Merry Christmas

Call it the miracle on Smith Street. In nearby Providence, Governor Chafee this year caved in and termed the state’s festively decorated spruce a “Christmas Tree.”

The governor noted that his past insistence on calling it a “holiday tree” had been “a focal point of too much anger.” Apparently this anger was the fault of intolerant religious nuts (nearly 50% of Rhode Islanders are Catholic) and had nothing to do with his own intolerance. The governor got in his symbolic licks, though, by absenting himself from the lighting ceremony. A speech to students at Princeton University was deemed a higher calling.

Just as there is room in the public square for Menorahs and synagogues, crescent moons and mosques, Sikhs and their temples, and agnostics and atheists (the last of whom take on faith that God does not exist) there is also room for Christmas trees and churches. We are big hearted and tolerant enough to embrace them all.

Those who battle the Christian religion, such as the Freedom from Religion Foundation, (whose very name gets it wrong) get it wrong. “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof…” This powerful clause of our first amendment properly enshrines our right to freedom of religion, not freedom from religion. It fully supports atheistic belief systems as much as any other belief system. All are allowed; none are prohibited nor mandated.

We can sympathize with those who are leery of religion. We wouldn’t want radical Islam forced upon us by government decree. (Not moderate Islam as practiced by millions of peaceful Americans, but the fanatical variety that subjugates women and murders those who don’t share their convictions). Equally, a government mandate imposing the repugnant Westboro Baptist Church on us would be just as horrific. But the same first amendment that protects us from them also requires us to hold our collective noses and recognize their right to their beliefs.

It is odd how secular America so vehemently rejects Christian values. ABC Family, a subsidiary of Disney Corp., sells morning airtime to the Christian Broadcasting Network (CBN). (This is because of the channel’s origin as evangelist Pat Robertson’s TV ministry, which morphed into the Family Channel and then was eventually acquired by ABC/Disney).  Prior to airing this objectionable Christian content, they make it emphatically clear, on screen and with accompanying narration, that “the following program does NOT reflect the views of ABC Family.”

Apparently the risqué “Secret Life of the American Teenager” featuring promiscuity, teen pregnancy, and drug use is more Disney’s idea of admirable family values.

Perhaps old fashioned Christian values such as “thou shalt not kill” and “honor your mother and father” are outdated and out of fashion. They have served this country well since the Pilgrims landed almost 400 years ago, but perchance it’s time to retire them.

Or, on the other hand, we can call our Christmas trees what they are and wish each other peace on earth, goodwill to all of us.

Merry Christmas.

The tragedy of the commons

Cows in an overgrazed commons.

Central Falls, Rhode Island, is bankrupt.  The city, at 1.29 square miles, was once famous as the most densely populated city in America. Bordered on the east by the Blackstone River, Central Falls was at the heart of early America’s Industrial Revolution. But water-powered foundries and textile mills quickly became a thing of that past, leaving Central Falls’ skilled workforce high and dry.

In more recent years, Central Falls’ politicians continued to spend money as if they still had a tax base. They made generous pension promises to the city unions who elected them, creating liabilities that couldn’t possibly be met. So now they are broke and retiree benefits have been slashed in half. There are no winners.

How did this happen?  The most likely cause is a phenomenon called “the tragedy of the commons,” a theory describing human behavior when dealing with shared resources.  Ecologist Garrett Hardin wrote an influential article on the topic in 1968, describing the behavior of a group of herders who all shared the same parcel of land.  Since no one herder owned the land, each was motivated to maximize personal return, resulting in overgrazing to the detriment of all.

This effect can be seen wherever private ownership is absent.  Fishing fleets deplete ocean fisheries.  Graffiti artists deface public property.  Vandals destroy anything that is not theirs.  Politicians make promises they cannot fulfill (it's not their money).

The good news is that humans are very resourceful, recognizing the problem and developing creative solutions.  Taking the long view, farmers often organized and regulated the use of common grazing lands.  The federal government allocates fishing rights and radio frequency spectra. And enlightened politicians recognize that heavy taxation and reckless spending impair the economy that supplies them with tax revenues.

Here is what you can do.  Be aware that the economy, whether local, national, or global, is a commons. We all rise or fall on the tide of jobs, capital, and opportunity thereby produced. The economy is enhanced by the animal spirits of individual entrepreneurs and investors and is depleted by the ravages of short-sighted politicians.

Make your choices wisely.  Take the long view.  Educate yourself. Remember that there is never something for nothing.

The people of Central Falls, often portrayed as victims, repeatedly elected their betrayers.  Be smarter than that. 

The Feast of the Seven Fishes

Madonna and Child, Raphael, c. 1503

It is confusing to be a kid today.  What is the holiday season all about?  Hanukkah, Christmas, and New Year all in quick succession.  It involves holiday trees in Rhode Island, the tiny state that also bans the menorah, terming it a holiday candelabra.  (Oh, they don’t?  Well, maybe they should).

