The Grand Itch

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One gray afternoon in the 1990s, while on a motor trip home from Philadelphia, I stopped by my old high school, the Henry C. Conrad High School in Woodcrest, Delaware, a near suburb of Wilmington. Standing on Boxwood Road, outside the chain-link fence, I noticed something odd about the building — broken windows, patched with wood or cardboard. I had never seen such damage before, not during my school days. But I simply assumed the damage was a reflection of the destructive tendencies unique to contemporary times.

It was later that I discovered that the building I had gazed at was no longer a high school. Conrad High was, by then, Conrad Middle School. The old high school had closed long ago — caught up in a huge forced busing plan to achieve “racial balance” throughout the northern New Castle County schools. The plan was referred to, mellifluously, as “metropolitan dispersion.” It did achieve dispersion, but not the kind intended by its authors and advocates.

I had never seen such damage before, not during my school days.

All such plans began with the so-called landmark decision by the United States Supreme Court in the case of Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka. The court decided that racial segregation in public schools, in and of itself, denied minority students equal educational opportunities. “Today,” the court declared, “education is perhaps the most important function of state and local governments.” And they went on to say, “In these days, it is doubtful that any child may reasonably be expected to succeed in life if he is denied the opportunity of an education. Such an opportunity, where the state has undertaken to provide it, is a right which must be made available to all on equal terms.” And then came that crucial paragraph: “We come then to the question presented: Does segregation of children in the public schools, solely on the basis of race, even though physical facilities and other ‘tangible’ factors may be equal, deprive the children of the minority group of equal educational opportunities? We believe that it does.”

Education is the most important function of state and local governments? The mind reels — more important than maintaining the police? the firemen? the courts? Is education at taxpayers’ expense a right, or is it a privilege? — or is it, by now, a dubious activity forced on the public by its government? And what about those tangible factors? One might argue that, in the Brown case, tangible factors were the only proper concern of the court.

The court went on to say that “to separate [children in grade and high school] from others of similar age solely because of their race generates a feeling of inferiority as to their status in the community that may affect their hearts and minds in a way unlikely ever to be undone.” The court quoted an earlier decision by a lower court: “A sense of inferiority affects the motivation of a child to learn.” That was plausible, although hardly requiring the justification that the Court found in “modern authority” — in particular, a magisterial tome by Swedish socialist Gunnar Myrdal entitled The American Dilemma: The Negro Problem and Modern Democracy. The well-known footnote eleven in the complete Brown text documented the Myrdal influence. Concluding a list of several authorities was this notation: “And see generally, An American Dilemma (1944).”

Education is the most important function of state and local governments? The mind reels.

Having moved away from equality of tangible things and into the realm of psychology and sociology, the Supreme Court effected a change in the judicial climate. Separation of the races by neighborhood — which, of course, led to a different racial makeup in each school — became the equivalent of separation by law. And the federal courts, whether to eliminate the “achievement gap” between black and white students, or to compensate for the sins of past discrimination, mandated forced busing to achieve “racial balance.” In New Castle County, Delaware, in 1978, Federal District Court Judge Murray Schwartz ordered a busing plan into effect that Supreme Court Justice William Rehnquist described as “draconian.”

Well before this, all the Wilmington schools had opened to black students — the elementary schools in 1954, the secondary schools in 1955, and the high schools in 1956. Of course, the schools were neighborhood schools and no more “racially balanced” than the neighborhoods where they stood. But the intellectuals were lurking — they had discovered a social ill and thought they had a cure. In 1966, sociologist James E. Coleman published a report entitled Equality of Educational Opportunity. In it, he maintained that inner-city black children, however undisciplined, when seated among middle-class white children, would accept the disciplined ways of the white kids as their own. And eventually, because of their increased discipline, the achievement levels of the black kids would equal those of the white kids. Coleman, whose undergraduate work was in chemical engineering, had gone on to study sociology at Columbia University. He was a true social engineer. But alas, here he miscalculated the stresses and strains — when busing to achieve “racial balance” was undertaken, the results were often the opposite of what he had predicted. The black kids maintained their rebellious ways, and the racially balanced classrooms assumed the chaotic quality of inner-city schools. Perceiving the threat to their children’s wellbeing, the white middle-class parents did a gallopade beyond the horizon. And perceiving this white flight, Professor Coleman did, as they say, a one-eighty, renouncing his report in 1975.

