Sad days for poets, writers, and historians in Washington, D.C.

A. Friend (not a real name) told me that she and her husband are traveling to Washington, D.C., this week to see the National Museum of African-American History. They want to visit it before the Trump people purge the exhibits and dismantle the building. A. Friend is not a Trump voter, not even a person undergoing what MAGA calls Trump Derangement Syndrome or TDS. She and her husband are just regular folks who visit museums and art galleries and historic sites during their travels. Over the years, she has sent me postcards from sites I never knew existed and I am the richer for it. 

Trump's Nitwits have already purged some of the exhibits from this museum. They have never met a museum they didn't suspect of Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion or DIE which is an ironic acronym on its face. MAGA terms it DEI because, well IED was taken (Boom!) and IDE was too close to "Beware the Ides of March" which sounds too Shakespearean which might remind Idiocrats of a college English class they were forced to take in 1997. 

I wish A. Friend and her husband Godspeed and good luck. Make sure to take your REAL ID with you just in case there is an ICE sweep on the National Mall.

More bad news from D.C.: Trump's goons have eliminated the National Endowment for the Arts Literary Program and canned its staff including Director Amy Stolls whom I have worked with. The administration had already rescinded grants to literary magazines and presses whose only crime was admitting to DIE. 

I am going to list them here because I have read some of their books and they might not have existed with the writer's non-profit publisher, often hanging on by a shoestring. Here are the names:   Alice James Books, Aunt Lute Books, BOA Editions, the Center for the Art of Translation, Deep Vellum, Four Way Books, Hub City Writers Project, Open Letter Books, Milkweed Editions, Nightboat Books, Red Hen Press, and Transit Books as well as such literary magazines Electric Literature, McSweeney’s, n+1, the Paris Review, and Zyzzyva.

I have read books from many of these presses. I will mention one. Brian Turner's first book of poetry was published by Alice James Books. Poet, essayist, and professor Turner won the 2005 Beatrice Hawley Award for his debut collection, Here, Bullet, the first of many awards and honors received for this collection of poems about his experience as a soldier in the Iraq War. His honors since include a Lannan Literary Fellowship and NEA Literature Fellowship in Poetry, and the Amy Lowell Poetry Travelling Scholarship. His second collection, shortlisted for the 2010 T.S. Eliot Prize, is Phantom Noise, also published by Alice James Books on New Gloucester, Maine, a teeming metropolis filled with radical outfits such as the Sabbathday Lake Shaker Community, Pineland Farms, and the New Gloucester Fair. And one publisher. 

Brian's bio a pretty standard description of a contemporary American poet. But what's that part about the Iraq War? Oh yeah, Turner is a U.S. Army veteran, and was an infantry team leader for a year in the Iraq War beginning November 2003, with the 3rd Stryker Brigade Combat Team, 2nd Infantry Division. In 1999 and 2000 he was with the historic 10th Mountain Division, deployed in Bosnia and Herzegovina. 

"Here, Bullet" knocked me out. The title poem will tell you more about war's realities than any non-fiction book. Go to the Alice James web site and buy the book. Better yet, buy all of his books and e-books which include individual poems. 

During my time as literature program specialist at the Wyoming Arts Council, I brought Brian to our fall 2012 writing conference in Casper to read from his work and congratulate the writers he had chosen for the WAC's literary fellowships. Later, he joined two other veteran writers on a panel to discuss the role of soldier/poet in "Active Duty, Active Voices," featured Iraq War veterans and writers Brian Turner and Luis Carlos Montalván. The panel was moderated by Casper College professor and military veteran Patrick Amelotte. Montalvan suffered from severe PTSD and wrote the wonderful memoir "Until Tuesday: A Wounded Warrior and the Golden Retriever Who Saved Him." He brought Tuesday with him to Casper that October weekend. I worked with the state's military coordinator to bring other service dogs and their handlers to the conference to demonstrate what they do. 

I wish I could just end this blog with another Liberal's complaint about our current situation. But I have a sad story to tell. In December 2016, the 43-year-old Montalvan was found dead in an El Paso hotel room. He had left his dog Tuesday with a friend. He killed himself and was buried with full military honors at Arlington National Cemetery. Delivering the eulogy was Democratic Sen. Al Franken. Montalvan had persuaded Franken to sponsor legislation expanding the military dog program which passed a different Congress during different times. 

During his time in Casper, Montalvan said his favorite poem growing up conservative Cuban in South Florida was "Invictus." You know the one. It celebrates bravery. William Ernest Hanley wrote it and it's always been a favorite to memorize because it rhymes and is in iambic tetrameter. Montalvan memorized it. It ends this way: "I am the master of my fate/I am the captain of my soul."

Rest in peace, Captain.

Cohort replacement is the only cure for Trumpism

It's an "age" thing.

In September 2016, just weeks before Trump's election, writer Chris Ladd in Forbes foretold the future. The article, "The Last Jim Crow Generation," spells out the roots of white anger that led us to this earthly paradise called Trumplandia. If you were a 70-year-old white man at the time of the election, you had led a mostly white life in the U.S. Here's a sample:

Like Donald Trump, white voters turning 70 this year had already reached adulthood in 1964, the year that the first Civil Rights Act was passed. They started kindergarten in schools that were almost universally white. Most were in third grade when the Supreme Court decided Brown v. Board of Education. A good number of them would complete their public education in formally segregated schools. 

Read the rest here.

Is it just me, or some of the best articles on Trumpism have been in Forbes and the Wall Street Journal.? This liberal baby boomer must be getting soft in his old age.

I am in this same cohort, those of us born in the first five years after World War II. I was born in December 1950. All of us boomers born in December of 1950 share one thing -- we were born in the same month and year. We do share some touchstones of our journey from birth to 18. Depending on who you were and where you lived, you had at least a passing knowledge of the Civil Rights struggle and Vietnam. You may have been involved in them, or blissfully ignorant. "Turbulent," they call the sixties. That term came up more than once last night in the first two segments of CNN's "1968."

Children and teens, as a rule, are focused more in school and sports and dating than they are in social justice movements. In my senior year of high school, my attention was on getting my basketball team to the state tournament, finding a date for the prom, and deciding on which college I could (or couldn't) afford. I was a good student, but not great, and a pretty good surfer. I had a car that ran most of the time. My parents were good people, but imperfect, which describes most of us humans trying to do our best. At 18, I complained about my parents to my friends. At home, I was respectful as any tormented teen.

My school was integrated, sort of. An all-white Catholic school recruited black athletes. My class of 69 had three African-Americans, two of whom were my teammates. Some of the football players were recruited from our town's all-black high school. Integration was still a few years in the future. My class also had an Iranian place-kicker and first-generation Cuban immigrant who looked more Irish than me. That was the extent of our ethnic diversity.

Ladd's Forbes article  talked about a workplace, unions, schools, churches, military -- all dominated by white males. That was our experience in our formative years. So, is it any wonder that men from the early baby boomer cohort look around, see a changing America, and freak out. And that is the cohort that turns out to vote, this time for Trump.

I am 67. I did not freak out in 2016. I am freaking out now. Racism and jingoism have returned with a vengeance. I was susceptible to these influences when I was 18. I am susceptible to them now. I choose a different path. The question remains: How did I get here?

How did we get here?

A broadside is designed to get a reader's attention

Broadside published by University of Minnesota Press, 2018. 

I received a broadside in the mail this week. A broadside is a printed sheet that promotes a larger work, such as a book. Propaganda broadsides were plastered on walls throughout the colonies during the War for Independence. The London Times distributed broadsides of famous British literary works to soldiers in the World War One trenches. The idea, it seems, was that a bloke absorbed in Shelley or Wordsworth would not notice he was being blown to bits.

