SUNRISE, SUNSET

 21 December, 2014

San Francisco

⊛Something happened today that I took note of: the sun rose. 

OK, that happens every day, right? 

Well, what if it happened TWICE in a day? 

You read right: What would you think if you saw the sun rise TWICE in the same day?? 

SUNSET

Years ago, as a very young boy, my mother used to read to me from The Little Prince. In this wonderful book, the hero of our story, the Little Prince, lived on a tiny planet far, far away.  He would sit on his chair and admire the sunset. His planet was so small that when the sun went down, he would simply move his chair around to where he could observe that same sunset once again.

“But on your tiny planet, my little prince, all you need do is move your chair a few steps. You can see the day end and the twilight falling whenever you like... "One day," you said to me, "I saw the sunset forty-four times!” -The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

"The Little Prince" is a children's book for adults, and decades passed before I began to fathom the meaning of that wonderful work. 

Like the Little Prince, I have always enjoyed sunsets. It is a time for rest, contemplation, regrets, remembrance, even atonement with the Universe before the infinite darkness spreads its inky mantle over the brilliant aura the earth wears as the day dies. 

The beauty of a sunset is a reward for a day lived. The sunset does not judge whether one had lived that day well or not; it leaves that question in the hands of a far harsher judge: ONESELF!

Since the day is dying, that golden coronet we see is also in reality a funeral shroud, which is why sunsets are sad for me as well as pleasurable. It is a pause in a journey from whence return is impossible. We move steadily forward. We only pass this way one time. It's a strange bittersweet mix: a tear and a smile. 

SUNRISE

Today, while on a flight over the Pacific from Osaka, Japan to San Francisco, I saw several people crowded around a window, watching something with great interest.

It was the SUNRISE! 

I've seen many, to be sure, but, since I am not by any means a morning person, I have seen way fewer sunrises than I have sunsets. This is a shame, for in a sunrise can be found the promise of something new, forgiveness for past mistakes, and another chance to do better. It could be the beginning of one's last day on earth. or it is an embarkation on yet another part of the journey of one's life.  It could be perhaps a new start. 

In short, a sunrise is the wrapper of a great gift - the gift of life. Above all, it is a time to be thankful for that gift. 

This particular day was the 21st of December - the Winter Solstice - the first day of a new season, winter. It was also the shortest day of the year. 

I had gotten up various times that day, having actually already been awake at the stroke of midnight in the Land of the Rising Sun - Japan! As the first feeble rays of daylight penetrated the thick rain clouds over Osaka, I was still coaxing an unwilling body to finally surrender to the fatigue I felt and go to sleep. So much of my time seems to be devoted to chasing elusive sleep. It's almost like trying to find the end of the rainbow: no sooner has one nearly attained it, when it disappears into the horizon only to reappear elsewhere in the perceived near distance. 

Fighting a cold, I lay in my bed, having at long last caught up to, and embraced deep, peaceful slumber. Sleep came in small doses, as the wee hours of the morning became day. Finally I awoke to my mid-afternoon wake up call: it was time to get ready to go to work. 

After a well-deserved café latte at Kansai Airport, I boarded my plane for San Francisco, and it took flight at about 6:30 pm local time, the craft banking eastward, swiftly climbing through the thick, darkening clouds, and Osaka quickly disappeared in the mist below.

The hours flew fast, as I busied myself with the job at hand. At some time a number of hours later, we passed the International Date Line, and it was Yesterday Once More.

This brings me to the sunrise, and those who admired it. They commented how beautiful it was, and a few even took pictures. One gentleman on the flight had just glanced at this celestial artwork, and he smiled at me. I told him:"Congratulations!"

He asked why, and I explained: "You have experienced something few people get to see: TWO sunrises in the same day!"

He looked puzzled, and I explained: "You got up this morning in Japan, and saw the morning come. Now," I continued: "We have caught up with that very same day, on the other side of the world, and you just saw it being born once again!"

