The cold winds to the north off of Lake Erie will soon arrive to usher in the long winter throughout Northeast Ohio. Yet my whirlwind return to my Cleveland roots during World Series week has revealed a city that pulsates with rare unity and positive energy. “Cleveland Rocks” seems real as civic pride in the recent success of the revered, professional baseball Indians take center stage in the nation now.

Choosing to join suburbanites sacrificing their hometime to travel downtown on a weekday by way of the city’s aging rapid transit system, a distinct buzz of Indians fever-talk rocks each jam-packed  rail car now. While many of these baseball-enthused travelers will never be afforded the opportunity to actually attend a World Series game, this contagious enthusiasm for Indians pride will no doubt lead to numerous  Indians celebrations in sports bars, restaurants, and streetside environs of Progressive Field.

For a $5.00 charity ticket, I gladly enter the ballpark to watch a live telecast of the first World Series road game. Hours before game time, long lines have formed at stadium gates yet there is little evidence of human impatience at the cold weather/security inconveniences that these fans must face tonight. Red rally towels are distributed, and the ballpark fills to near capacity. As Indians mascot antics and celebrity appearances begin the pregame festivities, it seems I am witnessing a live game tonight.

As the game proceeds, there is no time for casual conversation now as a heated pitching duel guarantees that the intensity of evaluating each pitch closely matters. Feeling the pressure, I opt to pace nervously around the stadium and depend on the “oohs” and “aws” of the crowd for my in-game references. Descending to the Indians Hall of Fame statue section beyond left field, I am reminded of the glorified heroics in Cleveland baseball history from immortals Bob Feller, Tris Speaker, and Satchel Paige…

So many times I have elected to leave a stadium early to beat the traffic or get extra sleep but tonight feels different. I resign that I will stay to the end of the game as I prove honest allegiance to my beloved team. Such patience will soon be rewarded as the Tribe  will win a hard-fought, 1-0 nail-biter tonight. Smacking “high-fives” with strangers as I exit the stadium, I quickly realize how much this olden game of men in silly uniforms chasing a little white ball means to myself and my country.

The “spirit of fair play” in baseball demonstrates that there is logic to earning one’s success in America through hard work pursuit and ultimate outcome acceptance. “Believe-Land” optimism in Cleveland winning baseball rejects a lifetime of sports futility in this city to embrace the fruits of this simple credo as the team draws closer to a World Series title. As we are faced with difficult choices in this contentious, Presidential election year, one might similarly consider how Donald Trump’s propensity for arrogance, lies, and bigotry represents a clear threat to this “Believe-Land”hope for retaining faith in the future of our country.

I am no stranger to the power of nostalgia. Growing up in the Midwest environs of Northern Ohio, some of my strongest childhood memories to this day lie in my remembrance of watching Cleveland Indians baseball at the old Municipal stadium. I recall my awestruck attention at the sheer size of this cavernous stadium as grown men effortlessly attempted to hit a little white ball for a home run over a distant fence. I flashback to the pungent combination of stale beer and stadium mustard pervading my senses as I walked the dark aisles of this imposing amphitheater. I go back to my diligent attempts to spending my weekly allowance in collecting baseball cards of those great Indians heroes present from the rare games I attended. Most of all, I reminisce about the innocent dreams I experienced then at the ballpark to see my hometown win it all.

Moving to South Florida as a teenager in the mid 1960s, I intensely missed this close stadium experience that had defined my youth identity. While the losses piled up year after year in seasons of baseball futility, however, I stubbornly remained devoted to my Indians and the city it represented. Rejecting the sun and fun glitter of living near Miami , I would always find solace in disassociating myself from Cleveland’s “rust belt” urban chaos to embrace the more positive image of my former hometown as a blue collar place of hard working, family values.

