By Patrick F. Cannon

I’m currently reading a book about the 1945 treason trial of Marshall of France Phillippe Petain, who urged in 1940 that his country negotiate an armistice with Germany, and then led the so-called Vichy government in unoccupied France until the Allies liberated the country in 1944.

            The book explores how the “hero” of the Battle of Verdun in 1916, and the Commander-in-Chief of all French armies when World War I ended in 1918 – and became a Marshall of France and a member of the French Academy as tokens of his country’s esteem – ended up in a Paris courtroom charged with betraying the very country that had honored him. Why should I care?

            My interest in French history is an outgrowth of my spending from June 1961 to July 1962 in the French Atlantic-coast city of LaRochelle, courtesy of the United States Army. I am forever grateful to Uncle Sam for sending me there instead of Alaska, or South Korea, or Eritrea. It is now a World Heritage site, designated for its historic medieval harbor fortifications and charming central city. It was bypassed during World War II, as it had no strategic value, its port being too small for modern shipping.

            As it happens, my time in France coincided with the return of Charles De Gaulle to power, the granting of independence to Algeria, and the revolt of officers in the French army stationed in Algeria who opposed it. Because of the unrest, I learned to my dismay that Paris was off limits to US service personnel (the ban was lifted by the end of the Summer, thank God). In addition to finally visiting Paris, I was able to spend time in Orleans, Potiers, and Saint-Nazaire; and eat a lot of really good food, and drink great (and still cheap) wine.

            This spurred my interest in French history. Most of us are aware – or should be – that it’s unlikely that we would have prevailed in the Revolutionary War without French money, soldiers, and ships. We were France’s allies in World Wars I and II. And who can forget the American Colonel Stanton uttering the famous phrase “Lafayette we are here” when he arrived on French soil in 1917 with the American Expeditionary Force to help save France as they had once saved us.

            A deeper study of French history gave me insight into the more ambivalent relationship they have had with the English. It was the French William the Conqueror who gave English King Harold one in the eye in 1066, starting a series of wars that ended only at Waterloo in 1815. Briefly, the English ruling class always thought they owned France too, so kept going across the English Channel to stake or re-stake their claim. Agincourt is only the best known of 750 years of intermittent wars.

            It is against this historic background that back in the 1990s, my wife Jeanette and I were in Paris and decided to take the fast TVG train down to La Rochelle – a trip down memory lane if you will. We had a fine old time visiting my old haunts. One day, we were poking around a shopping arcade when we came upon an art gallery which, among other things, had a series of original watercolors of La Rochelle scenes. One caught our eye – it now hangs in my dining room – and we tried to get the attention of the salesperson, who was studiously ignoring us.

            Finally, I was driven to say something like “pardonne moi, can you help us?” For a moment, he looked startled, then brightened and said “You’re American! I thought you were English.”

            Typifying the attitude on the other side of the Channel, I recall watching a program on the construction of the Channel Tunnel, now usually known as the Chunnel, I have since gone though it on the Eurostar train from London to Brussels. While it was under construction, citizens on both sides of the Channel were asked their opinions about its potential worth. Most were more or less enthusiastic, except for an elderly Anglican vicar in a village near the entrance on the British side, who when asked whether he was glad to be able to get to France so quickly, responded “why would anyone want to go to France?”

            But what of Marshall Petain? Any amusing lessons there? His country turned to him when France was on the verge of total defeat by Nazi Germany in June 1940. He was 84 and had always been a pessimist. He was on trial for treason in 1945 not only for negotiating an armistice with the enemy, but for collaborating with them. An example – the rounding up and deporting of France’s Jewish citizens, most of whom died at Auschwitz. He was convicted and sentenced to death. The sentence was commuted to life in solitary confinement. He lived on until 1951.

            Many of his associates weren’t spared. The infamous Laval was shot, and others were shot and even guillotined for betting that Hitler would ultimately prevail. In this case, the joke was on them.

