Memorial Day

I have a bunch of pictures on my hard drive. When the computer goes to screen-saver mode, I enjoy watching family photos from way back flash across my screen. On this Memorial Day, those pictures were particularly helpful as a reminder of all the family members who I miss so much.

Dean E. Findley (pictured right)

My grandfather served in the Pacific on the USS Brown in World War II. My most vivid memories of my grandfather was an interview I conducted with him in his basement for a class project.

My assignment for history class was to interview a WWII veteran if any were living in my family. I did not know it at the time, but I was lucky to get the interview when I did. He died in 1993, and I did the interview with him either that same year or 1992. I had never asked him about his service until that assignment, and I will always be grateful to my then-teacher for assigning the task.

He talked about his most vivid memories, including when he was "down below" at the same time a torpedo hit the ship. Obviously, the torpedo was a dud or I might not be here. He told about the looks on the faces of his shipmates when he came back "top side." I remember him saying that they looked at him like he was a ghost.

He talked as openly for my project as he ever had about anything, and I will always treasure the memory. Without that assignment, I might never have created such a memory. I can still see him sitting in the very dim basement and answering my questions one at a time. I did not feel like he particularly enjoyed talking about his experience, but he answered all my questions and remained patient.

The diary he kept during the war has now been transcribed and published. It sits on my bookshelf at work.

I also remember that he taught me how to drive. When I misjudged the turn-radius on the Suburban near the old dog track and went into a shallow ditch, he calmly said, "OK, now put it in reverse."

Eddie and Mollie Renz

My great-grandparents, pictured above with me in 1978, were a few of the many native Germans who lived in Russia and later migrated to this part of Colorado. Eddie loved to paint, and his paintings decorate every wall on my dad's side of the family. Three of his paintings hang in my office at work, and I type this post under one of his larger paintings.

Eddie was a train engineer and painted in his spare time. He sold many paintings and tried to teach me, my brother and many of our cousins how. He also played a mean accordion and loved a good polka.

I interviewed Mollie for an article I published in the high school newspaper about Loveland's history before the Civil Rights movement. She was my first-hand source about the existence of signs threatening blacks not to "let the sun set on you in Loveland." She was a remarkable person who survived the Great Depression. She told me she "never spent a dime." And, she really didn't. Anytime she found a dime, it went into a jar. At the end of the year, that jar went to the bank.

When I first learned how to drive, I went to pick her up for a visit to show off my skills. I inadvertently turned without the necessary green arrow and nearly got us both killed. She scolded me and I felt horrible. But, satisfied that it was a mistake of nerves, she promised not to tell anyone. She then let me drive her home at the end of the visit and told me not to worry because she trusted I would get her home safe.

She knitted all the time and donated her handiwork to the needy and to her eventual Great-great-grandchildren. When Jen and I brought Jacob home from the hospital, he wore a little hat and blanket she made for my eventual child before I had even met Jen.

Jen took a strong liking to my great-grandmother. We were both very honored to have her at the wedding and we both miss her today. Jen never got to meet Eddie, but I know she would have loved his unique sense of humor.

John McCarthy (pictured below giving my mother away to marriage)

Grandpa "Man," as he was known, was a veteran of the CIA and the Air Force. I interviewed him for an article I did for a special Veterans Day issue of the Longmont Daily Times-Call. He was in the room as a Captain for one of the very first attempts to negotiate with Ho Chi Mihn before US involvement in Vietnam escalated.

My mother told innumerable stories about his Christmas cheer, his playful nature, and his stern mannerisms regarding dating. I did not often visit him because of distance, but every phone call ended with advice that I "stand closer to my razor." Phone calls were always enjoyable because he stressed the importance of cheerfulness in life.

He showed me a telegram he received from President Kennedy for his performance at Patterson Air Base during the Cuban Missile Crisis. He also showed me a "pen gun" that was used in the 50s.

When we were kids, he made sure we knew he was the "King of the Leprechauns," and kept us on the lookout for them in his yard.

Dad

To most others he was Dr. Findley, but he was always just Dad to me. I've already written about all the accomplishments, so I'll just focus today on the little memories I cherish. He's the one who most insisted that I take the time to visit family members and to maintain those relationships.

I remember endless baseball, lacrosse, football, soccer and basketball games together.

I remember going to get a twist cone after every little league game I played, his shouts from the sidelines when I played soccer, and more games of catch in the backyard than I can count.

When I was very young, we played as if some of my action figures would be swimming around his rocking chair as he watched Wall Street Week. He took me to get autographs of players from different teams at training camps in San Diego, Virginia and Denver.

He watched the Muppet Show with me and, I think, enjoyed it every bit as much as I did. He played video games with me, watched movies with me and even quizzed me on which composer created which masterpiece of classical music.

He left us entirely too early.

This list is not exhaustive, but I had a special relationship with everyone described here. I spent much of today thinking about how each one of them contributed to the world and, more specifically, to my life.

I miss them all terribly, but I rejoice in their memories. I also look forward to teaching Jacob about each of them and the lessons they taught me.

The People are Speaking!!

Are you listening?



No amount of organizing could ever coax 75,000 people to a political rally. Something special is happening in this country.



Yes he can!

