Little Man Clapping

Back in 2018, I wrote a poem for each member of the Men’s Group that had been meeting since 1990. The eldest in our group was Bernie Weiner and at that time, at 78 years old, he had just gotten diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease. Here’s how I talked about it in my poem:

 

FOR BERNIE

 

We’re all suffering the diminishment 

              

 of our once strong and vibrant faculties, 

 

but now yours has a name. 

 

Yes, we all are biking towards our own mortality, 

 

                 but you got given an electric bike 

                            

                                 with that extra push each turn of the pedal. 

 

Not what you needed and hoped for.  Not what any of us 

 

                                   would need or hope for. 

 

 

But the Crisis Paper author has weathered many a crisis,

 

               kept a steadfast loyalty and commitment to the effort 

 

                                    that’s needed to both endure 

                                                                                    

and thrive. 

 

Poem after poem, 

 

                         Play after play

 

                                           Photo after photo

 

And now step after step to brake the accelerating velocity

 

                of what slows you down. 

 

in company with the many who will adjust their pace 

 

                                    to stay by your side.

 

May the remedies prevail!

 

 

They didn’t. This morning, one week after his 86^th birthday, Bernie passed away. In an hour, I’m going to the Redwoods, his Assisted Living home in Marin County, to play piano for and sing songs with the residents, a date I long had on my calendar. Knowing he was on the way out, I was hoping to see him one more time. Missed him by some five hours. But I’ll dedicate a song to him and hope the music will help him fly off into the next world wrapped in love and beauty. 

 

I first met Bernie as the father of his two sons, Erik and Mark, who I taught at The San Francisco School, starting in the 1980’s. Bernie was a local legend, the drama critic of the San Francisco Chronicle. He retired at 50 years old and I went to his retirement/ birthday bash at Club Fugazi, where many Bay Area actors and actresses gathered to both celebrate and roast him. It was an impressive affair. He was a major force in supporting San Francisco’s experimental theater scene in the 70’s and 80’s. (The “Little Man Clapping” was the icon used in theater and movie reviews as a shorthand—off the seat and clapping was “fantastic!”, sitting up an clapping “Fine,” sleeping “Not so good” and the empty chair “Don’t bother.”

 

Right at the same time, the Men’s Group began, so I got to know him a bit more beyond our school contacts. Then his family and ours and two others began going to the Sierras every year on an annual snow trip, then to Calistoga Spa for an annual Spring vacation and later, changed out the Sierras for the West Point Inn on Mt. Tamalpais. Our kids grew up together over all these years, I came to readings of some plays he was always working on, he came to my music performances and I also took part in a concert of music set to his poetry, contributing two pieces. I was the officiant at his son Erik’s wedding and also helped lead the memorial service when his sister Roberta passed away. In short, a lot of shared life together. 

 

Bernie self-published several books of his own poetry, co-founded an online political blog called The Crisis Papers during the Bush years and beyond, took up photography and won some acclaim at local shows. He finally finished his autobiography in 2020, titled “Little Man Clapping: A Critic's Search for Authenticity in Art, Love and Life.” It is an impressive portrait of this life as a Renaissance Man, joining poetry, plays, photography, fatherhood, friendship, family, and more. 

 

And now he is with us no more. A long, rich life to be celebrated and remembered, but always the sadness of disappearance. R.I.P., Bernie—happy we got to be together for so much of the wild ride. 

Winter Wisteria

The bare branches of the wisteria are grey and twisted and jagged. Somehow they speak to the state of my Soul at the moment. It may just be jet lag, so not the best time for a reckoning. But the fact is that it takes a toll on the psyche to be constantly defending against the onslaught of evil, the mathematics of mortality, the sheer weight of a human existence. Saying it all out loud often helps lighten the burden, so bear with me here for a moment if my usual dalliance with hope and happiness takes a back seat for a moment. 

 

If I lay out the facts, it all seems understandably justifiable. One of my friends in the men’s group passed his 86^th birthday deciding not to eat or drink anything more, giving up on his 10-year battle with Parkinsons. He will be the first of the nine of us who have been together for 36 years to die of “old age” and with five of us now arrived at 80+, it’s simply coming attractions. 

