MS-13: The Making of America's Most Notorious Gang by Steven Dudley My rating: 5 of 5 stars The power of Steven Dudley's MS13: The Making of America's Most Notorious Gang, comes from its exhaustively researched truth-telling. In an era when journalists and investigative reporters are routinely negated, wished away by spontaneous tweets, and branded as "fake news" by anyone who is inconvenienced by facts, Dudley's work is a refreshing return to a reality formed by truthful reporting. The author does not instruct us on who we should accept, celebrate or condemn; instead, he places his readers squarely in the center of a richly populated, and very real, world, where we must make sense of things ourselves.Thanks to Dudley's skills, both as a tireless research scholar and deft writer, MS13 is a book full of well-drawn characters -- real people on all sides of the difficult questions posed by gangs -- their horrific causes, as well as the terrible consequences wreaked by their existence. In an age when truth seems to have been foresworn in deference to sound bites and tweets, Steven Dudley's book is a welcome return to thoughtful examination of one of society's most pressing questions: What are the factors that cause the tragic transformation of people's lives into an existence of crime, violence, and desperation, which, in turn, tears at society's remaining fabric? More importantly -- or at least more immediately -- we the readers of this impressive work must take this truth and put it to use. We must do what we can to affect change that will, it is hoped, prevent the desperate cycle of violence from repeating itself indefinitely. View all my reviews

Love in the Time of Corona: Update Thirteen: My Dear Ole Alma Mater

 I recently came across an op-ed piece written by an administrator at Syracuse University on the school's website.  In no uncertain terms, he admonishes a group of students who convened on the Quad -- the very location where my well-spent tuition helped me develop a movie-star tan and a kick-ass Frisbee forehand -- in some, presumably, non-social-distanced behavior. 

Once I was done cycling through my appropriately adult reaction of being Shocked and Appalled, I fell into my annoying tendency toward Deanna-Troi-caliber hyper-empathy, as I tried to understand the "thinking" behind what happened that night at my Ole Alma Mater.

A few reference points popped to mind:  my own freshman year experience, of course, and the unabashed sense of independence and elation that  flowed through me at 18 years of age.  I thought also of my niece, whose freshman year at Cornell was cut short last year by the pandemic.  Additionally, I revisited an incident at the high school where I work here in the suburbs of Austin, Texas, that took place just last week.

Much like the esteemed vice chancellor, I was tasked by my principal to respond to an online call to students to gather for a "Senior Sunset," where kids would convene in our student parking lot, and watch the sun go down on the eve of their first day of virtual instruction as 12th graders.

I was more fortunate than Vice Chancellor Haynie, in that I received my intel before the event in question and was able to prevent it with one phone call to the young lady who posted the invite (under her actual name) and her mom.  No investigation, no scrolling through grainy surveillance footage.  Just the conversation, in which I acknowledged the need all people have -- especially young people -- to come together and be social, and then added my final pearl of administrative wisdom:  The sooner we're able to abide by these restrictions, the more quickly we'll get back to "normal."

That worked.  The student posted a cancellation, and the Senior Sunset never happened.  And here's what that unprecedented exchange left me with:  Young people are told "These are your salad days.  You're only young once.  It doesn't get any better than this."  They want to live it up and make the kinds of memories they hear their boomer dad spouting about as they flip burgers and gulp Lite beer at the grill in their Psychedelic Furs and "Kiss the Chef" aprons.  Meanwhile, they're also hearing, "How sad, that this generation will be deprived of these experiences."

Don't get me wrong here:  I'm not excusing the students who participated in this latest shit-show of Trump-era "humanity."  Had one of the revelers been my child, I'd have pulled them out and found a better way to invest $80K a year in a hot second.  But the fuel that caused this fire was the internet.  All it took was one 18 year old, a bong hit, and a decent wifi signal -- one child (let's be honest) who thought, "I wonder how many people would show up if...."

Back in my day, it would have been me and maybe four or five other idiots (some of whom are reading this now, I'm sure) lying in the grass, giggling up at the stars.  Now, it's a full-scale health crisis that leaves us all wondering how the hell we're ever going to get out of this horror.

Love in the Time of Corona: Update Twelve: FDoS

 (That stands for "First Day of School")

I've got to admit it -- I'm "SMH," as they say, at the fact that I am still writing posts under the Love in the Time of Corona heading, five months after I started.

Feeling compelled to reach out to all of those teachers who are freaking out right now, and, by the way, I'm not using the term to minimize what they're going through.  The freak-out is real.  And justified.  

Today marks a very different first day of school.  It is like previous First Days, in that many of us had sleepless nights last night.  This time, however, that sleeplessness had a slightly different flavor.  Instead of the "butterflies" of trying to picture that faceless group of young people, adding their excitement, anticipation, and straight-up fear to yours, as they fill up the classroom you've worked so hard to prepare, the emotion has shifted somewhat, along with the rest of our planet and our lives.

Although it's been almost twenty years since I was last in charge of a classroom full of high-schoolers, I recall the anxiety dreams I'd have leading up to Day One -- everything from having no chalk (yes, chalk) to having no clothes.  But this year, the year we've been asked to learn a brand new Learning Management System (LMS) for a group of students with whom we could conceivably never actually (as opposed to -- that word again -- "virtually") meet, by people who barely seem to understand how the LMS works themselves, I have only the following words of "wisdom" to offer:

My mantra, as always, is, "SCHOOL WILL HAPPEN."  It's up to each of us if we want it to happen to us, or for us.

POST SCRIPT - End of the Day Update for the Chicken Littles among us:

DF:  Look up.  What do you see?

CL:  I see the sky.

DF: And?

CL: And what?

DF: Is it falling?

CL: Ha ha.  Very funny.

DF: It's not, is it?

CL: No.  No, it's not.

That's right my friends and colleagues:  We will get through this.  One way or another, we will get it done.

The author, alias "COVI-Dan," in his office, ready as he'll ever be....

