Boxcars, Boyos and Braceros

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March 17, 2024- In 1946, a decorated soldier came back to his hometown of Galesburg, IL, and went with his friends to a downtown movie theater. They were directed, by an usher, to sit in the “Mexican section”. The honourably discharged soldier refused, saying that he wished to speak with the manager. When that wish was granted, the soldier told the manager that he had just finished serving their country, and fighting against Fascism, for nearly three years. He expected the same rights as any other citizen of the United States.

That began the end of racial segregation in Galesburg, and across Illinois. It would take another ten years for the practice to end across the northern and western states, as well as in Canada. It would be another 18-25 years for it to end in the southern states.

In 1917, as American men went off to fight in World War I, there was a vast labour shortage. Corporate representatives recruited Mexican men, by the thousands, to fill the vacant positions. These men were housed in re-purposed railway boxcars, as many of the positions were with the railroads. Boxcar villages, near towns like Galesburg, were established near the railyards.

The same thing happened, on a smaller scale, in World War II. By then, men were allowed to bring their families along, and more permanent “barrios”, many with row houses, were established by the railway companies, and other employers. Thousands of Mexican workers and families were thus brought into the United States, not by “liberal politicians”, but by business and industry leaders, seeking to accomplish their missions.

A century earlier, much the same process unfolded, on the East Coast and in the cities of the Midwest, as Irish (the boyos, they called themselves) and Italian workers, fleeing chaos in their homelands, arrived in the United States, having heard of opportunities here. They, too, encountered prejudice, and were enticed to quarrel with one another, so as to keep a united front from forming among the refuge-seekers and the dispossessed. That tactic would resurface, when each new group: Poles, Hungarians, Greeks, Arabs, Japanese, Chinese, Filipinos, arrived here and sought their chance at a new life. Then came newly freed people of African descent, fleeing the Jim Crow laws of the former Confederate states-and Mexicans, fleeing the repression and chaos of the Diaz years. Braceros, or manual labourers, did the work that few Americans wished to engage.

This is the backdrop, as the wall goes up and scapegoats are sought, by wirepullers, for the overlooking of homeless veterans and others. Two equally worthy groups of people need the help of their fellow humans, and yes, charity begins at home. It begins at home, and family members get first dibs, then community members-like those who served their country and are now getting short shrift, in many cases. It doesn’t end there, however. Only a truly unified human race can resolve the issue that stem from the mindset that some people are less than others, because of differences in their make-up, strengths and weaknesses, appearance, national origin, religion, personal predilections- you name it. Only seeing that there really is no other, just a mirror of ourselves, will lead to a systematic solution to all that has gone wrong-starting with family, then community, then state/province, country and region, until the entire globe gets the idea.

Maybe then, there will be no cross-border caravans, no twenty-foot walls, no former police/military officers seizing power in their destitute countries, no mindless interplay between ideological rivals, rather than each sharing viable solutions to deep-seated social ills.

Domhan go bragh. (Earth, til the end)

Nuggets

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March 16, 2024-

Smoke is smoke, fire is fire. An explosion in a small town, affecting two or three families, can implode an entire community. A General Alarm fire, on the street of a large city, can generate headlines, and bring onlookers, even politicians, making promises, which may or may not go over with those of the stakeholders, who were not asked of their views, on cost and benefit, of recovery efforts, to the greater good. All tragedy, all mishap, decimates body and soul, whether one is directly affected, or only connected in passing. To the former, it’s as if a life is shattered, though only for a time. To the latter, it’s like a pebble in a shoe, but not so easily shaken loose. “No man is an island”.

So, I got up early, and went to the small town of Seligman, a ninety-minute drive to the northwest, and helped with a smoke detector installation project. Our team encountered a heavy smoker, who had no such devices in his house. He now has four. He was chastened, and grateful.

Smoke is smoke, fire is fire.

UndivIDEd

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March 15, 2024- Today being the Ides (Divides) of March, I am taking a few minutes to look at one element of life that may lead to division.

Among the entries on my e-mail serve, this morning, was one from a local woman, bemoaning socialism. That comes as no surprise, with so many who view any sort of collective as an affront to those whose well-being has come, in their honest assessment, from the sweat of their own brows. It does not, however, recognize that both socialism and individualism are continuums, varying in degrees.

Socialism can be as compatible with individual effort as are the systems in place in countries as diverse as Sweden, New Zealand and Costa Rica-all of which have, or recently have had, conservative leadership. Those conservative leaders have not seen fit to wholly dismantle the economic system; instead viewing small tweaks that stimulate individual ingenuity and drive, when the State appears to be overly dismissive of those two qualities.

