Pat Mcgauley's Blog, page 3

JOE

I’ve been a Twins fan for as long as I can remember . . . and wonderful memories of so many men who have put on their uniform. Certainly, there have been some great ones–and some so distinguished that they have been inducted into the shrine of all sportsdom; Baseball’s Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, NY.

This weekend Joe Mauer announced his retirement after fifteen years as a Twin. Few were surprised after his marvelous send-off in the last home game of this season. When he came out of the dugout wearing his old catcher’s gear I had tears in my eyes. A perfectly choreographed moment.

Joe’s noteworthy career was starcrossed by injuries; especially concussions. Had he been able to continue catching in his last years I have no doubt whatsoever that he would have a place in Cooperstown on his first year of eligibility in five years. Fate, however, was unkind to Joe. His statistics are among the best in Twins history but his total hits fell short of the 3,000 standards–despite an MVP, several batting championships and gold gloves.

In an interview a young man who may take his place at first base next year (Jake Cave) said, “. . . he is, without a doubt, the most respected man in baseball.” His dedication, preparation, and performance were always first class–Joe was first class in every respect. In a tribute, I read in this weekend’s Star-Trib a writer claimed that every pitcher in baseball dreaded to see Joe Mauer in the on-deck circle. With runners on base he was at his best. Some faulted Joe for a lack of leadership in the clubhouse. I’d say that his very presence was always an asset. Sure, his nature was quiet but how can anyone be faulted for who they are?

I applaud his decision. He goes out in a style unlike any of his predecessors. A lifetime Twin who gave to the game as he gave to his community. Now he can enjoy his twin daughters and wait with his wife for their third child. Family is always first in my book. Who knows what he might choose to do a year or two from now . . . but one thing is as certain as winter, his franchise will have something to offer him because he still has so much to give to the organizations future. I’ll expect to see him working with young players during spring training one day soon. Maybe he’ll have some spots in the press box as have Justin, Torii, and others.

Lastly, I thank Joe Mauer for all the wonderful memories he’s given me. Good luck and God bless, Joe.

THANKS TO SO MANY FOR A NOVEL DAY

Yesterday (Saturday) was something special for me and there are many thanks to pass along. First, the local Alpha Delta Kappa Society held its annual craft show at the Hibbing Armory with class and efficiency. Thanks to Ivy Hanson and all of the women who did so much work to bring area craftspeople together and promote the event. This show, more than any other, has been my most successful over the past many years. Hibbing is alive on the opening day of deer hunting season and the hunters leave their spouses with the checkbook to begin their Christmas shopping at many different sites in town.

Each year I have a new novel to present–along with all the previous novels and kid’s books. The ADK, and the Hibbing Tribune have been my launching pads for each title. Kelly Grinsteinner has always given me a flattering story the Sunday preceding the ADK event and I thank her for the publicity she gives me. Prior to Saturday I met with the Nashwauk book club and had a wonderful time sharing my views on writing and publishing. On Friday I had my first ‘official’ book signing at Sullivan Supply and had a good turnout of dedicated readers. Thanks to all of them for the traction they gave me on Friday afternoon. Tom Sullivan Jr. of Sullivan Supply has agreed to be my local outlet for the months that I am away working on the next story. Thanks Tom.

I would be less than honest if I didn’t admit to a positive feeling about my new title–WAITING. So much so that I sent unsolicited copies to literary agents from California to New York. Anyhow, on Saturday I had my first thousand dollar day without knowing so at the time. My friend Gail, who helped me with all the exhibit setup and take-down work, tallied the cash and checks up while I hustled off to Saturday afternoon Mass. When I got home she insisted that I guess what the total was. I knew that I’d done better this year than previous years (I’ve been over $700 in the past) so I guessed $800. When she finally gave me the figure of $1,091 I was floored.

Now it will be off to Virginia next Saturday (9:00-3:00) for another big craft show; this one sponsored by the Virginia Women of Today. I’ve never done their event before. Then on Sunday afternoon, 11/11, I’ll be at the Zenith Book Store in Duluth from 1:30-3:30; another first time for me. Other events will follow into December; culminating with an event at the Aurora library on December sixth. As some of you know going to Aurora is kinda like going ‘home’ as many of my early years were lived in neighboring Hoyt Lakes.

I am grateful to all my readers and to my God for His inspiration.

