It may be a family member. It may be a friend. It may be a co-worker. It may be a neighbor.

It may be a memory.

Like most national holidays, Veterans Day—the 11th of November—passes by quickly. Town, cities and veterans’ organizations will pay homage. American flags will seem more prevalent. Patriotism will be on display.

Though some may discourage saying “thank you” to a veteran for fear of acknowledging a special class of people, sincere gratitude is always appreciated. It’s a form of wholesome human interaction. It means something to the speaker, a way of connecting to an experience with which you may be unfamiliar.

Veterans deserve recognition. They served our nation, often under adverse conditions. They endured cold, wet and hot weather—and sometimes hostile enemy fire—far from home. They left loved ones and friends for deployments to parts of the world formerly unknown to them.

Many of my friends served in combat zones. Unless prompted, they typically are reluctant to discuss their experiences. Some witnessed the death of wartime comrades. Some wonder why they survived, and others didn’t return home to live to old age.

Some bemoan war.

To follow my own instincts, I plan to call a veteran or two. While I may not express thanks, I will acknowledge their service. I will ask questions. I will probe their feelings and memories, carefully, of course. I will acknowledge their sacrifice of familiar comfort.

I’ve known veterans my entire life. I always sensed an undeniable pride, a profound sense of accomplishment. Though they always talked about their children, weddings and births, they rarely failed to mention their military service. It simply didn’t matter how much they had achieved in life in terms of material success or accumulation of power; they usually found reason to talk about their life as a member of the uniformed services.

Their pride was always close to the surface.

I’ve always been interested, in my avid reading of obituaries, to note how almost unfailingly they mention a person’s military service, whether the deceased was a waterman, shop owner or corporate executive. Service to country matters to veterans and their families.

As it should.

We Americans might wish we didn’t have veterans. That peace and tranquility permeated our fractious world. The goal is noble. Unfortunately, history has proved it’s unattainable. Best intentions run opposite to the human condition.

War is inevitable.

War is grueling and gruesome.

War hardens your soul. It may be harder to cry and show emotion.

Thank God our country has been blessed with men and women willing to serve and families willing to be supportive.

So, today, take a few moments to speak with a veteran. Respect and honor their service. They are peacemakers.

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.

Anyone who ever worked in Annapolis the past three decades understood how large a shadow that Senate President Thomas V. “Mike” Miller cast over the political landscape in the state capital. He was the master puppeteer, one of the most powerful Democrats in Maryland.

After the longest stint as president of a state senate in the United States, he resigned his leadership position on Thursday, Oct. 24 due to serious health concerns related to prostate cancer. He will continue as a rank-and-file state senator representing Calvert County.

State politics and the Maryland State Senate will change dramatically. The 76-year-old Miller will yield the gavel to 36-year-old Sen. Bill Ferguson, a Baltimore City Democrat.

What interested, but didn’t surprise me was how smoothly the transition proceeded this past week.The selection of Ferguson by the State Senate’s Democratic caucus contained none of the drama and contention that characterized the election by the House of Delegates of a new Speaker of the House to succeed the late Mike Busch.

Why?

Because, though hospital-bound by complications of his Stage 4 prostate cancer, Miller would eschew chaos and squabbling. He would continue his legacy of pulling strings in the political maelstrom that is Annapolis.

Ferguson will have a very tough act to follow. Politics as practiced by Miller is an art perfected by a master schooled in compromise, even painful arm-twisting for the targeted senator. Ferguson will forge his own style.

Change has to happen. When dictated by death or poor health, it seems sadder.

When I served as a deputy treasurer, I had very little contact with Sen. Miller or his office, except in one case. Annually, the powerful Board of Public Works (BPW) would conduct what insiders called the “begathon,” an all-day hearing at which board of education superintendents would plead for more school construction money. In essence, they were appealing funding decisions made by an independent state agency.

