In Search of the Missing Photo

I never met my maternal grandmother, even though I am named after her; in the Jewish religion, it's a custom to name one's children after someone who has passed on, so that person's memory will live on in the world through the good deeds we do. So, while I'm Donna in English, I'm Devorah (Debra) in Hebrew-- which I believe was my Grandma Dora's Hebrew name.

My mother, of blessed memory, loved her dearly. Unfortunately, my grandmother endured many health problems, and she died young-- she was only 44, and from what was described to me, it certainly seemed like cancer. Today, the story might have a very different outcome, but in 1939, there were so few treatments available. My mother never fully recovered from watching what her mom went through. Even decades later, when telling me about the woman who was my grandmother, it would bring tears to my mother's eyes. 

I've heard so many stories of how compassionate and generous my Grandma Dora was. I always wished I could have met her.  Despite living through the Great Depression, and despite her poor health, I am told she was somehow optimistic; she was a very spiritual and caring person, and I know my mother always tried to emulate her. 

But while I have the stories my mother told me when I was growing up, I have no picture of my Grandma Dora. None. For whatever reason, no photographs from her life seem to have survived. I have found various documents online via Ancestry.com -- census records, streets she lived on, when and where she married my grandfather... but not one photo. 

I feel very fortunate that photographs of my mother, and my father, survived. I even have photos of a few of my relatives, and a couple of photos of my maternal grandfather. But the woman who was such a profound influence on my mother-- if anyone did take her picture, no-one has ever found it.

Every year, in September, just before the Jewish New Year, I visit the graves of my departed relatives, and I visit hers too. And when I stand before her gravestone, I imagine what she looked like, what she sounded like (my mother told me she would sing lullabies in Yiddish-- I wish I had heard those songs). I wonder if she would have liked me. When she was growing up, the roles of girls were so restricted, but by the time I was a teenager, so much had changed. Neither she nor my mother was encouraged to go to college, for example; but I was able to go, and I even graduated. I'd like to think she'd be pleased.

But above all, I wish I could tell her that while she died far too young, there have been so many advances in the treatment of cancer since then, and I am living proof-- as many of you know, I had cancer surgery in December 2014, and thanks to modern medicine (and by the grace of God), I am still here, at age 76. And for as long as I have on this earth, I will continue to do good deeds in her memory, in my mother's and my father's memory, and in the other relatives of mine who have passed. But there will always be a part of me that wishes I'd been able to meet my Grandma Dora. And I will continue to wish I had just one photo to remember her by.   

Brought Up to Believe (Or, What Does It Mean To Get A Good Education?)

When I was growing up in the 1950s and early 1960s, parents were eager for their kids to go to college. Back then, in a very conservative time, the expectation was that girls would learn to become teachers or nurses or executive secretaries (prior to becoming wives and mothers, of course); and boys would learn to be engineers, doctors, and businessmen. There was a plan, and everyone was expected to follow it, since (allegedly) we'd always done it this way.

Back then, we studied English Literature-- mostly British and U.S. writers, 99% of whom were white and male. And we studied World History-- but the focus was on Europe and no place else. We studied U.S. History-- but the focus was on America as a great country that had done amazing things. Agreed, America had in fact done some things that were amazing. On the other hand, however, there was no conversation about how Native Americans (or "Indians") were treated, no discussion of poverty, or people with disabilities, or discrimination. Nothing that was negative-- after all, we loved our country, and we were told that to question the dominant (positive) narratives was unpatriotic.

Yes, we might study Comparative Religions-- but the default position was Christianity, and all the other faiths, while misguided, were to be tolerated. The Holocaust? Barely mentioned. Slavery? The main thing was it ended with the Emancipation Proclamation. (And we never were told that some of the Founding Fathers had owned slaves.) Segregation? Not a thing to dwell on. Antisemitism? Not a thing to dwell on either. Racism? Nothing to discuss-- the constitution said we were all equal. Gay people? They were considered deviants, so why talk about them? (Some folks today insist there was no indoctrination back then-- but as someone who thought differently about some things, I can tell you that only certain viewpoints, and certain beliefs, were welcome. I was often told I had the "wrong" beliefs.)  

