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October 2001 - Issue 30
Thoughts After Tuesday To Our Readers: Due to the horrendous events perpetrated against the
people of the United States of America on September 11, 2001, we have
postponed our usual Halloween issue to bring you: THOUGHTS AFTER TUESDAY.
The essays that follow demonstrate that the power of the pen is, indeed,
mighty. We are each warriors of the word, no matter what land we call
home. The Staff of the Emporium Gazette proudly acknowledges that we
are citizens of the USA. We mourn for our fallen brethren and we hope
for peace through strength. Denise Vitola, Editor-in-Chief
We have our guidelines available for your convenience and have posted our planned monthly themes so you can submit your writing to us. Sign up to receive the Emporium Gazette monthly.
IN CELEBRATION OF LIFE AN ATTACK OF HATE THE VALLEY OF EVIL WAGING WAR, TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY STYLE POETRY WORLD: VIEWS IN RHYME BLACK TUESDAY A PATRIOTIC ESSAY FROM ANOTHER ANGLE AND THE KING WEPT
Quotation When I despair, I remember that all through history
the ways of truth and love have always won. There have been tyrants,
and murderers, and for a time they can seem invincible, but in the end
they always fall. Think of it...always. |
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In Celebration
of Life
This morning I did something really life-affirming, and it was wonderful. I participated in Portland's "Race for the Cure," a fund-raising event for breast cancer research. An estimated 45,000 people, mostly women, participated along side me. About one in fifty was wearing the pink t-shirt and cap which designated them as a cancer survivor, including our Mayor, Vera Katz, who walked through the crowd hugging other survivors and thanking all of us for participating. The race organizers considered canceling the event, because of security concerns and the wish to show our support and condolences to the families of the dead, injured and missing. After meeting with the Mayor, and the Portland Police and the FBI, they decided that it would be good for the community to go forward with the race. I'm glad they did. People carried American flags, they wore red-white-and-blue ribbons in their hair, and they led dogs on leashes decorated with red-white-and-blue bandanas. People were smiling. People were hugging survivors, or each other, or just touching hands in support, love and unity. Elsewhere in my life, my Republican friends are blasting the Clinton administration for being responsible for the current crisis, and my Democratic friends are worried that Bush is going to run headlong into a war he doesn't have the experience to understand. My Jewish friends are discounting the statements in the press that our support of Israel has caused the backlash against us, and my Palestinian friends are saying that, although they do not support Bin Laden's actions, they have felt neglected by U.S. aid which is so prevalent elsewhere. I hold my hands to my ears to shut out the bird-like squabbling and search for truths of my own, but they are hard to find. This morning 45,000 of us walked together in unity and in harmony, setting aside political differences. It was, I think, the most powerful time of healing and positive energy I've ever been a part of. Would that we could harness that energy and love and send THAT out into the world, instead of missiles. What a force that would be! God bless us all. * * * * * Terrie Murray is the travel writing editor and editorial assistant for the Emporium Gazette, and is a freelance nature and travel writer from Portland, Oregon. She can be reached through her website, Aviella's Inkwell: Writings From the Pacific Northwest (http://www.aviellasinkwell.com).
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Good Samaritan #1 In Portland, Oregon, members of the Northwest Medical Teams, who will be heading to New York City to assist in the rescue effort, brought huge banners to the town square. Local residents signed the banners with heart-felt messages of support to the victims and their families. The banners will be delivered to the Mayor of New York. Also in Portland, a resident dismayed by the random acts of violence and threats against people of the Muslim faith following Tuesday's tragedy delivered a bouquet of hand-picked garden roses to Portland's Mosque.
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An Attack of Hate I sat there in front of the television in horror as I
witnessed the attack. It took absolutely no time for the shock and sorrow
to turn to anger, and I heard those around me saying things like, "It's
time to close the borders," and "We need to start rounding
those people up." Watching the events of the day, I could not stop
the hate rising up in my own heart against the nationality and religion
of these attackers. I suddenly found myself judging everyone of Middle
Eastern descent with bigotry. Once I realized how strong the hate inside
me had become, I was nauseated. It took more than a little bit of effort,
but I was able to slowly start fighting the terrible feelings. Not that
it wasn't difficult each time the image of a plane slamming into a building
played on the news - again, and again, and again. * * * * * Mitchel Whitington is the author of the novel about life in small-town Texas, "Uncle Bubba's Chicken Wing Fling." Find out more more at www.unclebubba.com.
