Very early this morning, i discovered my shipmate from the Hawkins, Rob DeWitt got up as early in Maine as i do in the Southwest corner.

He had seen my post with the photos from my Aunt Bettye Kate Hall’s album and remarked, “Simpler times.”

i replied on his Facebook comment, and then decided i wished to share it publicly in case his and my comments on the post were missed. My expanded response:

They were simpler times, Rob DeWitt, but we tend to remember the good things and forget the bad. Still this group of men and women, as i am sure your parents did also, had a much simpler, black and white, more straightforward approach to the world, couched in good principles. There was more disease, less knowledge, and underlying and often outright bigotry, and prejudice, and sometimes, to paraphrase Bob Seger, i wish i didn’t know now what they didn’t know then, but from here it seems they were closer to the right thing than we are today.

It seems to me that generation was truly the “Greatest Generation” as dubbed by Tom Brokaw. But i don’t necessarily apply that term for the war effort. i apply it for i believe their core belief of equality brought about our considering what equality for all really meant. They were a long way from it, but their innate goodness taught their children true right from wrong, leading to the next step. Even those with darker skins taught their children they deserved equality.

Our generation and those following us have drawn lines in the sand, digging in, ready to fight for OUR rights, not theirs. We are divided in every which way and there is no attempt to try and understand, “walk in the customer’s shoes” so to speak, or watch and listen to the underlying problems experienced by the other side. No one is willing to take his foot and brush away those lines in the sand.

Our generation, many of all persuasions saw a need to protest injustice. You, Andrew, and i were serving our country, meeting our obligation, and were consequently removed from that protest, but it was needed. It began an honest effort to rid us of inequality, but somehow, it has led to division, not unity.

Now it seems equality is pretty much described accurately by Mose Allison in his song “Mercy.” “Everybody’s crying justice, just as long as they get theirs first.”

As noted several times, i could not bring myself to vote for any of the four candidates. i did not trust any of them. My non-vote, i hoped in some small way, demonstrated my disappointment in the choices. My wife, daughters, and many others, are fearful of Trump becoming president. i am not. Why? i trust the system, the process.

We have swung back and forth in our politics since Jefferson’s Democratic Republicans and Hamilton’s Federalists sought for control of the system. If Trump holds firm on his ridiculous campaign promises, the system, the process, will take care of him. i suspect that will happen, and i hope if it does, the two parties will recognize the need to cooperate, not posture and continue to draw their stupid lines in the sand.

i don’t like the electoral college. It had its purpose, although that purpose is fuzzy to me. But it is our system and we must, must abide by it. Those who are now protesting are in effect saying they don’t desire to abide by our system. If they don’t, then they should leave or work to make the system better, work together so the process is better, not complain because they didn’t get what they wanted.

Yes, it was simpler times back in 1941. The country was uniting to defeat the threat to our freedom, and uniting was necessary to ensure that freedom. Now we have a bigger threat. No, even though ISIS and extremists from many cultures and religions, including ours are serious threats, our real threat was clearly predicted years ago by Pogo, the main character of Walt Kelly’s brilliant comic strip, when he declared:

“We have met the enemy and he is us.”

Still, these folks pictured in the Smoky Mountains in 1942 were wonderful, incredible people in simpler times. i like them better than what we have now. But then, i wasn’t there; i’m here. Perhaps my vision is blurred by the beauty of the memories.

But i will continue to try and live like they taught me.

i am working on my Tuesday column in The Lebanon Democrat, and will add more comments on my trip when the column is published. But here is evidence of a special moment. Pete Toennies and Jim and Sharon Hileman joined me for a barbecue at Deborah and Frank Kerrigan‘s wonderful home in La Quinta.

Jim, Pete, and Marty Linville are the three good golfers in our foursome for the San Diego Telephone Company Golf Association. We rendezvous in the desert in each year for the “Year Ender,” a two-day tournament of fun and games. Frank and Deborah kindly included us in their dinner with friends. Marty and Linda Linville were driving from San Diego and not being sure they would make it in time, i failed to ask them to join us.

There were some legends created at the dinner, which is pretty close to invariable when this foursome goes to the desert. But there was a very special moment for me.  After the great meal and lots of talk, Frank goes to the kitchen and comes back with two beers.

They were “Tusker” beers. Frank and i drank a number of Tusker beers together in Mombassa, Kenya in early 1984. It brought back special memories for me. As noted here earlier, Frank and i had a symbiotic relationship during those eight months of deployment to the Indian Ocean aboard the U.S.S. Yosemite (AD 19). That Frank remembered and actually found two Tusker beers in the desert was pretty remarkable.

