Living in coronavirusworld 175: So much evil in the world

 9/24

Black lives matter 5K

For the second day in a row, drama on 115th street. Again, the sounds of commotion through my window. I go outside to see a city garbage truck stopped. There’s a large bag on the street in back of the truck. The bag is moving. And a pool of blood growing. A circle of neighbors watching. My neighbor who spends her days sitting outside, watching, one of those, as Jane Jacobs puts it, eyes on the street, is staring. I ask her what’s up. Turns out someone had put their dog in a garbage bag. When the workers hit the compactor function, and heard pained sounds, they realized there was something moving  in the bag, The semicrushed dog was still alive. They removed the bag and lay it in the street. 911 was called. The animal ambulance is on the way. My neighbor is starting to tear up.  I just can’t believe it she says. How could  anybody be that cruel? So sad.That poor dog. Dying a slow death. So sad. The ambulance arrives, the dog gently, lifted up, put in the back. Lights flashing, the ambulance  takes off. Accompanied  by a two police car escort with flashing lights and sirens. My neighbor says, There is so much evil in the world these days. So much evil. Thank God there are still people with good hearts…so sad..so much evil…I watch the police cars clearing the way for  the ambulance. I want to believe they would do the same for my neighbor. I hope he makes it, but I don’t know...I just don’t know…she’s says.

Hari Krishna

I do the Black Lives Matter (virtual) 5k down the west side of the park. At least two jazz ensembles out on this beautiful day. 

Jazz in the park

And at the circle, I see the Hari Krishna people are back. Sigh, I have not missed them,

I stop at the Gate on my way home. A TV news reporter is interviewing co-owner Siobhan about the struggles of trying to survive the covid crisis. Limited capacity (25%) occupancy can begin next week, But no bar. With 12 tables ,that means only 3 available. The city just announced that outdoor dining can continue through the winter. Siobhan is not sure they can afford the tents. It’s a tough go for sure.

                                                                  at the Gate

 I tell my dog story to my old friend RL. He thinks a minute, You know, someone’s poor. Got a sick dog.Can’t afford ASPCA. Don’t know what to do…maybe they’re not cruel, just overwhelmed. I think about this But am still haunted by the dog.

Less than 24 hours after our meeting to organize support for the residents of the Lucerne the Mayor announces once again he is moving them out, This time to a downtown Radisson. A neighborhood vigil is being organized.

I head home to watch my actor  friend in an online benefit for Emily’s List, for the support of  women candidates. There will be  ZOOM plays and a spoken word artist, And of course I will end the night with our open mic. 

Thank God there are still people with good hearts…so sad..so much evil…

Living in coronavirusworld: first visit to Brooklyn in over 5 months

8/27

Live Music, Industry City

After tense conversations, the professional athletes agree to return to their seasons after another two days off (Less for baseball.) In New York City, the Mets and Marlins took the field, stood in silence, hats off, for 42 seconds (Jackie Robinson’s number) then left the field with only a “Black Lives Matter” banner on home plate. This has been an unprecedented demonstration. In the past only something like 9-11 halted games.  These athletes have expressed their frustration as men and women.  And of course, nothing but derision from  the White House and calls for  more law and order. 

Of course much of the Republican convention was in direct violation of the Hatch Act which forbids the mixing  of government and politics, especially it's buildings. With dramatic  displays of flags and use of the White House  as if it were his personal property the President has essentially declared l’etat c’est mois and produced the first fascist convention in history. Still networks seek to cover it as if it were normal. He has even “joked” about “12 more years.”   We hold our collective breath but need to be organizing, 

I’ve learned of a new venue to play live music, though it’s an hour away in Brooklyn.  But I have to check it out.  It’s in a place called “Industry City” a massive complex of factories and warehouses from the early twentieth century when the Gowanus Bay had become an active part fo the shipping industry. Of course fallen into abandonment and neglect as the seventies turned into the eighties. With the toxic waste waters fo the Gowanus Canal blocks away. Between the bay and historic Greenwood Cemetery. Now in a process of rebirth. The Industry City Courtyard 5/6 is an open space ringed by artesenal food and drink businesses. They skirt many bar/restaurant regulations because they are legally agricultural outlets. The food places feature products direct from the farms. There are at least two distilleries crafting their own spirits, a brewery or two making craft beer and an ice cream creator. It doesn’t get any more Brooklyn than that. 

