Learning the Wrong Lessons

I never wanted to have kids. Back when I was growing up in the 1950s and 1960s, I was told there was something wrong with me, but these days, I seem to be part of a growing trend. Depending on which survey you look at, as many as 30% of those surveyed say they doubt they'll ever have kids, and they're absolutely okay with that decision. But like many folks in the US, I married someone with kids from a previous marriage, and I became a step-mom. I don't know if I was any good at it, although I tried my best. If I'm honest with myself, there were probably things I could have done better, although in fairness, my step-kids were in their teens when I first met them, and I quickly got the impression that they weren't terribly thrilled about dad remarrying. So, I tried to be somewhere between a mentor and an auntie to them, not knowing what else to do, but it was frequently an awkward situation for all of us. (Perhaps some of you step-parents know what I'm talking about!)

But if being a step-parent in the 1980s was challenging, imagine what it's like today. In fact, imagine what it's like to be any kind of parental figure today. Kids are being raised in an era where increasingly, the major influences in their lives are not parents or teachers, but rather, celebrities, athletes, social media influencers, and podcasters. Kids are so attached to their devices that we've all seen groups of them sitting in a room together but not paying attention to each other at all, because they are glued to what's on their screen. (A friend of mine tells the story of taking her daughter and a friend on a skiing trip, but instead of going outside, the kids sat in the cabin, focused on their devices...)   

And there's lots of research to show that social media companies know how to purposefully manipulate algorithms to give kids more stuff that will "increase engagement"-- to keep them online longer, by giving them various versions of celebrity-focused clickbait, or by showing them stories that will outrage or scare them, or by offering them magic cures for all kinds of problems. Some of these cures are harmless, but some can be dangerous. And no matter how often parents might try to monitor their kids' social media usage, sooner or later, the kids will find a way around any efforts to control what they see. 

And then, there's what they hear. Let's talk about politics. Okay fine, most young kids couldn't care less about politics. But some teens definitely do, and I worry about the message they just got from the most recent election. At the risk of having my Republican friends accuse me of being partisan, the GOP candidate, Mr Trump (who was my landlord when I lived in New York, and I am all too familiar with him), has campaigned in a way that would have horrified the folks from my parents' generation. My father, rest his soul, leaned conservative, and he knew all the 4-letter words, believe me. But he would have been appalled by the idea of a candidate repeatedly cursing during a public speech, or talking about someone's genitalia, or simulating oral sex with a microphone, or using racist and sexist slurs to describe his opponent. But the Trump rally audiences loved it. They applauded and cheered when he said these things. My parents would have been mystified by that too.

And let's talk about ethics. I am a former chaplain, and while I am by no means perfect (far from it), I try to follow the Commandments as best I can. But so many politicians today have not only been married and divorced (in some cases, two or three times), but they have cheated on their spouse and paid no political price whatsoever. Mr Trump himself, and several of the folks he intends to nominate, have had somewhat questionable personal lives. But it seems the rule now is "If they're on our team, we defend them no matter what." Sorry, but that's a problem for me. Call me old-fashioned, but if you're the kind of person who doesn't keep your marriage vows, what other vows are you willing to break? And what kind of a role model are you for the next generation? And don't even get me started on the message that was sent by the January 6, 2021 insurrection: Might makes right, and if our side doesn't win, we'll react violently. Doesn't seem like how I would want my step-kids to act, but maybe that's just me.

So, in a world where vulgarity, violence, and vitriol have been normalized, and doing the right thing seems like a relic of a bygone era for some folks, I worry about what comes next. Way back in 2001, comedian Steve Allen wrote a book-- a screed, actually-- in which he railed at the popular culture and blamed it for all sorts of things. It was called "Vulgarians at the Gate." I wonder how he would feel about what our culture has normalized, about the millions who voted for, and praised, a vulgarian; and who are fine about his behaviors because he's on "our side." But is he? Do you really want your kids to act the way he does? Do you really want the culture to model itself after some angry podcaster or some YouTube influencer? I'm not talking about being the Language Police. I'm not talking about banning words. I'm talking about an attitude I see taking over-- an attitude of cruelty and rudeness, that elevates being crude as long as it "owns the libs." As I said, I'm glad my step-kids are grown. But today's parents have a lot to grapple with, as they deal with the fallout from what just happened in the election. Do positive role models no longer matter as long as "our side" wins? So, tell me: how are you explaining all of this to your kids? 

Are We Ready Yet?

I was thinking about Lillian D. Rock today. In fact, over the past few weeks, I've thought about her a lot. You probably don't know her, so let me introduce her to you, and you'll understand why I've been thinking about her, even though I never met her.

This is one of the few surviving images of her; online, it gives a date of 1935, but that's unlikely. It's probably a photo from when she graduated from law school in 1924. Few law firms would hire a "woman lawyer" back then, so she worked with her brother, who was also a lawyer. And she joined the National Association of Women Lawyers (NAWL), where she eventually became a member of its executive board.

Then, in 1934, Lillian got into the news for her advocacy on behalf of women in politics. American women had only gotten the right to vote in 1920, but Lillian believed there were already numerous qualified women who could take on important political roles-- such as becoming federal judges, as Genevieve Cline and Florence Allen had done. Speaking at conference, Lillian asserted that within her lifetime, she fully expected a woman to ascend all the way to the presidency.

Hoping to make it happen sooner rather than later, she founded the League for a Woman President and Vice President in 1935. Of course, not everyone was as enthusiastic about the idea as Lillian and her colleagues were. Some men were dismissive of it, while others opposed it-- they said only men should lead a country. But the most surprising opponent of Lillian's idea was the First Lady, Eleanor Roosevelt.

Eleanor had a radio show, and on it, she usually talked about non-controversial and non-political topics. But she addressed Lillian's committee directly, saying that while women had made important gains, they hadn’t been in politics long enough to have earned the public’s trust; she believed it would take a while until that happened, but she could not support what Lillian was proposing. Despite her disagreement with the First Lady, Lillian continued to advocate for women in politics; but she died in 1974, without ever seeing a woman attain the nomination for vice president or president of either of the two major parties.   

The other day, I was reading an interview with a male voter who stated that women weren't tough enough to be president. I also note that whenever there has been a female candidate in the past few years, her male opponent has mocked how she laughed, made fun of how she looked, hinted that she wasn't moral, or claimed that she wasn't intelligent; and of course, she was accused of not being able to handle the difficult work of running a country. 

Listening to the rhetoric in the current presidential race, I often feel like I've just taken a trip back to 1935, when all of those things were being said about women politicians (of both parties) on a regular basis. And I wonder what Lillian would make of the fact that in 2024, women are still enduring the same slurs and insults and accusations as they did nearly 90 years ago. Agreed, the language has gotten more coarse and vulgar, but the basic belief of a lot of people that women who run for president are inferior really irritates me. I hope when people vote, they will look at each candidate's qualifications and consider the vision they have for the country. And I hope that millions of women will finally get to see a woman become president. I'd like to believe that if Lillian were still here, she would be delighted by that. I know I certainly will be.        

 

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

Last night, I was looking through some of my Rush-related memorabilia, and I found a few items from October 2012. That may not seem like such a long time ago, but that month turned out to be a very momentous time for Rush and for their many fans; and it was nice to reminisce about it all. 

One reason October 2012 was worth remembering was the Clockwork Angels tour was heading for Boston at the end of the month, and I could hardly wait.

And another reason I was looking forward to it, in addition to seeing the band, of course, was that my friend Pegi was going to be there. If you ever met her, you know what a dynamo she was-- an essential member of Rush's management, I had known her almost as long as I'd known the band. She had been battling cancer, but she told me the treatments had been successful, and she would be able to come to Boston for the concert. That was wonderful news; we had shared a lot since the mid-1970s, and I was eager to give her a big hug. She told me there would be two tickets waiting for me, and that also meant I'd be able to take a dear friend of mine along-- Meg, who was a local journalist and a devoted Rush fan. 

Before the show, I joined a get-together of Rush fans at a nearby Dunkin' Donuts-- they included some folks I'd known for a long while; for the past several years, some of us had been gathering for an annual event we jokingly called Ratcon (we were the "Rush Rats"). But now, they were here in Boston, and it was sort of like a mini-reunion, complete with Steampunk attire.

