Secret Service: A Hot, Dangerous Mess

You are the member of an elite government operation. People know about you, but nobody knows who you are.

You're supposed to stay out of the limelight, even when you're within an arm's length of very famous and prestigious people, and you gain prestige by being around them. You try not to get into photo ops. You don't mind this, actually; it comes with the territory.

People look for you at entrances and near the famous people. You're usually well put together, with close-cropped hair and sunglasses, as much for anonymity as for the glare protection and never to give off which way you're looking. You never smile. You never allow yourself to be distracted. A split second's mistake could literally be fatal.

Your service to your country is the point, and always will be the point. You're doing as tough of a job as there is. Often, it's horribly boring. But you train, you prepare, for the moments when you have to be very alert and ready to sacrifice all--all--for your country, without more than a second's notice.

The tension, the stress, is enormous and grinds on endlessly, even though 99% of what you do is routine. You are overworked. The positions are understaffed, largely because they're government jobs and you must rely on an uninformed, unappreciative legislature to provide the funding. They do, but it's bare bones. You often have to cover for each other.

Your days are long. If you have a family, you're sometimes on the road for weeks at a time, which produces strains you never anticipated. Sometimes you choose to forget you have a family. But secretiveness is part of your identity. If no one knows, if it's across the ocean, if the press isn't along, who's the wiser?

So when you stand down, you often relax with alcohol. Lots and lots of it. And, if you're male, temporary affections of, well, guests. You deserve it, you rationalize. You try not to leave tracks, but if something happens, you smooth it over so the higher-ups don't have to look too closely. They've been there before, so they know.  If you build up enough juice and then get caught, you're transferred somewhere else. But your career continues.

I had a college football coach who didn't want us drinking during the week. Games were played on Saturdays. He understood that celebrating, or commiserating, needed an outlet on Saturday night. So he just told us: Stay out of jail. Don't call me.

But the people above? They pushed the ends of the envelope much farther.

They're members of the Secret Service. Their image reflects that of the country they serve: Sometimes justified, sometimes not; a reputation getting tired and outdated; an image pretty tarnished if you take a good look; full of phony American exceptionalism; in need of a serious reboot and rebuilding.

Carol Leonning's new book, Zero Fail:The Rise and Fall of the Secret Service, is brutal in its facts. It represents gumshoe reporting at its finest. At times, it delves into the gossipy and tawdry, but only because it has to. It has to show you that people should have known things sooner than they did, and sometimes failed to report them. It isn't written with 'creative nonfiction' in mind; it doesn't have to be. This one made it to the top of the New York Times best-seller list.

Leonning, reporter for The Washington Post, has built up some serious street cred with her earlier book  about ex- and his exploits, A Very Stable Genius, with Phillip Rucker (also a best-seller). She continues it here in one of her main beats for the paper. In some places, all she has to do is re-open her paper's archives and consult her notes. But she does far, far more. She exposes a hot, dangerous mess caught in a deeply damaging loop. Not only are they compromised, but so are we, if people can't be protected the way they should.

To be sure, most agents uphold the pride and prestige of Secret Service work an overwhelming majority of the time. But in this line of work, screw-ups are often unforgivable--and you can't have them back. The Service learns best from those mistakes, but the price is devastating.

It describes a good-old-boy network that reminds you of police officers who close down around each other when threatened, whether deserved or not. Too often, they advance by the moniker "it's not what you know, it's who you know," when a better person should have been appointed (Obama did some of that appointing, btw). They sabotaged the first woman to be appointed the director by violating her trust. Her presence violated what's become the tickets to be punched: The director has to be an insider with previous Secret Service experience, and has to be male.

But above all, it has compromised itself thoroughly, letting transgressions go when they should have resulted in punishment and worse because someone else let something else go before, they're still on the force, and they know names can be named. Someone did squeal once, and a suicide indirectly resulted.

This stuff goes back a long way. Lincoln's bodyguard took a break, went to a bar, and paved the way for John Wilkes Booth. It affected the assassinations of McKinley and Kennedy, too, because agents, already trying to be unobtrusive, were asked to stay farther away. 

It pits politicians who need to touch people against those who try to stop them from doing so. George Wallace, presidential candidate, was shot because he changed his mind and went to the rope line one last time. Mike Deaver, personal assistant to Reagan, argued that (code named) Rawhide didn't need protection that close to him. After the nearly fatal assassination attempt, Deaver changed his tune. 

Reagan came to Port Washington, Wisconsin, about half an hour north of Milwaukee and in strong Republican territory, late in his second term. I wandered there to see the show and ran into a former Cedarburg High student who was a sheriff's deputy trainee. He said: "See those trees? There are snipers in there." You couldn't see a thing. He also told me that there was a gunboat on Lake Michigan nearby.

