By Bob Gaydos

Susie Wiles
… the enabler

     Donald Trump has “an alcoholic’s personality.”

      Who says so? The woman who should know. The woman who runs his household, makes sure he looks ready for the day ahead and structures her own life around his anger, insecurities and alcoholic unpredictability.  The one who manages the unmanageability.

      Susie Wiles. His enabler.

      When I read that Wiles, Trump’s chief of staff, had given a Vanity Fair writer 11 months of remarkably honest conversations about what Trump is like, how he thinks and operates, warts and all, I was stunned. What the heck is she doing? I wondered. She knows Trump. You can’t tell the truth about him without paying the price. And she knows Vanity Fair is going to report the truth. This is political suicide.

      After sleeping on it, I came up with another explanation. She knows better. She’s not Rudy Giuliani (who also has an alcoholic’s personality), standing in front of Four Seasons Landscaping garage instead of The Four Seasons Hotel in Philadelphia, arguing that Trump was robbed in the 2020 presidential election.

      It’s not political suicide. It’s a warning shot and the first stage of an escape. The enabler went to Al Anon.

      Now, I don’t know if Wiles actually ever attended meetings of Al-Anon, a 12-step group for people whose lives have been significantly impacted by the drinking and alcoholic behavior of someone close to them. But, as Wiles disclosed, her father was Pat Summerall, who played football for the New York Giants, was a popular sportscaster and, by the way, was an alcoholic who eventually managed to have 20 years of recovery.

     She was certainly a candidate for Al Anon. If she went to meetings, she would’ve learned that she didn’t cause the alcoholic’s behavior, can’t control it and certainly can’t cure it. What she can do is focus on herself and her own well-being, set boundaries and support the alcoholic — without enabling him.

       Wiles may have gotten to the point where, knowing that Trump is not about to change – in fact, appears to be getting worse – that her own self-interest would be best served by getting out of Dodge. Honey, I’m outta here.

       And honey, by the way, I know a bunch of your secrets and a bunch of good lawyers, so please don’t try to stop me or hurt me.

      Of course, in Wiles’ case, she has not been an innocent victim, along for the ride because she had no choice. She had a choice. She said yes to Trump. She knows where the bodies are buried. Like Haldeman for Nixon, she’s seen the enemies list. She bears responsibility, as a primary enabler, for much of the pain Trump has caused other people

      She knows what he’s been doing and has helped him each step of the way, one day at a time. Her  charge that the article was a hit job and claims of trying to persuade Trump away from exacting political revenge ring hollow.

      But spilling the beans and your guts on Trump without having an exit plan makes no sense. If you can’t detach with love, then do it with confidence and a landing pad. Having “White House chief of staff” on your résumé doesn’t hurt.

    So, it doesn’t look like Trump‘s going to rehab. Actually, he doesn’t even drink. That leaves assisted living at Mar-a-Lago or prison. Maybe Wiles sees this happening sooner rather than later and is packing her bags.  She’ll probably write a book. 

    In any event, if my guess is correct and Wiles is planning her escape from the unmanageability of Trump’s “alcoholic” behavior, she might do well to take a look at some of the other steps in the Al Anon program. The ones about taking a fearless personal inventory of her shortcomings, making amends to people she has harmed, promptly admitting when she is wrong and, having had a “spiritual awakening,“ practicing these principles in all her affairs.

      Her father, who went to the Betty Ford Clinic and then attended Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, spoke openly about practicing those principles.

      Honesty is the first principle of all 12-step programs. I applaud anyone in Trump‘s inner circle being publicly honest about him. It’s rare these days. But it sure would be nice if one of them also took responsibility for their part in enabling the insanity.

      That would be Step Four, Susie.

***

(Bob Gaydos has written a column on addiction and recovery for nearly 20 years.)     

By Bob Gaydos 

Rob Reiner
… he will be missed

    Why in the hell is he talking?

     Excuse me, texting. Same thing. Same nonsense. Same hate. Same self-serving glorification at the pain of others. Yeah, Trump.

     I’ve been writing a column on addiction and recovery for nearly two decades. It was a monthly feature of the local paper when the local paper used to have regular features. A major component of the column was information gleaned from people involved in 12-Step recovery programs.

