She grabbed our emotions from the very beginning in April 2016 and never let go. She was mellow, drawing affectionate pats from neighbors, friends and tradespeople.

Liz and I put Sandy, our beloved Yellow Labrador Retriever, to sleep a week ago. It was the right but wrenching decision. She died peacefully, thanks to the ministrations of Dr. Dean Tyson, a superb Easton veterinarian.

I’ve written before about Sandy, with accompanying pictures. I will miss her greatly. I will now brag about her in the past tense. I will choke up a bit, as I do now.

Her real name was Nor’easter Winds Sands of Time, bred by a couple in Parsonsburg, near Salisbury. After 45 minutes of chatter, with periodic weeping by the woman, her health weakened by several strokes, we left the former owners’ home with Sandy. We could not have envisioned the joy that would come our way by this beautifully white-coated Yellow Lab.

Our lives changed for the better that April 2016 afternoon.

Sandy, who would have celebrated her 12th birthday at the end of this month, was becoming less mobile due to increasingly progressive weakness in her hind legs and non-regenerative anemia. The quality of life for this lovable animal was diminishing.

We watched with distress as she coped with her infirmities. Urging her to get up for walks became more insistent; she seemed content to sit and sleep, seemingly unconcerned about her physical needs until she, and we could not ignore them.

Dogs and other pets improve our lives. They make us better people. We forget ourselves while caring for, and about a being that talks to us by saying nothing, wagging its tail in appreciation and fixing its eyes on us to express emotion, or maybe some longing difficult for us at times to fathom.

Seventy-five pounds with a beautiful white coat, Sandy would endear herself, without hardly trying, to many people. She trusted us two-legged beings to treat her well and respectfully. In turn, she would accept as many pats from strangers as her sometimes impatient owners would allow.

She shed religiously. She left her mark wherever she lay down. I would always alert her legion of admirers to beware if they were wearing dark slacks. Most said, maybe too politely, they didn’t mind wearing part of Sandy’s white coat.

Since Sandy died at the Veterinary Medical Center, I’ve talked with others who have endured the sad deaths of dogs and cats. They still grieve the losses. Time may heal, but not erase the pain.

I doubt we will replace our blessed companion. I’m told our reaction is common. We might change our minds, but I doubt it. Our increasing age is an impediment. Our memory of a pet that seemed so perfect to us is another obstacle.

When Liz and I drove on Jan. 5 to Easton from Annapolis, with Sandy lying quietly on the back seat, we knew we might return to the Western Shore without her. We didn’t voice our thoughts. We chose to keep our impending grief to ourselves. Perhaps we didn’t want to share our stress with Sandy in the car.

Our apartment and our lives are emptier now. Our dog-walking shifts have ceased. Our joy of being the recipient of her attachment to us is gone forever. Our longing for a benign presence embodied in a beautiful, mostly white Yellow Lab will not vanish quickly.

She captured our hearts. We happily submitted to her sweet personality. Sandy is a constant presence in my IPhone’s pictorial album. She will not be deleted.

I’ve never mourned a dog as I have Sandy. She sought food, a few daily walks, a comfortable place to sleep—and consistent love. The latter was an unspoken demand that required little, if any effort and was a joy to provide.

Liz and I felt privileged to share nearly five years of our lives with Sandy. We lovingly cared for her, and she for us.

“If there is no Heaven for dogs, then when I die I want to go where they went,” Will Rogers, the great American humorist, wisely observed. It would be a special place where loyalty is valued, and judgments are disallowed.

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. In retirement, Howard serves on the boards of several non-profits on the Eastern Shore, Annapolis and Philadelphia.

 

 

A retired CIA analyst who for 12 years prepared the President’s Daily Briefing for four presidents.

A retired Washington, DC architect who helped design the Vietnam War and Korean War memorials in our nation’s capital.

A retired ophthalmologist who during his 22 years of service as a U.S. Navy doctor at Bethesda Naval Hospital treated presidents with eye (not I) problems.

