This is another of our personal anecdotes from many years past, where religious intolerance again reared its ugly head, albeit in a somewhat left-handed way, strictly to serve commercialistic purposes.
Back during our Cleveland, Ohio residence days, when the children were small, we found it convenient to do the Christmas toy shopping very early, like around October, thanks largely to certain discount stores' being open on Sundays. In the span of about a half an hour, a cart could be loaded with goodies, wheeled to the cash register, and its content rung up at favorable prices, after which we'd be promptly out the door, having accomplished a major annual undertaking. The frantic December crowd-fighting would have been comfortably avoided.
According to memory, we performed this task for at least two consecutive years before the Christian axe fell, and thus recomplicated our yuletide season chores.
It so happened that the particular store we patronized was one of several in our area offering comparable discount rates on a regular Sunday basis. All or nearly all of them were owned and operated by Jews.
Well, this "unfair" competition didn't exactly swing with the numerous Christian merchants around town. While spending a relaxed Sunday at the beach, on a golf course, or else enjoying a back yard family barbecue, they were losing potential business to those Christ-betraying you-know-whos.
Lo and behold therefore, the city's lawmakers eventually yielded to the usual pressure from local special interests, by passing legislation which forbade any further Sabbath Day openings for retail establishments of this sort.
Kindly note that term Sabbath, which is always Sunday in the supercilious Christian realm. As everyone knows, Hebrew tradition devotes Saturday to such reverence. Anti-Semitism had found a new way to be exercised, under the guise of respect for a Commandment.
We've never forgotten that downright injustice wrought upon persons' being forced to close their shop doors on a day which was decidedly not their Sabbath. We deem this act to be yet another in an ever-growing list of evidential situations which help prove how Christianity, as practiced today, is virtually synonymous with hypocrisy.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Saturday, November 21, 2009
CASE STUDIES ON PREJUDICIAL VICTIMIZATION WITHOUT CAUSE
This piece will cite four young men whose personal confrontations with the establishment resulted in their unwarranted condemnation, from which all but one eventually emerged victorious. Our backdrop in each case is the U.S. military draft system, with three pertinent to World War II and the fourth to Vietnam.
Out initial situation involves Lew Ayres, a vintage era film actor. His two most renowned performances, as an ill-fated German soldier in All Quiet on the Western Front, a first world war epic, then a budding physician in the Dr. Kildare series, had influenced his personal beliefs considerably. Accordingly, in the early 1940s, when other chaps were being whisked off daily to army camps, thanks to the universal draft, he declared himself a conscientious objector.
Those not of sufficient age to have been on the scene during the World War II years must be made aware that individual religion-inspired leanings toward pacifism at all costs was then deemed tantamount to cowardice in the public eye. Anyone unwilling to shoulder a rifle and march bravely to the front became an instant outcast. Thanks to Hitler and the fellows with the funny eyes from the Far East, national patriotism had swelled to a fever pitch. Allowing a person to exercise his basic human rights, legal though they were, couldn’t be the least bit tolerated by the overwhelming multitude. “Conscientious Objector” and “Draft Dodger” had become synonymous terms.
After committing Ayres to a special camp for those “hateful creatures”, the War Department in its supposed magnanimity soon acceded to his earlier request for Army Medical Corps service. His tour of duty took him to the Pacific Theater and New Guinea.
Still bearing the stigma from wartime days, Lew returned to Hollywood, where he played a starring role in the classic 1948 film Johnny Belinda, for which he received an Oscar nomination. Fortunately, his memorable performance helped the presumed yellow streak down his back to fade a little. He then managed to carry on his acting career quite successfully. Although still tainted somewhat in the eyes of the diehard tsk-tskers, he came out a winner in the end.
Our second illustrative case concerns another young man who worked in the entertainment industry, but never so prominently as Ayres. His name was Stuart Groshong, and he hailed from this writer’s home town, a Cleveland, Ohio suburb, hence our familiarity with the situation.
Following high school graduation in 1937, having already become renowned locally for his concert-quality singing voice, he began making downtown night club and radio station performances under the name Clyde Stuart, and shortly afterward Stuart Wade.
During the years immediately subsequent to Pearl Harbor, Stu became the regular male vocalist on a Sunday afternoon musical program, in company with a girl known by the stage name of Dorothy Brooks, plus a supporting studio band. The show enjoyed reasonable local popularity.
On a particular midweek afternoon, when the cast assembled to rehearse for the coming Sunday presentation, Mr. Wade was advised that one of his renditions would be a song entitled Any Bonds Today?, a patriotic number urging folks to shell out dollars for war savings securities, a most popular pastime in that period. On the basis of his professed pacifism, Stuart humbly declined, feeling the subject matter to be inconsistent with his personal beliefs. The reward for following his conscience was to be summarily fired by the station bigwigs. Draft dodgers simply couldn’t be tolerated as radio program performers.
