Category Archives: Americana

Lip service is better than no service

Americana, Current Affairs

Street Art-

My account was hacked and I should have shown better judgement in my initial response and handling of the event. Irina Rodnina, three-time Olympic gold medal winner, five months after she tweeted a racist photograph of President Barack Obama.

When I was a kid, it was OK to be a bigot, people advertised that apartments  were restricted, meaning Jewish people couldn’t live there. In the South, under Jim Crow, African-Americans were barred from everything including drinking fountains and State Colleges.  Then it was more than fashionable to be a bigot, it was expected. All the best people were  intolerant, that was how someone could tell they were quality people.

Today, that is not the case. I don’t mean that there aren’t bigots around anymore, but it is no longer socially acceptable. Today, when someone, like Irina Rodnina, says something intolerant, the world treats them as if they are small and stupid. I know that some of those people attacking Rodnina are just covering up their own intolerance, but that is still much better than climbing on her bandwagon.

Today, it is no longer fashionable to be a bigot or a racist or intolerant. There may be apartments that still will not rent to Jewish people, but nobody is advertising it. Sure, part of the reason is because it is against the law, but a big part of the reason is that it is no longer a popular thing to do. Is that great? No, but it is much better than it was.

San Francisco from near Nike Missile Site SF-88-L

Americana, Around home, War

View from Nike Battery-1128

I had lunch with my daughter a couple of days ago and, concerned about traffic crossing the Golden Gate Bridge, I left for home early. There wasn’t any traffic, so I took a detour up to an old Nike Hercules battery overlooking San Francisco. Standing there, looking at the view, I remembered one warm summer morning in 1965, when I drove a general up to this battery.

I was a Sergeant – a buck sergeant, E5 – teaching Germans  at Orogrande, New Mexico, when I met General Lolli. He had recently taken over the 28th NORAD Region – I thought it was the Eighth Region, but Google tells me, No, it was the Twenty Eight NORAD/Western NORAD Region – and Lolli was on a tour of various training facilities. Since I was from the Bay Area, he asked me if I wanted to be stationed in Sausalito and be his driver. I said something like Yes! Sir! and told my fellow teachers and my commander that I would soon be transferred to San Francisco. Then…nothing happened; for just long enough for everybody to think I had become slightly delusional. It wasn’t until about two weeks later, on a Thursday afternoon, that I was called into my Battery Commander’s office and told to report to Major General Andrew Lolli at Hamilton Air Force Base by 8 AM the following Monday.

While we were stationed at Hamilton Air Force Base, Lolli was an Army general – the only Army commander of a NORAD region – and I was his Army driver so I had to live at an Army facility. Fort Baker was the closest Army barracks and I had a private room near the entry (General Lolli lived at the Fontana West in San Francisco). Almost every morning, he would drive across the Golden Gate bridge and pick me up at Fort Baker, I would salute him and then drive him to Hamilton. On this particular morning, Lolli told me to drive him up the hill to the Nike Hercules Missile Site overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge.

As an aside, this was the height of the Cold War and the country was in full, paranoic, war hysteria. Schoolkids would practice hiding under our desks when the air raid sirens went off outside; F 101 Voodoo fighters, would take off out of Hamilton Air Base, looking for nuclear armed Russian TU-16 Badger heavy bombers; and our final defence was a series of twenty four Nike Hercules Surface to Air Missile – SAMs to the cognoscenti – sites around the Bay Area. I am not sure if this battery had missiles armed with nuclear weapons but the system was designed for nukes. End aside.

As we drove up to the site, Lolli called in a mock attack and, when we got there, the klaxon was going off and everybody was running to their battle stations. The missile site had probably been at DEFCON 5, but Lolli had now called it up to DEFCON 1, Air Defense Warning – RED. I don’t know if targets had been assigned, but the blast doors were opened and the missiles were brought up on their elevators, ready to launch.

