JACK BERNARD'S TRAVELS

Posted by jdbernard743

· June 8, 2016

Dignity and Principle

He was “pretty,” as he often said, but his last years were not pretty. On Saturday night Muhammed Ali died, ending his thirty year battle with Parkinson’s Disease. Early on, Ali’s life was about his superiority in the ring and the arrogant, provocative, rhyming couplets he conjured to celebrate it. After he stopped fighting, his life was about character, integrity, and a different kind of courage. In the prime of life he suffered for his principles but stood by them. He was stripped of his title and barred from boxing. He lost three professional years for his opposition to the Vietnam war. He later dedicated himself to making the world a better place for all people.

But, before there was a Muhammed Ali there were other inspirational athletes who shared their courage and truth with us – Jesse Owens, Paul Robeson, Jackie Robinson, Althea Gibson, and Arthur Ashe were all exceptional, inspirational athletes who happened to be people of color. A recent film about Jesse Owens and the 1936 Olympics reminds us of an earlier time when courage and conviction were tested in a bona fide battle between good and evil. Race celebrates Owens’ 4 gold medals at the Berlin Games and shows how his performances undercut Hitler’s plan to use the Games to validate his theory of a white master race.

It’s sometimes difficult for us to accept America’s history of slavery and racism while we celebrate triumphs like Jesse Owens’ remarkable performance at the ’36 Games. Race does a credible job of showing the discrimination and indignities Owens suffered as he prepared for the Olympics and following his triumphant return to New York. In one touching scene he and his wife are prevented from entering the Plaza Hotel through the front door and directed to the service entrance in spite of the fact that the event they were attending was being held to honor him and celebrate his victories.

Racism is a snake pit for white people to write or talk about. If we criticize “people of color” (an interesting euphemism) we are dismissed as racists or told we can’t possibly understand due to our white privilege. We can’t use the language, dialect and epithets that black people use to describe their peers, and if we charge a black person with racism the charge is likely to be characterized as racist.

As an ardent tennis player and fan, my feelings about Serena Williams are especially complicated by this double standard. I’m amazed at her overwhelming superiority and competitiveness on the tennis court but disgusted by her petulant, angry, unapologetic, poor loser sulks and her insincere graciousness in victory. She pouts, slams racquets, insults officials, threatens linesmen, and accuses stadium crowds and the media of racism. I wish she would just take her trophies and fade into the background. Maybe with time my feelings will change or she will. Throughout her career she has been her father Richard’s child. His racist remarks are often worse than her bad court behavior. The provenance of her disturbing behavior is not important. It’s enough that she continues to behave badly, and it pisses me off when comments like mine are characterized as racist. I said the same things about John McEnroe and Jimmy Connors. Bad manners and ugly behavior are the same regardless of skin color.

In this exchange with a lineswoman Serena shakes her racquet threateningly and says, “I swear to God I’ll take this fucking ball and stuff it down your fucking throat.”

I always hope that Serena will turn the corner and become an ambassador for the sport much as McEnroe and Connors have done. Maybe once those roiling competitive juices stop fueling the drive for Grand Slam victory #22, she will chill out. She has been a remarkably successful champion. I’d be happy to eat my words and see her transformed into a statesmanlike ex-champion like Arthur Ashe.

In our pursuit of excellence we often look to successful athletes for role models, but we are really talking about leadership, integrity and courage whether it’s on the field, in the boardroom, or in the White House. In the current Presidential election cycle it is worth remembering that for every Donald Trump there is a Barack Obama just as there is a Ray Rice for every Muhammad Ali. It’s incumbent on us to choose our role models wisely. I want Serena to come down on the side of Ali, Owens, and Arthur Ashe. Maybe Arthur’s formula can provide the guidance she needs while, at the same time, it inspires all of us to be the best we can be:

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Categories : Fashion/Lifestyle, Personal/Family, Politics, Sports, Uncategorized, Work and Adventure

Posted by jdbernard743

· June 1, 2016

· 1 Comment

Hiroshima Reminds Us…

On August 6, 1945 the United States dropped an atomic bomb over the city of Hiroshima, Japan. Three days later a second one destroyed Nagasaki. The Radiation Effects Research Foundation (a joint US/Japanese organization) estimates that between 90,000 and 166,000 people died in Hiroshima and another 60,000 to 80,000 in Nagasaki. Included in these figures are those who died due to the force and heat of the explosions as well as those caused by acute radiation exposure. Thousands more suffered lifelong damage from cancer and other associated radiation effects.