When the Cleveland Indians experienced a brief period of winning in the mid 1990s, suddenly it became easier to relax into my role as a Cleveland supporter. I was able to attend a few games during those years as a tourist and became an avid collector of Indians memorabilia. These token efforts to relive my baseball dreams would never suffice, though, as my day-to-day game experiences from distant South Florida merely offered a morning box score of hitting, fielding, and pitching statistics. As the team resumed its losing ways in the new millennium, I grew cynical about the performance of my favorite team and increasingly concluded that I would never be alive to experience a Cleveland Indians moment as champion.

The success of the Cleveland Cavaliers as world champions of the N.B.A. in June, 2016 brought a timely end to these negative perceptions. For the first time since 1964,  a professional sports in Cleveland had won a title, and it seemed logical now that my much maligned city was ready for more. I would optimistically notice that on the same day the Cavs won the title, the Cleveland Indians would begin a fourteen game winning streak. I would also observe that this team would follow the Cavs model and rarely lose in front of their home fans. In addition, I would see LeBron James embrace the Indians success as evidence that the city had finally turned the winning corner. I would thus euphorically  watch my  team of underachieving ball players play inspired baseball, that would ultimately lead them to win the American League Championship in early October. Their World Series opponent of either the Cubs or Dodgers would truly be a historic matchup for generations of Indians fans.

My intense loyalty to this franchise would be severely tested as my wife and I vacationed in the beautiful  city of Steamboat Springs, Colorado. What sense would it make to cut off quality time spent in the majestic environs of the Rocky Mountains to travel to Cleveland now? Yet somehow, I knew I must be there now to mingle amidst the celebratory atmosphere of World Series glory. Never expecting to pay over $ 1000.00 for a game day ticket, I will nonetheless make my pilgrimage to Cleveland next week with full knowledge that I have come home again to a place where happiness reigns true in my heart.

Blogger Note: As a retired teacher who dedicated over thirty years of his life to instill success in in his students through positive modeling of behavior, I wish to dedicate this blog to Leslie Kluchin and all other educators who pursue(d) this honorable profession.

As Halloween soon approaches, it seems fitting now to address some scary revelations of mine as evidenced by the alpha male behavior of Donald Trump and his rabidly loyal followers in our upcoming Presidential election. One might be advised to use great caution in planning their Halloween costume from the disturbing images discussed below.

In watching Donald Trump lurk menacingly behind Hillary during the second Presidential debate, I cringed at his terrifying resemblance to the Frankenstein monster, hovering menacingly over the scientist who created him. His defiant scowl, stalking closeness to Hillary, and those sinister eyes were a clear reminder that this Republican candidate’s image of predatory behavior then clearly projected repulsive images of this classic evil monster.

A second, eerie likeness appeared in my mind as I viewed the hyperactive motion of hands in Donald Trump’s debate presence. As he continually thrust his fingers to draw attention to his forceful attack against Hillary, I vividly recalled my fear as a child of watching the finger pointing antics of the Wicked Witch of the West as she threatened innocent Dorothy with death in The Wizard of Oz.”

A wounded soul can be a dangerous one in times of attack. As I observed Donald Trump angrily strike back against actual footage of his demeaning statements about women, I was quickly reminded of the crazed retaliation of a madman in the film “Taxi Driver”. Choosing the “low road” of vicious attack rather than apology for these sexist transgressions, Donald’s rants drew an immediate parallel to the character of Travis Bickle (Robert De Niro), whose paranoiac reaction to the outside world led him to embrace militaristic violence against his fast pursuing enemies.

Soon after this debate, I saw a clip of a raucous, Donald Trump rally. Playing to the emotions of his followers, he pleaded for them to join his movement to lock up “crooked Hillary” and defeat the enemy political party as a last chance to save our country from impending disaster. Ensuing calls from the crowd for political revenge and acts of violent revolution reminded me of a critical moment in the short story, “The Lottery”, where the citizens of a small town gathered annually to perform a senseless ritual of stoning people to death for the sake of loyalty and tradition.

