As The 100th
Anniversary Of The Beginning of World War I (Remember The War To End All Wars) Starts ...
Some Remembrances-Poet’s Corner
Eva Dobell
Advent, 1916
Saturday, August 23, 2014
No New U.S. War
In Iraq- Immediate Withdrawal Of All U.S. Troops And Mercenaries! Stop The Bombing! –Stop The Arms Shipments …
Frank Jackman
comment:
As the Nobel
Peace Prize Winner, U.S. President Barack Obama, orders more air bombing
strikes in the North, sends more “advisers” to “protect” American outposts in
Iraq, and sends arms shipments to the Kurds guys who served in the American
military during the Vietnam War and who, like me, belatedly, got “religion” on
the war issue might very well be excused for disbelief when the White House
keeps pounding out the propaganda that these actions are limited when all signs
point to the slippery slope of escalation. Now not every event in history gets
exactly repeated but given the recent United States Government’s history in
Iraq those vets might be on to something. In any case dust off the old banners,
placards, and buttons and get your voices in shape- just in case.
***
Here is something to think about:
Workers and the oppressed have no interest in a victory by one combatant
or the other in the reactionary Sunni-Shi’ite civil war. However, the
international working class definitely has a side in opposing imperialist
intervention in Iraq and demanding the immediate withdrawal of all U.S. troops
and mercenaries. It is U.S. imperialism that constitutes the greatest danger to
the world’s working people and downtrodden.
Defend The
Palestinian People!- No U.S. Aid To Israel!- Down With U.S. Imperialism- No
U.S. Aid To Egypt!- End The Blockade Of Gaza!-All Zionist Troops And Settlers
Out Of The West Bank And East Jerusalem!
The Courage
To Resist –All Honor To The Heroic Israeli Draft Resisters And Soldiers Who
Have Refused To Take Part In The Bloodbath In Gaza
Frank Jackman
comment:
A number of
members of Veterans For Peace, an organization of veterans of the American
government’s imperial adventures, now made up mostly of Vietnam War veterans as
veterans of earlier wars pass on but increasingly veterans of the Iraq and
Afghan campaigns, learned the hard way, and too late, like myself, that one
could refuse to comply with the government draft and military campaign orders.
We have come to appreciate the great courage that it takes to buck one’s government,
one’s neighbors, one’s friends when the war drums beat out the marching orders
and you are expected to join in lockstep. We salute those brothers and sisters in
Israel who have either refused induction in the military or have refused to
take part in the bloodbath in Gaza. One day when we live in a more peaceful
world those sacrifices will find a well-deserved place of honor. Presente!!!
A NIGHT
IN FERGUSON: Rubber Bullets, Tear Gas, and a Jail Cell
Late
Monday evening, after many of the major media outlets covering the protests in
Ferguson, Mo., had left the streets to broadcast from their set-ups near the
police command center, heavily armed officers raced through suburban streets in
armored vehicles, chasing demonstrators, launching tear gas on otherwise quiet
residential lanes, and shooting at journalists. Their efforts resulted in one of the largest nightly arrest
totals since protests began 10 days ago over the killing of unarmed African
American teenager Michael Brown by white Ferguson police officer Darren Wilson.
At approximately 2 a.m. local time, Missouri Highway Patrol Capt. Ron Johnson
announced at a press conference that 31 people had been
arrested over the course of the night (NBC News later reported that, according
to jail records, the actual total was more than double that). I was unable to
attend or report on Johnson’s press conference because I was one of those
people… None of the other people who are still there, as far as I know, work for
well-funded, high-profile media organizations. Few are white. The concerns these
men raised—and the intensity that they have for this moment in Ferguson—runs
very deep… Not a single one of these men, through our hours of conversations,
expressed any desire to let up. This will not end soon.
More
Exposing
the Toolbox of Racist Repression
From
the death and destruction in Israel’s latest war on Gaza to the dramatic arrival
of the national guard on the streets of Ferguson, Missouri, there have been
plenty of brutal reminders on display of the violence that underpins racial
hierarchies in Israel and the United States. But amid the headlines, one could
easily forget the more sustained and entrenched forms of oppression through which
hierarchies of race, citizenship, nationality, and class are produced and
maintained—in the United States as well as Israel. Among the most significant of
these is mass incarceration… it is important to remember how precarious life is
for Palestinian children even in “normal” times. Since
2000, more than 8,000 Palestinian children have been detained and nearly
2,000 children have been killed—with almost complete impunity for the Israeli soldiers and settlers
involved… On the other side of the globe, the burgeoning U.S. prison population
now comprises a quarter of all the prisoners in the world. Close to 70 percent
of all people in U.S. incarceration, moreover, are people of color. As Adam
Gopnik observed in The New Yorker, “there are more black men in the
grip of the [U.S.] criminal-justice system—in prison, on probation, or on
parole—than were in slavery” on the eve of the civil war… As in Palestine,
resistance in the streets of Ferguson has been met with violence, leading
several shocked Ferguson protesters to compare the local police to Israeli occupation forces. Some analysts pointed out that
Ferguson and St. Louis County police forces had even received training in Israel. More
THOMAS
EDSALL: Ferguson, Watts and a Dream Deferred
While
the
economic downturns of the last decade-and-a-half have taken their toll on
the median income of all races and ethnic groups, blacks have been the hardest
hit. By 2012, black median household income had fallen to 58.4 percent of white
income, almost back to where it was in 1967 — 7.9 points below its level in
1999… Blacks suffered more than whites as a result of the 2008-9 financial
meltdown and its aftermath, but the negative trends for African-Americans began
before then… Today, however, political and policy-making stasis driven by
gridlock — despite a momentary concordance between left and right on this
particular shooting — insures that we will undertake no comparable initiatives
to reverse or even stem the trends that have put black Americans at an
increasing disadvantage in relation to whites — a situation that plays no small
part in fueling the rage currently on display in Ferguson.
More
12
years of data from New York City suggest stop-and-frisk wasn’t that
effective
…a
New York Civil Liberties Union report released Wednesday that
the group is framing as a comprehensive account of stop-and-frisk during the
Bloomberg years. During the mayor's 12-year tenure, police department data show
that officers made more than 5 million stops, a quarter of them of young black
men who made up just 1.9 percent of the city's population. The NYCLU report
documents the racial imbalance that has made the policy so divisive in New York
and other cities where the practice has contributed to animosity between
minority communities and law enforcement. But the ACLU accounting also points to
other data that undermine the rationale for stop-and-frisk: It yielded few
weapons when officials justified the policy as a way to reduce shootings and
recover guns; in more than 5 million stops, police recovered a gun less than
0.02 percent of the time. And as the NYPD ramped up the number of stops,
shootings and murders in the city did not appear to correspondingly decline.
