Friday, December 31, 2021

2022 Cannot Be 2020 Too

 


Precision in language might never be more important in our collective experience than it is beginning at midnight tonight.  It is imperative for you, for me, for all of those we love, and (in your case more than mine for certain) those who love us most of all that when the ball completes it descent tonight in Times Square, the year being ushered in understands that it is...




It is not, and cannot be, 2020 too.   We have endured one of those already.  

However you shall spend it, be careful out there.

-AK 






Thursday, December 30, 2021

A Toast to a Lucky Delusion

Today is my final official work day of 2021.  Tomorrow is a Firm holiday.  If I recall, and I might be wrong, it was on this day last year I informed those in charge of the shop at my old firm I was leaving, which departure I announced one week shy of completion of my 23rd year there.   

I end 2021 with much less trepidation than I began it.  Although the future is not guaranteed, my first year in my new firm has gone pretty well I think.  I have enjoyed it quite a lot.  I like the work and I have become acquainted with a terrific group of humans who also happen to be top-notch lawyers.  It keeps me ever mindful of my obligation to hold up my end.  My swipe card still grants me access to the building and when I type my password into the computer every morning, it fires right up.  So far, so good.  

I shall enter 2022 ever mindful of the fact that you are what your record says you are and that it is deeds and not words that matter.   The goal is to be better in the year to come than I have been this year.  




It is always good to have a goal.  

-AK



Wednesday, December 29, 2021

Speaking Words of Wisdom

I know that I am not now - nor have I ever been - man enough to walk a single step in Lt. Col.  Greg Gadson’s shoes.  I would never believe for one moment that I could walk a mile in them.    

It is for that reason when he speaks, I pay attention.  


I


-AK

Tuesday, December 28, 2021

New Year. New Me.

An aspiration of mine is to be a better person in the coming year than I have been in the ones that have come before it.  

I shall work hard at it every day - starting right now. 





Admittedly, it is very much a work in progress. 


-AK 

Saturday, December 25, 2021

Ho Ho Ho!

 

(c) SignWay Corp.


Santa Claus brought Pop Pop the WABAC Machine for which I have yearned for so long and in lieu of writing anything new today (the fifty-two words of this paragraph notwithstanding), I used it to go back in time two years.   The words remain relevant as does the sentiment they express.  

Wednesday, December 25, 2019

So this is Christmas...


In this life of hardship and of earthly toil
We have need for anything that frees us
So I bid you pleasure
And I bid you cheer
From a heathen and a pagan
On the side of the rebel Jesus...
-Jackson Browne

So this is Christmas...

Wherever the dawning of Christmas Day finds you this year, do your level best to make it merry.  If you shall spend even a small portion of today in the company of someone you love and who loves you right back and you shall do so with clothing on your back, a roof over your head, and food in your belly, then you have all the ingredients necessary for a Merry Christmas.  Not everyone does. If you do, then Christmas is a cause for celebration, not lamentation. 

Embrace the day.  Live in the moment.  Do not focus on what you do not have.  Do not dwell on the fact that there is a loved one or loved ones with whom you may not spend today. Accentuate the positive.  

Today is a day when each of us has the chance to be the richest person in town.  It is up to us whether we take it. 




Merry Christmas.

-AK 

Friday, December 24, 2021

Willing to Wait for a Miracle

 


If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, then what dizzying height does replication scale?  Rhetorical question.  Relevant, however, because what follows in this space today originally appeared here two years ago and, speaking for no one other than myself, it does not appear as if things have markedly improved, or even have improved at all.   

In the two years since I wrote this, COVID-19 introduced itself to our day-to-day.  In the two years since I wrote this, two beautiful granddaughters, Rylan here in the State of Concrete Gardens, and Shea in the State of the Colorado Golden Buffaloes, were born and have filled out my quintet of grandchildren.  In the two years since I wrote this, we the people of these United States have elected a new President to replace the incumbent, a pheonomenon that frequently signals a desire for a course correction, and still our trajectory is unchanged.  

It is today, as it was two years ago...

  

Tuesday, December 24, 2019

It's Christmas Eve...




