ONE SMALL ACT

 

On another one of my frequent sojourns into the heart of the village of Nyack, I walked past an older woman sitting in front of one of the Main Street stores. I find her there frequently. Very petite, she showed the wear and tear of living what must be a hard life. She was painfully thin, had just a few teeth left and carried her meager possessions in a couple of ragged shopping bags. Perhaps she’s homeless. Yet, despite her hardships, I generally find her smiling and laughing with the others in her close circle of companions at the store.

On this day, she spotted me as I was walking by and blurted out, “hey, mister! I love your hat. Give it to me!” As is my custom, of course I was wearing a hat. It’s my thing. This one was just an old, beat up, straw pork pie style that I had for so long that I don’t even remember where I had gotten it from. Still, it was BECAUSE of all the miles on it that it was one of my favorites. So, I responded, “it’s my only one.” She quickly replied, “no it ain’t!” I had no idea how she knew that, but she was right; it’s not my only one. In fact, I’m known as a lid guy, i.e. I’m almost always in possession of some type of chapeau.  I have MANY. But it was ONE of my favorite hats, so I kept walking.

I must have gotten about a block away when I turned around to go back. My conscience was nagging me. She was right – it WASN’T my only hat. Besides, I could always find another. I HAD to turn around. So, when I saw her sitting in the same spot, I approached her and said, “this must be your birthday because this hat is now yours” as I placed it on her head. You should have seen the smile break out on her face! The hat was indeed perfect, fitting her way better than me. She simply couldn't stop smiling and giving me a hardy thumbs-up. It obviously made her day.

In subsequent journeys into the heart of the village I’ve encountered her several times, sometimes with the hat on, sometimes not. But every time that I do see her I inquire about it, and she always replies with a huge smile and a BIG thumbs-up saying, “I still have it and LOVE it!”

It was such a simple gesture. The hat had no real value except perhaps a sentimental one to me. Yet, to her, it meant everything. It made her joyful. What could be better than that? You see, my friends, it’s not necessary to save the WHOLE world. That’s a goal that no human being can accomplish or should even be tasked with. The very thought of it can overwhelm even the deepest thinker. Instead, it’s the little, daily acts of anonymous kindness that truly make the world go ‘round. No one has to see, hear, or even acknowledge these small deeds for them to be effective. Individually they might not seem like much, but collectively they are Mighty.

At the Nyack Street fairs, there is a group of volunteers that hold large soup pots out to collect donations for a local food kitchen. They are appropriately named The Soup Angels. Whenever I see them, I give them a dollar donation - just one $ and I say, “it’s not much, but think about it: there’s 15-20,000 people here today. If everyone gave just $1, by the end of the day, how many people could you feed?”

It’s simple. We may not be able to give much but virtually ALL of us can give a little. And it doesn't have to be just money. It can be time donated to a worthy cause, or a small act of kindness like bringing someone some real joy from an old, beat-up hat. We need it now, more than ever.

 

 

PRINCIPAL FINDS A PRICE

 

Hmmm. Let’s see. the Trump Administration sues the Paramount Corporation, the parent company of CBS, for $20 billion (yes, that’s BILLION) on a bogus charge claiming that the legendary CBS 60 Minutes program had deliberately used deceptive editing techniques to make then Presidential candidate Kamala Harris more appealing. I have already written in this publication about my position detailing why I believe that charge is completely illegitimate. Yet, despite protestations from the journalists at 60 Minutes and beyond, Paramount basically CAVED into Mr. Trump’s demands and settled with him for a mere $16 million. “This settlement allows Paramount to focus on its prospective sale, and CBS can maintain its principles,” said C. Kerry Fields, a business law professor at the USC Marshall School. “But principle has its price, and there certainly was one set here.” * More on the prospective sale in a minute.

Then, Paramount announces the cancellation of its long running and #1 rated late night talk show, The Late Show with Stephen Colbert citing financial considerations. Of course, none of the executives at Paramount would bother to mention that Colbert uses a very particular AND popular brand of humor to regularly poke fun at the President. Mr. Trump has made NO secret of his dislike of Mr. Colbert or his sense of humor. Colbert and a plethora of other late-night personalities and media celebrities came together and challenged the REAL reason why the show was canceled.

Well, after 8 months of intense pressure from the White House, the prospective sale mentioned above by Dr. Fields, i.e. the purchase of Paramount by Skydance Media in the amount of $8 billion finally went down. It seems that the sale was exacerbated by the fact Shari Redstone and her family, the majority owners of CBS, are deeply in debt.