More
Local
authorities in Ferguson have begun responding to nightly protests with tear gas
and rubber bullets. Palestinians on Twitter could relate, and shared words and
images of support with the US protesters… After images of Ferguson police using
tear gas were disseminated on Twitter, Palestinians Rajai abuKhalil and Mariam
Barghouti drew on their own experiences to express support with protesters in
Missouri.
Solidarity
with #Ferguson. Remember to not touch your face when
teargassed or put water on it. Instead use milk or coke!
Dear
#Ferguson. The Tear Gas used against you was probably
tested on us first by Israel. No worries, Stay Strong. Love, #Palestine
Israel-trained
police "occupy" Missouri after killing of black youth
Since
the killing of 18-year-old Michael Brown by Ferguson police in Missouri last
weekend, the people of Ferguson have been subjected to a military-style
crackdown by a squadron of local police departments dressed like combat
soldiers, prompting residents to liken the conditions on the ground in Ferguson
to the Israeli military occupation of Palestine. And who can blame them? The
dystopian scenes of paramilitary units in camouflage rampaging through the
streets of Ferguson, pointing assault rifles at unarmed residents and launching
tear gas into people’s front yards from behind armored personnel carriers
(APCs), could easily be mistaken for a Tuesday afternoon in the occupied West
Bank. And it’s no coincidence.
At
least two of the four law enforcement agencies that were deployed in Ferguson
up until Thursday evening — the St. Louis County Police Department and the St.
Louis Police Department — received training from Israeli security forces in
recent years.
More
* *
* *
THE
WARS COME HOME
|
According
to the U.S. General Services Administration, one of the programs that allows the
Pentagon to give billions of dollars worth of free weapons of war to local U.S.
police "offers Americans peace of mind.”
Have
images of a war zone in Ferguson, Missouri, boosted your peace of
mind?
|
Reforming
the program that has militarized police will be an uphill fight
Loading
up local police forces with military hardware has crept into the spotlight as a
consequence of the reaction to the slaying of Michael Brown in Ferguson,
Missouri. Not that the federal program doing that is new or has gone unnoticed by
people whose political views have brought them into direct and sometimes violent
contact with the police over the years. As a result of that public attention,
there's a move in Congress to chop or reform the program, known as 1033 for the
section of the defense budget authorization it was originally part of. As reported previously, Rep. Hank Johnson of Georgia plans to introduce reform legislation on 1033 when the August recess is
over. Just one problem: The program has considerable Democratic support and
opposition to reducing its budget. That became apparent two months ago when Rep.
Alan Grayson of Florida could only muster 62 votes, including his own, for
cutting funding and limiting what kind of hardware could be transferred from the
Pentagon to local police agencies. Democrats opposed Grayson on the move by a
3-1 margin. And the majority included 35 members of the Congressional
Progressive Caucus. More
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Black population
under attack by US system
Press TV has conducted an interview with Daniel Patrick Welch, political analyst from Boston, about the chaotic situation continuing for more than a week in Ferguson, Missouri even as National Guard troops arrived to confront protesters angered by the fatal shooting of an unarmed African-American teen by a white policeman.
What follows is an approximate transcription of the interview
Press TV: Daniel Patrick Welch, it is very interesting what has happened here. We could talk about the police brutality, we could talk about the essence of what has been covered in the news on this which is basically this being a racially charged case.
But there has been comments come from certain corners saying that this more about inequality in the United States and it is more about the economic situation that pretty much characterizes a large percentage of African-Americans in the US and we see it boil over in this form and manner. Do you agree with that assessment?
Welch: I do actual point. I think that's absolutely correct that because African-Americans are overrepresented in the poorest part of the population that they are the first to come under attack and the most likely to rebel under such conditions.
Press TV: Well one of the things that is interesting is that a country like the United States given the fact that now it has had an African-American President for the past term and half nearing its end you would think that race would have subsided in terms of the outlet whether it is from the common average American or whether in this case of course the police and the way they actually view and handle African-Americans in general. And some stats indicate that the percentage has increased in terms of the way that people look at African-Americans.
What do you think that is? Is it the media? Is it from schooling? What do you attribute that to?
Welch: There are several things playing out. I think that one of the problems is that there are two very different realities being lived by African-Americans and white Americans and other Americans of color in this society and often times what we had with the promise of a post-racial society was just complete nonsense and the problem is that many white Americans have taken it on as a sort of a so there, well you have your black president so what else do you want?
I mean Trayvon Martin was not particularly poor and the attack is very closely race-based. It's difficult to explain to people who do not live in this society and even to many white people who do. My wife happens to be African and so half of my family is black. I know that raising black and brown children in this society means constantly watching out for them in case they are targeted by police and by the authorities in general.
Press TV: And finally this should teach a lesson to the police in general in terms of the tactics, the way they handle situations such as this one and we know that they have prepared themselves based on the Occupied Wall Street Movement, the DHS buying them million rounds of ammunition and also how there has been some senators who have been trying to pass laws to put the military deployment onto the streets of mainland USA.
Is the government going to take this as a learning lesson or are we going to see other cases happen in the future?
Welch: Either way it will be a learning lesson, I guarantee that. I'm afraid that instead of being the kind of learning that you are referring to, it is a training exercise to see how the general population responses to this kind of repression and how much they can get away with in the future.
There is a lot of evidence that the militarization of police is dramatically increasing and that this is basically the African-American population in the United States is the epicenter of global US hegemony and conquered it.
Finally this population is the beginning of absolute repression of any resistance to imperial designs.
Press TV has conducted an interview with Daniel Patrick Welch, political analyst from Boston, about the chaotic situation continuing for more than a week in Ferguson, Missouri even as National Guard troops arrived to confront protesters angered by the fatal shooting of an unarmed African-American teen by a white policeman.
What follows is an approximate transcription of the interview
Press TV: Daniel Patrick Welch, it is very interesting what has happened here. We could talk about the police brutality, we could talk about the essence of what has been covered in the news on this which is basically this being a racially charged case.
