Saying Goodbye (and Good Riddance) to 2021

I was working on my 2021 retrospective blog post this afternoon when I got the news that Betty White had died. She was nearly 100-- and so healthy that People magazine featured her on the cover with an article about her upcoming birthday. But she passed away in her sleep last night, totally unexpectedly. In some ways, that is just typical of how 2021 was-- just when you thought it was heading in one direction, it headed in another direction entirely.

Frankly, I won't be sorry to see 2021 go. Agreed, it had a few high points, like my 7th anniversary of being cancer-free. But over all, it was a year of frustration and disappointment for so many of us, beginning with the attempted insurrection on January 6th. I never expected to see anything like that in my lifetime. I never expected to see a violent mob try to undo the results of an election. I thought that happened in other countries, but not in ours.  And what made it worse was hearing some people, and some politicians, defend it. But there is no defense for what happened.  We've always had the peaceful transfer of power, whether "our guy" won or lost. Watching the events of January 6th unfold made me afraid for our democracy. It was not a good way to start the year.

I remember how hopeful I was when a vaccine for COVID became more widely available. Having spent most of 2020 indoors, the thought of actually (not virtually) seeing my friends and going out for ice cream with my husband was an encouraging thought. I got the vaccine as soon as it was available, and within a few weeks, I was able to see (and hug) my friend Meg and visit a bookstore and eat at a restaurant. Life seemed like it was returning to some version of normal.

And then it wasn't. There was a new variant, and COVID numbers began to rise again, and people worried that the vaccines wouldn't be able to protect us, and the promise of being free from COVID was postponed. Many schools returned to online classes (and so many of our students were already in a state of crisis, having lost family members to the virus); and everything that seemed so promising was suddenly back to being uncertain. As I said, it was that kind of year.

Congress spent much of 2021 being quarrelsome, although several major pieces of legislation did get passed-- including one that will, hopefully, improve broadband nationwide. It has always mystified me why a country like ours has been okay with such poor quality broadband service for so long -- some parts of the US don't even have access to it at all, which in 2021 is outrageous, especially in a world where so many students need it for school. Like him or hate him, Pres. Biden was able to get the infrastructure bill through, and I applaud him for doing so-- others before him tried, but they did not succeed. He did. And that will benefit a lot of folks. 

In addition to Betty White, we lost a number of good people in 2021-- too many to name, but among them, actor Norman Lloyd died at age 106 (I loved his work in "St. Elsewhere"); and Ed Asner who famously played Lou Grant, died at age 91. Willie Garson, who starred in "White Collar" and "Sex in the City," died way too young, from cancer, at 57; the music industry lost Michael Nesmith of the Monkees, Gerry Marsden of Gerry and the Pacemakers, Jay Black of Jay and the Americans, Charlie Watts of the Rolling Stones, Mary Wilson of the Supremes, Dusty Hill of ZZ Top, and Don Everly of the Everly Brothers.  Radio lost the legendary music director Rosalie Trombley, and local Boston media lost Dean Johnson, a friend and colleague and one of the good guys in our industry.

In late 2021, my husband became severely ill with pneumonia; it was a very scary period of time, and now that he is well on his way to a full recovery, I thank God every day for good doctors (and for health insurance). It was another reminder that if you've got your health, you've got everything.    

In 2021, more and more people seemed to think it was okay to be angry and threatening when they disagreed with others: I saw a lot of this on social media, but some folks saw it in stores, on airplanes, and in restaurants. I miss the era when being courteous was the norm.  Meanwhile, schools (and teachers) became the object of outrage too, often unfairly ginned up by politicians. I've said it before and I'll say it again: while every profession has a few bad apples, the vast majority of teachers are hardworking, dedicated, and vastly underpaid. They do not deserve the scorn and insults that many of them received this year. Rather, they deserve our thanks for the work they do educating our kids, under often-difficult circumstances. 

And now, here we are at the end of 2021, and as I said, I won't miss it. I have no idea what 2022 will look like, but I do hope it will be more peaceful, more kind, and more tolerant than 2021 was. And I also hope it will be a year when we all return to good health. Thank you to everyone who read my blog in 2021. I hope I was reasonably interesting. I look forward to whatever 2022 holds, and I'll be here (God willing) to write about it. Wishing you a wonderful new year and sending much love. 

Facing Down the Future Coming Fast

I was on a Rush Deep Dive webcast several days ago, and the song I was asked to analyze, from the "Hold Your Fire" album, was "Turn the Page." For those who read my blog, you may recall I mentioned it about a year ago, as I was commemorating the passing of Alto Reed, who played that haunting sax solo on Bob Seger's "Turn the Page"-- it's a very different song, but with the same name as the one by Rush. I have always liked them both: two different perspectives on how quickly things can change.

In the Bob Seger song, he sings about his life as a traveling musician, playing in city after city. "Here I am, on the road again, there I am up on the stage; here I go, playing star again, there I go, turn the page." Note how he is "playing" star-- it's not just a musical performance, but it's also a persona, the way he is expected to act. And then, it's time for the next city, and any ties to this one must be cut, and he's on to the next stage and the next performance.  

In the Rush song, Geddy Lee sings, "It's just the age, it's just a stage, we disengage, we turn the page." The stage-- referring, perhaps, to the venue where they play their music, or it could also refer to a stage of development in life.  Neil Peart's lyrics speak of how we are "racing down a river from the past," comparing our lives to "standing in a wind tunnel," or perhaps "standing in a time capsule," but in the end, we can't avoid "facing down the future coming fast." We try to outrun our past, but sooner or later, it catches up to us, and all we can do is either deal with it or try to disengage from it and "turn the page."

But it's not that easy, is it? On Thanksgiving day, my husband took seriously ill and I had to rush him to the hospital. He was diagnosed with pneumonia, and it took many days before he was well enough to come home. I didn't sleep much during that period of time, and no matter how I tried not to worry, I couldn't help feeling afraid. Of course, I tried to seem like I was in control-- I had courses to teach, and responsibilities at my job. So, I performed, as we all do when we have to; but inside, I was terrified.

On the 17th, it will be seven years since I had cancer surgery. I had wonderful doctors, and I am grateful to be alive. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't worry even now. I know logically that if the cancer hasn't come back by this point, it probably isn't going to. But I still lie awake at night sometimes, worrying about whether this story will have a happy ending. So far, it has-- I'm still here (much to the disappointment of my enemies). And so far, my husband's story looks much more promising than it did several weeks ago, and that too is good news. But the uncertainty about what lies ahead is sometimes difficult to avoid, and disengaging from it is hard to do.

On the other hand, I've found great comfort from the folks on social media who have reached out to me-- Rush fans, professional colleagues, educators, folks I knew in radio, friends who have stood by me for many years. Through my husband's illness, through my recovery from cancer, they were there for me. I don't know what the future will hold, but the compassion I've received has helped me to cope with the ups and the downs.  And in a world which at times seems dominated by the loudest voices and the folks who disagree, I find myself once again being thankful for those who brought me their friendship and their kindness-- gifts that matter now more than ever.

First Ladies Get No Respect

Well, evidently Jill Biden is a failure, at least according to about 50% of the folks online: her Christmas decorations are boring and ordinary. Her holiday decorating skills pale in comparison to Melania Trump, whose Christmas decorations were elegant and beautiful. Or not. According to about 50% of the folks online, Melania's Christmas decorations were gawdy and ostentatious. "Tacky," said one critic.

I'm Jewish and I don't much care about Christmas decorations, but as a media historian, I do care about what is written or said about First Ladies. And even though it's 2021, it certainly seems like we still hold First Ladies to an impossible standard. People criticize what they wear. People criticize the charities they favor. And if they make a comment about current events, people criticize their opinion-- or say they should keep it to themselves.    

None of this is new, of course. Back in the 1860s, Mary Todd Lincoln was accused by critics of being greedy and selfish, someone who cared more about spending money than setting a good example for thrift and prudence.  As popular as Eleanor Roosevelt was in the 1930s, she had detractors who accused her of trying to get too much attention from the press, rather than staying in the background.  Fast-forward to the 1980s, and accusations of being a big spender were often made about Nancy Reagan (who was also mocked for her belief in astrology). And when Hillary Clinton was First Lady in the 1990s, her critics said she wasn't ladylike, and they accused her of being pushy, manipulative, and dishonest.  

And I notice that Kamala Harris, our first female Vice President, is being subjected to the same kinds of critiques on social media as First Ladies often receive.  She was recently criticized for buying an expensive cooking pot (the same brand, I might add, that I bought a few years ago-- it does a wonderful job). I truly don't recall male vice presidents getting their purchases critiqued. Does anyone know what Mike Pence bought? Did anyone care?  

On the one hand, we have made some progress-- Dr. Jill Biden (who has also been criticized for wanting to use "Dr.," her professional title) is the first First Lady to hold down a paying job in addition to being First Lady. I'm fine about First Ladies working for pay-- there were many in years past who had excellent credentials but were never allowed to choose whether to work or not. The fact that Mrs. Biden still teaches at a community college is not as controversial it might have been as recently as a decade ago.  