It took precious little time for the word to spread throughout the suburban community where the Groshong family had long called home. Like Lew Ayres on a national scale, Stu was quickly condemned to sack cloth and ashes from a local standpoint.
With our subsequent knowledge of this man’s affairs being rather skimpy, we can merely attest to the fact that he too ended up on the winning end, but to a much more modest degree than had the actor. Apparently, the military brass never remanded young Wade to a conscientious objector camp, because he readily turned up as the male singer with Bobby Byrne’s nationally-known dance orchestra. Not long thereafter, he joined the relatively prestigious Freddy Martin outfit, with which he remained for the rest of the war.
When the big band craze drew to an abrupt halt circa 1946, Stuart tended to fade from the show business scene, at least in terms of prominence. Aside from a lead role in one of those inane horror films which became so prevalent in the latter 1940s, this one named The Monster from the Ocean Floor, plus a couple spot television commercials later on, we don’t recall seeing or hearing about him further. At least, however, he had managed to rise to a nationwide performing level, where the hometown “shame” didn’t follow him.
Another lad from this writer’s same home burg was Les Schenck, several years junior to Stuart Groshong. Raised by working class parents, he distinguished himself among fellow townspeople for his exemplary athletic prowess at the high school level. As a prolific forward passing football tailback, a sterling basketball court ace, and a weight-throwing track squad member, he earned a few years of local heroism.
Les’ case doesn’t involve his being branded a (ptui!) conscientious objector, but a dirty draft dodger nonetheless, for a different reason. The military recruiters kept repeatedly turning him down, due to the presence of a hernia, all the way to war’s end.
Under normal circumstances, young Schenck could have easily shrugged his shoulders and shuffled off back home. He certainly wasn’t the only fellow around town to be declared 4-F. However, he didn’t manage to dwell in modest anonymity.
A certain local woman, who perhaps deserved the label of Champion Busybody, wasted no time in launching a verbal smear campaign against this chap for allegedly faking a physical disability, just to avoid serving his country whose need had become so critical. She stood upon a totally unfounded premise that anybody fit enough to achieve athletic brilliance obviously possessed sufficient capability to battle a hated foe. She apparently deemed the draft board’s examining doctors as lacking adequate diagnostic skills.
Fortunately for Les, the slings and arrows from this vicious-minded person gradually abated after war’s end. He was able to go on with his life, albeit far too short. Unlike Ayres and Wade, though, he never came out as a winner of any sorts – instead, only an unjustly slandered but ordinary person with a common physical deficiency.
For our final episode, we jump forward two decades and focus on a man who attained far greater worldwide recognition than even Lew Ayres. Born Cassius Clay and hailing from Louisville, Kentucky, this chap adopted the Muslim name Muhammad Ali, and fought his way from the International Olympics up to the heavyweight boxing pinnacle.
Generally considered to rate among the very best his sport has ever seen, he proved this point again and again by his feats in the ring. However, certain obstacles unrelated to athletics soon faced him.
The U.S. military had been busy making a collective ass of itself by waging a war against “world communism” in Vietnam. The compulsory draft still remained in effect, and the Champ’s number eventually came up.
Once more, the conscientious objection factor reared its head. Although no longer bearing quite the supposed disgrace of the second world war era, the situation had a new twist. Muhammad Ali wasn’t sticking to his guns as a Christian, but rather a Muslim. Good Lord! Blessed Jesus! This could be nothing short of intolerable. Besides, the man happened to be black, and had been aggressively campaigning for improved civil rights – a fairly unpopular cause in those days.
Like Ayres and Wade, the erstwhile Mr. Clay felt the ceiling crash down on him. Not only did the legal proceedings find him convicted on a draft evasion felony charge, but the boxing commission arbitrarily stripped him of his heavyweight championship title. His choice of religion, his color, his oft-resented arrogance, and his attacks on racial prejudice had supposedly justified these verdicts in the eyes of the tsk-tsker community.
This case has a favorable ending, though. The U.S. Supreme Court soon tossed out the compulsory draft for quite valid reasons, and Ali was exonerated. However, he could only regain his top-of-the-heap ring status by fighting for it – which he did in a most convincing manner.
A man of sound truth if ever one existed, despite his exaggerated arrogance, Muhammad Ali deserved the status he regained by virtue of his masterful skills.
In summing up this manifold case set and its final results, we might well conclude by saying that three final winners out of four ain’t bad.
Out initial situation involves Lew Ayres, a vintage era film actor. His two most renowned performances, as an ill-fated German soldier in All Quiet on the Western Front, a first world war epic, then a budding physician in the Dr. Kildare series, had influenced his personal beliefs considerably. Accordingly, in the early 1940s, when other chaps were being whisked off daily to army camps, thanks to the universal draft, he declared himself a conscientious objector.
