(Originally
published 8/13/14)
Among my
favorite scenes in the musical 1776 is when the Second Continental
Congress debates the verbiage of Thomas Jefferson’s just completed “Declaration
of Independence.” Suggestions for changes and deletions are bandied about in
rapid fire. One member suggests eliminating a line that he feels unnecessarily
takes to task the esteemed British Parliament. “Do you think it wise to
alienate such an august body?” he asks. To which John Adams replies: “This is a
revolution, dammit! We’re going to have to offend somebody!”
Anyway,
this is my August body in blog form—reflections on happenings this month and in
prior Augusts. Looking on the bright side of things, the summertime weather for
both July and August has been as tolerable as I’ve ever experienced. Largely
bearable temperatures and reasonable levels of humidity have ruled. Often New
York City summers are brutal with seemingly endless dog days of disagreeable
heat, humidity, and stagnant greenish-yellow air.
This year,
a historical August anniversary was duly noted. Forty years ago, President Richard
Nixon resigned in the wake of the Watergate scandal. I was a mere lad when he exited
the Washington scene—eleven years old—but I remember where I was on the night
of his resignation speech. I was in Bangor, Pennsylvania. While my grandmother
was away visiting relatives, my mother looked after my grandfather. After our
new president, Gerald Ford, was sworn in, my mom informed her dad that the pair
resembled one another. There was a bit of resemblance, I suppose. In August
1974, my grandfather also tasted lentil soup for the first time—my mother’s
homemade version—and offered his opinion on the fare. “I’ve tasted worser
soups,” he said.
Suffice it
to say, August 1974 was a tad different than its progeny: August 2014. I don’t
mean to beat a dead horse, but kids don’t seem to play much anymore. My every
youthful waking hour was spent outdoors in those bygone summers. Now, who’s playing
Wiffle ball, which I loved doing more than anything else as a young boy? Though
there was no such thing, I think I imagined one day being a professional Wiffle
ball player. Then stickball came along. In fact, we played every conceivable
version of baseball from box baseball to punch ball to curb ball. The boxes on
the concrete sidewalks and the curbsides are still around, but one would be
hard-pressed to find a solitary soul utilizing them for sport anymore.
We’ve
become a zombie-like society. I see mothers pushing their children in strollers
who are completely preoccupied with their iPhones, even when crossing busy
streets. Fathers are equally oblivious. What, pray tell, are these folks
checking out every single moment in time? That’s what I’d like to know. It’s at
once creepy and dispiriting. Exactly how is this sort of behavior going to
impact the future? Despite having lived through a “national nightmare,” as
newly sworn in President Ford dubbed it in his first speech to the nation, I
had a lot of fun in August 1974. I didn't get sidetracked—even for a minute—during
that protracted nightmare and afterwards. I was too busy playing Wiffle ball.
(Photo 1
from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)
