When contemplating the passage of the Obama Health Care Bill I am reminded of a story about the Constitutional Convention of 1787. The Convention had adjourned, the Constitution had been approved, the doors were opened and the delegates filed out into the streets of Philadelphia.
Benjamin Franklin was being carried out on his sedan chair when an anxious citizen ran up to him and asked, “Dr. Franklin, is it a republic or a monarchy?”
Franklin replied, “A republic, Sir, if you can keep it,” meaning that he and the other delegates had done the best they could to create a new form of government for the fledgling United States of America but it was now up to each and every American citizen to do the best they could by exercising the rights given unto them by this new constitution to ensure that the country remained a republic.
The same metaphor applies here to the Obama Health Care bill. The Obama Administration and the Democrats in Congress worked long and hard to create legislation to augment and improve the health care system in America. After a year’s worth of negotiation, amending, deal-making, compromises, political infighting, vitriolic debate, and parliamentary wizardry, a bill was passed. Now it is up to the American people to do their part to either make this landmark legislation work by exercising the options and rights granted unto them by this legislation or else allow it to be tortured on the gibbet of American political obloquy.
Those who cry out that the bill is an example of tyranny or else complain about the methods used by Democratic congressional leaders to get the bill passed err. The fact that the bill was watered down, amended, and substantively changed from the original concept proposed by the Obama Administration; the fact that G.O.P. congressional members were granted time to debate the issue and say their piece about the legislation, and try their best at blocking the legislation exposes the lie that tyranny was afoot.
Tyranny is the absence of debate, amendments, negotiations, and offers to the opposition to have their input in the process. If the Obama Administration is a genuine dictatorship then Universal Health Care would have been passed in its original form without any subsequent amendments.
Was the bill flawed as many of its opponents said during the debate? Of course it was. Name any legislation that isn’t flawed? Even the Constitution when submitted to the states in 1787 was a flawed document that needed a lot of fine-tuning during the next two hundred and twenty-three years of its existence. The nice thing about legislation in a democracy is that it is never etched in stone. Democracy allows lawmakers to amend, add, and subtract at will. As one CNN observer recently noted, every year will see the new law being amended and changed (just as you see changes in Social Security, Medicare, and tax laws). Democracy at its absolute best is a supremely flawed form of government. Those who seek perfection will only find disappointment. If legislators were to await perfection then no real work would ever get done.
And what about those who cry out that this legislation will bankrupt the country? The fact is America is already bankrupt and has been since 1983 when the country became a debtor nation instead of a creditor nation—a dark day in American economic history. Our present state of bankruptcy has been perpetuated by both the Republicans and Democrats alike. Will the health care bill add to the deficit? Of course it will. Expanding national health care coverage is not cheap and as for the criticism that it is fiscally irresponsible? I would like to say this: where was any talk about fiscal responsibility when the Bush Administration insisted on conducting a bloody and expensive two-front war in Iraq and Afghanistan while insisting on cutting taxes and deregulating America’s financial systems? Where was the fiscal sanity in that? Why weren’t the same politicians who cavil about the health care bill’s costs saying the same things when America was being bled white financially, politically, and emotionally during the past decade?
It’s all well and good to preach about fiscal responsibility but I have not seen any of the opposition practice those policies.
It is my personal theory that what frightens the bill’s opponents the most is that the Obama health care bill turns the political tables on them. If the new health care bill survives a court challenge and attains the same political untouchable status that Social Security and Medicare now possesses then it places severe constraints on future Republican fiscal practices. If the bill and its new systems take hold and prove to be effective then future Republican congresses and Presidents will be handcuffed politically. They will not be able to casually rape and gut funding for these new programs like they can with other liberal social programs. That means there will be less money available to distribute to conservative sacred cows in the future. In short if the Obama health care plan survives and takes hold then any attempt at destroying it will mean political suicide.
The bills opponents can talk about repeal in the legislature but that nothing but political hot air. Any repeal will require absolute two-third’s majorities in both houses in order to overcome a presidential veto. Right now the G.O.P. doesn’t have the votes and it remains to be seen whether they will be get those votes in the upcoming mid-term elections in November. (For the record the last time the G.O.P. achieved two-thirds majorities in both houses was during the 19th century). They’re only chance is in convincing enough Democrats to defect in both houses of Congress to achieve repeal and that will have to wait until next year when the next Congress goes into session.
Actually conservative invocation of the dreaded “S” word (i.e. socialism) in describing the bill is nothing new. They invoked it when Social Security was established and again when Medicare was created as well. Both times they vowed to overthrow it but failed to do so when the opportunities arose. President Dwight Eisenhower said it best when asked by conservatives in 1953 to overthrow the New Deal policies of the Roosevelt and Truman administrations. He said, “Should any political party attempt to abolish Social Security, unemployment insurance, and eliminate labor laws and farm programs, you would not hear of that party again in our political history.”
If conservatives have any hope of overturning the health care bill then their best avenue of attack is in the courts. In fact conservatives shouldn’t even waste time filing suit in the district or appellate courts but should take their case directly to the U.S. Supreme Court (which you can do legally. You can bypass the lower courts and appeal directly to the Supreme Court if time is of the essence—which it is for the bill’s opponents). In fact I would not be surprised if the Supreme Court decides to take a look at the bill and try to overturn it. One only needs four justices to grant cert, i.e. agree to hear a case. The Supreme Court’s conservative bloc (Justices Roberts, Alito, Scalia, Thomas, and Kennedy) has already shown its willingness to tilt politically with President Obama; which means that there is far greater potential to overturn the health care bill by a Supreme Court ruling than there is by congressional repeal.
