October 6th is Come and Take It Day.  There is a profound difference between the words “Get” and “Take.”  One implies that you’ve been invited and are “getting” something.  The latter doesn’t require permission; simply seize what you want, for whatever reason.  But the inclusion of the word “Come” changes everything all over again.  The term “Come and take it” has a challenging tone to it, don’t you think?

Gregorio Cortez Lira

Gregorio Cortez Lira was a Mexican laborer who went on the run in Texas at the turn of the 20th Century, after being wrongfully accused of horse theft.  His brother was shot during the questioning by the local Sheriff, and he killed the man in defense.  Cortez’s pursuit became legendary, lasting ten days and taking a posse of over 300 men. It was one of the largest manhunts in history, sparked largely due to racial stereotyping and deep-seated anger between Anglos and Mexicans all along border towns. Songs were written about the man who walked over 100 miles in in the desert wilderness, in an attempt to escape mangled justice.  All men like Cortez wanted to do was make a simple life for themselves, pulling together what they earned and trying to protect it against continued hostile sentiment.

Come and Take It Day

Come and Take It Day has odd origins, to say the least.  Commemoration of this day began soon after the release of a movie of the same name in 2001, about friends looking for a hidden cache of gold coins meant for the man who captured Gregorio Cortez Lira 100 years earlier.  In the process of locating and attempting to recover the treasure, the friends try to figure out what it means to be  Americans, to be of  Mexican descent, and to be men.  The treasure was found to be buried on a heavily guarded military base, and the attempt to take the treasure ended quite tragically.

My Treehouse Incident

I have distant memories of myself and a menagerie of friends building a small tree house in a neighboring forest in upstate New York.  Our wooden hideout was culled together from half-rotting scraps of wood found strewn everywhere, but it was ours, and it was private, a way station for enjoying those things our mothers deemed undesirable.  We spent our afternoons haphazardly pounding in the nails we had stolen from our fathers’ empty mayonnaise jars with “borrowed” hammers.  It was both decrepit and resplendent, a semi-secretive masterpiece of woodworking ineptitude. But it was ours, or so we thought…

Days after completion, we returned after school to find that our hidden treasures had been rummaged through and gleaned from.  We were outraged, swearing upon pain of death to each other that we would keep a watchful eye on our digs, passing by it often and listening in for trespassers.  Apparently our stash was deemed worthy of a repeat visit, as one day not long therafter a group of three very mean (and much older) teenagers came across us talking and laughing in our abode.

The teens demanded we leave, calling us a variety of colorful terms and telling us that both the tree house and the contents belonged to them.  Now I am not a man of stature, nor was I a tall child at the time of this forest stand down.  I not-so-fondly remember a bad day during the first week of Fourth Grade, as a First Grade teacher, sure that I was one of her students, tried to drag me, kicking and screaming, to her class following recess.  But what I lacked in height was traded for a big mouth….

“Come and Take It…”

The words fell from my lips before I could stop them, and I realized at that moment whatever happened next was my own damn fault, and I needed to steel myself for the response.  I didn’t have to wait long, as the biggest of the group pulled me down by the ankles, right out of the doorway, and slammed me up against a nearby tree.  I was introduced to two adrenaline-rushing moments at once, as his big, pimply face slammed up beside one side of mine, and I heard the quiet slink of a switchblade opening near the other side.

Of course, I got out of the situation.  It’s a whole other story unto itself, replete with expletives, threats, and lots and lots of running.  How I got out of it is not important.  What I learned from it is.

The Bitter Taste of What We Take

The treasures we take away, uninvited, from others contain a price that cannot be paid, ever.  The price tag hangs from the item, always in view, reminding us that we never paid properly, never met the social agreement for true ownership.  There is no peeling off of this nagging reminder, no cutting the string of continued guilt.

So what did I ultimately learn from the whole tree house episode?  That “Come and take it” never works out in the end, either when given as a threat, or to the one who succumbs to the call to fight and/or take.  It is so easy to overstep ourselves, to take from others, uninvited, if we do not respect ourselves and others.The pain of mistrust, of anger over wrongs done exists all along the fringes of our hearts, in our Soul’s innermost dwellings.  We often sour our lives by chasing after a false sense of self-justice, gaining no satisfaction when we confront it.

Those pleasures that we have earned in life through hard work, gathering together ideas and nailing them together over hard hours spent learning from our naïve mistakes,  are the buttresses upon which our happiest moments are built, whose very ladders carry us upward into the clouds, to greatness.

The day was September 15, 2001, just four days after we held each other in front of our televisions, watching our combined sense of security explode, disintegrate, tumble to the very ground before our eyes.  For many of us, our hearts were still filled by having drunk from the bitter cup of sadness, distrust, fear, anger.  For some of us, this dangerous brew was just too much to stomach…

The Taking of Balbir Singh Sodhi

Balbir Singh Sodhi

Early that morning, like any other, Balbir Singh Sodhi headed off from his Mesa, Arizona home to work.  A Sikh from India, Balbir moved to America in 1991, opening up a gas station in Mesa a year later.

On that fateful day an angry Frank Roque, after having spent a number of days vowing revenge against “the ragheads” in local bars, walked into Balbir’s Chevron station and shot him to death. While being arrested, after having moved on to shoot into the home of an Afghani family and narrowly missing a Lebanese clerk at a Mobil station, Frank stated that he stood “for America all the way.”

Tragedies around us can be used to rebuild ourselves, too.

Letting this day change us

9/11 is a day of collective mourning for our Nation, going about our day amidst the calls for soft moments of silence, gingerly looking once again towards the slowly healing Footprints.  But if the sense of loss, the hollowness with which we went about our business, is as a result of thinking about the loss of lives on that day, then you have missed a chance to ponder on, to mourn another great loss  – discovering ourselves through friendship with the Stranger.

