Game Change

Say what you want about her, but, Sarah Palin did make interesting copy in 2008. She is one of those candidates who make good copy, --- i.e. was interesting to watch. She was a uniter, and a divider. She was driven, and a puppet. She brought John McCain closer to winning, and cinched his defeat. Pick a side. Maybe, you will find the correct answer somewhere in between.... The movie is a couple of months old, but, HBO has a movie called ''Game Change'' about the 2008 McCain campaign selecting, and, coping with, Sarah Palin. It is a highly fascinationg-- and, by all accounts-- an accurate portrait of a naive woman being thrust onto the center stage of history. And, her enjoyment at her placement. The acting across the board is superb. Julianne Moore as Palin, Woody Harrelson as campaign guru Steve Schmidt, and the great Ed Harris as John McCain. All the information comes firsthand from the participants. Now, it is produced by Tom Hanks, a noted Hollywood liberal, but, it is very fair on how it presents its subject. This is key because it presents its facts as they were, with no spin applied. I will leave it up to you whether you believe they played fair. My thoughts are that they did... It certainly was an extraordinary time in history. It is just four years ago, but, so much has happened. Again, I will leave you all to your own judgments as to whether it was a successful four years. You will be voting that assessment in November. The movie shows those few months between the Palin selection in August 2008 and election night. The focus is clearly Palin, with McCain riding shotgun in the story. At first, Palin's appeal was in the fact she was unknown. She seemed untainted--- a valuable commodity in politics. She was attractive and she had stage presence, also a valuable addition to a campaign. We know live in a political world where what you say is not as important as how you present yourself. Barack Obama was called a rock star. Sarah Palin was called  a great actress. Between them both, John McCain was the lone wolf. He didn't have charisma. Instead, he spoke from the heart, clearly and sensibly. In today's world that is a major handicap... The cracks and flaws in Palin, as related by the movie, came soon after the selection. This sheltered woman was the Governor of Alaska, but, might have well have been from Mars. Woefully unprepared for her new role, there is a shocking scene where she has to be told that Germany was our enemy in World War Two. This scene sets up a series of revelations about her lack of knowledge. This is, of course, very frightening for someone who might be a heartbeat away from being President someday. The tone of the film then shifts from the fear of the McCain advisors that they indeed made a fatal flaw in selecting her, and, her undeniable charisma in putting her in front of a crowd. Even her most bitter critics have to concede her electric personality when on the national stage[ like Obama]. She gives a sensational speech when giving her acceptance speech to be the Vice President nominee. She even throws in an unscripted joke about lipstick. The campaign regains some enthusiasm after this. Then, she meets the media... She stumbles with embarrasing gaffes about Russia being neighbors to her beloved Alaska. Then, a suicidal interview with Katie Couric, in which she shows her lack of knowledge of foreign policy, and, even falters when asked what newspapers she reads. This lets the lions loose in the media [ which is in the tank for Obama]. Tina Fey and ''Saturday Night Live'' pick up the torch and skewer her without mercy. Behind the scenes, Palin is appalled and deeply hurt by these attacks. Because she is a newcomer on the national stage, she does not grasp that this is fair game nowadays for candidates. Her running mate, John McCain, in 2000, was charged by the Bush campaign, with fathering a bastard child-- a false and baseless charge. She is getting the baptism by fire that all novices get... Also, behind the scenes, her behavior turns dark and nasty. She refuses to comply with what is necessary to prepare her for the world. Her ego explodes and she becomes quite difficult for her staff to deal with. They gamely plow ahead in the hope she will put herself in their hands. The film shows these people as selfless and all giving to the goal of getting John McCain elected President. Most major campaigns have in-fighting, but, if this film has a flaw, it is that this in-fighting is not explored. The ''all for one and one for all'' mentality strains credibility, but, I will concede that issue in the overview of the story...  