Adolescence and young adulthood during the turbulent 1960s challenged the senses and sensibilities. It was a decade that begged to be explained. Its impact still resonates.

The music, epitomized by the incomparable Beatles, explored social mores, love, disobedience and war. While the sound captivated people throughout the world, the lyrics compelled soul-searching and doubt. I can still hear the unmistakable rhythms of the British Invasion pour out of rooms in my college dormitory. It was infectious.

The world of music had changed; rock-and-roll had taken a strange but wonderful turn.

The Vietnam War dominated the 1960s, bringing the horror of vicious combat to television screens. Death was a constant. Dishonest behavior by Presidents Johnson and Nixon added to the disillusionment and generational tension that pervaded our ruptured country.

Assassinations of an American president, his brother seeking the presidency and the most visible civil rights leader marked this upsetting decade as one that shook and splintered the United States in ways that disrupted family and community cohesion.

A young, charismatic president. His passionate, relentless brother. And a leader determined to stamp out racial bias. All three gone by the way of bullets and rage. The 1960s shook our beings to the core. It was a wrenching time in America.

Readers may wonder what inspired this surge of painful nostalgia. As my wife and I recently watched The Sixties Show in Annapolis, a multi-media production, the music, events and personalities that dominated our young lives again burrowed into our consciousness. Images of anti-war protests, the wild and ruly Woodstock music festival, the somberly beautiful lyrics of Simon and Garfunkel, the advent of the smooth Motown sound and the cruelly unnecessary murders of President John F. Kennedy, Sen. Robert Kennedy and the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. all coalesced in a music venue filled with memories of unforgettable music and societal disruption.

The 1960s remain part of my soul. Social unrest roiled our lives. The peaceful 1950s gave way to questioning and concern. Racial injustice was a major theme, embodied in the soaring words of Rev. King. Sexual mores became more liberal. Marijuana was the drug of choice. Academic and governmental institutions engendered distrust.

Life turned upside down. America was undergoing catastrophic change.

Music performed by counter-cultural groups provided the backdrop for a noisy revolution. African American groups came out of Detroit with a smooth Motown sound that captivated audiences of all shades. It was a remarkable transformation of popular music. Like all artistic works, music reflected the times: circumspect, sad, rebellious and soulful.

As noted, the Vietnam War was the defining event. It split our nation: young versus old, Black versus White, liberal versus conservative and status quo versus change.

Opposition to the war was rampant on college campuses. World War II-era parents generally supported the Far Eastern conflict. Black leaders bemoaned the large number of young African Americans serving in infantry units prone to combat death. Sons of wealthy, well-connected parents avoided the war by joining the Guard and Reserve—or moving to Canada.

Liberal voters grew in their criticism of a war that U.S. forces seemed to be losing; conservative voters supported the government despite increasingly reliable information about our failed efforts.

Remnants of the Vietnam War remain in my generation. So do opposing views of patriotism and disagreement.

As The Sixties Show ended, the mostly gray-haired audience was clapping and singing along. It was heartening. The mood was joyous. Politics was irrelevant. The decade had stirred strong passions. The music was a unifier.

Columnist Howard Freedlander retired in 2011 as Deputy State Treasurer of the State of Maryland. Previously, he was the executive officer of the Maryland National Guard. He also served as community editor for Chesapeake Publishing, lastly at the Queen Anne’s Record-Observer. After 44 years in Easton, Howard and his wife, Liz, moved in November 2020 to Annapolis, where they live with Toby, a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel who has no regal bearing, just a mellow, enticing disposition.

 

As Baltimore’s riots raged in 1968 after the gruesome assassination of the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., Maryland Governor Spiro Agnew chastised Black leaders for failing to step forward to ramp down the violence. His remarks drew national attention and consequently his selection by Richard M. Nixon as his vice presidential running mate.

The politically shrewd and ruthless Nixon figured he had an attack dog in Agnew who would curry votes from the segregationist South.

Nixon had learned the tremendous appeal of anti-integration Alabama Gov. George Wallace, who was gaining momentum before he was seriously wounded in a Laurel, Md. shopping center parking lot while campaigning for the presidential nomination as an Independent.

Fast forward 55 years to Jan. 18, 2023, the day that Maryland inaugurated its first Black governor, Wes Moore, and its first immigrant as lieutenant governor, Aruna Miller. Agnew would be aghast, if not appalled.

He resigned as vice president in disgrace after being accused of taking payoffs as Baltimore County Executive and vice president. He gained prominence on the national stage for his stridently divisive remarks. He exited ignominiously wreaking of corruption. Maryland was blemished.

As I listened to Gov. Moore’s crisply delivered speech, I was struck by two themes: in addressing thorny socioeconomic issues, he eschewed either/or and the politically explosive me-against-them battleground. He expressed hope. He postulated that our state could be a leader in promoting equality, achievement and fairness.