Some publishers still print broadsides, mainly of poetry. I have some of those from David Romtvedt and Bill Tremblay, among others. They usually are printed in support of a collection. Flash fiction is suited for broadsides but I don't know if that is a thing or not.

I received a broadside from University of Minnesota Press promoting Sheila Watt-Cloutier's book "The Right to be Cold: One Woman's Fight to Protect the Arctic and Save the Planet from Climate Change." The broadside was a prize offered to like UM Press on Facebook. I liked and I received. See the image above.

This broadside did its job. I did not know Watt-Cloutier's work until the envelope landed in my mailbox. She writes about climate change from an Inuit's point of view. The Arctic nation is almost invisible to us in The Lower 48. My knowledge of people in the Arctic centers around the term "eskimo" and all that it entails: igloos, kayaks, dog sleds, walrus-hunting, "Nanook of the North." My education on Arctic peoples comes mainly from 1950s-era National Geographic magazine which, as we all know now, was a very one-sided view of the world.

I plan on reading Watt-Cloutier's book. I will order it from UM Press. I looked through its catalog and was impressed by the scope of its publications. It includes works on an array of topics, focusing on the culture of the upper Midwest. I know as much as that region as I do about the arctic, although I have walked the intriguing streets of Minneapolis and read a number of books from excellent Twin Cities publishers Graywolf, Coffee House, and Milkweed. 

I watched a TED talk by the author. I read one of the author's postings on the UM Press blog and watched one of her TED talks. She made me see the effects of global warming on humans. We hear a lot about the effect of rising sea levels on coastal populations. When it comes to the Circumpolar Region, we hear more about polar bears than we do about the humans who have lived there for centuries. I live in a high dry climate, albeit one that will be affected by shorter winters. This will impact outdoor recreation and hunting and all of those people that depend on those for their livelihoods. But the Inuit need solid ice for their hunts. As the author says, they risk drowning by falling through the ice that once was solid beneath their feet. And efforts of environmental groups have affected their lives in real ways. It's easy for a city boy in Cheyenne to support bans on seal hunting thousands of miles away. If fact, it's easy for this non-hunter city boy to cast aspersions on hunters of the deer and antelope I see as I travel Wyoming. 

In the days of sailing ships, a naval broadside was meant to get the attention of and possibly demolish another ship. A printed broadside is meant to get your attention and educate you in the process.

This one did its work.

This isn’t the first time that National Guard units have been sent to the border

1916 cartoon by Clifford K. Berryman, via National Archive Berryman collection. Not sure if the Uncle Sam of 2018 can jump the massive wall that soon will be built at the border. 

Guys in white pajamas shot at my grandfather. That’s the way he told it, anyway. Or maybe it’s just the way I remember his stories. For a few months in 1916-17, Grandpa and his troop of Iowa National Guardsmen faced Pancho Villa’s irregulars across the Rio Grande. He told us that the white-clad Mexican fighters couldn’t shoot straight but Iowans in their spiffy regulation uniforms weren’t much better. They didn’t know it yet, but they were practicing for the big show in France. The U.S. entered the war about a month after Grandpa and his unit returned to Iowa.

Trump isn’t the first commander-in-chief to send National Guard units to the U.S./Mexican border. It’s different this time because Trump is in a snit about not getting enough funding from Congress for his stupid border wall. During the campaign, Trump promised rabid rally crowds that he would build a wall and by gum, he will get his wall, or else your husband or cousin or daughter from the Iowa National Guard will spend the next year trying to snag the caravans of Mexicans that Trump imagines are invading the U.S.

Mexican revolutionary Pancho Villa did invade the U.S. in 1916. His seasoned troops invaded Columbus, New Mexico, and killed 18. Villa lost almost 100 men due to the shiny new machine guns employed by U.S. troops. Villa fled back across the border, leaving Americans in a panic. Pershing’s troops, aided by the first airplanes used by the U.S. in combat, pursued Villa through northern Mexico. They killed a few of his lieutenants but never snagged Villa.

Trooper Raymond Arthur Shay, Iowa National Guard, Iowa City. He and his farm-boy cohorts knew how to ride and care for their horses. They spent most of that southwestern winter dismounted, swatting flies, and taking pot shots at insurgents. Prior to this border expedition, the farthest Grandpa had been from home was basic training at Camp Dodge outside Des Moines. He was a farm boy, oldest of nine kids. Now here he was, hunkered down on the banks of The Big Muddy and the big fool told him to push on – or at least to keep firing at the tiny men in pajamas he could barely see. Their horses weren’t much good either, as this guerilla war was unsuited to cavalry charges. Horses did come in handy for the U.S. Army patrols sent into enemy territory to find Villa. As far as I know, Grandpa never made it across the border.

Four years before, General John J. “Blackjack” Pershing, commander of this Mexican Punitive Expedition had wrapped up another war like this. In 1911-13, he waged what most considered a successful campaign against the Muslim Moros in the Philippines. In Pershing’s view, the Moros were pajama-clad insurgents worth fighting. But not these poor, undisciplined Mexicans. Pershing grew increasingly frustrated. His hands were tied by Congress. Politicians -- always coming to the border on their junkets. Reporters in tow asking stupid questions. There was no winning under these circumstances. This refrain would be echoed decades later by other U.S. generals in other wars. You know, Vietnam.

At the end of January 1917, Pershing abandoned the border foray. The following winter, Grandpa, now a newly minted second lieutenant, found himself in France eyeballing German trenches across a bombed-out moonscape. World War I trench warfare, with its machine guns and barbed wire, rendered obsolete any “Charge of the Light Brigade” operations. Still, the Iowans had shipped over with their horses as cavalry looked fine on parade days. One spring morning, a resurgent General Pershing staged an inspection and picked the unit’s best mount to ride. It belonged to Lieutenant Shay. That was the high point of the war for him, his favorite story, and ours.

Other stories weren’t quite as romantic. Dismounted, in the trenches, poison gas washing over doughboys as they struggled to don their gas masks. Never enough time. Enough of the gas seeped into Grandpa’s lungs to cause some harm, but not enough to get him sent home before the Armistice.

Grandpa’s gas mask and helmet rest in a box in my basement. Photos, too, of him and his troopers in France. Photos of Grandma – his wife -- and her nursing school graduating class. I think about them and their war when I drive down Cheyenne’s Pershing Avenue, as I do almost every day. Cheyenne, a military town, became the adopted home for the globetrotting General Pershing. He married Helen Frances Warren, the daughter of Wyoming’s first U.S. Senator, and served at Fort D.A. Russell, now F.E. Warren AFB. Their home is now a living museum, preserved for future generations. The base itself is a national historic site, home to war trophies from the Philippines and the old airfield where World War I ace Eddie Rickenbacker cracked up his biplane and almost died. It also was the training site for Spaatz’s Flying Circus and the U.S. Army’s airmail service -- Charles Lindbergh was one of its first pilots.

The Pershing family experienced its share of tragedy. If you take a stroll through Cheyenne’s historic Lakeview Cemetery, you will come across a large grave marker for Frances E. Warren and her three daughters, ages 3, 7 and 8. In 1914, Gen. Pershing left his wife and four children at the Presidio in San Francisco to take over command of a brigade at Fort Bliss, Texas. Things were heating up at the border and the general was there to plan for the inevitable. In August of 1915, Pershing received a telegram that his wife and daughters died of smoke inhalation at a Presidio fire. Only his 6-year-old son survived.

Pershing Avenue starts at F.E. Warren AFB and runs straight through town past the Veteran’s Administration Medical Center where the aging Lieutenant Raymond Shay spent some of his last days. The road ends on the east side of town. If you know where to look, you can see Minuteman III missile sites out on the prairie.

