Is Two a Collection?

By Patrick F. Cannon

I get the digital edition of the New York Times. Because I once visited their web site to check on something, one of the ads that pops up regularly is for the auction house, Sotheby’s. The other day, the ad led me to information about an auction of wrist watches in Hong Kong. The estimates quoted were in Hong Kong dollars. My feeble math conversions told me that many of the time pieces were expected to fetch US$250,000 or even more.

            As it happens, I own two watches, both getting on in years. One is a Seiko, which adorns my wrist as I write this. My wife Jeanette bought it for me as a present nearly 40 years ago. Every once in a while I have to change the battery, but it keeps perfect time (or near enough for me). The other – a Hugo Boss – was a gift from the former foreign minister of the Republic of Korea. I don’t recall exactly, but I’m thinking it’s about 25 years old. My benefactor was then an international director of Lions Clubs International; he later became its international president.

            Although it says “Swiss” on the dial, I was initially suspicious, since Korea then was notorious for what are called “copy watches,” which look like the real thing, but stop running about the time you get them home. Not so in this case; the watch still keeps perfect time, and I alternate wearing it with the Seiko.

            It would never occur to me to have a collection of watches that I didn’t wear. Don’t get me wrong. Some of the watches in the Sotheby’s auction are quite stunning, combining art with precision technology. If you’ve ever seen the workings of a Patek Philippe, Breguet, Omega or Rolex, you can’t help but admire the skill that went into the manufacture and assembly of those teeny tiny parts. But I would have thought that all of that artistry is wasted if the watch is never actually used to tell the time of day, or to time one’s racehorse.

            Automobiles are another area where the highest prices are often paid for cars that have never been driven. I like cars, but it would never occur to me to buy one and put it in the garage. In many cases, the intent is to hold it (and I’m sure that holds true for many collectibles) until the value goes up, then sell it to another collector who won’t drive it either. Believe me, if I bought a Ferrari, it would be tearing down the road almost immediately.

            I’m told that one of the hottest areas for collectors is sneakers. Again, they should be unworn unless they had been worn in battle by someone like Michael Jordon. A pair of his recently sold for a record $2.2 million. When I was a lad, you got a pair of sneakers (we called them tennies) at the beginning of Summer, and wore them out by the time school started again in September. As I recall, they had to be disposed of as hazardous waste.

            But people, and markets, are fickle. You might get caught holding the bag if the market for fancy purses collapses. As for me, I do have quite a few books. Who knows, maybe one or two are worth more than I paid for them. The water colors, etchings, lithographs and photographs on my walls are there because they remind me of the places I’ve been, and the books I’ve written. I even have a framed photograph of a Cow Moose that I bought at an outdoor art fair in Crystal Lake, Illinois. That Moose was standing in the water in Maine, looking directly at me and saying “take me home.” So, I did. I wonder if I should start collecting Moose pictures?

Copyright 2023, Patrick F. Cannon

By Patrick F. Cannon

I can understand the dismay that many people felt when the Supreme Court told President Biden that he couldn’t forgive student loan debt without Congressional action. Announced prior to last year’s elections, the forgiveness  would have cost the country’s taxpayers $430 billion. Since Congress passed the laws that established the grant and loan program in the first place, the Court held that only they could modify its terms through new legislation.

            When President Biden first made the announcement, a great many people – and not just Republicans – predicted that the courts would take a dim view of his executive order. Not least among them were the millions of former students who had diligently paid off their loans. Despite them and expert legal opinion, the president did it anyway. Some cynics even suggested he did it purely for political reasons!

             Frankly, I never understood why the Federal government got itself into the student loan business in the first place. Much of the money went to enrich schools of dubious reputation with abysmal graduation rates. Many of them eventually went out of business, leaving students with nothing but debt. It should come as no surprise that Donald Trump got into the action. It would have been cheaper in the long run to simply give needy but deserving students outright grants.

            Perhaps even more controversially, the court told Harvard University and the University of North Carolina that they could no longer use racial preference in recruiting entering classes. The court’s decision was based primarily on the 14^th Amendment, in particular the clause that reads: nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws. The clause was meant to give constitutional reality to the end of slavery. In this case, it was cited to prevent universities from denying equal protection to a different group – Asian Americans. Whether you agree with the decision or not, it’s going to profoundly affect access to the so-called elite schools, but will have little or no effect on the majority of schools that are happy to accept a majority of applicants.