Is the health care bill apocalypse now? Is it the end of the world as we know it—and none of us are feeling fine? The answer is no. The bill is nothing more than a good old American compromise—just as the Declaration of Independence was…and the Constitution…and the Compromises of 1820 and 1850 were...and the Civil Rights Act of 1957 as well (please read Robert Caro’s book Lyndon Johnson: Master of the Senate and you will see why).
When I look at what has happened I am reminded of words folk singer Leonard Cohen spoke onstage at the 1970 Isle of Wight festival. Cohen was performing before a crowd of 600,000 and he said words to the effect that, “You’re a nation but you’re still weak. Still have a lot of growing up to do before you can stand on your own two legs as an adult.”
America (when compared with other countries) is still a young nation with a lot of growing pains; a nation still striving to achieve maturity (leaving death threats and smashing windows of legislators who voted for the bill is not mature behavior). We, as a People, still have a lot of growing up to do before we can proclaim ourselves a fully developed nation.
Yet the passage of the Obama health care bill represents a giant leap forward in the growing process and a proud moment in our democracy because the passage of the bill reveals that the democratic process has not been lost; compromise has not been abandoned; the Republic lives; God reigns; and the Constitution still works.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Gilda Di Memmo: Cent Anni
Today marks the centennial of the birth of the late Gilda Di Marcello: the youngest child of Vincenzo Di Marcello and Maria Censoni—and their longest living child; a sister to Frank, Anna, and Sophie; the wife of Frank Di Memmo; mother of seven children: Mary, Rudy, Caesar, Joseph, Frank, Pasquale, and Jean; grandmother to twenty-two grandchildren; great-grandmother to at least forty-seven grandchildren; and a great-great grandmother to at least eleven great-great grandchildren when she died in October 2001.
She was also a beloved aunt to all her nephews and nieces; not only bestowing her love upon them but also to their children and grandchildren.
She was an amazing woman; a window to a world which now seems ancient and mysterious to the computerized techno-gadgetry of today’s Facebook world. She lived in simpler, sterner, more stoical times. She lived in an era which (at least in her eyes) must have possessed a greater clarity than the era we live in today where the truth seems ephemeral; right and wrong becomes mercurial and inter-changeable; and reality dissolves more easily into unreality.
She was a living witness to a tsunami of changes which boggle the imagination. She survived two World Wars and several lesser wars. She saw Lindbergh fly solo across the Atlantic Ocean and Neil Armstrong walk on the moon; she also saw the atomic bomb blow up and the Twin Towers fall down. She saw women’s skirts and necklines go up and down; she saw people’s hair grow longer and shorter; she heard music get jazzier, funkier, louder and more outrageous. She saw TV in black and white; then color; and then in cable.
Through all this she remained herself always: soft-spoken, loving, loyal, eternal, doting, and quietly smiling.
My earliest memory of Gilda came when I was roughly six or seven years old. My parents took me and my brothers to visit her and her husband at their home in Ridley Park, PA. I believe my father was helping pour a slab of concrete in their backyard. I was left inside the house alone with Aunt Gilda. (When I was a little child, I was bewildered by her name. It sounded so weird to me. I remember my six year old brain would say to itself, ‘what’s an Aunt Gilda???’)
I remember in the parlor of the house Aunt Gilda had an organ. I remember being fascinated with that organ because when I used to attend SDA church at Laurel Springs I remember being fascinated with the organ that was used during the services. I always wanted to play with the keyboards but was never allowed to do so. Imagine my joy when Aunt Gilda, seeing my fascination with her organ, allowed me to sit in the chair and play with the keyboards?!?!
And so there I was a giggly, antsy kid goofing about on the keyboard, making Frankenstein and other horror movie noises and laughing hysterically at my own mischief; and all throughout my childish doodling I would look back at her and see her sitting there in a corner easy chair smiling silently and indulgently at me; a most loving and doting smile—as if to suggest that I was neither the first nor the last little child to goof about on her organ?
Gilda was a shy woman—by her own admission in letters she wrote to me while I was doing genealogical research on the Di Marcello, DiBiase, D’Ambrosio, and Di Memmo clans. But there was a spark there; a flame kindled from what George Washington called that inner celestial fire called conscience. She lacked a full-fledged education but she had a native intelligence and an artistic spirit which expressed itself in subtle and wonderful ways. One cannot help but wonder what she would have become if she were growing up in today’s world where young women have greater intellectual and professional opportunities than Gilda did back in the 1920s.
(In my first genealogical book there is a 1927 photograph of Gilda at age 17 posing with her brother Frank and her parents. She was wearing what a young teenage girl was supposed to wear during that era. In 1996 one of her grand-daughters would tell me that particular photo in my book was her favorite one. She told me, shrieking with laughter, “My grandmother the flapper!”)
She married young. She was only eighteen years old when she married Frank Di Memmo. She would devote the rest of her life to matrimony; motherhood; grandmotherhood; great-grandmotherhood; and great-great grandmotherhood—not a simple task.
(Gilda laughingly told me in a letter in the 1990s that it was hard for her to keep track of all the grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-great grandchildren she had). Her progeny seems biblical in its scope. (That’s why in the dedication of my second genealogical book I quote Genesis 15:50 as a tribute to Aunt Gilda).
My relationship with her grew during the 1990s because my genealogical work. I still have her letters and I still savor the memory of the periodic phone calls I made to her during those years.
She was always encouraging, loving, positive, and uplifting. There was never a time when I saw her or spoke to her when she failed to make me feel better about myself. I assume she did that with everyone.
I remember in one letter I sent her I showed her a song I wrote called "I Can’t Find Myself (For Myself)". The song was a typical Matthew DiBiase lyric: introspective, self-deprecating, and a little bit crazy. In her response she sent me one of her lyrics and she gently admonished me that I shouldn’t be so hard on myself in my lyrics—saying, “Remember we are all God’s children and if God is King then that makes you a prince.”