 

Just on the cusp of celebrating the release of The Humanitarian Musician (my 11^th book), my books have disappeared from online sellers because a distributor dropped me, the printer who stored my books for free will now charge and the publishers of Jazz, Joy & Justice also are dropping me. God forbid the world support my efforts to bring some music hand-in-hand with joy, justice, humanitarianism and dedication to children. 

 

The numbers are down for our International Summer Orff Course because people are either now blocked from entering our country or the Visa requirements are much stricter or they have the good sense to stay away from a place leaning toward fascism. And don’t get me started with Pam Bondi.

 

In short, more than enough reasons to slide down into despair. The reunion playing and singing love songs (Valentine’s Day) at the Jewish Home helped, but not enough. I’ve said often enough, “Don’t let the bastards get you down!” because then they win, but a slogan alone is not enough to heal a battered emotional body. 

 

And yet. I know that beautiful blossoms are lying dormant inside those jagged wintry branches of the wisteria, patiently awaiting their moment to bloom. It’s the moment to listen to Tony Bennett, accompanied by Bill Evans, singing Michel LeGrand’s song “You Must Believe in Spring.” So I’ll end with hope back on the horizon and we’ll see what tomorrow brings. (The words below are poetic enough, but I highly recommend listening to the above version of the song.)

 

[Verse 1]
When lonely feelings chill
The meadows of your mind
Just think if winter comes
Can spring be far behind?
Beneath the deepest snows
The secret of a rose
Is merely that it knows
You must believe in spring

[Verse 2]
Just as a tree is sure
Its leaves will reappear
It knows its emptiness
Is just the time of year
The frozen mountain dreams
Of April's melting streams
How crystal clear it seems
You must believe in spring

[Verse 3]
When angry voices drown
The music of the spheres
And children face a world
That's far beyond their years
Above the darkest sky
The full horizons lie
With all the reasons why
You must believe in spring

 

(Verse 4)

You must believe in love
And trust it's on its way
Just as the sleeping rose
Awaits the kiss of May
So in a world of snow
Of things that come and go
Where what you think you know
You can't be certain of
You must believe in spring and love

Over the Rainbow

In 2004, just a month after George W. Bush was elected for a second term, I wrote my annual Holiday Newsletter. I stumbled across it today and re-reading the opening was both discouraging and encouraging at once. We—at least, I— have been here before. The bandaids on cancer failed to heal because of a refusal to accept the deeper diagnosis and the needed treatment. But the symptoms are now so irrefutable that the systems that sustain them are finally showing signs of crumbling. It feels worth a repost here, looking at ways that we can individually and collectively not only get through, but help pull down the supporting posts. Here’s what I wrote then and here’s what I still stand by now:

                                    HOLIDAY NEWSLETTER 2004

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us… in short, it was a time much like the present…”

 

And so it is, has been and ever shall be. But now the stakes are so much higher. The power behind blind ignorance and willful malice is exponentially greater than ever before and the resulting damage of global proportions. In a time when we need the best in us to step forth, we have capitulated to the worst. In a time that calls for our most imaginative thinking, far-reaching vision and compassionate caring, we have elected sheer stupidity and hearts incapable of remorse. It is difficult time to write a holiday newsletter. 

 

And yet, the sun sill rises and sets and the pages of the calendar still turn. We get up each morning and go forth into the day in hopes that each small act might make a difference. We continue to study what has been so that we may imagine what might be. We read to step inside the shoes of the other, to discover the shared humanity that the newspapers don’t report. We keep on teaching children in hopes that they might carry forth the work we’ve started and reach for the places we’ve missed. We sort through the entanglements of working together with others, try to keep our common purpose in sight amidst the daily squabbles and stepped-on toes. 

 

We carry on making art, playing music, singing songs, writing poems and dancing, try to wrestle our joys and sorrows, our certainties and confusions, into shapes that heal and uplift. We break bread together—carbs be damned!— to nourish both bodies and companionship. We suffer through our perpetual failures, sort through the confused choir of inner voices to search out the hidden harmonies, get up from the floor determined to either be better or accept the goodness inside of our faults and flaws. We continue to grow stronger by habitually exposing our vulnerability. 

