Dad

My father was born in 1919 and died n 2005(?). To give an idea of the relationship of U.S. history, he was born when Teddy Roosevelt died.

He (my father; I know less about Teddy) wasn't a perfect man, but in many ways he was a very good man. When I say he wasn't perfect, that's not an insult. No one is, though I occasionally still tell the joke that there's only ever been one perfect human who walked the earth, but modesty forbids me to tell you who that is.

He lived in a strange time. He wasn't born in this country, but people who knew him as an adult didn't know that. He almost never mentioned it, and he had no accent and a great vocabulary in English. His family came to the U.S. in two different waves. When the first wave, consisting of several of his brothers, came here, the immigration papers listed the country of origin as Russia. When my father came with his parents and a sister, though they'd come from the same place, the papers said Romania.

Years later, I figured out that the actual place was Moldova, also known as Moldovia. It was part of the Soviet Union and that explained the "Russia" label, because for many years Russia and Soviet Union were used interchangeably, Also, although the Communists had won the revolution in 1917-18, they didn't take over all of what became the Soviet Union, for several years. Also, Moldova kept going back and forth between the nations that dominated it.

Also, in terms of historical interest, he was the last of 10 children and was apparently an accidental birth, which I'm obviously glad occurred. But there was such a broad difference of ages that my father fought in World War II and his oldest brother fought in World War I.

As a father he wasn't always the most attentive, but he was kind. I'm sure I must have been spanked a few times as a child, but  I really don't remember the experience. I know that he yelled at my brother and me from time-to-time, sometimes giving in to laughter when one of us said something funny to defuse that anger.

Anger was an emotion he could deal with. Love and tenderness were harder.

First when I say he could deal with his anger, I wouldn't suggest for a moment that he was mean or a drunk, or any of those things. When he grew up, it was unusual for men to show tenderness, and thus uncomfortable.

Once, when I'd become an adult, for his birthday, I wrote and gave him a long note that expressed my gratitude for all he'd done as a father, including - with my mom - moving the family out of Chicago and to L.A. He later told me, with difficulty and an apparent lump in his throat that it was one of the nicest things anyone had ever given him. Some things are hereditary. That lump's in my throat as I write this.

Usually, when people talk about others having a good sense of humor, they mean either or both of two things: either that they laugh easily at the humor of others or that they can make others laugh. Dad had both types, but he was really good at making people laugh. He told jokes very well and he expressed off-the-cuff wit. He was also one of the easiest audiences I've ever seen for anyone trying to get a laugh, including his wife and kids.

When he died, I didn't cry and wasn't surprised. The remainder of the family seemed very surprised. By that time, I'd moved away from California, so maybe the distance gave a greater perspective. But I could tell he was on the way out. I didn't cry or seem t mourn, because I'd already done it for the previous couple of years. When I did think about him dying, when I was by myself, I would feel teary and sad, but I went through that for quite a while.

So when he did have his final heart attack, when in the hospital for unrelated problems, I had already processed the loss. Plus, his Alzheimer's meant that he really wasn't fully on this side of life for a while.

I miss him.

I no longer think of him every day, but do with some frequency. He's one of the reasons I hope there is a Heaven.

Robert Kennedy

It's probably unexpected to see the mention of a public figure in a work of this type. There will be one other as well. But I think Bobby Kennedy (and that other public figure) belong here just as those do to whom I'm more directly connected.

Bobby was different from his brother Jack. I'm not just talking about their merit as human beings, though I think they were different in that regard as well. Bobby was more down-to-earth. He was a an extremely wealthy man from a very rich family, as were his siblings.

But he didn't act rich.

This was brought home to me the other day when I saw a Twitter posting (yes, I know it's called a "tweet" but not everyone does) from a well-known historian. He posted a photograph I don't remember having seen before. It showed Kennedy, Caesar Chavez (then-head of the United Farm Workers) and a couple of kids from Chavez' community.

Most pictures of politicians and celebrities who to to communities to do greetings and be seen look like the dignitary is there to be photographed. (S)he will stand with 3/4 of their face toward the camera and 1/4 facing the representative of that community and they'll be shaking hands. Or, the politician will be bending down to a child and not facing the camera, but the full face of that politician will be toward the camera.

This photo was different. Kennedy (RFK as he was often referred to) was sitting on a log or on the ground next to Chavez. Both of them were fully-clothed, except for their feet. Both had their socks off and were both watching a couple of kids who sat on the other side of Chavez from Kennedy. Neither was smiling for or looking towards the camera. They were both looking towards, and smiling at the kids. Bobby seemed to take great joy in these children, as he always seemed to with his own.

Though I was too young to remember when, at the beginning of his career, Kennedy had worked for the Senate committee headed by Joseph McCarthy. McCarthy was a bastard who used an anti-Communist cudgel to elevate himself and damage or destroy the careers and lives of others. Though Kennedy was counsel for the minority party, he acted pretty savagely as well.

In those days, Democrats were busy establishing that they could be as anti-Communist as Republicans. It was a strange time. If I had been old enough, I'd have hated the Bobby Kennedy of those days.

As time went on, and particularly after Jack was assassinated, Robert Kennedy gained a maturity and humanity that hadn't been as evident previously.

After resigning as Attorney General, shortly after his brother's death, he ran for the Senate, and became the junior senator from New York. After opposing the expansion of the Viet Nam War, perpetrated by his brother's successor, Lyndon Johnson, he decided to run for the Democratic nomination for president.

It was after winning the California primary on June 4, 1968, that he was shot and killed.

Here are some of the things I think Bobby would have done: Ended the awful Viet Nam War (it ended up lasting into the mid-1970s); Reached a detente with Castro; Investigated the killing of his brother; and, improved the situation for young people, African-Americans, Latinos and unions.