We must not be manipulated

In the aftermath of 9/11, Al Qaeda rejoiced in a perceived victory. What they saw was much more than the fall of the World Trade Center, the smoke rising from the Pentagon.  Al Qaeda’s sights were set much farther than the destruction of that day, as they awaited angry American retaliation.

Many messages, for many peoples.

To be sure the destruction of the day led us to an angry precipice, wanting solid revenge on the perpetrators. It is estimated that had Flight 93 hit its mark, likely the Halls of Congress or the White House itself, we may’ve struck out in blind anger at any number of Muslim nations.  At least that is what Al Qaeda had hoped for, and they were ready to drum up Muslim nations in retaliation against Western nations in turn, in an endlessly escalating spree of suspicion and anger, violence and war. Balbir Singh Sodhi was a victim of such a demand for immediate “justice,” a victim of being the Stranger during times of anger.

The truest path to losing our enemies

It is said that to love your enemy is the surest way to defeat him.  Our enemies in Al Qaeda rely on a belief that we are a nation of bigots and simpletons, that if you simply add angry men calling themselves Muslims into American society, along with some level of public destruction, we will attack and isolate ourselves from Islam.  So how do we upset these plans?

How well would you know them?

How well do you know Islam? Have you taken time to learn about the contents of the Koran? Have you taken the time to talk with a member of the Islamic faith?  Shared a lunch? Dinner? Day? Studied how 1.6 Billion people commemorate Ramadan, or helped even one Muslim family celebrate Eid ul-Fitr?  Are you actively working on breaking down the walls?

What we can do, in honor of 9/11

America is all about the melting pot, the blending of all of us together into one place.  To be truly “for America all the way,” is to blend ourselves into the mix, into that place.  To consider your neighbors that pray differently, dress differently, act differently to be just as much a part of the mixture as yourself.

Everyone we meet can teach us about ourselves.

I ask you to consider learning more about those faiths that are completely foreign to you.  I am asking you to take a journey together, to find the Stranger and get to know him, to bring an understanding of him into your life, to not only accept or tolerate, but to find a way to embrace his presence all around you.

In a melting pot society, we will never truly get to know our national identity, will never be able to strengthen its individual bonds against our enemies, without first having embraced the Stranger.  This is how we, truly, teach the world what it means to be “for America all the way.”

On this anniversary, we are shown the sites and sounds of the enormous square fountains marking the passage of Towers 1 and 2, their waters falling and rising together as one.  Let’s take the time to honor the lives of those lost, and then, tomorrow, wake up with the affirmed desire to honor the values of our forefathers and promise to melt into the mix further, to rise up and fall together, into One Nation, Under God.

How (some say) it all began

President Theodore (Teddy) Roosevelt

The year was 1902, and due to a long-standing boundary dispute between Mississippi and Louisiana, the governors of both states went with President Theodore Roosevelt on a hunting trip.  Teddy hoped the trip would allow time for the governors to resolve their differences.

President Roosevelt was well-known as a big game hunter, relentless in his pursuit of beasts in the wild. The target of choice during this five day hunt was the American Black Bear.

The national press grasped onto the enticing story, and a number of journalists followed along on the hunt, recording many aspects of it in great detail, much to the chagrin of the White House. With each passing and unsuccessful day of the hunt, the press egged the President on in the stories they sent out.

On the fifth and final day, one of Teddy’s companions, fed up with the press, caught a young bear, in an effort to make for an easy kill and silence the ongoing jokes. Teddy, however, refused to shoot a defenseless animal tied to a tree, practically unconscious and surrounded by dogs. (Rumor has it that Teddy ultimately asked one of his party to kill the poor animal with a hunting knife, to put it out of its misery.)

A good story becomes a legend

Cartoon of Teddy and the Bear Cub

The press reported far and wide on President Roosevelt’s decision to not kill the bear. Well-known cartoonist Clifford Berryman, following the firestorm of press coverage, decided to draw a representation of the event, playing up Teddy’s compassion toward the bear. The cartoon was extremely popular, and was redrawn over and over, each iteration making the animal smaller and smaller, eventually taking on the likeness of a tiny bear cub. In keeping with the border line dispute, the cartoon was named “Drawing the Line in Mississippi.”

Updates to the story based on reader feedback…

The above story has been told and retold so many times, that you can find a number of disputed bits of information in it, as brought to my attention by a reader – thank you!

Other accounts found state that the trip was solely for hunting, and that no Governors were involved with it, nor was it for the purpose of resolving a boundary dispute.  Another states a boundary dispute did indeed exist, but that Mississippi’s Governor merely invited Teddy to hunt in his fine State.

Accounts state that the bear was a full-size female that had been chased for hours.  The earliest cartoon drawing does indeed show a larger bear, with later iterations making the bear progressively smaller (and cuter.)  Likely, the Michtoms came across a later version of the drawing.

The Michtoms and their Teddy Bear

Morris and Rose Michtom, Russian immigrants living in Brooklyn, read the stories about Teddy and his bear, and thoroughly enjoyed the cartoon. Having moved to America penniless twenty years earlier to escape the Jewish pogroms, they earned a modest income on the side sewing stuffed animals and selling them in their tiny penny candy shop, Lollies.

Morris Michtom

Morris suggested to Rose that she sew a nice, fat bear in the cartoon image’s likeness. Rose got to work immediately, taking a piece of plush velvet material and sewing it into the now-familiar shape of a chubby bear, replete with button eyes. Morris labeled the bear “Teddy’s Bear,” and placed it in the storefront window display. It didn’t take long for over a dozen interested customers to approach the Michtoms about purchasing their Teddy Bear.

Teddy’s Bear takes over our hearts

Rumor has it that Morris and Rose wrote to and asked President Roosevelt whether or not they could name a line of stuffed bears in honor of him. President Roosevelt agreed, stating that the use of his name in politically tumultuous times could ever help sell a toy. The newly created Teddy Bears became an instant hit with children and adults across America, and the Michtoms soon found themselves unable to keep up with the growing demand.