State delegates and senators would join their county education leaders during the exhaustive process. Miller considered the process demeaning to delegates and senators. He wanted Treasurer Nancy Kopp, elected by the General Assembly and one of three members of the BPW, to demand a stop to the legislators’ appearances. We canvassed some legislators and discovered that they did not feel put upon, that they liked showing the flag by supporting their local superintendents and school board presidents.

Incidentally, I served as the Treasurer’s liaison to the BPW. I was to focus solely on policy, a tough task in a highly political environment.

We agreed , however, with Sen. Miller’s office that we would invite, not require the elected leaders’ attendance. We discovered that the delegates and senators still attended, with no coercion or strong prodding. It was in their interest to do so.

End of story, right? Wrong.

Several years later, following retirement in 2011, I learned that the state legislature changed the law allowing appeals of school construction decisions to go to the BPW. The cause, apparently, was what the the legislature considered political meddling by the governor and comptroller into areas not within the jurisdiction of the Board of Public Works, such as air-conditioning in Baltimore County schools.

I thought the legislative fiat was ill-advised. The appeals process offered counties an outlet for civil protest.

Now, I wonder if Senate President Mike Miller got the last word.

I suspect he did. His canniness is unmatched in the halls of power in the political universe of Annapolis.

He still will be in the game as long as his health holds up.

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.

The recently deceased Congressman Elijah Cummings was a man who combined humility and purposefulness, with a large measure of fearless passion, to serve his constituents with unwavering allegiance. He served the impoverished in the Baltimore City and the wealthy in Baltimore and Howard counties.

So much has been said and written since Rep. Cummings died last Thursday, Oct. 17 at the young age of 68. He battled declining health in recent years. Yet, his voice and resolve never weakened.

Some years ago, I saw Cummings at a political fundraiser outside Easton. We met at the doorway to a lovely home reached by a long driveway. As he entered this home, distant more than geographically from West Baltimore, he said to me, “Man, this is uptown.” We both understood his comment. He proceeded into the crowd and then gave one of his patently inspiring speeches.

He spoke like a Baptist minister.

Several years ago, I spoke with him at a job fair he organized periodically at the 5th Regiment Armory in Baltimore. As I tried to engage him in conversation, welcoming him to the headquarters of the Maryland National Guard, I realized he had no interest in schmoozing. Instead, he wanted to make darn sure that his constituents were benefiting from the job fair.

He wasn’t interested in just going through the motions; his neighbors needed jobs. As soon as possible.

Elijah Cummings was a serious public official. He understood that helping people escape poverty was no picnic. Though he was a highly respected and even powerful U.S. representative, he remained tied inextricably to his roots in the streets of a beleaguered, troubled city.

While he may have campaigned “uptown,” he always came home.

When I read more than five years ago about the Baltimore riots that ensued after city police officers were charged in the death of Freddie Gray, I learned that he strode into groups of angry people counseling calm and civil obedience, using a bullhorn. He wasn’t seeking personal glory and flattering headlines; he wanted to stop the destruction of the city he loved.

He understood leadership at its most basic level: show up, listen and follow up. Fear is an impediment.

The Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. said, “Not everybody can be famous but everybody can be great because greatness is determined by service…You only need a heart full of grace and a soul generated by love.” Rep. Cummings personified these words, though he did gain fame in the political arena.

As chairman of the House Oversight and Government Reform Committee, he was relentless in his investigation of President Trump. He faced strong opposition from congressional members of the Republican Party. Yet, I was interested to read that his political foes were his friends, who deeply respected and liked him. We’re led to believe that’s a rare occurrence in Washington, DC.

Cummings accomplished the art of fighting hard and still retaining friends, despite voicing diametrically opposed viewpoints during fraught hearings.

His congressional district, the city he loved, and the state and nation he served have lost an exemplary political leader. He was larger than life in some ways; his booming voice and ever-present passion could suck the air out of a room. His sincerity always underscored his message.