     

Combat casualties were minimal in my grandfather’s World War I unit. They were surpassed by deaths from infection and disease, especially from the Spanish flu. Grandpa’s lungs deteriorated from gas attacks. After he returned to the States, he recuperated for months in an Iowa Army hospital. When he took a turn for the worse, the Army transferred him to Army Hospital Number 21 – soon to be renamed Fitzsimons Army Medical Hospital after a hero of the Great War. The dry Denver climate, famous for its healing properties, may have helped his recovery. He really took a turn for the better when he met my grandmother, an Army nurse. He and Florence Green married in 1921, stayed in Denver, raised a family, and lived a good long time.

Now Grandpa and Grandma share a plot at Fort Logan National Cemetery in Denver.

Wonder what they would make of our boy Trump.

Partners in protest -- male writers support Wyoming Women's March organizers

My wife, Chris Shay, shows off her Women's March T-shirt.

I just finished reading thoughtful columns by two male residents of Wyoming -- one a blogger and one a columnist for the Wyofile online newspaper..

Both columns are excellent and I encourage you to read them. Go here:

Cowgirl up: It's time for a  broader perspective in politics, by Kerry Drake, Wyofile

Time to go to the streets, by Rodger McDaniel, Blowing in the Wyoming Wind blog

Both columnists invite their readers to attend the Wyoming Women's March in Cheyenne on Jan. 20. I did the same thing in blog posts here and here. We are the men behind the women who are organizing this event. Partners in protest.

A crew of women is organizing the Cheyenne march. I won't name them here because I might forget a crucial member. It takes a lot of work to stage a protest. Permits, security, speakers, equipment, food. The committee has been meeting weekly and this Sunday is our final tune-up before next weekend's march. If you're interested, the committee meets at 1 p.m. on Jan. 14, at 1 p.m., in the Laramie County Public Library's first-floor Willow Room.

Thus far, I can tell you these details. Marchers will assemble at 10 a.m. on the Depot Plaza downtown. Then we -- and our creative signs -- march to the deconstructed Capitol and march back again. Speakers will speak. We then convene for food inside the Depot. The event should wrap up by 1 p.m.

The theme for the march is Women's March Wyoming -- Hear Our Vote! It encourages women to register to vote, vote, and run for office. Why is this important? Trumpist Republican men from mostly rural areas of the state are making laws for all of us. Women are not in the legislature. Women are usually not heard in committee meetings. That leads to the absurdity of the Agriculture Committee holding hearings on two restrictive abortion laws. Drake writes about this in his Wyofile column. We all should be asking why. And then we should go out and vote for those who would better represent our needs for the 21st century.

See you at the Depot on Jan. 20.

March for Science Wyoming steps off in Laramie on Earth Day 2017

Official logo of the March for Science Wyoming, set for Laramie on April 22. T-shirts are for sale with this design. All of the proceeds go to March for Science Wyoming. Go to  https://www.bonfire.com/mfs-wyoming/

March for Science 2017, Wyoming version, will be held on Saturday, April 22, in Laramie. This is one of the 300-plus satellite sites to the main march in Washington, D.C. Cheyenne residents will be bused in, returning the favor by Laramie folks who carpooled and rode the bus to Cheyenne on Jan. 21 for the Women's March.

April 22 is Earth Day, a good day to cut air pollution by pooling our resources. Also a great day for a march in Laramie, which is home to the state's only four-year university and a vibrant batch of science-oriented academics and researchers. An artistic bunch, too. The head of the UW Creative Writing Program is Jeff Lockwood, a writer and noted entomologist. J Shogren is a Nobel Prize-winning environmental economist and professor who leads the "pulp Americana" band J Shogren Shanghai'd.

Students come from all over the world, studying water hydrology, geology, computer science and many other majors. UW international students have additional worries under Trump's most recent batch of anti-immigrant policies. One wonders what effects these travel bans will have on international athletes. In a January 2017 article, Fox Sports reported this:

According to a study done by Rukkus Blog on 2016-2017 rosters, 11 percent of college basketball players are born outside of the United States. The total number of foreign-born prospects on college rosters is up 40 percent in the last 10 years.

Wonder if those well-heeled athletic supporters will lobby their man Trump to keep the overseas pipelines open. They will, if Gonzaga and Kentucky and Duke start losing. Face it, Trump responds to muscle, especially when it comes from rich white guys. We gotta have our March Madness!

Meanwhile, we march for scientists and researchers and women and immigrants and writers and artists and all the other targets of Trump and his authoritarian policies.

CRMC sponsors first Culture Fest Promoting Health and Justice April 29 at LCCC

This comes from a press release:

Culture Fest sponsored by Cheyenne Regional Medical Center

The first Culture Fest Promoting Health and Justice will take place in Cheyenne on Saturday, April 29. The goal of this festival is to celebrate the various cultures represented in our Wyoming community and address social determinants of health that often contribute to health disparities of minority groups. During the festival, there will be opportunity to display your cultural arts and educate community members. There is also opportunity for performance on the “big stage. 

The main event will take place on Saturday, April 29, at Laramie County Community College’s Pathfinder Building, 1400 E. College Drive, from 10 a.m.-4 p.m. 

Check out the Participant Letter and and the Market Registration Form2. 

FMI: Monica Jennings at 307-432-3640 or monica.jennings@crmcwy.org

A line in the participant letter caught my attention:

We sincerely appreciate your willingness to devote your time and share your expertise with the multicultural communities in our state. Your commitment to the well-being of others does not go unnoticed.

Sounds as if this might be a good event to talk about the ACA, Medicare, Medicaid expansion, and any number of timely topics. Wyoming has many health challenges, not least of which is mental health care. I've written often about the challenges my daughter faced in getting the appropriate mental health treatment in Wyoming. She finally found resources in Aurora and Denver. The feds played a role, too. Which raises concerns about the Trump administration's proposed gutting of health and mental health agencies. If Trump continues to wage endless wars, veterans will continue to have mental health challenges. No aircraft carrier task force or joint strike fighter jet can effectively challenge a stubborn case of PTSD.

Is corporate America really our enemy?

I watched the entire Super Bowl, from its hope-filled opening to its bitter end. I saw an hour of the pre-game show but didn't watch the post-mortem, when Trump's boy, Tom Brady, celebrated in style. Or I assume that he did.

Funny how this football game became a forum to challenge #45. Big corporations paid big money to air their inclusive views on race, immigration, history. Budweiser told the story of its German immigrant founder, including a scene at the docks where nativist Know Nothings harass him and other "foreigners." 84 Lumber aired the story of a Latin American mother and her young daughter and their trek to the U.S., to reunite with the father. Unfortunately, the imagined Trump wall almost got in their way. Air B&B addressed intolerance by exhibiting the many faces of our neighbors. All of the ads featured Americans of varying colors and creeds and statuses. The America that exists now, not the fear-plagued, hateful nation summoned by Trump. Creative people imagined these ads, wrote them, shot them, acted in them, edited them. Creativity is one of our greatest strengths. It can reveal, in creative ways, the xenophobic ways of the fascist, who hates creativity and humor and the First Amendment.

At the end of last night's game, I wondered: Will it be the corporations that save us from Trump? You must be a huge entity to afford Super Bowl ads. To be a huge entity, you need to appeal to the largest possible audience. For years, Coke and Bud and McD's have featured a rainbow of talent in their commercials. Look at ads from your childhood in the 50s-70s. White people. Look at commercial TV now and you see America as it actually exists. We have African-Americans and Latinos, Somalis and Salvadorans. We have hearing-impaired people signing a language that it as foreign to most of us as Urdu. We have people in wheelchairs.

