MY LIFE IN NYACK: Memorial Day 2014 Part 4

MY LIFE IN NYACK: Memorial Day 2014 Part 3

MY LIFE IN NYACK: Memorial Day 2014 Part 2

MY LIFE IN NYACK: Memorial Day 2014. Part 1

Today's MOZEN: The Consequence of Action

Photo by Z Roberts. Words by F LoBuono

I spent weeks covering The Occupy Wall St. Protests from Zuccotti Park in Lower Manhattan in the Spring of 2012. I witnessed virtually all of it from the beginning. I saw the nonviolent sit -ins, heard the drumming, chanting, and wild speeches. I spoke with people from all over the country and from all walks of life. I also felt the uneasy stand-off between the NYPD and the protesters. The movement was huge, as was the police presence to control it. It became a delicate balance between the rule of law, the enforcement of private property and an American's Constitutional right to peaceful protest. It worked often, but not always.

One case, where, apparently, it did not work so well is depicted in the photo above. It shows 25 year-old Cecily McMillan, a graduate student and Occupy "activist" being forceably placed in an NYPD bus after her arrest for assaulting a police officer. It seems that on that particular evening (March 2012), the NYPD was instructed to clear the park for cleaning.  An announcement was made demanding that the protesters leave the park, at least temporarily, so that the cleaning might take place. The NYPD states that it also announced that protesters could return to the park afterwards. As they marshaled their forces and headed into the park, some of the protestors, including Ms. McMillan locked arms, refusing to budge. In their minds, they were within their rights to practice non-violent refusal. Of course, this was met with the full force of the NYPD who began to aggressively remove the protestors. As one of the officers was attempting to lift Ms. McMillan who refused to stand and move, he allegedly grabbed one of her breasts from behind. This prompted a reaction from Ms. McMillan to elbow the officer in his eye, causing some injury. Ms. McMillan was then subsequently arrested and charged with assaulting a police officer. Her rather rough treatment was documented by photographer Zach Roberts.

In her recently concluded trial, Ms. McMillan presented her evidence which included a photo of a hand-shaped bruise on the breast she claimed was grabbed by the officer. She also stated that reaction was not an intentional act, but was rather an impulsive response to a lewd attack by the arresting officer. Despite her claims, a jury of her peers found her guilty of assaulting a police officer. At her sentencing later this month (May) she could receive up to eight years in prison.

She became a sort of cause celeb with many alleging that this was another classic case of the use of excessive force by the NYPD in response to peaceful protest. Her supporters also claim that her trial was a sham. It is alleged that evidence supporting Ms. McMillan's claims of police brutality was suppressed, and that the charges against her are disproportionate to the crime. A social media campaign was started and an on-line petition urging clemency for Ms. McMillan has garnered over 40,000 signatures. Even many of the jurors who convicted her have called for leniency when she is sentenced.

I cannot speak of her direct innocence or guilt. I did not witness the event or attend the trial. I can say this about it, though: In general, I supported The Occupy movement. I felt that their message was strong and just. There are inequities in this Country (world) that need to be addressed, and Occupy was an attempt to get that train rolling. However, their methods and message lacked cohesiveness and lasting vision. At one point, it left me with the impression that it was no more than a 1960's "free love-in". Still, most of the people that I met there were well intention, if not overly idealistic, in their attempt to change the world for the better. This is certainly no reason to be met with any type of brutality. But, as I mentioned in my opening paragraph, these types of situations, especially considering the amount of time that Occupy and the NYPD confronted one another, are bound to happen. It would be great to completely eliminate confrontation, but that's not realistic. In fact, it fails to address a sobering reality - there are consequences to EVERY action in life. Be idealistic, it is a privilege of youth. But temper it with the reality of action. So, Ms. McMillan, and all the others who wish to change the world through protest, even PEACEFUL protest, I leave you with words of wisdom from Stella - if you want to dance, you must be prepared to pay the band. Hopefully, Ms. McMillan's tune will not be too harsh.

When You Think About It: The Electric Light Bulb

Words and photo by F LoBuono

The thing is, we don't often think about it, if we think about it at all. It's so simple in form and function. It is so much so, in fact, it would be fair to call it's design sublime. Yet, when you do give it some thought, its invention must be considered one of mankind's greatest feats. Its arrival ushered in an entirely new era of not only learning, but LIVING itself. Of course, we are talking about the electric lightbulb.

Before the inception of electricity and the electric light bulb, most great human endeavors, for obvious reasons, were conducted during daylight hours. We don't see well in the dark. Sure, in an attempt to overcome the darkness and extend our activities, we have used various sources to provide artificial light. From camp fires to candles to oil and then gas lamps, man, from the very beginning of time, has looked to conquer the night. But these sources of light provided only a flickering (literally) glimpse of how we might actually accomplish this. In a sense, we were only living half our lives; those in daylight. It wasn't until Thomas A. Edison's brilliant invention of electricity and the light bulb that this was actually achieved. With all due respect to Nikola Tesla, Edison's remarkable creation changed the world forever - and so much for the better.

So simple. Yet, so powerful. Think about it. Look at it. The design is so subtle: thin, blown glass capped by a piece of thin, conductive metal. Inside, a vacuum is created and a few wires are connected to a filament no thicker than a human hair. The electricity is passed through the filament to create heat and, subsequently, light. Still, it took thousands of years of human experience and thousands of hours of experimentation to create it.

