Can’t you people take a joke?

Carlton E. Spitzer

    Perhaps the most reviled practical joker in Maryland’s history is Jacob Gibson, who pulled off his notorious stunt almost 200 years ago to frighten the 300 inhabitants of Saint Michaels during the War of 1812.

    A blacksmith by trade who’d acquired land and become a plantation owner on Sharp’s Island, Gibson was shunned by the elite gentry whom he disdained as, “those stiff-necked, down-your-nose scholars.”

     Gibson’s speech was brusque, his manner caustic, and he belittled anyone who disagreed with him.  His frequent letters to the editor of The Republican Star criticized his neighbors, local leaders and national figures with equal passion.   Some were so vitriolic the editor refused to publish them.

      His defense was a cynical smile, a hearty laugh, and a perverse sense of humor.  Had his reputation not preceded him on April 18, 1813, Gibson might have received much sympathy from the people in St. Michaels, for the feared British Fleet Commander John Borlase Warren had invaded Sharp’s Island and kept Gibson captive for five days, while permitting his men to take from Gibson whatever they chose.  But no person was injured and no building was destroyed.  Upon his release, Gibson was paid a handsome sum in British Bank Notes to compensate for the cattle and sheep and other possessions Warren’s men had taken before they returned to their ships anchored in the Chesapeake.

      Alone and brooding, Gibson drank a copious amount of rum as he devised his greatest practical joke.  He continued to imbibe from kegs his slaves rolled aboard a barge as they set sail up San Domingo Creek toward St. Michaels.  Gibson took off his red bandana and hung it on the mast.  At his slurred command, slaves rapped a muffled drum roll on the top of empty rum kegs. 

      On patrol that day, Captain Robert Banning was greatly alarmed to see a barge flying what he thought was the dreaded Union Jack, with muffled drums signaling attack.  He rushed ashore, alerting citizens who dashed house to house, farm to farm.  Farmers fled their fields and drove off their livestock to keep them from the British.  Militias were assembled.  Arms were loaded.  Families summoned slaves to pack wagons hurriedly, preparing to flee.  

      But when the barge came into view, drums beating more loudly, someone yelled out from shore that it was a barge recently built by Captain Richard Spencer of Beverly, and that the crew was a group of ragged slaves under the command of a sloshed Jacob Gibson whose red bandana was tied to the mast.

      Dragged ashore, Gibson was manhandled and roundly cursed.  Had not militia officers intervened, there is little doubt he would have been seriously injured.

      Holding him fast, people screamed in his ear: “Did he not appreciate the dire consequences of his ruse?  Look around you, Gibson.  Wagons are packed.  Children are crying.  Livestock must be rounded up.”

      Laughing and slapping his knee, Gibson bellowed, “Can’t you good people take a joke?” When they closed in to pummel him again, he protested plaintively with wringing hands that he intended no harm, and was only trying to spare them the fate he himself had suffered.     

         Gibson’s story was rejected, his joke despised, and the people left him there in a heap in his torn clothing torn and bloody nose.

         A young man smiled down at the prankster, assuring Gibson with a bright smile that he was on his way to give a full report to the editor.  Gibson could read all about his practical joke in The Republican Star.

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Hypocrisy rode the segregated Freedom Train

By Carlton E. Spitzer

     Two years after World War II, and 7 years before school integration was declared mandatory, attorney general Tom Clark persuaded President Harry Truman to send a “Freedom Train” to southern cities, following the courageous example of civil rights leader James Farmer, whose Freedom Riders stood up to segregationists and reminded them our nation was built on the principle of equality.

     It is difficult today to comprehend the depth of their conviction, or the magnitude of their courage.

     The KKK’s  inhumanity to blacks had not been diluted one iota by the sterling performance of black troops who defended freedom in World War II.   Blacks who came home with Purple Hearts, Silver Stars and Battle Ribbons were expected to resume the second-class citizenship they and their parents and grandparents had endured before the war.  But these veterans were defiantly determined to take their rightful place in the mainstream of American society.

     When Tom Clark sketched out his plans for a Freedom Train at the White House, whites were demonstrating in city streets - in the north and in the south -  against any suggestion schools’ should be integrated.  The idea that a white patient might share a hospital room with a black was totally unthinkable.  Segregation dominated political philosophy and action, and was as evident in Chicago and Buffalo as it was in Memphis and Dallas. 

     So it was no small undertaking when Clark assembled representatives of business, labor, religion, the news media, the American Legion and Daughters of the American Revolution, to promote his plans for a Freedom Train that would carry historic documents to cities throughout the land, including the Emancipation Proclamation, the Bill of Rights, and the Charter of The United Nations. 