But by that time, the integrationist choo-choo train had gotten up plenty of steam. Forced integration had become an accepted social remedy — and a compensation for past injustice. And in New Castle County, later government actions were seen as compounding the past injustices. One such action was the state’s Educational Advancement Act of 1968, meant to consolidate its smaller school districts without referendum. It exempted three of the bigger districts, including that of predominantly black Wilmington. Thus, complainants saw the Act as resegregating the public schools. Other actions of similar effect were the construction of new highways and subsidized housing, which supposedly encouraged white flight, while maintaining urban-black isolation. The earlier idea that “discrimination was forbidden, but integration was not compelled” was overwhelmed by the felt need to make amends.

Alas, Coleman miscalculated the stresses and strains when busing to achieve “racial balance” was undertaken.

And making amends meant creating new victims. Eleven school districts in northern New Caste County were compressed into one. The students were hauled hither and yon to create the same ratio of black to white in every school. Some traditional high schools in the county, including Conrad and P. S. duPont, were closed and their mascots and other memorabilia thrown away. Two other high schools, Wilmington and Claymont, eventually closed for lack of students — no one wanted to attend. Students spent as much as three hours a day on buses, and participation in after-school activities became difficult, if not impossible. And the busing went on and on — the city kids rode for as many as nine years to the suburbs, and the suburban kids rode for as many as three years to the city. Thus, the busing plan, known as the “nine-three plan,” made every school day a nail-biter for many parents.

By 1993, the State Board of Education had had enough — it petitioned the Federal Court to declare that unitary status he been achieved — in other words, to kindly throw out the busing mandate. But an organization called “The Coalition to Save Our Children” arose with a consent order. The order listed conditions under which the board would be spared further litigation. These included the mandatory monitoring of the schools’ racial makeup with certain quotas to be maintained, “conflict management” that blamed the teacher for disruptive students, “culturally sensitive” examinations for minority students, programs for teachers in “cultural awareness,” a $1.6 million-dollar appropriation for alternative programs for “seriously disruptive” youths, and — believe it or not — a lower passing score for minority-teacher certification. There were other conditions, of course, all meant to assuage the problems caused by previous efforts at educational salvation.

The Delaware legislature was having none of this sort of nonsense, and in 1996, Federal District Court Judge Sue Robinson ended the busing mandate. In the year 2000, the legislature passed the Neighborhood Schools Law. Once again, the kids could go to school close to home. But of course, neither the court decision nor the new law could restore the missing high schools. The old Wilmington High School building is now occupied by the Charter School of Wilmington and something called the Cab Calloway School of the Arts. This last is a so-called magnet school, which brings me to the fate of Henry C. Conrad High School. Having withstood the strife as Conrad Middle School, the building was closed for renovations in 2005 and reopened in 2007 — transformed into the Henry C. Conrad Schools of Science. This latest Conrad emphasizes biotechnology and health sciences for students from grades six through twelve.

Students spent as much as three hours a day on buses, and participation in after-school activities became difficult, if not impossible.

But wait a minute — schools of the arts? schools of science? What’s going on here? These schools present specialized curricula — aimed at whom? The answer is obvious, of course, and most people are either too polite to laugh, or have little knowledge of recent history. The magnet schools are meant to attract the same middle class that fled the forced busing mandates — and thus restore “racial balance”? Well, no — the term has been replaced by “diversity,” but the absurdity of it all is still manifest. The magnet school turns diversity into an end with the curriculum as the means. It represents yet another theory to undo the mess created by the previous theory — there will always be another theory, and another, and another.