An industry (and charity) is born

Morris and Rose’s little company sold millions of Teddy Bears, and eventually became known as the Ideal Toy Company, one of the largest toy companies in the World. Never forgetting the trials they overcame in their lives, Morris and Rose donated enormous amounts of money to the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society, the Jewish National Fund, and a number of other Jewish charities.

How very interesting that Morris and Rose Michtom, driven to our fine nation by angry and dangerous stereotypes, could create a beautiful (and cuddly) legacy by turning a misunderstood and majestic creature into a beloved childhood treasure for many.

Where is Teddy’s Bear today?

The original Teddy Bear (pictured to the right, ) created by Morris and Rose, was given to President Roosevelt’s grandson Kermit in 1963. One month later, it was put on display at the Smithsonian, where it still resides in perfect condition.

Perhaps the next time you see a Teddy tightly held in the arms of a happy child, you will see a symbol of triumph over adversity, acceptance of our fellow man, and compassion to all.

Celebrations: How to make Teddy Bear Cookies

Emperor Hirohito and Harry Truman signing the peace treaty

To be sure, the end to the conflict with Japan came as welcome news to many nations worldwide. Many today tend to see Nazi Germany as being the most destructive military force in their treatment of civilians and prisoners during World War II.  In what has been called the Asian Holocaust, it is estimated that from 1933 – 1945, Japanese forces killed as many as 30 million Filipinos, Malaysians, Vietnamese, Cambodians, Indonesians and Burmese, with 23 million of them being ethnic Chinese.

Of national treasures, it is estimated that Japanese forces took more valuables from its victims than even the Nazis.  Millions were enslaved into labor camps or forced prostitution. In Nazi Germany, POWs faced a 4% death rate. In Japanese camps, the death rate was 27%; if you were ethnically Chinese, let’s just say that only 56 Chinese POWs survived the experience.

Portrait taken after Hiroshima's bombing

The devastation of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in August of 1945 was, in part, an all-out effort to stop the war. Whether or not the bombings were necessary has been a cause of great consternation, and will likely remain a moral question for centuries to come. It was, however, a powerful leveraging tool in ending the war. Alluding to the terrible destruction leveled by the atomic bombings, the Potsdam Declaration offered one of two choices to Emperor Hirohito – surrender or continued and total annihilation of Japan’s infrastructure through continued bombings.

Since 1982, in Japan this day is known as Shusen-Kinenbi, which translates to “Memorial Day for the End of the War.”  It was not until this year that a United States representative was sent to attend the memorial, out of a desire to not re-stoke emotions, and to avoid renewed calls for an apology for the bombings.  Ambassador John V. Roos was warmly welcomed by Japanese officials, and he partook in this year’s ceremonies.

Mrs. Shain and the famous photo

Japan expects a formalized visit from President Obama in November, and politicians there have already stated they have no desire for an apology; rather, they wish to provide Obama a very public and emotional forum to call, once again, for a de-nuclearization of the globe.

The photo accompanying this post is of nurse Edith Cullen Shain holding the famous picture of her receiving a celebratory kiss in Times Square following news of Japan’s surrender. The photo was taken by photographer Alfred Eisenstaedt. The man in the photo to this day is unknown, although more than 20 men have claimed to be the sailor providing the lip-lock.  Next to Shain is a smaller version of a 26-foot statue erected last year in Times Square in commemoration of the event.  Thousands of couples come to the site to recreate the kiss and get their photo taken.

Wars ending are a wonderful thing. Wars never starting are even better.

Emma Nutt

This may come as a shock to many, but telephone operator-hood did not start with women. Initially, young men were hired to do the job. Very young men. They shirked their responsibilities, were rude to (or even played pranks on) the callers, and often were found enmeshed in fist-fights, while other operators cheered them on.  As opposed to today, wherein young men are scions of responsibility and politeness.

But I digress.

Emma’s soothing voice, cultured manner of speech, and incredible patience encouraged her company to replace the young men with women, who had to be single, aged 17-26, prim and proper in appearance, and had to be of tall enough stature to reach all phone switch sockets. As with many good-paying positions at the time, African American and Jewish women were not allowed to be operators. Eventually, Emma was hired by Alexander Graham Bell himself, and is said to be able to remember every single phone number in the New England Telephone Company directory.

Before automated telephone exchanges were invented, a human being was required for all calls other than those through a shared “party” line. Callers dialed into a central operator at a “switching office,” and the operator connected you to the appropriate line to complete the connection. Because the operator’s headphones were directly patched into any connection to “facilitate the process,” many operators ultimately found themselves fired from not resisting the urge to listen in on a multitude of private conversations.

Direct-dialing systems were put into place around 1920, reducing labor costs and ensuring customer privacy. Traditional switching office operators rapidly began to disappear off the American communications landscape, relegated to be called upon only when the automated systems failed.

The synthesized speech system created by Philips Electronics for automated telephone services was named after Emma, in honor of her service.

Today is also Lily Tomlin’s birthday. Lily was aware of the connection between the day of her arrival in the World and Emma M. Nutt Day. It was the reason she chose to play an old-fashioned phone operator to the hilt.

“Are Gringos falling from the sky?”  ~ El Guapo, from The Three Amigos

Today is May 5th, or Cinco de Mayo.  This is a day set aside for Americans of Mexican heritage to celebrate their cultural roots.  This is also a good time for non-Hispanic Americans to channel that inner Hombre.  Which means plenty of cholesterol-laden spicy foods, and beer that has actually crossed a border to get to the refrigerator.   It’s also a good time to break out that The Three Amigos DVD and revisit awkwardly funny and bad stereotypes.

