
Forget about the top 1 percent — or 98 percent of 47 percent — for a second. Just try hard not be in the 80 percent and America has a chance to be great, maybe for the first time …

Forget about the top 1 percent — or 98 percent of 47 percent — for a second. Just try hard not be in the 80 percent and America has a chance to be great, maybe for the first time …
No Room At The Inn
A stampede on Black Friday
My brother got a bruised lip
Put up our decorations
Get chills as the tree is lit
No need to see the priest
I am cool with all my sins
We have our nativity scene
But there’s no room at the inn
Sat up for the late, late show
Saw Voyage of the Damned
That can’t be the truth
Just another Hollywood sham
America was at its best then
Don’t you dare flip the script
Had none of these holiday trees
And there was no room at the inn
Took a bus to Ellis Island
The Statue of Liberty too
Give me your tired, your poor
Huddled mass can’t look like you
You better learn to speak English
Like my kinfolk sorta did
It’s somewhere in the scriptures
That there’s no room at the inn
Gonna put it on the line
It’s all about me and mine
They got some strange ways
And that’s all I am gonna say
Maybe I’ve gone blind
Maybe I’ve gone numb
It’s hard to know the facts
So easy to stay dumb
I can’t see my enemy’s face
Just blends in with the crowd
I have the only solution
It’s best just to keep them all out
Well, I ain’t scared of nothing
Just some women and their kids
Get me a new gun for Christmas
There’s no room at the inn
No room at the inn
-Gordon Glantz
By GORDON GLANTZ
Gordonglantz50@gmail.com
@Managing2Edit
GORDONVILLE — Political races are very much like boxing matches. You expect punches – from jabs to uppercuts to right-crosses – to be thrown.
Occasionally, and sometimes inadvertently, a blow might go below the belt.
And other times, well, the below-the-belt punch – or the kidney punch or the shot after the bell – is deliberate and not done in the spirit of the battle.
Although boxing — like politics — is a vicious sport, it has its rules and seemingly inherent respect between combatants.
Once that is violated, you may as well have a brawl in the alley.
And in the race for Montgomery County Sheriff, the violation has been made by those in support of Democrat Sean Kilkenny.
And now we have a brawl in the alley.
Sullying our mailboxes this week was an oversized postcard from the Pennsylvania Democratic Party in Harrisburg that cherry-picked a bunch of out-of-context items from articles written almost 10 years ago to make Republican Russell J. Bono, the current sheriff, appear guilty by extended association to a separate branch of a municipality accused of corruption in a FBI probe back in 2004.
There is also an insinuation that the NPD turned a blind eye to systematic corruption, even though the department’s primary function – as an undermanned unit – was to police the same unforgiving streets where Bono initially patrolled before working his way up the ladder, and likely dodged more bullets than Lt. Col. (eye roll) Kilkenny ever did shuffling papers as a JAG officer.
Bono, it should be noted, was in the Military Police but doesn’t feel the need gloat about it, as his law enforcement background of 45 years (45 more than Kilkenny) speaks for itself.
The reality is that the FBI found no wrongdoing in Bono’s department while he was Chief of Police in Norristown. In fact, his department not only cooperated, but assisted in the investigation. Funny, though, none of that is mentioned in this postcard from the edge of political sanity.
Bono remained on the job well beyond the probe that resulted in the former mayor, Ted LeBlanc, going to jail. Bono ended his long and distinguished, and unblemished, career in the department when he retired after 15 years as chief in 2013.
When Sheriff Eileen Behr resigned, Bono was cajoled out of a peaceful retirement by a bipartisan collective of politicians extending from the county and all the way to Harrisburg. If his reputation was so sullied, as the Kilkenny campaign is now insinuating, his nomination would have never sailed through – from both sides of the aisle – as it did.
When I signed on as the Chair of Democrats for Bono, I willingly risked alienation from many local Democrats. The reality is that I generally split my ticket in local elections anyway, and may actually pull the full GOP lever on Nov. 3 (maybe making me the only unabashed Bernie Sanders supporter in the county doing so).
There was part of me that wondered why anyone would vote for a lawyer in a job that requires law enforcement experience. (What’s next? An accountant running for coroner, maybe?)
But that wasn’t it.
Aside from being way past caring what anyone thinks, it just seemed like the right thing to do.
I did it because I knew Sheriff Bono for years – I still call him “Chief” because that was his title when I was the cop reporter at the Times Herald for 2 ½ years – and felt secure in the knowledge I was crossing enemy lines to hitch myself to the right wagon.
After getting this piece of bleep in the mail the other day, it affirms my decision.
It also affirms a bit about Kilkenny, who I would suppose knew this mailer in support of his bid was going out.
