Why Does Rush Limbaugh Call My Momma Names

My momma worked in the shipyards in Evansville, Indiana, right before I was born, building ships to fight the Nazis. She rolled up her sleeves and worked hard, side by side with other women, and men. She continued to work after the war; she ran a laundry and worked in factories in my home town.

From about age seven on, I was a latch key kid. Both parents worked hard trying to make a living, and I was responsible in the mornings for cleaning out the clinkers from the stove that sat in the middle of their bedroom, recovering the fire that had been banked overnight, taking out the ashes, and bringing in more coal. In the afternoon I came home from school by myself, cleaned out the clinkers, took out the ashes, brought in more coal, did my homework, played outside, and waited for my parents to come home.

It was not Ozzie and Harriett, folks.

My mother was not a good cook. My mother was not a good housekeeper—our house was always a mess. I almost never saw my momma wear makeup. Or a dress. She grew up on a farm as a tomboy. She was a chain smoker. She drank mass quantities of iced tea. She could cuss when the spirit moved her. She would take a drink when it pleased her. She did not shave her legs except when she wanted to.

She was a very strong “union man”, often saying to me, “There’s only two kinds of people in the world, Democrats and scabs.” She, in the heat of the moment, once hit her boss as he tried to cross a picket line.

She did not believe she was inferior to men.

Her friends who worked with her in the plastics factory seemed to be very much like her. I worked with them as well for a couple of summers. They, too, were working to support families. Some had husbands, some did not. They, too, were very strong, opinionated women who did not neatly fit into pre-established boxes.

My sister did not fit the box either. She worked most of her life while raising two kids, mostly on her own. As she divorced her third husband, she famously said, “I don’t need me no more damned men. Hell, I’ll be better off with a good cucumber.”

My mother taught me to cook—I needed to feed myself at dinner time and supper time when she worked second or third shift. She taught me to clean house: My logic was “she’s not really interested in housework, and she’s working her butt off at the factory, so if the house ain’t clean enough for me, it’s my problem, not hers.” I did not clean very often, truth be told, but I did learn how to do it. She taught me to wash my own clothes, iron, and take care of myself. She did not sit me down and say, “Now son, these are skills you need to have.” On the other hand, neither she nor my daddy said to me, “Hey, that’s wimmens’ work.”

My mother, cigarette in one hand, coffee in the other, died while having just told a dirty joke on the phone.

My sister taught me how to write “I love you” on a valentine to that one girl in my first-grade class. My sister taught me how to die well—strong to the end.

I watched my momma live her life. I watched my sister live her life. From a distance, I watched Reba, Castela, Dean, Nora Belle, Kathryn, Govenenna, and a whole host of other women in my home town live their lives.

These women were feminists. They did not call themselves that. I’m calling them that.

From my momma and my sister and those women in my home town, I learned to become a feminist, and proudly, as a 67+ year old Southern boy, so label myself.

I used to listen to Rush Limbaugh quite often. As an amateur student of propaganda, I found his radio show instructive. He developed himself into a propaganda artist, with a lot of intelligent followers. As the years went by my interests moved on to other topics and artists, and now I only listen to him when I’m driving through Kansas, bored, and tired of satellite radio.

As I listen, I continue to wonder why he calls women like my momma and sister “femi-Nazis”.  My momma was a feminist-behaving woman who did more than her share of work to defeat the Nazis.  Why would he find this worthy of condemnation and misguided attempts at humor. What is objectionable about people who believe in and fight for the rights of women in a world that has continually sold women short?

I guess I do sort of understand why he does it, strictly from a propaganda perspective—if he can get people to equate feminists (women who don’t kowtow to men) with Nazis (right-wing conservatives who tried to take over the world), he can evoke fear, especially from us bald-headed old men who are scared of women to start with. Calling women who don’t kowtow to men right-wing conservatives doesn’t quite make sense, but the word Nazi does evoke fear (except in extreme right wing conservatives of course).