Before the show, my friend Meg and I went to the meet-and-greet, where we saw Geddy and Alex; Neil seldom if ever showed up for these things, nor did we expect him to. There were some fans who had won backstage passes in a radio contest, as well as some friends of the band who were there to say hello just like Meg and I were. But even though it was brief, it was still wonderful to spend a few moments with Geddy and Alex and catch up on how they were doing.

And then, we went to our seats (I generally watch the show from the mixing booth, where the view is better, and I can enjoy not just the music but the amazing lights-and-special effects from Howard Ungerleider). I won't bore you with the set-list (easy to find it online), but suffice it to say that "The Garden" has always been one of my favorites, and it got an excellent response, as did "Spirit of Radio," "Subdivisions," "Bravado," and so many others. This tour also featured a string ensemble (I had the opportunity to chat with one of the members, a talented violinist named Gerry Hilera; later, we kept in touch for a while). It was an incredible night of great music, and the fans seemed especially enthusiastic. 

Meanwhile, what many of the fans didn't know was that in early October, I had gotten the word that FINALLY, after years of calling, and writing, and petitioning, and doing everything else I could think of, it looked like Rush would be nominated for induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. That, however, is a story for another day. The story for this one was about seeing my friends, seeing Pegi, seeing Alex and Geddy and other members of the crew, and feeling grateful to be part of the extended family of Rush fans, able to share another outstanding concert tour. Of course, none of us had any idea that several years ahead, many things would change-- for me, for Pegi, for Rush, and for the fans. But on this night, it was a celebration, and I looked forward to the next one.

There's Still Time to Change the Road You're On

Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, comes late this year: it usually comes in September, but this year, it's in October-- it begins at sundown on October 2. Unlike the secular New Year with its emphasis on parties and ringing in the year, Jewish New Year is a lot more reflective, and it's the beginning of the Ten Days of Repentance, which ends with Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. 

I've mentioned the Ten Days of Repentance before-- they're an opportunity to apologize to those you've wronged, a chance to re-establish communication with those you may have stopped talking to. It's also a time to look at yourself and evaluate where you fell short, and to atone for what you did wrong. In other words, it's a time to take responsibility for your faults, rather than blaming others or making excuses.

That sounds lovely in theory. But in practice, many of us (and that includes me, to be honest) have a difficult time with the part about admitting we were wrong and being willing to do things differently. It's so much easier to say the breakdown in communication or the argument or the disagreement was all the other person's fault. It's so much easier to avoid thinking about the times we were judgmental or the times we spoke harshly, rather than sincerely trying to do better. We're supposed to admit our mistakes, atone for them, and strive to correct them; but I don't know too many people who enjoy doing that.

And yet, here we are. At this time of year, we are encouraged to do charitable work, and we're encouraged to pray; but above all, we're encouraged to repent. That means to sincerely apologize for what we did wrong and promise to do better. And yes, there's a religious component: we humble ourselves, we fast on Yom Kippur, and we ask God to forgive us. But first, during the Ten Days of Repentance, we are told to make peace between ourselves and those we have wronged, wherever possible. 

I can think of several folks I need to apologize to. And whether they accept my apology or not (and I hope they will), I'm still supposed to make the effort. Meanwhile, I've been thinking a lot about how I can be a more patient person in the New Year-- being impatient is my biggest fault, and I know it. I'd like to believe it's still possible for me to change; I really want to be a more kind and understanding person than I have been.

And if you are one of the people that I have somehow wronged this past year, I do hope you will be able to forgive me. And if you are observing the New Year too, I wish you a year that is both happy and healthy. If it's not your holiday, I appreciate your reading my thoughts about it. One of the nice things about the blogosphere is you can learn about other people's beliefs, directly from them. So, I hope you've found my thoughts about the Jewish New Year informative. Even though it's about self-reflection and repentance, it's one of my favorite holidays, because it teaches us that we can choose to do better, and it all starts by being willing to atone.

Strangers in a Strange Land

I don't talk much about either of my grandfathers; they both died many years ago. But they were part of a very familiar story. My maternal grandfather's name was Samuel; he was a tailor, and he came here from Lithuania in 1910. My paternal grandfather's name was Jacob; he was a carpenter, and he came here from Russia in 1907. They were part of a massive surge of Eastern European immigrants that arrived here in the period from the 1890s through the 1910s. Most of these immigrants were poor, few spoke any English, and they all came in search of a life that was better and safer than what they had in the "old country." 

Not everyone was thrilled to see them. It didn't take long before the newspapers and magazines were filled with complaints from the good, upstanding citizens about how these newcomers were dirty, spread diseases, and had strange customs that the average American couldn't understand. There was pressure on politicians to stop allowing all these people into the country, and by the 1920s, immigration laws did become much more restrictive. But when my grandfathers arrived, there were still large numbers who continued to make the journey to what they hoped would be a "golden land." 

Based on what I've been told by my relatives, neither of my grandfathers found America to be easy; learning English was a struggle, as was supporting their families during periods of crisis like the Great Depression. They each met some people who were kind to them, but they also met unscrupulous landlords who charged outrageous rents for substandard apartments; and bosses who cheated their immigrant workers out of overtime pay. And along the way, they met plenty of people who didn't like immigrants, including some who didn't like Jews. Still, my grandfathers persevered. They believed they were better off in America, and they were determined to make a life in their newly adopted country. Although they were both hardworking guys, they never got rich; however, I get the impression that wasn't their priority. Mostly, they wanted their kids to have more opportunities than they would have had growing up in a ghetto in Eastern Europe. 

On a few occasions, my commute has taken me through the neighborhoods where each of my grandfathers once lived. Today, these neighborhoods have different immigrant populations, but it's newcomers to America who still make up much of the population-- immigrants from Vietnam, Haiti, Brazil, Guatemala, all seeking a better life just like Grandpa Samuel and Grandpa Jacob did so many years ago. And just like back then, some people treat the new immigrants with kindness and try to help them, while others exploit them or discriminate against them or mock them.

And every time I hear a craven politician stirring up the public by claiming it's the immigrants who are the main cause of crime, it just makes me sad: that wasn't true 100 years ago, and it's not true today. Unfortunately, scaring people and turning them against "the other," while a cynical strategy, has often proved to be a great way to get votes. And yet, you'd think we would have learned something since those massive waves of immigrants arrived over a century ago from Russia, and Poland, and Lithuania, and Italy, and Germany, and Hungary. Today's immigrants may be of different races from the ones who came here in 1910, and they may speak different languages. But their dreams and their hopes are very similar to what brought my grandfathers to America. It's a shame that more people can't see that the vast majority of immigrants just want to live a peaceful life and make a positive contribution. And wouldn't it be nice if more of us would welcome the stranger, the way both the Hebrew Bible and New Testament command us to do...    

Two Steps Forward, Two Steps Back

Twenty-five years ago, I was researching a book about the changing roles of women in society, and trying to find out if society's attitudes had also changed. In some cases, it seemed they had: there were more women doctors, for example, and going to medical school no longer seemed as unusual in 2000 as it had when I was growing up in the 1950s. (I still remember being told that women were best suited to working as teachers, nurses, or secretaries. Those are certainly fine occupations, but my point is I don't recall anyone back then telling us girls that we could be college presidents, or doctors, or business executives.)  

As for women politicians, in the 1950s, there still weren't a lot of them at the national level, even though women had gained the right to vote in 1920. In the US Congress in 1955, for example, there was only 1 woman senator, and just 16 women representatives (out of 435). And from the 1920s through the 1970s, many of the women who got to congress were widows, selected to complete the term of their late husband. However, things have certainly changed. If we use the congress as a measure of progress, we see that there are currently 25 women in the Senate, and 125 in the House. And the majority of these women are not widows. In fact, the idea that a woman might choose to run for office is no longer as shocking as it once was: there are currently 12 women governors, and more than 400 cities and towns have women mayors.

And yet... even in 2024, women candidates often face obstacles that men do not. I can give you a long list of women who ran for office (from both parties) over the past three decades who were subjected to rude, and even vulgar, commentary about their looks, how they dress, and even their family (or lack thereof). And the rise of social media has only made it easier to disseminate those kinds of comments.  

