If you can bear it, read the news item, “Negro Worker Lynched for Demanding Pay,” in the Southern Worker, December 12, 1931, pp. 1-2.
There is an editorial on page 4.
Plus, I am posting a few other news stories from the time. The mainstream media gave the lynching only glancing notice. The Baltimore Afro-American was the only newspaper to give it serious coverage.
President Biden made his way on Sunday around a quiet room at Dover Air Force Base, … with dignitaries and grieving families huddling together as the president came to speak to them privately, one family at a time.
Mark Schmitz had told a military officer the night before that he wasn’t much interested in speaking to a president he did not vote for, one whose execution of the Afghan pullout he disdains — and one he now blames for the death of his 20-year-old son Jared.
But overnight, … Schmitz changed his mind. So on that dreary morning he and his ex-wife were approached by Biden after he’d talked to all the other families. … Schmitz glared hard at the president. …. Eventually, the parents took out a photo to show to Biden. I said, “Don’t you ever forget that name. Don’t you ever forget that face. Don’t you ever forget the names of the other 12,” Schmitz said. “And take some time to learn their stories.”
Biden did not seem to like that, Schmitz recalled, and he bristled, offering a blunt response: “I do know their stories.”
‘Don’t you ever forget that name’: Biden’s tough meeting with grieving relatives
By Matt Viser
The Washington Post
August 30, 2021
President Biden did not deserve this. It is the grieving father who, in my opinion, is wrong here.
Wrong to say what he did in the way he said it.
Biden did not, obviously, desire this tragic occurrence, and he is not responsible for it.
Admittedly, policies he recently implemented were an indirect cause for an airport attack in Kabul, Afghanistan last week that resulted in the deaths of thirteen U.S. Marines and service members. But Biden is not personally responsible. The suicide bomber and gunmen were.
Putting this aside, let’s focus on what’s appropriate, what is called for here.
You experience a death in your family. The mourners at the funeral or a wake make an effort to convey their grief and empathy, as do those officiating (a minister or priest, speakers at the service).
One should appreciate that they are there. That perhaps it wasn’t easy for them, that it evokes painful memories in them (such as President Biden’s own) of deaths they have experienced, that they are doing their best to be empathic and to express condolences.
That is all one can expect of others in such circumstances, whether the “others” are officials, family members, or friends. No one can ever share fully — experience fully — the grief of a grieving spouse or parent. To expect them to is self-serving and self-centered.
Everyone experiences in their lifetime moments of bereavement and personal grief. Others can recognize and empathize with yours, but they will never quite experience it (your grief) fully — which is to say, not the way you do.
Was it right to berate President Biden for not being sufficiently sorry (which was assumed with there being no basis for thinking so)?
The PDF file posted here contains the text of the foreword by Avrahm Yarmolinsky to the Modern Library edition of Dostoevsky’s novel The Possessed.
[The Possessed] is book begotten of fear and wrath. Dostoyevsky had drawn indiscriminately on his memories of the Fourierist dreamers with whom he had associated in his youth, and on more recent phases of social and political insurgency, and he freely intermingled these elements. The result was an exaggerated, distorted, anachronistic picture of .gullible fools and fiends with a mania for destruction. And yet The Possessed testifies to the fact that Dostoyevsky was not without some insight into the nature of the upheaval from which he was separated by nearly half a century. It was to be such “an upset as the world has never seen before,” a transformation ruled by a violent intransigent spirit, and going beyond mere political and economic change. In the midst of the stormy events of 1905-06, [Dmitry] Merezhkovsky, on the occasion of the twenty-fifth anniversary of Dostoyevsky’s death, spoke of him as “the prophet of the Russian revolution.” More recently, opponents of the Bolshevik regime have seen in The Possessed a prophetic anticipation of the events of 1917. But if he was a prophet, he was one whose vision was clouded by horror. At bottom what he feared was that the individual, whose needs, he felt, are of a spiritual and irrational order, must be degraded in a Socialist society organized according to a reasoned scheme in the interests of the group. [italics added]
— Avrahm Yarmolinsky, Foreword (excerpt), The Possessed, By Fyodor Dostoevsky; translated by Constance Garnett (The Modern Library, 1930)
Reading works such as Edmund Burke’s Reflections on the Revolution in France and Pitirim A. Sorokin’s The Sociology of Revolution has gotten me thinking about observations such as those made in the passage above; and so have recent developments in the US, where supposedly correct thinking people are being driven mad by abstractions to impose their “ideologically correct” edicts and sanctions.
