A Viral Choice in a Leaderless Country

In 1972, Steve Goodman released his album, Somebody Else's Troubles.One of the tracks is “The Ballad of Penny Evans,” a tale of a widow of the Vietnam War.

Today, in three months, more people have died because of covid-19 related symptoms than died in ten years of Vietnam. More people have died from the virus than in car accidents all of last year.

Yet some people don’t think it’s that serious. Those people, simply, are wrong.

I just finished reading One Giant Leap, the book I mentioned about ten days ago. I urge people to read it, if only for the last chapter, “How Apollo Really Did Change the World.”

Charles Fishman writes:

“Americans like to be reminded of the best of their national character. And Americans want to be asked to do hard things. We want a mission, and we will do it. That’s part of the mythology we tell ourselves, of course, but it’s the reality as well. It is one of the invisible bonds, across education and wealth and opportunity. We rise to the occasion.”

And that much is true. Given the chance, we will come together.

Later in the chapter, Fishman also notes, “But we have to be asked. We have to be rallied to the cause.”

That is the problem with this virus thing. Our President hasn’t led. He hasn’t asked. Instead the administration’s steps have been chaotic and confusing with differing messages depending on the mood of the President or the whims of his sycophantic allies.

It should, then, come as no surprise that there are states that are closed and states that are open and people demanding to get haircuts.

If we had a focused message from a focused leader, this confusion wouldn’t be so blatantly apparent. No public official would be saying that, “well, okay, let the old people and the health-compromised people die, cuz, people want to go to the movies and restaurants.”

No one would be even considering that a certain number of deaths would be acceptable, let alone a moral choice to be made.

Without the coherent leadership we get no direction, no purpose, no consistent and universal desire to do what is right. Instead, we have people who won’t wear masks because it’s uncomfortable, or won’t get vaccinated if one becomes available, who think they have to get haircuts, or run around willy nilly because they want to.

We can accomplish great things as a nation. We have in the past. We can again. We must. This is not the time to think one way is better than another. This is the time to do the right thing whether we like it or not.

If we don’t, we might end up like a line in Steve Goodman’s song: “Tonight there’s 50000 gone in that forgotten land.” The choice is ours to make, not only for ourselves, but for our country. Will we be forgotten?

More Ramblings

April 14 World death rate on 04/05 was 5.4%, US rate was 2.8%. Today the rates are 6.2%, 4.1%. Today the Wankmaggot is supposed to have named his “reopen the country” taskforce. Wanna bet on how many health experts and scientists are on it? As of today, as I write this, almost 30000 people have died because of covid-19. The population of Grayslakrile, Illinois is 21000. April 15 Day Who The Fuck Knows of the Illinois and other states lockdowns. Susan ordered groceries. They didn’t have a lot of the meat she ordered. Either the the grocery shoppers in the stores didn’t do a good job of looking for stuff of they were out a what we needed. There are a lot of stupid people who think this isn’t a big deal. 30000 people dying of the same thing in about a month isn’t a big deal? On what planet do these fucking libertarians come from? Fucking libertarians April 17 Today those death rates I wrote of a few days ago are getting worse. Today the world stands at 6.7%. The U.S. rate is 4.9% April 18 Taylor Swift had truly evolved as an artist. I don’t care for her stuff, but she has evolved from the 15 year old pop artist. Times are hard. I don’t give a shit anymore about these assholes protesting about not being able to go out in these days of stay and home and sheltering. While I understand the need to be able to move, I don’t believe that anybody has the right to infect others. I’ve hear the claim that we will achieve herd immunity when more people develop an immuntu. That is true, but that only occurs with vaccines, not with more people getting the disease and dying. April 19 Two cars anc a cop parked at the station today. One Metra worker happy, i supposed, to be being paid to vacuum out a the electrical box next to the station 39000 deaths to COVID I started reading One Giant Leap by Charles Fishman. It’s the story of us getting to the Moon April 20 Nothing to say. Practiced my new song. I think I have it down. But needs some more practice. April 21 The pond water ripples and shimmers in the wind and sunlight A mallard briefly swims and suddenly takes flight when it sees me. A song similar to Dylan’s Shelter from the Storm, a friend from the Newport Folk Festival has a song called Shelter from the Wind. I like Bill Scorzari’s tune as much as Dylan’s. Meanwhile the President continues to lie through his teeth. April 22 I hope all my friends and relatives remain safe. Susan’s dad is still in ICU. Her sister has covid, too. Fortunately, Peoria is three hours away. April 23 Thursday and today one of our songs off the second Album was played in England and another on a radio show in Massacusetts. Weird. Would be nice if that led to more buys of our CD and our mp3’s. But it doesn’t ever. We’re okay, not great. I’m looking through the sliding door Seeing you with those needles And am remind of trips out east How we stopped at all the yarn stores Where they had the good stuff And all the blends and colors that you needed For the presents that were made with love For friends and daughters and those others That you love and I know you love me As much as I do you. But I don’t need anything knitted Or crocheted. I just love Watching you and the love you put in there/ Might be time for some brandy. Might not be. Haven’t decided yet. When Mr. Death came knocking on my door I said go away sir, I got more I got to do yet April 24 Yesterday, the President suggested that maybe disinfectant and be injected into people as a cure for the corona virus. WT actual F?