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Good Samaritan #2 Rush hour in certain Detroit suburbs became a snarling mess as firefighters worked traffic to collect donations into the boots they carried. Radio stations carried the news about the backup and people actually drove into the mayhem to donate monies. At one point it was reported that Telegraph Road had almost a two mile backup and it appears that nobody was upset by it. The money collected is to go to a fireman and policeman's charity to assist those families of lost heroes.
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The Valley of
Evil And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting
in air, The second week in September the United States suffered a terrible blow, an attack on the integrity of the nation seemingly impossible to overcome. The year was 1814; the tragedy was the burning of the city of Washington. Francis Scott Key had successfully negotiated the release of a hostage but was forced to remain on an enemy ship and watch as Baltimore endured fierce bombardment. Perhaps now, 187 years later, for the first time we fully comprehend the trauma he experienced that long night. Like Key we remember the triumph of seeing, as the air cleared, the flag of the United States of America proud, free and undaunted. Not only did the fort outside of Baltimore survive that night, but a young nation showed the spirit of freedom, of victory. Sir Winston Churchill reacted to the bombardment of England, a time when his people's struggle appeared almost foolhardy, by imploring his nation to respond in such a way that "if the British Empire and its Commonwealth last for a thousand years, men will still say, ‘This was their finest hour.'" That is the spirit - the resilience - the world has seen this September. The United States continued to struggle many years after the War of 1812 before moving to the position of world leadership. The courage and fortitude of the people of Great Britain prevailed, but the devastation of the assault required hard work and a helping hand to overcome. Healing physical scars takes a long time. Mending what's wrong will take longer and be harder than clearing rubble and rebuilding structures. Let us proceed armed with integrity. Let us work to become steadfast in vision. Let us love one another. Integrity rests in the precepts underlying each of the world's religions. While I worship at a United Methodist Church, I know I share my faith with Baptists, Pentecostals, Catholics, and a host of other named groups. Besides that, the God I worship is that of the Jews. Even more important right now is that God is also the God of the true followers of Mohammed. The actions of those who distort the message of love and purity rend God's heart though the individuals remain in his love. Other faiths from other cultures - Buddhist, Hindu, Taoists, many more - share in the message of love, in the ideals of morality. It is traditional in my experience and culture to rely on the words of the 23rd Psalm when troubled. The words "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me" seem particularly apropos at this juncture. We need not fear evil. Love and goodness abound and they will prevail. Should we then rely on that eventual victory of peace in this time? No. I am not saying that. Even in the verse I've quoted, the Psalmist speaks of the rod and staff. While the staff was a source of comfort, the rod was an instrument of protection. Ours is far from a perfect world, and discipline may be necessary, but let us continue to love through the discipline. Let us know that we are brothers and sisters even when some have violated the fundamental rules and must be corrected. Some of the less familiar words Francis Scott Key wrote
that September night in 1814 should be written on our souls through
these trying times: O thus be it ever when free-men shall stand
* * * * * Barbara B. Rollins, a judge, writes in interstices of time children's stories, poems, and instant fiction. Her web site is Sharpwriters.com
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Good Samaritan #3 Children at an elementary school in Denton, Texas saved their pennies for nine years to build a playground for their school. All nine years worth of pennies were donated to the American Red Cross for disaster relief in New York and Washington, D.C.
