The Bishop's Blog: Bishop Charles Jenkins Announces Pending Retirement

The Bishop's Blog: Bishop Charles Jenkins Announces Pending Retirement

I applaud Bishop Jenkins' brave leadership in the most difficult of times. He has been a loving, caring apostle to everyone in the Diocese of Louisiana and beyond. He will be missed by his clergy and staff and by all the people of the Diocese, young and old alike.

We will pray for improvement in his health, for accomplishment of the goals he has set for the last year of his episcopate, and for a retirement rich in the love of family and friends and fishing in the Gulf!

Vol. 1, No. 24

Perry Ledbetter Fenton
as Chief of Police
The Story of The Little Beggar

Prospect Sierra School production of
1001 Nights - April 18, 2008

Obama for America

“At its best, the Obama candidacy is about ending a war—not so much the war in Iraq, which now has a momentum that will propel the occupation into the next decade—but the war within America that has prevailed since Vietnam and that shows dangerous signs of intensifying, a nonviolent civil war that has crippled America at the very time the world needs it most. It is a war about war—and about culture and about religion and about race. And in that war, Obama—and Obama alone—offers the possibility of a truce…

“We may in fact have finally found that bridge to the 21st century that Bill Clinton told us about. Its name is Obama.”

Andrew Sullivan, The Atlantic, December 2007


The Marketing Queen - Does the Church have something to learn
from a woman who knows how to market products?

If “Pomegranate Princess,” the title of a piece in the March 31 New Yorker magazine didn’t grab you, the picture of Lynda Resnick in her opulent Beverly Hills house (“It ain’t home, but it’s much,” she likes to say) surely would. At least, it caught my attention.

I always have been interested in marketing, and Lynda Resnick, as it turns out, knows how to do it. She and her husband have made themselves billionaires by purchasing companies and then improving the marketing end of the business. Stewart Resnick handles the business end; Lynda does the marketing.

For example, the couple bought the Fiji Water Company for 150 million dollars. Lynda changed the bottle’s label from a waterfall to a bright-pink tropical flower and the company slogan from “Taste of Paradise” to “Untouched by man. Until you drink it.” The result? Sales have increased 300%.

It seems to me the Church could pay a lot more attention than it does to marketing. How a product or service is presented can make a big difference.

Lynda Resnick says you have to listen to people. “You don’t have to be a genius. You have to read the pop culture. People magazine is my Bible.” That brought me up short. The only time I read People magazine is when I’m waiting to get a haircut and have forgotten to bring a book with me.

Along with listening and paying attention to pop culture, Lynda believes in brevity. “Keep it simple” is her motto. She dislikes long explanations filled with unnecessary details.

All of this has application for clergy and their congregations. Listening to the culture might mean everything from livelier music at worship to serving better coffee after the service. An emphasis on brevity and simplicity could apply to the sermon and to all written communication from the parish.

St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Walnut Creek, a suburban congregation, recently called the Rev. M. Sylvia O. Vásquez as Rector. She appears to know a thing or two about marketing. Sylvia’s personal motto, which appears after her name in email correspondence, is “Even if you’re on the right track, you’ll get run over if you just sit there.” Sylvia has been listening to young adults, maybe even reading People magazine.

Mission Statements are popular. Every parish has one. The problem is they often read as if a committee wrote them. They can be wordy and pious sounding. St. Paul’s “vision statement” is Deep Roots, Growing Community, Living Faith. That communicates. Lest you think “Living Faith” is only words, I can report (from reading our diocesan paper) that Sylvia took a group of parishioners on a mission trip to help the poor in Honduras. She has been making these trips for years.

At each of my last two parishes we paid good money for a professionally designed logo expressive of the parish theme. All parish publications were coordinated in appearance and used the identifying logo. Congregations need baseball caps, T-shirts, and coffee mugs with the parish logo. This is good marketing practice. The mega church you drive by has all these things, and it’s for a purpose. We don’t have to adopt their lowest common denominator theology and approach to borrow some of their good marketing tools.

In 1975, I read Robert Schuler’s Your Church Has Real Possibilities. The founder of the “Hour of Power” TV program and the Crystal Cathedral in Garden Grove is a marketing genius. He advises churches to give priority to location, parking, and distinguished architecture. I think of that each time I try to find one of our well-hidden churches and discover a poorly maintained building with unkempt grounds and inadequate parking.

I particularly remember what Schuller wrote about preaching. A billboard beside the freeway has a big picture and just one line of text. So the preacher, he advised, should paint a picture with words and then add a short comment. I think Linda Resnick would agree.


Perry in 1001 Nights

Our talented, eleven-year-old granddaughter took to the stage again playing four parts in a school production of 1001 Nights. I wish you could have joined her parents and Billie and me for the evening performance on Friday, April 18. If the proud grandfather is permitted to say so, Perry was great.

She had many lines and delivered them flawlessly in a clear voice that carried to every corner of the theatre in Prospect Sierra School’s new Performing Arts Center. She also sang, danced, and at one point played drums with the band.

As her father said, Perry’s comedic timing is perfect. That is a gift. The rest can be attributed to her enthusiasm for acting and many hours memorizing lines and attending rehearsals.

Amy Sass and Keith Davis, the directors, are a talented team who know how to get the best out of the kids and to persuade their parents to help with the elaborate stage productions. Our David volunteers as a video photographer for these events. The sets, costumes, lighting, and music are all of professional quality. I have seen many Middle School plays in my day. This one was the best.

Billie and I drove to Berkeley in the afternoon, shopping at Crate and Barrel on Fourth Street and having dinner at Saul’s Deli on Shattuck before Perry’s performance. When the play was over, we stayed to give Perry a hug and congratulate her on another milestone in her acting career. Then we headed home to Concord.


Antiques and Collectables Show

The next day we drove 23 miles north to the Salono County Fairgrounds to attend the 42nd annual Antiques and Collectables Show sponsored by the Golden Gate Historical Bottle Society, which Billie and I joined when we moved back to California. We were greeted by Gary and Darla Antone, our club president and his wife, as we arrived with Brandy to visit the hanger-size showroom filled with antique bottle and collectibles displayed on row after row of tables.

It is not just houses and gasoline that are going up in price these days. Antique bottles that were about $35 just a few years ago are now going for 50-75 dollars. I saw some rare beauties selling for as much as $1800 each. Of course there were crates of bottles marked $2 each, something for every pocket.

