A Lost Cause

 Not every "If" is Rudyard Kipling's.

There are days that knowing just that is enough.
-bill kenny

Remembering the Original ANTIFA

I wrote this some years ago in a moment of introspection which, thanks to prescription drugs I now have under control. In a post-pandemic Land of the Round Doorknobs, this may prove to be a very important thing. 

2,501 GIs never saw the sunrise on June 7, 1944. I called this at the time:

A World Away

I remember the two days we were there in the late spring of 1984, how blue the sky and the ocean were. That certainly hadn't been the case, the historians traveling with us assured me, forty years earlier. It was soothing to see how the sand seemed to go on forever along the shoreline but, when you turned to face inland from the beaches, how quickly the landscape changed to thick bushes, scrub trees, rocky terrain. 

I found it hard to imagine what it all must have looked like as the landing craft lowered their ramps and men and machines poured from them struggling to cross the water to the beach all in the face of murderous counter-fire.

I was traveling with a US Army Helicopter Company from Hanau, Germany, to walk the beaches of Normandy, France. I had come with a young enlisted US Army videographer, Specialist Four Bob (the Human Sachtler) G. Bobby G was over six feet tall and had, it seemed, enough upper body strength to crush an automobile like a beer can. We called him the Human Sachtler because there wasn't a shot where he needed the camera tripod-between the arms of steel and the ability to control his breathing, he was as steady as a rock.

Walking, as we did for hours in the sand, can wear you out and the fatigue is profound and overwhelming. I could only wonder what, on D-Day, a GI with a seventy-pound rucksack, and all hell in front of and around him, was feeling on what we now call the longest day. We had done interviews earlier that morning with elderly Frenchmen who, as men our present ages and sometimes only boys, had been inadvertent witnesses to history, triangulating linguistically, as they spoke no English and we, no French. 

One of them, to the undisguised scorn of the others, admitted he understood 'some German' and so I would ask him, Auf Deutsch, a question that he would rephrase into French and ask a neighbor who would reply to him and which he'd relay to me in German and which I'd translate into English.

When you read about Normandy and all the planning and staging that led up to it, it feels very different when you can walk the beaches you've read about. There's a taste in your mouth from the salt air and a breeze coming off the water that helps the screams of gulls carry even farther. I wonder if those struggling ashore, from the landing craft or parachuting down onto those maintaining their watch on the Atlantic Wall had a moment in which to take any of that in. On a day when so many would die, was there a final split second to savor life? There was no one to ask except those we visited the next day, friend and foe alike, at the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial.

When you can struggle to climb to Pointe du Hoc (up the stairs carved into the soft stone and NOT the way the Rangers had to, directly vertical), you can almost, but not quite, grasp what it was like for the soldiers of the 2nd Ranger Battalion, first to seize this emplacement (actually to capture artillery that had already been moved) and then, as the Nazi High Command realized, finally, the invasion wasn't a ruse but the real thing and threw itself at the Rangers trying to drive them over the cliffs and into the sea, how they held their positions for two days.

Today we mark the 77th anniversary of D-Day, the beginning of the liberation of Europe from the tyrannical, homicidal terror of the Nazi's Third Reich. Young American men had been in Europe decades earlier, in the War to End All Wars that, as it turned out, didn't. And what they couldn't know as they waded ashore and struggled to stay alive long enough to shoot back at those shooting at them, in less than a year, all the shooting in Europe would be over.

How much we've learned as a species in all the years since is a matter of debate and discussion (and for some, despair) as the young men, of all sides, who survived D-Day pass from our earth at a rate of thousands every day, taking with them every memory and meaning we might have shared, assuming we had cared enough to ask.

Santayana noted 'those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it' but those who remember that it was Santayana who said that are, themselves, also few and far between.

-bill kenny  

Fell Off My Calendar

I lost track of time, I guess (who hasn't?), and wasn't helped that my local Hallmark store doesn't offer anything special in terms of a card. All of which means I'm a day late and a dollar short on something important. I'll do better.

In George Orwell's 1984, meaning is subverted through language and NuSpeak is used to not communicate with one another. In that spirit, I'd like to extend to the People's Republic of China, PRC, belated best wishes on the 32nd anniversary of your June 4th Incident. In much the same way as you can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs, sometimes on the road to capitalism you have to get medieval.

I was living in West Germany when the "incident" happened and unlike many of my (younger) colleagues, I knew there was no need to brace for impact or repercussion. In my lifetime there had been the 1953 Soviet assistance visit to East Berlin, the 1956 Hungarian Revolution, and the Prague Spring of 1968. Just variations of the same flavor. 

The Notion that is our Nation, the United States of America, the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave, averted its eyes and turned away as Chinese citizens, seeking nothing more than basic human rights, discovered they had a new one, the right to be turned into hamburger helper between the treads of a tank column. And the blood they spilled just made the white shine brighter.

It's been practice, if not policy, for decades (since Nixon 'opened Red China') to 'encourage' capitalism for the PRC in the belief that democracy and all it entails will follow as night, the day. Based on this table of exports, the PRC will be sending delegates to both US national political party conventions real soon. And with the balance of payments the way it is, they can afford to. After you've scrutinized that chart, take a moment to read this and remember it's about ONE company and its trade relationship. The only thing 'American' about these guys may be the greeter at the door. Sam would be spinning.