I don’t know the man. And, like I said, I willingly aligned myself with the “Chief” because I did know him. It was nothing personal about his opponent (other than that, as a lawyer, his bid seemed a bit ill-fitted).
But I will say this. There is almost no one I speak with, from either party, who has a kind word to say about Kilkenny from personal dealings.
Because I am not a believer in playing Whisper Down the Lane and forming opinions, I wasn’t going to go there.
But now the gloves are off. It’s no longer a boxing match. It’s a brawl in the alley.
I’m there.
Kilkenny’s only chance of winning, it would seem, would be to get the votes of people who don’t know him from personal dealings — or who see props for his propaganda as the truth, when they are anything but the truth.
And a blind following to the polls, based on a cache of lies and half-truths on a mail item, would be a shame for the residents of Montgomery County.
If Kilkenny’s supporters want to dish out a disingenuous attack, it had better be prepared to take the counter-attack.
Kilkenny’s name has surfaced in two more recent federal probes, in Allentown and Reading.
He is professing his innocence and cooperation in those probes. In doing so, one wonders if he is throwing the police chiefs of Allentown and Reading under the bus the way his supporters are trying to do, with some fragmented hindsight, with Bono.
He is not running against them for sheriff, so probably not.
Ironically, the man in the hot seat in the Allentown probe is the mayor, Ed Pawlowski, who was supported in his bid by Kilkenny .
In Reading, Kilkenny’s name surfaces again in connection with a former mayor, Vaughn D. Spencer.
And yet the mailer in question wants to link Bono to LeBlanc, but escape the same scrutiny and be taken seriously?
Really, dude?
I wonder how some people look at themselves in the mirror each morning (although if you look like a raccoon, it might be good for some levity).
Another bitter irony, that I know for a fact – since I was there, covering this on a daily basis – is that Kilkenny’s backers are culling crime statistics from a portion of Bono’s tenure and saying Norristown was “plagued by high crime.”
First, I need to again point out that Bono was sought out to be Behr’s replacement as sheriff for a reason, and that was because he ran an efficient department in a municipality that is plagued with socio-economic concerns out of the NPD’s control.
If anyone should understand that, it should be a card-carrying liberal like Kilkenny and the Pennsylvania Democrats behind this work of fantastical fiction.
I’m one, too, and I certainly understand.
Secondly, and more direct to the point, the crime rate went up because two Democratic members of Norristown council – including one that is now the head of the Norristown Democratic Committee – came to Bono and asked him to form what came to be known as the Bee Sting Unit.
The crime stats went up, naturally, because the Bee Sting Unit was geared toward thwarting quality of life crimes (disorderly conduct, vandalism, loitering, public drunkenness, etc.) that were believed to help feed the atmosphere that would lead to larger crimes.
Is the crime rate in Norristown down now? Yes. Why? Because the Bee Sting Unit gave way to the more chic mode of community policing, where most of those nabbed in quality of life crimes are sort of moved along and warned but not issued citations or arrested.
These are not random, disjointed attempts at gathering something that resembles a hodge-podge of facts. A prime example comes from the mailer in question. There is an accusation that drug money disappeared from the NPD evidence room in 1998. Guess what, folks? That was before Bono was made chief late in December of that year as a direct result of the drug-money scandal surrounding a Democratic-appointed chief, Tom Stone.
The bottom line is that the Kilkenny campaign is grasping at straws to find dirt on a clean opponent. In the process, those involved may end up sipping through a figurative straw as a result of a clean and Kosher knockout punch to the jaw.
By GORDON GLANTZ
@Managing2Edit
GORDONVILLE — The Trail of Tears. Slavery. The Civil War. Jim Crow. Women’s rights (or lack thereof).
Chapters of American history many would like to sweep under the rug.
Just like those pesky witch hunts, first in Salem, Massachusetts in the late 17th century and in post-World War II era when Sen. Joseph McCarthy tried to galvanize the country, and raise his political profile, with hearings – modern-day witch hunts – against Communism, real and perceived, on these shores.
McCarthy enjoyed some popularity at the outset. Warning about a “red under every bed,” he was seen as a bit of an American hero. The thinking: If he ruined a few innocent lives along the way, eh, so what?
By June of 1954, his star was beginning to fade a bit. Television was just taking its place in American culture and ABC — broadcasting to what was its largest audience — put itself on the map with a live broadcast on the 30th day of Army-McCarthy hearings (the senator was taking aim at some Army lawyers).
Under questioning about a lawyer at his firm named Fred Fisher, Army lawyer Joseph N. Welch had enough of McCarthy’s hateful act. When McCarthy brought up Fisher’s name, without warning, Welch lashed back.
After some banter, we are left with this sound bite that proved a turning point in the public consciousness.
“Let us not assassinate this lad further, Senator,” said Welch. “You’ve done enough. Have you no sense of decency, sir? At long last, have you left no sense of decency?”