Some presidents also sneak away to liaison with unknown paramours: Kennedy and Clinton were notorious for that. We know what happened to Clinton. But in doing so, he compromised agents who otherwise understood that though it might offend them, they were sworn not to reveal activities.

Would-be assassins are normally a-political. Some of the most amiable people ever to be president, like Bush-41 and Ford, were nearly murdered by crazed maniacs. Someone who needed to tell Obama about environmental issues actually got inside the White House and the East Room one awful night. In the end, no real damage, but the breach of security, explained well by Leonning, should make us shudder. (A "jumper," as they're called, referring to jumping the White House fence, happened on ex-'s watch, too, but the guy found the doors were locked.)

When someone saw that changes were needed, they were warned not to say much and to choose carefully to whom to say it. A low-level agent wrote down and distributed a long list of recommended changes, and others cheered him on. He looked like he was getting through, but an equally low-level violation of policy (nothing like wild partying on the road) was conjured against him, and out he went.

A lot of the biggest documented screw-ups, in fact, came on Obama's watch, but mostly disconnected from something he could help (like the above breach, which happened three minutes after he'd left for Camp David. He was in California when another fool fired a few shots at the White House and hit a residence window. But his kids were around--one of them out with friends--and Michelle unleashed her rage when she found out.). He thought he'd be innovative by appointing the first female director in the Secret Service's history, but the 'network' undermined her and made her look negligent. All of that made him look so, too.

Then, of course, we have ex-, who politicized the Service even more than his evil predecessor, Richard Nixon, who was just as conniving, cold-blooded and manipulative. Some agents with a sense of duty became appalled at his antics, then disgusted by his shamelessness. Kind of like us, huh?

Under ex-, though, the Service was first politicized (by overcharging it for his overgolfing, which drains its resources, but he typically didn't care since much of the money went to his institutions, which allowed him to move it where he wanted, such as to his campaign coffers), then politicized itself in the 2020 campaign, since an enormous percentage of agents are Republican and backed him with much the same unsophisticated fervor as his most loyal minions; some agents, too, ignored the unenforceable Hatch Act. This even after he demanded huge rallies of superspreader events, which of course put agents in the way of the virus (and got some of them sick, too, along with himself. Remember when he made agents drive him around to wave at crowds?). Right along with the rest of the madness, they never budged in their support of him. Some agents blanched, though, at the inappropriate manner in which they were utilized to control protestors when George Floyd was killed.

Neither did they go right to the winner of the election, if you recall; they normally begin a high level of protection right after victory is announced. But that falls into line with ex-'s demand that the results get challenged beyond any reasonable person's conclusion. That, too, divided the Service, and it remains so today.

In the end, Leonning exposes the Secret Service in a way that makes you want to take a shower. The responsibilities with which they're assigned, and the way they're stretched thin as well as outdated technology, should scare the hell out of you. Regardless, it lurches on.

Now we again have a president that is at least trying to unite the country despite a noticeably large cadre' of domestic insurrectionists who demonstrated their wares on January 6. So you have to ask yourself: How long will the string holding back the boulder of successful attack hang on before it's once again broken? And can the Secret Service depoliticize itself this time?

Be well. Be careful. With some luck, I'll see you down the road.

Mister Mark

Pro Athletes: What Do They Owe Their Public?

I only, sort of, rubbed up against the public in my athletic exploits once, and it was fleeting indeed.

While playing college quarterback one Saturday, the team moved quickly down the field and we scored a touchdown, always nice to do. I returned to the bench and got a drink of gatorade. 

Unbeknownst to me, a frat brother had invited some kids from town to the game and got them a front-row seat. He called out to me, wanting me to sign autographs.

I was really surprised, and flattered, at the gesture. No one had ever done that before. But it would look untoward to sign autographs in the first quarter. Besides, we had most of the game left.

Quickly, I had to make a decision. I couldn't betray the kids; that's part of who we were there for. But I didn't want my attention unnecessarily diverted, either. After all, the defense could quickly cause a turnover, and I'd be called back into the game instantaneously. How would it look to be signing autographs?

So I told the frat brother to be sure to bring the kids around when the game ended. I'd be happy to sign then.

I went back to the game, and things didn't go as well. I was replaced later on, but brought back in. We rallied to win in the last minute.

I looked around to fulfill my promise. No kids were there. The frat brother and kids either had to leave early, or they might have seen that I wasn't quite the star they thought I was, and didn't think my autograph meant as much. Oh, well. We won anyhow.