Of course, none of this is new: there are certain stereotypes that have historically been associated with women, and we can hear some folks dredging them up every election cycle. Women candidates are often called "dumb" or "stupid," for example. If they are married, there are questions raised about whether their husband is okay with them running for office, and what about the kids-- who is taking care of them? (And as we have seen in the current election cycle, if the candidate doesn't have kids, or is a stepmother, there are questions raised about that too.)

But what bothers me the most is the persistence of the myth that women in politics must have slept with someone in power to get ahead. There are aspersions cast on the woman's morals, with the implication that she must be somewhat promiscuous. (Of course, male candidates are rarely held to the same standard: they may be divorced multiple times, or cheat on their wife, or have a reputation for being a playboy, but that doesn't seem to disqualify them. Nor do most voters call out the hypocrisy of the guys who make these accusations against their female opponents. Evidently, if it's someone on "our team," he is free to say whatever he wants.) 

And that is why it really irritated me when I saw the online trolling of Kamala Harris by Donald Trump, with one of the most vulgar verbal attacks I've encountered in a long time. I waited for members of the Republican party to tell him he had gone too far, but of course, they said nothing. I waited for the media to make a story out of Mr Trump implying that the sitting vice president is basically a common prostitute, but other than a couple of mentions, most reporters seemed to treat it as another example of "Trump being Trump."

Let me be very clear that this is NOT partisan: I didn't like it when some folks made sleazy remarks about Sarah Palin, or Hillary Clinton. And as for First Ladies, I didn't like it when Melania Trump was spoken of in a demeaning way, nor did I like it when Michelle Obama was spoken of in ways that were both racist and sexist. I just don't understand why in 2024, we are still seeing those same tired myths that assume a woman in public life couldn't possibly have any political skills or intelligence, and she must have slept her way to the top.  

I understand that there is plenty to criticize about any candidate, male or female. I understand that not everyone likes (pick one) Kamala or Hillary or Melania or Michelle. I'm fine with policy disagreements. I'm fine with disagreements about what a female candidate, or a male candidate's wife, said at an event. But I am not fine with casting aspersions on the woman's morals, or sending around vulgar and degrading memes. It's time for this to stop. It's time for male politicians to stop doing it, and for folks on social media to stop re-posting these kinds of attacks. Female politicians and First Ladies deserve basic respect. So, yes, women in public life have come a long way; but some of the attitudes and stereotypes about them still have not. It makes me wonder what it will take for this to change. And I honestly don't know...

I Heard It On the Radio

It's National Radio Day, a day to celebrate a mass medium that is still important to many of us. I understand that in our internet and TV-oriented world, it's easy to forget about radio, but not all of us do. In fact, I know many people who still listen to it often. I'm one of them. 

I can honestly say that radio changed my life. Growing up, I loved rock and roll (much to the dismay of my parents, who thought rock music was "noise"). And I bonded with the deejays I heard on my favorite top-40 stations. They played my favorite songs, and the deejays sounded so friendly-- even though I never met most of them, I felt as if I knew them; and when I was having a bad day, listening to my favorite station made me feel better somehow. And I decided I wanted to be a deejay when I got older, so that I could play the hits and cheer people up too.

Of course, as many of you who have read my blog are aware, radio in the 1950s and 1960s did not welcome female deejays. It took me until my senior year of college before Northeastern University's WNEU finally let me on the air, in late October 1968; and as I like to say, somehow the republic did not fall. In fact, I got fan mail (I've saved some of it). I also became the station's music director, and I began making friends with record promoters, including some who introduced me to imports from England and from Canada. (This now internet-famous 1968 photo was taken in the WNEU studios, when I first went on the air.)                                               

No radio stations would hire me when I graduated: as I said, women announcers were still not being greeted with open arms. So, I used my degree in education and taught in the Boston Public Schools while continuing to try to find a radio station that would give me a chance. Along the way, I did some free-lance writing for several magazines and for the ABC Radio Network, before I was finally hired by WCAS in Cambridge, Massachusetts; it was a small station, only 250 watts, and a day-timer, but it had a devoted following. We played some folk, some rock, a few pop hits-- and it was like a dream come true to finally be on the air on a regular basis. From there, it was on to WMMS in Cleveland, where my friendships with Canadian record promoters enabled me to be the first to play a certain rock band some of you know-- Rush-- in the spring of 1974. (And we are still in touch to this day.)

My radio journey took me to New York, to Washington DC, and back to my hometown of Boston. I later started a radio and management consulting business, and I traveled all over North America, training air personalities and creating stations that met the needs of the audience. During the four decades I spent in radio, I worked in many interesting places, and I met lots of up-and-coming performers-- and some big stars too. And I hope that anyone who heard me on the air thought of me as someone worth listening to. And then, the industry changed and many of us found ourselves out of work. But even though I was able to reinvent myself by getting a PhD and becoming a professor, I never stopped loving radio, and I miss being on the air even now.

Of course, as we all know, today's radio is very different from when I was a deejay. In many cities, there are no live and local stations at all. There are fewer friendly deejays, and a lot more angry talk show hosts. I couldn't wait to hear my favorite station when I was growing up, but young people seldom listen to radio any more. Giant corporations, which bought up so many local stations, ended up either automating or voice-tracking them, or in some cases, shutting them down. Listeners got tired of all the commercials, and all the sameness, and they went elsewhere. And thanks to YouTube and services like Spotify, people could create their own playlists and not have to wait for their favorite station to play a song they liked. 

And yet, even now, in cities across the US, there are still some live and local stations, still some entertaining deejays, still some places to hear your favorite songs (along with traffic and weather and news). Even now, there are people listening to radio in their car, whether it's on satellite, or on NPR, or on a college station-- and yes they still exist. And even now, there are listeners who think of radio as a companion, just like I did, just like I still do. So, happy National Radio Day. It's a different industry, in a different world, but while radio is no longer considered a "magical medium," it is still capable of being there when we need it. And I hope it will continue to be, now and in the future.    

The Power of Doing a Mitzvah

A couple of weeks ago, a former student of mine got in touch. I hadn't heard from him in about 20 years, but evidently something caused him to think of me, and he decided to reach out. Basically, he wanted to thank me for what he learned in my media classes, and he told me that even now, he often uses what I taught him. To be honest, I never knew that my courses had left such a lasting impression. If you've ever been an educator, you know that every day, you try to be a source of credible information for your students. You try to motivate them, to encourage them, and to inspire them. But you don't always know how much they retained, or how things turned out for them after they graduated. So, it was gratifying to hear that I had made a difference for this student.

I know that for some people, teaching is just another job. But for some of us, it's more than that: it's  almost like a calling. You'll never get rich doing it, but there are so many opportunities to be a positive influence. I also think of teaching as another way I can do a mitzvah. Perhaps you are familiar with the word. A mitzvah is often (badly) translated as a "good deed." But it means a lot more than that. It's really about a positive action that makes the world better in some way. You don't do a mitzvah for the result-- you do it because it's the right thing to do. For example, on many occasions, I've tutored students who were struggling; some appreciated it and told me so, and some didn't even say thank you. But it was still a mitzvah to help them, and I'm glad I made the effort.

Anyone can do a mitzvah-- you don't have to be Jewish. You don't even have to be religious, since it's about doing, rather than believing. Of course, for some of us, doing a mitzvah does have a religious component: there are some things I am supposed to do because they are part of my religion. But others are things that anyone can do: for example, anyone can take the time to show compassion to someone going through a difficult time, or visit someone who is ill, or help someone who is in need. The possibilities are endless, and each time someone does one of these things, it puts a little more kindness into the world. And wouldn't you agree that this world could use a little more kindness? 

When people ask me for advice, as they sometimes do, I often tell them that each day, they should find their mitzvah. Find the good thing they can do that day to help to make the world a better place. That's why I do volunteer work. That's why I mentor students. That's why I try to be courteous on social media. It's all about doing a mitzvah whenever I can. I don't know what your mitzvah is, but I invite you to find it and do it. You may not get immediate praise--you may not get any praise at all. But it's not about the praise; it's about doing the right thing, and trying to make a difference... one mitzvah at a time.

In Praise of Childless Cat Ladies

Let me first set the record straight: I do not have a cat. In fact, I'm allergic to cats. Also dogs. Some of my friends have pets, but they kindly keep their pets away from me so that I won't break out in a rash. That said, let's get to the matter at hand: yes, it's true, I am childless. Well, actually it's not entirely true: when my husband and I got married, he had two kids from his first marriage. So, I became a step-mom. I don't know if I did a good job of it. It was an unexpected situation for me, and I'm sure I made my share of mistakes. But I tried my best, and I'm glad my step-daughters are living their best lives. That's all I ever wished for them.