There was a time when the traditional schools worked reasonably well — even in the inner-cities. They taught and trained young people from all walks of life, according to their individual aptitudes and ambitions. But that was before the theorists took over, before real children became “the child,” before “look-speak” replaced phonetics, before the “new-math” replaced the multiplication table, before sex education became a sine qua non — and, of course, before “diversity” was equated with “racial balance.” All these later wonders sprang from the minds of the theory class, those individuals, mainly academics, whose reputations are built by outdoing one another in imagination, often while reality grows small in the rear-view mirror. Why couldn’t sociologists have predicted the effects of forced busing — if they truly understood human society? Perhaps, in the interest of education, the federal government should stop financing the theory class.

The magnet school turns diversity into an end with the curriculum as the means. It represents yet another theory to undo the mess created by the previous theory.

One cure for the problems of public education — a system of vouchers — has been widely advocated, especially by the late Professor Milton Friedman. These money-substitutes would give all parents a choice of private schools and allow market forces to improve the quality of education. But in such a system, the government could still get one foot in the door of every schoolhouse. Suppose some future Obamacrat decides that the government won’t cash the vouchers unless the schools presenting them have a unionized staff, or a specific ethnic balance, or accreditation by the same old educationist bureaucracy? With such restrictions, the quality of education could easily decline to its pre-voucher level. You say the public wouldn’t stand for it? Well — they’ve recently stood for things equally bad.

As for Supreme Court Justices, their lower-court colleagues, and lawyers in general — they do their best work when they address themselves to matters of law. When they develop that peculiar eczema identified by Mencken — the itch to save mankind — they become dangerous.

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SOURCES

“An American Dilemma.” Wikipedia. http://wikipedia.org/wiki/An_American_Dilemma:_The_Negro_Problem_and_Modern_Democracy
Barzun, Jacques. The Barzun Reader. Ed. Michael Murray. New York: Harper Collins, 2002.
Berger, Raoul. Government by Judiciary: The Transformation of the Fourteenth Amendment. 2nd Ed. Fwd. Forrest McDonald. Indianapolis: Liberty Fund, 1997. http://oll.libertyfund.org/index.php?option=com_staticxt&staticfile=show.php%3Ftitle=675&itemid=99999999
Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka. 347 U.S. 483. Legal Information Institute, Cornell University Law School. www.law.cornell.edu/supct/html/historics/USSC_CR_0347_0483_ZO.html
Delaware State Board of Education v. Evans 446 U.S. 923 (1980). https://supreme.justia.com/cases/federal/us/446/923/
Friedman, Milton, and Rose Friedman. Free to Choose: A Personal Statement. New York: Avon Books, 1981.
“Gunnar Myrdal, Analyst of Race Crisis, Dies.” The New York Times, 18 May 1987. www.nytimes.com/1987/05/18/obituaries/gunnar-myrdal-analyst-of-race-crisis-dies.html
“Gunnar Myrdal.” Wikipedia. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gunnar_Myrdal
Hannah-Jones, Nikole. “Making Sense of Magnet Schools.” The News and Observer (Raleigh): The Durham News. 5 Nov. 2005, p. 3.
“Henry C. Conrad High School.” http://conradhighschool.com/
Hofstadter, Richard. Great Issues in American History: A Documentary Record. Vol. II, 1864–1957. New York: Vintage Books, 1958.
Hube. “Desegregation Consternation.” The Colossus of Rhodey. 15 April 2007. http://colossus.mu.nu/archives/221158.php
Johnson, Paul. A History of the American People. New York: Harper Perennial, 1999.
Kakaes, Konstantin. “Why Johnny Can’t Add Without a Calculator.” Slate, 25 June 2012. www.slate.com/articles/technology/future_tense/2012/06/math_learning_software_and_other_technology_are_hurting_education_.html
Lamb, Kevin. “Race and Education: An Interview with Professor Raymond Wolters.” VDare.com. 25 March 2009. www.vdare.com/articles/race-and-education-an-interview-with-professor-raymond-wolters
Lewin, Tamar. “Herbert Wechsler, Legal Giant, Is Dead at 90.” The New York Times, 28 April 2000. www.nytimes.com/2000/04/28/us/herbert-wechsler-legal-giant-is-dead-at-90.html
Miller, Andrea, and Antonio Prado. “Conrad High School, the Jewel of Woodcrest.” Hockessin Community News, 21 Oct. 2008. www.hockessincommunitynews.com/article/20081021/News/310219937
___. “Remembering Claymont High School: First White School in Delaware to Admit Black Students.” Hockessin Community News,21 Oct. 2008. www.hockessincommunitynews.com/article/20081021/News/310219946
 ___. “A Sad Day When P. S. duPont Became an Elementary School.” Hockessin Community News, 27 Oct. 2008. www.hockessincommunitynews.com/article/20081021/News/310219938
Prado, Antonio, and Andrea Miller. “The 40-Year Legacy of Evans vs. Buchanan: A Struggle Over Education, Race, Power.” Hockessin Community News, 21 Oct. 2008. www.hockessincommunitynews.com/article/20081021/News/310219952
___. “Wilmington High School Red Devils Celebrate School and Mourn Its Loss.” Hockessin Community News, 27 Oct. 2008. www.hockessincommunitynews.com/article/20081021/News/310219949
Roberts, Sam. “Marva Collins, Educator Who Aimed High for Poor, Black Students, Dies at 78.” The New York Times, 28 June 2015. www.nytimes.com/2015/06/29/us/marva-collins-78-no-nonsense-educator-and-activist-dies.html
Taylor, Linda Schrock. “Short-Changed by the New-New Math.” LewRockwell.com, 11 March 2003. www.lewrockwell.com/2003/03/linda-schrock-taylor/why-johnny-still-cant-add/
White, Adam. “The Lost Greatness of Alexander Bickel.” Commentary, March 2012.
Wilson, James Q. Bureaucracy: What Government Agencies Do and Why They Do It. New York: Basic Books, 1989.
___. The Moral Sense. New York: Free Press, 1997.