Even as I’m writing this I still chuckle at the sentiment but guess what? It worked. It had the desired effect of making me feel better. That was Gilda. She was always making you feel good; feel more alive; spreading love and watching it flow. When I visited her and we would sit together, she would always reach out and squeeze my hand, showing love and affection.
I remember one family reunion in April 1996. She had come to Central PA from Michigan and everyone came to see her. Aunt Gilda was sitting in the living room and her granddaughter Malissa Richardson was showing Gilda her brand new baby son Travis. While Travis remained cradled in her lap, Gilda kept patting his head and smiling at her newest great-grandchild.
Gilda in her final years struggled with deafness—though one of her grandchildren told me it was a selective deafness. When I saw her during those final years it always amused me that when the conversation bored her she would sit silent and unhearing but when the conversation interested her (or else when someone she loved or cared for or respected dearly was speaking) then she would cup her hand to ear and strain to catch every word that person was saying. I ought to know. She always did that when I was speaking during family conversations. It touched me. It made me feel good that a least one person was listening to what I had to say.
When she died in 2001, I mourned. Not only was our collective looking-glass to the ancient past taken away from us (as well as the last link to our Italian heritage) a dear, dear friend was lost to me; a wonderful transcendent human-being was no more; a loving presence and persona in a world which has now become increasingly ugly, brutal, savage, and cruel was taken from us—and the world was a less beautiful place because of it.
I went to her funeral (there was no way I was going to miss it. I owed it to her). I took off from work to do this. She was buried on a glorious autumnal day alongside her husband. Her memorial service was a glorious requiem to her memory. Whoever choreographed the service and planned it deserves a medal. Her funeral was everything a memorial service should be: her entire family was allowed a chance to make their contributions; all the generations of her descendants left their mark on the service. Gilda died with dignity and was laid to rest with the love, tears, and memories that she richly deserved. As funerals go this one was a fitting end to a magnificent woman.
I would like to end this tribute with a story of my own. In the days between her death and her funeral I wrote a poem in honor of her memory. The words fell into place rather quickly and I had a typescript ready to go when I arrived at the funeral hall. It was my intent to read it if there was an appropriate time to do so.
As it turned out there was ample opportunity for me to read the poem. People were allowed to come up and say their piece about Aunt Gilda. Many did so. I waited. When it seemed like the last person had said their piece and it felt like it was my turn, I fingered my typescript which was folded neatly in the inner pocket of my suit. I grasped it when I heard a little voice inside my head say quite clearly and distinctly, “Leave it be. Everything that needed to be said has been said.”
I didn’t move. I held my piece because the voice was right. Everything good that needed to be said about Gilda DiMemmo had been said. The poem remained in my suit pocket. To this day I do not regret not reading the poem. My inner voice was correct, my words would have been unnecessary.
The life of Gilda Di Memmo lives on in the memories of her descendants. That is as it should be. She was an amazing woman who gave life and light to so many.
May God rest her Soul.
Amen.
She was also a beloved aunt to all her nephews and nieces; not only bestowing her love upon them but also to their children and grandchildren.
She was an amazing woman; a window to a world which now seems ancient and mysterious to the computerized techno-gadgetry of today’s Facebook world. She lived in simpler, sterner, more stoical times. She lived in an era which (at least in her eyes) must have possessed a greater clarity than the era we live in today where the truth seems ephemeral; right and wrong becomes mercurial and inter-changeable; and reality dissolves more easily into unreality.
She was a living witness to a tsunami of changes which boggle the imagination. She survived two World Wars and several lesser wars. She saw Lindbergh fly solo across the Atlantic Ocean and Neil Armstrong walk on the moon; she also saw the atomic bomb blow up and the Twin Towers fall down. She saw women’s skirts and necklines go up and down; she saw people’s hair grow longer and shorter; she heard music get jazzier, funkier, louder and more outrageous. She saw TV in black and white; then color; and then in cable.
Through all this she remained herself always: soft-spoken, loving, loyal, eternal, doting, and quietly smiling.
My earliest memory of Gilda came when I was roughly six or seven years old. My parents took me and my brothers to visit her and her husband at their home in Ridley Park, PA. I believe my father was helping pour a slab of concrete in their backyard. I was left inside the house alone with Aunt Gilda. (When I was a little child, I was bewildered by her name. It sounded so weird to me. I remember my six year old brain would say to itself, ‘what’s an Aunt Gilda???’)
I remember in the parlor of the house Aunt Gilda had an organ. I remember being fascinated with that organ because when I used to attend SDA church at Laurel Springs I remember being fascinated with the organ that was used during the services. I always wanted to play with the keyboards but was never allowed to do so. Imagine my joy when Aunt Gilda, seeing my fascination with her organ, allowed me to sit in the chair and play with the keyboards?!?!
And so there I was a giggly, antsy kid goofing about on the keyboard, making Frankenstein and other horror movie noises and laughing hysterically at my own mischief; and all throughout my childish doodling I would look back at her and see her sitting there in a corner easy chair smiling silently and indulgently at me; a most loving and doting smile—as if to suggest that I was neither the first nor the last little child to goof about on her organ?
Gilda was a shy woman—by her own admission in letters she wrote to me while I was doing genealogical research on the Di Marcello, DiBiase, D’Ambrosio, and Di Memmo clans. But there was a spark there; a flame kindled from what George Washington called that inner celestial fire called conscience. She lacked a full-fledged education but she had a native intelligence and an artistic spirit which expressed itself in subtle and wonderful ways. One cannot help but wonder what she would have become if she were growing up in today’s world where young women have greater intellectual and professional opportunities than Gilda did back in the 1920s.
(In my first genealogical book there is a 1927 photograph of Gilda at age 17 posing with her brother Frank and her parents. She was wearing what a young teenage girl was supposed to wear during that era. In 1996 one of her grand-daughters would tell me that particular photo in my book was her favorite one. She told me, shrieking with laughter, “My grandmother the flapper!”)