However, I'm being honest when I say that having kids was never in my plans. Having a career, yes. Marrying, perhaps. Being a mom, no. I knew from the time I was about four or five that I didn't want to have kids. I don't know where I got it from-- growing up in the 1950s, all I saw were stay-at-home moms. The culture insisted on it: the common wisdom said all a woman wanted in life was a husband and children. Advertisements reinforced this message constantly, showing stylishly-dressed, beautiful women smiling as they vacuumed, happily showing their daughters (never their sons) how to do housework. 

In the 50s, women were told it was an either-or situation. Either have a career or have a family. It could not be both. In fact, there were serious discussions about whether going to college was useful for a woman, since no man wanted a woman who was "too smart." I still remember the magazine articles that told young women to pretend they didn't know anything about [pick a subject,] or to intentionally lose at bowling so that the guy they were dating wouldn't feel threatened. Everyone knew that men didn't want a woman who was good at sports; such a woman was unfeminine, a tomboy. And as for those women who wanted a career? They were just bitter "old maids," or "spinsters," ugly women who probably couldn't get a husband anyway. 

Ah, the good old days: I can still remember how the kids at school told me I was ugly. I was mocked for being "different" because I wanted to go into broadcasting. I was told that girls should only be teachers or nurses or secretaries, and they should quit their job the moment they got married. None of that appealed to me. I wanted to go to college. I wanted to be a deejay. I wanted to find some folks I could talk sports with. I hoped to find true love someday, but I had no interest in having kids. I liked kids. I enjoyed reading them stories or babysitting them. But I could not imagine myself having any. 

I didn't know back then that about 10-12% of the population is childless by choice. It was always framed in the ads and on TV and in movies as a tragic situation, something that could ruin a woman's life. There were so many plots about women who could not have children, and in all of them, the woman was the object of pity, devastated by her inability to have a baby. I don't recall any plots where the woman couldn't have kids and was fine about it. 

But I was fine about it, even if I didn't know anyone else who shared my views. To this day, I still think it's a wise woman who knows herself, and if having kids is not right for her, she should not be shamed or mocked. I am always annoyed whenever a politician or a commentator insults women who are childless. I see it more often than I should. A 2021 quote from J.D. Vance is being recycled: he mocked Kamala Harris for not having kids (newsflash: like me, she is a step-mom). And once again, there are folks repeating the claim that only women who have (biological) kids are "normal."

I will leave it to you, dear reader, to decide if I'm normal. But I do know that I've never regretted my decision. I've spent years as a teacher, a tutor, a volunteer, a story-lady... I'm around kids all the time. Frankly, I've always thought we as a society should take care of the kids who are already here before we add more, but that's a conversation for another day. The conversation for today is this: there are many wonderful moms out there, and I salute them. But there are also many women who, for whatever reason, do not have kids. So what? My hat's off to the step-moms, the mentors, the foster parents, the women who adopt, and yes, the women who have decided that kids just aren't for them. Personally, I think the world would be a much better place if some folks would stop passing judgment and minding everyone's business. And in 2024, we shouldn't still be implying that only the women who have kids are contributing to society. There are many possible ways to contribute-- having kids is only one of them.

Just a Little Respect

Because I'm a media historian and a former broadcaster, I tend to save memorabilia, especially items related to my career. I've got old top-40 surveys from the 1950s (when I first realized I wanted to be a deejay); album rock surveys I created when I became music director at my college station in late 1968; and various other items from the stations where I worked in the 1970s, 1980s, etc. And as you might expect, I have lots of memorabilia related to the 50 years that I've known Rush-- including a large collection of the newspaper and magazine reviews that rock critics gave their shows.  

Suffice it to say that most of the reviews the band got in the 70s and 80s were negative. Many critics hated Geddy's voice, thought the band was "pretentious" or "derivative," and mocked the devoted (and growing) fan base the band had. Needless to say, I was not amused by any of this. I thought the criticism was unfair, and I thought the mockery was unwarranted. (One critic, who thought he was being clever, said he'd rather have a root canal than listen to a Rush concert.) So, I frequently called up some of the critics, and though I doubt I won them over, I hope I at least mounted a good defense for why Rush mattered so much to so many fans. 

Among the folks who really disliked Rush back then were the critics at Rolling Stone, a very influential music magazine; I was told even Jann Wenner himself hated the band, and when they were eligible to be considered for the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, he was opposed and so were the judges. And so it was that year after year, Rush never got a fair hearing and never got taken seriously-- no matter how many albums they sold or how large the venues they played or how enthusiastic their fans were, the critics dismissed Rush. And over the years, I called, I wrote letters, and in the online era, I sent emails, trying to get to the decision-makers, trying to make them see that Rush deserved to be considered. (Although the Rock Hall judges were supposed to be anonymous, some of us suspected we knew who at least a few of them were.) 

Frustration set in. Alex and Geddy and Neil told me they didn't mind not being inducted, but I suspected it irritated them as much as it irritated me. (And it certainly irritated the fans.) Determined to do something, several fans-- most notably two brothers from St. Louis, Kevin and Keith Purdy, worked with me to get Rush some much-deserved recognition: we proposed them for a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Contrary to myth, it's not an easy process, and no, not everyone gets a star. But with the cooperation of their management, we made an excellent case. And on June 25, 2010, Rush got their star on the Walk of Fame.

Perhaps you were there. I was asked by Rush's management (led by the late, great Pegi Cecconi) to give a brief talk just before they received their star. Billy Corgan of Smashing Pumpkins gave one too. It was such a wonderful day, and one that I will never forget. Neil couldn't attend (but some of his family members did). Geddy and Alex seemed genuinely moved by my little introductory speech. And Neil's friend Craig was there, taking some photos, including this one.      

In the end, a new group of Rock Hall judges came on board, and several years later, Rush DID get inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, as they should have. But for me and for the fans who had believed in Rush for so long, that star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame was our way of showing how much we loved and admired this band; and to this day, it remains a symbol of the respect we have for their music, and a sign of the seminal role Rush has played in our lives.

Knowing When to Let Go

When I was working at WMMS in Cleveland, I fell in love with a guy who was a record promoter. He was charming, a good conversationalist, and we had a lot of interests in common. Unfortunately for me, he worked in New York, in that era before the internet, before Zoom, and even before cheap long distance telephone calls. So, we were only able to call each other a few times a week; we also kept in touch by letter (I still remember hurrying to the post office to get a letter into the mail-- there was a midnight pick-up back then, and if you were lucky, your letter would get to New York in only two days). Needless to say, I was delighted when I got a new job in New York in mid-1975: it paid more money than I made at WMMS, but it also meant I could be near the guy I cared about. 

What I didn't know was that he was an alcoholic. Yes, he had told me he used to drink, but he also told me that he didn't do it much anymore, and once we were together, he wouldn't do it at all. None of this was true, as I found out the hard way. Today, I understand that alcoholism, like drug addiction, is a disease, and it's a disease of denial: few people who have it want to admit it, and so they claim they can stop at any time. Or they insist they have good reasons for doing it-- they only do it when they get lonely; or they do it because hate their job; or they do it because everyone else is doing it and they don't want to stand out. There's always some excuse, but it's never their fault. And when the addict or alcoholic makes one more promise they can't keep, or tells one more lie, or disappoints you one more time, or tells you it's somehow your fault, it's often the family members or the romantic partner who have to deal with the emotional damage.         

I can't tell you how many times he promised to change. And he did quit drinking for a while. But being with him was a roller coaster ride: some days, it was amazing, some days it was frightening, and I never knew which it would be. At its best, we had a lot of fun together-- we went to concerts, restaurants, movies, even Wrestlemania. But at its worst, it was like walking on egg shells. Something would set him off and he'd start blaming me for every problem in his life (and threatening to drink, which, of course, he said would be my fault too). I was unfamiliar with much of this. I don't drink or smoke or do drugs. I loved him, but the mood swings frightened me, and I worried that he really would go back to drinking. 

