By Bob Gaydos

Darline Nordone is looking to fill her late brother Lindsey’s seat in the Senate.

   Some lessons last longer than others. My first job with a daily newspaper was with The Sun-Bulletin in Binghamton, N.Y. I was the police reporter.

   David Bernstein was editor, publisher and owner. He wrote the editorials, too. A terrific writer. People loved or hated his editorials.

    One of the rules he had in writing about people’s deaths, in stories or obituaries, was never to use the word “suddenly” in describing the person’s death. Everyone dies “suddenly,” he explained. You’re here one minute and poof, you’re gone the next. He didn’t use the word “poof.”

    However, people do die “unexpectedly,” went the logic. Seemingly healthy people with no major health issues often die unexpectedly. Others react with surprise, sadness or other emotions.

    Such was the case when Lindsey Graham died at 71 on Saturday, July 11. The Sunday morning social media sites were awash in reports of his “sudden” death. The New York Times followed Bernstein’s rule. Graham died “unexpectedly” in their stories.

    Suddenly, Donald Trump had lost one of his primary fan boys in Congress and Republicans, with Mitch McConnell still somewhere between sudden death and who knows, were close to losing their slight edge in the Senate.

   South Carolina Gov. Henry McMaster announced, two days after Graham’s death, that a special Republican primary election would be held Aug. 11, to take Graham’s place on the November ballot. He also said, unexpectedly, that he would temporarily appoint Lindsey’s younger sister, Darline Graham Nordone, to finish her brother’s term.

    A day later, Ms. Nordone, who has no apparent political experience, unexpectedly announced that she would run in that special election in an effort to keep her brother’s name and work alive in the Senate.

    Suddenly, South Carolinians are faced with the prospect of a novice politician replacing a four-term senator in Congress and Trump, who encouraged Ms. Nordone to run for the office in her late brother’s place, sees an unexpected opportunity to try to groom yet another woman from a conservative family in a conservative state in the Deep South to come to Washington to carry his laundry.

    Suddenly, Graham’s unexpected demise doesn’t have the same resonance.

                                         ***

    I expect David Bernstein, as liberal as they came, would have approved of this column. I also suspect that Mr. Bernstein borrowed his rule from The New York Times.

By Bob Gaydos

Senator Lindsey Graham
… helped improve our vocabulary

    The  Sunday morning news that South Carolina Senator Lindsey Graham had died unexpectedly at 71 set my mind flashing back to a column I had written in 2019, in which Graham was featured prominently. It’s one of my favorite columns and, if anything, it’s even more relevant than it was seven years ago. So I offer it here again in memory of Graham, one time maverick sidekick of John McCain in the Senate, as a welcome refresher course for those of us who have been living through it and a quick study vocabulary lesson for a younger generation wondering what the heck the older folks have done. Enjoy.  

***

    In the category of nothing is ever all good or all bad (I keep trying), have you noticed a marked improvement in your vocabulary since the man with “all the best words” moved in to the White House?

        Seriously. It struck me the other day as I was reading the daily disaster report that people — not just reporters or TV and radio commentators — regular people were reading, hearing, using and even understanding words, many of which have never been routine in American conversation. It started with “narcissist” and “misogynist,” but the vocabulary lesson has expanded exponentially (see what I mean?) since the news cycle has become all Trump all the time. I mean, “quisling,” really?

      I started compiling a list of words that were previously not your normal fare in your daily paper, including some words I had to look up (using Wikipedia and various legitimate online dictionaries), and decided I might as well share them. Who knows, maybe an English teacher will see it and want to help some students better understand what the grownups have done to the world. If you feel daring, test your partner. Here’s my list (including examples), starting with the two aforementioned words, which are now household staples:

       — Misogynist. From Wikipedia: “Misogyny is the hatred of, contempt for, or prejudice against women or girls. Misogyny manifests in numerous ways, including social exclusion, sex discrimination, hostility, androcentrism, patriarchy, male privilege, belittling of women, disenfranchisement of women, violence against women, and sexual objectification.” It’s Trump’s middle name and now the whole world is aware of what misogyny looks like in practice. That’s a good thing if steps are taken to combat it, which appears to be happening (#metoo).