So. why is the timing of all this significant? Well, it seems that since both entities are media companies the sale would require the approval of the Federal Communications Commission (FCC). And who basically controls the FCC? That’s right, one Donald J. Trump. And, without making HIM happy, it simply wasn’t going to happen.

It doesn’t take a 60 Minutes journalist to fathom how dangerous this is. And it’s just beginning; more purges have been promised. It’s so important to understand that whoever controls the media controls the message and, therefore, the people. Malcolm X once said: “The media’s the most powerful entity on earth. They have the power to make the innocent guilty and to make the guilty innocent, and that’s power. Because they control the minds of the masses.” The fact that this administration has severely cut back if not eliminated Federal funding to local PBS Stations is further evidence of Mr. Trump and his administration’s desire to control the message by eliminating ANYONE who might speak against him. THIS MUST NOT BE ALLOWED TO HAPPEN.

I am usually reluctant to compare American politics with that of Nazi Germany. It often simply leads to more division and hate. However, if it is appropriate then it must be said. In my research for this article, I found this. It’s the Wikipedia entry for Joseph Goebbels: Goebbels, who aspired to be an author, obtained a doctorate in philology from the University of Heidelberg in 1922. He joined the Nazi Party in 1924 and worked with Gregor Strasser in its northern branch. He was appointed Gauleiter of Berlin in 1926, where he began to take an interest in the use of propaganda to promote the party and its program. After the Nazis came to power in 1933, Goebbels's Propaganda Ministry quickly gained control over the news media, arts and information in Nazi Germany. He was particularly adept at using the relatively new media of radio and film for propaganda purposes. Topics for party propaganda included antisemitism, attacks on Christian churches, and (after the start of the Second World War) attempts to shape morale.

This is NOT hyperbole!  And I hate being a harbinger of doom, but if we do not act and stop this now, it will become our reality.

 

 

 

*https://www.latimes.com/entertainment-arts/business/story/2025-07-04/paramount-trump-60-minutes-settlement-how-deal-got-done

A CONEY ISLAND MEMORY

 

 HOT POTATO KNISHES, ICE COLD COKES HERE!

 

Words and photos F LoBuono

Every summer, when we were kids, my mother would pack up my older sister, my little brother, and me for our annual 2 week vacation at Coney Island. Since we lived in Jersey, the great majority of my friends went down the shaw, while we headed for Brooklyn. You see, my mother, Stella, grew up just a mile or so from the Boardwalk there and her family (and, our cousins) still lived in the same place. And, despite our protestations, there was no escape with Stella's reasoning for going always logical and never changing: I'm not sure what you guys are complaining about - same ocean!

So, usually in mid-August, while my father stayed in Fort Lee to work and he couldn't drive us there (he ALWAYS picked us up), Stella loaded us on the subway for the nearly 2 hour journey, and off to The Promised Land we went.

Truthfully, it really wasn't bad after all. In fact, we had a blast. My cousins where there and so was the beach. My grandmother's place was an old classic Brooklyn townhouse located on Ave.W, right between Ocean Parkway and Coney Island Avenue. And, of course, in Italian tradition, my cousins' family lived only about a block away. Every morning for the 2 weeks we where there, we packed a cooler of wonderful, fresh food, soft drinks, grabbed a beach blanket, an umbrella, and some beach chairs to make our pilgrimage down Ocean Parkway to the beach entrance at Bay 7th St.

One of my strongest memories was hitting the cool sand under the boardwalk that awaited us at the end of our long and hot journey down Ocean Parkway. I remember taking off our sneakers right away so that we could feel the moist, fresh sand between our toes. We ran squealing from the relative darkness and cool air provided by the shade of the boardwalk and into the blazing sun and scorching sand that we now felt under our feet. We ran as fast as we could to the water to dunk our toes in the chilly, refreshing ocean!

After a quick dunk, we staked our claim to some prime beach real estate. This was essential in the summer as the beach quickly filled up with thousands of other families. Let's face it, no one would ever mistake Coney Island for some deserted atoll! Eventually, we all settled into our beach routines - body surfing, swimming, beach combing, and the occasional trip to the boardwalk.