Until last week, in the 70 years since those horrific events, no American president had ever visited Hiroshima. Last Friday President Obama and Japan’s Prime Minister, Shinzo Abe, traveled together to the memorial site to pay their respects to the victims and remind the world of the horror of nuclear destruction. Their visit also reminded us that the bombing is still a minefield of conflicting opinions and triggered a predictable mixture of responses. It was the right thing to do but a no-win situation.

Critics on the left and right, American and Japanese, weighed in with their opinions and biases on the purpose and appropriateness of Obama’s remarks. There were calls for an American apology and anger that the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor and Japanese cruelty throughout Asia were not mentioned. Mr. Obama navigated those shoals cautiously and comported himself with a dignity and humility befitting the occasion but not without criticism. Supporters recognized him for his courage and doing what no other president had done. Opponents characterized his remarks as capitulation and an “apology” though none was given.

I was 7 years old when those bombs fell. I remember the excitement in the streets ten days later, on August 15, 1945, when Japan announced its unconditional surrender. I remember my parents taking me to downtown to be part of Seattle’s spontaneous V-J Day celebration. I remember that the streets were jammed with people celebrating and that confetti was streaming from office building windows. The “yellow peril” had been defeated. The war in Europe had ended in May, and, with the defeat of Japan, America and its allies could look forward to bringing the troops home and rebuilding the US economy.

I didn’t understand what all that meant when I was 7, but I had no trouble grasping the significance of the occasion. There are not many of us left who were around for those celebrations in 1945. Universally, America was relieved that the war was over and our enemies defeated. We thought America was justified in dropping the atomic bombs. We believed that they had hastened the end of the war. We ignored or played down the fact that most of the Japanese dead were civilians. Early reports of the devastation were focused almost entirely on the physical destruction of the two cities.

A year later, in August of 1946, The New Yorker devoted an entire issue of the magazine to John Hersey’s 31,000-word article on six survivors of the Hiroshima attack. Hiroshima was a groundbreaking work and a forerunner to the New Journalism – similar to Truman Capote’s 1965 bestseller In Cold Blood in its blend of a fictional storytelling-style combined with factual reporting. Three months after The New Yorker article, Alfred A. Knopf published the book. It has been continuously in print and a touchstone for anti-war and nuclear holocaust debates ever since.

Hersey’s six interviews are credited with humanizing the disaster and moving the nuclear debate from a science-based cost/benefit analysis to a moral/ethical one, but 20 years later Hersey himself conceded that the collective memory fades with time. In the 1986 Summer/Fall issue of the Paris Review he acknowledged as much in an author interview:

“The demonstrations at Hiroshima and Nagasaki were so powerful that we have been able, so far, to extrapolate from them what it would be like to have a much bigger bomb dropped on a center of population. But if memory had been fully active, fully functional, we would long since have had some agreement on the use—or rather the nonuse—of these weapons, some curbs on their manufacture and deployment. For some, the memory is certainly still there; but it seems to me very spotty in the centers of power. A Caspar Weinberger or a Richard Perle, it seems to me, must never have grasped the meaning of the Hiroshima bomb, the way they go on about a future with bigger and better nuclear weapons. In the Soviet Union, there’s probably very little memory of it. The control of information there is such that I wonder how many really know what happened in Hiroshima. Then, you have to remember that two generations have come along since the bombs were dropped. A very large number of citizens of this country, of every country, have no memory at all of what happened. The memory isn’t even there.” (It seems prescient that in 1986 Hersey named Richard Perle, an architect of the 2003 Iraq invasion, as one who failed “to grasp the meaning” of the Hiroshima bombing.)