Those not of sufficient age to have been on the scene during the World War II years must be made aware that individual religion-inspired leanings toward pacifism at all costs was then deemed tantamount to cowardice in the public eye. Anyone unwilling to shoulder a rifle and march bravely to the front became an instant outcast. Thanks to Hitler and the fellows with the funny eyes from the Far East, national patriotism had swelled to a fever pitch. Allowing a person to exercise his basic human rights, legal though they were, couldn’t be the least bit tolerated by the overwhelming multitude. “Conscientious Objector” and “Draft Dodger” had become synonymous terms.
After committing Ayres to a special camp for those “hateful creatures”, the War Department in its supposed magnanimity soon acceded to his earlier request for Army Medical Corps service. His tour of duty took him to the Pacific Theater and New Guinea.
Still bearing the stigma from wartime days, Lew returned to Hollywood, where he played a starring role in the classic 1948 film Johnny Belinda, for which he received an Oscar nomination. Fortunately, his memorable performance helped the presumed yellow streak down his back to fade a little. He then managed to carry on his acting career quite successfully. Although still tainted somewhat in the eyes of the diehard tsk-tskers, he came out a winner in the end.
Our second illustrative case concerns another young man who worked in the entertainment industry, but never so prominently as Ayres. His name was Stuart Groshong, and he hailed from this writer’s home town, a Cleveland, Ohio suburb, hence our familiarity with the situation.
Following high school graduation in 1937, having already become renowned locally for his concert-quality singing voice, he began making downtown night club and radio station performances under the name Clyde Stuart, and shortly afterward Stuart Wade.
During the years immediately subsequent to Pearl Harbor, Stu became the regular male vocalist on a Sunday afternoon musical program, in company with a girl known by the stage name of Dorothy Brooks, plus a supporting studio band. The show enjoyed reasonable local popularity.
On a particular midweek afternoon, when the cast assembled to rehearse for the coming Sunday presentation, Mr. Wade was advised that one of his renditions would be a song entitled Any Bonds Today?, a patriotic number urging folks to shell out dollars for war savings securities, a most popular pastime in that period. On the basis of his professed pacifism, Stuart humbly declined, feeling the subject matter to be inconsistent with his personal beliefs. The reward for following his conscience was to be summarily fired by the station bigwigs. Draft dodgers simply couldn’t be tolerated as radio program performers.
It took precious little time for the word to spread throughout the suburban community where the Groshong family had long called home. Like Lew Ayres on a national scale, Stu was quickly condemned to sack cloth and ashes from a local standpoint.
With our subsequent knowledge of this man’s affairs being rather skimpy, we can merely attest to the fact that he too ended up on the winning end, but to a much more modest degree than had the actor. Apparently, the military brass never remanded young Wade to a conscientious objector camp, because he readily turned up as the male singer with Bobby Byrne’s nationally-known dance orchestra. Not long thereafter, he joined the relatively prestigious Freddy Martin outfit, with which he remained for the rest of the war.
When the big band craze drew to an abrupt halt circa 1946, Stuart tended to fade from the show business scene, at least in terms of prominence. Aside from a lead role in one of those inane horror films which became so prevalent in the latter 1940s, this one named The Monster from the Ocean Floor, plus a couple spot television commercials later on, we don’t recall seeing or hearing about him further. At least, however, he had managed to rise to a nationwide performing level, where the hometown “shame” didn’t follow him.
Another lad from this writer’s same home burg was Les Schenck, several years junior to Stuart Groshong. Raised by working class parents, he distinguished himself among fellow townspeople for his exemplary athletic prowess at the high school level. As a prolific forward passing football tailback, a sterling basketball court ace, and a weight-throwing track squad member, he earned a few years of local heroism.
Les’ case doesn’t involve his being branded a (ptui!) conscientious objector, but a dirty draft dodger nonetheless, for a different reason. The military recruiters kept repeatedly turning him down, due to the presence of a hernia, all the way to war’s end.
Under normal circumstances, young Schenck could have easily shrugged his shoulders and shuffled off back home. He certainly wasn’t the only fellow around town to be declared 4-F. However, he didn’t manage to dwell in modest anonymity.
A certain local woman, who perhaps deserved the label of Champion Busybody, wasted no time in launching a verbal smear campaign against this chap for allegedly faking a physical disability, just to avoid serving his country whose need had become so critical. She stood upon a totally unfounded premise that anybody fit enough to achieve athletic brilliance obviously possessed sufficient capability to battle a hated foe. She apparently deemed the draft board’s examining doctors as lacking adequate diagnostic skills.