A HIDDEN JEWEL

For as long as I can remember I have been a history buff. My first teaching position in Hinckley was as an American History teacher and in my years at Hibbing High School, I taught numerous history classes. It wasn’t until the mid-eighties that my interest in history became more localized. I had left teaching for a few years and, among other things like real estate and politics, I was hired by Iron Range Resources to be a historian at their new facility-The Iron Range Interpretative Center (which became Ironworld and then the Minnesota Discovery Center).

Anyhow, in my year there my primary job was to develop/expand the ‘oral history’ element of our region’s history. What an eye-opener that work was. I had the opportunity to interview men and women (many of whom were immigrants) who had lived through the early years of mining–Slovenians, Croations, Serbians, Italians, Finns . . . and Irish. In fact nearly thirty ethnic groups settled on the Mesabi Iron Range. I learned about the labor/management issues, the unions, the violent strikes, the dangerous working conditions, along with the daily lives in Hibbing and the many surrounding locations that were like satellites to the mining hub that was Hibbing.

The offshoot of my work came a few years later when I wrote my first novel which was set in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s when this area transitioned from lumbering to mining. That book became the first of a trilogy that ended with the moving of what was Hibbing to a new location two miles south of the major ore bodies of the Hull-Rust-Mahoning complex and numerous other open pit iron ore mines. My books involved countless hours of research at the Hibbing library and the Hibbing Historical Society. (Now I’m getting closer to the title of this blog).

I believe that there are few places in the United States with a richer cultural heritage than the town of Hibbing despite the fact that it was a microcosm of what was happening across the landscape of America. This morning I ran into a dear friend of mine named Leonard Hirsh. Leonard knows more about the history of this town than I ever will. I served with Leonard on the Board of Directors of the Hibbing Historical Society and Museum. It’s been some time since I’ve visited the museum so Leonard filled me in on some of the new exibits and other matters of mutual interest.

Not enough people who live here have ever visited the museum which is located in the lower level of the Hibbing Memorial Arena. Admission is free and membership in the society very reasonable. The museum is a jewel! It’s a walk through the more than a hundred years of this town and its people. Two of my favorite exhibits are a model of the original site (a logging camp) and a hand-crafted model of the city of Hibbing (circa 1907) with every house and business of the day presented on scale. There are photographs, aritfacts, and more than I can list that tell our local story in a most professional and artistic manner. When you visit–and I hope you will- say hello to Leonard and Erica from me.

PS: If you are visiting the area, or if you live here, the Minnesota Discovery Center is a world-class museum of our local history as well.

ATTACHMENTS

On Friday afternoon I sold my favorite ‘toy’; a 2002 dark blue Dodge Dakota pickup truck. I was in mint condition, low mileage, no rust, clean, and a smooth runner. In the six years I’ve had the truck it’s never been outside in Minnesota’s winters. (I store it in my garage while I’m in Florida and can’t wait to get back behind the wheel when I get back). What I enjoyed most about the truck was that it was a manual 5-speed shifter. Did I get a fair price? Yes. Did I have second thoughts? Yes. Did I really need the truck? No. Did I need the money? Kinda.

Friday made me think more seriously than usual about ‘attachments’–for I was more attached to the truck than to my Florida car- a 2014 Altima. After the new owners drove away I took some time to take an inventory of things around the house. I’ve had the good fortune to travel to many remote parts of the world and have numerous souvenirs from China, Russia, Africa . . . they’re interesting and maybe even valuable–but do I feel any sense of attachment to any of the artifacts? Not really. I am attached to pictures of my grandkids (and my children when they were younger), several books that I’ve read over the years, some music CD’s, and a few movies. Maybe because these are, in their own way, timeless–not priceless–but timeless.

And, I’ll be honest, I have far too many things–especially clothes and shoes and caps and jackets. Why? I’m not a hoarder by any means, but I do accumulate stuff. Twice a year I go through my closets and fill a box or two of clothes, etc. and bring them to the Veteran’s Shop, Salvation Army or Goodwill. While dropping things off I invariably do a quick run through the shop and yes . . . I find a t-shirt that catches my fancy. (A shirt that will probably be in next year’s charity run). Yet I always feel good when I give things away; especially those items that are ‘like new’.

Now, obviously, I’m not a ‘minimalist’. I could get by just fine with one pair of jeans when I have six. Also, I tend to have favorites that I wear almost all the time. I would be just fine with one small closet–I think.