These three people, as well as a former female astronaut and two women who ran a bed and breakfast in the Poconos after careers as a professor of anatomy and a psychologist, are our new neighbors at the BayWoods continuing care retirement community in Annapolis.

After two months adapting to a new life in a new setting, we have caught some glimpses behind their masks of highly accomplished and friendly residents. We are meeting extraordinary people growing older together.

They generally are in their mid-to-late 80s. Many move around with walkers. Many do not.

They are in their final years of life. They left their spacious homes and friends to live in a community where youthfulness and zest for life are hidden behind slower-moving bodies and faces creased and riven by age and experience.

They have adapted to communal living, abiding by rules created by others. While they have stepped aside from living in neighborhoods that comprise old and young, —and constant upkeep of their homes—they are determined to participate in numerous activities. Of course, many outlets at BayWoods for congregating have shut down due to Covid restrictions.

I think about a touching movie entitled the “Quartet,” which portrays the aging but still talented former musicians who are living in a lovely retirement home in England. Among these acclaimed musical artists is a world-renown opera singer and diva (portrayed by Maggie Smith), who demands attention and adulation—but initially refuses to perform in an opera to raise essential money for the refuge, because her considerable skills have diminished.

Maggie Smith’s character relents, but not without angry drama. She puts aside her ego and joins the riveting performance of “The Rigoletto.” It’s a rousing success.

BayWoods is blessed with men and women battling the corrosive effects of aging with the same resoluteness they exhibited in their younger years. While their ambition and drive have mellowed, their past achievements, hidden by humility and physical infirmities, are easily discoverable by listening.

I continue to gain emotional comfort and contentment in my new surroundings. Each day is better than the previous one. My wife is by my side. So is my desire to age gracefully and productively.

I have written previously about the wrenching decision to leave Easton and Talbot County and take on an unfamiliar passage across the aging divide. The journey poses constantly difficult but exciting ebbs and flows.

Our neighbor celebrated his 93rd birthday on Dec. 31. I spent 30 minutes with him as he celebrated his birthday alone. His two daughters, both living in the south, could not visit him due to Covid. His constant companion is loneliness; his wife died eight years ago. Her portrait has a prime spot in his apartment.

I now have a front-row seat watching how people in old bodies have youthful outlooks. They will not simply observe and second-guess. As in “Quartet,” they will continue to strive to hit the high notes of life.

Valuable life lesson.

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. In retirement, Howard serves on the boards of several non-profits on the Eastern Shore, Annapolis and Philadelphia.

Thankfully coming to an end, 2020 relentlessly seemed to evoke the words “hope and hopeful” in conversations and in the media. We desperately wanted the viral terror to cease its deadly impact on our initially unprepared nation.

The “Hopeful” signs seen throughout Easton, thanks to Amy Haines, Richard Marks, and the Dock Street Foundation and other benefactors, symbolized the feeling of unity pervasive among so many of us cautiously optimistic about the future.

We all hoped for an accelerated discovery and production of vaccine. That has happened.

We hoped for restoration of sanity, decency and leadership at the White House. That hopefully will happen on Jan. 20, 2021 when Joe Biden becomes the 46th U.S. president.

We hoped that political dysfunction and polarization would be modulated, and that compromise and conciliation might be reinstated in the public arena. That’s now possible, though tortuous.

We hoped that economic and racial inequality would become priorities for our national leadership. We can hope that racial tensions stoked by our irresponsible president will diminish under the Biden Administration. The alternative would be undesirable.

We hoped for renewal of trust in, and respect for the United States by foreign nations disillusioned and disappointed by our country’s erratic and chaotic behavior on the world stage. That must happen.

We hoped for a rebirth of civility in communities throughout our precious union, where disagreement might be expressed in non-confrontational ways. Another must-do.

When 2021 arrives in four days, I think (and hope) that words like freedom, liberation and normalcy will become coins of the literary realm. We will segue from ravenous hope to a compassionate reality.

Freedom could be the watchword for the upcoming new year. It almost seems a perfect aspiration, one that crosses all divisions, actual and perceived, in our country.