Fortunately for Les, the slings and arrows from this vicious-minded person gradually abated after war’s end. He was able to go on with his life, albeit far too short. Unlike Ayres and Wade, though, he never came out as a winner of any sorts – instead, only an unjustly slandered but ordinary person with a common physical deficiency.
For our final episode, we jump forward two decades and focus on a man who attained far greater worldwide recognition than even Lew Ayres. Born Cassius Clay and hailing from Louisville, Kentucky, this chap adopted the Muslim name Muhammad Ali, and fought his way from the International Olympics up to the heavyweight boxing pinnacle.
Generally considered to rate among the very best his sport has ever seen, he proved this point again and again by his feats in the ring. However, certain obstacles unrelated to athletics soon faced him.
The U.S. military had been busy making a collective ass of itself by waging a war against “world communism” in Vietnam. The compulsory draft still remained in effect, and the Champ’s number eventually came up.
Once more, the conscientious objection factor reared its head. Although no longer bearing quite the supposed disgrace of the second world war era, the situation had a new twist. Muhammad Ali wasn’t sticking to his guns as a Christian, but rather a Muslim. Good Lord! Blessed Jesus! This could be nothing short of intolerable. Besides, the man happened to be black, and had been aggressively campaigning for improved civil rights – a fairly unpopular cause in those days.
Like Ayres and Wade, the erstwhile Mr. Clay felt the ceiling crash down on him. Not only did the legal proceedings find him convicted on a draft evasion felony charge, but the boxing commission arbitrarily stripped him of his heavyweight championship title. His choice of religion, his color, his oft-resented arrogance, and his attacks on racial prejudice had supposedly justified these verdicts in the eyes of the tsk-tsker community.
This case has a favorable ending, though. The U.S. Supreme Court soon tossed out the compulsory draft for quite valid reasons, and Ali was exonerated. However, he could only regain his top-of-the-heap ring status by fighting for it – which he did in a most convincing manner.
A man of sound truth if ever one existed, despite his exaggerated arrogance, Muhammad Ali deserved the status he regained by virtue of his masterful skills.
In summing up this manifold case set and its final results, we might well conclude by saying that three final winners out of four ain’t bad.
CASE STUDIES ON PREJUDICIAL VICTIMIZATION WITHOUT CAUSE
This piece will cite four young men whose personal confrontations with the establishment resulted in their unwarranted condemnation, from which all but one eventually emerged victorious. Our backdrop in each case is the U.S. military draft system, with three pertinent to World War II and the fourth to Vietnam.
Out initial situation involves Lew Ayres, a vintage era film actor. His two most renowned performances, as an ill-fated German soldier in All Quiet on the Western Front, a first world war epic, then a budding physician in the Dr. Kildare series, had influenced his personal beliefs considerably. Accordingly, in the early 1940s, when other chaps were being whisked off daily to army camps, thanks to the universal draft, he declared himself a conscientious objector.
Those not of sufficient age to have been on the scene during the World War II years must be made aware that individual religion-inspired leanings toward pacifism at all costs was then deemed tantamount to cowardice in the public eye. Anyone unwilling to shoulder a rifle and march bravely to the front became an instant outcast. Thanks to Hitler and the fellows with the funny eyes from the Far East, national patriotism had swelled to a fever pitch. Allowing a person to exercise his basic human rights, legal though they were, couldn’t be the least bit tolerated by the overwhelming multitude. “Conscientious Objector” and “Draft Dodger” had become synonymous terms.
After committing Ayres to a special camp for those “hateful creatures”, the War Department in its supposed magnanimity soon acceded to his earlier request for Army Medical Corps service. His tour of duty took him to the Pacific Theater and New Guinea.
Still bearing the stigma from wartime days, Lew returned to Hollywood, where he played a starring role in the classic 1948 film Johnny Belinda, for which he received an Oscar nomination. Fortunately, his memorable performance helped the presumed yellow streak down his back to fade a little. He then managed to carry on his acting career quite successfully. Although still tainted somewhat in the eyes of the diehard tsk-tskers, he came out a winner in the end.
Our second illustrative case concerns another young man who worked in the entertainment industry, but never so prominently as Ayres. His name was Stuart Groshong, and he hailed from this writer’s home town, a Cleveland, Ohio suburb, hence our familiarity with the situation.
Following high school graduation in 1937, having already become renowned locally for his concert-quality singing voice, he began making downtown night club and radio station performances under the name Clyde Stuart, and shortly afterward Stuart Wade.
During the years immediately subsequent to Pearl Harbor, Stu became the regular male vocalist on a Sunday afternoon musical program, in company with a girl known by the stage name of Dorothy Brooks, plus a supporting studio band. The show enjoyed reasonable local popularity.