Love in the Time of Corona: Update 11

Sunday, July 19, 2020 (Day Three of Solitary)

Being confined to a room in one's house is a fascinating experience.  The family check in on me from time to time, Diego less so.  At 17, he seems put out by everything and everyone most of the time, including me and my annoying COVID scare.  Jackson and I even watched a movie "together" last night (me on my makeshift bed in the office and he on the living room couch).

I'm really only "quasi-" or "semi-" isolated, and have noticed restrictions loosening as the dirty dishes pile up.  (It's good to be needed...)

But seriously, I do place value on limiting contact until the lab results are in.

Yesterday, I spent some time working on our family "Emergency Binder."  I printed out a form for our memorial preferences, and realized a few things, in real time, about myself as I filled one out.  One is that I don't want to be buried, I want to be cremated.  Another is I don't want any of my end-of-life stuff to happen in Texas.  I started in New York, and I want to finish my current adventure there, as well.  I want everyone to gather in the Union Church in Pocantico Hills, surrounded by Marc Chagall's stained glass windows for my memorial service.  And whether they allow it or not, I want my ashes to be scattered in the Cherry Esplanade at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, where I sat on a bench in the rain with a beautiful young woman who is now my wife.  I'd never met anyone who made getting rained on seem like such an amazingly pleasant experience.

I also realized I want an old friend, Nate Dudley, to preside over my memorial.  He knows what I'm about, comes from a good spiritual and political place, and can officiate in both English and Spanish, a necessity, since approximately fifty percent of my loved ones are Spanish speakers.  When I texted him we promptly had a FaceTime conversation, and caught up after many years.  We asked after each other's families, compared notes on what opening our respective school systems might look like, until I finally, nervously asked the question I had originally texted him about.

Elder Dudley's answer to my entreaty was perfect:  "Very honored by your request.  Thank you.  But let's make a date in 30 years.  2050 sounds good."

Sounds good to me too, Nato.  Sounds good to me too.  

Old pal, and church elder, Nate Dudley, with his two greatest creations 

Love in the Time of Corona: Update 10

Saturday, July 18, 2020

(Day Two of Solitary Confinement)

Slept poorly last night in my new cell.  Too quiet without the rhythmic din of my bride's snoring.  I tried all the usual remedies -- reading, meditation, "self-care," but nothing worked.

Everything about this is upside-down.  Having to wear a mask and gloves when I venture out of the office is one strange part of it.  But the oddest piece, and one I admit I failed to anticipate, is that I'm unable to touch anyone.  I've developed, it seems, an almost physical dependence on the touch of my loved ones -- the feel of my wife's lips on mine, the hearty fist-bumps of my teenage sons, and even the solace of watching my dog fall comfortably asleep as I stroke her soft, stinky coat.  (Yes, the instructions they gave me at the testing site included "Do not handle household pets.")

My deepest sadness comes from realizing, early on, that the vast majority of those 600,000 people who have died of this disease have done so without the comforting hands of loved ones holding theirs.  When it's time for me to go -- and I'm confident it won't be for a long time -- this is all I ask.  I don't need to b e surrounded by six Vestal Virgins, waiting to show me the way to paradise.  I don't even need a holy person, reading last rites.  All I'll want when my day comes is the feel of a familiar hand, the sound of a familiar voice telling me it's okay for me to move on to my next adventure.

Sometimes you have to let the dark thoughts come

Love in the Time of Corona: Update 9

Friday, July 17, 2020:  Solitary Confinement, Day One

The first of these updates came to me on March 10, so if I consider that my "Day One," today is Day 129 of thinking seriously about this virus.  In fact, the thinking I've done today is the most serious I've done so far.  This morning, after my usual cup of black coffee, I began being bothered by a pain in my left side.  It intensified and became a full-on cramp, and just as quickly, and out of nowhere, I was kneeling in my bathroom, heaving the few contents of my stomach into the toilet.  J. had to leave for work -- a temp job as a bilingual social worker helping refer people for COVID services -- and suggested I try a bath with Epsom salts.

I took her advice, but found no relief.  When she called to check in, the cramps were even worse.

"Get dressed," she said.  "I'll find out where you can get tested."

I had sweated through the t-shirt I'd put on after my bath, and the thought that this could be the coronavirus sent me into a bona fide panic.

"Please don't let me have it, please don't let me have it, I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to die."

I muttered this mantra quietly but aloud, in the privacy of my bathroom.

Then I remembered my children.  And I became strong.  For them.  I refused to allow my fear to become theirs, so I calmed my breathing and told my older son Diego I was going for a quick checkup and that I'd be right back.

I got the nasal test -- a very long swab sent in through the nostril and down the passage and held there for about ten seconds.

And now I wait three to five days for my result.  I'm feeling much better and still have no fever; however I've moved into my home office, where I'll be in isolation, at least until we get the news, assuming it comes up negative.  Obviously, if it's positive, my isolation will continue for the prescribed 14 days.  

I'm confident I don't have the virus, and am staying optimistic, while staying isolated.

My fingers are crossed, my spirits are high, and I'll keep everyone posted....

The author, in Solitary, Day One

Love in the Time of Corona, Update Eight: The Resurgence

Image Credit:  Fortune Magazine

My state -- adopted state, I should say -- of Texas is now in the news, along with several others, due to a disturbing surge in the number of cases of Coronavirus.  Simultaneously, my native state of New York, after having spent weeks as the hellish epicenter of this pandemic, seems to be a making a nice recovery.  I only hope they can sustain it, or at least hold on for as long as it takes the scientists to come up with a vaccine for the damn thing.

Why the spike in cases here?  Many are second-guessing the governor, saying he re-opened too quickly.  Others almost seem to blame the "Come and Take It," rugged individualism attitude they perceive Texans to have.  As one friend in New York jokingly said to me on the phone recently, "What is it with you people? First it's 'you can't take my guns,' and now it's 'you can't make me wear a mask.'"

If I had to pick one or the other of these two theories, I'd be more likely to pick the former, just based on my own personal experience.  The people I see when I'm out shopping seem to be using an abundance of caution, as far as masks and social distancing are concerned.