Freedom from an insidious disease that has caused nearly 335,000 deaths in our nervous nation.

Freedom and liberation from onerous restrictions on our lives and consequent separation from our families and friends—and debilitating loneliness on the part of older, and younger people alike left so sadly alone by death of a spouse and Covid-caused barriers to family warmth and solace.

Freedom from fear of contracting Covid despite taking constant and annoying precautions.

Freedom from denial and dishonesty peddled daily by a president unable and unwilling to acknowledge a crippling pandemic and its fatal impact.

Freedom to talk face-to-face without a mask with your neighbors, your children, merchants, medical professionals, clergy—and all the people we know and wish we knew.

Freedom to stop hoping for normalcy and actually enjoy it. Some wonder, justifiably, whether normalcy as we knew it prior to March 2020 will ever return. It seems unlikely.

Working from home for white-collar workers may become a permanent part of the economic landscape, particularly if productivity has remained the same, or even improved. Part of at-home work included, of course, the ubiquitous zoom communication.

As all of us learned in the zoom world, we all benefited from not dressing up and driving to meetings. More people could participate from throughout the country. Vehicular pollution decreased. We suffered, however, from a lack of human contact and typical rapport.

A Covid-free world raises many questions:

Will people resume traveling? Will they resume attending large gatherings, be they entertainment or sports venues, or family weddings and reunions?

How quickly will Americans, starved of human contact for 10 months, do as they did prior to the pandemic? Will there be an understandable reluctance to gather in groups?

We have lived with a steady diet of hope and expectation. Once vaccinations are completed, maybe this summer—and they are proven safe and effective—freedom to live normally will replace fervent hope with comfortable human routines.

To Spy readers, I wish you and your families a new year that brings unrestrained happiness and an end to disabling isolation. Freedom is an invaluable asset. We’ve all learned that freedom from anxiety is a natural desire stifled for the past 10 months.

Maybe we’ll shake hands again and hug loved ones. Simple pleasures may become commonplace again.

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. In retirement, Howard serves on the boards of several non-profits on the Eastern Shore, Annapolis and Philadelphia.

For years I had heard about a feisty woman who successfully stirred up a ruckus over civil rights in Cambridge in 1963. Gov. Millard Tawes saw fit to call up the Maryland National Guard (MDNG) and establish martial law in response to the volatile demonstration in the streets in an Eastern Shore town that gained nationwide notoriety in the turbulent 1960s.

When I joined the MDNG in the 1976, I would hear stories about Gloria Richardson. Resentment about her key role in the 1963 civil rights protests mixed with reluctant admiration for a forceful woman who was shown in an iconic photograph pushing aside a bayonet carried by a Guard soldier.

As I learned during my years in the Guard, riot control was an inglorious and unwelcomed mission. Engaging your fellow citizens while avoiding violence inspired no enthusiasm. It required a firm but fair approach. It called for diplomacy amid chaos.

Gloria Richardson was unafraid. She was downright angry about the treatment of Cambridge’s black citizens. She resisted any efforts by the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. and U.S. Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy to control her actions or comments.

I began thinking about the now 98-year-old Richardson after reading a recent Washington Post article about the not so easily forgotten civil rights leader. The interview prompted me to hark back to the incredibly selfless and courageous Harriet Tubman, who was relentless in leading more than 50 Dorchester County slaves living in the Cambridge area to freedom through the Underground Railroad in the mid-19th century.

Back to 1963 and a time of turmoil.

A single woman with two daughters and a graduate of Howard University in Washington, D.C., she became incensed about unequal access for blacks in housing, education, jobs and health care. And she acted and spoke fearlessly, much to the distress of white political and black civil rights leaders.

While she sought peaceful resolution of long ingrained mistreatment of Cambridge’s African-American residents, she did not shy away from confrontation. Fires and arrests sometimes resulted. Richardson was arrested three times and received several death threats.

“During what became known as the Cambridge Movement, Richardson caught the eye of the nation, including the Kennedy administration. She earned a place beside some of the country’s most prominent civil rights fighters and became one of the key female leaders in the movement,” according to the Washington Post.