And yet, some folks insist on having a debate over whose Christmas decorations are best, and I wonder why that's even a thing worth discussing. Frankly, I don't think it is. Nor do I think comparing which First Lady is "more glamorous" is useful.  I think these social media discussions are simply a proxy for whether some folks prefer Joe Biden or Donald Trump. 

As for me, I just want to see First Ladies get some respect. Theirs is not an easy job: they get all the scrutiny and criticism, yet they aren't elected, they don't make policy, and their own popularity is often tied to their husband's. In this holiday season, I don't care if Melania or Jill or whoever else wears nicer clothes or hangs up nicer decorations. I just want to see people take a break from sniping and criticizing, and focus on helping others and being kind. Historically, First Ladies haven't always been treated with kindness. Maybe this year is a good time to start.

A Place Where We Can Belong

As some of you know, I used to be a chaplain. I was teaching media courses at Emerson College in Boston at the time, and my job was to be a support person for the Jewish students. There was a Catholic chaplain, and a Protestant chaplain, and a Muslim chaplain, and I think there was a Hindu chaplain too. The regular Jewish chaplain needed a semester off due to illness, and since I had a counseling background (and since I was Jewish), I got asked to fill in. 

Our offices were near each other, and we all had a cordial relationship. In fact, there was nothing particularly remarkable about that semester...except for the fact that everyone who came to see me wasn't Jewish. No, it's not that they wanted to convert. In fact, most of the students who reached out didn't seem to care which denomination of chaplain was available-- they just needed someone to talk to, someone who had a spiritual background.  Fortunately, I've taught world religions, and I do understand the basic tenets of most faiths. I hope that I was able to comfort or encourage the students who came to see me. After all, it's the same God, even if each of our traditions recommends different pathways or uses different scriptures.

What brought this to mind is a rather unpleasant trend I've been noticing among some folks on the far right, both in Europe and in the US. There has been a troubling resurgence of anti-Jewish sentiments in Hungary, in Poland, in Lithuania, and elsewhere.  And we even saw examples of it here in 2017, in Charlottesville VA, when Neo-Nazis marched with their torches, chanting "Jews will not replace us"-- reflecting a false belief called "Replacement Theory" that teaches how Jews are allegedly bringing in millions of non-white immigrants, with the goal of changing the culture and destroying all that white Christians built. (Various permutations of this theory have been around for generations, but thanks to social media, bigots have a much easier time spreading it and finding like-minded individuals who will embrace hatred of Jews, or immigrants, or anyone considered "the other.")  

Last week, a conservative provocateur on social media tweeted that it was time for Jews to "assimilate," to prove they were like everyone else by embracing Christian holidays and ceasing to observe Jewish ones. Needless to say, a lot of us were not amused-- I mean, I'm as American as anyone else, thank you very much. I was born here, as were my parents; my father fought for this country, as did most of my male relatives. And if I celebrate Jewish holidays, I'm still an American.  In fact, one reason why my ancestors came here was because we are guaranteed freedom of religion. I don't need to "prove" that I love America by taking on someone else's religion. I am free to be an American, no matter what religious tradition I follow. Or so I was taught.

But then, several days ago, Michael Flynn, an ally and advisor to the former president, spoke at a rally staged by Christian conservatives in Texas, and he stated, to applause from his audience, that "If we are going to have one nation under God, which we must, we have to have one religion. One nation under God and one religion under God, right?"  Umm, no. Wrong. The Founding Fathers didn't ask for one official religion, and even if it's an applause line at certain events, asserting that America needs to establish Christianity and diminish all other faiths is not in the Constitution.

It's also not a belief I want to see again. I wasn't fond of that kind of bigotry when I was growing up in the 1950s, and it isn't a belief that has aged well. And yet, today, there are websites and videos that promote it, and evidently there are some people who think it's a great idea. I'm not one of them. I hope you're not either. America has long benefited from different beliefs and different perspectives. Agreed, finding common ground isn't always easy when it comes to certain theological issues; but just like when I was a chaplain, sometimes the goal should be giving people encouragement and helping them to find their own path. 

There's no right way to do that. But telling some of us we don't belong here, or that our beliefs are inferior (or unwanted), is not a helpful message.  In such a contentious world, having allies is very important: so, even if you're not Jewish, when you hear folks making bigoted remarks, or see them posting those kinds of claims on social media, I hope you'll let them know that you don't accept what they're saying. Maybe you and I don't agree on politics, or religion, or which sports team is the best. But surely we can agree on this: there should be no place for intolerance and religious prejudice in America. Not now. Not ever.     

Where Politics Doesn't Belong

When I tell my students I'm 74, they're often surprised-- fortunately, I'm still reasonably young-looking, but that's not what surprises them. Many of them don't know (or talk to) a lot of people who grew up in the 1950s.  And for obvious reasons, their picture of that time in our history is somewhat different from mine. Theirs was shaped by the news stories they learned about in history class, along with the iconic figures they studied. Mine was shaped by being there and seeing a lot of it unfold in real time-- although I admit I didn't always understand the importance of it all, because I was not quite in my teens.  

It's no myth to say the fifties were a very conservative and traditional era, where conformity was valued; it was a time when young people used rock music as one of their few forms of rebellion.  Fortunately for me, I had parents who encouraged me to read, and who discussed current issues with me; it made me feel very grown up to do that.  In fact, I still remember watching the evening news and then talking about it, especially with my mother.

But here's what we didn't talk about: politics. Now, I know what you are thinking: "But Donna, if you watched the news, the president (Dwight D. Eisenhower) was a Republican. And the governor of Massachusetts was a Democrat (Foster Furcolo)." That's true-- but I had no idea that one was good and the other was bad. In my house, we focused on what these people did, not what party they were from. I got the impression that my family tended to vote for Democrats, but on the other hand, sometimes, they liked Republicans. And I was a kid, and that was fine with me.

I had no idea what political party our family doctor came from-- I just knew he seemed like a very friendly and trustworthy guy and my parents liked him.  At the synagogue we attended, I had no clue who the rabbi voted for; he mainly spoke about the scriptures and about living an ethical life.  Frankly, it never occurred to me that I should know his political views.  Nor did I know the political views of our dentist or the pharmacist or the Kosher butcher or the milkman (they still delivered milk to your home back then).  Some of them were outgoing, some of them seemed totally focused on business; some seemed to like kids, and others regarded kids as a nuisance. But none of these folks talked about politics with the customers. Ever.

And as for my teachers-- most seemed very traditional and very serious.  They didn't like rock music, and they expected us to conform to whatever the norms were back then. Some were nice, some were strict, but I couldn't tell you who their favorite candidates were. Similarly, my mother would go to PTA and meet with various teachers, but nobody screamed at anyone. Disagreements were handled, but everyone was expected to be polite.  I'm not claiming it was an ideal universe where everyone loved everyone else-- my mother belonged to several volunteer organizations, and I'm sure there was plenty of pettiness and gossiping, as there is in every generation. But again, nobody shouted at the board members, nobody issued threats, nobody stormed out and promised to return with a gun.    

Today, I heard about a Southwest Airlines pilot who made an anti-Joe Biden remark over the loudspeaker. For months, in various states, I've been reading about school board meetings where people have been showing up to express their outrage at one thing or another, shouting at board members and calling them vulgar names.  I've seen videos of high school sporting events where parents are cursing out the referees, or cursing out the coaches. And this has been going on for a while. Some people want to blame the Democrats. Others want to blame the Republicans. Or Facebook. Or Twitter.  Or the pandemic. Fill in your favorite villain. 

But as for me, I blame a shift in the culture. And one problem is the need for some boundaries-- there ought to be spaces where politics doesn't belong, where everything isn't about what tribe you're in and which candidate you support. I absolutely do not miss the conformity or the casual bigotry I saw in the 50s. But I do miss being able to interact with people as people-- not as folks with the right views or folks who supported the right party. I'm tired of the anger, the rudeness, the divisiveness, the blame. And I'm really tired of the pundits who claim it's all the fault of [fill in the blank]. 

No, it's on each of us-- to say enough is enough and stop treating even the slightest disagreement like it's going to lead to World War 3. It's on each of us to model courtesy and show kids they can disagree without hating the "other side." But above all, it's on each of us to stop weaponizing our political differences. I want to be able to go into a store or take a plane ride or attend a ballgame without hearing vulgar political chants.  So yes, by all means, vote for the candidates you believe in, vote for the causes that animate you. But don't go on social media and mock the folks who didn't support "your side."  Let's stop making everything about politics. It's not doing anyone any good... and it's doing our country a lot of harm. 

 

 

 

The People who Inspire Us

The other day, I got some folks on social media upset with me when I said that I never understood the popularity of Kim Kardashian and Paris Hilton, who are basically famous for being famous.  A number of fans of Kim K leaped to her defense-- even though I wasn't really attacking her. They told me she has done great work in prison reform, to cite one example. As I understand it, that's a fairly recent cause for her; but no matter how long she has done it, I'm certainly glad she is using her wealth and fame to do some good in the world.  However, that wasn't my point.  I was just musing about how some celebrities (both male and female) have no particular accomplishments other than being well-known, and yet they are adored by millions of folks -- and I can't understand why.  

