Mr. President Here Comes 2011

New Years Resolution “Suit Up For Battle”

First, have to explain to some old friends my support of Obama. Complaints about his lack of any ideological commitment to real change arrived via e mail. I am reminded of a well known AARP saying when seniors complain about the terrible ills of old age. Response, “better than the alternative.” That’s about how I feel about our President. He is not only an anomaly being the first Black but also how he got elected with that sweep through the Internet was very new.

Mr. President, Welcome back from warm friendly sunny Hawaii ! Hope you are in a good strong mood for a fight. That’s is what is going to greet you on January 2nd. The GOP stung by the Tea Party stalwarts are going to come out swinging at everything you try to do. They are single minded in their objective. “NO SECOND TERM.” I know you don’t like to hear this but they just, “viscerally hate you.” You have to give up that grand illusion that, “if you keep making nice they’ll come around.” It will never ever happen. So, lets get on with it. Or as my friend Elaine says, “Get a grip.” Here’s what you need to do. Hopefully, “we can make you do it.” More about that later.

In sports, or military parlance you need to grab the ball and dominate the field with your initiatives. To do that requires that you make very clear to the whole country what exactly needs to be done to change the economic climate. Your Administration has saved Wall Street the Bankers and their bonuses. Now you have to save the jobless, the foreclosure victims, save your Health Care Law with that same kind of determination you showed on the Bush tax cut deal and the Start Treaty. Yes working the phones to Richard Trumka at the AFof L CIO, Andy Stein and all your friends on the Internet to rally support for what you are trying to do. I emphasize again, the need to get your program objectives down to simple understandable slogans. Remember you are not teaching a class at the U. of Chicago or Harvard Law School. Your talking with a lot of everyday folks gathered at a local coffee shop or at a Blue Collar watering hole.

There is an important lesson to be learned from The Tea Party bruha. To their credit they were able to chorale much of the anger of citizens who lost their jobs, or their homes, or both. Contrast that with the Bank Bailouts and Wall Street bonuses and they BLAME YOU FOR FORGETTING THEM. That’s what you now have to fix. The only way to do it is with a vigorous no holds, clear cut agenda for correcting the inequality. My friend Stanley Aronowitz some time ago wrote a program for Progressives in which he suggested that our central argument be based on FAIRNESS. That is exactly what has been lacking in the recent economic rescue.

Get your veto pen ready to strike down any of the GOP shenanigans to turn back the clock on Social Security, Medicare, Abortion and Education just to mention the major issues that come to mind.

I know you have another review of the Afgan war coming up. Well use that opportunity to get us out of there. We can’t afford that adventure any longer both in lives lost and wounded soldiers filling our military hospitals. It is becoming increasingly clear that the terrorists that are threatening us come from all over the globe not just Afghanistan. Its a corrupt sinkhole that will keep us there forever. Time to get out.

My earlier reference to, “make me do it.” was a statement FDR made to A Philip Randolph who was complaining about the lack of help for the members of his union. FDR wanted to see a mass movement in the streets demanding that he act hence, “make me do it.”

Finally Mr. President, a final bit of advice from Baron Von Clausawitz the great Prussian Military Strategist. Paraphrasing, when the enemy has you surrounded and outnumbered and your not sure what to do, “LAUNCH AN OFFENSIVE.” In the meantime have a Happy New Year and best of luck. Your going to really need it,

Blizzard of 2010

I was really prepared to do a blog on what happens in Washington Comes 2011? Then this Blizzard arrived with a bang. Now I am all tied up as natures fury dominates the scene. I yield to nature. It is blowing 40-60 mile an hour on our “anemometer” (wind speed indicator.)

Snow piled up over our front door but Kate managed to clear it. I was amazed that she was able to do this as she is trying to recover from Limes disease. (Kate is on a daily infusion of Anti-Biotic. I am learning “Infusion procedure’s as her helper in attendance.)

The winter has its own beauty here on the bay. There is also a real disadvantage in our isolation. It means we need to make sure we can get a car out or an Emergency vehicle in. Tonight we hope the snow plows will come through. Tomorrow our driveway plow guy will plow us out and all will be well for the Blizzard of 2010.

My son Fred, lives in Madison Wisconsin and knows a lot more about winter than I do. He has been disturbed over the fact that people have totally misconstrued the effects of Global Warming. Some time ago he insisted that I start calling it, Global Climate Change. As snow and cold have gotten worse in recent years people say,”see I told you that Global warning was more baloney from that elite crowd from New York,” that’s why we need to call it “Climate Change.” Okay, I agree.

