MAKING THE MOST OF CHANCE ENCOUNTERS

            Until a matter of days ago I didn’t even know Lilly; hadn’t met her. I may have seen her working in the background of a retail store where she is employed. She is a supremely attractive young lady of great charm and warmth; one of those people you just know is good inside and out. Among the things I now know about her: like me she is tied to the State of Maine, and looks upon the north coast of Oregon where she now works with a similar love. She was adopted along with her brother as a small child and until recently had never connected with her birth parents. She is a serious, committed and dedicated employee highly valued by friends of mine for and with whom she works. I knew immediately that if I had the power I would adopt (or steal her away) as a granddaughter forthwith. All within the space of a few minutes time and reinforced by that inner voice which whispers a confirmation of “first” impressions’

            Because I am at heart a writer and storyteller, I confess to seeing (or thinking I am seeing) more in the people, places and events around me than might meet the casual traveler. (If this is only a dream, I hope never to awaken, for it is a source of unmitigated pleasure.) Sometimes I even allow myself to believe it is a communicative attribute ­­– that we leave something behind as we “celebrate” brief encounters as we travel and connect meaningfully and thoughtfully when confronted by such fleeting “gifts” of chance.

 There comes to mind an experience I had when returning to one of my favorite haunts in Cannon Beach after an absence of several years. I am fascinated by the art of glass-blowing, and when I have the chance, I pay a visit to ICEFIRE GLASSWORKS. It was late in the day, but I hoped for a few minutes of happy gazing from the viewer’s booth.  The time ended all too soon, and as I headed for the closing door, the owner held me back. “You’re welcome to stay; we are just closing for the public.” I must have looked up questioningly. The two people behind the desk explained: “We remember you from your last visit. You made us all feel good.” I tried to explain that I hadn’t been there in two years. “Could be”, they agreed, “but we haven’t forgotten; you bring something special with you.”  I hope what they were detecting is my love for people and my interest in what makes them tick. But maybe they were just imagining something.

As we traveled westward through the incomparably- beautiful Columbia River Gorge several days ago, we stopped for an evening meal at Pietro’s in Hood River – another favorite way-marker  –  we staked out a booth amid a Saturday night crowd that filled the popular establishment. Returning from an exploration of the salad bar I found that my thoughtful family had changed my seat to a more comfortable chair. My reaction was immediate as I changed back to the wall-side original selection with the words “This will not do at all; I can’t see the people!” I’m sure that to my loved ones it seemed just another confirmation of my growing eccentricities, but for me it was an important teaching/learning moment. As I travel, food is somewhere down the list when it comes to the magic of everyday adventure. What I noted that evening on the banks of the mighty Columbia were the families enjoying one another; families of many colors and ethnic trajectory. Except for one blonde –haired teen-ager (whom I was quick to forgive) I did not see a single person texting or even holding an electronic device. The diners were too busy talking, looking at each other and having fun; there was a lot of “love” going on. My heart was nourished more by what I was seeing than by one of the best pizzas anywhere around.

 As my family moved toward departure, I scooted over to the nearest booth where an extended family of ten were laughing and sharing a meal honoring octogenarian grand –parents. I asked them if they were seeing what I was seeing. That began a conversation which spanned their three generations 

and a total stranger from another. A two-or-three-year-old grand-daughter with curly hair attached herself to me like an old friend and chattered away while her mother and I shared family genealogy and thoughts on the importance of family. We found much to talk about and she seemed genuinely sorry that I had to leave.

            But there is another side to this attachment to the people “of everyday” we meet by chance.

When still westbound, I suddenly departed at an off-ramp from I-84 along the Columbia River Gorge. We didn’t really “need” fuel, I had never stopped there before and it would slow our journey. The young girl who came to pump gas, (in Oregon you don’t get to do-it-yourself,) had the same kind of friendly glow and “sweetness” as Lilly, but I sensed immediately a deep darkness not quite hidden behind her friendly spirit. She was most certainly underweight and most of her front teeth were so damaged as to need a lot of repair work. I thought about her all week and couldn’t ignore a deep sadness each time I recalled that very brief encounter. One week later to the day when returning homeward our car insisted on getting off at that same unaccustomed exit. The young girl was not on duty, but working my way through some close-mouthed co-workers to the manager who took pity on me, I learned Jennifer’s sad story, left a note to let her know I was not going to forget her and began making plans.

            As I finish this overlong column, tired and glad to be home, I am listening to Louis Armstrong singing “Oh What a Wonderful World” and formulating an email of thanksgiving to Lillie for touching my heart in such a beautiful way, and a letter of hope to another sweet, girl-of-promise named “Jen”.