I am sure that the folks who took me to task for insulting her (or seeming to insult her) are sincere when they say they find her inspirational. But I must admit I don't share their views. I generally don't find most celebrities to be inspirational. Entertaining? Yes. Nice people, in some cases? Yes. But inspirational? Not usually.  I spent four decades in media, as most of you know, and I met my share of famous people-- movie  and TV stars, radio deejays, athletes, and many well-known musicians. I've got lots of great memories and lots of great stories. But very few of the folks that I met were a source of inspiration for me-- even if I was impressed with their achievements.

There were a few exceptions, of course. The three members of Rush are an inspiration to many of us-- these guys worked their way up from nothing, spending long days and nights on the road perfecting their craft, and when they did become famous, they remained the same down-to-earth, kind people as when I first met them. They were charitable before, and they remained charitable-- but they rarely let anyone know. I also found Dolly Parton inspirational for the same reason-- she too worked her way up from nothing, and even after she became a household name, she never really changed who she was.  When I met her, she was remarkably humble; she never acted like someone who takes herself too seriously. 

But for the most part, while there have been a number of celebrities I liked and admired, I've generally found my inspiration from people most of you have never met-- and probably have never heard of.  Last week, I gave a talk for the Antique Wireless Association, about the women of early amateur (and commercial) radio. If you didn't see it, it's here:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kw5PbqtLuis&t=2241s  Most of these women never became famous. Most never became rich. But their contributions to broadcasting were often groundbreaking. I never forget that I am standing on their shoulders: if they had not had the courage to pursue what was a mostly all-male profession, the industry might never have opened its doors to me years later. 

I find what my grandparents did very inspirational-- imagine the challenges of coming to a new country, where you don't speak the language; escaping prejudice in the old country and trying to create a better future for your children in a land where you don't know anyone and you aren't always welcomed. What my immigrant ancestors did never made them rich or famous or popular. But thanks to their courage, and the determination of my own parents, I'm able to tell this story.

Most of all, I find inspiration in people who have spent their lives trying to make the world a better place: the teachers, the social workers, the folks who advocate for human rights, the first responders... these are people who don't believe it's all about them, who are determined to do their part because it's the right thing to do... even when it seems nobody notices.

SO, that's all I meant. Yes, I applaud the great athletes and the famous performers. But every day, quietly, the good deeds of people who receive far too little appreciation keep our world going. And without any insult intended to your favorite athlete, movie star, or YouTube celebrity, I wonder why as a culture, we often praise the already-famous and ignore the folks who are really doing what matters. So, to all the folks who are making a difference, my thanks and my gratitude. Perhaps you'll never become famous-- but then again, maybe you don't want to be.

The Message on the Shirt

Several days ago, I saw an article about country singer Jason Aldean, his wife, and their two kids (ages two and three).  I admit I'm not a fan of country music, but I always like to see what celebrities are up to, given that I teach courses in popular culture. So, imagine my surprise to see the Aldean family proudly modeling a line of anti-Joe Biden shirts, a line that includes a shirt that reads F*** Joe Biden (with the word spelled out). 

Before some of my conservative friends get upset with me ("You wouldn't complain if it were a pro-Biden shirt!" or "You wouldn't complain if it were a F*** Trump shirt!"), let me repeat what I said on social media as soon as I read the article:  Actually, I would complain. And here's why:  the Aldeans have two kids, who are two and three years old. They did not ask to be models. They did not ask to be representatives for their parents' political views. In fact, I'd be surprised if they knew much about Joe Biden, other than the (obviously) hateful things they've been taught. 

I am absolutely fine with Jason Aldean disliking Joe Biden. I am absolutely fine with him expressing his views on politics, or any other topic he wants to discuss. Ditto for his wife. But they are adults. They (theoretically) know why they believe as they do. I may not agree with their beliefs, but I respect their right to have them.

However, as parents, they should be setting an example, and using their kids to sell political merchandise isn't the kind of example that's good for those kids. What they are being taught at a young age is to hate a guy who never did anything to them, a guy who doesn't even know them. They are being apprenticed into a worldview where one side is good and the other side is evil, where a shirt that expresses strong views against the current president is considered an adorable thing for a little kid to wear.          

But it's not. Call me old-fashioned, but I don't think little kids should be involved in the political battles of their parents. I think little kids should be... little kids. They should be playing with their toys, learning the ABCs, helping to walk the family dog... and learning how to be kind. Evidently Jason Aldean and his wife believe they are teaching their kids a valuable lesson, but I think they're teaching them the wrong one. 

In the world today, we have enough hate, enough divisiveness, enough pointless social media arguments, enough angry talk shows, and more than enough myths about how "our side" is the best, and everyone on "the other side" is the worst. Why do kids need to learn this? Why can't they learn respect and tolerance? Why can't they remain innocent, just for a little while? Too often, society forces kids to grow up too fast. Parents shouldn't be accelerating that process. And the way I see it, that's exactly what the Aldeans are doing. And I wish they wouldn't do it.        

Let it Be

As I am writing this, it's nearly time for Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. For Jews all over the world, it's a day of self-reflection, fasting, prayer, and communal worship; we ask for God's forgiveness, and we pledge to do better in the year ahead.  Because of the pandemic, many synagogues are still limiting attendance, and many are also offering online services. Last year, my husband and I virtually attended services at the Aventura Turnberry Synagogue in North Miami and the Central Synagogue in New York City. Agreed, it wasn't the same as being there in person, but the services were beautifully done and we was grateful to watch them.  

There is one other thing I do every year on Yom Kippur: I not only refrain from eating; I also turn off all my devices for that 24-hour period. No computer. No email. No checking my phone for messages. No engaging in discussions (or debates) on social media. I put it all aside for that period of time. 

You may have heard of a "media fast," and in times like these, I think it's a useful exercise.  As we have all become increasingly more attached (addicted?) to our devices, many of us can't imagine going without them for a few minutes, let alone an entire day. I know people, including students of mine, who check their email constantly. I know people who are perpetually looking at their phones-- even at lunch with friends. (Maybe I'm just a curmudgeon, but I can't imagine what is so urgent that one has to constantly keep an eye on that phone... I mean, if you are a doctor who is on-call, I totally get it; but if you're eating lunch with friends, why not focus on the people you're sitting with?)

So, I'm about to turn off all my devices. It's an interesting experience, going old-school.  I find it makes me more aware of what's around me. Sometimes, I go for a walk and watch the birds; sometimes I spend time reading (I have a number of books about religion and spirituality, and it's nice to read them without any other distractions). I chat with my husband.  And sometimes, I just sit and think. Given the many electronic stimuli we're all accustomed to, doing this may sound boring, but I can assure you it's not.

Research shows that while our devices are convenient, they have also changed us-- sometimes for good, but sometimes not. And while the Day of Atonement is my good excuse to turn everything off, it seems to me that we could all use a day when we go outside, appreciate the natural world around us, and stop worrying about the emails and instant messages we might be missing. 

And so, despite the busy and pressure-filled lives so many of us lead, I invite you to engage in your own media fast. You may find yourself noticing things you previously took for granted. You may at first feel annoyed, but you may also find that it's nice to not have to worry about returning messages or arguing about something on Twitter. Sometimes, it's nice to just step back. Sometimes, it's nice to just enjoy the peace and quiet. Sometimes, it's nice to just let it be.       

 

A Garden to Nurture and Protect

For the past few months, I've been part of a webcast called the Rush Deep Dive (you can find the episodes on YouTube). Each of the participants analyzes a song from a Rush album-- usually a deep track that isn't as well known, but we think it should be. This past week, we did a Fans' Choice episode, where the audience told us some songs they wanted us to discuss. That's how I had the opportunity to delve into one of my favorite Rush songs ever, "The Garden."  If you aren't familiar with it, there's a beautiful live version here: Rush "The Garden" Live in Dallas. And you can see the episode where I discussed "The Garden" here:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J952UN4vEOQ&t=2169s 

The timing for discussing this song was perfect: it's the month of Elul on the Jewish calendar, and during that month, it's customary to visit the graves of our deceased loved ones, to remember them, and to promise to do good deeds in their memory. So, a couple of days ago, I visited my late parents, and some of my relatives. (It's also a custom to leave a small stone on top of the grave marker, so that others will know you've been there.) But I also visited some very old graves that looked like nobody had been there in years. Perhaps there was no-one left to visit, or perhaps the relatives had moved far away. So, I stopped by a few of them; and as I stood there, I wondered about who they were during their life.

It made me think about who gets remembered, and who does not. And it made me think about the lyrics from "The Garden." The metaphor of life as a garden has been used in literature many times, and I've always liked it.  In Neil Peart's lyrics, he writes about how "The future disappears into memory, With only a moment between, Forever dwells in that moment, Hope is what remains to be seen."  Despite how difficult things can be sometimes, we want so much to be hopeful. And during our life, whether it seems that way or not, we all have many opportunities to make our garden beautiful, to make it a gift we can leave to others. 

Neil writes, "The measure of a life is a measure of love and respect..." And isn't that what matters most? Material goods come and go. Our possessions come and go. But if we are loved and respected, if we have a life that is worthy of love and respect, that is a life well-lived. And it is up to us to "nurture and protect" our garden, so that the next generation will look at it and be glad they experienced it. And they will nurture and protect their own garden, making their own life a place where love and respect can grow.