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Waging War, Twenty-First
Century Style It didn't take long, did it? We hopscotched our way through a scant 253 days from the dawn of the new century to the events of September 11, 2001, when twenty-first-century-style warfare kicked us in the teeth and then goose-stepped its way into our lives. Long before the last of the dust finally settles in New York and Washington, DC, President Bush will have begun to lead the US government and the American people through the early twists and turns of the new labyrinth of dealing with terrorism brought home. Most of the nation is still seething, awaiting word that the bombers are headed home from their initial sorties of retribution. If payback's a bitch, this pit bull couldn't have sharp enough teeth or strong enough jaws. Although military missions are assured, this new century and millennium see us facing a novel kind of enemy-an idea, a cornucopia of flavors of hate that takes shape within desperate fanatics bent on doing the basest kind of evil. They include shadowy religious wackos who hit and then hide before slinking quietly across borders to ooze back into the slime of fist-shaking disgust at all we hold dear. Our current approach of engaging standing armies and projecting power with aircraft carrier groups is like trying to fight cockroaches with jackhammers, hardly an optimal choice of weapons and tactics for the threat presented. It's almost inevitable that a new epoch brings the demand for nascent approaches to dealing with very old human depravity. Eliminating human or government adversaries is something we know how to do. It's dramatically more difficult to defuse the complex circumstances that breed the scourge we monolithically call terrorism. It's no surprise that people holding the purse strings of others' money will likely opine that all we need to do is send enough cash to the right places in the Mideast to eradicate poverty, thereby obviating the social causes that beget terrorism. Would that it were possible. Unfortunately, once upon a time our government tried that domestically resulting in the costly belly-flop called the Great Society. If showering the targets with money didn't work at home, it's hardly likely to do the trick in parts of the world that fundamentally hate our guts. Since we're a nation of laws, not people, it shouldn't surprise us that the Framers of our Constitution had the foresight to include a constitutional power that merits a closer look. Article I, Section 8 empowers Congress to grant "letters of Marque and reprisal," the eighteenth century's version of James Bond's double-zero license to kill that would be bestowed on people conducting covert military operations. The Framers gave Congress the authority to hire mercenaries or other individuals to kill whomever had to be killed, to take care of business, without having to involve armies or navies or, in more modern times, agencies and operatives that must operate under the bright light of Congressional oversight. What's the big deal? We've had special forces for years. Army Green Berets and Navy SEAL teams have been and are the best-trained, most effective "small forces" operatives in America's human arsenal. Maybe they're the answer for the twenty-first century, but, as they stand now, they're subject to rules of engagement that include executive orders prohibiting assassination as well as other restrictions. Perhaps it's time to dust off our Constitution and create new covert teams that would receive periodic, ultra-secret Letters of Marque and Reprisal to do whatever had to be done to wage successful tactical operations against this newly-visible, omnipresent terrorist enemy. Why something new? Why not simply repeal the hobbling executive order prohibiting assassination of heads of state and use the special forces we have? It's likely that this won't be the kind of "wet work" we want our uniformed military service personnel to be engaged in. If these people are caught or killed, in Mission: Impossible parlance, we'd want "the secretary to [be able to] disavow any knowledge of [their] actions." Organizationally, our armed services shouldn't have more than one set of rules of engagement or Code of Military Justice. Bluntly put, the Green Berets and SEALs always hump out their wounded. Recipients of Letters of Marque and Reprisal might not be able to do that. Maybe their best, last resort will be a small pill. Armed mercenaries wearing "No Rules" shirts hiding all the latest hardware? Well, almost but not exactly. This special, unofficial, off-the-books branch would derive its constitutional authority from Congress but, in practice, be under the President as Commander-in-Chief. Military planners would have to flesh out the details, logistics and sources and methods of intelligence usage, but the general concept and authority already exist if we're required-and have the will and skill-to use them. Then again, this is a new millennium, and ours are a very resourceful people, especially when stirred by such a tangible home-grown threat to their very lives. Nevertheless, may we never forget the difference between justice and revenge. At the end of the day, we should always want to be on the side of the angels. Otherwise, we lose our moral compass, if not our souls, and cascade downward into the position of being a purveyor of terrorism instead of the instrument of its eradication. * * * * * James G. Rogers is a CPA in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania in private practice. His first novel, Capitol Chill, was published in 1999 under the pen name James Gardiner, by BuyBooksOnTheWeb.com, Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania.