Being an athletic hero brings with it some added perks and obligations. After all, an adoring public wants something of a return on the investment it's making: Tickets, sportswear, following, loyalty. You can't turn a cold shoulder. Or, you can, but poor performance and bad luck wear away at that loyalty in a hurry.

As the stakes grow higher, obligations increase, too. Pro athletes are pretty much expected to do some things, like (yes) sign autographs and do interviews. Some of these interviews are one-on-one, often fawning. Some are with a press pool the members of which aren't always completely supportive.

I used to be part of the press pool for what was the Greater Milwaukee Open golf tournament. I once pressed a pro on what was then a growing experiment: Wearing the kinds of shoes that didn't have spikes. He thought that was almost un-American. I suggested an advantage. He got real ornery. He actually looked like he might try to start a fight with me.

I backed away because, while I wanted a story, I didn't want to be the story. If you've watched New England Patriots' coach Bill Belichick in a post-game press pool questioning, you know he's there in the most token way, trying to be sufficiently brief and annoying so he gets to leave in the quickest possible time.

So there are people who get this and literally go through the motions. But tennis star Naomi Osaka, one of the big names in the game, doesn't even think she can do that. She'd rather go without the press at all, and dropped out of the French Open, one of the sport's Big Four, in a form of protest.

Osaka described her issues in terms of anxiety and depression at being in the middle of people who weren't necessarily wanting her to succeed. Well, yes. That's a perfectly normal and even expected role of some of the reporters at any sports gathering. They're mingled in with the well-wishers.

Aren't they, then, exactly like the crowd that just watched them? Seems that way to me. To think that you can control the press is being--and I'll bet Osaka never thought of this--like ex-, who thought he could control everything. Uh-uh. Never happens no matter how hard you try.

So is the press making her depressed or the thought that someone else is expecting something else of her? I'm not sure. I don't, and didn't, connect with that sport like I did with sports like football and golf. But she's still a professional athlete, still has an adoring public (and deservedly so), and owes them something.

Maybe she doesn't think appearing in front of a press pool amounts to that owing. I would call that misguided.

It's also insular. She may be one of the very best in the world, but she's not the only tennis player in the world. Others, too, are striving, and have in some cases accomplished much of what she has. What if they, too, decided to follow in her footsteps and ignore the very press that gives them successful publicity, the very thing that gets people to admire and follow them? Could they be so confident that the numbers of fans would remain the same? Will they applaud Osaka, or give her strange and hostile looks next time?

Maybe that's what's driving Aaron Rodgers in his strange holdout against the Green Bay Packers. Or maybe it isn't. Maybe he realizes that the fans would show up anyhow. That, ironically (or cynically, take your pick), might leave him justifiably alone to deal with the team as he wishes.

I have no feel for that one, either. But all big-time athletes have some obligation to their public. If Osaka is having depression and anxiety issues--which I don't wish to diminish; it happens--perhaps an accommodation can be reached; a post-tournament or post-match private comment then distributed to the press. Or maybe a lid placed on the number of questions allowed. While still not fair to the others, at least it would be a recognition that coverage and attention matters and a public accounting is made for all, by all.

Osaka left the French Open before competing (French Open officials insisting, by the way, that they reached out to her and her issues), suggesting that she was looking forward to working with the press to come up with a solution. I hope so. Women's tennis needs stars. She cannot stay one by just getting the ball over the net.

Be well. Be careful. With some luck, I'll see you down the road.

Mister Mark

Federal Response? For Me, It Was Great

I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say that our interaction with the federal government isn't frequent. Most of the time, we think of that, too, as a good thing.

Okay, we pay our taxes. Everybody files a return. Note that I don't, and won't, say that everybody pays their taxes. The richer you get, apparently, the better you can dodge payments. But I digress.

Outside of that, the less we have a person-to-person connection, the less complicated our lives tend to be. That's why I hesitated the other day.

When I began my Social Security payments, I took no deductions. I found that later to be a foolish idea, because in Wisconsin, at least, you have to pay federal taxes on your benefits. I figured out that I paid roughly $300 per month.

I can't say that I 'got burned' by that, since I owed the money. But at first, it drained my savings. I'd forgotten that little tidbit.

The last couple of years, then, I'd taken at least $300 out of each payment and made an separate account in which to deposit it right after the raw payment had been made. That way, I couldn't fool myself into thinking that I had the money when, in fact, I'd be getting rid of it.

All that bother for a net loss? How silly. So I looked up a remedy.

I remembered that I could remove differing percentages of my payment each month--something that I'd ignored when I first arranged for payments--and the federal government could use the money upfront: 10%, 12%, or 22%. Turns out that 12% came out to $297/month, which would just about cover what I needed to pay full freight at tax time. Why not let the government do it? I brought up the form and printed it out.