Socialism can also be overly deterrent of individual initiative and drive, when ambitious reformers get ahead of their own agenda, as has happened in Cuba, Nicaragua, and in the former Soviet Union. Ego can end up destroying whatever good might have initially come from the attempt to correct excessive individualism. Then, we will see the very thing that the artist Pete Townshend described in his song, “We Won’t Get Fooled Again”- “The parting on the Left is now parting on the Right…”

No one size fits all, and human beings are, by and large, hard-wired to draw inspiration, and affirmation, from their own imaginations, interests and talents. Baha’u’llah teaches that “It is made incumbent on every one of you to engage in some occupation, such as arts, trades, and the like. We have made this—your occupation—identical with the worship of God, the True One. Reflect, O people, upon the Mercy of God and upon His favors, then thank Him in mornings and evenings.” (Bahá’u’lláh: Bahá’í World Faith, p. 195) (Programmer’s note: ‘Tablets of Bahá’u’lláh revealed after the Kitab-i-Aqdas’, p. 26).

We were each created to live to our fullest individual capacity. Even many developmentally disabled persons can do some form of work that contributes to the public good. Being discouraged from this, by anyone in authority, can only do harm to society, over time-which is why a balance between liberal idealism and attention to the collective need to be balanced with conservative preservation of values and the honouring of individual initiative. Left to themselves, either ideology can become over-active, and end up stifling the populace.

I could offer several specific examples of both, but suffice it to say that no human institution can thrive, in perpetuity, without rigourous oversight by the people it purports to serve. That’s why even enterprises and social groups, formed with the purest of motives, need to be subject to scrutiny. Publicly-held companies, school systems (both public and private) have Boards of Directors for a reason, and founders of those institutions have been asked to leave, when they depart from their own original plan of operation. Government, too, operates best with a system of checks and balances.

Belief in one’s own primacy can never take the place of commitment to the public good.

Back to the Border and to Bull Pasture, Part 2: Quitobaquito and Ajo Mountain

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March 14, 2024- I felt rather the middle of a sandwich, the sprinters going down ahead and the lone woman, about my age, hanging back-especially when I stopped to take a photo-which is when she would dart out of sight, only to emerge when I was several steps ahead. Fun fact: We all got back to the parking lot, at Estes Canyon trailhead, at about the same time.

My first order of re-visiting business, to the places my late wife, Penny, and I visited, in 1983, was Quitobaquito. This spot is reached, either by driving down from the Visitor’s Center, via the North Boundary route, or by way of Highway 85. I chose the latter, first stopping for a few minutes in Lukeville, then following the unpaved, but graded, South Puerto Blanco Drive, for fifteen miles. The border wall is visible, to the south, for most of this route. There were no migrants visible, during my visit. Border Patrol agents were on site, at three spots along the wall.

Quitobaquito has no clear meaning, in English, but may be a hybrid Spanish-Tohono O’odham phrase meaning “little spring”. It as several springs, and a small rill to the east, feeding it. When Penny and I were here, it was shallow, and the water looked brackish, although the nearest salt water, in the Sea of Cortez, is still 6o miles to the southwest. Today, though, the pond was well-formed, and had been shored up by stone border-lining.

Trailhead, for short walk to the pond.
Quitobaquito (above and below)

I wonder, though, about the lack of birds, which is an unusual state of being for a pond in the Southwest-or anywhere in North America. It was, in fact, once a very rich environment for birds, amphibians and fresh-water fish. Other than a trio of fellow travelers, I was the only soul around.

Next up was a return visit to Ajo Mountain, which has several stops of interest, along a 19-mile loop. Penny and I hiked to Bull Pasture, a fairly rigourous jaunt, when in her late twenties and my early thirties. It was a good follow-up, for me, to yesterday’s hike in Montezuma Canyon, 215 miles to the east. Although I have always been somewhat a dawdling hiker, I still made the walk up and back, in about 2 1/2 hours-taking about the same time as those who appeared to be moving much more quickly. They seemed to need more breaks, though, so that evened things out. I like to take a lot of photos, so here are five:

The west face of Ajo Mountain.

