Chapter Five

Darkness Spreads Across Europe

(With many cares to occupy my mind — one car wrecked in St. Louis and another in an endless visit to the repair shop — I didn’t have time for a new piece, so here is yet another chapter from my upcoming History of the World.)

After the fall of Rome, priests and monks throughout Europe feared the worst. The barbarians seemed more interested in pillage and rape than in the heritage of Greece and Rome. They appeared to worship rocks and trees, and didn’t seem particularly interested in leading sober, responsible lives. They weren’t faithful to their wives and they drank a lot too.

Even worse, they thought nothing of taking a scroll or book and tossing it onto a fire to keep it going. So, very quietly, the clergy begin tucking manuscripts under their robes and fled to an island so remote and inhospitable that there they felt safe even from barbarians.  The island is now called Ireland.

For the next 500 years, until they felt the coast was clear, they preserved the wisdom of the ancients in remote monasteries and thus saved civilization.

This period is called the Dark Ages, not because there was less actual light, but because the people of Europe lived in ignorance and despair. Of course, we have few details of their lives because the historians were holed up in Ireland. In such cases myth takes the place of fact. This is not to say that some elements of these stories were not true, just as some parts of an Oliver Stone movie may be true.

We’re fairly certain, for example, that someone very like King Arthur did exist, but we can never know whether he looked more like Richard Burton or Richard Harris. We do know that the wheel had not been lost, since it is known that Arthur dined at a round table. In addition to hacking away at great joints of Ox, he amused himself by sending his knights on long quests for something called the Holy Grail, which was presumably the cup that Christ used at the Last Supper (it may also have been used at the Last Breakfast too, but that’s pure conjecture). This got them out of his hair for long periods of time, in particular Lancelot, who was known to cast his fevered eye on Queen Guinevere.

Lancelot was ever confused, since he spent a good deal of time searching for Excalibur, a sword that for some reason had been stuck in a stone. He finally found it, wrenched it free and used it to kill the Holy Quail. By the time he got back to Camelot, both Arthur and Guinevere were in Valhalla. They had died in each other’s arms, a tender scene later immortalized by Mallory in Le Morte de Arthur.

The myths of Camelot have engaged legions of artists down to the present day. Novels, plays, paintings, epic poetry, movies and comic books have all used the story as grist for the artist’s muse. There have also been operas, although many of these have mythcarried.

When Lancelot returned, in addition to finding his lady love dead, he found he was now a vassal of the new King, Ethelred. He was the son on Arthur’s sister, Princess Ethel and the Viking interloper, Eric the Red. Thus began the first famous line of English kings. Notable among them was Ethelred the Ready, who was known to keep his fly open at all times. His son was Ethelred the Unready, who was given to sleeping late and who sometimes forgot his head, which made a curious sight. He was ready enough, however, to produce Ethelred the Really Red, who had not only the dynasty’s signature red hair but a famously bulbous drinker’s nose. When his own son was born, he was so much the worse for drink that he bellowed “he canoot be my son.” It seems the little prince had black hair. The midwife thought Ethelred was naming him, so he became King Canute.

Ethelred promptly died of alcohol poisoning, so King Canute the little tyke became. Even by later standards of royal pomposity, Canute was notable. One day he went to the seashore near what is now Brighton to get a bit of Sun and build himself a sandcastle. As still happens, the tide eventually began to come in. Fearing the worst, Canute ordered it to cease, having built himself a dandy little castle. It didn’t, whereupon Canute went into a sulk. While he was in it, the Saxons sacked his real castle and deposed him. Although an Angle, poor Canute didn’t have many. To keep the peace, the Saxons permitted intermarriage, thus creating the Anglo-Saxon race.

Meanwhile, in Ireland, the monks were busy copying all the books, scrolls and other bits of paper they had carried from Europe. As you can imagine, it was tedious work. To while away the long days, they took to embellishing some of the letters with fancy stuff and drawing little pictures. The results were so lively and bright that they became known as illuminated manuscripts. The most famous of these, the Book of Kells, is now in the library at Trinity College in Dublin. Friar Kells, one supposes, was one of the more artistic monks.

Calligraphy (see Caligula, Chapter IV) was thirsty and exacting work. Fortunately, the monks had invented beer, which helped them get through the day. Since they sat quaffing suds while they copied, they soon became known for their heft. Ever since, the drink they invented has been called Stout.

Unbeknownst to the monks or the various Ethelreds for that matter, in Arabia a wandering nomad named Mohammed had had a vision and was soon taking dictation from a God named Allah. The result was a new book of revelations called the Koran. In a latter day, a New Yorker named Joseph Smith had a similar experience and produced the Book of Mormon (but we’re getting ahead of ourselves).

The Koran took off where the Hebrew Old and Christian New Testaments left off. While Mohammed thought Isaiah and Jesus were good enough fellows, he claimed both were simply prophets like himself and there was only one God, the aforementioned Allah. To make his point clear, he decided to conquer the world. He took the same route as the Carthaginians, across North Africa. While he died before the campaign was over, his armies continued and soon conquered Spain.