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From the Ridiculous to the Ridiculous

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If you care about language, that distinctively human enterprise, I don’t imagine that your duty is to preserve every expression and form of speech you inherited from the past, rejecting all innovations. Why would you do that?

No reason. That’s why I welcome such expressions as “tweet,” “message” (used as a verb), “embedded” (as in “a journalist embedded in the military”), and even “homie” (“homeboy”). They are expressive of situations, and concepts, that older words could not express. As a writer about prisons and criminology, I have no objection to “perp” and “cellie,” punchy variations on earlier words, and in actual use by large and informed communities (cops and convicts). As an academic bureaucrat, I have no principled objection to “silo” (used as a verb, meaning “cause to be isolated in one’s own bureaucratic zone”): it’s an apt metaphorical description of a real phenomenon. It’s also a fad word, and to be regretted on that score; and I don’t particularly enjoy the association with cows and fodder — although nonbureaucrats are welcome to enjoy it. But as Dr. Johnson said, the expression is sound at bottom. There’s an alternative expression, “stove-pipe,” which is used on television because (A) most TV people never saw a farm, but they may have seen a ski lodge with a decorative stove; and (B) the other TV people don’t want to insult, or seem to insult, the farmers, those sterling exemplars of heartland values. Me, I prefer “silo,” because that word brings the reality closer to the metaphor. People can work in silos, but they can’t work in stove pipes.

But lookit. We have no need for “issue,” one of our most common locutions, whenever this is employed as an inept euphemism for “problem.” My objection goes double for naked uses of the word, uses without an adjective or other explanatory signal. To say that a teenager “has issues” is no better than to say that he or she “has problems,” although it removes all conceptual punch from the noun. It “means” anything from “the kid is sometimes unhappy” to “the kid is a homicidal maniac.” Away with it.

