The Uninhabited American Wilderness

This is the anniversary year of Lewis & Clark's trek to the Pacific. They jumped off in Missouri (but the river has changed course so the jumping off place is now in Illinois) and set out into the wilderness. They wintered in one of the Mandan towns on the Missouri River. Wait a minute! They were in the wilderness, where did this town come from? Oh, that's right, it's an Indian town so it doesn't count.

It's very convenient for historians to talk about "the wilderness" as if the Americas were totally uninhabited by people when Europeans discovered them. Historians talk about land grants given by the various European kings as if those kings had a right to make the grants. The truth is, no one in Europe, not even the Pope, had any right to give away so much as a foot of American ground. The tribes had a different way of thinking about land and the right of occupancy. Most of them, maybe all of them, did not use the concept of land ownership. They warred over various rights to use the land, such as for towns and villages and even cities, and for hunting, farming, and sacred places, but they didn't claim to own the land.

A book I was reading recently remarked that when the Lincolns settled in Indiana, the "Indians were still prowling around the edges of the settlements." That certainly trivializes the Indians and their claims to the land. Displaced people often try to return to their land, especially when they have been driven away unjustly. The truth is that the Indians outfought the Europeans and the Americans in nearly every engagement as tribe by tribe they were pushed out of their homes. They out-parleyed Europeans and Americans, too, having a rich tradition of oratory to live up to. But they couldn't outnumber them. Indians believed that it was irresponsible for a man to father more children than he could provide for. Europeans and Americans, with their broods of ten to twenty children, had no such compunction.

Indians, broadly speaking, are a kind-hearted, hospitable people. The record, as preserved in the early colonists' and settlers' letters, reports, books, and diaries, is full of stories of the Indians' compassion and generosity. These same sources relate how as soon as the Indians' help had brought the colonists and settlers through their first few seasons and they were strong enough, they turned on their preservers and took everything they had. Their homes, their fields, their children, and often their lives. In the early days the children (and their parents) were sold into slavery, in the latter days the children were sent to boarding schools to teach them to hate their race and culture.

Abe Lincoln, the Great Emancipator, was wise and compassionate and caring about his fellow man. Yet, being brought up on stories of the settlers' battles with the Indians, he was unable to apply logic to Euro-American/Indian relations. His grandfather was killed by Indians. One day he was out in his field with his three sons, one of whom was Abe's father, when Indians came and killed him. For whatever reason, they did not harm the boys. Abe wrote that the Indians had committed a wanton act of murder on a man who was only trying to make a living for his family. He had no feeling at all or thoughts to spare for the Indian fathers who were only trying to make livings for their families before the Lincolns stole their land and made them homeless.

It is difficult to write history that encompasses all viewpoints. It is relatively easy to write from a Euro-American point of view and ignore great swathes of Indian interactions. For instance, even in writing about the French and Indian War, historians usually portray it as essentially a French and English war with each European power supported by Indian allies. Only rarely does the Indian point of view intrude and then usually it's given a completely negative spin. But this war was vital to a number of tribes and the outcome meant literally life or death to a great many Indians, noncombatants as well as warriors.

It is time to write history in a way that encompasses all U.S. citizens. It's hard but it's not that hard. Europeans write history to include all their tribes, well nearly all. The English trivialize and largely ignore the Welsh and other survivors of the Roman conquest but they include the German principalities and France and Belgium and Bohemia and many others in their histories. There's no reason American history cannot be written to encompass not only the various European colonists but the Wampanoag, Sioux, Hupa, Modoc, Inuit, and all the other tribes. Historians should also write about the various African tribal members who were sent to America. Quite a lot is known about these people in Africa and in America but the information is in specialized histories. It needs to be incorporated into the "American History" mainstream. So, too, the Aztec and Mayan and other Central American people who have played various roles in North American history. The Chinese immigrants who played such a large and unheralded part in the west should not be relegated to obscure little monographs but should be included in the mainstream histories. All of these people are still in America; all are citizens; all are contributing to our common culture and economy. We need to write our story inclusively.

Ike Strikes Out

Eisenhower's interstate highway system is fifty years old now, in 2006. AAA magazine had an article all about how our prosperity dates from the completion of the system and how wonderful it is that we can all move so quickly from place to place. I guess no one at AAA has a commute similar to mine. I travel from Columbia, Maryland to Washington, D.C. every weekday. It's exactly 30 miles from door to door, home to work, and it takes an average of 1 hour and 40 minutes. There are various ways to make this commute and driving the whole distance is usually faster than my average but there's no place to put the car in D.C. for less than about $12 to $15 a day. The nearest parking facility to my office would involve a ride on the Metro. It prices me out of the driving option. So I drive the first 20 miles, park at the Greenbelt Metro Station, and take the train the rest of the way.