So, I began to attend Al-Anon (one of the best moves I ever made, because I learned the "3 Cs": you didn't cause his disease, you can't cure his disease, you can't control his disease. In other words, no matter what he says, his commitment to his sobriety is up to him. If he's not ready, you can't make him quit. And if he chooses not to get treatment, you are not to blame). Eventually, I realized that as much as I loved him, I couldn't continue: all the drama was putting my own health in jeopardy. Ending the relationship was the hardest thing I ever did. And despite the ups and downs, I still loved him for a long time afterwards. Eventually, I made peace with my decision, and looking back on it, I know I did the right thing. 

What brought all this to mind was the online reaction I saw to Hunter Biden's legal troubles. No, this is not a defense of Hunter, nor is any of this partisan, because that's my point: addiction to drugs or alcohol isn't partisan. It can strike Democrats, Republicans, or Independents-- and it does. Some folks were mocking Hunter and saying he should have just quit doing drugs. Agreed. And my ex-boyfriend should have quit drinking. But as I said, it's a disease: it's a compulsion, not a lifestyle choice. Those who have it often wish they could stop, but they can't. They deny, they make excuses, they feel guilty, they apologize, that's all part of their illness. If they get treatment and commit to staying clean, they can turn their life around. Hunter says he has done that, and I hope he's telling the truth. I know many people who have not made that commitment, and the people who love them are desperate to see them make better choices.

Based on the reactions I've been seeing over the past week, a lot of folks still have misconceptions about addiction; they seem to think all the addict needs is willpower; or they think of addiction like some weakness or defect. It's not. It's a disease, and it requires a commitment, and a plan, to get better. Meanwhile, if you are reading this and nodding because you are in a relationship with someone who is addicted to drugs or alcohol, please know that it is NOT your fault. If possible, get some support for yourself, whether through therapy or Al-Anon or some other self-help group with a good track record. In the end, your story may have a happy ending; but then, you may have to walk away, in order to preserve your own health. That's a hard lesson to learn, but it's an important one: sometimes, it's best to focus on your own well-being, and not spend your time trying to rescue the person you love.

Finding My Way (Or Trying To...)

So, as I write this, I am now officially without a job. I haven't been without a job since I was a teenager, and frankly, I don't like it very much. I'm not the kind of person who is eager to retire: I actually enjoy working. In fact, my professional life has long been a major part of who I am as a person. Whether I was a deejay, or a music director, or a radio consultant, or when I reinvented myself and became a college professor, these things all helped to define my identity. In radio, I was that person making a difference for my audience by playing the songs they liked; and I was the friendly voice they heard when they tuned to their favorite station. Later, as an educator, I was that person making a difference for my students by teaching them, mentoring them, and training them. I not only taught whatever the subject was, but I also taught critical thinking, and respect for differing points of view. And I ran the school newspaper: some of my student interns went on to get good jobs in media.  

And then, the university where I worked decided to get rid of a bunch of us, in a move that was ostensibly about budget-cuts. These things happen. I understand that. During my years in radio, I was fired on several occasions-- stations changed ownership, and the new folks wanted to bring in their own people. In this case, there has been a budget crunch and the administration believed that firing more than two dozen professors was a way to save some money. But knowing the reason (whether I agreed with it or not) didn't make it any easier. The bottom line is I'm now unemployed, and that's not something I was planning on, nor something I was looking forward to.

I don't know about you, but I function best when I know where I'm supposed to be and what I'm expected to do. Thus, not knowing what the next thing is for me is very disconcerting. It's also very worrisome, given that, as I've mentioned in previous blogs, I'm 77. Still young and cute, still active, still energetic, but 77. I sincerely don't know if other companies are going to see me as someone with a lot to offer-- someone with many accomplishments who still has much more she can achieve. My fear is that they'll see me as someone who might require a higher salary, or someone who is (gasp) too old, and they will simply gravitate towards folks who are younger.    

A couple of weeks ago, a student of mine told me that someone on Reddit had posted an old photo of me, the one in the studios at Northeastern in 1968, when I became their first female deejay. I'm rarely on Reddit, but I went to check out the site and thank whoever had posted the photo. And while I was there, I found a Rush fan group. I'm not a member of many fan groups (no time, usually), but I saw a post that I thought I could contribute to, and so I joined. Needless to say, some folks didn't think it was really me, but once they realized that it was, we had a nice conversation. It took my mind off of how I was feeling, and that was very helpful.

But the experience reminded me of how grateful I am to the folks I chat with online-- whether it's the people I play Wordle with on Twitter (I refuse to call it X, and I know I'm not alone), or the educators I help to support through charities like Donors Choose, or the fans who respond when I post something about Rush, or those who respond when I post something about politics, or media, or baseball-- and yes, that includes everyone who reads my blog. I have no idea what is going to happen next for me, and that isn't easy to deal with. But I feel a lot better knowing there are people online (some of whom I've never even met) who reach out to me on a regular basis. In difficult times, in insecure times, in times when nothing seems to make sense, I know I'm not going through it alone. I've said this before, but it needs to be said again: to all of you who are part of my extended online community, I appreciate you more than I can put into words.

The Fifties Are Calling (and I Don't Want to Answer)

I still fondly recall the day thirteen years ago this month when I got my PhD, at age 64. (Some folks had said I'd never do it, that I was "too old," but I showed them!) Meanwhile, around this time of year, undergraduate students are eagerly awaiting their turn to walk across the stage and get their diploma. Some graduations feature a famous commencement speaker, while others do not. Depending on the era, the speaker might be greeted with protests and boos, or greeted with cheers and applause. I got my BA in 1969, during the Vietnam War era, but to be honest, I don't recall who the commencement speaker was. Nor did many of my social media friends recall who theirs was: commencements can be very long, and the focus for a lot of people is getting that degree and going home. (In the end, I called the college library at Northeastern University, and they located the name: it was then-senator Ed Muskie. But I'd be lying if I said I remember it.)  

I do remember how excited I was to get my degree-- I was the first woman in my family to get one, at a time when women's career options were slowly expanding. I was still told to be a teacher, or a nurse, or a secretary; but I wanted a broadcasting career, and I fought for the right to have one. As many of you know, I spent four decades in radio. Along the way, I introduced the listeners to lots of new artists (including a certain Canadian rock band named Rush), I met some major celebrities, and I saw some amazing concerts. Unfortunately, I never got equal pay with men, nor did I always get equal respect. That was a common experience for women in the 60s and 70s: many guys were still not pleased that society was changing, and they made their displeasure known by treating us dismissively, or patronizing us, or just being rude. It took time, but I'd like to believe I earned the respect of the majority of the men I worked with. I'm still in touch with some of them to this day.

So, imagine my surprise when I heard about the commencement address that pro-football player Harrison Butker gave at Benedictine College recently, the one where he told the young women in attendance that they had been sold a "diabolical lie" about feminism, that a woman's true vocation is being a wife and mother and supporting her husband's goals, and that his wife Isabelle only achieved real happiness when she abandoned her dream of a career and embraced her God-given role as a homemaker; in fact, he said that was when "her life truly started," because she accepted what "God's will" was for her life. He also encouraged the male graduates to be "unapologetic in your masculinity," because, he said, it is men whose job it is to "set the tone of the culture."

I had to look at my calendar to make sure it was still 2024, rather than, perhaps, 1954. Okay fine, everyone has the right to their opinion, even one that some folks might regard as controversial. And I am in no way opposed to women being housewives or moms: these are noble professions, and having a career outside the home is not the right choice for everyone. But that's my point-- it should be a choice. From the talk Butker gave, I doubt that his wife really chose; he expected her to be a traditional homemaker, his interpretation of Christianity said that this was God's will, she agreed with what he said (as a good wife should), and that was the end of it. Since I don't know either of them, I don't know if she is as happy as he told the audience she was. I also don't know whether his advice was well-received by the young women in the audience, the ones he basically told that their degrees didn't matter, and that in God's eyes, they were future sinners unless they rejected feminism, and rejected any career other than housewife.   

When I was growing up, that's what the culture's message was to women. My mother wasn't allowed to go to college because the common wisdom was that "girls don't need a college education; they just need a husband." And having a career was presented as an "either-or": either you have a career or you marry and have kids. But you couldn't do both. Then, gradually, society changed, and these days, you can. However, some folks evidently miss those "good old days" when the men went out to work, and then came home and watched TV, while the women cooked and cleaned and raised the kids. I remember those days: while my father helped my mother with some of the household chores (something few men of that era did), I was always told that he was "the head of the house." I had no idea what that meant, but it didn't sound fair, or equal, to me. My mother accepted it, of course, but I often wondered if she ever wished she'd been allowed to go to college, or if she wished her life had given her more options.