 

We also slowly realize how the narratives of our personal shortcomings are often systemically imposed by power and privilege protecting itself by making their agenda of harm and hurt our problem— and finally refuse it. We pull aside the curtain to reveal the fake Wizard pulling the ropes of White Supremacy, Patriarchy and Class, and reclaim the brain, heart and courage that these toxins have poisoned and beaten down. We understand that the land we dream of “over the rainbow” is the rainbow, with all the colors shining together. We finally accept that we don’t return home from mere naïve hope and tapping our red shoes together, but by intentionally walking the road together, one yellow brick at a time. And yes, while singing and dancing. 

 

Happy Holidays!

 

Turning the Page

I was so proud that at the beginning of my travels over four weeks ago, I arrived in Singapore, slept through the night, walked and swam my first day and miraculously entirely circumvented jet lag. “Not so on my return!” he says at 3:00 am in the morning on Wednesday and also yesterday on Tuesday. Not a bad time to catch up on business in a quiet house, but not my first choice!

 

Our Zipair 9-hour flight home was fine, though no movies! We left at 10:00pm from Tokyo and I believe I slept a total of one hour. Out the San Francisco airport to a sunny day and newly appreciating the feeling of space, the ocean, the greenery, a marked contrast to the urban jungle of steel and concrete and flashing videoed billboards that is Tokyo. As I wrote in one Facebook touch, “Tokyo is a place of contrasts, the space and serenity of a few shrines and temples side-by-side with the Times-Square-on-steroids neighborhoods (Shinjuku/ Shibuya) that make you feel like you’re inside a giant pinball machine.” Like New York City, a fun place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there. The balance of city and country in San Francisco is much more my cup of tea. 

 

Usually, I leave a place with a summary of appreciations and amongst the things I noticed and enjoyed were:

 

• Jazz as the default background music at restaurants! At a volume possible to talk over. Not a single thumping disco beat! Thank you, Tokyo!

 

• Clean streets and a bit mysterious as there are very few public trash cans and a lot of food wrapped in plastic wrappers.

 

• No (visible) homeless people. It’s possible.

 

• The aforementioned blend of the hyper-urban and the old-world serenity of shrines and temples.

 

Upon returning, Zadie and I had a nice Mexican meal prepared by my wife Karen and Zadie’s Aunt Talia (Tita). Nice short family reunion, finally get horizontal, middle of the night 3-hours awake and next morning, take Zadie to the airport to fly back to her home in Portland. It was my colleague Sofia’s birthday and she was down with the flu, so I went from the airport to my old school to sub for her and teach a Bulgarian piece in 15/16 meter to the 6^th graders, many of whom were my last 5-year-old class when I retired in 2020. Such a pleasure to see their growth and progress, physically, emotionally and musically. Then I got to share an elementary school singing time (always a favorite) with my colleague James and our Valentine’s Day repertoire. 

 

So I hit the ground running, back to teacher mode, and will return today to do some old favorites with 4-year-olds and 1^st graders. A rather choppy schedule lies ahead, with a calendar dotted with things like my nephew’s play, singing at two elder homes, a short trip to Yosemite, a school alum teacher hike, my wife’s birthday, a ritual annual New Year’s walk with friends and more. Turning the page from a marvelous time in Singapore, Bangkok, Tokyo, to my life in California. Enjoying the plot of the book and the characters, and ready for the next chapter. 

Navigating the Maze

I was not a model airplane kind of kid. Anything that involved sequential instructions— the model airplanes, the erector sets, later, biology lab— was just not my wheelhouse. I can justify it by saying that my imaginative mind saw multiple ways to interpret a direction and that might be true. But maybe more honest to just admit that this wasn’t one of my intelligences. And it followed me into adulthood. 

 

However… having to learn how to navigate a computer and stay on top of the proliferation of devices needed to keep my work afloat— not teaching, of course, but arranging the teaching, making my way through aps and QR codes and GPS directions and beyond, has forced me to come to terms with navigating the maze of unforgiving detailed instructions that have one solution only. Where a cap or a space between words or unfound code can send the whole mess spinning into disaster. And as a result, I can finally admit I’m intelligent enough to do it. My confidence has increased and my ability to breathe through things that don’t work at first rather than throw my hands up in dismay has improved.