The truth is, the interstate has not added that much to the quality of life in these United States. Ike first got the idea in 1916 when he was in a motorized army convoy that crossed the continent. Roads were bad for cars and trucks, which weren't all that common yet, and there was no direct route from east to west, just a jumble of local routes that sometimes linked together. The idea of an interstate system was reinforced for Ike during World War II. Lacking broad, hard-surfaced, connecting roads in Europe, the army had problems getting men and materiel to the places they were needed as quickly as they needed to get them there. Cogitating on all that, Ike could see what would happen if this country were ever invaded. Clearly, we needed a system of superhighways that could move the military in straight lines from where it was to where it was needed. In the time-honored way of old soldiers, Ike prepared to fight the last war. In the fifties he instituted construction of a system that would have been very useful in an earlier decade on another continent. America's next major war would be fought in Southeast Asia, mostly with airplanes and helicopters on our side and with bicycles on the Ho Chi Minh Trail.

This interstate system has cost us dearly. Not only in the billions of dollars it cost to construct but in the billions it continues to cost to maintain it. Moving our goods by truck on the interstate is far more expensive than moving them by rail. Trucking companies keep trying to legalize the addition of a third trailer to the usual semi rig of tractor and two trailers. What they want is a train because trains are more efficient. But trains are not compatible with automobiles and motorcycles on the same roadbed.

Actually, the railroad was beset by the unions and the government simultaneously and that's what gave impetus to the switch from trains to trucks for moving goods. The railroads went from coal to deisel, putting firemen out of work. The union insisted that deisel engines carry and pay firemen anyway. This was called "featherbedding." In the wrangling and as one thing led to another, the trucking industry blossomed and the railroads withered. The glamour that little boys once saw in trainmen was now given to truckers. We pay more for our goods now because it costs more to cart them around by truck, both in direct costs and in tax dollars to keep repairing the damage those heavy loads wreak on the roadways.

The most costly damage the interstate system has wrought is psychological. Americans have been brainwashed to believe that owning and using a car is normal and usual. That is somehow confers freedom -- "the freedom of the open road." It's been quite a long time since I've seen an open road. As for any kind of freedom in bumper-to-bumper traffic moving at 75 mph -- well, to me it feels more like some kind of macabre trap that it takes a great deal of skill to escape. We used to have a system of buses and streetcars that let people travel reasonably comfortably at low cost and reasonably convenient times. Those have been largely discontinued in favor of each of us driving his or her own vehicle. Think what you could do with the money you would save by not owning a car. Personally, I would save about $700 a year in insurance and nearly $3,000 in gas, oil, and routine maintenance. Then there's the cost of the car itself.

But we've been snookered into living lives in which individual cars are pretty much necessary. Everything we need is out of our walking distance radius. We spend our Saturdays driving to various stores after spending our weekdays commuting and driving our children to various activities. What a lovely thing it would be if we could use all that time for something else or, better yet, nothing.

All this isn't going to change anytime soon. And we're not going to give up on forcing those stubborn people in the Middle East to sell us their oil cheaply, either, no matter how much it costs in lives and integrity and money.

Bullshit, Not Knowledge, Is Power

Knowledge is power. Really? No, not in mainstream American culture. Knowledge has been replaced by bullshit: bullshit is power.

People care less and less about knowledge and more and more about bullshit. It is no longer necessary to know anything in order to get a good job and/or make lots of money. Listening to the professors on the various "nonfiction" TV channels, such as Discovery and National Geographic, I sometimes wonder if they found their degrees in cereal boxes. Not that I think all professors are crackpots, I have great respect for learning and teaching. But I wonder what the ones who are not learned are teaching.

A while back there was a program recounting the adventures of some professor who persuaded someone or some entity to pay him or her to resolve the question of who was buried in Jesse James' grave. There has never been any serious question as to who is buried there. Photographs were taken of the outlaw lying in the casket and the casket was buried and a headstone marked Jesse James was placed on the grave. When the casket was dug up and opened, the remains in question were compared with the photographs. Sure enough, the bones were the same size as Jesse's, the remnants of clothing were consistent with Jesse's, and a tie tack was the same as the one in the photograph. The conclusion: the remains in the casket in Jesse James' grave were those of Jesse James. Big surprise. But the main point is, there was never the slightest reason to expend funds on this exhumation. The question was not even a real question; the professor just wanted to dig up an infamous outlaw. Complete bullshit.