Fred in this Sunday Times there’s an article “BUNDLE UP,IT’S GLOBAL WARMING.” The Article explains how the Jet Stream, that circulation of air five to seven miles above the earth is picking up increasing moisture from the defrosted Arctic Ocean and dumping on the Northern Hemisphere. “In winter this change in flow sends warm air north from subtropical oceans into Alaska and Greenland, but it also pushes cold air south from the Arctic on the east side of the Rockies. Meanwhile across Eurasia, cold air from Siberia spills south into East Asia and even southwestward into Europe.

This is why there were thousands of stranded air travelers sleeping on the floor at Heathrow Airport. This is just an attempt to get us thinking about Climate Change. We are facing an increase in flooding, drought, snow, rain, mud slides in places it was never seen before, That is the tragedy of Global Climate Change.

The Blizzard continues to blow away out here. I was reminded that birds need to find food and water blizzard or not. I looked out at my Finch Feeder and sure enough there in the middle of the night, with light from our living room, was this shiny little Goldfinch hanging on to the feeder for dear life. I often think about what animal species are going to be able to survive the terrible damage that the humans have done to their habitat. Yes, we will survive this Blizzard. It may be one more warning about things to come.

It is now Monday afternoon and the Plow Guys did clear our driveway of a couple of feet of snow. I hope by tomorrow I will be able to get my Station Wagon out. I can easily suffer from bunk fever. Got to be able to go! Never mind where? My best from Snowbound Bob

Atom Bomb & Me?

Obama’s victory with the Salt 11 treaty reminded me of an experience with the Nuclear problem back in the 1970s. Nixon was President. He was trying to show off his nice side. One of these “nice” projects was a job training program on the Sioux Indian Reservation in a God forsaken place called Wolf Point Montana. Trying to woo Ford Foundation support the President invited McGeorge Bundy, Mac President of the Foundation to join the Assistant Secretary of Defense, Robert Charles at a Job Training Inauguration on the Reservation.

Bundy suggested that Mike Sviridoff Ford Foundation VP. for National Affairs go as he knew more about job development. As the downward spiral continued Mike suggested, “we send Schrank he’s our job training expert.” There I was, 8AM at Andrews Air-force base ready to take off in Air Force 2 for Wolf Point Montana. All the necessary papers had been sent ahead that admitted me to the Base and the plane.

Upon boarding I was introduced to a motley bunch of reporters from all over the world including 3-4 Russians from the Tass news agency. (Remember the Cold War was in full swing at the time.) The seating on the plane was against the outside wall with a long center counter loaded with all kinds of goodies from nuts to booze and nuts to booze. Reporters who have an accepted tendency toward alcohol were just proving the point with early morning Bloody Mary’s. Maybe it’s the tomato juice that makes the boozers think “it’s a breakfast drink!”

We made a fuel stop at Minneapolis and then on to Wolf Point. The major topic of discussion amongst this weird collection of folk was “where’s the worlds best restaurant?” Soon after take off the wife of the Assistant Secretary of defense emerged as the Maitre De. She seemed to win out with the choice of Wing Loo in Kowloon.

As the plane was on approach at Wolf Point it seemed to me we were going in circles. (I had done some flying. I loved it until the bill at the end of the fourth or fifth month made me realize this was not an affordable hobby.)

At the flight deck I listened to the conversation between the three crew members. There was no control tower. A pea soup fog just hung over the area. Captain said,” “We just gotta be able to see this friggin air strip. One more try and then we’re outa here.” This was visual flying and there was no ground to be seen. The Captain advised the Secretary and suggested “we find the nearest field with instrument landing facility so we can, put this plane down safely.” The Secretary reluctantly agreed as we would miss the start up ceremony. It turned out that Maimstrom Missile Base was the nearest safest place for us to land. The base was about 15 minutes away. They were notified. The Base Commander told Secretary Charles we might make it to Wolf Point by Helicopter. Or we could make it the following morning. If the fog cleared?

As we were getting ready to land at Maimstrom I realized that I too was half crocked from a couple of -------I don’t know what? The plane lands. Taxi’s up to the Gate. There’s a red carpet and a Band playing Hail to the Chief. As we deplane, Haynes Johnson a reporter for the Washington Post is poking me, for God sake Schrank salute at we go by the flag. I was now feeling like Charlie Chaplin in Modern Times as he came up out of the sewer with his red flag in hand to end up a May day parade.