I often wondered why Cambridge, both in 1963 and 1967, became the centerpiece of racial protests on the Eastern Shore. It still carries a stigma from those days, overshadowing significant socioeconomic changes in this small city. Cities like Easton, Salisbury and Crisfield somehow escaped the public ruptures that marked Cambridge.

When Richardson encountered the Guard soldier with the bayonet, her reaction symbolized her disgust for the call-up of Guard troops to quell the protests. She understood, as do most military experts, that a show of force can often exacerbate tensions and encourage dangerously provocative behavior on the part of citizens who indeed are disrupting public space.

To calm the violent protests, Attorney General Kennedy strangely submitted a proposal requiring Cambridge residents to vote for the right of access to public accommodations. Richardson rightly and bravely urged black citizens to boycott the vote.

Why?

The right to use public facilities was a given, as far as Richardson was concerned, and requiring black residents to seek treatment as first-class citizens was insulting.

Her anti-vote decision irritated the attorney general, his brother, the President, and Dr. King. They believed that the voters would approve the proposition and thus end the violence.

Were I then part of the white power structure, I suspect I too would have found Gloria Richardson a terrible nuisance and powerful woman, to boot. In hindsight, I think she was absolutely correct. Human rights are not black or white or brown. At another time, unfortunately, these rights were determined to be white prerogatives bestowed upon American citizens viewed as second-class residents.

Richardson remained part of the civil rights movement until the Civil Rights Act was signed in June 1964 by President Lyndon Baines Johnson. She married Frank Dandridge, a Life Magazine photographer, and moved to New York.

Beside telling the story about her impressive actions in 1963-64 in a small, hitherto unknown Eastern Shore city on the Choptank River in Dorchester County, the Washington Post article portrayed the 98-year-old Richardson as equally resolute and unyielding today about the fight for racial justice.

No surprise.

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. In retirement, Howard serves on the boards of several non-profits on the Eastern Shore, Annapolis and Philadelphia.

Like so many, we became entangled in a Covid scare. It was unsettling.

Twelve days ago, an electrician was installing recessed lights in our new apartment in Annapolis. We learned four days later she had tested positive for Covid. Our life changed for a few days, maybe more.

We immediately informed two couples who had hosted us for drinks the two nights following the electrical installation. We informed the management of our retirement community. Of course, we informed family.  We cancelled any further work in our apartment.

The powers-to-be then issued a memorandum—sounded like a decree—prohibiting the admission of any vendors unless they could show evidence of negative Covid tests. Beware what the Freedlanders have wrought!

Maybe we should return to the Eastern Shore, where life is simpler.

A day after we learned about the electrician’s positive test and five days after our exposure—she was masked, incidentally—we submitted to our third Covid test, provided by the Maryland Department of Health under a tent in a state parking lot near the State House in Annapolis. We stood in the cold for 15-20 minutes before the test was administered.

We chose to be notified rapidly, and in a few days according to the stand protocol. We initially tested negative, meaning it was likely that the final result would be the same after a longer test analysis. Those administering the test were courteous, kind and professional.

Now I better understand tracing. I better understand super-spreaders. Though my wife and I were not the latter, we were potential transmitters. The spotlight was shining on us.

So much for settling in quietly and unobtrusively. We tried to be good, non-attention getting citizens in Talbot County. We sought no notoriety.

Our concern had context as well. A very good and longtime friend “back home” (can’t help myself) tested positive two weekend ago. His primary symptom had been fatigue. He had no idea when and where the virus invaded his space and took the wind out of his sails. He was fortunate he didn’t require hospitalization.

He’s now a statistic. He also will now be free of fear, I think, from another viral assault and being a spreader. I’m not sure this reality is consoling. I’m not sure I’m right. COVID-19 is persistent and insidious.Reports of an upcoming vaccine, to be administered soon in two shots, do provide a scintilla of optimism. I trust it will restore normalcy and unmasked human contact again.

Year 2021 might be a historic one, a time for unrestrained joy in reducing social distancing. Nearly halfway through the last month of a tortuous and tragic 2020, we might soon see relief.