Hersey died in 1993, but he would not be surprised to learn that Donald Trump is posturing about the use of nuclear weapons in the heat of the current election campaign or officials at Homeland Security are reminding us that it is possible to construct a suitcase-sized bomb with the same potential as the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombs. Our nuclear memory is gone. We remember the pictures of 9/11 but the newsreels of Bikini Atoll and Hiroshima are decaying in the archives and those of us who saw them are a dwindling minority.

I admire Mr. Obama’s courage. He didn’t put the Hiroshima debate to bed, but he showed up there to remind us of our past and to advocate for a nuclear-free future. Sadly, though he tried to walk a tightrope and address the concerns of his audience, closed minds, divergent opinions, and political agendas made that impossible. What his visit did do was remind us of the horrors of nuclear war, and tacitly acknowledge our responsibility in bringing the war in the Pacific to an end that way. The tactical, strategic, and moral arguments surrounding those bombings will never be settled, but they are on the table in case such terrible circumstances and questions are ever considered again.

I’ve always believed that art can be a bridge to understanding complex material. Today I watched Alain Resnais’ 1986 film Hiroshima mon Amour about a French actress and a Japanese architect who use Hiroshima and their relationship as the backdrop for a long discussion about forgetfulness and memory. Originally, Resnais planned a documentary about the bombing and aftermath of Hiroshima, but Marguerite Duras (The Lover) convinced him he could tell the story more effectively as a love story. Her script, like the six characters in Hersey’s book, uses a human relationship to personalize the larger questions.

I applaud President Obama’s courage and diplomacy as illustrated by his visit to Hiroshima. After all, he was not the president who made that awful decision but he recognizes that America has a collective responsibility to address it in the larger context. It is unquestionable that Truman’s decision to use the bombs was more difficult and arguably more courageous, but in the interest of healing an old wound I don’t hesitate to use the word courageous in this instance.

Categories : Art, Aviation, Books, Film/Television, Politics, Travel, Uncategorized

Posted by jdbernard743

· May 24, 2016

· No Comments

Cognition vs. Longevity: Is It A Zero Sum Game?

Michael Kinsley has always had a way with words. His resume’ affirms it; editor of The New Republic and Harper’s, managing editor of the The Washington Monthly, American editor of The Economist, founder of Slate, contributor to The New Yorker and a monthly columnist for Vanity Fair. It shouldn’t surprise us that he’s found a catchy, minimalist title for his new book – Old Age: A Beginner’s Guide.

I think of old age as something we come by naturally? Do we really need a “guide?” Maybe I’m in denial? Last week I reviewed Mastery: A Mission Plan for Reclaiming a Life of Purpose, Fitness, and Achievement, my friend Bob Gandt’s prescription for a meaningful, fulfilling, later in life experience. Both Gandt and Kinsley deal with the same stage of life but give us different ways to look at and think about those years. I see them as bookends, complimentary ways to shake up our thinking as we close in on the finish line.

Kinsley has earned his opinions and speaks with authority on the subject of age and its options (as does Gandt). At age 43 he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease. He kept it quiet for 8 years, but now at 65 he is full frontal and outspoken about the condition, which is, as he might say, everybody’s condition – that of being mortal. What sets him apart is that he has been considering his mortality and its consequences for the past 22 years while the rest of us were getting ready for retirement, planning to learn a new language, train for an Ironman, or start the Great American Novel. How do we handle the coming years? Is there a prescription? Who’s right?

I’m going with both. We need to find meaning and purpose in our remaining years, but life is finite (although Kinsley has some fun with Larry Ellison’s half-billion dollar investment in the “quest for eternal life”). There’s no doubt that we need to give serious thought to what’s coming. Kinsley does it with good humor and his usual sagacity. His slim little “guide” is full of facts – some startlingly depressing – like, 35% of baby-boomers (28 of the 79 million in that category) are expected to develop Alzheimer’s or some other form of dementia. On the other hand, he is quick to point out that science is making extraordinary progress in dealing with the two chronic diseases that have historically been the primary killers of the elderly – heart disease and cancer.