Copyright 2024, Patrick F. Cannon

By Patrick F. Cannon

Although they may be dwindling, America’s roadside attractions still demand your attention as you tool along the  backroads of our great and goofy country. Books have been written about the more compelling, but I have personal experience of only a few. I find that often you find them on the day after you’ve visited a famous attraction like Disney World or the Mammoth Caves and have time to spare. It’s usually raining.

            Although I can’t exactly recall where in Florida it was, I once spent an hour I’ll never get back at some kind of shell museum. I can only tell you that there are numerous varieties of seashells; and that you can string them, frame them, and otherwise arrange them in a bewildering variety of ingenious displays. After a few agonizing minutes, they make you wish they would all return to the waters whence they came. Florida is also the home of the Gatorland Zoo and Jumperoo! It’s in the Orlando area, conveniently close to Disney World.

            My children were young when we visited, and to this day I’m sure they count it among their most cherished memories. You entered through a Gator’s maw to pay your fee and enjoy a gift shop chockful of Gator-themed stuff, including toys, models, key chains, tee shirts, and cute stuffed Gators looking for their next meals. Speaking of meals, a highlight of a visit is feeding time. You sit in a grandstand with other families; many look like they came out of the cast of Deliverance.

            On a platform over the water, an employee dangles (dead) chickens on a pole, whereupon a gator will “jump” and grab the chicken (no doubt raised hormone and antibiotic free). Gators can’t really jump – praise the Lord – but rear up on their tails. Because their tail is under water, it does look like they’re jumping for joy. To be fair, Gatorland is also a nature reserve, with a little train to take you to see Gators (and Crocodiles and Caimans) in a more or less natural setting. What these Crocodilians (scientific terms) have in common is they’ll all happily eat you given a fair chance.

            On another family trip, this time to Kentucky, we visited the Mammoth caves, then went on to thoroughbred horse farms in Lexington. At Spendthrift Farms, we saw Triple Crown winner Seattle Slew, who might have bitten off my daughter Beth’s hand had she not been warned off by a frantic farm employee. On one of those rainy days, the only indoor attraction we could find in the area after visiting the caves was a biblical wax museum.  

            If you’re inclined to see a wax figure of Moses carrying the Ten Commandments, I find that these days you can find biblical museums in many locations. There’s the Museum of the Bible in DC, funded by Steve Green of the Hobby Lobby family. The Creation Museum in Kentucky (lots to see in Kentucky!), and its sister attraction, a recreation of Noah’s Ark, will do their best to convince you that the Earth is only 6,000 years old, Darwin and geologic evidence be damned!

            Recently reading Richard Ford’s novel, Be Mine, reminded me of two attractions I could have easily seen, if I had been inclined to drive west for a few hours from Albert Lea, Minnesota, where I lived for two years in the late 1960s. In the book, a father and his son – who has ALS and is dying – travel from the Mayo Clinic in Rochester to Mount Rushmore in South Dakota. Along the way, they visit Wall Drugs in Wall; and the Corn Palace, in Mitchell, South Dakota. I saw signs for both (“only 200 miles to Wall Drugs!”) many times as I drove in Southern Minnesota. I regret not driving the few hours to these still-famous attractions.

            To be honest, though, my greatest regret is not driving a mere twenty miles east of Albert Lea to Austin to visit the Spam Museum at the headquarters of Hormel Foods. Then again, maybe it’s not too late. And then there’s the beer can house in Houston, the only reason I can think of to go back to that otherwise dull city.

Copyright 2024, Patrick F. Cannon

By Patrick F. Cannon

I keep hoping the country will come to its senses. Alas, it’s so divided politically that any hopes I may have once had now seem almost fantastical.

            It may come as a surprise that most of our problems are solvable. For example, we came remarkably close to at least improving the immigration problems at our southern border, but former President Trump decided to keep it as a campaign issue, issued a decree to that effect, and that was that. In general, the Republicans in the House of Representatives have adopted “tit for tat” as their fiscal policy. If you want dough for Ukraine, then you must make a corresponding cut somewhere else to pay for it.