            (Since I first wrote this, in a bit of “tit for tat,” a group of African-American and Latino students have sued Harvard over its practice of giving preference to so-called “legacy” applicants, the children of alumni or large donors. About 40 percent of Harvard students, many of them legacy admissions, pay the full tuition and fees of $57,261 per year. If the student’s family makes $85,000 per year or less, they pay mothing. It’s hard to escape the irony that legacy admissions are helping to subsidize the education of minority and low income students.)   

            Of somewhat lesser impact was the decision that said it was OK for a person to refuse to provide a service that conflicted with their religious beliefs. In this case, a web developer refused to create a site for a same-sex wedding, since her religion teaches that such unions are immoral. Instead of respecting this sincerely-held belief, and simply finding a developer who had no such qualms, the couple sued, giving the Supreme Court an opportunity to look at the proper balance between freedom of speech and freedom of religion. In this very narrow and specific case, it chose religion.

            All of this took place as the integrity of the court has increasingly come into question. Both Justices Thomas and Alito have received expensive trips from “friends” who appear to have had business before the court. Both deny these gifts had any influence on their decisions. They may be telling the truth, but it has brought to light that the Court has no real code of ethics. For this, and for purely political reasons, only 18 percent of us have a great deal of confidence in the court, according to a report by the Association Press (AP). 36 percent have “hardly any,” and 46 percent have “only some.” The Court has never been held in lower repute, nor has the Congress for that matter.

            My opinions about all of this are of no importance. What is important, it seems to me, is the knee-jerk demonization of the “other side.” For example, none of the Supreme Court’s decisions in these cases is without legal justification. But based on comments that you find on the air, in print and the internet, you would be forgiven for thinking the justices in the majority were an evil cabal of heartless brutes.

            These attitudes extend to every corner of our political discourse, making it impossible to solve the solvable problems that face the country. Almost every day, my computer in-box is full of shrill invective from both sides of the political divide. Some of you are responsible for sending this stuff to me. I wish you would think a little  before you press the “forward” key.

Copyright 2023, Patrick F. Cannon

By Patrick F. Cannon

“It’s a wonderful modern world we live in,” said Captain Jack Aubrey in director Peter Weir’s movie Master and Commander, based on Patrick O’Brian’s novels about the British navy during the Napoleonic Wars. He was commenting on a new American ship design. I could make the same comment about television streaming services that permit you to find at a whim just about any movie you might like to see, including that one, which I highly recommend.

            Just the other day, I watched 12 Angry Men, a 1957 movie about a jury wrestling with the verdict in a murder case. Written by Reginald Rose and directed by Sidney Lumet, it has an extraordinary cast, headed by Henry Fonda, but including Lee J. Cobb, Martin Balsam, E.G Marshall, Jack Klugman, Jack Warden, and Ed Begley. I can think of few films with so many quality actors. If you haven’t seen it, you should.

            If you would like to focus on a single actor, who better than Spencer Tracy? Like the team of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, Tracy is often linked with Katherine Hepburn, and the movies they made together are certainly worth seeing. But I would also recommend three of his later roles: Bad Day at Black Rock, in which he uncovers a murder while searching for the father of a soldier who had served under him in World War II (Robert Ryan is great too as the villain); Inherit the Wind, a thinly fictionalized story about the famous Scopes Monkey Trial, in which he plays the role based on Clarence Darrow (Fredric March is also superb as a fictionalized William Jennings Bryan); and The Last Hurrah, where his Irish-American  mayor of Boston makes one final run for office.

            Although he appeared more on stage than in films, the British actor Paul Scofield is best known here for his Academy Award-winning role in the film version of  Robert Bolt’s A Man for All Seasons. He also won a Tony Award for the stage version that tells the story of Sir Thomas More’s refusal to support Henry VIII in his difficulties in getting the Pope to agree to his divorce. As a result, he lost his head, but was later made a Saint.

In another role with religious overtones, he played the chilly Judge Thomas Danforth in the movie version of Arthur Miller’s The Crucible. A special favorite of mine is John Frankenheimer’s The Train. Scofield plays an obsessed Nazi Colonel, who packs up a museums worth of French paintings and puts them on a train bound for Germany just before the Allies liberate Paris in 1944. His nemesis is a French railway worker played by an indominable Burt Lancaster. Burt doesn’t know a Monet from a Miro, but he’s determined to stop this demented Nazi from stealing French culture.