Today is the final day of the penultimate week of the second decade of the twenty-first century.  As I approach my fifty-third birthday, I am hard-pressed to remember a time in which we the people of these United States have needed Christmas Eve as much as we need it right now.  The need for it is not a religious thing.  I am not a religious man.  The Lord and I have an understanding.  He stays out of my day-to-day.  I return the favor. 

It is, however, a spiritual thing.  Here, in these United States, at a fundamental level, our collective spirit of what it means to be an American has been broken.  In this century of extraordinary technological advancement, have we actually made the world better for ourselves?  For our children?  For our grandchildren?  Respectfully, we have not.  

In a world of "instant everything" and being able to direct Alexa to cue up our "Netflix and chill" on any of our several personal devices, we have unquestionably created a world of greater convenience than that in which we were raised, the one in which our parents were raised, or the one in which our grandparents were raised.  At what cost, however, to the quality of our day-to-day?  Convenience and quality are not synonyms.  It is troubling, to me at least, the extent to which they have become mutually exclusive.

We embrace technology and the advances it has brought us, including the advances we never knew we needed such as the ability to order shoes or play Angry Birds using our smartphone while going to the bathroom.  At the same time, we have consciously and aggressively embraced ignorance.  Worse yet, we have embraced it to the point of weaponizing it.  Ah, the irony, which I have little doubt is lost on those to whose behavior it speaks most pointedly.  

When did we the people of these United States become a people who flaunt our unwillingness to be challenged by anyone with an opposing point of view?  Or by anyone who might want to simply educate us - even just a little bit?  Was it when we elected a President of the United States who wears his "I don't read" mantra as if it is a badge of honor?  I know not.  Perhaps.  On the other hand, perhaps his election was not its beginning but its culmination. 

I know simply that our weaponization of ignorance has permeated our politics at every level.  Political opponents are no longer rivals or even adversaries.  Now, they are enemy combatants. As such, they are not entitled to certain rights, such as engaging in fact-based, law-based, substantive debate on issues of importance.  Debate has been replaced by the rapid repetition of attacks, insults, and lies, aimed at reinforcing in the minds and hearts of supporters the idea that everything said by everyone on the other side of the issue is not only a lie but a lie aimed at taking an inalienable right away from them, or worse yet, manipulating them into surrendering it voluntarily.  

We have time to correct our course - right up to the point when we run out of it altogether.  Course correction is not a Democrat thing.  Course correction is not a Republican thing.  It is an American thing.  

I submit that it is a necessary thing.  Why not use today, Christmas Eve, the one day a year when we are the people we always hoped we would be, to begin it.  There is no time like the present, right? 

Especially on Christmas Eve. 







-AK 

Thursday, December 23, 2021

Greetings of the Season

Being a parsimonious fellow, I rarely (if ever) spend money on postage.  So, if you have been rushing to your mailbox every day for the past several weeks awaiting the arrival of a Christmas card from Yours truly, come on back inside.  No sense subjecting yourself to a bout of Noel Pneumonia for no reason.  I have stumbled upon a way to keep me from tasting that awful envelope glue while simultaneously protecting you from a paper cut.




You are welcome.  More importantly, Merry Christmas....

Reasonably Merry, at least.  

-AK 





Wednesday, December 22, 2021

The Spirit of Christmas Present

 
Photo Credit:  Black Rifle Company

Earlier this month, the people of Mayfield, Kentucky were among those who felt Mother Nature's wrath.  The worst tornado event Kentucky has ever endured simply ravaged their town, leaving death and destruction in its wake.  

It turned out, however, Mother Nature did not make the trip from Clarksville, Tennessee to Mayfield, Kentucky an impossible one to make.  And for the people of Mayfield, that proved to make all the difference.

Jimmy Finch, 42, lives in Clarksville, Tennessee.  He was neither born nor raised nor ever resided in Mayfield, Kentucky.  Yet, on Sunday, December 12, Jimmy Finch drove from Clarkville, Tennessee to Mayfield, Kentucky, fired up his smoker, and spent the day feeding its residents and the rescue workers on site helping them.  

The smoker he transported to Mayfield is not his.  He borrowed it from a cousin.  He gave up a night's sleep to head over state lines in the darkness in order to have the coals fired up by 4:30 in the morning.  Why did he do what he did?  "I'm just here because not everybody has money.  But people want food.  People need food." 