Some weeks ago I read an article written by a newly graduated college man. In it he talked about the freedom that ignorance confers. His point was that if you know nothing about a subject, you are free to write anything you want to about it. He said he often used that technique in writing college papers and as long as he remembered to use some of the relevant professor's pet words and phrases he received high marks. Pure bullshit.

The purest bullshit, of course, comes from Congress. It always has and I suppose it always will. Knowing the current president's War for Iraqi Freedom to be bullshit, senators and congresspersons nevertheless continue to vote for it. Some of them spout off in public about the wrongness of the war and its prosecution but they continue to vote the president's way. Knowing that Homeland Security is wasting billions of dollars and seriously curtailing American freedoms without adding to our security, they continue to vote for it. Knowing that it's completely sentimental and stupid to rebuild New Orleans on its present site, and knowing that billions of dollars are being wasted in the process, our elected senators and congresspersons continue to vote funds for the purpose.

Bullshit is not a new phenomenon. As far back as words have been recorded, a significant number of those words have been bullshit. But there are so many of us now and we have such easy access to the written word, the spoken word, and the pictures that are worth a thousand words each, that it's easy for the bullshit to overwhelm the real.

Tom, Tom, the Piper's Son

I'm writing a book about the presidents of the United States, specifically, how they were educated. Or not. There are a lot of interesting facts about these guys, most of which will not be in my book. For one thing, I'm only covering them up to the age of 25 or until they acquire a Ph.D., whichever comes first. For another thing, I decided arbitrarily not to delve into their sex lives because there is just too much it's impossible to know about them. Besides which, I'm naturally a modest kind of person and I think people are entitled to a modicum of privacy, even presidents.

I particularly dislike so-called biographies that purport to explain a person's psychological structure and to trace in his or her upbringing the incidents that later cause this or that behavior. There's a recent biography of John Quincy Adams that absolutely pulverizes his mother. No parent is perfect but I doubt if any basically decent mother, which Abigail Adams certainly was, could or would inflict such damage on a child as that writer claims.

With two presidents, the Adams family was very interesting to research. First John as a son and his upbringing and education, then John as father to John Quincy and how he raised and educated his son. Both Adams presidents are very interesting and I found John particularly engaging.

You can tell when a professor is the author of a biography because they always argue with one another. Instead of stating the facts, they tell what some other professor said and explain why that's wrong. Maybe this is necessary in scholarly papers but it strikes me as just plain silly for the most part.

When one delves into another person's life, rooting around, trying to understand the forces that shaped him and how he molded himself, one gets to feel that one knows that person quite well. Often I become fond of the young man who will be president some day and now and then I take quite a dislike to one of them. Then it becomes my job to watch myself that I don't skew the facts to reinforce my own feelings. For instance, I really like George Washington. I find him a very admirable kind of young man. He's flawed but he's working on it and in the end he is a very mature, sensible, honorable man.

Then there's Thomas Jefferson. I started out admiring Tom and ended up detesting him. I was rather dismayed and had to hunt for the reason my feeling for him changed. It's because he never developed his character. He remained emotionally infantile to the end of his days. Intellectually brilliant and basically kind-hearted, he nevertheless neglected to look honestly at his own behavior and correct his faults. His ego was so overdeveloped that he became adept at twisting what he wanted to believe into something he could believe. He was intellectually dishonest. Tom, Tom, the Piper's son, stole a pig and away he run...

Life in the Slow Lane

It was a wonderful day today. Not too hot this morning and I was out and about early enough to enjoy an hour in the park before it got too populous and too noisy. My grandmother used to like to sit out in her garden in the early morning and I thought she was a few bubbles off plumb because of it but I'm getting to an age when I see where the enjoyment is. It's calm and quiet -- the neighbors aren't up yelling at their kids yet and the kids aren't out screaming while they play. The birds are flitting and chirping and the squirrels are scampering.