Finally, in the female actor category, no one was bigger from the 1930s through the 1950s than Bette Davis. Before Meryl Streep came along, Davis had the most Academy Award nominations, ten (she won twice). One of her wins was for 1938s Jezebel, whose title says it all. I would also recommend The Little Foxes, based on Lilian Hellman’s play; but especially All About Eve, which was 1950s Best Picture Academy Award winner. In it, she plays veteran actor Margot Channing, who is challenged by the devious Eve Harrington, played by Anne Baxter, who, coincidentally, was Frank Lloyd Wright’s granddaughter.

So, if you’re tired of streaming series that never seem to end, why not search into the past for the work of some very great actors?

Copyright 2023, Patrick F. Cannon

By Patrick F. Cannon

Last Thursday, I was leading a tour of Frank Lloyd Wright’s Chicago-area sites called “Wright Around Chicago.” It begins in the lobby of the Rookery Building in Chicago’s Loop, which Wright remodeled in 1905. A bus then takes the group to Oak Park for a tour of his Unity Temple; after that, the group walks to the architect’s Home and Studio a few blocks away.

            During the walk, I describe several Wright-designed homes we pass on the way. Last Thursday, we passed a home with Roses growing along its fence. Several members of the  group actually stopped to smell those roses, so I did too. It was a sunny day. The rose bushes were in the shade of one of the most beautiful residential streets in the world. Why wouldn’t I stop and smell those roses? Things aren’t all that bad after all, I thought to myself.

            Usually, it’s all too easy to smell the rot instead of the roses. Just to take one example, have we ever had a sadder group of politicians? Maybe we have,  but in the past they hid their ignorance better, or at least didn’t insist on it. The Chinese want to dominate Asia; and the Russians want their empire back. The Earth is warming, and we don’t yet know for sure what that means. And the Cubs and Sox seem to be back to their old ways.

            But when I turned the radio on early Saturday morning, I was greeted with one of Mozart’s thrilling horn concertos. At my whim, I could play CDs that would yield the genius of Beethoven, Shubert, Bach, Brahms, Gershwin, Porter, Cohen and Berlin; and the voices of Bennett, Sinatra, Fitzgerald, Armstrong, Astaire, Pavarotti, Flemming, and even Blossom Dearie. You may prefer the Smashing Pumpkins, Kiss, Led Zeppelin, the Stones, Alexisonfire, The Sadies, Beyonce, or Taylor Swift. It’s all out there, and much more.            Any day I want, I can take myself by EL or car to the Art Institute, where I can be reminded of the creative genius of men and women who live both today and a thousand years ago or more. They saw something in people and places that they thought were worth preserving for all of us. And the Institute has a school that encourages talents that may be remembered a thousand years from now.

            In about a month, I will travel to the Laurel Highlands of Western Pennsylvania for the Donnelly Family Reunion, the first to be held since Covid. The attendees will be descendants of my Grandparents, Frank and Catherine Donnelly and their seven daughters and one son. I will be the second oldest; the patriarch is my cousin Jimmy Goldstrohm (no actual Donnelly’s are left). The 50^th Anniversary Reunion took place in 2016 at the Seven Springs Resort; the first was a picnic held at Renziehausen Park in McKeesport, PA. As I recall, the men of my generation – still in the bloom of youth – played softball to work up an appetite. What can be better than to see once again the cousins you grew up with, and their children and (now) children’s children?

            Finally, when I opened my blinds this morning, the Sun was out, and the four pots of flowers I bought to hang on my balcony railing were in full bloom. The pots were planted by Pesches Garden Center in Des Plaines, and to tell you the truth, I’m not sure what all the flowers actually are, but they give me pleasure, and maybe also to passersby who look up. Throughout Chicagoland and where you live, people have planted and are tending gardens that we can all enjoy. If there are Roses, why not  stop and smell them?