Seems that symbiotic thing is still going on.

i watched the election results last night until i could stand it no more, going to bed with a stunned and sad heart.

i also kept thinking i might not have been stunned as much but i certainly would have been sad, just not quite as much.

i felt as i did when Johnson demonstrated he was not of presidential caliber and felt no trust for the other candidates: disenfranchised. That’s why Henry Harding was my write-in ballot. i could trust him

As we watched the results develop, my wife was in near tears, upset, that kind of upset when i know i must be calm and not try to persuade her to cheer up, not worry. She went to bed and read earlier than me because as Peter Finch’s character in Network shouted “I’m mad as hell, and I’m not going to take it anymore!”

This morning, i awoke early. My daughters, through their posts on the internet, were upset, rightfully so i thought. It seems, i’m sure, like a smack in the face for those who believe, out of the goodness in their hearts, that the last eight years have been good for the country. i sense they too do not need me to attempt to soothe their angry souls.

i don’t blame them. i am actually astounded any woman in this country could have voted for Mr. Trump.

As I write, Maureen is still sleeping. i am sitting in my office after completing my morning routine of making coffee, setting the table, cleaning up my mess from the night before, and retrieving the newspaper. As i drink my first cup of coffee, i have considered where we are and just how the hell are we going to deal with this.

First off, i’m not greatly concerned about Trump’s bombastic and ridiculous policy stances. Our good ole boys in the house and senate, regardless of party affiliation will take care of that, especially since a significant number of Republicans don’t like Trump one iota either. Jimmy Carter, with his goodness of heart and belief in taking care of people, had a disastrous presidency, primarily because he was an outsider. Trump is even more an outsider.

i am concerned about the overall picture. Having Republicans in control of both the house and the senate as well as the sitting president is like giving the children the keys to the candy store. i have maintained for a long time the best thing for our country is to have a split between parties in congress and the presidency. Of course, that was before the past sixteen years when the two parties dug in their heels with their lines drawn in the sand and cared more for their political well-being than the good of the country.

My hope is we, especially the politicians and their parties, will take this result as a demand for change, not some crazy endorsement of a homophobic, misogynistic, and xenophobic candidate (and whatever good intentions might be hidden behind that hairdo, Mr. Trump has certainly demonstrated those traits). Political business as usual needs to completely reinvent itself. Money and power need to take a back seat to common sense in moving forward for the good of the country.

As to our international relations, i’m not terribly concerned either. Our state department and foreign policy experts never have dealt well with foreign governments. It may get a little worse with Mr. Trump, but the checks and balances will not allow him to go too far afield. That’s something that adds to what makes this country great.

My greatest concern is that racism and bigotry were hidden agendas in the voting booth. Being an anglo-saxon male, i find anyone who treats people, regardless of race, religion, culture, or sexual preference, poorly or doesn’t allow them freedom, equality, and justice is a poor excuse for a human being. We have come a long way since our first presidential election when six percent of the population voted because it was limited to white male citizens. But we still have a long way to go. The bigots in this country who resort to violence as the cowardly church burners in Mississippi are no better than ISIS, maybe worse because they have had the opportunity to know better. We need to move forward on equality, not backward.

Unfortunately, legislation is required to right wrongs. It still is, but we all should consider legislating morality is a slippery slope. Morality, treating other people equally with respect is an individual responsibility. We each need to make sure we not only behave toward others in that regard but be the steward for equality. We have a vast, deep canyon to leap before we can achieve true equality.

But as i finish my second cup of coffee, i am hopeful, perhaps delusional, but hopeful we can take this surprise and learn. Perhaps, just perhaps, the two major parties, the independents, the lobbyists, the media, etc. may just say this sent a message we need to change and change for the betterment of the country and people who are citizens in this country.

i am hopeful, but not optimistic.

So my morning coffee drinking is complete. i will read the sports pages and the comics while having a wonderful egg, toast, and fruit breakfast courtesy of my beautiful wife, go work on my golf game for a while, pack for a weekend golf tournament in the desert, and see what tomorrow brings.

Our precinct voting location is one of the additions to the Corpus Christi Catholic Parish. It is located just under a mile from our home.

Maureen and i walked there to vote this morning. Quite a few neighbors also elected to walk.

The morning was perfect San Diego weather. It felt good to walk and physically vote on the appointed day, a ritual more or less. One of neighbors was one of the volunteers.

It took me between five and ten minutes to copy my sample ballot i had filled in during my research and contemplation to the actual ballot. There were no campaigners or post-voting pollsters anywhere near. I felt like a good citizen.

For those who might wonder, i voted “NO” on the state’s Proposition  60. It’s the one that would require condoms and health measures be required for “Adult” films. The costs to the state, somewhat defrayed by fees on the industry, would run about $1 Million annually. i am of firm belief we should find the idiot or idiots put this on the slate and put them away somewhere.