My older brother was the starting third baseman for our high school baseball team.
According to a story he told me, our English teacher, Robert W. Tighe, was in the stands watching a game one day in which my brother was playing, with an acquaintance of his (the teacher’s, that is), a New York Yankees scout. Mr. Tighe was, despite growing up in Massachusetts and attending college there, a diehard Yankees fan.
Mr. Tighe, according to my brother’s story — as Mr. Tighe told him afterwards — asked the scout, so what do you think of the third baseman? He is one of my best students. (I am paraphrasing.)
“Tell him to stick to his books,” the scout replied.
The following is a passage from one of many politically oriented articles by Theodore Dreiser in the 1930s and 40s:
“Life is and ever must be an equation between all sorts of contending forces—in a fair and maintainable balance. Neither chemically nor physically nor socially nor financially can it be workably run off into unbalance. In chemistry and physics explosions follow—disastrous and frightful to behold. And of humanity, collectively and socially assembled under forms of government the same thing is true. Where financial or social unbalance sets in and a few, because of their extorted wealth, set themselves apart and above the many and fail to see how necessarily interrelated they are either for good or for ill, you have either (1) revolution and so a restoration of balance or (2) where equity is defeated and inequity prevails you have death of that land or nation. If you do not believe this, consider Rome that declined and fell with the arrival of the Caesars; Italy that plundered up to the days of Mussolini; France, the monarchical France that ended with the French Revolution; Autocratic Russia that ended with the Russian Revolution; completely Autocratic England that ended (for a time) with King John and Magna Charta [sic]; the Roman religious autocracy that ended with Martin Luther; Autocratic China that ended with the Boxer Rebellion. No equity or social balance—no peace and finally no government.’
from “Theodore Dreiser Condemns War,” by Theodore Dreiser, People’s World, April 6, 1940
When I was in Germany two weeks ago, I was fortunate enough to be able to see the Nuremburg War Trials and although my untrained eye as legal matters go missed probably much of what went on, I feel that you would be interested to hear what I heard and saw. Fifty American soldiers are allowed to see the trials at each session there being two a day, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. Those honored enough to go sit in the end of the press gallery in the last two rows, and if someone holding a ticket for the seats in the rear comes in the solider must give his seat up to the individual and step outside the courtroom if there are no other empty seats available. On the morning that I attended there were scads of empty seats and no soldier was bothered to make a readjustment in his seating arrangement. On the left arm of each seat, there is a Watson device† consisting of a pair of earphones and a switch on a small box attached to the arm on which are written numbers 1,2,3,4, and 5. Printed instructions mimeographed on paper tell you that 1 stands for the speaker, 2 for the English translator, 3 for the Russian translator, 4 for the French and 5 for the German. The mimeograph sheets also show you the seating arrangement of the court which you see in the distance below you. Separating the press box from the courtroom is a wall of varnished wood on the other side of which sit the honored guests twenty or so. Farther to the front are four tables at which sit the prosecutors of each country. Over on the right underneath the flags of France, Britain, Russia and United States sit the judges on a raised dais something like the Supreme Court. There are two judges for each country all wearing the law robes that are customary in their respective nations except in the Russians who come in Military Uniform. The courtroom is small and built in the shape of a square. Continuing around to the third side of the square, one comes to the witness stand in front of which there is a microphone. Further along on the same side but raised on a platform sit various Allied military officials who have a job in the trial but I am not able to recall just what. Right alongside them are the interpreters each with a microphone in front of them. On the last remaining side are the defendants or the criminals seated in two rows of ten and eleven the last row being elevated somewhat above the front one. Behind them as you have undoubtedly seen in the newsreels are the line of smart attired MP’s. On the courtroom floor in front of the defendants are their lawyers – quite a crowd of them as numerous as the