            This is not a coherent fiscal policy. Nor is one that makes half-hearted efforts to keep the national debt from rising too fast. Every once in awhile there is a sincere effort to confront the mess. I am reminded of the Grace Commission, established by President Reagon in 1982. (By the way, Reagan used the term “drain the swamp,” which has become the rallying cry for MAGA Republicans.) Chaired by J. Peter Grace of W.R. Grace & Company and released in 1984, the report made specific recommendations, which, predictably, were widely ignored. At the end of that fiscal year, the national debt reached $1.57 trillion. On September 30, 2023,it had risen to $33.1 trillion.

            This is what the 2023 number looks like: $33,167,334,044,723.16 (I wonder who we borrowed the sixteen cents from). The last time we had a Republican administration the debt increased by $6 trillion; and the current Democratic administration is determined to at least match that. And it is estimated to cost $870 billion just to pay the interest on the debt this year.

            I’m a financial ignoramus but let me personalize this. Say you have an income of $100,000 a year. You have a mortgage, car payment and an assortment of other bills which your income doesn’t quite cover. But you also have $100,000 in accumulated college loan and credit card debt, for which you can only make the minimum payment. Unless you can find a way to reduce your regular expenses, the possibility of paying off that debt is zero.

            For the entire country, the national debt has risen to 123 percent of our gross domestic product. In 1980, it was 31 percent; in 1990, 56 percent; in 2000, 54 percent; and in 2010, 64 percent. Even economists who used to pooh pooh worrying about carrying debt are beginning to worry. And although we’re not economists, we know debt like this is unsustainable.

            We also know that there are only two ways out of this mess – increase income or lower expenses, or, ideally, both. What are we to think of a Congress that lowered the tax rate in its most recent effort to  solve the problem? And has passed budgets that increased expenditures from $3.8 trillion in 2106 to an estimated $6 trillion this year. Way to go, guys and gals!

            Here’s the thing. None of us really knows the actual scope of the Federal government. Do you really know what the Department of Agriculture is doing? A famer might have an inkling, but what about you? How about the Department of Education? Since actual schools are funded and controlled locally, just what have they been doing since they were created in 1979? What do they spend their $84 billion budget on? What does the Department of Commerce do with the $68.5 billion they want to spend this year? If they can’t even issue a passport promptly, what is the Department of State going to do with its $63.1 billion? You don’t know, do you? I know I don’t.

            Thank God we have some state and local governments who manage to balance their budgets (sometimes because they’re required to by law). This even though Federal mandates like Medicaid add to their burdens. Why doesn’t the Federal government have a balanced budget amendment? Ask your senator or congressperson. I know you’ll enjoy the response if you get one.

Copyright 2024, Patrick F. Cannon

By Patrick F. Cannon

On a whim, and with enough time on my hands, I decided to watch a filmed version of Eugene O’Neill’s Long Days Journey into Night. O’Neill, who was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1936, based the play on his own family, which was notably dysfunctional. With a running time of 174 minutes, dysfunction gets its full due. Written in 1941, it was not performed on stage until 1956.

            Released in 1962, the film version stars Katherine Hepburn, Ralph Richardson, Jason Robards, Jr, and Dean Stockwell. All, of course, are long gone. Hepburn needs no introduction, and Robards is perhaps best remembered for playing Ben Bradlee in All the President’s Men. Richardson was an English actor of the same generation as Lawrence Olivier and John Gielgud, but less well known in this country. Dean Stockwell, who played the youngest son, based on O’Neill himself, had a long career on both stage and screen before his death in 2021. Then, a glutton for punishment, I decided to watch another O’Neill classic

            The Iceman Commeth – written in 1939, but first produced in 1946 – runs a full four hours! The version I saw was released in 1973. Its cast included Lee Marvin, Robert Ryan, Fredric March, Bradford Dillmann, and Jeff Bridges (the only one still with us); and a wonderful group of character actors you’ll recognize without quite remembering their names. All are great, but I would signal out Robert Ryan – from a noted Chicago family – for his performance as a disillusioned anarchist (the play is set in 1912).