This is not the first book to discuss end of life issues and as the author points out not likely to be the last. Twenty years ago Sherwin Nuland’s How We Die disabused a generation of optimists by pointing out that death is less likely to be dignified than messy. Last year Atul Gawande published Being Mortal, a meditation on how we might live better with age-related frailty and end of life issues. In his review of Being Mortal, Oliver Sachs said, “We have come to medicalize aging, frailty, and death, treating them as if they were just one more clinical problem to overcome. However, it is not only medicine that is needed in one’s declining years but life—a life with meaning, a life as rich and full as possible under the circumstances.” Insert here – Bob Gandt’s Mastery.

These books and Old Age: A Beginner’s Guide should be on every Boomer’s reading list – along with some Dave Barry, Bill Bryson, and Nora Ephron (she, speaking with authority and good humor from the grave), and so should Bob Gandt’s.

Unlike Nuland, Gawande, and Sacks, Kinsley is not a physician. He’s a writer dealing with a medical condition that moved him to confront his own mortality. But, Kinsley, the writer, is cagey and couches his mortality discussion in terms of competition. He sees “two forms of competition in the boomer death-style Olympics. There’s dying last and dying lucid. And in a really nice touch by whoever designed these games, the better you do in one, the worse you’re likely to do in the other.” Who will win the longevity sweepstakes and who will win the cognitive ones? “Unless you are extremely lucky, you won’t win both games.”

There is a lot to think about in Old Age: A Beginner’s Guide. It’s not a planning guide; there’s no invocation to prepare a will, prepay cremation services, or write your own obituary, and there are no pithy suggestions about how to disinherit greedy relatives or shun reverse mortgage salesmen. The book is a brief overview of information for the generation that used to believe “He who dies with the most toys, wins,” and an admonition, perhaps, to reconsider that wisdom.

In the early 1990’s Ridley Pearson, the mystery writer and a friend of mine, brought Michael Kinsley to my restaurant in Ketchum, Idaho, for lunch. I like writers. I’m a literary groupie at heart, and I was pleased to meet him that day. It must have been about the time he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s, and coincidentally at that time I was wearing an eye patch to cope with double vision caused by my own neuro-muscular disease, myasthenia gravis.

Last week David Brewster interviewed Michael at Town Hall in Seattle about the new book. Time and his disease have taken their toll on him physically. I’m sure he would say the same about me, but cognitively he is as incisive as ever. When we were younger I didn’t always agree with him but his writing challenged me to think differently. Today I read his column in Vanity Fair and continue to feel challenged by his perspective on issues. For example, he argues that the Supreme Court correctly decided the Citizens United campaign finance case which I find abhorrent and pernicious to the ideals of a citizen-centered democracy. Nevertheless, he does a credible job of defending the Court’s decision.

Today, as we enter the home stretch in the “death-style Olympics,” I hope Mr. Kinsley is one of those “extremely lucky” folks who wins both the longevity and cognitive sweepstakes. He deserves that kind of good luck. I hope the same for myself, my family, and all of my friends, but as he might say, all the planning and good habits in the world don’t make much difference if you get hit by a truck while you’re training for that triathlon.

So, stay alert and look both ways when you cross the road.

Categories : Books, Fashion/Lifestyle, Politics, Uncategorized, Work and Adventure

Posted by jdbernard743

· May 19, 2016

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Bob Gandt: “What’s Next?”

Bob Gandt is a remarkable guy. We first met 40 years ago as Pan Am pilots in Berlin. Bob had been based there for a couple of years when I arrived, and we soon discovered a number of shared interests. We had both flown A4’s in the military, were marathon runners who shared an admiration for Ernest Hemingway’s prose, and harbored our own aspirations to be writers. When Bob found out I was from Ketchum, Idaho, Hemingway’s last home, and knew Ernest’s son, Jack, it was clear we were going to have a lot to talk about.

