#195 – Dick Bernard: A Reflection as I prepare to travel to a wedding.

Have a good Memorial Day.
I press “send” and we leave suburban Denver and my oldest granddaughters wedding on Friday June 4.
All such events are significant. This wedding is far more so than most for me.
Lindsay’s grandma, my first wife, Barbara, died at University Hospital, Minneapolis, when her Dad, my son, was 1 1/2, July 24, 1965. She was essentially terminally ill (kidney disease) during our entire marriage of just over two years. She was only 22. Her need for a kidney transplant then is why I live in the twin cities today. She didn’t live long enough to get a kidney. Had she received the transplant and lived, she would have had to stay here as the possibility of organ rejection was monitored. In those years, they were doing transplants, but the process was very new, and done in only a few hospitals in the U.S. University Hospital was one of those few.
Time flies. This last week I’ve been out taking photographs of the places I/we used to live in this area. I’ll deliver them to my son and granddaughter in a few days.
Tom and my first home after Barbara died was at 1615 S. Ferry St. in Anoka, just a block from the Mississippi Bridge. It has always been there, just a small very old house alongside a very busy road. Sometime between my last visit and yesterday it was torn down and replaced by two houses set back behind a fence which probably serves a function as road noise barrier.
Properly, the address, 1615 S. Ferry St., which we knew as just another old house, was long past its prime, even then badly needing rehabilitation.
Nonetheless, for some reason you understand, I don’t look at it in quite the same way.
I wrote a short letter to Lindsay which I’ll give her when I get to Colorado. I suggest that she call up John Lennon’s “Beautiful Boy” on YouTube. That’s the song with the lyric, “life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans”. Take your pick of versions.
We humans face a quandary every day: look to saving the future, obviously; but live as well as possible today, as well.
Life, indeed, is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.
But one is cautioned to not neglect or dismiss the future either…the generations which follow deserve our very serious attention to that as well.
That is a job, I have observed, that we do not do well….

#194 – Dick Bernard: Thoughts on "illegals", "Mexicans" et al.

Four of us hit the road from the Twin Cities to Denver early tomorrow morning.
We will look like pretty typical older people, and unless we do something crazy, will probably make the trip out and back without attracting any attention whatsoever, even on Memorial Day when the police are thick as flies in a farmyard.
Not so routine today or other times is the travel of somebody who looks different than me, and I’m guessing that there’s considerable nervousness these days for people with a browner complexion down in Arizona, especially.
A couple of days ago I was in the local post office in our suburb. At a counter were a couple of young brown-skinned guys speaking Spanish, talking about some form or other that one was filling out. They seemed pretty normal to me. Did they have papers?!
A week or so earlier I had been in North Dakota visiting relatives (see the May 28 post). In the Fargo Forum was a front page article about a carload of illegals who had been arrested at a neighboring town. They, in fact, did not have papers. They were reporting to work for some farmer who was planting a very labor intensive crop. He couldn’t find locals who would do the work and he contracted with someone in Oregon to provide workers who were supposed to be legals. Not so, it turned out. Ironically, he was, as one would say legally, “aiding and abetting”, as was the contractor in Oregon, but neither of them were culpable. Only the workers without papers were in trouble. Somehow the farmer had to find some kind of labor to put in his crop. That was his penalty. I wonder if he’s succeeded.
This mornings e-mails brought a commentary which helped to explain the insanity we seem to be living under in this country. It came from a Rhode Island newspaper, reprinted in an Arizona paper, and it is very interesting, about the contrast between Canada (much tougher on immigration, it turns out) and the U.S. (much less effective and less humane in dealing with the problem.)
Succinctly, if I read the column correctly, there were active attempts as far back as the mid-1980s to change U.S. immigration law to deal with some very real problems. A law was passed, but a crucial part was pulled from the bill by someone, probably in the U.S. Senate. The portion pulled apparently was a provision that held employers responsible for making sure their hires were legals. Employer responsibility was a bit too difficult to swallow. Rather they take their chances with occasionally losing cheap labor, than to share responsibility with that same cheap labor for their sins.
I’ve seen lots of “Mexicans” working at various occupations here in the Twin Cities. By and large they do very good work. Since I only see their work, I don’t know if they’re legal or not. They are contributors to this society, rather than drags on us.
They, and others, like the Haitians in the Rhode Island column, for the most part come to our country to make a menial living – but more than in their own country – and send lots of money home to their families. Their crime is only wanting a tiny share of our great wealth, and then share it with their families back home – much like our immigrant ancestors of older days.
We don’t much like to share, except on our own terms.
I’ll end up in Denver on Wednesday.
It was in Denver a number of years ago that I had a conversation with my son, then manager of a local restaurant near a university.
Tom’s crew was by and large Spanish-speaking, with only minimal English. He thought they had the proper papers, but one never knows for sure.
He mentioned that what they sometimes lacked in promptness they more than made up in quality of work, including finding somebody to fill in for them when they were gone. They were, it was clear, his most reliable employees.
Were they “Legals”? I’m not so sure.
Immigration Law plays much better as a political issue than as an object of true reform.
Until politicians cannot play politics with the issue, the issue will remain….

