward or the Hospital in New Orleans, formally one of our “Great Cities”, created in Kate a marked irritability not common in folks born and raised in Minnesota.

After additional reports of the increased murder rates in New Orleans, well above pre-Katrina rates, there was the revelation that the New Orleans Police Dept. does not even have a functioning copying machine. Kate thought maybe they could borrow one from the Iraqi’s. Then she exclaimed, ”How can we expect anyone on planet earth to take us seriously when they see our incompetence and neglect to fix New Orleans? Do we really think we can build a democratic nation out of the wreckage of Iraq when we are unable to fix just one city in our own country?”

I do believe, instead of the world’s great fixers, we have become the world’s laughing stock. Maybe we should send the Army Corps of Three Stooges to straighten out the infrastructure in Iraq. -- “Good By and Good Luck.”