     These programs are noted for, among other things, having acronyms for just about anything. FEAR. Face everything and recover. KISS. Keep it simple, stupid. SLIP. Sobriety losing its priority. They make it easier to remember the goal.

    There is one that was passed along to me by a couple of local members of Al-Anon, a group for those affected by someone else’s alcoholism, that I have found useful: WAIT. Why am I talking?

    Basically, it’s a message to oneself that no one needs to hear what you have to say at the moment and it is probably only going to make things worse. I think it goes by STFU on social media. The polite way to say it is, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” Tough to acronym that.

    So, back to Trump. No, he never learned such lessons about empathy or decency or simple, appropriate behavior. Every occasion is an opportunity to either glorify himself or inflict pain on others. Preferably, both.

    The murder of Rob Reiner and his wife, Michele, offered the latter. Reiner was a popular actor (“Meathead” on the “All in the Family” TV show) and much admired film director (“Stand by Me”, “When Harry Met Sally”). He and his wife were discovered stabbed to death in their home. One of their sons is being held for the killings. It can’t get any more horrible for those who loved and admired them.

    Reiner also happened to be an outspoken critic, a strong and constant voice, warning of the perils of a Trump presidency. To Trump, he was an enemy.

     So, some time in the night Sunday or early Monday, he spouted his tribute, as the person occupying the Oval Office, to a much loved, admired and respected American public figure:

   “A very sad thing happened last night in Hollywood. Rob Reiner, a tortured and struggling, but once very talented movie director and comedy star, has passed away, together with his wife, Michele, reportedly due to the anger he caused others through his massive, unyielding, and incurable affliction with a mind crippling disease known as TRUMP DERANGEMENT SYNDROME, sometimes referred to as TDS. He was known to have driven people CRAZY by his raging obsession of President Donald J. Trump, with his obvious paranoia reaching new heights as the Trump Administration surpassed all goals and expectations of greatness, and with the Golden Age of America upon us, perhaps like never before. May Rob and Michele rest in peace!”

    Pathetic. Spiteful. Childish. Hateful. Trump. Why is he talking? Because he has to. It’s his addiction. It’s all he knows.

     But this is really old news about Trump and my gripe here, as it has been for some nine years, is with virtually every elected Republican official in the United States of America: Why do they put up with this excrement?

      That is, why aren’t they talking? Why have they allowed themselves to be defined by such an insecure, hateful shell of a human being. Why have they allowed him to try to destroy this country one day at a time?

   It’s as if they’re still all standing out in the corner of the school yard with the stupid rich kid, who has all the pot and beer and money and a lot of equally stupid “friends“ who will follow you home from school if you even suggest something negative about their rich friend.

    And yes, my gripe is also with the millions of Americans who don’t bother to vote because “it doesn’t matter” and who’ve gone about their lives as if the daily destruction of their country is no business of theirs. Why aren’t they talking?

    “Silence in the face of authoritarianism is complicity. Speaking out is a patriotic act. Democracy doesn’t defend itself. It requires participation, vigilance and courage from ordinary people.“

     Rob Reiner, patriot, actor, director and decent human being, said that. For his contributions to our lives, he will be missed.

    That’s why I’m talking.

By Bob Gaydos

Every popular singer seemed to have a TV show once upon a time.

— Once upon a time, you could catch a sneeze and blow your nose in the same tissue without worrying about having to wash your hand. That was before one-ply masquerading as two-ply because, you know, the Donald says tariffs don’t raise the price of products. But maybe the size of products? This formula and situation applies to toilet tissue as well, if you haven’t noticed.

—  Once upon a time, all the cars in the world were not white, black or silver SUV’s, lacking any sense of style or individuality that sets them apart from the rest. I recently sat and purposely watched the traffic along a certain stretch of Route 52 in Pine Bush, N.Y. Of 10 vehicles that passed by, eight were SUV’s of the previously mentioned colors. Did it again. A maroon SUV slipped in, but other types of vehicles were limited to pickup trucks, which are ubiquitous in Pine Bush.