#193 – Dick Bernard: A Place called "Town"

Been a spell since I’ve posted here. No particular reason. Maybe time for a break…the beginning of Memorial Day Weekend seems a good time to break the silence.
A little over a week ago I took a trip out to North Dakota to visit my Uncle and Aunt who live in an assisted living facility in tiny LaMoure ND. There was no particular reason for the visit – just a bit overdue. The 6 hour drive out, and then, back, was about the hardest “work” I did.
The days were perfect spring days.
One morning – it was a Thursday – I went to join my kin and their fellow residents for breakfast. I was early, so I decided to sit outside and watch the world go by before 8 a.m.
In a town of 1000, as LaMoure, there really isn’t much of a “world” to pass by, but my bench was on the street heading to the local public school just one block away.
It was the last day of the school year this particular morning.
A solitary kid came by with a backpack as big as he was, made a right turn heading up the block to school.
Across the street, another kid came by on a bicycle and saw someone he knew in their yard, and said “hi Mr. ___”, startling the man who was walking towards his car. The man, probably my own kids age, said “hi” back, got in his car and drove off to wherever his day was taking him.
It was only a block to the school so I took the short walk to the front door. A little ahead of me were a couple of young girls dressed in the simple style of Hutterites, who have a community nearby. They were quietly chattering. One went in one door, another in the other.
I stopped to look at a monument in front of the school which featured the school bell from the old building which had occupied the block where the Assisted Living facility now stands. I looked at the plaque explaining it, and it had been a project of the local Boy Scout troop some years back.
Another kid came in the door, and I left.
Back at the facility, my bench faced the American flag on the flag pole. It had seen altogether too much North Dakota wind. I decided it would be a good family gift to the residents, and later went downtown to the Hardware store to pick up the flag. Almost immediately it was installed by the appreciative administrator.
Other happenings, at the local Drug Store, Gasoline station, Grain Elevator; a brief visit with some old friends; the news in the local paper, the LaMoure Chronicle…. All added positively to my visit.
Before I left town, I went up to my uncle and aunts apartment, and outside the window saw the flag billowing in the wind. I took a photo.
There are a great plenty of problems in our society and in our world. Yes, the local LaMoure paper has police happenings, and Cable TV is ubiquitous everywhere.
But it was good, on those three days in North Dakota, to notice the other and (I believe) still dominant side of American society. Basically we are a bunch of good people trying to make a positive differences.
This Memorial Day I prefer to focus on the bright side, the good side.
Have a great weekend.

#192 – Dick Bernard: Heather 'n me 'n The Smooch! Project 'n The Rave!

The evening of May 4, my wife and I spent a delightful time out at Aronson Field in suburban Lakeville. Here a group of irrepressible adults engaged in the game of softball. These are all adults who are called “disabled”, one of them my Down Syndrome daughter, Heather.
This night was billed as a pre-season “scrimmage”, so each player had at least one time at bat. Heather’s turn came, and she got a single. She was not relaxing on the way to first. She was running!

Heather enroute to First Base May 4, 2010


At First Base, she was all business. Soon she was standing on Second. Another ball was hit, and she took off, rounding Third enroute to home plate. Unfortunately the ball got to the catcher before Heather did and she was out. But she was pumped up. What a gal!
Heather is 34 now, and I thought back to many dark days before 1980, during which she went through, to my recollection, several heart procedures at Children’s Hospital in Minneapolis under the care of Dr’s Katkov and Singh. She’s lived with an implanted pacemaker since before 1980. There has been a remarkable advance in technology since those early days when the pacemaker had a single pace…running was no option for Heather. Today’s technology allows variable physical activity, and Heather takes good advantage of it.
Heather and I shared another piece of “fame” lately.
On April 6, the local St. Paul affiliate of ABC, KSTP-TV, aired a two minute segment about The Smooch! Project. March 24, Heather and I happened to be at The Smooch! Project ‘gittin our pitcher took’ at the time KSTP-TV photo journalist John Gross showed up to film a potential feature. He expertly distilled an hour on-site into this segment which lasts less than two minutes. At the KSTP website there is a link to The Smooch! Project. Do visit.
I knew this photo session would be special, and it was.
I wasn’t prepared for the personal emotional content of the hour in the studio. It brought back nearly 35 years of “Heather ‘n me”, her sisters, and brother, and Mom.
It’s time I write Children’s Hospital in Minneapolis, and Dr. Amarjit Singh of Children’s Heart Clinic across the parking lot from Childrens, to tell them of this link, and to revisit long past years.
Heather played softball last year, too. There are blog posts about my feelings here and here.
There were many times in the past 34 years where I could not have imagined ever being involved with the Smooch! Project with Heather; or watching Heather play softball. That’s likely where the emotion came in.
Thanks to Bonnie Fournier of Smooch! Project, the Heart team at Children’s, my family, and many, many others, I’ve had my opportunity.
Now, Heather, “Go RAVE!”
And to Bonnie, all best wishes for great success with The Smooch! Project!