Buttercups, the small delights of vast Estes Canyon
Organ pipe cacti are only found in southwest Arizona, Baja California and a swath of northwestern mainland Mexico. Seedlings thrive and grow on rocky hillsides, and then only when protected, for a time, under “nurse trees”, such as mesquite.
There is a sprawling nature to Estes Canyon, a worthy hiking destination, in and of itself.
Whilst in Estes Canyon, I met a couple heading back. The woman said that, in her view, Bull Pasture was more like bull pucky and that Estes Canyon was more pasture-like. Upon reaching the top, I can see that she may not have gone far enough. Here is the view from Bull Pasture itself.
The actual area where Spaniards grazed cattle. Bull Pasture trail continues down from the sign, to a couple of springs. A party of college students and their professor came up from the springs, overtaking me, after a brief conversation. We still met up again, back at the trailhead.
It was, nonetheless, a lovely return to an old gem.

Back to the Border, and to Bull Pasture, Part I: Lukeville and Ajo

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March 14, 2024- Traffic was bustling, at the Lukeville/Sonoyta Crossing. The place had been closed, a few months ago, with the Federal government bemoaning lack of resources to handle a surge in migrants trying to cross into the United States. It turned out this was mainly a processing issue, and the Arizona National Guard was dispatched to help with ancillary duties, so that the Border Patrol agents could focus on clearing up the processing of those who were seeking asylum, from any one of two dozen countries, and returning those not qualifying for refuge, to Mexico, or to their countries of origin.

The United States/Mexico border, at Lukeville/Sonoyta.

Lukeville had plenty of traffic, going both ways, but the restaurant was closed and the gas station convenience market’s shelves were half empty. I saw little evidence of the crisis of the past few months, other than an active Border Patrol work station, on South Puerto Blanco Drive, that had a few tents set up-either for detained migrants or for agents to get out of the sun. It is likely that they are used for a little of both. These events come in waves, though, so unless Congress and the President can reach an understanding, soon, it is likely to be a long summer of ebbs and flows of both desperate and opportunistic people trying to enter the U.S.

Before all this, and my return to Quitobaquito and Bull Pasture-both within Organ Pipe National Monument (Lukeville also lies within the Monument), I took some time to look around Ajo. Morning’s light, at Copper Sands Motel, revealed this courtyard.

Relaxing spots, at Copper Sands Motel, Ajo (above and below)

In town, there are two stand-out areas of note: The Plaza, and Curley School. Both were built in the 1920s, when Phelps-Dodge Corporation began to realize the peak operation of its copper mines in the area. Curley School is named for the company’s regional manager: Michael Curley. Ajo Plaza, in the style of a Spanish community gathering place, was the one area where the three otherwise segregated ethnicities, Anglo, Mexican and Tohono O’Odham, could mix freely. Today, of course, there is no segregation. I saw people of all racial groups here, as elsewhere in the country-and in each case, they were working in responsible positions.

Here are two views of Ajo Plaza, where several people were gathered, to relax over coffee and tea, or to discuss business.

East side of Ajo Plaza
North side, Ajo Plaza
Ajo Plaza’s Greenspace

Across from the Plaza is Immaculate Conception Catholic Church, also a marvel in white.

Immaculate Conception, from the east side.

Curley School educated all Ajo area students, from 1919-1997. When it was found to be in disrepair, a group of Ajo residents, working with the University of Arizona, developed a renovation plan, and the facility, consisting of nine buildings was refitted as artisan apartments and up-to-date classrooms, for the practice and study of the Fine Arts. Here are three views of the facility.

Main Building, Curley School, Ajo
Inner Classrooms, Curley School, Ajo
Standing Duck Cairn, Curley School, Ajo

As with all such operations, the New Cornelia Open Copper Mine ran out of its product, and has left tailings in its wake.

Tailings from New Cornelia Mine, east side of Arizona Highway 85, south of Ajo.

Hopefully, the area can be cleaned up and restored as a natural area, useful to both people and wildlife. The same ingenuity that saved Curley School would be beneficial here.

NEXT: A return to Quitobaquito and Bull Pasture

Bookends of Love and Light

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March 13, 2024, Ajo- The motel owner came to the door, after I left a voice mail on her phone, and cheerfully welcomed me into the office. After I paid, she went over and showed me the room, proudly pointing out the improvements she had made to it.

Earlier in the day, as I checked out of Knight’s Inn, the clerk thanked me, profusely, for having stayed the night. There is always a pleasant stay to be had, at a Knight’s Inn-and the price has always been reasonable.

Between these two bookends of love and light, there was plenty of good cheer. When I went over to a nearby Speedway station, to get a cheap bit of breakfast, the clerk signed me up for a Speedy Rewards card, which I got to put to use, right away, when filling Sportage’s tank, an hour or so later. I had been a bit lazy, in getting onto such a discount program, up to now, but it’s time.