Life in the city -- actually in a bedroom community -- is about as I pictured it when I lived on the farm and felt sorry for people who had to live in the city. I work in Washington, D.C. and live in Columbia, Maryland and I never, ever, in my whole previous 49 years expected it. I expected to live out my life on my farm and the prospect was exceedingly pleasant. I loved being a housewife and raising the kids and watching the crops grow and the seasons change. There wasn't much excitement but there was lots of satisfaction and contentment. I spent a great many winter days curled up in front of the fireplace with a good book. There was enough work but seldom so much that I felt much pressure.

Actually, living in the city isn't exciting, either. It's annoying, irritating, stressful, and aggravating. I spend nearly two hours commuting in the morning and an equal amount of time coming home in the evening. "The Commute" is probably the worst feature of my current life. So any day that begins with quiet time in the park is a real treat. This morning I saw a cardinal, which is always a thrill. I didn't really believe in cardinals until one day I saw one flying. I thought pictures of cardinals had been enhanced because I didn't know birds could be that red. I saw some squirrels spiraling up and down the tree trunks, their bushy gray tails looking sassy. There were ducks and swans swimming languidly on the pond. Ducks are entertaining to watch and swans are mesmerizing in their beauty and grace. I saw a cottontail rabbit, too. Just a tiny little one, nibbling in the grass, his little ears sticking up and his little nose twitching busily. So cute. For an hour life was serene and almost natural.

Can She Bake a Cherry Pie, Billy Boy?

I've been on vacation for six days and I'm ready to go back to work. It's hot! I have an air conditioner but I don't use it because it impacts my husband adversely. It also impacts my checkbook adversely. Thank goodness it cooled off some today because I do not deal well with heat. Odd how some people thrive at temperatures in the nineties and even low hundreds while I simply wilt when it gets to the mid-eighties. This was supposed to be a working vacation. Working at my writing and publishing business while vacationing from my day job. It's been very hard to get much work done because I've been so dad-blamed hot. Still I did get the stories on hand posted on my website. I run a contest for short stories and essays. If you're a reader or a writer, check it out: http://www.joyouspub.com. People have been sending some very good pieces in.

I also baked a cherry pie. I bake so seldom these days that it took half a day. I made the crust with butter and it was so hot that I had a real problem keeping the dough together to line the pie pan and put the top on. It looks like nothing on earth but it tastes fine. Sad to say, that's about the extent of my cooking for the last five days.

Frankly, my dear...

Blogging seems to me rather an odd phenomenon. Why should people who are not in the public eye want to read about other people who are also not in the public eye? Maybe it's some kind of voyeuristic impulse. In any case, I'm hoping to connect with people who are interested in what I have to say and/or the way I say it. I seldom watch or read the news because it makes me angry more often than not. I seldom watch any movie released later than about 1980 or listen to any music (except country) released later than about 1975. Quite a lot of country music has the energy and beat of early rock 'n' roll but I can't listen to music that has no melody and lyrics are screamed instead of sang. In many ways I live my life in a retro sort of way and I would be happy if I could turn back the clock to the middle of the 1950s. Not that the fifties were any happier but I was a kid then and I was happier. I will say, though, that the fifties were handsomer and prettier. Movie stars were good to look at, movie sets were usually attractively decorated, and women's clothes were pretty. It was possible to listen to a love song and feel that love was possible, if not actually present. Comedy could be funny without being ugly. Comics could actually make people laugh without using a single expletive. Ordinary people felt comfortable making their own fashion choices without having to wear a stranger's name on the outside of their garments to validate themselves. I think, really, that is the most pervasive indicator of our cultural bankruptcy in the U.S. today -- that so many people feel the need to wear "designer" labels on the outside of their clothing. It's really pathetic.

Let George Do It

I'm new to blogging but I have quite a lot to say. For openers, I'm reading a book about George Washington. There is so much tripe written about him that it's easy to lose sight of the amazingly remarkable man that he was. He, more than anyone else and more than the constitution, shaped the office of president. Some patriots wanted to make the office a kingship but George wanted it to be a presidency. As this biographer noted, all of the rest of the presidents have been respected because of the office but the office is respected because of Washington. Even Jefferson had to admit that Washington was incorruptible. Washington is the only president who did not campaign for the office and honestly didn't want it. He was afraid that it would tarnish his image as Commander-in-Chief of the Revolulionary War. But he accepted because he could see he was needed. It's said that Martha lost her temper with George only once and it was when he told her that he was going to be president for a second term. They both wanted to go home to Mount Vernon but for George duty would always come before his personal preferences.

If you are interested in what else I have to say, check out my website: www.joyouspub.com