 

Today, for example. Zadie wanted me to get an extension of our 10 am check out time so we might watch the Superbowl. I navigated through my new Air B&B ap, figured out how to message the host and where to find the reply and managed an hour extension. Then Zadie, ever-fearless in this world, did the lion’s share of figuring out how to get the ap to watch the Superbowl and connect it to the TV. All I had to do was pay the 50 cents fee. We got to watch it all the way through the 3^rd quarter— "Go Seahawks!" and “Good Job, Bad Bunny!” and then set off with our luggage to Ueno Station. 

 

There we found a money-changing machine to get my last 8,000 yen from my $50 bill. Found the lockers, switched to the English instructions, put in the money, opened the locker and got the slip with both a number and QR code to unlock it at the end. Things were going well!

 

On to a walk in the park with no GPS, following my newly-found-familiarity with the territory. We took a pedal boat out on the lake. Walked back to the neighborhood I went to alone the other day where I had stayed 10 years ago, with the hope of lunching at a restaurant I passed. Alas, closed and many places we found were (Monday thing?), but finally found one that was open, would only take cash and we spent the last of our yen down to our coins counted out on the table. A stroll to the Nezu Shrine and walk through some 100 Tori gates, soaking up some sun and serenity with the five hours remaining before heading to the airport. 

 

Made our way back (still no GPS), returned to the lockers and punched in the numbers and it worked!! Then to buy the Skyline Ticket to the airport, found the place and the line and our car number with our seats and on to the airport. Got our boarding passes, checked our bags (both on machines), through security, through Immigration and walking to the gate, Zadie turned to me with a smile and said, “Well, that went smoothly!” 

 

And it did. All of it. The whole trip. So many unknowns, so much thinking on our feet, so many decisions to make every day—"What to do? When to go? What to eat and where? What little gifts to buy? Which train to take? How much money left on our cards?" On and on and on. 

 

Trusting in our intelligence, we did it all. And here let me publicly state that my 14-year-old granddaughter and I are good traveling companions. Yes, there were moments when I felt I had to drag her out of the house and aim for some cultural immersion, and yes, the moment we got home, she often retreated to her room with her phone. But hey, she’s 14 hanging out with a guy 60 years older, so one should keep expectations mild! But in general, we enjoyed each other’s company, shared some lovely planned and unplanned moments, and didn’t get into a single fight or argument over our eight days together. 

 

Well, there’s still the flight ahead where she insists that she should get the aisle and me the middle seat. And while I’m writing this at the airport, she’s anxious to find some shops to load up on snacks. But all in all, it has been a special time together that I think will echo on in the years to come.

 

Okay, off for the snacks! 

Elvis in the Snow

Woke up to our last full day to snow that was heavy enough to stick. I was enchanted by it, especially since I rarely am in a place where it snows. But my delight was brought down a peg when my friend who we have visited in Yokohama called to warn me that Tokyo gets paralyzed in the snow— no trains run, planes don’t take off, etc. That it would be good to try to book an extra night in a hotel somewhere to prepare. 

I took it all in a stride, with a certain Zen equanimity— “Let’s see what happens.” However, I was determined to see the Elvis impersonators in Yoyogi Park I had heard about and it was hard to pry my traveling companion out of our cozy apartment into 30 degree temperatures. Nevertheless, I persisted and when the snow actually stopped around 1:30 pm, so after a brief lunch at a neighborhood café, off we went to brave the elements. About a 30-minute Metro ride to Shibuya (the trains were running!) and out into the river of people as dense as in nearby Shinjuku. I followed my intuition as to where the park was and miraculously, found it! But I had read that the Elvis gathering begins around 2:30 and now it was nearing 4:00. We entered the park and the gods were with us— there were three Elvis’s twitching their hips to rockabilly music recorded by some Japanese band.  Score!