In the ensuing decades, we've seen the evolution and spread of instantaneous worldwide communications. Just what folks with blood on their hands want when an anniversary rolls around. Can you blame them? And what do you get a government that already had "A Goddess of Democracy?" Be advised, we're taking points off for answers that include any variation of an answer that suggests 'a hose to get the papier-mache off the tank.'

We are the champions of revisionist history here, Winston, And don't forget, he who controls the present controls the past, and who controls the past controls the future.
-bill kenny

Sometimes Lost in the Noise...

It should go without saying but often doesn't: 

Let the day begin.  
-bill kenny

Nobody Wants to Help Mom Do the Dishes

I kited today's title from P. J. O'Rourke whose humor and unflinching worldview I very much enjoy even if I'm too afraid to do much more than admire him except from a safe distance and in solitude. There are many things I forget and many other things I wish I could forget but my Mom's death four years ago today is neither of those things. 

Every holiday and birthday since her passing I keep waiting for the phone to ring and my mother to ask "Bill? This is Mom..." before, in less than a minute, wishing me and mine all the best for whatever the day was. Mom grew up when long-distance phone calls were expensive rarities rationed out for special occasions. I just smiled at that memory until I remembered again, there will never be any more of those calls ever. 

I wrote this the day after she died and called it: 

Unbowed, Unbroken

I knew my mother, Joan Marie (Kelly) Kenny, every day of my life. She died yesterday afternoon after being briefly hospitalized for an infection in an artificial heart valve that slowly overwhelmed her body.

Through the miracle of technology, I was able to speak to her on a phone held to her ear while I said goodbye if by goodbye I'm allowed to include sobbing uncontrollably while apologizing for crying and being comforted by the woman who gave birth to me and my brothers and sisters.  

On her wedding day, 1951

Mom died very much as she lived, with quiet determination on her own terms and with her eyes wide open, rarely blinking because she knew losing sight of where the bastards of this planet are, even for a moment, could be catastrophic. There was nothing she would and could not do for her children as I know all too well.   

There was, in the end, too little, I, as her oldest could do for her. Kara, my sister who was with her in the hospital, told me Mom's heart was slowing down and she was sleeping more than she was awake so I was grateful she was awake when I called so she could hear me tell her how much I loved her one last time in this life.

Mom's forever beach chair, bag, and hat

Mom believes in heaven and I have no doubt that after her sometimes hellish almost nine decades here on earth that is where she is. Mitch Albom wrote, "when death takes your mother, it steals that word forever." The only solace I possibly take from that thought is that forever is only as long as my life and no longer.
-bill kenny

It's Never Eaten as Hot as It's Served

Came across another listing of foods that help you lose weight (through a process that has your body use up more calories processing the food than the food, itself, has in it).

We've all seen these lists. Every so often someone invents a new name for them and voila, we have The Blah-Blah Diet as a book for only $29.95 (plus processing and handling) complete with an infomercial with folks who look vaguely familiar sitting on a couch, telling each other stories about their own amazing weight losses and taking turns staring in wide-eyed incredulity at somebody else's 'true story’ of weight loss.

"Gee Buzz, your colon is so clean you can pass a car through it!" exclaims Mitzi, who looks like one of the people who used to be on Three's Company. Not one of the original members, of course, but one of the replacements after the show started into its ratings decline and burned up on reentry. And Buzz who may or may not have been in Encino Man with Pauly Shore tells us all about it.

The food lists are basically all the same--just a slight variation of what Mom told us to eat and what not to eat. There's never a lot of chocolate eclairs on these lists of fat-burning foods and I've often wondered why is it that the Good Lord who moves in mysterious ways His wonders to perform, didn't just make the stuff that's good for us taste better. I’d point out apples taste good and are good for you, but I’ve been asked by theologians to not use that example.

So, here’s another: I know broccoli is a lot better for me than a hot sausage with peppers and onions sandwich, but guess which one tastes better? Maybe someone could hire the International Flavors and Fragrances folks to work on solutions for that problem. You know, trust the science; after all, it gave us Tang, a product to my knowledge not found in nature and which became famous as the beverage of choice for the early astronauts.

Actually, the important part and this is as true of just about any list or compilation of what to eat and not to eat that I've ever seen, is I don't care how good something is for me; if I don't like the taste or sight, or smell or sometimes even the name, I'm not having anything to do with it. I almost ate calamari once, but I would never knowingly eat octopus, and don’t get me started on menu items like mountain oysters.

Knowledge is power. Given enough correct information, we’d all make better choices as to what we eat, wear, drive, etc.; at least in theory we would. But even when, not if, I know better, I still make bad choices more often than I’d like to admit and then I waste time and energy rationalizing and defending those poor choices while attempting to repair or at least remediate the damage those poor choices contributed to.

And that guilt very nearly spoils my enjoyment of that hot pastrami sandwich my doctor told me to not have. Hey! You’ve got a little dab of mustard on the corner of your lip. Use a napkin, not your shirt-sleeve.
-bill kenny  

Imaginations Run Riot

"On a night like this, I deserve to get kissed at least once or twice.

You come over to my place, you're screaming blue murder

Needing someplace to hide

Hey well, I wish you'd keep quiet.

Imaginations run riot

In these paper-thin walls

And when the place comes ablaze

With a thousand dropped names

I don't know who to call."

"There's a spy in the sky
There's a noise on the wire

There's a tap on the line

For every paranoid desire

There's always someone looking at you
S-s-s-someone's lookin' at you
They're always someone looking at you."

-bill kenny