Who decided that passenger cars didn’t need to have any sense of design? That they all should look alike in the name of convenience? Or was it for conformity? Check it out as you drive down the highway. When did sleek lines become boxes? Who decided that boring uniformity was good?

— Once upon a time, as I told my friend while we listened to the radio while driving through that same downtown with all the boring SUVs, Rosemary Clooney, who happens to be George Clooney‘s aunt and was delivering a lovely rendition of “Silver Bells,“ had her own TV show. Once upon a time, Andy Williams, up next on the Sirius stream of Christmas music, also had his own TV show. And Nat King Cole, Perry Como, Pat Boone, Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra, Dinah Shore and Tennessee Ernie Ford. In fact, once upon a time it seemed that virtually every popular singer had his or her own TV show. They were called variety shows. Early evening entertainment suitable for everybody.

Today? Nada. They’re all on TikTok all the time and they’re not all suitable for everyone.

— Once upon a time, we didn’t have heavily armed masked goons with no ID roaming our streets acting like police, grabbing people haphazardly if they have brown skin, look like they might be fluent in Spanish, throwing them to the ground, handcuffing them, dumping them in the back of vans and driving them off to some unknown site where lawyers, bathrooms and food are scarce. Age, citizenship, warrant for arrest are all now seemingly irrelevant. Court orders, too.

— Once upon a time, the United States was respected and admired around the world as a symbol of democracy and freedom for all. Today, its Navy missiles blow up fishing boats on the high seas, claiming without proof that they are drug smugglers, and killing survivors clinging to the boat rather than taking them prisoner. All in violation of U.S. and international law while the man responsible for giving the orders tries to lay the blame on a career admiral who should have known better.

— Once upon a time, an ink-stained wretch of a journalist who’s been doing this for 60 years, could focus his attention writing about what he perceived as pressing issues, such as how legalized sports betting is destroying professional sports and, indeed, making a mess of college sports. That’s because, once upon a time, the daily sports pages were the refuge every morning to escape from the insanity of the rest of the world.

— Once upon a time, there was a daily newspaper in every sizable town. People knew what was going on. The mayor couldn’t blow his nose without people knowing. Many newspapers are now gone and those that still exist today are as thin as, well, a one-ply tissue.

I’m beginning to see a pattern.

James Garfield, lower left. Chester A. Arthur, upper right.
From a print by the Temple Publishing Company hanging on my wall.

By Bob Gaydos

“I’m not fit to be president!”

The declaration thundered off the TV screen.

“The beauty of America,” came the reply. Quietly, presciently, yet setting off all sorts of alarm bells in my head.

In that one brief exchange, the creators of the Netflix series “Death by Lightning” rocketed across a century and a half. Of course. The beauty of America. Anyone can be president. Well, unless of course, she is a woman.

In fact, the four-part series offers an enlightening and entertaining account of two men, each of whom had no plan, intention or desire to be president yet both wound up in the office within months of each other.

It took one man’s death for the other to get there, that man being James A. Garfield, one of America’s least-known presidents and, from what the creators of the series tell us, one who could have been one of the best. If not for Charles J. Guiteau, the disgruntled, office-seeking lunatic running around with a gun, and an incompetent White House physician who, in removing the bullet, created the infection which actually killed Garfield.

The other man is the one who cried out about being unfit to be president, Chester A. Arthur. He was right, but it didn’t matter that he was a drunk and a laughable symbol of the spoils system of politics in America. He was the vice president, the next in line.

“The beauty of America,” was summed up succinctly by Senator Roscoe Conkling, of New York, in the Netflix series. I don’t know if Conkling, kingmaker, powerbroker and bitter rival of Garfield, ever uttered those words, but the writer sure grasped the moment.

Arthur was on the ticket in 1880 because New York, Arthur’s home state, had all the people, power and money, while Garfield, a farmer, had the message people wanted to hear. He went to the nominating convention to put someone else’s name up for president and gave such a stirring speech — he was an abolitionist when Republicans were proud to be abolitionists — that he was nominated because nobody else could get enough votes. The political art of the deal in practice.

Arthur, who oversaw the port of New York, including how the money flowed through it, wound up on the ticket as vice president in exchange for New York support of Garfield. Politics impure and simple.