Then we come to the medicinal use of “issues.” An omnipresent radio ad in my part of the world touts the services of a doctor who will deal with both “erectile issues” and “premature issues.” In other words, he will deal with anything that ails you, from your inability to come to your tendency to come like a fire hydrant before the fire even starts. These are “issues”? I think not. They may be problems, vexations, disgraces, even pleasures. But they are not “issues.” “Issues” means “things that are subject to debate.” Maybe coming right away is an issue, whose effects can be debated. If so, debate them. If not, say what you mean by “issues,” and why you insist on bringing them up.

To say that a teenager “has issues” means anything from “the kid is sometimes unhappy” to “the kid is a homicidal maniac.” Away with it.

The transition from “problems” to “issues” is an ominous sign for our civilization — in two ways. The first has to do with the anesthetization of real difficulties. To turn a problem, which is or ought to be a call to serious thought and action, into a mere issue, which is something to be contemplated or mused upon or dealt with by taking a pill . . . that is a terrible thing. Hitler was not an issue; he was a problem. Cancer is not an issue; it is a problem that people need to confront. A weird teenage kid isn’t an issue that you should sit around and jaw about; he or she is a problem that needs to be solved, if you can.

The other way in which issue is a problem involves the politicization of discourse, a process that proceeds apace in our chronically post-1960s society. “Issue” is a word appropriate to public debate; “problem” may include that sort of thing, but it also embraces the vastly larger area of difficulties and challenges in human (not merely political) life. “Issue” dissolves the distinction; it is, therefore, in the truest sense of the word, an evil locution.

Going on to lesser, though related, forms of evil . . . . I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, one of the worst innovations ever made in the world of writing is the slash. I mean the thing that comes between the two words in such expressions as

social/economic
men/women
novels/poetry
directors/administrators
climate/warming
and any other expression/phrase in which a slash could possibly be used/inserted.

A slash is a sign that a writer cannot or will not decide whether to use one word or another (which means one concept or another), or to use them both — which usually means that he or she is averse to conceptual thought. He or she can’t devote precious time to deciding whether to say “philosophy and ideology,” or “philosophy or ideology,” or “philosophy or ideology, or both,” or just “philosophy” or “ideology,” and therefore decides to let the reader slop along as well as possible with “philosophy/ideology,” required to make his or her own speculative decisions about what the author might possibly mean.

There is never a legitimate use for a slash. Say what you mean — if you mean anything.

“Climate/warming” raises an especially weighty issue/problem. The transition, or hesitation, between the two terms is emblematic of the concept creep that often, and illegitimately, establishes the terms of contemporary political debate. Consider “segregation.” In the 1950s and 1960s, “segregation” meant separation of races by law or governmental action. In the 1970s “segregation” came illicitly to mean “any situation in which blacks were not represented proportionately to whites.” Thus, I suppose, whites were segregated from black gospel music. It was a literally insane migration of meaning, but it exercised immense political and judicial influence, during a whole generation. A finding of statistical “segregation” might result in judicial mandates to alter fundamental patterns of life across a city or even a whole metropolitan area. Such findings, and the verbal confusions on which they were based, were significantly responsible for the “white flight” that rendered inner city neighborhoods more “segregated,” and more “impoverished,” than they had ever been before.

The cry of “segregation” is still, sometimes, heard today. In general, however, “diversity” has taken its place. The advantage of “diversity” is that no one can say what it means, although it means, at least, everything that “desegregation” used to mean, or not mean.

And speaking of the politicization of discourse . . . This month’s Boston bombing was too barbaric, and too ridiculous, to be politicized in an overt manner, among people not predisposed to see any bad event as an American conspiracy. But it was socialized in ways that illustrate how far politicized perceptions have seeped into the language of otherwise normal people.

In other words, he will deal with anything that ails you, from your inability to come to your tendency to come like a fire hydrant before the fire even starts.

A mysterious statement! Here’s what I mean. The two alleged culprits, the Tsarnaev brothers, were universally described by their acquaintances as quiet, too quiet to leave any specific insights or memory traces. Yet they were also universally described as nice boys of whom nothing evil could be believed.