I was standing way out of the way – way out of the way, not being nuclear cleared – next to a guard, and, to make conversation, I asked him how he liked being stationed in Sausalito. I was shocked when he said, It is terrible duty, nobody likes military people in the Bay Area, San Francisco is too expensive, and the weather sucks. It was hard to not agree about the weather. It was a warm summer morning almost everyplace but here; here we stood in a cold wind that was pushing the wet fog past us and then through the Golden Gate. The pavement was wet and slick  and, in the distance, we could hear, but not see, lonely fog horns. Waiting for the All Clear, I thought, The weather may be crummy but this is San Francisco and my dating prospects are much better here than Orogrande or Korea.

When the All Clear finally did come and General Lolli got back in the car, he was furious. It had taken about fifteen minutes too long to come up to DEFCON 1 and Lolli has just relieved a full-bird-Colonel of his command. As we drove down the hill, the General said, If this had been real, I would have lost San Francisco.

Now, almost 49 years later, we are in a warm spell, the only fog is across The Bridge, the Nike Hercules Missile Site is no longer operational, and San Francisco is still there, sparkling in the sun. I watch a freighter go under The Bridge and a Raven joins me. Maybe she wants me to give her – and I am saying her with no idea if it is a him or a her – some food, maybe he is just enjoying the view like me, maybe she wants to chastise me for all the harm my race has done to the planet. I tell her,  Hey, it could be worse, we could have fired off those missiles, we could have destroyed everything in a flash, more than 10,000 flashes, actually. But since you are here, just stay still and look over here, let me get your picture.

View from Nike Battery-1136

View from Nike Battery-1137 View from Nike Battery-1147

 

McCall Winter Carnival

Americana, Travel

McCal-0953

On Saturday, we went on an outing with Ophelia and Peter and the Boise contingent of their family – Ophelia’s son John, his wife Emily, and their kids Lucia, and Maribel – to my first Winter Carnival.  It was a two and a half hour drive, through the stunning country north of Boise. We drove through a long, open, valley surrounded by soft hills and then a narrow canyon carved by the Payette River, then another open valley – all covered with a light dusting of snow that was only sticking to the north slopes – and so on, until we got to McCall.

I have never been to a Winter Carnival before and really didn’t know what to expect. I do like to go to local get togethers – Fiestas, Market Days, Street Fairs or Faires, Auto Shows – it is a great way to see the culture and the Winter Carnival, for me at least, was one of those things that are great to go to at least  once, if only for the novelty. Maybe more than once, if you are young and like to drink beer and listen to music around an open fire…in the cold (it was about 28°).

McCall-0987

Or, one could go to a frozen outside bar surrounded with huge crystals.

McCall Winter Festival-0965

It was also a great place to go to more than once if you are into making ice sculptures. Most of the sculptures we saw were not particularly good – I should put in a caveat here, I have never seen ice sculptures before so my standards may be entirely unrealistic, there was not much snow to work with, and, I have the feeling, that we never actually got to the Idaho State Snow Sculpting Championships in Depot Park – but the winner was excellent (and didn’t photo very well in the flat light).

McCall-0990

McCall-0995

 

McCall Winter Festival-

After lunch and after looking at some of the sculptures, we  walked out on McCall Lake. I have never walked out on a lake before and it was not as surreal as I would have expected. Part of the normalcy of it was because it is hard to tell where the shore ends and the lake begins. Yes, the shore is sloped and the lake is flat – I am pretty sure – but they seem to fade into one another. The shore is a great place for children to sled and they keep sliding out onto the lake.

McCall Winter Festival-1006

McCall Winter Festival-0952

We all had a good time but I think that the kids had the best time.

McCall Winter Festival-1005

McCall Winter Festival-0977

Mitsuwa Market: Food as art

Americana, Around home

Mitsuwa Market-0797

Wrapped treats in Mitsuwa Market 2014 

A couple of days ago, Michele and I went to the Mitsuwa Market for lunch. The Mitsuwa Market is the anchor of what seems to be a new Japanese shopping center. There are several Chinese shopping centers in the area and even more Chinese markets and we shop at them when we are in the area and want seafood, or some Chinese staples like fermented black beans , and there is a small Japanese market we frequent in San Mateo, but this is a much bigger deal.