But Arthur’s saving grace, to my mind, was that, when the reality of the moment hit him, he was well aware he had no business being anywhere close to the Oval Office, much less being president. While politics might be fine in that he could get rich, have fun and have power over people through control of who got the jobs and money, when it came to the presidency, he was, he declared, “unfit,” a word that carries a ton of weight considering the prestige and power of the office.

Would that were the case today. Money still controls politics, even more so since the Supreme Court decided to allow corporations to donate as much as they want to candidates who will do their bidding. Citizens United. A terrible ruling

The “beauty” of America today is that anyone can still become president, provided he has enough money behind him. Fitness, as Donald Trump and the hollow shell of what is now the Republican Party have shown, is irrelevant.

Arthur overcame his debauchery enough so that he signed into law the Civil Service system to protect government employees from the spoils system of politics which brought him to the presidency. While not regarded as a great president, neither was he a disaster. In fact, he confounded his critics in his brief term with a remarkably adequate job. A man aware, at least, to be humbled by what fate had bestowed upon him.

And no, while glaringly unfit, Trump, supported by the super rich, is also not humbled by his position, but rather clearly, even proudly, unaware of how unfit he is, not merely for the presidency, but for any office of public trust. He has, accordingly, assembled a cabinet of unfit misfits, liars and cheats incapable of doing even a merely acceptable job: Hegseth, Bondi, Patel, Kennedy, Noem, Zeldin (New York’s sorry contribution to the group), Lutnick, Gabbard, McMahon, Bessent, et al. Even Marco Rubio, who once wanted to be president, has shown himself to be unfit in so many ways.

Chester A. Arthur, for all his faults, knew instinctively what many Americans have forgotten or chosen to ignore. It is an honor and a privilege to be the president of the United States of America. But, so long as money is the route to all power, the beauty of America will also be the curse of America. Yes, absolutely anybody can become president.     Unless she’s a woman.

***

Editors note: For the history buffs out there, to the left of Arthur in the print is Andrew Johnson, who also came to the presidency via assassination. That of Abraham Lincoln. To the right of Garfield in the print are Benjamin Harrison and Grover Cleveland. This picture was published in the Baltimore News-American a long time ago.

(An update from 2024)

By Bob Gaydos

  This was going to be a rant, then I remembered it was Thanksgiving and I can always rant about the same stuff and the same people another day, so it’s going to be a gratitude column. Better for my health and yours. Better to be thankful than bitter. Better to enjoy the day. (It’ll also be shorter.)

   So what am I thankful for? Let’s start with the confidence, after 60 years of writing, to know that sometimes it’s OK to end a sentence with a preposition.  Or a proposition. Thankful, in large part, that at my age, although some components of my body have slowed down or simply broken, the brain seems willing and able to do this writing stuff every day. Sometimes, it insists.

  Thankful, of course, for readers across the years, who have been there to give me encouragement, criticism and feedback and continue to do so today. Without you, I’m an old man talking to myself.

  I’m thankful for the teachers, colleagues and mentors I’ve had along the way and even the bosses who didn’t appreciate my unique talent.  Although I didn’t appreciate it at the time, they taught me humility and how to look for a new job.

  On a more personal level, I’m thankful for growing up in Bayonne, N.J., in the 1950’s. Soda shops, sock hops, Johnny Mathis. Sinatra, too. For family and friends, old and new, who have provided love and support and still help me to be open to new challenges, new ideas, new vitamin supplements.

  Thankful for science and the fact that I have successfully gone from typing my story or column on an Underwood manual typewriter to a Taiahiro Gaming Keyboard, which takes my iPhone hostage. Thank you, Gilbert.

  For Max and Zack and filling the birdfeeders on a sunny day. For sushi, salt and vinegar potato chips, thin, crisp, New York pizza, Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia, baseball, tall trees, an occasional hot dog, coffee, guacamole, artists and poets, cataract surgery, Bill Wilson, first responders, wonton noodle soup, music, food in the fridge, talented surgeons, electric blankets, horses and dogs. Cats, too.