            The location is Harry Hope’s (played by March) New York saloon, populated with a group of drunks and prostitutes, each living with his or her set of illusions. They are awaiting the annual arrival of Theodore “Hicky” Hickman, a travelling salesman who comes to celebrate Hope’s birthday, and who not only has great stories to tell, but buys the drinks! This time, he’s sober and bent on exposing everyone’s “pipe dreams.” I’ll leave it at that. You’ll have to watch it to see what happens.

            What struck me as I watched these filmed versions was how few of our more famous American actors ever take on these classical roles. It is as if a classical pianist never tested him or herself by playing the Beethoven sonatas. A notable exception is our greatest actor, Denzel Washington, who played Hickey in a 2018 Broadway production; and who has also taken on Shakespeare on several occasions. Another was Kevin Spacey, who has been blackballed for his alleged sexual misdeeds, for which he has never been convicted (he should run for president). Although not “leading man” types, the late Brian Dennehy, and Stacy Keach, both distinguished themselves in classic roles. And I should add Alec Baldwin as an actor unafraid to step on a stage.

            Most of our actors apparently don’t have the urge to test themselves, as the British do, in the great classic roles, whether Shakespeare, O’Neill, Williams or Miller; just as our singers prefer to sing their own songs instead of classics like Gershwin, Porter, or Berlin. It’s a pity, really. Actors like Tom Hanks or Leonardo DiCaprio are certainly capable of taking on Hickey in The Iceman Commeth. They could certainly afford to. Are they afraid to test themselves against the past? Or is it just easier not to?

Copyright 2024, Patrick F. Cannon

By Patrick F. Cannon

I’ve been doing this blog since the Fall of 2015 and haven’t missed a single week. In case you’re interested, that’s 435 weeks in a row. I keep doing it despite  realizing that my opinions don’t seem to have gained much traction.

            For example, I have several times expressed my distaste of tattoos. Yet, everything I see tells me that they’re more popular than ever. I should have known I was losing ground when they started being called “body art.”  Since I have yet to see a tattoo that enhances a person’s appearance – quite the opposite, in fact – I can only take satisfaction in knowing that as they age, the tattooed ladies and gentlemen will regret their decisions as their skin inevitably turns into wrinkled paper, and the now bright colors fade  into indistinct blurs.

            Speaking of art, I’m afraid the definition thereof now includes anything that someone claims it to be. For example, if I were to blow my nose whilst strolling jaunty jolly along a sidewalk and toss the tissue away; and were someone to yell at me, I could claim it was my artistic comment on our throwaway society. Who could object in this world where giant metal balloon animals sell for tens of millions? Alas, my making fun of it has only caused prices to rise! And I get no thanks!

            My espousal of classical music and the Great American Songbook (Berlin, Porter, Gershwin, etc.) has fallen on deaf ears – literally deaf from listening to over-amplified guitar riffs. Whatever happened to the singer whose talent didn’t need dancers and light shows to distract an audience? When did the lyrics become irrelevant? Where is it written that you must write your own songs, even if they’re mediocre? Another of my lost causes.

            So, apparently, is Donald Trump. Recent polls have shown him ahead in the president’s race, despite the fact that  he’s a lying, cheating, bigoted, and dishonest sociopath (and that’s just scratching the surface). I’m certainly glad I’m not on his bad side. Those who have annoyed him have had their lives threatened by the crazies who respond to his tirades as if coming from the Almighty. And speaking of the Almighty, there are even some religious folks who literally believe Donald has been sent by God to clean out the temple (Washington).

            His baleful influence has resulted in a Congress that has passed fewer laws than any since the Great Depression. The House of Representatives has become a bad joke. Several Republican members have resigned in disgust, making the party’s hold on power even more tenuous. Their tireless efforts to prove that “Crooked Joe” has enriched himself in the public trough have come to naught. And blaming poor Joe for all the rest of our ills – and there are many – gives him way too much credit!

            As a natural conservative, I find this year’s apparent choice (I hold out hope it might change) highly depressing. I frankly don’t want to vote for either Trump or Biden. I console myself that I’m not legally required to make a choice. I can either just vote “down ballot” (if I can find candidates worthy of a vote), or perhaps write in someone like Mitch Daniels or John Kasich, who are, in my definition anyway, actual Republicans.