GRAPPLING FOR JUST THE RIGHT WORD

As a story-teller - whether writing a column, teaching a class, composing a verse, or sparring with friendly conversationalists - I am always challenged by the pleasurable task of finding the better (or best) word to describe a particular thought, object, place or idea. It is not unusual for me to spend a week of days pondering the best title for an article I have already virtually (or actually) completed., even though I know my editors might change it anyway. For example the title for this effort: I could have said SEARCHING (FOR JUST THE RIGHT WORD). That choice would have been adequate; sufficient. But not wonderful. Grapple is an old French verb dating back to the 1520s meaning to seize and hold fast. Even in today's word- market it connotes a determined, maybe even an especially mindful hunt for the strongest and best.. It also tells the reader - almost parenthetically -  that success in the search may not always take place - but is worth the effort. Understanding language and the availability to the user of a range of nuanced words made even more notable when borrowed from another tongue brings added delight to the reader AND to the writer. Mark Twain noted that using just the right word was often the difference between the lightning bug and the lightning. Only he could have grasped and articulated the point so well.

            There are many reasons why I love my native tongue, especially what H.L. Mencken defined as American English. While the practitioners of most well-established languages of the world have been protective in keeping their proud vocabularies and grammars unsullied by foreignisms, Americans - from the beginning - have been welcoming -- in fact even celebratory -- in their acceptance of the practice of embracing borrowed words, and even inventing new ones where necessary. During the colonial years our English cousins referred to this openness as the acceptance of barbarisms, and all these centuries later we are still at it.

            As a young boy I delighted in learning that the native-American word for a Connecticut  brook I was much given to wading in was Noromeocknawhyosunatankshunk, which in the Algonquian language meant "clear flowing waters from the faraway hills which gleam brightly in the afternoon sun while traveling over many stones".  In Alaska's far north there is an old Inuit village called Shaktulik. To begin with that word merely referred to the shape of the coastal geometry there. (Stretched out place.) Over time though, it took on a different meaning altogether: "A place where if you are going there you will begin to ask yourself 'I wonder if I will ever get there!' " Similarly the Eskimo people of the sub-arctic have nearly a hundred synonyms for the word snow, but nary a one for forest fire, while no other word could paint a sound-picture for a wind storm in the Pacific Northwest quite like Williwaw!  And what about the resident of a far northern Eskimo village who keeps stepping out doors to check on the possibility that someone (anyone) may be coming? He(she) would be an iktsuarppok, of course. On the other hand the Finnish have a word which tells us just how far a reindeer can travel before needing a rest: Poronkusema; which turns out to be 17.5 kilometers.

            Loan words from the German seem to occupy a most-favored-nation status for American lexicographers. What would we do without classics like doppelgänger, schadenfreude and wunderkind? And I find one with a peculiar currency in warmduschershare which literally paints a picture of a person who intentionally avoids both hot and cold showers, preferring not to wander too far from the self-allotted and non-controversial "box" we often cower within rather than make a dangerous decision. By the way, the Dutch have a wonderful long word which means sytuisvogelpolitiek (ostrich politics): Voting the same way as last time and expecting a different outcome. (Ostrich with head in sand.)

            I better finish this before I become guilty of sesquipedalianism.

TAKING PRIDE IN OUR UTAH/KOREA CONNECTION

            Sixty-eight years have passed since that June day that saw the peace of the Korean peninsula shattered by an invasion of the South by Communist forces from the North, with support from  the Soviet Union and China, and with entire armies of the latter country eventually joining the North Korea People's Army in overrunning free South Korea. Among those who responded to the call for assistance to the beleaguered South were over five million American young men, just 2.2 million (40%) of whom are still with us as of 2017. Some of those were also veterans of WWII, while some went on to fight in Viet Nam.

            These grizzled veterans who were born into the Great Depression and experienced the war years of Franklin Roosevelt's America are in their 80s and 90s. For the most part, they have not been a "noisy" group known for demonstrations and advocacies pleading for special recognition, but to the contrary   returned home to quietly take their place in a society which mostly thought of theirs, as the forgotten war.

            For some of us - and for various reasons - that has not been true. In my own case my particular military mission placed me in regular contact with my opposite numbers in South Korean society, both military and civilian. My interest in Korean history and in particular emerging details about the war I had just participated in tended to keep me involved in further study, especially after I found myself with responsibility for producing a weekly radio talk show with a strong history bent, and eventually as a regular newspaper columnist. Most important was my relocation to southern Utah where I quickly fell into a natural friendship with a Korean-American patriot and neighbor named Sunny Lee who had wedded her life to serving her adopted country in appreciation of the contribution its citizens had made to the freedom of her native land. I also discovered a rare sense of awareness among a group of veterans who had seen Korean combat service with the 213th Field Artillery Battalion, a unit of the Utah National Guard which had distinguished itself in the battle of Gapyeong  on May 26, 1951 after taking on large numbers of an invading Chinese Army without the loss of a single guardsman.

            With the generous support of the Korean government - in particular the ministry of Patriots & Veterans - Mrs. Lee literally became the U.S. spokesperson for this veterans group and others, leading a series of return visits for the Gapyeong and other Utah-American veterans of the Korean War. I was privileged to join the 2009 tour, and my granddaughter as part of a special contingent of  K.W. student- grandkids of Vets. participating in a Peace Camp and guided visit the following year.