Well said, Mr. Finch, and thank you.  Thank you for reminding me - and others too - of the true meaning of Christmas.






-AK 

Tuesday, December 21, 2021

Winter Solstice

 



Today is the Winter Solstice in the Northern Hemisphere.  It is the day with the least amount of daylight.  It is the first day of winter.  It is also the day from which every day, from now through the first day of summer, we shall add a little bit more light.  It might be only a minute or two each day but it counts.  With light comes hope.

Four years ago, way back when lawyers actually were permitted to appear in our State's courthouses, I was scheduled to appear before Judge Wellerson at the Ocean County Court House in Toms River for a 9:30 Case Management Conference on the morning of December 21.  It was the Winter Solstice.   

I had driven down the beach the night before and slept at our house in Lake Como.  That morning, shortly before sunrise, I went for a run south into Spring Lake, taking in the decorated storefronts along 3rd Avenue.  I headed north to home along the boards.  As I headed north, I was taken by the number of people who were walking quickly - and some in fact running - from Ocean Avenue and out onto the sand, heading southeast.  Finally, after about a dozen people crossed in front of me, I stopped running.  I looked back over my right shoulder.  I was stunned by what I saw. 


Spring Lake, New Jersey
Winter Solstice 2017



Spring Lake, New Jersey
Winter Solstice 2017


Stunning.  Simply stunning. 




-AK





 

Monday, December 20, 2021

A little Nat King Cole

It is my recollection, and I would invite my five older siblings to tell me if I am mistaken but no invitation has ever been necessary on that score (nor should it be), my father's favorite Christmas Carol was Adeste Fideles.  Do not misunderstand.  He enjoyed it very much in its English iteration O Come All Ye Faithful but not nearly as much as he did in Latin.  For years now it has been an unrealized goal of mine to perform a duet of Adeste Fideles with my great friend Dave Lackland, who was one of Dad's all-time favorite Latin students that we can upload to YouTube for posterity.  

Fingers crossed Dave reads this and we book a little Zoom time.  

Until then, we will all have to get by with a little Nat King Cole...




You're welcome. 

-AK 




Sunday, December 19, 2021

Fathers and Sons. Teachers and Students.

 


Today is the 40th birthday of his that my father did not live long enough to celebrate.   I am embarrassed to admit that it is just the second one in the four decades since his death that will occur without my foot being placed firmly on his throat.  

I was fourteen when Dad died.   Forty years after his death, I am forced to confess that I did not really understand my father while he was alive.  While I fancy myself to be a reasonably intelligent man (I can point to the rather impressive array of framed diplomas, degrees, and Bar admissions that adorn my office wall in support of that hypothesis), it took me slightly less than thirty-nine years after my father's death to finally understand him.   Sadly, I did not have an epiphany.  Instead, I experienced firsthand what he had experienced for years in his own professional life.  It was then, and only then, I understood that the man I had viewed as aloof, disconnected, and uncaring for most of our time together was dealing with forces beyond my limited, selflish, little kid ability to understand.  

I began, towards the end of 2019, to comprehend what and why it was Dad seemed just so fucking worn-down by life most of the time.  For it was then that I found out just how maddeningly similar the trajectory of my professional life was to his.  It was then that I felt for the first time what Dad had felt every day for so many years.  I am embarrassed to admit that it was then, and only then,  I understood what he had endured for us, his family, and for the first time ever appreciated him for what he had done.  It was only when I felt exhausted by the stress of my day-to-day that I finally walked a single step in Dad's shoes.  

In slightly more than a month, I shall turn fifty-five.  My father was fifty-seven when he died.  Whether irony or coincidence I know not, but it was at this time last year (actually it was on the eve of Dad's birthday), I received and signed my formal offer to join Kennedys.  Afforded an opportunity to change the trajectory of my professional life - and my entire life - I seized it.  Had I not watched, and apparently (through osmosis perhaps given how long it took for the lesson to be learned) taken to heart how much his decision to not pursue a new opportunity (out of a fear that failure would have ruined us) tortured my father, I might not have seized it.  

