January Hope.

I love January, and not just because it’s the month that includes my birthday. The days grow longer and brighter, little by little, and in those lingering rays of sunlight, I can see some flashes of hope.

My neighbors in Northern California, and friends & family in New York and on the East Coast, are beginning to get their first doses of the COVID vaccine. We’re in the “I B” group (over 65) and have to wait just a bit longer. But help is on the way.

For my birthday, I love to give gifts to the people, or causes, I love. This year, thanks to the first round of our Federal Stimulus Checks being directly deposited into our bank account around my birthday, I was able to do both.

During my birthday weekend, which was our own COVID “bubble’s” Pizza, Pasta and Carvel Ice Cream cake weekend, I asked each of my granddaughters — ages 11, 9 and 5 — to pick their favorite charities, to which I would make a donation in each of their names.

The two older girls picked the Trevor Project, one of the finest non-profit organizations in the country, aimed at helping LGBTQ teens feel comfortable and secure with their own identities. They learned of the Trevor Project from a young pop star from Oakland, CA, named “Maia”, or as she is known to her fans, “MxmToon.” Maia has identified as bisexual, or queer, has an incredibly beautiful voice, has already cut three or four albums, and is an articulate advocate for social justice.

Their choice of the Trevor Project delighted me, since I had made many contributions to the organization in the past, and recounted to them when I attended a fund-raiser in NYC, featuring Cindy Lauper as one of the headline entertainers.

“You mean the Cindy Lauper in the skin commercial?” said my oldest granddaughter, age 11.

“Yes,” I said. “She’s in that commercial for a drug that treats Psoriasis, but she was as popular a singer then as Maia is today. And, her voice was — and still is — just as good.”

“Really?” Grampy said the oldest, rolling her big beautiful eyes, saying “OK, Boomer,” without actually uttering those words. It’s a running joke between the two of us.

I told them how Cindy Lauper sang and entertained us for four hours at the Trevor Project Dinner, leaving the stage, and going from table-to-table, where she sang songs to each of us.

“You know, “ I said, “her first biggest hit, like “Maia’s Prom Dress,” was “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.” Then, she followed that with “True Colors.”

I proceeded to sing a few bars of “True Colors”, living up to my nickname as “The Singing Bush.”

“Oh,” said the oldest, eyes brightening with recognition, “that’s the theme song in the Troll movie!”

I laughed and decided to save the information about Cindy Lauper’s sensational performance in Brecht’s “3-Penny Opera,” when we saw her star in it with Alan Cummings at Studio 54 in New York.

But my granddaughter’s luminescence and that of her sisters, ages 9 & 5, didn’t stop glowing there. The youngest decided that she wanted her special gift to go to a local Sonoma County homeless organization, especially “because of Corona Virus,” she said. They’ve taken to calling people without masks, “The Corona Brigade.”

The four of us sat around their dining room table chatting about the world and lots of other things, coloring and drawing, long into a January afternoon. We talked about words (their father is a writer) and the oldest decided that the worst bad word anyone could ever call anybody else was the “N-word,” which her younger sisters had never heard. They didn’t hear it then either, because their big sister simply refused to say it, she thought it was so terrible.

I looked at each of them and smiled, and realized that maybe, just maybe, there was hope for this often dark and scary world, after all. Together, we continued to talk and draw and watched the sun come in through the dining room windows, and bathe their two cats in its warm embrace, and I never, ever wanted that moment to end.

Feeding Families; Nourishing Souls: The Legacy of Harry Chapin.

More than 50 million American families don’t know where their next meal is coming from.

Feeding Our Families; Nourishing Our Souls

(40 years ago, the first and only United States Presidential Commission on Hunger, created by President Jimmy Carter, delivered a landmark report on global hunger, aimed at reducing food insecurity among tens of millions of people in the U.S., and around the world. One of the driving forces behind the creation of this unique Commission — a brainchild of Sandy Chapin’s — and it’s work was singer/songwriter Harry Chapin, who created World Hunger Year (whyhunger.org) five years earlier with former Catholic Priest and social activist Bill Ayres.

While the Commission’s practical and humanitarian recommendations were suffocated after the election of Ronald Reagan, and the rise of mean-spirited, anti-social justice ideologues in the United States in 1980, Harry Chapin’s work against hunger and food insecurity continues to this day. Earlier this year, the first documentary about Harry Chapin’s brief, but impactful, life was released entitled: “Harry Chapin: When In Doubt, Do Something.” You can see the two-minute trailer to the Chapin documentary — produced by Rick Korn, S.A. Baron, and Harry’s son, Jason, with whom I was privileged to work — right here: https://share.getcloudapp.com/YEuoDnWL.

Over the past several months of this increasingly desperate year of 2020, I have written several stories about Harry Chapin’s life and work as a way of lighting a candle to guide us through the darkness of 325,000 COVID deaths, and 50 million American families suffering Food Insecurity, not knowing where their next meal is coming from. While you are reading this, some of your neighbors are waiting five and six hours in a breadline, waiting for emergency food from one of this country’s 50,000 food banks — in the United States, the wealthiest nation in the world, where the Right to Food Security should be a human right. That’s 1 in 6 Americans who are going hungry, and 1 in 5 children.

As a gift for many of my friends, former colleagues and readers, I have combined those stories into one narrative detailing how Harry Chapin was decades ahead of his time, devoting his life, his celebrity and his fortune to fighting hunger and food insecurity. In exchange, I ask you to donate to a local food bank, to whyhunger.org, or to give a portion of your coming federal stimulus check to a family for whom any supplemental income can feed their children, and nourish your soul.)

CHAPTER ONE: Why Harry Chapin Still Matters

When Harry Chapin was killed in a motor vehicle accident on the Long Island Expressway, July 16, 1981, the news was slow to spread.

It wasn’t like when Elvis died four years earlier, nor when John Lennon was assassinated only seven months before, on December 9, 1980, just two days after Harry Chapin’s 38th and final birthday. Then, the news of the deaths of those legends travelled at the speed of sound, like giant trees falling in the center of media forests. Everyone knew instantly. The whole world went dark for a time, as if someone pulled out the plug.

Despite their similarities of age, Elvis was 42, and Lennon, 40, Chapin’s musical career never came near those heights, with Cats in the Cradle being his only #1 top 40 hit, over a span of 10 years, 12 albums, and hundreds of poems and stories put to song.

Fellow Long Island musician, Billy Joel, who produced 33 top 40 hits, and performed before over 100 sell-out crowds at Madison Square Garden, recalled Harry’s many kindnesses toward him in the “dog eat dog business” of music.

“I was the opening act for him at the Kiel Opera House in St. Louis (now the Stifel Theatre) in 1973–74, “ Joel said. “ He was the headliner. He plugged me to his own audience. ‘How about that Billy Joel,’ he said. That was so gentlemanly of him, and, I never forgot that.”

Years later when the five-time Grammy Award winning Joel’s star rose faster and higher than Chapin’s, Harry opened for him, and Billy made a point of saying “we worked together, and we always worked really well as a show.’

Harry Chapin was not in the rarified league of John Lennon, Elvis or even Billy Joel when it came to fame. Few musicians were. But, regarding humanitarian work, few celebrities came close to Chapin, nor did many try to follow his lead, until after he was gone.

Harry had created a Humanitarian Hall of Fame for performers who could translate their popularity into a permanent public good, and there were few stars applying to get in.

“In Harry’s case, he was literally the only artist in those days doing great humanitarian work,” said Ken Kragen, Chapin’s manager from 1976 until his death.

“ That’s what really made him unique. He was the only artist getting something done on the issues of hunger and poverty. He was very, very committed.”

Kragen, who would, in the mid 1980’s organize two enormous events aimed at alleviating hunger and poverty — We Are The World, and Hands Across America — which raised tens of millions of dollars and global awareness about the urgency of alleviating human suffering, credits Harry Chapin with being the source of his inspiration.

“ I had this overwhelming feeling that Harry Chapin had crawled up inside me, and he was directing everything I was doing, “ Kragen said.

“Suddenly, I became the doer of his will. It was one of the things that pushed me to keep going.”

Billy Joel, standing next to Cyndi Lauper among the dozens of major recording artists like Bruce Springsteen, Michael Jackson, Lionel Richie, Kenny Rogers, Quincy Jones, & Stevie Wonder participating in the 1985 recording of We Are The World which Kragen arranged, underscored that assessment of what made Harry Chapin stand out from everyone else in the music business a full decade earlier.

“He was inspiring how motivated he was to try to help others. He was like a saint to the point of being a martyr, “ said Joel, noting that Chapin, seven years older was like an older brother to him, and taught him the importance of giving back.

“If there was a religious medal for musicians who helped other people, Harry’s face would be on it,” Joel said.

Harry’s unmistakable smiling face and lanky body were badly burned in a fiery car crash, when his tiny Volkswagen Rabbit with a flawed seat-belt mechanism, was rear-ended by a big truck bearing down on him. Family members knew something was wrong when he was late for a significant meeting in NYC with his Business Manager, half-brother Jeb Hart, and top talent agent Shellie Schultz of ICM.

The meeting, blown-off the day before by Harry, had been rescheduled for July 16, by Jeb, who was now struggling to manage the day-to-day details of Harry’s musical career, out of sheer exasperation, to get Chapin to slow down a bit, concentrate more of his time and attention on his family and career, and devote less energy to the many social and political causes that were consuming him.

“Harry’s greatest quality, was his quality of inclusion, but he was just running, running on vapors, “ said Jeb, “and his career had become secondary. He was out of control. We were trying to get him to focus.”

In his decade of performing across the country, in venues that ranged from backyard barbeques to the Bottom Line Café, to big, sprawling concert halls, college campuses and the steps of the US Capitol Building, Harry Chapin did some 200 concerts per year, with nearly half of them being benefits for one non-profit or political cause or another, mostly fighting hunger and poverty.