 

At some point, we settled in to eat lunch, usually lovingly prepared by my grandmother. After lunch, if we were particularly well-behaved, a special treat for dessert was waiting for us: an authentic Coney Island Potato Knish! Now, these were no ordinary potato knishes! They were purchased from a figure that, to me, was every much a part of Coney Island as Nathan's Famous. I never knew his name but he was there EVERY DAY, walking the entire length of the beach, over and over again, bare-chested, a shock of grey hair blowing in the sea breeze while he called out in a melodic voice: Hey, get your hot potato knishes - ice cold Cokes - HERE! And, it was always with the same cadence, pausing slightly before he finished we a flourish - HERE!

When we heard his booming voice as he made his way up the beach, we ran to whomever was chaperoning us that day to beg for money - a knish was $.50 and a Coke $.25. My mom or one of my aunts would give us enough money so that all of us could have a knish and a coke. We surrounded him like a pack of wolves might their prey. While we jumped for joy around him, he placed his 2 heavy sacks on the sand to deliver his bounty: one bag for the knishes which were served in a cellophane wrapper and one filled with dry ice to keep those Cokes ice cold. Of course, he always had extra deli mustard to slather those knishes in!
 

After eating our fill and exhausting ourselves in AND out of the water, we packed up our belongs for the long walk back to Ave. W. And, as Stella always says, "tomorrow is another day". Little did we know how those tomorrows would change. And, they did - adulthood, responsibility and the like replaced the care free days of Hot Potato Knishes and Ice Cold Cokes. But, the memories can never truly be forgotten.

 

For The Love of AC

 

Words and photo by F LoBuono

We just weathered the first heatwave of the season, i.e., 3 or more consecutive days of temperatures above 90 degrees. At least one of them was record setting with all of them reaching heat indexes near or above 105 degrees. In other words, it was hot – damned hot.

I tend to enjoy hot weather. It suits my dark complexion and Sicilian ancestry. So, I adapt easily to the extremes of heat. But it can get too intense (like it did in those days) even for me. That’s when you must use common sense and take the necessary precautions to avoid the potentially devastating effects that kind of intense temperature can cause. These include drinking plenty of water, limiting time outside especially in the sun, wearing sunscreen when you must be out, and spending time cooling off in an air-conditioned room.

Like most people of my generation, I remember a time when air-conditioning was a luxury, not the absolute omnipresent necessity it is today. Schools were not air conditioned. Nor libraries. Nor cars. It was considered such a luxury that when a place DID have AC it was one of the first things mentioned in their advertising. I certainly remember going to the movie theater to see movies that I didn’t necessarily even like just to spend a blisteringly hot summer afternoon in THEIR air conditioning!

One of the reasons for that is because we only had one air-conditioner in our house – the whole house. It was this gigantic unit that every year my father and I hauled out of the garage in the Spring to install in my parent’s window and returned it the same way in the Fall. The reason it wound up in my parents’ window was twofold: first, it WAS their house. And, secondly, my father suffered with extreme asthma. Hot, humid nights could prove deadly to him. So, it was more than a luxury. It was an absolute necessity. But we could only afford to actually buy and run one. Still, being the tight-knit family we were, we came up with the perfect solution: my older sister, younger brother and I pulled the mattresses and blankets off our beds and piled them all around our parents’ where we all slept blissfully and, most importantly, cooly, through the night.

As a kid I clearly remember taking trips down the Westside Highway into NYC with my parents and passing all of the tenement buildings with people sleeping on balconies and roof tops in a desperate attempt to beat the heat. The great majority of them had no sign of any air conditioning anywhere. My mother always remarked with empathy, saying “those poor people” even though we were not that much better off.

You know, I never forgot that. Even today as I sit in the AIR  CONDITIONED office in my house with its Central Air-Conditioning unit that pumps cool air day and night around the entire place, I take a moment to reminisce about that time when life may have been simpler but certainly was not without its challenges. And I think about all of the people who are less fortunate than me and may be struggling in front of a fan or with no means to cool off at all.

I feel like it’s important to acknowledge that we live in extraordinary times where, for most of us, the essentials of life are available to us at our very fingertips. Flip a switch and there is light. Turn on your computer and a world of information awaits. Move a lever and clean water (hot and cold) is instantly there. I think that’s the REAL meaning of privilege. Sure, some see it in its extreme sense, i.e. wealth and power. But that is only the tip of the iceberg. Most of us have the means to live lives of relative comfort and stability - most, but not all.

So, don’t take simple things for granted. Instead use them as a catalyst to create empathy for those who may lack even the things we consider the most basic for human comfort and dignity. Like a good night’s sleep in a clean, air-conditioned room.

