From Joy to Sorrow

 

Sarah Beckstrom

It had been a wonderful Thanksgiving afternoon filled with delicious traditional food and the sound of laughter from what remains of my once large family. The day was turning out to be everything I hoped it would be. We had just finished our wonderful meal and left the table to continue our conversation in the living room. We decided to put the TV on in the background where we could “channel surf” between the plethora of Holiday movies, the football games, and to see what was still happening around the world, a news program.

After a few minutes, the TV wound up tuned to CNN where a headline graphic was announcing “Breaking News.” It caught my eye, and I decided to turn my attention to the newscast. It was then that the reporter announced that one of the two National Guardsman who had been so critically wounded in a vicious and unproved ambush while on patrol at a D.C. train station the day before had died.

My mood changed instantly from joyous to deeply sorrowful.

Her name is Sarah Beckstrom. Hailing from West Virginia, Sarah was just 20 years old. She had been on deployment as part of President Trump’s ordered “crackdown on crime” in several American cities, including Washington D.C. As some of the early details were being revealed, the more shocked, outraged, and disheartened I became. Her assailant (whom I will NEVER name) was a 29-year-old legally documented Afghan immigrant who worked at one time for the CIA in Afghanistan. He was a husband and a father. He drove over three thousand miles from his home in the State of Washington to assassinate two young people whom he never met. As of this writing, his motive has not been made clear.

Think about that. Just how much hate can one person harbor in their heart to travel that great distance to cause so much pain and sorrow to not only the victims and their families but to his own as well? And to commit this heinous act on Thanksgiving, a day when we here in America express our gratitude for the glorious gifts we have been given and look to share with EVERYONE? Despicable is not a strong enough description.

It boggled my mind and caused me deep reflection about the gift of life and love I had been given that very day by my own family. I had to take a moment to empathize with all those affected by this cowardly deed and how this day would never be the same for them.

Then, in another wrong-headed attempt to project his own empathy, the President, without knowing the ultimate motivation, exacerbated the situation and made it political by claiming that the killer was granted admission to the U.S. by the Biden Administration. However, Mr. Trump failed to mention that the assassin was given asylum by his own.

But, at this moment, NONE of that is the point, or should be. For me, at this most sensitive time, it is not a political issue, and I will not look to make it one. Instead, as individuals AND as a society we need to search deeply within ourselves as to why things like this are happening with such increased frequency in the first place. Is it some type of ancient tribalism? Or is fear and, therefore, hatred of others simply deeply embedded within our DNA? Has our society changed so much that this kind of wanton violence has become acceptable? From the assassinations of a business executive in New York City, Democrat politicians in Minnesota, to Conservative activist Charlie Kirk, and now this, these incidents are becoming almost common. We must ask ourselves “what is going on here” and “what can we ALL do to stop it?

PS: The second Guardsman critically wounded in the same attack, 24-year-old Andrew Wolf, is in serious condition but he is expected to survive.

 

 

 

 

 

STRONG WOMEN

 

The LoBuono/Vitanza/Celeste Family

It has been one of the great privileges of my life to be surrounded by strong, confident women. In fact, they raised me. My grandmothers, my mother, my aunts, my sister, and my female cousins were, and are, educated, successful, independent people. Of course, each has their own personality, but all are certain of their value as women.

I could give many examples of just how powerful each one is, but this story about my maternal grandmother might have the most impact.

Her birth name was Theresa (a.k.a. Tessie) Celeste. She was already showing her fierce independence as a young woman (19) by defying her family and emigrating alone from her tiny village in Sicily to be with her future husband, another Sicilian immigrant who was living in Brooklyn. His name was Frank Vitanza. He died when I was very young, so I don’t have strong memories of him. However, I do remember how much my grandmother loved and respected him. But, despite that bond, I can never recall her wearing the traditional black often associated with Sicilian widows. Oh, no. That was NOT Tessie, the girl who dreamed of being a professional singer in America. I will always remember her as being well-dressed in bright colors, properly coiffed, make-up on, and jewelry in place. Always. It was part of her aura.