We landed later, and after many hours more, the day drew to a close. From my hotel room window I later saw the daylight disappear today for the second time, and again night fell.

I attach no philosophical meaning to this phenomenon. It is entirely  man-made - artificial. The International Date Line is an invisible, arbitrary line of demarcation established only 130 years ago, and crossing it in order to catch up with the day left behind is only possible in a jet airplane or in a spacecraft - not by simply moving a chair, as the Little Prince did. 

So I take note that I am fortunate to be able to realize the uniqueness of the event. I can tell my children, and my children's children that, on the "shortest day of the year" I saw two sunrises and two sunsets in the same day. What a story for them!

SUNSET

As for the shortest day of the year, that did not apply to me, given that I was awake at 12:01am Osaka time, and went to sleep in San Francisco at 11:00pm the night of the same calendar day.

For me, the 21st of December, the 24-hour so-called "shortest day of the year" - actually lasted FORTY HOURS!

...And some people wonder why I arrive home so tired!

My Worst Day at School

Paris, 24 January, 1998



Every American alive when  President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas, TX. in 1963 remembers what he or she was doing at that particular moment.        
I know I do!!

I was a 5th grade student at Ferncrest School on Gentilly Blvd. in New Orleans. I don't recall what subject we were studying just then, but I do remember the characteristic voice of our school principal, Mrs. Louise B. Charitat, as it came over the school intercom, interrupting what was otherwise a quite normal school day:

"YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE..."

She would always preface this announcement by blowing or breathing into the microphone, and everybody would automatically stop what they were doing and the school would become as still as a tomb. All of us would be good little boys and girls, and would listen attentively to her usually pompous pontifications.

But it was different today; her normal commanding voice now was uncharacteristically strange and nervous. After this initial attention announcement, there was an ominous silence that seemed to last an eternity. Mrs. C. NEVER had to struggle for words. We all knew there was something radically wrong.

In an strange, quivering voice, this usually strong, authoritative lady announced that news had reached the office that the President of the United States, John F. Kennedy had been shot in Dallas.

My heart sank. I was a loyal American, and this was indeed a national catastrophe, and one of the First Magnitude! The pain was deeper still because I had been an avid supporter of Kennedy during the 1960 elections. In January of 1961, I even stood shivering in bitter cold on a snow-covered Pennsylvania Avenue by the Capitol the night before to participate in pre-inauguration activities, and the next day delighted to see the inauguration parade pass within a block of my apartment house. I remember being disappointed that the newly sworn-in president did not make it as far as 19th St, NW.

I did get to see him when he visited New Orleans in May of 1963. That was only six months ago, I thought. As I pondered this sad and tragic event, I was immediately shocked back to reality when I saw my schoolmates' reaction:

THE ENTIRE SCHOOL BROKE OUT IN CHEERS AND APPLAUSE!!!

It was as if we had won some championship or achieved some tremendous victory or goal.
It was just UNBELIEVABLE!! I thought I was dreaming - or better yet having a nightmare.

Of course, Mrs. Charitat and the teachers were all  devastated and horrified at this shocking outburst. She heard the school's reaction and responded immediately: "I cannot BELIEVE you are cheering the shooting of the president!" She was most upset - and so was I.

The kids were all joking around, and, ever the class clown, I tried to joke back, but my heart just was not in it. I just sat there dazed for awhile - it was all surreal.

The teacher tried, I guess, to restore some sense of normality to the class, but the second announcement, one i dreaded,  came soon enough:

"YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE..." Mrs. Charitat's voice was now cold and void of any emotion but sadness. "It is with a heavy heart that  I inform you that the President of the United States had died."

My heart sank once again.

A few half-hearted cheers and gestures quickly arose and just as quickly ceased. More than ever, I felt a sickening sadness and a personal sense of loss. All I wanted to do then was go home and watch the news - to see what happened - how such a dastardly thing could have possibly occurred.