But, he says he is an entertainer, and it is on that level that I don’t understand it.

I wonder how does Rush Limbaugh get pleasure from and enhance his entertainment value by calling my dead momma a femi-Nazi?

Booze and a Boy from Kentucky

This is in tribute to one of my favorite authors, Walker Percy.  Here’s an excerpt from his essay, “Bourbon”, written in 1975 and included in his book, Signposts in a Strange Land: 

Not only should connoisseurs of Bourbon not read this article, neither should persons preoccupied with the perils of alcoholism, cirrhosis, esophageal hemorrhage, cancer of the palate, and so forth—all real enough dangers. I, too, deplore these afflictions. But, as between these evils and the aesthetic of Bourbon drinking, that is, the use of Bourbon to warm the heart, to reduce the anomie of the late twentieth century, to cut the cold phlegm of Wednesday afternoons, I choose the aesthetic. (page 103)

Part One: Wondering About the Rules

Since I was a little boy, I have wondered about booze, a fairly natural thing I think, given that I grew up in Kentucky.

This is how I was introduced to social drinking. When Uncle Clay and Aunt Ethyl came to “sit a spell” and talk on a Sunday afternoon, my father would sometimes go to the kitchen. I would hear a metal cabinet open and know that he was slipping a half pint from the shelf, unscrewing the cap, and taking a big swig. We only had three rooms in this house, so it was pretty hard to hide what was going on. He did not acknowledge his action. He did not offer a drink to anyone else. Unless Aunt Ethyl (who back in the day was known to drink quite a bit, and also had an extreme stutter when drunk, which, behind her back was cause for lots of stories from my mother, but who was now an extreme, evangelical teetotaler) was outside the house away from the action; then, my daddy might offer Uncle Clay a swig, and pass the half pint bottle. Then put it back in the cabinet.

My parents were Primitive Baptists. My home town was filled with Baptists and evangelicals, none of whom had positive feelings about alcohol consumption. Shortly before I was baptized into the Methodist Church (at about age 7), members were required to sign oaths not to drink alcohol or smoke cigarettes. Although the rules had changed by the time I became a member, I was never present at any church function at which alcohol in any form was served to the adult members of the church. There was lots of cigarette smoking, but it was Kentucky and that’s another story.

The Kentucky county in which I grew up was “local option”, meaning that periodically the issue of alcohol sales came up for a vote of county residents. That did not mean there were no alcohol sales in the county, however. I don’t remember much moonshine being made and sold, although I’m sure it was there. “Bootleg” (booze bought in “wet” counties, brought into my county illegally, and sold for a premium price) was much more common.

“Baptists, bootleggers, and the police are all in it together to keep this county dry,” my daddy would opine.

On election days in this dry county, the local taxi would transport people to and from the polls. It was not uncommon for there to be a half pint included in the free ride.

I remember going with my daddy or with my daddy and uncle to bootleggers’ homes, usually on Saturday or Sunday mornings, to buy bootleg beer and whiskey. I would wait in the car, sometimes for a long time.

Wondering time for me. I still wonder:

·       Why is it that we in the South particularly were/are so preoccupied with drinking?

·       Why did my people view drinking as sinful and against the wishes of God, when my Bible contains positive stories about Jesus and wine?

·       Why did my people sneak a snort rather than engage in cocktail parties?

·       Why did wine become grape juice in the practice of communion in my church?

There is probably a vast body of literature in theological schools devoted to this topic that should join the literature we all know and love.

I hope.

Part Two: Wondering over Drinks

I did not take a drink until my 21^st birthday. I had no moral issues with alcohol. I just did not find it appealing. Plus I was a “good boy” who did not want to break laws. Plus I had plans—there was a big old world out there that I wanted to see and did not want anything to interfere with those plans.