       — Narcissist. From Psychology Today: ”The hallmarks of narcissistic personality disorder (NPD) are grandiosity, a lack of empathy for other people, and a need for admiration. People with this condition are frequently described as arrogant, self-centered, manipulative, and demanding. They may also have grandiose fantasies and may be convinced that they deserve special treatment. These characteristics typically begin in early adulthood and must be consistently evident in multiple contexts, such as at work and in relationships. People with NPD … tend to seek excessive admiration and attention and have difficulty tolerating criticism or defeat.” Mussolini comes to mind or, well, you know.

      — Quisling. Turns out we’ve got a bunch of them in the USA. Vidkun Abraham Lauritz Jonssøn Quisling was a Norwegian military officer and politician who was head of the government of Norway during Nazi Germany’s occupation of the country during World War II. Actually, he was a figurehead who collaborated with the Nazis in every way, including the killing of Jews and others. After the war, he was tried and convicted of murder and treason and was executed. His name became synonymous for collaborator and traitor. Until recently, there hasn’t been much call for “quisling,” but Trump, Mitch McConnell, Lindsey Graham, and the guy Trump wanted to run the CIA, among others, have given new life to it. I could have lived my life without wanting to get the history of this word.

       — Sycophant. While we have Lindsey Graham available as a perfect example, why not give a dictionary description of a sycophant: “A person who acts obsequiously (I’ll get to that) toward someone important in order to gain advantage. Synonyms:  toady, creep, crawler, fawner, flatterer, flunkey, truckler, groveller, doormat, lickspittle, kowtower, obsequious person, minion, hanger-on, leech, puppet, spaniel …” Add the entire Trump cabinet and staff and many Republicans in Congress.

     — Obsequious. Again, just dictionaries here: “Obsequious people are usually not being genuine; they resort to flattery and other fawning ways to stay in the good graces of authority figures. An obsequious person can be called a bootlicker, a brownnoser or a toady.” Our man Lindsey again and let’s add Mick Mulvaney, Trump’s acting chief of staff and bootlicker par excellence.

       — Nativist. “Relating to or supporting the policy of protecting the interests of native-born or established inhabitants against those of immigrants. Example. ‘He has made his nativist beliefs known through his divisive comments about immigrants.’” The Republican Party and MAGA hat wearers who are still waiting for the wall are perfect examples.

      — Xenophobe. “A person who fears or hates foreigners, people from different cultures, or strangers. A person who fears or dislikes the customs, dress, etc., of people who are culturally different.” The same folks as above. Stephen Miller to be sure.

        — Asylum. Here’s one every American should learn. “The right of asylum is an ancient juridical concept, under which a person persecuted by one’s own country may be protected by another sovereign authority, such as another country or church official, who in medieval times could offer sanctuary. 

      “The United States recognizes the right of asylum of individuals as specified by international and federal law. A specified number of legally defined refugees who apply for refugee status overseas, as well as those applying for asylum after arriving in the U.S., are admitted annually. Since World War II, more refugees have found homes in the U.S. than any other nation and more than two million refugees have arrived in the U.S. since 1980.”

       — Oligarchy. “A small group of people having control of a country, organization, or institution. … Oligarchy is from the Greek word oligarkhes, and it means ‘few governing.’ Three of the most well-known countries with oligarchies are Russia, China, and Iran. Other examples are Saudi Arabia, Turkey, and apartheid South Africa. Trump leans to the Russian and Saudi versions, although he admires certain things about the others. He would probably have been comfortable with apartheid South Africa.

        — Plutocracy. “Government by the rich or the wealthy class. Oligarchy is not necessarily just the wealthy. If a system of plutocracy and oligarchy occurred at the same time (government by a few wealthy people), it would be termed a …

       — Plutarchy. Again, I refer you to Trump’s cabinet, the Koch brothers, and various wealthy interests who have been able to buy power thanks to the Supreme Court’s Citizens United ruling.

       — Nepotism. “The practice among those with power or influence of favoring relatives or friends, especially by giving them jobs.” Especially for which they are unqualified. Trump is a master at keeping it in the family (his own and Fox News) in the White House. Ivanka, Jared, Larry Kudlow.

       —  Emoluments. (Tell me you knew what this meant before Trump.) “The emoluments clause, also called the foreign emoluments clause, is a provision of the U.S. Constitution (Article I, Section 9, Paragraph 8) that generally prohibits federal officeholders from receiving any gift, payment, or other thing of value from a foreign state or its rulers, officers, or representatives. It prohibits those holding offices of profit or trust under the United States from accepting ‘any present, Emolument, Office, or Title, of any kind whatever’ from ‘any . . foreign State’ unless Congress consents.” Every stay at a Trump hotel, round of golf at a Trump golf course by the Saudis, the Russians, the Turks, the Chinese … goes into his bank account and he won’t share his income tax returns.

