Column: A brief American odyssey
I have a severe case of fluorescent light poisoning. I contracted it by sitting under their pitiless glare eight hours a day for 40 years. My one symptom is a wanderlust that can only be satisfied by watching 400 miles of countryside roll past my windshield every day.
Having just returned from a 4677-mile cross-country trip that included swings through the Poconos and the Ozarks, I can tell you that seeing America decked out in its fall foliage glory belongs on everyone’s bucket list. Mile after mile of nature’s pointillist perfection was almost more beauty than I could apprehend.
But, as with any journey, it had its ups and downs.
On Long Island, I overheard a conversation between a shop owner and a Jewish couple who were considering purchasing a lighted menorah. They asked the owner if he thought it would be safe to display it in their front window. He advised that they might be safe in their neighborhood, but it really wasn’t worth the risk. They agreed and said that while they felt relatively safe at home, they worked in NYC and were afraid of being attacked. The next day, the NYPD reported a 214 percent spike in “anti-Jewish incidents” in the weeks following Hamas’ genocidal massacre compared to the same period last year.
Such sectarian violence is the inevitable, tragic result of America’s recent descent into tribalism. A descent caused by pernicious ideas that have emanated from our elite academic institutions. Proving yet again that the prestige of one’s alma mater is inversely proportional to the likelihood that one’s opinions are sound.
Abe Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address has been called America’s second founding. A strong argument can be made that Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream” speech is our third founding. Its last paragraph sounds a desperately needed note of sanity that just might help us find our way back to the sacred, unifying mission of Lincoln’s last best hope of earth:
“And when this happens, and when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children, Black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual: Free at last. Free at last. Thank God almighty, we are free at last.”
More: Family life is not for the fainthearted
In Fort Worth, I worked the food line at a homeless shelter. I thought I knew what to expect. I was wrong. You owe it to yourself to do this at least once. It’s one thing to drive past people sleeping on the sidewalk. It’s quite another to interact with them as individuals.
It’s the 60th anniversary of President Kennedy’s assassination. I was four years old on the day of his funeral, but I remember it well because my mother wept all day.
While visiting Oyster Bay, Long Island I dined with my family at the historic Rothmann’s Inn where my sainted uncle, Jim O’Rourke (R.I.P., was the maître d’ for many years. My aunt, Gloria O’Rourke (R.I.P.), then editor of the Oyster Bay Guardian, wrote this account of Jackie Kennedy’s visit to Rothmann’s shortly after her husband’s murder:
“When Mrs. Kennedy came to dine the second time, the children were with her. There was an old custom at the Inn to take children into the kitchen and let them take a peek at the lobsters, crawling around in the huge watery bin. My sentimental Jim asked one of the secret servicemen if he could take John-John on this customary jaunt to see the lobsters. The agent checked with Mrs. Kennedy, and to my Jim’s great surprise, the answer was, “Yes!” Taking John-John by the hand, he carefully walked him through the kitchen and held him high in the air. Jim told me later, 'I was so proud to hold that brave little boy in my arms. He never knew it, but I was crying behind him as he gazed at the lobsters.'”
Peter Merkl is a longtime resident of Corpus Christi.
This article originally appeared on Corpus Christi Caller Times: Column: A brief American odyssey
