LINDBERGH & CHILDREN

by William H. Benson

March 2, 2000

     The newborn are helpless, innocent, without the physical, emotional, or psychological arsenal needed to play the adult games;  so, humankind concluded ages ago that protecting the child is of crucial importance.  In mankind’s slow crawl into the flickering light of civilization, this moral attitude was a great step forward away from infanticide–the abandonment and outright killing of children.  This abominable practice was sometimes done for religious reasons–the gods demand the unblemished, but more often, it was done to escape the burden of rearing offspring.  Motherhood demands much.

     After a hundred centuries and a billion minds have thought on this issue, Western Civilization wisely came down on the side of the child.  We build and support schools.  The government constructs programs to assist and protect the child.  The society encourages homes and parenting.  Charles Dickens wrote, “Every baby born into the world is a finer one than the last.”  Children are our lives extended afar, into the next centuries.  The pro-child arguments are obvious.

     And yet, last week, the columnist Mona Charens pointed out a disturbing trend that is occurring across the nation–mothers are abandoning their newborns.  This amoral behavior drags us all back to a previous and darker age, to a time before the wise wrote the moral codes.  The level-headed frequently ask, “How could any mother do such a thing?”  The answer is the same as it has been for millennium–the burdens of motherhood are crushing.

     Women consume themselves in caring for children, and the men in providing for the wife and children back at home.  When the youngest child is finally reared, the parents are worn out, with little space remaining for an individual life at the end as at the beginning.  But if there is no man in the equation, (as is all too often the case today), the entire weight falls upon the mother.  She is overwhelmed, hopeless.  Both the “civilized” of today, and the “savage” of yesteryear find a similar motivation to just walk away.

     Recently, I read the new biography on Charles Lindbergh by A. Scott Berg, and without a doubt, the saddest and most heart-wrenching chapter is about the kidnapping of 22-month-old Charles Jr.  On the evening of March 1, 1932 he was snatched from his crib in the family’s home while his parents were at dinner.  Investigators found muddy footprints in the nursery, a homemade ladder tossed aside, and a note pinned to the windowsill demanding $50,000.  A massive hunt for the child and the perpetrator ensued.

     Then, on May 12, the child’s body was found in the woods, less than five miles from the Lindbergh’s home near Princeton, New Jersey.  The theory evolved that the kidnapper broke a rung on the crudely built ladder when crawling out and then dropped the child.  If so, it was a diabolical crime and a very badly executed one at that.

     On April 3, 1936 a German immigrant named Bruno Hauptman, was executed for the crime.  Despite Hauptman’s protestations of innocence, the evidence against him was overpowering, and it was concluded that he had broken the law, the moral code of the nation.

     Anatole France said, “Morality is sum of the prejudices of a community.”  Wisdom is found in that moral code, and the unanimity with which it is practiced is as important as the contents of that code.  We must not conclude that morals are worthless because they differ according to time and place, but instead, we are warranted to decide that morals are indispensable for our society’s well-being.  That which happens to the child happens to the nation.

     Children–girls and boys, how do we protect them?  How do we shield them from disease, from broken bones and bodies, from the horrific traffic accidents that plague our nation, or, even worse, from the gruesome ravages of the Bruno Hauptman’s of the world or of ill-fated parents?  Do we just do the best we can?  Yes, but both wisdom and the children cry out for a better answer.

THE PRESIDENT

by William H. Benson

February 24, 2000

     George Washington’s successful revolution against King George in 1776 eradicated the British crown and the trappings of royalty from the colonies, but in their place the Founding Fathers instituted a quasi-royalty called the President.  Forty-two men have served our nation in that role, and the armchair historian can attach every descriptive adjective imaginable to at least one or more of them–stubborn, good, bad, awful, dull, slick, misguided, insincere, great, flawed, devious, inconsistent, enlightened, intelligent, statesman-like, lazy, diligent, touchy, moral, unethical, studious, and deceitful.  Still, given the choice between an inherited royal throne and an elected President, the Founding Fathers chose the better of the two.