I liked how the film played fair with the Palin family. There are shots of them all together, as if they do everything together as a family unit. The subject of Bristol Palin being pregnant and being lambasted in the media is touched on, but, not in any great detail. And, that is how they should have done it. The Palin family was not the focus of the story. They appear and then disappear. As campaigns should be. The focus of running for President should be the candidate and the candidate alone. Too many cheap shots are taken by all sides in digging up the dirt on loved ones. They should be excluded, unless it is something major that would affect the candidates ability to govern. Hopefully, we will see this procedure of not involving the innocent bystanders in the coming months of Obama- Romney...Towards the end of the story, Sarah Palin loses her ability to see events in a clear and cohesive way. Indeed, there are conversations among the staff on whether she is having a nervous breakdown. This, too, is alarming for someone so close to the White House. McCain shows compassion for his co-candidate. They seem to have just a professional relationship, with no confidences being shared between them. That is because there is no time to be human. All candidates in a election become robots at some point. You have to. The only crack in this veneer comes late in the campaign , when McCain takes the microphone away from a woman who complains that Obama is an Arab and a bad person. McCain deftly takes the microphone and quietly informs the woman that Obama is a good family man with whom he disagrees with on issues. This small moment speaks volumes on the decency of John McCain... The film, of course, follows history with its ending. Then, a strange thing happens not generally known to the public. Sarah Palin wanted to speak a concession speech along with John McCain. This has never been done in the history of Presidential politics. She is firm in her decision when she is told no. She wants to go on and speak. The confrontation between her and the McCain staff is disturbing and fascinating. She has now come into her own and feeling her oats. There is no going back for her. Sarah Palin is now the leader of her party. McCain slows the train of ego for her and she backs down from her demand to speak. But, this woman has gone in a few months from an innocent to a barracuda. Such is the temptation and seduction of power... I highly recommend this movie if you are interested in this story. It is fair. Most of the parties involved in the story have praised its accuracy and tone. The lone exception, no surprise, is Sarah Palin. She seems to still be in her own world. Some love that world, some despise it. My opinion of her was never strong. I voted for the McCain-Palin ticket in 2008, but, because of John McCain, a genuine war-hero and good guy. I wanted him as President in 2000, but, he was steam rolled by the Bush forces. I still believe the world would have been much different had he gotten in then. Certainly, September 11, and, its aftermath, would have been handled better. It is all speculation, obviously. We might never have heard of Sarah Palin....

I Remember....

I remember her smile and the way she smelled.... That is the first memory I have of my Mom. Soft hands that supported me when I learned how to eat, walk, and tie my shoes. My earliest memory of life involves her crying. I was around two and a half and I was watching some strange sight on T.V. that was upsetting her. It involved grown-ups and a long box that people walked behind. Everybody who followed that box was crying like my Mom. There were many children, some around my age, who were weeping along with the adults. So, naturally, I succumbed and starting crying along with everyone else. I found out later we were all watching Bobby Kennedy's funeral procession. Mom and Dad weren't strong fans of the Kennedy family, but, they felt bad for the children who had lost a father. Mom was sobbing for the kids. It was an introduction to my Mom that I never forgot. And, somewhere inside of me it showed me how loving she was to weep for strangers and their pain... I remember her warmth.... I was the youngest of three, and, anybody who is the runt of the litter can tell you of how great it is to be the baby in the family. All of your older siblings take the grief. They train the parents on the trials and tribulations of parenting. We ''babies'' get the dividends of that hard fought battle. I know I was pampered and fussed over as a kid. Never spoiled, but, perhaps, lucky in the attention that was directed at me for being last in the family chain. The first couple of years of my life Mom was the central focus for me. Most children have their first love in life being their Mom. It creates a bond that will never be broken. And, my Mom, with her gentleness and inner goodness, made me a most grateful child. When I was around three years old I was in the hospital for an operation on my right eye. It crossed as a child and surgery was needed to correct it [ I still am legally blind in my right eye]. Naturally, I was scared. The hospital allowed her to spend the night next to me. She sat in a chair right next to me all night. I am sure that chair was not the most comfortable thing to sit on, but, she didn't care. She was with me, as any Mom would be with their child. Her warmth was my comfortable blanket wrapped around me in the strange environment of a cold hospital.... I remember her touch... Being a child sent out into the world has to be the most traumatic experience for a Mom. I was only going to kindergarden, but, it must have been torture for her to see her ''baby'' slowly growing up. The youngest slightly leaving the nest. The first sign I was growing up and away from her. I made the first few steps gingerly, for I was very attached to her and was a shy child around strangers. I was the type of kid who his behind my Mom's legs if I met someone new to me. In my mind I didn't need the friendships of other children because I had my Mom and Dad and sister and brother. But, they all knew I must make those first few steps towards independence. And, I did. I made friends easy. That was more my Dad than my Mom because Dad was always