This apparently irritates Trump supporters, who tend to be rural and white. They look around their small town and see people like them. They watch cable TV and see a changed America, one that is foreign and scary. It's mainly urban and young. They go to Denver and Salt Lake City and Albuquerque and see this America in living color. It's intimidating. Almost like a foreign country.

Many of my city friends laugh when I say that I'm a city boy. I say I live in a capital city, the largest one in my state, one of only two Metropolitan Statistical Areas. If asked, I say that the population is 68,000, the size of some suburbs in their state. They think I'm funny.

Back to corporations. Many liberals see them as the enemy. They are trying to take over the world, make everybody live in a cookie-cutter world. They are the enemies of craft brewers and locavores and indie bands.

But corporations employ smart people and see what's going on. Corporate brewers buy up craft brewers and try to duplicate their appeal. Fast-food giants try to be like the mom-and-pop neighborhood bistro, offering artisan this and handmade that. They know things are changing. But we sneer at them, superior beings that we are. Meanwhile, they hire people of color who are dependable and smart. These companies understand that Trump's prejudices will kill their businesses.

Look around you. See who works at your favorite restaurant and coffee shop. Investigate their politics. See who they are connected to in public. You can hate Starbuck's if you want, but it is an open-minded company, one that challenges the Trumpsters. Buy a coffee there and one at your locally-owned coffee shop. Thing is, your local shop may be owned by rabid Republicans just following a proven business model. Maybe Starbuck's is more attuned to your beliefs.

Some wingnuts are calling for a Budweiser boycott. Last summer, Bud changed its flagship beer's name to "America." I didn't drink any America. I thought it was silly, and that only bikers and cowboys would fall for it. But now I will drink a Bud for every Fat Tire or 90 Shilling I drink. Not sure if my heart can take too many fast-food meals, but there must be something I can eat at Wendy's. It's important to support those companies who dared to challenge a despot on the biggest sporting event of the year

Wyoming Women's March and Potluck draws big crowd to downtown Cheyenne

Me: We had 5 million people in Cheyenne yesterday for the Wyoming Women's March.
Other person: No you you didn't.
Me: Yes we did.
Other person: Impossible. Only 65,000 people live in Cheyenne. The crowds would have stretched all the way to Chugwater. We have photos to prove you wrong.
Me: Photos, schmotos. If I say we had 5 million, we had 5 million. That's all you need to know in Trump's America.

OK, some 1,200 people attended Saturday's Women and Allies March on Wyoming. How do I know? I don't. I am relying on guesstimates from the Cheyenne Police Department and the U.S. Marshals Office. That number was repeated in this morning's Wyoming Tribune-Eagle which featured the march on the front page. At one point, I ventured that several thousand had attended. My proof? My own bias and buoyant enthusiasm at seeing such a large group of enthusiastic people gathered to protest Trumpism. So, I am as much a reliable source as Trump is reliable with estimates of attendance at his Jan. 20 inauguration.

No matter. The crowd exceeded expectations, and may have been the biggest ever to protest anything in The Magic City of the Plains. It was organized by a coalition of liberals that included the Laramie County Democrats, the Laramie County Democrats Grassroots Coalition and Wyoming Equality. Organizers were Sara Burlingame and Lori Brand. Speakers included Cathy Connolly, the first openly LGBT state rep, Rev. Rodger McDaniel, and a host of others from faith communities and activist organizations. Many, many people volunteered as parade marshals, cooks, servers and for anything else that needed doing.

I'm a member of the Grassroots org's fund-raising committee. As such, I was tasked with making chili and baking brownies. In my Crockpot was a big serving of Mike's NASty Man/Woman Beef and Bean Chili. The N-A-S in NASty is the abbreviation for No Added Salt, a battle cry of mine since salt helped bring down my heart a few years ago. Actually, I helped bring down my heart. Modern medicine, science, a refugee cardiologist, great nursing care, and my own hard work aided in the return of my heart. My mission, as a home gardener and a cook, is to make low sodium foods from scratch. It is almost impossible to find low sodium canned chili, one of my favorite remedies for Wyoming's long winters. So I make my own without salt and expect people to eat it.

They did. It was gone by the time I went through the serving line. 30 other Crockpots awaited my attention. Organizers don't know that so many hot dishes would show show up at Cheyenne's Historic Depot. We put out the word on social media and e-mails and even phone calls. The people responded with chilis, stews and soups. I would have liked to sample them all, the vegetarian minestrone. the white chicken chili. the vegetable soup. I sampled Sherryl's beef and sausage chili which featured salt but was oh so good (I had a small bowl). I ate my post-march meal with some friends from Fort Collins and some strangers from Laramie and Centennial.  A congenial group, impressed by the hospitality. I was impressed too, even though I was part of it. The warmth of the crowd had all the markings of a church social or grange hall potluck. You don't see many pussy hats or artistic uteruses at the grange hall. But you get my meaning. A group of like-minded people gather for an event, chat, eat well and then go on our way.

All the Crockpots and soup pots plugged into a limited number of outlets caused a short circuit. Latecomers to the food line had a limited selection of lukewarm dishes. But I heard no complaints. There was, after all, plenty of cookies and brownies. The homemade cupcakes were gone, as were Ray's Famous Chocolate Chip Cookies. You have to get there early for those.

What about the march itself? Were the speeches good? What else did you see? Were there any riots?

Short answers. I couldn't hear most of the speeches due to defective sound system. I ran into my one-time work colleague Katie and her four-month old baby and her handcrafted uterus sign. I also like the big banner unfurled by women from Laramie: "Wild Wombs of the West." No riots, although I did have to serve as bathroom monitor at the depot when the women staged an uprising at the long women's restroom line and marched over to the men's room looking for equal time. We graciously took turns.

Read today's WTE's story on the march here. Google "women's march" to get scads of stories about protests all over the globe, even in Park City, Utah, and Antarctica. And four other Wyoming locales: Casper, Lander, Pinedale and Cody.

See you next time.

Afterburn, a post-march transition meeting, will be held at 3 p.m on Sunday, Jan. 29, at the Laramie County Public Library in Cheyenne. More info at https://www.facebook.com/events/1630509583917589/

P.S.: If you came here looking for part two of "Learning to Breathe," I will post it tomorrow.

Those long drawn-out arguments among Baby Boomers brought us Trump

"Wow, so disappointed in America right now."

That was my daughter Annie's reaction this morning on Facebook.

I said similar things during my 65 years, even before the arrival of social media. I said it in November 1972 after Nixon clobbered McGovern. I was 21 then, even younger than Annie. I lived in Massachusetts, a little bubble of Democratic blue among all the red. We thought McGovern would stop the war and make the U.S. a kinder and more peaceful place. I worked the graveyard shift at a Boston hospital. While all of us orderlies and nurses and techs walked around like zombies, one of the physicians made the rounds and said that Nixon is the one now, suckers, and all of you lefties are in trouble. We were, but somehow we made it through. Most of us anyway. More than 22,000 more Americans and another million Vietnamese died between November's election and the declared end of the war in April 1975. Many GIs returned with wounds to the body and the soul. The rest of us moved on, or thought we did.

Despite the election landslide, Nixon won by less than 1 percent of the popular vote. As always, it was the Electoral College who clinched the win. And the southern strategy, which counted on turning all of those white middle class Democrats into Republicans. He used their hatred of civil rights and college activists to stoke the flames of hatred. Fear and hatred can work, as we just rediscovered.

Nixon went to China. He resigned, which made us lefties all warm and fuzzy. Jimmy Carter won the election over Gerald Ford. Carter was a Southerner but we thought he had warm and fuzzy feelings about America. He would usher in a new progressive era. Instead, in 1980, we go the shining city on the hill with Reagan. I lost friends over that election. Many arguments with family members. Those arguments continued into the presidencies of both Bushes.