I love to look at the displays of old postcards. They are a visual form of history. Vintage autos, hotels long gone, national park scenes before the arrival of RV’s, Victorian bathing beauties covered in long, black, bathing outfits, and wooden churches that must have burned or been replaced years ago. Some postcards have messages that sound surprisingly contemporary: “Sorry I haven’t written, Hilda. We’ve been so busy on this trip!”

This trip is a double-header for us, because the Solano County All Breed Dog Show is usually held at the Fairgrounds on the same day. After leaving the bottle show, we took Brandy to see more dogs in a couple of hours than she normally would see in a year. When she is out with us and sees a dog being walked on the street, she becomes very excited and barks. But the dog show was somehow intimidating. She passed by dogs in crates and dogs on leashes, and watched them being shown in the ring, without making a sound.

One thing we’ve noticed about people who have dogs, they are invariably some of the friendliest people you will meet anywhere. We enjoyed complimenting them on their beautifully groomed and well-behaved animals. We saw just about every breed you can think of, but no Tibetan Spaniels like Brandy. It is still a fairly rare breed, but the little dogs are making their way into peoples’ hearts.
The Bishop’s Visitation

Marc and Sheila Andrus, our new bishop and his wife, made their first visit to St. John’s, Clayton on April 20. Billie and I are members there. Parishioners had worked hard to make the grounds attractive, we had a visiting choir, our two Sunday services were combined in one, and there were baptisms and confirmations. We looked like a going concern.

In my experience, most bishops all but ignore the Bible lessons for the day and concentrate on sharing news of what is happening in the Diocese. They give the impression that everything important is happening somewhere else. Not Marc. He gave a fine sermon on the Gospel lesson, and he spoke straight to our hearts.

Both Marc and Sheila are sincere believers. Their faith comes shining through. The Bishop had tears in his eyes when he told us about a funeral he and a Roman bishop had conducted the day before. The funeral was for an Episcopal priest who died of cancer one year after being called as rector of a parish. The Roman bishop was there because the priest who died had once been a Roman priest and they had been friends.

Before the service began, the Roman bishop told Marc that he would not be able to receive Communion in an Episcopal church and would sit during that part of the Liturgy.
When the time came, Marc went to the station he had been assigned, but there was no priest there to administer the chalice. The Roman bishop stepped forward and the two bishops administered Communion together.

When it was time for the baptisms at St. John’s, Marc called the children of the parish forward so they could “see the action.” He invited them to reach into the font and feel the “Living Water” he had just blessed. Half of the children did so. The others demurred. One little girl backed into her mother to get away!


Off-key reception

The San Francisco Chronicle published this letter from me on Monday, April 21:

Editor – How ironic that the Pope,
“Vicar of Christ,” was greeted at the
airport last week by an armed forces
honor guard and at the White House
with the “Battle Hymn of the Repub-
lic,” sung by a military choir. He re-
sponded with a speech that might have
been given by almost any visiting head
of state. Would Christ remain silent
regarding a nation fighting an unpro-
voked war and authorizing the use of
torture against prisoners?

The REV. FRED FENTON
Concord

Vol 1, No. 23

NEPHEW JON FENTON AND FRED
PLAYING DARTS IN JON'S WORKROOM
Eugene, Oregon - May 27, 2007

Lincoln Brigade Honored

After worshiping at Christ The Lord Episcopal Church in Pinole, where Susan Champion, wife of our rector-elect at St. John’s is vicar, we drove into San Francisco on a beautiful Sunday morning, March 30, to attend the Dedication of a Memorial to Americans who served in the Lincoln Brigade in the Spanish Civil War.

That war was fought 1936-1939 when Billie and I were very young children, but it was made personal for us when we got to know a veteran of the conflict, John Lockett. John showed up at St. Augustine by-the-Sea in Santa Monica when I was rector there. He came not as an act of faith but in order to find a community where he could do something useful.

His wife had died some years before, and John lived alone. He was legally blind and walked with an identifying white cane. The man loved babies. He soon gravitated to the church nursery where, as Billie liked to say, “He provided a lap for some of our youngest members.” John was a godsend to the nursery workers, who could give him a fussing baby to hold and comfort.

When John became ill and was admitted to the Veterans Hospital in West Los Angeles, young mothers from the church took their babies to visit him in his hospital bed. That was great for John’s morale and no doubt speeded his recovery.

A few of us took turns picking John up at his apartment and driving him to church. I asked him about his experiences in the Lincoln Brigade. John told me he was motivated by stories of fascist oppression and wanted to do what he could to help. Like most of the Americans who served in Spain, he had no military training or experience. He was given a WWI rifle and rudimentary instruction on the voyage to Spain.

During the McCarthy era following WWII, the FBI visited John regularly. It was feared the Americans who fought with the international Lincoln Brigade were either Communists or Communist sympathizers. John said he was neither. He simply wanted to fight against General Franco and the rebel forces, which were backed by Hitler and Mussolini.

John’s wife owned a corset shop on the Third Street Mall. He told me that when she saw the FBI coming, she would send him off so he didn’t have to answer the same, old questions. “How did she know they were FBI agents?” I asked. “Who else,” he replied, “would wear overcoats and felt hats on the Mall?”

San Francisco’s newest public monument is located on the Embarcadero not far from San Francisco’s Ferry Building. Of the 2,800 Americans who fought against Franco’s forces, and lost, there are 39 survivors. Eleven of them were on hand for the ceremony. When Billie and I drove up, a big crowd had gathered and the flag of Spain was flapping in the breeze. A brass band played anthems of the Spanish Civil War, including the Socialist anthem, “The Internationale.”

Mayor Gavin Newsom and the Spanish Ambassador Carlos Westendorp y Cabeza spoke. The ambassador thanked the veterans for risking their lives for his country. George Shultz and his wife Charlotte Shultz, who is Protocol Chief for the City, were there also. When the Mayor acknowledged George Shultz the old Lefties in the crowd booed the former Secretary of State.

The speaker who “stole the show” was ninety-two-year-old Abe Osheroff of Seattle. His voice breaking, tears rolling down his cheeks, he recalled a battle in which 80 of 250 crewmembers died when the ship they were on was torpedoed off the coast of Spain. He thanked San Francisco for erecting the country’s first Lincoln Brigade monument and “for making us immortal.” The applause went on and on while he stood erect, a living monument to a noble cause.

