We, as a country, were fairly well united last Saturday morning. The media was filled with emotionally draining pictures of the twin towers attack in New York City. Often, I had to put down the newspapers or walk away from the television. It brought back too many bad memories of that nightmarish time, as first responders sifted through the rubble, looking for bodies of 3,000 victims. Last week, politicians solemnly declared that the 20th anniversary of that event would unite all American’s in sorrow and grief. But did Sept 11 2021 unite us?
Did Sept 11 2021 unite us? Just for a little while it did, but the media won’t let it happen.
On Saturday night, we heard a couple of loud explosive booms nearby. Cherry bombs? I thought they were illegal. . Looked out the window, and saw a parade of trucks with American Flags and Trump posters slowly making it’s noisy way down the street in front of our house. Presume they were going throughout the city. How was this supposed to help unify the country?
On Sunday afternoon, I turned on my computer and checked the various news outlets. MSNBC, CNN and Fox News, especially, since they’re the most biased. And guess what? It was business as usual. Trump bashing/ Biden defending vs Biden bashing/ Trump defending/. As an example, Headlines:
MNBC: Trump plans to spend 9/11 anniversary at Casino boxing match.
CNN: Biden has every right to dismiss Kellyanne Conway
Fox: Army veteran blasts feckless, incompetent administration for Afghan failure.
Couldn’t all of them have waited just one more day before resuming their divisive diatribes? Are they afraid the Biden and Trump haters might mingle in unity for a day or so? Maybe even show some understanding of each others’ feelings? Cable news ratings might nosedive while people of opposing viewpoints sat down and had a beer together. And the media won’t let that happen.
Our country is entering into another Great Divide : those who will get vaccinated and those who won’t. I wish I could say I don’t know anyone who hasn’t been vaccinated, but the trouble is, I do. And some of them are people whom I know well. The excuses for not getting the shots run from the sublime to the ridiculous. Some women believe the vaccine will prevent them from getting pregnant. I haven’t seen this in the media, but I’ve heard it with my own ears. There is so much ignorance floating around out there, it’s hard to believe. All I know is, it’s hard to love thy neighbor if he/she hasn’t been vaccinated.
There isn’t a single adverse reaction to the vaccine that wasn’t reported in print, television, radio, and social media.. Let’s face it, news organizations want to hype up their ratings, and the best way to do that is to scare people to death. Fear is a great motivator, and right now it’s working against the best interests of everyone in the United States of America.
It’s Hard To Love Thy Neighbor if they won’t get vaccinated.
Fox news has published a list of the top fifty counties with the highest number of Covid-19 cases in Indiana.. Only one of them had a vaccination rate of 45%. Many small counties have fewer than 30% of eligible people vaccinated.
I really don’t want to be around people who are jeopardizing the health of their friends and neighbors by not getting vaccinated. If that’s their choice, I think they have an obligation to inform everyone around them. In fact, they ought to wear a sign on their back when they go out in public: “Danger: Not Vaccinated.” That way, we would know to keep our distance.
It’s hard to love thy neighbors if they aren’t vaccinated. With friends like that, who needs enemies?
There are a few days in your lifetime that you remember forever, in great detail. Where you were, who you were with, and how you felt. Where were you on 9/11?
For me, it was similar to that first huge memory on Nov. 22, 1963, when Kennedy was shot. My firstborn was one month old, and I can remember the sun shining in our apartment window in Evanston, Illinois. My then husband was at work in downtown Chicago. I know I was wearing a black sweater, and my son had on a little white sleeper.
For about an hour, I simply sat and listened and watched, too stunned to move. Suddenly, the stay-at-home moms came out of their apartments and onto the sidewalk, and finally gathered in my apartment because it was the largest and could hold the most people. And we talked and watched TV, and no one had anything to eat or drink for hours.
On 9/11, it was a different story. My husband was able to take walks then, and he had a radio plugged into his ear. It was a warm , sunny day and we were both wearing sleeveless shirts. He heard it right away, of course, but when he told me what had happened, I thought at first it was a hoax, or he was mistaken. Even then, we had no idea how extensive the damage, or how many people had been killed. Finally, we passed a house where a young man whom we had never met came out from his doorway, and asked us if we had heard what happened. So it was true. We shook our heads, and mutely turned away, too stunned to reply.
Looking back, it seems strange that we were at war, but war was never declared (how did that differ from the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor?) and life went on pretty much the same for those who lived far from New York & DC.
A rainy holiday is a real bummer. You have to cancel your plans for picnics, boating, golf and just about everything fun about Labor Day. Some people forge ahead with their outdoor plans, hoping some miracle will make the sun come out. But often, it doesn’t. Many of us are facing gloomy skies today. So why not make the best of it? Here are seven benefits of a rainy holiday.