From March, 1980 through July, 1981, Chapin finished his work on the nation’s first-ever Presidential Hunger Commission which he and Senator Patrick Leahy of Vermont (D-VT) were instrumental in getting President Jimmy Carter to create; participated in unique Radio “HungerThons” with WPLJ-DJ and former Catholic priest Bill Ayres raising millions of dollars for the World Hunger Year (WHYHunger) organization they jointly established five years earlier; founded Long Island Cares with his wife, partner, conscience and “one-person think tank” Sandy Chapin, who gave birth to the idea of a Presidential Hunger Commission; performed with Peter Yarrow and Mary Travers at the funeral of his assassinated political hero, Allard Lowenstein; relentlessly conducted fundraising benefits across the United States for progressive Democratic candidates courageously combatting the Reagan landslide of 1980; and gave the 2,000th concert of his career at the Bottom Line Café, in Manhattan over one weekend in January, 1981.

“Harry just couldn’t say ‘no’,” said Jeb Hart. “He had so many people he was talking to across a spectrum of causes and issues. He’d be making commitments to all of these entities in the midst of doing all these concerts.”

Chapin was involved with “good people,” as he liked to say, quoting Pete Seeger, long a role model for him in how to integrate his music into living a life that mattered on the most important social issues of the time.

In Pete Seeger: The Smithsonian Folkways Collection (Smithsonian Folkways Recordings, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC, 2019), author Jeff Place writes:

Pete saw his music as a means to move mountains — to end racism, poverty, social injustice, political ineptitude and war. There was a reason behind every song Pete wrote or sang. They carried messages and taught lessons. They fostered hope or strength or both. Even the simply fun folksongs had a purpose: they made us feel happy and connected, which could lead to a respect for your fellows, or love for your neighbor, saving the earth from environmental disaster, or…”

Tom Chapin recalled a concert he, Harry and Pete did at Huntington High School, in early January, 1976, to benefit Huntington’s PAF Playhouse, the performing arts group which was a particular passion of Sandy Chapin’s, who was dedicated to arts and arts education.

“One of the students in the audience asked Pete if he thought that all of the benefits for good causes had made any difference, “Tom said. “Seeger responded with this trademark honesty. “ I don’t know,” he said to the student. “But, I do know this. I’ve met good people; people with live hearts, live eyes and live minds.”

“Such a perfect Pete answer,” Tom Chapin said. “Deflecting any credit, not putting down a young reporter’s slightly pushy question, and pointing out what the concerts had done for him personally. Harry and I never forgot it.”

CHAPTER TWO: Part of Something Bigger Than Yourself

To Harry Chapin, as to his idol Pete Seeger — both of whom had similar family backgrounds steeped in left-wing idealism and fathers who were gifted musicians — commitment to a cause and to family, was what truly made life worthwhile.

Bruce Springsteen — who just raised $2 million earlier this month (December, 2020) to fight Food Insecurity — has picked up the mantle of leadership in his work with WHYHunger and the fight against poverty and income inequality, and has reinforced how rough a road it is to making lasting social change.

In his comments at the December 7, 1987, Carnegie Hall Tribute where Harry Chapin was posthumously awarded a Special Congressional Gold Medal for his Humanitarian work — only the fourth musician in US history to ever be so honored, along with Irving Berlin and George & Ira Gershwin — Springsteen talked about the legacy of an activist artist like Chapin, and how “ Harry instinctively knew it would also take more than love to survive; it was going to take hard work, with a good, clear-eye on the dirty ways of the world.”

In his own autobiography Born to Run: Bruce Springsteen (Simon & Schuster Paperbacks, NY, 2016, by Bruce Springsteen) Springsteen writes about his own “clear-eyed look at the dirty ways of the world,” after beginning his work with food banks and anti-poverty groups around the country in the mid-1980’s:

“I never had the frontline courage of many of my more committed musical brethren. If anything, over the years, too much has been made of whatever service we’ve provided. But I did look to develop a consistent approach. Something I could follow year in and year out, and find a way to assist the folks who’d been hit hardest by systematic neglect and injustice. These were the families who’d built America and yet whose dreams and children were, generation after generation, considered expendable. Our travels and position would allow us to support, at the grassroots level, activists who dealt, day to day, with the citizens who’d been shuffled to the margins of American life.” (P. 328).

At the Carnegie Hall Chapin Tribute concert in 1987, Springsteen acknowledged that Harry was one of those with such relentless “front-line courage.”

In fact, Harry was living the line he wrote in his own story song “The Parade’s Still Passing By” about Phil Ochs, the Civil Rights activist and anti-war folk singer who rivaled Bob Dylan for a time in the 1960’s, and killed himself in 1976, at the age of 35: “your greatest gift and the curse you lived with was that you could always care.”

Ochs had traveled to Hazard, Kentucky, to perform for the families of striking coal miners in 1963; to Mississippi in 1964 as part of the Caravan of Music to support the Freedom Fighters throughout the South; to Chicago, in the summer of 1968, to participate in demonstrations against the War in Vietnam at the Democratic National Convention; and to Chile, in 1971, following the election of Democratic Socialist President Salvador Allende to perform with the great Chilean political activist and folksinger, Victor Jara.

Och’s motivating mantra (There But For Fortune: The Life of Phil Ochs, by Michael Schumacher, University of Minnesota Press edition, Minneapolis, MN, 2018) could have been written by Harry Chapin, especially since both devoted significant portions of their careers, and fortunes, to fighting poverty:

“ I have come to believe that this is, in essence, the role of the folksinger…I feel that the singer almost has a responsibility with political and social involvement. You can’t look at folk music as simply an element of show business, because it’s much deeper and more important than that.” (p. 74)

Harry’s cauldron of creativity and his own curse — similar to, but far more lasting that Phil Ochs’ — was the degree to which he cared about others, how much he desperately drove himself, and how determined he was to make his time on earth matter, on the “frontlines,” and well beyond.

So when Tom Chapin, the younger brother closest in age to Harry, got a call on that July day in 1981, from the Nassau County, Long Island, cop who recovered Harry’s charred body near the Jericho exit of the busy Interstate 495, he knew something wasn’t right.

“What’s your relation to the deceased?” the police office asked.

Tom was taken aback. “ Deceased?”

Someone had died in a terrible car accident on the L.I.E. and his wallet was incinerated, destroying all of the victim’s ID.

“We have a body here, and the only way we can identify it is by this pocket watch we found on him with a name inscribed on it,” the Nassau County Cop said.

“What does it say, “ Tom asked, fearful that he already knew.

“It says: “From the Flint Voice. To a great American, Harry Chapin,” the cop said.

Tom Chapin felt as if he had been punched in the stomach, and that the world stopped. He knew that Harry always carried a cherished pocket watch given to him by Michael Moore, the documentary filmmaker, before Moore made any films or was known beyond Flint, Michigan. As a pushy 22-year old, Moore had thrust himself into Harry’s face backstage at intermission of a 1976 Grand Rapids, Michigan concert, begging Chapin to do a benefit for his fledgling, muckraking publication, the Flint Voice.

“He said, ‘sure,’ I’ll do it,” Moore told a crowd at the Huntington, N.Y., Book Review bookstore in October, 2011, some 30 years after Chapin’s death, “and two months later he came to Flint to do a benefit concert for us. Harry came for five years, every year — even when Flint was down and out — sometimes doing two to five concerts a year. When Harry died it sent shock waves through the people of Flint because we kind of adopted him.”

What Moore didn’t learn, until years later, was that it was the inscribed pocket watch he gave to Harry Chapin out of gratitude for his generosity, that enabled his brother Tom to identify the body. Chapin’s simple act of human connection, of wanting to improve life for the people of Flint, Michigan; his great act of love for a cause championed by another idealistic organizer, and his spirit of making the world a bit better, had survived the fire, even though his body had not. It was a metaphor for how Harry’s social justice work lived on, longer than his 38 years on earth.

“Yes,” Tom said to the cop after he finished reading the inscription on the pocket watch. “I’m Harry Chapin’s brother.”

“Then you may want to come down to the Nassau County Medical Center and identify the body,” the cop said.

The shock of Harry’s death spread slowly, stubbornly, with each call Tom Chapin made, as if, not even the truth could believe itself. Family and friends flocked to the Chapin home in Huntington Bay, to be with Sandy Chapin and her children — the youngest of whom, Jason, Jen and Josh, were 17, 10 and 8 ½ years old.

Fans flooded the band shell at Eisenhower Park in East Meadow for a benefit concert to fight hunger that Harry Chapin was scheduled to give that same night, refusing to leave for hours, refusing to believe that the news they heard was real.

The day after Harry’s death, thousands of people spontaneously showed up in downtown Flint, Michigan, to pay their respects to someone who’s “greatest gift and the curse he lived with was that he always cared,” about them, and people like them.

The profound and prolonged reaction to Harry Chapin’s sudden death, and the work of WHYHunger and Harry Chapin Food Banks around the country over the next four decades to pull people out of poverty and make millions of families less food insecure, was, and continues to be, a reminder of why Harry’s life mattered, well beyond his music, and still does.

Yet, performing artists like Billy Joel, considered a consummate musician and songwriter who has received every conceivable musical honor, along with selection into the Rock & Roll and the Songwriters’ Halls of Fame, had the highest praise for Harry’s artistry, as well as his activism.

“He wrote the best story songs,” said the singer/songwriter from Hicksville, Long Island, who wrote some pretty good songs himself. “ A lot of people said to me, ‘you wrote Piano Man?’ I thought it was a Harry Chapin song.”

A slight grin brightened Billy Joel’s face, in the sunny front section of his motorcycle shop in a town known as Oyster Bay, Long Island. “No I wrote that, I would say. Harry’s songs were about human beings, humanity. Whether his career was big enough, that’s not important. It was his impact. And he had an impact upon other songwriters that was all positive, all to the good.”