Thankful in these times of political turmoil and anger for departed friends like Victor, who constantly reminded me, “Bobby, isn’t it great to be present in your own life?” Once upon a time, people used to call me Bobby. Thankful for Evelyn, who always reminded me that everything was another “fine” growth opportunity. And for discovering Eckhart Tolle, whose message on my phone keeps reminding me that there is only now. There is no next. Got it.

  I’m also thankful that I’ve learned how to get in and when to get out. I tried to keep this under 400 words, but I guess I have more to be thankful for than I thought. Thankful for that.

 Happy Thanksgiving to all you loyal, wonderful readers, who give me the incentive to keep on doing this every day.

Bob

(Please don’t be shy. Thank you for sharing your thankful thoughts in the comments below with the rest of us.)

Addiction and Recovery

By Bob Gaydos  

Hosts should know that “No, thank you“ is an acceptable answer at holiday parties.

 (Some thoughts worth repeating.)

When I began writing my Addiction and Recovery column 18 years ago, it soon became obvious to me from conversations with people in recovery that this time of the year could be challenging, especially for those with alcohol or food disorders. Accordingly, and because new people enter recovery each year, I have made this particular column an annual offering.

***

    We are entering the so-called Bermuda Triangle of Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s, the time to “eat, drink, and be merry.” That can be tough to do when you’re an alcoholic in early recovery, someone with an eating disorder, or someone who just loves to use the credit card. Addicts all in their own way. Times have changed. We now have California sobriety, Dry Januarys, fancy mocktails. But the suggestions in this column remain pretty much the same, many of them gleaned from talking to members of Alcoholics Anonymous with longtime sobriety. If  it’s not broke, they suggest, don’t fix it.    But, as time has gone on, I’ve learned that an equally important audience for this column are the party givers, some of whom may not understand the challenges of recovery. So, gracious hosts, this one’s also for you.

    People who have found their way to recovery, be it via a 12-step program or otherwise, have been given suggestions on how to survive the season of temptation without relapse. If they use these tools, with practice, they can even enjoy the season.

   It’s the rest of you I’m mainly talking to here. You hosts, family members, well-meaning friends who want to be supportive and do the right thing, but aren’t sure what that is. And yes, to those who don’t get the concept of addiction at all, but can still avoid harming a relationship by following a few basic suggestions. So, herewith, some coping tools for the non-addicted, if you will:

• “No, thank you” is a complete sentence and perfectly acceptable answer. It should not require any further explanation. “One drink won’t hurt you” is a dangerously ill-informed reply. The same goes for, “A few butter cookies won’t hurt. C’mon, it’s Christmas.” Or, “Get the dress. Put it on your credit card. You’ll feel better.” Not really.
• By the way, “No, thank you” is an acceptable answer even for people not in recovery. Not everyone who turns down a second helping of stuffing or a piece of pumpkin pie is a member of Overeaters Anonymous. Not everyone who prefers a ginger ale rather than a beer is a member of AA. Not everyone who won’t go into hock for an expensive New Year’s Eve party is a compulsive debtor. But some of them may be.
•  If you’re hosting a party to which people in recovery have been invited, have some non-alcoholic beverages available. Not just water. There are plenty of new ones available. Don’t make a big deal about having them, just let your guests know they are available. The same goes for food. Have some appetizing low-calorie dishes and healthful desserts on hand. Don’t point out that they’re there because so-and-so is watching his weight. Just serve them. You’ll be surprised how many guests enjoy them and comment on what a good host you are.
• If you’re honestly concerned about how the person in recovery is doing, approach him or her privately. He or she might not feel comfortable discussing it in front of other guests. If you’re just curious, keep it to yourself.

     Honoring a guest’s wishes is a sign of respect. Anticipating them in advance is even better. Encouraging someone to eat, drink or spend money when they don’t want to is, at the very least, not gracious. Pressuring someone to partake of something when you know he or she is trying hard to avoid it is a good way to lose a friend. Addictions are not trivial matters. “No, thank you,” is a perfectly good answer. Members of  Alcoholics Anonymous, Overeaters Anonymous and Debtors Anonymous will be especially appreciative if you remember that. 

Enjoy your party.