I'm glad I had the opportunities my mother did not. I'm glad that I was able to have the career I wanted. And yes, I did get married-- a lot of folks from the music industry and radio attended my wedding, and one of the photos ended up in Billboard magazine. But it worries me that there are some men who believe they know what God wants for women, or who believe it was a better world when men ruled and women obeyed (cheerfully, of course). Frankly, I don't think either men or women should "rule." I think they should be partners and friends, and work together to make the world a better place. And in this graduation season, I do hope we can give female graduates a better message than "be a homemaker, because God said so." I used to be a chaplain, and I think I know my scriptures, and the Bible contains stories of women who held a wide range of roles in their society: wives and mothers yes, but also judges, prophets, teachers, and businesswomen. So, congratulations to all the graduates: may you find the right path for you, whatever it is. And may you continue to have many options-- including the right to choose what your future holds.     

A Failure to Communicate

A friend of mine who watches the evening news asked me how I felt about the growing number of angry and chaotic campus demonstrations. I told him that I was somewhat ambivalent. First and foremost, I support the students' First Amendment right to (peacefully) protest what they believe is an unfair government policy (U.S. support for Israel), or to demand that there be a cease-fire in Gaza. But there's more to it than that: a part of me empathizes with student protesters, having been one during the 1960s.

In 1968, there were many campus demonstrations, as students objected to the government's policies in Vietnam. Nearly every student, including me, knew someone who had gotten drafted and sent overseas. We wanted the war to end, and we also wanted young adults to have a say in policies that affected them-- at that time, the voting age was 21, and we wanted it lowered to 18, the age when young men could be drafted. Many adults accused us of being anti-American; but as we saw it, the government was wrong, and the war needed to end. And I can understand that many young people today are passionate about wanting the war between Israel and Hamas to be over-- just like a lot of us were passionate about wanting the U.S. to get out of Vietnam.    

But on the other hand, some of the recent demonstrations have worried me. I've been saddened to see some of the participants using the protests as an opportunity to make anti-Jewish remarks, or to say that Israel has no right to exist. (They don't say that Saudi Arabia or Rwanda or Myanmar, or other countries that have been involved in brutal wars, have no right to exist-- they only seem to single out Israel.) And I am also concerned that many Jewish students no longer feel safe on campus: they are being taunted, or, in some cases, threatened, for being pro-Israel-- and it's some of their own classmates who have turned on them. Agreed, the majority of the protests have been loud but peaceful; and the haters are a small but noisy minority at most of them. But that's not much consolation to the Jewish students being verbally attacked.

These days, I wonder what my own students think of me. Many have been taught that Israel is a white, colonial oppressor (not true, and quite an over-simplification, but it's widely believed on the left). And since they know I am (a) Jewish, and (b) pro-Israel, perhaps some no longer think I'm okay. I also wonder what my conservative Christian friends are thinking lately-- some of them support Israel without question, because they believe its existence is part of God's plan for the end-times, the place where the second coming of Jesus will take place. Thus, the fact that I vehemently disagree with the current right-wing Israeli government, or that I believe in a Two-State Solution, means I'm probably not okay with my conservative friends either. 

In such polarizing times, I wonder if I'm okay with anyone. If social media is any indication, people seem to have become increasingly impatient and angry. If I post my Wordle scores, or blog about rock music, many people praise me. But if I blog about politics, there are people who tell me to "stay in my lane" and stick to Wordle and rock music. But I can't do that. I've always had a wide range of interests, and that includes politics and current events-- I don't expect everyone to agree with me, but I do enjoy talking about what's going on out there. And I want to continue doing that.

Unfortunately, lots of people these days prefer only hearing from those whose views align with their own, whether it's about Israel/Palestine, or liberal/conservative, or "My favorite band is better than your favorite band." And when a disagreement occurs, it becomes an excuse for some folks to try to shout the other side down. But whether it's online or on college campuses, refusing to talk to "them" is only making things worse. Maybe I'm just an idealist, but it would be nice if the various "sides" could listen to each other more and blame each other less... rather than creating new ways to make conversation impossible.

Where Were You in 1974?

It often amazes me that in early May, it will be 50 years since Bob Roper sent me that album on Moon Records by three guys from Toronto. The band was called Rush, not to be confused with another Canadian band we were playing-- a Montreal-based band called Mahogany Rush (and as a music director, I was concerned that listeners would indeed get the two confused, even though they sounded nothing like each other). 

And because it's the 50 year anniversary of when Rush started getting a lot of airplay in the US (much to their surprise), some webcasts and podcasts have been inviting me on, to look back on that first Rush album and discuss what I recall about hearing it for the first time, and to tell the story of how I got the band airplay on WMMS. And some hosts have also asked me another question: what I remember about my life back in 1974. 

It wasn't a very exciting life, to be honest. I was 27 years old, and I was living in an apartment complex in Warrensville Heights, Ohio, a few miles from downtown. I was driving an old car and it only had an AM radio, but in 1974, that was okay because there were still quite a few stations that played the hits and had personality deejays. And since I grew up with top-40, I could usually find something to listen to. (Eventually, I got a car that had FM, but in 1974, I remember listening to AM stations like WIXY, WGAR, and WHK.)

It was actually a good time to listen to hit radio, whether on AM or on FM. In early-to mid-1974, I remember songs like "Bennie and the Jets" by Elton John, "Jet" and "Band on the Run" by Paul McCartney and Wings, "The Joker" by the Steve Miller Band, "Let It Ride" and "Takin' Care of Business" by Bachman-Turner Overdrive, "Keep on Smiling" by Wet Willie, and "Piano Man" by Billy Joel. "Sundown" by Gordon Lightfoot was moving up the charts, and so was "The Air that I Breathe" by the Hollies. The top-40 charts spanned the gamut from the serious and thought-provoking, like Stevie Wonder's "Living for the City," to a ridiculously catchy song by Blue Swede, the one that began "Ooga-Chucka, Ooga, Ooga" (their version of "Hooked on A Feeling").  

1974 was the year when "Happy Days" made its TV debut, and while I had grown up in the fifties and never thought of them as particularly enjoyable, the show was entertaining-- and to this day, I'm a big fan of Henry Winkler. Looking at my old TV Guide magazines, I note that "All in the Family" was still very popular--#1 in the ratings-- and so were TV detective shows like "Kojak" and "Columbo." But I didn't watch a lot of TV-- I worked crazy hours, and VCR's wouldn't come onto the scene till 1975, so I often missed my favorite shows and had to wait for re-runs. 

The big news event of 1974 was Watergate, which led to the resignation of Richard Nixon in August; he was the first American president to have to resign. A lot of us in album rock radio were not surprised. Nixon had long been a polarizing figure in politics, and on college campuses. Ever since the late 1960s, college radio stations, along with a growing number of FM "progressive rock" outlets, had played music protesting the war in Vietnam, and criticizing the policies of President Lyndon Johnson, and Nixon, who had succeeded him. (I certainly played some of those songs when I was on the air at WNEU at Northeastern University-- I recall being among the first to get a copy of "Ohio" by Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, and if you remember the lyrics, songwriter Neil Young was not fond of Nixon at all. Neither was I-- Nixon had a long history of casual antisemitism, making him one of my least favorite presidents. I wasn't sorry to see him go.)      

I was still adapting to living in Cleveland, to be honest: I had never lived anywhere other than Boston, and I recall having a difficult time making friends. Fortunately, work took up most of my time. In fact, my life back then revolved around WMMS. I was the station's music director-- my boss first called my job "music coordinator," but everyone else in the industry called me the music director, and eventually, my title was changed to reflect that. My duties included calling or writing the various record promoters, seeing them when they came to the station, listening to the new albums, choosing the ones that seemed right for us, and then, sitting with my boss to discuss which of the new songs we liked-- the announcers could choose their own songs back then, but my boss and I were the ones who put the new albums in the studio and included our recommendations. Sometimes, I would meet up-and-coming artists when they came by the station-- that was another fun aspect of the job, as I met a lot of folks who went on to become famous. I was also working on the air (they had me on an overnight weekend shift, but I was also expected to be there Monday morning for meetings). And I still remember answering a lot of letters from listeners-- it was still an era when people wrote letters, and WMMS got plenty of mail. I tried to answer as much of it as I could. 