This, I submit, is an unusual take on reality. Not only are such statements obviously self-confuting — how can you testify to someone’s niceness when you also testify that you don’t know anything much about him? — but they also turn the speakers into the kind of joke that everybody can recognize. “Yeah, I lived down the street from the guy . . . Real nice guy. Didn’t see much of him. He kept to himself. But I just can’t believe he’d do a thing like this.” For how many years has everyone been laughing about junk commentary like that? Yet it continues to be made, and communicated to the nation, after every fresh act of violence. One can only conclude that many people believe they have a duty to utter and purvey such absurd observations. Someone has taught them that duty.

I think the “someone” is the schools and the media, which continually preach that everyone is equal and equally good at heart — even such people as the Tsarnaev brothers. “He was one of the nicest kids,” said a college “friend” of the younger alleged murderer. “Every time I saw him, he made sure to say hi.” Yes, a very nice guy. The kind of guy who allegedly spent the weekend blowing legs off kids and the next few days working out in the college gym and partying with his chance acquaintances. “A fully assimilated American,” pronounced many of the TV news reporters.

The media are the principal enforcers of this bizarre social programming (I won’t call it education). “Possible bombing suspect cornered on boat,” said the CNN onscreen headline, even as Dzokhar Tsarnaev was being taken away under arrest, following a final blowout with the cops. Yes, a possible suspect. Not perhaps a real suspect, but maybe, just maybe, a possible one. The network was even more ignorant of words than it was slow with news, but it was careful to communicate its own niceness. “Possible suspect” indeed.

Widely and trustingly reported was the testimony of Dzokhar’s assistant high school wrestling coach (and who better to discern the inner truth about this sweet young man?). “A smart kid,” he said. And not just smart but a real American, according to the New York Times. “Boy at Home in U.S.,” it prattled. Evidence of smartness? Maybe the fact that Dzokhar managed to run over his brother with a stolen SUV, probably causing his death. Evidence of being at home in America? People on Fox News continually specified what they regarded as evidence in this category: Dzokhar smoked weed all the time and liked hip-hop music. Who says that Fox is the conservative network?

Petty grammarian that I am, I’m almost as discouraged by signs of creeping illiteracy as I am by proof of galloping nonsense. Reporting the giddy adventures of the Tsarnaev family — poster children for open immigration, who planted themselves in America by claiming political persecution from Russia, collected all the benefits they could in this country, then kept drifting back to Russia — the established media talked about one or another of them “starting school in America” or heroically “graduating high school in America.” This is the kind of locution one hears in supermarket ads, which encourage us to “Shop Bingo’s!” — Bingo’s being the place at which one is incited to shop. So “shop” is something one does to Bingo’s, just as “graduate” or “start” is something one does to a school. “Tell me, Dzokhar, what did you do to your high school?” “I graduated it.” Maybe, given enough time in the “adopted country” to which he was so well “assimilated,” he would have gone farther and blown it up.

As I admitted, I’m petty. But in the long run, literacy may be even more important than the Boston Marathon. True literacy requires the ability to recognize and reproduce basic patterns of language — to know, for example, when to use a transitive verb and when to use an intransitive one.

Or to know how to deal with strong verbs. There aren’t very many; you should be able to master them. But no. On Good Friday, the Fox News Jerusalem correspondent noted that “Christians sung hymns.” When I was in grade school, the grand example of strong verbs, the one that we were made to study, presumably because it was the easiest, was “sing-sang-sung.” Today, it seems, you can become a foreign correspondent without havinggraduated grade school.

It was a literally insane migration of meaning, but it exercised immense political and judicial influence, during a whole generation.