She married young. She was only eighteen years old when she married Frank Di Memmo. She would devote the rest of her life to matrimony; motherhood; grandmotherhood; great-grandmotherhood; and great-great grandmotherhood—not a simple task.
(Gilda laughingly told me in a letter in the 1990s that it was hard for her to keep track of all the grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-great grandchildren she had). Her progeny seems biblical in its scope. (That’s why in the dedication of my second genealogical book I quote Genesis 15:50 as a tribute to Aunt Gilda).
My relationship with her grew during the 1990s because my genealogical work. I still have her letters and I still savor the memory of the periodic phone calls I made to her during those years.
She was always encouraging, loving, positive, and uplifting. There was never a time when I saw her or spoke to her when she failed to make me feel better about myself. I assume she did that with everyone.
I remember in one letter I sent her I showed her a song I wrote called "I Can’t Find Myself (For Myself)". The song was a typical Matthew DiBiase lyric: introspective, self-deprecating, and a little bit crazy. In her response she sent me one of her lyrics and she gently admonished me that I shouldn’t be so hard on myself in my lyrics—saying, “Remember we are all God’s children and if God is King then that makes you a prince.”
Even as I’m writing this I still chuckle at the sentiment but guess what? It worked. It had the desired effect of making me feel better. That was Gilda. She was always making you feel good; feel more alive; spreading love and watching it flow. When I visited her and we would sit together, she would always reach out and squeeze my hand, showing love and affection.
I remember one family reunion in April 1996. She had come to Central PA from Michigan and everyone came to see her. Aunt Gilda was sitting in the living room and her granddaughter Malissa Richardson was showing Gilda her brand new baby son Travis. While Travis remained cradled in her lap, Gilda kept patting his head and smiling at her newest great-grandchild.
Gilda in her final years struggled with deafness—though one of her grandchildren told me it was a selective deafness. When I saw her during those final years it always amused me that when the conversation bored her she would sit silent and unhearing but when the conversation interested her (or else when someone she loved or cared for or respected dearly was speaking) then she would cup her hand to ear and strain to catch every word that person was saying. I ought to know. She always did that when I was speaking during family conversations. It touched me. It made me feel good that a least one person was listening to what I had to say.
When she died in 2001, I mourned. Not only was our collective looking-glass to the ancient past taken away from us (as well as the last link to our Italian heritage) a dear, dear friend was lost to me; a wonderful transcendent human-being was no more; a loving presence and persona in a world which has now become increasingly ugly, brutal, savage, and cruel was taken from us—and the world was a less beautiful place because of it.
I went to her funeral (there was no way I was going to miss it. I owed it to her). I took off from work to do this. She was buried on a glorious autumnal day alongside her husband. Her memorial service was a glorious requiem to her memory. Whoever choreographed the service and planned it deserves a medal. Her funeral was everything a memorial service should be: her entire family was allowed a chance to make their contributions; all the generations of her descendants left their mark on the service. Gilda died with dignity and was laid to rest with the love, tears, and memories that she richly deserved. As funerals go this one was a fitting end to a magnificent woman.
I would like to end this tribute with a story of my own. In the days between her death and her funeral I wrote a poem in honor of her memory. The words fell into place rather quickly and I had a typescript ready to go when I arrived at the funeral hall. It was my intent to read it if there was an appropriate time to do so.
As it turned out there was ample opportunity for me to read the poem. People were allowed to come up and say their piece about Aunt Gilda. Many did so. I waited. When it seemed like the last person had said their piece and it felt like it was my turn, I fingered my typescript which was folded neatly in the inner pocket of my suit. I grasped it when I heard a little voice inside my head say quite clearly and distinctly, “Leave it be. Everything that needed to be said has been said.”
I didn’t move. I held my piece because the voice was right. Everything good that needed to be said about Gilda DiMemmo had been said. The poem remained in my suit pocket. To this day I do not regret not reading the poem. My inner voice was correct, my words would have been unnecessary.
The life of Gilda Di Memmo lives on in the memories of her descendants. That is as it should be. She was an amazing woman who gave life and light to so many.
May God rest her Soul.
Amen.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Merlin Olsen: Farewell to a Football Hero
You know you’re getting old when your favorite football players—the ones you remember watching on TV Sunday afternoons or Monday nights when you were a kid—start dying on you. The death of former Los Angeles Rams (that goes to show you how old I am, I lived in a time when the Rams were in Los Angeles and not St. Louis) defensive tackle Merlin Olsen is a sad loss to football fans everywhere.
Merlin Olsen was something we’re not used to seeing in today’s sports: a true hero. We live in an age where we’ve become accustomed to seeing great athletes behave badly and un-heroically. Olsen was a true hero. From 1967 to 1976 Olsen (along with Deacon Jones, Lamar Lundy, and Rosey Grier—later to be succeeded by Roger Brown) was a member of the Fearsome Foursome one of the greatest defensive lines in NFL history. Olsen anchored the line thus allowing teammate and fellow Hall-of-Fame member Deacon Jones to do what he did best: sack quarterbacks. Olsen was magnificent in containing the run—leading all Rams players in tackles. His greatness as a defensive lineman was so manifest that football historian Sean Lahman in his book "The Pro Football Historical Abstract" ranked Olsen the third greatest defensive lineman of all time after Bruce Smith and the late Reggie White.