But there has been comments come from certain corners saying that this more about inequality in the United States and it is more about the economic situation that pretty much characterizes a large percentage of African-Americans in the US and we see it boil over in this form and manner. Do you agree with that assessment?
Welch: I do actual point. I think that's absolutely correct that because African-Americans are overrepresented in the poorest part of the population that they are the first to come under attack and the most likely to rebel under such conditions.
But there are separate things, the African-American population, whether they are poor or not, is under attack by this system and they have been since they were brought over in chains from Africa. You cannot separate, you cannot [conflict] them completely for the class and race aspects of this. Although I will grant you that it is part of a bigger iceberg of discontent over economic situation in the country.
Press TV: Well one of the things that is interesting is that a country like the United States given the fact that now it has had an African-American President for the past term and half nearing its end you would think that race would have subsided in terms of the outlet whether it is from the common average American or whether in this case of course the police and the way they actually view and handle African-Americans in general. And some stats indicate that the percentage has increased in terms of the way that people look at African-Americans.
What do you think that is? Is it the media? Is it from schooling? What do you attribute that to?
Welch: There are several things playing out. I think that one of the problems is that there are two very different realities being lived by African-Americans and white Americans and other Americans of color in this society and often times what we had with the promise of a post-racial society was just complete nonsense and the problem is that many white Americans have taken it on as a sort of a so there, well you have your black president so what else do you want?
I mean Trayvon Martin was not particularly poor and the attack is very closely race-based. It's difficult to explain to people who do not live in this society and even to many white people who do. My wife happens to be African and so half of my family is black. I know that raising black and brown children in this society means constantly watching out for them in case they are targeted by police and by the authorities in general.
Press TV: And finally this should teach a lesson to the police in general in terms of the tactics, the way they handle situations such as this one and we know that they have prepared themselves based on the Occupied Wall Street Movement, the DHS buying them million rounds of ammunition and also how there has been some senators who have been trying to pass laws to put the military deployment onto the streets of mainland USA.
Is the government going to take this as a learning lesson or are we going to see other cases happen in the future?
Welch: Either way it will be a learning lesson, I guarantee that. I'm afraid that instead of being the kind of learning that you are referring to, it is a training exercise to see how the general population responses to this kind of repression and how much they can get away with in the future.
There is a lot of evidence that the militarization of police is dramatically increasing and that this is basically the African-American population in the United States is the epicenter of global US hegemony and conquered it.
Finally this population is the beginning of absolute repression of any resistance to imperial designs.
***The Bard Of The North Adamsville
High School Class Of 1964, “Say What?”
For Linda, Class Of 1964
Frank Jackman, Class Of 1964, comment:
For a while now since this the 50th anniversary of the year I graduated from North Adamsville High School (Massachusetts) in the Class of 1964 I have been producing little sketches, not really much more than that, about different people, places and events back in those days which might be worthy of remembrance, my remembrance anyway, for a class website which the reunion committee established for just such a purpose. Well, maybe not quite that purpose but rather for one and all to make comments in the Message Forum section. Of course the average 60s refugee whether he or she was soaked by what happened when that new beginning wave hit our generation, a generation I call the generation of ’68 to separate us out from the generation before ours, our parents that sloshed through the 1930s Great Depression and shed blood during World War II, and the generations after us, the assorted “me”, X,Y,Z and millennial generations, was only on the edge of the communications technological revolution and so the average comment there is a couple or three sentences. Sentences centered on the wow of grandchildren, the aches and pains of growing old, the travelogues of retirement and a nod, a mere nod to the old times that fellow classmates remember, remember truthfully or not.
So naturally nobody was ready for someone who was ready, willing, and able to spout forth for cyber-pages about some long forgotten Thanksgiving football rally, the class sweethearts at fifty years of togetherness, the do’s and don’ts of watching the “submarine race” down at Adamsville Beach at midnight, the celebration of the Fourth of July in the 1950s, Ida’s Bakery, Jesus, Ida’s Bakery for God’s sake, and the like. That deluge is what prompted one well-meaning (I assume) fellow classmate who suffered from scroll-itis and eye strain from the work she endured to finish reading the stuff to write me and inquire what the heck I was doing to disturb the domestic tranquility of the site. And this is how I replied- on the website of course:
Recently someone from my high school class, Linda, whose last name shall be omitted not out of consideration for her sensibilities but rather to avoid the long litigation which I am sure would ensue if I mentioned her last name and others clamored on and on about why their names were not included, wrote an e-mail, a friendly e-mail I assume, asking me if I, with this never-ending (my word, she just said “a lot of”) stream of stories about the old days at early 1960s North Adamsville High, was trying to be the bard (her word, not mine) of the Class of 1964. I rapidly replied with this short answer- “What, are you kidding?”(Although I wish I had said the faux- hip, “say what?,” used in the headline to this entry). Later though, after I thought about it for a while, I realized that I did (and do) mean to be ONE of the latter-day voices of our class. Why? I have, with all due modesty, the perfect resume for the job. Here it is:
I belonged to no in-school clubs. You know those old time organizations meant to keep kids building their resumes for whatever purpose. For those who maybe don’t know, or can’t quite remember those activities pursued were things like the intramural (and sex segregated if you can believe that) bowling leagues at the two alleys in our side of town (I am still scratching my head over that sex-segregated thing like some off-hand hanky-panky was going to occur in the benighted alleys. I guess I will still have to keep scratching on that one), the chess club where the dweebs (I am not sure we called them that then but you know who I mean) went nutty over the latest Russian chess master’s move, and the stamp club, Christ, the stamp club where that crew went crazy if they received some letter from a foreign country to collect the stamp.
The only club that I might have been interested in would have been the Glee Club although not for the reasons that you might suspect. Problem was I couldn’t (can’t) sing, sing outside the shower or the third floor of my house which in the interest of being merciful to the neighbors I am relegated to so that club was out. Although I was tempted to join, low-voice, whisper-voice join, white shirt, string tie, black chinos and all because a certain Rosemary I had eyes for sang a very sweet alto, or whatever they call that sing-song voice that made me think of flowered-fields, picnic baskets and, well, it never worked out so I will just say I was smitten, lonely smitten. I don’t remember how serious I was about that prospect but I had in sixth grade gladly low-voiced joined the church choir, the austere and high holy Catholic church choir down at Blessed Sacrament solely (or was it soully) because one Theresa Green sang a very sweet alto in that choir and I was prepared to move heaven and hell to show her I was worthy of consideration. And moreover backed that up by placing a very hard-earned dollar in the collection box which she was in charge of passing to the members to impress her.