       — Exculpable. To exculpate is “to clear from a charge of guilt or fault; free from blame; vindicate.” The person is thus exculpable, something Trump claims Robert Mueller found him. Not true.

       — Propaganda. “Information that is intended to persuade an audience to accept a particular idea or cause, often by using biased material or by stirring up emotions — one of the most powerful tools the Nazis used to consolidate their power and cultivate an ‘Aryan national community’ in the mid-1930s. … the manipulation of the recipient’s emotions in order to win an argument, especially in the absence of factual evidence.” Fox News and Trump and rightwing radio hosts spew it. Trump has even talked about setting up a government broadcast agency to counter the “fake news” of  mainstream media.

        — Brainwash. More commonly known, but worth putting in context. “To make people believe only what you want them to believe by continually telling them that it is true and preventing any other information from reaching them: Could it be that we’re brainwashed to accept these things?”

        Again, Fox News — 24 hours a day of fake news right out of George Orwell. Also, Trump’s pathological lying. Second definition: “A method for systematically changing attitudes or altering beliefs, originated in totalitarian countries, especially through the use of torture, drugs, or psychological-stress techniques.” The Manchurian Candidate, or, perhaps, Putin’s Puppet. Once a far-fetched idea.

       — Hypocrite. “1: a person who puts on a false appearance of virtue or religion. 2: a person who acts in contradiction to his or her stated beliefs or feelings.” Trump of course, but here we’re referring to evangelical Christian leaders who kiss Trump’s ring and conservative, family values-spouting Republicans who do likewise.

        — Penultimate. Nothing to do with Trump, just a word I like. “As both an adjective and a noun, penultimate means next to the last. (Penultimate is not more ultimate than ultimate.)” In other words, this lesson is almost over. Just one more paragraph and thanks for staying with me.

       — Dotard. Kim Jong-un’s name for Trump. “The insult is centuries old, appearing in medieval literature from the ninth century.” Searches for the term have spiked since Kim resurrected it. Merriam-Webster: “A state or period of senile decay marked by decline of mental poise.” Side note: Kim didn’t say the word. The North Korean state news agency, KCNA, offered it as the English translation of Kim’s spoken Korean insult, which literally is “old lunatic.” Works for me in any language.

           ***

Note: This column was researched and written before Google made AI a part of the daily operation.

By Bob Gaydos

Pope Leo XIV sees unchecked AI as a threat to humanity.

  Meet Generation Duh, the high school Class of 2026. They can’t read (only 35 percent are at or above proficiency standards), they can’t add (22 percent are at math standards), don’t know much about history, don’t know much biology, don’t know much about a science book, don’t know much about the French they took .,,

     But they do know all about A.I., and one and one still makes two. You still have to write papers to pass classes and it seems that high school and college students are more and more using A.I. programs to write their papers. But their instructors, paid to teach students how to actually use their language properly, are flagging the A.I. “creations” because the writing can be predictably formulaic and trite. (I can usually spot it 20 seconds into most YouTube offerings and that doesn’t count the mispronunciations.)

     But fear not all who resist putting pen to paper, the latest development in A.I. technology are programs — “tools” they’re called by their developers — to make A.I. “more human.”

     Think about that for a moment, fellow humans. Sit with it. A “tool” to make something artificial, something which, in fact, is based on the perhaps illegal thefts of lifetimes of creations by humans, read more like something humans created than something, well, artificial.

       Intelligence …?

      This is where we are.

      The creators, and some of them are young influencers on social media platforms, have come up with programs to make it harder to track the A.I. writing by making it seem more like humans did it. Put in typos. “Write” the paper over an extended period of time rather than dropping 1,000 words all at once to avoid programs that can detect the progress of a creation. Add a few extra words. Make it not quite so perfectly mediocre. Human.

       This of course is happening in conjunction with a social media revolution that is producing a generation of young people who not only do not write their own papers, but do not read anything but commentary on their phones, much of which is A.I. or human creation badly in need of editing. And yes, current reading scores reflect a significant decline in the reading levels of students that started with the pandemic and has worsened with the growth of social media and A.I.

       It is not a promising development in human evolution.

