The Dissed Dead Guys: Respect Them on President’s Day, Too

No. Not George C. Scott as Scrooge. It’s President Martin Van Buren

Happy President’s Day. It’s one of those holidays I don’t complain about because I’m sitting here drinking coffee knowing in a half hour I’ll still drinking coffee instead of going to work. I love work, mind you–teaching obscure things to teens is a cool job. They never know when they might need a fact about a dead guy to impress people at a cocktail party later in life.

Today, instead of teaching teens, I’ll share with the nation. It’s President’s Day. It seems America does not know its leaders. Buzzfeed’s Adam Davis proved this by subjecting a roomful of coworkers to ridicule when they couldn’t correctly name ten dead presidents from official portraits. Only Ford and Adams fared well. After all, Ford fell down the stairs so much he ended up honorary co-founder of Comedy Central, and Adams was a Founding Father–he gave us things like the Alien and Sedition Acts, where criticizing the government could–and did–get you locked up. Good for me he’s not around to read this.

President Tyler playing Cratchit to Fillmore’s Scrooge.

This President’s Day–which America knows is the best time of year to buy a car and go shopping at the mall–we must do something more. Let’s remember the presidents that make you say, “Who?” They did something to make this nation great, too. Or at least avoid getting it wiped off the map. It’s their holiday, too.

Give a shout out to the eighth president, Martin Van Buren–the first President who spoke English as a second language. I bet someone’d try to deport him today or demand his birth certificate. He presided over the Panic of 1837, a pretty big depression caused by unregulated banks going crazy with lending at the same time as unemployment rose and monopolies formed. Déjà vous? The nation was indignant as the price of cotton fell and cost of slaves increased. Businesses folded, and there wasn’t a thing President “Van Ruin,” could do.

William Henry Harrison took over for Van Ruin. He didn’t wear a coat at his inauguration, being a native of Virginia where coats aren’t necessary. He died of pneumonia about a month later. In the days before internet, that’s not even time enough for a political cartoon to travel the nation. #firstworldproblems. The primary lesson here–“Your mom was right! Wear a coat. And your face really will freeze like that!”

John Tyler, #10, tried to shore up the banking crisis by demanding a national bank. Alexander Hamilton and Thomas Jefferson had fought this fight when the nation formed. Tyler’s dad, incidentally, was Jefferson’s college roommate. A national bank? To regulate fiscal policies? Speak no more! John Tyler became the first sitting president to be impeached–not over a girl, but over his use of the veto. His party wouldn’t nominate him for a second term. He went back to Virginia, serving on the Confederate Congress and overseeing his plantation. Tyler was one of twelve US presidents who owned slaves, and one of eight who owned them while in office.

Millard Fillmore. A pretty good guy.

Millard Fillmore tried to solve the growing slave-free conflict in the United States with the Compromise of 1850, giving us the Fugitive Slave Act and keeping the balance of free and slave states equal. This was important, because without an equal number of votes on either side, no one could impede progress, which is in the Congressional job description.

James Buchanan took sides, however, secretly supporting South Carolina’s succession and the Dred Scott case where the enslaved Scott sued for his freedom, stating that he’d been taken into a free state, therefore, was free. The Court said it was a moot point. Scott couldn’t sue because slaves were property, not people. Tensions rising, Buchanan never took a stand, leaving that to Abraham Lincoln, making Lincoln’s job really, really difficult.

Rutherford B. Hayes lost the popular vote but became President in an election worse than Bush-Gore. Mark Twain supported Hayes, who was an upright, moral guy who started the White House Easter egg hunt. Hayes stated he’d appoint people to jobs based on merit, not political connections, making everyone mad. But everyone was bound to be mad anyway–the Civil War just ended. Hayes tried to be fair and balanced even though FOX news wasn’t invented yet. He tried to heal the nation’s wounds by removing federal troops from the South, redirecting a couple to squash Great Railroad Strike of 1877 in Virginia and Maryland, where workers demanding to be paid a living wage took a few bullets for the team.

And finally, who can forget Chester Arthur, #21, who rose through the New York political machine to become a reformer. Arthur surprised the nation by signing the Pendleton Act which legally required jobs to be given according to merit not patronage. I wonder if he’d known the Chinese civil service exam had done this centuries earlier. With one stroke of his pen, Arthur guaranteed he’d never be invited to a DC dinner party again.

These are just a few of the presidents we don’t fully appreciate. They don’t have a used car sale in their honor. Think of them. Think of Harding, who had a sex-scandal while in office, or Hoover, who tried his best during the Depression, and all he got was a vacuum named after him.

Give these men–yes, no women–homage. Do something in their honor, today.

Me, I think I’ll vacuum like a good woman who won’t be president. Hoover has inspired me, and the house needs cleaning. Enjoy your President’s Day, America!

 

[credits: inspiration today goes to Buzzfeed and to this Time article “Fail to the Chief” which inspired my reflection on these great men buried in history books no one reads.]