I imagine then it would be a risky choice for a parent to condone “Donald Trump ” as a role model for children on the “Allhollows” Day holiday celebration this year. More importantly, these impressions of Presidential scariness present “trick or treat”, critical choices for my country right now. Will we allow a ranting lunacy of lies and deceptions stoke our worst fears or will we remain resolute to see the fruits of optimism in our country’s future? Have a fun Halloween but realize we are a critical role model for our children who will be watching the “mask” we choose for our next president.

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“The state of baseball is the barometric pressure of America’s soul” (Victor Alexander Baltov, Jr. 2010)

Therapy time is needed as I attempt to separate myself from the farcical attempts of Donald Trump to kidnap my country. As I witness his fusillade of blame to disgrace the tenets of democracy in the 2016 Presidential debates, I have turned to baseball as an outlet to soothe my anger. As Trump’s unconstructive bigotry and shame continues in the final month leading to the 2016 Presidential election , I find optimism that American greatness will counteract such political negativism in the October playoffs of major league baseball.

Last night, the heavily favored Boston Red Sox fell to the Cleveland Indians in the final game of the American League Division Series. In spite of the disappointment, Fenway Park attendees remained seated on a cold night to honor David Ortiz, their great Dominican slugger, who would retire after this game. Fittingly, Big Papi would humbly doff his hat and acknowledge the crowd with tears in his eyes.To win a baseball game became secondary at that moment for these fans who remained to pay homage to the extraordinary baseball achievements that Ortiz had brought to Red Sox Nation in the past 13 years.

On the other side of the field, the victorious Cleveland Indians celebrated with childlike zeal in the visitor’s locker room. Donning tee shirts with the emblem, “Respect Cleveland”, Indians fans everywhere realized that these young men played together as a team to win a chance of World Series glory for their city in this challenging road environment. Leading this inspiring effort was Terry Francona, a true player’s manager, who treats each player as individuals, yet nurtures the strong team unity that was critical to this team’s success this year.

While many people perceive the “grand old game” of Major League Baseball as obsolete to today’s fast paced times, it provides an enduring example of racial/ethnic/gender opportunity for all in our country today. Witness the passion of tragically passed Cuban emigrant, Jose Fernandez, striving to prove his value as a starting pitcher for the Miami Marlins in order to achieve the “American Dream.” Take note that African Americans like Dusty Baker and Ron Washington could rise from player status to become winning managers of their respective ball teams. Observe the efforts of Red Sox great Pedro Martinez making use of his bilingual skills to subsequently become a baseball analyst nationwide on TBS network. Give attention to Jessica Mendoza , who broke gender barriers to become the first female analyst on ESPN network to broadcast postseason major league baseball.

Thus, this simple game of “ball meets bat” provides evidence that victory will be earned through heroic individualism, team play, and respect for diversity. A win for my favorite team each night would most assuredly be sweet, yet I yearn in any game outcome, to find evidence of my country’s commitment to these ideals in our precious democracy.

“Autumn is the mellower season, and what we lose in flower we more than gain in fruits.” (Samuel Butler)

It’s October in South Florida again yet you would think that summer never ended. A spiny iguana suns near the protective confines of a waterlogged lake behind my condo. A flock of hungry egrets eagerly splash through the rain soaked lawn for tasty morsels. A coconut palm sways serenely while providing little shade relief from the daytime swelter or a passing shower. Just another day of relentless heat and humidity.

Twenty four hours later, my wife and I have chosen to experience October autumn in Steamboat Springs, Colorado. Our excitement to experience the change of season here is magnified by the fact that Hurricane Matthew lurks ominously off the South Florida coast now and we are not there to dread the natural ravages of hurricane destruction. How fortunate I am to be present today to observe the unfolding beauty of autumn that this Rockies haven provides me.

It seems that my senses previously dulled by tropical sameness have come alive now. Giant pumpkins sprout visions of a Halloween treat. Mountainside forests paint palettes of yellow, red, and brown. Cold winds kiss my face as snowflakes softly fall. I can sit by the fireplace tonight and imagine that my winter wonderland cannot be long in coming here.