Zadie was cold and pleased to go home, but I pressed forward to find Harajuku where we had been the first day and again, intuition proved more reliable than Apple Maps, especially since the latter needed Wi-Fi and after getting it easily out on the streets the first few days, it suddenly stopped working for me. We returned to Marion’s Crepes for a treat, found a gift shop to get a present for a third friend of Zadie’s, passed the Piglet Café and I couldn’t hold out any longer against Zadie’s pleas to get home to our warm place and a final dinner from our special neighborhood market. 

 

I had been feeling a bit stir-crazy staying inside all morning, but having once gone out into the cold, I felt a renewed welcome from its warm presence. A few Rummy 500 games ahead and tomorrow we wake up to a last day with a lot to figure out. Where to store our luggage, how to watch the Super Bowl if we can get an extension on our check-out, what to do all day if it’s cold and our plane not leaving until 10:30 at night. It has been a welcome challenge to learn how to navigate around a new city— I’m a Metro expert!— a bit more stressful challenge to come up with things that will engage and entertain my 14-year-old granddaughter with strong opinions about what’s worth her attention, an ongoing task to figure out food and money exchange and QR codes and GPS directions and I’m proud to say I’ve done pretty well with it all. 

 

But I’m most definitely ready to return to my home turf, with my familiar stores and friends and routines and not responsible to anyone else for a while except my three good friends—me, myself and I. Meanwhile, we shall see what tomorrow brings. 

From Indignation to Action

To be honest, I think Zadie and I could have been content to leave Tokyo today. Feels like we’ve reached the end of “attractions” and while it was briefly exciting to see snow flurries today, it doesn’t exactly entice us to wander the parks. Today I did go out to find a Japanese Inn (Ryokan) I stayed in some 10 years ago while Zadie stayed back, and lo and behold, I found it! The area near Nezu station has a more down-home community-feel and the Ryokan itself is lovely, as was the man who greeted me. I had the inspired idea of spending our last night tomorrow night there, but alas! they were full. 

 

When I got back late afternoon, I got Zadie mobilized to search out dinner in the Asakusa neighborhood two subway stops away. We found a quaint little shopping area with many restaurant choices. Including a gift shop where she bought little gifts— well, I bought little gifts!— for two of her friends and we had our first ice cream of the trip on the coldest night of the trip. Green tea ice cream of course. Then back home for four spirited rounds of our nightly Rummy 500 game, taking turns jumping ahead and falling back. 

 

This whole trip I’ve been connected, like it or not, to the drama back home, and after reading more Facebook expressions of outrage over the latest depiction of the Obamas, I felt compelled to chime in. Nothing earthshaking, but hopefully worth saying out loud. Here it is below: 

 

I think it might be worthwhile to express your disgust on social media at what the current regime says, does, thinks, excuses. The racist Obama clip, the ICE murders, the Orange-Man in an interview wondering why people were upset because it was only 2 people murdered while thousands were allowed to stay alive, the latest Epstein revelations— need I go on?

 

But really, why is anybody surprised? If we don’t know by now what to expect, it would seem like some naïve notion that these people actually mean well but have just made a few mistakes. We know exactly who they, who their supporters are, who their enablers are, and nothing they are doing should surprise us. We none of us could believe it get any lower and that was some one or two hundred “lowers’ ago. 

 

Yet they are all on the losing side of history and the world is waking up to it. JD Vance booed at the Italian Olympics, Bad Bunny at the Superbowl, Kennedy Center closing down from artists’ refusal to comply.. And most inspiring, “red” communities in Virginia, Maryland, Arizona, Missouri, Texas, Georgia, New Hampshire, New Jersey and more going to the streets and town halls to prevent the next ICE Prison Camps being built in their town, (see this remarkable report by Rachel Maddow. Worth every second of the 30 minutes.) https://youtu.be/Hjimit-HvWg

 

It’s happening, people! So instead of using our voice to express our next outrage, let’s shift our reaction from righteous indignation to action. Let’s organize, keep the momentum going, get the people out to the town halls and to the streets, keep up the general strikes and make the upcoming No Kings Rally double the size of what already was the largest protest in American history. Keep the stories coming of people’s thousand acts of resistance, share ideas, offer support. We can do this! Not as soon as we would like nor as widespread as we would hope for, but one small victory at a time that rebuilds the moral backbone of our crippled country. And as the old jazz tune suggests, “side by side.”