      This also is happening at a time when those in positions of power to put some guardrails on A.I., for example, the Congress of the United States, are so in awe of or financially indebted to huge tech corporations for campaign contributions that any mere suggestion of limits on Artificial Intelligence is met with blank stares. Also, Republicans, who have control of Congress, have spent most of this year in recess to avoid dealing with other issues (Jeffrey Epstein) that are embarrassing to their leader, Donald Trump.

     This avoidance of the A.I. issue also helps Trump because the remaining base of his dwindling support consists of the poorly educated and those currying to them for votes or profit.

     On the positive side, perhaps the most prominent voice to speak out for some need to protect and encourage human intelligence, indeed humanity as a species, is not a minor one — Pope Leo XIV. 

     The pope wrote a 42,300-word encyclical on the need to place limits on A.I. In essence, he warned that AI must serve humanity rather than concentrate power or automate human dignity out of existence. Yes, I am willing to believe he didn’t have A.I. write his paper for him.

      The Chicago native read his encyclical, Magnifica Humanitas: On Safeguarding the Human Person in the Time of Artificial Intelligence, at the Vatican in May. He was standing next to Christopher Olah, co-founder of Anthropic, one of the pioneer A.I.companies.

       Olah responded to the pope’s remarks with a request. He said, “We need more of the world — religious communities, civil society, scholars, governments, and indeed all people of good will — to do what His Holiness has done here: to take this seriously, to look closely, and to push events in a better direction.”

      Briefly, according to both men, that means addressing what to do about all the people who will lose their jobs because of AI, how to prevent governments from using A.I. to make military decisions of life and death and how to avoid looking at the tech companies who develop A.I. as too rich and too powerful to be held accountable to the law and basic morality.

    To keep them, as well as their creation, more human. 

                                ***

(With apologies to Sam Cooke for stealing the words to his big hit, “Wonderful World,” and thanks to Google AI for quickly finding the pope’s and Olah’s comments on the future of AI.)

If you flatten it, you replace it. That oughta be the rule of the road.

By Bob Gaydos

As I suspected, this article, which I first published three years ago, has become a piece that bears repeating every year. because (1) there are (hopefully) new readers and new neighbors who will not have seen it and (2) I keep noticing things to add to it and (3) some people don’t seem to get one of the messages.

The original need to repeat was prompted by what I saw as a disturbingly increasing problem on narrow country roads: getting out of your own driveway. Specifically, backing out. This should not be a hazardous duty mission. Unfortunately, it often is. As I see it, it boils down to a lack of consideration or understanding. So, the annual summer reminder.

***

For most of my life, I’ve lived in small cities (Bayonne, Binghamton, Annapolis, Middletown) and one large town (Wallkill), which is really a mall-dotted highway surrounded by housing complexes. Throw in a few years living on college campuses. Basically, it’s been city or community living.

When you live with a lot of other people close by and you want to be relatively content, you learn the rules of the road, the do’s and don’ts of getting along. Mostly, it’s mind your own business and don’t make a lot of noise.

A few years ago, I moved to the country, a bit of upstate New York between the Hudson River and the Catskills that is often protected from major weather issues by the imposing Shawangunk Ridge.

Country living means owls, woodpeckers, chickens, coyotes and starry skies, oh my.

It’s nice. Well, usually. It’s quiet. Usually. In any case, it most definitely has its own rules of the road. Things a transplanted city boy ought to know. Something I call country etiquette.

The notion (see how I used the word “notion“ instead of “idea“?) that there was such a thing as country etiquette grew out of a recent conversation about a not uncommon country experience.

A few years ago, our quiet summer evening at home was disrupted by a loud squealing of tires and a loud thud. Right in front of our house.

We rushed out to find a car sitting in a culvert in front of our house, a distraught young woman sitting behind the wheel and our mailbox on the ground, post and all. I don’t recall who called 911, but state police arrived quickly, talked with the driver (who was shaken but not hurt), someone called a tow truck, we went back in the house and eventually everything was back to normal, except for the mailbox. Its career was over.

In short order, we replaced the mailbox and occasionally wondered what happened to the young driver. I suspected alcohol may have been involved.

A couple of weeks later, the whole scene repeated itself. Nighttime. Squeal. Thud. Car. Culvert. Young woman driver. Unhurt. Mailbox kaput.

Deja vu all over again, as Yogi Berra once said. Same follow up. Police. Tow truck. Mailbox flattened.

