Monthly Archives: January 2025

To Jamie At 70

Paling around with you Jamie I always knew something fun, risky, or outright naughty was in store. Boy did you pack some serious confidence in our capers, plus displayed an endless capacity for kindness.

Being this is your birthday I’ve been thinking over our shared escapades and memories, and three moments stand out from our school years.

It must have been around 1968 or ’69 I had a slumber party in our basement. OJ was there, and pretended to sleep while we put her hand in warm water to make her pee. Hilarious. But the high point of that night happened when some boys showed up at the window in the downstair’s bathroom. It was BB, remember him? There were also some other guys but B was the one you ushered through the window.

My heart fell into my feet because my parents were just up a floor and easily could have caught us. Also, your gutsy move in bringing a popular boy into my house was pretty damn cool. And that is a daring that simply reveals your audacity, even as a pre-teen.

Besides B was cute-I can see you nod as you read.

Sometime later, I’m sure there was snow on the ground, you called, inviting me to spend the night at your house. You laid down some big time pressure for me to convince my mom to let me come over. God knows what deals I had to negotiate, but I knew this invite was more of a summons, and I couldn’t refuse. When I got there you were pleased, smiling like the Cheshire Cat. In the living room you turned and put on an album on that stereo in the corner, then handed me the cover. It was the White Album, and you were the first person I knew who bought it. I can’t describe how much that meant, the kind consideration you extended by sharing that treasure with your lucky friend. I still think about that night, especially if a song from that album plays. Thank you again, it was a summons worthy of honoring.

Cocolalla Lake was the site of your most memorable achievement. If you recall my dad took us to our lake cabin in his truck and dropped us off. Debbie W came along and someone else. Maybe you remember our fourth. At any rate, after he left we all talked about how to get beer. We pooled our cash and you walked across the lake to the Sagle Market with somebody, maybe our fourth. All of 16 years old, you must have exuded that Jamie confidence and returned with the goods—a case of Coors. And we had quite the party, peeing outside and playing music at top volume.

A couple of days later my dad came to collect us, again in his truck, and we had tied up 24 beer cans, carefully weighing them down with the garbage we had to haul out.

Sitting on each others laps, it was, after all the early 1970’s, so who needed for seatbelts? As dad hit 60 miles per hour the trash bags started to whip open in the back, and sure enough beer cans popped out like a bag of popcorn. The jig was up and my stomach, once again, fell into my feet, but not you, Jamie. You sat serenely enjoying the drive. I swear you have cast iron nerves. At any rate we returned to Spokane with a much lighter load of trash, and wonderful memories of our weekend.

My dearest friend, your strength, intellect, and creativity made a deep impression on me back in those early days as I am sure it has for many others you have befriended through the years. Enjoy a most happy 70th and continue that honorable path you forged when we were just little girls.

Love you,

Gail

PS-My dad never said a word about the beer cans.

Never Forget

Martin Niemoller

First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a socialist.

Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

—Martin Niemöller

German pastor and critic of Hitler and a concentration camp survivor.

The People Who Own It

And that — that brings me to the second mode of civil disobedience. There’s a time when the operation of the machine becomes so odious, makes you so sick at heart that you can’t take part! You can’t even passively take part! And you’ve got to put your bodies upon the gears and upon the wheels, upon the levers, upon all the apparatus — and you’ve got to make it stop! And you’ve got to indicate to the people who run it, to the people who own it — that unless you’re free the machine will be prevented from working at all!!

Mario Savio, December 2, 1964

The GOP no longer pretends to care about the American people. Icons of wealth and raw power, along with compliant political figures parade in and out of Mar-a-Lago without a self-conscious blush. Former Trump critics now kiss his ring out of fear of disfavor and losing access to power. Many in the press are fearful of Trump as well, evident in the resignation of Ann Tenaes from the Washington Post over the paper’s censoring a critical Bezos cartoon, while NBC has threatened to jettison its progressive sister MSNBC.

At least smiling Ronald Reagan tried to demonstrate some kind of fidelity to American principles as his administration catered to the same rich and powerful.

This incoming crowd isn’t even trying to fake concern.

While America drowns in floods and burns in fire, both symptoms of advanced climate change, Mr. Musk has purchased access to Trump so Tesla can bring in cheaper, skilled technicians for his business operations. Not alone in his subservience, Mr. Zuckerberg too, along with Mr. Bezos, and Sam Altman, have made significant donations to Trump’s campaign while the world drowns and burns. These 21st Century tycoons intend to purchase the vain new president’s favor and clear the way for less public responsibility, and garner even more profits.

You see, in MAGA-world Trump is never wrong. Wrong doesn’t exist. The title “felon” carries no shame among supporters, nor rape, fraud, insurrection, or theft of sensitive US intelligence. Trump’s malfeasance is more a badge of honor with his supporters than a deal breaker.

American propriety and concern for the United States are sentiments of another, past era. Statesmanship, decency, and integrity are long gone. In the last days of the 2024 campaign Donald Trump mimed oral sex with his microphone, and no one at the rally appeared offended, not even so-called Christians. In any reality would President Carter had done such a thing? Would President Bush? Moreover, MAGA supporters self-righteously wrap themselves in neo-fascist certainty, nurtured by a steady diet of propaganda and misinformation. There is no longer a bottom.

Overseas enemies are delighted. Putin and Xi have waited a lifetime to overrun the United States. That simple fact should give us all pause on the political state of the nation. The Kremlin and Beijing are reveling in the certainty of easy access to the inner sanctum of American security.

And why wouldn’t they be?

Facebook CEO Mark Zuckerberg has made known he will no longer fact check posts plastered across his site. This is the same Mark Zuckerberg who threw Trump off Facebook not so long ago for disseminating misinformation. That Zuckerberg seemed to care about the country that has made his fortune. Adding insult to injury this same 21st Century robber baron announced the company will no longer practice diversity in hiring Facebook employees.

His decisions are unacceptable and unAmerican.

Though it certainly makes no difference in the larger scheme, I have decided to take a tiny seed of action by closing my Facebook account. As a writer, Facebook is a convenient way to publish my work as it appears also on Threads and Instagram. However, as Mario Savio so eloquently stated in 1964, I can no longer participate. My spirit is thoroughly sick and outraged with the alarming direction the Republican Party has eagerly chosen to sell out our nation for their 30 pieces of silver.

Though the gears and wheels have been replaced by motherboards, and circuits, the principle holds. The machine requires the public to participate, to provide the metaphoric oxygen for it to survive. And it is down to us alone, the American people. We must demand fair play and decency from the powerful.

If you feel the same please share this post, I know I can’t be alone in my objections.

Gail Chumbley is the author of the two-part memoir River of January and River of January: Figure Eight. Chumbley has also written three plays, Clay, Wolf By The Ears, and Peer Review, exploring the life of Henry Clay, the advent of chattel slavery, and four visits to DJT from past presidents.

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