Even in college, there were a lot of things we weren't supposed to talk about. Occasionally, I had a professor who did things differently, a professor who was thought-provoking and encouraged us to analyze some trend or question what we had been taught. But for the most part, everyone adhered to the norms of traditional culture. I respected those norms, but all around me, it was an era of social change (the women's movement, the civil rights movement, the gay rights movement, etc.), yet many of my professors would have preferred to avoid any discussions about any of that. In fact, I got in trouble when I tried to bring some of these topics up. I was told to stop asking questions. 

But I couldn't. And I still can't. Frankly, as an educator, I think asking questions like "why did this happen?" or "has something like this ever happened before?" can be important-- especially now. We're about to start a new school year, and yet, in large parts of the USA, there are conservative politicians insisting that what we need is to go back to the way things used to be in the 1950s. To avoid "controversial concepts" and to avoid "divisive issues." To never discuss anything that might possibly offend someone (I'm not a mind-reader; how can I predict what will offend a student?). There are states where laws now forbid students from reading certain books or penalize teachers (including professors) if they introduce a view of history that contradicts the dominant narrative. 

How is this a good thing? How does pretending there's only one interpretation of history help us to understand world events? In the 1950s and early 1960s, perhaps education was easier because there was one "approved" perspective and one dominant narrative. But we're in 2023. And it's a different, more complicated world; just telling students to memorize certain facts may not work as well as it once did. So, if you're in my classes, you may learn some stuff that you don't agree with. That's okay. And you may learn some stuff you think is 100% correct. That's okay too. But what we don't need is to prevent conversations about the issues from occurring. What we do need is to let students learn: teach them to examine the issues thoroughly, and to respect each other's views-- something that didn't happen very often in those mythical "good old days" some folks want us to return to.   

The Courage to Change

I was thinking about Neil Peart the other day. I had the privilege of being a panelist on a recent Rush Deep Dive about the album 2112 (you can find it on YouTube), and we were talking about what the lyrics meant, why Neil wrote them, and how he was influenced by Ayn Rand at that time, back in 1976. He was in his early 20s, and the world looked very different to him then.

Fast forward to 2010, when he and I chatted backstage before a Rush concert. He had long since moved on from his Ayn Rand days, much to the chagrin of some fans who were upset that he had changed some of his views. But as he acknowledged, the change was gradual. And for him, it was necessary. He did not believe in standing still. He loved to learn, and until the day he died, he never stopped taking in new information. Arbitrarily believing everything he believed in 1976 and never re-evaluating any of it would not have been who he was. His ethics did not change-- and Neil was an ethical person. But how he reacted to life's ups and downs, or how he interpreted current issues, differed when he was in his 40s from how things looked when he was in his 20s.  

He told a reporter in 2006 that some of the lyrics he wrote in his early 20s now made him cringe-- yes, the beliefs he held in his early 20s were sincere, but he understood that the world looked very black and white back then. There were good guys and bad guys, folks who stood up for their beliefs and folks who sold out. There were no exceptions, and there was no nuance. The hero never compromised, because he (and it was usually a he) knew he was right. And if someone was struggling, it was due to their own failings; they just needed to be strong and try harder. Expecting others to help was a weakness. 

Interestingly, even back in his Ayn Rand days, Neil never fully subscribed to all of her beliefs. He collaborated with his band-mates, he loved his family and cared about their well-being, and he was always courteous to me, whether we agreed about a topic or not. And yes, many times, he did help others. But in a now widely-quoted Rolling Stone interview in June 2012, he described himself as a "bleeding heart libertarian." He acknowledged he was still idealistic, but he understood the world was not perfect, and the playing field was not level, and-- as he told me when we talked-- he understood that some people were struggling through no fault of their own.

I wish I could talk to him about the Supreme Court's decisions on Affirmative Action and Pres. Biden's student loan forgiveness program. I'd love to hear his opinion about whether he felt the court decided correctly on these cases. (No, we never discussed either issue, and Mr. Biden wasn't president, so we never discussed him either.) Besides, Neil was Canadian, and undoubtedly had opinions about what his own government was doing. My point is, in his earlier years, he would probably have been opposed to the government helping people with X, or Y, or Z. I wonder if he would still feel that way today. I don't want to put words in his mouth, so I won't try to guess; but the sense I got from our later conversation was he had come to believe that sometimes, compassion was a plus rather than a minus.

One of the many things I respected about Neil (and about Geddy and Alex too) was that Rush didn't just go along with everyone else, and they didn't insult the folks with whom they disagreed. I doubt than any of the guys would be on social media calling someone names or mocking them. That wasn't their style at all. They valued being logical and seeking out the facts. Meanwhile, I'm glad Neil had the courage to modify and change some of his views as time went on. But I must say that many of his lyrics are as thought-provoking today as when he wrote them years ago. And I don't think I'm alone in saying I miss him.