At one end is a stage by a place whose specialty seems to be  infusing everything with fresh ginger. The open mic, which cannot be advertised, because, per regulation music, like alcohol, can only be “incidental,” is a project of a friend of mine from Greenwich Village’s legendary “ Bitter End.”  The Bitter End has been closed since the virus hit and cannot reopen with no space for street music and no food service. It’s the last standing remnant of 1960’s Village.  The mural behind the bar shows many of  its famous performers like Dylan, Joni Mitchell, Linda Ronstadt,Woody Allen. And Bill Cosby, surrounded by recently added jail bars. It is the grail of any singer-songwriter and I had on my bucket list to get an actual paid booking at the Bitter End. I have a sense of pride in having  done that twice, having my first CD release party there and later a birthday gig. Not to mention my Rabbi friend’s high holy day services. The End is in bad shape financially with no visible way out. There’s a go fund me campaign for $100000 under way. My friend is planning a benefit. The prospects of losing the Bitter End are almost unthinkable, yet another covid19 victim. The Bitter End has got the virus, just not yet died.

So my friend has found place in this newly gentrifying corner of Brooklyn. He opens the night. I follow using his “house guitar” which he thoroughly sanitizes before passing it on to me. I put my own “mic condom”on, prepared for safe song. I’ve had a rough reentry into live music at Bar 9 with my weekly near panic attacks. I’ve got 20 minutes here. I choose my material carefully. All “safe” songs. No one here has ever heard them before. I ease into my set, notice someone nodding their head in time. The applause is warm. Someone is recording me. With each affirmation, I open up more. I feel good when I’m done. My friend appreciative I’ve made the long subway journey. As the next performer, an Asian woman with a dark side of indie sound finishes, the rain begins. Time to go back to Manhattan, Harlem, home This was my first trip to Brooklyn in over  months. 

Living in coronavirusworld 145: It's like Paris...

8/21

upper manhattan from the roof

street fair graffiti

The booming bass of the street fair dj makes its insistent way through my window.  It’s another weekly effort to close the street, register voters, provide some kids' activities and music to dance to. The crowds have not  been big. 

Meeting at the French African patisserie Des Ambasassades for coffee and pastries. Talk about the still unsettled plan for reopening the New York City schools. The union is  determined not to go back until they feel safe related to Covid measures.  Talk about family conversations on race and privilege.  Struggling with our own culpabilities. The uncomfortable conversations we all have to have.  And the growing awareness that Ulysses S Grant was not only a good general but also a good man who actually worked  to use  his Presidential power to expand participation of black Americans in our national life.  And his assessment that Robert E. Lee was not a hero, but a traitor.

on he roof

street singer

Walk to visit my friend Beppe.  Their building is now allowing visitors on their roof patio. I notice all the Spanish restaurants on Amsterdam have live singers with guitars and romantic baladas romanticas. We sit on his roof enjoying the view. Did you see the closed off streets between here and 110? he asks.  The street bars, cafes, restaurants, The tainting lights. The music. The life…It’s like Paris, he says. I listen. And from his rooftop I hear the sounds of the Mister Softee trucks mixing and dancing with the canciones de los cantantes melodicos. Something special about the cool of the evening and the peaty taste of single malt. I walk home pausing to take  in the street life. Now some bandas rumbas and bandas nortenas have joined the fiesta de las calles. The older Caribbean and newer Mexican neighbors mixing like music in the air. In late August 2020, in the midst of covid19, there is beauty and life in the streets of New York City.

Living in coronavirus world 135: Play ball

8/8

Stay safe....

even in Mt.Lebanon

garden story

Walking the streets of Mt. Lebanon, a first ring suburb of Pittsburgh on what I used to call the sunshine side of the tunnel, I am surprised to see a sign in support of Black Lives Matter which tells me how deep the current uprising has touched mainstream US culture. Painted garden store are a commentary on what been gong on the last several months. 

The Four-Way Test

musician frog

North Carolina deck

At my mother’s house, I see my father's Rotary Club plaque with its "4Way Test," all things considered not a bad way to live. The musician frog on the deck that he built to recreate a North Carolina beach house deck, where he felt at peace every summer.

Fred Laird, World War I

I find the World War I portrait of my grandfather, a farm boy from the western hill country of Pennsylvania. 

Fred's diary

We have recently discovered his diary which chronicles his journey from the farms where his family had been since the 18th century to France. The living reality of the old song “How you gonna keep em down  the farm after they’ve seen Paree…” He came home, left the farm. And his daughters wound up in Pittsburgh and now the family through their children has expanded to include members from Mexico, China, Eastern European Jewish , Latvian and Balkan descent. An American story .