On my 21^st birthday, the beginning of my senior year in college, I drank my first beer, sitting in the Country Club in Bowling Green, Kentucky. It tasted awful. The second one tasted better, especially when combined with a hamburger.

When I graduated from college, I moved to Athens, Georgia. At that time, the only place where one could buy “hard” liquor was in black night clubs after midnight. Beer and wine were sold in restaurants, “spirits” were not.

This was 1966 and I, as a young white man, was still tolerated in black establishments (not the case the next year when black folks started to develop a black consciousness), so I found myself drinking white liquid from unlabeled bottles many nights after midnight. I liked it.

As I have aged, I wonder about the notion, particularly in the South, that alcohol consumption is somehow immoral, frowned upon by God, and evil.  At the same time, moonshine makers have become legendary folk heroes. And, also at the same time, countless novels, plays, and short stories, involving hot toddies, mint julips, and other forms of alcohol, usually Bourbon based, have been placed in the highest ranks of artistic literature.

I do have an affection for Bourbon. My ability to drink Manhattans and Bourbon on the rocks has declined substantially, however, and I’m not sure I could drink the white stuff I once drank in the bars of Athens, Georgia. Reflux issues, among other afflictions brought on by age (and good sense, or is that my Methodist background talking?).

Thank you Walker Percy for your body of literature, including your treatise on Bourbon.

Anomie still exists in the 21^st Century. Hearts still need to be warmed. And there is still “cold phlegm” on Wednesday afternoons, needing to be cut. 

As I write this, Wednesday afternoon is at its mid-point.

Talking About Religion

On March 24, 2012, a Reason Rally will be held on the Mall in Washington. Its focus is on atheism, among other things.

 Started me to wonder, again, about religion.

My parents were Primitive Baptists, although they seldom went to church. They were believers, although my daddy believed with some skepticism. “Watch them preachers,” he’d say. “If they pull their watches out at the beginning of the sermon, it’s gonna be a long one.” He also said more than once, “Watch out for preachers that pass the hat before their sermon. That ain’t right. Let me hear what you have to say before you ask me for money.”

I went to church with them a few times, but my interaction with the church came mostly from funerals. I did go to a baptism once, though. The baptismal, I guess you’d call it (where people get dunked) was in the form of a large glass tank of water behind the pulpit. My daddy wasn’t crazy about that. “If you’re gonna do it, the preacher ought to have to break the ice off Tradewater River and hold you down in it ‘til you feel the spirit.” I honestly do not know whether either of my parents were baptized.

Somehow or other, when I was about six years old I got connected with the United Methodist Church. We lived on Baptist Hill (go figure), which was about a mile or so from the church. On Sunday mornings I walked down the rock-road hill and over to Cedar Street by myself to attend Sunday school and church.

This was the start my wondering about religion.

The Providence Methodist Church provided me an opportunity to develop myself spiritually, without hell fire and damnation, without a focus on the “thou shalt nots” , but with a focus on caring, love, and spiritual development. Rice Sutherland, Wendell Johnson, an array of smart pastors, and other adults were role models.

The Methodist Youth Fellowship (MYF) provided me with a social life I would not have had otherwise. I was a shy kid, did not smoke or drink (again, go figure), did not have a car, and had no money. I was active in school during the week, but Sundays were devoted to the Methodist choir and MYF.

In my youth, I committed myself to “full-time Christian service” during several revivals. I even thought about becoming a minister—that’s another story for a later date.

In college, the Wesley Foundation became one important hub for spiritual and social development. It was there that I was exposed to Buber, Kierkegaard, Tillich. And civil rights. It was heady times.

My love affair with religion started to fall apart during my last year of college. Nothing dramatic happened. My wondering just caught up with me.

Since my experience was mostly Christian, that’s where most of my questions reside. Understand that I am not a theologian, not a divinity student. Just a wonderer.

I wonder, if God is omnipotent, omniscient, and omnipresent, how can his creations (humans) presume to speak on his behalf? Are we, the people who establish religions and sects, really that arrogant?