On a particular midweek afternoon, when the cast assembled to rehearse for the coming Sunday presentation, Mr. Wade was advised that one of his renditions would be a song entitled Any Bonds Today?, a patriotic number urging folks to shell out dollars for war savings securities, a most popular pastime in that period. On the basis of his professed pacifism, Stuart humbly declined, feeling the subject matter to be inconsistent with his personal beliefs. The reward for following his conscience was to be summarily fired by the station bigwigs. Draft dodgers simply couldn’t be tolerated as radio program performers.
It took precious little time for the word to spread throughout the suburban community where the Groshong family had long called home. Like Lew Ayres on a national scale, Stu was quickly condemned to sack cloth and ashes from a local standpoint.
With our subsequent knowledge of this man’s affairs being rather skimpy, we can merely attest to the fact that he too ended up on the winning end, but to a much more modest degree than had the actor. Apparently, the military brass never remanded young Wade to a conscientious objector camp, because he readily turned up as the male singer with Bobby Byrne’s nationally-known dance orchestra. Not long thereafter, he joined the relatively prestigious Freddy Martin outfit, with which he remained for the rest of the war.
When the big band craze drew to an abrupt halt circa 1946, Stuart tended to fade from the show business scene, at least in terms of prominence. Aside from a lead role in one of those inane horror films which became so prevalent in the latter 1940s, this one named The Monster from the Ocean Floor, plus a couple spot television commercials later on, we don’t recall seeing or hearing about him further. At least, however, he had managed to rise to a nationwide performing level, where the hometown “shame” didn’t follow him.
Another lad from this writer’s same home burg was Les Schenck, several years junior to Stuart Groshong. Raised by working class parents, he distinguished himself among fellow townspeople for his exemplary athletic prowess at the high school level. As a prolific forward passing football tailback, a sterling basketball court ace, and a weight-throwing track squad member, he earned a few years of local heroism.
Les’ case doesn’t involve his being branded a (ptui!) conscientious objector, but a dirty draft dodger nonetheless, for a different reason. The military recruiters kept repeatedly turning him down, due to the presence of a hernia, all the way to war’s end.
Under normal circumstances, young Schenck could have easily shrugged his shoulders and shuffled off back home. He certainly wasn’t the only fellow around town to be declared 4-F. However, he didn’t manage to dwell in modest anonymity.
A certain local woman, who perhaps deserved the label of Champion Busybody, wasted no time in launching a verbal smear campaign against this chap for allegedly faking a physical disability, just to avoid serving his country whose need had become so critical. She stood upon a totally unfounded premise that anybody fit enough to achieve athletic brilliance obviously possessed sufficient capability to battle a hated foe. She apparently deemed the draft board’s examining doctors as lacking adequate diagnostic skills.
Fortunately for Les, the slings and arrows from this vicious-minded person gradually abated after war’s end. He was able to go on with his life, albeit far too short. Unlike Ayres and Wade, though, he never came out as a winner of any sorts – instead, only an unjustly slandered but ordinary person with a common physical deficiency.
For our final episode, we jump forward two decades and focus on a man who attained far greater worldwide recognition than even Lew Ayres. Born Cassius Clay and hailing from Louisville, Kentucky, this chap adopted the Muslim name Muhammad Ali, and fought his way from the International Olympics up to the heavyweight boxing pinnacle.
Generally considered to rate among the very best his sport has ever seen, he proved this point again and again by his feats in the ring. However, certain obstacles unrelated to athletics soon faced him.
The U.S. military had been busy making a collective ass of itself by waging a war against “world communism” in Vietnam. The compulsory draft still remained in effect, and the Champ’s number eventually came up.
Once more, the conscientious objection factor reared its head. Although no longer bearing quite the supposed disgrace of the second world war era, the situation had a new twist. Muhammad Ali wasn’t sticking to his guns as a Christian, but rather a Muslim. Good Lord! Blessed Jesus! This could be nothing short of intolerable. Besides, the man happened to be black, and had been aggressively campaigning for improved civil rights – a fairly unpopular cause in those days.
Like Ayres and Wade, the erstwhile Mr. Clay felt the ceiling crash down on him. Not only did the legal proceedings find him convicted on a draft evasion felony charge, but the boxing commission arbitrarily stripped him of his heavyweight championship title. His choice of religion, his color, his oft-resented arrogance, and his attacks on racial prejudice had supposedly justified these verdicts in the eyes of the tsk-tsker community.
This case has a favorable ending, though. The U.S. Supreme Court soon tossed out the compulsory draft for quite valid reasons, and Ali was exonerated. However, he could only regain his top-of-the-heap ring status by fighting for it – which he did in a most convincing manner.
A man of sound truth if ever one existed, despite his exaggerated arrogance, Muhammad Ali deserved the status he regained by virtue of his masterful skills.