Copyright 2024, Patrick F. Cannon

By Patrick F. Cannon

I read recently that young couples are reluctant to have children because they believe the little tykes will just contribute to the ultimate death of the planet. On the other hand, maybe one of them will discover a way not only to halt global warming, but to reverse it.

            We just don’t know, do we? What we do know is that the birthrate in this country is 1.6 children per woman, below the replacement rate of 2.1. In 1950, it was three. Were it not for immigration, our population would be declining, and we would have an even more fundamental problem in filling all the available jobs. Look at Japan to see what happens to a country with highly restrictive immigration policies.

            This is not a plea for unrestricted immigration. We should have a rational policy that prevents or at least discourages illegal immigration (“undocumented” is just a feel-good euphemism). But we should also ask ourselves why our most-educated women are having the fewest children? The birth rate for women with only a high school education is 2.053 (still below the replacement rate); for those with a bachelor’s degree, it’s 1.284. Are they just too smart to have kids?

            It seems to me that this fear of the future is palpable, as if the challenges we face are somehow unique in the history of humanity. Really? I don’t want to give a lesson in world history, but you might want to Google “black death” for starters. (And, by the way, the Earth’s climate has never been static – in its long history, it has been both warmer and colder than it is now.)

            It is also argued that the birth rate would rise if we had more generous government benefits for families. Yet, in Scandinavia, with extremely generous benefits for mothers and children, the birth rate is no better than ours. Ditto for most of the rest of Europe.

            Closer to the truth, we have the wish of educated young women to firmly establish their careers before having a family. Those who know me best realize I’m not a woman, so what I say should be taken in that context. But I know this: every career has its ebbs and flows. A working life lasts about 50 years. Does it make much difference if you take time out to have children in the early twenties – when fertility is at its highest – or wait until the mid-thirties, when it’s declining and less sure?

            And isn’t not having children as a way of saving the planet just another reason for not undergoing the bother and expense of raising them? Are they really that concerned about a dying planet? Do they not have any confidence that future generations will do what is needed to keep the planet alive? Do they really think that it’s going to burn to a cinder in the lifetime of any child they might have?

            As it happens, I belong to an extended family that is highly educated and that has more than reproduced itself. We need more people like them. If we do save the world, what’s the point if there’s no one around to enjoy it?

Copyright 2024, Patrick F. Cannon

By Patrick F. Cannon

Those of us who live in the provincial backwater of Chicago need to find ways to broaden our horizons. One way I do this is to subscribe to the online edition of the venerable New York Times, which is doing OK in a declining newspaper market.

            I’m still loyal to the Chicago Tribune, which is slowly fading away. They still run the “Dear Amy” advice column, which carries on the tradition of Ann Landers. “Amy” is Amy Dickenson, who daily deals with the same relationship and family problems that bedeviled people even before the invention of newsprint.

            Being in the cultural capital of America, the Times’ advice team deals with the additional problems inherent in that status. For example, they confront sexual problems that we’re inclined to keep to ourselves here. I just can’t imagine “Dear Any” weighing in on what is and isn’t acceptable among sado-masochists. But they also deal with the more mundane, as this query from a reader shows.

            “A good friend has a new romantic interest. We are huge fans! The problem: he wears loose glitter in his hair. The last time he visited, our home was covered in tiny, impossible-to-gather pieces of glitter. {Editor’s note: Don’t you hate to get greeting cards covered with glitter?} We want to support this new relationship, and dictating how people dress doesn’t sit well with us. But the glitter mess is overwhelming. Can we say something to our friend?”

            As you might expect from the “Newspaper of Record,” the response was eminently sensible. “My theory,” responded Timesman Philip Galanes, “after consulting my barber {Editor’s note again: I wonder how my own barber, Frank the Albanian, would respond?.}, is that the boyfriend is not using enough hair gel (or other adhesive) to keep the glitter in place.” But of course! Galanes goes on to suggest speaking to the be-glittered boyfriend directly, mentioning that “we’re still digging it out of the sofa from your last visit.” Who could object?