But, of course, the pandemic. The Social Security offices are closed. Roadblock? It felt intimidating.

But no: There was the number. My shoulders sank. Would I wait half an hour for someone to pick up the phone?

Nope. Two rings. Someone answered. "Just fill out the form and send it in," she said. We hung up.

It was that simple? Really? There had to be a glitch. I figured that the government would send me another form. Or something.

I sent it in. I figured to hear back in, maybe, three or four months. Nope; it was one month. Thin envelope, too.

It told me what I'd done. No exceptions, no extra issues, no extra forms. Simple deal.

I stared into space with wonder. The damn government works. Even from way-far-away. What happened was exactly what I wanted to happen.

I'd had an office in Washington, DC for six years, and I chose to live in the District for another single year, so I knew about some of the people who work, mostly anonymously, to deliver services for this enormous country of ours. They're just working stiffs like you and me. Their jobs touch far more of us than we give them credit for. They work well. They want to help.

I heard someone complain about 'corruption' a while back, and vaguely, as it usually is, referenced Washington. I got all over him. "They're like the rest of us, but they care far more," I said. "They want all of us to succeed as Americans."

The efficient response I got in the mail shouldn't have stunned me. But my confidence in government has been diminished in recent years with the temporary insertion of someone who didn't think government mattered much, and worked to keep it from working, giving that conclusion a self-fulfilling prophecy.

The people who undermined government were the people who catered to those who automatically reject government as an internal enemy, which wants to steal your money for things you never see. I already know that's like many of the other myths they choose to believe. Amidst 330 million people (or so), it's often difficult to identify with a place so seemingly remote but with so much power.

But those people care. They do what they do, too, because they're civil servants, not because they were elected to do so. That's the idea.

An article ran in the New York Times not long ago noting that the Social Security Administration was doing some recalibrating to improve its image. Whatever it's doing, the best thing it can do is what it just did with me: Deliver services. Now they have a champion they never knew. Mission accomplished.

Be well. Be careful. With some luck, I'll see you down the road.

Mister Mark

Continue with the Commission? You Bet. Don't Let Republicans Get Away with It

You can't really blame them for trying to dodge this huge bullet. But it's the blue whale (not merely the elephant) in the room.

The Senate has reported on security lapses on January 6, but that report is limited in scope. It doesn't get to the essence of the origins of the insurrection. That would take much more time and care.

But Republicans want the veneer of caring about this when in fact ugly political realities scream to hold them back. That's why they've filibustered paying for a far more sweeping investigation led by the House.

They've left it to the Democratic-controlled lower chamber to use its limited funding to do it. That's so they can attack it from the start, screaming bias and doing what they're best at--being victims.

But the real victim here, as it's been for some time now, is democracy. It is seeping away from us slowly but noticeably.

It will be partly restored. Person by person, perpetrators are being arrested and will stand trial. They might plead out or might challenge the charges. Make no doubt that some will be jailed for a while, as they should be.

Some claim to be sorry. Sorry for being caught, or sorry for having tried to wreck our nation's capitol? It reminds me of the bratty students who, when being caught talking inattentively in class, quickly replied "sorry," usually without looking at me, to do nothing more than deflect attention--and then start in again two or three minutes later. So I devised some responses: "Sorry means you won't do it in the future, right?" or "I won't believe you're sorry until you show me you're sorry by remaining quiet." It had better, if imperfect, effects.

The trick is to apply accurate charges: Criminal trespass. Assaulting a Capitol Police officer. Destroying federal property. All those are evident in the films. Some foolishly but lavishly sent pics and text messages to friends 'back home,' proving that they were at the scene and committing mayhem. Those were easily traced. It is to our advantage that Christopher Wray, who's held the position during two administrations, is still the head of the FBI. It lends credible non-partisanship to the proceedings.

But some will get away with it. Not all who trespassed or caused damage will be caught. That will encourage another breach in the future. That will encourage future perpetrators to bring weapons.

The only thing that might prevent that is for Republicans in Congress to admit their own mistakes, say that they just lost their tempers, and warn everyone away from another try. Without that, the future issue will remain unresolved. And with new Republican-supported vote-counting restrictions and overrriding options, the election of 2024 may also be unresolved enough to be challenged by both parties.

But Republicans can't admit siding with crazies because that would expose them as complicit. On the other hand, they would have something else to complain about.

Either way, we may be lurching toward an even larger mess here. There can be no compromise: The presidential election is signed and delivered, state by state, with no "serious irregularities," that catch-all, disingenuous smear implying that something must be wrong with the results, even though it was probably the most secure and best-counted election in our history.