The arguments continue. It has been important to act, to be involved. It's a life's work, not something you do for a couple weeks every four years. It helps me get out of bed in the morning. I continue to live my life as the best possible human being I can be.

One thing is clear. The arguments of 1972 continue. They will continue as long as the cohort of Baby Boomers remain upright. The scared ones will continue to be fearful and to vote those fears. Liberals like me will keep open minds and welcome the new, including those children who make up the Millennials. We've left them in the lurch. Perhaps it was the argumentative nature of our generation, caught in the whirlwind of civil rights, women's rights, LGBT rights, and the changing demographics of immigration. We never quite resolved all of those differences. And now they have emerged again with the presidency of Donald Trump.

Presente! Keep on making trouble.

Life on campus, 1969 to the present

When I left the dog-eat-dog arena of corporate America in 1988 for the ivy-covered halls of academe, I imagined a long life of teaching and writing and pondering. Plenty of pondering. Never mind that my corporate pals sent me off with a cake and a real bullwhip as a farewell gift. "You’ll need the whip for the little darlings you’re going to teach," they joked. I could have said LOL but it was 1988 and that expression had yet to be invented. I just laughed and replied: “At least I won’t have to deal with you SOBs anymore,” using an expression that was sort-of acceptable in the guy-oriented workplace of the late-20^th century.

I learned several lessons during three years in grad school at CSU in FoCo, CO. If I landed a job as an academic, I would get paid peanuts for teaching five sections of freshman composition at a community college in East Jesus, Nowhere. I interviewed for jobs at universities, but my impending MFA didn’t stack up against all the young PhDs running loose all over the place. So I switched gears and got into the lucrative field of arts administration, a career I will be retiring from in 2016.

I have taught on a part-time basis over the last couple decades. Composition, yes, but also creative writing, business writing, memoir writing and so on. I’ve taught in classrooms and online, for community colleges and universities. My students have ranged in age from 18 to 85. I’ve enjoyed most of those experiences.

But deep inside of me resides a dapper gentleman who wears a tan blazer with patches on the elbows. He walks campus like Mr. Chips, saying good morning and hale well met to all the students who greet him as he passes. These young people are all above average and bound for careers where they will praise the lessons they learned under the tutelage of Mr. Chips, I mean, Mr. Shay. Maybe that’s why I can’t resist a walk around any campus I happen across. I wax nostalgic on campus, which is odd because I never really experienced an idyllic campus life. I’ve blogged about some of my college experiences and will blog more about them later. Let’s just say I seem to learn everything the hard way. Add to that the fact that neither of my children have let me live through their idyllic campus experiences because, well, they haven’t had those either. Still, my nostalgia remains about college life.

Here we are in the 20-teens. Life on campus seems more complicated than ever. And strange. I only know what I read in the papers and online and see on the TV news. Students, apparently, want campus to be a “safe place.” Free from racism and violence and sexism and all kinds of –isms. Damn. Campus is where learned about all of those because I ran headlong into them. Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be? The college experience is supposed to be about experimentation and freedom of expression and encounters with new and possibly dangerous ideas. You try on new ideas and experiences like a new outfit, and you can shed it willy-nilly and go on to the next thing. If you are too afraid of giving offense, you will probably be less willing to give it the old college try.

As a liberal, I gleefully criticize those on the right. They often bring up political correctness. In their eyes, political correctness prohibits their freedom of expression. They no longer can use the N-word in public or discriminate against LGBTQ people or call immigrants wetbacks or worse. I am politically correct by writing the previous sentence. Problem is, I am 64 years old and grew up in an era where we casually used all of those terms and practiced casual (and formal) racism. I’ve been in a steep learning curve ever since. The Civil Rights struggle caused thinking people to reassess their priorities and behaviors. The battle over the Vietnam War caused us to reassess the blind obedience to country we learned in the church and in Boy Scouts and ROTC. The women’s movement forced us men to look differently at relationships with the other 50 percent of the human race. In the West, we had Latino/a Power and the American Indian Movement. The sixties and seventies were hard on us white males, even those of us who weren’t Ivy League or Wall Street privileged. You could attempt to get out of changing by pleading that your forebears were poor white trash from Ireland and that your great-granddaddy didn’t own any slaves or kill any Indians. That never got me very far. White privilege is a real thing, like it or not.

I was impressed by the recent stand taken by the Mizzou football team. Nothing will cause white folks to stand up and take notice than threatening tailgate Saturdays at the old alma mater. Think about it. When I entered the University of South Carolina in 1969, the Gamecocks had not one black football player. Their first black athlete was future NBA star Alex English, the poetry-writing power forward from Columbia. He joined the basketball team in 1970. B-ball and football squads in the South are now comprised mainly of black athletes. Think of how much power they possess to determine the course of their universities. Is it PC when they flex that power? Isn’t power-flexing more of a conservative value? More reminiscent of corporate takeovers and police actions in third world countries than progressive politics? You’d think that The Donald and Bill O’Reilly would be singing the praises of the Mizzou football team. Flex those collegiate muscles, you middle linebacker! What better prepares you for a corporate job once those knees give out?

My collegiate dreams faded over time. A good thing too. I’m not sure how welcomed I would be if my Baby Boomer patriarchal self showed up in class smoking a pipe, wearing a corduroy blazer, carrying a bullwhip and barking out orders to my young charges. Not PC, Mr. Chips. Not PC at all. 

Name an issue and the Know Nothings are against it

A letter writer to the local paper this week used the tired old trope "love it or leave it" in regards to Cheyenne newcomers advocating for change.

Downtown redevelopment. Bike lanes. Legal protections for the LGBT community. The arts and education.

Name an issue and they'll be again' it, dammit. Cheyenne's fine just as it is. You darn California and Colorado liberals go back to where you came from.

The issues are many. Young people such as my daughter cannot find competent mental health care. Hundreds of K-12 students would go hungry over weekends so get shipped home on Fridays with sack lunches. UW graduates cannot find good-paying jobs in their hometown. When they do find one with, say, the state, the pay is 13 percent below private sector wages and Republican lawmakers call you bums. Our downtown has a big hole in its midst and dozens of unoccupied buildings. Gays and lesbians go to public meetings to voice their opinions and abuse is heaped upon them by ranks of grouchy Know Nothings.

Everything's just peachy in Chey-town.

My family and I have lived in Cheyenne since 1991. I'm still a newcomer in some eyes. Because I'm a liberal, me and my views are always in the minority. I have a good job and own a house and my kids attended public schools. I have great friends. As I've said before, if I counted on only having liberals for friends in Wyoming, I'd be lonely.

Americans are migrating to silos. I don't mean the missile variety -- we have plenty of those and people even live in decommissioned ones out on the prairie. People are finding other like-minded people to dwell with. If you're a liberal, you live in a city. If you're conservative, you live in the country or small town. Depending on your location, the suburbs are a mix of outlooks but tend to be conservative.

For much of its existence, Cheyenne has been pretty good about avoiding progress. But during its "Hell on Wheels" days, it was the fastest-growing city on the high prairie. We were supposed to be Denver, you see, but the sharpies down south lured the railroad and developers and boosters and before long its largest daily newspapers was promoting itself as "The Voice of the Rocky Mountain Empire." Wow. Didn't take long for this dusty two-bit cowtown at the confluence of the South Platte River and Cherry Creek to become the capital of an empire.

And Cheyenne got left in the dust.