The memorial is 40 feet long and 8 feet high. It is made of 45 onyx panels held together in a steel structure. The translucent stone squares show scenes from the war and faces of soldiers, as well as words about the period from writers like Ernest Hemingway. Designed by Ann Chamberlain and Walter Hood, it cost $400,000. The Abraham Lincoln Brigade Archives and Veterans and friends of the Abraham Lincoln Brigade donated the money.

Left out of the speeches that day, and the newspaper articles that followed, was any mention of our government’s treatment of the Lincoln Brigade heroes after they returned to America. I wrote a letter to The San Francisco Chronicle, which was published the following Tuesday.

Editor – At Sunday’s well attended
dedication of the nation’s first me-
morial to Americans who fought in the
Abraham Lincoln Brigade against
fascism in Spain, no mention was
made of our government’s harass-
ment of those heroes when they
returned home.
My wife and I attended the San
Francisco event on behalf of our dear
friend John Lockett, who did not
live to see this long-overdue honor
paid to him and his buddies. This
friend told us the FBI made regular
visits during the 50’s to be sure he
was not engaged in “subversive
activities.”

Rev. FRED FENTON
Concord


Fred’s Birthday
April 5, 2008

Billie and I started the day with a trip to the Pleasant Hill “Y” for our workout. After that, I took one of the cars to the local do-it-yourself car wash. Then we were off to the Asian Art Museum in San Francisco to attend A Kimono Fashion Show in Samsung Hall. The 1:30 p.m. event was sold out because the speaker, Tomita Nobuaki, made a big hit at his first fashion show at the Asian last year. I attended that show (Newsletter, Vol. 1, No. 8) and was anxious to hear him again and for Billie to experience the artist in person.

Mr. Nobuaki is a leading kimono stylist and textile designer known for his high-profile work costuming Japanese movie stars and actors in period dramas. In spite of his need to use an English translator, his personality and showmanship make him an engaging figure. We both enjoyed the gorgeous kimonos he has created, the question and answer periods, and lion dancers he brought with him from the city of Himi in Toyama prefecture, Japan.

Following the show we went to ZUNI café on Market Street for dinner. We had wonderful mushroom soup and the ZUNI’s signature dish, roast chicken. We also indulged in fabulous shoestring fries and a lemon tart for dessert. We made the acquaintance of a lovely family sitting at the next table, a young couple with two sweet little girls.

There were cards and presents waiting for me at home. Granddaughter Sophie sang “Happy Birthday to PawPaw” over the phone. It made my day. Billie wrote on her card, “You are my number ONE favorite person in all the world. I love you so much. Thank you for loving me.” At the bottom of the card, our doggie added “and me too!”--Brandy
Who could ask for anything more?

Billie gave me some books I wanted: The Arden Shakespeare edition of Shakespeare’s Sonnets, Robert Fagles new translation of The Aeneid, Adrian Goldsworthy’s monumental biography CAESAR: Life of a Colossus, Deepak Chopra’s The third Jesus, and Alexandra Stoddard’s helpful little book, You Are Your Choices.

I asked Billie to send a check equal to the price of those books to Partners In Health, the Boston charity that supports the work of Dr. Paul Farmer. One of the most inspiring books I have ever read is Tracy Kidder’s Mountains Beyond Mountains, a New York Times bestseller about Dr. Farmer’s life and work bringing health to desperately poor people in places like Haiti.

Alameda Point Antique Faire

The next morning, we were up early to meet David and Perry in El Cerrito at 8 a.m. David drove us in his Toyota Prius (what a fun car!) to Alameda to visit the “Alameda Point Antique Faire.”

Alameda, located on an island, is a unique and interesting town with a large stock of Victorian, California bungalow, and Craftsman houses. Billie’s sister Marian once lived in Alameda. Long a military community because of a large Naval base that was located there, it is becoming “gentrified” as people move in to enjoy the mild weather and easy access to San Francisco across the Bay.

This trip was David’s treat in celebration of my birthday. He took us first to Ole’s Waffle Shop for breakfast. It is an Alameda institution, having opened for business in 1927. The place was packed and the food—Yes, I had a waffle—was outrageously good.

The “Antique Faire” is more like a huge swap meet. Acres of parking, a long, winding line of people waiting to pay admission ($5) to get in, and hundreds of vendors who started arriving at 4:30 a.m. to display their goods at row after row of tables. Located on part of the former Naval base, it is one huge open market experience. David and Perry told us that on a hot day walking around can be a miserable experience. We lucked out. The weather was cool. A cloudy sky looked threatening, but it never rained.

Billie and I viewed several displays of old glass. Perry, who has seen our collection of antique bottles, bought us a beautiful, green, hand-blown bottle Billie intends to use to hold oil or vinegar. David found an Art Deco-style floor lamp at a bargain price and brought that home with him. Billie discovered the sheet music for “Bewitched” from Pal Joey, one of our favorite musicals.

A Special Dinner Party

After a few hours rest, we were guests of our friends Rob and Sylvia McCann at a dinner party to honor Rob’s 51st anniversary of ordination to the priesthood. A musician, teacher, and pastor, Rob has offered his gifts in service to others for over half a century. Most recently, he served as interim priest at St. Matthew’s, San Mateo. An acquaintance from that parish assures me he was hugely popular. Sylvia has enriched the man and his ministry in many ways. They make a great team.

The dinner was held in their home at the top of a winding road in Lafayette, a foothill community between Walnut Creek and Orinda. They have just finished some additions to their property, including a handsome, curving brick wall and path around the entrance court. Other guests were Lois Hoy, a retired priest, and her friend Alfred Truesdell. Lois obtained permission for St. Giles’ Episcopal Church, Moraga to meet in the Chapel of St. Mary’s (RC) College and served as the congregation’s first rector.

The six of us enjoyed wine and a delicious dinner prepared by Rob, and shared stories of our experiences in the Church. We also had a lively discussion of politics, with both Clinton and Obama fans offering their views of the Democratic Primary season. This dinner party was the perfect end to a long, eventful day.

Vol. 1, No. 22

Granddaughter Perry Ledbetter Fenton appearing as
Fabian in the Prospect Sierra School Production
Of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night
(Perry is second from the left.)

Billie’s Birthday
March 18, 2008

We began the day by listening to Barack Obama’s address from Philadelphia. It was the best speech on race relations I have ever heard or read. If elected, I believe he could bridge the divide over race, religion, and politics in this country and become one of our greatest American presidents.