Most importantly, I hope to gain wisdom from my vacation in fall paradise as there lies great opportunity for renewal of spirit here. Each unexpected moment received in harmony with nature inspires me to grow as a person. For every leaf that falls, a new one will sprout to replace it.

“The price of freedom is eternal vigilance.”(Thomas Jefferson)

The negativism of the upcoming Presidential Election was on full display in the first Clinton/Trump Presidential Debate. As expected, it rapidly became clear that the-isms of blame became a “turnoff” for me at this reality show extravaganza. Witnessing the antagonistic air between the candidates then, a number of astoundingly inaccurate/unprovable statements from the Trump “foot in mouth” crossed my mind. Below is a sample:

(1) “We have NO leadership now”

(2)” We have been ripped off by EVERY country in the world.”

(3) “It’s about a time that somebody ran the country that KNOWS SOMETHING about money”

(4) “Tens of thousands of people that UNBELIEVABLY love me”

(5) “We have support of almost EVERY police group in the country”

As a concerned citizen, several questions continue to persist in my mind about the Trump presence. Would I “play the fool” for a candidate that is unwilling to reveal the nature of his financial past? Should I “buy into”cynical rants that spew raw hatred toward foreigners, fueling the angers of alienated youth to embrace ISIS? Why should I accept the compulsive use of lies and deceptions about the state of the economy and the opposition candidate as a means to influence my vote for election? What harm to our spirit of unity as a country would be inflicted by”spinning”the idea that our multicultural acceptance of immigrants is a detriment our survival? Is there logic in advocating spread of guns or adopting “police stop and frisk” tactics in this country to stop domestic violence?

American democracy is based on open consent of the governed. If we choose to be ignorant or avoid fact checking questionable statements we hear from our leaders, then we will allow demagogues to control our mind. Many of us feel powerless at election time yet consider the alternative of living without freedom. The tragic death of Miami Marlins pitching star Jose Fernandez over the past weekend reminded me how many are willing to risk their life to escape political repression to become productive citizens here. Our duty to vote mindfully at election time is the right weapon against tyranny in these trying times.

“Run Forrest Run” seems to be capture the essence of Tom Hanks’s character in film. Whether fleeing racist bullies in the segregated South, escaping death by rowboat from a deserted island, or dodging media scrutiny for ditching his crippled plane as pilot on the Hudson River, here is my ideal of a calm and collected” man. Rarely overthinking his fears about the past and future, these heroic roles depict a common sense approach to making moment to moment” decisions when life-threatening challenges are faced. As a huge believer in the idea of being in tune with the “now” through independent travel, the following video/quote excerpts from four of his most famous films seem most relevant to this Hanks admirer.

Forrest Gump

“My mama always said, “Life was like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.”

I live in uncertain times as a middle class retiree, yet relish the opportunity to experience a cultural awakening in India or volunteer to save wildlife in Africa. It would be a waste of my life today to worry about the prospects of age-related illness or the security threats of terrorism. I will take my chances to accept the risks of traveling on my terms.

Apollo 13

“From now on we live in a world where man walked on the moon. It’s not a miracle. We just decided to go.”

Finding new places to visit seems overwhelming at times in the vast world of opportunity. Many locations that once appeared rationally inaccessible, however, now seem within my practical reach of travel. With commercial flights to Cuba now possible, I would relish the idea of scenic travel to this secretive, Communist country. The distant remoteness of Tibet or Antarctica  could not deter me from visiting them with the multitude  of online travel booking options.

Castaway

“I know what I have to do now. I gotta keep breathing. Because tomorrow the sun will rise. Who knows what the tide could bring?”

In practicing yoga for over five years. I have learned through meditation to plan my days mentally to “let go” of life’s uncertainties. I am not the cause of external stress conditions in the environment that surrounds me yet I do control my reaction to them. Many islands of contentment exist in my traveling mind as I read a little, laugh a bit, and get some exercise whether I am physically traveling or not.

Sully

“Everything is unprecedented until it happens for the first time.”