                               ***

   For recovering addicts, the tools should be familiar, but always bear repeating:

•  Bring a recovery friend to a party.
•  Have phone numbers and your own transportation available if you want to leave an uncomfortable situation.
•  If you’re uncomfortable about attending a party because of who will be there, be it family or friends who are not supportive, don’t go. Politely decline. 
•  Keep track of your drink. If you’re not sure the one on the table is yours, get a new one.
•  When shopping, deal in cash; forget about credit cards.
•  Don’t feel obliged to try every dish on the table. 
• And, again, “No, thank you,” is a complete sentence. Don’t feel obliged to explain and don’t worry about hurting your host’s feelings at the expense of your recovery. There’s always next year.

     Enjoy your recovery.

For more information:

Alcoholics Anonymous: www.aa.org

Overeaters Anonymous: www.oa.org

Debtors Anonymous: debtorsanonymous.org

PS: Don’t be shy about sharing this column with anyone you think would benefit from it. And enjoy your holidays.

rjgaydos@gmail.com

The following is an update of a column I wrote 12 years ago. I am re-posting it today on the 62nd anniversary of the assassination of president John F. Kennedy because of its significance in my life and because of the times we live in. Would things have been different if Kennedy had lived to continue serving? I have no way of knowing. I’d like to think the answer is yes. Joe Biden was the oldest elected president this country has ever had. Kennedy was the youngest. They shared the same dedication to protecting our democracy. I continue to celebrate Kennedy on the birth date I share with him and I also honor his memory on the anniversary of the day he was taken from us. A day history was altered forever.

By Bob Gaydos

John F. Kennedy

 The first editorial I wrote for the Times Herald-Record in Middletown, N.Y., appeared on the 20th anniversary of the assassination of John F. Kennedy. I wrote the headline, too: “The measure of the man.” 
      Trying to “measure” the meaning of the life of a man who was literally loved and idolized by millions of people is no easy task, especially for a rookie editorial writer’s debut effort. But that’s what newspapers do and, in truth, I took it as a good omen that remembering JFK was my first assignment. He was a hero to me as to many young men my age when he was elected president. It was a combination of things: his youth, his wit, his easy-going style, his intelligence, his words, his sense of justice. Plus, we shared the same birthdate: May 29.
     As fate would have it, JFK would come to be remembered, not on his birthday, but on the anniversary of his death. And not so much for what Americans received for having him as president for 1,000 days, but rather for what we lost by not having him much longer.
     That first editorial said, in essence, that it would take more than 20 years to measure the meaning of the man. It acknowledged the things we had learned about JFK in the years since the shooting in Dallas — the flaws that made him human — as well as what I felt were his positive contributions. Thirty years later, no longer a rookie editorial writer — indeed, retired after 23 years of writing editorials — with Nov. 22 approaching, I realized I had to write about JFK 50 years after his death (because that’s what old newspaper guys do). Before I started, I asked one of my reliable sounding boards, my son, Zack, what he knew about JFK. Zack was 19 at the time and better informed than a lot of young people his age, so I figured his answer would provide me with a fair sense of what our education system had been telling kids about Kennedy.

   “He was the first Catholic president,” Zack said. Correct. “He had an affair with Marilyn Monroe.” Uh, correct. ‘There’s still some theories that there was more than one shooter.” Right. “Do you think the Kevin Costner movie (“JFK,” directed by Oliver Stone) was true?” Well, the people portrayed were real. “The Bay of Pigs didn’t go too well.” No, it didn’t. I took the opportunity to point out that Cuba was the site, not only of Kennedy’s biggest failure in global affairs, but also his biggest success.

     I was 22 years  old when the world stood at the brink of a nuclear war over the presence of Soviet missile-launching sites in Cuba, aimed at the United States. I was a senior in college and knew full well, as did all my classmates, than no 2-S deferment was going to exempt me from what might happen if the Soviets did not — as Kennedy demanded — remove their missiles. Kennedy ordered the U.S. Navy to blockade Cuba to prevent the shipment of Soviet missiles and equipment. Nikita Khrushchev, Soviet president, who had initially denied the existence of the missile sites, sent a naval fleet to Cuba, loaded with supplies and armed for battle. As the world watched and waited and prayed, Kennedy and Khrushchev exchanged messages. Kennedy prevailed. The Soviet fleet stopped short of Cuba and turned around. I lived to write this remembrance. Kennedy was dead not long after.