1, It’s a perfect excuse to be lazy. You don’t have to jog, hike, bike, or water your lawn.
2, You needn’t dress up, put on make up, or fix your hair, because you’re not going anywhere. . You might even stay in your pajamas, because it’s not likely anyone will stop by.
3. There’s finally enough time to try a new recipe. It so easy to fall back on the same old dishes when you’re busy. Now is the time to surprise yourself or your family with a new entrée. One rainy day, I tried spinach stuffed chicken breasts for the first time. Luckily, I had the ingredients on hand. And when we sat down to dinner, it felt like we were at a gourmet restaurant.
4. Binge on Netflix. Only dummies watch movies all day—right? But now, you can justify it, no matter how well educated you are. After all, it’s raining too hard to drive to the library.
5. Savor a cup of hot tea. Dress it up with honey and lemon. Sit back, dream, and watch the raindrops falling.
Seven benefits of a rainy holiday. Savor a cup of hot tea and enjoy the rain.
6. Let pure rainwater wash your dusty car . If the sun comes out, you don’t even have to towel it dry.
7. Rain relieves late summer allergies because it washes away those nasty pollens like ragweed. Just for a little while, your nose stops dripping and you don’t have to dope yourself up with antihistamines.
Rainy holidays don’t have to be depressing. Put on some romantic music, call someone you love, and have a peaceful, relaxing Labor Day.
The recent law in Texas regarding abortion has many people alarmed, while others are ecstatic. Roe vs. Wade, a supreme court case decided in 1973, made abortion legal. But it was a controversial decision that goes on today, nearly 50 years later. My husband was a Protestant minister, and president of the local chapter of Planned Parenthood at the time. Before that, he had risked his reputation and career to support a woman’s right to control her body. His experience is described in his memoir, “A Preacher Called Sinn,” Here, I’m printing two chapters in that book, which explains why a Minister supported abortion rights
A minister supported abortion rights. His memoir, “A Preacher Called Sinn,” is available on Amazon.
UNDERGROUND RAILROAD
As a high profile campus minister, I was asked to serve on numerous charitable boards. I didn’t have the time to accept all of these invitations, but the one agency I strongly supported was Planned Parenthood. I had served as a hospital chaplain during seminary, and witnessed horrifying atrocities inflicted upon unwanted children. After seeing babies maimed, raped, and burned, I had come to believe this organization had an urgent mission. And so, I agreed to join their board of directors.
At that time, abortion wasn’t legal in the state of Indiana so the organization was aimed at helping to prevent unwanted pregnancies. Serving with me were the local Rabbi, a couple of doctors and nurses, and some college professors. Roman Catholics, officially opposed to birth control, didn’t participate in our activities but neither did they put up a fight. When I was elected as chairman of the board in 1970, it didn’t cause much of a stir.
I was dedicated to the cause. As a youth minister, I knew that young people were having lots of casual sex, and it was mostly the females who paid the price. I had learned that free love was not free after counseling many grief stricken girls who had one night stands or affairs that left them with feelings of shame, but worse yet, unwanted pregnancies. Still, my involvement was limited to monthly meetings and occasional fund raisers
.All of that changed on the day I received a visit from a fellow board member. Dr. Leslie King was a tall woman with curly black hair and hazel eyes. She had emigrated from Germany before World War II and graduated from a women’s medical college. Her husband owned a local jewelry store and was known to be so concerned about the threat of a nuclear attack that they had constructed a bomb shelter beside their home. Dr. King had a large practice and was a busy family physician. Her unscheduled appearance in my office on a weekday could only mean she had something serious on her mind. I hoped she wouldn’t ask me to install a bomb shelter in the Wesley Foundation. I offered her a cup of tea or a glass of cola, but she declined both.
We sat down. ” I need your help, Duane,” she said in a strong German accent.
An alarm went off in my head. I couldn’t imagine how we could afford to build a bomb shelter near the building. “I’ll do what I can,” I answered.
Dr. King pushed her glasses up from the tip of her nose. “It’s about the girls who want an abortion. They come to Planned Parenthood for help, but as you know, it’s illegal in Indiana.”
The abortion issue had never been publicly discussed at our meetings. Topics on the agenda were budgets, personnel, and fund raising. “Are you just talking about a few women?” I asked.
She shook her head vigorously. “No, you’d be very surprised. As a woman doctor, I see a lot of girls in trouble, many of them from very good families.”
“So what can you do? As a doctor, your hands are tied.”
“Not really,” she said calmly, “We have contacts in New York.”
“We? You mean Planned Parenthood?”
She waved her hand as if to brush aside my question. “Have you ever been to New York, Duane?”
My mind went back to the day I’d stood in back of a theatre with Harold Martz while watching South Pacific. It was a pleasant memory of a carefree time. “Just once, but I loved it.” I said with a smile.