In summing up this manifold case set and its final results, we might well conclude by saying that three final winners out of four ain’t bad.
Out initial situation involves Lew Ayres, a vintage era film actor. His two most renowned performances, as an ill-fated German soldier in All Quiet on the Western Front, a first world war epic, then a budding physician in the Dr. Kildare series, had influenced his personal beliefs considerably. Accordingly, in the early 1940s, when other chaps were being whisked off daily to army camps, thanks to the universal draft, he declared himself a conscientious objector.
Those not of sufficient age to have been on the scene during the World War II years must be made aware that individual religion-inspired leanings toward pacifism at all costs was then deemed tantamount to cowardice in the public eye. Anyone unwilling to shoulder a rifle and march bravely to the front became an instant outcast. Thanks to Hitler and the fellows with the funny eyes from the Far East, national patriotism had swelled to a fever pitch. Allowing a person to exercise his basic human rights, legal though they were, couldn’t be the least bit tolerated by the overwhelming multitude. “Conscientious Objector” and “Draft Dodger” had become synonymous terms.
After committing Ayres to a special camp for those “hateful creatures”, the War Department in its supposed magnanimity soon acceded to his earlier request for Army Medical Corps service. His tour of duty took him to the Pacific Theater and New Guinea.
Still bearing the stigma from wartime days, Lew returned to Hollywood, where he played a starring role in the classic 1948 film Johnny Belinda, for which he received an Oscar nomination. Fortunately, his memorable performance helped the presumed yellow streak down his back to fade a little. He then managed to carry on his acting career quite successfully. Although still tainted somewhat in the eyes of the diehard tsk-tskers, he came out a winner in the end.
Our second illustrative case concerns another young man who worked in the entertainment industry, but never so prominently as Ayres. His name was Stuart Groshong, and he hailed from this writer’s home town, a Cleveland, Ohio suburb, hence our familiarity with the situation.
Following high school graduation in 1937, having already become renowned locally for his concert-quality singing voice, he began making downtown night club and radio station performances under the name Clyde Stuart, and shortly afterward Stuart Wade.
During the years immediately subsequent to Pearl Harbor, Stu became the regular male vocalist on a Sunday afternoon musical program, in company with a girl known by the stage name of Dorothy Brooks, plus a supporting studio band. The show enjoyed reasonable local popularity.
On a particular midweek afternoon, when the cast assembled to rehearse for the coming Sunday presentation, Mr. Wade was advised that one of his renditions would be a song entitled Any Bonds Today?, a patriotic number urging folks to shell out dollars for war savings securities, a most popular pastime in that period. On the basis of his professed pacifism, Stuart humbly declined, feeling the subject matter to be inconsistent with his personal beliefs. The reward for following his conscience was to be summarily fired by the station bigwigs. Draft dodgers simply couldn’t be tolerated as radio program performers.
It took precious little time for the word to spread throughout the suburban community where the Groshong family had long called home. Like Lew Ayres on a national scale, Stu was quickly condemned to sack cloth and ashes from a local standpoint.
With our subsequent knowledge of this man’s affairs being rather skimpy, we can merely attest to the fact that he too ended up on the winning end, but to a much more modest degree than had the actor. Apparently, the military brass never remanded young Wade to a conscientious objector camp, because he readily turned up as the male singer with Bobby Byrne’s nationally-known dance orchestra. Not long thereafter, he joined the relatively prestigious Freddy Martin outfit, with which he remained for the rest of the war.
When the big band craze drew to an abrupt halt circa 1946, Stuart tended to fade from the show business scene, at least in terms of prominence. Aside from a lead role in one of those inane horror films which became so prevalent in the latter 1940s, this one named The Monster from the Ocean Floor, plus a couple spot television commercials later on, we don’t recall seeing or hearing about him further. At least, however, he had managed to rise to a nationwide performing level, where the hometown “shame” didn’t follow him.
Another lad from this writer’s same home burg was Les Schenck, several years junior to Stuart Groshong. Raised by working class parents, he distinguished himself among fellow townspeople for his exemplary athletic prowess at the high school level. As a prolific forward passing football tailback, a sterling basketball court ace, and a weight-throwing track squad member, he earned a few years of local heroism.
Les’ case doesn’t involve his being branded a (ptui!) conscientious objector, but a dirty draft dodger nonetheless, for a different reason. The military recruiters kept repeatedly turning him down, due to the presence of a hernia, all the way to war’s end.
Under normal circumstances, young Schenck could have easily shrugged his shoulders and shuffled off back home. He certainly wasn’t the only fellow around town to be declared 4-F. However, he didn’t manage to dwell in modest anonymity.