By the way, we received our standard Covid-test results. They were negative. Life seemed less cloudy, less threatening.

We hope that the spotlight on our apartment and us will dim. Installation of recessed lighting brought too much illumination for these Annapolis newcomers.

As of last Friday, my friend had recovered, another category in which his case now resides. Is he fully recovered? Could he be re-infected, or is he now protected from further disease? His case was relatively mild. Still, he remained homebound for 14 days.

Freedom comes with the price of isolation, marked by fatigue and coughing.

**************************************************
Before I complete this column, I pay homage to a Hospice hero. Unable to sever our umbilical cord to our hometown of Easton, we returned the past Saturday to attend a memorial service for Millie Parrott outside at St. Mark’s United Methodist Church. She was the first and longtime volunteer coordinator for the Talbot Hospice Foundation. She worked several years with my wife Liz, its former executive director.

Millie was an anchor. She helped innumerable families. She understood that impending death required special attention and compassionate care for the patient and the family.

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. In retirement, Howard serves on the boards of several non-profits on the Eastern Shore, Annapolis and Philadelphia.

 

Some years ago, a friend in Easton would often ask during weighty dinner conversations,” Wouldn’t it be nice if everyone just got along?” We would roll our eyes and think to ourselves:

“Is he crazy or sadly naïve, or maybe both?” We would then change the subject and segue into a non-controversial subject like religion or the economy.

Now, I wonder if the Democrats and Republicans in Congress could somehow do the people’s business, ignoring re-election momentarily, and focus in a non-partisan manner on an urgently needed economic stimulus bill, or a jobs-producing infrastructure bill.

I wonder if readers are now rolling their eyes and speculating that I must be living in fantasyland.

Compromise for the sake of constituents? This writer must be certifiably nutty. Contention is the name of the game. Attack, attack, attack…do not give in, or up.

Recently I spoke with a friend and longtime Republican about the future of the Grand Old Party. I asked if he thought that taking, not stopping political actions beneficial to the public could become a norm. Could catering to the extreme wings of each party cease—at least periodically—and be replaced by policies that might boost the economy and enhance employment?

This friend neither laughed nor scoffed at my notion. He listened politely. He said some of his friends and he had discussed a new direction for the GOP. They understood the problem. A solution, however, remains elusive.

The crunch is this: members of Congress are obsessed with re-election. Fundraising is of paramount importance. You raise money by feeding your supporters the red meat of shrill opposition to the other party’s proposals. You denigrate those who disagree with you.

Reasonableness doesn’t sell if you’re always running for re-election. So, how does the Age of Combat yield to an Age of Compromise, as was true (though not always) in days of yore?

Change for the better happens only if voters scream “Enough!” Genuine power belongs to the people who hire and fire their elected representatives. Simple, but true.

Politicians respond to the fear of losing, to polls that show what people think, what they want and don’t want, what keeps them up at night, and what they see as reasonable expectations.

Nearly 80 million Americans sought change in leadership at the White House. They overcame false accusations about fraudulent voting practices. They overcame fear of Covid. They stood in long lines.

They were determined to exercise their democratic franchise.

Job security, affordable health care and accessible education are critically important to our fellow citizens, wherever they live, work, play and pray. Are members of Congress listening?

Do they care?

I strongly suggest that accord, rather than partisan anger, is a reasonable expectation of our neighbors, friends, family, first responders and small business owners. Patience is running thin. Covid-induced isolation has reduced tolerance for inaction.

All of us are feeling a bit irritable. While awaiting a vaccine and a return to normalcy, we’d like to see political solutions that give people hope and confidence,

Back to my friend’s once-ridiculed question and plea: could we all just get along? While human relations at best are fraught and fragile, particularly in the political arena, I believe that periodic bouts of comity might benefit citizens yearning for actions and policies that improve their lives.

It’s time to substitute agreement and compromise for rancor and discord. It’s time to exchange conciliation for combat.

Every once in awhile, a Kumbaya moment might be refreshing—and good for the nation’s fiscal and physical health.