     The best of the lot include, of course, Washington, Jefferson, Jackson, Lincoln, Wilson, perhaps both Roosevelts, and Truman.  The worst of the lot include James Buchanan, Lincoln’s predecessor.  From the time Lincoln was elected in November of 1860 and the handover to Lincoln in March of 1861, Buchanan dawdled while the Southern nations concluded their plans to leave the United States.  It then fell to Lincoln to put back together what Buchanan had allowed to rip apart.  Then, Ulysses S. Grant in the 1870’s and Warren G. Harding in the 1920’s achieved the distinction of looking the other way while their deputies in the inner circle plundered the Treasury.  Scandals ensued.

     Andrew Jackson, the face on the Twenty Dollar bill was the general at the Battle of New Orleans during the War of 1812.  He was a heartless Indian fighter and a frontiersman who was the first to bring the Presidency down to the common folks’ level.  Not above smoking a corn cob pipe and looking unshaven and unkempt at times, Jackson could then spiff up when he wanted, brush back his white hair, and dazzle his guests.  An Enlishwoman once exclaimed, “Your republican President is the royal model of a gentleman!”

     When Vice-President Harry Truman became President, wiseacres commented that if he could become President then anybody could, even the guy next door.  That he came from common roots was true, but intelligent, well-read, and implacable (perhaps stubborn is the better word) he was.  Just a common man from Missouri he saw himself, but he understood well the dignity and power of the office he held.

     Jack Kennedy came the closest to royalty.  Richard Burton and Julie Andrews were on Broadway in the early 60’s in Camelot, and Jackie wanted to turn the White House into an updated version of King Arthur’s mythic castle.  She was allowed to do so.  But, it was Jack’s father, Joe, the immensely wealthy and powerful and corrupt Irish-American, who pushed his son, Jack, into politics and then paid for the Presidency.  Paul Johnson, the historian, wrote that it was like “handing over power to a family business, a clan, almost a milieu, with a set of attitudes about how office was to be acquired and used which at no point coincided with the American ethic.”

     At least one President was downright dull–Calvin Coolidge.  He said little, and did even less.  His best known comment was “The business of America is business.”  (Many would argue that it is actually about liberty and securing the blessings of freedom.)  Alice Longworth Roosevelt, TR’s daughter, commented about Silent Cal, “He reminds me of the little man who stands on top of the wedding cake.”

     Some Presidents, such as Jimmy Carter, worked very hard and mastered all the issues, and yet, was largely ineffective in getting the job done.  Reagan, on the other hand, conserved his energy with frequent afternoon naps, joked about it, and somehow got things done.  Bud McFarlane said, “He knows so little and accomplishes so much.”

     Clinton is now in his final and eighth year as President, and four new faces (Bradley, Gore, McCain, and George W.) are appearing in the wings driving hard to win that desk in the Oval Office in January of 2001.  Our choices include a former NBA basketball player, a Vice-President, a former POW, and the Texas Governor.  Not much shining royalty can we find among them, but then again that was the Founding Fathers’ intentions.    

THE BEATLES

by William H. Benson

February 10, 2000

     In early February of 1964 I was in the fourth grade.  One evening I was sitting in the chair at Don’s Barbershop getting my hair cut and watching television when I heard Walter Cronkite announce that the Beatles had just arrived in New York City.  “What are the Beatles?” I asked.  No one, including the barber, seemed to know because they did not answer.  I watched and noticed that their hair was longer than normal for 1964, and here I was getting a crew cut.  Little did I realize it at the time, but sitting in that barber chair, I was witnessing a revolution; the English were invading America.

     Later I learned that their names were John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison, and Ringo Starr and that they were from Liverpool, England.  That Sunday night they were on the “Ed Sullivan Show” singing “She Loves You, Yea! Yea!”.   What was amazing was the effect those four had upon the crowds of girls who were either sobbing or shouting or both.

     In August of that year the Beatles returned to San Francisco for a 23-city tour of America which solidified their complete hold upon America’s music.  At one time five of their songs held the top slots on the charts.  Their songs initiated a new direction in rock music with a sense of melody rather than just a strong beat, and the imaginative lyrics were much more meaningful.

     Who growing up in the 1960’s could ever get those Beatles’ tunes out of their heads?  “Love Me Do”, “Please, Please Me”, “A Hard Day’s Night”, “Eight Days a Week”, “I Want to Hold Your Hand”, “Nowhere Man”, “Eleanor Rigby”, “Michelle”, “Yesterday”, “Strawberry Fields Forever”, “Hey Jude!”, “Come Together”, “Something”, “Get Back”, “Revolution”, and “Let it Be”.  Each of them brings on a flood of memories that cannot ever be stamped out.  Vastly influential and wildly innovative, the group achieved unimaginable fame and wealth.