Elijah Cummings would visit the Shore periodically. His celebrity never interfered with his making immediate connection to his hosts and guests. He was genuine—and determined to push people to be, and do better.

Congressman Cummings will be missed. He ennobled politics and public service.

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 recent tour of Trippe Creek in Talbot County got me thinking about life on water, where a river or creek is a road or highway connecting a neighborhood. The waterway provides the movement of people on recreational boats, a conduit for commerce and a sense of community.

As we traversed Trippe Creek, I saw many beautiful homes. Several are owned by second-homers who may visit on weekends and holidays. I wondered about their interest in our community. Do they care about schools, government and the environment? Are they merely content with the area’s beauty and amenities?

Of course, it’s legal and understandable to be part-time residents. Their primary activities and connections lie elsewhere.

A community linked by rivers, creeks and macadam roads requires, however, human investment, not just a passing interest in a lovely setting. For example, the health and cleanliness of the water should be a primary concern. Like living on a road filled with potholes or trash, life on the water carries the same concern.

An Easton resident for more than four decades, I asked a friend who has lived on the water on and off for most of his life to describe his experiences   in a neighborhood different from mine. He said, “Many of us who grew up on a river knew it better the roads. Our parents let us explore, and it was that freedom that gave us confidence to learn more… about the marsh, creeks, crabs, fish, waterfowl, birds of prey, shore birds, farming, and about who lived “down the river” that might be our future friends. 

“You couldn’t sail, hunt, or crab with someone without learning something about them. That stuck with us, and those same folks are still our old friends. We stayed close, and didn’t feel the need to go far. If we did go away and returned, we still didn’t need to go far. “

Neighborhoods come in different shapes and environmental features. Constant sustainability of their goodness requires emotional as well as financial investment.

I’m not suggesting that second-home or weekend residents give up their roots in urban areas and live full-time on the Eastern Shore, just to satisfy this writer. I am recommending, though, they care about the natural and man-made features of our robust area, as well as our fragile environment.

I trust I’m not coming across as a scold. I know many permanent homeowners who started off as weekend habitués. They grew to love our area, retired here and decided to contribute their time, energy and funds to our community, specifically our invaluable non-profits. Simply, they put down roots—and even docks.

Local waterways become part of your being, your identity if you are fortunate enough to enjoy the serenity of gleaming water.

My friend said, “A river or a creek is as much of a sense of community on the Shore as a road or a subdivision. Memories of swimming or hunting or fishing or sailing or canoeing or kayaking stay as a part of our soul. Friendships are often made on the water and are never forgotten. Stories of adventures can be told but maybe some not even repeated! 

“To the extent that we’ve seen a decline in the health of our waters, our friendships are often about supporting water issues for our river/creek as a group. But asking others for help without telling the stories doesn’t create as much empathy.”

My friend added, “We would all love to see the quality of our waters improved and to be able to share that with new arrivals. And we would welcome new members of our community to learn about our past, and participate in watershed recovery. While local river folk may not intend to be exclusive, it’s tough to stray far, as it’s a natural instinct to honor your own.”

“Maybe we can do more “river outreach” to help the cause. And start some more stories like yours,” this Shore native said.

My friend’s words are worthy ones. Our Mid-Shore communities are better and more vibrant because of people who bring their talent and commitment to our communities. They are well-attuned to service. 

And, yes, it’s important to share stories and concerns for the sake of friendship and common purpose.

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.

The constant, unremitting flow of news during the past three years about and from a president shameless in his divisive self-promotion and cavalier leadership style has caused some to turn off the spigot of daily media reports. For self-preservation.

The Trump nightmare takes no rest. One can’t wake up and pretend that the sleep-disturbing dreams are just that.

Prospect of a presidency marked by common sense and earnest decency is a fantasy in the world of Donald Trump. Expectation of dignified behavior, unifying language and selfless actions is unrealistic.

Statesmanlike behavior is a bar too high in the White House. I suspect it isn’t even an objective in the Oval Office. Me-first shuts out citizens-first. Loyalty is a relative term in the morally challenged Trumpian world. Honor and truth are foreign concepts.