For example, Moore opined there could be safe streets and fairer treatment of Black offenders imprisoned in disproportionately greater numbers than Whites.

Further, building Maryland’s wealth should be as equally compelling as attacking poverty and unequal health care. Moore will not forget Baltimore, a city infamous for its rampant crime and disparity between the wealthy and disadvantaged.

Raised in Baltimore, with continued family ties and dear friends, I bemoan its image of incessant drug abuse and gang-related violence. Gov. Moore seems determined to revive the once-upon greatness of a city that, though generally segregated during my upbringing, did not set records for violence.

Moore has talked frequently about service above self. He is recommending a gap year between high school graduation and college or job. Domestic service for youth is a constant topic of discussion in the political arena. In recent years, many advocates think that national service will knock down barriers between the rich and poor—and minimize polarization between social classes.

I hope that Moore will succeed ‘in leaving no one behind.’ I admire his military experience and his commitment to discipline, as well as loyalty to those whom he leads.  He has served in a combat zone. He is accustomed to focusing laser-like on a mission and accomplishing it, noise and distractions aside.

He waved away skeptics during his inaugural remarks who might believe that his litany of objectives would fall victim to political strife and ideological roadblocks. He understands the challenges facing his administration. At this point, everything is possible—until it isn’t.

Moore realizes that his success as Maryland’s 63rd governor will depend on his staff, his cabinet secretaries, the legislature—and his ability to lead with clarity and credibility. Some of his appointees will serve him well, offering pragmatic creativity. Others will fall by the wayside, unable or unwilling to understand Maryland’s Byzantine political process. His priorities may suffer.

Moore’s charisma alone will not suffice. His persistence and trustworthiness will trump all. He should pay little or no attention to the national glare that will engulf him as our state’s first Black governor. He should direct his ambitions to our state and its needs.

Maryland comes first. He knows that. Flattery is illusory.

Spiro Agnew made enemies. He did little to calm the rioters in 1968. He opted for blame instead of collaboration. He unashamedly used political office for personal gain. He placed Maryland in the forefront of corruption. Five-and-a-half decades later, we have a governor who desperately seeks change to benefit the entire spectrum of citizens. His enemies will be those who view new thinking as threatening.

As a final note, I commend former Gov. Larry Hogan for his gracious handling of the transition between his and Moore’s administration. His civility, once a staple of politics, stood in sharp contrast to the handoff between Trump and Joe Biden. Hogan received special mention, deservedly so, from Moore during his inauguration remarks.

Report cards can be ominous. Students await results with fear and anxiety. Parents too are eager to determine if their children have performed well or not so; children either face approval or disappointment from their parents.

The Chesapeake Bay Foundation’s (CBF) D+ grade on the health of the Bay, though not surprising, was truly discomforting. Millions and millions of taxpayer dollars and an equal number of words voiced by politicians and advocacy groups have been expended for at least 50 years on behalf of what many consider the beating heart of Maryland.

To what avail? A D+ is hardly encouraging. In fact, it prompts little motivation to devote constant attention to a critically important but impaired estuary, at least initially to me. Some might disagree; the need for further investment of public dollars and political will is more urgent than ever.

Pollution continues unabated. CBF holds farmers and real estate developers to blame. Perhaps justifiably.

Water quality continues on life support. Wastewater plants certainly reduce point-to-point pollution. However, stormwater runoff from residential and commercial development and farm operations contribute to the infusion of detrimental phosphorous and nitrogen.

Multiple programs and agreements between Maryland, Pennsylvania and Virginia produce photo opportunities and little else. Frustrated too, CBF deliberately offers an abysmally low grade to attract attention to the health of a chronically ill victim. I wonder if the grade will have any impact.

Throw in global warming and sea level rise, and optimism seems a scarce commodity. My pessimism sprung upwards after the revolting report card. While I applauded CBF for its shock therapy, I found myself resigned to the inevitable degradation of the Chesapeake Bay.

Perhaps CBF deliberately released its report prior to the beginning of the Maryland General Assembly and the inauguration tomorrow of Wes Moore as governor. Throughout his primary and general election campaigns, Moore touted his pro-environment viewpoints. Now he must invest in solutions to the Bay’s poor health. He will have little time to rest on his elective mandate.

Solutions such as environmental goals, constant pressure on farmers and developers and fisheries moratoriums work and then taper off. The cancer metastasizes Treatments begin anew. The regimen goes on and on.

Residents of the Chesapeake Bay region cannot give up hope despite the flow of bad news. The Bay governs our lives. It is an invaluable asset, a tarnished gem. Unless we move to Nebraska, we must pay heed to a body of water that produces food, recreation, commerce and beauty.

Neglect is not an option.