One thing I wasn’t taught at the Henrietta Township Rural Agricultural School was the progression “spit-spat-spat.” The reason was that everybody knew it. When you told the teacher on a fellow third-grader, there was no indecision about how to phrase your accusation. You said, “Teacher, teacher! Tommy Johnson spat on the playground!” Maybe that’s because backwoods people still read the Bible, actually sat and read the thing, and therefore knew about stuff like this. But when, in 2013, Justin Bieber, heartthrob of millions, or at least thousands, was accused of dealing unfairly with a neighbor, the headlines took this form, “Man Claims Bieber Spit on Him.” Hardly a “spat” in a carload, although the Los Angeles Times ran a story with “spat” in the body but “spit” in the headline. And, to remember other bodily functions, when was the last time you heard somebody say that he “shat” this morning? He (or she) may be too insecure about language to dare saying “shitted” (which is good); but if so, he’s bound to take the long way about and say “took a shit.”

This is not a good sign. It’s a sign that the rich sonic resources of the English language are being wantonly pissed away.

Worse is the steady progress of “snuck,” that strange folk attempt to create a new strong verb. Talk about backwoods language, and the language of children! Until recently, “snuck” was recognized by all, even its habitual users, as a colorful low-level colloquialism, ordinarily used for comic effect, and never to be used in formal writing. Then, a few years ago, it started showing up in presidential press conferences, news reports written by the weekend staff, and other low-end outlets. And now, here it is! It’s arrived! Snuck has made it to the headlines. Chronicling the behavior of an Ohio murderer who behaved badly at his sentencing, respectable news agencies offered headlines of this kind: “How TJ Lane Snuck in a Shirt with ‘Killer’ on it.” They weren’t trying to be entertaining; they were just being ignorant. And not one of them headlined “sneaked.”

Here’s a headline I’d like to see: “How Illiteracy Snuck in Everywhere.”




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Home Run

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When Abraham Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation in 1863 and Congress adopted the 13th Amendment in 1865, slavery and involuntary servitude were officially ended in the United States. But racism and segregation were far from over. In fact, relations between blacks and whites remained so tense that during the ensuing century the US sanctioned a number of "Jim Crow" laws mandating segregation under the "separate but equal" interpretation.

Laws can mandate actions, but they cannot mandate public opinion. It took the free market, in the form of "America's favorite pastime," to start ending Jim Crow.

Baseball was America's most popular sport during most of the 20th century. Whites played it. Blacks played it. Women played it. But they didn't play it together. Early segregation was a form of protectionism. African-American players, such as Bud Fowler and Moses "Fleetwood" Walker, played on integrated teams in the 1880s, but they were so good that white players began to feel threatened that they would lose their positions and their jobs. "Whites Only" signs began to appear in locker rooms.

Soon two different leagues were formed. African American fans would often attend MLB games (sitting in the "Colored" section, of course) but with very few exceptions, whites would not attend NLB games. Consequently they seldom saw such baseball greats as Satchel Paige, Jackie Robinson, and Hank Aaron, and Willie Mays, who played in the Negro League.

They might have stayed there, too, unnoticed by the mainstream history books, if it weren't for Wesley Branch Rickey and the free market. Rickey was owner and general manager of the Brooklyn Dodgers. He wanted to win the World Series, and that meant hiring the best players in baseball. He also wanted to fill the seats at Ebbets Field, and that meant expanding the appeal for African-American fans. Rickey decided it was time to integrate Major League Baseball, and he was just the man to do it: a thick-skinned, cigar-smoking Methodist named after John Wesley himself.

The story of how Branch Rickey integrated major league sports is told in an outstanding new film called 42, Jackie Robinson's number for the Brooklyn Dodgers, and the only number that has been permanently retired by all of baseball in honor of his courage and grit. With strong actors in both supporting and leading roles and a quotable script that tells the story with honesty and unfeigned respect, it is a film that should not be missed.