    Winthrop W. Aldrich, chairman of the Chase National Bank, raised private funds through a coalition called the American Heritage Foundation, to still rumors  that public money would be used.  The only African-American member of the coalition was Walter White, executive secretary of the NAACP.  Black writer Langston Hughes wrote a poem, “The Ballad of the Freedom Train,” which protested the “white version” of freedom and democracy and pleaded for racial equality. He noted that every Marine who guarded the Freedom Train was white.

     Clark understood their anguish, and was persistent.  “When you find a man who is prejudiced against some certain group because of color, race or religion,” he said, “ you can set it down that he is an ignorant man.”  Powerful words from a cabinet officer in 1947.  That whites and blacks would travel on the train together further infuriated segregationists.

    Southern members of Congress were outraged that Truman, a native of Missouri,  would “humiliate them” by sending the train to their cities, and were determined to  enforce historic Jim Crow laws that strictly segregated whites from blacks, blocked blacks’ right to vote, and excluded them from adequate education and meaningful employment.  The war was over.  But blacks were still blacks.

    A new General Electric diesel engine, “The Spirit of ’76,” pulled three exhibit cars decorated in red, white and blue.  Pullman cars segregated staff. The train was warmly received in northeast cities,  but was banned by city fathers in Memphis and Selma.  Famous black achievers came aboard for a day or two, among them Joe Louis, the “Brown Bomber” heavyweight boxing champion; educator W. E. B. Du Bois; singer Marion Anderson, United Nations negotiator Ralph Bunche.  Former first lady Eleanor Roosevelt  rode the train for several days to show her support for desegregation.

      But the little secret no one acknowledged until long after the train had been retired was that the only time blacks and whites actually mixed was when they exited the Freedom Train and lined up together to hear children sing a song composed by the great Irving Berlin to commemorate the traveling exhibit: “Inside the Freedom Train you’ll find a precious freight; those words of liberty, the documents that made us great.”  Robert Parker, who worked as a waiter on the train, and later helped to integrate the Senate Dining Room, tells us in his book, Capital Hill in Black and White, that whites and blacks actually rode and ate in separate cars.  And in southern cities that allowed the train to stop, they stood outside in segregated lines as well.

       The hurt and humiliation of our black brothers and sisters can only be imagined by white citizens today, especially young people who did not live through those degrading times.  The conviction of a Tom Clark, the courage of a Jim Farmer, the wisdom of a Harry Truman, all made the Freedom Train of 1947 a worthy precursor of Congressional legislation that eventually desegregated schools and hospitals, opened the doors of colleges and universities to black students, and executive suites and professions to qualified black candidates.  But it was not accomplished easily, or neatly, or without blood on our streets.  The remnants of those Jim Crow attitudes still surface from time to time at universities, in business circles, and on Capitol Hill, making us cringe.  We have come a long way but still have a long road to travel. 

      Hypocrisy rode that segregated Freedom Train in 1947.  Too much of it is evident in our society today.

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Synopsis: INSIDE UNCLE ROSY’S WHITE HOUSE

A monologue for performance on the life of Franklin Delano Roosevelt

Playwright, Carlton E. Spitzer

Produced by The Hugh Gregory Gallagher Motivational Theatre, Inc.

This fast-moving play covers FDR’s presidency, 1933-1945, focusing on his personal relationships, dynamic leadership, physical disability, and extraordinary ability to restore confidence among a citizenry devastated by the 1929 stock market crash.  His bold initiatives immediately upon taking office bolstered a nation in shock, with revolution in the air.  Within his first 100 days he established programs to build schools and highways and repair the nation’s infrastructure that gave steady work to millions of unemployed citizens.   FDR restored confidence in bank deposits, stabilized food prices, and calmed a fearful nation by his positive attitude, assuring the people they had nothing to fear but fear itself.  His fire side chats kept people informed and encouraged. 

The play reflects on FDR’s privileged youth, his experiences at Groton and Harvard, and old classmates who felt he “betrayed his class” by helping the poor and destitute, and creating old-age security.  The actor speaks to the audience, confiding anecdotes and personal opinions never before dramatized.  At other times, the actor converses candidly with unseen colleagues, such as Louie Howe and Winston Churchill.  At other moments, the actor is at faux microphones, delivering excerpts of inaugural addresses, fire side chats, and key speeches.  FDR’s attempt to pack the Supreme Court, and his deteriorating health as he led the war effort from his wheelchair are fully revealed.

FDR was devoted to the development of Roosevelt Warm Springs Institute for Rehabilitation.  He loved being there among other “residents” recovering from polio, where he was affectionately addressed as, “Uncle Rosy.”  He retreated to Warm Springs following  his exhausting 14,000 mile journey to Yalta to negotiate post-war arrangements with Churchill and Stalin.  And ended his days there, preparing a speech for the United Nations he created.

The audience will learn many new things about the personal life of the 32^nd president, and the many lessons he provided for today.

  

                                                    

Benjamin O. Davis helped desegregate military

O. Davis had been on foreign military assignments three years and was in the Philippines in 1968 when Dr. King was murdered in Memphis in April and Bobby Kennedy shot dead in Los Angeles two months later.

       Yet he must be counted among the fighters for justice and equality.

The tall, disciplined soldier had been breaking down the wall of discrimination for 32 years by demanding at every turn that he and the men he commanded be judged by the content of their character and performance, not the color of their skin.

        Silence surrounded Davis the four years he attended West Point, 1932 through 1936.  No one spoke to him other than to give a direct order.  He lived alone, studied alone, took his meals alone in a dining hall filled with classmates. 

       The native of Washington, D.C. who grew up in Cleveland, Ohio was handsome, bright and charming, the son of a career military officer.  He wanted nothing more than to graduate with good marks and become a 2^nd lieutenant in the U.S. Army.  His dream was to fly.

       He’d barely started his plebe year when he read a bulletin board notice of a “special meeting at the sinks” that evening.  The sinks were lavatories in the basement of the dormitory.  As he hurried down back steps a voice with a distinctive southern drawl stopped him cold:  “What are we gonna’ do about the damn nigra?”  The purpose of the meeting was to make life so miserable for Davis he’d quit in frustration.   His classmates decided on the “silent treatment,” not a new device to push unwanted cadets out of the academy, but cruelly applied to Davis for being born black. 

       When Agatha, his fiancé visited, she was included in the silent treatment.  The couple kept their eyes on the prize and endured it all.  He ranked 35th in his graduating class and applied for flight training.  Sorry, Lt. Davis, blacks aren’t eligible for flight training. You are assigned to the infantry.  

       Ben and Agatha married and traveled to Fort Benning, Georgia.  The silent treatment followed them.  Ignored by fellow officers and their wives and barred from the officer’s club with the silent acquiescence of the base commander, Ben and Agatha supported each other.  Strict segregation in the nearby town of Columbus and visible presence of the KKK discouraged thoughts of an evening stroll outside the gates.

       Davis told friends in 1990 the best week he ever spent at West Point was more than 50 years after he graduated.  He returned a much decorated Lt. General with Agatha on his arm and smiled with pride and some amusement to see his photo included among outstanding West Point graduates between 1819 and 1950 on, ‘The Great Train of Tradition’.” 

        He’d long forgiven misguided and bigoted classmates in the 1930s and faculty members that permitted their injustices.  But scars of discrimination remained throughout his life.  He relished overseas assignments because he was accepted on the basis of his ability and character in other countries and discrimination was less onerous on U.S. military bases far from home. 

       World War II persuaded our 32^nd president, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, to launch the “Tuskegee Experiment” that for the first time welcomed black flight cadets.  The First Lady, Eleanor Roosevelt, was passenger in the back seat of a Piper Cub flown around Tuskegee by a black pilot, Charles “Chief” Anderson.  Her public support discouraged efforts of Southern legislators to kill the program.  Davis got his wings in the first class of black aviators in 1941.  He commanded the 99th Fighter Squadron and the 332nd Fighter Group in combat over Africa and Italy in 1943.  The “Red Tails,” as they were known, lost very few bombers they escorted. 

       A dwindling number of Tuskegee Airmen still meet today, often at the Air and Space Museum in the nation’s capital where General Davis narrated a film for the “Black Wings” exhibit he helped put together on the mezzanine level. 

      Davis kept breaking down barriers of discrimination within the military his whole career.  In the summer of 1949 he was the first black admitted to the Air War College.  He commanded a racially mixed flying unit in Korea and later headed the 13^th Air Force in Taiwan.    He dreamed equality would one day be the norm and that a special month to honor black achievers would no longer be appropriate. 

        We elected a mixed race president in 2008 and have begun a new day in America.  But we still have a long road to travel to achieve Dr. Martin Luther King’s dream of a colorblind nation.   Desegregation’s heroes have often been hidden from view and deserve recognition.  Benjamin O. Davis is one of them.

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Time to review FDR’s economic bill of rights

Carlton E. Spitzer

     Even as war continued to rage in Europe and the Pacific in 1944, our 32^nd president, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, set forth an Economic Bill of Rights  to guide post-war reconstruction at home and throughout a shattered world.

     His State of the Union message focused on rebuilding cities and the peaceful interdependence of nations.  We cannot be content, he said, if even one-tenth of mankind is ill-fed, ill-clothed, ill-housed, and insecure.  He hoped for an enduring peace monitored by the United Nations.

      FDR did not live to see the end of the war in Europe, although he knew it was near and had met with Britain’s Winston Churchill and Russia’s Joseph Stalin early in 1945 at Yalta to negotiate post-war arrangements, albeit not to his satisfaction.  Use of the atomic bomb, which would end the war with Japan the following August, was authorized by his successor, Harry Truman, who had not known of its existence before he entered the Oval Office after FDR’s death at Warm Springs that April. 

       As assistant secretary of the navy in World War I, FDR admired  Woodrow Wilson’s League of Nations and was deeply disappointed the United States failed to support it.  He saw development of the United Nations following World War II as a means of implementing his second Bill of Rights throughout the world. 

        Today America is winding down two wars fought concurrently for dubious justifications and constantly changing objectives.  As America  reduces its military spending, our leaders should review FDR’s message and concentrate on helping people who’ve been dominated by dictators the U.S. supported to maintain the flow of oil.   Those people now risk their lives seeking freedom.

         Although it’s doubtful that the present Congress, at war with itself, can unify behind a common set of principles, voters must insist that their representatives put nation before politics and principles before campaign rhetoric.  That is the standard the electorate has a right to expect.   

        Elected 80 years ago in the midst of a devastating depression, FDR stabilized banking and gave hope to a desperate nation by telling citizens they had nothing to fear but fear itself.  He had learned that lesson personally, having lost use of his legs to polio at age 39.

        The world has changed, in great measure because of misguided military adventures.  But it is not too late for today’s leaders to put nation first, seek enduring peace, cut unnecessary spending with no sacred cows, and look forward as FDR did, reaffirming principles that made our nation great and inspired the world.

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Sharing responsibility for error would help

Carlton E. Spitzer

     It would help restore our nation’s credibility and strengthen peaceful negotiations if our leaders acknowledged past error and shared responsibility for current disharmony throughout the world.  No groveling, and no apology.  Just an objective review of the facts.

     Vietnam  Iraq and Afghanistan should have taught indelible lessons.  Yet there are those in power today who approach Iran with military threat rather than a grasp of history and a determination to resolve issues peacefully.

      In 1953, the Eisenhower administration, for strategic reasons it thought justified, engineered a coup that overthrew Iran’s popular prime minister, Mohammed Massadegh, and replaced him with a man more attuned to U.S. interests, the Shaw of Iran.  While the Shaw strengthened Iran’s economy during the next 25 years, the coup that put him in power was a major set back to Iran’s political development, and the Shaw was widely hated for repressing dissent.  As one might expect, millions of Iranians have not forgotten.  And distrust runs deep.

       No one can excuse the brutal take over of the U.S. Embassy in Iran that ended President Jimmy Carter’s administration and imprisoned American diplomatic personnel for many agonizing months, but one can comprehend the deep resentment toward the U.S. that had developed over time.

      Yet, despite this bitterly troubled history, Iran stood with the U.S. in the days following 9/11, and leaders were in constructive dialogue.  That dialogue ended quickly when President George Bush included Iran in his “Axis of Evil.”

       The U.S. has stumbled many times.  Evidence suggests President John Kennedy was determined to pull back from engagement in Vietnam before his assassination.  President Lyndon Johnson propelled us deeper into that quagmire. 

        President George Bush refused to let arms inspectors complete their work in Iraq in 2002, convinced Saddam Hussein housed weapons of mass destruction he might use against neighboring countries, and even the U.S.  The U.S. invaded.  There were no such weapons.  We are finally withdrawing troops, after losing 4,500 of our fighting men and women, a high percentage to improvised roadside bombs.  Another 38,000 are recovering from physical wounds, many having lost limbs, and thousands are suffering post traumatic stress.  Two million Iraqis were driven from their homes, and 100,000 or more were killed and maimed.

     U.S. leaders were impatient and shortsighted, convinced our military “shock and awe” would settle things quickly, with little thought to life in Iraq in its wake.

      Let us deal more intelligently with Iran.  It is not too much to expect a great nation to bear responsibility for its errors, just as it rightfully expects praise for its achievements and humanitarian contributions..

     The whole world has a stake in peaceful exchange and reconciliation.  More than a million Iranian-American citizens contribute to life in the U.S. every day, and many other Iranians are educated here and return to their homeland prepared to harmonize relationships between our nations.  It is time to make a fresh start toward peace. 

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