We must follow the science and continue to monitor sources of disabling pollution. While farmers bear the brunt of criticism from assertive environmental groups, sometimes undeservedly so, I recommend enforcement of observable pollution. Further, if development cannot be deterred by incessant conservation in the face of equally relentless development, then counties must impose stricter regulations, however distasteful they might seem.

Political opposition will always be fierce. Moratoriums on the harvesting of endangered fish must occur despite pushback by watermen.

Fifteen years ago, at a science forum conducted by the Horn Point Marine Science Lab in Cambridge, Md., a scientist, when asked what one thing he would like to achieve if he could wave a magic wand, he unhesitantly answered: eliminate the use of fertilizer. Phosphorous and nitrogen would vanish from beautifully manicured lawns. Weeds would replace perfection.

The Department of Natural Resources Police must patrol over-fishing and shameful littering. There’s no question that recreational and commercial boaters deserve to enjoy the rich Bay. They also must adhere to protective rules.

I am unhappy about the CBF report card. The D+ grade offers a vision of doom and gloom. If it propels a new round of constructive action to resuscitate the Chesapeake Bay, then the next report card may bring at least a C or C+. Not entirely satisfying, but better.

Columnist Howard Freedlander retired in 2011 as Deputy State Treasurer of the State of Maryland. Previously, he was the executive officer of the Maryland National Guard. He also served as community editor for Chesapeake Publishing, lastly at the Queen Anne’s Record-Observer. After 44 years in Easton, Howard and his wife, Liz, moved in November 2020 to Annapolis, where they live with Toby, a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel who has no regal bearing, just a mellow, enticing disposition.

It was a job, a daily, deadly serious grind. My payment was my life. That might sound dramatic, but it’s true.

I arrived every day for my prescribed “table time.” Three trained specialists greeted me with minimal small talk and appropriate encouragement. After 15 minutes, I would leave and cope with side effects.

For 39 days over eight weeks, I underwent prostate cancer radiation, a veritable canvas for a green laser beam. I laid perfectly still, eyes closed, tightly holding a rubber donut, trying to immunize myself from boredom and loneliness with random thoughts. My last treatment was Wednesday, Jan. 4, 2023, celebrated with a ceremonial bell-ringing. No academic graduation could have matched my euphoria.

This job, consisting of no creativity or control, required incredible patience, not my forte, as family and friends would attest.

I recommend radiation, particularly after prior surgery that does not eliminate all cancer cells. That was my case. In June 2015, I underwent a robotic prostatectomy at age 69 at Johns Hopkins Hospital. It is common for surgery to succeed for a period, but not indefinitely. News of the recurrence the past September—based upon a slightly elevated PSA (Prostate-Specific Antigen), an indicator of cancer and its recurrence—was bad, but not shattering news. 

Cancer is persistent, relentless in most cases.

Were I 87 instead of 77, I likely would have foregone a major disruption to my life, manifested by multiple daily naps and diarrhea. And cancelled social engagements. The painless green beam inflicts expected consequences. At my “young” age, I chose to eschew stubbornness in favor of survival. It was a sensible course of action.

When I described my interminable treatments as a job, my affable oncologist opted for the word “grind.” He was right. So was I.

Midway through the dreadful drudgery, I could conjure no ray of joy, no adrenaline rush. I felt low. Then an epiphany struck me. I decided that my 20-minute trips to Luminis Health’s radiation oncology facility in Annapolis, followed by 20 minutes lying perfectly still while a $1.5 million linear accelerator hovered over me, was an unavoidable, unpleasant necessity. I realized that my pre-retirement, obsessive work ethic required being ignited and sustained. 

My emotional health called for a dosage of diligence and optimism. Elation would emerge on Jan.4.

While I understand that survival is a strong motivation, a daily medical drudgery summoned my habitual allegiance to a job. It worked for me. So did weekly 30-minute meetings with my Johns Hopkins Medical School-trained oncologist, as he requested.

Early on, he said that the treatment process was a team effort captained by me. His pep talk seemed a stretch. Lying on my back on a hard table while the radiation therapists (that’s their preferred job designation) operated the command center, I really questioned my leadership capability. Maybe it was subtle, too opaque for me. I felt more like an infantry “grunt” being ordered to be happy in my misery. His spin was clever and well-practiced.

My communicative oncologist had the best, most authentic bedside manner that I have ever encountered during a mostly healthy life filled with periodic hospitalizations. He answered questions without even a hint of condescension. His honesty and humor were refreshing. Though anointed by him as the captain, I adhered obediently to specific expectations that discretion compels me to keep to myself. 

Suffice it to say that I entered the therapy room in a physical state that produced an unimpeded radiation treatment. The radiation therapists followed strict rules that were not always comfortable.