Heather's Jersey, May 4, 2010

#191 – Dick Bernard: A Pleasant Spring Day in the Country May 4, 2000

We had our breakfast in the hotel in Krakow the morning of May 4, 2000. We’d been together, the 40 of us**, since April 26, but this day was even more serious than most earlier days had been, and those days had been serious, too: Tabor, Terezin, Prague…. There was not much small talk this day.
We boarded the bus and travelled west out of Krakow towards the Polish town of Brzezinka, 40 miles away. Near Brzezinka we gathered in a parking lot, and entered a place called Auschwitz, filing under the archway with the infamous words “Arbeit Macht Frei“. For us, roughly half and half Christian and Jew, this was not the first visit to a place of the horrors of the Holocaust – there had been several stops before today – but for most of us it was probably the most powerful single event.
May 4 also happened to be my 60th birthday.
As Spring days go, May 4, 2000, was ideal. The trees had leafed out; it was bright sun. But there is something about spending a pleasant day in a place like Auschwitz….
Brzezinka (Oswiecm to the Germans) was actually home to two of the three places in the Auschwitz group. Auschwitz I, where we went under the arch, was basically for Polish prisoners of the Reich.
We spent some somber time there, then it was time for Auschwitz II, a place called Birkenau, where between 1.1 and 1.5 million Jews perished between 1943 and its liberation January 27, 1945.
It is about 1 1/2 miles between Auschwitz I and Birkenau, and we requested and received permission to walk between the two places, most of the route along the same railroad track which transported the Jews to their death. It was a time of pretty intense introspection, there was no frivolity on that walk. For almost all the Jews who entered Birkenau, there was no exit.

A quiet walk on a beautiful day May 4, 2000


I guess you could say that we “toured” Birkenau, but somehow that word doesn’t fit.
We saw the ruins of the ovens which, they said, could efficiently cremate 4415 bodies a day, but which often incinerated twice as many.
In the afternoon, in a pleasant glade between the ruins of the crematory ovens, there was a memorial service. The youngest of our group, and me, the birthday boy, were chosen to light candles to the memory of those who had died in the holocaust. Two of the photos, here, are at that place.
It was a beautiful afternoon, the birds were chirping in the trees surrounding us. Somehow it didn’t match the black and white images of the camp when its sole function was to kill Jews. May 4, 2000, is one of those days whose memory will never leave me.
A memorial service between the ovens....
We’re now 10 years from that day in 2000. Another ten years have passed.
May 4, 2000, was 16 months before 9-11-01 and all that has transpired since that time.
Our group stayed in touch for awhile, but it has been a long time since there was any real contact. Such is how things go, even when you’re together in intense experiences as we were.
Entering the first museum building at Auschwitz one’s eyes encounter George Santayana’s famous quotation: “those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it“.
I would like to propose a corollary to all of us: it is not enough to simply remember the past, unless one learns from it for the future, and diligently applies the learnings.
Remembering is not enough.
At night, back at the hotel, I mentioned to the group that my Uncle Frank Bernard was among the first American casualties of WW II, on the USS Arizona at Pearl Harbor, December 7, 1941. In that awful war, WWII, it is said that at least 50,000,000 ultimately perished because of the war. Six million were Jews*. Another nearly six million were Poles.
The records show that the official beginning of the German surrender to the allies began 65 years ago today, May 4, 1945. It would be early September before the Japanese surrendered. Another uncle, my mother’s brother, Navy officer George Busch, was aboard Destroyer DD460 which docked at Tokyo the evening of September 10, 1945.
Until we become more proficient at making Peace than we are at making War; at being friends than being enemies; all is ultimately lost….
I wish I could be hopeful.