However...upon saying that...I recall that just after Governor Greg Abbott reopened the state, I did see a noticeable, if brief, rise in the number of shoppers without masks.  Apparently, that may have been enough to cause this frightening "spike" we're currently in.  So I suppose the correct answer to my multiple choice question on why we are in this predicament might just be "(c) All of the above."

Most recently, Abbott has tightened things back up.  While not fully "locking down," he has put restrictions back on bar and restaurant owners, who were already suffering.  

I feel for them, and for all of us.  Even the most reclusive among us are longing for things to go "back to normal."  (Though I don't think "normal" will ever look the same again.)

But as Brooklyn's own infectious disease expert Tony Fauci put it, the best and fastest way to do that is by continuing to stay home as much as possible, and to maintain social distance and wear masks in those instances when necessity forces us to venture out into this scary, new world.

30 Hikes in 30 Days: Day Seven: Crockett Gardens Falls

Day Seven:  Wednesday, June 24, 2020

Crockett Gardens Falls is a 7.6 mile heavily trafficked out and back trail located near Georgetown, Texas that features a lake and is good for all skill levels. The trail offers a number of activity options and is accessible year-round. Dogs are also able to use this trail but must be kept on leash. -- alltrails.com

The first of our new Hiking Rocks collection

When we set out on the 40-minute drive up to Georgetown, the rain began to fall.  We were a little discouraged, but decided to press on.  The hiking gods were kind to us, and the rain fell only briefly. The trailhead was clearly marked, and we had the whole parking area to ourselves (probably due to the rain).  The trail itself was only slightly muddy -- not bad at all.

The author, at the trailhead

 One piece of advice I can give to my fellow parents who hike (or hikers who parent) is the following:  Don't go hiking when you know you have to be home at a certain time in order to drive your kid to work.  I say this, because this is the kind of trail you could spend a long time exploring, and we just weren't able to.  In fact, we don't consider our time at Crockett Gardens complete.  It's Part One.

My lovely bride had the great idea of picking a rock to take home to commemorate our hikes from now on, so that was a new development born out of our trip to Georgetown.

There's not much else to share, other than a general impression that this is definitely a trail that's worth your while.  A bit of garbage, but I honestly couldn't tell if it was left behind just beyond the garbage can, or if maybe an enterprising racoon had pulled it out.  Generally a lovely place.

And yes, to paraphrase General MacArthur, "we will return!"

The author and his lovely bride

30 Hikes in 30 Days: Day Six: Mary Moore Searight Metropolitan Park

Just some of the many wildflowers at Mary Moore Seabright Park (Photo credit: J. Reyes-Fuchs

Day Six:  Sunday, June 21, 2020

Mary Moore Searight Park Trail is a 2.1 mile heavily trafficked loop trail located near Austin, Texas that features a river and is good for all skill levels. The trail offers a number of activity options and is accessible year-round. Dogs are also able to use this trail but must be kept on leash.

Those of you who have read previous installments in this series with a keen eye for detail may have noticed me wearing my Adidas Stan Smith sneakers.  While great for tennis and general metrosexual, quasi-retro stylishness, they're not ideal hiking shoes and were starting to take their toll on me, in the form of some painful low-grade plantar faciiatis.  I'd imagine if you're a hiker -- especially of "a certain age group" -- you're probably familiar with it.  If not, I do not wish it upon you, nor would I ever.  If you don't take my word for it, go ahead and google it, and be thankful you haven't had the pleasure.

This is a long-winded way of saying that my lovely bride bought me a pair of good Columbia brand hiking shoes as a Father's Day present, so that I could continue our hiking adventures pain free.

Before...

... and After

Excited to break in the new kicks, I followed my iPhone's directions to . . . the Borden Milk plant??  That was as close as we were able to get to our intended destination -- Colorado River Park Wildlife Preserve.  If there is an actual entrance or trailhead, we never found it.

Not to be discouraged, my lovely bride suggested we check out "the park next to Paredes Middle School," a place her work had taken her on several occasions.  Aside from its existence, she didn't know anything more about the place, other than that it looked nice from the outside, and caused headaches for the staff at Paredes, who occasionally had to chase down naughty students who chose to sneak off into the park next-door for a variety of reasons one can only imagine.

As it turns out, it is called Mary Moore Searight Metropolitan Park, and was a major find.  There are a tremendous array of wildflowers all around, and a big field that I'm sure was normally full of people, pre-Covid.  

One of many lovely flowers (Photo credit J. Reyes-Fuchs)

While it wasn't the original plan, we thoroughly enjoyed our hike, and managed to get a little turned around, as is our tendency.  But we were given directions by a very nice scout leader, and found our way out eventually.  

One note of caution:  while the trail was by no means "crowded" in the conventional sense of the word, there were definitely more hikers, joggers, and dog walkers than we've seen in any other park we've visited so far, so if you're concerned about the virus, you'll want to have that in mind.  But whether you choose to go now, or you wait till our numbers improve, I have no doubt you'll enjoy Mary Moore Searight Metropolitan Park.  

And by the way, the shoes worked out great!

MLB, looking stylish and proud of the excellent hiking shoes she got me

30 Hikes in 30 Days: Day Five: Bastrop State Park

Friday, June 19, 2020

For more than 70 years, folks have visited Bastrop State Park to enjoy its history and marvel at the Lost Pines. Forest fires and floods have ravaged the park in recent years. Now comes rebirth: new trees, new plants and new life. Come see the park’s recovery from nature’s fury. We’re just 32 miles east of Austin. -- Texas Parks & Wildlife website

Map of the park, at the Scenic Overlook

We'd been living in Texas for just over three years when the brushfires raged across Bastrop in 2011.  I can remember the constant bonfire smell in the air, a slight burn in the base of my throat, and a dark cloud on the horizon that was vaguely reminiscent of one that hung over our home in New York City ten years prior, after the attacks that toppled the World Trade Center Towers.