The Franks got wind of what was happening and gathered an army on their side of the Pyrenees, confronting the Mohammedans (as they were now called in honor of the aforementioned Prophet) at Tours in 732. They prevailed and sent the hordes packing back over the mountains. Their leader, Charles Martel, was able to return to his vineyards, where he was perfecting a new spirit that has come to be known as Cognac. For his effort, he was awarded three gold stars by the Franks, which he used as the symbol of his new invention.

Charles’ son, Pepin the Short, united all of the Franks into a nation called Francia. Apparently, this name was considered a bit too effeminate and was ultimately changed to France, which it is called to this day. It should be noted that the original derivation of the word “Franks” came from the Celtic name for “frogs” and not a kind of sausage as one might suppose. Since the tribe that later became the Franks was known for their love of frog legs, their enemies took to calling them the “frog eating so and so’s” or “frogs” for short. Many, in particular the English, continue to use this ancient description.

It was Pepin’s son, Charles the Long Hair (in French, Charlemagne), who became the most famous of his dynasty. He was a real Christian gentleman and was happy to help Pope Hadrian I deal with his enemies in Italy. He soon conquered them and the Germans too. As a reward, Pope Leo III (Hadrian having departed this mortal coil) crowned him Holy Roman Emperor on the steps of St. Peter in 800. While he was grateful, he didn’t particularly like the weather in Rome, so he established his capital in Aachen, which, in addition to being easy to find in the German dictionary, has a moderate climate. He built a lavish palace there and sent word to Ireland that the Dark Ages were over.

His summons was perhaps premature. No sooner had he died than his grandchildren began squabbling over the empire. It soon was carved up into France and Germany, which has caused problems to this day. Also, the Vikings began to nibble away at the fringes, as did the Magyars, who came from the east in search of food, being of famously ravenous appetite.

Even though the Holy Roman Empire survived in name only, Charlemagne’s encouragement of learning had a lasting effect. Many of the Irish monks stayed on to found schools and breweries. As time went on, most European nobles could speak Latin as well as their own language, and could spout chapter and verse from the Bible. Only one country, England, held to its doggedly ignorant ways, but that was soon to change.

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Copyright 2016, Patrick F. Cannon

Tweets Through the Ages 

By Patrick F. Cannon

Twitter tweets seem all the rage these days. Since they are limited to 140 characters, they are ideally suited to people who would struggle to come up with a thought that would require more than that number. Thus, tweets are ideal for politicians and entertainers.

In modern times, the first notable tweeter was undoubtedly that most famous of canaries, Tweety Bird. Who can forget her (or is it his?) plaintive cry when suddenly there appeared that most fearsome of cats, Sylvester?  “I tawt I taw a puddy tat. I did! I did see a puddy tat!”, Tweety tweeted, thus entering the Twitter Hall of Fame.

Two recent inductees are Kim Kardashian and Donald Trump. Kim, she of the Rubenesque derriere, is married to that thought leader, Kanye West. Mr. West is given to controversial statements in his role as a public intellectual, causing the faithful (so far, anyway) Kim to tweet in his defense: “Kanye is a genius, even if he acts like a jerk.”

Donald Trump’s faithful followers, when not dragging their knuckles as they patrol our borders, can hardly wait for his daily tweets. When Muhammad Ali died, the Presumptive Trump did not disappoint, tweeting: “Only losers die. Who’s the greatest now?”

Alas, many of the great figures of history came before Twitter freed the banal from bondage. One can just imagine what some of their tweets might have been:

Moses. “If you hadn’t been dancing around that golden calf, and given me a hand, I could have brought all 20 commandments down. Then you really would have been in trouble!”

Darius. “Don’t let a few Greeks get in your way. All they’re good for is slinging hash.”

Julius Caesar. “Heed thee not soothsayers. The Ides of March indeed!”

Jesus Christ. “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they might see the Kingdom of God, but peace on earth is clearly out of the question.”

St. Francis. “When you come right down to it, it’s all for the birds!”

Napoleon. “Waterloo? Just a little hick town until I put it on the map!”

Karl Marx. “After years studying the diuretics of history in the reading room of the British Museum, I can safely predict the death of Capitalism by 1900.”

Teddy Roosevelt. “Bully, bully, bully, bully, bully…”

Vladimir Lenin. “I can promise you that the state will eventually wither away, leaving only perfect harmony and freedom.”

Herbert Hoover. “I assure you that the economy is fundamentally sound. Just you wait and see, 1930 will see a return to prosperity.”

Groucho Marx (no relation to Karl). If you want to know the meaning of life, don’t ask some effete chain smoking Frenchman. Just ask my brother Harpo.

Franklin Roosevelt. “I assure you that the economy is fundamentally sound. Just wait and see, 1934 will see a return to prosperity.”

Josef Stalin. “I am always happy to recommend a vacation in Siberia to my fellow Russians. The climate is so bracing.”

Richard Nixon. “I am not a crook! I can afford to hire people to steal for me.”

Hilary Clinton. “I cannot tell a lie. It was actually me who cut down the cherry tree.”

Patrick F. Cannon. “If music be the food of love, then at least we’ll die with a song in our hearts.”