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. In retirement, Howard serves on the boards of several non-profits on the Eastern Shore, Annapolis and Philadelphia.

After spending a pleasant Thanksgiving week in Rehoboth, Del., as is customary for our family, I began to mourn about the future of its continued quiet during the fall, winter and spring. It now will become the refuge of President-elect Biden, Secret Service and gawkers.

The Bidens own a second home about a mile from our favorite rental property. That proximity may become a terrible annoyance.

I have mixed feelings about the celebrity culture. Though I suspect that real estate brokers may feel differently, particularly in Talbot County, I believe that high-ranking federal public figures bring a covey of security personnel, hangers-on and the media, not merely higher property values. Quiet streets and cozy restaurants become just the opposite.

I recall not too fondly the hubbub caused when Vice President Dick Cheney, sometimes accompanied by Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld, both with homes in St. Michael’s, would descend upon Easton during the years 2000-2008. Streets were cleared, and an accessible restaurant suddenly became a private enclave.

Maybe it was four years ago when both Vice President Biden and candidate Donald Trump attended a graduation at the University of Pennsylvania for a granddaughter and daughter, respectively. Parents and participants had to arrive 2-1/2 hours prior to the ceremony to endure security checkpoints. I was dismayed by the disorder created by legitimate security concerns.

My irritation is non-partisan. My sense of inconvenience has no political boundaries. Momentarily, I am perturbed.

Perhaps what I bemoan the most is the unfortunate need for a phalanx of Secret Service and local police officers. It’s a sad fact of American life. Several assassination attempts—four of which were profoundly tragic—justify and explain the normally impenetrable and expensive cloak of protection for our President and Vice President and their families.

I am aware that the actual incidents are few relative to the number of threats.

Loss of Abraham Lincoln, one of our greatest presidents, to bullets fired while sitting on April 14, 1865 in Ford’s Theatre in Washington, D.C. was a horrible blow to a country still reeling from the Civil War. His death stymied progress toward racial equality.

President James Garfield was killed in 1881 and William McKinley in 1901.

The murder of President John F. Kennedy in November 1963 remains a traumatic event for our nation, an act of violence that scars the memories of so many Americans. Was it really possible that someone so vibrant and charismatic as JFK could be shot dead on a Dallas, Texas roadway? Like many in my generation, I can remember exactly where I was when I learned the stunning news.

Kennedy’s death still haunts memories of my freshman year in college. Politics took on a deadly component.

The assault on President Ronald Reagan in March 1981 outside a Washington, D.C. hotel was another horrific reminder of risks to a president’s life by a crazed human. That Reagan survived the shooting, which seriously threatened his life, is a tribute to rapid and skilled medical treatment and possibly to his indomitable optimism.

Again, how could this happen to a person whose sunny disposition seemingly muffled political opposition?

In view of our national proclivity toward violence aimed at public figures, it makes sense, regretfully so, that those of us living in, or visiting spots enjoyed by American presidents—such as Martha’s Vineyard, Massachusetts, Palm Beach, Florida, Crawford, Texas and Kennebunkport, Maine, among others—must suck it up and withstand the commotion caused by the presence of a political celebrity.

We will continue visiting Rehoboth Beach, Del. and try to ignore the presidential couple living amidst us. We will grumble respectfully.

And we will commend the Bidens for having the same taste as we do for a normally delightful beach resort—and some delicious pizza and incomparable French fries.

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. In retirement, Howard serves on the boards of several non-profits on the Eastern Shore, Annapolis and Philadelphia.

 

If you believe, as I do, that military strength is paramount for peace, then petulance is the worst prescription. For that reason, the president’s childish refusal until yesterday to allow President-elect Joe Biden and his advisers access to national security briefings is dangerously foolish.

I am extremely concerned that Donald Trump’s obsession with overturning the plebiscite on Nov. 3, and hindering the normal access for a president-elect and his/her transition team to top-secret information about the world’s trouble spots invites aggression and weakens Biden’s grasp of foreign affairs, just as he ascends to the presidency.