The next few days were indeed spent watching television. All normal programming was pre-empted. Media giants of that time such as Walter Cronkite, Chet Huntley, and David Brinkley were dwarfed by the very larger-than-life story they were now telling - and these seasoned professionals were humbled by the sheer totality that the felling of our nation's leader represented.

That night I stayed up late watching TV: On the television, filling the screen, was the image of the White House - its flag now flying at night - at half-staff. Somber music was playing. My eyes filled with tears on seeing the building I knew so well as a child now forlorn - without its residents.
___________________________________

Somehow I missed the shooting of Lee Harvey Oswald, but we knew in our heart of hearts that that there had been a conspiracy to kill the president, and we knew justice had not been done by Jack Ruby, when he shot Oswald.

Then there was the funeral. The slowly-beating muffled drums throbbing an ancient Scottish marching cadence. The band played "Eternal Father" and I will forever associate that old Naval Hymn with those sad days. The body lay in state in the rotunda of the Capitol, and then the funeral ended in Arlington Cemetery, right across the street where I had once lived. .

An Eternal Flame was lit. Programming resumed its normality. We went back to living our lives as we had done previously.

But something happened that fateful day in Dallas. Our nation changed that day. We were no longer the same. Camelot had fallen, our innocence as a nation was lost, and we desperately searched for new heroes to believe in.

Some of us found new heroes, only to see them felled in the same manner. In the late Sixties, we would watch the news as Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and another Kennedy brother died. Years later  Presidents Ford and Reagan were shot at as well, but did not die. Singer John Lennon, too, was even shot and killed by some - some nobody. Even the Pope was not immune. Sadly, these seemed like reruns - we had seen this all before, live on television, from Dallas.

As for me, ever the different one, I found a new hero who believed in building bridges between cultures and nations. BRIDGES - NOT WALLS. Anwar el-Sadat of Egypt defied many of his own people and chose peace over popularity. He, too, was felled by assassins bullets, which came from the very ranks of those who were supposed to protect him.

So much for heroes.

I may have been just a "punk kid" back then - as I was often called - yeah, just a kid... but my feelings were deep, and I knew what was going on in the world. For just a few, brief days, our divided country was one.

I grew up a lot that day - - - the day the nation cried.



NOTE: My working title for this article was "The Day the Nation Cried." I only just now discovered that there was another work out there with the same title: https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0244554/
It used JFK in the title as well, but inasmuch as these works predate mine, I have changed the title.
I tried "The Day our Innocence Died" but that, too was already taken.

A Saturday Morning Ride into Town

6 December, 2014

Waiting at the carstop at Broad & Canal, I'd crane my neck and squint to see if I could see a streetcar in the distance. A couple of others waiting with me did the same. The wait  was not long, and soon enough an old, green streetcar would come into sight. 

It hummed along down the tracks toward us, hissed to a stop, and the doors clattered open. 

Boarding was at the rear, and there to greet the newly-embarking passengers was a uniformed man called a conductor. He collected the fares, dealing out change from a coin dispenser he wore on his belt, ringing a bell for each fare collected.

The fares paid, we each made our way to one of the wooden bench seats, as the conductor rang another small bell twice, signaling that we were ready to go. 

Before most of the new passengers had even made it to their seats, the car lurched forward, and the low, accelerating whine of a powerful electric motor could be heard as it powered the old trolley down the right-of-way. 

As for me, I used to stand at the front vestibule window next to the motorman. 

The humid summer air became cooler as the wind breezed through the front windows. It was a grand view of the passing scenery, the traffic, and the buildings of downtown looming larger and larger. 

About a year ago a friend discovered a photo online of a CANAL car with someone who looks exactly like me! Even my wife thinks it is, and I'd like to think so.

 Even if it isn't me, it's a reminder of days gone by: streetcar rides into town, the gentle rocking as it rumbled and clanged away down the neutral ground, the special smell of electric ozone, and the chug-chug-chug of the air compressor. Such were some of my fondest memories as a kid - and it only cost a dime!