     By 1970 John and Ringo were thirty, and Paul and George were twenty-eight.  It was Paul who decided to end the group.  He said the split was the result of “personal differences, business differences, musical differences–but most of all because I have a better time with my family.”

     John deteriorated into weirdness–Indian mysticism, fad diets, drink, cigarettes, and drugs, all done alongside Yoko Ono.  Then, in December of 1980 a guy from Hawaii, Mark David Chapman, shot and killed the very strange John Lennon in front of his Manhattan apartment.

     Meanwhile, Paul married Linda Eastman and carved out a respectable life.  Their marriage lasted twenty-nine years, and they raised four children.  The Queen thought he was exceptional when she knighted him “Sir” Paul McCartney.  Absent from that event though was Linda who was battling breast cancer.  She died on April 17, 1998 at their private ranch near Tucson.  Paul’s statement said it best, “We will never get over it, but I think we will come to accept it.”

     Then, on the night of December 30, 1999 Michael Abram broke a window in George Harrison’s home (thirty miles west of London on the Thames), crawled in, and stabbed the former Beatle in the chest.  Just the month before the attacker had been released from a hospital psychiatric ward.  His mother said, “He has been running in pubs shouting about the Beatles.  He hates them and even believes they are witches and takes their lyrics seriously.  He started to wear a Walkman to play music to stop the voices in his head.”  Harrison suffered a punctured lung but will, no doubt, redouble his home’s security.

     Thirty-six years ago the Beatles arrived and ushered in new music, new lyrics, a new hair-style, and even new clothes.  It was a successful and bloodless Revolution;  America was ready for it.  But, as it always does, life marches on, and the Beatles lived long enough to share in its tragedies.  However, the songs just do not change;  they still bubble with that Liverpoolian vision of youth and life and love.  “Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away.  Now it seems they’re here to stay.  Oh, I believe in Yesterday. . . . Nowhere man please listen. . . . and strawberry fields– forever.”

SYSTEMS

by William H. Benson

January 27, 2000

     All parts of a system must work for the life form/organization/machine to function, to thrive, to win.  Building a tried-and-true winning system is not easy.  It is the part of the system ignored or forgotten about that causes the losses, the crashes, and the system breakdowns. 

     For example, an airplane is a system of systems–fuel, hydraulics, electronics, etc.  A failure in one of those systems can cause loss of flight and a potential crash.  That is why engineers design dual and triple backup systems.  When one hydraulic system fails, the pilot reaches for another.

     The human body is also a system of systems.  The heart, lungs, blood, nerves, kidneys all do their duty and serve a crucial purpose.  Damage or disruption in one system brings on sickness.

     Football is a game also composed of systems: offense, defense, the line, the middle linebacker, the safety, special teams, passing game, running game, blocking, tackling, punting, and kicking.  To win the Super Bowl, all of a team’s systems must work a measure better than the opposing team’s.  The winner is not necessarily the team with the best record but the team that makes it to the playoffs and then wins there.  The team’s systems must perform at a peak and at full throttle.

     The family is a system in which parents and children both can thrive given the right qualities: optimistic attitudes, truthfulness, kindliness, acceptance, gentility, firmness, a refusal to choose nothing but the best, compliments, self-esteem boosters, punctuality, respect for authority and learning, and orderliness.  Without a healthy dose of at least some of those attributes, the individual members lose heart and then look elsewhere for sustenance.

     But systems do disintegrate.  Airplanes occasionally crash.  Human bodies eventually give up.  A football team’s leading rusher suffers a season-ending injury.  The winning quarterback retires.  The replacements are not quite of the same calibre, and the winning edge is lost.  The system grinds down.  The team loses another chance at the Super Bowl.

     And even families drift and then fall apart.  For example, a family that is marked by a fault-finding attitude, disrespect for authority, laziness, unfaithfulness, lack of consideration, or a refusal to spend time with each other leads to disruption.  Children suffer when the system is topsy-turvy.  What is truly “right” becomes, amazingly enough, the wrong thing to do, and what is truly “wrong” is suddenly the best choice.  What is black is now white, and what is white is black.  In a word, the system is messed up.