So, what do we do to retain sanity? How do we block out discordant, childish noise that now seems normal, spewing forth from an unfit, irresponsible U.S. president?

My wife and I have learned. We no longer watch TV news. We have escaped, happily so.

Mind you, we still follow the news in the old-fashioned print way and online. By no means are we oblivious to the poisonous dysfunction in our nation’s capital

Now, every night we watch on Netflix the long-running drama, “Blue Bloods.” We have become addicted to a show about the New York Police Department (NYPD) and the Reagan family, which dominates the 35,000-person force through the police commissioner, a detective and a street cop, as well as an assistant district attorney.

Violence is rampant in this riveting drama. So is exceptional police work, on-the-job injuries, political interference and family loyalty and love. Periodically, there’s a sprinkling of compassion.

We bury ourselves in fiction. We follow sometimes confusing plot lines. We wonder about the real life of crime in New York City. We commend the courage we witness on the small screen. We flinch from scenes of human depravity.

We enjoy the safety and security of our home. The world of Donald Trump is distant and unbothersome for a few hours. Life is serene for the moment.

And, then recently we enjoyed the “Downton Abbey” movie as former devotees of the TV series on the Public Broadcasting System. We renewed our attachment to the portrayal of British aristocracy in the late 1920s. It was delightful, an artistic journey into a time in history long obsolescent. The life of a British earl, his family and the servants who served them provided another welcomed escape hatch for two hours.

Even in 1927, the Downton Abbey lifestyle was becoming frayed. Life of splendid parties, hunting excursions and 24/7 pampering by dutiful servants, was gradually coming to an end, though still conspicuously prevalent.

Financial pressures were beginning to surface. Change was hovering over Downton Abbey, a magnificent family home (actually Highclere Castle). World War I had wrought some lifestyle adjustments. Living in the past was becoming out of fashion.

My escapism into a movie, as well as a TV series, is obvious. I’m unapologetic. At the risk of seeming dramatic, my emotional state needs a make-believe boost. Reality looms just on the other side of the screen.

We all have our coping mechanisms in today’s America governed by an unstable, incompetent White House occupant. Most are reasonable and constructive.

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.

New eligibility rules for burial at Arlington National Cemetery, driven by lack of space, is alarming in differentiating between the quality of military service performed in combat and in non-combat active duty situations. A tier system implicitly states that death incurred by combat troops trumps fatal incidents that may occur on active duty, but not in war.

It’s noteworthy that the first official burial at this hallowed cemetery occurred on May 13, 1864 after the death of William Christman, 20, a Union soldier from Pennsylvania who died of disease. During the Civil War, disease-caused deaths outnumbered combat ones.

According to The Washington Post, proposed rules would end burial eligibility for members of the Reserves, Army or Air National Guard who died in non-combat situations while on active duty.

In addition, the rules change would stop burial eligibility for military retirees but allow to be buried above ground. Elimination of eligibility for veterans of Korea, Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan seems likely.

The Washington Post reported that currently 22 million active duty members and veterans are eligible for 96,000 spaces at Arlington National Cemetery. Last year, the cemetery opened a 27-acre section that can hold 27,000 remains in close-packed, pre-dug graves, along with a new niche wall and columbaria. 

The cemetery also is planning a 37-acre section to be ready by 2025.

While I sympathize with the difficulty in making burial decisions dictated by limited space at the nation’s most sacred cemetery, I strongly question the rationale for excluding members of the armed forces killed, for example, in training accidents in preparation for combat. These accidents are all too frequent, sadly so. Instances of helicopter accidents in the Army and Marine Corps and aerial mishaps involving Navy and Air Force aircraft are well-known.

The powers-to-be at Arlington National Cemetery, property once owned by Confederate General Robert E. Lee, must understand, as I hope they do, their obligation to the grieving families of service members killed performing non-combat active duty service. They too mourn the death of their sons and daughters killed preparing for combat.