Take me out

Brandon Phillips a long way from Atlnata

Major league baseball is being played in a vacuum but the local Washington Wildthings independent minor league team has set up it's own bubble of four teams for a summer circuit. While they usually play at an A level, with no other options, the rosters are filled with players from organized ball as high as AAA, one step way from the Major Leagues, and even two former major leaguers.  To enter the ballpark, you have to have printed your ticket  at home. They take your temperature.  It reminds me of the airport, about 80% shut down. Only one concession stand. No draft beer. ( I still haven’t figured  out why even at bars draft beer is not allowed.) There’s one section set aside for people over 50. (Like me.) Maybe 150 people in attendance for a higher level of ball than has ever been played here.. Former major league allstar Brandon Phillips wears his helmet from his days with the Atlanta Braves. No mascot. No in between inning games and events.  But it’s real baseball in front of real people. 

My aunt and I go to a Venezuelan restaurant for takeout.  The young woman at the counter is not too anxious to talk about current realities in her home country.  We sit on her patio with drinks and chips and salsa and talk, as always, about this strange world we live in. 

On Monday, an unexpected raid shuts the baseball season down for reasons that are not entirely clear. As is so  often the way it is these days. 

Living in coronavirus world 119: opening day

7/23

Harlem Mural

The optometrist offcies are now open. It’s been  too long since I’ve had an eye exam. That’s enough to get me out of the house.

Magic Johnson Theatre

.....changing the things I cannot accept...

Hand shake no, Harlem Shake Yes.

the latest from Atlah

I notice all the plywood is gone from the 125th Street shops. Except for the Magic Johnson Theatre whose protective plywood has become a community message/graffiti board.I love the flow of life up and down 125th. The ubiquitous Black Lives Matter shirt vendors, the phrase of the summer. I stop at my bank and then to the storied  Harlem Shake for a hot dog to celebrate the opening of baseball season. I choose a Snoop Dogg, smothered with chili and cheese. Halfway down Lenox, I realize that I left my kinte cloth mask at the Shake. I go back, but too late. I stop to see the latest wisdom from Atlah then decide against ice cream and head home.

It’s the opening (at last ) of baseball season. I last saw a game on my way out of Florida March 7th. Everything shut down week later. 

In the Yankees-Nationals game from DC,  Dr. Anthony Fauci is invited to throw the first pitch. His throw is wild as a virus. Someone will later say he didn’t want anyone to catch anything. Both teams took a knee holding a long black ribbon, then rose together for the National Anthem. I was impressed that in the later game, Giants manager Gabe Kapler and several player remained kneeling.  New Dodger Mookie Betts remained kneeling, teammates hands on his shoulder. The initials BLM on the mound in Washington. Players are wearing either Black Lives Matter or United for Change patches or both. I love the market penetration of Black Lives Matter, but please don’t let it be too easy.

Sometimes I feel I am ordering things online just to have the pleasure of waiting for things to be delivered and surprised on any day. Like the little boy waiting for the Wells Fargo Wagon in theMusic Man. “….or it could be something special  just for me…”

I am upset to see Mariani Rivera as a special  White House guest  of the President. Having a catch with him. Mariano was the quintessence of all that can be good about a ballplayer. Quiet. Focused. Determined. A good teammate. The perfect closer. The last player to wear Jackie’s number, 42. A true Yankee, as they say. Like the essence of decency. I was gifted  a photo of Mariano’s farewell. Behind him I can see my regular seats. It’s a beautiful photo of one of those players who meant a lot to me like Clemente, Jeter, McCutchen. But I haven’t had the heart to put it on my wall. It remains on the floor behind a table and lamp. Because of his inexplicable friendship with the President. Or all too explicable. Somewhere along the line he became a born again evangelical and has-been probably convinced by a beloved pastor that  the he owes allegiance  to this President who is the opposite of everything  I hold holy. 

I don’t understand why Mario can’t see what this President has done to people of his color. To people who speak his language. To immigrants just like him. I don’t believe there is a mean bone in Mariano Rivera’s body I believe he wants to be a good, decent and faithful man. But playing ball with Trump feels like a betrayal of all that. The picture stays on the floor, out of sight. 