Then we were off to the Pleasant Hill “Y” for our daily workout, followed by brunch at Mimi’s Café on Willow Pass Road, in Concord.

Phone calls came from Mark, Marian, David, James, and Marty. On Billie’s 25th birthday, my dad called late at night to ask, “How does it feel to be a quarter of a century old?” We both passed that mark a long time ago, but this year Billie said “74 doesn’t feel much older than 73.”

Billie also received colorful cards, email greetings, sweet notes, and gifts on her birthday. The card I gave her pictured a startled Weimaraner on the cover. Inside it said: “Is that a lot of candles or is your cake on fire?” To which I added, “You are the fire that warms my life.” From the day I met Billie, in the summer of 1953, I have considered myself the luckiest guy in the world.

When I asked what she wanted for her birthday, Billie said, “Send a check to The Smile Train,” which I did. The Smile Train is one of our favorite charities. It is an international organization dedicated to helping millions of children in the world who suffer from cleft lip and palate through free surgery. One of the best-managed, cost-effective charities in America, all non-program expenses are paid for by members of the Board.

In the evening, we had dinner at Tahoe Joe’s Steak house in Pleasant Hill. Our server, whose name was Chrissy, was the most attentive waiter I think we ever had. She kept stopping by our table to see if there was anything we wanted. Brandy, who waited patiently for us in the car, was rewarded with some treats from our meal.

The Glass Castle

I may have been the last person among our family and friends to read Jeannette Walls’ memoir, The Glass Castle. It was on The New York Times bestseller list for over a year. Let me assure you, I enjoyed it no less than the rest of you. It just, well, took me longer to get to it.

“All you have to do is read the first sentence,” Billie had said, “and you won’t be able to put the book down.” She was right, as I discovered when I finally picked it up and read: “I was sitting in a taxi, wondering if I had overdressed for the evening, when I looked out the window and saw Mom rooting through a Dumpster.”

It is the true story of a family in which the parents often failed to meet the basic needs of their children for food and housing, but somehow managed to nurture their keen minds and give them something of their own fierce independence.

The father was an alcoholic. The mother was self-indulgent. They couldn’t live together and they couldn’t live apart. The kids were often left to fend for themselves. As my friend Susan Lee Vick says, “It (the book) makes you feel a lot better about your own family!”

Reading The Glass Castle I often laughed out loud and sometimes came close to tears. The author writes in straight, unadorned prose and manages to forgive and maintain affection for her audacious parents. She is someone I would like to meet.

What a movie the book would make! I find myself casting the principal roles. Let’s see, Chris Cooper and Frances McDormand for the parents. They would be perfect. And for the author, Jeannette? Hmm…

***

For my friends who read theology and Bible, I recommend the book I turned to next. It is Archaeology and the Galilean Jesus, by Jonathan Reed. He begins by reviewing the three searches for the historical Jesus, beginning with Schweitzer, going on to the “second search,” form and redaction criticism, and then taking up what he calls “the third search,” moving from an essentially literary exercise to consideration of “the social history and community formation of early Christianity.” It is a fascinating book, with much to offer those who would like to use a wider lens and take in the culture and times in which Jesus lived.

A Rising Star

Our friends Rob and Sylvia McCann gave us their tickets to the San Francisco Symphony’s rehearsal on March 20. It was the Venezuelan conductor Gustavo Dudamel’s debut appearance with the San Francisco orchestra. On the program were Stravinsky’s Firebird and Piano Concerto No. 1 by Rachmaninoff, with the Russian born pianist Kirill Gerstein.

We arrived at Davies Symphony Hall at 8:30 a.m. for coffee and free donuts in the spectacular glass wraparound lobby, where we chatted with Naomi Chamberlain, a friend from St. John’s, Clayton. Everyone was in high anticipation of hearing the ever-popular Firebird and experiencing the orchestra under the direction of Mr. Dudamel. He is currently in his ninth season as Music director of the Simon Bolivar Youth Orchestra of Venezuela and also Principal Conductor of Sweden’s Gothenburg Symphony.

Entering the 2,743-seat hall at 9 a.m., we were treated to an engaging and informative talk by James M. Keller, the San Francisco Symphony’s program annotator since 2000. A graduate of Oberlin and Yale, he served on the staff of The New Yorker for ten years. He is a knowledgeable musicologist, a great speaker, and very funny. Mr. Keller said the theme of the day was “youth.” The Firebird and Concerto No. 1 were both written at the beginning of the young composers’ careers. In addition, the guest conductor and the guest pianist were both in their late twenties.

Rachmaninoff, we were told, was a spectacular pianist, a composer who performed his own music. He also was a rather aloof person, not easy to know. After they had become famous, Rachmaninoff and Stravinsky found themselves living near each other in Southern California. Stravinsky, a warm, outgoing person, thought he and his wife should invite the Rachmaninoffs to dinner. Rachmaninoff arrived with a pail of honey as a hostess gift.

Stravinsky later remarked that socialization that evening required more effort than it was worth. Rachmaninoff’s “immortal characteristic was his scowl.” Rubinstein, who was there, said the two spent the evening complaining about royalties they had not been paid.

After the orchestra members, dressed informally for the rehearsal, had settled in their places, Gustavo Dudamel entered to warm applause. He was short, with a head of curly, dark hair, and a big, boyish grin. He was easily the most energetic conductor I have ever seen, and at the same time the most graceful in his arm and hand movements. Under his direction, the lavishly orchestrated Firebird was intoxicating. Kirill Gerstein, who won his first international competition at age eleven, was exciting, too. What a time we had, sitting in the McCann’s eleventh row, center seats!

The San Francisco Chronicle headlined “Hottest conductor on the planet dazzles in his Symphony debut” and said Gustavo Dudamel “is a worldwide phenomenon.” Joshua Kosman, the paper’s music critic, described the conductor’s physical movements as follows:

“To watch him on the podium is to see how virtuosically the essence of a musical score can be communicated physically. Dudamel’s rhythmic precision is astonishing, but even more so is his ability to tie structural downbeats together with the connective tissue of melodic phrasing and dynamic contrasts.

“He does it with a full arsenal of physical expressions, a cocked hip, a strikingly balletic left hand—for the rhythmic crashes that show up here and there in The Firebird—a huge top-to-bottom downbeat that resembles nothing so much as a pile driver in action.”

Next year the 27-year-old maestro will become music director of the Los Angeles Philharmonic. The L.A. Phil has hitched its wagon to a star.