I wonder why Christians, who profess to believe that every single sentence of the Bible is the inspired word of God, pick and choose from among those words only those concepts and ideas that we like, or can use as tools to disparage, persecute, and in many cases, kill other human beings?

I wonder, why a lot of Christians focus only on the Old Testament from which to develop those destructive tools? Isn’t the New Testament the Bible for Christians? Didn’t Jesus condense the 10 Commandments of the Old Testament into two, each of which dealt with love?

I wonder at the amount of money collected by religious leaders, who use the money to build idols of themselves in the form of cathedrals and giant buildings and billboards with their names and faces plastered on them?

I wonder why religious sects create large bureaucratic organizations and behave as corporations focused on profits and survival of the sect?

I wonder why politicians find religion to be such a cudgel in the fulfillment of their power trips?

I wonder why religious leaders feel the need to condemn those with whom they don’t agree?

I wonder why humans feel the need to construct God in our image?

It is no wonder to me why atheism has blossomed. 

I am not an atheist. I believe in the existence of a metaphysical force that is responsible for the universes. I can’t prove it; don’t feel the need to try. Don’t think this force cares particularly (yeah, I’m being anthropomorphical—if that’s a word that can be used to talk about “the force”) whether I believe in it or not.

I don’t know about a hereafter or what the rules are for being a part of it.  I do know that treating all living things with respect and love in THIS life is crucial to my well being—again, can’t prove it, but know it.

I know that faith, as practiced, has brought peace and solace to a lot of people. And as I write, there are hundreds of “preachers” and other believers out there who are feeding the hungry and helping feed the spiritual needs and faith of people, without asking for money or allegiance.

I also know that religion, in all its sectual forms, has been responsible, and continues to be responsible, for the misery and deaths of millions of people, while breeding and blessing greed, hubris, and hate among human beings. 

I believe my daddy was right to be suspicious of preachers/politicians wearing three-thousand dollar suits and insincere smiles and uttering hate-filled words, while holding their hands out looking for ever more money to build ever bigger power bases to do ever more destruction.

My belief in God continues to be strong, even as I wonder about it. My belief in religion and its leaders has been dead and buried for a long time now.

Johnny Can't Read: Who Cares?

I read a headline in the local newspaper this week: “Are America’s College Students Learning Anything?”. These headlines always amuse me in their simplicity as “Yes-No” questions. If I answered yes, I’d assume there would be no need to read the article. If I answered no, I would give away my ignorance of the word learning.

But in various forms, people from President Obama to old men like me drinking coffee in diners, continue to ask the question.

Starts me wondering.

The newspaper article, written by Professor Jonathan Zimmerman of NYU, takes a stab at an answer:

At most institutions, including my own, we have no idea if they are. Sure, professors assign grades in their courses, and students are asked to evaluate the classes they take and the professors who teach them. But neither measure gives us any real answer to the $200,000 question: What knowledge or skills are students acquiring in exchange for the skyrocketing tuition they pay?

http://articles.latimes.com/2012/jan/31/opinion/la-oe-zimmerman-are-college-students-learning-20120131

He goes on to talk about assessing students’ improvements, viz. a viz. standardized exams, in such areas as critical thinking and writing as a way of answering the question.

The article begs two questions.

First, in the U.S.  today, I believe we have bought, hook, line, and sinker, the notion that “if it can’t be measured, it ain’t real and we don’t like it.” I could profess about how this has happened, but will spare you, for now (yeah that’s a threat). Humor me and pretend that it’s more or less true. Or don’t humor me, and let’s debate it. Anyway…..

One result of this attitude is that accreditation agencies (sort of licensing agencies with fewer teeth) who oversee higher education institutions and career colleges, see it as their obligation to ensure that students can at least read, think critically, write, “do” math, etc. There are a lot of the people who run these agencies and many politicians who run these people who run these agencies who, along with Professor Zimmerman, don’t believe that the current model is viable.