Well, one day while we were visiting her in Brooklyn, my mother had a health emergency that needed to be addressed immediately. We rushed her to the hospital where her gall bladder was removed. It would require her to recover for about a week at the hospital. Now, this was many years ago when hospital regulations about visitors and hours were MUCH stricter. Today, if a family member provides comfort to the patient, they may even be encouraged to stay. But in those days, when visitor hours were over, everyone had to leave, even close family members.

The problem was that NO ONE was going to tell my grandmother that she could not be with her ill daughter. No one. So that meant a nightly battle between Tessie and the security guard at the close of visiting hours. I mean Tessie was five feet tall, about 100 lbs. and spoke heavily accented English. But that never deterred her from achieving her objectives. In other words, she did not take crap from anyone, especially when it came to her family. I remember one evening when hospital security personnel even had to escort her out of the hospital simply because she refused to leave on schedule.

That might have been enough for most, but not for our matriarch. She would not be denied. So, she devised a plan: she “borrowed” a lab coat from an unattended rack and strolled back into the hospital masquerading as a technician. The hospital never caught on.

She taught me – all of us – just how strong women can be.

 

My mother worked full-time long before it was fashionable for women to do so. Her sister got a master’s degree in education, also at a time when it still was considered rare for women, especially First-Generation immigrant women, to have such a degree. My sister was the first person in my immediate family to get a college degree. And the list of successful women in my family goes on.

So, you can imagine my disgust when the President of the United States would point his finger at a woman reporter, a legitimate member of the working press, who was simply asking the question she NEEDED to ask, and uttered, “Quiet, Piggy!”

QUIET, PIGGY?

I do not care if he’s President of the United States, if he had said that to Tessie, or my mother, aunt, or sister, he would not have left smiling.

How dare he? This is a man who has claims “he loves women” and yet at every single turn shows his disrespect for them. It began long ago with his association with Jeffrey Epstein, through the infamous “grab them by to the pussy” line, and on to the current debacle. And these are not isolated incidents. My god, Mr. Trump has been held libelous in civil court for sexual abuse in the E. Jean Caroll case. Then, in addition to the “piggy” mess, he repeated the pattern when he verbally accosted another female reporter in the Oval Office after she also had the audacity to do her job and ask his guest, Mohammed Bin Salman, the tough question everyone wanted to ask!

He attacks women who do not meet his physical “standards,” those who demonstrate the mental acumen that he so sorely lacks, or others who simply disagree with him. He is the worst kind of chauvinist, i.e., a school yard bully. Donald J. Trump is not your friend. I challenge women to seize this opportunity and demonstrate what I have seen all my life and know you are capable of. Say NO MORE to this misogynistic megalomaniac. You have the power. You always have. Do it now. Men, men of honor who do not fear your strength, are with you. Always. Together, equal in our disdain for this arrogant and ugly Administration, we can return to a sense of true decency in America.

 

THE GHOST OF THANKSGIVING PAST

 

Everything changes. Everything. Nothing remains the same forever. That’s life. Even cherished family traditions that lasted for generations can gradually fade away. Such is the case with my life.

When I was a kid, Thanksgiving was a day to be cherished by sharing a staggeringly good meal while basking in the warm glow of my very tight, extended Sicilian family. After watching “Babes in Toyland – The March of the Wooden Soldiers” starring the magical Laurel and Hardy, my parents, brother and sister piled into whatever jalopy my father was driving at that time for the long trip from Fort Lee, NJ over the GWB, down the West Side Highway, through the Battery Tunnel, past the Verrazano Bridge and on to my grandmother’s house on Avenue W between Ocean Parkway and Coney Island Ave in Brooklyn.

When we arrived, the aroma of the feast to come was already filling the air. My grandmother, my mother’s mother, and matriarch of the family, was already hard at work preparing a magnificent meal for my aunts, uncles, cousins, and us. Shortly after, she would be joined by my mother and aunts to complete the repast. My grandmother would have shopped for days to search for the very freshest ingredients to use. Nothing but the best would be good enough for her family. I remember sitting (on a vinyl covered chair, of course) quietly in the living room, unseen, listening to them talk while they cooked, solving all the world’s problems while I inhaled that incredible aroma!