Again, we replaced it and the new one has survived ever since, although it’s leaning. But here’s the thing. Neither driver offered to pay to replace the mailbox (they both got out of their cars and talked to us) or to have it repaired. Now, it seems to me that a basic rule of country etiquette ought to be that if you wipe out someone’s mailbox (and get caught at it), the decent thing to do is to make it right again. Pay for a new one.

And that’s what got me thinking about other rules of country etiquette. What are some things to help someone new get along with neighbors who may not live right next door? Here’s what I’ve come up with so far:

— Having a handy supply of eggs is nice, but keep your chickens in your own yard as much as possible. Free range doesn’t mean the whole neighborhood, or, especially, the busy road. And chickens don’t move that fast.

— Don’t shovel your driveway snow into the road. It’s only extra work for the highway crews and it’s dangerous.

— When driving, wave at people walking along country roads. It’s downright neighborly.

— Walkers, please wear reflective clothing at night. It’s awfully dark out there sometimes and the roads are often winding and have no shoulder. We’d like to get to know you.

— Don’t let your dog walk on the road side. Preferably, don’t walk your dog on the road at all. Some drivers are less attentive than others. (See reference to mailboxes above.) And yes, clean up after Snoopy.

— Slow down and maybe swing wide for people at their mailbox. (A personal peeve of mine.) You can even wave.

— In fact, slow down in general. Posted speed limits are not merely suggestions and police will ticket.

— In special fact (and this is the issue that needs to be readdressed, which I mentioned at the top ), if you see someone backing out of their driveway or road to get on the typical narrow, no-shoulder, two-lane road in the country and you are a good quarter mile away, slow the heck down. Please. Let them get out in peace in one piece. It’s hard enough to back into a narrow country road with trees often blocking your vision without worrying whether that driver whizzing down the road is texting or talking on the phone or so totally engrossed in something on the radio that they don’t see you, even though you see them.

— In further fact, if you’re not going to back up a lot of traffic, just be nice and let people back out of their driveways even if they haven’t gotten their rear end out yet. It’s common courtesy. Yelling through your closed window at the person backing out is not. Being foreign to the area and in oh such a hurry to get to the state highway 5 miles away is not an excuse either. I suspect this may at least partially be the result of more city folk moving to the area, in which case this column should be all the more valuable to them. If you know someone who fits the bill, share it with them.

— Be patient with a farm tractor on the road. He’ll be out of your way shortly, or he’ll pull over as soon as he can. He’s working. Wave.

— Be honest at roadside food honor stands. Act like there are cameras in the trees.

— Free stuff at the foot of a driveway is really free. Don’t be embarrassed. If you want it, take it. Someone always does.

That’s what I came up with so far. If you have other suggestions, please leave them in the comment section.

While I’m at it, I figure I might as well add another feature of country living — a potpourri of handmade road signs. Here are a few I noticed:

— Corn maze, hay ride, pumpkins, pickles, sweet corn

— Beef sale

— Fresh garlic

— Sunflower patch, mums

— Hay

— Honey

— Farm fresh eggs

— U pick pumpkins

— Horse crossing

— Fresh key lime pie,

— We buy ATVs dead or alive

Like I said, nice.

‘Til next time at pet-friendly, open-carry Tractor Supply.

The daisy                            RJ photography

By Bob Gaydos

The roses came and went,

 their glory quickly spent.  

The peonies were gone 

from glorious to brown.

The Solstice was still

several days to come,

yet spring had early

lost its glistening crown.

Fear not whispered the daisy,

its petals crisp and white.

I’m here to right 

the unexpected blight. 

Guess you just can’t 

keep a good flower down.

Addiction and Recovery

The Big Book

By Bob Gaydos

On June 10, 1935, Bob Smith, a doctor in Akron, Ohio, had a beer to steady his hand for surgery he was about to perform. It was the last drink of alcohol Smith, who had tried and failed to stop drinking many times, ever had. It became the founding date of a movement that in 90 years has grown to some 2 million members around the world: Alcoholics Anonymous.

Smith was the famous Dr. Bob, the first person Bill Wilson “talked” into sobriety by repeatedly telling the doctor how he, himself a hopeless drunk, had managed to stay sober. Wilson had failed with other potential converts, but realized at some point that, while the others were still drinking, he was managing to stay sober by telling other alcoholics his story. Smith eventually followed the same path and the story-telling has continued ever since.

Eventually, the two men put their stories and other stories of recovery into a book, along with the steps they took to get and stay sober.