(By the way let me leave it at Rosemary, no last names, again since I am still wary of that litigation from certain Susans, Lindas, and Anns who might still feel hurt not to see their names in lights here. Even though if I had approached them in those days I would have received the deep-freeze, a big time deep-freeze, and been dismissed out of hand.)
The same was true for the school newspaper, the unlamented North Star (unlamented not from memory’s window but from a recent view of a faded and yellowed copy which was kind of embarrassing to read since although the material was well-written the subject matter made me wince, you know, some half-baked review of the school play, some suck up job on some now best forgotten teacher, the latest on the doings of the prom committee, the thrill of the senior bake sale, and a profile of some prominent student who we were supposed to bow down to), although in that case it was a Carol whom I would have joined in order to cub report next to (ditto, on leaving out the last name, okay). Except in her case she had a big bruiser of a boyfriend who just happened to play right tackle for the championship Red Raiders school football team. And he made it very clear one time when I actually talked to her for more than about a minute that unless I had an interest in doormats I had better take my ragamuffin, low- rent act elsewhere. (I will use no first or last name for him, maybe I had better not use gender either although I want no misunderstanding about his sexual orientation, for that monster, six three and about two hundred and forty weight-lifted pounds, a brute even now by high school standards who colleges were looking at except his main claim to scholastic achievement was getting caught looking at somebody else’s quiz in English class, even now and not because I fear litigation, no because I fear for my life, and rightly so He must have had other attributes not readily apparent Carol, a very smart young woman, appreciated.) Moreover, I doubt, very seriously doubt, that after about two days I could have kept a straight face while performing my duties as a cub reporter reporting on such hot spot topics as the latest cause bake sale, the latest words of wisdom from Miss (Ms.) Sonos, the newspaper’s faculty advisor, about whatever was on her dippy mind, or “shilling” to drum up an audience for the next big school play. Not “the world is my beat” Frank Jackman. No way.
I, moreover, belonged to no after-school organizations like the art appreciation club, science club, bird-watchers or any of those other odd-ball activities that couldn’t rate enough to get the school-day activity period imprimatur. See, after school was “Frankie’s time,” Frankie Riley held forth inside, in front of, and sometimes behind, Salducci’s Pizza Parlor “up the Downs” (remember that term?) and I was none other than one of Frankie’s corner boys. Not only that but I was his “shill,” his scribe, busy promoting every scheme, every idea, every half-idea, and every screwy notion that made its way into his ill-formed brain. So I had no time to think about whether Titian was a better painter than Botticelli (no) or whether abstract expressionism truly expressed the plight of modern humankind (yes), to create some chemistry experiment that might blow the whole school to smithereens, or the esoteric of macaws and parrots. Nor would I have had time come to think of it to run around for a news “scoop” on the amount raised at some bake sale, what that nutty Sonos had to say on astrophysics or U.F.O’s, or the virtues of some ill-conceived, poorly-acted school play when Frankie beckoned. Even if I had accepted that monsters’ doormat challenge.
I freely admit, freely admit now, after a lifetime of turmoil, of struggle over ten thousand ideas, the fire of a thousand half-ideas, and a few thousand thought-provoking books that had I known about the Great Books Club held after school I might have been drawn to that activity. (As it turned out I would have, once again, been shut out since that club was a “private” invited only affair by the activity advisor who wanted to give his smart kids a leg up and no others.) I spend much time later in life struggling with ideas that could just as easily have been thrashed out then. And, of course, the other problem was that if I had known about the club the only girl that I remember that might have been a member of the club and that I might have wanted to talk to was Sarah (remember we are not using last names in case you forgot), and she was, well, just a stick although I liked to talk to her in class. A lot. (As it turned out she did belong to that club, being one of the advisor’s English pet students, although I knew her from History classes. She also turned out to have been a late-bloomer from a photograph she recently sent me and also learned from her that she was very disappointed that I had not “asked her out” then. Ah, the vagaries of high school!)
Nor did I belong to church-affiliated clubs, Christ no, I was on that long doubting Thomas road away from churchly concerns. (Sorry Brother Ronald although I appreciate that you have done great good in this wicked old world in your churchly organization I lost the faith long ago although I have tried to live my life on the right side of the angels just in case.) Oh, except for one Minnie, yah, sweet Irish rose Minnie, whom I used to sit a few rows behind at 8:00 AM Mass at Sacred Heart and stare at her ass on Sunday. But I could have done that anywhere, and did according to her best friend, Jean, who sat behind me in class and has stated for the record in public as recently as a couple of years ago that I did it every time I could in the corridor and that Minnie knew about it, and kind of liked the idea although a lot of good that knowledge does me now. Moreover Phil Larkin (it’s okay to use his last name because I have already talked about “Foul-Mouth” Phil before, plenty, and he is in no position, no position this side of a four by six cell, to even spell the word litigation in my presence), yah, Phil Larkin moved in on her way before I got up the nerve to do more than watch her sway.
Ditto organizations like the YMCA, Eagle Scouts, or any of those service things. Corner boy life declared such things as strictly corn- ball. Not that I had anything, per se, against joining organizations. What I was though, and this was the attraction of rough-edged, snarly corner boy-ness for me, was alienated from anything that smacked of straight up, of normal, of, well square. Everything mentioned above, except for the girl part. And in that girl part maybe not including a stick like Sarah although I really did like to talk to her in class. She had some great big ideas, and knew how to articulate them. I know she still does. Yes, I know what you are thinking. Instead of watching Minnie sway 24/7 I could have been cheek to cheek with Sarah, discussing stuff and... Don’t you think I haven’t thought about that, Christ?
I also played no major sport that drove a lot of the social networking of the time (I am being polite using that term here: this is a family-friendly site after all. Isn’t it? If it isn’t then upon notice I will be more than happy to “spill the beans” about what was said, how it was said, and by whom about who "did" what every school day Monday morning before school in the boys’ “lav,” or the girls’ “lav” for that matter. And, again I will not worry in the least about litigation. Hey, the truth is a powerful defense.). The sports that did drive me throughout my high school career, track and cross-country, were then very marginal sports for “nerds,” low-rent fake athletes, and other assorted odd-balls, and I was, moreover, overwhelmingly underwhelming at them, to boot. I have recently moved to have my times in various track events declared classified information under a national security blanket just so certain prying eyes like ace-runner Bill Bailey and, naturally, that nemesis Frankie Riley do no gain access to that information for their own nefarious purposes.