I’m shocked when my son texts me to let me know the President has been invited to throw out a first pitch on August 15 against the Red Sox at Yankee Stadium. He wants to go to the stadium to protest. So Yankee’s President Randy Levine is “friends” with the President. What is he thinking? Can anyone still imagine  this is a normal President? One where even if we had widely divergent understandings of political directions,  there was a basic respect for the office because the office holder respected the office. Where standard courtesies would still be extended  because the officeholder is courteous? That the President truly IS the President of all of us and somehow represents all of us? Can anyone still believe that? He doesn't even care.

I thought the final death knell of any semblance of democracy was the day I realized we put children into cages. We do that. And how much more there was to come. Today federal military personnel under the aegis of Homeland Security are patrolling the streets of our cities with no ids and unmarked vans pulling people out at random. Ponder that into you believe it. That’s where we are.  I don’t know what world Levine thinks we’re living in. I’ve spent much too many dollars on the Yankees in my 25 years here.  I'm actually a "partial season ticket holder." This all feels so disrespectful of all of us who sat through years of the gritty democracy of the old Yankee Stadium though sun and snow. We tolerate the Taj Mahal Las Vegas style “Yankee Experience” that seeks to mimic the old stadium while creating a new temple of income inequality across the street from where Mantle, Ruth, Berra and Bernie played the field.  If you’re calling out a rally, I’ll be there. 

Living in coronavirus world 107: Still, Teddy was safe

7/9

...to the people...

Our New York City Presbytery holds another conversation on dismantling systemic racism.  Most of the meeting goes by dryly with reports of what different congregations are doing, some undertakings quite good, but somehow all very bloodless. As the meeting nears its appointed closing, a voice rises up and says that racism is not an issue it is about people, with names and histories. And we need to face them. And the flood gates open. The next 15 minutes has more than anything preceding. There is a strong feeling that  our  committees and structures reflect whiteness. That they have an ethos based on a reality of  decades ago when gatekeeping seemed so important and now that gatekeeping continues to dominate over the facilitation of mission, especially as it relates to black congregations. Even though our Presbytery is different than any other, where there is no majority, nevertheless, to our siblings of color, they feel paternalized in their participation. And are tired and exhausted from telling us their stories. When nothing ever changes. The conversation continues for another hour. There are real cases, stories to be named. Racism has distorted our Presbytery. And whiteness still prevails. It comes to me that when a system is inherently white in its ethos, culture. and structures, adding diversity to committees is insufficient to truly begin the work of dismantlement. In fact it strengthens white privilege by making people of color complicit in their own disempowerment. The systems themselves must be confronted and reconstructed or else only colors change and we get no closer to justice. To healing. 

midtown

I go for physical therapy for the first time in months. Am surprised to see the Underground shops at Columbus Circle are still shut down. I note that around midtown, ams wear is around 85-90%. Some businesses continue to show plywood fronts.  Walking home, I pass by the museum of Natural History and see Teddy Roosevelt is still there with his African and Native companions. But not for long. Interestingly, there’s a contingent of police assigned to keep hm safe during the meantime. The last weekend, there were 30 shootings and 10 deaths. Still, Teddy is safe. 

Teddy's still here

Hoops are back!

Hoops  are back!Walking through Morningside I notice, the hoops are back! And basketball is being played again. That must a good sign. 

The second night of my freed Heide’s “Reimagine…” festival features a film “Franz Wright: Last words,” by M.A. Littler. When he was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer and given six months  to live, Mr. Wright began to make secret recordings for his wife, Beth Oehlkers Wright to be listened to after his death. He wound up living 4 more years. His words are both well crafted finished poems and random reflections on the moment. Therein is their power. Littler has created a visual reflection on and dialogue with these words with black and white film. What really comes through in Franz Wright’s words is agency. Hs taking control  of the narrative  of his life in the process of certain dying. As the Public’s docudrama play the Line illustrates, death was a very central character in our city for far too many weeks. Much of the worst outside of the public eye but a tragedy in every sense of the word. Too many never even got to say goodbye. To touch the body of the dead beloved one. Over 32000 of us have died so far. Beyond most of our awareness, though I can think of six I have known. We have done insufficient refection on the reality til now. (https://www.google.com/search?q=franz+wright+%22last+words%22&rlz=1C5CHFA_enUS774US774&sxsrf=ALeKk00TmRRlKHgkTFBEi2cztqYHwfCDgg:1594441064346&tbm=isch&source=iu&ictx=1&fir=dh0eWiAvMPB5mM%252CD5ksPBNZreicFM%252C_&vet=1&usg=AI4_-kQIA8wbpOTY0pzYZr27Ex9kARmAFg&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjPu4Xqq8TqAhVLg3IEHbE2C2UQ9QEwAHoECAUQAw&biw=1280&bih=605#imgrc=eOg-R7yXvlhFYM) 

  I wonder what the meaning of random fireworks are at 2 AM six days after the 4th. 