McCarthy persisted, but Welch stood firm on his moral high ground.
“Mr. McCarthy, I will not discuss this further with you,” he said. “You have sat within six feet of me and could have asked me about Fred Fisher. You have seen fit to bring it out. And if there is a God in Heaven it will do neither you nor your cause any good. I will not discuss it further.”
How and why is this relevant?
Depends how much you believe in learning the lessons of history, whether tragic or triumphant.
Because of Donald Trump, the guy with the bad hair who is sitting in the driver’s seat of the clown car that carries the hopefuls – and hopeless — from the Republican party.
After a three-hour debate, during which he was rightfully a marked man by those eating his dust in polls, Trump went on to New Hampshire. There, one his backers – wearing a Trump tee-shirt – engaged in the typical psychobabble about President Barrack Obama being a Muslim who was not born in the U.S.
Trump fostered this notion, of course, when he spearheaded — and financed — the sickening “birther” movement that wanted to know where Obama was born, refusing to take a valid birth certificate as an answer.
After taking some heat in the media for his lack of a coherent response, the other GOP challengers have turtled.
And only Jeb Bush — perhaps Trump’s only legitimate competition, when it is all said and done — came out and refuted those claims, instead saying it is about Obama’s progressive policies (as if progressive, instead of regressive, is a bad thing).
Trump kicked off his campaign with Neil Young’s “Keep on Rockin’ In The Free World” in the blasting in the background and then launched into a tirade about illegal immigrants.
Young, a Canadian anyway, yanked the song from Trump and willed it to my candidate of choice, Bernie Sanders, but the mantra about the illegal immigrants not only stuck, but gained traction – especially with those who attend tractor-pull competitions (and wear Trump tee-shirts to political rallies).
The use of hate speech to become a demagogue should not be taken lightly.
I really don’t want to call Trump another Adolf Hitler, but his attempt to cite one ethnic group to galvanize his base is eerily like ripping Page 1 out of the Nazi playbook.
And if he is running off-tackle with a swastika on his helmet, he is going to a play-action pass with Joseph McCarthy in his heart.
So who is going to put an end to it?
Who is going to play the part of Joseph N. Welch and expose and publicly pull down Trump’s pants and expose his wayward sense of decency?
It’s not going to be any of his fellow candidates, like the milquetoast Bush or comatose Dr. Ben Carson, because they all need to gather steam with some of Trump’s hot air about plans to “ship them all home” and rip families apart based on false claims of them all being rapists roaming the streets at night looking for your daughters.
The Democrats are so polar opposite in this hopelessly divided country that nothing they say, from their own well-worn playbooks, will have any sway.
But someone else just might.
This lapsed-beyond-repair Jew is putting all hope in the pope – Pope Francis.
And he just happens to be on his way to our shores — like a superhero, fresh from a phone booth — right now.
Instead of bemoaning the inconvenience posed by his visit, consider listening to his message.
He just made may save the soul of a country.
Pope Francis has spoken passionately about the plight of those who have come here, like the ancestors of many of us, in search of a better life.
America has never fully cured itself of xenophobia, as every group as faced the hate. But workers were needed during the industrial revolution, as were conscripts for the Union during the Civil War, so grudging exceptions were made.
These days, if you look different and speak different, there is no easy path – or even a doable path – to citizenship like in times of yore.
There are plenty of undocumented souls here – from all over the world – who overstay their work or student visas.
Many are seen with a blind eye because, well, they blend in with the scenery. Like comedian Chris Rock says, “If you’re white, it’s all right.”
Asians have been brought up by some candidates, including Trump, but that rhetoric doesn’t seem to feed to electorate beast the same way as the bull’s eye on Hispanics does.
And if you are from an Arab country, where they often burn American flags, you mystically seem to fly under the radar – at least in comparison to Hispanics, mostly from Mexico and Guatemala.
Pope Francis, born in Argentina, is seen as a beacon of hope for those being outright persecuted for political gain on the American landscape.
During a recent broadcast – ironically on ABC, the same network that made its name back in 1954 when Welch took McCarthy out to the woodshed – the pope fielded questions, via satellite, from many of the misunderstood (and miscast by Trump) and responded with tender and insightful answers.
All eyes – and cameras – will be on the pope during his time here. It will be a healthy shift away from Trump coverage, 25/8.
He will surely speak about his key issues, like climate change and income inequality – you know, the taboo subjects (along with gun control) at the GOP debates – but also on the Trump-inspired wrath on other human beings seeking to make the words on the Statue of Liberty come alive with coherent meaning once again.
And I suspect, he will target Trump — although maybe not by name — about his sense of decency.
That will be enough to take him to school — Bible School.