Rickey (Harrison Ford) is the quintessential libertarian hero. He wants to right a wrong he committed as a coach at Wesleyan University when he "didn't do enough for a fine black pitcher." But most of all, Rickey is motivated by profit and success. He wants to sell tickets, and he wants a World Series pennant. "Dollars aren't black or white," he says to his critics; "they're green." To accomplish both the win and the ticket sales, he hires the first African-American Major League baseball player. Rickey knows it won't be easy. By wooing black audiences, he may lose the existing white fans. One of his advisors warns, "There's no law against hiring a Negro player, but there's a code. Break that code, and you'll pay for it." But Rickey believes he can persuade people to change their opinions simply by giving them a great show. And public opinion would change laws.

Choosing the right player was essential to the success of his plan. He couldn't have a hothead. In their initial meeting, Robinson (Chadwick Boseman) asks Rickey, "You want a player who doesn't have the guts to fight back?" and Rickey responds, "I want a player who has the guts not to fight back." Robinson would have to endure namecalling, physical threats, beanballs, bad calls, and more. His teammates would have to try to overcome their own prejudices, some without success.

Robinson was no pushover. Before becoming a Dodger he refused to acquiesce to Jim Crow laws. He played in UCLA's integrated team. As a member of the US military he was court-martialed for refusing to sit in the back of the bus. In the film, when he is not allowed to use a gas station's toilet while his Negro league baseball team stops for gas, he says to the attendant, "Then take that hose out of the tank and we'll get our 99 gallons of gas somewhere else." The attendant lets them use the toilet, and they buy the gas. Dollars aren't black or white; they're green.

Rickey was taking a big risk, because public opinion could just as easily have turned against him and the Dodgers. But he knew the power of the free market.

It isn't easy for Robinson to hold his tongue and his temper. He has to endure degradation from all sides. One of the worst offenders is Phillies’ coach Ben Chapman, who shouts racial slurs whenever Robinson comes up to bat. Chapman defends his actions by saying, "Hey, it ain't nothing. We call DiMaggio a wop. We call Hank Greenberg a kike," as though that makes it right. Rickey encourages Robinson to remain strong. "You can't meet the enemy on his own low ground," he says when the desire to fight back is almost overwhelming.

But there are moments to make one proud as well. After a cop forces Robinson off a southern baseball field for mixing with whites, saying, "That's our law here, and I'm going to enforce it," a local man approaches Robinson looking like nothing so much as a redneck racist. But he smiles shyly and says, "If a man's got the goods, he deserves a chance. I'm pulling for you. A lot of us are." Watching the tide of public opinion slowly turn produces a profound cathartic effect throughout the film.

The physical and emotional struggle Robinson endures is mitigated not only by Rickey, who stands by him like a father, but also by his wife, Rachel (Nicole Beharie), who soothes and uplifts him throughout the film.42 is as much a love story as it is a sports story.

Some of the best moments in the film occur simply when Robinson plays baseball. He had a loose, bouncing way of moving on the field. His arms seemed to stretch an extra foot when he dove for a ball, and he danced between the bases as he threatened to steal. His smile was magical. Relative newcomer Chadwick Boseman slips into that role with an ease as natural as the ballplayer he portrays. Waiting about a mile off base while the pitcher prepares for his windup, his fingers twinkle and dance and he bounces low in his knees, just daring the pitcher to throw him out. His relaxed smile is charming and disarming, confirming Rickey's decision that Robinson was the right man for the right time. As Mordecai said of Esther, who risked her life for the lives of the Jewish people, "Who knows but that you were born for such a time as this?" Robinson seems to have been born for his time.

Branch Rickey was born for such a time as well. He knew that laws can control actions, but they can't force people to overcome their prejudices. (Hell, it was laws and political activism that created segregation in the first place!) But he knew the power of the free market. Rickey was taking a big risk, because public opinion could just as easily have turned against him and the Dodgers. But he was certain that once he proved black players would make baseball better, other teams would have to follow. To some extent the worries of those early baseball players who rejected Bud Fowler and Moses Walker were warranted. Major league sports are dominated by minority players today. But the game is enriched because of it. And America is richer too.


Editor's Note: Review of "42," directed by Brian Helgeland. Warner Brothers, 2013, 128 minutes.



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