This was our first trip to Bastrop since that devastation; we'd taken our boys to the Capital of Texas Zoo in Cedar Creek not long after making our move southwest.  I don't want to dwell too much on the damage that was done by the 2011 fires, because, as the website's blurb above suggests, one does see amazing, inspiring evidence of rebirth and regeneration when one hikes the trails of this majestic park.  However, the old-growth trees that now stand like blackened gravestones command your attention in a way that cannot be denied.

One of the many "tree gravestones" at Bastrop State Park

The deep black of the countless burnt out trunks has an interesting, ultimately beautiful effect:  somehow all the colors that surround it are enhanced -- the blue of the sky, the green of the pines and brush, the copper brown of the soil, and the white of the sand, which the pines apparently love.  

A blackened tree trunk, bringing out the colors around it

As far as the hike itself, my lovely bride and I enjoyed it thoroughly.  It was the longest we've done so far, my iPhone health app logging nearly 8 miles and 23,000 steps, and, as such, a good reminder about the importance of perseverance and going on when you think that you can't.  (This may have been due to our choice to "go with it" when we realized we'd gotten off the red trail, known as the scenic overlook loop, and onto the purple trail, which is significantly longer and takes you through the lovely Lost Pines section of the park.  

The author, asking a Lost Pine if it needs directions

This may be a bit of a stretch, but I think there was something about the resilience of this amazing piece of parkland that may have inspired me to finish my 7+ miles.  Mother Earth has a way of coming back from even the most devastating blows, natural or man-made.  As I sat in a bit of found shade, I took a few sips of water, caught my breath, and looked out at the burnt out timber, surrounded by flourishing, new growth, stood up, and said, "Okay.  Let's do this."

And we did.

My lovely bride, enjoying the splendor, and ready for an ice-cold Topo Chico

30 Hikes in 30 Days: Day Four: Bull Creek District Park and Greenbelt

Day Four:  Wednesday, June 17, 2020:  Bull Creek District Park and Greenbelt

Bull Creek District Park is a 48-acre city park in Austin, Texas. The park was created in 1971, and named for Bull Creek, the stream that passes through it and provides the focal point of the park's primary attractions of swimming, hiking, and fishing.  -- Wikipedia

My lovely bride and me, on one of the scenic elevations at Bull Creek Trail

Bull Creek runs through impressive rock formations, and offers some moderate to challenging trails. We saw a good amount of wildlife during our hike, including river turtles, minnows and larger fish, and a good sized rabbit who crossed our path. We spotted a couple of cardinals and a black heron, as well.

Unfortunately, we spotted a lot of garbage, too. I felt a little like the Native American in the classic anti-littering ad I grew up with in the seventies. ("Keep America Beautiful") From the moment we hit the trail, I started noticing all kinds of trash -- in the water, in the trees, and on the trail.

It's clear from burnt embers and charcoal briquettes that there's an after-dark scene that goes on here. Whether it's teenagers having fun, or homeless people trying to survive, or some combination of the two, there's an overabundance of refuse that I'd be remiss not to mention.

That being said, the beauty ultimately outshined the rubbish, and my lovely bride and I ended up having a memorable morning of hiking at Bull Creek. My hope is that once the pandemic is a thing of the past, the Austin Parks and Recreation department will do a better job maintaining the natural splendor of this place.

She's become quite the trailblazer, my lovely bride!

30 Hikes in 30 Days: Day Three: Copperfield Nature Trail

Day Three: Tuesday, June 16, 2020

Copperfield Nature Trail is a 3.5 mile moderately trafficked out and back trail located near Austin, Texas that features a river and is good for all skill levels. The trail is primarily used for hiking, walking, nature trips, and bird watching and is accessible year-round.

Trailside wildflower on the Copperfield Nature Trail
Photo credit:  J. Reyes-Fuchs

When I researched this particular trail, I wasn't sure what I was dealing with. It is located in an area dotted with apartment complexes, a large Vietnamese church complex, and a lovely subdivision I'd failed to ever notice in my ten-plus years living in the area.

On paper, it looks unimpressive -- a big loop ringing a residential neighborhood. Unlike Webberville, it is by no means in the middle of nowhere; it is very much in the middle of Austin's ever-spreading sprawl. I pictured a nice walking trail, paved, on a green belt maybe. Nice, but probably no great shakes.

I was mistaken. Copperfield is a lovely, well-maintained trail. It even had some pretty good hills, which Jeanette and I were not expecting.

My lovely bride and I, when we saw a steep hill up ahead

There are a few sections that run uncomfortably close to people's back yards, and even a point that spit us out into the middle of a suburban block, and gave us minimal signage to find our way back to the trail.  

Other than that, however, Copperfield Nature was a pleasant surprise and a great workout. My lovely bride and I give it two enthusiastic thumbs up.

Love in the Time of Corona: Update Seven

Note:  I dedicate this post to all those who have lost loved ones to Covid 19.  To the rest of you, I say remember them when you hear people talk about "hoaxes" and that they're willing to "take those odds," because in taking them, they're not only endangering themselves, they're endangering all of us.

-------

I'm my fathers son.  In so many ways.  He had a habit -- one I share (or inherited) of indulging in a kind of "conjectural time travel."  For instance, he'd bite into a particularly good cut of meat or seafood and say, "Can you imagine the first person who dropped this creature into a fire, and then took that first taste of cooked food?"  It was like he was trying to resurrect that mythical cave person just long enough to experience the pure rapture they must have felt in their moment of discovery.

The author's father, Hanno Fuchs in Tokyo, circa 1951

While I've certainly caught myself doing the exact same thing, I also have a tenddency toward projecting my present reality into the future as I try to imagine what the as-yet-unborn chroniclers of our time will say about it.  I can recall, for example, getting into a heated debate with a local supporter of the good ole second amendment, and his God-given right to "bear arms."

"How will the historians judge us when they look back at the sheer number of our compatriots we allowed to die due to our inability to control the firearms industry?"

(He didn't care much for this line of argument.)