So, the story of Harry Chapin’s life is a love story, actually; a love story as big and boisterous and unbounded as Harry was ; a love story for his family, for his fellow human beings, and for life itself.

CHAPTER THREE: How the Chapins Changed the World.

“I believe in a God that gives hugs, “ Harry Chapin declared to his friend, colleague and former Catholic priest Bill Ayres.

Harry acted that way, too — bounding unrestrained into any room, stretching his arms as wide as they could go — as if he could wrap them around enough people to pull them into the “circle” he created in song for his brother Tom’s television show, “Make A Wish.”

Chapin’s life was, at it’s core, a love story — a complicated, triangulated, convoluted, undisputed, multi-generational, non-denominational, big-brotherish, earth-motherish, Bohemian-maniacal, Yankee Puritanical, serendipitous, so ridiculous love story that it could just as well have been fiction, or the subject of one of Harry’s own story songs. But, it was a love story as real as life, with roots as deep as roots can reach, and lots of reminders that it happened, and was not just imagined.

It’s story that dates back decades, into generations and centuries, back in time before there was a country to be part of, or proud of, but not before there were some things that mattered so much, everything would be risked. It began, as many love stories do, with some headstrong romantic infatuated with the notion that, somewhere, there was a better life than the one he or she was living, and that something — anything — needed to be done to bring it about. That headstrong romantic was not Harry.

Unlike Frank Sinatra, who came from a family of poor immigrants, during a time of virulent anti-Italian and anti-immigrant fervor in the United States, Harry Chapin was born of American bluebloods — White Anglo Saxon Protestants who came to the Massachusetts Bay Colony just two decades after the first African Slaves were dragged in chains to the Commonwealth of Virginia.

The risk-taking romantic in the Chapin family was Harry’s great grandfather to the ninth generation, Deacon Samuel Chapin, who escaped England in the 1600’s with his wife and lover Cicely, to be free of religious persecution. Deacon Sam Chapin became one of the founders of Springfield, Mass., where — in one of the first colonies to abolish slavery in America — slaves knew they would find a welcoming haven, just across the border from Connecticut, an early slave-holding state.

Unlike Bruce Springsteen, who grew up in a working-class enclave of Freehold, New Jersey, or Elvis Presley, whose parents and grandparents were dirt poor in Tupelo, Mississippi, or Billy Joel, with whom he shared a musical legacy passed on by their fathers, the social, intellectual and political skills of Harry Chapin’s ancestors put them among the elite of American culture. To them, the Mayflower was a means of transportation, not an historic old New York hotel, nor a moving truck on US highways.

His maternal grandfather, Kenneth Burke, authored 15 books, and among students of language, was considered a literary and linguistic giant for most of the 20th Century. In 1981, the year Harry died, “KB”, as family members called him, won the National Medal for Literature, at 84 years old. Burke brought the practice of the literary & artistic salons, made famous by Virginia Wolfe and the Bloomsbury Writers in London, Gertrude Stein in Paris, or Dorothy Parker and the Algonquin Round Table in New York, out to a 165-acre family compound in Andover, New Jersey, he purchased with the proceeds from a $2800 literary prize he won in 1928.

There he entertained writers, artists and philosophers from around the world, giving them space and freedom to work on their craft and discuss it, while he did the same. That kind of laboratory for creativity and learning, and a passion to do something that mattered, even if it didn’t pay well, was not lost on Harry Chapin, nor his brothers, who spent the endless summers of their youth barefoot and sometimes bare-bottomed in the Walden-like environment at Andover.

In fact, it was KB’s daughter Eleanor’s husband, Ricky Leacock, the great documentary film maker and inventor of the art of Cinema Verite and a colleague of such giants of documentary filmmaking as D.A. Pennebaker and Albert & David Maysles , who perfectly captured the atmosphere of Andover in a short film featuring the young Chapin boys, and their male cousins, entitled The Barebottom Tribe.

Few other families could boast that one of them was a legendary filmmaker making home movies, but that was the milieu in which the Chapins and the Burkes came of age.

During some of the most tumultuous times for intellectuals, writers and artists in the United States in the 1930’s, 1940’s and early 1950’s — at the peak of anti-Communist hysteria — Burke hosted writers like Malcolm Cowley, Jon Dos Passos, Shirley Jackson, and Ralph Ellison; poets William Carlos Williams and e.e. cummings, and artists like Alexander Calder, and a local scenic and portrait painter and illustrator named James Ormsby Chapin, who did some design work for The Dial Magazine, which Burke edited.

Shortly before his book The Invisible Man was published (Random House, NY, 1952), Ralph Ellison sat on Kenneth Burke’s piano bench at the main house in Andover, and as KB’s son Michael Burke recalled, read excerpts from his incendiary book on race relations in the United States.

“Ellison sat on KB’s bench, and I was mesmerized as he read from the chapter where he described young Black men boxing bare-chested for the entertainment of the wealthy, White elite of the community, “ Michael Burke said.

Toward the end of the chapter, the winning Black boxers were forced to jump for coins tossed onto an electrified carpet by the inebriated, inhumane White men, who found entertainment in the young Black men’s suffering. Each coin the young Black athletes touched sent an electric shock through their bodies until, as Ellison read, “ I saw one boy…his back glistening with sweat like a circus seal…landing flush upon the charged rug, heard him yell and saw him literally dance upon his back, his elbows beating a frenzied tattoo upon the floor, his muscles twitching like the flesh of a horse stung by many flies.”

On other days, Michael Burke, who became like an older brother to Harry Chapin, would hear William Carlos Williams read his poetry, or use the hand-shaped, wire toilet-paper hold made by Alexander Calder, with the middle finger extended to hold the roll of paper. Andover, and the literary world Kenneth Burke nurtured, was a remarkable, Renaissance-like, place, and for the Chapin brothers it was an endless summer camp.

“It was an ever shifting feast of people, all kinds of people “ Princeton historian Sean Wilentz said of Andover, where he spent some time as a child. Wilentz, the author of books on Ronald Reagan, Andrew Jackson and five other history books — and one of the country’s foremost authorities on Bob Dylan (Bob Dylan in America, Anchor Books, NY, 2010) — grew up right behind the Chapin/Harts in Brooklyn. His family ran the 8th Street Bookshop in Greenwich Village, and his father Elias Wilentz, who edited The Beat Scene — an early anthology of Beat poetry — was a drinking buddy of Kenneth Burke’s.

“There was a whirwind of activity there, “ Wilentz said, “and all of this was going on in this sylvan, beautiful rural atmosphere — in the middle of no where. It was a Bohemian, but very loving environment. In that family, everybody got divorced, but no one ever left. When you were welcomed in by them, you knew you were loved.”

Those “sylvan, beautiful rural” mountains of New Jersey also appealed to James Ormsby Chapin as an escape from the highly commercialized New York City art world, which he detested. A close friend of the poet Robert Frost’s for three decades, Harry’s paternal grandfather illustrated Frost’s first book of poetry, North of Boston, in 1917. The following year, in 1918, a serendipitous encounter on a NYC subway train between James Ormsby Chapin and his former high school teacher, Abigail Forbes, led to the two dramatically different personalities getting married.

Chapin not only did illustrations for Robert Frost and Kenneth Burke, he designed several covers for Time Magazine and become one of the most accomplished depression-era artists of his time, with his haunting depictions of people enduring the hardships of life, inspiring painters of the caliber of Thomas Hart Benton and Grant Wood.

Decades later his grandson Harry would be so deeply influenced by his painting, that the younger Chapin’s story songs seemed as if they simply put lyrics to the lives of the beaten down individuals James Ormsby Chapin captured on his canvases. Many resembled the people Harry Chapin encountered years later in Flint, Michigan, when he gave benefit concerts there for Michael Moore’s Flint Voice, and may have explained the deep connection they felt for each other.

However, the marriage between the distinguished and proper Victorian schoolteacher, and the much younger bohemian artist was not nearly as enduring as James Ormsby Chapin’s art. Their marriage lasted only two years, with Abby Forbes giving birth to one son, James Forbes Chapin, who would later become the father of Harry Chapin, and his brothers James, Tom and Steven.

Serendipity seemed to be the stuff of life for the Burkes and Chapins. In the mid-to-late 1930’s, several years before Harry was born, James Ormsby Chapin took a teaching fellowship at the Summer Art Institute of Claremont College in Southern California. While there, he walked into a small sportswear shop and in another act of kismet similar to how he met Abby Forbes on the NYC subway, and how, years later, Harry would meet Sandy Gaston Cashmore when he showed up at the front door of a Brooklyn brownstone to give her guitar lessons, the talented portrait artist recognized the young, lithe Mary Fisher from one of his art classes and was smitten when he saw her amidst the delicate dresses she sold. He told Mary he wanted to paint her portrait, and by August, 1937, they were married in Pasadena, California.

The artist Chapin and his new wife, moved back east and into an old barn on Kenneth Burke’s sprawling Andover compound where they lived and Big Jim painted. When his grown son James from his marriage to Abby Forbes visited Big Jim and Mary at the Burke compound, James — already a musician at the age of 21 — met Elspeth — Kenneth Burke’s eldest daughter — and they immediately fell in love, marrying in 1940.

Mary Chapin, in her unpublished diaries entitled “The Beginnings of Our Life Together,” chronicled the artists and writers who dropped in and out of Andover, and called life at the Burke compound “bliss.”

“In the mornings, everyone did his work,” Mary Chapin wrote. “The writers wrote, the painters painted, the comforters (mostly the women) prepared the creature comforts. Jim’s (Chapin’s) easel was set up in the open section of the barn.”

Then Mary, who would open a dress shop in New Jersey before taking off in 1968 to Canada with James Ormsby Chapin and their two sons Elliot and Jed who were avoiding the draft for the Vietnam War, located the thread which stitched all of the Burkes and Chapins together:

In the case of the Burke household, not even the problem of the broken family was going to do them damage. In later years, I asked one of their young men how it happened that he had such strong family ties even with the families marital scrambling. He said that he felt as if he just had more people loving him. There was plenty of love.”