Japanese market-0791Mitsuwa Market on Saratoga Avenue by 280

I expected it to be similar to the various Chinese markets, but it couldn’t have been more different. Chinese markets are chaos incarnate and, without thinking about it, I thought the Japanese market would be the same. Mitsuwa Market is more like an art gallery crossed with a clean room. One thing that is the same is both are good places to buy rice, especially if you want it in the giant economy size (although you could argue that it is much easier to find in Mitsuwa).

Marina Market-0794

Marina Market-0908

Mitsuwa Market features Nishiki rice grown in California and this year’s crop just came in. California has been a major rice growing region for a long time, longer than I can remember. My dad used to tell a story about Governor Pat Brown – Jerry Brown’s father – the casual racism of the early 60’s, and California rice.

In 1962, Brown was running for reelection and he flew into an airport somewhere north of Sacramento. As I recall, his plane was a DC-3 and Brown was very proud of being the first state governor to have a plane. I think they used the plane to fly down the block, so the airport could have been pretty close to Sacramento. They flew in – they, because my dad was with Brown – to visit some rich farmers, talk about their needs, and get some campaign donations. When they got out of the plane, they were met by their hosts, a group of men; some were Europeans and some were Sikhs. Brown went over and shook hands with the white guys and climbed into their car and took off, leaving my dad to tour the farms – can a large rice-growing spread be called a farm? -with the Sikhs. As they drove around, my dad began to realize that the Sikhs were the owners – the rich farmers – and the white guys were the formen. He was in the wrong car and so was Brown. My dad loved that story, he loved that the Sikhs were the owners, and it is one of the reasons I love my dad.

Back at the markets, aside from the general aesthetics, the biggest difference is in the fish market area. In Mitsuwa, everything is individually sized and wrapped.

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Mitsuwa Market-0810

In Marina Market in Cupertino, it is sort of a mad house with salt water tanks stuffed full of lethargic fish, fish laid out on ice; fish parts abound.

Marina Market-0886

Mitsuwa Market-0889

Mitsuwa Market-0891

My mother was somewhat of a Nipponophile, and wandering through Mitsuwa, I understand why. One of her favorite sayings was Cleanliness is next to Godliness, which – now that I think about it – is a little strange since she didn’t believe in God (although she wanted us to become Episcopalians because she thought it was socially advantageous). I think that she liked the ritual of going to church and the perceived status but she was careful to explain that, as hard as she tried, she didn’t believe in God (I remember her saying, more than once, that people who believed in God were happier). But Mom did believe in cleanliness and she did believe in order and Mitsuwa is all about cleanliness and order.

It also has an aesthetic that I think of as distinctly Japanese and that, to a certain extent, I grew up with. For some period of my growing up, it may have been as long as four years, when I was six to ten years old – it also could only been six months – I was very sickly with asthma and my mother took me to the doctor every week. The doctor – actually there were several of them – were in San Francisco and, after the appointment, we went out to lunch. My favorite lunch place was the Yamato Sukiyaki House.

At the same time, my mother was making a conscience effort to improve her sophistication, for lack of a better word (maybe exposure works better, or, since she never graduated from highschool, perhaps continued education would be even better). Often, after lunch, we would go to the de Young Museum. At that time, the de Young had a large Asian collection, that I think she liked better than the classical European works. After the museum, we would end the day at the Oriental Tea Garden where my mother would have tea and I would get a cookie. As an aside. The Oriental Tea Garden was originally the Japanese Tea Garden, but it was renamed, without being changed, during World War II (sort of like Freedom Fries). The name has now been changed back to the Japanese Tea Garden and, the last time I visited – maybe twenty five years ago – it seemed very touristy and dirty. However, I read that it has been remodeled and restored, I hope so, because I have very fond memories. End aside.

I think my mother would have enjoyed Mitsuwa Market, sure, it is a market and it is full of stuff they are trying to sell us, but it also has a Zen-like tranquility and minimalism (often with a nod to nature).

Mitsuwa Market-0795

Mitsuwa Market-0800

Mitsuwa Market-0816

Outside, they even have a peaceful Zen garden – bizarrely done in concrete, but still… – and a not so peaceful Kawasaki superbike.