Dr. King frowned. ‘The girls I send there aren’t on a pleasure trip. And many of them have bad experiences.”
This highly respected doctor was helping women to have abortions? I couldn’t wrap my mind around any of it. I said nothing and waited for her to continue. “These young girls, many of them come from small towns and have never been to a big city. They find the name of a doctor in a New York phone book or newspaper, but all they have is an address. They sometimes get stranded at airports and train stations, with no idea of where to stay. They’re lonely and scared. Worse yet, many of the clinics are dirty, with incompetent practitioners.”
I was still mystified. “You’ve asked for my help, but what can I do?”
Dr. King leaned forward, her voice pulsing with intensity. “I’m asking you to go to New York as my representative. I want you to check out the clinics at a list of facilities I will give you. Make sure these places are clean and comfortable. Also, arrange for a decent hotel where the girls can have a safe stay.”
“But why are you asking me to do this? Wouldn’t a nurse be more suited to the task?”
She shook her head. “No, these girls need more than medical care. They should have counseling from a trained person with spiritual values to help them analyze other alternatives such as adoption, or keeping the child. If they decide upon an abortion as a last resort, they need someone to guide them through that sad journey.”
I broke out in a cold sweat. “Do you realize what a risk I would be taking? My board is upset about my running a coffee house. How would they react if they thought I was helping to run an underground railroad for abortion?”
“I know all about that meeting you had with your board. And I also know you’re a strong man with the courage of your convictions. You have the backing of many prominent people in this town..”
I I felt like I was walking into quicksand. “A coffee house is one thing. Abortion is something else, altogether.”
“Come on, Duane,” Dr. King said. “I know, from my practice, that you’ve counseled many young girls with unwanted pregnancies. They tell me you’re a minister who listens to their troubles without making them feel dirty or ashamed. And I know of at least two young women you’ve talked out of suicide.”
“How do these things get around?” I asked. “I’ve never divulged a word about these situations, even to my own wife.”
“Even so, you know how tragic an unwanted pregnancy can be.”
“Of course.” The tear streaked faces of young women flashed through my mind as I recalled several middle-of-the-night phone calls. At least twice, I’d jumped out of bed and gone straight to the women’s dormitory, although it was against the rules at the time to have a man in their room. I had saved several lives, but unfortunately hadn’t gotten there in time for one girl who succeeded in taking her own life.
Dr. King clasped her hands as if in prayer. “Please help these girls. I know that you are worried about the legal consequences, but…”
I raised my hand to interrupt. “I have to think about my family.”
The doctor shook her head. “Let me finish what I was about to say. Have you heard of the Clergymen’s Consultation Service?”
“No.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of this network of clergy that started with the Presbyterian Church. Right now, they have more than a thousand members from various denominations who are willing to take professional and legal risks to change social attitudes and support safe abortion. I will sponsor your membership and pay your fees. The organization will insure you against liability.”
My head filled with internal static. I could scarcely believe that the very same Presbyterian Church in which I had been raised was involved. But of course, it made sense. Presbyterians had always been the most liberal of the mainstream Protestant religions.
“What I’m asking you to do has no financial rewards. Only your expenses will be paid,” Dr. King said
I felt relieved that she wanted to send me on a mission of mercy, pure and simple. My mind cleared as I made my decision.
So there I was, back in New York City after twenty years. It hadn’t changed much, except for many more high rises. The Big Apple still had that same energy and intensity I’d loved—but this time, I would not see any Broadway shows. Dr. King had provided me with a list of four clinics for inspection. I chose the one which had an impressive staff and a spotless physical facility
Within a few days, the modus operandi was set in place: A pregnant woman arriving at the airport was told to look for a lady wearing a colorful straw hat. She would approach the lady wearing the hat and ask for her credentials. As soon as the contact had been verified, the patient would be driven to a clinic, have her procedure, and spend a few hours in recovery. Ideally, someone would drive her back to the airport so she could arrive home that same evening with no one the wiser. If that was not possible, safe lodging at a clean, inexpensive hotel or an overnight stay would be arranged. The cost of the trip and procedure was set at $400, which barely covered expenses
Soon, I was seeing women from every race, religion, and social class who were thinking of an abortion. Many of our city’s most prominent citizens came to me with their daughters. As time went by, I sometimes recognized girls I had helped, but I pretended not to see them. Sometime I worried about being approached by a hostile person who regretted her decision, but in fact, the opposite often came true. In dark shadows along city streets and in quiet corners of stores and restaurants, I’d often feel a hand on my arm while someone whispered, “thanks for helping me.” I would merely nod my head, and move on. However, abortion was an emotional issue which often divided families. I learned that the hard way at, of all places, a wedding
. SURPRISE ATTACK FROM RIGHT-TO-LIFE
I was often asked to perform wedding ceremonies for students who didn’t want to be married in a church. Such was the case when the daughter of a wealthy banker asked me to officiate at her wedding held at the Terre Haute Country Club, a luxurious white stucco building set far back in a wooded area, and overlooking a carefully manicured golf course.