I learned that while based in Hong Kong in the late ‘60’s he had become fascinated by the WWII siege of that city by the Japanese and wrote about it in a series of articles for the South China Morning Post. In 1981 he published his first book, Season of Storms, based on that series, and from then on he was juggling two careers – author and commercial airline pilot. His airline career took a turn when Pan Am sold its Atlantic routes to Delta in 1991 and he had to leave Berlin for Atlanta. He continued there as a Captain and Check Pilot until his retirement in 1999, but in the ‘90’s his writing career took off. Since then he has created a bibliography that includes seven novels, seven non-fiction books and several screen credits. He’s covered a lot of ground since our early days in Berlin.

In March of this year Bob’s latest book, Mastery: A Mission Plan for Reclaiming a Life of Purpose, Fitness, and Achievement was published. I enjoyed his earlier writing and I’m always curious, but I admit to having been a little skeptical about this latest release. It’s a striking departure from the aviation-rooted output of his earlier work and unlike anything else he’s done. In this one he asks his target audience, the Boomer generation at or approaching retirement, to consider the question “what’s next?

Bob’s answer is not golf or crossword puzzles or a platitudinous happiness prescription. He suggests a much more rigorous and thoughtful solution. He and co-author Gary A. Scott set out guidelines for creating a meaningful future – essentially a new life with newly created aspirational goals. For Bob and Gary it’s not about winding down; it’s about winding up and resetting.

You’ve probably figured out that I’m not a fan of self-help books. I’m especially suspicious of Suzanne Somers-like feel good prescriptions for seniors. As a consequence, I read Mastery skeptically until it proved to me that it was different. Mastery is the Cross-Fit of senior planning. It offers suggestions, tools and inspiration but hard work is at its core.

Mastery is not about being a better person, avoiding boredom, or adding quality to your life. It’s not about losing weight, spending more time at the gym, or joining a book club. These are feel good items on the order of New Year’s resolutions. They are not missions in the sense that Bob and Gary view them. They may be side benefits of the effort but they do not meet the criteria for a new mission.

According to the Oxford Dictionary a mission is “an important goal or purpose accompanied by a strong conviction.” Mastery’s core message is directive; find a mission that is meaningful and commit to its achievement.

So what qualifies as a mission? The authors tell us that common choices have included writing a novel, learning a new language, mastering a musical instrument, doing a triathlon, or starting a new business. A mission is serious business and once you’ve found yours you need to do the training, put in the miles, retrain your muscles – mental, physical, and spiritual – and apply yourself to meeting its demands. The authors acknowledge that mastery is not for everyone.

There are chapters in Mastery that offer tools and strategies but the book’s real value resides in the mind shift that prepares the reader to embark on this new adventure. The authors are convincing when they assert that finding a mission and committing to the process leads to increased quality, satisfaction, and life enrichment. Mastery is by their definition a state of being, not a curriculum.

I’ve always been attracted to OCD people, and Bob Gandt is right up there with the best of them. Not only has he achieved as a Navy fighter pilot, a Pan Am and Delta Captain, a successful aviation writer, novelist and TV consultant, but in 1985 he and some friends formed an aerobatic demonstration team that performs at air shows, and he recently completed a triathlon. Mastery has a nice ring to it and he can speak with authority about it.

Years ago I suggested Bob make a pilgrimage to the Hemingway Memorial in Sun Valley. I don’t know if he has, but the inspirational words engraved there provide a reflective coda to a life packed with adventure and accomplishment. I think he would feel a kinship with Hemingway in that regard also.

Categories : Aviation, Books, Film/Television, Travel, Uncategorized, Work and Adventure

Posted by jdbernard743

· May 10, 2016

· 1 Comment

Stanford Denied

Do you ever wonder “what if?” Do you wonder how your life would have turned out if you had taken a different turn at a crucial point in your journey? Who would or would not be in your life now? What if you had done this instead of that? How might your life have changed if you had turned right instead of left at a certain point? Where would it have taken you? Some of these “what if” moments are spontaneous, some are traditional decision points leading into the future. Some are unpredictable and some are beyond our control – illness, accidents, lost jobs – that change the vector of our lives.

I have three grown children. One is a fixed-earth planner who likes things settled and certain. One of her brothers is self-directed, hard to pin down, and doesn’t plan ahead. The other one is a scientist/athlete with a stable job who yearns for a more adventurous one. None of them sought my advice as they were making their life choices.