WPK, Sr. was an extraordinary educator.  It was his greatest gift.  So great in fact that four decades after his death, he finally reached me; a uniquely hard-headed and difficult to reach pupil.  Nicely done, Dad. 


Dad - Browning School for Boys


Happy Birthday.  



Saturday, December 18, 2021

Tis Appreciation Season

I am an enormous fan of the good folks at Til Valhalla Project.  I support their mission.  I also love their t-shirts.  I own at least a half-dozen of them (the number is actually closer to ten but let us not spill that to the Missus).   

I especially love their message, now, at Christmas.  


(c) Til Valhalla Project


Seven days to Christmas.  Be careful out there.  

-AK 


Friday, December 17, 2021

A Need For Anything That Frees Us

 


Last evening was our office's Holiday Party.  Having been battling a cold for the past couple of weeks, I was going to sit this one out.  I am happy I did not.  It was a very nice evening.  Very nice indeed.  

On my way home from the festivities, I listened to a playlist of Christmas songs I created several years ago for my iPod, which I listen to this time of year if and when I am running without my faithful canine running companion.   This is one of my favorites...




...so I listened to it twice. 

-AK 



Thursday, December 16, 2021

The Peril of Potential

A morsel or two of thought for the first day of the back half of the final month of 2021:  Your life is comprised of what you do.  It is not comprised of what it is you could do.  It is not comprised of the actions of which you are capable but never undertake.  Potential is cute, I suppose, but at day's end, as a stand-alone precept, it matters little, if at all. 


Charles Bukowski


Yoda was right, after all.  There is either do or don't do.  There is no try.  




-AK 





Wednesday, December 15, 2021

Living the Experiment of Life

 



Ralph Waldo Emerson would smile at and applaud the efforts of the students and the teachers at the Von E. Mauger School, which  is located right up the block from Joe, the Missus, and me in Middlesex.  So close in fact that Sam and I run past it on a regular basis and, this past Sunday morning when my balky knee was too balky to run, ignored the signage declaring "No Pets on School Property" by taking a walk all over its grounds.  

Frank Martelli, 14, is a student at Mauger.  Frank's little brother, Izzy Qazi, is just eight years old.  Izzy is battling a rare form of pediatric cancer, which is known as Stage 4 embryonal rhabdomyosarcoma.  It is a soft-tissue cancer, of which you can read more written by people (unlike me) who know of which they write, by clicking this link

Izzy was diagnosed in February.  As you might imagine, this has not been the best year ever for Izzy, Frank, or their mom, Kimberlee Shamaa, who is raising six kids.  Izzy is in the midst of a fifty-four-week chemotherapy treatment plan.  Frank, wanting to do whatever he can to try to lessen the strain on his family, enlisted the help of his fellow Mauger students and teachers.  Mauger has a club, appropriately named the DoSomething Club, and its coordinator, Elizabeth DeMargo, said that Frank came to the Club's first meeting with a request, "Can we do something for my brother?" 

As it turns out, they could.  And they did. 

To date, the kids at Mauger have raised more than $5,000 to help Izzy's family with their medical bills.  In addition, the teachers and staff at Mauger have donated Christmas gifts for Frank, Izzy, and their four siblings.  

It is a remarkable story, and I invite you to read it and to watch the video embedded within it, which you can find here.  A reminder, perhaps, of the fact that there are more things inherent in all of us that bind us than there are that separate us.  A reminder, perhaps, as well of the fact that listening to our better angels has never served us poorly.  

A reminder, perhaps, also of the truism that doing something for someone else, no matter how large or small that something might be, is far better than doing nothing.  

-AK 

Tuesday, December 14, 2021

The Humble Nickelodeon

A nickel’s worth of insight for a mid-December Tuesday.  Worry not for the insight is not mine.  I am merely the Nickelodeon…




Be careful out there.  And make sure to get your money’s worth out of this life.  

Today and every day.

-AK






Monday, December 13, 2021

And To All, A Good Knight



Although it was not necessarily the most aesthetically-pleasing morning of the month thus far, Saturday proved to be a great day on the banks of the old Raritan.  Rutgers University's Recreation Department has - since 2003 - put on the Big Chill 5K each December.  In years past, in lieu of a registration fee, participants donated an unwrapped toy for a child who might otherwise not receive one.  This year, in the race's post-COVID return, they changed it up a little.  The 2,621 of us who ran or walked paid a $25.00 fee, which shall be used to purchase toys and winter clothing (such as coats) for children in need. 