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Mitsuwa Market-0825

Identifying with the Cliff Swallows

Americana, Psychological Musings

Kachina Bridge, Natural Bridges National MonumentKachina Bridge, Natural Bridges National Monument

A week ago, or so, I saw a post on Ta-Nehisi’s blog that I keep thinking about. He is reading Bloodlands: Europe Between Hitler and Stalin by Timothy Snyder and the book prompted him to make a series of posts, one of them – I think – is about accepting Evil. The post, Grappling With History’s Greatest Gangsters , is well worth reading (uh…if you are into thinking about good and evil):

How can men commit such acts? The question is not answered by empty invocations of “evil” or vague invocations of “sociopathy.” The question is not answered by memorializing victims (though this has its place) or the construction of national oaths (though that too might have its place.) On the contrary the question might best be answered, not by identifying with history greatest victims, but by identifying with its killers. This is in fact, as Snyder argues, the moral position: It is easy to sanctify policies or identities by the deaths of the victims. It is less appealing, but morally more urgent, to understand the actions of the perpetrators. The moral danger, after all, is never that one might become a victim but that one might be a perpetrator or a bystander.

I remember walking with Michele late in the afternoon, we were somewhere in the Colorado Plateau – probably in Escalante, but I am not sure – and we were walking up canyon, wandering is more accurate, soaking in the afternoon. Just below the rim of the canyon – about where you might put a picture rail if this was a hall rather than a 200 feet deep canyon – there was a line of mini caves, sort of like the mini-caves in the picture above.1 We watched a Raven flying along the edge of the rim and every once in a while the Raven would circle back to a mini-cave to check it out. It was warm with a slight breeze and the Raven was effortlessly, silently, gliding up canyon.

Ravens don’t get the credit they should, they lack the style of hawks, but they are graceful flyers when they want. This guy was beautiful and then we realized it he was checking out the Cliff Swallow nests in the mini-caves and eating their eggs when he found them. Both Michele and I instantly started feeling sorry for the Cliff Swallows. The eggs were their babies, their future and the Raven was just cruising along, like walking a buffet, eating their eggs.

Walking up canyon, we started talking about how easy it is to identify with the victims rather than the Raven. I think our country, and I suspect alot more countries, are like that. We remember the Alamo – well, the Texans do anyway – we celebrate Pearl Harbor not our victory at Midway. I know I feel that way when I read about pre-civil war slavery or the holocaust. Reading about what the Germans did, I retreat into How could those people do something so inhuman? it is incomprehensible, they are monsters.

It is hard to get past that – often very hard – but they are not monsters, they are people like us. I don’t say that lightly.

Our national narrative is that we are the good guys and we would never do anything like kill people wholesale, especially innocent people. But, we would and we have. During World war II, on 9–10 March 1945, we killed an estimated 88,000 to 100,000 civilians – and wounded another 40,000-125,000, depending on who is counting. We did this on purpose during a raid by 334 B-29s on Tokyo.The purpose of  this raid was not to bomb airfields or munitions factories, it was to kill people. Because we were not doing enough damage to the Japanese homeland with conventional bombing, we had changed tactics to create more damage. First, we bombed Tokyo with high explosive bombs and then came back with incendiary bombs to create a firestorm. According to Robert McNamara, in The Fog of War, after the raid, General Curtis LaMay said It’s a good thing we are winning this war or we would be tried as war criminals.

In his book, War Time: Understanding and Behavior in the Second World War, Paul Fussell writes about an American platoon killing a group of unarmed Germans who were trying to surrender.  But that wasn’t the part that shocked him later, what shocked him how much everybody enjoyed it and how it became a platoon joke to be used when they need cheering up.

Yes, these are wartime stories and war brutalizes everybody and it is easy to tell ourselves that our acts of inhumanity are different from, say, Amon Goeth the commandant of the Kraków-Płaszów concentration camp. That is the point, it is easy to make Goeth the other, incomprehensible, like Goeth made the Jewish people he killed the other. It is not a direction that makes us more human. I want to end with a poem – I remember it from a LP record of poetry my mother often played – that we have probably all heard and forgotten, it is by John Dunn: No man is an island, Entire of itself, Every man is a piece of the continent, A part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less. As well as if a promontory were. As well as if a manor of thy friend’s Or of thine own were: Any man’s death diminishes me, Because I am involved in mankind, And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee.