Monthly Archives: August 2017

A trip home

For the past 45 years, I’ve from time to time researched my family’s history, not that it’s historic in any way. And it’s not so much that family roots bind me to something larger. In many ways, it’s about the hunt, the sleuthing to fill in history’s holes. I like the research, the discovery of information, the eureka moment when the past is crystal clear and personal.

It often comes by accident. My brother Rich found a random number on a document and on a hunch plugged it into a patent search engine. Up popped a patent my great great grandfather, John Griendling, received for an adjustable barber chair in the 1870’s. A few years ago another accident led me to an extraordinary yesterday.

Sites like Ancestry.com have made it much easier to conduct genealogical research. They review the original documents and write up the information in a digital record that is easily searched. But the original documents can provide extraordinary insights.

In the early part of the 20th century, census takers had come to the home of John’s daughter. John had immigrated to the U.S. in 1844 with a knapsack and a claim to be a cabinet maker. But Germany is a big place and proved to be a blockade to more research. During censuses of a still immigrant country, the government wanted to know where your parents were from. I had seen on previous censuses “Germany.” But on this particular one, the census taker made a correction that opened the door to yesterday’s extraordinary events.

I can imagine the conversation he had with Leina, my ancestor. “Where was your father from?”

“Wiehe,” she said

“I never heard of that country.”

“It’s a town in Germany.”

“Oh. That’s what I want, the country not the town.”

wiehe street

“Main” street in Wiehe, Germany

So he crossed out Wiehe and wrote in Germany. He didn’t erase it or obliterate it, but put a single line through it. Meaning I could see it on that photographed census sheet. Of course, I immediately looked up Wiehe and found that it was a hamlet in the Saxony area of Germany. I knew John had renounced his allegiance to the King of Saxony to become an American citizen. Was this his hometown?

As Karla and I had always wanted to see Prague, and I had convinced her to try a biking vacation, we selected a Vermont Bicycle Tour itinerary from Prague to Vienna. We spent a few days prior to visit Prague, and since Wiehe was less than four hours away by car, I decided to visit Wiehe.

I wrote the mayor and the head of the tiny historical society of Wiehe. They responded and invited me to visit them when I came to town.

We awoke early yesterday, plugged in Wiehe to the GPS and took a road trip. We got lost where the GPS failed us. We made a stupid decision to go to a McDonald’s on the way. It was on the other side of the road, and we discovered too late that we couldn’t return to the highway in the direction we were headed without backtracking several miles. And then within 5 km, the main road to Wiehe was closed for re-pavement. We had to drive what appeared to be an ox cart trail to come in from the other direction. We arrived about noon.

I had spent a sleepless night worrying about all the things that could go wrong with a once in a lifetime visit for which I only had a few hours to spare. Would we get lost? (Yes.) And when we arrived, would we receive a perfunctory welcome and not much insight into the family’s history?

Frau Dagmar Dittmar, burgermeister for Wiehe, was stout and loud and warm and gracious. But she spoke not a word of English. She got on the phone as we waited in her office and summoned the welcoming party: the town historian; the former pastor of the only church in town; a former English teacher who by her own admission was unqualified for the job—and two Gründlings, a woman of 74 and one of her nieces.

The history chief held in his hands a family tree chart. The former pastor, a long-handwritten piece of paper. They had done their homework. They had a portion of the family tree I was unaware of and a list of Gründlings born from about 1810 to 1854, among them August Gotthold Andreas Gründling, my great great grandfather, born in Wiehe April 29, 1811. (The earliest citing of my ancestor was on the ship manifest where he was referred to as Gotthold; he changed it to John by the 1860 census.) His godfather was another Gründling from Dresden, obviously a relation and now another avenue of investigation.

grundling home

The Grundling home in Wiehe, Germany

We spent an hour trying to communicate (the English teacher was right about her qualifications). Google Translate was cumbersome. But the excitement on both sides was palpable. Especially me. I couldn’t believe my good fortune.

They had obviously worked hard to make our visit productive. Their hospitality, though, was most appreciated. They walked us through the town. The old schoolhouse was now a museum. The church is big but modest, spruced up by plywood facades and painted walls. They took us to 77 Leopold–von-Ranke-Sraβe, the Gründling homestead. They seemed as happy to see us as we were them. They felt honored by our visit. We felt overwhelmed by their warmth. They made it feel like home.

All because of a clerical mistake.

 

 

Modesty trumps view

The view from our bedroom has been partially obscured, a victim of modesty.

view from bedroomI tried to assure Karla that people driving by house on that side were not looking into our bedroom. There is so little traffic on our dead end road, and I had yet to see any car stopping to get a better look at the goings on in our bedroom. Besides, I think they’d like what they see, and I’m enough of an exhibitionist and pretty proud of what I have to offer.

But Karla wasn’t convinced, so she went down to the road and had me to go to the bedroom and assume various positions on the bed, though I assured her that we hadn’t used most of them in years. But she could plainly see me in all my contortions. So she was adamant about getting a shade.

Now when I turned to the east to watch the sunrise over Kinney Peak to the right and Bear Mountain to the left, I miss the pine trees at the lower elevation just across the road.

But I guess that’s nothing compared to what our neighbors will miss.

We are a liberal country. But will we pay for it?

We are a liberal country. Socially, regarding the big issues of the day, the cultural right is constantly losing.

Gay marriage is hardly an issue anymore, despite the holdouts who try to resurrect the issue with deafeningly silent Americans. The fight over bathroom usage is a pitiful last stand.

Marijuana is widely accepted, too. In fact, people aren’t asking to be gay, but they are demanding legal weed.

Most folks seem blasé about interracial couples. They accept abortion as a right. And even Catholics support contraception.