Our military services—and our national cemetery directors—have a implied covenant with our American families. They expect that the nation will pay proper homage to their deceased children, as in offering a funeral at Arlington National Cemetery, if so desired. How we as a country express our gratitude and condolences to a family is indicative of how we value their service.

Non-combat deaths, which might include combat veterans, are, in some ways, tougher to accept than combat fatalities. Our nation loses dedicated soldiers and airmen who never will get the chance to serve overseas against nations that currently nurture and support terrorism, and for which they trained.

Many years ago, the US Army, due to budget cuts, reduced its support of veteran burials at state cemeteries by providing a tape recording of “Taps,” a bugle call played at military funerals, instead of providing an honor guard. Families were incensed. They contacted local state delegates and senators to complain about what they viewed as a violation of an unwritten contract to provide a proper failure to their loved ones.

Elected political officials then approached the Maryland National Guard and demanded that it establish an honor guard for funerals of all veterans in Maryland cemeteries. After the legislature funded honor guard detachments throughout the state, the Guard provided a noble service to families. Complaints diminished.

If the Arlington National Cemetery must continue to acquire land in congested Arlington County in northern Virginia to accommodate not only those killed in combat on active duty, but those who die in training accidents and illness suffered in preparation for combat, then do so with urgency. 

Words written by Horace Lorenzo Trim to accompany “Taps” seem appropriate: “Sun has set, shadows come, /Time has fled, Scouts must go to their beds/Always true to the promise that they made.”

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. 

Mandatory national service seems to be an alluring concept that curiously gains little traction, mired in public indifference and political inertia.

Apart from voluntary activities, like military service, Teach for America, AmeriCorps and the Peace Corps, few other organizations promote a sense of citizenship—a form of consciousness that places allegiance to a higher calling above narcissism. Having served in the military, I’ve long wondered how my fellow Americans learn to serve something other than themselves.

I well realize that families promote values and morals. Parents serve as role models in demonstrating selfless service to their communities and nation. Patriotism and altruism begin in the home and religious institutions.

But, if families are shattered, thus minimizing role-modeling and wholesome expectations, what happens to the children seeking a way to healthy citizenship?

So, mandatory national service would seem to be a capital idea. Young (and maybe older) people would escape their comfort zones to find themselves working alongside people who come from different socioeconomic groups. It all sounds marvelous: our nation would benefit from the unifying forces of compulsory national service.

Drawbacks are many. Opponents point to the 13th Amendment that prohibits involuntary servitude of, in this case, young men and women. The US military is flourishing because its members are volunteers, not draftees conscripted into the Armed Forces. Young people sent to work in hospitals or national parks may be taking jobs away from others.

Simply, skeptics of mandatory national service wave the flag of liberty, as in free choice, to thwart execution of the idea.

One of the major opponents is Doug Bandow, a senior fellow at the libertarian Cato Institute. Referring to a plethora of proposals over the years championing national service, he wrote in The American Conservative on August 9, 2019, “More often, they involve social engineering for ideological ends.”

Okay, how does the idea gain traction? The trick, I suppose, calls for incentives to volunteerism, the bedrock of our vibrant country. This conclusion is not terribly profound. It, however, raises the specter of hefty federal funding support.

In 1990, Maryland Senator Barbara Mikulski, along with Arizona Senator John McCain, recommended using the National Guard model whereby 50,000 individuals would serve for between three and six years at an annual cost of $250 million as part of the Corporation for National Service. Mikulski’s plan would have paid an annual $3,000 stipend for part-time service.

Again, Bandow wrote in March 1990 about the Mikulski plan, “Indeed paying volunteers would preclude achievement of one of the most important goals of national service, the inner transformation of individuals. If people sign up essentially to moonlight, and their employers treat their free labor like most institutions treat free labor, it’s hard to see what values will be communicated.”