I bring up this habit of mine, because I find myself very aware that we are currently living through a moment historians will write about, and deem "significant."  For one thing, the "twenty-teens" will be remembered for bringing us, arguably, I suppose one has to say, the most inept president in our country's history.  Also, this "novel" virus has torn our economy to pieces, and, most importantly, we've hit a tipping point as far as human rights abuses are concerned -- more specifically how the dominant (read white, straight, male) culture discriminates against black Americans and women.  People have stood up, and continue to stand up, for what is right.  In courtrooms, and in the streets.

I wonder if Trump's ineptitude may ultimately prove to be what we "thank for" this sea-change of rebellion we're experiencing.  Unlike his predecessors, he has no filter between thought and speech.  Previous presidents were better at saying the pretty things we need to hear that allow us to accept the status quo (aka "American Way").   Although previous American presidents certainly may have believed that sometimes you just have to "grab [women] by the pussy" or that "there are good people on both sides," they've rarely said it aloud.  On Twitter or elsewhere.  This one can't stop, which may be helping to keep the revolution going.

While I'm sympathetic to those whose livelihoods, whose years of hard work have been affected or obliterated by the pandemic, I'm troubled by what I'm seeing right now.  After re-opening some states, including Texas where I live, we are, sure enough, seeing a spike in both Covid cases and deaths.  The president has one of his rallies coming up next week and has boasted about receiving 200,000 requests for tickets.  Those fervent members of his so-called "base" have been told they'll need to sign an agreement of indemnity, releasing the president and his government of any liability should they come down with Covid, which is, after all, a liberal hoax.

This is the crucial moment the historians will look back on, when, in the midst of a global pandemic, protestors took to the streets anyway.  When our answer to "il Duce" gathered the faithful by the thousands.  We don't know the consequences yet.  But we will.

There was something very pure about my father's liberalism -- maybe because he escaped the Nazis at age 12, before he could be added to the thousands of males from his town in Germany who were systematically exterminated.  I'm just glad he was spared seeing this man in power, and what he's doing to the democracy my father cared so much about, and fought so hard to preserve.  That said, I do believe that, like me, he would be extremely encouraged by the young leaders who have taken to the street to speak out against injustice, and to fight for a better country and a better world for all.

30 Hikes in 30 Days: Day Two: Round Rock Memorial Park, Round Rock, Texas

Day Two:  Sunday, June 14, 2020

Memorial Park consists of 14.11 acres of land. This park provides a cool and shaded atmosphere with the abundance of trees. The 0.60 mile trail runs alongside Brushy Creek, which provides a stimulating view for any runner, walker, or bike rider. Follow the trail to see the legendary “Round Rock” that can be seen in Brushy Creek. For the softball players out there, Memorial Park offers a softball field along with a full concession stand. Parking is available just outside the field and only a few steps away from the playground. Park goers can also enjoy other amenities such as picnic tables, grills, and drinking fountains.
                                -- from the Round Rock Parks and Recreation website

This morning's hike was in Round Rock Memorial Park.  Just off I-35, it's a hidden gem.  I've driven past the entrance on my way to meetings at C.D. Fulkes Middle School on several occasions and had no idea.

We drove over a one-lane bridge to arrive at a small parking lot nestled between a softball field and a playground.  We made our way down the paved path and got to a road where a man was casting his fishing line into the water.  A marker told us this was Brushy Creek, and also the site of the "Round Rock" whence the town got its name.  We stopped to snap a selfie in front of the famous boulder, which neither of us had known about until today.

The author, left, and his lovely bride, crowned by the "Round Rock" 

Soon after getting a shot of me looking regal in front of a babbling waterfall, we came to a sign reading "Trail Closed."  We paused, discouraged, and considered being upstanding, rule-following members of our community until, that is, we saw two fisherman in camouflage jackets and waders ignore the sign, at which point we said, "Eff it!" and forged ahead.

The author, posing for a statue in front of a waterfall

So glad we did.  Round Rock Memorial Park turned out to be a beautiful hike and a fantastic workout.  

And yet another gorgeous morning spent with my lovely bride!

30 Hikes in 30 Days: Day One: Webberville Park, Webberville, Texas

Saturday, June 13, 2020 - Day One

Webberville Park is located in far eastern Travis County in the small, rural community of Webberville, approximately 30 minutes drive from Austin.

The park features the flat, gentle terrain typical of the Blackland Prairies, with plenty of large oak and pecan trees that offer shade to the grassy picnic areas. Two miles of hike and bike trails meander through the serene, wooded surroundings.

Webberville Park is a favorite location for lazy afternoons of fishing, picnicking, horseback riding, or just shooting the breeze.

The paved boat ramp is one of the most popular access points to the Colorado River, both for motorboaters and canoeists.
                                                -- Travis County Parks Website

Webberville is sprawling, with a few picnic areas, two well-kept softball fields, and a spot to ease your canoe into the water.  Due, I'm sure, to the pandemic, the park was pretty well deserted.  We crossed paths with maybe half a dozen people during our hike.  I can only assume the place would be hopping with visitors on a usual Saturday.

Favorite Moment:  The original idea I had of going to Webberville was to scope out the possibilities for canoeing, as a colleague had informed me she'd gone kayaking and enjoyed it thoroughly.  As we walked up the path, we found the sign directing us to the boat ramp, which was affixed to an old canoe that had been repurposed as a planter for some local wildflowers.  Jeanette's eyes widened and lit up.

"Oh my gosh, why didn't I ever think of that?" she said, as we began googling on our phones, and
pricing new, more portable kayaks.  Something told me we wouldn't be mounting the canoe on top of the car any time soon... 

The author, right, and his bride.  Webberville Park, Webberville, Texas

Here Kitty Kitty by Jardine Libaire
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

What a heartbreakingly lovely writer Libaire is. She captures both the joyful magic and excruciating pain of youth, through the eyes of Lee, as human a narrator as I've ever read.