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Good Samaritan #4 Students at the Desert Mountain High School in Scottsdale, Arizona have been collecting money for teddy bears for the disaster victim's children. They've visited local retailers and have seen first hand the incredible generousity of people. To help, the students of nearby Mountainside Middle School they had a carwash the weekend after the disaster and raised $9,000.00, mostly from people who said their car was clean and they just wanted to make a donation. One of the students at the high school works part time at a retirement home as a waiter. After he told one senior citizen about the bear collecting, she called her son, who is a manufacturer. By the time the student's shift was over, the senior citizen's son pulled up with a pickup truck full of boxes of teddy bears from his factory for the school's collection.
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Poetry World: Views in Rhyme Emotions. Every person that watched the horror unfold
was gripped with emotion. Some said that the person or persons involved
in this act had no emotions. That is a fallacy. Even cold-hearted is
an emotion. TAINTED Evil smirks from the witness chair. Stench creeps, Distance fails to filter filth * * * * * Robert Nailor
is the Poetry Editor and Production Manager for The Emporium Gazette.
He is the author of the soon to be published, "Three Steps to an Irish
Dream."
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Good Samaritan #5 Last Friday, the one local tv news and a radio station in Harrisburg, PA mentioned that they were going to collect food, boots, and other stuff to take to New York for the volunteers. They were hoping to fill a rented truck - they ended up taking 8 tractor trailers worth of stuff thanks to the efforts of local people. And today, they're loading up more. I know this isn't 'little' folks, but it totally blew away the radio/tv people - they were definitely not expecting that.
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Black Tuesday Twenty-four years ago, I was a high school senior. One of the subjects in class was the hierarchy of our federal government. Many days were spent learning what would happen if our President was unable to perform his functions. I found it very interesting how the transfer of power followed the vice president, the speaker of house, and so on. Everything was taught in the third person. If this were to happen, and if that was to take place . . . No one ever considered otherwise. Twenty-two years later, a movie was released from Hollywood on the premise that aliens invaded the world. Among other things, the camera followed the U.S. President through a time of terrorism. The story portrayed his security team ensuring that he was ALWAYS protected one way or another. The movie was entertaining - pure fiction, and nothing more. This morning, as I dropped my eight-year-old son off at school, I turned my truck radio on. My ears were met with reports of a massive terrorist attack both in the heart of our financial district, New York and in our Nation's capital. Was this the advertisement for a new movie? Twelve hours later, I wished that it was. I rushed home to news reports blaring on every television channel that contained the headline, "America Under Attack." In the blink of an eye, children were to return home
that evening to an empty house. It would be only a house - never a home
again. Wives and husbands would be forced to only remember the loving
"Have a nice day" kiss they received only hours previous.
Fiancés would never realize the happy event they had once planned
with their betrothed. The world's evil and hatred had hit home in a magnitude
almost beyond comprehension. Eighteen hours after the senseless attack,
no one would even attempt a guess of the dead and injured. It would
soon be the worst terrorist attack ever. A few minutes after I turned on the news reports, I glanced
at the clock on the wall. Wait . . . I wasn't entranced on this 21-inch
box for a few minuets, but over four hours - disbelief and awe. What I was watching happen with our nation's leaders
was what I had learned only in theory close to three decades earlier.
The essence of our Nation's Capitol was a ghost town. The President's
whereabouts were unknown - an intentional ploy to protect him, and me.
Other figures from our federal government were scattered to safe places.
What was once pounded into my head during my young education was now
reality. People around the country called their family members
to say hello and to tell them that they were loved. I called no one.