Any job is bearable, if not enjoyable when your boss communicates clearly and knowledgeably. When entangled as I was in a medical regime tied to my continued existence on Planet Earth, I found my willingness to follow directions far easier in deference to my oncologist and the therapists.

Bedside manner is a medical necessity. Not always practiced as well as it should be. I commend the Luminis team for being serious and sensitive.

As a retiree for 11-1/2 years, I sought no job. I followed my own whims. I set my own deadlines. Medical difficulties have materialized, however, including my prostate cancer surgery in June 2015, that have altered my retirement plan. The aftermath of that operation spawned a commitment of time, energy and concentration that formerly characterized my job approach. 

Life as a senior citizen is a job, as I have painfully discovered. Bosses wearing white coats and smocks are in charge. Obedience is imperative.

Columnist Howard Freedlander retired in 2011 as Deputy State Treasurer of the State of Maryland. Previously, he was the executive officer of the Maryland National Guard. He also served as community editor for Chesapeake Publishing, lastly at the Queen Anne’s Record-Observer. After 44 years in Easton, Howard and his wife, Liz, moved in November 2020 to Annapolis, where they live with Toby, a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel who has no regal bearing, just a mellow, enticing disposition.

 

In 15 days, Maryland will record three firsts: first Black governor, first woman comptroller and first Black attorney general (AG). While performance supersedes skin color and gender, citizens should take a moment to acknowledge a phenomenon in our Old Line State.

Governor-elect Wes Moore, elected with a 30-point margin of victory, will arrive on the second floor of the State House with a mandate and long list of goals. He assumes office with no political experience, but a resume that includes leadership of a huge non-profit, successful book author, Rhodes scholar—and personal charisma that captured the attention and support of Democrats, mainstream Republicans and Independents.

He assumes the governorship blessed with a large surplus thanks to federal pandemic funds. Both the House of Delegates and the State Senate are heavily Democratic. His success would seem assured if he could quickly learn how to navigate the arcane legislative process and management of a $42 billion enterprise. He will deal with strong-willed legislators intent on passage and funding of their pet rocks. He will confront entrenched state agencies with their own cultures. He will find challenging facing off against the fourth and fifth branches of government: the media and lobbying firms.

Based upon his campaign, Moore will focus on pre-school education, economic development and the environment, to name just a few of his priorities. Environmental matters suffered during the Hogan Administration; Maryland’s departments of Environment and Energy Administration craved more robust staffing and State House attention.

By the way, Governor Hogan deserves praise for offering friendship and advice to his successor. Hogan has been intent on a smooth, productive transition. He understood that the dysfunctional transition between the Trump and Biden presidencies, due to the former president’s unwillingness to accept the people’s choice, was detrimental to our nation.

Comptroller-elect Brooke Lierman is a dynamic, industrious politician raised in Montgomery County who practiced civil rights and disability law and raised a family in Fell’s Point in Baltimore. She likely will seek higher office in the not-too-distant future. Meanwhile, she will lead an agency that collects taxes, serves as an economic forecaster and supports small business. She will serve, along with the governor and treasurer, on the powerful Board of Public Works (BPW), as well as the board of trustees of the State Retirement and Pension System.

Lierman served six years in the House of Delegates. She acquired a reputation for her ability to gain passage of bills she sponsored, an achievement that eludes numerous members of the General Assembly.

She will be an activist as comptroller. As a BPW principal, she will help oversee state procurement valued at $3 billion annually. She will discover that procurement, while not glamorous, presents legal and ethical conundrums. The bi-weekly meetings also offer a platform to address issues not necessarily tied to the agenda. I hope she avoids taking advantage of media coverage to voice opinions easily considered grandstanding.

Anthony Brown, a former lieutenant governor whom Gov. Hogan defeated in 2014, and who eventually became a member of the U.S. House of Representatives, will become the first African American attorney general in Maryland. Relations between the AG’s and the governor’s office should improve. Like the comptroller, the attorney general answers only to voters. The AG is not the governor’s attorney. Tension is inevitable despite belonging to the same political party.

Brown is a well-experienced public servant. A graduate of Harvard Law School, he has little experience in a courtroom. He will lead and manage a large law firm comprising attorneys who primarily represent state agencies. Brown will be forceful while cautious and deliberate, focusing, he said, on crimes beyond the jurisdictions of counties, alleged police misconduct and supposed discrimination in housing.

The youth movement in the highest state offices (44, 43 and 61, respectively), along with the three “firsts,” marks a new era in Maryland politics. Optimism is the current theme. Performance will define reality. And for political devotees like this writer, the changes in style and substance will be well worth watching.

Columnist Howard Freedlander retired in 2011 as Deputy State Treasurer of the State of Maryland. Previously, he was the executive officer of the Maryland National Guard. He also served as community editor for Chesapeake Publishing, lastly at the Queen Anne’s Record-Observer. After 44 years in Easton, Howard and his wife, Liz, moved in November 2020 to Annapolis, where they live with Toby, a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel who has no regal bearing, just a mellow, enticing disposition.