Living in coronavirusworld 104: Keep sowing

7/6

Harlem

The International Sanctuary work group meets. 

- the informal walk across at Roxham Road has been shut down. But refugees keep coming.

- in Arizona, the border is still completely shut down. The No Mas Muertos camps are well staffed. People coming through the most dangerous part of the border. People who are found are immediately processed and expelled.  To protect itself from Americans, Mexico has closed the US-Mexico from their side. 

- there is a new House Resolution 2407 linking US aid to Israel to treatment of detained Palestinian children. Kids tried in military courts. 

-connection between US and Israeli police brutality…training, equipment…

- Covid 19 growing in Juarez. Women badly hit. 80% of asylum seekers sleeping outside of overpopulated shelter system. 43000 expelled since March.

- US immigration is shutting down offices in Canada. Lack of funding. Renewal of visas, work permits postponed.  Arizon'a  Scott Warren who defied the US government to give aid and was arrested to receive Fellowship of  Reconciliation peacemaker award (and No Mas Muertos…)

-  Intersectionality of US and EU racism

- “Accompaniment" programs in Palestine, Colombia, Kurdistan, Lesbos all shut down

- COVID. Migration. Black Lives Matter. A global crisis. 

                                             

                                                              ****

Our  Bible Study focuses on Matthew 13: 1-9, 18-23.  The “ sower” parable. Found in all the gospels. And quotes in Thomas. “Let those who have ears to hear, listen…” my college chaplain always ended his fiery sermons with those words. It’s interesting that temptations include both wealth and worry. (…the cares of the world…worry is its own reward, it keeps us from doing anything. The parable has been used used by evangelical church planters, a phrase I find annoying. And can lead to judging people for not being the right kind of soil.  But we realize….the emphasis is really on the sower, not the soil. The sower sows haphazardly, extravagantly, even promiscuously. And has no agency in what finally comes up. (We do note that the seed the birds ate at least benefited them. ) But we keep sowing.

Jesus has three points here:

- Evil is real

- Persisting is hard

- Temptation to capitulate is unyielding. 

- Cynicism, like the thorns, chokes out life. And we remember that as Sharon Welch said, cynicism is the prerogative of the privileged. 

Despair is always tempting.

Much is beyond our control….keep sowing. And listening, even harder than sowing. 

I recall that my first mentor, Ray Swartzbach, always used to say that the job of the church is not committees and programs. It’s equipping people to live the gospel life all week long at work and with family. And to do that we have to care for one another.   And we have to hear each other, see each other, in order to do that. 

Three questions:

- How much agency do we have over our own soil?

- How do we saw in our daily lives?

- What kind of soil are we? 

Keep sowing. 

Dice rolling. Barbecuing. Music . Partying on the corner goes on and on.  For a moment, I think it’s a protest. Shouts.  Loud voices. Police come. Talk sternly with amplified voices. And the go….When I finally check outside, everyone is gone….

 10

Keep sowing.

Gospel Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

1That same day Jesus went out of the house and sat beside the sea. 2Such great crowds gathered around him that he got into a boat and sat there, while the whole crowd stood on the beach. 3And he told them many things in parables, saying: “Listen! A sower went out to sow. 4And as he sowed, some seeds fell on the path, and the birds came and ate them up. 5Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and they sprang up quickly, since they had no depth of soil. 6But when the sun rose, they were scorched; and since they had no root, they withered away. 7Other seeds fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them. 8Other seeds fell on good soil and brought forth grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty. 9Let anyone with ears listen!”

18“Hear then the parable of the sower. 19When anyone hears the word of the kingdom and does not understand it, the evil one comes and snatches away what is sown in the heart; this is what was sown on the path. 20As for what was sown on rocky ground, this is the one who hears the word and immediately receives it with joy; 21yet such a person has no root, but endures only for a while, and when trouble or persecution arises on account of the word, that person immediately falls away. 22As for what was sown among thorns, this is the one who hears the word, but the cares of the world and the lure of wealth choke the word, and it yields nothing. 23But as for what was sown on good soil, this is the one who hears the word and understands it, who indeed bears fruit and yields, in one case a hundredfold, in another sixty, and in another thirty.”