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Copyright, 2016, Patrick F. Cannon

Rat a Tat Tat 

By Patrick F. Cannon

My son Patrick has a small collection of firearms, which he showed to me during a recent visit with him in Florida. He keeps them locked away, but enjoys going to the shooting range to see if he can hit the broad side of a barn. On at least three occasions, I’ve tried to join him, but fate has always intervened. Most recently, there would have been an hour wait for a firing position, an hour we didn’t have.

I was particularly interested in firing two in his collection, a Browning .45 caliber semi-automatic pistol, and an M1 Carbine. When I was in the Army, I had occasion to qualify with both, as well as the standard infantry weapon of the time, the M1 Garand; and the submachine gun affectionately known as the “grease gun.”  I qualified with the Garand (used during World War II and Korea) as a “Sharpshooter” during basic training. Only “Expert” was higher, so I did OK.

I ended up in the Signal Corps in La Rochelle, France. There I was issued a Carbine, with which I qualified at a former German Army indoor shooting range, which was near one of their submarine pens at La Pallice, the port just south of La Rochelle. The pen, by the way, was the site for the film Das Boot, and is still there, the roof pockmarked by Allied bombs that never penetrated.

In mid-1962, I was transferred to another signal company and sent to Ft. Irwin, California, in the middle of the Mojave Desert. It was combat support company, and I worked in a signals van. I was issued with both a Browning .45 and a grease gun. The idea here, I decided, was that if the Ruskies broke into the van, you would grab your grease gun and pull the trigger, with the hope that you would hit something, if only the ceiling. The pistol was reasonably accurate at 25 yards. At the same distance, you were lucky to hit the target at all with the grease gun.

In any event, when I qualified with it in the late summer of 1962, it was the last time I ever fired a gun. I don’t own one, and have no wish to own one. If I did, I’m sure I could pass a background check, as would my son, who is what we could call “a responsible gun owner.”

If you’re good at math, you may have noticed that I haven’t fired a gun in 54 years, which makes me just as qualified as anyone else to comment on gun control. By the way, I learned that roughly 40 percent of Americans own guns, and 20 percent own 65 percent of them. Like my son, many Americans own multiple guns. I don’t want to get bogged down in statistics, but most murders are committed with guns, with the actual firearm murder rate fairly consistent at about 3.6 per 100,000 population.  The majority are committed by criminals against other criminals. And while our murder rate is not the highest in the world, it is high compared to the countries in Western Europe, for example.

Recent mass murders have brought these issues to the fore – who should own guns, and what kind? The members of the legendary National Rifle Association (NRA) largely agree that background checks are appropriate, but their supposedly elected leaders, personified by their doctrinaire front man, Mr. Wayne LaPierre, fear that any kind of control will lead to a mass confiscation of guns from everyone except the police. The only thing more absurd than this contention is that some people believe it.

You may be surprised to learn that many people in countries like the United Kingdom actually own guns. To do so, they must apply for a license and pass a background check. They must also state a reason, which might include hunting, sport shooting or even, in rare cases, self protection. Just like a driver’s license, they have to renew from time to time. I imagine if you’ve committed a felony since getting your license, renewal might be a problem. By the way, in a recent year the gun murder rate in the UK was 0.06 per 100,000.

The following sensible proposals would no doubt bring the braying LaPierre out of his stall spouting righteous indignation:

• All gun owners to have a background check before receiving a permit to own firearms. The permit to be checked against a data base by any seller, including at gun shows. All sellers and re-sellers would have to be licensed.
• Those not eligible for a permit should include felons, and people diagnosed with a specific mental illness, such as schizophrenia.
• No one on the “no fly” or terrorist watch lists could get a permit, although they must be told the specific reason they are on either list, and have the right of appeal. There are too many instances of US citizens being on one or the other of these lists in error, and having extreme difficulties in getting their names removed.
• Background checks must be thorough, with at least a full week permitted to complete them. It’s difficult to think of any valid reason for needing a firearm sooner.
• I suppose it makes sense to ban assault rifles, if only because they can accommodate large clips. If that can’t be done, perhaps it might be sensible to ban clips that hold more than 10 rounds. Since automatic weapons are still banned, target shooters and hunters can make no convincing arguments for larger clips. Does it really take more than 10 rounds to kill Bambi?

I’m afraid I have no hopes that any of this will pass at the Federal level. And any immediate effect is highly dubious, since it’s estimated that 340 million guns are already floating around the United States. Any impact of tighter regulations would take decades to be felt, and would have little immediate effect on the illegal trade.

In any event, while the Republicans might support some meaningless symbolic gesture to mollify the public, their fear of the NRA will prevent anything meaningful. After all, this is the party whose leaders are lining up to support Donald Trump, forcing one of the most respected conservative voices, columnist George Will, to leave it after more than 40 years. He won’t be the last. Nor should he be.

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Copyright 2016, Patrick F. Cannon

(I had planned an insightful piece on current events for this week, but found the thought of doing so too depressing, so here, for your education and edification, is a chapter from my forthcoming history of the world.)