     So here I am 62 years later, still looking to take the measure of the man and still wondering how that is possible. Kennedy had the gift of engagement. He appeared to be comfortable with whomever he was speaking. He had tremendous appeal to young people, being so different from the older, stodgier presidents who preceded him. He created the Peace Corps — a legacy that continues to this day with not enough fanfare. He made many Americans — and this is not a small thing — truly proud to be Americans. Not in an arrogant, flag-waving, we-know-better-than-you way. Just proud. And he cheated on his wife and kept his serious health problems a secret from us and sometimes needed to be prodded by his brother, Bobby (another tragic loss) to take the proper (courageous) stand on issues.

      So the question I still ask myself is, what might JFK have done, what might he have meant to America and the world, if he had lived longer? What did we lose at Dealey Plaza? Certainly, whatever innocence we still possessed. The wind was sucked from our sails as a nation and our domestic politics have slowly and steadily deteriorated into such partisanship that it is virtually impossible for any president to speak to the minds and hearts of a majority of Americans the way Kennedy did. Maybe it would have happened even if Kennedy had lived a longer life and gone on to be an ambassador to the world of what America stands for. Or maybe not.

     It dawns on me in writing this that it is an ultimately frustrating task to try to take the measure of another man or woman. I know what JFK meant to me personally. I know a lot of others feel similarly and others do not. I know what history has recorded (he was also the youngest man to be elected president) and what the tabloids have told us. I have a sense of what I would like to think Kennedy would ultimately have meant had he not died so young. But it’s only speculation.

     The only man I can truly take the measure of is myself. It is 62 years since that morning when I was waiting at home to go to Fort Dix, N.J., to begin six months of active duty training. How do I measure up today? That’s a question I still work on every day. It wasn’t always thus, but the years have a way of insisting on perspective. Maybe the answer will appear in some other writing. I have neither the space nor the inclination to do so here. I will say that, on balance, I’ll probably give myself a passing grade, but there’s still some stuff I’m learning. That’s a lesson in itself. For now, I’m through trying to take the measure of JFK, as man or president. Let the historians have at it. I’m going to try to take his advice and ask not what life can do for me, but what I can continue to contribute to life. And I’m also going to continue to celebrate him not on the date he died, but on the date we both were born. 

By Bob Gaydos

The Rapture

    The note on my phone consisted of just three words: “A reasonable Rapture.”

     They were the result of venturing out of the house and out of my own mind to have coffee with a friend. I think they call it a conversation.

      I’m often amazed at what comes out of my mouth when I leave my mind behind. But this, the more I looked at it, it started to make sense.

       What is a reasonable Rapture? I asked myself. Or, more accurately, what would a reasonable Rapture look like if there was ever to be one? Well, that certainly stirs the creative juices.

        The traditional view of the Rapture among some evangelical Christians is that Jesus will return to “catch up” living believers to meet him in the air, while dead believers will be resurrected to join him. The rest of us non-believers will be left behind to deal with the Tribulations.

        Most Christian denominations do not ascribe to this view and the term “Rapture” is not specifically mentioned in the Bible. However, many American evangelicals do believe in it and the concept has been the subject of several books and movies.

        So what would a reasonable Rapture be for me? Being a non-believer in this particular case, I start by assuming I’m part of the left behind crowd. The ones who discover empty clothes lying on the ground where their loved ones or nosy neighbors used to be. It could be a little freaky. No goodbye note, no text, just a pile of laundry.

        In my case, it would be reasonable to believe that my loved ones and a fair amount of my friends would also still be here, scratching their heads, wondering where all the other people went.

        Then, one of the more informed would remember seeing a social media post about some evangelicals who believed in something called the Rapture. Up in the sky. Goodbye. Someone else would remember reading the book or seeing the movie “Left Behind.”

        Well, OK then. Let’s see who’s still here. Seeing as the evangelicals who were believers were also big Trump fans, we could assume that a lot of the MAGA crowd were, uh, gone.