Copyright 2023, Patrick F. Cannon

By Patrick F. Cannon

In one of the great about-faces in recent sports history, the Professional Golfers’ Association (PGA), specifically its subsidiary PGA Tour, has entered into an arrangement with the Saudi Arabia Sovereign Wealth Fund to merge its tour with LIV (the Roman numeral for 54, the number of  holes in its tournaments), the tour the Saudis organized to compete with the PGA.

            With unlimited funds, LIV had lured some PGA members away by paying them huge upfront bonuses. It was reported that an aging Phil Mickelson, known to be a heavy gambler, received no less than $200 million to turn his coat. Amusingly, Phil did call his benefactors “scary MFers,” presumably because Saudi Arabia’s de-facto ruler, Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman Al Saud, had almost certainly ordered the murder of Washington Post journalist Jamal Khashoggi, a Saudi who had dared to criticize him and his regime.

            Salman is laughingly called a reformer because women can now get a driver’s license in the desert kingdom. This gives them the right to drive to the many public executions that are such a feature of Saudi justice. Perhaps they can also watch as the odd hand is chopped off, maybe with the other three wives they share their husband (whom they must obey in most matters).

            The Sovereign Wealth Fund has been seeking this and other opportunities to invest in sports in what has come to be called “sportswashing.” Investments have been made in football (soccer to us), Formula 1 auto racing, boxing, the WWE, and – I kid you not – cricket. Perhaps the sport the Middle Eastern rulers have been involved with the longest is Thoroughbred racing, and the breeding of its participants.

            The leader here has been and continues to be Sheikh Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum. He is the ruler of Dubai, part of the United Arab Emirates, for which he serves as prime minister. While a student at Cambridge in England, he began attending the races and became a fan. His family owns Dubai and its oil, so he was able to get into the racing and breeding business at the top. Since he was willing to bid for the best-bred horses against a then-dominant syndicate of English and Irish owners at American auctions in the 1980s, particularly the produce of dominant sire Northern Dancer and his sons, he was able eventually to begin breeding his own horses.

            Last year, his operation, called Godolphin after one of the three foundation Thoroughbred sires, led both the owners and breeders lists in the United States. In addition to this country, Godolphin has similar operations in Great Britain, Ireland, France, Australia and Japan. He also built a race track at home, which hosts the Dubai World Cup ($12 million purse) and associated races with purses totaling $30.5 million. Not to be outdone, the Saudis now host the Saudi Cup, which has a purse of $20 million!

            Held in February and March, these meets have effectively destroyed major winter racing in this country, since I’m not aware of any American owners who can resist the Middle Eastern dough, regardless of the dismal human rights records of their smiling hosts. The legendary Santa Anita Handicap now can only attract horses not quite good enough to ship to the desert kingdoms.

If you read equine industry publications, you would not be unduly reminded of the unpleasantness behind the wealth of your benefactors. You would be more likely to hear what a nice chap Sheikh Mohammed is, and how generously he treats his employees. The fact that he had to kidnap his own daughter after she tried to escape his clutches is never mentioned, nor is how Dubai treated the foreign workers who created a modern city to lure big-spending tourists.

Many of the PGA golfers who supported the PGA Tour in its struggle with LIV have felt betrayed. The Irishman Rory McElroy was a leader in defending the PGA Tour, and has said he was blindsided and appalled by the merger. But like the Thoroughbred breeders in Kentucky, he’ll have to get used to dealing with autocrats. After all, the money’s really good.

Copyright 2023, Patrick F. Cannon   

By Patrick F. Cannon

Later today, I’m going to pick up a new suit. It replaces my former blue suit that was slightly out of style and – to be frank – a bit tight. The new one was tailored just for me, and took about five weeks from first fitting to delivery. I bought it because I’m scheduled to attend at least two weddings this summer; and I think there may be others to follow.

            I also own a navy blazer, a brownish patterned sports jacket and three pairs of dress slacks. This is a sufficient wardrobe for an elderly chap such as me, but when I was going to the office every day (for nearly 40 years),  I would have had a minimum of six suits in my closet, as well as at least a dozen dress shirts and maybe 30 ties. And, of course, a navy blazer and at least one other sports jacket. I usually got by with three pairs of leather dress shoes.

            I bring this up because I recently had a conversation with a younger relative, who’s a senior executive in his 50s, who said he regrets that dress codes seem not only to be a thing of the past, but are considered stupid. Let me stipulate that there is no logical reason for requiring any particular mode of dress. Recent generations will argue that comfort alone should be one’s guide. How can one argue against comfort? (Don’t you love seeing TV personalities wearing a suit and tie and white tennies?)