Some other qualifications. I did not hang around with the class intellectuals, although I was as obsessed and driven by books, ideas and theories as anyone else at the time, maybe more so. I was also, to be polite again, painfully shy around girls, as my furtive desire for Minnie mentioned above attests to, and therefore somewhat socially backward, although I was privately enthralled by more than one of them. Girls, that is. And to top it all off, to use a term that I think truly describes me then, I was something of a ragamuffin from the town's wrong side of the track, the notorious Bloor Street section over by the bridge to Boston. Oh, did I mentioned that I was also so alienated from the old high school environment that I either threw, or threatened to throw, my yearbook in the nearest river right after graduation; in any case I no longer have it.
Perfect, right? No. Not a complete enough resume? Well how about this. My family, on my mother’s side, had been in the old town since about the time of the “famine ships” from Ireland in the 1840s. I have not gone in depth on the family genealogy but way back when someone in the family was a servant of some sort, to one of the branches of the presidential Adams family. Most of my relatives distance and near, went through the old high school. The streets of the old town were filled with the remnants of the clan. My friends, deny it or not and I sometimes did, the diaspora "old sod" shanty Irish aura of North Adamsville was in the blood.
How else then can one explain, after a forty plus year hiatus, this overweening desire of mine to write about the “Dust Bowl” that served as a training track during my running days. (The field situated just across the street from North Adamsville Middle School, of unblessed memory. Does anyone really want to go back in early teen life? No way.) Or write on the oddness of separate boys’ and girls’ bowling teams during our high school years, as if mixed social contact in that endeavor would lead to s-x, or whatever. Or my taking a “cheap” pot shot at that mysterious “Tri-Hi-Y” (a harmless social organization for women students that I have skewered for its virginal aspirations, its three purities; thoughts, acts, and deeds, or something like that). Or the million other things that pop into my head these days.
Oh yah, I can write, a little. Not unimportant for a bard, right? The soul of a poet, if somewhat deaf to the sweetness of the language. Time and technology has given us an exceptional opportunity to tell our collective story and seek immortality and I want in on that. Old Walt Whitman can sing of America, I will sing of the old town, gladly.
Well, do I get a job? Hey, you can always “fire” me. Just “click” DELETE and move on. Okay, Linda
For Linda, Class Of 1964
Frank Jackman, Class Of 1964, comment:
For a while now since this the 50th anniversary of the year I graduated from North Adamsville High School (Massachusetts) in the Class of 1964 I have been producing little sketches, not really much more than that, about different people, places and events back in those days which might be worthy of remembrance, my remembrance anyway, for a class website which the reunion committee established for just such a purpose. Well, maybe not quite that purpose but rather for one and all to make comments in the Message Forum section. Of course the average 60s refugee whether he or she was soaked by what happened when that new beginning wave hit our generation, a generation I call the generation of ’68 to separate us out from the generation before ours, our parents that sloshed through the 1930s Great Depression and shed blood during World War II, and the generations after us, the assorted “me”, X,Y,Z and millennial generations, was only on the edge of the communications technological revolution and so the average comment there is a couple or three sentences. Sentences centered on the wow of grandchildren, the aches and pains of growing old, the travelogues of retirement and a nod, a mere nod to the old times that fellow classmates remember, remember truthfully or not.
So naturally nobody was ready for someone who was ready, willing, and able to spout forth for cyber-pages about some long forgotten Thanksgiving football rally, the class sweethearts at fifty years of togetherness, the do’s and don’ts of watching the “submarine race” down at Adamsville Beach at midnight, the celebration of the Fourth of July in the 1950s, Ida’s Bakery, Jesus, Ida’s Bakery for God’s sake, and the like. That deluge is what prompted one well-meaning (I assume) fellow classmate who suffered from scroll-itis and eye strain from the work she endured to finish reading the stuff to write me and inquire what the heck I was doing to disturb the domestic tranquility of the site. And this is how I replied- on the website of course:
Recently someone from my high school class, Linda, whose last name shall be omitted not out of consideration for her sensibilities but rather to avoid the long litigation which I am sure would ensue if I mentioned her last name and others clamored on and on about why their names were not included, wrote an e-mail, a friendly e-mail I assume, asking me if I, with this never-ending (my word, she just said “a lot of”) stream of stories about the old days at early 1960s North Adamsville High, was trying to be the bard (her word, not mine) of the Class of 1964. I rapidly replied with this short answer- “What, are you kidding?”(Although I wish I had said the faux- hip, “say what?,” used in the headline to this entry). Later though, after I thought about it for a while, I realized that I did (and do) mean to be ONE of the latter-day voices of our class. Why? I have, with all due modesty, the perfect resume for the job. Here it is:
I belonged to no in-school clubs. You know those old time organizations meant to keep kids building their resumes for whatever purpose. For those who maybe don’t know, or can’t quite remember those activities pursued were things like the intramural (and sex segregated if you can believe that) bowling leagues at the two alleys in our side of town (I am still scratching my head over that sex-segregated thing like some off-hand hanky-panky was going to occur in the benighted alleys. I guess I will still have to keep scratching on that one), the chess club where the dweebs (I am not sure we called them that then but you know who I mean) went nutty over the latest Russian chess master’s move, and the stamp club, Christ, the stamp club where that crew went crazy if they received some letter from a foreign country to collect the stamp.
The only club that I might have been interested in would have been the Glee Club although not for the reasons that you might suspect. Problem was I couldn’t (can’t) sing, sing outside the shower or the third floor of my house which in the interest of being merciful to the neighbors I am relegated to so that club was out. Although I was tempted to join, low-voice, whisper-voice join, white shirt, string tie, black chinos and all because a certain Rosemary I had eyes for sang a very sweet alto, or whatever they call that sing-song voice that made me think of flowered-fields, picnic baskets and, well, it never worked out so I will just say I was smitten, lonely smitten. I don’t remember how serious I was about that prospect but I had in sixth grade gladly low-voiced joined the church choir, the austere and high holy Catholic church choir down at Blessed Sacrament solely (or was it soully) because one Theresa Green sang a very sweet alto in that choir and I was prepared to move heaven and hell to show her I was worthy of consideration. And moreover backed that up by placing a very hard-earned dollar in the collection box which she was in charge of passing to the members to impress her.