One in six Wyomingites live in our county tucked into the southeast corner of this big square state. Who are they? Older than the national average, and overwhelmingly white. Lots of retired government workers live here, including many military. Working cowboys are outnumbered by railroad retirees and those who managed to survive the oil patch. We do have a lot of cowboy fans -- that's University of Wyoming Cowpokes fans not the ones who cheer for Tony Romo on Sundays.

So I'm surrounded by old white guys like me. They tend to be the watchers of FOX News and members of the Tea Party. I can relate to their gripes. But I just don't see how blaming Latinos and gays and our black president helps the future. Their kids and grandkids in Omaha and SLC pick up their smartphones and see a bunch of angry old guys making a scene at a Cheyenne city council meeting. This is not their idea of a good time -- or of a dynamic place to live.

Advice to my Boomer peers -- tone down the hateful rhetoric or this place has the same life expectancy as a roomful of Medicare recipients.

I know what kind of state I want to live in

One of the highlights of Gov. Matt Mead’s State of the State speech on Jan. 13 was his proposed initiative called Wyoming Grown. It was prompted by the fact that Wyoming is “losing 60 percent of our greatest talent” when young people educated in Wyoming move elsewhere after graduation. Gov. Mead wants to “keep kids in Wyoming after graduation.” So, Wyoming Grown will recruit those “who have left the state and bring them back."

He was skimpy on the details, which I’m sure he supplied those in his budget request for this program. But it will include a new web page by the Tourism Office. It will strengthen businesses that will be able to hire these young people in Cheyenne and Casper, Lusk and Meeteetse.

Concluded the Governor: “Let’s open the door to get our young people home.”

Kudos to Gov. Mead. This goes along with his description of Wyomingites as builders, not hoarders. We all want to build the state, not see it wither away. The state is aging rapidly and we need new blood desperately. This Republican Governor is big on technology and infrastructure and new jobs. He promotes local economic development, which has led to a downtown resurgence in Rawlins, Casper, Rock Springs, Lander and many other communities. He’s also a supporter of the arts and creativity. 

I cannot speak for young people as I’m not young myself. I am a parent of two Millennials, one of whom – my son Kevin -- lives and works elsewhere, namely Tucson, Arizona. What would lure him back to Wyoming? Well, he likes the outdoors. He was a Boy Scout and is a dedicated camper and rock climber. His parents and sister live in Wyoming and we would like to see him more often.
 

But Tucson is a city with a lively arts and cultural scene. Kevin is involved in theatre and music and also is a dedicated gamer. He’s a big fan of public transportation due to the fact that he’s never had a very reliable car and, well, insurance and car payments really add up. Tucson has light rail and a marvelous bus system. A university with lots of cultural offerings. It’s warm, too. His first summer there he described as “hotter than the surface of the sun.” But he’s acclimated and, like most Tucsonans, ventures out in July only under cover of darkness. But January, well, that’s when his Wyoming family visits.

Wyoming really can’t compete with the lights of the big city. How you gonna keep ‘em down on the ranch after they’ve seen Portland and Austin and Nashville?  See, we’re not even talking about huge metropolises such as New York and L.A. It’s the urban mix that draws young people. If they aren’t progressive when they arrive, they tend to get that way by mixing with folks that aren’t like them. Different genders. Sometimes people who are bending the genders and shattering the status quo. Different ethnicities. People from different parts of the country – different parts of the world. To be a part of the urban mix, you need tolerance and flexibility. Curiosity, too, a sense that you’d like to know what makes your neighbors tick. Sure, you can say the same thing about city folks coming to Wyoming. They have to be flexible and respectful when living and working in a more conservative climate. Some are better with that than others.

Wyoming has one big problem that won’t go away anytime soon. Some of its residents think that they exist in a “Wyoming is what America was” bubble. Right-wing loonies air their prejudices and grievances as if it were 1915 rather than 2015. We live in a world when the dumbest ideas hit the airwaves with lightning speed. Witness how much fun the talk show hosts had with all of the many nonsensical Republican responses to Pres. Obama’s recent SOTU speech.

So, when a conservative legislator proposes an anti-gay piece of legislation, the news travels far and wide. Young people, the heaviest users of smart phones and social media, are privy to the news immediately and spread the word about those dumbbells in Wyoming. I don’t like it when the legislators in my adopted state get painted as wackos.

But if the shoe (or boot) fits….

So, our Republican legislators promote a “right to discriminate against people we don’t like” (HB83) bill and an “Agenda 21 is a U.N. commie plot” (HB133) bill. Rep. Jaggi from Uinta County speaks like a bit player in an old Hollywood western when he refers to Native Americans as “Injuns” in a public meeting. This makes me wonder if Republicans really care about bringing our young people back to the state. Maybe they are angling for a certain type of young person, one who is already a diehard Republican, watches only Fox News and already believes that it is OK to discriminate against those who don’t think/act/look like you do.

I don’t think that’s what Governor Mead has in mind. He is a college graduate, earning everything up to his J.D. His wife, our First Lady, is a college graduate and a strong supporter of education. They have two children who will go to college and may be the future leaders of the state just as Gov. Mead’s mother and grandfather were leaders. I think that Gov. Mead is thinking ahead to the kind of Wyoming he wants to leave to his children. That’s not the regressive version of the state that the extremist members of his own party envision, if it’s appropriate to use that term. To envision, you need a vision, not just a tendency to dig in your heels and say no to all change and all progress.   

I don’t know if my children or grandchildren will live and work in Wyoming.

I do know what kind of state I want to live in.   

Reading Mark Kurlansky, from "Salt" to "Dancing in the Street"

The first book I read by Mark Kurlansky was called "Salt: A World History."

I picked up a paperback copy when it came out in 2002 or 2003. I was at one of those midnight release parties for a Harry Potter book, don't remember which one. I had my 10-year-old daughter Annie in tow, along with her friend Crystal. They each hugged a copy of a Harry Potter tome.

"What did you get, Dad?" Annie asked.

I showed her the Kurlansky book.

"Salt? What's it about?"

"The history of salt."

"The history of salt?" She looked over at Crystal.They burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?"

"Wow, sounds exciting."

They were giddy as I paid for my book and Harry Potter's latest adventure. As we drove home, I could hear the duo in the back seat. They'd be quiet and one would say "salt." Gales of tween laughter. It went on for a week or so and, as happens with most things, the glee faded.

I recently picked up a copy of Kurlansky's latest book at the library (thanks to Rodger McDaniel for mentioning in one of his posts).

"What are you reading Dad?" asked Annie, now in college.

"I showed her the cover of 'Ready for a Brand New Beat: How Dancing in the Street Became the Anthem for a Changing America." I told her that it was the history of one of Motown's most famous songs.

A vocal music major, Annie knows about Motown. I took out the laptop and played for her the Motown video of "Dancing." It's black and white in more ways than one. Martha Reeves and the Vandellas, garbed in striped dresses, sing on stage and in front of a group of white people gathered in a park. The group obviously is lip-synching. But the song? It's amazing.

Annie thought so too. I've been hearing her sing a line or two from the song. It's a catchy tune, one I remember blasting from my transistor radio in 1964, my first summer in Florida.

Calling out around the world
Are you ready for a brand new beat?

I was 13. I was ready for a brand new beat. And a new school. And a whole new atmosphere, one that included steamy heat, hurricanes, bugs, beaches and segregation.

I wasn't quite ready for all of that. We'd moved from Denver, where it was rare to see a black person. It was the same for the other places I'd lived -- eastern Washington state and Wichita, Kansas. Most of what I knew about "negroes" was what I gleaned from the evening news broadcasts of lunch counter sit-ins and white cops turning fire hoses on marchers. There had been lynchings in other parts of the South -- our neighboring Confederate states of Alabama, Georgia and Mississippi. Florida had plenty of "sundown towns." If you were black and found in one after sundown, you got your ass beat or dragged to jail or maybe even lynched, if the law had links to the KKK.

