Labor Day: A Tip of the Hat to Dalton Trumbo

The name Dalton Trumbo does not roll easily off the tongue. However, he wrote the screenplay to Exodus, Spartacus, Papillon among others and the book Johnny Got His Gun, some under pseudonyms. He was a triple threat; smart, creative and moral. Unlike most of us, his morality was tested in Technicolor. He refused to plead the 5th or name names. For this he was cast into no man's land and prison. His family suffered as he struggled to provide in the face of the blacklist. Writing, using other men's names, in collaboration with friends and under pseudonyms, he produced many works which illuminated the plight of the righteous individual under the wheel of social injustice.

Last night, PBS presented his story on American Masters. He was a man who, like others in time of the Great Depression, saw something positive in Communism. But where a few years earlier, the Soviet Union was an ally in WWII, in the late 40s and 50s opportunists used prior association with communism as a means of economic and political upward mobility at the expense of others.

Dalton Trumbo felt that any man who would rat on his friends over such matters was unworthy. And any man who forced another to do so in the name of patriotism was evil. America was not well served but such people. He said America deserved better than a situation where "patriotic" parents colluded with teachers to bully his innocent daughter at school.

What America was, Iran is now; show trials, fear of prison and black listing. This was our country in my lifetime. The vision of an America where torture is justified was unthinkable only a few years ago. Now the question hangs just how far down the food chain the use of torture is acceptable.

Thus on this Labor Day holiday we can learn from Dalton Trumbo that there was a time in this country when a person had to chose between his conscience and work to provide for his family, and he took the harder path.

"We have met the enemy..."

Walt Kelly was one step ahead of the jump. Joseph Campbell knew the difficulty in recognizing ourselves in the mirror.

I was cycling on the Hudson RIver Bike Path yesterday when the quiet was interrupted by the roar of motorcycles. It was a 50 to 100 NYPD motorcycle escort of motorcyclists paying homage to "Ground Zero."

People were waving while the civilian cyclist rode north away from their visit.

What is wrong with this picture?

Oil revenue pays for terrorism and this parade was likely paying for at least one roadside bomb in the Middle East. How about carbon dioxide released in this show of American lifestyle? What can we say about the public praising this misdirected display of patriotism. Perhaps it would be best to call it what is is: chauvinism. How about hypocrisy? We are lighting cigars which we cannot afford with $20 bills. Oil, our current life blood lies under foreign sands. A national effort towards self-sufficiency is falling short. Do as I say, not as I do. Support the troops in talk but not in the walk.

I am not refuting the task we have found ourselves shouldering nor do I disparage motorcycles. Our culture at home is misdirected and the suffering is not shared. If we believe justice prevails, we should look ourselves in the mirror and clean up our act. Surely we can rise above this disgrace. If not, we will continue to present ourselves as our own version of the Taliban.

Climbing to the Sky

All movement involves effort. An effort on an endeavor which the laity might consider extreme might not be so to the well-versed. However, breaking records in extreme sports is significant.

A famous Tour de France cyclist once said that we all suffer in the hills, it is just that some of us go up them faster. On Saturday, August 14th 2009, Mike McCusker broke the record for men over 60 years old on the Mt Washington Bike Race by one second shy of a full 4 minutes. Mt Washington averages 12% for 7.6 miles. Its upper half is above the tree line and weather can be a factor.

When you consider that older athletes "take different trains," as the great Sid Howard, record setting senior veteran runner himself, says about the effects of aging, Mike is fortunate in his degradation. But he does his homework in cycling and running up hills. And he is a tenacious competitor. He took 2nd place in mens 60-64 in this year's Mt Washington Foot Race as well.

Most recreational cyclists avoid hills. The body of the unseasoned cyclist suffers more in ascending the neighborhood hill than a well-trained competitor in this venue. Having the physical and mental chops to do this event is a study in discipline and devotion. Although the effort is about the length of time as running a half marathon, it is actually easier on the body as the bike supports the weight, taking the stress off the legs. Also, gearing make this a purer aerobic endeavor than running. You can back off and take it slower, thus reducing the suffering. However, the cost is not acceptable to those who do it for competition.

One Small Step With 2 Left Feet

Like finger prints, we are all alike and different. Some of us suffer in our unlikeness, others thrive, others still don't dwell on them unless our dissimilarities stand out like a proud nail. Statistically, the average household has a fraction of a child in it. But I've never met a real live percentage of a person.

Darwin would say that how we differ is what eventually makes our species stronger. Yet, like all politics, differences are all local. We can fit in the middle of so many centers of bell-shaped curves yet at any moment these don't define who we are as individuals.

I am a late middle aged, white guy living in New York City. There are lots of us. However, I am rarely just this stereotype. The impetus to start this venture was walking by a "ghost bike" on Delancey Street, just east of The Bowery an hour ago. This memorial bike, painted white with plastic flowers and 2 candles in glass cups, one of which was still lit, had a sign and picture hanging from it. A young lady, Rasha Shamoon, age 31 was killed here by and SUV. The photo showed her with her bike smiling, alive as you and me. The sign implored a stop to the killing. I too am a dedicated cyclist. She didn't live longer than Mozart. And by the time Mozart was my age he had been dead for 24 years.