My family had emigrated from Sicily and as had so many immigrants, combined the traditions already considered American with those from the Old Country. The result was a multi-course feast that if you were to order in a restaurant, would cost hundreds of dollars. It included soups, salads, fruits, nuts, different pastas, a choice of meats, wine and, of course, turkey. It would all be topped off with dolce and a demi tasse. Perhaps, an anisette might be offered, too. It was a classic melting of the Old World with the New that was so important to my us.

My mother’s whole family, including her siblings with their children, i.e., my cousins, would be there. In keeping with an Old-World tradition, there were always TWO tables. One, of course, was reserved for adults. The other, located in the basement, was for the kids. Access to the adult table would have to be earned. That’s just the way it was. And, do you know what, even the kids didn’t mind. It all seemed to work.

But that time has passed and many of the key players are gone – long gone. Years ago, after my grandmother had died, I was married and owned a big house. I tried to maintain the tradition, but life got in the way, my marriage collapsed and it did not last very long. I don’t have any children and by some strange twist of fate, neither do my siblings. My partner, Amanda, has a son, but he lives in Tennessee. So, our families have shrunk considerably. There simply aren’t that many of us around anymore. So, for the last few years, it’s just been me, Amanda, and my sister Joanne for a quiet dinner. For his own reasons, my brother has decided to go his own way.

But this is not a “I’m lonely. Look at what has my life become?” kind of posts. Not at all. The memories are great, as were those incredible meals! They will be with me for as long as I live. But what is important to me now is to be with the people who mean the most to me. It’s simple. I don’t care if we share a pizza. I just want to be together. THAT’S what matters. It always did.

I am thankful for having love in my life AND for the memories, too. THESE are the things that last and are ALWAYS something to be thankful for. I wish the same for you, too. Look and you will find it.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING

 

LOVING THE BOMB

 

One of the tragic realities for school-aged children today is their need to prepare for the unthinkable by staging active shooter drills at their schools. The very image of it sends chills up my spine, especially since we know that even drastic measures like this can only keep them so safe. But, if you are a child of the 1960’s like I am, then you may remember a similar illusion of safety that we grow up with, i.e. Duck and Cover. Yes, the brilliant illusion that one could save oneself from a nearby nuclear blast by crawling into a fetal position under a desk. Really.

Even as a boy I remember thinking of the folly of it all. I had seen the newsreels and TV reports of the horrors of nuclear weapons. I was familiar with the images of the destruction caused by the atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. They were terrifying. So, for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out how hiding under my desk could possibly save me from such a terrible weapon. And the political climate at the time, i.e. The Cold War made it all a very real possibility.

But then the reality of what global nuclear war ACTUALLY means set in. Men and women of vision finally realized that the destructive consequences of the use of ANY such weapon by ANY nation would mean nuclear winter and the potential end of humanity. It didn’t matter the ideology – there would be NO winners.  And, yes, that’s as frightening as should be!

So, the great nuclear powers of the world, including the United States, Russia, and China, have mutual agreed to turn down the rhetoric by limiting the creation and testing of new weapons. Various treaties were negotiated and signed to, if not end, at least limit the nuclear arms race. The U.S last tested such a weapon in 1992. China conducted the last such test in the world in 1996.

Just when we thought that sanity might have prevailed, we elected Donald J. Trump as President. It’s no secret that I find him not only flawed but willfully nefarious as well. But his recent declaration that he is instructing the Department of War (Nee: The Department of Defense), to begin testing of nuclear weapons may be his most frightening action of them all. It begs the question, “Why?” To what end, besides flexing his imaginary muscles and massaging his enormous ego, could this possibly lead? As the fact that China and Russia have responded that will react accordingly, the more terrifying answer is that it once again exposes the ENTIRE world to the prospect of its own destruction. Is this his plan?