Understanding that few things have been normal, or even rational about this administration’s actions the past four years, I still held out hope that Trump might be concerned about the country’s ability to react to an international crisis after Jan. 20, 2021. He’s not. I shouldn’t have been surprised.

Trump cares hardly a whit about our nation’s domestic and foreign stability. His primary focus is himself.

I’m paranoid enough to believe that Russia and China are savoring the chaos and confusion in the United States. Our weakness is a narcotic to these two countries. Bad actors proficient in terrorism must be considering their moves in light of our country’s currently incompetent leadership and undemocratic transition,

I would be courting hyperbole to say I have trouble sleeping at night worrying about possible acts of aggression by our primary opponents. What’s not fanciful is my fear of a potential probe of our conventional and cyberspace defenses.

Under this hapless administration, the Defense Department is in disarray. The commander-in-chief, like a tin pot autocrat/dictator, is purging the top civilians for displaying insufficient loyalty—and integrity. An agency that performs excellently during a crisis requires informed and capable civilian leadership.

I realize that national security is not the only essential government service suffering from neglect by our irresponsible White House occupant and his unwillingness until yesterday to grant access during a critical transition.

So is the battle against Covid, global warming, homeland security, economic stimulus and many other government functions that do not improve with negligence. Democrats and Republicans alike yearn for a stable democracy and respected leadership.

Trump continues to worship at the altar of vengeance, paranoia and selfishness. It’s pathetic. It stymies a necessarily and customarily smooth transfer of power.

Prior to the election, a pro-Trump reader wondered what I would write about once the president was defeated. I was curious how he knew the result before all the voters exercised their right to record their selection. After the votes came in, with former vice president Biden the declared winner, I naively thought that the bizarre behavior of our 45th president might end., or at least subside. All of us could focus on the future and the badly needed upgrade of American leadership. Instead, we continue to observe, painfully so, the president’s trampling of democracy in his pursuit of denial and denigration of the election process.

Past failure to grant access to classified information about the world’s trouble spot invites harmful behavior by bad actors who roam the world stage determined to wreak havoc amid weakness and distraction. It’s frightening.

Strength as represented by a U.S. military and led by an attentive commander-in-chief can deter deadly aggression. Living in limbo is unsettling and perilous.

I so wish I could opine about a thoughtful and sensible White House. It’s currently impossible and unrealistic.

 

 

 

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. In retirement, Howard serves on the boards of several non-profits on the Eastern Shore, Annapolis and Philadelphia.

 

 

 

Covid has disrupted all of our lives. Family gatherings have become infrequent. Weddings have been cancelled. Visits to sick or dying family members ceased.

The impact has been drastic. Most of us understand the reasons for caution and the rationale for restrictions. We live with our displeasure, if not our impatience and Covid fatigue.

Not until last week did I take in the effect of the stubborn coronavirus on our democracy. When the Maryland Assembly convenes on Jan. 13, 2021, no member of the public can attend a committee hearing, except by zoom. Absorb that fact, readers.

State legislators, whose actions affect all of us in ways big and small, will have little or no public input, other than by the ubiquitous zoom. Simply, sunshine will lose out to partial darkness.

While some might consider public hearings a charade to satisfy those who believe their voices matter—and they do if noisy and massive enough, backed by political savvy and access—the trained advocates, as symbolized by lobbyists and passionate citizens, will be shut out.

One-on-one chats with legislators during or after a hearing will be a thing of the past—until a vaccine vanquishes this awfully persistent disease. Particularly hurt will be lobbyists unable to conduct close up and personal conversations. Expensive dinners financed by lobbyists and corporations for entire committees will be forbidden this session.

Even the chummy legislators will be literally walled off, at least in the State Senate. Their desk space, surrounded by plexiglass, will look like sterile cubicles. Communication between and among state senators will be severely limited.

Democracy is precious and prized. It’s imperfect even under the best of circumstances. Creation and passage of a bill is often an ugly process, resembling nothing described in a civics textbook. It defies easy understanding. The results vary in quality, as we all know, and usefulness.