It was nice to see so many people out and about, doing a little bit of good, on an overcast (and occasionally drizzly) and unseasonably warm December morning here in the State of Concrete Gardens.   I took these pictures just before the gun went off to begin the race, which give you some sense of the number of folks assembled on College Avenue.








I am happy too that my fellow running enthusiasts, Brooke and Gidg, each made 2021 her maiden voyage in the Big Chill.  Brooke, who is the fastest of our little group (and by a sizable margin) had already finished and taken up a spot near the finish line waiting for Gidg and for me, as I ambled up College Avenue.  I am glad she did for she not only bore witness to my near-death experience; she captured it on video!




It is not everyday that I get chased by a costumed character brandishing a broadsword, although as you can tell from my immediate embrace of evasive tactics, I am no stranger to running from angry and/or possibly angry people.   I wish I could pin that entirely on being a lawyer but I reckon me being me has more than a little something to do with it. 




A simply terrific morning from beginning to end.  I am already looking forward to next year. 

-AK 








  

Sunday, December 12, 2021

Hey, This Isn't Andy Williams!



Christmas is less than two weeks away.   Thirteen days in fact.  On a lark, one Saturday night last December as Margaret, Joe, and I ate dinner, I started singing a silly, made it up on the fly Christmas song.  Well, my topical take on a Christmas classic.  My father-in-law, who in his late eighties still possesses the vestiges of the classic Italian tenor voice that was his calling card sixty years ago, laughed appropriately at the lyrics and did not recoil in horror at my inability to carry a tune. 

It struck the three of us as being funny enough to preserve for posterity.   We did.  The other afternoon, towards the end of what had been a particularly long day at work, I remembered that I had the video Margaret made (on the second take if memory serves) on my phone.  I found it and sent it to her.  We both still got a great kick out of it.  

Here is to hoping you do as well. 





-AK

 


Saturday, December 11, 2021

Chillin' for a Good Cause

If the fearless weather forecasters are to be believed, with rain and temperatures in the low to mid sixties it shall prove difficult - if not impossible - for one of my favorite December events to live up to its name this morning.   After a one-year hiatus due to COVID-19, the Big Chill 5K returns to Rutgers University.  The bear is back! 




I have run in the Big Chill multiple times over the past dozen-plus years.  It holds a special place in my heart for two reasons.  First, its mission is to do good, providing assistance to those in need at Christmas.  This year, in an acknowledgement of COVID's continuing presence in all our lives, toys shall not be collected from all participants.  Instead, our registration fees shall be used to purchase clothes and toys and other items for children in need as well as some other excellent causes

The other reason the Big Chill maintains its place on the ever-shrinking list of races I run is that it is the first race in which I ever participated.  Way back when in 2008, Wilma talked me into running it with her.  I am sure she still laughs at the memory of me, not only not wearing a running watch but not knowing such an instrument existed, having come close to experiencing death climbing up George Street asking how close we were to the finish only to have her tell me we had not yet passed the 1 mile mark.  At least, back then, when I signed up for a race, I ran its entire length so on that long-ago December Saturday morning, I completed all 3.1 miles...and not simply 35.5% of the race as I would in the 2021 New York City Marathon. 

For the first time this morning, two bad asses are chilling for the first time.  Gidg and Brooke are running in their first-ever Big Chill.  It shall be an outstanding morning, irrespective of the weather forecast, which appears to have been written by Greg Lake


"I Believe in Father Christmas"
-Greg Lake


-AK 






 

Friday, December 10, 2021

A Long-Awaited Answer to a Prayer

 

Gil Hodges 1952 Baseball Card
(c) Topps Chewing Gum Company

From her well-deserved spot in Heaven, Mom smiled this week.  Fifty years after his death at age 47, and long after it seemed to be an attainable goal any longer, Gil Hodges has finally been voted into the Baseball Hall of Fame.   On July 24, 2022 his widow Joan, their son Gil, Jr., and their three daughters Barbara, Irene, and Cynthia will travel to Cooperstown for a ceremony that in their darkest moments none of the five of them likely believed would ever happen.   