The Inner Child

On the Saturday before Easter, I had a chance to re-live childhood memories of coloring eggs. Our granddaughter and her daddy arrived with packets of egg coloring materials. Billie and I spread an oilcloth cover over the glass table on our rear deck, and the four of us sat down to have fun.

When we were children, egg dyes came in a standard packet of primary colors. We could do quite a lot with that, but nothing like the materials of today make possible. There are dyes that produce a wonderful, speckled appearance. With other dyes, you put just a drop of several colors on an egg, and then place it in a plastic pouch and spread the colors in interesting patterns by pressing on the bag. The possibilities are endless.

Perry showed us how to put rubber bands on an egg before dyeing. When the egg is dry the bands are removed to show interesting bands of white eggshell. Billie had boiled three dozen eggs—without any of them cracking—so we had plenty of “canvass” to work with.
We admired each other’s creations, and kept at it until every egg was colored. David produced pretty Easter baskets to carry our handiwork into the house.

Billie prepared a delicious dinner of chicken, a Jello salad, and roasted vegetables. David brought a bottle of Merlot. He and Perry surprised Billie with a birthday cake ablaze with candles. We had a happy time.

The Liveliest Little Church in Town

Easter morning, I drove 22 miles to Brentwood for the 11 o’clock Eucharist at St. Alban’s Church. When you have attended as many different Episcopal churches as I have, it is hard to be surprised by anything you find. This proved to be an exception--in every way.

The 80-year-old congregation worships in an attractive, small, wood-frame building in the old downtown section of Brentwood. The church and grounds have been well maintained. I was there to experience worship with the Rev. Peter Champion, who has been vicar of St. Alban’s for about a year. Peter was recently elected rector of St. John’s, Clayton, where Billie and I are members. He will begin there in May.

After being greeted at the door of the church and handed a service leaflet, I took my seat in the third row of chapel chairs. The chairs must have replaced pews some years ago. Almost immediately, Lois Laza, “greeter” for the day, came and sat next to me. She introduced herself and asked my name. She told me some things about the morning schedule (coffee hour and Easter egg hunt following the service) and did her utmost to make me feel welcome. This has never happened to me before. I was in mufti, so there was no way she could know I was a priest.

Almost as soon as Lois left, the Vicar himself walked up and shook my hand. I was beginning to think they must not have many visitors if each one is greeted this way. As soon as he heard my name, Peter said, “Well, we have a ringer here. My wife, Susan, met you when you spoke at the Cathedral recently.” He said we could chat at the coffee hour following the service.

Not to be outdone by the official greeter and the vicar, the woman sitting in the row ahead of me turned and introduced herself by name. I began to think I was back in the Baptist church!

Next, the Vicar and a woman Deacon came out with vestments over their arms and robed in front of the congregation. I have never seen that. I thought, “Is the sacristy being painted? Do they HAVE a sacristy?”

Five adults now entered the sanctuary and stood behind the altar. There was a man with an electronic guitar, three women singers, one of whom was Lois, who had greeted me, and another woman with a guitar. One of the singers held a tambourine. The music was loud and fast for the entrance song He is Alive! By Jerry Blacklaw. Here is how that song begins:

He is Alive!
He is Alive!

I can see above the clouds,
And I can hear him call my name out loud!

You will NOT find that in the Episcopal hymnal. Despite the surprising lyrics, the fast paced, up-tempo music was exciting, and the singers and congregation joined in with gusto. I added my voice. When you find yourself in the revivalist tent, join with the saved and sing out.

Now Peter Champion stood before the congregation for the opening salutation and response. “The 9 o’clock congregation did great on this,” he said. “I want you to shout it out, and do them one better.” Then he yelled, “Alleluia, Christ is risen.” I thought we did a pretty good job hollering our response, “The Lord is risen again. Alleluia.” It wasn’t good enough for Peter. He thought we could do better. We raised our voices and made the rafters ring with a second try. “Now I want you to shout it so that we can be heard down the street in the park,” Peter said. The third time we made a deafening noise. He smiled his approval.

The assigned reader hadn’t showed up, so Lois read the lessons. She did an excellent job (and what a difference that makes!). The Deacon read the Gospel in a firm, clear voice. Then it was time for the sermon.

This was what I most wanted to hear. Peter did a workmanlike job. He stood in the center aisle and spoke without notes. He began by asking for a show of hands of those who had read the Harry Potter books. Nearly every hand went up. He confessed to being sad to reach the end of volume seven and know there would be no more Harry Potter books. He said he hates to come to the end of a good story.

Wasting no time coming to the point, Peter said we all hate to come to the end of something--the end of health, of a marriage, of a job we need, of living in a house we no longer can afford. Then he said the message of Easter is that the story doesn’t come to an end. He referenced the Gospel for the day, which told of a great earthquake, an angel descending from heaven with news that Jesus had been raised from the dead, and the two Marys meeting Jesus, taking hold of his feet, and worshiping him. (Matthew 28:1-10)

With God there is no end to the story, Peter said. There is always new life, a new beginning. Our job as Christians is to share this good news by standing with others who have come to some crisis in their lives and helping them through it.

I was glad to hear Peter Champion cite something from our world—the Harry Potter books—and speak about the real problems people experience in their lives today. He clearly offered a Gospel response, saying that with God there is no end to the story, but a new beginning.

However, I was disturbed by his adoption in this sermon of the mythological world view of first century writers. He spoke of the great earthquake and the angel descending from heaven as if these were historical events. I also regretted his failure to mention Barack Obama’s celebrated call on Tuesday of Holy Week for a ‘national conversation’ about race in America. That would have fit the Easter theme of a new beginning and new life.

Nevertheless, preaching on Easter, proclaiming life and hope in this tired, old world, is no easy assignment. I gave him more than an average grade.

The Passing of the Peace, as you might expect from my description of how I was greeted, was done with great enthusiasm. It lasted until nearly everyone had greeted everyone else. I was reminded of the way we passed the Peace at the Santa Monica parish during my 23 years there.

A rousing offertory song, Above All, by Lenny LeBlank & Paul Baloche, was accompanied by rhythmic clapping of hands by the congregation and the clergy at the altar. That, however, was calm compared to the exit song, for which a large basket of maracas was brought out so everyone in the congregation who desired to do so could join the musicians in a joyous rendition of Gary Oliver’s Celebrate Jesus:

Celebrate Jesus, celebrate!
Celebrate Jesus, celebrate!
Celebrate Jesus, celebrate!
Celebrate Jesus, celebrate!