Reasons to Like Garth Brooks

While I'm usually identified as a former rock and roll deejay, the truth is that during some of my radio career, I played other kinds of music. It depended on where I was working, and what the format of that station was. Some stations where I worked, the format was jazz, or top-40, or easy listening, or country. But wherever I worked, even if the format wasn't one of my favorites, I was usually able to find a few songs I liked. (And I always understood that it wasn't about what I liked: it was about making the audience happy and playing the songs they liked.)  

When I worked briefly in country radio, I have to admit I couldn't relate to most of the songs-- I don't have a favorite bar (I've never even tasted alcohol), I've never been divorced, and I don't drive a pick-up truck. (I know, that's a stereotypical view of country songs, but a lot of them certainly seemed like they were about those themes!) That said, there was always one country artist whose music I liked a lot-- Garth Brooks. 

Perhaps I liked him because he was comfortable in both the rock world and the country world-- while he was best known for his many country hits, he also loved rock and roll. In fact, while growing up, he thought about being a rock musician. He liked Bob Seger (so do I), he liked the Allman Brothers (me too), he liked a lot of the bands that I enjoyed (I only met him once, and I never got the chance to ask if he liked Rush, but I wouldn't be surprised if he did). 

I found that I enjoyed a lot of his music-- "The Dance," "The Thunder Rolls," "Shameless" (also done by Billy Joel), and of course the long version of "Friends in Low Places"-- a great song to sing along with. He also did some very creative music videos, one of which was surprisingly controversial back in 1992. "We Shall Be Free" was a song about creating a more compassionate and tolerant world-- about not judging people based on how they worshiped, or what their race was, or which candidates they supported, or who they loved. The controversy arose over one verse. It went:

"When we're free to love anyone we choose,
When this world's big enough for all different views,
When we all can worship from our own kind of pew,
Then we shall be free..."

That line about being free to love anyone we choose was the part that caused him so much grief-- in the music video, there was about a two-second image of two men hugging. Evidently, this was an outrage to some folks, because many country stations refused to play the song, and some places banned the video. It was one of his few songs not to make the top-10.  I never understood what the problem was, frankly. In a world where there is so much hatred and where so many folks are judgmental, what's wrong with respecting others--even those who don't do things the way you or I might do them?

Fast forward to 2023, a time when the culture wars rage on, and many politicians are proposing laws that seem to target the gay community. Some folks are even boycotting certain products that are perceived to be supportive of gay or transgender rights: Bud Light is being boycotted because one of its commercials features someone who is trans. Brooks, who is opening a new bar in Nashville, was asked if he would carry Bud Light. He said he would, explaining that in his establishment, he wanted everyone to feel at home. “I think diversity is the answer to the problems that are here and the answer to the problems that are coming. So I love diversity. All inclusive; so, all are welcome."

It was the perfect answer for the times we live in: in a world where the loudest and angriest voices seem to dominate, be courageous and stand up for respect, courtesy, and kindness. Be willing to make others feel welcome. Some haters objected to his answer (at which point, he suggested that, if that's their attitude, perhaps they might want to spend their money at some other establishment); but a lot of other folks--myself included-- had to smile. I may not like every country song or every country singer, but I do like Garth Brooks. Whether back in the early 1990s or in June 2023, he hasn't changed. He remains someone who loves performing and making his fans happy, but he isn't afraid to be ethical. He is someone who believes that the most important value is tolerance. I couldn't agree more.

Listen to Your Heart

As many of you know, I'm about to be inducted into the Massachusetts Broadcasters Hall of Fame. It's a great honor, and my one regret is that my parents aren't alive to see it. But, while I am sure they'd be happy for me, they never did understand why I wanted a career in radio. And they absolutely did not understand why I was willing to leave Boston (and leave a career as a teacher) to go to Cleveland, a city where I'd never been before, and work as a rock & roll deejay. Teaching was secure. It was stable. And you got your summers off. But it wasn't what I wanted to do.