Mom was a die-hard Brooklyn Dodgers fan.  It is important here - as it always was for her - to note the geographical nature of her fandom.  The Dodgers were her team growing up and she lived and died with them every autumn.  Once they moved to California, and regardless of whether Walter O'Malley or Robert Moses was the true villian of that piece, they were dead to her.  Mom never rooted for the Los Angeles Dodgers just as Dad, who was a New York Giants fan, never rooted for the San Francisco Giants.  Talk about Irish Alzheimer's.  My folks embodied it - at least when it came to baseball and teams that had abandoned their respective boroughs of New York City to move 3,000 miles away.  

Her love for the Brooklyn Dodgers never waned.  I did not realize just how many books related to her Boys of Summer I had bought her as presents until she died and Kara, Jill, and I packed up her condo in Jupiter, Florida.  It turned out to be somewhere in the neighborhood of eighteen or twenty.  When we drove north at week's end, I brought them all home with me.  I did not have the heart to throw them out.  I still have them.  I have only read a few of them in the four and one-half years since Mom died.  

I actually read Praying for Gil Hodges  which Thomas Oliphant (then writing for the Boston Globe) released in 2005, years before Mom died.  I had heard Oliphant discussing the book on the radio one morning with Don Imus and as it sounded like something Mom would enjoy (the story focuses on the 1955 World Series and, also, on Dodgers fans all over Brooklyn literally praying for Gil Hodges to break out of a bad batting slump, which Mom had told me years earlier was something she had done herself), I bought if for her for either Mother's Day or her birthday.   When she completed it, she called me to tell me that she had enjoyed it very much.  She also called to ask me if I had known, when I bought it, Oliphant wrote in it about Dad.  I told her that I had not.  

As fate would have it, in the fall of 1955, when Brooklyn's beloved Dodgers battled the Yankees in the World Series (ultimately capturing the only World Series they would win while calling Brooklyn home), Thomas Oliphant was a fifth-grade student at the Browning School for Boys in Manhattan.  Dad was his history teacher.  In the book, Oliphant noted (correctly) that Dad, a Giants fan who hated the Dodgers but loathed the Yankees, taught Oliphant and his classmates the concept of "the enemy of the enemy is my friend" as he rooted for the Dodgers to finally vanquish the Bronx Bombers.  

Oliphant's references to my father, while brief and while undercut somewhat by the fact that he misspelled our last name (he added that second "e" between the double n and the y), described a man who, frankly, I never knew.  The almost twelve years that passed between Oliphant's introduction to Dad as a fifth-grader and my introduction to him as a newborn baby exacted a greater toll on Dad than I ever could have possibly fathomed, as did the fourteen-plus years that passed between my birth and his own death at fifty-seven, in 1981.  

A Borough's prayer has finally been been answered.  For Gil Hodges, for Joan, and for their children, "waiting 'til next year" no longer is an empty platitude but is, instead, a declaration.  It is next year, 2022, where a dream, long believed to be impossible, shall be fulfilled.  

Somewhere, Mom is smiling.  And I suspect that Dad is too. 


Photo Credit:  Metsmerized (Twitter)

-AK 





Thursday, December 9, 2021

Immortality Awaits

A nickel’s worth (adjusted for inflation) of insight for a Thursday in early December…




As it turns out, immorality is not beyond the reach of anyone.   

-AK



Wednesday, December 8, 2021

The Truest Measures of Time



 Life is often measured by its length,
Which might be the easiest way to measure it,
But is far from the best way to do so.  
Rather, life should be measured by its depth
And its breadth for it is in them, and not length,
Where its fullness lies.  
-PopPop Rule #14

I hope not to jinx them but if all goes according to Hoyle, at some time today the Watchung branch of the family business will finally get to relocate to its home office after what has been (by my estimate) roughly four months on the road.   Suzanne, Ryan, Maggie, Cal, Rylan, and their faithful canine companion Leo, have spent the last month-plus with the Missus and me in a space not nearly big enough for all of us.  Yet they survived it.  We survived it.  My three grandkids, the oldest of whom turned 4 1/2 just this week, have handled this adventure like the small warrior poets each of them is.  I could not be prouder of them.  

On Sunday past, I had an all-too-rare opportunity to spend a bit of time with just the three of them.  From start to finish, we spent less than fifteen minutes together.  It was how we spent it, however, which mattered.  

Zen Pig and her four disciples
Photo Credit:  Nana


Long after they have learned to read and no longer pay any attention at all to the ramblings of their Pop Pop, this moment shall live in my memory.  This was as great a way as I have ever spent a Sunday.  Neither time nor distance shall ever change that fact.   

-AK


 

Tuesday, December 7, 2021

Four Score and Forever

On his honeymoon in June, 2014 my son Rob took what has been since I first saw it one of my favorite photographs.  Its beauty never fails to raise a catch in my throat.  


Old Glory as seen thru the USS Arizona Memorial 
Pearl Harbor, HI (June 2014)
Photo credit:  Robert J. MacMaster


It was eighty years ago today that the USS Arizona made its heart wrenching transformation from active duty battleship to eternal resting place for far too many of its sailors who died aboard it when the Imperial forces of Japan attacked Pearl Harbor and forced the United States into WW II as an active combatant.  

Slightly more than three and one-half years - and countless lives lost - later, WW II ended with the unconditional surrender of the Imperial forces of Japan on the deck of the USS Missouri, which itself  presently occupies a place of honor at Pearl Harbor.  

Eighty years.  It is both a long time and an eye blink.   Except for those killed that day.  For them, it is forever.   

-AK










Monday, December 6, 2021

Godspeed to the Greatest Generation



This weekend, this country bade farewell to (at least) two more members of the Greatest Generation.  

Colonel Ed Shames was the last surviving brother from the Band of Brothers, the men of the United States Army's Easy Company, 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division who fought their way across Europe from Normandy to Hitler's Eagle's Nest.  He was ninety-nine years old when he died, peacefully at home, on Friday. 

Bob Dole died on Sunday.  He was ninety-eight years old.  His life in the service of this country included not only his World War II service in which he suffered a serious injury that he used as an impetus to achieve tremendous success, including during his long career in the United States Senate.   He sought the Republican nomination for the Presidency of the United States three times, earning it in 1996, when Bill Clinton defeated him to win a second term in the White House. A lifetime ago, in 1988, I volunteered for his campaign for the Republican nomination while I was a junior at CU.   He did not win the nomination, of course, which President George H.W. Bush (‘41) captured.  He carried himself in defeat with the same grace he exhibited in triumph.  

All these years later, I still list my experience working for his campaign on my resume and my bio.  I do it because it makes me feel good to have been associated with Mr. Dole, even if it was only for a fleeting moment a long, long time ago.  

-AK




 

Sunday, December 5, 2021

A Month of Sundays

Today is the first Sunday in December.   Twenty-eight days ago, on November’s first Sunday, I woke up at the Wall Street Inn in lower Manhattan prepared to complete the New York City Marathon one final time and excited that Margaret and I had signed a contract to buy a home in Manasquan.   

With respect to the latter, the deal fell through, which is often the case in real estate transactions.  Our search continues.   

With respect to the former, that did not happen either...  




…as you might have heard.

-AK

Saturday, December 4, 2021

Something More Important Than Fear



Tate Myre died this week.   Truth be told, he was murdered.   When the latest in the seemingly endless series of disgruntled teenagers opened fire on his fellow Oxford, Michigan High School students, Tate Myre did not run from the gunfire in an effort to save himself.  Instead he ran towards it, in an effort to save as many as he could.  He paid for his valor with his life, dying in the back of the marked police car that officers were driving with all due speed in a desperate attempt to get him to a hospital.  

Tate Myre was sixteen years old.   The youngest of three brothers, he was a star athlete on Oxford High’s football and wrestling teams.  On what tragically proved to be the last weekend of his life, he visited the University of Toledo on a recruiting visit for football.  Apparently at some point after he had accepted Toledo’s invitation, he was extended one to visit Michigan State University for its game against Penn State.   I know not how many kids in that spot would have sent eleventh-hour regrets to Toledo and made their way to East Lansing.   

I know one who did not.





-AK