more sociable. But, Mom was always there if I came across a person who was bad or mean to me. I cried some when I was a kid, but, never in front of anyone but Mom. Crying to her for me released whatever pain I might be feeling in my soul. Both of my parents and sister counseled sage advise of kindness and understanding, but, Mom had that special ''Mom Love'' that all children feel. Plus, she had that hug of hers. That glorious hug of joy that only a Mom can give to her child. Maybe, it goes back to the feeling of being in the womb. There is a comfort in being in your Mom's arms, a very safe feeling that she will protect you against all that is bad. I miss that hug.... I remember her strength.. Dad was the very successful head of our family. Never did he falter in his duties to us. But, as an example of the total committment both my parents had towards each other, Dad always deferred a little to Mom when it came to the home front and the raising of the kids. Behind my Dad's enormous personal strength and charisma he needed strong support. Mom was his strength and the backbone of our family unit. She was his Consigliori. The wise counselor at home. Mom was smart-- a lot smarter than I think she even realized. She excelled because of her natural intuition. She had that tough Irish Catholic spirit in her system. If we kids did something we shouldn't, as all kids do, Mom let us know. She could turn the dime on her emotions very easily. We got the Evil Eye and the cold feeling of we kids had made her angry. Dad was the softer touch, so, the most we got out of him was a disappointment in our actions. But, Mom, oh, boy, it could get rough!!!And, that was what we needed because without the ''heavy'' that she sometimes played, we kids would have turned out differently. I see it everyday at the school I am at with kids who have no structure at home and no parents who care. Thank God my sister and brother and me did not have that. So, we needed Mom to occasionally be the ''enforcer'' and to put us in our places. Mom never let us forgot what we had done [ all Mom's have that ''Mom Memory'' of past missdeeds that they drop on you as the years tumble on ]. At the time I suppose there was some resentment towards her from us for being called out for our crimes, but, looking back, it was exactly what we kids needed. A strong rebuke that you learn from. Everything worked out again after a while and Mom was Mom again. But, we learned our lesson. As well we should have.... I remember her laugh... Mom was a great audience. All of us kids inherited my Dad's sense of humor. Mom laughed at it all, even, though the more salty humor seemed to get by her. Which was good. That Irish Catholic schoolgirl naivete that she  had about her many times did not realize that she hearing some strong sexual innuendo humor around the family table [ yes, back in the old days, my family ate dinner together, with the T.V. off ] . She laughed though, because everybody else laughed. Making my parents laugh, folks, well, you felt like a million bucks!!! .... I remember her cooking.... For a non-Italian, this woman made the best gravy around. Her lasagna and pizza were my favorites. Pizza was always my request for Mom to make on my birthday.  Sometimes, I have dreams about her food. Sadly, I always wake up before I get to taste the food. Maybe, that means something, I don't know.... I remember her courage... That ugly brutal decade of the 90's, with all its sickness and death that invaded all of our lives. Mom was the rock again. She saw my Dad, the love of her life, slowly crumble before her eyes as that fucking cancer ate away his spirit and body. She would be strong for him. That support system and strength that came so naturally to her made my Dad want to live. Mom never gave up on him and seeing that, Dad never gave up. Then, the horror of horrors came with my brother's suicide and all that madness. Mom always had a special spot for my brother Tom. And, when he died I know a big part of her died, too. She held up well. But, six months to the day after Tom died my Mom found my Dad dead in bed. She was shattered again by loss. It took her months to be herself again, but, remarkably, she did. Then, she got sick. A quadruple by-pass surgery where her heart stopped 3 times in post-surgery recovery. She lived but her one kidney was destroyed and the other seriously damaged. The last year and a half of her life was dialysis and hospital visits. She fought it all, I am very proud to say, but, she went home to God on June 6, 1998. She may have faltered at times with all that she went through the last several years of her life, but, she never gave up trying. She had more courage than almost anyone I have ever known. This trait I admire about her above anything else..... I write this because Mother's Day is in a few days and you all know I miss her. I hope you all had a Mom like her in your lives. And, a Dad also. There are many testimonials about these two wonderful, caring, loving people from the many whose lives they magically touched. I am one of those people. I could not have written about them in many blogs if they weren't so wonderful. I miss them. One of the things that comforts me about losing a loved one is that I do not fear death. I am convinced I will see them all again.... Somehow, in some way, I will kiss my Mom this Sunday. And, I will be kissed back with love. And, the aroma of pizza from her....