Anyhow, today I look outside my front window on Fifth Avenue West and all I see is emptiness where my truck used to be and I’m sad. But, perhaps, letting go of that might make me look more closely at what I need; I mean really need. That’s beyond phone and computer and furniture, of course.

It’s now Sunday morning. Unconsciously I look for my truck keys so I can run over to the convenience store for the Hibbing and Minneapolis papers. No keys . . . no truck . . . I think I’m over the loss now. In the Sunday newspapers I see some photos of the aftermath of Hurricane Michael. Thousands of others know the meaning of ‘loss’ far better than I am likely to ever experience–they lost everything; everything of a lifetime. Puts matters into perspective.

Darn! ! ! Now I’m wondering . . . do I really need my little place in Naples, Florida? How can I justify than when I have a perfectly fine home in northern Minnesota?

AS THE YEARS FLY BY

I’ll begin and end this post with a quotation that fits the purpose of the words in between.

“At best man is the noblest of animals, separated from law and justice he is the worst.” Aristotle

Living on the Range I am one of the thousands who read with great interest the ‘Hometown Focus’, an independent newspaper published in Virginia. I’ve always found its locally-written stories to be, not only a trove of regional history, but a source of information on things that are happening up here. The last issue was a testimonial to an old friend of mine who has recently retired. It brought back bittersweet memories. Together we served a governor whose Christian values touched us both.

As sometimes happens we allow cherished friendships to fade, yet never quite pass away. It’s been years . . . years in which we both have traveled different roads.

The honors attributed by those who knew him were well-deserved. In his personal address he focused upon his perception of ‘justice’ and did so with typical candor and eloquence. Other speakers echoed his tireless devotion to being an advocate of the disadvantaged, and fair-mindedness to all who faced difficult challenges in life. The only thing I found missing was the mention of his remarkable creativity and sense of humor.

We are both retired now, from different professions, but not ‘old men’ who have lost interest in the passions of our lengthy careers. I often wish we had an opportunity to sit over a cup of coffee and recall times past. Fun times and serious times and times when we failed each other; all the while knowing that will probably never happen. Alas, the years will continue to fly along as they have for decades and. although our paths may cross, they will do so with an easy smile and quiet hello.

“I have always found that mercy bears richer fruits than strict justice.” Abraham Lincoln

HEARTACHE

I just viewed some video on the aftermath of Hurricane Michael. Mexico beach near Panama City on the Florida panhandle looks obliterated. My heart and prayers go out to all those people who have suffered terrible losses–and to the survivors of those who died. And Michael continues inland with its winds, rains, storm surges, and flooding. My friend, Rich, has been in touch with me about his place located near the eye of the storm. His property was one of the few that was not seriously damaged. Thank God.

Last September it was Hurricane Irma that decided to turn east with its eye on Naples where I have a trailer home for the winter months. We all know how vulnerable a ‘mobilinium’ can be. My place is in a pristine village with water access to the Gulf and a bicycle ride from the white sand beaches. Anyhow . . . Irma was a monster and it hit our community (Naples Land and Yacht Harbor) with a fury. Roofs, carports, sheds, siding, and all matter of debris were in the air that day. My unit suffered a few fixable punctures from shards of debris. So, like my friend, I was ‘lucky’ and thanked God profusely. And I felt the pain of neighbors who were less fortunate.

Mother Nature is a capricious phenomenon. Her beauty is abundant around the world, her fury as well. Two weeks ago earthquakes and tsunamis brought incredible devastation to Indonesia. Hundreds, if not thousands, of lives, were lost and millions suffered irreparable damage. In South America, heavy rains caused mudslides that buried entire villages. Weather reporting has become ‘state of the art’ in many ways and certainly a boon to the media. Harvey, Irma, Maria in Puerto Rico were big news for weeks–as will be Michael, still on the move through the east. And we dare not forget the fires of California and the western states that caused so much damage. Nor the Mt. Kilauea eruption in Hawaii that spilled lava down the mountainside. Fortunately, no lives were lost.

Something has always bothered me about the media’s coverage of such tragedies. There was an eruption this year on Mount Fuego in Guatemala that affected more than two million people and countless death. And there was Typhoon Mangkhat that swept from the Philippines to China with (again) countless loss of life and incalculable damage. But these were page three stories that ran for a day or two–most didn’t make the network news. The loss of a home, be it a hut or a house, in Indonesia is as tragic to a Floridian or a Philipino, and a human life lost in Houston as tragic as a human life in Honduras. Just sayin’ . . .

