IN THE MIDST OF LAST WEEK'S snow and ice assault throughout the region, one of the most outstanding efforts to warn passing pedestrians of dangers overhead was found on a step ladder placed almost defiantly in the middle of the sidewalk on S. 13th Street between Pine and Spruce. No one can accuse this law firm of not demonstrating due diligence in warning passersby that the sky, quite literally, might be falling.
December 2009 Archives
IN THE MIDST OF LAST WEEK'S snow and ice assault throughout the region, one of the most outstanding efforts to warn passing pedestrians of dangers overhead was found on a step ladder placed almost defiantly in the middle of the sidewalk on S. 13th Street between Pine and Spruce. No one can accuse this law firm of not demonstrating due diligence in warning passersby that the sky, quite literally, might be falling.
ON THIS WEEK BEFORE CHRISTMAS let us reflect on the stunning chant shouted by a vocal minority of fans at Upper Darby High School last Tuesday during a boy's basketball game versus Lower Merion. "Warm up the ovens," they chanted. "Warm up the ovens." Don't get it? It's about all those Jews at Lower Merion High School. You didn't know Lower Merion was Jewish? Neither did I. And I spent four years at Lower Merion High School after eight years at St. Margaret's in Narberth, where I never met a Jew. Or a Protestant. Or, quite frankly, a black person.
It was a wonderful time to grow up. For the love of God we hated everybody and everybody hated us right back. We felt sorry for those pagan babies we Catholic school kids "ransomed" -- and named -- for five bucks a pop, but most of us didn't want to live next door to grown up pagan babies, many of whom had changed their names from Mary or Joseph to Viet and Cong. I look back in wonder at those innocent racist times and I wonder all these years later how I became Jewish in the minds of those Upper Darby idiots whose chanted "Warm up the ovens!" and shouted "We'll write you letters when you're in Auschwitz." at a boy's basketball game. Ironically, Lower Merion High School has about as many Jewish members on its basketball team as Notre Dame has Irish. But just imagine how big this story would have been if those chants had been lynching references ("Get a rope!") aimed at the African American players. As it is the anti-semetic shouts resulted in a formal apology from Upper Darby Schools Superintendent Louis DeVlieger to "all those people from Lower Merion who are effected by this." (Statistically, Lower Merion Township breaks down to 90 percent white, 4.5 percent African American and the remainder a variety of racial or ethnic identities. Of those Lower Merion residents who have religious affiliations, 35 percent are Catholic, 21 percent Protestant and eight percent Jewish).
I'm proud to say that the players on my high school's basketball team responded the only appropriate way by spanking Upper Darby on the scoreboard, 51-27. When the two teams play again next month at Lower Merion, don't be surprised if you see a lot of fans, black and white, Christian and agnostic, wearing yellow Stars of David on their Lower Merion jackets.
I've been looking for a reason to dislike Arlene Ackerman, the crazina of Philadelphia public schools, but I didn't think the reason would be this easy. Ackerman's handling of the South Philadelphia High School outrage, where Asian students were randomly targeted and beaten by black bullies, was a brutal demonstration of the woman's tin ear to sound of the obvious. If she can misunderstand the larger importance of this story -- and this is an important story -- she's capable of worse judgements and insensitivity.
I say I was looking for a reason to dislike her because while I agree with most of what she says, something about the way she says it puts me off. Ackerman is a strong woman who doesn't need her strength mentioned anymore than a beautiful woman needs her beauty mentioned. Which is to say constantly. The cascade of public accolades she has received from powerful civic and political and education leaders this school year, including her own, almost sounds like expected tribute.
But she dropped her guard in this South Philly High racial incident and she got tagged good square in the puss. The confident compassionate mask fell away revealing the stoney face of a bureaucrat both offended and unequipped to respond to unscripted events, such as a demand by Asian community groups to meet away from the high school. Her reply was both rigid and disdainful. As inelegant as it was revealing. It will be difficult for Ackerman to put a new face on this sorry situation. Any proactive effort on her part to reach out to the community will perceived as caving in and reacting to public opinion. In this, of course, is exactly what she should do. Reach out immediately to all involved.
My sense is she won't, not publicly anyway. And she won't because now that he has been roundly criticized publicly, she'll defend a weak position with declarations of protocol rather than excercise common sense. And when she does that I'll know for sure what there is to dislike about Arlene Ackerman.
My big brother Bill was shorter than me but always larger than life. He had a little man's big man swagger. And he was my hero.
I wish I could have walked like him. My big brother Bill showed me courage and valor and what the fuck. He taught me Bob Dylan lyrics and rugby football songs And he looked nothing like me. He was all that. I was all that other that. He looked like Dougie. I looked like my sisters. You'd never know we were brothers.,
Well maybe just a little bit.
This is a picture of Billy and me after a rugby match in the natural bowl of a field near Lehigh University. I am maybe 25. He is maybe 33. I am the referree based upon the evidence of the whistle around my neck. Billy is the (winning?/losing?) scrum half in a Whitemarsh jersey as we walk off the pitch wrong footed and yet perfectly in synch. My sister Jan gave me this picture at the birthday party last Saturday night, a gift from Bill's widow Maureen.
I still don't see the resemblance.