Chapter IV

The Glory That Was Rome

By Patrick F. Cannon

Although the date is obscure, Rome was founded by two young babies named Romulus and Remus, who apparently were abandoned by their mother on the banks of the Tiber River. A wandering she-wolf heard their pitiable cries and stopped for a look-see. The little tikes were soon sucking away at her teats, which awakened her maternal instincts. They soon grew into big strapping fellows and protected the wolf in her old age. When she died, they buried her beneath what became one of the Seven Hills of Rome, the Canine.

The brothers eventually ventured forth and found wives, returning to found a settlement along the banks of the Tiber that eventually grew into a great city. The Romans were always grateful to them. Because Romulus was the elder, he became known as the Father of Rome; Remus became the Uncle.

Rome wasn’t built in a day, but by 509 BC the republic was established. The very next year, Lars Porsena of Clusium assaulted Rome. He might have succeeded had it not been for the brave Horatio, who held them at the only bridge spanning the Tiber in those days. Lars was so devastated by the defeat that he kept retreating until he got as far as modern day Sweden.

For the next few hundred years, the Romans set about establishing a pretty big empire. Their main enemies were the Carthaginians, whose base was in North Africa. While the Romans were busy conquering the Greeks and the countries of the Eastern Mediterranean, the Carthaginians were taking the great circle route through Spain and Southern France. In 217 BC, their great leader Hannibal crossed the Alps with his famous war elephants, striking fear into the hearts of the Romans. Because of this, the battles came to be known as the Panic Wars. Ultimately, the elephants died without seeing Rome and the tide of war swung to the Romans. The later battles were so small that they were styled the Punic Wars.

It should not be supposed that the Romans were merely good soldiers. They invented the paved road, the arch, and sanitary water and sewer systems. The first sanitary engineer was the great Commodius, who was troubled that he was drinking the same water from the Tiber that his fellow Romans were peeing in (and worse) upstream.

With better sanitation, Romans lived longer than their enemies, and despite the invention of the tenement, Rome was soon bursting at the seams. As is the case with modern Japan, it was decided that a portion of the population had to be out of the country at all times to reduce overcrowding. Their numbers were legion, which became the name of the resulting tour groups.

Regrettably, Rome’s neighbors weren’t ready for the influx of tourists and tended to resist their incursions. This led, after the Romans armed themselves, to the first tourist invasions. Eventually, they conquered most of what are now Western Europe, the Middle East and North Africa. They built roads as they went and soon all of them led to Rome. Roman law was everywhere established and it was said that a Roman citizen was safe anywhere he chose to go, except perhaps Scotland.

Alas, the glory days of the republic were not to last. When Roman generals had conquered the entire known world, they became restless and out of sorts and began squabbling among themselves. Eventually, Julius Caesar, Pompey and Crassus were the only three left and ruled jointly. While Julius was away conquering part of the unknown world (Britain), Pompey seized power for himself. Caesar soon tired of the British fog and rain (which had turned the natives blue) and returned to the Gaulish Riviera, where he was astonished to find a message from the Senate telling him that he had reached the mandatory retirement age. He took this badly and decided to confront the Senate. Taking his legions with him, he began his journey, only to get another message warning that if he crossed the Rubicon River he would be found in contempt of the Senate.

Since his legions were more numerous than the Senate, he crossed the Rubicon and burned his bridges behind him. There was now no going back and Caesar swept all before him. Pompey fled to Greece, was defeated there and ended up in Egypt. Seeing which way the wind was blowing, Cleopatra had him killed. As a reward, Caesar favored her with his amorous attentions. She had trouble with the birth of his child and it had to be delivered by opening an incision in her tummy, an operation that is now called a Caesarian section.

Back in Rome, Caesar became a virtual dictator. With the republic thus threatened, Brutus and Cassius (he of the lean and hungry look) assassinated Caesar, but made the mistake of letting Marc Antony give the funeral oration. When they reviewed the script, it seemed OK, but Antony delivered it with such dripping sarcasm that the mob soon turned against them and they had to flee to Greece. They forgot that this hadn’t worked for Pompey. As the poet Cicero so aptly said: “those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it.”

Marc Antony was also to learn this bitter lesson. He formed a partnership with Octavian and Lepidus (known as the “beetle browed”), but made the mistake of going to Egypt and getting involved with the seductive Cleopatra. While Antony was dallying, Octavian squashed Lepidus like a bug and took ship to deal with Antony. He defeated Antony’s fleet at Actium in 31 BC. Not wishing to be dragged back to Rome in chains for the amusement of the mob, Antony committed suicide. Heartbroken, Cleopatra grabbed a handy snake and did the same.

Octavian changed his name to Augustus to suit his new stature and became the first Roman Emperor. His successors were a decidedly mixed lot. Caligula invented a new way to write Latin, but also had his horse made a Senator. As he said, “the place is full of horse’s asses anyway.”

Nero invented urban renewal, but took a shortcut and burned Rome before rebuilding it. Increasingly, assassination became to favored way to change governments. By 238 AD, it got out of hand. In that year alone, Rome was ruled by Maximus, Gordian I, Gordian II, Pupienus (a real shit), Balbinus and Gordian III, who finally cut the knot and ruled until 244 AD.

