Red, White, Blue and Green

At age seven, the lovely Madelyn Simone loves to sing in the cherub choir at church in Canton. As smitten grandparents, we enjoy being in attendance when we can, glad that the “love of music” gene was passed on to our granddaughter. Last Sunday, as part of a service honoring veterans, she enthusiastically saluted and marched her way through Otis Skilling’s song, “I Am Thankful To Be An American.” She and her choir mates eagerly proclaimed, “In a nation blessed with the very best, I will stand with my head up tall.”

When we arrived at Madelyn’s house to pick her up that morning, she had chosen her own fashion ensemble, with a red, white and blue sun dress, white lace tights, and her shiny patent leather shoes with the sparkly straps. She had remembered the instructions – to dress in something red, white and blue – and she was prepared. Since the frost was on the pumpkins that morning, her father suggested she wear her red sweater dress instead, wise counsel based on the chill of the season.

How do we wear the red, white and blue of patriotism these days, in this season? The popularity of the musical “Hamilton” reminds us that questions surrounding patriotism, or, perhaps better said, the meaning of being an American, are not new to 2017. Our expressions of patriotism have been debated and questioned since the early days of our country.  

We waved flags at a grand parade in downtown Cleveland when Desert Storm veterans returned, but had a less than welcoming response to Vietnam vets as they staggered home, amidst burning flags and taunting protesters. The harrowing scenes from Ken Burn’s recent PBS documentary broadened my understanding of the angst and confusion of those years. We were Americans, but we didn’t agree. Stepping farther back in time, the witch hunt of the McCarthy years, the isolationist position of the America First Committee in 1940, and the challenges brought to our union by the Civil War have all led to disagreement over our American identity.

So what does it mean to be American? What does it look like? We respond in many ways, often drawing upon the common words that connect us to answer. How many times over the course of our schooling did we repeat the Pledge of Allegiance in unison? That pledge wasn’t written until more than one hundred years after our nation’s birth, when Christian socialist Francis Bellamy penned it to mark the four hundredth anniversary of Columbus’ arrival in the New World. According to Peter Dreier and Dick Flacks, Bellamy hoped the pledge would promote a moral vision to counter the individualism embodied in capitalism . . . He intended the line, ‘One nation indivisible with liberty and justice for all’ to express a more collective and egalitarian vision of America.” FYI, I didn’t miss “under God,” as that divine guidance wasn’t added to the pledge until 1954.

The Star-Spangled Banner, another marker of our shared identity, didn’t become our national anthem until 1931, although it was written in 1814. Unlike other poetry, Francis Scott Key’s four-stanza verse was meant to be a song from its beginning, written to John Smith’s popular pub melody, “To Anacreon in Heaven.”

In that same Canton church service, we sang Katherine Bates’ poetic words: “O beautiful for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain.” Originally titled “Pikes Peak” in 1893, it’s been a staple at patriotic programs over the ensuing years. Tears welled in my eyes as we continued to sing: “America, America, God mend thine every flaw, Confirm thy soul in self-control, thy liberty in law.” Powerful.

As the children sang that morning, Madelyn stood beside a young boy in a green shirt (either he didn’t get the dress code memo or wasn’t paying attention). Yet he marched and saluted just as proudly – and patriotically – as Madelyn did. Red, white, blue or green, a small child or a grizzled veteran, a card-carrying member of the DAR or a newly naturalized citizen – we’re in this together, this flawed, 241-year-old experiment called the United States of America. Yes, I agree with you, Madelyn: I’m thankful to be an American too.  

What's New With You?

A friend, a former Ashland resident, recently returned to town for a brief yet precious visit. As we met for lunch, she talked about seeing a number of changes in town, some I hadn’t even noticed. Her comments nudged me to pay a bit more attention to the new happenings in my environment.

So what’s new with you, Ashland?

As of Tuesday, there’s a new sheriff in town. Well, not exactly a sheriff, as Sheriff Risner still wears that hat, but we do have a new mayor-elect. Thanks, Mayor Fishpaw, for stepping in to provide the interim leadership needed to keep our city running this past year.

Congratulations to Mayor Matt Miller. It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? Move over, “Triple H,” the WWE wrestling celebrity: Ashland now has our own “Triple M,” just like the Triple M Ranch down the road in Loudonville.  I’m not sure if any of our other mayors have had nicknames, but there’s always a first, Matt, if you like it. If “Triple M” doesn’t suit you, we could have a contest to pick the best nickname for you if you want.

It was a hard-fought campaign from two qualified, passionate Ashland residents. I haven’t seen the numbers on voter turnout compared to past local elections, but the energy surrounding this election encourages me for the future of Ashland. Thank you, Sandra Tunnell, for taking the plunge into the mayoral race, and to my fellow Ashlanders for showing up for the debates and taking time to listen to the candidates. Thank you, too, for voting, the process so essential for the health of our democracy.

When I walked into the Eagles to cast my ballot, I did a double take. Paper ballots? What happened to the touch screen machines? Were we going back in time? At first, I thought the election workers were going to have to count those ballots by hand, but the new system scans our votes and tallies the results. Who knew?

We also have some new council members charged with representing our neighborhoods on city council. We’re grateful for those who have served and for those who are stepping up to govern into the future.