Harry Chapin was born into this fearlessly creative, loving, hippie-ish family in 1942 — on the first anniversary of Pearl Harbor — and was exposed, from his earliest years, to a world where wealth was measured in the richness of the writing, artistic work and the hurricane of ideas swirling around him, not in dollars.

To create, was to be alive, and, with family, all that was necessary for success. The fundamental non-financial values of Harry’s family were not the same of Sinatra’s, Springsteen’s, Elvis’ or even Billy Joel’s, where daily economic survival was essential.

Billy Joel’s family background, for one example, was dramatically different from Harry’s, making it all the more remarkable that the two New York-born musicians shared the stage many times as performers, and shared much of the same working-class fan base.

Born in Nuremberg, Germany, Joel’s father was one of only four Jews in his classroom, forced to sit apart from their classmates, and forbidden from using the public swimming pool. As circumstances for Jews in Germany became more dire in the 1930’s and Billy’s grandfather Karl Joel was arrested three times while being called the “Jew Joel,” a “bloodsucker,” and “oppressor,” young Helmut (Billy’s father, whose name would later be Americanized to Howard) was sent to a boarding school in Switzerland.

Meanwhile, Der Sturmer, the Nazi propaganda journal, continued its relentless name calling attacks on Karl Joel, labeling him the “Nuremberg Linen-Jew Joel,” and his thriving linen factory was taken from him at one-fifth its’ actual value.

“My grandparents fled in the night,” Billy Joel told his biographer, Fred Schruers in Billy Joel: The Definitive Biography (Crown/Archetype, NY, 2014) “ They used fake passports, and escaped across the Swiss border to Zurich.”

To get out of Europe alive, Billy Joel’s grandparents and his father “secured places aboard a cruise ship called the Andora Star, for a 1939 passage across the Atlantic to Cuba, where they resided for two years before the United States — strictly limiting the immigration of Jews to protect “the ideal of American homogeneity” — allowed them entry. Karl Joel’s brother Leon and his family were not so fortunate.

They boarded the SS St.Louis, and after the Voyage of the Damned was refused entry in Havana and at every US Port, Billy Joel’s aunt, uncle and family were send back to Europe, and executed in the gas chambers at Auschwitz.

Billy’s father, fluent in German and trained as a concert pianist, was drafted into the US Army in 1943, fighting in General George Patton’s Third Army. When Howard Joel’s battalion liberated the Dachau Concentration Camp near Munich in April, 1945, he didn’t know that his relatives had been slaughtered at Auschwitz. Nor did he know that the black and white striped prison uniforms worn by many of the Jews in the Nazi concentration camps, had been manufactured by the Nazis at the linen-factory seized from his own father.

Unlike the joy and love of music conveyed to his sons by Jim Chapin, the drummer, Billy Joel’s father was overcome by painful memories each time he sat down at the piano to play.

“My father was classically trained in Germany, “ Billy Joel said. “I thought it was wonderful when he played the piano, but he was always frustrated, mad, angry. I thought if I could play like that, I’d be a happy guy. It had a profound influence on me.”

Harry Chapin, like Pete Seeger, had been blessed with a far simpler life, despite members of each of their families — including Seeger himself — being “Blacklisted” for their political activities by rabidly anti-Communist Right Wing public officials, stretching back almost 40 years when Seeger’s father, Charles, was forced out of the music department he established at the University of California at Berkeley because of his publicly professed pacifism toward World War I.

Unknown to both the Seegers and the Burke/Chapins, Harry’s great Aunt Dorothy Day, the founder of the Catholic Workers movement, was being physically attacked at roughly the same time Seeger’s father was bounced from Berkeley. A journalist who wrote for the Socialist and IWW (International Workers of the World) newspaper The NewYork Call, interviewed historic figures like Margaret Sanger and Leon Trotsky, and was close friends with the playwright Eugene O’Neill, Dorothy Day crusaded against American entrance into World War I, and in favor of Women’s Suffrage.

Day’s work on the movement to secure the right to vote for women nearly got her killed. She joined her friend Peggy Baird Johnson (who would later marry K.B’s best friend, the writer Malcolm Cowley) at a November 1917, Suffragette demonstration in Washington, DC, where Dorothy and Peggy would be arrested along with 46 others and jailed for 30 days. During their incarceration, Dorothy Day was nearly beaten to death by guards armed with billy clubs in “the worst and most brutal incident of the treatment of the suffragists, where they were dragged, kicked, trampled and choked,” according to Day’s youngest granddaughter, Kate Hennessey, in the comprehensive biography of her grandmother, Dorothy Day: The World Will Be Saved by Beauty (Scribner, NY, NY, 2017). Three years later, the 19th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution was ratified, securing the right to vote for women.

By sharp contrast, Harry Chapin and Pete Seeger lived charmed lives. “ I was born into a very easy life in many ways,” Seeger said. “ My parents were professional musicians and when they split up I went to spend vacations with my grandparents who had a private house in the country.”

It’s as if he was foreshadowing the path that awaited Harry Chapin.

While Harry’s grandfather Kenneth Burke was a music critic and understood all the elements of sound, orchestration and lyrics, and his “private house in the country” paralleled that of Pete Seeger’s grandparents, the most likely musical influence for Harry, Tom and Steve Chapin, was their father, Jim Chapin, who became a top drummer with some of the leading musicians of his time, including the Glenn Grey Orchestra and Tony Pastor.

He taught and wrote books on drumming, most notably Advanced Techniques for the Modern Drummer, Volumes I & II, which became, and remains, the essential professional instruction book for most modern drummers, a decade after Jim Chapin’s death in 2009.

In fact, Howie Fields, the drummer who joined Harry’s musical troupe for his Broadway show in 1975 (The Night That Made America Famous) stayed with him through his death, and still performs with the Chapin Family Band all over the country, said he knew of the teaching and musical artistry of the drummer Jim Chapin, before he ever heard of Harry. While his drumming Techniques book became world famous, Jim Chapin did not, missing some opportunities to play with the biggest bands of his time.

“Dorsey (Tommy Dorsey) didn’t like his foot,” said Harry’s younger brother Tom, flashing a sweet smile at the memory of his father. “He didn’t hit the base drum hard enough.”

Much later, Tom Chapin would say that his father’s example “provided the joy of music. He was a fun, attractive guy who loved to play. We’d see him on weekends, and the sense of possibility (of a musical career) was there.”

Jim Chapin’s obsession with his music kept him away from his wife Elspeth, and their four sons, and that, as well as his love for other women, contributed to their divorce when Harry was only 6 years old.

As if to compensate for her son’s failure to support his, now four, young boys and wife, Harry’s paternal grandmother, Abby Forbes, not only provided financial help to the family, but paid for music lessons for all four boys at the Greenwich House Music School in NYC. With Abby’s help and the guidance of Elspeth and her mother Lily Batterham Burke, the boys became involved in the Grace Church Episcopal Choir in Brooklyn, among NYC’s finest boys’ choirs, where John Wallace — one of Harry’s longtime band members with a magnificent voice and musical range — also sang.

After memorizing every song on “TheWeavers at Carnegie Hall” album, the Chapin Brothers performed their first number in public: Woody Guthrie’s This Land is Your Land — a rendition rousingly received, propeling them to perform at churches and schools across Brooklyn.

They were carrying on a tradition of folk music that began with Guthrie, was nourished by Pete Seeger with, first the Almanac Singers (the group which Guthrie helped found in 1940), than the Weavers.

The first time the Chapins heard the music of The Weavers was at Andover, on an old victrola owned by their Aunt Eleanor “Happy” Leacock. “Happy,” the wife of documentary film maker Ricky Leacock, was one of the first woman in the nation to chair an Anthropology Department at a major University (City University of New York). She was also an open and avowed Marxist, who pioneered the field of gender studies decades before Betty Friedan and Gloria Steinem burst onto the scene in sociology. She was put on an FBI watch-list after she and KB traveled to a performance of Blacklisted singer Paul Robeson in Peekskill, NY, that ended with anti-Robeson protestors — armed with everything but MAGA hats — stoning the cars of concertgoers, with Happy and KB hearing rocks richocheting off the roof of their car.

The influence or the Chapin/Burke families — and their enormous circle of friends, fellow artists, academics and activists — never stopped. It was all enveloping; some might say incestuous. It was Harry’s uncle/cousin Michael Burke — KB’s son by his second wife, Libby Batterham (Lily’s sister) — who turned Harry on to the acoustic guitar and challenged him to songwriting contests to see who could come up with the best song in the shortest time.

And, when Harry, Steve & Tom played as The Chapins in clubs like the Bitter End and the Bottom Line around New York in the mid-to-late 1960’s, their father Jim joined them on the drums, keeping their music a full family affair for a while, underscoring the musical tradition into which the Chapin sons were born.

Michael Burke, a Harvard-trained architect who became an early environmental advocate, would later go on to design three of Harry Chapin’s Albums (The Road to Kingdom Come, Dance Band on the Titanic, & Legends of the Lost and Found) during the 1970’s. Michael’s graceful, long and winding lines, closed out corners of the circle that began when Harry’s paternal grandfather, James Ormsby Chapin, first did some illustrations for the magazine edited by Michael’s father, Kenneth Burke.

Harry reciprocated by writing two songs for and about Michael, who had become like a loving, older brother to him. The songs, “Paint a Portrait for Me, Michael,” and “The Rock,” which tells the story of a scientist who tries to warn his town of its’ imminent destruction by a huge boulder — a force of nature — precariously perched above it.

The song was a metaphor not only for Michael’s brilliance in several fields, and his being far ahead of his time concerning climate change, but a prophetic tale of Harry’s own Sisyphean task of alerting the world to the massive scourge of poverty and food insecurity, and the urgency do something about it. The loud and insistent warnings about climate change and income inequality were decades ahead of their time.