From the Moon to This Damn Virus

I started reading One Giant Leap: The Impossible Mission That Flew Us to the Moonby Charles Fishman (Simon & Schuster, 2019) today. So far I found that the Moon smells, but that is a small part of the fascinating story of how we as a nation and as a species achieved the goal.

From the introduction:

"... when President John Kennedy declared in 1961 that the United States would go to the Moon, he was committing the nation to do something we couldn't do. We didn't have the tools, the equipment - we didn't have the rockets or the launchpads, the spacesuits or the computers or the zero-gravity food - to go to the Moon. And it isn't just that we didn't have what we would need, we didn't even know what we would need. We didn't have a list; no one in the world had a list. Indeed, our unpreparedness for the task goes a level deeper: we didn't even know how to fly to the Moon. We didn't know course to fly to get there from here."

In short, Kennedy challenged the country to do something that no one anywhere  in the world had a clue how to do.

As a kid, still in grade school, the space program fascinated me. As I grew older I discovered that my scientific acumen was nowhere near the level I would have needed to be an astronaut, but back in that classroom of my youth, I wanted the program to succeed.

I would stay home as late as possible, eyes glued to the television screen, on mornings of launches. Sometimes, when a launch was paused for whatever reason, I would head to school with my transistor radio with its single earbud. I would string the wire through my sleeve and lean on one arm with my hand cupped over my ear. I tried to look attentive to whatever Sister Mary Delores was saying, but my mind and thoughts were with the radio broadcast of a launch, hoping that she wouldn't notice me.

Those were the early days of the program. I was in college by the time we finally landed on the Moon, but I remember that night vividly - that first step, the words of Armstrong, the glee in the face of Walter Cronkite.

The thing about starting this book is that I know how it ends. We get there and we don't go back. The stuff of the Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey (released a full year before we landed) is still the stuff of fantasy and dreams. I believe we should have and could have done much more, but we didn't. Now we don't even have the rockets or equipment to get there anymore, and we have to buy seats on Russian rockets that are barely modernized versions of the Titan rockets we used.





That brings me back to the words of the book's introduction. We are faced with a rapidly spreading corona virus. As I write this today, 40,000 Americans have died from COVID-19. As I write this, my wife's father is in an ICU with it. As I write this, some people are protesting the stay at home orders in many states, demanding that those orders be lifted.

Meanwhile, the President of the country is blaming everyone else for the slow response of his administration to this virus. He is blaming governors for not doing more testing when the machines for testing don't have the materials for testing. He is blaming the previous administrations for a depleted stockpile of supplies when his team has had three years to replenish that stockpile. He is blaming Democrats for not passing legislation when the GOP controlled Senate is not voting on bills passed by the House. He is blaming the press for asking tough questions and not praising him enough.

Countless scientists and care givers are combating the virus. Hospitals and doctors and nurses are trying new things to what works best for treatments. People are working on vaccines around the globe. People are testing old and new medicines to discover efficacy and dosage levels.  Some have even suggested that perhaps the answer lay in the often used and perfectly safe oral polio vaccine.

The point is that, like the beginnings of the space endeavors, nobody has a clue of what to do or how. This is going to take a coordinated and constant effort similar to the trials and failures that lead to countless discoveries and advances in space. The point is that humans can and will find a way to get past this, to get back to work, to find a new normal in our lives.

Without the space program of the 60s, we would't have the lives we have today. The drive to get to the Moon opened the digital age in which we have grown comfortable. Integrated circuits, telecommunications, weather services, GPS in our cars, all the things we use and take for granted. The space program gave us the normal we have today.

The concerted effort to find a a way to, if not cure the virus, at least live with it is necessary. It was a concerted effort to cure polio that found a vaccine. It was a concerted effort to get to the Moon. Our normal lives understand we have to get vaccinated so that polio doesn't come back. Our normal lives understand the devices with which we live and on which we have come to depend.