If they had asked me, I would have told them “be positive, stay flexible, say yes to invitations, keep your eyes and ears open for unexpected opportunities, set high expectations for yourself but don’t be too disappointed if your plans don’t work out. If you do these things they probably will work out.”

When I think about my “what if” moments, the ones I think about most often happened just as I was about to graduate from high school. Three years earlier, an admissions officer from Phillips Exeter Academy, the New Hampshire boarding school, stopped by my Seattle high school hoping to recruit students that would broaden the geographic diversity of that East Coast institution. My school counselor told me it was a great opportunity and suggested I apply. I didn’t know much about boarding schools, but it sounded exotic to a middle class boy who had never been east of Montana. When I enthusiastically told my parents about the opportunity and added that there was a scholarship attached, I thought they would share my enthusiasm. They said no. I don’t remember what else they said, but they shut that train down before it left the station.

At 15, I was trying to assert my independence and it was disappointing to be summarily dismissed. I may have been testing them then, but after their rejection I was reluctant to share other hopes with them for fear they would be put down too. When college application time rolled around in my senior year the Exeter experience was still a fresh wound, so I didn’t tell them I was sending an application to Stanford as well as the University of Washington. If I got accepted I would figure out how to get there.

When the return letter from Stanford arrived I stared at the envelope for a long time. I was an above average student but Stanford was a stretch and I thought this might be the gate I couldn’t open. I stared at the envelope imagining myself in that beautiful setting far from home and the changes it would bring if I could go there. When I finally opened it, the letter congratulated me on my acceptance, but threw me into an emotional blender. I was relieved and excited but depressed and fearful at the same time. I kept the news to myself for awhile, but eventually confronted my fear and told my parents. The fantasy ended when they told me, “There’s a perfectly good university just down the street and that’s where you’re going. End of conversation.” Despite the fact that Stanford tuition was only $250 per quarter then and I was prepared to work, save, and contribute, it wasn’t going to happen. That fall I enrolled at the UW.

I think of the Phillips Exeter opportunity and the Stanford acceptance as important “what if” moments. It’s clear that either one would have radically altered the direction of my life. All the people, places, and events in my life would have been different – friends, marriages, children, fields of study, career paths, geography, and military service. My life would have been wholly other than the one that followed.

From this distance, I understand my parents’ decision though it seemed harsh at the time. Their lives were lived within the boundaries of their limited experience. Education was important but a free university within walking distance of home blocked out the value of other choices. They weren’t able to see added value in the Stanford experience. My own children went East to boarding schools and to universities far from home, but our world was a different one from the one my parents inhabited.

Today, parents mortgage their retirement to send children to expensive, selective universities hoping they will give them an edge in an increasingly competitive world. I understand their motivation but question the underlying cost/benefit. My parents had confidence in the local system and assumed I would succeed. They were right. The UW did an excellent job in providing the building blocks for my future. My parents world didn’t extend much beyond the geographical region they inhabited. Stanford was out of their wheelhouse. It would have provided me with a different educational and geographic experience but it was a luxury that didn’t make sense to them.

I still think about Exeter and Stanford and wonder where they would have taken me. Most of all, in moments of reflection, I think about my parents and how they must have thought about my future at the time. My children are making those decisions now for their children. They’re not interested in what I think. I would love to have gone to Stanford, but I’m convinced that my education at the UW was as good as the one I would have received at Stanford. I hope my children and grandchildren make good choices that don’t saddle either of them with significant debt. If they are serious about education they can get it at almost any university – public, private, or even online.

I’m proud of the people my children have become. They don’t want my counsel but I stand by the advice I would have given them earlier: be positive, stay flexible, say yes to invitations, keep your eyes and ears open for unexpected opportunities, and set high expectations for yourself but don’t be too disappointed if your plans don’t work out. You never know when the next “What if” moment will come your way. Be alert. Don’t miss it.

Categories : Personal/Family, Travel, Uncategorized, Work and Adventure