It is one of the best-selling and most influential books of all time, with more than 30 million copies having been sold and millions of lives changed by what is contained on its pages. Yet it is not exaggeration to suggest that many of its readers don’t know the actual name of the book.

It is known, proudly and even reverentially, by most who have read it as the Big Book. Officially, the book’s title is “Alcoholics Anonymous,’’ the same as the 12-Step program for treating alcoholism (and other addictions) described within its covers. A dozen years ago, the Library of Congress included it on a list of “Books That Shaped America.”

There are 88 books on the list, ranging from Thomas Paine’s “Common Sense,” to Edgar Rice Burroughs’ “Tarzan the Ape Man,” with the common factor among all being that “they shaped Americans’ views of their world and the world’s views of America.”

While it may not be for everyone, the Big Book has certainly shaped people’s views and lives. Since it was first published in 1939, it has been the textbook, if you will, of how to get and stay sober for millions around the world. AA has spawned numerous other 12-step programs to deal with addictive behavior. And, while basing its recovery program on established spiritual, psychological and medical precepts, Alcoholics Anonymous has also widened the dialogue within all three areas and influenced the way practitioners in those fields deal with addiction.

One could say the Big Book is a classic example of what it preaches. Much of the recovery program contained is taken from the Oxford Group, a Christian fellowship that emphasized self-examination, making amends and working with others. (Wilson and Smith both were members of the Oxford Group for significant periods.) But the Oxford Group’s heavy religious emphasis did not sit well with many of the other drunks who were early member of AA. As a result, most references to “God” were eliminated or changed to a “Higher Power of your understanding.”

Editing also changed the preachy “you” to the inclusive “we” in describing how alcoholics got sober. Thus, this is what we are and this what we did. If you follow these suggestions, “Rarely have we seen a person fail who has thoroughly followed our path.”

What do current members of AA think about the Big Book? A sampling of recent comments:

• “When I first read it, I had to say, ‘(Expletive!) I’m an alcoholic. How did they know?’”
• “I used to walk around with the Big Book (in early sobriety) like a protective shield.”
• “It helped me understand I have an allergy.”
• “In many ways it’s like the bible for alcoholics. It provides direction and order.”
• “Think about the impact. One person reads it and passes it on to others for more than 30 million.”
• “When they get (the Big Book) people are usually in such pain, they will read it.”
• “It gave me a guide for living, far beyond just not drinking.”
• “Simple rules for broken people.”

When it came time to publish the book, Wilson and the others chose The Cornwall Press, a now-defunct printing operation in Cornwall, N.Y.  Because they were going to charge $3.50 for the relatively short book, they wanted it to look impressive, so they used thick paper and the widest possible margins. Hence, the “Big Book” nickname. Subsequent printings were smaller in size, but the name stuck.

The first press run was for 4,800 copies, with the promise from the printers that more would be printed when the first copies were sold. But even those original copies were in limbo as the printer refused to release any books until they were paid for. Although printed in the winter of 1939, only a few copies were paid for at the time. The significant release came in early 1940 — 86 years ago. Today, with inflation, “Alcoholics Anonymous” sells for around $12, but many AA groups simply give copies to new members, continuing to spread its message from one drunk to another.

rjgaydos@gmail.com

(While scrolling through my Facebook feed the other day I spotted a column I had written a year ago. Apparently, a friend had spotted it in his feed in the memories category and had reposted it. Well, how nice I thought. Always good to feel appreciated. I read the column to see what I had written and, wouldn’t you know, since it had to deal with Trump, etc., it still applies, although Susan Collins is now on the fence. Anyway, here it is again. And thanks, Patrick.)

By Bob Gaydos

     Had breakfast with a friend the other day, trying out a new coffee shop in town. Nice addition.

      The conversation touched on the usual stuff. Too much rain. What’s planted in the garden, the hummingbird count, the challenges in living in a house with another person. Living on a planet with certain other people.

      That last proved provocative. With regard to those certain other people, my friend offered that, if he were a praying man, he would pray for The Rapture.

      I got his intent, but I suggested that I thought he had it backwards. Having read “Left Behind,“ I knew it was the good, caring, kind, faithful humans who were transported off the planet to Heaven, I believe, leaving their clothing and loved ones behind.

      The others, the nasty ones, the ones my friend wanted to be rid of, stayed and, through a series of books, fended for and against themselves and other non-believers. So I suggested that, assuming we wanted to remain in whatever state this is for a while longer, what we needed was a Reverse Rapture.