It is time for this country to come together, not complain about having to stay home. Let the experts and scientists get us ready to launch again.

Participating with John Prine

Countless tributes of John Prine have been written. It sure doesn’t seem fair that this corona virus thing took him. No words can truly express our sympathies to his wife and family.

When I graduated from college in 1971, I was asked to give the commencement speech as a student. I must have heard John Prine’s “Spanish Pipedream” and it must have stuck in my brain since I remember that I used some lines about going out into the world sans TV and raising peaches.

Prine really wasn’t fully in my life again until Don Breen, a guy I used to work with, gave me a couple of boot-legged albums, oh, I’d say 20 years ago. I had obviously heard of Prine, probably through the MIdnight Special radio show in Chicago. I did hear more Steve Goodman and Fred Holstein, but Prine was leaving town about the same time I moved to finish school in Wisconsin. I suppose that if he, and I, had stuck in Chicago longer, I would have heard of him more, but would have the rest of the world?

That first full, more than fleeting, encounter with him, though, left an indelible mark on me. I will be forever grateful to Don. In that collection the quirky “Dear Abby” made me laugh out loud. “Hello in There” left me crying. To hear most Prine fans talk, he had that effect on almost everyone.

I can’t say I have a favorite John Prine song. There are so many. It is interesting that so many other performers readily pick songs to cover in the tributes abounding since his death. Susan and I cover four of his songs when we do gigs as Wattle & Daub.

Those are:
Angel of Montgomery
Paradise
That’s the Way the World Goes Around
In Spite of Ourselves

We like to say in our gigs that Prine wrote that last one just for us. We’re kind of silly that way. Prine used to tell a story that he wrote the song to run during the closing credits of a Billy Bob Thornton film that was never released. He also told the story of a lady who asked him to sing the “Happy Enchilada” song. “You know,” she told him. “It’s a happy enchilada and you think you’re gonna drown.” I’ve heard Prine tell that story a number of times in shows.

Susan and I were lucky enough to see him as the closer at the Newport Folk Festival in 2017. 
You can hear it here.

The festival has a nice montage of that concert in this video:

I’m not sure why, but Prine’s death has affected me as much as Pete Seeger’s did in 2014. It was the year after my first wife passed away. I had picked up the guitar again, one that had sat idle during her long illness. I started playing the old songs I used to know and some new ones. I liked when people sang along, the way Pete made them do.

Pete always wanted people to sing. He once said, “There is something about participating; it is almost my religion. If the world is still here in 100 years, people will know the importance of participating, not just being spectators.”

Pete had lots of causes and demanded that people at least pay attention. He taught us the words, and taught us that we are stronger when we sing together. And, good teacher that he was, he provided a moral guide post for us all.

Prine’s songs had people singing along, too. Probably because they knew all the words already. He didn’t have to teach us the words. We learned them by ourselves. We laughed, we cried, they became a part of us.

We got to participate when we heard these guys, probably more than we even realized. Pete was our conscience. John Prine was our soul.

Ramblings Again

Someday I might come back to these and get more from it. I think I got the Prine song from the beginnings here, though

March 28

I spent time reading today, not as much as I wanted or should, but I did read.hn

LIstening to live music from Susan Werner on a Sunday during the COVID-19 is much more relaxing than watching a Trump rally in the guise of a press conference.

March 30

John Prine is sick. Again. This time it’s this stupid COVID-19 virus. I want to say he’s a tough old codger and will beat this too just like the cancer. But this thing is a motherfucker. People who have got it say its kicking their ass.

God, if you’re listening, the world needs more guys like Prine. We need him more than you do.

+++

Train only has one engineer

March 31

The train only has one engineer, the one who drives it, runs the motor, makes sure it gets there on time. The conductor collects tickets and greets the passengers and says, “All Aboard!”
But what if no one is on the train, no passengers, no riders off to work in the city, suburbanites heading to the city for a play or show or a trip to a museum or other city attraction?

That seems to be the standard now with Metra and Amtrak in the Chicago area. I walk daily to the Metra station in my northern Illinois town. I don’t know if we’re even considered a suburb. Sometimes the train arrives when I walk, sometimes not.

When this coronavirus thing started, when the governor closed things and told us to stay the fuck home, ridership on Metra went down. Last week I counted 26 cars in a lot that has 681 parking spots. There’s normally more than that on the weekend. Today, an otherwise normal Wednesday workday, only 12 cars were parked.

A lone brave ticketmaster sits behind his glass, alone in his office. I wave to him every day, sometimes chatting briefly. He seems a pleasant fellow. He smiles broadly when he waves back. I should find out his name. He told me that Metra ridership is down 98 percent.