Media Matters

I have a nasty habit of obsessively watching political news and commentary. Beyond the obvious side-effects of being a boring party-goer or the source of eye-rolling, I'm convinced 24-hour news cycle makes us all a little more petty and unreasonably outraged.

My first post on this blog was about how upset I was about the never-ending focus of mass media on celebrity news. Such sensationalism has lately leaked its way into the political news arena, especially in a presidential election year. But, with the 24-hour news cycle, nothing escapes exaggeration. I know even colonial-era papers were vicious, but this is ridiculous.

Just one example is the enormous amount of time pundits spent on which one of three U.S. Senators / Millionaires running for President was "elitist." One comment about bitterness turned into a 2-week marathon of opinion and general droning-on. They even drone on about how long the networks have... well, droned on. "This story has now lasted three news-cycles!!" they report.

Sometimes I long for the days when people waited for the newspaper delivery to get their news.

Pundits and talking-heads obviously contribute when they bring knowledgeable and well-reasoned information to the subject. I love that kind of analysis. But, when networks have 24-hours of programming to fill, not everyone given a forum for opinion should necessarily be heard. There are entirely too many "experts" eating up too many "segments" to allow for focused analysis.

When that trend is married to the insect-level attention spans encouraged by those very networks, context of any potential controversy splats into the speeding windshield of mass media.

The sound-bite nature of news forces candidates or other news-makers to resort to sound-bite defenses to sound-bite attacks -- effectively stripping our political discourse of substance and making headlines over trifles. That may work for viewers who pay attention until the next commercial break, but for those of us political junkies who live and die with elections, it's madness.

An example: Barack Obama responded to the "bitter" backlash immediately, explained the context, expressed regret that it wasn't more clearly delivered and moved on. The story, however, did not. After being pummelled for being an "elitist," Obama finally stemmed the tide by resorting to a sound-bite retort. By responding that Hillary Clinton was "talking like she is Annie Oakley," he received the kind of smirky-newscaster-introductions to reports of his words necessary to counter the smirky-newscaster-introductions to reports of Clinton's attacks.

"Today, Barack Obama slammed Hillary Clinton by accusing her of 'talking like she is Annie Oakley and packing a six-shooter..." (Insert smirk).

It's junk because it's just a game of "gotcha." It's also petty and irrelevant to the presidential debate. Heck, it's downright demeaning to the presidential debate. An honest explanation should have been enough, but only a zinger changed the topic.

I was a member of the media once upon a time. One of my degrees was in journalism. I understand how difficult that job can be and how frustrating it can be to write with authority on a new subject. The problem, however, is less a product of poor journalism than of over-saturation. I also understand the problem of filling a minimum space.

After a certain point, any media pays a price of quality to achieve quantity.

My point is simply to encourage anyone -- voters, interested observers or anyone else -- to cut through the trash and look at the topic in question with your own common sense. Ask yourself whether something of substance lies buried under the zingers, one-liners and snippets.

Like, for example, whether a charge of "elitism" or any other trumped-up accusation even matters. After all, it takes an "elite-minded" person to believe he or she is the most qualified out of 300 million Americans to lead this nation.

Drip... drip... drip...

If you have read my ramblings on these pages this year, you know that nothing angers me more than the slow drip of information that exposes our nation as one that tortures. Piece by piece, we have learned at what price this administration has sold the nation's morality.

Well, the drip is going to turn into a stream very soon. And the books (yes, books... plural) are slated to be released in coming months. With titles like Kafka Comes to America, by Steven Wax, My Guantanamo Diary, by Mahvish Rukhsana Khan, a former interpreter at the base, and many others, the stories and first-hand accounts are starting to slowly seep their way out.

As prisoners are finally released, and people of conscience finally stand up, the true scope of American torture will show itself... and soon. That realization hit me this morning when I opened the newspaper.

Are we ready to hear about this? Based on the previews, I think we better brace ourselves for this flood.

I read in my Sunday paper today that Sami al-Hajj, a cameraman for Al Jazeera, was released from Guantanamo Bay after six years. During those six years, he was never charged with a crime. No trial was held. Mr. Hajj was so frail upon his release that he departed his plane directly into an ambulance. He met his now 7-year-old son, an infant when he was detained, at that time.

You can read the further details at: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/04/opinion/04kristof.html?_r=1&ref=opinion&oref=slogin

The article is called A prison of Shame, and It's Ours, by Nicholas D. Kristof.

I remember studying brutal regimes in college. I was horrified that those regimes used doctors to monitor the health of the tortured only to conclude that they could survive more torture. Ethics be damned. The newest accounts suggest we have done just that.

We will learn about one hundred detainees have died in our custody. We will learn that many of the detainees are victims of the prices our government offered to pay for anyone who could be described as an "Al Qaeda supporter," whatever that means. In short, we offered money for leads, and ... well, when you don't have a trial, it's hard to prove you were thrown under the bus for money.

And we will find out that we torture. (And, more than just the three times the administration has admitted to).

Today I hang my head in sadness over these revelations. I can only pray that our people show the kind of outrage for this type of government action that mandates a change. When it comes to morality of this nature, we cannot simply wait for a new president. Rather, our citizenry must speak so forcefully against this kind of crime that even an administration as unreceptive as the current one will do the right thing.

Unfortunately, I don't think that will happen. I'd bet the farm it doesn't.

And that saddens me most of all.