I am sure those people I visited, those people I never knew, tried to live that kind of life, tried to leave the people they loved with something valuable, something worth remembering.  I know for a fact that my parents lived that kind of life. Neil lived that kind of life too.  And that is why it is so important to remember those who contributed to us. That is why it is so important to make the time to appreciate what they gave us, what they left for us.

The other day, someone said to me that my legacy would be that I discovered Rush. It's certainly something to be thankful for, and I'm glad I played some small part in their success. But to be honest, I'm not sure I want that as my legacy. When I die, assuming anyone does remember me years from now, I hope they will say I tried to be an ethical person. I hope they will say I tried to be compassionate. And I hope they will say I did my part to make this world a better place.  That is what my parents taught me to do. That is what Neil invited us all to do: "the way you live, the gifts that you give... In the fullness of time, a garden to nurture and protect." 

When the Walls Are Closing In

I've had a difficult time sleeping the past several nights, and maybe you'll think I'm being foolish. But what is happening in Afghanistan is really bothering me. I'm actually surprised at how intensely it's affecting me.  I follow world news fairly closely, and at times something will happen that truly saddens me, or even makes me angry.  But it rarely keeps me up at night like the resurgence of the Taliban has done. 

I've been worrying about what will happen to Afghanistan's women and girls, especially in Kabul.  I can only imagine how scared they are right now.  I know it's not the same thing, but I keep thinking about the 1930s in Nazi Germany, how my ancestors must have felt knowing that Hitler was on the march, aware that the nice, modern lives they had been leading were about to end... how frightened they must have been, how helpless, nowhere to run, and few if any ways to escape.  

I'm not being overly dramatic. The Taliban are well-known for their casual brutality. Their version of religion does not include music or art or movies, and it does not allow for women to have an education or a career. Of course, there is nothing in their scriptures that forbids education for women. There is nothing that forbids many of the things they insist must be banned. But it doesn't matter. This isn't logical. It's about power. And it's about using an extreme interpretation of religion to subjugate women and girls once again.

I guess that's what bothers me the most--that these men think they have the right to do it.  While I've never encountered extremists like them, I've certainly seen powerful men who believed they could do whatever they wanted-- men who thought it was perfectly okay to hit their wife or girlfriend, men who thought it was fine if they harassed or even sexually assaulted a woman, men who believed their daughters didn't need an education. And in many instances, I've seen men who knew better or saw their male friends behaving badly, and they said nothing. 

In Kabul, where women and girls have enjoyed the benefit of having choices and making decisions, they are about to return to lives that are very restricted, where the men call the tune and the women are expected to be obedient... or face the consequences. I wonder why so many men seem to be okay with this. In a way, it reminds me of when I was growing up in the 1950s, a time when women had few options and no matter what we wanted to do, we were told that "girls can't do that." There were few male allies back then. Few men spoke up on our behalf.  I wish they had. 

Maybe that's why this is so upsetting: agreed, I'm not in the same situation, but believe me, I understand feeling trapped. Fortunately, I managed to get through it and my life was never in danger.  But the fear and the depression I felt were very real.  I can only imagine how the women and girls in Kabul are feeling right now, and I wish there were something I could do. I wish there were something the world could do. No, not another military intervention-- I'm among the many who believe we stayed in Afghanistan far too long. But it would be nice to see some of the men--the husbands, the fathers, especially men in neighboring countries--stand up and defend these women and girls, before they lose their futures, before they lose their hope, before they lose their lives...      

When The Cruelty is the Point

I still remember how many times my parents told me not to make assumptions about other people. They said unless I had walked in their shoes, I had no right to judge them. Similarly, those of us who have studied journalism are taught "Don't get out in front of the facts"-- in other words, don't guess, don't speculate, and if you don't know what occurred, don't claim that you do. That too is good advice. More people should follow it, especially these days.

The other day, I had the misfortune of reading some of the comments that were made when champion American gymnast Simone Biles decided to withdraw from competition at the Olympics, citing her emotional health.  The reactions were textbook examples of passing judgment on someone that the commenters had never met, and being cruel in the process. Suddenly, these folks were all experts on her behavior, eager to verbally attack her for what she had done to let them down.  What bothered me the most was that some folks had no compassion towards what she might be going through. They were just angry that she might cost the USA a medal. So they called her a coward. They called her gutless. They said she was letting her country down. And in some cases, they made remarks about her race.  

I saw similar disturbing comments when the four officers testified at the Select Committee hearings about the January 6th Capitol Insurrection. However you feel about politics, and however you feel about who won the election, these men did not deserve to be attacked, tased, beaten, or threatened with death. And the Black officer who testified absolutely did not deserve to be called the N word repeatedly by members of the mob. These officers were doing their job, protecting the building and protecting members of congress (from both parties). Yet the rioters subjected them to repeated assaults, and most showed no remorse.

That night, on Fox News, the officers were accused of "putting on a performance." On social media, they were called vile names and accused of being weak. Two of the officers, who were emotional about what they had endured, were relentlessly mocked and called cowards (along with other names I won't include on this blog-- sad to say, even the former president called them vile names). Nowhere was anyone willing to show even an ounce of empathy towards these officers. Their courage was ignored, in favor of intentional cruelty-- insulting and blaming them for the injuries they sustained. 

I have never met Simone Biles. But I had watched her perform numerous times, and been amazed by how talented she is. Like many, I was eager to watch her compete (even though, frankly, I don't think the Olympics should have been held during a pandemic that refuses to end). But when she said she couldn't do it, when she said she felt overwhelmed, when she said she had to put her mental and emotional health ahead of leading her team, I just hoped she'd be okay. Depression (and I believe that's what she has) is a very misunderstood illness. It deserves a lot more respect and a lot more understanding. And for those who thought insulting her was okay, shame on you.   

I have never met the four officers who testified at the Select Committee. By their own accounts, several are longtime Republicans, and several have voted for Democrats. But when they are on the job, their political views don't matter. Their duty to the constitution and to protecting the members of congress comes first. They helped save lives that terrible day. They did not deserve to be assaulted. The rioters made a misguided effort to stop our democracy from functioning, and these officers put their lives on the line to make sure our democracy survived. People of good will should thank them for telling their stories. Nobody should mock them or insult them or doubt their courage.

And yet, here we are, in a world where too many folks think it's okay to ridicule people they've never met... to ascribe negative motives to them or blame them or lash out on social media, just because they can. I keep hearing my parents saying "don't judge someone unless you've walked in their shoes."  I doubt the folks lashing out at Simone Biles ever competed at an Olympics. I doubt the folks lashing out at those four officers ever defended the Capitol against an angry mob. It's so easy to be a know-it-all when you don't have all the facts but you do have an audience of like-minded friends egging you on. 

I hope Simone Biles gets the support she needs. I hope the four officers know that most of us respect what they do. And above all, I hope that the folks who are showing such a lack of empathy will take a breath and think about what they're doing. At some future time, they may be the ones who need understanding and compassion. And they may be surprised to find that no-one has any to give.

Try a Little Kindness

I read a newspaper article yesterday that really bothered me; and no, it wasn't about politics. It was about breakfast. Or more accurately, it was about a restaurant that serves breakfast every day. But recently, the customers have been acting so rude and angry and insulting that the servers were driven to tears. One customer was angry because he wanted to place an order but the restaurant hadn't opened yet and he was asked to wait. Another group of customers were furious because they couldn't have the table they wanted. Some were irate that the young and inexperienced servers weren't bringing the food fast enough (like many restaurants, this one is short-handed, as they only re-opened recently and are still hiring staff).  

Long story short, after one outburst too many, the managers decided to close down for a day, to treat their young (and very demoralized) staff to a "day of kindness." When the managers posted about it on social media, they found that numerous other restaurants have been seeing the same kinds of behaviors from customers. Because of the pandemic, there's evidently a year's worth of pent-up frustration from the public; and employees at restaurants are bearing the brunt of it.  

To be honest, I find this puzzling.  Agreed, nobody likes to be kept waiting at a restaurant. Agreed, not having the table you reserved waiting for you is annoying. And so is having a server who seems to be inexperienced. But I've seen folks scream at servers at a coffee shop for giving them Sweet and Lo instead of Equal. I've seen folks get outraged when the line was moving too slowly, or when someone's favorite flavor of doughnut wasn't available. 

I know we've all been through a terrible year, and many of us are now able to get back out there. I, for one, am grateful. I, for one, am happy to be vaccinated and able to see my friends again. And frankly, as a cancer survivor, I have to say that if the worst thing that has happened to you is someone made your drink wrong or didn't bring your order as quickly as you had hoped, then it's still not a bad day. (Trust me: having a cancer diagnosis is much worse.)    

I think it would be good for everyone to observe a "day of kindness." Instead of screaming at the server, or mocking the host, or insulting the manager on social media, how about considering that they may have been through a lot this past year too, and they may need some time to get things back up to speed. I understand that many of us are feeling stressed, but how about putting things in perspective-- sometimes, a little understanding goes a long way.

My mother, of blessed memory, used to say, "You get more flies with sugar than you do with vinegar." Yes, I know, it's a cliché. And when you're having an aggravating day, it's hard to keep that sentiment in mind. We've all been impatient or curt or discourteous at one time or other.  But wouldn't it be nice if we all decided to follow the Golden Rule and treat others the way we'd like to be treated? It might not get you your breakfast any faster, but it might make the world a little less angry, and a little bit calmer. And the way I see it, that's a result we could all benefit from.     

Why Are Teachers Being Demonized?

Not just anyone can be a teacher. In fact, it's an old and tired myth that "those who can, do; those who can't, teach." I can tell you from experience that teachers are some of the most well-trained and qualified professionals you will meet. And yes, most teachers are folks who not only can, but they do-- every day.  Most teachers have a minimum four-year degree. Many also have a master's, or like Dr. Jill Biden (and me), a doctorate. Many have certificates in areas of specialization. And some come from other professions but decided they wanted to be teachers. 

As a profession, teaching isn't especially lucrative. In lots of cities, it's quite low-paying, in fact. But folks don't become teachers to get rich. They do it because they love kids, and because they love the opportunity to help kids to learn. And while, like every profession, there are some teachers who probably should have gone into a different line of work, the vast majority of the teachers I know are dedicated, hardworking, and caring. 

Too many teachers work in underfunded school districts, in old buildings without any modern conveniences like air-conditioning or computers. They frequently have to pay for school supplies out of their own pockets (or go to crowd-funding sites like my personal favorite, DonorsChoose.org). And often, they are much more than educators; often, they are a combination of motivators, tutors, and even counselors when a kid is in crisis. 

But instead of increasing the funding for schools or helping to modernize the buildings or even giving teachers much-deserved raises, some politicians have decided that teachers are the enemy. I notice with dismay that in a number of states, the majority of which are dominated by conservative legislators, politicians have decided that teachers cannot be trusted, that teachers are indoctrinating their students and teaching them all the wrong things. 

I'm not sure what these politicians are basing this on, and I strongly doubt they've consulted with any of the teachers they are now criticizing.  In fact, I've read some of the bills that these state legislatures are proposing (or passing): they are telling teachers what they can or cannot teach, and what they can or cannot discuss. It's a dangerous trend, and it's not getting enough attention. But it should, because it is going to affect kids' education-- and not in a good way.

One proposed bill would fine teachers as much as $5,000 for talking about racism or sexism in the classroom. Numerous other bills, several of which have already been signed into law, ban the teaching of something that nobody I know in any elementary school, middle school, or high school has been teaching-- so-called "critical race theory." Teachers are also being told to avoid any discussions that would "demoralize" or be "divisive." And they are being told that certain historical facts must either be downplayed or avoided altogether, so as not to upset anyone. (One proposed law would ban any classroom discussions that could cause "psychological distress." By that vague definition, almost any subject could be restricted-- who knows how someone will react to it?)

As a college professor at a private university, I don't have to worry very much about politicians micro-managing my classroom. But I have many friends who teach in public schools, and they are feeling like political pawns. They don't understand why they are suddenly being accused of stuff they would never do. They don't understand why they are being treated with such disdain, and why people who are not teachers are telling them how to do their jobs. And above all, they are afraid that if one student complains (about almost anything), it could put those jobs in jeopardy. 

This has happened at other times in eras past, when one group or other has decided that X is too controversial and must not be taught. Okay fine, I understand the desire of school boards to supervise the curriculum. But letting politicians (from any party) determine what goes on in the classroom is not helpful. I know there are issues we are grappling with as a country, but forbidding these issues from even being discussed, allegedly to "protect" students, doesn't protect them at all. And frankly, I find it offensive that politicians believe their judgment should take priority over what teachers already know how to do. As I said, I know a lot of teachers, all over the country. The ones I know care deeply about their students. The ones I know are skilled professionals. These teachers deserve our respect. They deserve our gratitude. But now more than ever, what these teachers don't deserve is to be demonized by politicians-- the majority of whom have never taught a class in their lives.                     

In Praise of Fathers

If you are a Rush fan, as many folks who read my blog happen to be, you know that one of the things I always liked about Alex, Geddy, and Neil was that they were family men. That's unusual in the music industry.  But on the occasions when I saw the guys with their families, it was obvious to me there was a genuine bond. Living the life of a rock musician meant each of the guys was out on the road a lot. But I knew they loved their wives and kids. And I knew they loved their parents.

I was thinking about parenting this week, partly because Father's Day is coming up, and partly because of the sad news that Neil's dad Glen lost his battle with cancer the other day. I would be lying if I said I spent a lot of time with the Peart family over the years, but when I did speak with them, they were very warm and very courteous, and I liked them a lot.  I last saw Glen and Betty in person during the after-party at the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 2013. It was so obvious to me how protective Neil felt towards them. And when Neil passed last January, Glen and I exchanged emails several times. Glen was a dear human being, and it is no cliché to say that he will be missed. 

Society has long stereotyped what a "good" father is. If you watch old movies or old TV shows, you see fathers represented as men who make a respectable living. Men who know how to keep their kids in line. Men who are tough during a crisis.  Even in our modern and somewhat more egalitarian world, where men sometimes help with dinner or change a diaper, fathers are still expected to know how to fix stuff around the house, and to be the problem-solvers. 

My father, and I am sure Neil's father, and many fathers of that generation, were taught that version of fatherhood. And of course, there's nothing wrong with making a living or knowing how to fix something. But there's a lot more to being a good father. I think fathering is about ethics: it's about teaching one's kids to be honorable human beings and to do the right thing. I can certainly say that even though I never really got along with my father, he was an ethical person, and that was something I admired about him. 

By all accounts, that's how Glen Peart was too-- an ethical person.  And based on my conversations with Neil, he too respected that quality.  I still remember a conversation I had with Neil in 2010, when he told me he wished he had been around more for his daughter from his first marriage, and how determined he was to not repeat that mistake with his young daughter Olivia. When he retired from Rush to spend more time with his wife and daughter, I know how serious he was about that... how much he wanted to be a positive presence in Olivia's life-- not just a paycheck, but a person who was there for her.  

The other day, I found a letter my father wrote to me back in 1970, when I was away from home,  attending a summer institute at Indiana University. The words seemed a lot like my mother's, but the sentiments were definitely my father's. He said he was sorry we weren't getting along, and he said he wanted us to try to communicate better.  Over the years, periodically, we'd stop speaking to each other, and then we'd resume after a while. He never fully understood my need to move away and pursue my broadcasting career. But he learned to accept it. I'd like to believe he was proud of me.  

If you saw the movie "Beyond the Lighted Stage," you know that Neil's family had to accept the fact that Neil preferred a career as a rock and roll drummer, rather than working in the parts department at his father's farm equipment store. When Neil had a chance to become a member of Rush, his dad could have stopped him, but Glen understood how important being a musician was to his son. And so it was that both my dad and Neil's dad sent their kids out into the world with a strong sense of ethics to serve as a guide in difficult times.

And as we come to another Father's Day, I send my love to all the fathers who are willing to listen, the fathers who spend time with their kids, and the fathers who are willing to accept it when their kid chooses a different career path from the one that was expected. I send my enduring thanks to my own father, of blessed memory, for the lessons he taught me, lessons I still use to this day.  And I send my condolences to Neil's family: Glen did a fine job as a father; and how well Neil and his siblings turned out is certainly proof of that.

Glittering Prizes and Endless Compromises

Because this past week was the 47th anniversary of my first playing "Working Man" at WMMS-FM, I ended up with a lot of new followers on social media (I've got more than 7,000 now on Twitter, much to my surprise). Since many of them are new to following me, they're probably also new to my blog, which I've maintained since early 2015. Sometimes, I do blog about Rush (as you can see from checking out some of my past postings); sometimes I blog about sports, or politics, or education. But this time around, I wanted to blog about ethics. 

As Rush fans know, the title of this post comes from the lyrics in the song "Spirit of Radio," but this is a topic I've discussed with Neil (and with other folks) many times. We all want to think of ourselves as ethical. We all want to believe that--unlike some folks-- we do have integrity and, if given the chance, we would do the right thing, where others would not.  Life is rarely that simple, however, and even the best people sometimes find themselves in a situation where they tell a lie, or cut corners, or make excuses. In other words, we don't always live up to our own ideals.

But I've been wondering about where some of us draw the line. I mean, are there things you just would not do, even if you could get away with them?  And if you were called upon to make a difficult choice, how would you decide?  What brought all this to mind was two things that happened recently. One incident involved pro wrestler and actor John Cena, who made the mistake of acknowledging in an interview that Taiwan is a country (which it is). But China sees Taiwan as a breakaway province, and as a result, China's media and the country's leaders demanded that Cena apologize. Cena, who wants desperately for his new movie to be seen in China, almost immediately went on Chinese social media and issued a fervent apology-- even though, deep down, he knew he did nothing wrong. So, wasn't this one of the "endless compromises" that "shatter[s] the illusion of integrity"?  

And then, on a more serious note, there is the 100th anniversary of the Tulsa Massacre, a time in our history when the editors of some allegedly reputable publications, the political leaders of a large city, and even some members of the clergy decided that lying was better than taking responsibility for their part in what happened. On May 31 and June 1, 1921, an angry White mob destroyed the prosperous part of town known as Black Wall Street, killing or injuring large numbers of Tulsa's Black residents.  Sad to say, some columnists incited the mob, using inflammatory and exaggerated headlines, and then praised what the mob was doing. Some White clergymen rationalized and excused the actions of the mob. And the city's White political leaders not only did nothing to try to stop them, but made sure the mob had weapons.  Later, although everyone knew what had really happened, they all worked hard to make sure the facts never came out (and that didn't change for decades).

So, if you were John Cena, would you have stood up to the powerful forces that could determine whether you made a lot of money, or would you have just decided to say what they wanted you to say, take the money, and go on with your career?  And if you were a White reporter in Tulsa, or the mayor, or the leading members of the clergy, and you witnessed the damage the mob was doing, would you have had the courage to tell the truth about it? Would you have tried to stop it? Or would you have decided it was safer to do nothing, for fear of public disapproval, or fear the mob might turn on you next? 

I understand how difficult it is sometimes to speak up, and speak honestly.  I understand that it can cost you friends (or folks you thought were your friends) or cost you the approval of people you work with, or maybe even put you in a dangerous situation.  But in a world where ethical behavior often seems to be in short supply, that's why we need to show more respect for those who try to be honest, especially at times when honesty isn't popular. My favorite philosopher, the late great Emmanuel Lévinas, said we should always put ethics first. Imagine how much better our society would be if more people thought that way, rather than thinking about the next lie or the next excuse or the next compromise whenever the truth seems inconvenient.

I Never Wanted to Be a Star

When I was a deejay, one of the first lessons I learned was that not everyone would like my show.  Yes, nearly every deejay has a group of loyal listeners (I still have some of the fan letters folks sent me over the years), but there were always certain folks who just did not like you, for whatever reason. Lucky for me, I was on the air in the 70s, 80s, and early 90s-- the era before social media. The people who disliked your show back then could write you a letter, or maybe phone the station (where the receptionist would take their message), but there was no way for listeners to make their feelings known immediately. That was probably a good thing.

I can't imagine what it must be like to wake up today and find you're the topic of an irate discussion on a website read by millions, where folks can trash your show (or you personally) and get lots of "likes" for doing it.  Today, since people might be listening to you online, the fans can come from just about anywhere...but so can the haters. And thanks to the internet, folks can react almost in real time-- criticizing something you said, correcting you, letting you know they loved X or hated Y. And it's all public: anyone can read it, and even if you respond, it could be taking place on so many different sites that it's impossible to reach every person voting on whether you're the best or the worst. 

What brought this to mind was the news that Ellen DeGeneres is ending her syndicated talk show. I still remember how controversial it was when she "officially" came out as gay: she made her announcement in April 1997 on the cover of Time magazine, and some stores refused to carry it. Fast forward to 2021 when the news that an entertainer is gay is no longer seen as a potential career-ender, the way it still was in the 1990s.  Attitudes changed, and since 2003, Ellen has had a very successful (and lucrative) career hosting her own syndicated talk show. She had a reputation for being nice, friendly, and generous. At the end of each show, she told people to be kind to one another. People believed her.  

And then everything changed. By late 2019, some extremely negative stories about her had begun to surface, and by 2020, there were accusations that behind the scenes at her show, far from being a happy place, there was a toxic work environment. It's an interesting phenomenon. People had built her up and praised her and put her on a pedestal. And now, she was the object of scorn, ridicule, and condemnation. I've never met her, so I have no idea if the "good Ellen" or the "bad Ellen" is the real Ellen, but it didn't take long for folks on social media to begin weighing in. Most asserted she was really not the kindhearted, easy-going person she claimed to be. 

Ellen seemed surprised that so many people turned on her. And whether it's an act or not, she also seemed hurt. And in the end, she decided it was time to end her talk show. Truth be told, the controversies had eaten into her ratings; but even if there hadn't been any negative publicity, many TV shows over the past several years have seen their ratings slide, and hers was one of them. She probably could have hung on, but now that her image as a "nice person" was gone, doing her show was probably not as enjoyable. Nor, I am sure, was fielding all the criticism.  And while she's rich and she'll be just fine, I don't think she expected that fame would come with increased scrutiny, or that she would lose her popularity the way she did.

I have a button I got in 1976, a promotional item for a Cliff Richard album entitled "I'm Nearly Famous."  I've often thought it's better to be nearly famous, rather than so well-known that you have to constantly maintain a certain image, and people all over the world feel they have the right to judge you-- even when they don't really know you.  When I make a mistake or say something on a podcast that folks disagree with, yes some of them might make a rude remark on social media; but I'm not the subject of millions of fans endlessly discussing whether I'm the worst person who ever lived. And while I understand that celebrities know the tradeoff (they will make a lot of money, but they won't have a lot of privacy), watching yet another celebrity get built up and then ripped apart makes me glad I never did become all that famous. Fame can be a lot of fun, but as many celebrities know all too well, it can also be destructive. And that's probably why I never wanted to be a star.      

Oh, the Places You'll Go

In my most recent blog post, I recalled the anniversary of Rush getting inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, on April 18, 2013, and what a privilege it was to be there.  But around this time of year, there's another anniversary I like to recall: May 13, 2011. For obvious reasons, this one didn't get the media attention that Rush got, but it certainly meant a lot to me: it will soon be ten years since I got my PhD at the University of Massachusetts/Amherst, at the age of 64.

If you had told me when I was growing up in Dorchester, Mass., that I'd one day have a PhD, I would have been skeptical. At that time, I had fallen in love with radio, and even though there were no female deejays, I knew that's what my dream job was.  When my family moved to nearby Roslindale, I continued to dream of being on the air: I loved rock music, I loved listening to my favorite deejays, and I couldn't wait to join them.  

Of course, growing up in the 50s and early 60s, I was told girls could only be teachers or nurses or secretaries, and being a deejay was something that guys did. Still, I dreamed of proving everyone wrong. In fact, one of the first things I did when I got my first car was drive to Paragon Park--an amusement park at Nantasket Beach, about 20 miles from my house, to see the WBZ Radio deejays who did remote broadcasts. But all I heard from teachers, peers, and even my parents was that I would never be a deejay and I ought to choose something more realistic. (My other dream was to be a sportswriter; I was told girls couldn't do that either.)

Many of you know that when I enrolled at Northeastern University in Boston in 1964, I applied to work at the campus radio station. But they told me girls couldn't be on the air-- because, I was told, they don't sound good on the radio; I asked how many female deejays they'd had, and the program director said none-- because they don't sound good. I always wondered how he came to that decision if he'd never given any of us a chance...  It was really frustrating (and depressing) to get sent away, and for a while, I nearly gave up, but periodically I kept coming back, and gradually, attitudes began to change. In October 1968, I was given my own show, becoming the first female deejay in the history of Northeastern University. 

From there, it took a while before any commercial stations would hire me (radio still wasn't hiring a lot of women), so I taught in the Boston Public Schools, and continued to apply. In 1973, I was hired at a small station in Cambridge, Mass. called WCAS, and that led to my getting hired at WMMS-FM in Cleveland later that year. And if you are a Rush fan, you know what happened at WMMS in the spring of 1974, when I received a vinyl album from a Canadian record promoter friend of mine, and I got a song called "Working Man" on the air. And several months later, when Rush got their first U.S. record contract, they came to Cleveland for an appearance (Neil had recently joined the band), and I was there to celebrate the occasion with them.

My radio career took me from Cleveland to New York City, to Washington DC, and finally back to Boston. After being an announcer and a music director for about 13 years, I opened up a radio consulting business, working all over North America with a wide range of radio stations, hiring and training announcers and managers for nearly thirty years. (And during all that time, I kept in touch with Rush; I still do, to this day.) Along the way, I met some amazing performers: Bob Seger, Fleetwood Mac, Bruce Springsteen, Garth Brooks, Madonna, Z.Z. Top, Kiss, Dolly Parton, and so many more. Not bad for a working-class kid who was told when she was a kid that she'd never have a career in radio. 

And then it all changed. Deregulation of broadcasting happened. Then media consolidation happened. And by the early 1990s, a handful of big companies had gobbled up hundreds of small and medium-market stations. Many of us lost our jobs-- I lost my consulting business, and suddenly, in my 50s, I had to confront the prospect of reinventing myself. It took me a while to decide on the next chapter (I knew there had to be one), and I decided to go back to school and become a professor. I had been a part-time instructor (I had even won several awards), but I knew I'd never get hired full-time in academia without a PhD.

Unfortunately, nobody seemed eager to give me that chance; every school I applied to turned me down. And then, finally, the University of Massachusetts in Amherst (nearly 90 miles from Boston) took me in.  It wasn't easy, and it took me nine years, going part-time-- teaching in Boston (usually at Emerson College) and then driving out to Amherst; but I have never regretted doing it.

I was 55, and I hadn't been a student in thirty years, and at first, I worried that I wouldn't be able to do it. But it was something I needed to prove to myself-- especially to show certain people that I wasn't "too old" (something some folks had actually said to me), that I could do the work that younger students were doing. And I did. I even got good grades. I will always be grateful to UMass. for seeing my potential. 

And as it turned out, getting the PhD really did change my life. I don't know if I sound any smarter (or if my blogs are more erudite), but the fact that I was able to become a professor and get taken seriously by folks in the academic world is because of that degree. I completely understand why Dr. Jill Biden wants to be called by her title-- she too went back to school as an older adult and she too got a degree that some folks did not expect her to get. If you've ever undertaken a doctorate, you know how much work it requires. (My dissertation was 365 pages long.) Meanwhile, here I am, age 74, still teaching, still writing, still blogging. And I'm proud of what I finally accomplished... ten years ago, May 13, 2011, an anniversary that I will always remember, because it proves it's never to late to write that next chapter or take that next step. 

    

An Anniversary to Remember (18 April 2013)

I can still recall where I was when I heard the news that Rush had finally been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. It was in mid-December 2012, and I was sitting in a Lesley University faculty meeting. I've told this story before, but it still stays with me. I never keep my phone on when I'm at work, so it was set to "vibrate" in the unlikely event that someone was looking for me (one of my doctors perhaps-- I had been having some health issues).  Suddenly, my phone began to vibrate...repeatedly, with phone calls and messages. I looked down at my news-feed, and that's how I learned the good news about Rush. 

It really affected me: I mean, if you know anything about me, you know how long I had fought for Rush to be inducted. It seemed like such an injustice that they hadn't been. And now, at last, they were going to get the recognition they deserved. I got a lot of calls from radio and TV stations, wanting to interview me, asking how I felt. When I first heard the news, I got tears in my eyes-- tears of joy, because I was so happy that these three guys who mattered so much to me (and to the worldwide community of fans) would take their place in the Rock Hall.

One station that interviewed me was CTV, and I was so happy that Pegi and the nice folks at Rush's management got to watch it. (In the screenshot from that appearance, the background is the Boston skyline; but in reality, I was in a studio in Newton, Massachusetts--about ten miles from Boston. When I did the interview, the producer superimposed the Boston skyline, as the morning team from CTV in Toronto chatted with me.) I talked about my role in getting the band's career going in the States; I talked about the millions of fans who loved this band, and wanted to see them inducted; and of course, I talked about how certain judges (including Jann Wenner himself) had disliked Rush and opposed their induction for years. But now, there were different judges, and finally, things had changed. I couldn't have been happier about it.

I didn't expect to be invited to the induction, which was out in Los Angeles that year. To be honest, I had no idea whether I'd be able to get out there, nor if there were any tickets left.  But Pegi called me to let me know the guys wanted me to attend, and she took care of my flight (which I appreciated-- they don't pay us professors the big bucks!); she also assured me I'd have tickets (and good seats).  And she made sure I was staying at the same hotel as Geddy's mom and sister, and all of us were able to hang out together.  THAT was very cool. I've been friendly with Pegi for many years, and it was wonderful to share the event with her. I also made some new friends: I am in touch with Geddy's sister to this day, and it was also such an honor to meet his mom, who was pleased that I could speak Yiddish.

It seems like only yesterday, but it was eight years ago. I've told a lot of stories about that evening-- like how the capacity crowd seemed dominated by Rush fans, and when Jann Wenner came out to introduce the band, we all made sure we let him know how we felt about him. The booing lasted for what seemed like five minutes at least. He was a good sport about it, and he knew exactly why we were booing him.  And speaking of something that took a long time, I recall the long acceptance speech (it seemed like it lasted forever) that Quincy Jones gave. I'm firmly convinced that's what inspired Alex's legendary (and hilarious) "blah-blah-blah" speech. And it was an inspiration to see how many musicians, including the Foo Fighters, and Chuck D of Public Enemy, had words of praise for Rush-- and how many musicians expressed their admiration for Neil.  It was also wonderful to see how proud the band's friends and family members were. And the live performances... the jam session... to experience it in person was truly magical.  

I met a lot of fans while I was in LA. For reasons I have never understood, some of them applauded me. I applauded them right back.  After all, when you are a fan of Rush, you are a member of an extended family.  I was glad that so many of the fans were there in person, to enjoy a moment we had all waited for. (Others got to see it later, when HBO broadcast it. I don't know about you, but I had fun reliving the evening; I watched it several times, in fact.) 

Today, looking back on it, my only regret is that Neil is no longer with us. But it still makes me smile whenever I think back on that evening in Los Angeles, when Rush finally got the respect they had long deserved. The doubters said it would never happen; the folks who never liked Rush said it would never happen. But we who loved and believed in this band knew that sooner or later, it had to happen. And on 18 April 2013, it finally did.      

 

We Really Do Need Infrastructure Week

I made the front page of my local newspaper a month ago, but it wasn't for any great accomplishment of mine; it was because I live in a neighborhood that had eight power outages in six months, and like many of my neighbors, I was fed up. All of us have been working from home for a year now, and losing power every few weeks (often for no apparent reason) was not making any of us happy. So, I contacted my representatives, I contacted the mayor, and yes, I contacted my local newspaper. The question, of course, is why was all that necessary? I mean, in 2021, isn't it reasonable to expect that our electricity should be working?  

And don't even get me started about internet service. It's well-known that Americans pay more than our European counterparts, and we get service that often isn't as good.  I pay an outrageous amount to my internet & cable provider (Comcast) and there's not much I can do about it, because in all too many areas of the US, there is no competition. There's often just one provider in a region, and the consumer can either take it or leave it.  Worse yet, numerous parts of the US don't have access to broadband at all-- and that has become a necessity in these days of online classes. (I've seen some studies that say one in three US households lacks even basic broadband. That is nothing to be proud of...)

As a professor, I've also seen the impact of that lack of access firsthand: I can't tell you the number of times when students of mine have endured persistent internet failures, or couldn't get connected at all. Depending on where you live, internet connections can be good or they can be awful, but access is often expensive, it's often unreliable, and there's not much you can do about improving it-- or so they tell you. (Meanwhile, the major providers run ad campaigns telling everyone how great their products are...as if everything is fine. But it's not.)

And it's no accident that we're in this situation. Way back in 2013, Susan Crawford, a professor and an expert on tech policy, published a book called "Captive Audience: The Telecom Industry and Monopoly in the New Gilded Age." She discussed how the federal government-- and politicians from both political parties-- allowed a few giant telecom companies to dominate the market, raking in enormous profits while all too many Americans either completely lacked access, or couldn't afford very much of it. Meanwhile, these giant companies successfully lobbied politicians (and made huge donations) to avoid much oversight. And here we still are, with little competition and outrageously high prices for inferior service. 

In fairness, even if service were more affordable, it has been years since our electrical grid was upgraded, and the same is true for making high quality broadband more widely available. This past year has shown the flaws and the weaknesses in our infrastructure, and yet, I have not seen much movement from congress. In the last administration, we waited in vain for the "Infrastructure Week" that never came. In this administration, we finally got our "Infrastructure Week," but already, it is getting caught up in partisan bickering. 

I am not suggesting that Pres. Biden's new plan is perfect; I know it's expensive and I am sure there are areas where it can be scaled back. But at least he brought a plan forward. Now, I'd like to see both parties have a serious discussion about improving our roads and bridges (which are indeed crumbling), and come up with some strategies to modernize our power grid and internet-- strategies that go beyond each side ridiculing the other's proposals. Meanwhile, I never know if a windy day will cause my electricity to go off. And many students either have no broadband or can't count on their internet to be reliable.  So, yes, it's time to talk seriously about our failing infrastructure. And then, it's time to stop the bickering. We need fewer tweets, fewer slogans, fewer talking points, fewer partisan insults.  It's time for our members of congress to do the job we pay them for.  It's time to work together, to make the improvements Americans so desperately need. 

Reasons to be Cheerful

This past Thursday, I got my vaccine shot. I felt incredibly lucky-- to get on the schedule at all (many folks are still waiting) and then to get the J&J vaccine, which is only one dose. My arm was a little sore and I felt a little drowsy later in the day, but otherwise, no problems. As I said, I felt incredibly lucky.

Gradually, I see real progress being made, as more and more people I know are getting vaccinated. I can imagine a time in the not-too-distant future when I'll be able to go out to eat with my husband, or get together with my friend Meg for ice cream and good conversation, or see a live concert. I can envision being able to hang with some of my students, or bringing cookies to an actual (not a virtual) meeting.

And with so many positive signs, that's why I was puzzled by the governors who immediately got rid of their state's mask mandates, or totally opened their beaches, bars, and restaurants to large crowds. Okay fine, I understand. We're all frustrated by the kind of year it has been. But we are SO close. People are finally getting vaccinated in large numbers. Why not let those numbers increase some more before removing all the precautions? What harm could waiting a few more weeks do? 

And another thing that puzzles me-- I was reading that sizable numbers of self-identified Trump supporters are opposed to getting the vaccine. In a recent PBS/NPR/Marist poll, 47 percent of people who supported the former president in the 2020 election told pollsters they plan to refuse to be vaccinated.  This mystifies me.  I mean, vote for whomever you want, but getting the COVID vaccine should not be a political issue. It's about public health. It's about taking another step towards herd immunity and a normal life for us all.