But with the continuation of a commission of some sort, the most important thing to provide is closure. Without it, there will be questions dangling about the lack of coverage by the National Guard, the chain of command that day, the hesitation of the Pentagon to provide support, the reprehensible conduct of ex-, and the coordination of efforts by right-wing extremist groups leading up to and including that day. 

From what Senate Republicans allowed to be reported, we do know that what constituted the communications system to let the Capitol Police know what was coming on January 6 either broke down or was simply inadequate. That, of course, is important to know. But that's more about systems in place and not about what got organized to cause the insurrection. 

Though ex-'s speech electrified the crowd and certainly provided the sedition necessary, that alone didn't cause the assault. Those people got there with that already on their minds. We must learn why and how.

To be sure, journalism and independent investigations will go on. But they won't be nearly as timely as we need it to be. The day's reporting was, understandably, as disjointed as the event itself, so we know something about it all. But there's always more to know, and it can always be better presented and understood.

So, yes: Despite Republican efforts to dodge responsibility and accountability; despite the fear of the truth; and despite the interposing of complaints of politicizing the results, House Democrats owe it to the country to make their best effort to review and add to our understanding of January 6. We all saw what happened. We must better find the source. 

We must put this behind us with the best account. You can't hide a blue whale.

Be well. Be careful. With some luck, I'll see you down the road.

Mister Mark

This Seems Too Obvious: Let's Trash the Justice Dept. Memo, Okay?

It's a memo. That's all it is. It's not a law that's been passed by Congress. It wasn't put there by executive order. It isn't even a court decision. It's an internal memo within the Justice Department. 

It's had an outsized effect on our politics and legal proceedings lately, and it accelerated as applied to a rogue, lawless, amoral presidency. It served as a firewall against the rule of law, the one thing that a president's supposed to respect no matter what. Instead, it was flaunted, no matter what.

To wit: the supposition that a sitting president can't be indicted for crimes or be subjected to other legal proceedings. We all have to wait until he's out of office.

Ex- ran with that one to absurd extents. "I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot someone and not lose voters" he famously said during his first campaign, and he did what he could to extend that very idea as far as he could. Being invulnerable politically isn't the same as invulnerable legally, but that's pretty much how he applied it. Indeed, his lawyers tried that little gambit in court--to no avail, but they had the chutzpah to try.

In any event, the impeachment trial showed the extent to which he stonewalled any reasonable effort of House Democrats to subpoena his records and staff. If elected again, you can bet that that's where he'll go, too.

Seems to me that all the Attorney General, Merrick Garland, would have to now do is tear that memo up. There: Done. Now a sitting president can be indicted and/or sued and if necessary, stand trial for crimes committed.

Why hasn't anyone brought this up, having learned what we've learned about how someone might extend the limits of ethics beyond anything previously tried? I don't get it.

To be sure, this Justice Department will operate on principle. Just yesterday, it announced that it would, indeed, defend ex-'s nasty comments to E. Jean Carroll, answering her accusations of rape, which she otherwise wants to confront him about in a libel trial, since he accused her of being a liar. Turns out those comments, however awful, fall within the scope of the president being able to defend himself and having that reflect how people view the performance of his job--wide latitude indeed, and style points irrelevant. 

If it lets this slide, then future presidents have to more closely measure what they get to say if accused, especially falsely, of wrongdoing or even criminal behavior. And we have to give the benefit of the doubt to the American people--regardless of how difficult that is becoming--who might just put someone better than ex- in the White House. Except they would have to wait four years. Taking the wide view doesn't always feel good.

Which brings us back to the original point. If the Justice Department should scrap the previous memo and allow presidents to be indicted for crimes while in office, wouldn't that unnecessarily waste the public's time while the concomitant ballyhoo ensues? After all, the president can't change behavior committed before he came to office.

As in most things of that nature: Well, yes. And no. If a president is being pulled off to the side of the road and indicted endlessly--especially in today's atmosphere, political enemies would spend an incredible amount of resources finding ways to do that--the public's interests don't look best served. But then, a first-term president, especially, would normally stand for re-election, and reports of untoward behavior are certainly fair game. But that's for the First Amendment, not the Fourth, Fifth, or Sixth. It wouldn't stop us from making a note of it.

There is the grand jury process, too, in which 23 people get to vote by majority whether to proceed with criminal indictments. Unquestionably, presidents would and should be subject to that preliminary review. But getting indictments are, reportedly, pretty easy to do, since the prosecution has the process very much rigged for it: There's no cross-examination, for instance, no chance for a president to respond. It's more or less an interview process with one side handling the questions.