Green Bay Packer legend Jerry Kramer who played offensive guard opposite Olsen in many a tense match-up had this to say about Olsen in his best selling book "Instant Replay", “Merlin [Olsen] is simply a great football player. Merlin’s not as quick as Alex Karras, but he’s stronger. Both of them have great lateral movement. Merlin has tremendous hustle; he never quits. Alex sometimes will ease up if his club is far ahead or far behind, but Merlin never lets up. He’ll run right over you no matter what the score is. When I play against a guy like that there’s a lot of mutual respect, and there’s never any holding or kicking or clipping, just straight, clean, hard football.” Later on in the book when Kramer had to face Olsen in a playoff game Kramer would tell the press, “Merlin Olsen is very big, very strong, has great speed and great agility…gives at least 110 percent on every play, and these are his weak points.”
The fact that an opponent would say such things about Olsen speaks volumes about his overall impact on the game.
Sadly Olsen never played for an NFL champion. The Rams were either losing to the Green Bay Packers or the Minnesota Vikings in the playoffs during those years.
Despite Merlin Olsen never stopped being a great player, a great human being, and a true football hero.
Rest in Peace, Merlin.
Merlin Olsen was something we’re not used to seeing in today’s sports: a true hero. We live in an age where we’ve become accustomed to seeing great athletes behave badly and un-heroically. Olsen was a true hero. From 1967 to 1976 Olsen (along with Deacon Jones, Lamar Lundy, and Rosey Grier—later to be succeeded by Roger Brown) was a member of the Fearsome Foursome one of the greatest defensive lines in NFL history. Olsen anchored the line thus allowing teammate and fellow Hall-of-Fame member Deacon Jones to do what he did best: sack quarterbacks. Olsen was magnificent in containing the run—leading all Rams players in tackles. His greatness as a defensive lineman was so manifest that football historian Sean Lahman in his book "The Pro Football Historical Abstract" ranked Olsen the third greatest defensive lineman of all time after Bruce Smith and the late Reggie White.
Green Bay Packer legend Jerry Kramer who played offensive guard opposite Olsen in many a tense match-up had this to say about Olsen in his best selling book "Instant Replay", “Merlin [Olsen] is simply a great football player. Merlin’s not as quick as Alex Karras, but he’s stronger. Both of them have great lateral movement. Merlin has tremendous hustle; he never quits. Alex sometimes will ease up if his club is far ahead or far behind, but Merlin never lets up. He’ll run right over you no matter what the score is. When I play against a guy like that there’s a lot of mutual respect, and there’s never any holding or kicking or clipping, just straight, clean, hard football.” Later on in the book when Kramer had to face Olsen in a playoff game Kramer would tell the press, “Merlin Olsen is very big, very strong, has great speed and great agility…gives at least 110 percent on every play, and these are his weak points.”
The fact that an opponent would say such things about Olsen speaks volumes about his overall impact on the game.
Sadly Olsen never played for an NFL champion. The Rams were either losing to the Green Bay Packers or the Minnesota Vikings in the playoffs during those years.
Despite Merlin Olsen never stopped being a great player, a great human being, and a true football hero.
Rest in Peace, Merlin.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Song: Best of Me Now...and the story behind the song
When I've posted poetry and song lyrics in past blog entries, people have told me about how sad or angry some of my words are. They're right. Most of my material is moody, sad, and angry. (I usually write songs and poetry when I feel depressed or upset. If I didn't I probably would have ended up in prison or in my grave).
Anyway this song, I've posted below is a change-of-pace. It shows I can be sexy, romantic, and passionate when I compose.
When you read the lyrics imagine lots of percussion, flamenco guitars, a South American ambience to the music. When you reach the bridge ("Love in the streets...") imagine an over-the-top Brazilian rhythm section going crazy and everyone dancing like crazy.
When you read the last verse imagine a fuzz tone electic guitar soloing in the background.
Oh yes, the last verse which has the line about peppers being hung? I had that lyric in my mind for a long time and was looking for the right song to use it. It comes from my travels to New Mexico where I visited old haciendas in Taos and saw peppers being hung about the hacienda for later use for cooking.
And now here's the song....
Best of Me Now
I lust for the heat of your body
I dance to the beat of your heart
I march down the streets of your memory
I drink because we played the wrong parts
Your flesh is soft and quivering
I taste of the juice of your vine
The ocean breeze leaves you shivering
You’re the cup I fill with my wine
We learn about love from the movies
We learn about life when we die
We learn that war isn’t groovy
We learn about trust when we lie
That’s the best that I’ve got
You got the best of me now
That’s the best that I’ve got
You got the best of me now
Love in the streets
Runs like blood
And it’s warm to the touch
Blood in the sheets
Like rivers of love
And it sweeps us in its rush
Gotta get it on! Gotta get it on! Gotta get it on!
The shot when you pulled my trigger
The wound in my heart that it left
You should’ve read the warning sticker
The path between your legs that it cleft
The meals we prepared were delicious
The peppers we hung became hot
The moments of tenderness were precious
The spices we stirred in the pot
That’s the best that I’ve got
You got the best of me now
That’s the best that I’ve got
You got the best of me now
© 03/10/2008 by Matthew DiBiase
Anyway this song, I've posted below is a change-of-pace. It shows I can be sexy, romantic, and passionate when I compose.
When you read the lyrics imagine lots of percussion, flamenco guitars, a South American ambience to the music. When you reach the bridge ("Love in the streets...") imagine an over-the-top Brazilian rhythm section going crazy and everyone dancing like crazy.
When you read the last verse imagine a fuzz tone electic guitar soloing in the background.
Oh yes, the last verse which has the line about peppers being hung? I had that lyric in my mind for a long time and was looking for the right song to use it. It comes from my travels to New Mexico where I visited old haciendas in Taos and saw peppers being hung about the hacienda for later use for cooking.
And now here's the song....