“Well, you told me that I have a plethora.  And I would like to know if you know what a plethora is. I would not like to think a person would tell someone he has a plethora and then find out that that person has no idea what it means to have a plethora.”  ~ El Guapo (again – isn’t he awesome?)

Would you say that I have a plethora of piñatas?  You will after you see what I have in store for you…

Wanna Hit This? A Plethora of Piñatas!

The Castro Piñata (Viva la Raza!)

The PC Piñata (Windows 98 Edition)

The Corona Piñata (Put a damn shirt on already! Sheesh.)

Yo Gabba Piñata (If you’ve seen the show, you’ll know why…)

Piñata, Super Mario Edition (Hey, Luigi….!)

Pirates of the Piñata

Spamñata (Best fried)

Waaaalll – E Piñata (Seriously. Could you hit this?)

The World’s Biggest Piñata (needs a way bigger stick…)

The Butt Piñata (Not. Saying. Anything.)

So which one was your favorite?  Don’t let the bootylicious image above lure you into a hasty vote!  Let me know in the comments below!

As the motorcade approached, it slowed ever so slightly, lights flashing, sirens off except for the occasional flip of the switch. The crowds began to turn their heads toward the approaching cars, trucks, vans, motorcycles, and off in the distance, growing ever close, helicopters chopping the morning air…..

Reedley, CA Police Car

On February 25th, 2010, it was supposed to be just another Thursday for Reedley Police Officer Javier Bejar – patrolling the streets, keeping an eye out, responding to calls, ensuring a presence in the quiet community of 23,000. In a few hours, he would complete his paperwork for the day, and head home to his waiting family.

In the neighboring town of Minkler, Deputy Joel Wahlenmaier of the Fresno County Sheriff’s Department, along with County Fire Department investigators, were attempting to serve a search warrant on Rick Liles, a suspected arsonist. After hearing the initial knock, Mr. Liles shot a high-powered rifle through his front door, critically wounding Deputy Wahlenmaier and sparking a gun battle.

The call every officer (and officer’s spouse) dreads made its way across the County, filling Officer Bejar’s patrol car with an icy dread. Officer down.

A day earlier, the motorcade route had been formally announced, and those living on the neighborhoods affected knocked on each other’s doors.  People began making signs out of wooden stakes and cardboard, poster board and cardstock.  Big hands wrote big words with black, red or blue sharpies, little hands drew unsteady pictures with colorful crayons.  The message and the reason for it was the same, regardless…

Javier Bejar, son of Wenceslao and Saloma Bejar, had immigrated with his parents to the community of Orange Cove, California from Mexico in 1985, at the age of 4. Adapting quickly to his new country, Javier did well in the small, local schools, eventually participating in the Reedley Police Department Explorers program while attending Reedley High School. After graduating in 2000, Javier joined the Marines, serving honorably in both Iraq and Kuwait and was awarded on numerous occasions. Upon honorable discharge, he then attended police academy, became a police officer in 2005, and was awarded Officer of the Year a mere 3 years later. A model officer, he also earned a bachelor’s degree in Kinesiology and managed to marry his life-long friend and sweetheart.

Every law enforcement officer swears an on-going oath, a commitment, to protect and serve his or her community.  To become a police officer is an almost sacred commitment, a sacrifice of one’s knowledge, efforts, energies and time quietly and without acknowledgement, making sure that we can all safely go about our days, our lives.  It is also a sacrifice for their families, as they offer up their fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and brothers, wives and sisters to protect our own…

When Officer Bejar arrived at the scene, there were already a number of officers surrounding Mr. Lile’s home, awaiting his next move, hoping he would give up peacefully. Javier got out of his car, and crouched down behind it, gun drawn, listening to a rundown of what had happened thus far. The suspect was armed, and was likely alone; his ex-wife had left the residence already. A deputy had been killed. Civilian on-lookers were being shied out of range as quickly as they could be moved.

Eighty yards away, hidden inside his home, Mr. Lile raised his high-powered rifle anew, peered down the sight, and scanned the scene outside. His rifle sight ended its deadly journey at Officer Bejar’s car, and Rick Liles took one more shot. As the officers saw another of their own fall, the Thursday afternoon erupted in a hail of gunfire.

The Bejar family of Reedley has led a life of sacrifice.  Wenceslao and Saloma gave up the lives they knew in Mexico to create a brighter future for their son, Javier.  Javier Bejar grew up in this knowledge, and sought out to lead a life of service to his country.  Reedley Police Officer Javier Bejar’s life was one of sacrifice to his community and family…

Thousands of officials and law enforcement officers from surrounding communities paid their respects to Deputy Wahlenmaier and Officer Bejar.  Because Officer Bejar was on life support for almost 5 days, our stricken community attended en masse and watched on live television two very public funeral services.  Officer Bejar was finally laid to rest on March 8th.

Over 100 motorcycles and 700 vehicles from Police, Fire, EMT, Probation, Sheriff’s Department, and the United States Marines drove through the community to pay their respects, and to remind us all of the supreme sacrifice they have all offered time and again in public service.  It is said that there were so many vehicles in support that cars were still leaving the Fresno Convention Center when the burial service began 20 miles away at the cemetery in the town of Reedley.

It would be easy for those officers on motorcycles and patrol cars, vans and trucks to be angry at this senseless loss of yet another brother.  It would be understandable for them to have some blind resentment, to feel unappreciated in this loss.  Until one saw the thousands of men, women and children standing by the roadside, signs in hand, saluting them, shouting what was written on paper and in their hearts.  Thank you.  We love you.  You will be missed.  God bless you…

Today is Supreme Sacrifice Day.  On this day, I wish to say thank you, for all that you have done for us.  We love all of you, our men and women in uniform, who work under dangerous circumstances for our safety.  All who have given that supreme sacrifice continue to be sorely missed.  To the families of Deputy Wahlenmaier and Officer Bejar, God bless all of you.  You have a grateful community and country, who will always be in your debt.