Maybe, just maybe, for presidents only, that process could be amended. If so, though, who should be responsible for putting that into motion--Congress (good luck there)? Or the Justice Department, which issued the original memo in the first place?

Let's not forget, too: Joe Biden was accused of sexual assault during the campaign. The accuser was discredited by several accompanying news reports, and oddly disappeared. No solid evidence emerged. What if she should show up again and want a more public and thorough airing? Should Biden stand trial for it while in office? Wouldn't that put him in the same position as ex-?

I think the memo can be dismissed and a narrow ruling made on it. To wit: Any indictment made toward sitting presidents would have to be made concerning something they did while they were presidents. But to let them simply run about without the accountability that the rest of us poor slobs have would be to crown them as untouchable and more imperial, actually, than the position already is.

Executive privilege being what it is, the president already has plenty of protection against people who, legally or otherwise, wish to diminish the effects of their work, and the last one stretched that privilege beyond its normal boundaries, which shouldn't surprise us by now. But to say that a sitting president is immure from the legal process for four whole years makes a mockery of the meaning of law. It protects them unscathed. That's unacceptable.

What we've seen from an ex-president with no ethical boundaries will be duplicated way too soon in the future. Presidents must be held accountable--maybe not exactly like the rest of us, but they must realize that their actions will not only be scrutinized thoroughly but litigated if they enter the realm of probable cause. That's a slippery slope before which self-respecting people should draw a red line.

Be well. Be careful. With some luck, I'll see you down the road.

Mister Mark

Back to Church: A Vanguard of Worship--Normal, and Odd

My relationship with my church is complicated, kind of like the one with the eternal. Logic keeps invading. Nobody alive right now, even those who claim that they've seen the effects of death because they expired momentarily on a hospital table, knows what lies beyond.

Maybe there's nothing beyond that bright light that keeps popping up in their descriptions. Maybe they weren't actually dead yet, but at the very last vestige of being alive. Maybe. But maybe not. 

Yes, the person known as the Christian savior is said to have died, risen from the dead, and gone into heaven. Pretty special deal. But was that reserved just for him? Are we poor slobs relegated to the waste pile, "food for worms," as Mercutio called it, adding to the world's pollution? You could make that argument. It's left to our imaginations.

My spiritual side has faith, yes. But my rational side raises an eyebrow.

Is that why I go, in wonder and keeping connections in reserve just in case? Yes, and no. It is, above all, a place of repose, where you're supposed to have time to think about things, where those things are (potentially) important yet more simplified because there's no noise to disrupt it.

After all, it's quite the mystery. Too much has been made of it to look past it. Not that I'll ever 'be ready to go.' Few people know quite when that's going to happen, anyhow, and fewer have the chance to prepare much, besides having that proverbial power-of-attorney arranged, and papers in a knowable, accessible spot.

And readings from whatever holy book you happen to be following are often challenging and philosophical, written as they were long ago, and both undeniably applicable and inapplicable in the present day. So there's that. But you can read those things in a copy of a holy book that you can get in any reputable bookstore, so on paper, there's no need to cultivate a crowd to think by oneself, which would seem contradictory.

And I do not pretend to be holy or wish that that's at all possible. That's been abandoned long ago. As I said more than once during my more sinful days: I'm not running for Pope.

But there is comfort in knowing that you're part of a community of faith seekers. At some point, too, their thinking dovetails with yours, and disagreements and arguments are muted if not extinguished for at least a few minutes a week. There is comfort, too, in knowing that week in and week out, you'll be running into the same people. They may not know me well, and vice versa--many among my group are fierce about protecting their privacy, and I'm one of them--but the familiarity is well enough, and it serves us all. Ironically, it used to be a place of retreat from the noise and clamor to which I'd attached myself. Now, it's a chance to be with people, to balance the silence of retired weeks with human contact.

We practice a religion that is compassionate and, for the most part, not punitive, that wishes to expand the understanding of the Bible instead of a following that is unquestioning, literal, and rigid. Knowing that works for me.

So when my congregation's session--the folks elected to make the vital decisions--chose to make a limited re-opening of live, in-person Sunday services, I was among the first to sign up. We had lurched through the pandemic with virtual services and Zoomed coffee hours, tolerable but ultimately futile, like everybody else's loneliness.

I, like so many others, craved a handshake, a face that could be reached with an outstretched arm, even a hug. The knowledge that it would be no longer anonymous, not just someone on the street, brought a certain amount of anticipation.

There was a nice revelation, too, in discovering that my usual worship spot--we common goers have our spots; back in the day, they could be reserved with a certain level of tithing--had been left open after social distancing, both horizontally and vertically, had been guaranteed. Maybe someone would notice me--hey, he's back, too. For whatever effect, it might add to the feeling of community.