The Base Commander welcomed his distinguished guests to one of Americas “first lines of defense.” Reporting the weather, he indicates we would not be able to get to Wolf Point until noon tomorrow. So, what would we like to do in the morning? Secretary of Defense wife suggests, a visit a missile sight and see exactly how our multiple missile warheads might work in a real war emergency?”

Oh my God I near fainted. Because of my radical past I couldn’t get a pass to go pee in the Pentagon. And here were all these Tass reporters from Russia. Others from Eastern European News Agencies I never heard of. Here we were about to be shown Americas top secret.

Next morning, bright and clear we were on our way to the “demonstration Silo.” Out came the mostly little “spy” cameras as the whole bunch were clicking away as though it was a wedding party. Then in groups of 2-3 we went down the Silo and were shown a cutaway of the multiple warheads and the gyroscopes that would control the flight pattern and finally the nuke part that would send the whole three tons skyward. I admit it was fascinating to see how this deadly machine had been put together. (Old machinist could not help admiring the engineering. Except when I thought how it would or could be used.)

Around this time there had been an accident at a missile base in Arizona. Somebody dropped a wrench down a Silo and the missile exploded. Why? Turned out nobody was sure except some Air Force mechanics said because of poor maintenance nobody knew for sure what might happen if we launched these suckers.

At the bottom of the Silo sat two Air Force officers who when called upon would unlock separate boxes on the wall take out a key insert it into a ready to launch lock click it and wait. The actual firing is controlled from an underground bunker somewhere in the Rocky Mountains.. I asked the guys how they were spending their time down here at the bottom of the Silo? They were both going to school. One to be a lawyer the other a doctor. Schmoozing with them I asked about the Arizona episode? They laughed, agreed that “yeah nobody can tell for sure what happens if we ever had to launch.” “Hell if we don’t know what they’ll do think of what those Rooskys know? There’s would probably never leave the ground. Nobody knows and I sure as hell don’t want to find out.”

In the afternoon we went on to Wolf Point and the training program. The Sioux were being taught how to rebuild M16 rifles that were by then pretty obsolete. At the time the rifles were mostly being used for guard duty at Army bases. Watching the trainees using sledge hammers to remove the sights from the barrels convinced me that this was another joke being perpetrated on Indians. Some company out of Texas had the contract to operate the program. When I inquired about the value of what they were doing I was told. “THEY gotta learn how to walk before THEY can run.” The minute I hear “THEY.” I realized this was this same old bullshit that the oppressed need to prove first that “THEY” can do it and then we’ll let them in. This program like so many others would result in the opposite. “Well we tried but THEY just couldn’t cut the mustard. We can’t just molly coddle these people.” The Secretary and his wife were given fancy Indian Headdress and some blankets. They thanked the Indians and we started our trip back home.

I reported my experience to Sviridoff and Mac. Mac asked me what I was going to report to the Administration about the training program? With a twinkle in his eye, “how is all that whining and dining going to effect your report?” “About Maimstrom or about the training program?” Unless you have any strong objection it will be the way I told it.” He looked at Mike, said, “I bet you knew that. Is that why we sent him?” They were the best two bosses I ever had. Somehow I was pleased to tell my Anti Nuclear friends, “nothing to worry about, chances are, they will never get those rusty old Nukes out of the Silos.” I wished.

A Bronx Christmas

I have always had trouble remembering my life before my mother died in the mid twenties, Yet, the older I get, 94 this year, the more things are popping up that I had thought were long lost.

My family, mother, father, two older sisters and I lived in a tenement on 181st Street, a few blocks from the entrance to the Bronx Zoo. A six story walkup with two apartments on each floor and a single toilet between them. The Howe family shared our 4th floor. He was an inspector for the Sheffield Farms Milk Company. He rode around in a small horse-drawn rig checking up on the work of the milkmen and their deliveries.

I have a felt sense that mama was the sentimental side of my German family. Papa was the stern disciplinarian. Instances of severe bad behavior might bring mama to say, “possoff due dine Varter comt.” lookout your father is coming. That was enough to transform me into a little angel. Any pain that her cliner leibshen felt would be healed with a long hug against her pillow like breasts.