And I hope – we Secular Humanists don’t pray – it turns Donald Trump into another piece of American history that our children’s children will live to regret.
By GORDON GLANTZ
Gordonglantz50@gmail.com
@Managing2Edit
GORDONVILLE — I only have one working windshield wiper, which is probably the result of trying to use them to swipe away layers of ice –usually without much success — this past winter.
Because the non-working wiper is on the passenger’s side, and because I won’t have time to get it addressed until after Sofia starts back to school in a few weeks, I’m just keeping an eye on the weather forecast and doing rain dances.
We could use my wife’s Honda Civic for long drives, but it’s so cramped in there that it leaves my back aching for days.
So, I was within my rights to have Sulu signal a yellow alert when a few sprinkles appeared on my already scratched windshield on the way to the American Music Theater in Lancaster Monday evening to see Loretta Lynn in concert.
Life is tough with only one windshield wiper, but nowhere near as tough as it is when you live in A country where too many around you have one working brain cell.
We were fortunate Monday. We sort of out-drove the rain and made it to our seats, front and center and in the fourth row (why can’t I get those for Springsteen or U2?).
As we looked upon the stage, with the rain coming down much harder outside, the stage was figuratively set for an ideal night.
All in all, Sofia would have rather been at home playing with her American Girl dolls and watching her reruns of reruns on the Disney Channel, but she will thank us one day for taking on the tour of legends.
It began last December, when we saw Bob Dylan from the nose-bleeds SEATS? at the Academy of Music and continued this summer with Gordon Lightfoot at the Keswick and Lynn on Monday.
Plus, unlike Lightfoot, we figured this would be a short concert. Lynn, after all, is 83 years old – making her the oldest performer I’ve seen (not counting my grandfather, Poppie, who played just about any string instrument that was ever made).
Much to our chagrin, a warm-up act, Walker County, was announced. I warmed up quick when I saw the two sisters, Cutie and Pie, in the three-piece band. They were pretty talented, too, playing more of the Americana country that I enjoy. Pie, the singer with Maria McKee-type pipes, said they would be in the lobby during intermission selling their CD and signing autographs and was “hoping to meet all of y’all” out there.
Sofia professed an interest, and I gladly volunteered to take her to their table – at intermission.
But there was no intermission.
After Walker County exited stage left, Lynn’s “kids” — 51-year-old twin daughters, Peggy and Patsy, and 62-year-old son Ernie — did a few ditties. Then, Lynn came out onto the stage to a lot of the justifiable pomp and circumstance due an icon. There were a few pauses in the action, as other members of the group did some songs to give her a rest.
But, more or less, Lynn rolled through her hit songs to a crowd so long in the tooth – and as white-skinned, and haired, as the driven snow that damaged my windshield – that I felt as young as Sofia.
She did the two songs I knew and liked enough to download on iTunes – “You Ain’t Woman Enough (To Take My Man) and wrapped up “Coal Minter’s Daughter.”
All in all, a cool experience.
But it had to be tarnished.
Toward the end of the show, Lynn said Ernie , who already ruined a tender moment about the death of Conway Twitty with some sort of quip that earns a yahoo strips in a trailer park, wanted to make a political statement. He hollered out “Trump” and the crowd roared with approval through their dentures while stomping their canes.
Something didn’t connect, but everything fell into place.
We were in America – and relatively close to home – but on a distant planet. Cancel the yellow alert and beam me up, Scotty. No intelligent life down here.
We just listened to this woman, a great American rags-to-riches success story (read the book, see the movie … or at least Google her) – roll through many of her self-penned songs that, for their time, gave voice to working class women before it was fashionable – and those who felt a connection with that music, whether they had also been wronged by their man or came from humble beginnings, roared their approval for a billionaire candidate who started his personal race about a foot from the finish line because he was born into wealth.
How and why could this be?
Won’t wasted too much time scratching the hair of my goatee.
The same reason that President Obama, despite the fact that it was him – and not Reagan, or anyone named Bush, that gave the Coal Miner’s Daughter with little formal education the Presidential Medal of Freedom — meets with derision.
Racism, plain and simple.
To me, something about Trumpmania is a bit Hitleresque. Not saying he is Hitler, but there are parallels – with the scape-goating of an ethnic to tap into people’s fears – that should not be ignored.
We didn’t defeat Nazi Germany in World War II to become Nazi Germany in an era where more than a 1,000 veterans of that war die per day.
I first thought about this uncomfortable parallel watching Trump babble – in a football stadium, no less – in front of a crowd with the combined wealth of his shoelaces in Mobile, Alabama a few days back.
It hit home in the American Music Theater in Lancaster Monday night when Ernie Lynn did his thang.
And from that moment on, the show was over in my mind.