A certain local woman, who perhaps deserved the label of Champion Busybody, wasted no time in launching a verbal smear campaign against this chap for allegedly faking a physical disability, just to avoid serving his country whose need had become so critical. She stood upon a totally unfounded premise that anybody fit enough to achieve athletic brilliance obviously possessed sufficient capability to battle a hated foe. She apparently deemed the draft board’s examining doctors as lacking adequate diagnostic skills.
Fortunately for Les, the slings and arrows from this vicious-minded person gradually abated after war’s end. He was able to go on with his life, albeit far too short. Unlike Ayres and Wade, though, he never came out as a winner of any sorts – instead, only an unjustly slandered but ordinary person with a common physical deficiency.
For our final episode, we jump forward two decades and focus on a man who attained far greater worldwide recognition than even Lew Ayres. Born Cassius Clay and hailing from Louisville, Kentucky, this chap adopted the Muslim name Muhammad Ali, and fought his way from the International Olympics up to the heavyweight boxing pinnacle.
Generally considered to rate among the very best his sport has ever seen, he proved this point again and again by his feats in the ring. However, certain obstacles unrelated to athletics soon faced him.
The U.S. military had been busy making a collective ass of itself by waging a war against “world communism” in Vietnam. The compulsory draft still remained in effect, and the Champ’s number eventually came up.
Once more, the conscientious objection factor reared its head. Although no longer bearing quite the supposed disgrace of the second world war era, the situation had a new twist. Muhammad Ali wasn’t sticking to his guns as a Christian, but rather a Muslim. Good Lord! Blessed Jesus! This could be nothing short of intolerable. Besides, the man happened to be black, and had been aggressively campaigning for improved civil rights – a fairly unpopular cause in those days.
Like Ayres and Wade, the erstwhile Mr. Clay felt the ceiling crash down on him. Not only did the legal proceedings find him convicted on a draft evasion felony charge, but the boxing commission arbitrarily stripped him of his heavyweight championship title. His choice of religion, his color, his oft-resented arrogance, and his attacks on racial prejudice had supposedly justified these verdicts in the eyes of the tsk-tsker community.
This case has a favorable ending, though. The U.S. Supreme Court soon tossed out the compulsory draft for quite valid reasons, and Ali was exonerated. However, he could only regain his top-of-the-heap ring status by fighting for it – which he did in a most convincing manner.
A man of sound truth if ever one existed, despite his exaggerated arrogance, Muhammad Ali deserved the status he regained by virtue of his masterful skills.
In summing up this manifold case set and its final results, we might well conclude by saying that three final winners out of four ain’t bad.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
USA TODAY IN QUICK PERSPECTIVE
Upon careful reflection after having recently returned to U.S. shores following a lengthy sojourn in various faraway places, we’ve finally found a means for describing this country’s present-day oversaturated status with a simple four-word capsule.
We feel no more fitting label applies than this: Too much of everything.
We feel no more fitting label applies than this: Too much of everything.
Monday, November 9, 2009
THE STATE OF ART
Art, whose family name we’d best leave unmentioned under the circumstances, proved to be a solidly-founded upper strata personal friend of ours, beginning with college fraternity brotherhood times and extending long into the afteryears. Regrettably, we lost contact some time ago, which we find unfortunate.
This man’s character ranked right at the top of the heap, and his droll sense of humor remains memorable. However, does this mean that Art stood flawless? No, we’re unhappy to say. He was overly shy, lacking the fundamentals of aggressiveness to a fault. Such deficiency led to the tragedy of Art’s life, in that he never found himself careerwise until the sand had virtually run out.
His choice of major and minor subjects while at college were International Relations and Advanced Statistics respectively, two fairly divergent fields, with the latter study seeming to predominate, as judged by his first post-graduate job.
In 1949, Art joined the federal government’s Bureau of Labor Statistics, which required this still-single young fellow to travel the country literally from Long Island to Catalina and Sault Ste. Marie to Key West, conducting appropriate local area surveys and related analyses. The frequent Ogden Nashish poems sent our way, written on hotel stationery here and there, never ceased to give this writer a helpful respite from the typical day-to-day drudgeries, and tended to convey occupational contentment on our friend’s part.
When, in due course, he returned briefly to our joint home town, we enjoyed an evening’s visit with him and a girl friend who’d been working as an associate. Applying the rule of “likes repel and opposites attract”, the feeling hit us that Art had indeed found the perfect mate, hoping the pair might soon settle down as one.
For undetermined reasons, though, the affair didn’t last. Art eventually did marry another young lady who, despite her many gracious qualities, had the same reserved personality as he. Likes had attracted, not repelled.
By then he had left his government position, on the obvious premise that endless nationwide travel was hardly consistent for a man with a new wife and nature’s resultant production.