            I must confess I’ve never seen anyone with glitter in their hair, although I’ve gotten used to seeing members of both sexes sporting hair dyed in bright colors. And although I have no actual data, most of them also seem to be covered in tattoos, and have their heads and faces pierced with a strange variety of metal appliances.

            The Times also has sufficient staff to cover the fashion scene in general. There was a time when this meant female fashion. Now, the lads get almost equal treatment. If you’re au courant, you may have noticed that male models seem as malnourished as their female counterparts, who have long been fashionably skinny and pouty. The strange thing, though, is that the clothes the lads wear are large enough for big, brawny fellows. Or, equally confusing, several sizes too small.

            Once, the beau ideal of manliness was Gary Cooper; now, it seems to be someone like Timothee Chalamet, whose hair weighs more than the rest of him. Perhaps I should go on a diet and consider changing barbers? Of course, Frank the Albanian might be more than willing to cater to the glitterati. I must consult him when next I visit.

Copyright 2024, Patrick F. Cannon  

By Patrick F. Cannon

I was going to do a (hopefully) amusing piece this week, but you’ll have to wait until next week to have a hearty guffaw. Instead, I’m afraid Donald Trump once again rears his hairy head.

            Regular readers will know how much I loathe Trump, so will be surprised when I say that the civil judgement against him in New York for exaggerating the value of his assets in applying for loans was more than a little politically motivated. Technically, of course, he no doubt broke some law or other, just as many others have who have not been prosecuted. After all, is it not the bank’s responsibility to determine whether to grant the loan? Since the loan was repaid with interest and on time, they seemed satisfied with the result, and no doubt considered and discounted Trump’s inflated valuations. Do you wonder why they weren’t asked to testify by the prosecution?

            If New York Attorney General Leticia James were to prosecute every similar case, she would have to double her staff. But she won’t; nor will Manhattan District Attorney Alvin Bragg, who seems determined to double down with the hush-money, Stormy Daniels criminal case. While Bragg’s case is stronger, it will also give Trump an opportunity to campaign without having to bother to do anything but stand outside courtrooms and play the martyr. And even if the loan fraud judgement survives appeal, don’t be surprised if the monetary award is drastically reduced. 

            Then we have the fiasco in Georgia, where the actual case against Trump is also strong, but where District Attorney Fanni Willis has jeopardized it by having an affair with the outside prosecutor she hired to the tune of $650,000, and with whom she took expensive trips he paid for, claiming that she reimbursed him for her share in cash. Really?

            It seems less and less likely that Trump will be convicted of anything before the election. Even if he is, the inevitable appeals will drag on, perhaps for years. In the end, the voters will have to decide if they want him to serve a second term. For many Republicans and conservatives, it comes down to a choice between the devil and the deep blue sea. In this case, the devil is someone they know, Trump, and the deep blue sea is a man that represents a political party that they believe over governs and overspends.

            On Tuesday, November 5, you and I will likely be faced with that baleful choice. Do we vote for a thoroughly bad man, whose only saving grace is he isn’t a Democrat; or a man already showing his age, and who may or may not live through a second term, and who’s likely vice-presidential candidate is widely disliked? Or not vote at all, which may be a popular choice?

            It’s a hell of a thing, isn’t it?

Copyright 2024, Patrick F. Cannon       

By Patrick F. Cannon

I’ll be 86 on March 2, so I thought I should find out what other famous people were born on the same date. As you might expect, the first names that pop up on Google are current celebrities, including Daniel Craig, Robert Downey Jr (both very fine actors), Lindsay Lohan and Miley Cyrus (cuter, but of somewhat lesser stature). But how about names from the past, eminent in other fields?

The venerable Porky Pig will be 89 on March 2. He is rather benign and even likeable. I much preferred Elmer Fudd and his Sisyphistic quest to put an end to his nemesis, Bugs Bunny, but you can’t always choose who shares your birthday.

In contrast to Porky, there’s Pope Leo XIII (1810-1903), one of the longest serving popes. Leo was often called the “Commie” pope because in his encyclical “Rerum Novarum,” he had the temerity to say that workers should be allowed to have unions and be treated with respect. Not being Roman Catholics, the Robber Barons paid no attention. J.P. Morgan was even heard to say: “Pope who? What’s a pope?”