The value of public input and oversight cannot be underestimated. When your constituents and members of interest groups are watching and judging, more good things happen than not.  Zoom seems cold and detached. It’s the best alternative under present conditions.

Saying all this, I realize that Senate President Bill Ferguson and House of Delegates Speaker Adrienne Jones must protect the public, the legislators and staff from the insidious spread of Covid-19. Democracy must yield to serious and possibly deadly health concerns.

Strict adherence to wearing masks and socially distancing  have far-flung consequences beyond constant and aggravating inconvenience. It determines the practical impact on our lives of unaccountable actions by our legislative bodies. We may not know. That’s unsettling.

When Gov. Larry Hogan calls for responsible behavior in combating Covid, we should listen and behave better. We should think about the serious health consequences of ignoring the current surge and pretending our nation has vanquished the viral enemy, and all is well. It surely isn’t.

Our political health in Maryland too is suffering. I fear the loss of sunshine and participation.

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. In retirement, Howard serves on the boards of several non-profits on the Eastern Shore, Annapolis and Philadelphia.

A good vaccine for now is a large dosage of common sense and continued selflessness.

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. In retirement, Howard serves on the boards of several non-profits on the Eastern Shore, Annapolis and Philadelphia.

I’m writing dateline Annapolis. It’s our sixth day in another universe. We have already received the menu for the first two weeks of November, And, of course, a daily schedule of activities severely limited by Covid has come our way.

Our apartment is a mess, exacerbated by serious renovation that may take a month. A livable, comfortable setting, no longer distinguished by boxes, is our modest goal.

We’re just imposing our own personal stamp on our domicile, as new homeowners habitually do. Dust is flying as we continue to acclimate ourselves to a retirement community with a Bay-front view still blocked by trees with leaves hanging on for dear life.

If I allow myself a watery flashback, I could conjure up memories of a Viking river cruise, including promises of delicious food, a program director and friendly staff. A major difference is we can’t disembark and see UNESCO sites. We can, however, visit family and enjoy Annapolis.

You cannot pass go without a temperature check. You cannot host a visitor without specific permission. You cannot move around without a mask.

The residents’ handbook resembles a military operation plan. The detail is astounding. For some reason, I sense that a retired U.S. Navy officer, imbued with the Navy’s checklist mentality, wrote and edited this masterpiece of precision.

Please excuse my facetious attitude. I’ve just stepped onto a ballfield with its own peculiar set of rules aimed at providing a safe, hospitable environment for senior citizens. We no longer are masters of our fate, if that were ever the case.

BayWoods of Annapolis is not like any other apartment community. It serves a distinct age group where youthfulness is not part of its mission statement. It offers a structured residential living arrangement that caters to the needs of people who no longer feel capable of, or interested in living in a home ridden with responsibilities, not to speak of maintenance costs.

I think too that BayWoods-type retirement communities are intended to provide comfort to family members who no longer need to worry about their older parents. As one ages, it seems that roles change between parents and children. The latter gradually take control, even when not sought.

My wife asked me how this move differed from others. In the past, we moved to better and more spacious surroundings. This time, we chose a wholly different lifestyle where schooling for children and kid-friendly neighborhoods no longer matter.

By the way, I’m attending a Veterans Day ceremony tomorrow on the upper deck (sound like the Navy influence?). I look forward to paying homage to our veterans. It seems right and necessary to do.

Fellow residents are friendly and welcoming. Masked faces block a total view of our new neighbors. Sandy, our lovable Yellow Lab, continues to draw attention, as she did in Easton. She’s a people magnet.

My comments may seem presumptuous after spending less than a week in a quality retirement community but then again, I’m continuing my chronic tendency to observe, analyze and comment. I suspect my thoughts will change in time.

Most importantly, we have responded appropriately to an admonition from two Talbot County friends: “Just leave.” Perhaps we had overstayed our departure and needed a rhetorical push to cross the Chesapeake Bay.

And so we did.

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. In retirement, Howard serves on the boards of several non-profits on the Eastern Shore, Annapolis and Philadelphia.