As the years rolled along, Art kept drifting from one job to another, each of them in a direct salesman capacity, a vocation he clearly had never been cut out for. In a series of losing causes, he did his best to peddle aluminum kitchenware, female cosmetics, and other goods no longer recallable, before resorting to insurance, with its numerous disadvantages for a chap already in his mid-forties. The commissions didn’t exactly roll in with the utmost rapidity.
We later learned indirectly that Art, approaching age fifty, had engaged the services of a widely-known personnel consulting agency, which subjected him to enough aptitude tests and interviews to justify advising that he belonged in the market research field, whose tasks are somewhat steeped in statistical analysis. The shameful aspect was his failure to have realized and capitalized on such matter a quarter century earlier.
When our last joint encounter took place a few years afterward, Art proudly informed us that he’d taken a new position with a prominent greeting card company, thanks to assistance from his wife, who’d been employed there as a secretary for quite a while. Still on the rather naïve side, he cited the fact that his middle management job lay just below the executive level, to which he could eventually be moved.
Not wishing to dampen the spirits of an old friend, we merely nodded assent. However, being familiar with that particular organization, we knew the futility of working for a firmly-established Jewish family company (and we state this with no disrespect whatsoever, but in light of worldly experience) and its unavoidable glass ceiling.
We can hardly deem this piece a tribute, albeit to a great fellow, but a tale we view with vicarious remorse for such a highly-talented yet personally misdirected man and unforgettable buddy.
From the consolation standpoint, Art certainly hasn’t been the only person we’ve known over the years who selected a career other than the one actually suited for. Nevertheless, we feel his case proved to be among the most extreme we’ve had the misfortune to witness.
This man’s character ranked right at the top of the heap, and his droll sense of humor remains memorable. However, does this mean that Art stood flawless? No, we’re unhappy to say. He was overly shy, lacking the fundamentals of aggressiveness to a fault. Such deficiency led to the tragedy of Art’s life, in that he never found himself careerwise until the sand had virtually run out.
His choice of major and minor subjects while at college were International Relations and Advanced Statistics respectively, two fairly divergent fields, with the latter study seeming to predominate, as judged by his first post-graduate job.
In 1949, Art joined the federal government’s Bureau of Labor Statistics, which required this still-single young fellow to travel the country literally from Long Island to Catalina and Sault Ste. Marie to Key West, conducting appropriate local area surveys and related analyses. The frequent Ogden Nashish poems sent our way, written on hotel stationery here and there, never ceased to give this writer a helpful respite from the typical day-to-day drudgeries, and tended to convey occupational contentment on our friend’s part.
When, in due course, he returned briefly to our joint home town, we enjoyed an evening’s visit with him and a girl friend who’d been working as an associate. Applying the rule of “likes repel and opposites attract”, the feeling hit us that Art had indeed found the perfect mate, hoping the pair might soon settle down as one.
For undetermined reasons, though, the affair didn’t last. Art eventually did marry another young lady who, despite her many gracious qualities, had the same reserved personality as he. Likes had attracted, not repelled.
By then he had left his government position, on the obvious premise that endless nationwide travel was hardly consistent for a man with a new wife and nature’s resultant production.
As the years rolled along, Art kept drifting from one job to another, each of them in a direct salesman capacity, a vocation he clearly had never been cut out for. In a series of losing causes, he did his best to peddle aluminum kitchenware, female cosmetics, and other goods no longer recallable, before resorting to insurance, with its numerous disadvantages for a chap already in his mid-forties. The commissions didn’t exactly roll in with the utmost rapidity.
We later learned indirectly that Art, approaching age fifty, had engaged the services of a widely-known personnel consulting agency, which subjected him to enough aptitude tests and interviews to justify advising that he belonged in the market research field, whose tasks are somewhat steeped in statistical analysis. The shameful aspect was his failure to have realized and capitalized on such matter a quarter century earlier.
When our last joint encounter took place a few years afterward, Art proudly informed us that he’d taken a new position with a prominent greeting card company, thanks to assistance from his wife, who’d been employed there as a secretary for quite a while. Still on the rather naïve side, he cited the fact that his middle management job lay just below the executive level, to which he could eventually be moved.
Not wishing to dampen the spirits of an old friend, we merely nodded assent. However, being familiar with that particular organization, we knew the futility of working for a firmly-established Jewish family company (and we state this with no disrespect whatsoever, but in light of worldly experience) and its unavoidable glass ceiling.
We can hardly deem this piece a tribute, albeit to a great fellow, but a tale we view with vicarious remorse for such a highly-talented yet personally misdirected man and unforgettable buddy.
From the consolation standpoint, Art certainly hasn’t been the only person we’ve known over the years who selected a career other than the one actually suited for. Nevertheless, we feel his case proved to be among the most extreme we’ve had the misfortune to witness.
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