Incidentally, I wouldn’t consider incentive-ridden voluntary national service as welfare, as some do. I view it as vital national interest to boost citizenship in our divided, fractious country. I believe it must be apolitical, not open to political manipulation, as in using the volunteers to serve a president’s whim.

I don’t pretend that well-funded national service, perhaps available to college students seeking a fulfilling gap year, would be an easy sell on Capitol Hill. It’s often failed.

Bandow’s arguments so far have carried the day: let worthwhile volunteer activities evolve on their own, without government intervention or interference. However, I believe that federal participation is necessary if the national service is to have wide and deep enough reach across our country.

The time has come to strengthen, if not restore a sense of national unity and common purpose. The time has come to tear down barriers to civil discourse and useful community-building behavior.

We have many concerning and stubborn problems facing our country. Funding is not finite. Consensus is complicated.

If mandatory national service is infeasible, then a robust, funded voluntary program might be an answer.

Just a thought.

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.

Fall…is it here? Can we push aside the heat and humidity for nine months?

School has begun. That’s a good sign. Buses with kids carrying backpacks joyfully (?) get on and off buses. Parents wait and wonder if their child had a good or bad day. Were friends friendly? Were teachers stern but accommodating? How was the cafeteria food?

Did you learn anything? I’m not sure that parents get a very good response to that age-old question. I always dreaded that query; if not posed by my parents, it always hung in the air, even through college.

Education and history are on my mind. I’ll explain.

Recently my daughter and granddaughter visited Shanksville, PA., site of a national monument to those killed trying to thwart yet another terrorist hijacking of a plane supposedly headed for the nation’s capital. My granddaughter had not been born on 9/11/01.

She thought all of today’s intrusive but important security measures always existed. Weren’t cockpits always double-locked? Weren’t security checkpoints always an understandable nuisance?

My granddaughter learned a bunch outside a classroom by visiting a national monument born of tragedy. It was a sad but important teaching moment. She had to process senseless death and inhuman behavior. She had to understand that terrorism is a daily fear Also, she learned that air travel once upon not such a distant time was more relaxed, less fraught with security precautions.

Could she have learned the same in a classroom? I doubt it.

I’ve always wondered about the value of field trips, which seem to happen at the end of the year when teachers and students are tired, understandably. What lessons are intended?

I’m not trying to denigrate field trips—just a comment on experiential learning. Well-known to educators. I trust that educators will not consider me cantankerous and unappreciative of the opportunity to venture outside the bounds of a distinct classroom.

Last week I wrote about 9/11 and my effort to extract something positive from an immense blow to our homeland. I won’t rehash my comments. I just keep thinking about my granddaughter’s reaction when she learned that air travel once upon a time was more open and accessible.

Our lives were better. We were freer. Passengers felt tense trying to avoid missing a flight, not enduring personal searches and long security lines.

This nagging thought—that what happened in our past must never be forgotten or discounted— haunts me constantly. For example, I find myself telling my daughters about discrimination faced by women not that long ago. I do so because I want them to know how much society has changed, for the better in this instance.

When my determined mother decided in her middle age in the 1960s to get a master’s degree in political science at Johns Hopkins University, the dean asked, maybe implored her to explain why she didn’t just move on, forget an advanced degree and be content as a homemaker. She handled the insult well—and graduated first in her class.

Constructive retribution can be sweet indeed.

I understand that 2020 will be the 100th anniversary of the 19th amendment legalizing suffrage for women. Easily forgotten, the suffrage law removed electoral bondage imposed on women by American culture since our nation’s founding. Women were second-class citizens when it came to participating in the democratic process.

And so many other society pursuits, such as jobs and equal pay, were often closed to women.

I started off this column by musing about the beginning of the school year. I then went astray a bit by discussing teaching moments available in our national history.

Our children and grandchildren can experience the good and bad about our American culture and history outside the classroom. That’s as it should be.

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.