Two buses left Washington, DC on a warm spring day, May 4th, 1961.  As they pulled out, they left behind them a young, modern President, John F. Kennedy, newly elected, having gotten to the White House on promises of change, of hope.  They were bound for New Orleans, to test the already 10-year old civil rights laws in America which had long-ago outlawed separate services for and unequal treatment of blacks.

Black and white, of all faiths, they sat throughout the bus despite still-in-place Jim Crow seating laws, as they headed deep into the Southern states.  They were fearful and hopeful, faithful and proud.  But they were together.  They had Faith.

Mardi Gras and the values of Justice, Faith and Power

Beginning on the day before Ash Wednesday, Mardi Gras is serious business in New Orleans.  Unless your business is directly involved in the celebration, not a lot goes on for a few days, at the least.  Mardi Gras is a celebration of lights, sounds, music, people, food and laughter.  It is a commemoration of life, Creole style, a visual and auditory feast, a joyous celebration of another year of renewed Justice, Faith and Power.   Without a sense of Justice in our lives, we would be in constant strife for some semblance of fairness around us.  Without Faith, we would rapidly find few reasons to live at all beyond our choices day to day.  Without some sense of Power, we cannot see what we do mattering at all in not only our own lives, but the lives of others. These three basic and important values are essential to the residents of New Orleans, especially following Hurricane Katrina.

Celebrations similar to Mardi Gras are held all over the World for two whole weeks, leading up to the Christian fasting period of Lent.  Venice, Italy and Mazatlan, Mexico also have their own celebrations, along with many other major cities around the World.

American origin of Mardi Gras

In 1704 King Louis XIV of France sent off his brothers, Iberville and Bienville LeMoyne, to renew France’s claim on the coastal lands bordering Northern Gulf of Mexico. Iberville and Bienville’s ships sailed a few miles into the mouth of the Mississippi River, and moored, planting French flags in the soil and christening the area Point du Mardi Gras, and forming a new French colony.  It is at this very place that the traditions of the rich French American Creole culture of New Orleans sprang up.

During our colonial period, New Orleans’ use of African slaves was very different than the typical plantation scene.  Black slaves were taught city-based trades (cobbler, plumber, etc.) that wound up being useful following the abolition of slavery, so they remained in New Orleans long after the Civil War ended.  It is in part because of this that there is such a dominant (yet poor) African American community there to this day, contributing to its unique style.

The first of the two buses reached Anniston, Alabama, to a mob of over 200 angry white protesters, who threw rocks through the windows and slashed the tires of the bus.  Rushing past the onslaught, they got 6 miles out of town and visited a service station to get the tires replaced.  It was there that the bus was firebombed.

The second bus reached Birmingham, where it was stopped by yet another mob, the riders forcibly dragged outside, and beaten.  Freedom of Information Act releases later showed that the FBI knew of the planned attack and did nothing to prevent it.  Alabama’s then-Governor John Patterson was unapologetic, stating that he felt the riders deserved the treatment.

Traditions related to Mardi Gras

There are a variety of practices unique to the celebration of Mardi Gras.  There are special foods, including King cakes, which are similar to the Rosca de Reyes (recipe) cakes of Mexico in that they are multi-colored, ring-shaped, and have little baby statues baked therein.  Whoever cuts their slice off and finds the baby must host next year’s party, or at least purchase next year’s King cake.

There are special colors for Mardi Gras: purple, green and gold, signifying the values of Justice, Faith, and Power. Everywhere you look during Mardi Gras you are assailed by these colors, in clothing, signs, streamers, confetti, coins and beads.  People are cajoled into creating and wearing elaborate costumes of these colors, and joining in the festivities.  Feather masks are also welcome.  This is a time to boisterously announce your continued freedom and right to enjoy life.

Everywhere you go during Mardi Gras, you hear it.  Zydeco – the uniquely American Traditional Creole folk music, heavy on the accordion and washboard.  Walk down any alley, and you just might find yourself dancing with strangers, who may welcome you with strings of beads, all to get you in the spirit of things.  There is a definitive sense of strength, of the ability to carry on, despite the rubble still within walking distance from the French Quarter.

Despite the setbacks, many of the Freedom Riders wanted to press on in their pursuit of Justice; however, the bus company did not want to risk any other buses, and the drivers refused to drive any further.  So many were afraid due to the ferocity of the attacks against them, that the bulk of those riders left able to carry on wound up having to fly to New Orleans.

Reports of the attacks caused many leaders of the Civil Rights Movement to consider strong yet peaceful actions of an immediate nature, in order to ensure that the Movement did not die in the face of such violence.  Another set of Freedom Riders formed up and borrowed buses, heading out to Birmingham to tackle the issue head-on.  They received the same level of non-protection from law enforcement, and were also beaten at the roadside.

Mardi Gras Parades

An absolute staple of Mardi Gras, the first parade in the United States wasn’t held in New Orleans, but in Mobile, Alabama in the early 1700′s.  It wasn’t until 1830 that the parades moved to the French Quarter.  Due to New Orleans’ more carefree environment, the parades quickly grew in size, scale (and level of risquety) to what we see today.  Traditionally, as many as 60 parades rolled through New Orleans in the two week span between Ash Wednesday and Lent.

As times have changed, so has the face of the parades.  After Hurricane Katrina, the floats were used to send a message about the Federal Government’s slow response in helping the people of the Lower 9th Ward.  Things are still getting back up to speed, and with each passing year more and more floats arrive, as more Krewes get re-organized.

In1872, Russian Grand Duke Alexis Romanoff visited New Orleans during a Marti Gras celebration that was relatively somber and small (the Civil War had left its mark on New Orleans.)  Romanoff’s visit helped to move people’s attention away from the destruction, and in his honor a King (Rex) and Queen henceforth has been chosen to preside over the celebrations.