FANTASY

Writing for the sake of writing today.

I’m only a couple of weeks away from the publication of my new book. That should be exciting. Especially after a year’s work finally coming to fruition. Yet, I have mixed emotions; despite the feeling that it’s probably my best story in some time. I don’t mean to say that all the ‘work’ is behind me . . . in fact, the hard stuff is right around the corner. Promotion and sales. With every event, and I have several already in place, I dread the hauling of boxes from one location to another, unloading, taking inventory, repacking, and so it continues. Hauling alone means 8-10 boxes of books, each weighing about 35 pounds, setting up an attractive display, and self-promoting my work. I’m not an extrovert.

I’ve met two big-time authors (NYTimes list authors) with agents, publishers, and the editorial staff that a publishing house provides. Part of me is jealous. How neat it would be to write a story and pass it on to professionals who will take it from there. No applying for entrance in a craft show, no hauling books, no setting up anything.

Early on . . . more so with my first novel, I imagined the life of a successful writer like my two friends. To be honest, I’ve had that ‘fantasy’ a few other times. Going on a book tour with all the arrangements made in advance and the celebrity of it all. Fortunately, I’m over that now. At least I tell myself that. I’m comfortable with being a regional, self-published writer, with a nice local readership. And I get more than my fair share of compliments which is wonderful ego-food. I’m honest when I admit that it’s my readers that inspire me to keep going like the ‘energizer bunny’. And should you wonder about the economics of it all; each new book brings in enough money to cover the costs of the next book. (To date that includes thirteen novels and three children’s books–like I said earlier, that’s a lot of boxes to haul from one site to another throughout the month of November).

Am I. however, running out of energy as I’ve seemed to run out of expectations? I’ll never write a best-seller. Having just finished reading ‘Rules of Civility’ by Amor Towles and ‘The Shoemaker’s Wife’ by Adriana Trigiani, I am humbled.

As I contemplate the transition from the ‘marketing’ stage to the ‘writing’ stage–which is the five months of winter–there is the possibility that I might focus on short stories or novellas and children’s stories. I’ve got two children’s stories on my computer as I write this blog. However . . .

I’m still not quite over the dream–be it a fantasy or not–of finding an agent and/or publisher of one or more of my copyrighted novels. I’ve been told that the Moran saga through five generations would be a good series on HBO or Netflix. What if something like that were ever to happen in my lifetime. I’ve told my kids that after I’ve passed away I might have that dream realized without my being able to enjoy it all–the windfall would be theirs. Aah . . . I get ahead of myself again. For the first time ever, I plan on sending a copy of WAITING (my new title) to several NYC agents. Unsolicited and most likely to be deposited in a circular file because nobody wants a manuscript that they haven’t asked for. And if it’s self-published it’s considered less desirable and of no commercial value. Add to that, if it’s from an unknown author it’s an even worse scenario.

That’s about it for another absolutely gloomy October afternoon. If the sun were to pass over northern Minnesota one of these days I think it would be extremely uplifting. Alas, that’s not supposed to happen for some time. Isn’t alas an expression of grief, pity, or concern?

TREASURE FOUND

If you live up here in northeastern Minnesota I don’t have to remind you of the lousy weather we’ve has over the past several weeks–rain, frost, and this morning snow on the rooftops. And, more coming tonight. The weather-guessers say that the weak sun of today is the last we’ll see of ‘old sol’ for the next several days. Yet, there was something that bad weather can inspire . . . those many, many, delayed chores around the house. After procrastinating for months I took a good look at my office. I spend lots of time here writing, editing, researching, etc. And, I’ve become a terrible organizer–tablets, sheets of paper, books, Manila files, and rough drafts of countless books I’ve written. An absolute mess with a desk like an island in an ocean of paper. I started with file cabinet #1 and a large leaf bag (all will be recycled) and began tossing lots of things that, for some reason, I’d always believed were vital. In file cabinet #2 I continued discarding files until the bag was almost too heavy to get out of the room. Then I found something buried at the bottom of drawer two, under the house title documents and old homeowners insurance folders. It was a blue folder about an inch thick. I had no idea what it might be and was tempted to toss it. (I was finding that if I spent too much time on any one thing I was tempted to ‘save’ it for now. That defeats the purpose of a major clean-up).