            Over time, the trend in men’s clothes has been to less and less formality. The Regency fop (love that word!) would be appalled at how drab men’s clothes steadily became. But I can tell you  that even 50 years ago, it was common for a man of means to not only own several business suits, but formal wear as well. Wealthier chaps who got invited to chic soirees might own a tail coat, as well as both a black and a white dinner jacket. The first time I went to an evening concert at Orchestra Hall in Chicago, at least half the men were dressed formally.

            Opening night at the Lyric Opera was a major Chicago social event. Everyone was dressed to the nines (why not the “tens” I often wondered?). And I can recall that when the new Arlington Park opened in 1989, gentlemen were required to wear a jacket and tie to lunch in the Million Room. Later, only jackets were required; then finally only a collared shirt and no jeans. I was there one day and noticed two young men at a table wearing t-shirts. I asked the waiter about this, and he explained that they were big bettors. By then, the track was owned by Churchill Downs, Inc., whose greed resulted in the track’s sale to the Chicago Bears.

            Some private clubs still have dress codes, but do any restaurants, other than requiring shoes and “no shorts?” In recent years, I have been to restaurants which would have once required at least jackets for gentlemen, and seen male patrons wearing jeans, t-shirts and (horror of horrors) baseball caps, often with the bills at the back (are they perhaps loathe to cover up their tatts)? Even Alinea, Chicago’s only three-star Michelin Guide restaurant, and perhaps its most expensive, no longer requires jackets for men, although I’m sure it likes to see them. No mention is made of hats!

            As it happens, one of the weddings I’ll be attending specifies formal attire. While I’m sure the wedding party will be wearing formal attire, I can’t believe they expect the guests to do the same. But I  could be wrong. My guess is that they at least hope that male attendees will be wearing a suit and tie. If they insist on formal dress, and bar my entry, I should be sorry to miss the celebration, but secretly delighted they were trying to uphold a higher standard of decorum.

Copyright 2023, Patrick F. Cannon

By Patrick F. Cannon

I was in at the beginning. The beginning of the women’s movement I mean. The marches, the bra burnings, the demands for equality in opportunity and pay. It was also the heyday of the “sensitive” man, the husband or partner who was willing to share child care and household chores. “Stay at home” dads suddenly became commonplace; those who resisted often found themselves in the divorce court.

            If this social revolution had happened 20 or 30 years sooner, it might have been truly earthshaking for men. I remember my mother hauling out the wringer/washer once a week and spending most of the day doing the laundry. During warm weather – and if it wasn’t raining – the laundry was hung outside to dry. During the winter, it was hung in the basement or attic (if you had one). The next day, out came the ironing board and iron. There was no such thing as no-iron or permanent press, so almost everything had to be ironed. Another day shot.

            In my youth, men didn’t cook. And, if you can believe it, the food you bought was largely raw, expecting to be actually cooked. The floors one trod upon did not then have protective coatings that provided an everlasting shine. The poor housewife could often be found on her hands and knees scrubbing away, then applying a coat of wax that had then to be buffed.

            But in the secret halls of male power, wise heads could see the inevitable rise of feminist discontent. A series of meetings were held in remote locations. For example, manufacturers brought to fruition long suppressed plans for labor-saving  appliances: automatic clothes washers and  driers; dishwashers; frost-free refrigerators that actually made and dispensed ice cubes; micro-wave ovens; and ranges that cleaned themselves!

            Also unveiled were the long-known secrets for treating fabrics so laborious ironing was no longer necessary. Rugs and carpets that repelled stains suddenly became available. Wood floors could now be coated with miracle finishes that retained their shine. Linoleum – which required constant upkeep – gave way to perpetually-glowing vinyl. The large and clumsy vacuum cleaner with its annoying cord gave way to the battery-powered light-weight wand.

            Beginning with the TV dinner, food companies developed a sometimes bewildering variety of prepared dishes that one could simply pop into the oven or micro-wave. Already-prepared gourmet dishes became available at the local super market. No longer was ordering-in limited to the local Chinese restaurant or pizzeria; meals could dash to your door from even the finest eatery.

            All of this and more was planned to come to fruition just as the women’s movement reached its peak. Men were thus shamed into sharing housework that had largely ceased to exist. House-husbands were able to ship the little tykes off to day care. When they reached school age, things got even better. After they put them on the school bus, they could get together with their fellow men for coffee or some poker, or even a round of golf. Thus refreshed, they could commiserate with their returning wives, who had spent the day clawing their way up the corporate ladder.

            So, men everywhere have this now-disbanded secret society to thank for their new-found leisure. I can now reveal that one of its leaders, the legendary Henry Kissinger, has just celebrated his 100^th birthday. Happy birthday Hank, and thanks!

Copyright 2023, Patrick F. Cannon  

By Patrick F. Cannon

When I was a young lad in the Pittsburgh area, my choice of beers seemed more than adequate. The main brands were Duquesne, Iron City and Fort Pitt. McKeesport, where I lived from 1950-56, had its own brand, Tube City (McKeesport was the home of the National Tube Company, part of US Steel). If you had a few extra pennies, and wanted to show your sophistication, you could order Rolling Rock from distant Latrobe, PA. The country and private club nabobs may have quaffed national brands like Budweiser or Schlitz after their golf or tennis, but not we mere mortals.

            In those days, bars had to close on Sundays. Wily and thirsty Pennsylvanians would leave their favorite tavern at midnight on Saturday and meander (or stagger) over to their nearest private club, which were exempt. As it happened, the Sons of Italy, the Greek American Protective Association or the Ancient Order of Hibernians, didn’t care much about your ancestry as long as you paid your membership dues.

            While I drink beer only rarely now, my local liquor store – Binnys, a major Chicago-area chain – probably has at least a hundred brands to choose from (actually more like 700. I checked). In addition to the traditional national brands (Bud, Coors, Millers, etc.), there will be a bewildering array of imports and “craft” beers. I’m sure Pittsburgh has a similar culture of beer lovers thinking they have come up with a new way to make beer. They go into (and out of) business on almost a daily basis. Some succeed in a big way. In Chicago, Goose Island was such a notable success that it was bought by the folks who own Budweiser.

            I rarely drink beer myself anymore, but I do keep some on hand for guests. At the moment, I have some Stella Artois from Belgium, Bernard Bohemian Lager from the Czech Republic, and Two Brothers Domaine Dupage Ale from Warrenville, IL (which happens to be in DuPage County). Lurking in the back of the fridge is one 16 ounce can of Pabst Blue Ribbon. It’s there in case my daughter Beth wants a Radler, which is beer mixed with 7-Up or something similar. She feels using expensive beer is a waste for this German-invented thirst quencher.

            Just think about this embarrassment of riches! What a great country! Instead of choosing from maybe 10 brands of beer, Capitalist entrepreneurship has given you 700! (Actually more, but that’s all my Binnys has space for.) There are lagers and pilsners, ales and stouts. Some are now aged in used bourbon barrels, or flavored with rare fruits and spices. You can find the palest of pale ales, and the blackest of stouts. Like dry? Like sweet? Like hoppy? Or malty? Some brewer is ready to please.

            Don’t like beer? The craft spirit folks are ready to oblige. Just take Bourbon for example. Binnys has 277 kinds available, priced from $10.99 to $399.99 for 750 ml (you can actually pay up to almost $3,000 for the rarest of elixirs).  If you prefer Rye whiskey, don’t despair (although you have only about 100  brands to choose from).

            I won’t even start on wine. The point is that it’s a Golden Age for the drinker. As long as people are willing to risk their money, talent and passion to come up with a better brew or spirit, they’ll have a receptive audience. It’s like building a better mousetrap.

            But I wonder what they’re drinking in Havana and Pyongyang tonight? 

Copyright 2023, Patrick F. Cannon

By Patrick F. Cannon

Spring has sprung! I know, I know. According to the meteorologists, it sprang on March 1, that being the date, I suppose, when meteors start falling from the sky. The astrologers beg to differ, claiming it actually sprangs when we experience the vernal equinox, which can happen between March 19-21 (it was March 20 this year). In case you skipped Science in school, that’s the day when we have equal amounts of day and night.

