Monday, January 11, 2021

Problem is, he represents the cops too well

 


     Saturday morning: coffee, sunshine and an email with the subject, “John Catanzara, Chicago FOP President, IMMEDIATE REMOVAL FROM OFFICE.”
     Hmmm, thought I, must be from a retired police officer.
     It was, Richard W. Sanchez Sr., “CPD Retired.” I knew it!
     In retirement, Chicago police officers go through this marvelous metamorphosis. They serve for decades, mute caterpillars of the silent brotherhood. Then they disappear into their retirement cocoons, to emerge in the sunshine of Florida or Arizona or, in this case, Valparaiso, Indiana, as these glorious butterflies of opinion, their colorful views on display for the world to admire.
     Not Catanzara, of course. As you know, he is the bigmouth president of the Fraternal Order of Police Lodge 7, the one CPD job where the gag comes off. He’s made it his personal mission to remind the public at every opportunity just how touchy and reactionary police officers can be, how passionately devoted to serving and protecting themselves.
     Self-regard and bottomless grievance make them the ideal Trump fan demographic. One of the least surprising fallouts from Wednesday’s storming of the Capitol is how many police officers from around the country joined the mob. Wonder why Catanzara wasn’t there; maybe he was busy, talking.
     While you and I and every decent person were slack-jawed in horror at the sight of the mob sacking the seat of democracy, someone at WBEZ had the presence of mind to stick an open mike in front of Catanzara’s eternally flapping yap, and he justified away.
     “There’s no, obviously, violence in this crowd,” he began.

To continue reading, click here. 

Sunday, January 10, 2021

Flashback 1998: Coverage of crisis elevates Internet

     This is fortuitous. I was looking at the Sun-Times from Jan. 29, 1998, searching for something related to the book, and stumbled upon a column by me on how the Monica Lewinsky scandal was a turning point for the coverage of news via Internet. We've moved on, of course, where the online world is seamlessly meshed with our own, not only in the reporting of news, but as we've seen with the pillaging of the Capitol Wednesday, in the creation of it.

     After ethical qualms kept Newsweek magazine from breaking the Monica Lewinsky story, the torrid tale was quickly spread anyway in a media that never has qualms, ethical or otherwise: the World Wide Web.
     "Because the magazine did not have enough time for sufficient independent reporting on Lewinsky, her credibility, and her alleged role in the drama . . . Newsweek decided to hold off publishing the story," the magazine explained in a posting hurried onto the Internet, which future historians might argue came into its own with this sex scandal, much in the same way that the Persian Gulf War established CNN and the idea of 24-hour news coverage.
     Exactly 24 hours after Newsweek's hesitation, the Drudge Report, an online gossip sheet written by 31-year-old California muckraker Matt Drudge, posted its "World Exclusive" of a story he predicted, accurately, was "destined to shake official Washington to its foundation."
     It did. The news exploded throughout the electronic intricacies of the Internet, and the informed, misinformed, opinionated, outraged and just plain confused leaped to express themselves on the scandal.
     "Clinton to step down this weekend," insisted an anonymous posting on the Excite political bulletin board. "I have been assured that Clinton will announce his resignation by the beginning of the new week. Count on it."
     The Washington Post was the first "mainstream" news source to go with the story, breaking it the night of Jan. 20, and the next morning the outline of the scandal hit the national papers, including the Chicago Sun-Times.
     That evening, Time magazine launched its "Clinton Scandal Supersite" as a clearinghouse for news on the affair. Newsweek posted a long "Diary of a Scandal," both recounting the complex saga and rationalizing its failure to publish it first. The Sun-Times coverage is posted on the "Clinton Under Siege" page.
     Although the Internet helped spread the wildfire of the scandal, journalism experts note that it did not strike the initial spark.
     "This is not a scandal caused by the Internet," said Neil Chase, an assistant professor at Northwestern University's Medill School of Journalism, who pointed out that Drudge's site wouldn't have had anything to go on without the Newsweek digging. "If they weren't doing it, he wouldn't have had it."
     Chase said that credibility is key. Drudge, by establishing himself as a source of frequently accurate (and sometimes not) rumors, has made himself a must-read among media and political insiders.
     "What's really important to understand is that I could have put up a Web page and said this woman may have had something to do with Clinton and nobody would have paid attention," Chase said. "Drudge . . . put up something particularly juicy, and it got a lot of attention. Which shows that the Internet is a very viable mechanism for delivering information to people. But it isn't a story caused by it."
      The importance of reputation, authenticity and reliability was demonstrated by "Monica's Place," what appeared to be Lewinksy's Web site, which was yanked off America Online after being noticed by the media.
     But news outlets hesitated presenting the page as authentic. The page ends with a "personal quote" from Lewinksy that is either a subtle suggestion of a hoax, or an irony of the first order:
     "Oh, what a tangled web we weave."
        —Originally published in the Sun-Times, Jan. 29, 1998