I admit it. I watched the entire “Harry and Meghan” docu-series, understanding I listened to only one side of a painful family rift in a real-world soap opera. I fear the consequences for the monarchy now headed by King Charles II, Harry’s father.

Past grievances. Obsessive protection of the monarchy. Rampant jealousy. Excessive sensitivity to perceived media attention-getting. Difference in personality styles. Racism.

This story has the best and worst of family squabbles, magnified in the rare bubble of privilege, wealth, tradition and power. A rebellious nature—or at least a heightened sense of self—can destine a family member to ridicule and personal assassination if we are to believe one version.

Attractive people surrounded by all the accoutrements of abundant money, castle-like homes and ever-present courtiers look ugly and petty at the expense of a couple (H and M) who somehow—and supposedly– overstepped the stringent, often unspoken rules of royal public behavior.

If it were not enticing human drama, it would be shameful, hurtful and wasteful for people paid handsomely to serve British citizens. In fact, the saga reflects poorly on the Windsor family and their competence in serving as royalty when some question its future and utility.

Is it worthwhile for the British citizens to continue subsidizing the antics of a privileged few? That question is one that should trouble the Royal Family.

Is the undercurrent of racism addressed repeatedly in the six-episode series a valid theme in the move by the Duke and Duchess of Sussex to Montecito, California? Prince Harry opted not to offer specific comments allegedly made by family members.

What is the other side? King Charles and Prince William will likely retreat to the rhetorical defenses of their communication teams. They will decline to participate in a family feud publicized by Harry and Meghan. I hope they will undertake a reconciliation.

For better or worse, British royalty draws astounding attention. While I doubt that the public views family members as moral exemplars, they do attract microscopic focus throughout the world. Their stage, however, has become wobbly after the death of Queen Elizabeth II.

I cannot deny that the Windsors have become part of worldwide pop culture. They thrive and suffer simultaneously at the altar of British media. The tabloids are downright nasty and obtrusive; accuracy is secondary to sensationalism.

One can easily subscribe to a blasé attitude. I question my own fascination. Harry and Megan live elegant, monied lives as celebrities on a lovely California coastal estate. British media coverage of the Sussexes is brutal: living lives that many would envy, they are capitalizing on their grievances.

I remind myself that Britain’s monarchy is the only functional one in the world. When family members travel to former member-nations of the Commonwealth, they bring goodwill and sophisticated diplomatic skill. Though they have no political agenda, they can be important assets to prime ministers seeking international approval. Just by nature of their celebrity and history, they can direct public attention to a country and its needs. They support hundreds of philanthropies.

Readers know about my love of England and my respect for the role played in the British culture by royalty. It represents stability in an uncertain, unsettling world. It is committed to the country it serves. It views duty as a God-given responsibility. It seeks to represent the attributes of the British people. Through the media, which it has cultivated reluctantly and sometimes recklessly, it is on constant public display. It tries to hide behind its majestic opulence, failing, however, to avoid the classless glare of the British tabloids. There seems to be an unholy alliance.

If cinematic portrayal of the Royal Family is even partially accurate, cruelty is part of the DNA—aimed at errant family members. Devotion to the “institution” (the Crown) supersedes loyalty to family members. Family business is preeminent.

We in the United States may perceive members of the upper-classes as American royalty. That conception would be a stretch, an unfavorable comparison to British royalty, however flawed. We are fortunate that royalty is a foreign term in our country, a former British colony.

Family schisms are unsightly and hurtful. The catalyst is usually money, but not always. Angry words spoken or written recklessly can cause irreparable damage. Reconciliation seems impossible.

King Charles II might inaugurate a new tradition and reclaim a loving relationship with his son and family. A joint venture infused by restorative warmth might succeed. The tabloids would have to look elsewhere for dirt.

Columnist Howard Freedlander retired in 2011 as Deputy State Treasurer of the State of Maryland. Previously, he was the executive officer of the Maryland National Guard. He also served as community editor for Chesapeake Publishing, lastly at the Queen Anne’s Record-Observer. After 44 years in Easton, Howard and his wife, Liz, moved in November 2020 to Annapolis, where they live with Toby, a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel who has no regal bearing, just a mellow, enticing disposition.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When I think about the most significant action in Talbot County in 2022, the removal of the Talbot Boys Monument on the courthouse grounds to the Cross Keys Battlefield in Shenandoah Valley, Virginia comes readily to mind. It represented public recognition, amid fierce controversy, of a 130-year-old stain on the reputation and soul of the county. It epitomized after far too many years—spurred by the murder of George Floyd—community empathy for the hostile optics experienced daily and mercilessly by Talbot’s African American citizens.