In the blue folder was a treasure I had long forgotten about.

Let me explain. Back in the late eighties and early nineties, I was writing short stories; mostly for the fun of it but also to work on different writing styles. Twelve stories were rediscovered: ‘Best Friends’, ‘A Time to Keep’, ‘A Third Tomorrow’,’On a Roll’, and ‘Justina’ to mention a few. Naturally, my clean-up project was over . . . I had to read the stories; and now! What surprised me was that they were not too bad. In fact, the four that I read were quality manuscripts and compelling stories. I brag, but in all honesty, I was entertained. I can only hope that the next several will be as good.

Maybe, more than anything else, I discovered something about myself that I had forgotten. Writing has been a passion for many more years than I realized. I know that my first novel (To Bless or to Blame) was a one-year project back in 1981 and ended up in a box in the basement. I’d written to many NYC agents and publishers only to get discouraging rejection letters. It was shortly after that that I returned to teaching at Hibbing High School.

I thought that the twenty years between ’81 and my retirement in 2001 were devoid of any further writing. I do know that when I retired I found the box containing my novel and fell back in love with the history of the early Iron Range, the characters I’d created, and the drama of it all. A year later, I published the story and it sold so well that I had to have a second and third printing. From there I went on to publish several more Moran stories through five generations.

I had completely forgotten those short stories . . . until my discovery the other day. I’m too consumed with my new novel’s publication to give much thought to what I’m going to do with them. The ‘discovery’, more than anything, was an insight into my self and that in and of itself is more than enough. I will never write a ‘best seller’ but I realized that I could then, and still can tell a pretty good story. Life’s treasures may be buried under the dust of time or locked somewhere in our subconscious–but we all have them. And if we discover them, we can travel back to times forgotten. I wish you all an experience like mine.

OBITS

A highlight of my week is reading the Sunday Star-Trib on Sunday mornings. I always start with the ‘Sports’ then the front page, Minnesota section, opinion pages, and then save the Variety section’s crossword puzzles to work on later in the day and through the week.

I save the Minnesota section for after 8:00 mass. It is here that I spend nearly an hour reading obituaries. My friend Gail finds my preoccupation to be morbid . . . I find her coupon-cutting so typical of the value she places in saving money. That’s good for her and obits are good for me. I’m a writer and I’ve always been fascinated by people. How different we are as unique human beings. Consider this . . . a persons life is generally summarized in a paragraph: survivors and occupation or education consuming most of the content. A lifetime in a less than one hundred words! Did the deceased like flowers, birds, travel (places where he/she had been), outdoors, music, books and . . . a thousand other things. Yes, there are always some that cover an entire column; which sets that person apart from the hundred or more others. This morning there was a woman of 106 and a girl of 13. (The pretty young teen was diagnosed with a brain tumor thirty hours before she died. So very, very sad). I find many men in their fifties who are vets of the Vietnam War–also sad. Agent Orange is rarely mentioned but I suspect the contributing factor. Naturally, cancer is the major culprit without respect for age. Women live longer than men and married individuals longer than those who have, presumably, been divorced.

Once, over these past months, did I see the obit of a man of twenty-something that said: “Died by his own hand” and only twice a young person who died from an addiction to opioids. We all know that youth suicide and drug addiction are alarming statistics.

Recently I began the process of making a will. A reasonable thing to do at my advancing age. My children were pleased that I had finally done so as I’ve resisted doing so for years. I didn’t find it to morbid at all. It was insightful in many ways. We don’t take anything with us so we consider all of the ‘things’ we’ve accumulated in our lifetime. Often things that are special to us but of no value to anybody else. The things are the accumulation of memories and, in a very sentimental way, a part of our life’s journey. I had a special time with each of my three children walking about the house and having them make a list of what they would like to have after I’m gone. I was surprised . . . and not so surprised by each. (I know from personal experience how often surviving children become greedy and relationships become highly strained. Such was the case when my Mom died years ago).