Though we were not at all religious it was mama who brought home and decorated the XMas tree. Sneaking out of my bed at night I watched her and my two older sisters pinning those little candles on the tree. On Christmas eve they were lit and the little tree just glowed with joy as our friends and neighbors sat around and sang, “Still a Nacht Heiliga Nacht.” All was well and happy.

The feeling of warmth and love might soon be dissipated. Drowned out by the clang of, what was probably the last Horse drawn Fire Engine Company as it roared through the street with sparks from the steam boiler filling the sky. This was “night riders in the” streets. Once the lovely candle lit XMas trees caught fire it was soon enough a four alarmer calling out Fire Engines from all over the City. That never happened to us.

Sure enough on Christmas day there would be presents. My most wonderful memory was a toy automobile go cart. I now remember sitting in it driving around the apartment and making conversation with other drivers. “okay Jack om gonna back her up” or “can’t ya see it’s a red light.” Papa would laugh until the tears ran down his face. He would ask mama, ‘where did he learn that talk?” She said, “It was the auto repair shop around the corner where he can hang out all day watching what is going on. The men who work their insist, “he’s no bother.” My sisters got girl presents. Mostly clothes to pretty them up.

Papa said, we had to save all our stale bread for the animals in the Bronx Zoo. He insisted that we treat them as our distant relatives. “They also need to have something special for the holidays, even if the Bible said they had only to get on the Ark if they were to be saved.” Papa always the teacher would then add. “Yes if it wasn’t for the Chimpanzees across the street we wouldn’t be here. So let’s go give them some thanks.” On Christmas day the Zoo was all ours. When we arrived with our shopping bags of stale bread the animals would come running. Papa said see how they appreciate our taking time to come and share with them whatever we have. That of course was the lesson of the day. “Thank you so much Papa,”

Aside from organizing workers Papa started the Modern Sunday Schools. He believed that if we are ever to have a socialist society children had to learn exactly what that meant. He often said the Jesuits were right. “Give me the child from zero to six and I will give you the man.” At its peak Papa had schools in three Boroughs, Bronx, Brooklyn and Queens. On Sunday morning instead of church, or much like it, we went to Sunday School. We sang songs in praise of the working class. Teachers helped us understand the evils of capitalism and the glories of socialism.

The holiday spirit in our home would continue on through the week. Mama had baked all kind of cakes and cookies. This was all before telephones. People just showed up. No appointments, no advance notice and they were always welcomed with warmth and love. The big welcome seemed to produce a magical appearance of coffee, cake and talk.

The folks I was blessed to grow up with were obsessive talkers. This was all before radio and television so whatever punditry there was came from all your relatives, friends and fellow true socialism believers. A favorite in those times was, “the true meaning of the Russian Revolution” That could keep the argument going well past midnight. It was mama who always made me feel, “it was okay to argue about all that but above all else she was going to keep this home a, “safe warm and loving place.”

Of course, this was all before the great depression of 1929. That would change everything especially that warm homestead that mama made. In the mid twenties she would suddenly depart from a botched back alley abortion leaving a very young boy without these sweet memories that have only recently begun to return. Now that’s a blessing. Happy Holidays to you all. My very best RS

WikiLeaks & Marxism

I can’t understand all the Sturm und Drang about the sensational WikiLeaks stuff taking up page after page in the NY Times. The Pentagon papers it ain’t. Should I say, the stuff that is called, “the great secret Government documents” that whip across the cable and wireless networks of our Government is really just bloody boring.

Is it really a great discovery that Berlosconi is a playboy trying to act like a Prime Minister should. Or that President Sarcozy worries more about his suits and neckties than he does about the French Muslim problem? Or that Hillary is really losing her patience with Prime Minister, Netanyahu who, as any informed person knows is a prisoner of his extreme right coalition. I’m sure he thinks that Hillary is a pain in the ass and so on and so forth. And who cares?

(Yes of course Senator Lieberman thinks Mr. Assange, the WikiLeaks founder, should be tried as a terrorist.)

(Assange is wanted in Sweden for sexual misconduct. Holy Cow Sweden is the most tolerant sex State in the world. How’d they ever come up with that one?)

Our Attorney General is trying to figure out exactly under what law they could prosecute Assange? Surely not The First Amendment. The US Supreme Court recently ruled that spending money in political campaigns is free speech. What WikiLeaks does is kindergarten stuff compared to what that court decision, “Citizens United” does to our electoral process.