 

MEMORIAL DAY REFLECTIONS 2025

 

F LoBuono

Another Memorial Day has come and gone. My feelings towards that day, which have always been profound, have become even more so. They have certainly evolved and deepened over the years and continue to. And, in some ways, that evolution has brought me to a place of emotional conflict.

First, as is the case with most things in our overly commercialized society, the day has become literally a holiday filled with barbeques, beer, and a 3 day weekend for most. Throw in a parade with some fire engines, loud motorcycles, vintage military vehicles, a marching band or 2, some grey-haired men walking stiff-legged in old, ill-fitting uniforms, flags flying and we’ll call it a celebration. Instead, it was to intended to be solemn day when we take the time to honor those who have fallen in one the many armed conflicts this Country has endured in its 250 year history. The loss of any human being is NEVER an ultimate cause for celebration, especially of those taken in wars not of their own doing.

The challenge for me is in finding a way to honor these people who have made the ultimate sacrifice while at the same time not glorying what took them in the first place, i.e. war. You see, in an effort to rightfully acknowledge the depth of what it means to fall in conflict, there is a danger of romanticizing the use of violence as a means to a just end – ANY end. For example, there is a plethora of Hollywood movies praising the efforts of the Allies to defeat the Nazis and Fascists in WWII. Of course, our victory over such an evil foe is rightfully seen as just and necessary. But we must NEVER forget the terrible toll war takes, not only on the vanquished but on the victors as well. My father and uncle, both WWII combat veterans and proud members of The Greatest Generation, frequently suffered with the symptoms of PTSD.

I also think of 2 other friends who were combat veterans not taken IN war but BY war. And that war was Vietnam. Having seen the horrors of jungle warfare thousands of miles from their homes, all for a cause that was hard even for THEM to justify, proved too much to bear. Both died by their own hands years after their service, one by suicide and the other to a drug overdose. Both were among the finest men I have ever known.

And there is no shortage of other violence being committed in just causes all over the world. Without taking sides for this article, one just need to look to the Middle East and Gaza to see the horrors of war – with both sides claiming the so-called Moral Justification for slaughtering one another!

When will it end? How can it end?

For me, it will be when we stop glorifying violence as a means to end. ANY violence. And we see it not only on a grand scale, i.e., among nations, but within individuals too. The most recent examples are the wanton murders of an insurance executive in New York City and of a young Jewish couple in Washington, D.C. Both accused murderers have professed that these killings were in response to “larger, social issues” and they were justified in their actions. Furthermore, others (many) agree that their actions were necessary in a bigger picture sense. Some have even see them as “heroes” or “liberators”.

Really?

These people are not to be congratulated or lauded! They are cold-blooded killers whose actions CANNOT be justified on ANY level. There can be no positive outcomes associated with such actions. There is only the deaths of innocent people.

Yet even as we speak of the horrors of war, conflicts in Gaza, Ukraine, Sudan and too many other places around the world are raging. Some are fighting for their freedom, others their particular ideology, or religion. Whatever the case may be, each side sees their own justifications for their own causes (think Dylan’s “With God On Our Side”).

It has gotten to the point where I question whether violence is inherent in our very DNA. Is it within our nature to resort to violence to achieve our goals? I am certainly not the first one to debate this as an issue. Others more highly qualified than me have attempted to answer this question. However, I must think that despite our base nature, we are also capable of sublime thought. This is what many eastern philosophies refer to as mindfulness, i.e. a state of awareness that we are all part of a greater whole that allows us to reach a inner peace and wholeness that radiates from our very core. But this takes effort and an unshakable belief that love, in the end, does indeed conquer all. And we must not have fear in our conviction to peace.

Resist violence in all forms. Understand that anger is a real emotion. NO human lives without it. However, acknowledge it and then place it where it belongs. I use this as my guide. It is attributed to Gandhi:

“An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind.”

 

Born Different

 

F LoBuono

I was born left-handed. I had no choice in the matter, it just was. As simple as that seems to most, it does qualify me as just a little bit different. Only about 10% of the world’s population uses their left hand as their dominant one. That MAKES you different than “most.” And I was keenly aware of that from a very young age.