(By the way let me leave it at Rosemary, no last names, again since I am still wary of that litigation from certain Susans, Lindas, and Anns who might still feel hurt not to see their names in lights here. Even though if I had approached them in those days I would have received the deep-freeze, a big time deep-freeze, and been dismissed out of hand.)
The same was true for the school newspaper, the unlamented North Star (unlamented not from memory’s window but from a recent view of a faded and yellowed copy which was kind of embarrassing to read since although the material was well-written the subject matter made me wince, you know, some half-baked review of the school play, some suck up job on some now best forgotten teacher, the latest on the doings of the prom committee, the thrill of the senior bake sale, and a profile of some prominent student who we were supposed to bow down to), although in that case it was a Carol whom I would have joined in order to cub report next to (ditto, on leaving out the last name, okay). Except in her case she had a big bruiser of a boyfriend who just happened to play right tackle for the championship Red Raiders school football team. And he made it very clear one time when I actually talked to her for more than about a minute that unless I had an interest in doormats I had better take my ragamuffin, low- rent act elsewhere. (I will use no first or last name for him, maybe I had better not use gender either although I want no misunderstanding about his sexual orientation, for that monster, six three and about two hundred and forty weight-lifted pounds, a brute even now by high school standards who colleges were looking at except his main claim to scholastic achievement was getting caught looking at somebody else’s quiz in English class, even now and not because I fear litigation, no because I fear for my life, and rightly so He must have had other attributes not readily apparent Carol, a very smart young woman, appreciated.) Moreover, I doubt, very seriously doubt, that after about two days I could have kept a straight face while performing my duties as a cub reporter reporting on such hot spot topics as the latest cause bake sale, the latest words of wisdom from Miss (Ms.) Sonos, the newspaper’s faculty advisor, about whatever was on her dippy mind, or “shilling” to drum up an audience for the next big school play. Not “the world is my beat” Frank Jackman. No way.
I, moreover, belonged to no after-school organizations like the art appreciation club, science club, bird-watchers or any of those other odd-ball activities that couldn’t rate enough to get the school-day activity period imprimatur. See, after school was “Frankie’s time,” Frankie Riley held forth inside, in front of, and sometimes behind, Salducci’s Pizza Parlor “up the Downs” (remember that term?) and I was none other than one of Frankie’s corner boys. Not only that but I was his “shill,” his scribe, busy promoting every scheme, every idea, every half-idea, and every screwy notion that made its way into his ill-formed brain. So I had no time to think about whether Titian was a better painter than Botticelli (no) or whether abstract expressionism truly expressed the plight of modern humankind (yes), to create some chemistry experiment that might blow the whole school to smithereens, or the esoteric of macaws and parrots. Nor would I have had time come to think of it to run around for a news “scoop” on the amount raised at some bake sale, what that nutty Sonos had to say on astrophysics or U.F.O’s, or the virtues of some ill-conceived, poorly-acted school play when Frankie beckoned. Even if I had accepted that monsters’ doormat challenge.
I freely admit, freely admit now, after a lifetime of turmoil, of struggle over ten thousand ideas, the fire of a thousand half-ideas, and a few thousand thought-provoking books that had I known about the Great Books Club held after school I might have been drawn to that activity. (As it turned out I would have, once again, been shut out since that club was a “private” invited only affair by the activity advisor who wanted to give his smart kids a leg up and no others.) I spend much time later in life struggling with ideas that could just as easily have been thrashed out then. And, of course, the other problem was that if I had known about the club the only girl that I remember that might have been a member of the club and that I might have wanted to talk to was Sarah (remember we are not using last names in case you forgot), and she was, well, just a stick although I liked to talk to her in class. A lot. (As it turned out she did belong to that club, being one of the advisor’s English pet students, although I knew her from History classes. She also turned out to have been a late-bloomer from a photograph she recently sent me and also learned from her that she was very disappointed that I had not “asked her out” then. Ah, the vagaries of high school!)
Nor did I belong to church-affiliated clubs, Christ no, I was on that long doubting Thomas road away from churchly concerns. (Sorry Brother Ronald although I appreciate that you have done great good in this wicked old world in your churchly organization I lost the faith long ago although I have tried to live my life on the right side of the angels just in case.) Oh, except for one Minnie, yah, sweet Irish rose Minnie, whom I used to sit a few rows behind at 8:00 AM Mass at Sacred Heart and stare at her ass on Sunday. But I could have done that anywhere, and did according to her best friend, Jean, who sat behind me in class and has stated for the record in public as recently as a couple of years ago that I did it every time I could in the corridor and that Minnie knew about it, and kind of liked the idea although a lot of good that knowledge does me now. Moreover Phil Larkin (it’s okay to use his last name because I have already talked about “Foul-Mouth” Phil before, plenty, and he is in no position, no position this side of a four by six cell, to even spell the word litigation in my presence), yah, Phil Larkin moved in on her way before I got up the nerve to do more than watch her sway.
Ditto organizations like the YMCA, Eagle Scouts, or any of those service things. Corner boy life declared such things as strictly corn- ball. Not that I had anything, per se, against joining organizations. What I was though, and this was the attraction of rough-edged, snarly corner boy-ness for me, was alienated from anything that smacked of straight up, of normal, of, well square. Everything mentioned above, except for the girl part. And in that girl part maybe not including a stick like Sarah although I really did like to talk to her in class. She had some great big ideas, and knew how to articulate them. I know she still does. Yes, I know what you are thinking. Instead of watching Minnie sway 24/7 I could have been cheek to cheek with Sarah, discussing stuff and... Don’t you think I haven’t thought about that, Christ?
I also played no major sport that drove a lot of the social networking of the time (I am being polite using that term here: this is a family-friendly site after all. Isn’t it? If it isn’t then upon notice I will be more than happy to “spill the beans” about what was said, how it was said, and by whom about who "did" what every school day Monday morning before school in the boys’ “lav,” or the girls’ “lav” for that matter. And, again I will not worry in the least about litigation. Hey, the truth is a powerful defense.). The sports that did drive me throughout my high school career, track and cross-country, were then very marginal sports for “nerds,” low-rent fake athletes, and other assorted odd-balls, and I was, moreover, overwhelmingly underwhelming at them, to boot. I have recently moved to have my times in various track events declared classified information under a national security blanket just so certain prying eyes like ace-runner Bill Bailey and, naturally, that nemesis Frankie Riley do no gain access to that information for their own nefarious purposes.