I was trying to figure out why none of these “secret cable” made much of an impression. I realized it was my years as a student of Marxism. What has one to do with the other? Once you get a Marxist understanding as to how Capitalism operates you can begin to see what is going on in the WikiLeaks stuff.

All of those documents confirm the power struggle going among the competing capitalist countries for dominance in the various spheres of influence. Marxism described this power struggle as the reason for armies navies, spy systems, military buildups including colonial adventures. The latest addition to this roster of international struggle for economic dominance is Globalization. Source of cheap labor for outsourced manufacture. Best way to get out from under unionized workers in the home country.

It has been very useful for me to hang on to many of the things I learned growing up in a world of intelligent radical ideologues. Upon entering college in my late forties I did have to make a very important adjustment. I realized that my old ideologies were barriers blocking any new ideas. As I drove to school I began to think of my brain as a blackboard. To learn I had to wash it clean as Miss freemen did in my fifth grade class at PS 34. Wow was that ever right. A blank blackboard for new learning.

Yes, college in my forties was a great learning experience. Yet it was within that learning environment I began to incorporate some of the old things I learned with the new. That's why keeping the good stuff I learned from Karl Marx sure helps in understanding how capitalist society functions. Yupp, WikiLeaks is just another side show that is given us courtesy the “Press” that reflects the hopes of the ruling class that we don’t think of anything more serious than the fact that the Secretary of State Hillary Clinton can get mad. No kidding!?

"Can't We All Just Get Along"

This was Rodney King a few decades back. It didn't work then and it ain't working now. It could be Obama’s problem. I have tried real hard to understand him. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it’s my desire to see the first Black President succeed. I have been fighting back a conclusion that he simply doesn’t have any real fight in him. This has lead me to think about how do we learn how to put up a fight for what we believe in?

Drawing on my own experience. Could it be something that needs to be learned early in life. Maybe even in childhood? In the radical world where I spent my growing up years fighting for what you believed in was not just taught but you learned how to practice it. Questioning authority was the mantra of that world. Hence in Public School I neither stood for the Pledge Allegiance or sang the Star Spangled Banner. Yes it was tough the first few times but little by little you became proud of what you were doing. Learning to say, like the little girl, “But The Emperor Has No Clothes.” In the home I grew up in she was the hero numero uno.

Okay, now go over to the world Obama grew up in. His white mother taught him how to “Get Along” in the world of the white men. Obama talked a lot about “change.” Yet he was not a participant in any movement that dealt with any meaningful change like the Civil Rights efforts. So all through his first two years as President he spent an inordinate amount of time and political capital reaching across the isle to find, NOBODY THERE!

We hoped, well maybe he’ll get it now? They really don’t want anything to do with you. They just want “There Country Back.” Translation of that “underneath feeling” We just want that Black man out of the White House. He can not accept that. For Obama it means they are rejecting me so I must not be making myself clear. “I’ll just keep trying.” That’s where we are now. He just keeps rolling that same stone up the, “we can all get along hill.” You know where that got Sisyphus?

With all the rejections he finally has to find a way to prove that “we can all get along.” Down that road he ends up making compromises that just gives the store away to his opposition. His base goes berserk watching him say okay let the Bush tax cuts for the rich just stay a little longer and then maybe just maybe we can do something about it. It is sad that the first Black President in our history is not measuring up to a fight with the very people who simply want to see him in the trash bin of history. “Can’t we all just get along and be friends” a much desired wish and never achieved. To bad.

Goodbye Aldo!

Sitting on the edge of the bed staring at the bay

Trying to unbend a dream of again, lost and searching?

For what for whom? Before the morning mist had gone, I’d know.

There before the little cat door in tears is Kate.

In her arms is Aldo mouth wide open in pain.

“His back legs paralyzed. He can’t move them.

I’m sure he has a blood clot.”

On a lonely farm in Minnesota miles from anywhere 's

Cats took Kate as their best, best friend.

Snookims was dressed up pushed around in a doll carriage.

Now Aldo like his brother Louigi had to be put down.

Just to save him from the pain.

Louigi’s legs had turned to sticks when he went down.

Aldo couldn’t move them anymore. Dr. Brian said,

“He is to old to have a chance.” I knew what it meant, I left.

Kate stayed and held him, “he went peacefully to sleep.”

A state decidedly to be wished for.

Now we are without our precious friends.

Everyday they reminded us of the many ways of life.

Kate you heard Dr. Howard, “Louigi and Aldo are together having fun.”

As we make it through December.

Can we try to do that?