Voices Carry

Jerry was not a murderer. But, by the laws of his religion, he was a taker of the most precious thing there is-- a human life. Jerry tried to reconcile his faith with his duty for his country. It was difficult. Jerry knew in his heart what he was and he tried to be the decent man he was raised to be. War is like that. It turns ordinary, good men into killing machines. Or, it tries to.. The Iraq War needed to be fought. At least, that was what Jerry was told. The War On Terror. After September 11th, there was the mad rush for retribution. We had been attacked, humiliated, and, most of all, had suffered. The thirst for blood was very much in the air. Jerry was no different than anyone else. He wanted to get the bastards for what they had done. That enemy that dared to attack us and to bring us harm and grief. He was in the majority and he was right. So, at the age of nineteen in 2002, Jerry joined the Marines and proudly followed his family's tradition of service to their country... Jerry went through the hell of basic training. It is the breaking down and building up of human beings-- turning them into raw fighting machines. Jerry knew there was always a sadistic streak that ran through this  particular branch of service. He did not mind. He knew he had to get his mind in a certain way of thinking because chances were very good that he would see combat soon and he needed to be of singular mind about it. Jerry went through his basic training and he was assigned a unit leaving for Afghanistan... Then something happened. It was called Iraq. That leftover war from 1991 that Jerry had heard about when he was a small boy. Saddam Hussain had never gone away and he was using Weapons Of Mass Destruction. The U.S. government had told their citizens that the next step on fighting terrorism was this country. Jerry was a little stunned by this because he knew that we were far from done in Afghanistan. Why go after another country when work still needed to be done elsewhere? Of course, Jerry had no say in the matter. He was a Marine and Marines go where they are assigned. His plans shifted from Afghanistan to Iraq. He was sent in with the first wave of troops in the Spring of 2003... What he and his fellow Marines saw there in their tour of duty forever changed him and numbed him to his core. It is said that when you face death and survive, you come out a changed person. It was true of Jerry. His innocence was lost there. The senseless destruction of the human form and body was his daily life. The blasting apart of human bodies. Babies dying in his arms. Children being trampled on by tanks. Women being raped and being stoned to death. Men being castrated at random. And, the smell. That awful smell of death... It was the same behavior that happens in any war. War does not pick its victims fairly. The brave and decent die horribly. The cowards survive and live a long life.  And, for some of soldiers-- both Allies and the Enemy--- he saw the pleasure that some got out of torture. Jerry remembered that his Dad had survived the horrors of the Bataan Death March in World War Two. The stories his father told [ always very reluctantly] made Jerry think twice about his combat duty. How the enemy, the Japanese, took great delight in not only slaughtering their prisoners, but, also, to put a touch of sadism in this task. One favorite trick was for the Japanese to bury an American up to his neck in the ground, still alive. Then, fresh jam was smeared all over the prisoners face. After a period of time, ants and other insects would crawl on the prisoners face, slowly eating away his face while he screamed in agony.Those stories always stayed with Jerry, but, he tried to push them to the back of his mind when he signed up. He welcomed that form of denial. It was necessary for him to go about this way of thinking in order to survive in war... Jerry tried to make friends over there. It was very hard. One days friend was another days dead body. Jerry did make a good friend, though. His name was Patrick. Patrick lived not too far from where Jerry grew up in Oregon. They had that bound. Patrick wanted to be a doctor. After all he had seen in combat Patrick thought saving lives was his destiny instead of taking them. Jerry confided, in one late night conversation, that he did not know what he wanted to do. Then, looking at the destruction and blood and stench around him, Jerry stated whatever he did after his tour was up he wanted to make things beautiful, to make things grow instead of watching them die.... After a year together, Jerry and Patrick heard that their unit may be reassigned back home. They were overjoyed with the thought of seeing their families again. One day, walking down the street, a small child brought them both a flower. At first, they were on their guard, because who knew what this child was holding. The child, maybe around eight years old, was a little angel. She smiled at them in genuine warmth and thanked them for liberating her country. After all the horrors of the last year this small act of friendliness warmed Jerry and his friend. Then the mortar fire started... Jerry and Patrick took cover immediately. The little girl disappeared somewhere. Jerry and Patrick started firing in the direction they thought the attack was coming from. Lying in the