I’m sure there must be some Poinsettias from Christmas still doggedly clinging to life, perhaps in your home? As it happens, they were originally brought back from Mexico by the diplomat Joel Roberts Poinsett (1779-1851), our first ambassador to Mexico, and later US secretary of war. Over the border in Texas, Sam Houston (1793-1863), another March 2 baby, was that independent republic’s first president. Many Texans still think it’s independent or should be. Sam didn’t die at the Alamo, having been prudently absent, so later represented Texas in the US Senate. I can’t recall whether the current city was named after him, or vice versa.

            I’m honored to share a birthday with the great Yiddish writer Sholem Aleichem (1859-1916), who emigrated to this country in 1906. He was a tireless promoter of Yiddish as a major language but is best known today for writing the stories that were the basis for the legendary musical, Fiddler on the Roof. Another great writer born on March 2 was Tom Wolfe (1931-2023), who wasn’t afraid to write “big” novels, and who gave us the thrilling space saga, “The Right Stuff.”

            And how about DeWitt Clinton? He served as mayor of New York City, governor of the state, and as a US senator. But he’s best known as promoter of the Erie Canal, which connected the Atlantic Ocean at New York City to the Great Lakes and thence to Chicago. Once the Illinois and Michigan Canal was completed, you could float your boat from New York City to New Orleans (if you had a lot of time on your hands).

            The great Swiss cyclist Oscar Egg (1890-1961) shares my birthdate. He held the world’s one-hour record several times and was also the first winner of the inaugural Chicago Six Day Bicycle Race in 1915. Held annually at the Chicago Coliseum until the mid-1950s, Oscar rode again to Chicago glory in 1916 and 1923.

            Great musicians were also born on March 2. The German-American composer Kurt Weill (1900-1950) gave us The Threepenney Opera, with its famous song, “Mack the Knife.” A particular favorite of older men is his “September Song” from Knickerbocker Holiday of 1938. If you want to hear it sung by the actor who introduced it on Broadway, Walter Huston, just do an internet search.

            And don’t forget the great jazz tenor sax player, Eddie “Lockjaw” Davis (1922-1966). And although best known as Lucille Ball’s exasperated husband on “I Love Lucy” (and in real life), Desi Arnaz (1917-1986) was a mean conga drum virtuoso and band leader before striking it rich on television.

            Finaly, Mikhail Gorbachev was born on March 2, 1931 (died 2022). I was always amused at his bemused expressions when listening to Ronald Reagan. But best of all is Theodor Seuss Geisel (1904-1991), known as “Dr. Seuss,” who gave me so many wonderful verses to read to my children, including “I do not like green eggs and ham. I do not like them, Sam-I-Am.” I never liked them either, but I loved saying the words.

Copyright 2024, Patrick F. Cannon

By Patrick F. Cannon

I thought I’d turn this space over today to a French writer, Albert Camus, who died in 1960, but who continues to speak to us today. He wrote these words in 1949 in The Artist as Witness, and they seem to me to be truer today than they were then.

            “There is no life without dialog. And in the major part of the world, dialog has been replaced today by polemics…But what is the mechanism of polemics? It consists in considering the opponent as the enemy, consequently in simplifying him and refusing to see him. We have no idea of what the man we are insulting looks like, or whether he ever smiles, or how. Having become three-quarters blind by the grace of polemics, we no longer live among men but in a world oof silhouettes. There is no life without persuasion. And today’s history knows only intimidation. Men live and can only live on the basis that they have something in common on which they can always get together.”

            In 1949, in the aftermath oof World War II, we had the beginning of the Cold War, the first Arab-Israeli conflict, the anti-colonial uprisings, the Communist victory in China – and nuclear proliferation. Now, we have the continuing Arab-Israeli conflict, Ukraine, Taiwan, unimaginably more efficient weapons of all kinds, and Red versus Blue here and in many other countries. And Camus’ words resonate more than ever.

Copyright 2024, Patrick F. Cannon