Many of the emperors had themselves named Gods, which somewhat cheapened the religion of the day. It must be said that the Romans already had more than their share of Gods. They had myth-appropriated all the Greek deities, simply changing their names, and added a few of their own. All of this created a great deal of work for sculptors and architects, but soon the highways and byways were clogged with shrines. Because they had at least to say a brief prayer at each of the shrines, the Roman Legions began taking longer and longer to reach their outposts facing the barbarians, with increasingly dire results.

Had they but known it, the answer to their prayers was close at hand. First, one of their subject peoples were the Hebrews, who long had espoused the one-God theory. The reason for this is unclear, but may have had something to do with their nomadic life. One God, after all, is pretty portable.

Since the Hebrews seemed content to keep their God to themselves, the Romans didn’t see them as much of a threat. But when the followers of a Hebrew named Jesus Christ – whom the Romans had crucified to keep peace with the Hebrew priests, who considered him a rabble rouser – began touting him as the Son of God throughout the Roman world, that was a bit much.

The Christians, as they called themselves, had a new wrinkle on the one-God idea. They still claimed there was one God, but he had three personas: God the father, God the son (the heretofore mentioned Jesus) and God the Holy Spirit. No one really knew what God the Father looked like. Jesus, on the other hand, was known to have been beardless and have long hair and blue eyes.  Oddly enough, he also looked more like an Englishman than a Jew. The Holy Spirit didn’t look like anyone, because he was invisible.

Because it was less confusing than the Roman system of a God for every occasion, and you didn’t have to buy as many statues, Christianity appealed to the poorer elements in the Empire. While the Romans were inclined to be tolerant, increasing pressure from the sculptors and architect’s guilds convinced the Emperors that business was bound to suffer, so they outlawed the budding religion. It must also be said that Christianity didn’t encourage people, even Emperors, to suddenly decide they were Gods too.

History is often a matter of happy coincidences. The banning of the new religion coincided with the rise of a new entertainment industry in Rome. Chariot races had long been popular, as had battles to the death between Gladiators. As the Empire expanded, generals increasingly brought back wild animals like Lions and Tigers. Zoos were established, but weren’t too exciting, as the wild beasts slept most of the time, a problem at zoos to this day.

Many Christians were caught and simply crucified, with their bodies given to the zoos as cheap and convenient meat. The Lions and Tigers seemed to enjoy these treats and some unknown impresario put two and two together and came up with the idea of saving both the labor and materials used for crucifixions by feeding the Christians directly to the big cats in the Coliseum. The mob loved the new event and the culminating event of the season become known as the Supper Bowl.

Alas, the Emperor Constantine put the kibosh on this popular event by legalizing Christianity. He even became a Christian himself, although he prudently waited until he was dying, thus becoming the first known deathbed convert.

The majestic Coliseum sadly fell into disuse. It still stands today, but the cats that roam its ghostly precincts are more likely to be fed by the Christians than to eat them.

The Empire itself also began to decline as it increasingly depended on hired mercenaries to keep the barbarians at bay. It occurred to many of these bluff soldiers that the only way to get a raise was to take power, so they would march on Rome and kill the emperor. So much time was spent doing this that sufficient watch was not being kept on the barbarians, who were soon making inroads on the very roads the Romans had built to conquer them.

Among the many tribes marching on Rome were the Visagoths and Ostragoths. While the Romans were able to keep an eye on the Visagoths, the Ostragoths were a little sneakier. Eventually, they got together and sacked Rome in 476, thus ending the Western Empire. The Eastern Empire lasted another thousand years, mainly because it was pretty far away in Constantinople and the nearby tribes spent most of their energy fighting each other, much as they do today. When the Eastern Empire finally fell in 1456, it was the forces of Islam who did the deed. They treated the inhabitants so foully that they became known as the Turkeys. They rather liked this and have retained the name to this day.

When Rome itself fell in the fifth century, Europe entered what is now known as the Dark Ages.

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Copyright 2016, Patrick F. Cannon

Profiles of Courage? 

By Patrick F. Cannon

Wherein lies political courage? And of what does it consist?

I am an American living in Illinois, and I have been struggling to find answers to these questions. On the national level, we see a once proud political party pathetically trying to rationalize its support for a presumptive presidential candidate who is at least a world class narcissist if not an actual lunatic. For their trouble, they are risking the possible destruction of the party of Lincoln, Teddy Roosevelt, Robert Taft, Dwight Eisenhower and Ronald Reagan. And why?  Because, presumably, they fear the victory of Hillary Clinton more than the loss of their own souls.

I do not like or respect Hillary Clinton. She has shown, throughout a checkered career, that there is no position she is not willing to change for political expediency (to be fair, she is not unique in this shabby flexibility). Trade policy is only one of many where she has done an about face. Once a supporter – NAFTA, after all, was one of her husband’s triumphs – she has caved in to her party’s left wing and union supporters to oppose free trade policies that have helped reduce extreme poverty in the world from 44 percent in 1980 to 12.7 percent in 2012, according to the World Bank.

Yet, I would vote for her rather than Donald Trump. While she is a cynical opportunist, she is at least an experienced, informed and probably competent opportunist. Like presidents before her, many of her ambitions will be reined in by a recalcitrant Congress. And she will feel free, like most politicians, to forget her campaign promises.