Making a pilgrimage to Bisbee, I found High Desert Market and Cafe was closed on Wednesdays, so another new spot was in order. I chose Main Street Bistro, which has a similar, if smaller, menu to HDMC’s. The wait was longer, with only one person staffing the patio area, but the wait was well worth it. I took a stroll downtown, after, and looked at the area where two buildings burned, a month ago. Of course, it was roped off, and pictures were not in order. I did take a shot of this rock formation, above the patio at Main Street Bistro.

Mr.Toad guards the Bistro.

It was now time to return to Coronado National Memorial, high on the border, near Hereford, AZ. This time, I wanted to hike at least 3/4 of the way up Joe’s Trail, which runs from just west of the Visitor’s Center to the fourth ridge of Coronado Peak, where there is space for several vehicles. I left my SUV in the parking lot at the Center, and managed to get 3/4 of the way, turning around and hiking back, with the hope of finding a place en route to Ajo, in time to make a Zoom-based meeting. (This didn’t pan out, and was my one disappointment of the day). The hike, though, in Montezuma Canyon, was sheer delight.

View from the base of Joe’s Trail, Coronado National Memorial.
Outcropping, lower Montezuma Canyon.
A jolly old king, Montezuma Canyon.
View from a narrow trail, Montezuma Canyon
At my turn-around point, with a view towards the canyon rim, Montezuma Canyon, Coronado National Memorial

I headed inexorably west, then north, and west again, after leaving the Memorial. The road called Ajo Way is one that Penny and I took, 41 years ago, to visit Kitt Peak, Organ Pipe National Monument and Puerto Penasco, Sonora. I would visit Organ Pipe, this time around, and drop in at the border town of Lukeville-but those are for tomorrow. Kitt Peak and Puerto Penasco are for another time, and possibly I won’t be visiting alone, but we’ll see.

For now, the border at Coronado is quiet, no sign of any mass incursions, surreptitious or otherwise, and the rangers suggested it’s been that way there, for a while. In Ajo, meanwhile, the Copper Sands Motel, and its owner, Linda, are delighted to have guests who mind their manners. Copper Sands kind of reminds me of Gram’s Place, the hostel where I stayed in Tampa, two years ago-lots of bric-a-brac and a funky patio or two.

I am getting ready to rest, bathed in love and light.

Tucson’s Dome and The Pride of the Catalina Foothills

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March 12, 2024- The Old Pueblo shimmered in the morning light, and invited me to stay a while. First was a dinner invitation, which I wouldn’t dream of passing up, then there was all that lay in front of me, in El Presidio, and nearby Jacome Plaza, the gateway to the University of Arizona. I would not have enough time to visit U of A, but more on that in a bit.

Pima County Courthouse, Tucson

My first stop was the Pima County Courthouse, the domed gem of downtown Tucson. Five To Oh Coffee is a small stand, inside the building, with plenty of seating in the patio just outside. In the Sonoran Desert, “outside” is comfortable all day long-from mid-October to the end of May. So, I took my large coffee and blueberry empanada to a shady spot near the yet-to-open Southern Arizona Visitors Center.

A few minutes later, it was upstairs to the Dillinger Courtroom, where John Dillinger and his accomplices were tried and convicted-after the Tucson Police duped Public Enemy # 1 and the gang into a baited trap.

Dillinger Courtroom, Pima County Courthouse

Dillinger was still a media sensation, and his craftiness was matched by that of the Pima County Sheriff, who sold tickets to people wanting to see the killer bandit in his jail cell. After his conviction, Dillinger was sent to a prison in Indiana, from which he again escaped, and was later killed in Chicago.

Once I had read the displays outside the courtroom ,including information on Wyatt Earp, it was time to check out the Visitors Center. There, I noted a diorama of southern Arizona, with various buttons that lit up cities, highways, rivers, mountain ranges (Pima County has nine of those) and Native American reservations (Arizona has 23 of those).

On the west patio of the Courthouse is a Memorial Park honoring the victims of the January 8, 2011 shooting, in a northeast Tucson shopping center. They ranged in age from 9 to 76, and included a sitting Federal judge, a Congressional aide and a girl who had been born on September 11, 2001. Left paralyzed by the attack was the shooter’s prime target: United States Representative Gabrielle Giffords, still alive and in recovery.

Christina Taylor-Green, the 9/11 Baby who died in the 2011 attack, was an avid swimmer. Thus, this fountain became a centerpiece of the memorial.