 

 

Rhode Island 101 for Quora

I couldn’t resist answering this Rhode Island question on Quora. I tried to resist, but failed…Stewie made me do it. Being a foreigner from Connecticut, a state I can no longer afford, I feel dual allegiance. I was born and bred in Bridgeport, also known as “Chapter 11 City.” That means it went bankrupt. Not that Rhode Island did any better. When I moved here, a banker named Molocone had just crippled the credit unions, leaving the good people in a lurch. At work, we asked for a raise–every other state got a 15% cost of living differential. We got a kind “STFU (translate: “Please be quiet.” You’re lucky you gotta job.”) Lucky I got a job? I just spent 80K on a college degree to be lucky? I could have gone to Vegas or Foxwoods for that.

So, here’s the Quora question that tempted me more than a trip to Scarborough Beach (eh, that’s not much temptation).

“How would you characterize Rhode Island and its inhabitants?”

Rhode Island is a unique place. Usually people say “Oh, you live in Rhode Island? That’s in New York, right?” Yes, it is a state. A unique state. You do hear about Rhode Island in the news, any time there’s a mafia arrest, or large-scale world disaster, like a fire out West, which will invariably be mentioned in terms of number of Rhode Islands affected. This is not a very good measure, since so few people know Rhode Island is a state that they won’t be able to determine the size of the fire anyway.

The inhabitants of Rhode Island are a cross between the Sopranos and Family Guy. Rhode Island is famous for two things, “mobstas and lobstas.” There is a Rosetta Stone available for the Rhode Island language–linguists estimate that the average Rhode Islander saves approximately five hours per week by not pronouncing the “r’s” at the end of their words, time they then spend frequenting Dunkin Donuts or Iggys (clamshack). Rhode Islanders drink ice coffee, Del’s Lemonade (a curiously frozen drink out of which the creators forgot to take the lemon rind).

Rhode Islanders have been branded the worst drivers in the nation, which allows them to be less formal on the road. Cars are less expensive, because they are not required to be equipped with blinkers. They use the sunroof and the center finger of the left hand to indicate the intention to turn.

All in all, though, “Rogue Island” is a unique place that’s been flipping off the system since Colonial times when it was the national meeting place for pirates and refused to sign the Constitution until the new Federal government threatened sanctions. It is the home of the first act of revolution of the Revolutionary War (the burning of the HMS Gaspee) and the birthplace of the Industrial Revolution. It has many microclimates and terrains, making it a great place for filmmakers who don’t want to fight New York traffic or breathe LA smog, and the close proximity of the amenities it contains makes it a great place to live.

Want to eat some of the best food in the nation, get from the beach to the forest in ten minutes flat, and enjoy the history of Colonial New England? Come to Rhode Island. A few of us may even be friendly and try to drive between the lines.

 

Look at These Eggs!!

Eggs from the farm

Look at these eggs. I doubled back, putting the five dollars in the envelope in the cooler that said “Fresh Eggs.” I took the last two dozen. Quite a bargain, I think. The cooler had done its job. It could rest quietly in front of its farm. I pass this farm when I run a lot, but never noticed the “Fresh Eggs” cooler out front. I must have been running slow enough today to see the sign.

I cracked open the cartons. Each one of these eggs is unique. Beautiful. I picked several out and studied them.  I marveled that so many eggs could have so many characteristics. I marveled at this fact.

“You need some serious help,” said one of the voices in my head.

“What a nerd,” said another.

“Don’t you have anything more important to do than stare at the color of eggs?”

I answered them.

“Absolutely. I have exams to grade, curriculum to standardize, I probably should shower, and my favorite Twitter chat’s coming up in a half hour. But…these…eggs…are….stunning.”

“Stunning? Get some help. Shoulda used the five dollars for a copay,” said the voice before going silent. I’m not listening anyway.

Look…at…these…eggs. Every one is different. Unique. Perfect. The way life should let us be.  It shouldn’t put us cartons marked the same, “Grade A Medium White,” or “Extra Large Brown.” Whoa to the egg just a little bit larger, a little bit of a different color, and God help the double yolk.

Nature shows us uniqueness should be celebrated. Creativity, beauty, different thinking, the road less taken. I struggle when I see hate, discrimination, or pressure to conform. I’m sad when I see standardization, negative peer pressure, or the desire to churn out people who are all uniquely…the same. It seems to be the trend in society today. Maybe that’s because I’ve always been like the egg that never quite fit in the carton at the factory when they were measuring.

But these eggs…every single one says, “I have personality! There’s no one like me!”

Being unique is what makes us beautiful. It’s what makes me want to live. It is the magic of life. Strange that I can see it in something as ordinary, or maybe not so ordinary…as an egg.

 

Vote Early, Vote Often–But Don’t Forget to Vote!