Saturday, January 9, 2021

Texas notes: Thoughts


     Austin bureau chief Caren Jeskey files her Saturday report:
   
     So much to talk about— where to start? First of all, happy new year to you. I sincerely hope you are doing well, and if not let’s get you some support. In the past week, clients have told me “I passed on your wisdom. It has been a game changer for me.” Also, “I channeled you.” Of course I reminded them that I am simply offering them cognitive behavioral therapy techniques grounded in research. Neuroplasticity is real. We can change the tune in our heads. Yes, it takes work, but it works. Our minds play the same thoughts over and over again. They are like the grooves of a record playing the same song on repeat. We can, however, lift the needle and change the song. We can stop ruminating about the same goddamn thing every day, and ch0ose new thoughts.
     Our resentments can stack up if we let them. We don’t have to let them. I watched the third season of Cobra Kai this past week. (Such fun, in the words of Miranda, a BBC show you must watch if you want to laugh your butt off). I learned from Ralph Machio that if we choose to seek revenge, we must start by digging two graves.
     I tried to be mad at a friend group recently. Then I realized that we are here on earth for a time delineated period. Do I want to spend another day engaging in egotistical gymnastics that will catapult me into righteousness? No. I’d rather take it easy, express my concerns, work them out if possible, let it go if not, and move on.
     I wanted to quote from this poem but I can’t leave any of it out:
Thoughts
Walt Whitman - 1819-1892
   1.

Of the visages of things—And of piercing through
to the accepted hells beneath;
Of ugliness—To me there is just as much in it as
there is in beauty—And now the ugliness of
human beings is acceptable to me;
Of detected persons—To me, detected persons are
not, in any respect, worse than undetected per-
sons—and are not in any respect worse than I
am myself;
Of criminals—To me, any judge, or any juror, is
equally criminal—and any reputable person is
also—and the President is also.

   2.

Of waters, forests, hills;
Of the earth at large, whispering through medium of
me;
Of vista—Suppose some sight in arriere, through the
formative chaos, presuming the growth, fulness,
life, now attain'd on the journey;
(But I see the road continued, and the journey ever
continued;)
Of what was once lacking on earth, and in due time
has become supplied—And of what will yet be
supplied,
Because all I see and know, I believe to have purport
in what will yet be supplied.

3.

OF persons arrived at high positions, ceremonies,
wealth, scholarships, and the like;
To me, all that those persons have arrived at, sinks
away from them, except as it results to their
Bodies and Souls,
So that often to me they appear gaunt and naked;
And often, to me, each one mocks the others, and
mocks himself or herself,
And of each one, the core of life, namely happiness,
is full of the rotten excrement of maggots,
And often, to me, those men and women pass unwit-
tingly the true realities of life, and go toward
false realities,
And often, to me, they are alive after what custom has
served them, but nothing more,
And often, to me, they are sad, hasty, unwaked son-
nambules, walking the dusk.