Not only were these new additional Freedom Riders beaten, but also those that came to their aid, including members of the U.S. Justice Department.  Many thought they were going to die that very day.  Americans were torn as they watched what transpired on national television. When news of this reached then-Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy, he called in Federal Marshals to the scene to protect the riders.  Martin Luther King, Jr. flew to Montgomery to form up a crowd to confront the mob, but wound up barricaded in a local church until Kennedy forced Governor Patterson to call in the police and National Guard.  The riders were released to lick their wounds and continue their journey of peaceful defiance, of hope and faith.

Krewes and Doubloons

Each float is put together by a “Krewe,” or organization with its own name, structure and membership.  Each Krewe has its own flair, which is interpreted in its floats, costumes and music style.  The larger and more famous Krewes hold their own special ball for its members to commemorate the festivities.

Multi-colored doubloons are thrown from the floats during the Mardi Gras parade, with different motifs chosen by each Krewe to commemorate their presence in the celebration.  This practice was started in the 1960′s.  Coins are date-stamped for the given year.  Because some Krewes have intricate workings done on the coins, many have become collector’s items.   The very first time doubloons were tossed in 1964, no date was stamped on the coins, making them both unique and valuable.

Because of Hurricane Katrina, tens of thousands of doubloons disappeared along with the homes storing them, causing the prices of these collectibles to soar.  Like the people who had to flee before the storm, they are slowly resurfacing, coming back into circulation, rejoining their past.

Upon arriving at Jackson, Mississippi, the Freedom Riders were arrested and jailed for two months, despite having not broken any laws.  But because of their efforts, word spread and hundreds came to Jackson to continue to steady march to New Orleans, to greater rights, to equal access under the law.  Over 300 people were jailed.  The Freedom Riders never made it to New Orleans, but their efforts forced President Kennedy to take a stand on Civil Rights, ushering in a new level of protection for those who had suffered injustice for over 350 years.  Despite efforts to silence them, the Freedom Riders had developed a new sense of Power.

The Zulu Krewe

The advent of the Civil Rights era allowed many African Americans to seek membership in previous all-white Krewes, to participate in the Mardi Gras parades.  It was tough to obtain membership for awhile, and in response the Zulu Krewe was formed, the very first African American Krewe in New Orleans.  If you can’t join them properly in the celebration, then make your own party even better…. Since then the Zulu Krewe has grown substantially in numbers and stature, participating in large numbers during Marti Gras, and raising funds year-round to help impoverished families get help, holiday gifts, and even college scholarships.

A painful past, a celebration today, a hope for tomorrow

Hurricane Katrina tore a wound through New Orleans almost six years ago, ripping up homes and lives, flooding the area with despair.  Although many New Orleans residents got out on buses, cars, trains and planes before the storm hit, the poorest remained to weather the storm.  Largely African American, many still bearing the financial and emotional burdens of the past, they huddled together while the winds pummeled them over and over.  Many thought they were going to die that very day, and we all know many did indeed perish from the storm.  The pain was made worse by a government lacking in timely response, while we all watched the tragedy unfold on national television.

The shine is beginning to fade on our new, modern President.  He got into office promising Change.  Hope.  To the people of the Lower 9th Ward, who are still, to this day suffering in substandard conditions, waiting for someone to help them rebuild their homes and lives, they simply want their lives back.  They want to celebrate Mardi Gras in joy and comfort.

As they say in New Orleans, they want once again to see the colors of Justice, Faith, and Power.

The Attack on Pearl Harbor

On this day in 1941, Japan launched Operation Z, to attack an idle American Pacific fleet and render it incapable of coming to the aid of our allies in Europe and Asia. Two devastating waves of airborne attacks decimated 8 battleships, 3 cruisers, 3 destroyers, 1 mine layer, almost 190 planes, and killed or wounded over 3,600 men and women. To many in the Navy, it would seem that the war in the Pacific was over just as it was beginning…

The Sunday morning destruction was particular painful for Americans, because it caught us embarrassingly off-guard. Thousands of sailors were at home or in town, sleeping off the effects of a good Saturday night. Many men bear to this day the pain of not being there to help their comrades as they battled off over 350 airplanes filled with bombs and bullets, because they were not there to help get the ships underway and out of harm’s way.

BB-36, The U.S.S. Nevada

Only one battleship did indeed get underway in the thick of battle, and only through the heroic efforts of the skeleton crew of men onboard. The Nevada, BB-36, the oldest battleship in Pearl Harbor that day, was almost immediately hit by a plane-dropped torpedo while tethered to the pier. An enormous hole was torn into her port side, and she began to take on water.

Over the course of a half an hour later (a fraction of the time typically taken to get a boiler room to the point of issuing steam to the propellors,) Machinist Mate Donald Kirby Ross took it upon himself to get the engine room running, almost single-handedly. Running between the numerous stations, he was overcome by smoke inhalation twice, resuscitated and continued on, staying there until ordered away. The Nevada cast off her lines and steamed out into the channel surrounding Ford Island. Another hero that day was Chief Boatswain Edwin Joseph Hill, who led a band of men off the ship to the pier, where they single-handedly threw off the enormously heavy rope lines for the great ship. Tired and dodging bullets, Boatswain Hill then lept into the waters and swam for the now-free ship.

SSBN-733, The U.S.S. Nevada

It was my first patrol, and we had been out to sea roughly 3 weeks, when I was told that I was chosen to be in charge of sound-powered phone communications topside for my very first port call, in Oahu, Island. I was given some brief information as to my duties, and I took them very seriously. Pass along all communications heard to those in charge topside. Repeat everything back so the people in the Control Room would know I understood. Report all lines coming on or being cast off, and anything out of the ordinary.