Some of the other guys in the band did a passable cover of “Peaceful, Easy Feeling” but I was feeling anything but peaceful and easy, especially with my daughter being exposed to that nonsense.
When Lynn finished singing “Coal Miner’s Daughter,” there was a moment of indecision in the room.
Was it over, or was there an intermission?
The side doors opened, the house lights went up.
Right on cue.
At Sofia’s insistence – she is the alpha of the family – we went to the lobby to find the girls from Walker County.
Their real names are Sophie Dawn and Ivey Dene (their daddy, Billy Walker, plays guitar and helps write the tunes) and could not have been any nicer, posing for a picture with Sofia and signing an autograph.
When I wished Sophie Dawn good luck, and told her how good they sounded, she put down what she
was holding and shook my hand and thanked me.
All good, and we have a young band to root for, but it could not erase the sour taste.
We played the Walker County CD on the way home, and didn’t say much as we listened. When it ended – it’s an EP (only six songs) – Laurie and I discussed the scenario and how it related to the state of the country.
One of Sofia’s new pop idols, Becky G, came on the radio — Disney Channell, which now one of my presets (gulp) — and Laurie mentioned that the Mexican-American teen who went to work at age 9 to help parents who were struggling – likely as much as Loretta Lynn’s were — had recently written a song in response to Trump called “We Are Mexico.”
I’m sure it’s not my kind of music, but it’s the type of message we need to send.
Perhaps, while we are taking Sofia to see as many older musical icons while they are still standing, she has a role model with her finger on the pulse of a divided country.
When Trump entered the contest, I laughed. When he surged to the top of the polls, I chuckled.
I figured he would divide the GOP enough that the way would be paved for a Democrat – hopefully Bernie Sanders, but not likely (more to do with his ethnicity than being a “s-s-s-socialist”) – to win the election next November.
Now, I’m not so sure. Now, I really think this guy can win.
Before Obama even had a second foot through the door of the oval office, haters started hating, saying they wanted their country back.
To put a spin on Lynn’s aforementioned hit, I fear Trump may just be man enough to take my country.
I would say I don’t get it.
Sadly, I do.
And this joke isn’t funny anymore.
I may only have one working windshield wiper, but I can see clearly now.
It’s not a pretty picture.
By GORDON GLANTZ
@Managing2Edit
Gordonglantz50@gmail.com
GORDONVILLE — It has been more than three decades of political awareness than stood before a mirror, with a picture of Bobby Kennedy behind me, and made the following vow:
I, Gordon Glantz, take you the Democratic party, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part.
And I have, more or less, stayed true to these ideals. When I send in a play from the sidelines, it was from the Liberal playbook.
My first presidential election was 1984, and I voted for Walter Mondale. I have never voted for a Republican for president.
Yes, that means I voted for Barack Obama twice. And, while I don’t agree with everything he has done, I would do it again.
Because I can’t, I’m “all in” for Bernie Sanders. If his long-shot bid fails, I have no choice but to go with Hillary Clinton over anyone currently in the GOP field.
Sorry if some of you find that as a turnoff, but I believe honesty is the best policy. When you are not in a vicious cycle of telling lies to get out of the lies you told before, your days are easy and your nights are not as sleepless.
While we are being honest. I will admit that I was as bloodthirsty for revenge as any red-blooded American after 9/11. I remember how unified we all were — at least for the blink of an eye — and even commented that it was a “good thing we have a Texan in the White House.”
Because he blew it, leaving the country more divided, I believe that “ersatz Texan” — George W. Bush — is the worst president of my lifetime.
Not even close.
Some told me I would get more conservative after the birth of my daughter, Sofia, in 2007. Turns out, the opposite was true.
Because my baby girl will be one day be a young woman and a lady, gender equity is is an important issue to me.
Because I want to leave her — and her children and children’s children — with a better planet, I have become increasingly aware of the environment.
And whether or not you believe climate change/global warming is a human-made or some strange natural phenomenon, it should not change the idea that we can work together to do something about it “in the now” by simply recycling and eating less meat and carpooling and using public transportation in lieu of driving.
And don’t get me started on holding the oil industry and other major polluters accountable.
While my liberal playbook — and a few viewings of “Bowling For Columbine” — always had me advocating for stricter gun control, it got more personal after the Sandy Hook tragedy. The young victims were around the same age as Sofia, and I have been passionate about strict gun control ever since.
While I would never own a gun, that doesn’t mean I want to go door to door and take guns away from sane and responsible gun owners. I merely want them taken away from those who have no right being in the same hemisphere with firearms, and I refuse believe it is impossible to work toward that goal — just like it always was, and remains, possible to make the roads safer with better-made vehicles and ongoing enhanced enforcement for evolving scourges likes distracted driving.
Like climate change/global warming, my mind is boggled about gun control being a political wedge issue.