   4.

OF ownership—As if one fit to own things could not
at pleasure enter upon all, and incorporate
them into himself or herself;
Of Equality—As if it harm'd me, giving others the
same chances and rights as myself—As if it
were not indispensable to my own rights that
others possess the same;
Of Justice—As if Justice could be anything but the
same ample law, expounded by natural judges
and saviors,
As if it might be this thing or that thing, according
to decisions.

   5.

As I sit with others, at a great feast, suddenly, while
the music is playing,
To my mind, (whence it comes I know not,) spectral,
in mist, of a wreck at sea,
Of the flower of the marine science of fifty generations,
founder'd off the Northeast coast, and going
down—Of the steamship Arctic going down,
Of the veil'd tableau—Women gather'd together on
deck, pale, heroic, waiting the moment that
draws so close—O the moment!
O the huge sob—A few bubbles—the white foam
spirting up—And then the women gone,
Sinking there, while the passionless wet flows on—
And I now pondering, Are those women indeed
gone?
Are Souls drown'd and destroy'd so?
Is only matter triumphant?

   6.

OF what I write from myself—As if that were not the
resumé;
Of Histories—As if such, however complete, were not
less complete than my poems;
As if the shreds, the records of nations, could possibly
be as lasting as my poems;
As if here were not the amount of all nations, and of
all the lives of heroes.

   7.

OF obedience, faith, adhesiveness;
As I stand aloof and look, there is to me something
profoundly affecting in large masses of men,
following the lead of those who do not believe
in men.


Friday, January 8, 2021

It’s Timmy’s fault! He caused the Capitol riot!

From "Treasures from the Wreck of the Incredible"
by Damien Hirst

     The news was bad. Sit in front of the television all day bad. Wake up the next morning and it hits you in the face bad.
     The United States Capitol stormed by a pro-Trump mob. Americans rampaging through the marble halls. Senators and representatives cowering in fear.
     Hard to believe bad. For some, impossible to believe, because believing might lead them to suspect maybe all this Trump business has been a mistake.
     So a segment of the American public simply doesn’t believe. They immediately decided the insurrection didn’t happen, at least not the way it clearly unfolded before our shocked eyes on Wednesday. Because disbelief when convenient is what they do.
     Sean Hannity leapt for his go-to move: fantasy.
     “Then we had the reports that groups like Antifa, other radical groups — I don’t know the names of all of them — that they were there to cause trouble,” Hannity said.
     There’s a clever dodge built into that, a cowardly little wiggle. I’m sure he did get reports. From deludedpatriot.com and Cletus the Avenger and such. He’s just passing along their concerns.
     “Some of the people who breached the Capitol today were not Trump supporters,” lickspittle Rep. Matt Gaetz, R-Fla., said on the floor of Congress, a desecration less visual than the mob but no less real. “They were masquerading as Trump supporters, and in fact were members of the violent terrorist group Antifa.”

To continue reading, click here.



Thursday, January 7, 2021

"This god-awful display today"


 
    I had planned to run an old column today about the man who oversees the model railroad at the Museum of Science and Industry.
     But events interceded.
     And while I'm not someone who feels the need to wedge myself into every big story, the pro-Trump mob that stormed the Capitol Wednesday seemed to demand comment. 