Harry’s own early clues about poverty and hunger came from the brilliant work of a friend of his politically astute oldest brother James, who was active in the Democratic Socialists of America. James Chapin, who would serve as Harry’s political guru and advisor throughout his lifetime, was friends with Michael Harrington, a fellow DSA member, whose book The Other America ((Penguin Books, NY, NY, 1962) grabbed the attention of President John F. Kennedy, and became the blueprint for the War on Poverty, and later, one of the inspirations for the Chapin family’s lifelong fight against poverty and food insecurity, which began with Harry and Bill Ayres, in the mid-1970’s.

Born to privilege and into a family of thinkers and artists, Harry felt compelled to do something about the promise of what he believed America was supposed to be for others not as lucky as he and his brothers. His unapologetic patriotism, and unfettered sense of fairness, would, at roughly the same age, lead him to take the same approach Frank Sinatra took in 1945, at age 30.

Sinatra was born in Hoboken, New Jersey, into a struggling Italian family of immigrants — less than an hour from the Andover compound where the Burkes and Chapins would congregate. Hoboken was, as Pete Hamill wrote in his masterpiece Why Sinatra Matters, “ not a story of unrelieved misery. The core of the immigration myth is this: it was about the way people overcame misery, how they found their consolation and in the end, how they redeemed America in a time when America believed it was not in need of redemption.”

“Harry gave away more than he got, “ said Billy Joel, in an interview in his motorcyle shop in the heart of the Village of Oyster Bay, not far from where the Chapins lived in Huntington.

“ He concentrated on helping people, whenever he could, giving his money away to other people, for a cause. He had so much talent, and he used it for other people, not for his own gain.”

“We need Harry now more than ever,” Joel said. “In this era of Trump when it’s all about greed, all about selfishness, he’d be nudging the hell out of me, out of everyone, to get involved.”

Pete Hamill, in his remarkable book about Frank Sinatra, writes how Sinatra’s “music was the engine of his life.”

Not so, for Harry Chapin. He was the engine of his life, and of the lives of many others.

“Having Harry for a brother was like having a steam engine for a brother, “ said his oldest brother James Chapin, during Harry’s memorial service at Grace Episcopal Church in Brooklyn, in 1981, acknowledging the effect he had on everyone who came in contact with him. He would never take “no” for an answer, had boundless energy, and was as relentless in fighting for his social and political causes as he was in pursuing his musical career.

Yet, his music and his life as an artist, in a family of artists, mattered to Harry as much as his activism and citizenship did. Harry Chapin’s great gift was to merge the many parts of himself — artist, activist, decent human being, brother, father, citizen — into a sort of one-man movement — “a movement among movements” to paraphrase the great social activist and food insecurity guru Frances Moore Lappe, whose first book, Diet for A Small Planet (University of California Press, Berkeley, 1971) had a profound influence on Harry’s thinking about poverty, hunger, income inequality, and the politics of social change, and whose second book Food First, was funded with a starter grant from Harry.

“He wanted to change the world,” said Big John Wallace, his longtime guitarist, fellow singer, and childhood friend dating back to the Grace Episcopal Church Choir, where they first sang together. “And he did.”

(copyright, December 2020, Steve Villano)

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How the Chapins Changed the World.

The Proposed Harry Chapin Postage Stamp

 How The Chapins Changed the World

By Steve Villano (Copyright, 2020)

“I believe in a God that gives hugs, “ Harry Chapin declared to his friend, colleague and former Catholic priest Bill Ayres.  Harry acted that way, too—bounding unrestrained into any room, stretching his arms as wide as they could go—as if he could wrap them around enough people to pull them into the  “circle” he created in song for his brother Tom’s television show, “Make A Wish.”

 Chapin’s life was, at it’s core, a love story–a complicated, triangulated, convoluted, undisputed, multi-generational, non-denominational, big-brotherish, earth-motherish, Bohemian-maniacal, Yankee Puritanical, serendipitous, so ridiculous love story that it could just as well have been fiction, or the subject of one of Harry’s own story songs.  But, it was a love story as real as life, with roots as deep as roots can reach, and lots of reminders that it happened, and was not just imagined.

It’s story that dates back decades, into generations and centuries, back in time before there was a country to be part of, or proud of, but not before there were some things that mattered so much, everything would be risked.  It began, as many love stories do, with some headstrong romantic infatuated with the notion that, somewhere, there was a better life than the one he or she was living, and that something—anything—needed to be done to bring it about.   That headstrong romantic was not Harry.

Unlike Frank Sinatra, who came from a family of poor immigrants, during a time of  virulent anti-Italian and anti-immigrant fervor in the United States, Harry Chapin was born of American bluebloods—White Anglo Saxon Protestants who came to the Massachusetts Bay Colony  just two decades after the first African Slaves were dragged in chains to the Commonwealth of Virginia.    The risk-taking romantic in the Chapin family was Harry’s great grandfather to the 9thgeneration, Deacon Samuel Chapin, who escaped England in the 1600’s with his wife and lover Cicely, to be free of religious persecution.  Deacon Sam Chapin became one of the founders of Springfield, Mass., where—in one of the first colonies to abolish slavery in America—slaves knew they would find a welcoming haven, just across the border from Connecticut, an early slave-holding state.

Unlike Bruce Springsteen, who grew up in a working-class enclave of Freehold, New Jersey, or Elvis Presley, whose parents and grandparents were dirt poor in Tupelo, Mississippi, or Billy Joel, with whom he shared a musical legacy passed on by their fathers, the social, intellectual and political skills of Harry Chapin’s ancestors put them among the elite of American culture.  To them, the Mayflower was a means of transportation, not an historic old New York hotel, nor a moving truck on US highways.

His maternal grandfather, Kenneth Burke, authored 15 books, and among students of language, was considering a literary and linguistic giant for most of the 20th Century.   In 1981, the year Harry died, “KB”, as family members called him, won the National Medal for Literature, at 84 years old.  Burke brought the practice of the literary  & artistic salons, made famous by Virginia Wolfe and the Bloomsbury Writers in London, Gertrude Stein in Paris, or Dorothy Parker and the Algonquin Round Table in New York, out to a 165-acre family compound in Andover, New Jersey, he purchased with the proceeds from a $2800 literary prize he won in 1928.   There he entertained writers, artists and philosophers from around the world, giving them space and freedom to work on their craft and discuss it, while he did the same.  That kind of laboratory for creativity and learning, and a passion to do something that mattered, even if it didn’t pay well, was not lost on Harry Chapin, nor his brothers, who spent the endless summers of their youth barefoot and sometimes bare-bottomed in the Walden-like environment at Andover.   In fact, it was KB’s daughter Eleanor’s husband, Ricky Leacock, the great documentary film maker and inventor of the art of Cinema Verite and a colleague of  such giants of documentary filmmaking as D.A. Pennebaker and Albert & David Maysles , who perfectly captured the  atmosphere of Andover in a short film featuring the young Chapin boys, and their male cousins, entitled The Barebottom Tribe.  Few other families could boast that one of them was a legendary filmmaker making home movies, but that was the milieu in which the Chapins and the Burkes came of age.

During some of the most tumultuous times for intellectuals, writers and artists in the United States in the 1930’s, 1940’s and early 1950’s—at the peak of anti-Communist hysteria–Burke hosted writers like Malcolm Cowley, Jon Dos Passos, Shirley Jackson, and Ralph Ellison; poets William Carlos Williams and e.e. cummings, and artists like Alexander Calder, and a local scenic and portrait painter and illustrator named James Ormsby Chapin, who did some design work for The Dial Magazine, which Burke edited.  

Shortly before his book The Invisible Man was published (Random House, NY, 1952), Ralph Ellison sat on Kenneth Burke’s piano bench at the main house in Andover, and as KB’s son Michael Burke recalled, read excerpts from his incendiary book on race relations in the United States.  

“Ellison sat on KB’s bench, and I was mesmerized as he read from the chapter where he described young Black men boxing bare-chested for the entertainment of the wealthy, White elite of the community, “ Michael Burke said.  

Toward the end of the chapter, the winning Black boxers were forced to jump for coins tossed onto an electrified carpet  by the inebriated, inhumane White men, who found entertainment in the young Black men’s suffering.  Each coin the young Black athletes touched sent an electric shock through their bodies until, as Ellison read, “ I saw one boy…his back glistening with sweat like a circus seal…landing flush upon the charged rug, heard him yell and saw him literally dance upon his back, his elbows beating a frenzied tattoo upon the floor, his muscles twitching like the flesh of a horse stung by many flies.”

On other days, Michael Burke, who became like an older brother to Harry Chapin, would hear William Carlos Williams read his poetry, or use the hand-shaped, wire toilet-paper hold made by Alexander Calder, with the middle finger extended to hold the roll of paper.    Andover, and the literary world Kenneth Burke nurtured, was a remarkable, Renaissance-like, place, and for the Chapin brothers it was an endless summer camp. 

“It was an ever shifting feast of people, all kinds of people “ Princeton historian Sean Wilentz said of Andover, where he spent some time as a child.   Wilentz, the author of books on Ronald Reagan, Andrew Jackson and five other history books—and one of the country’s foremost authorities on Bob Dylan (Bob Dylan in America, Anchor Books, NY, 2010)—grew up right behind the Chapin/Harts in Brooklyn.  His family ran the 8th Street Bookshop in Greenwich Village, and his father Elias Wilentz, who edited The Beat Scene—an early anthology of Beat poetry—was a drinking buddy of Kenneth Burke’s. 

“There was a whirwind of activity there, “ Wilentz said, “and all of this was going on in this sylvan, beautiful rural atmosphere—in the middle of no where.  It was a Bohemian, but very loving environment.  In that family, everybody got divorced, but no one ever left. When you were welcomed in by them, you knew you were loved.”