While I understand that the Lakeside controversy and the recent Talbot County Council election may rank as seminal events in 2022, the removal of the distasteful Confederate monument signified the county’s choice of goodness over malice. It was the right thing to do. Public activism is now an enduring part of Talbot’s social geography.

Thoughts about the Talbot Boys evolved from recent news coverage of the removal of the Confederate Lieutenant General A.P. Hill Monument in Richmond, VA, the former capital of Confederacy and, up to recent years, the site of many statues representing the Lost Cause. At the beginning of the 20th century, Southern sympathizers decided to rewrite history and glorify the Civil War. Slavery was incidental. The effort was shrewd, whitewashing the evil of slavery and portraying a part of the country in a romanticized way– disregarding that it symbolized oppression and economic opportunism.

It was revisionist history at its worst. Not so ironically, its proponents viewed their efforts at rewriting history as the truth. And still do.

The A.P. Hill statue was the last remaining city-owned Confederate relic to be removed. Others remain in Richmond. During my years in the Maryland National Guard, I often trained at a Virginia post near Bowling Green named after General Hill. I didn’t bother to grasp the incongruity, if not the cross-purpose of American troops sharpening their military skills on a post named for a traitor.

It is likely that the congressional renaming commission will replace the tribute to Hill with one honoring a Union doctor and the first female army surgeon, Mary Edwards Walker. She also was the only woman to earn the Medal of Honor.

Virginia differs greatly from Maryland. It was all-in during the Civil War. Maryland, a border state, had mixed allegiance. When I traveled Monument Avenue in Richmond as a young man, I was startled, overwhelmed and, yes, impressed by the majesty and mystique of the Confederate monuments.

I knew then in a superficial way that the South was foreign to me. Its culture was steeped in subjugation of its Black residents. The monuments drove that point home. African Americans in Virginia understood that they still were regarded as second-class citizens. In light of its bigoted past, evident throughout the Commonwealth of Virginia, the removal of Confederate monuments in Richmond is worthy of applause and admiration.

Talbot County, spurred by White violence against Blacks in Charleston, S.C. and Minneapolis, Minn., discarded its yoke of subservience to a sordid past by removing the Talbot Boys Monument. The Frederick Douglass Monument, also in front of the courthouse, represents tolerance and sensibility. It pays homage to a native son who escaped slavery in Talbot County to become a prominent and persuasive figure in the abolition movement.

The year 2022 is a memorable one for a county that opted for its better angels. It sought self-improvement. Its public facade no longer is tarnished by the embrace of slavery.

Columnist Howard Freedlander retired in 2011 as Deputy State Treasurer of the State of Maryland. Previously, he was the executive officer of the Maryland National Guard. He also served as community editor for Chesapeake Publishing, lastly at the Queen Anne’s Record-Observer. After 44 years in Easton, Howard and his wife, Liz, moved in November 2020 to Annapolis, where they live with Toby, a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel who has no regal bearing, just a mellow, enticing disposition.

As House Speaker Nancy Pelosi and Majority Leader Steny Hoyer step away from leadership roles in a Republican-controlled House of Representatives, they will yield to politics and age (82 and 83, respectively) and serve as part of the rank and file.

Each deserves huge thanks from their constituents and their fellow Democrats for their long and exhausting service to our country. They played leading roles in passing transformative legislation, one being Obamacare. Over the years, the tough-minded, effective Pelosi became the Republicans’ favorite target. She was despised and feared. Her relentless style never changed.

Representing San Francisco, Pelosi never strayed far from her roots in Baltimore’s close-knit Little Italy. Her father, the renown Tommy D’Alesandro, Jr., served in Congress and as mayor. Her brother, Tommy, III served one term as Baltimore’s mayor. Speaker Pelosi, a homemaker and political volunteer, began serving in Congress in her 40s.

Her late start did not hold her back from becoming the first female Speaker of the House. She rivaled the legendary Speaker Sam Rayburn of Texas as an effective political leader. She withstood personal attacks to become a superior general in marshalling the Democratic caucus to pass federal legislation.

She refused to be bullied by Donald Trump, who failed to threaten her over a budget impasse. She stood up to the feckless Trump, even questioning his mental stability. He was furious. He tangled with a person far more astute and focused than he.

A stunning example of the vitriol aimed at Pelosi is the recent home invasion and assault of her husband, Paul. The perpetrator was looking for the Speaker, as were the Trump-inspired insurrectionists on Jan. 6, 2021.

Success, particularly epitomized by a woman, spurs anger and irresponsible behavior on the part of disenchanted, disruptive and misogynistic American citizens. They represent a dangerous element in our country. They know few bounds of respectable conduct.