Heroes of an earlier time of difficulty are also honoured here. Among them was my late father-in-law, Norman Fellman, captured by the Nazis near the end of the battle, in January, 1945. He survived six months in the concentration camp at Berga, where he was placed because he was Jewish.

Lunch time brought me to a small food truck, parked at Jacome Plaza, just east of the Courthouse. Carlos Jacome, Sr, and his wife, Dionicia, raised thirteen children-and the downtown Tucson business core-with help from a former rival, Harold Steinfeld. Jacome’s Department Store, along with Steinfeld’s, was a staple of downtown, for decades. In honour of the Jacome family, all of whom had a keen interest in the business, Jacome Plaza stands in front of the central public library. OaxaRio Food Truck serves fresh, delectable Oaxacan and Sonoran style treats. Next to it is Special Eats, which contributes to autism and Down’s Syndrome assistance programs. Here is a view of Jacome Plaza:

“Sonora”, by David Black (1991), restored by Trevor O’Tool.

Once lunch was enjoyed, under “Sonora’s” watchful gaze, I spent a nerve-wracking, but ultimately fruitful hour-long learning experience, in Joel D. Valdez Library, attempting to get online, and finally figuring out, with the aid of two library clerks, that my VPN was blocking access to the WiFi. Good to know, for the future: Get online first, then activate VPN-so long as the network is secure, as this one was. This experience used up the time I would have spent walking over to the University of Arizona, but no matter.

After checking e-mails, creating the previous day’s post and enjoying a refreshing Shamrock Matcha, at Ike’s Coffee, across the street from Jacome Plaza, it was time to go up to Tohono Chul, Tucson’s signature northeast green space. “Tohono Chul” means “desert corner”, in the language of the Tohono O’odham, whose own name means “Desert Dwellers”. It is a prime botanical garden, preserved by Richard and Jean Wilson, in the late 1960s. The Wilsons owned nearby Haunted Book Shop, from 1979-97, and gradually pieced Tohono Chul together, until the present 49 acres resulted in today’s bright oasis. Today, Jamie Maslyn Larson and her team maintain the vision set by the Wilsons, and Tohono Chul is a bright spot in the Catalina Foothills neighbourhood.

Tohono Chul Botanical Garden, north Tucson
Geology Wall, Tohono Chul Botanical Garden

Jumping Cactus, aka cholla, Tohono Chul Botanical Garden.
A “boot” left by a sahuaro, serves as a nesting site for various birds and small mammals.

It was soon dinner time, as well as quitting time for the Park staff, so off we all went, at 5 p.m. I headed down to a Red Lobster, on the southwest end of town, and joined a couple of old friends for a pleasant 90-minutes of catch-up and great food.

Finally, the drive southeastward, to Benson, then Tombstone, and finally to Sierra Vista-where my favoured Knight’s Inn was ready with a comfortable room. Thanks, Old Pueblo, for once again showing more of your many good sides!

Sweeping Vistas to One-Star Bare Bones

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March 11, 2024, Eloy, AZ- The manager of the motel took a minimalist view of the condition of her establishment: Rooms which are clean and very well-appointed, but have yet to install locks on several of the rooms-relying on chains inside the door, only. “We have a security guard who is constantly on the move or is watching the bank of security cameras! Those who want more can go the city, and pay more!” Me (Silently)- “I see, said the blind man”.

This is a place where tragedy is waiting to happen, despite the woman’s declaration that “My staff and I refuse to rent to anyone who looks shifty!” Update: As it happened, I got a wondrous night’s sleep here. Yet, it will be the last time I stay at the place. A skewed vision of how people should be served and protected will not end well.

My day, otherwise, was splendid. Coffee with a group of fellow seniors, was followed by a Zoom session on contacting our district’s Congressman, on a matter of interest to my fellows in Faith-and me. Then, there was a hike with HB, in the Constellation Trail system, named for a jet plane, which crashed in the area, in 1959. We walked about an area with sweeping vistas, which I had last hiked, with another friend, in the snow-four years ago. It is equally majestic, in the snippets of Spring.

Northward view, from Constellation Trail system (Hully Gully Trail)

Looking towards Hully Gully Trail, Constellation Trail system

Striated rocks, Constellation Trail system

A petrified chorus, Constellation Trail system

One could spend days, exploring the Constellation system, itself part of the Granite Dells formation, on Prescott’s northeast side. I have been there several times, and will be there several more.