And after month’s of consideration, i did vote in the presidential election. i also live in dread of having to listen to either of the major party candidates if elected talk for the next four years. Both are even worse than George W. Bush as far as public speaking goes.

i did not vote for either. Even though i think we need a woman to serve as president, i just could not bring myself to vote for someone who is so much apart of the system. i could not vote for any of the other party candidates either. They all had flaws to numerous to detail here.

But i voted for president. i sat down last night and considered who i would trust to be president. i came up with about twenty names and slowly filtered through them until i ended up with one. He has strong ties to the Democratic Party but he is an independent, and i mean independent thinker. He is a moral and decent man. He is a man of principal.

He ran for president once before but it was for a different organization and a long time ago. i did not get to vote in that one because i was at another place. i would have though. And i made up for it today. i wrote him in. George Henry Harding (Okay, Henry, i can’t remember if you are the IV, or V) for president.

My sister-in-law, Patsy Boggs, who is also a great friend, commented on my FaceBook post today with the photograph of my my grandmother, Katherine Webster Prichard, aka Granny, with my daughter Blythe just after she was born. i was either already gone or getting ready to join the USS Luce (DLG-7) in Korfu, Greece for the last four months of a Mediterranean deployment. Blythe was Granny’s first great grandchild and a tight bond remained until Granny passed away at 93. Patsy’s comment made me decide to re-post this poem.

Ode to Three Sisters and Their Mother

The old lady came busting out of the old century;
where she had been
an exquisite china doll of immeasurable beauty;
young men chased her
to allowable limits in the Victorian South
after we turned from reconstruction
while Teddy was roustabouting with Spain
in that little skirmish we often forget.
Remember the Maine.

But Granny came busting out;
fire in her belly, grit in her craw, pluck in her spirit, gleam in her eye;
with the handsome man who won the chase,
taking her and his bloodhounds
to the retired circuit rider’s farm out on the pike
where Granny’s circuit rider father would
preach occasionally without the horse or mule
in the hamlet of Lebanon,
smack dab in the middle of Tennessee,
Where some bright folks built the square
over a cold water spring
they discovered in “Town Creek”
in yet an earlier century.

…and the children would come around wartime,
dropping among the years of the first big one
we resisted until the Luisitania
took its hit and sank like a rock;
…and the children came,
five in all until one died
as young family members often did
in those pre-antibiotic days.
The handsome blood hound man who chased
criminals through the woods
took his own hit,
a decade after the war.
So the little maelstrom with grit in her craw
packed up the chillun’s and the belongings
making the trek to the groves
of central Florida
for a couple of years to
escape the sinking of the hound man
and the attendant feelings thereof.

In thirty-two, they came back home,
each with some grit in their craw.
Granny, the queen of grit,
went to work,
taking care of those who needed care
outside the family in order
to take care of her own.

…and the children grew up early,
cooking the meals, washing the clothes, cleaning the house,
gathering eggs, milking the cows,  pulling the weeds;
before playing ball,
earning money until
they went to college in the little town,
or went to work,
or both.

The second big war came, again
in a wave of terror,
This time in an atoll’s pristine harbor,
taking hits, sinking to the shallow harbor depths.
Remember the Arizona.
The brother went off to war after marrying
a woman of another religion from down the road,
west a bit, in the big city.
He flew a plane named after his lady Colleen,
returning to the Tennessee hamlet, still
with fire in his belly, grit in his craw, pluck in spirit, gleam in his eye
before leaving for the orange groved paradise
he found on the southern trek several years before.

The preacher man was gone;
The hound man was gone;
The brother was gone;
The three sisters and their mother,
fire in their bellies, grit in their craw, pluck in their spirit, gleam in their eyes,
with their three new men
stared at the world,
staring it down straight in the eye,
wearing it down with their labor
until the world cried “uncle,”
admiring their fire and grit and pluck.

There were circles entwined with circles of family;
the circles orbited around the threes sisters and their mother:
all was well.
…and the world rolled on;
Granny finally gave up her pluckish ghost with grit in her craw;
no longer would she braid the waist long hair,
tying the braids atop her head
as she had done for so many years;
the three sisters rallied with
fire in their bellies, grit in their craw, pluck in their spirit, gleam in their eyes.

The grandchildren of the matriarch
spread with the four winds, remembering.
When the circles got together,
the three sisters remained the constant,
demanding the world stay in their orbit,
and the world was warm with laughter and love and
a sense the world was safe
as long as they all inherited
fire in their bellies, grit in their craw, pluck in their spirit; gleam in their eyes.
The world is older;
Granny is gone;
the youngest sister recently joining her,
the oldest failing fast:
The three sisters leaving us slowly with
the fire waning to embers, but still there is
grit in their craw, pluck in their spirit, gleam in their eyes;
staring down the world.

Such a lovely world they have shown us.