Hoyer, starting out in politics as a Maryland state senator and serving as the youngest ever State Senate president, has served in Congress since 1981 and majority leader since 2019. A moderate Democrat who has represented Prince George’s County and Southern Maryland over the years, he has been an immensely successful, behind-the-scenes legislator.

Blessed with an agreeable and accessible persona, Hoyer has gained the respect of all segments of the raucous Congressional Democratic caucus. Simply, Hoyer is a doer, prone to action, not verbiage. He understands how the sausage is made, and when to add Hoyer ingredients.

Many years ago, serving as the Maryland National Guard’s government relations officer, I sought money for a new armory in Hoyer’s district. This was at a time when earmarks were plentiful, or at least acceptable. Hoyer’s staff arranged for us to use excess land owned by the Federal Drug Administration, as well as funding inserted in the Post Office appropriation bill. The machinations seemed effortless.

Whenever I’ve seen Hoyer, he is always friendly and sincere. He eschews any sense of inflated importance. He loves Maryland, and he loves Congress.

Maryland will lose two allies occupying influential leadership positions. In realpolitik, a loss such as this matters to a state. Favorable actions, as in relocation of federal agencies or appropriation of funds for a large public works project, become more difficult. A powerful “angel” can determine success.

Pelosi and Hoyer are ready to return to the back bench. Younger politicians are primed for battle on the front lines of the House of Representatives. Styles will differ, as will results.

Speaker Pelosi set a high mark, one that will be difficult to match. The same can is true about Leader Hoyer, a top-flight doer. The new era of contesting battles of wills begins.

Columnist Howard Freedlander retired in 2011 as Deputy State Treasurer of the State of Maryland. Previously, he was the executive officer of the Maryland National Guard. He also served as community editor for Chesapeake Publishing, lastly at the Queen Anne’s Record-Observer. After 44 years in Easton, Howard and his wife, Liz, moved in November 2020 to Annapolis, where they live with Toby, a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel who has no regal bearing, just a mellow, enticing disposition.

Joy and self-congratulation greeted the announcement two weeks ago of the $37 million reconstruction of the Farragut Sea Wall at the U.S. Naval Academy (USNA) in Annapolis. Optimistic comments by political figures forecast that the wall, to be raised and repaired, would protect USNA until 2100.

I doubt it.

Nine high tide flood days in 2021 in Annapolis, with 115 expected by 2050–does this data justify upgrading the sea wall, or render it a mere stopgap? I believe the latter is true.

Heavy storms continually flood downtown Annapolis, as well as the academy. A coalition of groups designed a plan to raise the height of the city dock promenade, along with other actions, to create space better able to manage sea-level rise.

Storm-caused surges will continue to assault the East Coast. It is inevitable. Climate change and global warming are permanently disabling parts of our lives. Buildings and institutions we treasure, such as the Naval Academy, face serious threats to their stability. While upgrading a sea wall that protects USNA from damage is necessary, it could be useless by 2050.

If the academy is to remain facing the scenic Severn River, it must be raised somehow to two or three feet above sea level—or be relocated to higher ground. I understand that my thoughts are blasphemous and unthinkable. USNA alumni would be aghast at the suggestion that the academy should move to another safer site.

After living in Annapolis for two years, I have learned that the city has many attributes, such as its historic district, the State Capital, St. John’s College and, of course, the Naval Academy. I would venture to say that the Navy’s premier leadership training school is the centerpiece of Annapolis. It is a magnet for residents taking advantage of cultural and athletic activities. Middies are an integral part of the viewscape as they run throughout the city and appear strolling in their dress uniforms. USNA is an economic driver in drawing visitors.

Sen. Ben Cardin said at the groundbreaking that he would continue seeking ways to bolster the resiliency of military installations. The Secretary of the Navy said the upgrading of the Farragut Sea Wall is among several projects to protect the academy’s future.

I hope that the Navy and Congress find scientifically proven methods to  heighten the campus, whether that means pumping in dirt and reconfiguring the walkways and streets at USNA. I even wonder if buildings can be lifted and placed on higher foundations.

The cost of adapting to climate change will be astronomical. But so would building an entirely new campus on a site unaffected by constant storm surge. The loss to Annapolis would be incalculable. If the academy were viewed as a huge carrier ship, trying to stay afloat despite instability, it surely would draw immediate, major repairs.

My comments reflect an unfortunate acceptance of the consequences of the failure of citizens worldwide to limit Co2 emissions and deter the disastrous extent of global warming. Simply, the ship has sailed. Sea-level rise is unavoidable. We must adapt at huge expense.

When the Naval Academy Superintendent, Vice Admiral Sean S. Buck, appeared before a congressional defense committee in March 2021, he painted a gloomy picture of the effect of storm surge and high-tide flooding on the service academy. He cited the increasing incidence of “nuisance flooding” from two to three to 150 annually. 