After helping serve another buffet-style meal, this evening, at Solid Rock’s soup kitchen, it was time to head out towards Tucson, and the border with Mexico-where I will spend a couple of days, seeing what is actually going on-as opposed to the conjecture of the mainstream media. Getting to this small, but growing, desert city, roughly halfway between Phoenix and Tucson, I settled in at the above-mentioned motel, which will remain nameless, for now.

It was a fine, productive day, so I leave the management of the place to learn their own lessons, as I have spoken my peace to them.

Discretion

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March 10, 2024- The talk show host listened, incredulously, as a woman insisted that her son should be treated by a veterinarian, because he identifies as a cat. I would recommend a different type of medical professional-for the mother. Children engage in imaginary play and fantasy-all the time. When an adult buys into the child’s mental exercises and verifies the imaginary as real-the child is, naturally, confused.

Just because one can do something, even under the law, doesn’t mean one should engage the whim. I have heard that a man is insisting on his right to use the woman’s restroom, at a place I visit frequently. This establishment has two restrooms-one for each sex. The clientele is older, and more traditional in their view of such matters. In other establishments, most transgender people I know are perfectly okay with using a “Unisex” restroom. In fact, there are several places where ALL the restrooms are unisex. They have stalls, and there are provisions for parents with children, disabled people and their caretakers, and other special cases. Common sense is not on vacation.

At a Women’s March, yesterday, a trio of men showed up and counter-protested. There is no problem there, but the men decided that the March itself deserved to be broken up. I seem to recall this happened fifty-nine years ago, in Alabama, with deadly results. A woman, who was with the counter-protesters, decided to use a bullhorn, to keep the Marchers from speaking their peace. The March had official sanction. The woman with the bullhorn did not. This matter will be taken up by the proper officials. There was no one injured today, but as Justice Barrett said the other day, the temperature needs to be lowered. Just because one can do something, doesn’t mean one should.

Common sense is not on vacation.

In large and small cities across the country, people have indulged themselves with ignoring traffic rules, weaving in and out of the traffic pattern, in small electric vehicles. Others have ignored the rules of commerce, and helped themselves to significant quantities of clothing, jewelry and other items, with the understanding that, as long as the value of the pilfered items is less than $1000, it will not matter. Just because one can do something, doesn’t mean one should.

Common sense is not on vacation.

The Dreamer’s Edge

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March 9, 2024- The young lady looked, for all the world, like a 1920s Flapper. The moment she began singing, though, the melodious and heartfelt voice brought the chatty audience to rapt silence. Her connecting two very different semblances and times-the Roaring Twenties and the Hesitant Expectancy of the 2020s gave me much to consider. There really isn’t a whole lot different, between the two decades that lie a century apart.

Two business-oriented politicians, Calvin Coolidge and Donald Trump, set the tone for the conduct of affairs in the country. Both believed in the power of the marketplace and in cultivating a top-down economic structure, in which commercial interests are to be the stimulators of the nation’s prosperity. Coolidge’s programs did not factor in the suffering that was still extant in Europe, after World War I and the Influenza Epidemic of 1918-19. Trump’s programs were stymied by Covid-19, and by the turmoil in underdeveloped countries, much of it fueled by the international drug trade and its accompanying violence.

In the economic crash that followed the failure of Coolidge’s policies, and those of his successor, Herbert Hoover, only a combination of progressive governmental intervention, and the outbreak of another global conflict brought about recovery on a massive scale. It took twelve years to complete. The turmoil that accompanied Trump’s efforts was not as severe, but some governmental intervention from his successor’s team has helped lower inflation and improve at least the long-term prospects for a good many people. Time will tell whether the short-term efforts of the current administration will register with the American public.

In both decades, the difficulties faced by the average person led to impatience, and a certain amount of tolerance for authoritarian rule-even among those of historically marginalized populations. Only the recognition of Franklin D. Roosevelt’s comprehensive platform for recovery, and the patriotic fervor that followed the bombing of Pearl Harbor, and the D-Day landing at Normandy, three years later, stayed the hand of ultra-conservatism. It remains to be seen how the current, palpable climate of impatience will play out, in the Fall.

The capacity of the human spirit to look beyond temporary difficulties, the dreamer’s edge, if you will, may yet temper any rush to embracing a retreat from the constitutional republic, a form of democracy. In order for that to happen, the frequent victims of reverse marginalization need to be heard, and to feel that their concerns are being addressed-by the forces of a democratic mindset. That must happen, without the zero-sum game playing out; without historically-marginalized groups being shoved, once again, back into the corners of the American Mansion.

Will the current Twenties roar, or squeak?