And the conservatives’ current bete noir, immigration? By a margin of 60-32, Americans think “immigration helps the United States more than it hurts it.”

These conservative rallying cries had—and still have in some cases—liberals quaking just a few years ago.

But we’re also a liberal country when it comes to our views about government’s role in our lives. We want an involved government (see question 10). Fifty seven percent of Americans say “Government should do more to solve problems and help meet the needs of people.” That’s a higher percentage than at any time since 1995 when the pollster began asking that question. We want government to address our concerns. Most recently we’ve seen that with healthcare. Obamacare may have been unpopular when many folks saw it as a socialist invention by an uppity black president. But once they signed up and the GOP tried to take it away, its popularity soared.

As surveys have shown, we want government involved and we want it to spend money making our lives better.

So why, then, does the GOP dominate our elected offices? It controls all of the federal government and by far most state houses and legislatures. And more important, how can we get people to vote their economic, social and cultural interests?

First, we need to address the fact that we like to think of ourselves as “conservative.” But what does that mean. The political observer Ruy Teixeira calls it “symbolic conservativism, honoring tradition, distrusting novelty, embracing the conservative label.” Somehow, conservative means you’re “more American.” This seemed to percolate during the 60’s when young folks were anti-establishment, didn’t trust anyone over 30 and questioned authority. As the pace of change quickens, many, especially those insulated from cultural changes in their cloistered rural communities, fear that change may mean an end to their lifestyle.

Fear of change and of the “other” can blind voters to their economic self-interests, especially if the “others” are convenient excuses for their own failings. No one likes to think they can’t measure up, so blame immigrants or blacks for wasting tax dollars that could be spent creating jobs for you.

Hypocrisy doesn’t bother a lot of people anymore. You can say get government out of our lives but embrace politicians injecting your mores and morals into others’ lives. Think abortion. And you can blame blacks for being wards of the state while you cash your check for a bogus disability. You earned it because government cost you your job; “they” are lazy.

Many voters find the process of deciding who best to elect too cumbersome. It’s easier to be a one issue voter. That’s not to say that people shouldn’t prioritize the issues. But if gun rights is your thing, voting for someone who will take away your health care, move your job overseas and support corporate greed over worker pay makes sense, or at least is rational. And if you’re a bigot, that’s the only issue you care about.

But what may be the biggest obstacle to enticing people to vote for the liberal agenda they want is taxes. They want infrastructure spending, but don’t want to raise taxes, even on the rich, because they think the government will eventually come after their pay check. Everyone wants more spending on schools, healthcare, opioid addiction, police, fire, and environmental protection but doesn’t want their taxes raised. Ask them how we should pay for it and 99% of the time, they say, “There’s enough waste in the budget to pay for all these things.” Or they say cut programs they don’t benefit from to pay for their priorities.

Here’s where a coordinated campaign of connecting traditional American values to progressive policies can change votes. You can’t change bigots; you can’t overcome fear of change. And one issue voters have a right to their myopia. We all have core principles we will not abandon. But people can be educated and placated about taxes.

First, we need to be clear about the impact of taxes on individuals. Here’s where the media could help. Too often, costs of new programs are described in the aggregate, not the individual cost. A $700-billion dollar program can’t avoid sticking its hand in your pocket. But if a new withholding tax for single payer healthcare would cost a family making $70,000 annually $2,000 a year in taxes but save them $10,000 in insurance premiums, I think a lot of folks would say sign me up. If you’re clear that people making less than $50,000 would pay no new taxes for an infrastructure program but those making more than $200,000 would pay more, you have a fighting chance of garnering enough votes to get elected on that platform, again with a clear vision of what the achievable metrics would be.

Remember that FDR explained the arcane issue of new bank regulations to voters listening to his fireside chats and found they responded by returning their money to the banks and saving the economy. Communication was far simpler back then, of course, but we have more ways of reaching people these days, which translates to more opportunities to sell your vision.

But a foundation must be built before we can get people to vote for the liberal programs they say they want. That is the vision upon which programs are built. Connect the dots from the Founding Fathers’ principles, our historical greatness in fostering equality, our sense of fairness and our history of shared responsibility to the programs you want to implement. We need to remind people that the government is not the enemy. Government is us.

Liberals need to be not only the grown-ups, but the optimists. And we need to not make the perfect the enemy of the good. That some Bernie Sanders supporters could not vote for Hillary Clinton and instead wasted their vote on a third-party candidate was self-destructive, not only to the goal of electing liberals but to the very idea of informed discourse and compromise that moves the ball forward.

We have always progressed to liberal ideas—Social Security, Medicare, welfare for the poor, Obamacare. And few want to turn back. But voters need to see liberalism as the way we preserve and promote conservative ideals.

Wet summer

Colorado is supposed to be a respite from the Tampa Bay summers. This morning I awoke at 7:00 to 46 degrees and sunny skies. Because the house has radiant heat, which is slow to warm, it doesn’t make sense to turn on the furnace because it will be warm in a couple of hours. So I wrap my hands around a cup of coffee, read the latest news online, and wait for the temps to hit at least 60 before I ride.

I waited until about 9:30 and put on arm warmers and an under layer. It warmed up nicely during the two-hour ride. Shortly after returning, thunder, and for the rest of the afternoon it rained, sometimes hard; sometimes you could feel it but hardly see it. At 3:30 it was 58 degrees and wet.

We’ve had a good bit of rain since we arrived in early July. We needed it. In the past few weeks the signs around town went from high risk of fires—and even a fire ban—to “low risk.”

The meadow is still green when last year it was brown by now.

Most days I can get in a ride if I want as the rain usually doesn’t start until afternoon, though yesterday it rained all day. Still, it’s often wet and too cool to sit out on the deck.

I’m not complaining, but 90 degrees and humid is looking pretty good right now.