In order to truly appreciate the power of electricity and artificial light, think about what our lives would be without them. Those of us who live in the Northeast got just a small glimpse of what life would be like today without power and light. After Super Storm Sandy, all of us lost power for some time. Some lost it for quite a bit of time. And I think we can all attest to how downright frightening it was. It showed us just how much we've come to rely on, and take for granted, the fact that power and light will always be there for us - with the simple flick of a switch.

Sure, the electric light bulb has changed over the years. Now, there are incandescent bulbs, florescent bulbs, LED bulbs. etc. But all of them owe a debt of gratitude to the simple filament light bulb like the one pictured about. Because, When You Think About It, without that first bulb, you wouldn't have scenes like the one featured below.

Today's MOZEN: Mother's Day 2014

Stella LoBuono

Followers of this blog are no strangers to Stella, my mom. Her photo has appeared regularly in my postings. I use the word "mom" instead of "mother" because the latter sounds, well, institutional. And Stella is anything but institutional. In fact, I rarely even call her mom. I call her by her name, Stella. It drives her crazy, but no more appropriate name was every given to any individual: Stella Maris, Star of the Sea, her full, given name. How perfect. How fitting.

Ninety now, she comes from a long line of powerful women. Her mother, Theresa, although diminutive in stature, was a formidable person. Stella's sister, my Aunt Anna Marie, and my sister, Joanne, are also accomplished women. And, although she is aware of her advanced age, Stella is still a force of nature, influencing not only my siblings and me, but everyone she comes into contact with. She is kind, considerate, funny, stubborn, strong, sensitive, aggressive, passive, tough, smart. No exalted college professor, no guru, no mentor, could have have possibly taught me more about life. She is a complete human being. And, above all, Stella loves my brother, sister, and me unconditionally.

So, on this most exquisite Mother's Day 2014 (crystal clear, deep blue skies after days of rain and gloom), I once again express my love and admiration for this most remarkable human being. I am sure that you, my friends, share equal sentiments about your moms. I sincerely hope that you have the ability to enjoy their physical presence, as I do. However, should they have passed, I pray that they bathe you in the light that only a mother's love can bring. And, THAT, my friends, NEVER leaves.

Happy Mother's Day to all women--Mothers and Daughters alike, but most especially, to Stella!

Today's MOZEN: A Short Story.

Words and photo by F LoBuono

When I walk, it's usually alone and in silence. For someone as verbose as I know myself to be, it affords me the opportunity to reflect in a way beyond words; spoken or written. Although aware of everything around me (part of the pleasure), the focus is turned inward. As fitting my rather hyperactive nature, I also tend to walk at a brisk pace, head down, with eyes straight ahead. Now, Nyack is a great walking town. It's a friendly one, too. It's one of the reasons that I live here. People bid you the time of day. It may be an acronym in other places but not here. A "hi" or "good morning" etc., is not rare, it is commonplace. When I encounter people along the way, I expect some type of greeting and salutation. Because my pace is swift and my focus inward, I usually whisper a pleasant, appropriate response. Sometimes, I just "mouth" the words. Often, I don't say anything at all. I just beam a big, broad smile, and nod acknowledgment, never breaking stride. It's just my way.

So it was the other morning. It was a beautiful Spring day and I was off on one of my sojourns. Of course, it was the usual routine on my way into town. I strode, head down, eyes ahead, acknowledging each greeting along the way in my usual manner; nodding, smiling, whispering in response, but never breaking stride. Eventually, I decided to stop at the Johnny Cakes dinner to grab a coffee and egg sandwich. It was so nice out that I decided to get the order to "go". I was going to take my breakfast and enjoy it at the River's edge.

It's a short walk down Main St. from Johnny's to the shore of the Hudson. And it's down hill, making my pace even more frenetic. As I rolled down Main St., I noticed an older gentlemen sitting on a wall, about a half block ahead of me. He looked to be in his 70's and he was hunched over, enjoying a cigarette. Remember, my focus my be inward but I am also aware of everything around me and this man caught my eye immediately. His clothes were rumpled and his hair was unkempt, giving him a slightly disheveled appearance. With the river in the background, I thought the image might make a good photograph. However, as he seemed to be enjoying his solitude as much as I was enjoying mine, I thought better of it and did not take out my camera. Just as I was passing him, he caught me by surprise by saying, "good morning". He seemed so intent on sucking on that cigarette, I didn't even think he saw me coming. As is my custom, I never broke stride but in a deep, low voice, almost in a whisper, I mouthed "'morning". After I had passed him by a few feet, I clearly heard him say, "fuck you". It shocked me for a second. Fuck you? What's that all about, I thought quickly. I also recall that a flash of anger came over me for a second. What the hell? As a younger man, I may have reeled about and confronted him with an angry, I beg your pardon? But I am not a younger man. I am mature now. Perhaps, because I responded in such a low, deep voice with a partial word, he had not heard me. I was already past him when I did respond. Maybe, he never heard my reply and thought that I was the one being rude! All of this flashed through my mind in a matter of a few seconds. But, I never broke stride. Instead, I just chuckled. Then, I laughed out loud - loud enough for him to hear me - and I said in a loud, clear voice, have a nice day!

I'm not there yet, but, perhaps, I'm getting closer.

MY LIFE IN NAYCK: The Annual African-American Day Parade, Part 3 of 3