Best of Me Now
I lust for the heat of your body
I dance to the beat of your heart
I march down the streets of your memory
I drink because we played the wrong parts
Your flesh is soft and quivering
I taste of the juice of your vine
The ocean breeze leaves you shivering
You’re the cup I fill with my wine
We learn about love from the movies
We learn about life when we die
We learn that war isn’t groovy
We learn about trust when we lie
That’s the best that I’ve got
You got the best of me now
That’s the best that I’ve got
You got the best of me now
Love in the streets
Runs like blood
And it’s warm to the touch
Blood in the sheets
Like rivers of love
And it sweeps us in its rush
Gotta get it on! Gotta get it on! Gotta get it on!
The shot when you pulled my trigger
The wound in my heart that it left
You should’ve read the warning sticker
The path between your legs that it cleft
The meals we prepared were delicious
The peppers we hung became hot
The moments of tenderness were precious
The spices we stirred in the pot
That’s the best that I’ve got
You got the best of me now
That’s the best that I’ve got
You got the best of me now
© 03/10/2008 by Matthew DiBiase
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Obama and the Era of Impatience
We live in an era of great impatience. Things that once took a day to get done we now want done in an hour; things that once took a year to get done we now want done in a month; things that once took a decade to achieve we now want done in a year. That impatience fostered by the media, the internet, and both political parties has altered and distorted how we assess events in the American political landscape. The rules have changed and the game has gotten much tougher though definitely not better.
And so it is for President Barack Obama after finishing his first year in office. His post-mortems are already being written and we haven’t even reached the Congressional mid-terms elections yet.
If you take a deep breathe, relax, and look at recent events with a calm, detached eye the President’s situation is not as lost as many would like to see it.
What has gone wrong? The Democrats lost a Senate seat thus taking away their filibuster-proof majority. They still have fifty-nine seats in the Senate for the time being—a substantial number no matter how you slice it or dice it. All the Republicans can do is filibuster but can they roadblock every single initiative that comes from the White House? Would that be politically wise since the American economy and the job market remain in very bad shape and remedial action is still needed? Fiscal restraint is all well and good—when it is actually practiced which it hasn’t been since Dwight Eisenhower was President—but the essential problem still remains how do we get America working again. In reality all the G.O.P. can do is leaven the Obama Administration’s economic policies and put some brakes on the more liberal programs the President has in mind. They cannot stop it unless they gain significant defections from the Democratic ranks.
What about Health Care reform? Despite all the ideological mud wrestling, people forget that President Obama did a much better job in getting Health Care legislation passed than Bill Clinton did. Clinton’s health care initiatives were defeated in Congress. Obama got the House and the Senate to pass health care reform bills. Even though the House and Senate bills were not the same, Obama, with the help of the Democratic leadership, did get the bills passed. Whether those bills will actually provide the proper reforms needed for the American health care system is debatable. But Obama still deserves credit for showing greater political flexibility and patience in allowing Congress time to get the legislation passed. All that remains is for the two bills to be reconciled but with the loss of Ted Kennedy’s Senate seat to the Republicans that reconciliation will have to wait.
Did President Obama go too far in pushing health care and risking his congressional base? I think not. If I’m not mistaken Obama is the first President to have filibuster proof majorities in both houses of Congress since Lyndon Johnson in 1965. Such opportunities to get major domestic legislation passed without gridlock cannot be wasted. President Obama saw the opportunity to tilt the political landscape and did what he could. He would have been a fool not to seize it. No President worth their salt—whether they are liberal or conservative—would dare pass up a political gift from God like that.
Lyndon Johnson once said words to the effect that a President has one year of maximum effectiveness; by the second year, Congress is more concerned about getting re-elected than passing the President’s initiatives; by the third year Congress is waiting to see whether the incumbent President will be re-elected or not.
Obama’s year of maximum effectiveness has ended. Now he faces the stern task of negotiating with a slightly stronger Republican base while seeking to preserve his majority. His reactions are revealing. After the Massachusetts defeat, he revamped his political advisory team; readjusted himself to the changing political winds; and has returned to the campaign trail.
How has Obama performed? Better than Clinton or Carter did in their first years as President. Obama’s domestic programs are much more ambitious and audacious in scope than Clinton’s or Carter’s were. He has proven more adroit in harnessing his Congressional majorities than Carter or Clinton did. He has been more lucky than skillful in the foreign policy sphere. He has dodged some bullets. Whether his luck can hold out remains to be seen?
As for the economic recovery effort, the maxim that time takes time is useful here. FDR’s New Deal didn’t end the Great Depression. America’s entry into World War Two did. What the New Deal did was to provide a wide variety of fiscal safety nets to the American people to keep them afloat until the economy did revive. More recently, it took two years before Ronald Reagan’s tax cuts and fiscal re-structuring turned the American economy around. Until now, the recession of 1981-1982 was one of the worst in American history. President Reagan asked the American people to be patient and to “stay the course”. Although Reagan lost congressional seats to the Democrats in 1982, the American people stayed the course and the economy revived in 1983 and Reagan was re-elected in a landslide.
I feel that President Obama is entitled to the same consideration Reagan received.
It’s only fair.
And so it is for President Barack Obama after finishing his first year in office. His post-mortems are already being written and we haven’t even reached the Congressional mid-terms elections yet.
If you take a deep breathe, relax, and look at recent events with a calm, detached eye the President’s situation is not as lost as many would like to see it.
What has gone wrong? The Democrats lost a Senate seat thus taking away their filibuster-proof majority. They still have fifty-nine seats in the Senate for the time being—a substantial number no matter how you slice it or dice it. All the Republicans can do is filibuster but can they roadblock every single initiative that comes from the White House? Would that be politically wise since the American economy and the job market remain in very bad shape and remedial action is still needed? Fiscal restraint is all well and good—when it is actually practiced which it hasn’t been since Dwight Eisenhower was President—but the essential problem still remains how do we get America working again. In reality all the G.O.P. can do is leaven the Obama Administration’s economic policies and put some brakes on the more liberal programs the President has in mind. They cannot stop it unless they gain significant defections from the Democratic ranks.