However, I don’t believe in absolutes. That would make me closed-minded, and therefore not a true liberal (look up the definition).
On the local level, I have voted for nearly as many Republicans as Democrats,a nd I have done so with no regrets. That includes Sam Katz when he ran for mayor of my hometown of Philadelphia, which I believe would have been better off had he won in 1999.
It certainly would have been a safer place to live and work, which my wife does.
This brings us to the subject of law enforcement. Since residing in Montgomery County, I have voted for the best person for the job — regardless of party affiliation — for the offices of district attorney and sheriff.
And, as it turns out, my choices have always been Republican.
I was proud to pull the lever for Eileen Whalon Behr, who I knew well from my hitch as the crime reporter for the Times Herald, and I was even more stoked to see Russell J. Bono come out of a short retirement from the Norristown Police Department to take her place.
I worked closely with Russell while I was covering the crime beat, as he was in the final phase of his career with the NPD, that being the chief during that time. We developed a mutual respect and a friendship that transcended our political differences (such as the Second Amendment).
When I was promoted to managing editor, he was one of the first people I called, and he gave me a vote of confidence.
When he retired, I gladly penned a column and a story about his career.
When my own journalism career came to an end, he was one of the first people I reached out to and he was again beyond supportive.
Those are times you don’t you don’t forget, because you find who your friends are.
When he decided to run to retain the office, I put aside party affiliation — as everyone should when it comes to enforcing the law — and asked what I could do to help.
I don’t know all that much about the opponent. Frankly, I don’t need to know much because Russell J. Bono — as a lawman and not a lawyer — is the right man for the job.
As a career lawman, he is an artisan of his craft. What always amazed about him, despite his years on the job, is that he was never jaded enough not feel sincere compassion for innocent victims
That is why I have gladly accepted the position of Chairman of the Democrats for Bono committee.
Whether you are a fellow Democrat, an independent or an on-the-fence Republican, I ask for your support.
By GORDON GLANTZ
Gordonglantz50@gmail.com
@Managing2Edit
GORDONVILLE – The dogs on Main Street are howling. Hungry hearts are starving. It’s getting harder to be saint in the city. Glory days are getting a little gory these days.
Bruce Springsteen is under attack for his alleged offensive song choices during the Veterans Day “Concert For Valor” in Washington, D.C. Tuesday.
But don’t go hiding on the backstreets just yet. No need to feel like rider on a downbound train. There is a lot of light on this right now, but no need to be blinded by it.
It is not something new for Springsteen, as a proud disciple of the Woody Guthrie lineage of singer-songwriters speaking for the people not the ones who take their voices away, to be under fire.
If you are a power lifter when it comes to having strength in your convictions, you can weather these storms on your own.
Springsteen did this years back when his song “American Skin (41 Shots)” was first performed in concert in 2000 – later to appear on a 2001 live album (“Live In New York City”) and eventually a studio release – and the subject matter, the 1999 shooting of an unarmed African immigrant under unclear circumstances, irked the law enforcement community to the point that a boycott of concerts was urged.
His first dalliance with national controversy was in 1984, when the song “Born in the U.S.A.” – from the album of the same name – was taking the country by storm. Misunderstood – or misinformed by his advisers – Ronald Reagan heralded the song that is more of a rant than an anthem.
Inspired by his friendship with Ron Kovic (the real-life character of the 1989 “Born on the Fourth of July” film starring Tom Cruise, Springsteen wrote “Born in the U.S.A.” about how a large number of veterans of the Vietnam War were scattered to the wind and forgotten.
He hadn’t forgotten them, though. Another song that didn’t make that album, “Shut Out The Light,” further illuminated Springsteen’s empathy – and some modicum of guilt for being from that generation but having not served (he failed his draft physical because a recently broken leg from a motorcycle accident had yet to heal) – on the topic that had been swept under the rug in terms of national dialogue.
He not only called attention an issue no longer chic for the anti-war protestors who had gone on to cut their hair and become cocaine-snorting yuppies. He put his money where his mouth was by donating time and money to the cause without fanfare and photo opportunities.
When he hit the stage Tuesday, I kind of cringed to see him come out alone with just an acoustic guitar and a neck harmonica holder. After Metallica had just rocked the house down, an acoustic Springsteen set was not going to bode well.
I admit, even as a devotee who rarely criticizes the only person I called Boss (aside from the wife), what followed was not a career highlight.
I don’t say this because of the three songs he did – “The Promised Land” and then “Born in the U.S.A.” and “Dancing in the Dark” – but the way he played them. If he was going to go it alone, without the E Street Band in tow, at least have another picker or two – Nils Lofgren, Steven Van Zandt, Tom Morello or just someone from a band already there – and play the acoustic versions a little more straightforward and hard-driving to engage a crowd that was too large for a coffee house approach.