Don't get me wrong: I had some enjoyable times as a teacher. Agreed, some of the students were annoying, but others were eager to learn. It was the early 1970s, an era of turbulence and social change, and even in English classes, current issues were on everyone's mind. For some reason, the kids thought I was an interesting person-- I guess I wasn't like a lot of the other teachers. I was much younger, and I liked the same music they did. I could also understand a lot of what they were going through. I was strict if I had to be, but I was also someone who motivated and encouraged them. And so it was that I became sort of a combination counselor, mentor, and teacher. And when I finally got a part-time deejay job at a local AM station, they were able to hear me on the air. They thought that was exceedingly cool. This is a photo of me from the 1973 Hyde Park High School Yearbook. (Note the books on my desk: they were about rock music as poetry. To this day, I gravitate to songs that have meaningful lyrics.)

My students were disappointed when they found out I was leaving, but I don't think they were surprised. They knew that I loved radio, and when I had the chance to follow my dream, they knew it was what I needed to do. Some of them wrote to me in Cleveland; I still have some of those letters.  

When I left teaching to work at WMMS, ten hours and 600 miles away from Boston, I knew I was taking a risk. I was leaving the city where I'd lived all my life and going to a place where I knew no-one, just because I loved radio. I even took a cut in pay, as I recall, but it was never just about the money-- I mean, of course, I wanted to make enough to pay my bills. But while teaching high school English paid reasonably well, my heart was in radio, as it had been ever since I was a kid. I knew this was my big chance, the one I'd waited for; and I knew I had to take it.

Some of you know what happened for me in Cleveland--both the good and the bad. The good part included discovering a certain Canadian rock band and helping to launch their career in the US; having their first two albums dedicated to me was both surprising and humbling. I was also the chair of a committee on prison reform, and in addition to having fun as a music director and meeting a lot of rock stars, I did a number of speaking engagements and met some wonderful listeners. The bad part was never getting equal pay, and never really fitting in-- it was a time when there was a lot of drug use, and I've never done any of that. I probably was a huge disappointment to the folks at the station. 

To be honest, I wasn't sorry to leave Cleveland and move to New York, where I worked for Rush's label for a year, and then I got back into radio, working at a jazz station. My career took me to a soft-rock station in Washington DC for a while, and then, finally, back to Boston, where I eventually started my own consulting career. I did that for 28 years, traveling all over North America (I even had clients in Alaska. Hawaii, and Puerto Rico-- and Canada too). And when the radio industry changed in the 1990s, I had to reinvent myself and go back to school. Some of you know I got my PhD when I was 64, and these days, I'm an author, a media historian, and a professor.

And if there's a message in any of this, I suppose it's to think about which path will bring you happiness. You may need to take some chances, you may need to encounter disapproval, and you may disappoint some well-meaning folks who don't understand that what they think is right for you might not be what you think is right for you. (In the end, I hope my parents came to accept my career, even if it puzzled them sometimes.) And so, if you believe the path you're on will allow you to make a positive contribution, go for it. And while not every dream is meant to come true, there's definitely satisfaction in knowing that at least you gave it a shot. To this day, despite the frustrations and the obstacles, I have a lot of amazing memories. And looking back on it, I'm glad I took that chance, and listened to my heart.  

Just a Little Respect

The other day, I saw yet another post on social media calling Joe Biden "senile," and saying he had dementia. I see this kind of stuff way too often, and yes I know, people on both sides love to throw around insults about politicians they dislike. But there's something about the word "senile" when applied to an older politician that really irritates me. I mean, just because you don't like someone's policies, or you don't like how they communicate, does that mean the person is "senile"? Really?

So, I went on Twitter and tweeted the following: "As someone who's 76, works full-time, writes articles, & does public speaking, I wish folks who don't like Joe Biden would stop saying he's "senile." Many 80 year olds are as mentally sharp as younger folks. Aging doesn't automatically mean senility."

Evidently, my Tweet struck a chord. Much to my surprise, more than 14,200 people saw it; several hundred of them "liked" it, and it even got a bunch of re-tweets. I also got some comments from folks who have relatives or even colleagues in their 80s who are still working (whether for money, or as volunteers); until several years ago, one of my colleagues was in her early 80s and she was as dynamic and mentally sharp as someone 30 years younger. 

See, this isn't about Joe Biden. Frankly, I don't care how many folks can't stand him, or how many think he's amazing. What I do care about, and I've said this before, is getting rid of the stereotypes we still use about so-called "senior citizens." If a young person forgets to do something, or forgets the lyrics to a song, it's usually treated as no big deal; we all have days like that, don't we?  If an older person does it, well it's a "senior moment," or maybe it's proof that their memory is starting to fade.