For me, it was like returning home, or to one of my homes. I'd felt that sense of belonging more than once. I had been on two long journeys during the last eighteen years--one intentional, one of necessity, both lasting years, both filled with victories and defeats. I don't have enough ego to pretend that that seat was intentionally left vacant, awaiting my return. Yet, it's a big church, and only 125 were allowed in Sunday, so there would be a lot of room. And if in the future someone wishes to claim it, well, it's got no one's name on it. 

But there it was, and I don't mind telling you that there was some joy attached to that. When things go wrong, when it feels as if all has become undone, a little thing like that can have a value you never considered. Others have their spots, too. I could never imagine dislodging them.

I'm not a small person, so I've made sure that my 'spot' wasn't right in front of the preacher's glance. Looking outward, I'm to the right of the podium, four rows (or five, some weeks) from the front, just inside the aisle. I'm not sure if it's been squatter's rights, but the number of times in more than twenty years now that someone made me scoot over to the middle of the pew can be counted on one hand.  I seek to learn, though, not to intimidate by my mere presence. And, though pretty close, it also feels appropriately humble. 

This isn't politics. This isn't a place to make a big deal out of oneself. But it's also saying that I'm not hesitant to get close to the proceedings, unlike many students who typically made sure to stay back from my lectures at Cedarburg High. Yet I don't want to seem too eager to suggest desperation or pretentiousness. Appearances aren't supposed to matter in church, though it is often the place where they matter a little too much.

What did happen strangely was that, because cordoned-off pews had reduced seating capacity, a family I'd never seen before--not necessarily new members--slipped in beside me, down pew a bit. My relative proximity to the front normally keeps relatively few from easing in next to me, save Christmas or Easter with their typically large crowds. I would say that a good eighty percent of the time, I've had the whole pew to myself. Most people are not that comfortable being that close.

When that happened before, though, I'd acknowledge them cheerfully, and I'd sure to sign the small folder provided supposedly for that purpose in case one would want to extend greetings after the service. There's a small space provided for a comment, and I make it a note to say something typically friendly, like "Nice to see you!" or "Have a great day!". Sometimes it led to a brief conversation.

None of that, though, could happen that day or can happen for a while. The session removed such items to make it very impossible to spread germs from common handling of otherwise common items. The said family did not acknowledge me, though I was masked. The four of them stayed the required six feet away. I felt safe, largely because I've had the gateway two vaccine shots.

We were even advised that, if we handled copies of the Bible and hymn books, we should leave them on the pews instead of putting them back in the holders. Someone would have a long cleaning task ahead, but haven't we all done that here and there?

All those preliminaries out of the way, the service proceeded pretty much as it always has. There was no choir--good as it is, it was post-Memorial Day so it's usually on break anyhow--only a brilliant soloist, and of course those in the congregation who stood to sing, this time doing so through masks (there's that incident, early on, in Seattle where a choir sang sans masks, staying the dictated six feet apart, and a whole bunch of them still got sick and a couple of them died, seeing as how they hadn't accounted for their breath spray sailing around them. So I'm guessing someone thought of that.). 

The effect was as muffled as one would guess, but the enthusiasm was still there. Singing brings emotions out of me; I felt myself choking up in the second stanza of the first song. I'd missed it all more than I knew. At the conclusion, we were invited to turn to the back and sing toward the camera so that those at home, beyond the 125 who'd been allowed to attend but still viewing virtually, could feel something of renewal and welcome, too.

The Bible is sometimes strange and unapproachable, but at other times it's so prescient it stuns. Sunday's reading was such a day. The New Testament's excerpt was from Paul's second letter to the Corinthians, in which he says:

• We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed;
• Perplexed, but not driven to despair; 
• Persecuted, but not forsaken;
• Struck down, but not destroyed.

If that isn't the pandemic's effects on the survivors, I don't know what is. It leaves you thinking: Whoa. In the popular vernacular of the day, we're all that.

As such, an actual coffee hour to visit and catch up, as you might expect, wasn't allowed, either. But seeing as how the day was marvelous if a bit warm, a bunch of us gathered outside the rear door and had a coffee hour, sans coffee, on the back patio. Many of us took off our masks; after all, we've all been told that once outside, the risk of transmission nearly disappears. There was a marked uplift and cadence in the voices. Smiles abounded.