As a newbie onboard the Ohio Class ballistic missile submarine Nevada, I had read the history of our namesake, BB-36. To me it was a proud and storied history, and I thought about the horrible attacks on Dec. 7th, 1941, as we slowly began to pull into the channels near Pearl Harbor. I was told that most ships pulled into the very accessible ports of Pearl Harbor itself, but because of the security concerns with carrying 24 nuclear missiles, we would be separated, tied off on Ford Island.

We passed a few gentle bends, as men scurried topside putting up railings, coiling lines, shouting to each other catcalls about how they planned to spend their days off at Waikiki. I kept a careful eye on all of them. It was a cool, bright morning, and seeing for the first time the lush greenery of Oahu caused what felt like a literal ear-to-ear smile. And then the words came across from the Control Room, into my ears…. “Prepare to render honors.”

“Prepare to render honors,” I replied confusedly into the phone, and then shouted this out for all to hear. The Lieutenant in charge topside shouted it back to me in reply to make sure I knew he had heard, then he called to everyone to stop what they were doing, line up on the starboard side of the submarine, and stand ready to render honors. I was told to remain where I was, and keep an eye on the proceedings….

The Miracles and Tragedies of BB-36

As BB-36 began to moved out into the channel, the Nevada drew a lot of attention from the Japanese planes, who dive-bombed her, blowing open her forward end and causing fires throughout the giant ship. Water was coming in all over the old ship, as bulkheads creased open under the unusual stresses around them. The few sailors onboard the Nevada fought heroically against the fires as explosions rocked the ship. Among those that perished when the forecastle deck was destroyed was Boatswain Hill (right,) killed while trying to discharge the Nevada’s anchors.

Fearing that the Nevada would be sunk right in the middle of the channel, causing a permanent blockage to future ships needing to get through, the Nevada’s captain ordered the ship run aground. The ship was steered and steamed as quickly as possible, tugs joining in on the effort, pushing the Nevada slowly toward the shore. The U.S.S. Nevada wound up slammed into the shoreline of Hospital Point, incredibly damaged for her efforts, but at least now rendered unsinkable. Doctors and nurses furiously working on the hundreds of wounded arriving at the small hospital there were shocked to see and feel the enormous ship ground just beyond the backyard of the operating rooms….

Rendering Honors

As we passed Hospital Point, I was told that the designated ship’s Boatswain would blow a series of whistle calls, and what to do during them. As we approached Hospital Point, I heard “Attention to Starboard,” and passed this on. One whistle blast pierced the air, and everyone topside stood at attention. I turned from where I was and did so as well.

A single blast sounded out again, and we all saluted the little hospital, still standing to this day, on the rough shoreline. That is when I saw the little, old woman, a red knit shawl wrapped around her thin body, staring at the submarine as it passed by.

She was by a memorial set in the back behind the little, old hospital. She stood quietly and attentively, hands together in front of her, facing us while the winds carried her blonde-gray hair across her gaze.

It was at this point, staring at that woman, who must’ve been filled with so many memories of that fateful day, that I could hear the water as it slid past the submarine; a slow, hushed whisper of water welcoming us home. There was such an incredible silence at that moment, as I and the woman rendered honors to each other, sharing an eternal bond….

The Fate of BB-36

The U.S.S. Nevada was towed to Puget Sound, Washington, where it was fully repaired and upgraded for the full-on war effort soon after Pearl Harbor’s smoke cleared. She served as a convoy vessel in the Atlantic, and provided bomb coverage for the invasions on Normandy, Iwo Jima and Okinawa. Following World War II, she was anchored off of the Bikini Atoll for Atomic bomb testing, improbably surviving two indirect blasts. The U.S.S. Nevada was ultimately sunk during gunfire practice in 1948.

The Woman at Hospital Point

Three whistle blasts broke me free from my gaze at the woman, as we lowered our salutes and got back to our duties topside. We pulled in to Ford Island, were tugged over to the pier and tied up the lines. I was excited to leave the Nevada and see Waikiki too, but would have to wait a day, as I would have to stand watch that evening.

After going below and dressing for in-port, I was told by our Chief that the woman standing by the hospital was a surviving widow of one of the men that had served onboard BB-36, and had been invited to see our submarine pass by. I felt a rush of pride at that moment, for us having taken the time to render honors at that site, at that time, and to have her see the respect we have for her husband’s service. Nothing could replace the man she loved, could assuage the pain of the loss, but it is through shared memory that we can at least provide some sense of reason.

In Remembrance of My Father

My father, Raymond James Woods, succumbed to Lymphoma on this day in 1998, his body too weak to take the effects of his chemotherapy any longer. Four hours after he passed, his father-in-law died from a massive stroke in response to the incredible anguish he saw his daughter and family going through. Two waves of losses, two devastating tragedies.

Just five months earlier, I had finished my Navy enlistment, and had returned home to the San Joaquin Valley to be around my family. I had looked forward to spending time fishing with my father and recounting all of my Navy stories. When he informed me of the rapid pace of his illness, and that he would not be around for much longer, it broke me deep inside.

My father was buried with full military honors, and I cried openly, my body wracked with sobs with each shot of the salute. It was difficult to let him go, to feel my father being wrenched from me, leaving me with memories. But his loss has taught me to value the memory of others, to render honor to those that sacrificed so much to everyone else, even to strangers. To remember and honor men and women like Kirby Ross and Edwin Hill, and my father, who served in Vietnam and Korea.

I will never forget the woman on Hospital Point, and the stillness of the water, of her soul. In her eyes I see my own gaze, looking at a life of service, of loss, of acceptance and fond remembrance. I hope that I lead a life that prompts, from time to time, a few still moments in fond memory…

It was a cool morning on board the U. S. S. Madonna, the quiet of the day broken by the revving tug engines straining the mooring ropes, pulling the gray ship into the dirty, crowded piers of Ellis Island.  On this day, March 14,1911, my great-grandfather, 40-year-old Manuel Bettencourt, stared up at the Statue of Liberty, like so many before him.  Manual was ready to step off the sea-worthy home he had spent the previous two long months aboard, on his great journey that had begun on the Island of Pico, Portugal.