I didn't know what to say. As I watched in disbelieving horror, I realized with
some surprise that tears were streaming down my face, and my hands were
folded as I muttered my own prayer to a higher power. I prayed for the
souls that no longer were committed to a human body, and those that
were. Eleven hours later, my President appeared on television
to assure me that all would eventually be well. The evil would be brought
to justice. This wouldn't bring back a father or a wife. Life for those
who remained must continue in some form. Through the power of our high-tech world, I witnessed
Democrat and Republican, black and white, Catholic and Jew, and American
and Canadian supporting each other - working and praying together. For
the first time in my memory, the normally split United States Congress
gathered together as one unified body for support. They automatically
and in unison began a spontaneous and spiritual chorus of God Bless
America. I can't remember if I've ever been so emotionally moved and
proud of the country I am a part of. Today was black, and always will be. Today, a portion
in all of us died. We will prevail though - as fathers, mothers, husbands,
wives, neighbors, friends, sons and daughters. Both alone and together.
It is our unrelenting will as human beings, and as Americans. We will
grieve -- we should grieve. Throughout our lives, we mark certain events in time.
Our marriage, the birth of a child, our first home. It is so very sad
that my child will have this day ever engraved in his young memory.
I am sorry for him - that he has to carry this uncertain burden. He's
not sure exactly what has happened today, but he is aware that it is
horrific and frightening. It is my job as a parent to teach him that our petty
differences are not what matters. At the end of the day, what really
matters is our family, our freedom, and our faith. One of our Country's motto's is, In God We Trust. Right now, this is the only thought that will allow many to sleep tonight. * * * * * Mark Vass, until last year, worked in marketing for multiple computer companies for over twenty years. Although he began his writing career on a part-time basis fifteen years ago, he now writes full time and has just published his first e-book, The I'm Going in the Hospital Handbook.
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Good Samaritan #6 A local Detroit radio station decided that they would charge $5 per adult and $3 per child to dip into red or blue paint and put hand prints on paper and create a highway billboard to display. They figured that they would probably need two billboards. The radio station was overwhelmed at the malls where the events were taking place. The first day alone totalled over $60,000 and due to other parts of Detroit not being able to reach those malls, they did another segment. An amount over $100,000 was raised and donated to Red Cross. They haven't yet decided how many billboards they'll need, but the first two are up for viewing.
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A Patriotic Essay "America the Beautiful" always takes me back to second grade. Ms. Taylor had asked me to sing it for Flag Day and every time I practiced at home, in my crackly 7-year-old voice, my dad found one more way to poke fun at me or the song. He always poked fun at me, so I was used to that. But how could he act so silly about such a great song? I remember how those words made pictures appear in my mind that a kid growing up in Montana could easily see: Spacious skies ... Purple mountains majesty ... God shed His grace on thee ... Man oh man, I imagined the most brilliant sunshine scattering across our blue, blue sky with those pine-covered mountains in the distance reaching up to absorb all that "God's grace." God's grace so taken for granted. God's grace so easily shunned, guaranteeing blistering eternities for those who choose darkness. But it's God's freedom of choice--those liberties our Father gives us--that Americans first tried to model. It's those liberties and choices that our grandparents and great grandparents fought for in WWI and WWII. I grieve for those who died in a war they didn't know they were fighting on September 11th, 2001. I grieve for their sons and daughters, sisters and brothers, spouses and parents who will never see them in this earthly realm again. My daily prayers now include those left behind, hoping their hearts will heal and they will welcome God's peace so their spirits can be reunited as believers. I pray for our generations of forty and younger, that we will take this devastation as a wake-up call--that we will affirm core values this country was founded on, but have lost sight of in the mass of me-ism and materialism. Joy in the simple things. Praise for the simple things. Less of monetary focal points and more commitment to God's presence in every decision...every conversation...every thought. This is our country's strength and I can't help believing that choosing to remember every day, to recommit everyday to God's presence, would be a greater memorial service or structure that we could ever possibly erect in our many amber waves of grain. Daily choosing God's presence--being filled with gratitude for His presence--would truly make America beautiful again. * * * * * Robyn Conley-Weaver is a multi-published author. Visit her website: www.robynconleyweaver.com and look for other "Simpler Life Stories"
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Good Samaritan #7 Children in a neighborhood in the Dallas-Fort Worth area wanted to do something to help out in the wake of Tuesday's tragic events. Too young to give blood and only small allowances for donations, the kids got together and penned heart-felt posters of support for the people in New York, Washington, and across the country. Then, with the help of their parents, the kids tacked the posters up on corners of their neighborhood and flagged down motorists for donations. By the time going-home-drive-time had ended, the children had collected $8,000. A local grocery store matched it. The children just wantd to help. Their efforts raised $16,000 for the Red Cross.