A Trump victory will bring the country into uncharted territory, and if it happens, the Republican establishment will be as guilty as he. Here are the names of just a few of the Republicans who have betrayed their principles by endorsing Trump: Paul Ryan, Mitch McConnell, John McCain, Jeff Sessions, John Boehner, Dick Cheney, Bob Dole, Rand Paul, Newt Gingrich, Rick Perry, Mike Huckabee and Rance Priebus (who at least is paid to be a huckster for the party). The honor roll of those who have refused to endorse Trump is shorter: all the Bushes, Mitt Romney, Mark Kirk, Lindsey Graham, Ben Sasse, and a few others. Important conservative media figures like George Will, Charles Krauthammer and Joe Scarborough have said they will not support Trump, even though the thought of another Democrat in the White House turns their stomachs.

As to Illinois, the current pickle we’re in is the triumph of hubris over the public interest. While there is plenty of blame to go around, on balance it’s the refusal of the arrogant Speaker of the House, Mike Madigan, to countenance any compromise that would give even the slightest credit to Governor Rauner, whose own arrogance is wearing thin. The Democrat legislators have the power to send Madigan into retirement, but not the guts. I realize that he controls campaign funds, but I sometimes wonder if he isn’t also the J. Edgar Hoover of Illinois politics, with secret files on all of his minions.

All of these messes are the strongest argument I know of for term limits. With them, most of the names I’ve mentioned would be back practicing law in Podunk (perhaps not good news for Podunk, but there you are).

I’m reminded of Britain in 1940, when the failed policies of Neville Chamberlain before and during the early days of World War II had caused Conservative member Leo Amery to rise in Parliament and directly address his own party leader. At the end of his speech, he spoke these words, quoting Oliver Cromwell’s speech to the 17^th Century Long Parliament: “You have sat too long for any good you have been doing. Depart I say and let us have done with you. In the name of God, go.”

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Copyright 2016, Patrick F. Cannon

(I’m sure the blogosphere has been full in recent days with amazed comment about the unlikely fact that two of the most unpopular people in the United States are going to receive their party’s nomination for president. But we can’t think about the implications of this all the time, can we?) 

To Save or Not to Save 

By Patrick F. Cannon

Several years ago, I wrote a book about Louis Sullivan and his architecture. While doing the research, I discovered that fewer than 40 of the approximately 200 buildings that he built alone and with his partner, Dankmar Adler, then survived. Indeed, in 1972 I was working in the Loop and watched the 1893 Chicago Stock Exchange being demolished (fragments may be seen at the Art Institute and other places). I was in the Army in 1962 when another of his masterpieces, the Schiller Building of 1891 came down, so was spared the agony of watching its destruction and replacement by a parking garage.

Slowly, over the years, we’ve managed to do a little better. Chicago now has a stronger landmark ordinance, even though it’s not foolproof. Daniel Burnham and Charles Atwood’s 1895 Reliance Building was restored and repurposed as the Burnham Hotel; Louis Sullivan’s Schlesinger & Meyer Department Store (later Carson, Pirie Scott) was restored and is now the multi-purpose Sullivan Center; and Chicago School landmarks such as the Rookery, the Marquette, the Monadnock, the Old Colony, and Chicago Buildings still have their place in a resurgent Loop.

Two buildings just as familiar to generations of Chicagoans have been sitting vacant and deteriorating for years: the former Main U.S. Post Office and original Cook County Hospital. Both have been replaced by modern facilities. And both, it seems to me, illustrate the difference between saving a building for historical as opposed to architectural merit. Personal taste enters into this, of course, but neither can claim unique architectural distinction.

Another criterion is this: do visiting architects, architectural historians or architectural buffs have these buildings on their must see list? I doubt it. (It would be interesting to determine how many people visit the Chicago area primarily to look at its vast array of significant buildings.)

Built between 1913 and 1916, and designed by Richard Schmidt and Paul Gerhardt, County Hospital is an overblown and needlessly fussy exercise in the French Beaux-Arts tradition. If it is saved, then, it should not be for any architectural merit, but for its great historical meaning. Almost until it closed in 2002, it was the hospital of last resort for the county’s poor. At its height, it had as many as 3,000 beds, and trained generations of doctors. Its dedicated doctors and staff were featured in numerous movies and television series. Of course, it had its share of political patronage and corruption, but it may be worth saving for historical reasons alone. If a developer is willing to spend $500 million of private money to convert the building to a hotel and apartments, they should be applauded.

The old Post Office, by Graham, Anderson, Probst & White, has more of a claim to architectural interest, but there are several more distinguished examples of Art Deco design, some by the same architects, including the former Field Building at LaSalle and Adams, and the Merchandise Mart. Historically, the Post Office was built as part of the Union Station complex (the station was also designed by the firm).  Its size – it was once the largest building in the world – was dictated by the vast mail order businesses of Sears Roebuck and Montgomery Wards, at a time when most merchandise moved by rail.

Many Chicagoans have routinely driven through the building, as it straddles the Eisenhower Expressway. Its very size makes it a more dubious development risk. Like the hospital, a developer has stepped forward with a $500 million plan to convert the vast building to office space, after paying $130 million to buy it. I’m dubious that it can be done even for that amount, but if it can, it’s also worth saving.