These increasingly frequent incidents are more than just annoying, they interfere with the education and training of Navy officers. What higher education institution could cope constantly with disruptive flooding? While the Navy fights primarily on seas throughout the world, attending class in flooded classrooms is not part of the school’s charter.

A $37 million sea wall upgrade, while impressive, has a defined shelf life. More substantive improvements are critical, whether they are unseen—and unsuitable for a photo involving elected officials and high-ranking Navy officers and civilian leaders.

I suggest that the Department of the Navy and the Naval Academy look to the incomparable Venice, Italy to understand and accept the need to spend billions of dollars to provide solutions to retain, if not upgrade the stability and permanence of the academy. Further, taxpayers ought to opine whether they think the expenditures are justified considering other national priorities.

I vote yes.

Columnist Howard Freedlander retired in 2011 as Deputy State Treasurer of the State of Maryland. Previously, he was the executive officer of the Maryland National Guard. He also served as community editor for Chesapeake Publishing, lastly at the Queen Anne’s Record-Observer. After 44 years in Easton, Howard and his wife, Liz, moved in November 2020 to Annapolis, where they live with Toby, a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel who has no regal bearing, just a mellow, enticing disposition.

 

Christmas is four weeks away, and its rampant commercialization has already become a daily presence. Nothing new. All is normal.

I too am caught up in the hyper- activity, but in a slightly unusual way. I love Christmas movies, the cheesier and schmaltzier the better. Of course, they are formulaic and predictable. I don’t care. I suspend my critical nature.

Escapism is a powerful force. I yield to it happily and comfortably. All the holiday films have happy endings. Love triumphs. Villainy vanishes. The world momentarily seems at peace—or at least a cinematic, fantasy-like tranquility.

Just recently, I watched “Christmas Inheritance,” “Christmas Train” and “Christmas in Vermont.” The first was a Netflix flick, the other two were Hallmark productions. The acting and plot were more substantive in the latter.

Each movie features a romance that begins fraught with dislike and ends filled with commitment. Typically, a high-pressure woman with a successful career in a city (usually New York) visits a small, quaint town infused with the Christmas spirit. She cares only about achieving her business mission. Christmas is an abstraction. She then runs into a local guy, who is earnest and sincere. Discounted at first by the hard-charging woman, the man gradually wins over the woman. The heavily decorated town, comprising down-to-earth people, also plays a starring role in the movie.

“Christmas Train,” starring Danny Glover, Dermot Mulroney and Kimberly Williams-Paisley, takes a different, clever tack with an unexpected conclusion. The actors are first-rate. Mulroney is particularly effective as a prize-winning, unhappy former journalist who now writes fluff pieces. Unknown to others on the comfortable, cross-country train, Glover, a cagey movie producer, has manipulated relationships according to a secret script he wrote. He successfully engineers the resurrection of a troubled love affair.

Some people read romance novels to rest their minds. As a person addicted to mind-expanding non-fiction, I substitute the annual passage of movies focused on hope, love and faith in your neighbors. These ideals, while commendable and sometimes achievable, seem archaic, divorced from reality. Still, I watch. Eagerly so.

Readers may wonder why I use escapism as my excuse for watching feel-good Christmas movies. I become completely absorbed, ignoring for a few hours my prostate cancer radiation treatments and the messy condition of our apartment due to a fire six weeks ago in a neighbor’s unit.

For a moment, I take a welcome break from worrying about inflation, increasing number of hate crimes and senseless shootings, war in Ukraine, global warming, attacks on democracy, hunger and deprivation and political divisiveness. I briefly refrain from worrying about friends and family who are experiencing difficult health problems. Covid is still propagating illness and anxiety. Older friends are coping with heart and orthopedic ailments.

As a joyous once-a-year holiday, surrounded by good cheer and glitter, Christmas does offer a dollop of magic. It does provide a backdrop for charitable, non-confrontational behavior. It seems to bring out the best, albeit momentarily, of all of us; that might be a miracle. It is a compulsory respite.

Cynicism takes a rest, shuffled aside for a time, clearing the air for constructive dialogue and laughter.

My daily film binging continues. I will not tire. I will not become dismissive of the predictable scripts, the lovely small towns and the hard-charging women who thrust aside their hard surfaces and choose love with a local guy. While shallow and vacuous to many discerning viewers, these mushy movies do blissful wonders for my soul.

Please join me. Avoid being too judgmental about skimpy content. Give your mental well-being a break.

Columnist Howard Freedlander retired in 2011 as Deputy State Treasurer of the State of Maryland. Previously, he was the executive officer of the Maryland National Guard. He also served as community editor for Chesapeake Publishing, lastly at the Queen Anne’s Record-Observer. After 44 years in Easton, Howard and his wife, Liz, moved in November 2020 to Annapolis, where they live with Toby, a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel who has no regal bearing, just a mellow, enticing disposition.