He is risen, He is risen
And He lives for ever more.
He is risen, He is risen.
Come on and celebrate
The resurrection of our Lord!
(Repeat)

By now the joint was really jumping. The Deacon seemed carried away. When she sang out the Prayer book dismissal—“Let us go forth into the world, rejoicing in the power of the Spirit. Alleluia, Alleluia”—she added seven more Alleluias! And we, of course added seven more to our response.

All of this would have seemed to be enough, and more than enough. We had, after all, reached the end of the Prayer Book liturgy. However, in this little church they celebrate birthdays with dancing, and they had given up dancing for Lent.

The Deacon now asked all those who had birthdays since the beginning of Lent to come forward. The musicians began a raucous birthday song the congregation knew by heart, and the birthday people began dancing. There were adults, teens and an eleven-year-old-acolyte, and I must say they did a very good job of it. One teenage boy locked arms with an adult woman and they twirled around in great style.

Never in my wildest dreams…

There was coffee and pastries in abundance at the coffee hour, and soon children came in lugging baskets full of colored eggs they had “hunted” in the side yard. Peter and I chatted for a few minutes. I said I had never experienced such a “lively” church. He told me the style of celebration was established before he came. Hearing that, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Folks seemed to take a genuine interest in me. A man who works for CISCO told me about his travels around the country and introduced me to his wife, a grammar school science teacher. She was great fun and had a lot of interesting things to say about teaching. I could have talked with her all day.

Soon it was time to leave. As I walked to my parked car, a man came running up and breathlessly described the monthly meeting of the men of the church. He told me they have a 6:30 a.m. (!) breakfast on the first Saturday of the month. He was sure I would enjoy it. When I asked about the program, he said, “That’s the best part. We don’t have a program. Just a great breakfast and good conversation.”

When he left, I chuckled and said to myself, “That is the liveliest little church in town.” I thought of all the kids who complain that church is boring. No one would be likely to say that about St. Alban’s. More than anything else, it reminded me of the small, Pentecostal church in one of my favorite movies, The Apostle, starring Robert Duvall.

The worship at St. Alban’s wasn’t my cup of tea, and I could only imagine what a traditional Episcopalian would make of the place, but there was a joyful, celebrative spirit that seemed heartfelt and sincere. To my surprise, I felt almost giddy as I pulled away from the curb and headed the car toward home.

Obama for America

Kris Ingram is an old friend. She is an author, artist, teacher, and licensed preacher in the Episcopal Church. She taught David art at St. John’s Parish Day School in Chula Vista. He says she was the best teacher he ever had. Kris told me to buy RollingStone magazine for March. She said it had Obama’s picture on the cover and an endorsement by Editor and Publisher Jann S. Wenner. Here, in part, is what Mr. Wenner wrote:

“The tides of history are rising higher and faster these days. Read them right and ride them, or be crushed. And then along comes Barack Obama, with the kinds of gifts that appear in politics but once every few generations. There is a sense of dignity, even majesty, about him, and underneath that ease lies a resolute discipline. It’s not just that he is eloquent—with that ability to speak both to you and to speak for you—it’s that he has a quality of thinking and intellectual and emotional honesty that is extraordinary…

“We need to recover the spiritual and moral direction that should describe our country and ourselves. We see this in Obama, and we see the promise he represents to bring factions together, and to achieve again the unity that drives great change and faces difficult, and inconvenient, truths and peril…”

I am reminded of what someone said about FDR, that he had “the perfect temperament” for the job of being President. I believe I see that in Obama.

Richard Thompson Ford is a law professor at Stanford University. This is what he wrote about Obama’s speech on race (The San Francisco Chronicle, March 26, 2008):

“Obama’s speech was the boldest and most direct statement on race relations by a major political figure in more than a generation. His willingness to take the risk of confronting one of America’s most volatile and intractable problems head-on is striking. It gives us sense of how Obama might use his considerable rhetorical skills not just to win elections, but, also to lead and to govern.”

Vol. 1, No. 21

BILLIE WITH AUDREY KORLACKI AND THE QUILT
AUDREY MADE FOR STELLA MARIGOLD

Letter to My Granddaughter

Dear Little Stella,

Just before we came up to visit last October, I asked my friend Audrey if she would make a quilt for you.

Audrey Korlacki is a member of my YMCA exercise class. She is at least 85 years old and has vision problems, but she learned to make quilts and has made and given away more than 200 in all sizes. When I paid her for yours, she said it was the first time she had been paid for a quilt.

Audrey is a widow. She is Swedish and Finnish, but grew up in Minnesota, where she was on the swim team as a teenager. She came from a swimming family. Her father would swim across any lake he came to, and she and I discuss how much we have liked the water all our lives.

She lives in a senior retirement community and has three daughters who live nearby. Her small room has a Swiss sewing machine and many, many squares of material from which she fashions her craft.

When I asked her to make a quilt for you, I only said it was for a little girl, and I decided I would “like” it no matter what it looked like. I was so pleased to see one that is unique (like you).

I thought it would be nice for you to know some history about your quilt and the person who made it.

She gave me tips on washing. It has been washed once. When it is in the dryer, the lint filter should be checked several times to remove the stray threads that will be shed, and she said that will happen for the first 7 washings.

PawPaw and I hope you will like it and enjoy the picture of the lady named Audrey who made it.

Love, Nana

February 18, 2008


Dinner at Judith’s

When our friend Judith Fisher is not sailing the Seven Seas as a cruise ship doctor, or lecturing someplace in the world on emergency medicine, her specialty, she loves to entertain. On Friday, February 15, we were guests for dinner in her beautiful Walnut Creek home, along with Maureen Mancuso, a middle school teacher who is seminary trained and had once hoped to be a priest in the Roman Catholic Church, and Maureen’s friend David, who designs restaurant kitchens.

Having been Judith’s guests before, we knew what to expect. She loves cooking, and she decorates her table like she was entertaining the Queen. There was china and silver, linen napkins and beautiful flowers. She allowed Billie to bring crab cakes for hors d’oeuvres, but Judith prepared everything else, including English trifle, which is my favorite dessert.

Just before we left our house, Judith called to remind us to bring Brandy, our Tibetan Spaniel. Brandy sleeps in the car when Billie and I go out to dinner, but not at Judith’s. Brandy pranced up the familiar flight of stairs and barked joyfully when Judith opened the door for us. I’m glad to report that on the whole Brandy was very well behaved. Highlight of the evening for her came when Judith took our little dog into the kitchen and gave her some of the pork tenderloin she had prepared for her guests.