So it was normal if a bit odd. The pastor brought up D-Day allegorically in her sermon. My mind shot back to when Teddy Roosevelt, Jr., who commanded the American effort on Utah Beach, found that his landing force, one of the vanguards of the retaking of Western Europe, had been thrown about a mile off course by the prevailing current. He was asked for next steps. No sense marching down the beach to the proposed landing spot, he decided; they had made one of their own, like it or not. Inland they would go. "We'll start the war from right here," he said.

Much of what has happened is unprecedented, like that invasion, and so shall be the adjustments. I was glad to be part of my congregation's vanguard, the first group back after a wait of much consternation. Our destinies, of course, are still waiting. We'll continue that preparation from right here.

Be well. Be careful. With some luck, I'll see you down the road.

Mister Mark

USA Today: Right Down There, Now, with the National Enquirer

I saw it on a newsstand leaving the drug store. I had to look and think twice to assure myself that yes, this was the publication; yes, this is what it was saying; and yes, it chose to do so.

Media sources change. Time has gone from being a center-right publication to decidedly liberal. National Geographic has doubled down on conservation and climate change issues, and never mind about broad sweeps of countries or cities that leave you feeling that every place on the globe is marvelous, when it isn't. Sports Illustrated has morphed into something of a 'happy news' publication, avoiding tough topics when it can. Golf magazine has increased its actual size, bigger than any other magazine I get, and moved from far less of a gateway to effective instruction to a review of courses surrounded by resorts that are meant for the very affluent, and equipment that can only be afforded by them.

All this is about more than a change in management. It's also about finding, or maybe re-finding, a reliable following and tailoring approaches to ensure consistent readership. So I get that. But when I saw that USA Today, usually reliably accurate, solidly conservative but never too much so and occasionally wandering left, had run this headline, I just shook my head.

To wit: Hybrid Babies. Hybrid, as in half-something and half-something else. In this case, half-human and half-animal.

Yes. Half-animal. Little infants with horns sticking out of their heads, or at least photographs purporting to demonstrate that. Top of the front page, no subtlety. This weekend's edition. Sitting right there, right on the newsstand.

Full reveal: I did not buy a copy. I let my imagination do the rest. Of course, it ran wild.

There are three ways such a thing could happen, if it can happen at all:

• A human mother to be impregnated by an animal; 
• An animal mother impregnated by a human father; or
• In vitro, as a result, one figures, of an experiment or something. Or maybe a mistake posing as an experiment.

I once read about the former in a decidedly porno novel while in college, half a century ago; the owner of it and I had quite the chuckle. I recall the paramour was a German shepherd, who apparently seemed to be enjoying it, as was the young lady. There was no follow-up as to gestation.

And I have heard about the second. In fact it's featured in Toni Morrison's book Beloved, which I also read many years later (No, I don't think I have a fixation on this. Neither should you.). Those recipients were sheep as a replacement for loneliness, paralleling the farm fable--or, maybe, not a fable after all. Not all novelists imagine everything in their novel's contents.

But USA Today? When it first hit the stands, it was criticized as being too homogeneous, too encompassing, too national and too general. Remember its full-page summary of events taking place in every individual state? They were less-than-one-paragraph snippets of items of interest, as measured by whomever perused that state's other newspapers and wanted us to absorb them. The snippets printed weren't that weird.

But at least it tried. It touched every base. It was decidedly mainstream, the kind of thing that hotels often put out on their front counters so that people would have something to tuck under their arms at airports, mildly informative but certainly not offensive. After all, if you're in Des Moines, flying to Seattle, native of neither, the news of Des Moines isn't likely to catch your eye.

In my flyover, traveling days, I used to read it. At least I knew a little about a little, and one never knew when some tidbit of information could be utilized in a speech that demonstrated to people in a particular state that while there's no way you could know all the issues going on within it, at least you were trying, too.

Maybe that page is still there. But I'm not sure what USA Today has turned into now. It sure isn't mainstream. It looks like it has replaced, or wants to replace, The National Enquirer as the tabloid you either really don't want to miss, or really do.

Or, maybe, it sees enough of a public willing to believe damn near anything (the curtain of which has been torn off by ex-'s ramblings) to understand that there is an enormous supply of crazies, so why not dive right in? I looked it up: as of 2019, the Enquirer had 2.1 million devotees each week.

Which means: Either USA Today is trying to cut into the Enquirer's support base, or it believes that there are millions more starving to absorb such bizarre information, or nonsense posing as information, about which of course we have just had four years of being forced into, causing head-shaking angst.

It returned in that moment, and I'm trying to get it out of my head. It'll take a while. Horns? Must be a cow, or maybe a goat. Or maybe just baloney; photos can be doctored. Can't think of anything else. Don't want to.

Be well. Be careful. With some luck, I'll see you down the road.

Mister Mark