            To me, however, it only begins when the first Crocuses begin to appear, followed by the Daffodils, Tulips and flowering trees. It culminates on or around Mother’s Day, when people who live in our climate feel it’s safe to begin planting their annual flowers. When we still had our Oak Park house, my late wife Jeanette and I would make our annual pilgrimage to Pesches Garden Center in Des Plaines to buy flats of Impatiens, Begonias and Petunias. Most years, we would also get a new perennial or two, as well as tomato and, pepper plants; and seeds for lettuce, carrots, basil, mint and parsley.

            I was the preparer, and Jeanette the planter and nurturer. Before planting, the vegetable and annual plots had to be tilled, adding compost and fertilizer to get the stuff growing properly. We also had extensive perennial gardens, which required similar care. I also did some weeding and mulching, but my main  task for the rest of the growing season was watering, one of the more satisfying of human endeavors.  In later years, an outside service dealt with the lawn, keeping it healthy and cut.

            (Let me come here to the defense of the beleaguered lawn. There is a radical element of the population that thinks yards should be left to themselves; that the dreaded Dandelion should be permitted to prosper; that maybe you should even plant the front yard with corn, wheat and alfalfa. The general idea is this would be better for the pollinators. They seem to forget about the annuals, perennials and flowering bushes that gardeners plant in and around their grass. I frankly never had a lack of bees, wasps, hornets – and even hummingbirds – in our yard. Of course, it is easier to take care of a prairie – you just ignore it, even if your neighbors can’t.)

            When we sold the house and moved to a rental townhome, we still had a planting area in the front yard, and a deck, where we put some planters and pots. There was also a community garden in the back, and Jeanette did her share to make it pleasant. We finally found a condo we liked, and it has a balcony only. While it’s only about 5 feet wide, it’s fully 18 feet long. While obviously limited, Jeanette managed to fill oversize pots with flowers, cherry tomatoes, basil and other herbs. Again, I was the designated waterer.

            As many of you know, Jeanette died last February. When Spring came, I looked out at the lonely balcony and decided that the season demanded my participation. So, I did the logical thing, or at least the logical thing for a man with no horticultural talent. I went to Pesches and bought four pre-planted flower pots. Each has a variety of flowers and green plants. To contain them, I bought four plant containers that I could hang on the balcony railing. I watered them faithfully and they lasted until late Summer, when I replaced them with mums.

            Last week, I again went to Pesches and bought four of the same. I’m looking at them now. At last, it’s really Spring.

Copyright 2023, Patrick F. Cannon

By Patrick F. Cannon

I’m inclined to think that no citizen of this great republic needs to own a military-type assault rifle. Most of my fellow citizens agree with me. But there is a minority, most of whom are just as appalled at mass murder as the rest of us, who think that any limitation on gun ownership is counter to the Second Amendment to our Constitution.

            If you read the Bill of Rights, which I do from time to time, you can’t help but be impressed by the simplicity and  clarity of its language. Let’s take the famous First Amendment as an example: “Congress shall make no law respecting the establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press, or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.” Notice that there is a semi-colon after the freedom of religion clause. To me, that means that the framers saw all these freedoms as related, but that freedom of religion was distinct enough from the others to merit a semi-colon instead of a comma.

            Let’s now look at the Second Amendment, which reads: “A well regulated Militia, being necessary for the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.” Now, the founders could have proposed an amendment that read simply: “The right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.” But they didn’t, and because there are only commas separating the clauses, it’s clear that they saw a direct relationship between the militia and its arming. (By the way, “arms” in those days didn’t just include firearms, but swords, lances and similar weapons.)

            There are many legitimate reasons why one would own a firearm – hunting, target shooting, and personal protection, among them. But we have long outgrown the concept of the “militia” as was understood in 1787. It has been replaced by the National Guard system, which is a partnership between the Federal and state governments. While a governor may be the titular commander-in-chief of his state’s National Guard, its organization and arming are under Federal control. No  member of these units provides his or her own weapon, just as they don’t provide their own fighter planes, tanks or howitzers (are these “arms” also protected under the Second Amendment?).

            I think it’s interesting that the judges and other folks who prattle on about “original intent” are so willing to ignore it in this case. But then many of our politicians and judges see the Constitution more as a suggestion than the basis for our government. I suppose that’s why so many of them think we’re a Christian nation, and consider the Bible our real Constitution.

Copyright 2023,  Patrick F. Cannon