defendants themselves and dressed in German legal garb which on some run to lavender. That is a brief description of what the court looks like when in session. One must not forget to mention the strong indirect lighting that floods the room just as if the whole scene before you was in a Hollywood studio and all the cameras were just out of view. The lights are so strong several of the defendants wore dark glasses, Doenitz being one of them. In addition when the courtroom is in session, everyone there present wears the earphones to understand what is being said through the interpreters who are only just one sentence behind what the person on the witness stand is saying, I found that listening with the earphones gave one a mild headache after awhile. It appeared that the trial is wearing the defendants down slowly due to the day after day grind of being under the powerful lights and listening through the earphones. Before the trial began that morning the prisoners were quite talkative of koking [sic] with each other. They all carried conversations with each other as if they were the best of friends. All wore civilian clothes with the exception of the military and naval defendants like Keitel, Jodl, Doenitz and Raeder. However no decorations were showing. The prisoners came into the courtroom at around nine thirty the court did not really get into session until ten-fifteen after everyone became settled and the intercommunication handled by U.S. sailors was found in perfect working condition. The witness for the day was Marie-Claude Vaillant Couturier a French Communist and a member for the underground who had been taken into custody by the Gestapo and sent to Auschwitz in Poland along with two hundred and fifty other French women. In her testimony she related what had happened to her, what she saw, and what she heard from others who were in the same camp she. [sic] The French prosecutor simply let her tell her story only interrupting in the hour and half testimony to ask a question here and there to bring out more strongly the cruelty of the SS and those under them who carried out their orders. It would take too long to tell her story delivered in slow spoken but crystal clear French so perfect and distinct that I could understand her perfectly at times when the vocabulary was in my range without listening to the English translator. It may be French law procedure but much of what she told would be thrown out in our courts at home simply because it was hearsay and was not seen by the witness herself. Her testimony was all that was accomplished at the morning session that I attended. From what I read in the Stars and Stripes the afternoon session tried to attach guilt on some of the defendants for what happened there. The famous criminals did not appear moved by what she said. To them all that she said was undoubtedly repetitious but I should believe that day after day of hearing of such horror and bestiality would wear them down. Franz von Papen was the only one out of the twenty who did not wear earphones and he was bent over his face in his hands. Others had their eyes closed but their earphones on and whether they were listening I could not tell, The solider next to me had a pair of field glasses which enabled me to get a closeup of the faces of the men and of the witness so close that you thought they were speaking to you. Goering’s face was very creased and his eyes sunken in his head while his overflow of flesh lay loose and slack on his face. He has of course lost much weight. Ribbentrop looked quite old as his hair had turned gray and Hess looked ill with a very drawn and ashy visage. I could not tell much about the rest, Von Neurath appearing the handsomest and Speer seeming to be in very good health. The witness appeared to have a pleasant face but very full of sorrow and several times her eyes filled with tears and her voice broke when she related about such things as Jewish babies being thrown into furnaces alive because they had run out of gas. At other times she was talking in a very tired voice repeating as if for the thousandth time that which she told. Such was the morning session that I saw which folded up abruptly at eleven thirty.
Much love
[signed] Bunky
How is Peter?‡ And Smitty what are you doing now? Are you going to Harvard or what are you doing? Drop a line, let me know as I am interested. Quinn§ wrote me telling me that you and himself were discharged and giving me a lot of news of the rest of the gang. Will see you all when I arrive in Boston – which may not be until Jully – so still drop a line.**
* Alan W. and Elinor H. Smith.
† A reference to Thomas J. Watson, Chairman of IBM.
‡ Firstborn child of Alan and Elinor Smith.
§ This might be Thomas Francis Quinn (1911-1983) of Somerville, MA.