But is it? Agreed, folks who are 80 are rarely able to do what they did at 20. But should that be the standard by which we measure older people? Isn't there some middle ground between "nimble and agile like a 20-year old" and "ready to go into assisted living"? Truth be told, not everyone ages the same way. Me, I hope to keep working for as long as my health permits-- I enjoy being useful and keeping my brain active-- and I'd like to believe my brain is still functioning just fine! But yes, some days, when I forget some little thing, I have to remind myself it's nothing to worry about... because our culture is constantly reinforcing the message that older people can't keep up, or they no longer have much to offer.

So, where did we get the belief that just because someone has reached a certain age, that means they can no longer contribute?  I know some 30 year olds who are still not living up to their potential, and I know some 80 year olds who are far exceeding society's expectations. So, whether it's Joe Biden, or Donald Trump, or Bernie Sanders, or anyone else in their late 70s/early 80s, don't arbitrarily assume the person is "senile" when they say or do something you disagree with. 

I understand that on social media, folks love to sling insults, but this one is especially hurtful, since many of us DO worry about whether we'll eventually have dementia. (Most of us won't, but it's still a fear a lot of us have.) That said, I'll keep on hoping for less name-calling and more respect for older people, because if you give us a chance, we might still have some wisdom we can share, or some knowledge we can offer.  

Why I'm Still On Twitter

It was sometime in January 2008, and I was teaching at Emerson College in Boston. A couple of my Journalism students asked if they could "follow" me on Facebook, but I had to admit to them I wasn't on social media yet. In fact, I had no plans to be on it at any time soon (I think the late, great Betty White once called it a "giant time-waster," and that's how it certainly seemed to me). 

But my students reminded me that as a radio consultant (which I still was at the time), I needed to be available to my clients, some of whom were certainly on social media by then. And so it was, in February 2008, that I finally joined Facebook.  A few months after that, in August 2008, I joined Twitter. As time passed, it turned out to be a good way to keep in touch with people-- not just clients, but friends, former and current colleagues, and... Rush fans. Lots of them reached out, and I was happy to hear from them. 

To my surprise, a growing number of folks (including my Emerson students) wanted to follow me on Facebook and Twitter-- I eventually added Instagram, but I don't use it very much. Anyway, for some reason, I've ended up with close to 5,000 followers on Facebook; and as I'm writing this, I've got more than 8,800 followers on Twitter. (I don't have, and never received, the famous Blue Check Mark-- Twitter verification turned me down twice, saying I wasn't well-known enough, there were no hashtags about me, etc. It was disappointing but somehow I survived).    

I was concerned when I heard Elon Musk was buying Twitter-- I had nothing against him, and even during my years in radio, I never met the guy. But he kept referring to himself as a "free speech absolutist," and I was worried that he might allow certain voices back on the platform (Neo-Nazis, for example) who had, in my view, been justifiably banned by the previous owner. I also had noticed that while he claimed to believe in free speech, he seemed quite willing to block anyone who was critical of him or disagreed with his views. (He seemed to have shifted from generally libertarian views to more hard-right perspectives.) I can respect whatever his views might be, but I was worried about whether he would impose them on the rest of us.

Today, many of the folks I used to follow, journalists especially, have been made to feel so unwelcome that they left the platform. I miss them-- Twitter used to be a wonderful way to reach out to reporters with story ideas, or share information. Elon declared war on sites like NPR, for reasons that make no sense to me. He also has posted some bizarre conspiracy theories. He removed the Blue Check Marks from folks who had earned theirs under the previous ownership (even the Pope lost his); and he tried to monetize what used to be a way to verify whether people were who they said they were, rather than imposters or bots. And yes, he did let some folks back onto Twitter who I wish were still not permitted.

But I haven't left, and I have no plan to leave at any time soon. Twitter is still a wonderful way to organize donations for teachers via Donors Choose. It's still a wonderful way to reach out to Rush fans. When I blog about Rush, which I sometimes do, or participate in a webcast about the band, I get the most response from folks on Twitter. Meanwhile, I play Wordle with my followers, I comment on current events, and sometimes I post about what's going on in my life. I've made some good friends on Twitter; those relationships matters to me. So, as crazy as things may get, and even though I don't like what Elon has done to Twitter, I intend to stick around and keep posting. To those who read my Tweets, thank you. I look forward to continuing to communicate with you, now and in the future!