Those “sylvan, beautiful rural” mountains of New Jersey also appealed to James Ormsby Chapin as an escape from the highly commercialized  New York City art world, which he detested.   A close friend of the poet Robert Frost’s for three decades, Harry’s paternal grandfather illustrated Frost’s first book of poetry, North of Boston, in 1917.  The following year, in 1918, a serendipitous encounter on a NYC subway train between James Ormsby Chapin and his former high school teacher, Abigail Forbes, led to the two dramatically different personalities getting married. 

Chapin not only did illustrations for Robert Frost and Kenneth Burke, he designed several covers for Time Magazine and become one of the most accomplished depression-era artists of his time, with his haunting depictions of people enduring the hardships of life, inspiring painters of the caliber of Thomas Hart Benton and Grant Wood.  Decades later his grandson Harry would be so deeply influenced by his painting, that the younger Chapin’s story songs seemed as if they simply put lyrics to the lives of the beaten down individuals James Ormsby Chapin captured on his canvases.  Many resembled the people Harry Chapin encountered years later in Flint, Michigan, when he gave benefit concerts there for Michael Moore’s Flint Voice, and may have explained the deep connection they felt for each other.

 However, the marriage between the distinguished and proper Victorian schoolteacher, and the much younger bohemian artist was not nearly as enduring as James Ormsby Chapin’s art.  Their marriage lasted only two years, with Abby Forbes giving birth to one son, James Forbes Chapin, who would later become the father of Harry Chapin, and his brothers James, Tom and Steven.   

Serendipity seemed to be the stuff of life for the Burkes and Chapins.  In the mid-to-late 1930’s, several years before Harry was born,  James Ormsby Chapin took a teaching fellowship at the Summer Art Institute of Claremont College in Southern California.   While there, he walked into a small sportswear shop and in another act of kismet similar to how he met Abby Forbes on the NYC subway, and how, years later, Harry would meet Sandy Gaston Cashmore when he showed up at the front door of a Brooklyn brownstone to give her guitar lessons, the talented portrait artist recognized the young, lithe Mary Fisher from one of his art classes and was smitten when he saw her amidst the delicate dresses she sold.  He told Mary he wanted to paint her portrait, and by August, 1937, they were married in Pasadena, California. 

 The artist Chapin and his new wife, moved back east and into an old barn on Kenneth Burke’s sprawling Andover compound where they lived and Big Jim painted.   When his grown son James from his marriage to Abby Forbes visited Big Jim and Mary at the Burke compound, James—already a musician at the age of 21–met Elspeth—Kenneth Burke’s eldest daughter—and they immediately fell in love, marrying in 1940.

Mary Chapin, in her unpublished diaries entitled “The Beginnings of Our Life Together,” chronicled the artists and writers who dropped in and out of Andover, and called life at the Burke compound  “bliss.”

“In the mornings, everyone did his work,” Mary Chapin wrote.  “The writers wrote, the painters painted, the comforters (mostly the women) prepared the creature comforts.  Jim’s (Chapin’s) easel was set up in the open section of the barn.”

Then Mary, who would open a dress shop in New Jersey before taking off in 1968 to Canada with James Ormsby Chapin and their two sons Elliot and Jed who were avoiding the draft for the Vietnam War,  located the thread which stitched all of the Burkes and Chapins together:

In the case of the Burke household, not even the problem of the broken family was going to do them damage.  In later years, I asked one of their young men how it happened that he had such strong family ties even with the families marital scrambling.  He said that he felt as if he just had more people loving him.  There was plenty of love.”

Harry Chapin was born into this fearlessly creative, loving,  hippie-ish family in 1942—on the first anniversary of Pearl Harbor—and was exposed, from his earliest years, to a world where wealth was measured in the richness of the writing, artistic work and the hurricane of ideas swirling around him, not in dollars.  To create, was to be alive, and, with family, all that was necessary for success.   The fundamental non-financial values of Harry’s family were not the same of Sinatra’s, Springsteen’s, Elvis’ or even Billy Joel’s, where daily economic survival was essential.  

Billy Joel’s family background, for one example, was dramatically different from Harry’s, making it all the more remarkable that the two New York-born musicians shared the stage many times as performers, and shared much of the same working-class fan base.   Born in Nuremberg, Germany, Joel’s father was one of only four Jews in his classroom, forced to sit apart from their classmates, and forbidden from using the public swimming pool. As circumstances for Jews in Germany became more dire in the 1930’s and Billy’s grandfather Karl Joel was arrested three times while being called the “Jew Joel,” a “bloodsucker,” and “oppressor,” young Helmut (Billy’s father, whose name would later be Americanized to Howard) was sent to a boarding school in Switzerland. 

Meanwhile, Der Sturmer, the Nazi propaganda journal,continued its relentless name calling attacks on Karl Joel, labeling him the “Nuremberg Linen-Jew Joel,” and his thriving linen factory was taken from him at one-fifth its’ actual value.

“My grandparents fled in the night,” Billy Joel told his biographer, Fred Schruers in Billy Joel: The Definitive Biography (Crown/Archetype, NY, 2014) “ They used fake passports, and escaped across the Swiss border to Zurich.” 

To get out of Europe alive, Billy Joel’s grandparents and his father “secured places aboard a cruise ship called the Andora Star, for a 1939 passage across the Atlantic to Cuba, where they resided for two years before the United States — strictly limiting the immigration of Jews to protect “the ideal of American homogeneity” — allowed them entry.  Karl Joel’s brother Leon and his family were not so fortunate. They boarded the SS St.Louis, and after the Voyage of the Damned was refused entry in Havana and at every US Port, Billy Joel’s aunt, uncle and family were send back to Europe, and executed in the gas chambers at Auschwitz.

Billy’s father, fluent in German and trained as a concert pianist, was drafted into the US Army in 1943, fighting in General George Patton’s Third Army.  When Howard Joel’s battalion liberated the Dachau Concentration Camp near Munich in April, 1945, he didn’t know that his relatives had been slaughtered at Auschwitz.  Nor did he know that the black and white striped prison uniforms worn by many of the Jews in the Nazi concentration camps, had been manufactured by the Nazis at the linen-factory seized from his own father.

Unlike the joy and love of music conveyed to his sons by Jim Chapin, the drummer, Billy Joel’s father was overcome by painful memories each time he sat down at the piano to play.  

“My father was classically trained in Germany, “ Billy Joel said. “I thought it was wonderful when he played the piano, but he was always frustrated, mad, angry.  I thought if I could play like that, I’d be a happy guy.  It had a profound influence on me.”

Harry Chapin, like Pete Seeger, had been blessed with a far simpler life, despite members of each of their families—including Seeger himself —being “Blacklisted” for their political activities by rabidly anti-Communist Right Wing public officials, stretching back almost 40 years when Seeger’s father, Charles, was forced out of the music department he established at the University of California at Berkeley because of his publicly professed pacifism toward World War I.   Unknown to both the Seegers and the Burke/Chapins,  Harry’s great Aunt Dorothy Day, the founder of the Catholic Workers movement, was being physically attacked at roughly the same time Seeger’s father was bounced from Berkeley.    A journalist who wrote for the Socialist and IWW (International Workers of the World) newspaper The NewYork Call, interviewed historic figures like Margaret Sanger and Leon Trotsky, and was close friends with the playwright Eugene O’Neill, Dorothy Day crusaded against American entrance into World War I, and in favor of Women’s Suffrage.   

Day’s work on the movement to secure the right to vote for women nearly got her killed.  She joined her friend Peggy Baird Johnson (who would later marry K.B’s best friend, the writer Malcolm Cowley) at a November 1917, Suffragette demonstration in Washington, DC, where Dorothy and Peggy would be arrested along with 46 others and jailed for 30 days.  During their incarceration, Dorothy Day was nearly beaten to death by guards armed with billy clubs in “the worst and most brutal incident of the treatment of the suffragists, where they were dragged, kicked, trampled and choked,” according to Day’s youngest granddaughter, Kate Hennessey, in the comprehensive biography of her grandmother, Dorothy Day:  The World Will Be Saved by Beauty  (Scribner, NY, NY, 2017).    Three years later, the 19th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution was ratified, securing the right to vote for women.

By sharp contrast, Harry Chapin and Pete Seeger lived charmed lives.  “ I was born into a very easy life in many ways,” Seeger said.  “ My parents were professional musicians and when they split up I went to spend vacations with my grandparents who had a private house in the country.”    It’s as if he was foreshadowing the path that awaited Harry Chapin.

While Harry’s grandfather Kenneth Burke was a music critic and understood all the elements of sound, orchestration and lyrics, and his “private house in the country” paralleled that of Pete Seeger’s grandparents, the most likely musical influence for Harry, Tom and Steve Chapin, was their father, Jim Chapin, who became a top drummer with some of the leading musicians of his time, including the Glenn Grey Orchestra and Tony Pastor.  He taught and wrote books on drumming, most notably Advanced Techniques for the Modern Drummer, Volumes I & II, which became, and remains, the essential professional instruction book for most modern drummers, a decade after Jim Chapin’s death in 2009.

In fact, Howie Fields, the drummer who joined Harry’s musical troupe for his Broadway show in 1975 (The Night That Made America Famous) stayed with him through his death, and still performs with the Chapin Family Band all over the country, said he knew of the teaching and musical artistry of the drummer Jim Chapin, before he ever heard of Harry.  While his drumming Techniques book became world famous, Jim Chapin did not, missing some opportunities to play with the biggest bands of his time. 

“Dorsey (Tommy Dorsey) didn’t like his foot,” said Harry’s younger brother Tom, flashing a sweet smile at the memory of his father.   “He didn’t hit the base drum hard enough.”

Much later, Tom Chapin would say that his father’s example “provided the joy of music.  He was a fun, attractive guy who loved to play. We’d see him on weekends, and the sense of possibility (of a musical career) was there.”  