The Statue of Liberty

Today is Statue of Liberty Day, the 113th anniversary of our Nation’s ultimate icon of freedom and acceptance, of transition from a nation of relatively homogeneous settlers to a home for immigrants far and wide, whose journey under Lady Liberty’s great shadow welcomed over twelve million of them into our melting pot.

Sculptor Frederic Auguste Bartholdi was commissioned by the French and American governments to create a statue to commemorate the signing of the Declaration of Independence.  America was to create the sturdy foundation, and France would make and deliver the statue.  Lotteries, concerts, and art exhibits were among the methods used to fund the work.  Prize-founder Joseph Pulitzer used his newspaper The World to extol the virtues of donating to the cause.

The statue was completed in July of 1884 and delivered to American soil in June of the next year on board the French Frigate Isere.  The pedestal, however, wasn’t finished until April of 1886.   To transport the enormous copper statue, it was cut apart in 350 pieces and shipped in 214 crates, carefully lifted piece by piece and reassembled on its new foundation over a span of four months.  In 1956, the island where Lady Liberty resides was renamed Liberty Island.  In May of 1982, a daunting 6-year, $87 Million restoration of the statue and foundation began.  Following the horrific events of 9/11, concerns regarding terrorism closed the extended arm and crown of the statue until earlier this year.

Ellis Island and America’s Journey to the Face of Liberty

Next door, only half a mile from Lady Liberty’s visage, sits the small 27-acre Ellis Island of New Jersey.  Three Million visitors stop through Ellis Island each year to take pictures, stare across the water at Liberty, and think about their roots. It is believed that 40% of all Americans can trace their lineage through Ellis Island’s immigration station.  On this day let us ponder a bit on the difficult journey so many of our ancestors took to this great land.

Why Did People Make the Journey?

Immigrants made the decision to come to America for a variety of reasons, including famines, disease, civil unrest or wars, natural disasters, or to simply join family members already there.  From the Potato Famine to the Jewish Pogroms of Eastern Europe, as many came to American fleeing nightmares as those that pursued dreams.  Stories of family members becoming wealthy through hard work or obtaining religious freedoms sang to them like the muses calling to Odysseus.

How Often Was Separation From Family Involved?

Most families immigrating to America lacked sufficient funds for the entire family to make the journey.  In these cases, quite often the father and oldest sons came over and worked at whatever jobs they could, scrimping and saving enough for the mother and rest of the family to join them.  Often it took long years to bring families back together again, and no small number of marriages did not survive the ordeal, as men fell under the spell of America’s often more liberal ways…

What Was Considered a Carry-On in Those Days?

Due to space considerations on the ship (and often for profitability’s sake,) the amount you could carry onboard a ship largely depended on how much you paid.  Those with First- or Second-Class fares typically had a storage location for crates of possessions, as well as in their rooms.  Steerage passengers (the majority of all who made the journey) typically stored what they could rolled up in bundles under their tiny bunks, or shoved in corners, carefully watched by family members or new-found friends.

Were There Physical Requirements to Make the Journey?

Because it was a requirement that shipping companies pay the return voyage for all passengers who were turned down at Ellis Island, many had their own doctors inspect closely for diseases or other conditions that would disqualify them in America.  Most shipping companies required the hair of boys to be close-cropped and girls to undergo fine-tooth combing to prevent the spread of lice.

Despite precautions, over 2% of all passengers were returned to their country of origin for either health reasons or due to lack of finances to adequately begin their lives in America.

Where Did People Sleep and Eat During the Journey?

First- and Second-Class fare holders had their own rooms and beds to enjoy during the long journey, and a dining area for their meals, with a comfort and culinary level commensurate with the amount paid.  Steerage passengers slept in three-high suspended cots, seasick for weeks as they bobbed about in rough waters.  They ate on the floors in the same cramped compartments in which they slept.  Food served tended to be slightly warm soup, near-rotten boiled potatoes and mottled beef.

How Did People Keep Themselves Occupied?

If the ship stewards allowed it, the children of steerage customers would play topside in the open air, simple games like dominoes, cards, marbles, and other diversions taken from back home and altered for a shipboard environment.  Some people, unwilling to simply lie down for the entire journey, helped the sailors care for the ship, scrubbing and mopping surfaces and repairing damage.

How Dangerous Was the Voyage?

Although death from other than natural causes was relatively rare during the journey, it happened.  Untreated illness, food poisoning, falling into open spaces (or overboard) were examples of hazards if one was not careful or unlucky.

What Happened When You Arrived at Ellis Island?

After arriving at the Hudson or East River piers of New York City, steerage passengers gathering up all personal items, and were shuttled by barge to Ellis Island to be documented, inspected by doctors, and finally sent on their way.  For many, it was the ultimate in “sink or swim.”  First- and Second-Class citizens were cursorily inspected on the ship and sent off into New York without further question, as it was assumed that they were unlikely to become a financial ward of the state.

Back to My Beginnings

As the tugs cast off lines and chugged away from the Madonna, Manuel Bettencourt didn’t know what future lay ahead of him, how successful he might be.  Perhaps he turned and stared at Lady Liberty and said a prayer.  Perhaps he kept looking straight ahead with purpose, and began his journey.

Manuel, my great-grandfather, was lucky in that he travelled with others from his community, including neighbors, brothers and cousins.  (Listed in the original ship’s registry, above.) They worked together to protect each other in the bustling culture of New York.  A farmer by trade, and desiring to join family far west, Manuel and his group began looking for ways to cross our land of opportunity, to the rich, fertile farmland of California. That’s another story…