Toward the end of the book, Lee watches a group of boys cross a lot outside her building in Brooklyn. In this gorgeous collection of sentences, Libaire speaks directly to the heart (or mine, at least) about what it is to have once been young:

"And I want to go, to be part of it. Absurd as this is, I yearn after the place where they vanished. But in this life we take turns at being enchanting, then enchanted. First we play in the streets, unaware of the freedom burning in the sun on our hair and the cigarette in our mouth, unconscious of the daydreams we inspire. Then it's our time to sit at a window and watch, and we are moved."

I nodded as I read these words, a hand on my heart. "Yes," I said aloud. "Yes."


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The Young Lords: A Radical History by Johanna Fernandez
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

It's a rare occurrence to read a book at exactly the right moment -- not just "personally;" I'm talking about the right historical moment, as well. Fernandez's book, which chronicles the rise, growth, and ultimate dissolution of the Young Lords -- from alienated street gang, surviving in 1960s urban poverty, seeing the inequities and injustices firsthand while serving as interpreters of language and culture for their migrant parents, to internationally-known agents of change -- is a handbook for today's youth who are trying to make an impact on today's troubled society.

As I write this review, there are an unprecedented number of protest actions happening in all fifty states of this country, as well as internationally, in response to the murder of George Floyd, a Minneapolis man whose death at the hands of police officers was caught on video, and is only the most recent in a long line of such killings of unarmed black men. People have broken their Covid 19 quarantines by the thousands to come out and be counted, and there seems to be an overwhelming sentiment of "Enough is enough."

We're now at that crucial moment, where the talking heads have made their arguments on CNN, MSNBC, Fox News, and the rest. We've gone out to be counted at our local protest, unapologetically calling out for justice in the streets. Some have expressed their anger and heartbreak in more violent forms, others have seized an opportunity to create mayhem and to steal.

And now comes the aforementioned crucial moment-- the "lull," as it were, that all too often ends in the placative "normalcy" that some folks yearn for -- that "Great" America that was never great for some. Complacency replaces upheaval, the status quo fills the vacuum left once the protestors put away their picket signs.

This is where Fernandez's book comes in. Instead of falling prey to the overwhelming tendency toward political inertia, instead of giving in to the "pendulum theory" of American politics (that which swings too far to the right will swing back to the left again), look at the example of the Young Lords and other revolutionaries like them that Fernandez writes about. Be inspired by their victories. (I did not know, for example, that those vivid PSAs I grew up watching as a New York-area kid in the 70's warning us about lead poisoning -- a baby, about to ingest a paint chip, next to a rusted radiator -- were a direct result of the door-to-door, grassroots efforts of the Young Lords.) Similarly, their actions at the Bronx's Lincoln Hospital led to the creation of a Patient Bill of Rights.

We need to be reminded in this important historical moment that political action can and will lead to change. Fernandez gives us this reminder, in an extremely well-written, readable narrative, that is exhaustively researched. She gives us not only the "victories" I've mentioned, but also provides a cautionary tale of what happens when movements lose their way, sometimes by falling prey to the very ills they're speaking up against, creating hierarchies based on ethnicity, gender, or sexual orientation.

When, like so many other well-meaning white liberals, I posted, on Facebook, pictures of myself at our local Black Lives Matter protest, a distant cousin who lives in the UK commented "Dan, is there any hope for your country?"

I responded by saying "There's something about this current movement that feels different and gives me hope."

And I do believe that. I'm also concerned about the "lull" and the very real possibility of falling back into the status quo that leaves so many of my black and brown brothers and sisters on the outside, looking in, and wondering how much their lives really do "matter." As Fernandez says in her Afterword, titled "Coda: Beware of Movements:"

"Social movements and their organizations are not measured temporally but in terms of impact and the extent to which they shift consciousness, public debate, what's accepted, and how we live."

Not only do I encourage all the young leaders emerging in this current struggle to read "The Young Lords: A Radical History," but I do so for any member of the human race who believes we can reach a better, more just and more loving version of our ourselves.



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Mad, Bad & Dangerous to Know by Samira Ahmed
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

In this, Ahmed's third novel, she introduces us to a young woman, Khayyam, who, much like the protagonists of the first two novels, "Love, Hate, and Other Filters" and "Internment" is a proud, unapologetic, if soul-searching Indian-American Muslim. She differs from Maya and Layla, respectively, in that she has another couple of layers of duality to her sense of self - she is bi-racial and bi-national, her mother being Indian, and her father being from France.

And, of course, probably the most central to this story, Khayyam is a brilliant young woman, striving to make a mark on a male-dominated world. Her vehicle to do so is an essay competition, and she has decided to focus on the mysterious figure of Leila, who comes up in the work of three male artists of the 19th century canon: French novelist Alexandre Dumas, French painter Eugene Delacroix, and English poet Lord Byron.

Even more masterful than Ahmed's use of the mystery genre to address the very important theme of male hegemony, is her use of the Young Adult (YA) genre itself. Ahmed has discovered a unique formula for herself as an author: she delivers highly political content -- concerning such prevailing themes as Islamophobia, racism, human rights violations, and sexism -- in a seemingly apolitical package; namely the Young Adult novel. My belief is that she does so knowingly. She is aware that she is reaching the very audience she needs to reach -- young people.

It is this writer's hope that she will not only succeed in empowering the next generation, in all its diverse manifestations (which, by the way, I know, in my role as educator working with a very diverse student body, she has done), but that she will also politicize them, so that the young people reading her work will take on her themes and apply them to the world they live in, and the world they want their own children to inhabit.


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Love in the Time of Corona: Update Six

A Word from the Elders

Our dog is getting more walks during this outbreak than she's ever had in any comparable span of time.  In the course of one of these outings, I stopped by our mailbox to see what bills, statements, and/or junk mail had come this time.  The box contained the usual dreck, but also an envelope with my name and address handprinted across its face.  The return address was a sticker like the ones Easter Seals sends you when they want a donation.  My aunt Gabby's name was the one printed, with "& Gerda" handwritten next to it.  These are my twin aunties, Gabrielle Fuchs and Gerda Rypins.  At nearly 89 years old, they are the lone survivors of their siblings, eldest brother Jeff having passed just over a month ago, and middle brother, my father Hanno, twenty years ago next month.