For some time I’ve considered writing my own obituary. As a writer, I could fill the Minnesota section of the Minneapolis Trib with my life. I’ve been so very blessed by God over the years–from childhood to this Sunday morning. Friends, good times, bad times, family, interests, travel . . . I could do a page on my childhood in Riverside (West Duluth), Aurora-Hoyt Lakes high school years, working in the mines, colleges and degrees, politics, suffering a divorce, sports, these many Hibbing years . . . Yet, despite it all, the most important thing I would say is that I was a teacher for most of my adult life. As a teacher at Hibbing’s incredible high school, I touched thousands of lives in some small way. Hopefully in positive ways. Yes, more than anything I’ve done, teaching was my passion. The most challenging years of my life, however, was being a single parent to three children at young ages. I”d admit that I failed each of them in some way. Because of that experience I have always had a special place in my heart for a single parent.

Lastly, I’ll share this, I love birds and flowers and the changing colors of autumn.

FRIENDSHIPS

Yesterday I visited an old friend at Saint Mary’s in Duluth. Al DeLapointe and I go back to my earliest days in Hibbing-we were both social studies teachers and our two families blended nicely. Al had major surgery and, I know, a lot of prayers for his recovery. Over the years we’ve seen less of each other but I’ve always said that ‘old friends are the gold in our lives. And old friends for me go back to my growing up in Hoyt Lakes. Yes, I drank beer–too much at times and illegally–and fell in love a couple of times as well. I don’t ever remember passing or blacking out completely but I do remember vomiting on a girl I was crazy about but never dated in the back seat of someone’s car. But nearly sixty years have passed since then and besides my friends Dick Nierengarten and Al Mugge, memories of most have faded and many have passed away. Facebook has kept me remotely connected to some who are still around.

Recent years have forged new friendships. Forty-some years ago Ed Beckers and a couple others formed a bookclub–The Greater Mesaba Men’s Book Club (the GMMBC has a link on my website) and many of us have stayed the course for most of our adult lives. Our meetings are a highlight of my every month. We are mostly literary, in that we thoroughly critique every book, but are social as well. It’s always been easy to get sidetracked into sports, family stuff, and politics. Most of our members have been professionals. I mention that because most of the people on the Range today work, as their parents and grandparents did, in mine-related jobs. The mines were the lifeblood of the Mesabi, and through bitter struggles, the unions protected their rights to decent wages, benefits, and safety on the job. And, it goes without saying, the unions were overwhelmingly Democrats. The belief that the Republicans are the party of the rich and the Democrats the friend of the working men and women was a cemented as the foundations of Hibbing High School. The Eighth Congressional District has always been strongly Democrat–always meaning the past hundred years or so.

Back to my friends. Of our current membership of eleven, four were born on the Range and the remaining seven came from South Dakota, California, Missouri, New Jersey, or other parts of Minnesota. I was born in west Duluth and grew up on the range and colleged in Winona and at the UofM. A diverse group for sure in most respects–with one exception! (I’m taking a long road to get to my single perspective). This weekend is one of my favorites–a weekend at Paul Dorsher’s lake home near Cross Lake. Paul is one of the dearest men I know and a marvelous host when we join him at the lake. Yesterday I decided to stay home in Hibbing rather than join the guys at Pauls.

I did so with deep regrets that I find difficult to justify.

On Thursday I watched the Senate Judiciary Committee hearings with great pain and anguish. Yesterday, on my drive back from Duluth, I listened to talk radio which was a regurgitation of the Cavanah/Young hearings. To me it was the entire episode, and events leading up to it, the epitome of the divisive politics of the past few months and years–especially since 2016. Since Trump’s election I have suffered the loss of friendhips within my family and outside of it. I have been a Republican since my days working for Governor Al Quie–one of the most sincere Christians I have ever known. I voted for Trump because he promised to help revitalize the steel industry and grow our economy. (Ironically, Trump won the popular vote in Hibbing–this being the first time in my memory that a Republican candiate has done so. Apparently, his message reached the miners and their unions). To my knowledge he has delivered on both accounts. The Wall, immigration policy and Obamacare are another matter. i am also male, white, and a practicing Catholic.

I chose not to join my friends this weekend because I assumed that politics would be high on the discussion agenda.

I’ve had enough ‘politics’ in the past week to last me a lifetime and . . . my friends are all liberals. In the past my exclusive perspective has been good-natured banter but, I sensed, I’d would not enjoy the dialogue at this particular time. Perhaps a weak justification for passing on time among friends. To them I apologize. To Jim, whose book selection of ‘Rules of Civility’ a special apology because the read was absolutely absorbing.

Finally, I will share a deep feeling . . . I am scared to the depths of my soul about the future of our great democracy. Just as I pray for my friend, Al, I pray for my President and my country. God bless America.