     Lewis Carroll, who happened to be born on January 27, 1832, wrote about Alice in Wonderland at a tea party.  She listened to guests talking strange and doing weird things.  The Walrus said, “The time has come to talk of many things: Of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings, and why the sea is boiling hot, and whether pigs have wings.”

     Like Alice, human beings can quite innocently find themselves in situations where they feel like they are the only sober person at a party filled with drunks.  The system has disintegrated.  The trick is learning how to keep your own head on when all those around you are losing theirs.

     National Geographic‘s latest edition discusses the possiblity of life on other planets–in other solar systems.  The writers suppose that the life forms there will have sufficient size to support a head with sensory organs and a brain and have a skeleton with limbs.  However, Seth Shostak of the SETI Institute in California cautions,  “Nature is probably much more inventive than we are.”

     Whatever their physical dimensions may be, I suspect that, should life arise on those planets, a certain “system”, similar to Earth’s, will also arise there.  Exceptional physical talent will still be highly regarded.  Beauty in all its forms will be highly esteemed.  The powerful will win the games and the thrones but will be invariably replaced over time by others yet more powerful.  Intelligence and reasoning skills will, like cream, rise to the very top.  Thoughtful planning and the execution of those plans will still win the ball games.  Patience, perseverance, and optimism will be their own reward.  Some things, some “systems”, even if on other planets, will not change.

STEPHEN FOSTER & JEFFERSON DAVIS

by William H. Benson

January 13, 2000

     Thursday of this week, the thirteenth, is noted as Stephen Foster Memorial Day.  Composer and lyricist, he died on that day in 1864 at Manhattan’s Bellevue Hospital at the age of 38.  During his short life he wrote some 200 songs–musical images of American life, especially of the South.

     “Oh! Susanna!  Oh won’t you cry for me,  for I’ve come from Alabama with a banjo on my knee.”  This Foster song became the favorite at the California mining camps during the Forty-Nine gold rush.  Popular song books still include his other remembered songs:  “Camptown Races”, “Swanee River”, “Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair”, and “My Old Kentucky Home”. 

     Although he wrote Southern songs that captured the plantation’s spirit, albeit in an idyllic sense, Stephen Foster actually lived most of his life in the North–at Pittsburgh.  Still, he had a great gift for melody and could pick up any tune by ear.  He played the clarinet and the piano when still a child, and he wrote both the words and the music to his songs.

     With war clouds threatening between North and South, Foster moved to New York City in 1860 where he lived the rest of his life.  His wife and children soon abandoned him when his heavy drinking had reduced them to squalor.

     Although Stephen Foster had little actual experience living on a Southern plantation, someone who did and believed wholeheartedly in its way of life was Jefferson Davis, the President of the Confederacy.  He grew up on a Mississippi cotton plantation, and he often spoke of the benevolence of the slave-system.  On his father’s cotton plantation, the slaves were never flogged.  The slaves judged and punished themselves.  Families were kept together.  Davis falsely assumed that slaves were treated the same across the South; he refused to believe any stories of cruelty.

     When the Northerners questioned Davis’s assumptions, he, like so many other Southerners, responded as if insulted and personally assaulted.  He told his wife, Varina, “I cannot bear to be suspected or complained of, or misconstrued after explanation.”  Senator Isaac P. Walker of Wisconsin commented on Jefferson Davis: “He speaks with an air which seems to say ‘Nothing more can be said, I know it all, it must be as I think.'”  Reading this helps to explain why the Civil War occurred and, still more, why it lasted so long.

     The best of Stephen Foster’s music had encouraged sympathy for the slaves’ suffering on the plantation, and that music is our link back to those pre-Civil War days before the Great National Divorce, back to those simpler but not necessarily better ideas.

     Despite his genius for song, Stephen Foster died alone, penniless, in a drunken stupor in January of 1864.  Fifteen months later the Confederacy died, its back completely broken.

     Exactly a century would pass before a descendent of a former slave would stand next to the Lincoln Memorial and dare to say:  “I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.’ . . . I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice. . . . And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true.  So let freedom ring.”

     Those words sound so much more sincere and nobler than, “Camptown Races five miles long, doo-dah, doo-dah,” or “Way down upon the Swanee River, far, far away.  That’s where my heart is turning ever.  That’s where the old foks stay.  All up and down the whole creation, sadly I roam.  Still longing for the old plantation, and for the old folks at home.”