But if either building ends up requiring a substantial public investment, then I think the public’s money could be better spent elsewhere, although I’m not at all sure that our current crop of political leaders actually understands what the phrase “the public good” actually means.

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Copyright 2016, Patrick F. Cannon

A Really, Really Independent Candidate 

By Patrick F. Cannon

It’s been reported that elements of the Republican Party are casting about for a possible independent candidate to run against Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton. It appears no one really likes either of them, which begs the question: what the hell is the country coming to?

Anyway, there are any number of names being mentioned, including Michael Bloomberg and Mitt Romney. Both fine fellows, I’m sure, but a bit over the hill, wouldn’t you think? Being as worried as the next citizen about the future of our country, I wracked my brain over my luncheon of corn dogs and wheat chaff yesterday and a name popped into my mind; someone who, I’m certain, would find favor with the electorate.

I’m speaking of that great American – born in Brooklyn just like Bernie – Mel Brooks. While some may consider him too old, I saw him in a recent interview and can attest to his continuing sharpness. After all, he won’t be 100 until 2026, and would only be 99 when he left office after his second term.

His experience is unparalleled. He is a veteran of World War II, so a member of the Greatest Generation.  He is a scholar of repute. One of his movies is A History of the World, Part One, and he explored the troubled history of our treatment of Native- and African-Americans in Blazing Saddles. Nor has be ignored the fields of philosophy and psychiatry. Who can forget the existential angst of High Anxiety?

            He can sing too. His rendition of the title song from the aforementioned film has been compared with the best of Wayne Newton. And who but he could have penned that classic ditty, Springtime for Hitler?

His honors are numerous. Neither Trump nor Clinton can boast an Oscar, an Emmy, a Grammy and a Tony. He is a recipient of the Kennedy Center Honors, and received the Lifetime Achievement Award of the American Film Institute for the profound depth and humanity of his films. His foreign policy bona fides were validated when he was awarded the Fellowship of the British Film Institute.

So, don’t be surprised when William Kristol of The Weekly Standard, who foams at the mouth at the very mention of Donald Trump, tries to talk Mel Brooks into saving the country. Who knows, he might do it just for the laughs.

Also, he still has some hair, and doesn’t give a crap how it looks.

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Copyright 2016, Patrick F. Cannon

Don’t Mock It! 

By Patrick F. Cannon

I’m currently engaged in writing a history of the world, which I hope to finish in my lifetime or shortly thereafter. In my researches, I have consistently noted the impact that scientists and inventors have had on our daily lives. Some discoveries came about largely by accident and others through dogged determination.

Who can forget Sir Isaac Newton being brained by an apple (a Macintosh as it happens), then leaping to his feet and crying “gravity, by Jove!” Ever since, we’ve been able to keep our feet firmly on the ground.

And, of course, there’s Albert Einstein coming up with the Theory of Relativity while riding a tram in Zurich. As he rolled along, he suddenly wondered what would happen to time if the tram could travel at the speed of light, which was known to be pretty fast. He might, he speculated, arrive at the Swiss Patent Office, his then employer, before he actually left home. Despite the implications of such a thought, he pressed on and made his reputation. He didn’t get a knighthood like Newton, but it was just as well, as not everyone looks good on a horse.

History is replete with similar examples: Tom Edison noting that his eyebrows lit up every time he put his finger in an electric outlet; Alexander Graham Bell hearing his wife mutter obscenities to herself as she stretched he clothesline to a distant pole; and who can forget Irving Muddle inventing the Hula Hoop as he went over Niagara Falls in a truck tire?

But what of the unsung heroes?  Just who was it that invented the wheel, and fire, the toothpick and selfie stick, or ludicrous pastimes like cricket and water polo, for that matter? We’ll never know. But there is another unsung hero of more recent vintage who has also yet to come forward.

Most of us have eaten a Ritz Cracker. If you see one now in your mind’s eye, you likely see it adorned with cheese, salami, peanut butter, Cheez Whiz or any number of toothsome snacks. If you’re rich, you might imagine the lowly cracker adorned with beluga caviar, or perhaps topped with pate de foie gras and a thin shaving of truffle. But somewhere lurks a genius who looked at the ubiquitous round of wheat and saw the Ritz Cracker Mock Apple Pie. This is a leap of the imagination without parallel in my experience.

Why does this innovator not step forward into the light of public acclaim? Modesty perhaps?  Or an unwillingness to be thrust before the public in the pages of People magazine or The New Republic?

Of course, anonymity could permit future researches into alternative uses for other familiar foods. As you read this, our culinary giant might be looking at a pile of corn flakes and imagining Mock Turtle Soup. Or perhaps just trying to stay one step ahead of the nation’s apple growers (or people who have actually eaten a Mock Apple Pie).

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Copyright 2016, Patrick F. Cannon

When You’re Down and Out 

By Patrick F. Cannon

Some of you may remember the song that starts: When you’re down and out, lift up your head and shout “It’s going to be a great day!”

I suggest that, instead of agonizing over Donald Trump or Hillary Clinton or Bernie Sanders, that you find something else to occupy your waking moments, and perhaps your dreams as well.