And that was it, in terms of criticism.
The song selections, in and of themselves, were fine.
“The Promised Land” is more of a social statement than it is overtly political, while “Dancing in the Dark” was a just pure pop song.
As for “Born in the U.S.A.,” causing conservatives to go apoplectic, it was more of the aforementioned style in which it was played to a crowd looking more to cut loose and pump fists that was a cause for pause.
As Springsteen said when he introduced it, “Born in the U.S.A. remains as relevant today (after the Vietnam-like quagmires in Iraq and Afghanistan, followed by inconsistent treatment of returning veterans) as it was when it first came onto the landscape and confused Ronald Reagan.
That is the real shame, and not addressed that self-evident truth is nothing more than a diversionary tactic by the right.
The sobering statistics on suicide for veterans — estimated at more than 20 per day — solemnly speak for themselves.
Having seen enough, I turned off the television after the three songs. My wife was at a late meeting and Sofia hadn’t started her homework. It dawned on me that Springsteen might come back out and join in some jam session later in the show but, honestly, I didn’t really care that much.
With the invention of DVR, and On Demand, I knew I could dial it up again.
Turns out, what I missed was Springsteen and Dave Grohl joining the Zac Brown Band for a rendition of the Creedence Clearwater Revival classic “Fortunate Son,” which stood out from a litany of anti-war songs from the Vietnam era in that it came from the perspective of the pool of largely poor kids being sent to fight in a rich man’s war of folly.
Apparently — with those in the crowd, the ones for whom the concert was taking place — it struck a chord and went over well.
With the naysayers on the right, who probably think anything less than “God Bless America” in a post-9/11 world is strategically deemed an act of treason and the performer labeled a heretic to be blacklisted like in the McCarthy era.
I was hit with the news on social media the next day, and disgusted by the right-wing’s righteous indignation.
The good news amid the bad was that most of the venom was directed Springsteen, the biggest name, not Brown or Grohl.
The other guys may react with less tact, and make a bad situation worse.
But this is par for Bruce’s course since getting in touch with his inner Bob Dylan after more of a John Steinbeck approach in his coming-of-age run from 1975-1980.
He’s been there, done that.
It’s not that he is looking for trouble – if he were, there were other songs from his catalogue that could have really made the heavens heavy in Brill Cream – but he isn’t running from it, either.
Just since 9/11, the date where those who decry political correctness set strict boundaries when comes to wartime etiquette – we must thank soldiers for their service to our country but repeatedly support policies that do them and their families a disservice – Springsteen has, and will continue to, write songs to expose those bitter ironies.
He started on his first release since 9/11, 2002’s “The Rising,” with the first song, “Lonesome Day,” that included lyrics such as “better ask questions before you shoot.”
Not a popular sentiment back then, but he was seeing through the smoke and mirrors. He was a step ahead of the curve about what he termed the “seeds of betrayal” about the selling of the Iraqi War were self-evident.
He went on the stump for John Kerry in 2004 and for Barack Obama in 2008.
The title track of his “Devils & Dust” release in 2005 was written from the perspective of a front-line soldier in Iraq. He continued decrying the injustice of war with no draft – making it a silent class war (the point of the song “Fortunate Son”) by definition – on “Magic” in 2007.
The title track spoke directly to the deception involved in putting the country into war and included war-related songs such as “Last To Die” (featured the refrain “who’ll be the last to die for a mistake”), “Gypsy Biker” and “Devil’s Arcade.”
The economy ravaged by George W. Bush going to war but no raising taxes, something unheard of in modern history, was illuminated in the song “Long Walk Home” and remained a theme up through current releases.
If Springsteen really want to be controversial, he could have played any of these songs instead.
If the wrong-wing pundits knew this – which would mean they knew what they were talking about before letting actual words fall from their tongues – they wouldn’t look quite as idiotic as they did Wednesday morning.
But we have the option to rise above.
We were born in the U.S.A., making us fortunate sons.
By GORDON GLANTZ
@Managing2Edit
GORDONVILLE – Sofia, well, she says what she means and means what she says.
Even before she could talk, she would find ways to get her message across, whether it was throwing her head back to get attention or making a face and shaking her head no when she didn’t like the spoonful of baby food coming her way.
Every teacher, from preschool to the present, has praised her verbal expression skills and marveled at her vast vocabulary.
Not to brag – as balance, she’s still a klutz who bangs her head on something at least once a day – but this is a recorded fact.
But she’s still a 7-year-old little girl, so she is not yet ready to deliver a summation before the Supreme Court (although her rationale would likely make more sense than some of what is passing for attempts at Constitutional interpretations these days).
Example: She told me yesterday that I’m “banded” – instead of “banned” — from using Facebook, or the computer today (I’m sneaking this in before the princess arises).