I never thought that I would use my 2008 Honda for anything but daily work commute to school yet found it practical in retirement for  completing several, marathon road trips across the United States. Wondering at the end of a long school day if my creaky knees would limit me physically as I got older, I could never predict that I would now embrace walking ten or more miles a day in my European travels. Absorbed in my busy dedication to lead my class, I would rarely take risks outside of the familiar environs of my work setting for social commitment but now have embraced the extra time in retirement to develop friendship connections internationally. Clearly, my curiosity to experience “newness” has always been an asset to my independent travels.

The experience of travel has always seemed much easier when I have been the one departing. While bidding my goodbyes to friends and family typically can be intensely discomforting, the thrill of escape on a new adventure has often overshadowed this inevitable farewell trauma. Today, my wife leaves for a one week vacation with Yoga friends in the rustic mountains of North Carolina while I stay home to face the unfamiliar territory of bachelorhood. While the absence of my significant other is merely temporary, I consider this hiatus as a “wake up “‘opportunity for me to strengthen our marriage and function with self-sufficient confidence as needed.

Hearing the voice of my wife from afar no doubt offers me new opportunities for genuine communication. To miss her presence beside me now tests the spirit of togetherness that suddenly has been removed from our marital equation.The true meaning of love in our marriage becomes clearer now as I struggle to realize what life would be like without her. Under such circumstances, it might even behoove me to imagine what my last words to her might be if we faced together the ominous fate of an imminent death on a crippled plane in its fiery descent to the earth.

The equality of male/female gender relations in my marriage is also tested today in my wife’s absence from the daily routine. Facing the impeding urgency of housekeeping tasks this week, I can more honestly view my part in this unglamorous but necessary part of keeping my marriage stable. I imagine myself like an octopus presence, possessing many hands to complete a sizable list of domestic obligations. Checking the wash while watching TV or rebooting the Internet as I prepare my dinner have suddenly become real for me for as I multitask mightily to keep the home in working order.

My wife and I agreed early in our marriage that we would always make time to travel together regularly. Given the freedom of many days off to escape from our hectic life as school teachers, our “eye to the sky” gave us little time at home to reflect on the aging process.We were rarely present to celebrate the holidays with family/friends and it became a foregone conclusion that we would never  have children to prevent us from sustaining our lifestyle of active self-indulgence in travel.

Serious reflection about the long term impact of these Wanderlust life choices arise in my mind more freely now. Am I prepared to cope with getting older? How capable would I be to manage a monthly budget on my own? Am I willing to network socially to find more friends? Now is a good time for me to test my independent resolve while my “magic carpet” is grounded.

“Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall”

(Robert Frost, The Mending Wall)

When Jimmy was younger, he loved to throw his ball outside the house. Being a curious one, it seemed then that no fences or walls could limit his desire for hurling his toy as far as the eye could see. One day, he was tossing around a football with a friend when the ball landed beyond his sight. Moving quickly to retrieve it, he observed his precious ball sitting next to an American flag displayed prominently beyond a wall separating the adjoining property owners yard.

Sensing no immediate danger, Jimmy proceeded to climb over this five feet high barrier. Suddenly he was stopped in his tracks by the loud shouts of his neighbor, ordering him to get off this private land immediately. He had never seen this angrily sounding man before and wondered why a little boy just having fun was being perceived as a threat now. Did this neighbor have something to hide, he thought? Did he hate kids? Why could he not share his yard with Jimmy today?

Confused by the aggressive actions of this nearby resident, Jimmy would later learn from his father that this man had built this wall not to protect his property, but to demonstrate his loathsome attitude toward foreigners living in his neighborhood. Facing this grim reality of segregation in this wall in childhood would later serve as a “symbolic lesson” for his future world travels as any such attempts to insulate the world from others would never do. Jimmy’s quest would be to find a way to open coexistence in the company of others, no matter how different the cultural challenges would be at the time.