Of course, everything changed when "Working Man" by Rush began to be one of the audience's favorite songs, leading to the guys coming to Cleveland for an early gig at the Allen Theater in late June 1974. I would be lying if I said I expected we'd all stay in touch-- I never expected that we would. And yet, 50 years later, while so much in my life is different from how it was back then, I am still in touch with the surviving members of Rush, along with their families, and even some of the folks who worked for their record company. 2024 is very different from 1974, but I am so grateful that Alex and Geddy (and the memory of Neil) remain a part of my world... a world that was changed forever (for me, for Rush, and for so many of the fans) 50 years ago, in 1974.       

Try a Little Kindness

I haven't blogged much recently, since, as many of you know, I've been recovering from pneumonia, and it has been taking a while for me to get my energy back. I'm grateful for so many good wishes from folks who reached out to me by email and on social media: on the days when I get frustrated, it's nice to hear some words of encouragement.

And that's what I wanted to write about -- the difference that kindness and encouragement can make. In my most recent blog post, I wrote about a couple of turning points in my life, both of which did not seem monumental at the time but turned out to be life-changing. This time, I'd like to tell you about some moments of unexpected kindness; and even years later, I still remember how much they meant to me at the time, and how much I recall them fondly even now. 

Let me take you back to October 7, 1971, at a venue in Boston called the Music Hall, where there was a live performance by Neil Diamond. But I wasn't there to watch the show. I was there to interview him, and to be honest, I was terrified. I had just graduated college not that long ago, and now I was working as a free-lance writer. I was involved with writing a segment for the ABC radio network, and thanks to a deejay friend of mine, I was able to talk to Neil backstage, before the show. I had my list of questions, and I knew what I was supposed to do; but there he was, and there I was, and I just blurted out that he was one of my favorite performers and I was really nervous. To my surprise, he was very understanding. Before the interview began, he asked me about myself, and I told him how all I wanted to do was be on the radio, but few stations were hiring female deejays. I don't recall word-for-word what he said to me, but I do remember that he gave me a hug and told me not to give up. And he told me that one day, I would succeed. I did my interview, and I hope I didn't make a fool of myself. And to this day, I have never forgotten that Neil Diamond took the time to encourage me-- something he did not have to do.   

Or fast forward to an evening in 1978-- I don't recall the date, but I do recall the event. I was working in radio in Washington DC, and there was a party for Bruce Springsteen, where local deejays and music directors and program directors could meet him and chat about his new record. Record companies held these sorts of meet-and-greet events often, and I always enjoyed them. But this one was a problem for me: I'm a non-drinker, and there was absolutely nothing for me to drink, except perhaps water. The local promotion man was quite dismissive of the fact that I didn't drink; in fact, when I asked him why there was nothing for non-drinkers, he suggested I go across the street to the 7-11 and buy myself something. So I did. I was sitting at the event, drinking some orange juice, and in walked Springsteen. Interestingly, he said he didn't want anything alcoholic either, and the promotion man pointed to me, sitting there drinking my orange juice, and suggested I'd be willing to share. Lucky for me, Bruce figured out that the environment wasn't exactly welcoming to non-drinkers, and he came over and sat with me. We had a wonderful conversation about the music industry, as well as about hosts who don't seem to understand how to make everyone feel welcome. I was so impressed with how friendly and down-to-earth he was. And at a time when others weren't so tolerant of those of us who didn't drink, Bruce was fine about it. (And it was fun sharing my orange juice with him!)

Over the years, I've met a lot of celebrities. Some were arrogant jerks who were rude and inconsiderate. Others were kind and generous (the members of Rush fall into this category, as you might expect). But let me conclude by telling you about someone who isn't famous, isn't a celebrity, but is certainly important to me: my husband. I've written about Jon before, but here's something that really impressed me about him: his compassion. Since 1984, I've been the advocate for an adult with autism; his name is Jeff, and I love him like a son. And whenever I would date anyone, I was always interested in how that person felt about Jeff. Some guys were resentful. Some put up with the volunteer work I did, but they failed to see why I did it. But Jon understood, and he embraced the idea. He helped me teach Jeff. He willingly spent time with Jeff. He took Jeff swimming, and hiking, and on nature walks. And Jeff, who was afraid of most folks he didn't know, really began to feel comfortable being around Jon. To this day, he loves Jon and enjoys being around him. And for me, the fact that Jon saw Jeff's possibilities, the fact that he showed Jeff love and kindness, was one of the reasons I knew Jon was the right person for me.  

So, if there's any message to this blog post, it's that I believe whenever we show compassion to someone else, it's time well-spent. It may not get an immediate result, it may not seem to make a difference, and it may not earn you praise. But I can assure you that in the greater scheme of things, how we treat others really matters. So, in times like these, when all we hear about are the people who are angry or polarized, let's not forget the people who are caring, the people who try their best to be kind. I know from experience that being empathetic isn't always easy, but it's worth the effort. In fact, the way I see it, being kind, being welcoming, being encouraging makes life a little better-- not only for others but also for ourselves.

Those Unexpected Turning Points (Rush Edition)

As many of you know, I've been sick with pneumonia. I don't recommend it, and I'm not having fun with it. I can't wait to start feeling better. But the only positive thing about being stuck at home taking my medicine (and wishing my voice didn't sound like a foghorn) is I had a lot of quiet time. And I found myself thinking about those little moments in our lives that at the time didn't seem very significant but ended up being life-changing.

My husband could probably speak about that. It was 1984, and he was going through a divorce. He had an opportunity to come north for a new job. One night, he went to a club in a suburb of Boston, to try to meet some folks in a city where he knew nobody. And who was at that club? A certain woman from a local radio station, there to help judge a dance contest (hint: it was me). I wasn't there to meet anyone. I planned to do my little judging thing and leave. He and I chatted, we danced a couple of times, but I didn't have any plan to stick around. Plus, while he seemed nice and I could relate to being lonely in a new city, he didn't seem like my type-- he smoked (I'm allergic), he was a social drinker (I never touch the stuff), and his politics seemed more conservative than mine. 

But at some point in the conversation, he mentioned that his daughter liked a certain rock band; he preferred country music, but his daughter was into this band called "Rush," and since I was a deejay, did I know who they were? Well, yes, you might say I did! And out of that unexpected meeting at the club, quite a few other events unfolded. For one thing, he and I started to date. And while our relationship had its ups and downs, eventually, we got married and we are still together. I'm grateful for that. As for his daughter, I was able to get her backstage to meet Rush in person (even Neil showed up). Several weeks from today, it will be four decades since the night my husband and I first met. It certainly didn't turn out the way I expected; and if you asked my husband, I doubt it turned out the way he expected either. As I said, you just never know when something could become a turning point in your life (and the role Rush might play in it).

And that brings back another memory from four decades ago-- the day I got that manila envelope from my friend Bob Roper, of A&M of Canada. It was in the early spring of 1974, and I was sitting in my office at WMMS in Cleveland, auditioning new songs, and the album was by a Canadian band named Rush. I didn't know much about them, but I trusted Roper to send me good Canadian imports, and I figured I'd see what was on the album. So I dropped the needle on one of the longer tracks, a song called "Working Man." It was a really good song. It was a perfect song for a factory town like Cleveland. 

But I had NO idea how that one song would change so many lives. I had no idea that fifty years later, millions of people all over the world would know the band, or that I would become friends with the members of Rush and be with them during key moments in their career. It started with Bob Roper sending me a record. I played it. Fans loved it. And the rest, as they say, is history. But to this day, I'm amazed by how it all turned out. If you had told me back in 1974 that my life would change because of one song by one Canadian band, I doubt I would have believed it. But here we are, nearly fifty years later, and I continue to marvel at how that song became a turning point in my life. Not what I expected. And yet it happened. And as I said, it goes to show there's no way to predict what the future holds, or the enduring power of a certain Canadian band.