Now, a sweeping new study of lynching in the South has found that blacks were more likely to be lynched in Florida than in any other state. Mississippi had the most lynchings, although Florida had the most per capita (black population).

The five-year study, by researchers at the University of Georgia, has uncovered previously unrecorded lynchings, found that some never happened and provided new details of the brutal practice, which flourished in the South between 1882 and 1930

But it wasn't all bad.

Daytona is also the home of Bethune-Cookman University, founded in 1904 by educator and civil rights activist Mary McLeod Bethune.

The baseball stadium at Daytona's City Island now is called Jackie Robinson Stadium.

From Wikipedia:

One reason the stadium is named for Jackie Robinson is the fact that Daytona Beach was the first Florida city to allow Robinson to play during the 1946 season's spring training. Robinson was playing for the Triple-A Montreal Royals, who were in Florida to play an exhibition game against their parent club, the Brooklyn Dodgers. Both Jacksonville and Sanford refused to allow the game due to segregation laws. Daytona Beach permitted the game, which was played on March 17, 1946. This contributed to Robinson breaking the Major Leagues' color barrier the following year when he joined the Dodgers. The refusal by Jacksonville, previously the Dodgers' spring training home, led the team to host spring training in Daytona in 1947 and build Dodgertown in Vero Beach for the 1948 season. A statue of Robinson is now located at the south entrance to the [Daytona] ballpark.

Sanford, of course, was the site of the infamous Trayvon Martin shooting.

Summer's here and the time is right
For Dancing in the Street

Great book. Recommended read.

Isn't The Equality State the proper place for civil rights activists and racists to meet?

The weekend's summit meeting in Casper between the NAACP and the KKK is kicking up a fuss.

The Independent in the UK gave it big play as did a slew of my fellow bloggers (go here and here).

Adding to the drama is the fact that NAACP higher-ups apparently did not approve of the meeting, which seems silly to me. My colleagues at the NAACP Casper branch came off looking cordial and knowledgeable in Jeremy Fugleberg's excellent Casper Star-Tribune article. KKK Kleagle John Abarr seemed a bit cluelesss, but redeemed himself by joining the NAACP and even kicking in an additional $20 donation. This is a good thing for an organization that has a tough time recruiting members and raising funds in a place that's subtitled "The Equality State" and often falls short of living up to that vaunted title.

The CST's Fugleberg is following the continuing drama on Twitter. You can too.

Lest you think that the KKK is the quaint little Christian social organization portrayed by Abarr, read deeper into the many media articles.

Not quite sure about the KKK's history in Wyoming (little help here, Phil Roberts!). But I do know a bit about the Klan in Colorado. It was a powerful organization in Denver during the 1920s. Unable to find enough blacks to torment, the KKK picked on Irish and Italians and Chicanos -- all Catholics targeted by the Nativist "100% American" elements in the KKK. Hooded Klansmen burned crosses in my Irish grandfather's South Denver neighborhood, in Italian Pueblo and throughout the state. Hipsters in Denver's pricey Wash Park may not know this, but people who once occupied their renovated houses used to avoid walking around their own neighborhood. My mom and her brother and sister were chased home from their Catholic school by protestant kids from South High. They threw rocks at them and called them "rednecks" because the Irish tended to have sunburned necks from working out in the sun all day. They labored on the railroad and on construction projects and on farms east of town.

The Klan elected a Governor and had the Denver mayor and a passel of Republican legislators in their pocket. But their power waned as people grew tired of their hateful, regressive agenda.

Hard to imagine solidly Democratic Denver as a Klan bastion. It's hard to believe that the Klan still exists in 2013. Let's hope the dialogue that started in Casper continues.

Hope.

NAACP and KKK reps meet in Casper

As a human, a writer and a card-carrying member of the NAACP, I find this story fascinating: John Abarr of the Ku Klux Klan (Klans of America) and Jimmy Simmons of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People meet in Casper. Result: Simmons schools Abarr on the history of the KKK, and Abarr joins the NAACP. Casper Star-Tribune reporter Jeremy Fugleberg has an eye for detail and an ear for dialogue which makes this piece rise above the usual daily newspaper fare. I read the version reprinted in the Billings Gazette. Go here.

One fascinating fact: Did you know that the Klan wants the northwest states of Wyoming, Idaho, Montana, Washington and Oregon to secede from the union? The states are predominately white so the Klan apparently figures that WyWaMtIdOr will make an ideal Caucasian country. Abarr says that African-Americans and other people of color will be allowed to stay but others will not be admitted. How would that work, exactly? No non-white inventors, artists, CEOs, pilots, poets, soldiers, athletes, legislators, moms, dads or kids allowed in Whitelandia? What a bland place this would be.

WYO Shakespeare Festival Company explores "the quality of mercy" Saturday in Cheyenne

Shylock, Portia, Antonio and the crew from the Wyoming Shakespeare Festival Company come to Cheyenne Saturday for a production of "The Merchant of Venice." Curtain rises outdoors at 5 p.m. in the Cheyenne Botanic Gardens. It's free -- bring friends, a picnic, folding chair and an umbrella.

The WSFC works out of Lander and tours the state each summer with a different offering of The Bard. Friday evening, the troupe faced severe thunderstorm warnings in Torrington. But nature's elements don't faze the WSFC. Last July, the players were soaked to the bone as they weathered Cheyenne's only serious thunderstorm in the summer of '12. "King Lear" never looked so good or so wet.

The players are led by Diane Springford, who received a Governor's Arts Award for her efforts. The players are volunteers who devote many hours to rehearsals and travel. Have you ever been involved in local theatre? I have, and am continually amazed by the devotion of actors, directors, costumers, back stage crew, set builders, ticket takers, etc. It takes a village to put on a show. The reward? Putting on a great show. It feeds the ego and challenges you in ways you never anticipated. As in any artistic pursuit, there are good performances and bad ones. You get this sinking feeling when you blow a line or miss a cue. A good performance brings applause and euphoria. 

Shylock is a controversial figure among Shakespeare's characters. This intro was on the title page of the first quarto:  

The most excellent History of the Merchant of Venice. With the extreme cruelty of Shylock the Jew towards the Merchant....

Shylock, the Jewish money lender, is seen through the eyes of a playwright in 1596 Christian England. In the play, set in Venice, Shylock can only be redeemed by converting to Christianity. At the time, the Inquisition was still in effect in Italy and most of Catholic Europe.  

I see the play through the eyes of a 2013 American, one who knows about pogroms and the Holocaust. Today's audiences have to push beyond ourselves to experience the lives of these historic characters and to marvel at Shakespeare's language. As Portia says:

The quality of mercy is not strain'd,

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven

Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest;

It blesseth him that gives and him that takes...

Mercy.

See you in the gardens this evening. 

Saturday side-trip to Ethiopia

I don't often recommend restaurants. That may be because I don't often go to restaurants. I eat at home most of the time. I cook, which helps keep down expenses. Lately I've been making killer salads from my garden's greens and herbs. Soon we will have broccoli and beans and peas and tomatoes and peppers and all the rest. One must be patient to garden in this high-altitude climate.

Four of us travelled I-25 Street to Nyala Ethiopian Cuisine Saturday evening. I-25 is the longest connector street in the Cheyenne-Fort Collins Metroplex. It carries a flurry of sojourners seeking jobs, education, good food and craft beer. When foodies in Cheyenne eat out, they go to the Morris House Bistro in downtown Cheyenne or any number of places in Fort Collins. We have other places to eat in Cheyenne, but most are chains with predictable fare.