** The postscript is in Bunky’s own hand.
Posted here is a letter to my father Alan W. Smith (“Smitty”) and mother, Elinor Handy Smith, from my father’s good friend “Bunky” Morrison, dated February 17, 1946. Morrison witnessed Nuremberg trial proceedings on the morning of Monday, January 28, 1946. In his letter he mentions the testimony of Marie Claude-Valliant-Couturier, a former member of the French Resistance who spent three years at Auschwitz. She provided testimony concerning atrocities she observed at the camp. She was examined by French prosecutor Charles Dubost. The date of her testimony was January 28, 1946.
My father served in the U.S. Army from April 1942 until January 1946 with the rank of First Lieutenant, He served in Panama.
Also posted here below is a photo of my father with his Army buddies taken in New York City in September 1942. Bunky Morrison is the furthest to the right; to his left is my father.
Bunky was a nickname; I do not know Bunky’s birth name.
Since I do not remember or know Bunky’s full name, I have been unable to find his military record, Morrison being a common surname. I am still trying by searching sites such as ancestry to identify him. I have a memory of his being a good friend of my parents. I probably met him when I was young, but I cannot recall.
I have discovered “Bunky” Morrison’s identity. He was Frederick Albert (Fred) Morrison (1913-1973) of Somerville, Massachusetts, a town between Cambridge (where my father lived in the 1940s and 50s) and Arlington (where my father was born and raised and graduated from high school).
Fred Morrison graduated from Somerville High School in 1932.
Around the time of his enlistment, Fred was working in a cigar store on Massachusetts Avenue in Cambridge.
It took painstaking detective work to find this information. My wife helped me confirm that the Fred Morrison of the high school yearbook photo was the same person in the photo of my father with his Army buddies in 1942. Confirmation was also made through handwriting analysis (a comparison of a note. in his own hand, at the end of Morrison’s letter, and his signature on his draft registration card) .
Photo taken in New York City, September 1942. “Bunky” Morrison to far right. Alan W. Smith on his left.
I am in our living room this afternoon, thinking about going out.
Beautiful day. My wife was out.
A light tapping at the thick front door. Not a knock. Tapping. So faint; rare. Almost never occurs. Usually they ring bell. My wife will knock loudly sometimes if she’s coming home with groceries.
I open door and there are three little girls probably age seven to eight to preadolescent standing there. So cute and innocent looking — true is it not of most kids?
They live next door. A family from Yemen. One of the older girls had a head scarf. The father runs a deli/bodega on the corner that his father started.
There are a few adult women living there whom I rarely see. It seems that Muslim women remain indoors unless business calls them outside.
One day I encountered them standing on the front steps. They had head and face coverings. I thought they might not be willing to speak to me. Instead, they returned my greeting politely with friendly smiles.
The three girls explained to me that they had lost three (!) balls on our garage roof. I often hear them playing (rare with kids in NYC … music to my ears) in our common back yard or in the narrow space between our house and theirs.
Is there any way we could get access to the garage roof and retrieve the balls? I thought we could, but wasn’t sure.
If we can’t do that, they said next — before leaving — if, by any chance, we have a tall ladder, they would be willing to climb up it and get the balls themselves.
I told them I would see what I could do. They said thanks and left.
Except the youngest girl hesitated. She stood there with a fixed gaze, so innocent. Beautiful black eyes. Then she said bye and left too.
The world of childhood. Psychoanalyst Selma Fraiberg called them “the magic years.”
What preoccupies them. Their lack of guile. Their innocence.
The jurors had left the courtroom by the time Mr. Chauvin was handcuffed and led away, but when Mr. Mitchell saw video of him being taken into custody, he said he felt compassion for him. “He’s a human too,” he said.
“I almost broke down from that,” he said. “We decided his life. That’s tough. That’s tough to deal with. Even though it’s the right decision, it’s still tough.”
— “Derek Chauvin Juror: ‘We All Agreed at Some Point That It Was Too Much’; Brandon Mitchell, a basketball coach, says video of George Floyd’s death and prosecution medical expert witness were crucial evidence,” By Joe Barrett and Deena Winter, The Wall Street Journal, April 29, 2021
Brandon Mitchell was one of four blacks on the Chauvin trial jury.