What about Health Care reform? Despite all the ideological mud wrestling, people forget that President Obama did a much better job in getting Health Care legislation passed than Bill Clinton did. Clinton’s health care initiatives were defeated in Congress. Obama got the House and the Senate to pass health care reform bills. Even though the House and Senate bills were not the same, Obama, with the help of the Democratic leadership, did get the bills passed. Whether those bills will actually provide the proper reforms needed for the American health care system is debatable. But Obama still deserves credit for showing greater political flexibility and patience in allowing Congress time to get the legislation passed. All that remains is for the two bills to be reconciled but with the loss of Ted Kennedy’s Senate seat to the Republicans that reconciliation will have to wait.
Did President Obama go too far in pushing health care and risking his congressional base? I think not. If I’m not mistaken Obama is the first President to have filibuster proof majorities in both houses of Congress since Lyndon Johnson in 1965. Such opportunities to get major domestic legislation passed without gridlock cannot be wasted. President Obama saw the opportunity to tilt the political landscape and did what he could. He would have been a fool not to seize it. No President worth their salt—whether they are liberal or conservative—would dare pass up a political gift from God like that.
Lyndon Johnson once said words to the effect that a President has one year of maximum effectiveness; by the second year, Congress is more concerned about getting re-elected than passing the President’s initiatives; by the third year Congress is waiting to see whether the incumbent President will be re-elected or not.
Obama’s year of maximum effectiveness has ended. Now he faces the stern task of negotiating with a slightly stronger Republican base while seeking to preserve his majority. His reactions are revealing. After the Massachusetts defeat, he revamped his political advisory team; readjusted himself to the changing political winds; and has returned to the campaign trail.
How has Obama performed? Better than Clinton or Carter did in their first years as President. Obama’s domestic programs are much more ambitious and audacious in scope than Clinton’s or Carter’s were. He has proven more adroit in harnessing his Congressional majorities than Carter or Clinton did. He has been more lucky than skillful in the foreign policy sphere. He has dodged some bullets. Whether his luck can hold out remains to be seen?
As for the economic recovery effort, the maxim that time takes time is useful here. FDR’s New Deal didn’t end the Great Depression. America’s entry into World War Two did. What the New Deal did was to provide a wide variety of fiscal safety nets to the American people to keep them afloat until the economy did revive. More recently, it took two years before Ronald Reagan’s tax cuts and fiscal re-structuring turned the American economy around. Until now, the recession of 1981-1982 was one of the worst in American history. President Reagan asked the American people to be patient and to “stay the course”. Although Reagan lost congressional seats to the Democrats in 1982, the American people stayed the course and the economy revived in 1983 and Reagan was re-elected in a landslide.
I feel that President Obama is entitled to the same consideration Reagan received.
It’s only fair.
Friday, January 15, 2010
The Newest Inductee into the Hall of Infamy: Mark McGwire
Of all the disgusting aspects of Mark McGwire’s “confession” that he took steroids as a player, the one that is most disgusting (in my eyes at least) was the moment after he had “broken” the late Roger Maris’ home-run record when he walked over towards the stands and engaged in a group hug with Roger Maris’ widow and her children while the fireworks exploded and the camera flashes went off and the crowd was roaring, cheering, crying, and expending itself in a frenzy because they believed they were witnessing baseball history being made.
But right now? In retrospect, it degenerates into a moment of infamy—an insult to the late Roger Maris’ memory and an even more contemptible insult to the Maris family.
The late Roger Maris suffered greatly to break Babe Ruth’s mark of sixty home runs in a single season. He had to deal with a hyper-aggressive (and soon to become hostile) media blitz; a non-existent media contrived “feud” with teammate Mickey Mantle; the refusal of New York Yankees management to set ground rules for media access for Maris (in McGwire’s case there were definite ground rules in dealing with him); the hostility of certain fans who resented the idea of Maris breaking Ruth’s record (just as there was hostility towards Hank Aaron when he broke Ruth’s career record); and, of course, the bloody asterisk which dogged him to the day he died.
When Maris’ record was “broken” by McGwire we thought at the time that it was done with great respect and great dignity.
Now we know differently. Now, with McGwire’s “confession”, we know that it was all a lie; that McGwire was thumbing his nose not only towards baseball fans everywhere but at the Maris family and the late Roger Maris as well. It’s tragic that when Maris’ record was broken it was done with such callous cruelty and such a blatant, calculated disregard for fair play and honesty.
Roger Maris was a solid baseball player who played the game with great heart and integrity. He was a winner, a three-time World Series champion, and a team player. He deserved better than this. He broke Ruth’s record in a maelstrom of controversy. His record was “broken” in a covert web of lies and deception.
In a sense it’s good he was not alive to see McGwire’s disgusting, shameful, despicable little charade.
When the steroid scandal broke years ago, Roger Maris Junior made a statement to the effect that if there was proof that Mark McGwire was on steroids when he broke his late father’s record that an asterisk should be placed upon the mark or else be disallowed. I concur with Roger Junior’s desire. It will never happen though but I believe in the hearts and minds of millions of baseball fans a symbolic asterisk has already been entered into the record books.
But right now? In retrospect, it degenerates into a moment of infamy—an insult to the late Roger Maris’ memory and an even more contemptible insult to the Maris family.
The late Roger Maris suffered greatly to break Babe Ruth’s mark of sixty home runs in a single season. He had to deal with a hyper-aggressive (and soon to become hostile) media blitz; a non-existent media contrived “feud” with teammate Mickey Mantle; the refusal of New York Yankees management to set ground rules for media access for Maris (in McGwire’s case there were definite ground rules in dealing with him); the hostility of certain fans who resented the idea of Maris breaking Ruth’s record (just as there was hostility towards Hank Aaron when he broke Ruth’s career record); and, of course, the bloody asterisk which dogged him to the day he died.