I suspect that people who live in the bedroom towns around New York City are in a simliar situation. That ridership that comes into Grand Central from Connecticut is down, too.

Bedroom towns are the towns where people live and sleep when they work in New York City. Towns like Stamford, where my older brother once lived. I first heard the term when we had a gig in Putnam, CT.

Putnam is on the east side of the state on the banks of the Quinnebaug River. The residents say that they are east of the river, but they mean the Connecticut River which runs through the middle of the state. Sometimes they think the state government forgets about everybody on the east side. The ladies in a yarn shop we visited used the term and explained it, somewhat rather derisively. It kind of reminds me of the division in Illinois between upstate and downstate.

I hate the long goodbye
So it’s just so long and fare the well

April 1

Today Susan and I were married for the second time. We like to say the first time was because we had to and the second time was the church thing. So it’s our 2nd third anniversary.

April 5

Weirdly enough, today is Palm Sunday, traditoonally considered the day Jesus entered Jerusalem to great fanfare and welcome. A week later, they killed him.

Susan got pissed at Facebook and deactivated her account. I should probably take a break from it as well, but somebody has to stay on it so that we can update the band page if necessary.

Can’t say as I blame her. I should start staying away from it more myself. And write more here.

April 6

I wrote this to Corky Siegel today:



I like how you refer to your fans as "cousins." Indeed we are all, as they say, six degrees of separation. I can legitimately say I know most people in music through six degrees or less, and you are part of that chain. For example, I know you, and through you I know Sam Lay and through that, I know Bob Dylan. I can also connect to Barack Obama, but that's a little more convoluted.

I trust you and Holly are maintaining proper standards of health and safety, as we all must. Susan and I are staying put here in Grayslake. She goes foraging for food once a week, but we will probably just start doing that online and just go pick it up. We go for a walk. I walk to the Metra station and say hello to John, the guy who sells tickets for the train. He sits alone behind his glass window. I think I am his only human contact these days. The station here has 681 parking spots. Today there were only five cars in the whole lot. There's normally more than that on a weekend. There's gotta be a song in there somewhere. I'm waving my song catcher around a lot these days, but so far, just a couple of snippets of lines.

In this email, you mentioned all the merchandise on your site. Unfortunately, I can't buy any more since it would just be duplication of everything I have.
That's why I hope we can get past this all soon. Susan and I have had to cancel a few gigs, and a few things we've wanted to see have been cancelled, too. I miss making music in front of an audience, even if it's just four people in a coffeehouse. I also miss hearing music live, whether it's in a small coffeehouse or at a festival with thousands.

I do enjoy your morning live Facebook posts. It's good to see you and hear your music. Hope there's more in the future beyond this.

April 7

Susan went for a walk. A bird pooped on her head. She felt tired the last of her walk. Took a shower and her temperature. Her temperature was 100.5. She went to take a test for COVID-19. Those results will take a couple of days. She came home. Temperature was 98.9. She still felt really fatigued. She’s sleeping now. I’m downstairs avoiding her. Will sleep in separate beds for a while I guess.

My older brother is an idiot. I don’t think he recognizes the severity of this thing. I don’t think he’s alone there.

April 8

Susan in negative for covid. That great news is tempered by the loss of John Prine to the same thing. For 50 years he provided songs of love and joy and humor to America. He was one of the best.

April 9

I remember that empty chair,
When you lay here by yourself
So I pull it up to sit nearby
And stay here for a while
Just wanting you to know
I am here and
You are not alone

You loved me all these years
I hope I have done the same
I’ll sit here drinking Handsome Johnnies
Hoping you still know my name
I’ll stay here till they kick me out
Just hoping that you know
I am here and
You are not alone.

I hate these long goodbyes,
So I’ll just say hello in there
so long and fare thee well

April 10
Thousands of people, hundreds of thousands are out of work. Millions have filed for unemployment. Yet Wall Street thrives.

April 11

It’s Holy Saturday, blessing of the food day.

I don’t know who’s worse. The Bernie “I’ll never vote for Biden” crybabies or the libertarian assholes who claim they have a right go out and infect people cuz, you know, people gotta be free.

A brief unnecessary apology

HE IS RISEN! HAPPY EASTER!

A while back I wrote on this blog this:

My older brother is a fucking idiot who backs Trump and his policies.

It was published here on this blog. He wants an apology. OK.

I am sorry I wrote, “My older brother is a fucking idiot who backs Trump and his policies.”

He’s a nice guy who has very misguided concepts of right of and wrong.

He did seem to think the words were written and appeared on Facebook. They didn’t. They appeared here on this page and this is where the apology is.