     Marathon political theater not being my thing, I had no plans to watch Wednesday’s certification of the presidential election in Congress. Toward what end? The Trumps-in-training, hoping to catch the fancy of his followers, and the votes and dollars that go with it, lining up to lie to them from the floor of Congress for up to 24 hours. Then Joe Biden still gets sworn in Jan. 20.
     Pass.
     But there was lunch to think about. So I headed downstairs, where my boys, in their mid-20s and still interested in absorbing the details of any picturesque train wreck, were watching CNN. There was Mitch McConnell, majority leader of the U.S. Senate. While I had seen his startled mouth-popping, wattle-waggling grouper mug a thousand times, I couldn’t remember actually hearing him speak. I found a spot on the sofa.
     “We’re debating a step that has never been taken in American history,” he began gravely. “Whether Congress should overrule the voters and overturn a presidential election. I served 36 years in the Senate. This will be the most important vote I ever cast.”
     To my amazement, he said the right thing. Time to put on our big boy pants, using a tone approaching contempt when he mentioned “sweeping conspiracy theories.” McConnell outlined the emptiness of the election fraud claims.
     “Nothing before us proves illegality anywhere near the massive scale that would have tipped the entire election, nor can public doubt alone justify a radical break when the doubt itself was incited without any evidence.”
     I applauded. That’s the Democratic superpower — we can find value, even in those we generally oppose.
     I couldn’t have said it better myself. Mitch McConnell, Republican, Trump supporter, American hero.

To continue reading, click here.

Wednesday, January 6, 2021

The South shall fall again. And again. And again.

 

Robert Gould Shaw memorial, by Augustus Saint-Gaudens (National Gallery of Art)

     The South was never going to win the Civil War.
     If you consider the resources of the North, the moment the first Confederate cannon fired on Fort Sumter, the South’s doom was sealed. A week later, the Chicago Tribune ran a prescient editorial explaining why.
     “It is a military maxim of modern war that the longest purse wins,” it begins, outlining the North’s advantages in manpower, manufacturing, maritime strength and, most of all, money. “The little State of Massachusetts can raise more money than the Jeff Davis Confederacy.”
     The conclusion may have been foregone, but it took four years and 620,000 American lives to play out.
     It’s still unfolding. The Confederacy lost the war, but never gave up the fight — its baked-in bigotry, the proud ignorance required to consider another human being your property, marches on, from then to now. Manifesting itself plainly in the Trump era, his entire political philosophy being the slaveholder mentality decked out in new clothes, trying to pass in the 21st century. They even wave the same rebel flag. Kind of a giveaway, really.
    The Lost Cause marches on, as we will see Wednesday, when Congress faces another ego-stoked rebellion: Donald Trump’s insistence that his clearly losing the 2020 presidential election in the chill world of fact can be set aside, since he won the race in the steamy delta swampland between his ears.
     No way. Not as long as there are Americans, like the Chicagoans rushing to sign up to fight in April 1861, who are true patriots and willing to stand up for democracy.

To continue reading, click here.

Tuesday, January 5, 2021

You can't live my life; but you can wear my hat

Chillin' in a Cara cap in Chile.