Right from the beginning, even ordinary tasks were more difficult for me because it is such a right-handed world. Some of the simplest things could confound me. Scissors, soup ladles, notebooks and so many more items are all made to be used most effectively with the right hand. Because I just could not use these tools effectively, working with them was often a frustrating experience. It made me feel uncoordinated and awkward. And to make matters worse, people were always around to make sure that I was reminded of that! Even writing is more difficult for lefties. As a right-handed person puts pen to paper, the words appear AS you write them down. We “lefties” must use that weird bend at the elbow as we create our script. Otherwise, our hand covers the words so that we can’t actually SEE what we are writing and the words wind up all over the page!

As a young man I loved to play baseball. As my birthday is in the Spring, every year my father would take me to a sporting goods store to pick out a new glove for a gift. But when we went to the store, there were hundreds of mitts – for righties – and a few, mostly for 1^st base use only, for lefties. And THAT was because lefties were limited to just pitching, playing the outfield, or 1^st base. The NATURE of the game is to be played mostly by right-handed people.

When I went to college at Rutgers University, I always had to get to the larger lecture hall classes early to make sure that I could get a seat. And, it wasn’t because there weren’t enough of them. In fact, there were hundreds. The issue was that out of those hundreds, only a handful were designed to be used by left-handed people.

Even the very word, “left” has a bad, if not downright evil connotation. It even says so in scripture: Those who are good, a.k.a., the righteous, and sit at the RIGHT hand of good will be exalted. The ones on the left will be cast out. In Italian, as taken from the Latin, the word for left is SINISTRA, i.e., sinister. Hell, lefties even have a shorter lifespan because they die at a far higher rate in accidents. Why? Because they are often out of place in such a righty dominated world.

All these things were always in the back of my mind. Why was I different? Why would people often make fun of my awkwardness? Perhaps I should try to use my right hand more. It sure would be easier.

Then, as a teenager, I read a book that changed that perspective – and life. It was called Lefties. The Origins and Consequences of Being Left-handed by Jack Fincher. Within the pages, the author explained the scientific basis for the dominant use of one side of our bodies over another. Within that science he further explained that because our creative centers our located in the part of the brain that controls left side dominance, many, if not most, of the great Renaissance masters like Leonardo and Michelangelo were left-handed. Many US Presidents in recent memory have been left-handed. Some of our greatest athletes like Babe Ruth are as well. In other words, our difference was not our weakness. Rather, it was a strength – a uniqueness to be admired! And it changed me.

I was no longer awkward in my difference. Instead, I celebrated it. I was PROUD that I was just a little bit different.

I write this in honor of Pride Month and to all my friends and family who are members of the LGBTQ+ community. In the smallest of ways, I understand your struggle, what it is like to be just a bit different. In fact, by most studies the percentage of people identifying as “gay” is about the same as those who are left-handed (7-10%). And I hope that if you haven’t already, you find a book, person, event, or moment that celebrates your difference. And since words matter, let’s change difference to uniqueness. It’s OK to be both. In fact, I kinda’ like it.

 

TAKE PRIDE

 

Words and Photo by F LoBuono

June is PRIDE MONTH when we celebrate out brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, friends and lovers from the LGBTQ+ community. We also acknowledge how far we’ve come together while at the same time realizing how far we have still to go to achieve true, universal acceptance, especially under the very real threats posed by the current administration’s draconian anti-DEI policies.

I am very fortunate to live in a village that not only embraces the LGBTQ+ community but also exalts in their presence. It is no accident that the Phyliss B. Frank Rockland County Pride Center is in that village: Nyack, NY. In fact, we live only a block away. And that mutual admiration and solidarity was never more apparent than this past Sunday, June 8^th, during Nyack’s PRIDE DAY parade and celebration.

The streets of Nyack were filled with joyful, happy, peaceful, REAL people of ALL shapes, sizes and sexual persuasion – ALL kinds of people. And it was wonderful. What a pleasure it was to be in the presence of people who could express themselves fully in a completely safe environment. Yes, the village provided amble and necessary security but within the community present there was not even a hint of violence, resentment OR judgement. It was a palpable feeling of wellbeing, again for EVERYONE.

In addition to the parade that included marching bands, groups expressing their solidarity, people in fantastic (literally) costumes, and, of course, Dykes on Bikes, the streets were lined with vendors offering arts, crafts and useful information. Inspiring, defiant speeches by Rockland County Pride Center Executive Director, Brooke Malloy, and others were given from the village square. But what impressed me most was the fact that so many people could be together in complete peace, harmony, AND joy. EVERYONE was free to be who they CHOOSE to be. And what the hell is wrong with that?