The letter is in cursive, a sheet of 8.5 x 11 printer paper folded in the middle like stationery, with Gabby taking up two and a half pages and Gerda the remaining side and a half.  Both were sweet, newsy, and funny, Gabby opening with "Hi dearest nephew Dan!"  She complained about the president's lazy vocabulary ("such as 'incredible' and 'unbelievable.'")  "He's so destructive," she went on.  "I wish they'd tape his ugly mouth forever!"

She went on to discuss their lives living together in the midst of the pandemic, how their local Safeway grocery store is reserving the hours from 7-9 a.m. for "senior shopping."  (Her emphasis.)

Her twin sister Gerda was characteristically more economical in her words; the aptly named Gabby has always been the more gregarious of the two in my experience.  Gerda's sense of humor is dryer than her sister's.  For instance, in her portion of the letter she quips, "By the way, I washed my hands thoroughly before writing to you!"

(Note:  I was going to call this the "Fuchs Sense of Humor," but it actually reminds me more of my mom, the late, great Carol R. Fuchs, a woman both sisters adored.)

It was wonderful to hear from these two, with whom I've reconnected, having spent time with them during our family reunion in Berkeley in the summer of 2018, and exchanging the occasional letter like this one.  It pains me that they're so far away, but I'm grateful they have each other, just as they have for the past 89 years.  They've seen each other through escaping the Nazis in Germany, and the deaths of many more loved ones that the two I've mentioned here, so I have no doubt they'll see each other through this unprecedented moment in our planet's modern history.

Gabby and Gerda Fuchs with my father Hanno, left, father, Bill, and brother Geoffrey, circa 1934 (?)

Love in the Time of Corona: Update Five

An Anonymous Message

My lovely bride of nearly 18 years and I took a walk this late morning with our sweet and aging dog, Ally, a friendly Shepherd mix.  Apart from a trio of 10 year old boys on bicycles and a lone jogger, we saw no one in our quiet, suburban neighborhood.

I pictured my neighbors, knowing most of them were home, peering at us through the slats of their Venetian blinds and plantation shutters, just as I've become accustomed to doing from inside my modest ranch house a few blocks away.

It was unusually hot -- reaching nearly 90 degrees by noon.  It was around that time that we started to make our way back home, having worked up a sweat, which felt good after so many days of being sequestered.  Ally, poor thing, was panting, trying her best to find the scant shade offered under the midday sun.

Jeanette was on her phone with our New York family, about whom we're especially concerned, as that city where both of us were born, and where so many of our loved ones still live, is now the "epicenter" of this virus's path.

It was during our home stretch that we came upon some "street art" that a neighbor's child (I assumed) had taken the time to create.  On the driveway was a rendering in colored chalk, of a pink and red heart, next to the planet Earth, its oceans bright blue, interrupted by green continents.  Encircling the globe, hands entwined, were multicolored human figures, and the world was crowned with one word, in large block letters:  "UNITY."  The artist had written another chalk message, this one on the sidewalk in front of the house.  It read, "SMILE.  YOU ARE IMPORTANT & LOVED!"

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank the person who stopped to send this message out to the world.  We need these brightly colored messages of love.

Now more than ever.

Street Art by Anonymous, Manor, Texas

"SMILE.  YOU ARE IMPORTANT & LOVED!"

Love in the Time of Corona: Update Four

Back to School....Sort Of  

"Distance" Learning? Hmmm....

Today (Monday, 3/23/20) feels different, because it's the day we were supposed to go back to school, after a week off for Spring Break.  Something about this outbreak, and all the restrictions that come with it, seemed less real, maybe because it was all happening during a time my family and I were "off."

As far as my district is concerned, I am officially "on-call"; as such, I'm taking a wait-and-see attitude.  Like other parents, I will position my children, kicking and screaming, I'm sure, in front of some of the non-required enrichment assignments they've put together on their website, in an effort to prevent student brains from turning to complete mush from lack of use.

Parenting in the Pandemic

Let me start out by saying, I believe myself to be relatively fortunate, as the father of two young men of 14 and 16 respectively who are, by and large, fairly "together" people.  I can only imagine what it must be like for the parents of younger children, or kids with cognitive disabilities and delays.  I wonder about my students and their families, some of whom were already dealing with numerous stressors before the pandemic even happened.

In my role as Father to these two boys -- and I know I put this on myself -- I must keep up a strong front.  My kids will receive no benefit from my fear of the unknown.  So, in the face of the latest developments -- a "Stay-home, stay-safe" (aka shelter-in-place) order for the residents of our county -- I can only stay positive and present for my family, because it's what I know they need.

Inside, however, it's another story altogether....

My model for post-apocalyptic parenting, Rick Grimes of The Walking Dead

Love in the Time of Corona: Update Three

The author, getting dressed for the quarantine

Starting to lose track of the days now, as this "vacation" goes on and on....

Today I woke up with the desire to look "cute" in the face of this scary, oppressive presence called Covid 19.  (Author's Note:  At age 56.3, I'm not naive:  My notion of the word "cute" is super-specific at this point in my life.)  I'm tired of lazing around in pajamas or sweats -- my sons are unabashedly running around in just their underwear all day, like some high-tech, indoor version of "Lord of the Flies."

I had that Johnny Deppian urge to accessorize -- to break out the Rasta pooka shell necklace and multi-colored rubber bracelets, and to actually wear pants that require a BELT.  (Gasp!)  I'm tempted to re-perforate my earlobe and put in an earring, even though I know my lovely bride will object as she does every time I get this impulse.

Is this what Cabin Fever looks like?  A game of dress-up?  How many more days till I'm trying to jam my feet into my wife's size-7 pumps?

God help us all if this gets to that point.

God help us all....