The winter solstice is another event of the season.  Many cultures celebrate it as a rebirth – the promise of a new year and a new growing season to come.  It is proof that nature is well, that  another crop is forthcoming, marking the end of the sun’s southward journey and the beginning of its return to the succor of summer.

But there is no confusion in the Italian American community.  The season is all about Christmas (Christ’s Mass), the celebration of the birth of the baby Jesus.  The stories of the three wise men, the guiding star, and Joseph and Mary taking shelter in a manger are not inconsistent with Santa Claus, his reindeer, and their overnight visit to delight us with gifts.

One of the most pleasant (and delicious) traditions is the Feast of the Seven Fishes. Originating in southern Italy and Sicily, this Christmas Eve celebration, also known as La Vigilia (the vigil), marks the wait for the midnight birth of the divine infant.  For whatever reason, this wait is more easily borne by eating a large dinner containing seven different seafood dishes and accompanying coffees, desserts and pastries.  Who knew that a vigil could be so gustatorily agreeable?

But in the grand scheme of things, whether Christian, Jewish, Muslim, or Wiccan, we seem to agree that the season is about giving.  We find it pleasant to drop a buck into the Salvation Army bell-ringer’s bucket.  Some of us, anonymously, pay off strangers’ layaway accounts at K-Mart, and we all enjoy pleasing our loved ones with a thoughtful present.  Of all the season’s traditions, this is by far the best.

On Christmas morning, up early to solitarily contemplate the blessings of Santa’s visit, spend a few moments to remember and thank those who have made a significant difference in your life.  These are the gifts that truly matter. And then consider giving such a gift.  Your mentoring can literally change the life of a bright young mind that needs only some experienced direction and inspiration.

Yankee serendipity

Who knows from where good fortune flows, whether heaven, or someone in it is smiling down on us, or what? A very early start to the day for a business meeting in the Hartford CT area, I leave with an hour to spare, the sun not yet risen. The plan is to take mostly secondary roads and avoid the hectic stress of the morning commute. Into Rhode Island, I head west on US Route 6, then take the scenic Hartford Pike (RI 101) which diverges in Scituate.

Having lived in the area for 26 years, I had never driven the Hartford Pike. I am rewarded in Foster, near the Connecticut border, by signs announcing Jerimoth Hill which, at 812 feet, is the highest point in Rhode Island. Note to self – a likely place to explore on some sunny, autumn Saturday.

The Hartford Pike soon becomes Connecticut 101, wending through forested hills, small villages, and the occasional farm. Continuing on US 44, Connecticut 74, and I-84 for a bit, finally ending up in Tolland, a peaceful community outside of Hartford. A stop for coffee, still running an hour early. Then a phone call – the meeting has been unexpectedly rescheduled.

Nothing to do but return home, but by which route? I could return the way I came, but something pulls me to explore. The Mass Pike is the quickest but clearly hectic and the most boring. Exiting I-84 in Sturbridge, I turn east onto US Route 20, hungry for breakfast. But franchise restaurants and fast food joints hold little charm. No, I am looking for a locally owned outfit, preferably an old fashioned diner.

Headed east, I enter Charlton and suddenly the vision of a classic “Worcester diner” appears on my right, nearly flashing by, but as no one is on my tail I am able to brake sharply and swing into the parking lot. It looks perfect, and promises to satisfy my jonesing for hot coffee and sunny-side-up eggs. Entering, I find my expectations wildly exceeded.

The Yankee Diner was manufactured by the Worcester Lunch Car Company in the late 1930s and wandered about central Massachusetts a bit before settling in this spot on US 20 in Charlton. The interior boasts a long counter populated with stools, several booths along the windows, a business-like hot grill, and a smiling, friendly staff.

The proprietor, Mike Plouffe, is himself of hearty Yankee stock, hailing from nearby Oxford. Mike has a long love affair with the culinary arts, starting with an eight year hitch as a cook in the US Army followed by classical training at the Virginia Culinary Institute. Mike has held several posts at top restaurants and, interestingly, a stint in Dry Tortugas cooking for Uncle Sam again, but always wanted his own place and jumped at the chance when the Yankee became available.

This combination of classic diner with culinary excellence is the wonderful surprise. Imagine homemade corned beef hash prepared daily from whole briskets, buttermilk pancakes made from scratch, and freshly baked biscuits. When a customer requests Hollandaise sauce for his omelet, Mike does not reach for a jar, but rather breaks two eggs, separates the yolks, adds freshly squeezed lemon juice and melted butter, and whisks over an impromptu double boiler. Voila, Hollandaise!

After a wonderful breakfast of eggs and home fries supplemented by a bottomless cup of coffee and engaging, friendly conversation, I continue east on US 20 to Massachusetts Route 146, then south to Rhode Island and shortly after, home. This day which could have been frustrating has instead offered new experiences, new sights, good food, and intriguing conversation with new acquaintances.

Good fortune may be subject to heavenly intercession, but we can lend a helping hand. If we shuffle our routines a bit, travel a slightly different path, and keep our minds open, even a mundane business journey can yield a day of surprise and contentment.