A few weeks ago, I had the good fortune of catching Stanley Kubrick’s classic dark comedy/satire, Dr. Strangelove: or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb on TCM. Made in 1964, how could Kubrick possibly have known that the film would be so relevant and prescient today? Or perhaps he did. Intimately woven into the fabric of the movie are the characters whose behavior demonstrates the absolute insanity of trying to find out how they got into that mess in the first place! The resolution is that there IS no resolution, only destruction.

Once again, what this man and his administration is doing to the laws and the very NATURE of this Country is appalling. The idea of inciting another nuclear arms race, AFTER we know the potential consequences of such folly is – or should be – anathema to not only every American but every citizen of the world.

“Mr. President, I'm not saying we wouldn't get our hair mussed. But I do say no more than ten to twenty million killed, tops. Uh, depending on the breaks.”

George C. Scott as General Buck Turgeson, Dr. Strangelove. 1964

 

SAY NO TO HUNGER

 

Words and Photo by F LoBuono

There were two noteworthy events that took place over this past weekend that I believe highlight the political chasm that currently exists in this Country. Both were triggered by the current Federal government shutdown (a story for another column). Because of the Congressional impasse, the funding for SNAP benefits, a.k.a. food stamps, was allowed to expire. This, of course, meant that tens of millions of Americans would shortly be in dire need of another way to feed themselves – or go hungry. Apparently, an emergency fund of millions of dollars that could have been made available to at least temporarily eased the crisis was for some unexplained reason not immediately released by the Trump Administration.

In response to the pending disaster, millions of my fellow Americans came through with profound kindness and generosity. Food drives were organized in virtual every corner of the Country filling food pantries with many tons of much needed groceries and cash donations. As is the case MOST of the time and with MOST Americans, our need to help others in a moment of crisis becomes the most powerful display of the American Way.

 Locally, the reaction to the loss of SNAP was immediate, coordinated, and enormously successful. In Nyack, where I reside, the Village council, under the leadership of Mayor Joe Rand and in coordination with several charitable agencies including Rockland County’s largest food bank, People to People, began a campaign cleverly called SnapShot. The goal was to organize food drop-off locations throughout the village, culminating on the same Saturday when the benefits were scheduled to expire. Over a hundred people participated in a two-hour shopping spree for food donations at the Nyack Fresh Market! Thousands of pounds of groceries were collected. And the effort continues throughout the village. I couldn’t be prouder of the place where I live or the people whom I live with.

 In contrast, the second telling event happened on the evening before. That Friday was also Halloween. The prospect of 42 million Americans about to thrown into food insecurity also loomed. Well, the President decided that would be a great time to throw a Great Gatsby themed Halloween party at his private residence, Mar-a-Lago. In addition to scanty glad dancing girls in over-sized cocktail glasses lining the walkways, guests were treated to a lavish meal and exotic desserts. Unconfirmed estimates of the cost for the bacchanalian feast are about $3.4 million. Whatever the cost may turn out to be, the fact remains that this stunt is more than tone-deaf, it’s downright cruel. Families and CHILDREN would soon go hungry! It will go down in the history books right next to Marie Antionette’s let them eat cake.

 His supporters will rationalize as they always do. However, once again the message is clear. It’s hard for ANY reasoning person to see anything but indifference at best and avarice at worst in staging such an affair. But this is no surprise to me. Mr. Trump has ALWAYS shown his disdain for those he feels lesser than himself. To this day, I’ll never know how anyone could look past him knocking a disabled reporter years ago. But now as the polling is being to show, more people are beginning to realize that cruelty IS the message because it lives within the man. What excuse could there possibly be that allows children to go hungry?

 On a positive note, there have been two recent developments that have at least temporarily eased the crisis. First, in an emergency session, the Rockland County Legislature appropriated $2 million to be used for food donations in the county. Secondly, a federal judge ruled that the Trump Administration MUST release the emergency SNAP funds and do so by Friday, November 14, 2025, once again proving people in this Country STILL have a conscience. At least most do. However, keep in mind, food insecurity is not going away. Resolving SNAP does not cure hunger. But we can.