Nyala is located in a nondescript shopette just off South College Avenue, one of the busiest streets in Colorado. It shares a building with an Indian restaurant. If we could teleport this building to Cheyenne, our fair city would double its number of international restaurants with homemade offerings (that doesn't include the ubiquitous Tex-Mex and Americanized Chinese restaurants).

Until teleportation arrives, we have to transport ourselves via Ford to Fort Collins.

The nyala is an Ethiopian ibex. A photo of one hangs in the restaurant entryway. The walls are festooned with fabric hangings representing aspects of Ethiopian culture, such as the coffee ceremony and half-size versions of musical instruments such as the krar, which is cousin to the sitar and guitar. 

We chose traditional seating over the regular American-style tables. We sat in cushioned, bench-like seats, the four of us arrayed around a low-slung circular table. Our food came on a large platter. We used Injera bread for utensils. "No forks" John told us. Annie thought he was kidding, until the food arrived but no forks. We scooped up the lentils and gomen and lamb wot and beef tibs with swipes of our Injera.

Food brings people together. It also provides a glimpse into other cultures. We spoke at length with proprietor and chef Etage Asrat. She moved to Fort Collins in 1991. After taking time out to raise her three daughters and finish her education, she opened her restaurant in 2004. Her daughters now are global citizens like their mom. These days, she's an American (and a Coloradan) with roots and family in Addis Ababa. She will visit her home country this winter. Her family back home helps prepare ingredients for Nyala's cuisine. They are mostly traditional and classic Ethiopian dishes Asrat grew up with.

John is an old Ethiopian hand. He served two tours with the Peace Corps in Ethiopia, first in Jima and then in Addis Ababa. "Tours" is usually a military term, but people seem to forget that JFK created the Peace Corps as a civilian counterpart to the Green Berets, which he also authorized. Congressman Richard Nixon, JFK's opponent in the 1960 presidential elections, criticized the program as a "cult of escapism" and "a haven for draft dodgers."

Chris's father, Jack Schweiger, was a U.S. Army supply officer who was tasked with getting goods into the country and to the troops. He often worked with civilian authorities and their supply needs. After all, His Imperial Majesty Halie Selassie, had an understanding with the U.S. He was happy to supply the U.S. with an outpost on the Horn of Africa to blunt the Soviet influence in nearby states. Jack did two tours in Ethiopia (1967-70). He then sent the family back to the states as he was sent to another U.S, client-state, Vietnam. Both Ethiopia and Vietnam would be out of the U.S. orbit by 1975. And Haile Salassie would be dead.

So it goes.

Nyala is part restaurant and part museum. It's worth a visit. It's much closer than Addis Ababa.

Cheyenne and Laramie will be part of the Front Range Megaregion by 2050

Word comes from south of the border that a group of Colorado counties wants to secede. The effort is being led by commissioners in Weld County, which butts up against Laramie County in Wyoming, home of the capital city, Cheyenne, wherein I dwell.

No word yet on the new state's name. But fellow blogger Michael Bowman (Colorado Pols) labeled it The Silly State of Dumphuckistan, which seems appropriate.

I'm pleased that the is happening in my home state of Colorado instead of my adopted state of Wyoming. It's usually Republican legislators from Casper or the Big Horn Basin who are proposing dumb stuff in public, such as labeling wolves terrorists or buying an aircraft carrier for our mythical land-based navy. Sometimes its our new county commissioners of the Tea Party persuasion, the "Agenda 21 wants to take away my guns and make me live in a Hobbit home" crowd. So it's refreshing that this particular bit of nonsense comes from Colorado.

What's got these people fired up?

Liberals making laws. First of all, Liberals should not control both legislative bodies and the governor's seat. Second, they should not be making laws for the entire state. Third of all, they should not be making laws that could possibly curtail fracking, limit gun ownership and promote alternative energy. There's probably a bunch of other things but that should do it for now.

I don't blame the rural, conservative residents of this proposed new state for being angry. I live in the most populated city in the most populated county in the least populated state. As a Democrat, I have to put up with stupid laws by the rural conservative majority that abrogate workers' rights, demonize gays, feed the egos and pocketbooks of the energy companies, prohibit Obamacare, OK silencers for hunting rifles, and so on. I would secede from the State of Wyoming if I thought that I could work up the liberal minority enough to pull it off.

If I had my druthers, I would advocate for a state that placed Cheyenne and Laramie across the border into Colorado. For the most part, these two southeast Wyoming cities have more in common with Greeley and Fort Collins that they do with Lusk, Worland and Afton. Rural Wyomingites already call Cheyenne north Denver or a suburb of Fort Collins. Thing is, we already are part of one of the "emerging megaregions" that will control American politics by 2050. I will be gone by then, but my offspring will live in a reliably blue part of Wyoming. Look at this map:

The Front Range Megaregion with stretch from Laramie and Cheyenne in Wyoming to Albuquerque in New Mexico. It will vote reliably blue and will control politics in three big Rocky Mountain states. That's already happening in CO and NM. Wyoming has some catching up to do. Laramie County with its 90,000-plus population already has one-sixth of the state's population. If that keeps up and we get to, say, a million people in Wyoming in 2050, Laramie County will have a population of 167,000 with most of them in the city of Cheyenne. Since it's tough to find a city of more than 100,000 that votes Republican, Cheyenne should be reliably Democratic. As the article in The Atlantic said, "it's not people that make cities blue, it's cities that make people blue." That's because city dwellers live with within a rainbow of other cultures and sexual persuasions.When you live and work with Latinos and African-Americans and Asians and gays and lesbians and tattooed young people and cranky old folks it's hard to discriminate against them.

Democrats only hope in SeWy (Southeast Wyoming) is to keep up the drumbeat of economic development, continue to beef up our infrastructure, refurbish our downtown to make it friendly for brewpubs, cafes and boutique hotels, improve our educational system and ban the Fox Network's blowhards from our TVs and radios.

Then you can color us blue for the long haul.

Surfer Patrol sez: "Let the Gay Scouts in!" w/update

I can't speak for the rest of Surfer Patrol, but Patrol Leader Mike Shay says it's OK with him if openly Gay Boy Scouts are allowed into our hallowed fraternity. LGBT leaders, too, although that's a long shot -- for now.

I can't remember the number of our troop, but we met in a church in Ormond Beach, Fla, in the 1960s. While the troop's other patrols bore names of Florida's wild animals such as Panther, Rattlesnake and Gator, my brother Dan and Bobby C. and I all voted to become the Surfer Patrol. As usually happens with surfers, our patrol was typecast as the troublemakers, which rarely happened in real life. Yes, we almost got out troop kicked out of Camp Lanochee. And yes, we did teepee another patrol's tent. And yes, our patrol members were much better surfers than we were Boy Scouts. We could shred, and did. But we were loveable. And we rarely caused any real damage.

When I hear reports that some church congregations have gathered together this evening to pray for continuing a policy of a non-Gay Boy Scouts of America, I say: "Bring it on!" Or maybe "Cowabunga!" Make all troops welcoming to all people, gay or straight. The Mormons say it's OK with them -- and hardly any of them surf. The United Methodists and the Unitarian Universalists and national Jewish leaders say its OK with them. As always, the Catholic Church is a problem. My brother Dan and I were Catholic school boys, outcasts in Baptist-heavy Florida. We all grew up in a time of vicious names, "queer" as a nasty slur, and "faggot." I don't think I used them, but I may have. I was a jock in the South before it became the New South. Let's face it -- even in the 21st century, gay-bashing still exists in Dixie. And in surfless Wyoming.

Let the sun shine in, B.S.A.! Surfer Patrol would dig that.

Update: Boy Scouts of America sez yes to admitting openly gay youth. Fundies freak out.

Bitchin'!