             After carrying out a number of similar and very demanding veteran visits, Sunny went on to supervise an effort to help the surviving families of Missing-in-action veterans to better understand and "finalize" the story of their loss, concluding with a trip to present-day Korea, a visit to historic and sacred sites and a special memorial service. Only those few of us who know Sunny Lee intimately understand both the personal sense of fulfillment this experience involved, and the deep emotional price it exacted from this remarkable super-patriot.

            Recently a plane landed in Las Vegas carrying two young gentlemen whose errand it was to underline that partner-nation's appreciation of this unusual Utah Connection, and those who have supported the rare friendship it has engendered on both sides of the Pacific:  25-year-old Tae Hwan Park and Joon Chang Lee, both senior cadets at the Korea Army Academy at Yeongcheon stepped down on U.S. soil as representatives of a grateful nation. Prior to their official visits to Utah National Guard headquarters, Cedar City mayor and Veterans' Monument, an Idaho veterans home and a meeting with MIA families, several of us enjoyed a dinner and evening with them at the Springdale home of John and Sunny Lee. The depth of their sense of honor and respect, and their love for America made all of us as proud of these sons of serving Senior officers as if they were from one of our own service academies.

                                 Photo Caption: L to R   Standing: Cadet Tae Hwan Park, Cadet Joon Chang Lee

                                           Seated: Gene Gregory, Marine; Al Cooper, Air Force; Col. Dan Roberts, Army

A NATION ON THE BRINK, AND A MAN NAMED ABRAHAM

            When Abraham Lincoln was born, the Republic was only 33 years old. George Washington had been dead only 10 years and many of those who had signed their names to the Declaration of Independence were still living and active. James Madison was president - our 4th, and the people of Lincoln's generation were not far removed from the events surrounding the nation's painful birth. The population of the infant states was still only 7 million, although that number would double in the next decade; the Indiana Territory was the western "frontier."

            Back in 1783 when the Constitutional Convention reached agreement over a supreme written law- thanks to compromise - they had failed to resolve three fundamental problems. These three "jaw-breaker" questions hovered over all those proceedings, but the founding fathers became convinced that in these areas of disagreement, there could be no chance of compromise. Many present there in Philadelphia believed in their hearts that these unresolved differences would eventually bring about the dissolution of the Union they had forged. Elbridge Gerry from Massachusetts, Roger Sherman from Connecticut, and even Madison himself wrote of their fears. The three unsettled problems loomed large by the time Abraham Lincoln was old enough to become a student of Government: Slavery!!   States rights vs. Federal!!  and  Secession!!

            One of the reasons George Washington had allowed himself (reluctantly) to be persuaded into accepting a second term as President was that of a growing trend toward partisanism. The constitution did not contemplate the emergence of political parties. Its framers had grown old and suspicious observing all that was wrong with England's "parliamentary democracy". Despite all his worst fears, Washington witnessed - and abhorred - the rise of multi-party politics, and a growing tendency toward international adventurism. Even before he left office he saw seeds being sewn which would result in the deterioration of relations with England (and the War of 1812;) conflict with the western tribes over Indian land rights, and the insoluble differences between states with respect to slavery.

            The political environment into which Lincoln was born saw two principle parties, the Democrats (pro-slavery, pro-South and largely pro-states rights,) and Whigs (more centrist and largely anti-slavery.) Increasingly though, both parties were becoming fragmented over the slavery issue, and the birth of a new more-solidly anti-slavery party was likely. (This would be the Republican party with which Lincoln would almost immediately align himself along with other Whigs.) Other issues which divided office holders swirled around the development of western lands, and even here slavery and its expansion was at the heart of debate.

            Slavery questions hark back to the founding fathers. Washington, though a slave owner, deplored the practice, freed his own at his death, and worked toward phasing out the system. Jefferson tried to lead Virginia toward being the first state to outlaw slavery outright, and in fact that state had embarked upon the implementation of a solution prior to the outbreak of civil war. When Lincoln observed in his debates with Stephen Douglas, that the nation could not continue "half slave and half free," that it must necessarily become "all one or all the other," he was putting his finger directly on the problem.

            With the passage of the Missouri Compromise in 1820, a national disaster seemed to have been averted when congressional controls on the admission of "new" territories at least produced a temporary quieting of southern outcries of unfairness. But all of that changed dramatically in 1858 with the Dred Scott decision, which among other things denied the former slave's argument while finding that slaves had no standing in any court. As disappointing as that ruling was for Republicans and all abolishioners, Judge Roger B. Taney's southern-leaning Supreme Court went a huge step farther in ruling that Congress did not have the authority to outlaw (or limit) slavery anywhere! Thus reversing the Missouri Compromise, and making the American Civil War inevitable.

Personal Note: For all of my life, I have believed that Abraham Lincoln's birth was no accident. ACC