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From Another Angle: From out of the ashes of yesterday On the morning of September 11, 2001, I reached for the telephone with a smile. Then a knock on my door turned me in a different direction. "Flip on your TV. All hell is breaking loose." I did and all hell broke loose within me. Gone were any thoughts of a "Happy Birthday" for my daughter. My hands trembled so that it took both of them to hold the telephone. Tears trickled down my face. "May your birthday somehow bring a miracle." My voice shook. "Not likely." We talked only briefly, the two of us shaken by the events unveiling on the TV screen. Afterwards, dimly aware of Dan Rather's words, I relived that morning so many years ago. The nurse placed an elfin bundle in my arms. I gazed with awe at the tiny oval face. She looked like a miniature French lady with dark curling hair and matching eyes. "For the rest of my life, I pledge you the happiest birthdays that I can possibly provide," I said aloud. The pledge was broken when terror with its monstrous fangs sprayed its venom into our world. For two days I moved in a daze with a sickened soul. I was aware of words like "thousands of body bags ordered" and over and over "must be punished." That word "punished" was beginning to make no sense. Stop them, yes. The terrorists must be stopped. Stoop to their level? I couldn't reconcile this with my spiritual belief. On the third day, I knew the only way we could win this new kind of war would be to work together to create a new and better nation, new and better personal lives. I pledge that I will write with a wider vision. This is the monument I want to construct for those men, women, and children whose lives were lost in New York and Washington. Gratitude for the survivors and prayers for families and friends of the dead spill from my heart, but I'm smiling slightly for the first time since Tuesday morning. * * * * * Susan L. Turner is co-author with Russ Turner of Wings Born Out of Dust which is available now from 23 House Publishing and also available in trade paperbacks and hardback online bookstores
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And the King Wept
And the king of this great land wept for his fallen subjects. The Black Knight, seeing further opportunity to advance his evil, scarred more of this great land. His minions attempted to destroy the Dwelling of the Defenders of Truth and Justice. They nearly succeeded, killing many people and breaking many windows. The subjects of the land cried out for retribution, beating their breasts in anguish. The Black Knight merely laughed. And the king wept for the senselessness of it all. Soon, though, the subjects of this great land banded together--warriors, leaders, teachers, writers, artists, mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, and cousins--each a righteous, strong army of one. They joined, different in color, race, creed, and religion but the same in their love for freedom. And when he saw what they had wrought through brotherhood, the king wept, so proud was he of his subjects. These people went forth from their great land to battle the armies of evil, asking the neighbors of other lands to enlist in the war against the Black Knight. Many agreed, for they too, feared what might become of them should this plague upon civilization be allowed to continue. Together, they fought this insidiousness, vowing to continue until the day of judgment if that is what it would take. And the king wept, knowing that his subjects would be asked to pay the ultimate price for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. This story, my children, does not have an ending yet. It is up to you, me, and those who would defend freedom to write the final words. God Bless this Great Land and may its people be the shining light of all that is good. * * * * * Denise Vitola is a published author, "The Astrologer" is her newest series from Putnam/ACE. She is also the Editor-in-Chief of The Emporium Gazette. You may visit her website: www.coolwell.org
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Ron Jones-- Managing Editor Robert Nailor--Poetry Editor and Production Manager Elyse Salpeter--Fiction Editor Mitchel Whitington--Non-Fiction Editor James Rogers--Business Editor Terrie Murray--Travel Writing Editor Sue Long Turner--The Writing Answer Lady Mark Vass - Marketing Editor & Denise Vitola--Editor-in-Chief
© Copyright 2001 by the Emporium Gazette No portion of any article or other writing in this electronic publication may be copied, used or otherwise taken by any person or organization for any purpose or reason whatsoever without the express written permission of the Emporium Gazette.
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