I am also trying to break her early from the lazy habit of overusing words like “hate” and “love” and “great.”
“You don’t ‘hate’ this episode of ‘The Waltons,’” I’ll explain, as if I’m Grandpa Walton himself. “You dislike it.”
“You don’t ‘love’ – or ‘totally love’ – a game on the iPad, you really like it a lot,” I’ll tell her. “The movie you just saw wasn’t ‘great,’ but it was ‘good’ or maybe even ‘very good,’”
And so on.
Does it sink in?
I’d like to think so, but who knows?
Sometimes you have to be shown.
And sometimes you have to set an example.
Looking in the mirror, often the hardest viewpoint of the day, I see someone who holds words – and their usage – dear and who is also as guilty as charged for overdoing it for the sake of drama.
For some reason — probably my time as a union “activist,” when I once led a chant of “used to be a gold mine, now it’s a coal mine” with a megaphone — I became prone to coal mine analogies.
It’s not that it’s wrong, off-hand. Many coal miners, past and present, might get a warm-fuzzy being remembered and included.
But there is a fine line between being poignant and cavalier.
When I left what was a figuratively poisonous work environment more than a year back, I told people it was like breathing in fresh air after years working in the coal mines and that it was going to clear up my case of black lung.
Yeah, right, G2.
In researching blank lung for use in a subsequent song, I came to learn that there is no clearing it up.
You get it, you got it.
And you die from it.
Nothing poetic.
I should have known better then, but I continued with the analogies.
But after a recent excursion to the lower Poconos with the family, I think I’ll put that to rest.
And, after touring a real coal mine, Sofia will have learned the same lesson at a more impressionable age.
It was a long way from Disney, which we visited in June, but it hopefully made just as much of an impression.
The mine we visited had not been operational since 1973. It is “safe,” by today’s standards. It was dark inside, but well-lit as compared to when men and boys as young as Sofia went in not knowing if they were coming back out.
Just the ride in a train car left my eyes irritated and my back aching for a few days.
Sofia woke up the next morning with a migraine.
My elderly mother had swollen ankles.
Although Laurie says she unscathed, being from “peasant stock,” I had to remind her that her back hurt as well the next day.
And we were all more than a little chilled from the mine, which is kept at 52 degrees at all times (in contrast to all the homes and offices where people squabble over whether to keep the thermostat at 70 or 72 degrees because someone is “freezing”).
For those who went in every day for how many days their careers lasted, it was a matter of dying slowly – set against the ever-present prospect of dying fast in a disaster — while only earning enough in company scrip to subsist.
“We were expendable assets,” explained our tour guide, who is a coal miner at a small local mine and who came from generations of coal miners.
He said the donkeys in the mines were considered more valuable than the immigrant miners. Why? If something happened to a donkey, it cost the coal barons money to replace the donkey.
It cost them nothing to replace a miner who was killed or severely disabled. If no one else in the family could step up and fill the shoes of the dead, which usually meant a call for the oldest son to quit school and become a “breaker boy,” they gave you 48 hours to grieve before vacating the premises.
We were turned on to the mine tour by the tour guide at the Old Jail – the former Carbon County Jail – in Jim Thorpe, Pa.
It was there, in 1877, that four of the notorious Molly Maguires were hanged at once — with at least one left dangling and suffering for up to 10 minutes because the noose was not applied correctly.
Two more were hanged there, and others across the coal region, during the labor struggle of the late 19th century.
Ironically, we old toured an old Episcopal church in Jim Thorpe, which was founded by one of the town’s collective of millionaires.
This one made his money off the coal boom, as his railroad line transported the coal to the big cities.
The guide at the church, a congenial enough retired math teacher and athletic director at a local high school, spoke about the detailed stained glass windows that were commissioned to be done by artists in Italy by the millionaire’s widow, who sought permission for one of her pet projects from the queen of England.
Meanwhile, if we had Nick Foles stand on the steps of the church and throw a football, it would land at the courthouse where coal miners who struggled to feed their families were hanged in trials that objective legal experts today say were mockeries of justice.
Were some guilty of something? Yes. Were all guilty of everything? No.
Did these “Christians” with money to spare even care, or think twice?
And it hit me that no matter how things change, they still kind of stay the same.
The Irish immigrants of the time were lured to the mines because of the venom they felt – the “No Irish Need Apply” signs in the big cities where they disembarked as huddled masses yearning to breathe free – while what equates to the top one percent of the time twirled their heads over what shade of blue to make the eyes of Jesus in a stained glass window.
Sound familiar?
In the song “The American Land,” Bruce Springsteen wrote and sang(behind an Irish beat): “The hands that build this country are the ones they are always trying to keep out.”
No hyperbole there.
And no more here.
Not if I can help it.