     Okay, I admit it. I'm a cool guy. A big shot, big city, Chicago newspaper columnist for years and years kind of fellow. Marinated in success, yes, but still retaining a sharp-elbowed street cred that comes with real-life experience and bone-deep savvy. Grounded in hard-working, union card carrying, measure-it-twice craftsmanship, yet on a first-name basis with all sorts of famous folks. ("Oprah!" I once said, bumping into the TV host unexpectedly, "What are you doing here?")
     I don't normally say it. In fact, I've never said it. That's part of being cool. You don't have to say it. There's no need. Other people say it for you. "That Neil Steinberg..." they begin, not  having to finish the sentence, because everybody knows.
     But for the few who might not know, I suppose I should explain. Cool ... in what way?
     No! Cool should never be explained. Probably can't be explained. Leave 'em guessing. But if I had to say... Well okay. Partly the stuff I've done—worked my way across the Atlantic on a ship. Traveled the world from Kyoto to Klamath. Flown in a stunt biplane doing barrel rolls over Lake Michigan. And the Goodyear blimp. Been down the Deep Tunnel. Twice. Ever look up in wonder at the communications masts atop 875 North Michigan, formerly known as the John Hancock Building? I've climbed up there. Plus I know the new name of the building—you had no idea, right? That's part of being cool. Not only doing stuff, but knowing stuff. Beowulf's dad? Edgetheow? Australia? Wider than the moon. The former Hancock and the former Sears Tower were designed by the same guy, who was born in Puerto Rico, but is not Puerto Rican. Chew on that for a while.
     Knowing stuff makes a person stand out, particularly during our current carnival of idiocy. It helps a person to write books. Most would-be authors push and struggle and beg and wheedle for years and years and can't get their stuff published. Sad. Me, I simply wait, making a cathedral out of my fingers, listening to Mozart, watching the trees sway in the wind and nodding sagely. Eventually big publishing houses ring me up and say, "Neil, would you please write a book for us..." and I sigh, and roll my eyes and say, "Well ... okay ... if it'll help others...."
    I suppose more than experience, or knowledge, cool is an attitude. A general air of coolness, of authenticity that can't be faked. That's how I can live in Northbrook and yet be as Chicago as a Hegewisch bungalow. Being me is like being a bar of gold. The same no matter where you take it. It's gold here. It's gold there. In a garbage dump or the Taj Mahal. Still gold. 
     Part of it must be how I dress. Look at the photo above. That's me touring glaciers in Chile in 2018. While you were busy ... what? Yawning and scratching and wishing something would  happen? While you were doing that, I was poking around the Patagonian coast, among scientists and bon vivants, all for free, of course.
You want this, right?
     Notice the hat? Very cool, right? Here's a closer look. A great shade of blue, with a stylized C in a circle that looks like something the Cubs would design, were the Cubs cool, which they most definitely are not.
     You want it, right?
     Tough. You can't have it. It was a gift from Cara, which is an extraordinarily cool program that helps people who are homeless, jobless, recovering drug addicts, and ex-felons get back on their feet, find employment, and begin living productive, happy lives like the one that I live every goddamn day. I've written about them in the past, most recently about their Cleanslate program last year.
     Helping people is cool, though the reason I wear the hat is that it is also extraordinarily comfortable. 
     Plus I suppose there's a kind of anti-status that I would appreciate if, you know, I cared about such things. Which I don't. Because cool people don't have to. Status is to cool folk like water is to fish; it surrounds us, so we never notice it. Fish don't know they're wet. You can have your tired sports team logo or your generic polo player or what have you on your cap. I have a program that saves lives in Chicago.
     You can't get a hat like that. Because ... wait. What? A bulletin. That's part of being cool. You're kept up to the minute on everything that is important.
     Up to right now, you couldn't get a hat like that, unless you were me, which you're not. But it seems that Cara, generous souls that they are, has just now opened up an online store. The announcement was made Monday, and you're finding out on Tuesday, because you know a cool, connected person such as myself. Cara is selling merchandise whose profits support their important work, and allowing regular ordinary folks who are not living ultra cool newspaper columnist lives to outfit themselves in Cara products. Not only the hat. But sweatshirts. T-shirts. Coffee mugs.
     My first thought, when I was notified first thing about the creation of the store was that I mustn't breathe a word of it to anybody, lest I start seeing other, less cool people who are not myself wearing my way-cool Cara hat. But I'm bigger than that, so I renounce that fleeting, unworthy thought, and graciously guide you to the inner sanctum of coolness. You can access their on-line store here.
     Make no mistake, the hat will not make you completely cool—not Neil Steinberg cool. For that, you need an entire lifestyle such as mine, built up over decades and scrupulously maintained. But it will make you cooler. At least a little. I can promise you that.
     The only downside—for me, not you—is the hat is very inexpensive. Just $15. When it should have been $25 or $50 or $100, to keep the hoi polloi away. That's what I would have suggested, had they asked me, which they didn't. They probably felt intimidated, approaching a super cool guy like me. Which is a shame because, as cool as I am, as famous and successful and top rung, I'm really very down-to-earth, if I say so myself.

Rockin' a Cleanslate hat in Venice.