At one point as I was traveling through the festival, I found myself pacing next to Mark Mangan. Mark does an incredible job organizing and coordinating the many street fairs and public events that Nyack has become famous for. I don’t know Mark very well but well enough to know that we share many similarities including our working-class mentality and love of community. Anyway, he was walking briskly and smiling broadly. As we came side by side, I offered my congratulations on another wonderful Nyack event. He said, “thanks” and then added, “isn’t this great?” I replied, “it most certainly is. And the best part is that it’s SO easy!” “Yup, live and let live” was Mark’s response.

We shared a moment that I think so many others also did during that wonderful day; people are just people, and they come in all shapes, sizes, and lifestyles. This is not weakness. Quite to the contrary, our diversity is our strength. People who may choose to look or live on a path different from ours ultimately have NO effect on OUR choice. And that’s yet another reason to support the LGBTQ+ community. It’s not just about them. It’s about us – and the choices we all make. We just need to make sure that we never lose the freedom to do so – on any level or to any person. The Pride flag is a rainbow for a reason. Embrace it.

 

CROSSROADS

 

Words and photo by F LoBuono

Like most Americans, I support a reasonable, sustainable, effective, compassionate immigration policy, one that we have been lacking for far too long. However, like many other Americans but unfortunately not most, I am shocked and appalled at how the use of mass deportations qualifies as ANY sort of immigration policy. And I’m not even talking just about those sent to the hellish, draconian prisons that are more like death camps. I’m writing of the thousands of families, the great majority of them hardworking people who provide essential services to our Country. They want nothing more than to live in peace but have been sent cruelly packing. Even sick children under treatment have been given the boot. It’s unconscionable.

It seems that salacious and false accusations about these communities have been allowed to flourish under the current Trump Administration creating an atmosphere of fear and loathing for these people, thereby justifying their cruel actions. Here’s is just one example: Kristi Noem, Secretary of Homeland Securities, appears in several commercials, properly attired in combat gear, hair beautiful quaffed, bright blue eyes shining, praising the leadership of her boss, President Trump, adding how many violent criminals were rounded up and deported under his watch, making us all that much safer.  Sounds impressive, right? We all want that, right? Here are some facts that show that to be nothing more than fear-mongering hyperbole:

 When looking specifically at the relationship between undocumented immigrants and crime, researchers come to similar conclusions. Numerous studies show that undocumented immigration does not increase violent crime; research examining crime rates in so-called sanctuary cities also found no discernable difference when compared to similarly situated cities without sanctuary policies. One study that focused on drug crimes and driving under the influence found that unauthorized immigration status was associated with reductions in arrests for those offenses.*

Those are the REAL numbers but let me contribute further with some personal anecdotes to add even more context. My partner Amanda and I live in a very modest house at the corners of Jackson Avenue and North Mill Street in Nyack, NY. I call it the Crossroads of The World. Well, at least it is to me, both literally and figuratively. Jackson Avenue had once been the center of a thriving Black neighborhood filled with other modest homes and successful businesses. But in the 1960’s, in response to the creation of nearby Nanuet Mall, the downtown businesses felt they needed a large parking lot to be able to compete with the new mall. So, here comes Urban Renewal and the village council decided to create the lot by bulldozing the most vulnerable neighborhood – the black one, of course. Well, they may have gotten most of it, but not all. What’s left is still a vibrant, active, tight block where WE are now in the minority. And love it. The whole neighborhood is filled with the sound of (mostly brown) children and the smell of delicious ethnic food in the air. The music is mostly Tejano and so much fun to listen to. There is a large family behind us who regularly put up a big, blue tarp, cook, sing, and laugh well into the evening. But, by 10-1030pm the tarp is down, and the place is quiet. It’s very respectful. Just the other day, one of the families across the street had a Quinceanera celebration. I stopped and watched with total enjoyment as they turned their backyard parking lot into a dance floor! All the young men were wearing black suits topped by black Stetsons. All the girls were dressed in colorful, frilly dresses. I broke into the biggest smile as they preceded to execute their perfect dance moves. It was wonderful!

Then, the other day, I watched a smallish, Latina woman push a shopping cart FULL of I assume the week’s laundry up the steep hill that is Jackson Ave. I offered to help. She smiled and said, “no, gracias.” It was her regular routine. We’ve never had an issue with stolen items, violence, noise or any other crime or nuisance so often blamed on immigrant communities.