   We needed someplace we could pray for all those You Know Whats to be sent to, without any get-out-of-jail card in the form of an Orpheus, if I may be allowed to mix my miracles.

     Hades. Yes, Hades. The Underworld would do.

     So, who would we want to go? Personally, I’d start with Trump and his immediate family. The whole crew. Every member of his Cabinet and White House staff. Every lawyer who ever worked for him, except for Michael Cohen. Elon Musk. J.D.Vance. Every current Republican member of Congress, except for Susan Collins and Lisa Murkowski. The authors of Project 2025. Anyone who wears a Maga T-shirt or hat. Anyone who identifies as a journalist but works and lies for Fox News. Putin. Kim. Hamas and all the other terrorists. The pushers of fentanyl. Laura Loomer. (Speaking of Loomer and Kristi Noem and the Barbi press contact and the attorney general and all the other Trumpettes, Hades will come with no cosmetic amenities, including plastic surgeons. Zero. Just saying.)

    Also, all those mask-wearing ICE employees who’ve been enjoying grabbing people off the street, out of their homes, wherever, with no warrants or concern for the people or the law. And Clarence Thomas, to fulfill Hades’ DEI requirements.

     And, really, anyone who voted for Trump three times. What were they thinking? They get a special wing in Hades where The Apprentice plays on big screens constantly. In Spanish. And they have to use their bitcoin to buy English subtitles, but they already gave it all to Trump, who gave it all to the Saudi royal family (they’re there, too), who promised to build a Hades Trump Tower using white South African immigrants for labor. It could take a while, but who really cares?

     Now, all that cosmic deportation would obviously leave behind a whole lot of room, especially in this big, beautiful country, and a lot of available work for good, caring, reliable, nice, talented, decent, tolerant human beings, maybe from Venezuela or Mexico or Greenland or Panama or El Salvador.

      Too much to ask for, you say? Especially over breakfast? Hell, if you’re going to pray for anything, especially a Reverse Rapture, I say why not go all in?

       Besides, checks and balances seems to be broken.

                                     ***

Additions to the prayer chain are welcome.

(This is a revised version of a column I wrote seven years ago. I’m recognizing my birthday companions.)

By Bob Gaydos

    As a news story, Donald Trump pretending to be president got old for me very fast. Same story, different details every day. For 10 years now.

    A few years back, I wondered how people who still got paid to have opinions dealt with it. Maureen Dowd answered my question. I read her column in The New York Times that carried the headline, “Crazy Is As Crazy Does.” Yes, it was about Trump. It was still in his first term. 

     She began by describing her waking thoughts as another morning arrived. About the talents of an actress and an actor she admired and their TV shows. About a book she had apparently just read or was reading. And then, abruptly, reality set in: “Once I’m completely awake, a gravitational pull takes hold and I am once more bedeviled by our preposterous president,” she wrote.

         “I flip on the TV and gird for the endless stream of vitriol coming from the White House, bracing for another day of overflowing, overlapping, overwrought news stories about Trump. I’m sapped before I arise. …

        “My head hurts, puzzling over whether Trump is just a big blowhard … or a sinister genius …”

         Me too, I sighed. Glad to know I’m not alone. 

         I’m also not alone in my belief in synchronicity.

         Coincidence? I’m with Carl Jung on that. The Swiss psychologist who gave us the word defined synchronicity as “a meaningful coincidence of two or more events where something other than the probability of chance is involved.”

     As in, what are the chances that, after setting aside Dowd’s column and being shamed into participating in a decluttering exercise at home, I would “stumble upon” a slim book I’d never heard of that instantly uncluttered my mind on how to explain what in the world was going on in Donald Trump’s mind.

     It’s “Bullshit.”

     Literally.

     Some explanation is necessary.

     The house decluttering was precipitated by a prevailing notion that I had collected too much stuff (an occupational hazard, I believe) and some of it had to go, but we would find a safe resting place for the stuff that was worth keeping. One of the safe places was a lovely, old cabinet in which other stuff was resting. Old tapes, photos and books. Among the books was the aforementioned slim volume.

      I read the title: “On Bullshit.”

      The decluttering came to a momentary halt. Was this a joke? As it turns out, no. Oh, there is humor in this 67-page essay, but the author, Harry G. Frankfurt, it also turns out, was a distinguished philosopher, professor emeritus at Princeton University, which published the book. This was serious. In fact, the book was a New York Times best-seller in 2005 and Frankfurt discussed it on YouTube, which tells you something about my attention to literary news.