         That’s good. Stress level on the planet should fall by about 50%. That’s reasonable. But what about the Tribulations? Trump would still be around because, for all his kissing up to the evangelicals, everything about him is a big lie. No Rapture for him.

       But wouldn’t it be reasonable to assume that, with all his followers up in the sky flying to their just reward, he would be a cult leader without a cult? That should clear the way for impeachment proceedings in Congress, conviction, arrests on various felony charges, including those connected with the Epstein files, and humiliation on the world stage. Other than Stephen Miller, Pam Bondi, Kristi Noem and Pete Hegseth, who would care? 

    That would leave us with JD Vance as president, which is no prize, but still better than Trump. Vance has zero personality and, with most of MAGA gone, no real following. As someone who has shown he is more than willing to change his opinion and politics and résumé to save his career, he might be more than willing to do so to save his soul. Sounds reasonable and it would give him a great story for his second novel.

     Whatever, he would just be a short term fill-in while political leaders of both parties (but especially Republicans) in this country. start thinking about ways to work together again. I mean, wouldn’t that be a reasonable message from a Rapture?

     The ICE workers, most of whom would likely still be here, could be reassigned to going around the country and picking up all the laundry lying in the streets as part of their prison work release program.

     While we’re at it, those of us left behind might be shook up enough by the Rapture to look around and see other things that needed changing. Like maybe getting rid of the whole health insurance industry and creating Medicare for all in America. Caring more for each other. That seems like a reasonable reaction to a Rapture to me. Maybe a woman president, too.

     I don’t know; I’m still working on this. Have to make another date for coffee. It’s interesting what you can come up with when you apply reason to religion.

By Bob Gaydos

     With all the celebrating and hope that welcomed Tuesday’s blue wave election results of Democratic victories, I was rewarded with the best kind of all — a race that was a microcosm of today’s Republican Party approach to governing: Unqualified candidate, lying, deceit. Best of all, it was local. And the Democrat won.

      The Town of Wallkill in Orange County, about an hour’s drive from New York City, has been pretty much a Republican stronghold forever. It’s a bustling town that profits from a highway system and a string of malls that grew up around it. It has one of the state’s busier court systems, providing enough work for three town justices.

       When one of the senior justices retired, Republicans offered as candidate a former councilman who is not a lawyer and has no court experience. For some reason with which I am not familiar, New York State allows this. Democrats offered as a candidate a lawyer with 34 years of experience handling hundreds of cases in Family Court and other courts and who also is a key staff member of the Legal Aid Society. A woman, by the way.

      Hands-down, no contest on qualifications and experience. So Republicans, who control the town board, decided the town didn’t need a third judge after all. Couldn’t afford it, they said. They voted to eliminate the position. This, even though the retiring judge said the town really did need three judges and not filling the position would put an unfair burden on the court staff, never mind the two judges left.

      Republicans didn’t budge. However, the Democratic candidate circulated petitions asking for a special referendum reestablishing the third judge position. It passed. But not before more Republican chicanery. 

      They told the Democratic candidate that the wording of the question on the special election would ask voters whether the town should eliminate the third town justice position. So she paid for lawn signs and printed cards to pass around town urging residents to vote no. Then Republicans decided to change the wording to instead ask whether the town should retain its third judge position, making the Democrat’s election handouts extremely counterproductive.

      She went to State Supreme Court to get it changed back. A sympathetic judge said there was nothing she could do, but hoped that the Republicans would do the “decent” thing. 

     They didn’t. 

      Came Tuesday and, following a few months of intensive campaigning, of all things, the Democrat won. Big.

      That’s not all. Wallkill voters kicked out the Republican town supervisor and a councilman, giving Democrats control of the town board. A veritable local earthquake.

       This story is especially rewarding for me because I lived in the town of Wallkill for about two decades and for nearly three decades worked at the local newspaper that would have reported on this incredible local story, if there was a viable local newspaper left in town.

     But that’s another story for another day. This day belongs to Maria Patrizio, Democrat, newly elected Town Justice, Town of Wallkill, Orange County, New York.

Wait your turn.
RJ Photography

By Bob Gaydos

“Fill the feeders!”

A request? An order?

Either way,

                a reminder.

‘Tis November.

     When nature’s shelves go dry,

Be kinder.