When Maris’ record was “broken” by McGwire we thought at the time that it was done with great respect and great dignity.
Now we know differently. Now, with McGwire’s “confession”, we know that it was all a lie; that McGwire was thumbing his nose not only towards baseball fans everywhere but at the Maris family and the late Roger Maris as well. It’s tragic that when Maris’ record was broken it was done with such callous cruelty and such a blatant, calculated disregard for fair play and honesty.
Roger Maris was a solid baseball player who played the game with great heart and integrity. He was a winner, a three-time World Series champion, and a team player. He deserved better than this. He broke Ruth’s record in a maelstrom of controversy. His record was “broken” in a covert web of lies and deception.
In a sense it’s good he was not alive to see McGwire’s disgusting, shameful, despicable little charade.
When the steroid scandal broke years ago, Roger Maris Junior made a statement to the effect that if there was proof that Mark McGwire was on steroids when he broke his late father’s record that an asterisk should be placed upon the mark or else be disallowed. I concur with Roger Junior’s desire. It will never happen though but I believe in the hearts and minds of millions of baseball fans a symbolic asterisk has already been entered into the record books.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
The 2000s: The Wasted Decade
The first decade of the 21st century closes—not with a bang nor even a whimper but with an exhausted, bleary-eyed, subdued gasp for something fresh, something new; something that is truly beautiful, ennobling, or offers the hope of redemption because the 2000s were none of those things.
Usually decade endings years end with a climactic rush of events; a hope of something better for the next decade; a premonition of what is to come. 1969 was like that. So was 1989 and 1999.
This decade offered none of this. Instead we’re backing into the 2010s with a sense of numbness, apprehension, and fear. Actually it reminds me of 1979. 1979 was fraught with economic crises; rising energy costs; political and social malaise; a lack of faith in our leadership; America beleaguered abroad by its ideological and spiritual opponents (remember the Iranian embassy hostage crisis?)
When I look back at this past decade one word keeps punching me in the face: waste. If I had to define the 2000s I would use that word: waste. The 2000s was a wasted decade for America and the world: wasted resources; wasted opportunities for improvement, change, and growth; wasted words; wasted monies; wasted gestures; wasted time; and the most tragic, saddening, devastating waste of all time: beautiful, brave, magnificent, innocent lives lost, taken from us, wasted.
I am struck by the despair this past decade has caused in all walks of not only American life but in every day life around the world. I feel like the high priest in the Bible watching the Temple curtain being torn in two the day Jesus was crucified. I sense an unraveling; a world being undone deliberately or unwittingly by our own devise. We see the damage being done. We express shock, dismay, and concern. We try to make changes as best as we can yet the unraveling, the uncoupling continues and, to paraphrase the poet T.S. Eliot, the people come and go and talk of Michelangelo.
What about me, personally? All I can say about myself, at the end of this decade is that I am still alive. Don’t ask me how or why? But I’m still alive. For me, what interests me about 2010 are the following: how will the American electorate express itself on Election Day 2010. Will it be a repeat of 1994 when the G.O.P. recaptured the House and Senate? If so then who will lead the G.O.P. resurgence? What will the Phillies do in 2010? Can they win a third pennant in a row? The last National League team to win three pennants was the 1944 St. Louis Cardinals. If the Eagles fail to reach the Super Bowl next month what will become of Donovan McNabb?
For me personally, my personal challenges are this: continuing my hockey oral history research, completing my hockey coach articles and converting them into a book worthy of publication; climbing Mt. Katahdin in Maine in October and trying to survive 2010 intact physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
Most of all, I want some peace and quiet.
Usually decade endings years end with a climactic rush of events; a hope of something better for the next decade; a premonition of what is to come. 1969 was like that. So was 1989 and 1999.
This decade offered none of this. Instead we’re backing into the 2010s with a sense of numbness, apprehension, and fear. Actually it reminds me of 1979. 1979 was fraught with economic crises; rising energy costs; political and social malaise; a lack of faith in our leadership; America beleaguered abroad by its ideological and spiritual opponents (remember the Iranian embassy hostage crisis?)
When I look back at this past decade one word keeps punching me in the face: waste. If I had to define the 2000s I would use that word: waste. The 2000s was a wasted decade for America and the world: wasted resources; wasted opportunities for improvement, change, and growth; wasted words; wasted monies; wasted gestures; wasted time; and the most tragic, saddening, devastating waste of all time: beautiful, brave, magnificent, innocent lives lost, taken from us, wasted.
I am struck by the despair this past decade has caused in all walks of not only American life but in every day life around the world. I feel like the high priest in the Bible watching the Temple curtain being torn in two the day Jesus was crucified. I sense an unraveling; a world being undone deliberately or unwittingly by our own devise. We see the damage being done. We express shock, dismay, and concern. We try to make changes as best as we can yet the unraveling, the uncoupling continues and, to paraphrase the poet T.S. Eliot, the people come and go and talk of Michelangelo.
What about me, personally? All I can say about myself, at the end of this decade is that I am still alive. Don’t ask me how or why? But I’m still alive. For me, what interests me about 2010 are the following: how will the American electorate express itself on Election Day 2010. Will it be a repeat of 1994 when the G.O.P. recaptured the House and Senate? If so then who will lead the G.O.P. resurgence? What will the Phillies do in 2010? Can they win a third pennant in a row? The last National League team to win three pennants was the 1944 St. Louis Cardinals. If the Eagles fail to reach the Super Bowl next month what will become of Donovan McNabb?
For me personally, my personal challenges are this: continuing my hockey oral history research, completing my hockey coach articles and converting them into a book worthy of publication; climbing Mt. Katahdin in Maine in October and trying to survive 2010 intact physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
Most of all, I want some peace and quiet.
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