ditch together, side by side, all chaos was going on around them. Jerry saw a some movement across the road where he thought it was coming from and turned to Patrick to tell him. Jerry stopped short. He was suddenly drenched in blood like someone had sprayed him with a hose. When he cleared his eyes Jerry saw that Patrick did not have a head anymore... It was after Patrick's death that the nightmares started. Jerry had a classic case of Survivors  Guilt. Patrick had died and Jerry went on living. But, he wasn't really living in the normal way. Jerry was now sleepwalking through life. He knew that deaths of friends in war is as old as war itself. He was no different than the millions of other veterans of wars in history. However, seeing it first-hand seered his memory in agony. When Jerry dreamed, he was trying to save Patrick but unable to. Patrick was calling for help. These cries tore through Jerry's soul. One persistant dream had Patrick walking among a sea of armless children, all of them pleading for Jerry to deliver them from their suffering.The abrupt wakeups from these nightmares brought fresh pain. The dream could be dismissed but the pain and loss could not. After his year of active duty Jerry was sent home. Dean Man Walking.... When Jerry came home the horror of war came with him. There was no discharge from what he had seen. He began to see life in a different way. He was once a bright-eyed young man in love with the image of the dashing soldier being a hero. He thought war was like in the movies. You would walk off into the sunset and go on with your life. But, of course, that is not how it really is. Jerry saw, in his mind, the face of every person who had died in front of him. Hundreds of them. Soldiers and civilians alike. He saw and heard the screams. They were in the confines of his mind and soul. Therapy was not going to shake that out of his system. By his own account, Jerry had killed 32 people in Iraq, most of them the innocent victims of war.  Some, on whatever mission he may have been on , some out of self-protection. He didn't know them but he had an idea of whom they were. They were families. They had the same hopes and dreams for the future that he had. They wanted life. And, they lost it. Jerry knew he was doing his duty but one day in combat had convinced him that all war is senseless madness. A bunch of leaders using innocents for personal power. Some madmen, Jerry realized, needed to be stopped, like a Hitler or a Bin Laden. But, this war was not so easily defined. Jerry only saw the deadly results and not the grasp of power of heads of state. Again, Jerry knew this all along, but, when the blood of children and friends is running down your face it brings it all home all too clearly... Six months after he got home, Jerry started to hear the Voices. At first, they were whispers in his mind. Soon, they got louder in intensity. The Voices seemed to be calling him from far away. And, they were angry. The Voices told Jerry he had no right to be alive with all of the death that he had caused. The Voices told him he should not be having any enjoyment when he had caused so much pain, The Voices told him the only solution was to kill himself. Only then would the pain be relieved and he would be set free... Jerry knew his mind was playing tricks with him. It was post-traumatic stress from combat duty. Survivors Guilt again. But, as is the case of any tortured mind all reason leaves when guilt and sorrow enter unwanted. Jerry could not dismiss all that he had seen. Sometimes, the flashbacks he had when he was awake resulted in moments when he though he was going crazy. Uncontrolled, sudden anger--- like, when someone looked cross-eyed in traffic at him, or, some idiot in a bar, who had never seen combat, told him what war was like and was cavalier about the loss of life-- seized him and drove the demons into the forefront of his personality. Jerry also suffered from too much time on his hands. He moved back with his parents after coming home and was unable to hold a job. His high school girlfriend was long gone, and, no other woman would take a chance on dating a high-strung ex-Marine. So, his mind worked overtime against him. The Voices grew in demand... On October 17th, 2010, Jerry listened to the Voices. His shotgun was next to his body. The force of the impact had blown Jerry's head all over the walls... Somewhere, in that mess that used to be Jerry, was a once vital, sensitive human being. That person, who was a Boy-Scout and sang in the church choir. That person, who dreamed of making the world a more beautiful place.... The police found the suicide note that Jerry had written. It was simple but from his heart...'' My dear family, I am sorry for what I have done. I could not stand the pain any longer and I needed to leave this life. It was not your fault. You gave me love and I am grateful. My actions do not reflect on you, or, any lack of love and support. I cannot get over the horror I have seen and the death I have caused. I have given the world death and I must be punished. War made me what I am. If anyone shall take notice of my death, please let it be this: THIS IS THE REAL FACE OF WAR. THE INJURED AND THE GRIEVING. THERE IS NO POWER IN KILLING FELLOW HUMAN BEINGS. WE MUST FOREVER TRY TO STOP THE FOLLY THAT IS WAR!!!''....