In Australia, he would celebrate his self accomplishment of finishing a hard earned climb to the top of Ayers Rock, yet humbly join with his multi-national competitors in a spirit of unity to celebrate the spiritual significance of this natural phenomenon. In Kenya, he would disregard the racial stereotypes of African tribal life to jump jubilantly with members of the Masai Tribe within the grounds of their homeland. In Amsterdam, he would forego his dislike of mob scene mentality to join in raucous celebrations of World Cup greatness as the Dutch soccer team returned from their latest match win. In Thailand, he would learn to use the Buddhist hand greeting gesture in social encounters as a way to become more respectful toward the unfamiliar, Asian surroundings.

The current obsession by Donald Trump and his supporters to build a Mexico bordered wall along the Southern border of our country thus gives me good reason to doubt the success of these efforts. Would it not make more sense for him to tear down the wall of his secretive life as a ruthlessly exploitive businessman and release his tax returns?In his ego centered desire to win the Presidency, would he be willing to sacrifice some of his own wealth to help Mexico or taxpayers pay for this costly wall? Would his political flip flops about immigration policy give Americans true confidence that his wall would enhance our country’s National Security? Before Donald decides to build fortresses to surround his castle as King of the land, he must face his own walls of imperfection.

“For all the cruelty and hardship of our world, we are not mere prisoners of fate. Our actions matter, and can bend history in the direction of justice.”(Nobel Prize Lecture, 2009)

Last week, my former neighbor and friend, Steve, lost his life to cancer at age 55. An F.B.I special agent for 26 years, I recall jogging with a man of an outwardly, unmacho exterior, impressive bilingual skills and an extraordinary memory for detail. His captivating stories of facing dangerous drug traffickers in the field every day convinced me then to improbably imagine my friendly neighbor as a modern day “Wyatt Earp.”

At the time we were condo residents in the same building, I too was facing my own insecurities as a workaholic and struggling inner city teacher in Miami. Facing the confusing challenge of teaching disadvantaged students in a high poverty and racially segregated area, then, these casual conversations with Steve helped me immensely at the time. I remember his calm yet serious depictions of attempting to follow “the letter of the law” to chase down dangerous drug dealers in South Florida. I recall his patient will to forego violence in favor of peaceful questioning in the presence of gun toting suspects who were willing to kill to sustain their lucrative livelihood. I recaptured his frustration when the bureaucracy of the FBI rules of conduct limited his options to interrogate suspects swiftly. In sum, I had now realized that my FBI neighbor living nearby had motivated me to face my own fears of personal and professional frailty in a productive way then.

in addition to his career as the “good guy”, criminal chaser, Steve was a committed family man, who often welcomed my wife and I’s presence into his home. In spite of his 24-7 lifestyle as an FBI agent, I recall a man who always made time to oversee his family responsibilities as husband and father. While his stories around the dinner table always showed his career passion for apprehending the “bad guy”, he could detach from this serious side as “father figure” to enjoy life and laugh or rule as “head of the household” authority with his wife and two daughters as needed.

The legacy of our friendship with Steve and his family continued to blossom in spite of his acceptance of difficult FBI assignments in Puerto Rico, Virginia, Mexico, and Texas. While his stories to humanely rid the world of illegal drug dealing were no longer heard, his example of moral and legal justice continued to spark new lessons in my mind. Our borders with Latin America would not be made more secure by torturing suspects for crime lead confessions, forcing taxpayers to pay for costly walls or deporting all aliens indiscriminately. Activism not isolationism with friend or enemy was Steve’s way and he had the earned medals in bravery to prove it.

It seems odd that the most serious danger to my friend’s life came from within as the cancer rapidly metastasized in his body. Attending his memorial service in church today, I imagined this omnipresent hero returning to oversee these solemn proceedings. In typical Steve fashion, the room would have turned silent as he would slowly have told the captive audience about the simple yet risky details of his latest engagement with the enemy. I am truly honored now to remember the courageous life of my friend and mentor who provided this exemplary model for justice in unselfish service to our country.