So what else is new in Ashland? After many weeks of singing “An-ti-ci-pa-tion . . . is keepin’ me waitin’,” or at least “making me hungry,” we’ve finally got our Chipotle. A new Burger King is underway, and who knows what the next few months will bring our way.

I’m excited to see the newbies in downtown Ashland as well: an escape room with a library of board games, the  Uniontown Brewing Company which is getting ready to open in the former Gilbert’s building, and the ongoing restoration work on the old Ashland Schines Theater – check it out the next time you’re downtown. And now Home Hardware is changing hands. Staff is already rearranging merchandise, and new items are on order. Perhaps they’ll have an open house or ribbon-cutting.

Have you seen the sweet little spot on 2^nd Street downtown, where children can have fun with art?  On Franklin, east of  Claremont, there’s the wonderful Tin Can Chandelier, a gathering place where even the least artistic among us can channel the spirit of Michaelangelo or Rembrandt – or even Grandma Moses. They’ve created a functional space for seasoned artists or rookies.

In the world of art, the Strength Through Connection Exhibit is now open through November 17 at the Coburn Gallery at Ashland University. Animation artist Tracy Miller-Robbins and graphic designer Jonathan Clyde Frey use art to help us build a better understanding of our diverse community populations. And nestled kitty-corner from the gallery, at the corner of Claremont and College Ave., lights were on in the former coffeeshop space as we walked to the AU football game last week. What’s going on there?

I’m grateful for the artists, entrepreneurs, and political leaders who heed the counsel of Meister Eckhart: “And suddenly you know. It’s time to start something new and trust the magic of beginnings.” As a community, we are enriched when our neighbors seek the magic of beginnings.

So what’s new with you?

Tiny Hostages

I’m not a devoted movie-watcher, but I’ve seen a few films more times than I’m comfortable admitting, probably because they run on an infinite loop, available whenever I turn on the television. One repeated movie is “The Blindside,” the story of Michael Oher, whose life is transformed from homeless teen to NFL star through the tenacity of mama bear Leigh Anne Tuohy (Sandra Bullock). In another re-run king, the Cleveland Indians have beaten the Yankees at least once every week since 1989, as Willie May Hayes crosses the plate in “Major League’s” ninth inning miracle.

Between now and Christmas, “It’s a Wonderful Life” and “A Christmas Story” may nudge “The Blind Side” and “Major League” off the top rung of repeaters, but I’m sure “Speed,” starring Sandra Bullock, Keanu Reeves and Dennis Hopper, will continue to pop up on our screens without any effort on our part. Once viewed, it’s hard to forget the story of an LAPD cop who attempts to rescue the passengers on a city bus rigged with a bomb that will explode if the bus can’t maintain a speed of fifty mph. While there are other hostage movies, perhaps no silver screen rescue is as improbable as the one orchestrated by Reeves, aided by Bullock’s nerves of steel.

Keeping that speeding busload of hostages in mind, let me switch gears from an LA bus to medical coverage for 8.9 million children across the United States of America in the year 2017. While Medicaid provided medical care for children and adults whose income was below poverty level ($32,319 for a family of four in Ohio today), that income cutoff still left many children without medical coverage. So in 1997,  the Children’s Health Insurance Program (CHIP) was signed into law, authorizing matching federal dollars for states to provide health coverage to children whose family income was too high for Medicaid, but who couldn’t afford private insurance. Known in Ohio as Ohio Healthy Start, the program has been a literal lifesaver for our children.

In recent years, CHIP has received bipartisan support, but at the end of September 2017, federal funding for this program was allowed to expire. For thirty-plus days, our children – including the three kids living in the house next door and our grandkids residing in Chicago or Wyoming, are being held hostage explosive-rigged busses, speeding from sea to shining sea. Yet after an initial blip, their plight has dropped below our public radar. Thus far, the federal government is refusing to pay the ransom.

I’m hoping that by the time these words are printed, they will be unnecessary, that Congress will have done its duty and protected our kids. A month later, they’re reportedly working on a fix, but I’m not holding my breath, as the process feels all too familiar. The speeding busses are already crowded with those who pay for their medical coverage through the Affordable Care Act exchanges, and the Dreamers living in limbo over the status of DACA, and now our kids join the throng, needing NICU stays, treatment for chronic ear infections, or even well-baby visits. The foot is still on the gas pedal, and there doesn’t seem to be a plan to get the hostages off the busses.

I jotted down this unsettling thought some time ago, origin unknown (or forgotten). “Sometimes, negotiations include the tactic of threatening to kill the hostages when the hostages are already dead.” I’ve been thinking of that this past month as well. Pray God that bitter ending won’t become a reality.

Instead, it’s time for a better ending, like the one in O. Henry’s classic tale, “The Ransom of Red Chief.” Two small-time criminals kidnap ten-year-old Johnny, the red-headed son of Ebenezer Dorset, and hold him for ransom. By the end of the iconic short story, the kidnappers gratefully pay the father to take the boy back, because this young “Dennis the Menace” has made life unbearable for them. Picture Kevin’s adventures with the Wet Bandits in “Home Alone” and you’ll get the idea.

Yet this is no movie. It’s reality for millions of our brothers and sisters. It’s time for Washington to stop taking hostages and empty out the busses.