Thank you, Judith, for a lovely dinner and for including our four-footed friend.


MOMS Update

I first wrote about Midwives on Missions of Service (MOMS) last July (Newsletter Vol. 1, No. 12). Deacon Chris McManus, who is with us at St. John’s, Clayton, and her partner, Deacon Trish Ross travel to Sierra Leone, the second poorest nation in the world, to train native birth attendants to become licensed midwives. They take considerable risks and share the primitive conditions of the people with whom they work in order to reduce child mortality and improve maternal health. Infant mortality rates are 14.3% of live births (U.S. is .7%) Maternal mortality is 2% (U.S. is .09%)

Sierra Leone is on the coast in West Africa. It is about the size of South Carolina and has almost six million residents. Fewer than 150 of these are doctors. The U.N. workers left during a terrible civil war, which ended in 2002. They have not been back.

Between Sunday morning services on February 17, Chris and Trish gave us an update on their work before heading back to Sierra Leone. There was laughter and tears as they told their stories. I admire the two women and marvel at their stamina and willingness to serve.

Let me recount just one story that touched our hearts. A woman came to the village where Chris and Trish were at the time. Her baby was below birth weight and very weak. The mother had found nursing painful and frustrating and given it up. The father had left and she had no money. She had been feeding the baby warm water.

Our deacons assigned one of their birth attendants to stay with the woman, teach her how to breast feed, and see that she ate properly. The chief was asked to contact the father, which he did, and have him provide support for his family. The life of the baby was saved and the mother’s health improved.

For more information about MOMS, click on the following:

http://www.globalmidwives.org/

MOMS is staffed entirely by volunteers. Gifts for the work are deeply appreciated.


A Trip South

Heading south on I-5, ahead of a major storm in the Bay Area, we drove 412 miles to Costa Mesa. On the way, we stopped in Westwood to eat at Falafel King, a favorite of ours since the early 1970’s, when we were living in Santa Monica.

Shortly after checking in at the La Quinta Inn, Costa Mesa, the left rear turn signal on our PT Cruiser stopped working. The next morning, I drove to the nearby Orange Coast Dodge on Harbor Blvd. A friendly service consultant changed the bulb for me. Unbelievable as it seems, I was charged just $1.89—for the new bulb.

Jim and Freddie Schrider are old friends from our time at St. A’s in Santa Monica. Their son Tommy, a former acolyte of mine, was starring in Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest at the South Coast Repertory Theatre. We couldn’t miss a reunion with the Schriders, who now live in D.C., and a chance to see Tommy on the stage.

We got together in the Schriders’ room at the Wyndham Hotel, across the street from the theatre. What fun it was. Tommy is tall and handsome, the very picture of a matinee idol. He is charming. Tommy had to leave for the matinee performance, but he agreed to meet all of us for dinner at Savannah Supper Club and Lounge before the performance.

Tommy and his wife live in New York City. He received his MFA from New York University and has a number of New York Theatre credits. He also performs in regional theatres, winning praise for playing Hamlet at the Syracuse Stage. Billie and I thought he gave an outstanding performance as Jack Worthington in Earnest. After the show, we were invited backstage to meet the cast. They all looked so young! Their energy and enthusiasm was contagious.

The next day, Mark and Sanae drove down from Lakewood. We had a good visit and lunched with them at Wolfgang Puck. In the evening, we watched the Academy Awards in our motel room.

On Monday we drove to Sherman Oaks to visit an old RAND friend, May Cohen. She prepared luncheon for us, and we had a delightful time. In the afternoon, we drove to Riverside, hoping to have dinner with Billie’s sister. However, Marian wasn’t well, so we checked in at the La Quinta in San Bernardino. The next morning, Billie spent an hour or so with Marian, who wasn’t feeling any better, and we headed home to Concord.

We also skipped a favorite stop to visit Justine and Harold Cameron in Los Osos. They were suffering from the flu, their third bout since Christmas. Brandy and their dog, Abbi have a great time running inside and out, and we like to visit their favorite Italian restaurant, which serves food that reminds us of our Little Italy days in Boston.

We arrived home in time to watch the last Democratic presidential debate.


Back in the Saddle Again

On Saturday, March 8, I gave the keynote address at a Capital Funds Program at Grace Cathedral in San Francisco. The meeting was designed to meet the expressed needs of parishes anticipating capital campaigns. Two other presenters were representatives of The Episcopal Church Foundation in New York.

The biggest laugh came from my asking the clergy and lay leaders in attendance, “Do you know what a retired priest and an old shoe have in common? The last thing to wear out is the tongue!” I spoke for 50 minutes, giving my “5 Keys for a Successful Capital Funds Program,” and then answered questions for about 20 minutes. It was great fun.

Richard Scaper, Gift Planning Officer for the Diocese sent this note: Wow! Everyone went home saying, “Who has been keeping Fred Fenton under wraps?!!” You were the source of energy that propelled the day. Thank you for inspiring us!

In the afternoon, Billie and I took our granddaughter Perry to see the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre at Zellerbach Hall on the UC Berkeley campus. We had great seats, and the dancers were magnificent. Our favorite ballet was Mr. Ailey’s best known work “Revelations,” which interprets American spirituals. My personal favorites were “Didn’t My Lord Deliver Daniel?,” “Wade in the Water,” “I Wanna Be Ready,” and the boisterous finale, “Rocka My Soul in the Bosom of Abraham.”

After the show, we took Perry and her mom to dinner, celebrating with a bottle of Merlot and an Italian meal.


End of A Long Wait

At church the next morning, we learned the Vestry elected a new rector the day before. We won’t know who was chosen until a letter of agreement (contract) is signed and the announcement can be made. The interim period of nearly 2 years has been much too long for many of us at St. John’s, Clayton. We are looking forward to the arrival of a new rector sometime after Easter.

Speaking of Easter, it falls on March 23 this year. That is the earliest date in our lifetime. The next time Easter falls this early will be the year 2228, 220 years from now.

Vol 1, No. 20

Sophia in her new, red wagon – Christmas, 2007
The picture was taken at our home in Concord, California.