Bobby had been involved with the efforts at rapproachment with Castro, when his brother was in the White House.

Had that war ended as he promised to do, many of the bad things that happened wouldn't have occurred. The youth movement, of which I was an extremely small part wouldn't have lasted as long, because much of the focus was the war. As a result, thousands - if not millions - of young people who descended into the more serious side of the drug culture wouldn't have. Speaking of drugs, many of the soldiers who went into Viet Nam between 1969 and 1975 would never have gone and wouldn't have been exposed to heroin.

Many wouldn't have lost their lives or been forever scarred by that experience.

Outside of the war, many things would have changed, largely - I believe - for the better.

One of the things that historians have debated is the essential goodness or lack of it, in Robert Kennedy. I don't have an absolute answer, though my perception is that he was a very good and decent human being. When you say that, critics will mention Marilyn Monroe.

There's no question that Jack Kennedy had an affair with Marilyn. Some believe that Bobby did as well. Many believe that one or both of the brothers were involved in her death, despite it having been ruled accidental.

Here's what I believe, though I obviously could be wrong.

I think that Bobby was involved in trying to get Marilyn to not go public about her affair with the president. I can't believe he was involved with her death. Here was a man who - by all appearances - was a devout Catholic, unlike his brother who went through the motions. He appeared to love his wife and children.

That doesn't mean he couldn't have an affair, but he didn't seem the type.

I think he put things in motion to make the world a better place(by highlighting the plight of African-Americans, the farm workers, and people in Appalachia, for example) and if he'd had the opportunity, we'd have all been better off.

Alice Zabarsky

Alice Zabarsky

Most of the people I would expect to meet "on the other side," are people I've known and I never knew Alice, but I know a lot about her and I know you've never heard of her, but maybe you should have.

She was my wife's grandmother and she died before I met Alicia (as did her parents - I've never had "in-law problems" in this marriage).

Still, let me tell you some of what I know about her. She and her husband, David, left the Ukraine to escape what many Jews fled in Eastern Europe, the two Ps - Poverty and Pogroms. For those whose history learning didn't include this subject, pogroms were incidents during which the military and/or citizenry arose for no specific reason or an invented reason, and went on a rampage killing Jews and destroying what little property their Jewish population had managed to gather.

Unlike many Eastern Europeans, however, Alice and her husband didn't come to the U.S. Instead, they went to Cuba.

In those years, Cuba was not yet ruled by Fidel Castro. It was ruled by a series of dictators, while the Zabarskys lived there. The later dictator was Batista. Batista was a bastard. It was his stealing and corruption, and the cruelty he leveled on his own people that gave rise to the revolution that Castro initiated.

But oddly, according to what Alice told her granddaughter, Batista was good to Jews. I wouldn't be amazed to learn - though I certainly don't know this - that this was only in comparison to what Jews experienced in the Ukraine (as well as in much of the rest of Eastern Europe), but they felt comfortable there.

They had two children there, including Alicia's mother, of course, and after saving their money they opened and ran a delicatessen, serving Havana's sizable Jewish community and anyone else in Cuba who wanted a pastrami sandwich. I'm sure the sound could be heard far and wide: Me gusta pastrami con cole slaw. 

In any event, despite their comfort level  socially and economically, they had to leave Cuba. It wasn't for politics or economics or religion or war. Alicia's grandfather contracted a malarial disease in Cuba and was told that he could die if he didn't leave the tropical climate. If this were a joke, they'd have decided to move to Miami, but it's not and they moved to Los Angeles.

When her daughter, Ricki, contracted tuberculosis and Ricki's ex-husband didn't jump in to take care of his daughter, Alice and David began to raise Alicia. It should be added that except for now-newly emerging strains of tuberculosis (TB), that disease is now usually cured by a a series of antibiotic treatment. In those days, however - the 1950s - it was still a sometimes fatal ailment, and its cure involved isolation, primitive drugs, and rest.

Alice, who had thought she was done raising young children, wasn't. She made sure Alicia had food (which she often didn't want to eat), clothing, a roof over her head, and anything else she and her husband could provide.

Ricki had been the complete American, despite having been born in Cuba to Ukrainian parents, so she expressed surprise when, on returning home from the City of Hope, where she'd received her TB treatments, she found that little Alicia spoke English with a Jewish (Yiddish) accent.

Alice made sure that when Alicia was sick, despite what the doctor said, that her granddaughter didn't receive any meat until she was over the illness. And she recovered faster as a result. On the down side, she was convinced that the best cure for being sick was an enema. She may have been right, but the experience of being sick in her house couldn't have been pleasant.

Many years after her death from pancreatic cancer, her granddaughter often recalls her as a sweet, kind, funny, strong, and loving presence. If there's a heaven, I know I'm not in charge of deciding who gets in. But from everything I hear and everything I see of her in her descendant, there's no question.

Introduction

Introduction

I'm a writer Jeff Bushman's Writing and this blog is written with the idea of creating a book from it.

Each chapter will be about a person I would expect or hope to meet in heaven if one exists and I ever get there. As that suggests, I'm like about 50% of people in the U.S. (and a higher percentage in other Western industrialized countries - you know the ones they refer to when comparing our medical system and our prison system) who are either atheists or agnostics. Which one I am depends on whether I had a good day or not, or perhaps, a narrow escape.

In any event, I'm at least agnostic about this subject as I am most others. I hope this will find interest in your brain and your gut. If this works, it will be more personal writing than I'm accustomed to doing, so we proceed with that in mind. If this appears klunky, it's because of that lack of familiarity with personal revelation. The last time I did that at all was as an adolescent and it wasn't that comfortable then.

jb