Some other qualifications. I did not hang around with the class intellectuals, although I was as obsessed and driven by books, ideas and theories as anyone else at the time, maybe more so. I was also, to be polite again, painfully shy around girls, as my furtive desire for Minnie mentioned above attests to, and therefore somewhat socially backward, although I was privately enthralled by more than one of them. Girls, that is. And to top it all off, to use a term that I think truly describes me then, I was something of a ragamuffin from the town's wrong side of the track, the notorious Bloor Street section over by the bridge to Boston. Oh, did I mentioned that I was also so alienated from the old high school environment that I either threw, or threatened to throw, my yearbook in the nearest river right after graduation; in any case I no longer have it.
Perfect, right? No. Not a complete enough resume? Well how about this. My family, on my mother’s side, had been in the old town since about the time of the “famine ships” from Ireland in the 1840s. I have not gone in depth on the family genealogy but way back when someone in the family was a servant of some sort, to one of the branches of the presidential Adams family. Most of my relatives distance and near, went through the old high school. The streets of the old town were filled with the remnants of the clan. My friends, deny it or not and I sometimes did, the diaspora "old sod" shanty Irish aura of North Adamsville was in the blood.
How else then can one explain, after a forty plus year hiatus, this overweening desire of mine to write about the “Dust Bowl” that served as a training track during my running days. (The field situated just across the street from North Adamsville Middle School, of unblessed memory. Does anyone really want to go back in early teen life? No way.) Or write on the oddness of separate boys’ and girls’ bowling teams during our high school years, as if mixed social contact in that endeavor would lead to s-x, or whatever. Or my taking a “cheap” pot shot at that mysterious “Tri-Hi-Y” (a harmless social organization for women students that I have skewered for its virginal aspirations, its three purities; thoughts, acts, and deeds, or something like that). Or the million other things that pop into my head these days.
Oh yah, I can write, a little. Not unimportant for a bard, right? The soul of a poet, if somewhat deaf to the sweetness of the language. Time and technology has given us an exceptional opportunity to tell our collective story and seek immortality and I want in on that. Old Walt Whitman can sing of America, I will sing of the old town, gladly.
Well, do I get a job? Hey, you can always “fire” me. Just “click” DELETE and move on. Okay, Linda
****************
Update on Jamil Al AminJuly 17th, 2014 Lynne wants everyone to know that Jamil is now at Butner Medical Center (federal prison facility) and we all must continue to pay close attention to his situation and make sure he gets good treatment while there.The will be an update TONIGHT (7/17) at 8pm Eastern on the WBAI program Where We Live. Click here to go to the WBAI website and stream live tonight. Emergency Meeting for Jamil Al Amin!July 15th, 2014Calling all people of conscience in New York. Please Forward Widely. As you know, political prisoner Imam Jamil Al Amin (AKA H. Rap Brown) is in medical crisis. Please join the Campaign to Bring Mumia Home in this public response to his condition and incarceration. We welcome co-sponsors and co-organizers to this event. Please spread the word in your networks. Flyer below and attached. Also note the petition and letter from his wife, Sister Karima Al Amin, Esq. below with an update on his condition and numbers to call. Also listen to interview with Sis Karima and Ramsey Clark on WBAI’s Law and Disorder this Monday morning. (MP3) Wed July 16 at 7PM Bluestockings Bookstore 172 Allen Street Petition https://www.causes.com/posts/919704-and-what-answer-will-you-give-for-abandoning-your-brother People of conscience should
Letter from his wife, Karima Al Amin, Attorney at Law, with more details on his condition. There are several updates on the internet, but this is where we are at this point:
1.) Imam Jamil has had a dental problem for more than a year, which resulted in swollen jaws, broken teeth, and the inability to swallow;
2.) He lost 29 lbs. over a three-week period;
3.) His legs, feet and ankles have been swollen; and
4.) He went through a two-week period whereby he could not get out of his bed except for two times a day.
He attempted to see a physician at ADX, but instead saw a physician’s assistant who gave him water pills, and antibiotics weeks after his second extraction.
Based on people calling and inquiries from two Congressional reps, ADX finally took blood and urine tests. Results were shared with Imam Jamil, on June 23, 2014, a day after Attorney Ramsey Clark completed his visit with him at the ADX. The Regional Medical Director discussed the preliminary findings with Imam Jamil and said the findings suggested that he may have Multiple Myeloma–cancer of the plasma cells, and the stage would be confirmed once he had a bone marrow biopsy. If he has not reached stage 1 of the condition, then it would suggest that he has MGUS, which is a pre-Multiple Myeloma condition. Imam Jamil’s take on the discussion was that he had cancer, and the stage would be confirmed once he has the biopsy.
Based on this information, his age (70 years), and the symptoms, we are calling for his immediate transfer to a federal medical center, Butner, NC, or Rochester, MN, where he could receive the appropriate monitoring and medical care.
I hope this information is useful. Please let me know if you need additional information. We appreciate your assistance.
Best,
Karima
Support Imam Jamil Al-Amin aka H. Rap Brown!July 11th, 2014 From: Karima Al-Amin I do want to send information to you, and folks are circulating numbers to call and things to do. Just briefly, Imam Jamil has been ill for quite some time, i.e., loss of 29 lbs., abscesses in his mouth–swollen jaw, difficulty breathing, swollen feet and ankles, weakness, and fatigue. We launched a campaign for people to contact Florence ADX, the Federal Bureau of Prisons, and the regional medical division of the FBOP, demanding that he be examined by a physician. After pressure also from two Congressional reps, he finally had blood and urine tests. We then found out that the results revealed perhaps an early stage of Multiple Myeloma–cancer of the plasma cells. With this preliminary diagnosis, he has to have a bone marrow biopsy to determine the stage. We are calling for him to be transferred immediately to a federal medical center (Butner, NC, or Rochester, MN) where he can receive the treatment that ADX failed to give him. Please e-mail the following right now and request that he is moved to the best federal medical facility that can give him the best attention for this particular rare cancer. Include his name and ID#: Jamil Abdullah Al-Amin #99974-555 It is important to say, I am writing to request that Jamil Abdullah Al-Amin #99974-555 is moved from ADMAX, USP to the best federal medical facility that can give him the best attention for this particular rare cancer.
It is important to say, hello I am calling to request that Jamil Abdullah Al-Amin #99974-555 is moved from ADMAX, USP to the best federal medical facility that can give him the best attention for this particular rare cancer.