Love in the Time of Corona: Update Two

Our government is currently arguing over three proposals that will put checks in the mail to help Americans through this health crisis, which has quickly become a major economic crisis, as well.  While every little bit will be appreciated, I can't help but picture Mitch McConnell or Chuck Schumer or whoever, trying to decide between a thimble or a shot glass full of water to throw at this raging house fire called Covid 19.  (If I were a political cartoonist, this is what I'd draw.)

Probably the most shocking new "development" I learned about yesterday (and I'm hesitant to use that word, because things are changing so quickly) came when I learned of thousands of Spring Breakers who are crowding some of the beaches in Florida.

There are a variety of ways to feel about this.  My initial, gut-level reaction was something along the lines of "What the fuck is wrong with you people?"  (A reaction I'm sure is NOT in short supply.)  Later, a friend on Facebook railed at the parents for allowing their children to go, despite the warnings we're hearing all day, every day, from world health officials.  I have yet to hear an interview with one of these parents, defending that decision, though I'm certain these are the same "very stable geniuses" decrying the call for social distancing as an attack on their civil liberties, using in the "disguise of caring about our safety."  (I read those words on Facebook.)  I was never a Spring Breaker myself, so I'm not quite sure how it works.  I'd assume that in most cases the weeklong debauchery is at least partially bankrolled by Mommy and Daddy.  And when it's not -- when Junior has saved enough for the most elfin' awesome of awesomest weeks ever -- isn't it the parents' job to help that young person to understand their duty during this, the strangest of times?

(I certainly would...)

If anyone reading this made the decision to allow your offspring to partake this year, I'd be interested to hear your thinking.

A Load of Hooey by Bob Odenkirk
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

In choosing this (audio)book, I purposely looked for something light, as my last two books were "The Underground Railroad" by Colson Whitehead and "Night" by Elie Wiesel, a novel about American Slavery and a memoir about the Holocaust, respectively.

So I needed something light and airy, and this was perfect. Makes a really good audiobook, too, with the voices of Odenkirk, David Cross, Paul F. Tompkins, and others. It reminded me of an early book by Woody Allen that was on my parents' shelves in my childhood home, "Without Feathers." Lots of funny ideas, played out to absurdist dimensions. My favorite was one called "Obit for the Creator of Mad Libs."

Enjoy!

“OBIT FOR THE CREATOR OF MAD LIBS On Tuesday, in Canton, Connecticut, a town famous for the stickiness of its boogers, a stinky old man died of a good disease at his home at 345 Rotten Lane. Mr. Preston Wirtz, whose parents, Ida and Goober, ran a small jelly farm, died in his yellowish toilet. Mr. Wirtz was hated in Uzbekistan for the series of wordplay books he created for slippery children, books known far and wide as “Mad Libs,” beloved by hairy grumps and farty grampas alike. These books were never appreciated by tall elves, selling over two per year for one decade. When asked to describe Mr. Wirtz, his jealous wife, wearing nothing but an egg carton and flip-flops, called him “in a nutshell, the most sour-smelling, bacon-licking, pimple-footed crab-apple I have ever known. I will never always miss him and his broken underwear.” Then she cried herself to sleep in her fart-house.”


― Bob Odenkirk, A Load of Hooey


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Love in the Time of Corona: Update 1

Dear Friends and Family:

An update on the Reyes-Fuchs household.  Dateline:  Austin, Texas...

We're currently on Day Four of what we once referred to as our Spring Break, a week-long, much-needed respite from school and work, that has now been extended through the end of the month of March.  I'm skeptical as to whether or not we'll return at all, as the governor has waived state requirements for standardized testing for the remainder of the school year.  As administrators, we'll need to decide how school will happen in the absence of the actual "schoolhouse."

(This will illuminate the haves and have-nots of our population, as there are, believe it or not, still those among us who do not, or cannot, access the internet.)

On a more personal note, our family is in good spirits, as we feel the "social distance" growing between ourselves and the rest of the world.  My 14 year old, Jackson, maintains his social connections through his Playstation 4, where friends and cousins chatter into his gaming headphones deep into our Central Texas nights.  They create basketball-star avatar versions of themselves on NBA 2K, talking trash, and, I imagine, spreading misinformation on the coronavirus, faster than the virus itself.

The reality of our situation hit our older son, Diego, 16, yesterday when he and I pulled up in front of the Jungle Movement Academy, where he's been doing an internship to eventually become a fitness coach, and saw the handprinted sign on the door:  "CLOSED due to Coronavirus."  (They later called  to reassure him the closure was mandatory, and not due to any cases directly connected to the gym.)  So now Diego, who has become quite dependent on physical movement (which I love, by the way) is watching a lot of anime, drawing in his sketchbook, and stopping from time to time to do some stretching or push-ups.

Jeanette monitors the news on her phone, sharing reports with me as they come in.  Her yoga studio in Austin closed its doors days ago, and I know this affects her, as she has confided in me how much her yoga practice has come to mean to her.  I can feel her doing her best to put on a happy face -- she jokes with the boys, making them smile and laugh with her silly persona.  She also keeps us happy by cooking amazing food, like the chili con carne she prepared last night, along with some home-baked cupcakes.

As for me, I'm doing my best to be strong and to stay positive, amidst my fears, which I keep to myself, regarding the potential collapse of the grid.  I wonder about what would happen if this crisis resulted in the lights going out.  I wonder, too, if maybe I shouldn't have watched so much "Walking Dead"...

Last night I convened an online meeting of the writing group I've been a part of for the past five years, thanks to Google Hangouts.  Our usual meeting space, the Brentwood Social House on William Koenig and Arroyo Seco, notified us via email that they were shutting their doors a few days ago.  Being able to meet with my writer buddies felt important in the face of this.

And of course I check my Facebook account almost obsessively, in order to see how the rest of the world is faring.

The one thing I notice the four of us here in Casa Reyes-Fuchs all share is an obvious dependence on technology.  As long as we've got that, we'll maintain our sanity.

As long as the grid holds up....