Here’s the current model: University professors, trained professionals, devise curricula that meet the standards of the academic community (which has been around since the 14^th Century in Europe at least, and thus has history to back it up), admit students (using a variety of methods designed to predict whether or not students can succeed at a given school), and assess students’ learning in the classroom using exams, papers, etc. 

Accreditors and politicians don’t believe this is sufficient to “prove” learning, perhaps because they don’t trust professors (discussion at another time), and that there must be a better method. Because of our culture’s need to measure, that better method must include “quantified” results. 

In other words, there must be numbers because we believe language comprising numbers is better than language comprising words.

So, those same professors mentioned above are now being asked to come up with batteries of standardized tests, which can be scored statistically across mass populations, to prove “to God and everybody” that Johnny can read, write,  think critically, etc.

Trying to “prove” with mathematical language and statistical precision that someone has learned is a lot of fun for certain professors, administrators, and accreditors. Trying to prove that students have not learned is a lot of fun for certain professors and politicians.

The second begged question is,  “Is education a quid pro quo proposition?

In answer to Professor Zimmerman’s $200,000 question: “What knowledge or skills are students acquiring in exchange for the skyrocketing tuition they pay?”, I have many friends who would argue that there really isn’t any knowledge or skill to be learned as an undergraduate worth a $200,000 price tag. I agree with them.

But I think that’s a good answer to the wrong question.

Better question: “What is the value of a college education?”

Another better question: “What is the value of a $200,000 college education versus one that costs $20,000 or $40,000?”

I wonder.

The answer to the “better question” posed above, I believe lies in the eyes of the beholder and the culture from which we come.  Some would argue that the value of education is realized in a better informed citizenry capable of creating and sustaining better cultures and countries.

In other words, “Ignorance ain’t bliss” for the health, welfare, and longevity of countries and cultures.

How does one quantify that? With difficulty, which is why you don’t hear this being said much anymore outside the halls of higher education.

Too bad, I say. It’s a good answer. Even if Johnny graduates from Podunk U and can’t think critically, as measured by standardized exams, I believe the very fact that he’s rubbed shoulders and argued with people who believe radically different things than he does, outside his comfort zone maybe, serves him, and by extension the country, well.

Can I prove it empirically? Nope. Can I measure it’s truth or falsity? Nope.

On the other hand, if education is defined as a product or service one is buying in the marketplace (as is I believe the case with Professor Zimmerman), one answer to the “another better question” might be, “it depends on the values assigned by the market.” Some of those believing that higher education is a product/service thus tout the long-term statistical monetary value of a college education versus a high school education.

You’ll make more money over your lifetime if you get a college degree.

Those same people might look to the statistical long term monetary advantages accrued by alumni from a $200,000 university brand versus a $20,000 brand. some of the $200,000 brand universities tout the number of doors opened immediately into the marketplace of commerce, law, medicine, and graduate schools generally to graduating seniors as value-added aspects of their brand.

You’ll succeed better and/or make more money over your lifetime, if you graduate from our $200,000 university.

Can you measure the results of these arguments? Absolutely.

In short, if we continue to place our values so completely upon that which can be measured quantitatively, we’d be better off with headlines that say, “Are America’s College Students Preparing to Make a Lot of Money in Their Lifetimes?” The article then would offer quantitative proof, yes or no, across the broad spectrum of colleges and universities.

Or, we could use apparent beliefs of  the large numbers of folks, college educated and not, who follow with religious fervor the successes of their favorite university sports teams, forget about measuring learning, forget about career and monetary prospects of alumni, and make our headlines read, “Which are the Top Ten Universities in America?” By combining win/loss records of schools, over an array of sports, the article could answer the question with complete clarity and simplicity.  

Wonder if the tuition price we’d be willing to pay would depend on these standings of the university?