But politics aside, the good news is that spring is on the way. I'm not a big fan of Daylight Saving Time, but each year, when we move our clocks ahead, it's a reminder that the weather will soon be warmer. It feels good to be able to go outside to enjoy the sun, or watch the trees and flowers as they bloom. This year, the changing of the seasons feels like another positive sign:  perhaps we are finally coming to the end of what began a year ago... an end to lockdowns, an end to large numbers of people being hospitalized, an end to spending much of our time isolated from those we care about.

I haven't felt very optimistic till recently, but I really do believe we are turning the corner. I hope the positive trend continues. There are people I haven't seen since last March that I'd love to see again. For now, it's more waiting and more Zoom meetings. But soon, perhaps, it will be visiting friends, enjoying ice cream, and giving out lots of hugs. I don't know about you, but I can hardly wait.

Whatever the Next Thing Is

Let me start by saying I'm glad that more and more people are getting vaccinated against COVID. My husband just got his appointment, and I was really happy for him. (I haven't been able to get mine yet, but I'm sure it will happen soon). Once enough of us are vaccinated, we'll finally be able to get back out there and try to resume our pre-COVID lives. That's certainly good news. 

But I've been thinking about what my life has been like during the pandemic. For many people, myself included, life has largely been lived on Zoom. That's where I teach my classes, mentor my students, have faculty meetings, and talk with my boss. For months, about the only places I've gone outside of my home are grocery shopping, getting gasoline for my car, and the occasional doctor's appointment.

And it occurs to me that I've lost my conversational skills. Those little social rituals we all take for granted-- like chatting with folks in line at the coffee shop, or stopping to talk with someone on the way to a class, or making small talk while waiting for the bus... a lot of us haven't done any of that in a year. In fact, I am not sure when the last time was that I just chatted with another human, for no reason other than that the two of us were in the same place, waiting for the same thing.  

I'm not sure I know how to do it anymore. And no, I'm not trying to be dramatic. Of course I know how to talk to people-- I do it for a living. But that's my point: I know how to teach an interesting class (or at least I hope I do), or be a guest on a podcast, or get interviewed by someone who is seeking my expertise as a media historian. In other words, I know how to make work-related conversation.  Casual, friendly conversation, not so much.

In fact, I find when I try to do it, it comes out all wrong.  I feel awkward, and overly self-conscious, as if I need to choose my words carefully. I don't think I'm alone in this. I've been reading some articles about how isolated many of us have become; and how ill-at-ease many of us feel about what the future holds. So, will we all be able to just transition back into whatever  life we had before the pandemic? I doubt it, given how many of us have lost someone to COVID. And even if we haven't lost someone, we've certainly lost the life we had before. And nobody is really certain what kind of life will come next.

I think about my late mother, who truly was a brilliant conversationalist. She was the kind of person who could adapt to just about any circumstance.  I have the feeling that she'd adapt to this one too. But I'm not sure I will have as easy a time. I've always felt out-of-place at social gatherings. (Nobody who knows me believes that-- they've seen me as a public speaker or an educator or heard me on the radio, and I'm very confident under those conditions; at social gatherings, however, I never seem to know what to say.)  At least before the pandemic, I got some practice making small talk. But it has certainly been a while since I've had to do it, and now, I'm worried that I won't be able to re-learn whatever conversational skills I had before.

Perhaps you share my sense of feeling out of balance, of worrying that what you have to say will get taken the wrong way by someone else, or that you'll unintentionally offend someone, or that whatever social skills you used to have are really in need of an upgrade. As someone who uses words for a living, I am sure I'll be fine at my job-- I adapted to online teaching, and I'll adapt back to being in the classroom.  But so much has changed in a year. Society is so different now. And all I can say is I hope I'll be able to make the transition to whatever the next "new normal" is.

What's My Age Again?

As many of you know, Valentine's Day was my birthday;  I turned 74. Given my family history, with so many of the women on my mother's side dying of cancer, I feel incredibly fortunate that I'm still here, and able to enjoy some birthday cake for yet another year. 

I don't know what to say about being 74. I mean, to my students, I probably seem "old," and compared to the average person who is 18, I probably am. But I don't think of myself as a "senior citizen," whatever that means. I just think of myself as Donna, living in a world where the concept of aging is being redefined.  

When I was growing up, people retired at 65, and the idea of continuing to work into your 70s (not because you had to, but because you wanted to) was still not common. At a certain point, older people were expected to be content with golfing or playing cards or watching TV-- not that there's anything wrong with any of those things. But American culture seemed to have the idea that older people didn't have much to offer after a certain point, so they might as well leave the stage and spend their time taking up a hobby.  

And while we were all taught to respect our elders, the "elderly" were not revered-- I recall how comedians made jokes about folks of a certain age who were all supposed to be senile. (Not sure you could make those kinds of jokes today.) It was youth that was worshiped, leading even some people in their 40s (especially women) to lie about their age or undergo cosmetic surgery to keep looking young. Society back then was especially hard on women who didn't "age gracefully." And to be honest, I'm not sure we're more accepting now, although these days, even men feel pressured to look youthful.

So, here I am trying to negotiate a world that says I'm too old, while acknowledging my need to continue being relevant. That's why I got my PhD when I was 64. That's why I reinvented myself as a professor. That's why I keep doing research, and why I even turned down a sabbatical: as long as I have the energy and the ability, I want to keep trying to make a difference. I can't imagine retiring. I can't imagine not being out there.

Maybe I shouldn't think that way. Maybe at my age, it's time to do a little less. But doing less has never made me happy. There are people I want to mentor, and more research I want to do; more new information I want to discover, and more new subjects I want to teach. I hope I'm still doing a good job as a professor-- you'll have to ask my students about that. And while I can't pretend I'm in my 30s, I hope I can continue to prove that someone in their 70s isn't quite over the hill yet.

For those who reached out to wish me a happy birthday, I'm grateful.  I hope to make the most of my 74th year, and perhaps a year from now, I'll be able to write a blog post to celebrate my 75th. I've had an interesting life-- a lot more so than was ever predicted for me. Many of the folks I knew growing up didn't have high hopes for me; perhaps I've exceeded some people's expectations. But I haven't exceeded my own yet, and there's still so much that needs to be done. I look forward to doing my part, this year, and for however many more years I have.           

In Search of a Normal Life

I've always been fascinated by the history of words; from the time I was a kid, I always wondered where a word came from, how its meaning changed over the years, and when it acquired its current meaning.  Take, for example, the word "normal." These days, it generally means something that is "usual, typical, or expected." But as any student of history can tell you, what was considered normal in times past might not be considered normal today. 

For example, a century ago, health books said it was not normal for girls to participate in sports. Parents were advised that sports were normal for boys, but if girls were allowed to play, they would acquire masculine traits.  Meanwhile, it was considered normal for kids as young as twelve to work full-time in factories, even around dangerous machinery.  And it was normal for upper-class women to wear long skirts and corsets (having a slender waist was the goal), while upper-class men were expected to wear a frock coat, a vest, and a shirt with a stiff collar.

But while it's interesting to look back on how society's idea of "normal" has changed since the 1910s, let's consider what has changed since just last year.  In February 2020, few of us were thinking much about COVID-19. In my typical week, "normal" meant sitting in traffic as I drove to my teaching job at Lesley University (about twenty-five minutes from where I live). It meant hanging with students who wanted to talk, taking them out for ice cream (or cookies), attending faculty meetings, and sometimes going over to a nearby library to do some research for an article I was working on (I have always done a lot of free-lance writing). 

A year ago, I never thought anyone except my husband would see my messy home office, and that was okay: as a media historian, I have lots of reference materials, old magazines and books and other rare memorabilia; and while I know where most things are, I'm sure my filing system would look a bit chaotic to a stranger. But now, my home office is where I teach my classes. I've  organized it as best I can (even installed a Baby Yoda to be in the shot when I Zoom or Skype), but I am sure Room Rater would give me a 2 or 3, rather than a 10. Still, it's normal for me these days to teach online and try my best to educate (and entertain) students, many of whom I've never met in person.

I'm still not sure how to define "normal" in February 2021, but some people seem to have found a way. For example, whether you like our new president or not, he seems kind of normal to me--and I mean that in an old-school way: he doesn't call people names or Tweet angry messages day and night; he goes to church once a week, he likes bagels, he likes ice cream, he enjoys playing with his dogs or spending time with his wife. In other words, he has a predictable and low-key routine-- even if he's now doing it all from the White House rather than from his home in Delaware. 

I too have tried to create a predictable and normal routine, but things still feel very much out of place. I miss giving people hugs. I miss visiting old friends and taking them out to lunch. I miss going to a movie or seeing a play. I'm glad I can Zoom or Skype with people (I gave a talk several weeks ago to students and professors in Karachi, Pakistan, which was a lot of fun), and I'm glad I can reach out to friends and colleagues on social media. I'm encouraged that slowly, people are getting the COVID vaccine. But somehow none of this feels "normal," even after almost a year. You'd think I'd be accustomed to it by now. After all, I'm often told this is the "new normal." Of course, I'm happy to be alive to see it. I know things change, and I know I can adapt to those changes. But frankly, I still miss the old normal. And I don't think I'm alone in that.