Hillary

Hillary is a lifelong Methodist who likes to quote John Wesley, the founder of Methodism: “Do all the good you can, by all the means you can, in all the places you can, to all the people you can, as long as you ever can.” I can think of no better credo for a Christian—or anyone else. Hillary has been trying all her life to do well to others. She was raising money for the United Way when she was 10 years old.


Obama

“Obama distinguished himself in a talented field by pulling in young voters who normally disdain the ballot box and Republicans and Independents who normally disdain Democrats, and by offering an increasingly clear vision of a way out of the moral and policy depredations that have brought the national spirit to its lowest ebb in memory.”

David Remnick
The New Yorker, January 14, 2008


Voting

Billie and I marked our California ballots on Martin Luther King Day, January 15. She voted for Hillary. I voted for Obama. As Billie says, “We covered the bases.” Both of us will support the Democratic Party’s nominee. Obama claims, “It is time for a change.” It surely is.


The City Club
of San Francisco

Billie and I made our first visit to The City Club on January 14 to attend a reception for Brian Allen, new Director of the Addison Gallery of American Art at Phillips Academy, Andover. The City Club is located on the tenth floor of the Pacific Stock Exchange tower, at 155 Sansome Street, in the heart of the financial district.

Arriving a little ahead of the crowd, we put on the Andover nametags waiting for us and seated ourselves in large, comfortable chairs at the base of the grand staircase, leading from the tenth to the eleventh floor. The City Club is considered one of the finest Art Deco style interiors in California. Over our heads, on the wall and ceiling of the stairwell, was a magnificent fresco painted by Diego Rivera in 1930.

The invitation stated “light refreshments,” but as people arrived and we joined them in the dining room, we discovered an open bar, a side table with a chef serving filet mignon, and waiters circulating with platters of hot hors d’oeuvres. At the far end of the room, which boasted a rich, gold ceiling, were rows of chairs and a projector for the evening’s presentation,

The attendees were mostly recent graduates of the School and a sprinkling of parents of graduates. I was clearly the only person there with a 55th reunion coming this June. We chatted with a couple of middle-aged parents, who were surprised when I told them the tuition my parents paid and that it took 13 hours to fly from Los Angeles to Boston in those days.

Brian Allen turned out to be a tall, shy man with a gentle sense of humor, who impressed us with the growth of the Addison Gallery’s collection in recent years and the fact that Andover remains the only secondary school in the nation with a major art gallery on campus.

In answer to the invitation from the Academy to attend the City Club reception, I had emailed my memory of the Addison when a student there more than a half century ago.


My first year at Andover was spent in Park House. Pat and Maude Morgan lived there. The house was hung with Maude's large, abstract paintings. The appreciation for modern art the Morgans gave me has enriched my life.

Pat was my favorite teacher at Andover and one of the unforgettable characters I encountered there. You had to love a man who walked around in blue jeans and patent leather opera pumps. He gave a brilliant chalk talk at the Addison. It began with a discussion of classic architectural features, which he illustrated on the board and ended with a few rapid strokes that revealed the Parthenon!

On my flights from Los Angeles to Boston, I always took out trip insurance and named Pat as the beneficiary. How is that for devotion?

I felt sorry for a classmate who was effeminate and shy. Then, one day, I attended his recital at the Addison. He had a beautiful voice! I thought of Emerson's "laws of compensation," and realized we simply have differing gifts. All are to be respected and valued.

When I felt "closed in" by campus pressures and confines, I would visit the Addison and find peace, quiet, and inspiration in the serene atmosphere of the place and the great works on display there. The Gallery was a treasured part of the Andover experience for me.


To my surprise, the “reception” for the new Director turned out to be part of “The Campaign for the Addison,” a $30 million effort to expand the Gallery, adding new space and restoring the current building. Billie had this all figured out before we got there, but it took more than a glass of wine and bountiful “light refreshments” for me to tumble to what was going on. Although we couldn’t write a big check, we were glad to listen to the presentation and applaud at the right moments. It was a fun night in the city for both of us.

iPhone

Billie and I had dinner with David at T-Rex Barbecue in Berkeley. He showed us his new iPhone. It was the first time we had seen one of these amazing gadgets. You remember Dick Tracy’s famous wristwatch radio? It seemed like a futuristic dream. The new iPhone, while too large to strap to the wrist, goes far beyond anything the fertile mind of cartoonist Chester Gould could have imagined.

Let’s consider just one feature, the photo library. David showed us full color pictures of our grandchildren. Sliding his finger over the face of the iPhone, picture after picture came into view. He could stop at one image, touch a face, and cause that one face in the picture to enlarge to a full screen view. If we had been in his home, he could have hooked the iPhone to his HDTV and shown the pictures in 36-inch relief.

When I was an avid reader of Dick Tracy, I was proud to be the official photographer of my class at Woodrow Wilson Grammar School in San Bernardino. I still have my reporter’s photo album. The black and white pictures are held in place by “corners” I first licked and then stuck to the page. Many albums later, I now slide color prints into plastic sleeves. It’s much simpler that way, but not much different from the way we kept our photos—and displayed them—a lifetime ago.

I have an inexpensive cell phone. I don’t need text messaging or the ability to take my music albums with me or check my email when I am away from home. The navigation system, I agree, would be an advantage in finding churches, museums, and restaurants. But for an amateur photographer who delights in taking pictures of his grandchildren, the iPhone could be seen as an absolute necessity!


If We Have To Have A Republican President…

I hope it is McCain. He is a true American hero. I wept reading his first book, Faith of My Fathers, in which he described his five-year imprisonment and torture in the infamous Hanoi Hilton. He refused offers to be released ahead of others in line before him.

McCain’s father and grandfather were both four-star admirals. When released, McCain and his buddies were taken first to the Philippines for medical examination and debriefing, after which, they were to go to Hawaii to be reunited with their families.

McCain’s father, stationed at the Pentagon, was told that he and his wife would not have to wait until their son got to Hawaii. They would be flown to the Philippines to see him. “Are the other parents being flown to the Philippines?” Admiral McClain asked. When told they were not, he declined to be given special treatment. That is the family from which the Senator comes.

I am in serious disagreement with McCain on a number of issues, especially the war in Iraq and a woman’s right to choose. However, I admire his willingness to go against the Republican majority to take strong stands to fight global warming, outlaw torture, reform Immigration, and regulate campaign finance.

In a January 23 column, the liberal columnist Robert Scheer, wrote: “Sen. John McCain has been far better than all three Democrats on both campaign finance reform and taking on the defense contractors who have been bleeding us dry since 9/11.”