And THESE are the people we are supposed to fear and loath? I’ll never get it because I see people who are clean, family oriented, hardworking, and have a lust for life! These are ALL the things I WANT in my life – I need in my life. They don’t detract from our lives – they ADD to them. It’s as simple as treating ALL human beings with the respect they deserve. Who gives a crap where they come from? I am not afraid! Let them be who they are and give some of it back to us. If we do, the world is a much better place. And it shouldn’t be that hard. It ain’t – to me.

 

*https://www.brennancenter.org/our-work/analysis-opinion/debunking-myth-migrant-crime-wave

 

CHANCE THE MIGHTY SQUIRREL

 

Words and photo by F LoBuono

A few months ago, near the end of Autumn, I was walking home from one of my frequent sojourns into the village when I noticed something under a telephone pole at the intersection ahead. As I got closer, I realized that it was a tiny, baby squirrel and it was very much alive! I was amazed to find it there because it was such a barren corner. It was in front of one of the old black churches in town but there were absolutely no trees anywhere to be found nearby. And it was too far away from the church itself to have come from somewhere there. At first, fearing the mother might be near by and would be looking to reclaim it, I didn’t want to touch it. However, the more I looked around the more I realized that wasn’t going to happen.

Well, I certainly couldn’t leave the poor thing there and my house was just a block away, so I scooped it up not really knowing what the hell one does with a baby squirrel. I thought to myself, “do I REALLY want to do this? What the hell am I going to do with a baby squirrel on my hands, especially since I have a cat in the house?” But I couldn’t just leave it there to die, which it certainly would have done in short order. Besides, once I got her in my hand, she didn’t resist at all. In fact, she seemed comforted by it, fitting snuggly in my palm.

When I got to my house, I immediately looked for some kind of box or container that I could keep it in safely until I figured out what the heck to do with it. Luckily, the recycling had not been put out and I found the perfect cardboard box. I fluffed a towel in the bottom and placed the squirrel in, closing the top so that the cat couldn’t get to it.

Then I looked for help.

One of the positive things about social media is that when used properly it can put you in contact with all types of people with all kinds of skills. So, I made a photo of the little critter and put it at on Facebook while asking for help. In a matter of minutes, I received several responses from wildlife rehabbers all over the area. In fact, there were more than I could use! Since they all seemed caring and interested, I decided to choose the first one that responded. Her name is Taryn Dow. She gave me some basic instructions to keep the little one safe until she could get there to take possession of her. She also explained that, believe it or not, squirrels are considered wild and can only be cared for by a licensed animal rehabilitator, of which she was. I was much relieved!

Taryn drove immediately from Montvale, NJ to my place in Nyack, a trip of about a half hour. She thanked me for making the effort and transferred her from the box to a proper cage. She determined that it was a female and asked if I would like to give her a name. I thought for a second and said, “Chance. I’d like to call her Chance because that’s all I could give her”. The rest would be up to her and Taryn. Taryn further explained that she would do her best to raise Chance through the winter and then release her back to her natural habitat in the Spring when she would have the best chance of surviving.

Over the next 6 months or so, Taryn would post videos and stories of how Chance was not only surviving but thriving! She got bigger, stronger and healthier until she got to the point when it was time for her to be released. From Taryn’s correspondence it was obvious that the two had bonded and that letting her go would be very difficult. But she also knew that it was the RIGHT thing to do. Chance was born free and deserved the best life possible. Taryn just posted that the day had come and with mixed feelings let her go to lead the life she was destined for.

Now, this story about an orphaned squirrel might leave my readers thinking what the heck is this doing in an opinion column. Well, it’s in the message.

I could have looked away when I first spotted that little thing. That would have been the easiest thing to do. After all, does the world REALLY need another squirrel? Probably not. There are plenty of them. But that’s not the point. It’s not about a squirrel. It’s all about compassion, doing the right thing at the right time and for the right reasons. Compassion doesn't judge – it ACTS and in a way that often defies logic or reason. In fact, acting this way can come in conflict with our own best self-interests. Yet, there are times that it is an irresistible force.

Unfortunately, we seem to be entering an era where compassion and kindness are being associated with weakness. The MAGA crowd seems hell bent on forcing an agenda where cruelty IS the point. Mass deportations, often of innocent people including sick children, are now expected AND accepted. Due Process has been ignored. Funding has been cut in education, health, the environment, and the arts. The LGBTQ+ community and women’s rights are under constant attack. All under the guise of Making America Great Again.