Federal Bureau of Prisons 320 First Street, NW Washington, DC 20534 July 2014 Blog from LynneJuly 2nd, 2014 My very dear friends, comrades, supporters; Since my prognosis designated July as a terminal date, I decided I better write so that you would know that all is well and we continue to fight on !! In the past months we had a superb trip and rousing events in California — lots of people old and new to continue to share in the joy that I am OUT ! Ralph and I danced in the street in the mission district of San Francisco accompanied by a Leftist Brass Band. We had a barn burner event in Oakland and we traveled to San Jose, Marin County and Sacramento to meet and greet the many supporters who played the all important role that has put me back on the streets. The effort was movement wide and proves what can be done. We just have to muster the will to do it. After we returned to the East we made a visit to Boston and met with many folks of past struggles and of course, their greeting to me was formidable. Right here in my own NYC we participated in the many events surrounding the effort to free Oscar Rivera Lopez, Puerto Rican political prisoner held for 33 years. Hopefully that will happen soon. We also made numerous phone calls and signed petitions on behalf of Abdullah Majid and Jalil Montecalm, Seth Hayes and Jamil el Amin and others I am committed to emptying the jails of our Mandelas. Healthwise I have been keepin’ on. With guidance from my Doctor daughter Zenobia and the folks at Memorial Sloane Kettering I am embarked on an experimental regimen that has shown success in people whose cancer involvement is similar to mine. It is quite rigorous in its scientific discipline and keeps us close to home even when we might want to be away. BUT it is a positive hope and I am determined (as you all know) to beat this affliction into the ground and continue with the WORK. It seems to become more pressing with each day as the predations of capitalism grow more ominous. On the negative side, I continue to have trouble walking and must lean on the good Ralph — literally as I did figuratively for the last 4 years— Side effects from the experimental meds are bothersome but not more. On the Positive side, we have moved from my generous son and daugher in law’s back into the little house i was living in at the time I went to jail. SNAIL MAIL 1676 8th Avenue, Brooklyn, NY 11215 A great deal of family effort and a fair amount of $$$ made this possible but it is so restorative to be living there once again—my books, my old ’60′s posters, the family pictures… Heavenly. I just wish that I could summon up a little more energy to respond to many of you who have reached out to us. Hopefully the new drug will remedy this. We are extremely grateful for all the money raised to help pay for the necessities, medical and otherwise. Now that we are back out in the real world in our own house we have some new needs . Each visit to the Doctors in Manhattan costs at least $100. for parking and etc. If you are in a position and feel inclined to help out, we are always appreciative. Tomorrow I will be at SK to be prodded and poked and then we will join my beloved family upstate for the holiday to be celebrated in a revolutionary manner. It is a good day to think about true revolutionary movements world wide and the people who made them,,not the least of whom are the many brave men and women in the political prisoner gulag of America. LoveStruggle Uprising Radio: Lynne Stewart and Ralph Poynter On Life, Activism, Prison, and FreedomJune 25th, 2014 Famed activist Lawyer Lynne Stewart as freed earlier this year on compassionate release as she battled cancer in prison. The celebrated lawyer who had been incarcerated under post 9-11 “Special Administrative Measures” for sharing her terrorism suspect client’s views with a reporter, was freed after 4 years in prison, where she suffered from late-stage breast cancer and was given only 18 months to live.Progressives all over the nation, led by Stewart’s husband, Ralph Poynter, organized for her release for many months. Lynne Stewart is well known for representing controversial clients, and according to one press account, she “defended America’s poor, underprivileged, unwanted, and forgotten (Indymedia).” Photo: Lynne and Ralph at John Brown’s GraveJune 3rd, 2014 Lynne and Ralph at John Brown’s grave in Lake Placid, NY, 2014. Lynne and Ralph’s Panel at the Left Forum (NYC)May 29th, 2014 Photos: Lynne and Ralph Guest Speakers at Betty Davis’s Philosophy ClassMay 17th, 2014  Ralph Poynter & Lynne Stewart were guest speakers at Betty Davis’s senior class in philosophy on this past Thursday, May 15,2014. Support the new book from Lynne’s former client Tom Manning!May 16th, 2014 Show Your Solidarity and Help Make this Inspiring Book Come Alive!
Tom Manning is a freedom fighter, political prisoner and prolific artist. His paintings are stories that jump off the page, revealing the outlook of people who struggle for liberation around the world. His paintings are about life and his landscapes recall times of importance. The years of work to produce this beautiful book and important document are nearing their end and we need your help to fund the last phase of production! ORDER YOUR COPY TODAY: https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/for-love-and-liberty
Featuring:
All proceeds, after production costs, will be donated to the Rosenberg Fund for Children: Twitter: @wwwrfcorg Facebook:rosenbergfundforchildren
Tom Manning: Freedom Fighter, Political Prisoner
From the Preface by Robby Meerpol:
“Tom’s been incarcerated for 34 years. But even before he received his current life sentence he was trapped by the limited choices left to an impoverished child surviving in Boston’s infamous Maverick Street Projects. The military during the Vietnam era seemed like a way out, but that too became a hellish form of confinement.
Tom broke free, he revolted. He became a revolutionary. He committed the unforgivable sin of confronting today’s great imperial empire, the United States, on its home turf. For that, I expect the prison industrial complex will do its best to keep him confined for as long as it can.”
More info at: https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/for-love-and-libertySupport Sundiata Acoli!May 15th, 2014
Please provide support for Sundiata whatever way you can. If you’re in the region, go to the courthouse on May 28. If not, donate to his legal defense or (if you cannot) send Sundiata your support after checking out his website (link below). The following information is from his webpage. KN
Sundiata gave the Sundiata Acoli Freedom Campaign (SAFC) an update on his May 1st annual review. The parole board will reduce his sentence by only three months, to be taken off the 8-year (illegal) hit they added to his time. He would not be eligible for parole for over four more years. It is important to note that Sundiata has 41 years in prison and is 77 years old. He has maintained a clean record.
Sundiata’s attorney will argue an appeal of denial before the New Jersey Appellate Division in Trenton, New Jersey on May 28, 2014. This is an important and significant day.
http://www.sundiataacoli.org/ |
Contact Us. E-mail us at ralph.poynter at yahoo.com Donate. Click here for information on contributing to the Lynne Stewart Organization. |
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