April weather in Indiana is volatile and unpredictable, but on that particular day, the skies were clear, with temperatures in the sixties. I was invited to the rehearsal dinner on a Friday night, and had hurried out to the country club after a long meeting with some students organizing a Vietnam War protest. I arrived as cocktails were being served on the patio. The air smelled of lilacs and expensive perfume, while the setting sun cast an orange and purple glow across the sky
I opted for a glass of Chardonnay, which didn’t go down well on an empty stomach. Feeling a little woozy, I ducked into the men’s room to splash some cold water on my face. As I bent over the sink to turn on the faucet, I felt a hand between my shoulder blades and a low voice in my ear “Murderer.”
Startled, I fell forward against the wall mirror and cracked my head. I turned around and saw the bride’s uncle, a hulking mass of a man with black, oil slicked hair, and a shiny forehead.
He leaned in, spraying my face with saliva. “You think I don’t know you’re killing babies?” he snarled.
Now I understood. This was about my involvement with Planned Parenthood; but it didn’t make sense. Why would the man’s niece ask me to perform her marriage ceremony if her uncle felt this way? I felt blood trickling from my nose, and reached for a towel to wipe my face.
Before I could respond, the door swung open and a thin, dark haired woman in a blue silk dress strode into the men’s room. “Now, Dick,” she called out. “This is my daughter’s wedding. She saw you following Reverend Sinn, and she knew that you were going to start an argument. He is our invited guest. Now, you go back in the dining room and sit down and be quiet. If you can’t do that, then please leave.”
Dick shrugged his shoulders and walked away.
The bride’s mother wrung her hands. ‘I’m so very sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know he would do this. He knows I don’t agree with his stance on abortion, but he’s very active in the National Right to Life organization, and he sometimes gets carried away.”
My first impulse was to walk out the door and tell them to find themselves another minister. But the lady’s sincere remorse persuaded me to stay. If I made a scene and left them without a minister, it would ruin a joyous occasion. Somehow, I got through the rest of the evening. I’m sure a gourmet meal was served, but I could not tell you what was on the dinner table. And I must admit, I watched my back on the way to my car that night.
After the Supreme Court’s landmark decision on Roe vs. Wade in 1973, I assumed the abortion controversy had been settled. Little did I know the storm would still be raging on into the twenty first century and even now, as I write this book.
There are some serious disasters affecting our country right now. California wildfires. The Covid-19 pandemic. Our disastrous withdrawal from the war in Afghanistan. And now, Hurricane Ida. Once upon a time, historians looked upon wars and natural disasters as nature’s way of controlling the population. However, no one thinks that way anymore. We look to our leaders to prevent such events, or get them under control once they occur. Unfortunately, some things can’t be fixed.
Governor Newsom is undergoing a recall election in California right now. He’s getting blamed for a lot of things, and one of them is the wildfires. . They say he could have prevented them if he’d managed the forest growth better. Newsom promised to clear underbrush and thin forests with prescribed burns and other techniques, Wow. Should our governors go all over the states chopping down trees ? That would be an unimaginably complex undertaking, involving a lot of private and public property. I don’t follow California politics, and I have no opinion as to Governor Newsom’s competence. Nevertheless, I think the extreme heat was the main cause of the wildfires.
The Covid-19 virus was a political football from the git-go. President Trump didn’t take it seriously. He predicted the epidemic would be over by Easter of 2020. And even though he pushed through the development of a vaccine, it wasn’t enough for the voters. Consequently, he lost to Biden, who everyone thought would get the virus under control.
Biden’s doing his best to get everyone vaccinated, but we’re still in the midst of a pandemic It seems to me we’re expecting miracles from our presidents and state governors. They can try, but they can’t outwit nature.
And now, we have Hurricane Ida. Homes destroyed. Three weeks without power in New Orleans. No way to cook or run your air conditioner. The misery goes on and on. Yes FEMA can step in and help rescue stranded people, provide food and supplies and shelter. But in the end, the damage was done by an act of nature and there’s nothing any one could have done to prevent it from happening 20 years after Katrina..
Some things can’t be fixed. No one blamed the Roman Emperor when Mount Vesuvius erupted in 29 AD.
Remember the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 29 AD? The city of Pompeii and surrounding cities were buried under volcanic ash. Thousands were killed. Titus was the Roman Emperor at the time, and he organized a huge relief effort to help the victims of the disaster. But there’s no record of anyone complaining that he didn’t do enough.