 Jim Chapin’s obsession with his music kept him away from his wife Elspeth, and their four sons, and that, as well as his love for other women, contributed to their divorce when Harry was only 6 years old.  As if to compensate for her son’s failure to support his, now four, young boys and wife, Harry’s paternal grandmother, Abby Forbes, not only provided financial help to the family, but paid for music lessons for all four boys at the Greenwich House Music School in NYC.   With Abby’s help and the guidance of Elspeth and her mother Lily Batterham Burke, the boys became involved in the Grace Church Episcopal Choir in Brooklyn, among NYC’s finest boys’ choirs, where John Wallace—one of Harry’s longtime band members with a magnificent voice and musical range—also sang.    After memorizing every song on  “TheWeavers at Carnegie Hall” album, the Chapin Brothers performed their first number in public: Woody Guthrie’s   This Land is Your Land—a rendition rousingly received, propeling them to perform at churches and schools across Brooklyn.  

 They were carrying on a tradition of folk music that began with Guthrie, was nourished by Pete Seeger with, first the Almanac Singers (the group which Guthrie helped found in 1940), than the Weavers.  The first time the Chapins heard the music of The Weavers was at Andover, on an old victrola owned by their Aunt Eleanor “Happy” Leacock.  “Happy,” the wife of documentary film maker Ricky Leacock, was one of the first woman in the nation to chair an Anthropology Department at a major University  (City University of New York).  She was also an open and avowed Marxist, who pioneered the field of gender studies decades before Betty Friedan and Gloria Steinem burst onto the scene in sociology.  She was put on an FBI watch-list after she and KB traveled to a performance of Blacklisted singer Paul Robeson in Peekskill, NY, that ended with anti-Robeson protestors—armed with everything but MAGA hats–stoning the cars of concertgoers, with Happy and KB hearing rocks richocheting off the roof of their car. 

The influence or the Chapin/Burke families—and their enormous circle of friends,  fellow artists, academics and activists– never stopped.  It was all enveloping; some might say incestuous.   It was Harry’s uncle/cousin Michael Burke—KB’s son by his second wife, Libby Batterham (Lily’s sister)—who turned Harry on to the acoustic guitar and challenged him to songwriting contests to see who could come up with the best song in the shortest time.    And, when Harry, Steve & Tom played as The Chapins in clubs like the Bitter End and the Bottom Line around New York in the mid-to-late 1960’s, their father Jim joined them on the drums, keeping their music a full family affair for a while, underscoring the musical tradition into which the Chapin sons were born.  

Michael Burke, a Harvard-trained architect who became an early environmental advocate, would later go on to design three of Harry Chapin’s Albums (The Road to Kingdom Come, Dance Band on the Titanic, & Legends of the Lost and Found) during the 1970’s.   Michael’s graceful, long and winding lines, closed out  corners of  the circle that began when Harry’s paternal grandfather, James Ormsby Chapin, first did some illustrations for the magazine edited by Michael’s father, Kenneth Burke.    

Harry reciprocated by writing two songs for and about Michael, who had become like a loving, older brother to him.  The songs,  “Paint a Portrait for Me, Michael,” and “The Rock,” which tells the story of a scientist who tries to warn his town of its’ imminent destruction by a huge boulder—a force of nature—precariously perched above it.  The song was a metaphor not only for Michael’s brilliance in several fields, and his being far ahead of his time concerning climate change, but a prophetic tale of Harry’s own Sisyphean task of alerting the world to the massive scourge of poverty and food insecurity, and the urgency do something about it.  The loud and insistent warnings about climate change and income inequality were decades ahead of their time.  Harry’s own early clues about poverty and hunger came from the brilliant work of a friend of his politically astute oldest brother James, who was active in the Democratic Socialists of America.  James Chapin, who would serve as Harry’s political guru and advisor throughout his lifetime, was friends with Michael Harrington, a fellow DSA member, whose book The Other America  ((Penguin Books, NY, NY, 1962) grabbed the attention of President John F. Kennedy, and became the blueprint for the War on Poverty, and later, one of the inspirations for the Chapin family’s lifelong fight against poverty and food insecurity, which began with Harry and Bill Ayres, in the mid-1970’s. 

Born to privilege and into a family of thinkers and artists, Harry felt compelled to do something about the promise of what he believed America was supposed to be for others not as lucky as he and his brothers.   His unapologetic patriotism, and unfettered sense of fairness, would, at roughly the same age, lead him to take the same approach Frank Sinatra took in 1945, at age 30.

Sinatra was born in Hoboken, New Jersey, into a struggling Italian family of immigrants—less than an hour from the Andover compound where the Burkes and Chapins would congregate.  Hoboken was, as Pete Hamill wrote in his masterpiece Why Sinatra Matters, “ not a story of unrelieved misery.  The core of the immigration myth is this:  it was about the way people overcame misery, how they found their consolation and in the end, how they redeemed America in a time when America believed it was not in need of redemption.”

“Harry gave away more than he got, “ said Billy Joel, in an interview in his motorcyle shop in the heart of the Village of Oyster Bay, not far from where the Chapins lived in Huntington.  “ He concentrated on helping people, whenever he could, giving his money away to other people, for a cause.  He had so much talent, and he used it for other people, not for his own gain.”

“We need Harry now more than ever,” Joel said.  “In this era of Trump when it’s all about greed, all about selfishness, he’d be nudging the hell out of me, out of everyone, to get involved.”

 Pete Hamill, in his remarkable book about Frank Sinatra, writes how Sinatra’s “music was the engine of his life.”   Not so, for Harry Chapin.  He was the engine of his life, and of the lives of many others.

“Having Harry for a brother was like having a steam engine for a brother, “  said his oldest brother James Chapin, during Harry’s memorial service at Grace Episcopal Church in Brooklyn, in 1981, acknowledging the effect he had on everyone who came in contact with him.   He would never take “no” for an answer, had boundless energy, and was as relentless in fighting for his social and political causes as he was in pursuing his musical career.  

Yet, his music and his life as an artist, in a family of artists, mattered to Harry as much as his activism and citizenship did.  Harry Chapin’s great gift was to merge the many parts of himself–artist, activist, decent human being, brother, father, citizen–into a sort of one-man movement—“a movement among movements” to paraphrase the great social activist and food insecurity guru Frances Moore Lappe, whose first book, Diet for A Small Planet (University of California Press, Berkeley, 1971) had a profound influence on Harry’s thinking about poverty, hunger, income inequality, and the politics of social change, and whose second book  Food First, was funded with a starter grant from Harry.  

“He wanted to change the world,” said Big John Wallace, his longtime guitarist, fellow singer, and childhood friend dating back to the Grace Episcopal Church Choir, where they first sang together.  “And he did.”

Math & Science Focus: No, No Neera; YES to Yang @ OMB; Dr.Helene Gayle for HHS.

Andrew Yang endorsing Joe Biden.

Say it ain’t so, Joe. Don’t tell those of us who backed you to the hilt that you are serious about the utterly unqualified Neera Tanden for Director of the OMB — especially when you have an incredibly qualified person-of-color available for the position in Andrew Yang, the best national advocate for Math and Economic Literacy we’ve had since Alexander Hamilton.

Tanden’s views are only in tandem with the dying, discredited Clinton corner of the Democratic Party; Yang, aside from representing a growing Asian American constituency — credited with joining Black voters to help flip Georgia blue for you — opened the floodgates to a whole new generation of Democratic voters with his “Yang Gang.” And, if you look anywhere on social media right now, you’ll see it’s Andrew Yang out there campaigning for Ossoff and the Rev. Warnock to win Georgia’s two US Senate seats.

Just by floating the name of negative Neera (who favored cutting social security, and opposed Bernie Sanders and progressive Dems on many economic initiatives), you’ve already taken attention away from your superb choices of Janet Yellin as Treasury Secretary, and Wally Adeyemo as the first Black man to serve as the Deputy at Treasury. Cut your losses with Neera now, and don’t squander your political goodwill and capital by having her run into a buzz saw of Progressive and GOP opposition in the Senate.

As you have demonstrated thus far, there’s a treasure trove of highly qualified people of color, and women, to select for many important positions within a Biden/Harris Administration. Neera Tanden is not one of them.

One whom I’ve advocated to you before (in fact, I advanced her name as a Vice Presidential possibility) is the incomparable Dr. Helene Gayle, a perfect candidate to head Health & Human Services as COVID continues to crush entire communities and families across this country.

Trained and board-certified in Pediatric Medicine ( MD from University of Pennsylvania Medical School, Masters in Public Health from Johns Hopkins University’s School of Public Health), Dr. Gayle worked at the CDC for 20 years, directing the National Center for HIV, STD and TB Prevention.

Helene’s heroic work in HIV/AIDS was recognized by Bill & Melinda Gates, when they hired her away from the CDC to run their Foundation’s HIV, TB & Reproductive Health Program, which she did for 5 years, expanding her expertise to help those in greatest need globally. There were still ‘mountains beyond mountains’ for Dr. Gayle to climb and in 2005, her talent was tapped by one of the world’s premier international relief and development organizations, CARE, USA, with programs that help more than 80 million people in 93 countries, and over 10,000 employees spread across the globe. CARE is now dedicated to stopping the spread of the global Corona Virus Emergency. (www.care.org).

Dr. Gayle served as President and CEO of CARE, for 10 years, “helping millions of people recover from natural disasters and other acute emergencies, prevent the spread of HIV/AIDS, and gain access to healthcare, nutrition, education, economic opportunity, safe water and improved sanitation.” A member of the Council on Foreign Relations, the American Public Health Association, and the National Academy of Medicine, Helene Gayle was named by Forbes Magazine as one of the most powerful women in the world, and by Foreign Policy as one of the top 100 “Global Thinkers.”