       But the point, and I’m finally getting to it, is that after months of trying to out-pundit everyone else writing about Trump and continuing to wonder why he does what he does, Frankfurt laid it out in a way that anyone, except maybe Trump, can understand — the man is a bullshit artist.

       It dawned on me as I read Frankfurt’s explanation of the difference between liars — which Trump has been crowned champion of all time by those who keep score — and bullshitters. (If the language offends you, I apologize, but Frankfurt says “humbug” is not the same. Also, the times have changed and I’ve been labeled an enemy of the people for treating the truth with respect.)

      As Frankfurt explains, the difference between liars and bullshitters is that liars are acquainted with the truth. They have to be to maintain their lies. There is a discipline involved. Bullshitters don’t care. They make stuff up as they go along, saying whatever seems necessary to them at the time to appear to know what’s going on. It isn’t a matter so much of bullshit being false, Frankfort says, as of it being phony. It’s meant to convey an impression. It’s like bluffing. And too much of it can carry over into a general laxity about how things really are.

        As Frankfurt writes, “The bullshitter is faking things.” It’s not a matter of concealing the truth, because sometimes the bullshitter will speak the truth. It is a matter of concealing “what he is up to.” And, Frankfort says, those who are good at it seem to have no trouble attracting gullible believers. Boy isn’t that the truth. 

       Frankfurt mentions patriotic politicians who, on the Fourth of July, give grand speeches extolling all the wonderful things this country represents, not that those things are false or lies or B.S., but because the speaker wants others to believe he believes in them and is a true patriot. Again, sadly, history has shown this to be true. We can expect more of this on Flag Day, June 14, which happens to be Trump’s birthday. He’s celebrating with a UFC boxing exhibition on the White House lawn because what could be more American. Same old story, different details.

       One last word on synchronicity. Professor Frankfurt, who died in 2023, just happened to share the same birth date with me: May 29. His book, an unexpected gift, rests in a drawer in my bed stand, lest I forget.

(The following is an update of a column I wrote 13 years ago. I am re-posting it today on the birthday 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 May 29, the birth date I share with him — synchronicity — 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, that 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 63 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, like many others, has been erased by the current administration. 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 nearly 63 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

There’s a rooster crowing somewhere and a tree groaning in the wind. I know. It sounds like the opening of a poem. It’s not. I have no rhyme. I have no reason. I have frustration, anger, sadness, impatience, embarrassment, outrage, despair, resentment, and, to some degree, utter disgust.

It’s 95 degrees and I’m sitting by the pond, not feeling poetic. Not really energetic. Sorry for the rhyme. It’s sometimes automatic. Helps to dull the static.

See what I mean?

This is going to be short and not at all sweet. You know the drill. Different day, different insult. No need to repeat. Trump sued himself, in effect, over taxes. His returns were leaked along with thousands of others. His hand puppet attorney general “negotiated” a deal. Trump and his family never have to go through a tax audit ever in their lifetimes. Oh, and the criminals who attacked the United States Capitol on January 6, 2020 will have a $1.7 billion slush fund from which they can try to claim “damages“ for trying to overthrow the government.

Republicans in Congress, of course, think this is all just fine. Cowards toeing the line. (Sorry).

It gives me no great joy to repeat that I wrote a column in 2016 predicting that Trump would be the death of the Republican Party. It’s been proven many times over by now and reinforced on a daily basis with every embarrassing “speech“ he delivers. Each one is testament to his ego and ignorance and increasing mental instability. But the real MAGAS don’t care and the Republican politicians know they’re stuck with it now. No guts, no glory. Same sad story.

I’m coming up on 85 and still glad to be alive. But the America I grew up in and lived through most of my life has been raped and pillaged by Trump and his henchmen and women and, yes, it is depressing. Writing relieves the stressing.

It also nourishes hope. Hope that the Epstein files will soon indict every co-conspirator. That Clarence Thomas will receive the justice due him. That the millions of Americans who don’t bother to vote will realize what their apathy has done. That the mainstream media regains its spine and its voice. That future generations will be able to read the true history of this dark chapter.

There’s more, but you get the drift. Keep fighting. I’ll keep writing. If this were a poem, it would be an elegy, if not a dirge. I will continue to resist the urge.