"The Treasure of a Life is a Measure of Love and Respect"

As many of you know, Valentine's Day was my birthday-- #77. And imagine my surprise to find that about 900 folks reached out to wish me a happy birthday. A few went old-school and sent birthday cards (which I was delighted to receive), and a couple of my more artistic students created hand-made (or hand-painted) cards to give me. My stepdaughter sent balloons and an adorable stuffed animal (a unicorn) for my collection, and my husband made duck with orange sauce-- to go along with the birthday cake we had for dessert. 

But most of the well-wishers reached out to me on Twitter (I refuse to call it "X"), and Facebook, and Instagram, and Threads. Some just wished me a happy birthday, but others sent along personalized messages. I have to admit I didn't expect so many folks to be thinking of me, and knowing they did definitely put a smile on my face.

Okay fine, in some cases, the messages were automatic: if you follow me on social media, when it's time for my birthday (or anyone that you follow), you get a notification. But in a large number of the messages, the person had kind words to say about something positive that I had contributed to their life: there were former students I had mentored, friends that I had encouraged, people who read my articles or heard me on a podcast and thought my perspectives were inspiring, teachers whose classrooms received books or school supplies from me, and (of course) a large number of Rush fans who expressed their gratitude for my role in introducing Rush to the world.  

Several of the people who reached out are folks I met when I was in college radio or former colleagues I worked with in the music industry decades ago; the fact that they have kept in touch for so long means a lot. Others are people I've only known for a relatively short time: for example, a few young female Rush fans wanted me to know they see me as a role model and a trailblazer. Interestingly, some folks who got in touch are people who didn't seem to like me very much years ago, but perhaps time has caused their opinion of me to improve.

I tried to get back to as many of the well-wishers as I could. But I also wanted to use this blog post to send my appreciation to everyone who took the time to let me know I was in their thoughts. This has been a difficult few months for me, what with finding out I'm losing my job, and confronting the reality that it may be difficult to find a new one because we are a youth-oriented culture and I'm now 77-- still young and cute, but 77. And yet, to everyone who got in touch, I was just Donna, their friend, someone they cared about, someone who deserved to be remembered on her special day. 

To be honest, I find it hard to believe I'm worthy of that kind of adulation, but there it was-- more than 900 folks sending their love in my direction. So, if I have contributed to your life, if I have been a good friend or a good colleague or a role model or a motivational figure (or someone to play Wordle with), I'm glad. As Neil Peart said in The Garden (one of my favorite Rush songs), "The treasure of a life is a measure of love and respect." I've tried to be someone who treated others with love and respect. Thank you for giving me that treasure: the gift of knowing that on some level, I succeeded.

My Birthday Wish

I normally blog a couple of times a month, and since this one is coming out at the beginning of February, the next one will be right after my birthday, on February 14th (Valentine's Day). Given that I'm a cancer survivor, it seems amazing to me that I'm about to be 77. Many of my relatives did not live to be 77. So, as I have said many times, I am grateful every day.

All my life, I've always been honest about my age: for generations, women were told to never admit to how old they actually were, but that custom mystified me. It seemed to play into the belief that only a young woman had value, and if a woman wasn't what society considered young, then she was expected to lie. But why be ashamed of how old we are? Why lie about it? So, yes, God willing, I'm about to be 77. People tell me I don't look it, and I guess that's a good thing-- although I don't know what a 77 year old is supposed to look like. I just know that's how old I'll be, and yes I understand that in a youth oriented culture, 77 is considered old.

And that is about to become a problem for me. As many of you know, several months ago, I received the disappointing news that 29 of my colleagues, including me, were being laid off: and the median age of those who got that email skewed over 50. Many of us are widely known, have won awards, are names in our field, and our students like us. But on paper, I guess we're considered old, and thus more expensive than younger faculty. And as businesses all over the country seek ways to save money, older personnel are being encouraged to take buyouts or they're being downsized.

So, while I am grateful to be alive, I'm facing the fact that it may be difficult for me to find another job. No, I don't want to retire: I enjoy working, and I can't imagine not doing it. (And I've been told I'm still good at it, so I'd like to continue.) Not only does having a job keep my mind active, but the income lets me pay my share of the bills, and have enough money to donate to the charities I care about. 

But will anyone see what I have to contribute? Will they see all of my accomplishments thus far and think that I still have plenty more to offer? Or will they just see someone who is 77, and figure it's easier, and cheaper, to hire someone younger? No, I'm not trying to overstay my welcome, and I'm not trying to prevent a new generation from having their chance. Ideally, it shouldn't be "us versus them": there ought to be room for both the younger and the older generations, since each has important perspectives, and each has different experiences to share.

And if I have a birthday wish, beyond another year of health, I wish for the opportunity to keep making a difference, the opportunity to be judged not by my chronological age (or the stereotypes about it) but by what I've done already and what I still can do. I truly believe there's more out there for me to accomplish. To be honest, the odds don't seem to be in my favor right now, but I know that things can change. I hope they will. And I hope that soon, my birthday wish will come true.      

When Bad Behavior Seems to Get Rewarded

It should come as no surprise to those who read my blogs that my politics tend to lean center-left. On some issues, I'm more center-right, but in general, I'd have to say yes, center-left. However, I have many friends and colleagues who do not share my politics, and that's okay. We can agree to disagree and still be friends. We can find common ground on some issues, and put the rest aside. But heated arguments, name-calling, and insults just aren't my style. Yes, I can be passionate about what I believe, but I've never understood the need to mock or demonize folks who don't see things my way. And while I enjoy winning a debate, I don't see the value in turning everything into World War III.

I grew up in an era when political discourse could be intense-- as the fictional Mr. Dooley said back in 1895, and many modern politicians have since repeated, "Politics ain't beanbag." But I didn't grow up in a world where rudeness and unkindness were rewarded.There were norms: politicians could be snide or sarcastic, but vulgarity was frowned upon, and so was mocking how someone else talked. If a politician cursed in public, that was considered a no-no. So was making threats against your opponent. And if you lost an election, no matter how hard-fought, you accepted the loss and either ran again or did something else with your life. 

Okay, fine, times changed. But sometimes I wonder if things changed for the better. Radio, which used to feature announcers who were like your best friend, began airing angry political talk shows where name-calling was the rule, rather than the exception.On TV, cable news brought us lots of information (and exciting visuals), but it also brought us partisan commentators who cared more about generating outrage than sticking to the facts. And in politics, the tone of some candidates went from intense and passionate to conspiratorial and mean. And the other party wasn't just your opponent-- the other party was evil and needed to be destroyed. 

And when I was growing up, Evangelical Christians took the scriptures seriously. They would never have supported a candidate like Donald Trump-- someone who had been married three times, had cheated on his wife with a porn star, used vulgar language on a regular basis, frequently lied, mocked people with disabilities, and advocated for policies that not only showed little empathy for the poor but, more often than not, were uncaring and even cruel.

But in Iowa, a deeply religious state, white Evangelicals came out in large numbers to support the former president, and that has been the trend in other states as well. Perhaps they are willing to put aside their previous views because he supported policies they liked (such as bringing about the end of Roe v. Wade); but this still seems very transactional to me. Either you believe in ethics or you don't. I always thought Jesus said love your neighbor, feed the poor, give shelter to those who are less fortunate. But the candidate they support so faithfully believes none of those things; in fact, he believes quite the opposite. There is even a video circulating that implies he was chosen by God Himself, but no matter how many rationalizations are offered, I still find such devotion mystifying. 

I'm sure some of you are upset with me for writing this. I'm sure that some of you believe that the former president deserved to be re-elected. I can respect that belief; everyone has a favorite candidate, and supporters want to see that person win. But what I cannot respect is a candidate who uses hatred and bigotry in his speeches, and encourages others to do the same. What I cannot respect is someone who refuses to accept that he lost an election, and who continues to mislead his supporters about it. Call me old-fashioned, but I'm accustomed to leaders who bring out the best in people, not leaders who seem to enjoy bringing out the worst.    

And yet, here we are. As I write this, it's the King Holiday, when we commemorate the birthday of civil rights leader Martin Luther King Jr. Earlier today, I put a favorite quote of his online, from 1967: "Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” But tonight, after the results of the Iowa caucuses, I wonder if some folks believe love is overrated, and that political power matters more. I hope that's not true nationwide. I hope that this isn't a sign that people want a leader who is cruel and autocratic, as long as he gives them permission to hate the right people. I hope more people will stand up and say "no" to that kind of politics, no matter which party they're from. But right now, I have no idea if they will, and that's what worries me.