Dr. Gayle chaired President Obama’s Advisory Council on HIV/AIDS, and launched a McKinsey Social Initiative (now, McKinsey.org) that builds public/private partnerships for social impact. You know, Helene, Joe. She is the kind of supremely qualified person you want to have in crucial positions in your administration. Neera Tanden is not in the same league as Helene Gayle, nor as Andrew Yang.

Dr. Gayle was among the very first global public health officials to recognize, early on, that the HIV/AIDS epidemic was taking a heavy toll upon the Black, Latino and poor communities in the United States. Three years ago, she moved to Chicago to head one of nation’s oldest and largest community foundations, the Chicago Community Trust, focusing sharply on closing the racial and ethnic wealth gap in the Chicago area.

Helene Gayle has always been a consummate medical and public health professional, not a politician. She is widely respected among public officials of both parties, dealt with world leaders as an equal, and has run vast national and international non-profit and public service organizations. Dr. Gayle personifies the depth of the towering talent pool of people of color, Joe, with life experiences and professional accomplishments available to be tapped in the service of this nation, by you and Kamala Harris.

There’s no excuse to settle for less, and no better way to push Math and Science to the top of your agenda than to appoint the highest calibre people, like Andrew Yang and Dr. Helene Gayle.

The Deaths of Two Mayors

Two of New York City’s former Mayors died this week. One committed suicide on national TV, melting before our very eyes. The other, the first and only Black Mayor in NYC’s 350+ year history, died a peaceful death, in the privacy of his own home. Both deaths reflected how the Mayors lived their lives.

Rudy Giuliani, the White Supremacist beaten by David Dinkins for the Mayoralty in 1989, during a period of rising racial unrest in NYC, died by his own tormented tongue and hands, choking on his own words as if they were poison pills, in front of millions of viewers. For many of us who have had a front-row seat to witness Rudy the Racist’s rise and fall over the decades, it reminded us of the way he announced he was divorcing his second wife, Donna Hanover — at an unhinged press conference, alone.

David Dinkins, in compelling contrast, a genuinely kind man of great dignity and grace, went gently into the night at age 93, one month after the death of his beloved partner of 67 years, Joyce Burrows Dinkins. Both were graduates of Howard University, the mecca for Black leadership in this country, with Justice Thurgood Marshall, VP-elect Kamala Harris, former Ambassador Andrew Young, writer Toni Morrison and actor Chadwick Boseman, as just a few examples.

Mayor Dinkins continually reminded us that he stood on the shoulders of giants, in the civil rights movement and beyond, who had sacrificed much for this country, and that he was a reflection of the “gorgeous mosaic” that was the diversity of New York. Conversely, by his every action, Rudy rudely reminded us that he stood on the bodies of people who got in the way of his ruthless ambition. Even after Giuliani defeated Dinkins in their 1993 Mayoral rematch, and Dinkins reached out as an act of reconciliation, following a blatantly racist campaign waged against the City’s first Black Mayor, Rudy refused to meet. Giuliani was already ginning up his shivel-souled, small-minded, mean and ghoulish behavior to become Donald Trump’s lawyer later in life, a high-profile position from which he plunged to his death.

During the tinderboxes of the heat of the summer of 1989 — the Central Park 5 arrests, and the Bensonhurst murder of Yusef Hawkins — it was David Dinkins who kept NYC from exploding as he crusaded for Mayor, calling for peace in a town ready to ignite into flames, with private citizen Trump trumpeting racial hate in full-page newspaper ads, and candidate Giuliani lighting matches from the sidelines.

Less than two weeks before the September Democratic Primary where Dinkins would handily beat Mayor Ed Koch for the right to run against Rudy in November, I accompanied Governor Mario M. Cuomo to the funeral of Yusef Hawkins, the 16-year-young Black man killed because of the color of his skin, while he went shopping for a used car in a heavily white, Italian section of Brooklyn.

We were among a light smattering of white faces in a crowd of thousands jamming the streets in front of the Glover Memorial Church on Dean Street in East New York, not far from where I was born. I stood among a group of mostly white reporters covering the funeral, finding an uneasy comfort in the presence of Louis Farakkhan’s bow-tied Muslim soldiers, who lined the streets in front of the church to keep some semblance of peace.

Mayor Koch emerged from his official City car to pay his respects and was pelted with a barrage of boos and screams so intense, I expected his presence to cause a riot. Dislike for Koch was visceral in East NY’s Black neighborhoods, but even Mario Cuomo, generally admired by Black leaders and communities across the City and State, was heckled as he entered Glover Memorial for the funeral service.

Cuomo had been sharply criticized the day before by Brooklyn-born movie director Spike Lee for not visiting Bensonhurst and “talking some sense out there to the Italians.” Lee’s film Do The Right Thing about racism in NYC came out earlier that summer, presaging the lethal price of prejudice. The street taunts toward Mario Cuomo reflected Lee’s sentiments.

Of all the public officials in attendance, only David Dinkins was greeted respectfully, foreshadowing his nine-point primary victory over Koch two weeks later. Dinkins, then the Manhattan Borough President, ran as a “healer” of the City’s simmering racial tensions. Two months later, Dinkins narrowly beat Giuliani for Mayor by some 47,000 votes, one of the closest mayoral elections in NYC’s history. Dinkins won with 90 percent of the Black vote citywide and 70 percent of the Latino vote, while Rudy ran away with the White vote, securing some 70 percent. In Bensonhurst, where Yusef Hawkins was murdered, Giuliani defeated Dinkins by a 10–1 margin.

David Dinkins’ calm, conciliatory manner was just what NY needed at that moment in it’s long, boisterous history. The morning after Dinkins election, I wore my “Dinkins for Mayor” button, with writing in Hebrew to pointedly bring people together, as I rode the E-Train down to the World Trade Center to my job. The feeling of joy and brotherhood, though fleeting, was palpable throughout the subway car. A few fellow commuters, several of them Black, exchanged high-fives with me.

David Dinkins’ quiet dignity rescued the City that day and for a short time into the new decade of the 1990’s. He didn’t have Mario Cuomo’s charisma, nor Giuliani’s ghoulishness, but, in his careful, considerate way, Dinkins showed us what the promise of the future could look like.

Rest in the very peace you sought all of your days, David. You deserve it.

I Cry for All Those We’ve Lost; No Tears for Trump.

The names come at you in torrents, but it’s the photos and the short, simple biographies that torment, and tear me apart.

. . .Kious Kelly, 48, NYC ER Nurse; April Dunn, 33, Baton Rouge, Advocate for Disabled; Kenneth Sauders III, 43, Decatur, GA, Civic Leader; Abraham Vega, 48, Dallas, County Sheriff; Willie Levi, 73, Waterloo, Iowa, Turkey Processing Plant worker; Robbie Walters, 84, Sacramento, Police Officer/Legislator; Elvia Ramirez, 17, Fargo, ND, high school senior; Anthony M. Hopkins, 70, Elizabethtown, KY, Vietnam War Veteran/Purple Heart Recipient & Postal Worker. . .

Reading through the New York Times latest “Portraits of Grief” — modeled after the more than 2400 brief obituaries of those we lost in the 9/11 terrorist attacks — is a profoundly sad experience. Entitled, “Those We’ve Lost,” the COVID portraits of grief number 100 times as many as those the Times meticulously assembled 19 years ago. That’s as of today — nearly 100 times as many human lives lost — from COVID 19, as were lost when the Two World Trade Center towers came tumbling down. By the time of next year’s 20th Anniversary of 9/11, COVID-related deaths in the United States could approach the unimaginable total of 500,000, or nearly 200 times the number of those who perished on 9/11. Let that sink in.

The numbing effect of such numbers — more than all of the American combat deaths in World Wars I & II combined, and approaching the 650,000 Americans who perished 100 years ago during the 2-year Great Influenza Pandemic — is bad enough. To read about each individual life lost, each family upended by what the Trump Administration privately knew was a “deadly” virus while publically denying its deadliness, is to dive back and forth between depression and rage and the depths of sadness. So much unnecessary death; so many lives which could have been saved; so much devastating human loss.

That’s what makes Donald Trumps petulant pouting over his election defeat so unconscionable. He never mourned with the family of Albert Petrocelli, the 73-year old Fire Chief from NYC who, as the Times wrote, “answered the call on 9/11,” nor with the young family of 22-year old Israel Sauz of Broken Arrow, Oklahoma, who just became a “new father.” None of these incalculable losses, nor thousands more deaths of people of all races and ages, received any expression sympathy or a call of condolence from the President of the United States. Gone, and forgotten — except for how he imagined their deaths hurt him.

Trump saved his tears for himself, crying over the unfairness of COVID coming during the last year of his term in office, and “causing” him to lose re-election. Woe is me, more than you. Forget the deaths which continue to destroy so many families; forget the unfettered spread of the virus overwhelming hospitals and healthcare workers across the country. Trump lost, and more attention has been paid to how he’s coping with his election loss, than how thousands of families are struggling to survive in the aftermath of the loss of the precious lives of the people they loved.

I have no patience for coddling criminal crybaby Trump, nor worrying about his mental state from suffering such a “big defeat.” His failure to face reality, eagerness to deny the truth — even though he knew it, as he admitted on tape to Bob Woodward — and to consciously reject the medical science and public health practices needed to save human lives — make him directly responsible for many of the COVID deaths he still ignores, and that we still mourn.

I cry for those we have lost to COVID — for Ethel Jacobson Hamburger from our own family whose uplifting voice we can no longer hear on the phone. I cry for the loss of the young fathers and mothers, and nurses, police officers, grocery store workers, grandparents, and dancers and singers who will never again be hugged or kissed or touched.

I do not cry, nor have a single shred of sympathy left for a heartless, hollow man, without a soul, whose only sense of loss is how it diminishes himself.

I cry for all of “Those We’ve Lost,” for all their grace, dignity and love, which enriched our lives. Their work on earth, their miraculous gifts to us, must now become part of our own. That’s how we can honor them, and make their memories live forever.