If you’re a Chicagoan, glory in the fact that both the Cubs and White Sox are in first place and could even face each other in the World Series (although, to be fair, the Cubs have priority). The last time the Cubs started this well, they won the 1907 World Series (and 1908s too). Think Anthony Rizzo, not Donald Trump; think Chris Sale, not Hillary Clinton. And, of course, Chicagoans are ever hopeful about the Bears. This could be their year too.

Wherever you live, there are places to go and things to see, sometimes even for free. When was the last time you took a stroll in the park or a drive in the country? How about visiting that little town that has an annual strawberry festival? You can count cows on the way. If you have excess energy, why not rent a canoe and paddle up and down some nearby river? If no one’s around, you could even talk to a duck or two.

You’re reading this, so I guess you at least read a little. How about tackling something more substantial and consequential? Have you ever actually read War and Peace? How about the great Dickens’s novels?  I’ve been rereading some Hemingway and can recommend his earlier work, especially the short stories. If you haven’t read Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, now’s your chance. You might also want to read some history, to put today’s shenanigans in some perspective. I’m currently reading Ron Chernow’s Alexander Hamilton (the inspiration for the hip hop musical that’s all the rage). If you read it, you’ll discover that the Founding Fathers had the same flaws that most of us have, but they also had towering intellects grounded in sound educations. What politician in this sad year compares?

By all means, go to the movies. Seek out some that actually deal with the human condition, instead of the many that plop you into some dystopian future or a creepy city with grown men running around in body suits and capes. Earlier this year, I saw Brooklyn. and I can recommend it highly. Or maybe you could seek out some of the great screwball comedies of the 1930s and 1940s. They were stylish and funny without recourse to the eff word. By the way, who decided that profanity was funny in itself?

Almost every city in America of any size has an art museum. In Chicago, we’re blessed with the Art Institute, the country’s second largest. When was the last time you went? While the Modern Wing has its share of goofy stuff, most of what the museum owns will reassure you that men and women have been capable of sublime inspiration. And don’t just look at the paintings and sculpture. Seek out the galleries that hold the Institute’s collection of oriental objects, including jades and porcelains hundreds of years old. Simply looking at them will fill you with joy.

Have a great day!

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Copyright 2016, Patrick F. Cannon

Home Cookin’ 

By Patrick F. Cannon

My mother will have been dead for 60 years in a few months. I think of her most often around Mother’s Day. This year, my wife Jeanette and I had my daughter Beth and her husband Boyd for dinner. We had prime pot roast from our favorite butcher, and a bread pudding with fresh berries for dessert. It was all a picture, but alas, no one thought to whip out a cell phone camera to document the menu.

When my dear mother was cooking, the cell phone had not yet been invented, and I’m not too sure about the camera either. In fact, I don’t believe my parents ever owned a camera, so any surviving photos of their children were taken by someone else. Imagine not having your every move documented as you grow up?  And not being able to “share” the images with all and sundry whether they want to see them or not?

Anyway, my mother’s culinary triumphs were never photographed for posterity. As her son, I feel some obligation to give a wider public some idea of her more imaginative recipes, so that others might try and enjoy them.

We ate a lot of meat and potatoes, and there was nothing particularly adventurous in these every day menus. She would take a big hunk of meat, salt and pepper it according to her mood, then pop it into the oven for at least 30 minutes longer than necessary. This would insure that all the savory juices were cooked out of the roast. But there was method here. To whatever was left of the juices and other stuck-on stuff at the bottom of the pan was added a mixture of flour and water, creating gravy that could perhaps add some life back to the grey and dry slices of meat and mashed potatoes. Adding some canned peas to the plate would create quite a picture!

But this was everyday stuff. When my mother’s imagination soared, she could create wonders. For example, she would buy a ham steak, of a thickness (or thinness rather) that would guarantee the fried meat would have the consistency of a roof shingle. Then, when it was fried just so, into the pan would be poured a bottle of Maraschino cherries to create a dish I like to call “Jambon al la Maraschino.”  This would be accompanied by mashed potatoes (natch) and canned corn.

Another favorite was a preparation called “Casserole de Heinz.” Simplicity itself. To cooked egg noodles, add Heinz Ketchup (no substitutes please), mix thoroughly and top with Oscar Meyer breakfast sausages. Pop into the oven for a half hour or so, and then serve with canned green beans. Wash it all down with a big glass of milk. Note the balance of protein, carbohydrates and vitamins.

Finally, there was my all time favorite – kidney stew. Take a lamb kidney or two and cut into bite sized pieces. Put into a large pot full of water. Bring to a simmer and skim the crud off the surface until it stops forming. Do not open the windows, lest the neighbors call the police. Add potatoes and some carrots and cook until they’re very soft. Serve piping hot in bowls. A slice or two of Holsum Bread to soak up the gravy completes a unique experience.

Only my venerable brother Pete and I remain to carry on these family recipes, and I have my doubts about his culinary talents (spaghetti and meat balls excepted). So, I hope one of my loyal readers will take up the challenge and try them out. If you do, please send along a cell phone photo.

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Copyright 2016, Patrick F. Cannon