It's maddening because when we lose our compassion, we also lose our humanity. We resort to “The Lord of the Flies” mentality where only the strong survive. Well, I refuse to accept that. I know that TRUE strength comes from our ability to protect the weak and innocent, i.e. our compassion. And, in the ultimate paradox, I’m willing to fight to keep it that way. THIS is what made America great and will again.

 

CBS PROUD!

 

Words and photo by F LoBuono

We’ re all familiar with the phrase “these hallowed halls” - so much so that I usually file it under the term hackneyed phrases and avoid using it whenever possible. However, there are certain times when it is MOST appropriate. This is one of those times.

As a kid, I never dreamed that I would be working for CBS News in Manhattan. I drove past that enormous monolith of a building that is their headquarters on W57th Street about a million times in my parent’s car on our way from our home in Fort Lee, NJ to visit my grandmother in Brooklyn. But the idea of working there never even crossed my mind.

Until one day about 25 years ago, I did. I completed the last 20 of my 40+ year career in television there as a technician, photographer, and part-time producer/editor.

It’s hard to describe the vastness of that building. It’s over seven stories tall and has at least 3 sub-basements that I know of. And it takes up virtually an entire city block from 11^th to 10^th Avenues. It’s so massive that in the 20 years I worked there, I don’t believe that I saw the entire building. And the amount of information that has passed through those doors over the course of so many years is just staggering.

But it’s more than just a building. It’s a place where the highest standards of journalism have been practiced by some of the greatest journalists of all time. In the tradition of Edward R. Murrow, Walter Cronkite, Dan Rather, and countless others, CBS New has always set the standard for broadcasting news excellence. Who can forget Murrow’s Good night and good luck sign off? To walk down the long hallway and past the tiny desk where Walter Cronkite announced the assassination of President John F. Kennedy is to experience a legacy of honest, in-depth reporting that changed the world. It’s visceral, one of those “pinch yourself” moments when you realize that you are actually THERE, where it all went down. Look, I was never a big-shot at CBS, I did my job. But when I thought about it, I couldn’t have been more proud to be even a small part of a network with that kind of tradition.

And that has not only been completely reaffirmed; it was AMPLIFIED by this past Sunday's (5/3) edition of 60 Minutes, CBS News’ most powerful magazine style program whose reputation is beyond repute. For more than 50 years, 60 Minutes has been the gold standard in news magazine broadcasting.

First, a little back-story: CBS News under the umbrella of its parent company, Paramount, has been under attack by the Trump Administration, which is suing the company for $10 billion over an allegedly improper interview with then Presidential candidate Kamala Harris. They claim that the clip was edited in her favor and biased against then candidate Trump. I’ve already commented in a previous article on how inane those allegations are, but there it is. And since Paramount needs the Federal Communications Committee (FCC), under President Trump’s control to approve a potential multi-billion dollar sale of the network, the pressure on CBS to comply with the Administration’s demands is intense. It became so excessive in fact, that the VERY experienced and well-respected Executive Producer of 60 Minutes, Bill Owens, resigned in protest over his perceived capitulation of Paramount to the administration’ s demands to limit stories critical of the President. To further complicate the issue, the Administration got wind that 60 Minutes was preparing to air a segment on its abuse of the Rule of Law and the Constitution. They threatened further action against the network should 60 Minutes have the audacity to broadcast the segment. But, few programs, especially in news, have the 50+ year history that they can boast of, speaking truth to power for every single one of those years. To work for them was reserved for only the best – producers, writers, editors, correspondents, photographers, etc. Their reputation, even within CBS itself, is rightfully legendary.

Well, I couldn’t have been more proud then when they figuratively stuck their middle fingers in the face of the President when correspondent Scott Pelley led the broadcast by telling the story of how THIS Administration is flaunting the Rule of Law and that if not addressed soon, our very Democracy might be lost forever. The story, approximately 20 minutes long, showed how through shear intimidation, Mr. Trump has bullied multiple, powerful law firms to bow to his will. Many, but not all. The story featured other constitutional lawyers who would not capitulate and are fighting back with every means possible. It was powerful, inspiring, and the type of reporting that just might save this Country. The Free Press has always led the way. And still must.

Franklin D. Roosevelt once wrote: “Freedom of conscience, of education, of assembly are among the very fundamentals of democracy and all of them would be nullified should freedom of the press every be successfully challenged.”

We MUST not let that happen.  60 Minutes will not let that happen. I will not let that happen. Journalism is NOT dead!

LONG LIVE A FREE PRESS! LONG LIVE AMERICA!