[Image: http://www.breitbart.com]

I’d like to thank the President for getting up so early and sending the 4AM and 5AM emails reminding me to vote.  It shows me how hard he’s working today.  Okay, I’m not naive. I know they come from some dashboard that autosends them, and that I’m still the only lonely person up at dumb o’clock with the exception of two overzealous entrepreneurs with whom I chat in the AM and my friends in India and Japan because it’s nighttime there.

Still, I feel honored to have all the politicians filling up my inbox giving me a break from the work that is threatening to bury my soul. It’s a nice breather.

And today, the great American holiday has finally arrived–bigger than Columbus Day, as infrequent as the Leap Year, and more expensive than the budgets of several small nations that 70% of Americans could neither find nor spell if dropped off in their capitals for a reality show–ELECTION DAY IS HERE!!!

I was reading James Altucher’s “Why I Won’t Vote,” watching comments ranging from supportive, “Voting is a waste, work in soup kitchens with the time,” to nearly inflammatory, “How could you not vote. Are you a communist?” I may have taken liberties with that one. And communists do vote. There’s always at least one candidate to vote for and voting percentages are much more impressive than the US.

I nearly always agree with James–I’ll be agreeing with him on the outrageous cost of college in a day or two when I finish up that post.  But voting–I’ll stand over the line on this one.

With society so broken and the electoral college virtually making my vote statistically insignificant, why do I vote? When politicians are so caught up in so much graft and corruption that we’re not even sure what the platform means anymore, why do I vote? When political action committees and large industries can buy candidates and I can barely get an email back from my national politicians, why do I vote?

Here’s why: 

Because they don’t get to win.

American society is unique.  I’m not talking about “American exceptionalism” which basically states we’re ordained by the Almighty and get to do whatever we want on the world stage.  I mean that America is truly unique. We complain a lot, we rally, petition, and rattle our sabers when things don’t go our way, but the truth is, we have that freedom. And when the chips are down, we put all that aside and come together–we have witnessed this time and time again in times of national emergencies.

I just got through showing “How Facebook Changed the World: The Arab Spring,” in class.  My seniors were eye-openingly shocked. “That’s WRONG!”  Of course its wrong.  One brave soul said, “Yeah but things are wrong here…”

You’re my scholar. Speak.

“We don’t have any fairness in our society. We have poverty, police brutality, and schools aren’t fair, people don’t have jobs. How is this different?”

“Well, for one, there’s no riots,” I offered up.

“That’s not true.” This scholar actually researched and read the material I put online about the LA riots and civil rights, and offered up some thoughts that we weren’t so far removed after all.  Students reading and applying concepts, and beating me over the head with the baseball bat of my own lesson. It’s a beautiful thing. I sat back and watched the discussion unfold. These are the people whose actions will fix society much more than my paltry vote.

And yet I vote, not because I can cure the ills of society, but I consider it my “civic prayer.”  Once every four years I get to pull the lever.  Sometimes I vote for a candidate, other times I vote “none of the above.”  I always vote for the local candidates, because it’s there that my vote does matter.

Thomas Jefferson recommended periodic revolution as “a medicine necessary for sound health and government.” He wasn’t talking about nicely voting people out of office–which is tough these days, because voting rates are so low that it looks more like Chairman Mao runs the elections. He stated that given a nation where a few supported him, more were against him and the majority didn’t care, and he would take over that nation. He was right.  Most people would rather work the extra shift at time and a half than vote.  I know–I ask my students and recent alumni this very question.

What if we extended American Idol or The X-Factor an extra five minutes and had people call and text in their votes for the presidential elections? Or set up a poll on Facebook or Twitter? I bet people would vote then.  We could even go so far as to have a quiz–you answer twenty questions about platform issues, and it matches you up with a candidate and votes on your behalf. Simple.  Then, it gives you extra points in some Zynga game, and notifies all your friends on your Facebook wall. That’s a good way to vote.

“YOU CAN’T DO THAT!” That was a comment from my professional election friends, who felt that security would be an issue.  Heck, if we can register online for Federal College student aid and get a pin number, we can register to vote online. And since when has voter fraud been an issue anyway? Chicago? Florida? Anyone…Anyone…Bueller?

Yes, I’ll be voting today. It’s my civic prayer. I remind myself, in the words of Gandhi, to “be the change I want to see.”  I will watch the American civic pageantry unfold throughout the day, and the winners be called overnight. I may even grumble at the results. I will encourage others to vote.

Most of all, I will take a moment in the booth to reflect and be grateful that I can vote. I will mentally thank my friends who served this country so my rights would be preserved. I will map out my strategy to make my community a better place, and to fix at least one aspect of this broken society. I will consider my friends from places that do not enjoy these rights, either through political or economic discrimination. I will pay homage to my friends and their families who have come to this country to enjoy some of the freedoms they wouldn’t have in their own lands and that Americans don’t always appreciate.

Whether my vote actually matters in society a point for the political pundits and statisticians to determine.  James Carville will tell me later.  But it matters to me.  For one brief moment, I get to be in control. I get to plan my strategy and reflect upon the things that make this nation great. I get to reunite myself with the principle that change begins with me.