Eighteen years ago tomorrow, our homeland was attacked by terrorist hijackers who crashed American passenger planes into the World Trade Center towers in New York City, the Pentagon and a farm field in Shanksville, PA. It was an unforgettable and unforgivable day in our history.

Loss of lives totaled nearly 3,000. Loss of a sense of security in our nation was incalculable.

I lost a friend and lacrosse teammate that day. His name was Michael San Phillip. He was working on the 104th floor in the second tower as an investment adviser for a small firm, Sandler, O’Neill. On the clear blue day, 83 people reported to work that day; 66 never returned home to family and friends.

Mike, whom his fraternity brothers and teammates called “Sal,” was a football player turned lacrosse defenseman. A steady performer, he was well-liked. After graduation in May 1967, I never saw him again.

When I learned of Sal’s death, I had just become president of my class at the University of Pennsylvania. I knew I wanted to do something to memorialize an unfortunate victim of a heinous, cleverly planned assault on America and its national psyche.

I decided that a scholarship in his name would be a positive reaction to a horrendous act of war. Fortunately, I was able to persuade the university and the powers-to-be in my class to support the fundraising necessary to create a meaningful memorial to my teammate.

The next step was to meet with the family to gain its endorsement of a scholarship, since I knew we would have to gear up a significant awareness campaign among my 1,400 classmates. So, accompanied by a staffer in Penn’s development office, I drove in January 2002 to Ridgewood, NJ, one of several communities in the northern part of the state that sends a horde of communities daily to work in New York City. 

We had lunch with Mike’s widow and youngest daughter. We learned that Sal was one of 13 Ridgewood residents who did not return home on Sept. 11, 2001. We learned that Lynn and Carrie had collected his wallet in January 2002 from a police precinct. I wondered how a person’s wallet could have survived a fiery death. I learned that Mike didn’t like to carry his wallet with him and had put it in a desk drawer.

Lynn requested that the scholarship be directed to scholar-athletes, since she knew how much he loved sports. I thought the request was reasonable and hoped that the university would agree. It did.

Fast forward to 2019, and we have raised nearly $900,000 in market value for this endowed memorial fund. The school distributes proceeds to three recipients every year. Once a year, I meet these incredible young men and women at an annual scholarship celebration. Jill Abbott, Mike’s oldest daughter, joins me, along with her daughter, Mickey (Michelle), named after the grandfather she never knew.

I tell this story, because it represents my little effort to do something positive amid the ramifications of a terrible tragedy. When I was promoting the new scholarship to my classmates—only a few of whom would have known Mike San Phillip—I used the pitch that perhaps, just perhaps, one of the San Phillip Memorial Scholarship recipients might be able to help find a solution to the deep-seated hatred and estrangement that motivated terrorists to destroy 3,000 lives and instill fear and trepidation among Americans as they gather in densely populated venues.

My idealism may have been misplaced 18 years ago. But, as I wrote, I had to find a way to react positively to an event that still sickens me. I was in a position to take action that would provide hope, not just for me but my classmates—and the stricken San Phillip family.

Though raising hundreds of thousands of dollars from generous classmates has been challenging, I have considered the effort one of the most worthwhile in my life. I mourned like many. I was agitated like most. And I was determined to find some glimmer of redemption amid horror and hatefulness.

Another deeply satisfying aspect of helping to create and sustain a fund for good was observing the response of a 9/11 victim’s loved ones. Jill, who lives in Wilmington, DE, was a source of strength throughout the process. To observe her as she talks every year with the scholarship recipients and exhibits genuine interest in them allows me to take even greater pride in the San Phillip fund.

Jill and I make sure that the more than dozen recipients over 18 years know something about her father, and why the scholarship was created. We hope they understand, but can’t be sure. We hope they will try to make this world a little better. 

Centuries-old animosities are difficult to extinguish. Death of Michael San Phillip by terrorists committed to human destruction has enabled a glimmer of hope. 

That’s my dream.

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.