Ben and the Memorial Candles within Birkenau


* One of the prayers at Auschwitz, May 4, 2000:
Reader: Silence. Only silence. Waiting for our reply. All of them, waiting. Three million and three hundred thousand Jews lived in Poland before the war.
Congregation: Three million died.
Reader: Two million eight hundred and fifty thousand Jews lived in Russia.
Congregation: More than a million died.
Reader: One and a half million Jews lived in the Balkans and Slavic countries.
Congregation: More than a million died.
Reader: Germany, Austria, France and Italy had six hundred and fifty thousand Jews.
Congregation: Half of them died.
Reader: Rhodes and Cyprus had happy, thriving congregations.
Congregation: The synagogues stand empty now.
Reader: Our brothers and sisters were murdered everywhere in the days of destruction.
Congregation: They died in cities and towns, in villages and fields.
Reader: They died in the night and the fog, they died between dawn and dusk.
Congregation: They died by fire and water, by poison and gun.
Reader: They died alone; but we will not forget them.
Congregation: They died alone; but we will not forget them.
Reader: We will remember them; in reverence, and in silence.
** – We were a delegation from Temple Israel and Basilica of St. Mary in Minneapolis MN. To my knowledge (I haven’t checked, lately), Temple and Basilica were the first, and probably remain the only, joint Christian and Jew plaque on the remembrance wall at the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C. That is a testimony to the friendship of Rabbi Joseph Edelheit and Fr. Michael O’Connell.
Postscript June 30, 2010: Note this link: A powerful photo album from Auschwitz with pictures taken when the death camp at Birkenau was in operation..
Here’s a more recent photo album, including photos taken by our fellow pilgrim on our visit to Auschwitz and other places of the Holocaust in April and May 2000. Note #3.

#190 – Dick Bernard: Four Films

Someone looking for me would not start at movie theaters: movies are an infrequent destination.
Still, in the past seven days I viewed four films in four very different venues. Each of the films had (and have) diverse messages…beyond the films themselves.
Last Sunday, the destination was The Minneapolis Film Festival showing of a documentary, “The Unreturned” by a couple of young filmmakers. Nathan Fisher, one of the two who made the film, was in attendance. The film covers a topic essentially untalked about: the fact that 4.7 million Iraqis, largely of the middle class, and representing perhaps a sixth of Iraq’s population, were displaced by the Iraq War, mostly to neighboring Syria and Jordan. (Iraq, before the war, was roughly the population and geographical size of California.)
The Unreturned views the world through the lens of several of these refugees, who didn’t want to leave Iraq, and would have wanted to go home to Iraq, but cannot for circumstances beyond their control. At the end of the film, one person in the audience noted that 4.7 million refugees was essentially equal to the population of Minnesota (5 million). This is a huge number, with equivalent impact: like the entire population of Minnesota uprooted and ending up in Wisconsin….
I think the 200 or so of us in the theater last Sunday would agree with the later assessment of this film, ranked among the best in the entire festival.
Monday night, a friend and I hosted a meeting at a south Minneapolis church for 30 representatives from 22 twin cities groups which have an active interest/involvement in Haiti. We showed the film “Road to Fondwa“, which can be watched on-line for free. Road to Fondwa was filmed a couple of years ago by university students. Its theme is rural life in Haiti. Since it was filmed before the earthquake of January, 2010, it shows how life was before Fondwa was devastated (Fondwa is near the epicenter of the quake). I was particularly taken by the notion of “konbit”, a Kreyol work meaning gathering, cooperation, working together. We could use a lot more of that!
Friday afternoon I attended a showing of another Minneapolis Film Fest entry, Poto Mitan, yet another young film makers entry. The Director of this film, a young professor at New York University, concentrates on five Haitian peasant women struggling to survive Haiti’s harsh economic realities. Each of the five women tell their own stories in their own language. Filming began in 2006, and the film was released in 2009. Like all of the other films, this one is subtitled. At this showing, the Director, Dr. Mark Schuller, was with us, and led a discussion afterwards. He’s a very impressive young man.
Then there is the fourth film, actually a 12 hour documentary over a period of weeks on the History Channel. It is called “America: the story of us“, and I was really looking forward to it when the first episode played a week ago Sunday night. My anticipation turned rapidly to disappointment (though I intend to watch the whole thing) because it became obvious that the intent of the film was to portray America’s history in the image of some old conservative politicians and big business and entertainers. The politicians have, so far, been regular on-screen “experts”, and the production apparently is underwritten by a major U.S. bank. It is too early to judge the entire production, but my guess is that this America will be portrayed as a heroic place with few warts, won by free enterprise, guns and military prowess. So be it. I’m waiting to see how the Iraq War will be spun, and the Obama era. Google America the Story of us and find lots of reviews of this epic….
The first three films do one thing that the fourth film does not: they allow the real people to do the speaking about the reality. In the last one, so far, it is only the experts that have the say.
If the youth of this country are represented by the first three filmmakers, we stand a chance.