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January 2011
In the April/May “In the News,” Kevin Baker commends the Truman administration for its decision to try Axis war criminals in open courts, then states: “If it was good enough for the Greatest Generation, it should be good enough now.” But the Nuremberg trials did not take place until World War II was over. By that time the whole world knew of the Nazi leaders and their atrocities. Therefore, the introduction of intelligence secrets into evidence was never necessary.
This probably will not be true in detainee trials. Prosecutors will have to present evidence of their crimes, which will necessarily involve identification of the methods by which it was gathered. Such sources must be protected at all times. This protection will require closed courts and sealed testimony.
I was happy to see American Heritage discovering one of the great American towns, Hoboken, in the April/May issue (’‘The City at the Nation’s Front Door‘’). But you missed one of the things that came out of Stevens Institute of Technology: the mobile. Alexander Calder, class of 1919, learned to weld there, as we all did.
25 YEARS AGO
June 7, 1977 An ordinance in Dade County, Florida, that prohibits discrimination in housing against homosexuals is repealed, largely through the efforts of the singer and orange juice spokesperson Anita Bryant.
June 11, 1977 Seattle Slew wins the Belmont Stakes, thereby capturing Thoroughbred racing’s Triple Crown.
June 19, 1977 The Roman Catholic Church canonizes Bishop John Neumann, making him the first American male saint.
June 27, 1977 The U.S. Supreme Court strikes down laws that prohibit lawyers from advertising their services.
50 YEARS AGO
June 2, 1952 The U.S. Supreme Court declares President Harry S. Truman’s seizure of the nation’s steel mills, which was meant to settle an industrywide strike, to be unconstitutional. On July 24 labor and management agree to a settlement.
125 YEARS AGO
In June of 1752 in Philadelphia, Benjamin Franklin performed what may be the most famous scientific experiment of all time by flying a kite in a thunderstorm. In so doing, he verified his theory that lightning is a form of electricity. The experimental apparatus consisted of an ordinary kite with a foot-long metal spike attached to its end to attract lightning. At the bottom of the kite string was a key, which absorbed the electricity from the lightning. To keep himself from being electrocuted, Franklin put a length of silk thread between the key and his hand. He stood inside a shed and flew the kite through a window to keep the silk dry and thus non-conducting.
When lightning struck, the spike, the kite, the string (which was wet, allowing it to conduct electricity easily), and the key all became electrifled. A finger placed near the string attracted its fibers; a knuckle next to the key brought forth sparks. The electricity that was captured in the key could be used to perform all the same experiments and demonstrations as ordinary electricity.
In December of 1942, I was drafted and sent overseas to Oran, Algeria, where I was assigned to the 91st Cavalry Reconnaissance Squadron. The eyes and ears for the troops, we rode in jeeps, armored cars, and light tanks, scouting the numbers and supplies of the enemy forces. The 91st did so well that George Patton insisted we do his reconnaissance all through Africa and Sicily. At the end of the fighting, the 91st had a record of 341 combat days.
Italians were eagerly pelting Mussolini's corpse with rocks. Our lieutenant radioed headquarters to report the execution.
After leaving Sicily, we struggled up the boot of Italy to Salerno, Cassino, and the Apennines. In March of 1945, near the little town of Vergato, I was too chummy with an exploding mortar shell and received a Purple Heart. I still set off metal detectors each time I pass through airport security.
On November 1, 1950, All Saints’ Day, my twin sister and I joined four other cheerleaders from St. Ann’s School at the Ellipse, the open park in Washington, D.C., near the Washington Monument, to cheer our eighth-grade football team in a game against a rival school. The morning was crisp and bright, and, since it was a holy day, we had no classes. Decked out in navy blue pleated skirts, white blouses with Peter Pan collars, and blue and white beanies emblazoned with our school initials, we executed long-practiced routines: “Gimme an S, … gimme an A, … gimme an S-A-S today!”
It never seemed to matter to us which team won. Just hollering for Tom, Bill, or Jim, and hoping they noticed us was thrill enough. After the game, we would pile into People’s Drug Store, commandeer the soda fountain, spin our stools, and blow straw wrappers at each other until it was time to leave (or we were asked to).
In late January 2002, Hamid Karzai, the newly installed leader of Afghanistan, visited Washington and New York. He received a standing ovation at the president’s State of the Union address, and glowing press attention, in no small part because of his gentle demeanor and splendid attire. But he did not receive what he had come for, an enlarged U.S. peacekeeping presence in his wartorn country. President Bush turned him down cold, offering him economic aid, military aid, anything but what he really wanted: U.S. troops to patrol his country and bring peace to his people. America was not going to engage in “nation building,” Bush declared.
Bismarck supposedly said that it was better not to know how governments and sausages are made. I spent almost four years helping make Rediscovering George Washington, a film by Michael Pack that I wrote and hosted and that PBS will air this July Fourth. That’s the length of a college education, and that’s what it felt like, a crash course in moviemaking, a refresher course in storytelling, and a series of continuing education credits in the subject I thought I knew going in: George Washington’s life and times. I did some construction work, developed a strange new respect for Parson Weems, and learned that most Americans, however little they might know of the details of history, have a tough and unsinkable respect for the father of his country.