I am registered neither as a Democrat nor a Republican, but I am now a member of the American Civil Liberties Union.
The ACLU is perhaps the only organization willing to fight on behalf of the United States Constitution.
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Dear Mr. Mitchell,
This is another in what has surely been an avalanche of emails written in protest of Path To 9/11... therefore, I'll keep it brief.
September 11 has been touted as one of the most important dates in this country's history, yet your company has decided to produce a film that its writers know full well has the potential to shape the way people think about the event.
To support such a project that corrupts, distorts and fabricates facts — especially when it is purported to be based on an objective, factual study — is shameful. A company such as Disney has a reputation of being family-oriented and respected for its programming. This program seems to me to be contrary to the notion that its programming is responsible, much less respectable.
So, it is my hope that Path To 9/11 be edited to present a more factual story regarding such a significant historical day, or that the project be mothballed until it's fixed.
The American people have been bamboozled enough by the current administration, and for corporations such as Disney and ABC to appear to be in cahoots with the bamboozlers can't be a good thing for their respective reputations.
Thank you for your time and consideration. Thank you for all you've done in service to this country.
Patrick Power
East Lansing, Michigan
'Praying' For Pluto No More
I remember a conversation with my mother and grandmother more than 50 years ago in which they shared the mnemonics they had learned to memorize the planets: "Mary's Violet Eyes Made Johnny Sit Up Nights" was my grandma's device. My mom added "Praying" since she learned the solar system after 1930.
With Pluto's newly diminished status, I'll probably go back to my grandma's system, although I must admit I'll miss the mnemonic I've been using for the past 5 1/2 years: "Many Very Erudite Men Justly Scream, 'Unenlightened Numbskull President!' "
Cathy Wirzylo
Eastwick Drive
THE PRESIDENT: Last question. Stretch. Who are you working for, Stretch?
Q Washington Examiner.
THE PRESIDENT: Oh, good. Glad you found work. (Laughter.)
Q Thank you very much. Mr. President...
There is one piece of advice, in a life of study, which I think no one will object to; and that is, every now and then to be completely idle – to do nothing at all. — Sydney Smith (English essayist, 1771 - 1845)I think that I have fallen into this way of living for the past year or so. As many of my friends know, I've dubbed the past eighteen to twenty months as my Year Of Living Aimlessly! What?!? So, I'm stretching the definition of "year" a bit! Of course, I don't really consider my life as aimless, but it has seemed to be a major time of discovery for me. Some might call it a mid-life crisis, but that's because clichés are a bit easier to hang one's hat onto. (I've yet to buy a sleek new sports car so, technically, I don't think I quite fit that cliché!)
I said to myself, I have things in my head that are not like what anyone has taught me – shapes and ideas so near to me – so natural to my way of being and thinking that it hasn't occurred to me to put them down. I decided to start anew, to strip away what I had been taught. — Georgia O'Keefe (American artist, 1887 - 1986)About thirteen years ago, I began thinking a little bit more critically about art and life and the world, and I found some very odd thoughts passing through my head. While I've never read the entire Unibomber Manifesto, I felt I could empathize a bit with what I understood his issues to be (although let me be clear that I absolutely do not agree with his methods for resolving them). Our world has so become a slave to the economy that we have virtually lost touch with our humanity. While I was a supporter of President Clinton (for the most part), I have remained at odds with his "It's the economy, stupid!" campaign theme. This world — and particularly the United States government — no longer seems to base decisions on how they might affect communities but on how they might affect economies (and, subsequently, chances for re-election).
You see things; and you say, "Why?" But I dream things that never were; and I say, "Why not?"— George Bernard Shaw (Irish playwright, 1856 - 1950) [from Back to Methuselah (1921), part 1, act 1]This quote, of course, has often been attributed to Bobby Kennedy (he indeed used a slight variation of it), one of my personal heroes. I believe that a lot of what our country supposedly stands for died with him in 1968. In my opinion, he was the last politician that seemed to actually stand for something; that seemed to have the courage of his convictions. Seeing his son (Bobby, Jr.) speak a couple of years ago reminded me of that courage, that conviction as I saw the same spark in his eyes. Perhaps I've been blinded by the Kennedy "mystique"... I don't think so, however. While certainly every politician has a not-so-honourable side, I sincerely believe that both Bobby and John Kennedy understood the idea of public service; that their service in the government was purposeful; that the betterment of their country and the world was the aim of government — an aim that I believe is 180-degrees the opposite of that of the miserable failure and his band of crooks and liars.
Every English poet should master the rules of grammar before he attempts to bend or break them.— Robert Graves (English poet & novelist, 1895 - 1985)I cringe at the treatment of the English language these days. Every noun, it seems, has turned into a verb; those whom you'd think would have an appreciation for the language (especially those that call themselves "journalists") are often the worst offenders. I get sick of hearing this crap about "living language" from those who don't seem to have a knowledge of it in the first place. I'm not a fan of capital punishment, but sometimes think really bad thoughts when I hear supposedly learned people saying such things as "from whence it came." !!! Really.... Don't get me started!
Calendars are for careful people, not passionate ones.— Chuck Sigars (The World According to Chuck weblog, September 8, 2003)While I was in Paris last November, I missed my original flight home. Perhaps it's because I don't travel with a Blackberry, or a pocket calendar (like I once did), but I'm grateful for not being the most anal person on the planet. The extra nine days I spent in Paris due to my goof-up were amongst the best days I had while I was there. Hmmm... now I've got to tag somebody else! How about Rebekah, Leslie and Kathleen...
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Ricky Teagues, Street Poet — ©2025 Patrick T. Power
I told him I'd buy one if he let me take his photograph and he responded that he charged "five bucks for pictures." I chuckled and so began my conversation with Ricky Teagues, street poet.
We crossed the street and Ricky told me that he'd been living as a street poet for the past eleven years... I guess it's always difficult to know when people are giving me a line, but I went with it. He told me he'd been published in a number of papers and magazines, and then showed me a collection of his poems printed (copied, more likely) onto 8½" x 11" parchment stock and folded into quarter-sheets. Each "booklet" contained four poems and a couple of poorly rendered (printing-wise) illustrations.
As I looked at one of the booklets, Ricky began reciting one of his poems (coincidentally from the booklet I was looking at at the moment).
DWELLING WITHIN YOURSELF
The center of love that you find in your mind,
The peace of life that you have that leaves you
to find yourself.
Within to be or not
To see yourself is to be in the right.
From the id and to the superego
To be the positive person you are and feeling
is to be in the right.
Delightful charm appears to open your mind full
of light as the morning between the warm sun.
To enter and fasten the embrace of the hair of the passing star.
The smile that pleases a rainbow.
© Ricky Teagues
I gave him another couple dollars for one of the booklets to give to my son, then another when I asked again to take his photograph. He asked to pose by the this light pole as, he said, he refers to it in one of his poems.
Dealing with street people is not something I'm particularly comfortable with... I don't know that there are many people who are, but as someone who tries to be compassionate toward the plight of others, it's not always easy – especially when it occurs on such a regular a basis as it did while I was in San Francisco.
On every occasion but this one, my response to panhandlers was, "I'm sorry"...
In this case, I felt more comfortable and willing giving a little cash (despite my not-so-wealthy standing) – not so much because I was getting something out of the transaction, but because Ricky seemed to me to be doing more than simply panhandling; that his life as a street poet created "value" for the world.
Perhaps that's a crass way of looking at things... perhaps it's insensitive... perhaps I'm a hypocrite. I don't know. Would it be any easier for me to give handouts if I were wealthy? That's hard to say as I've never been on that end of the spectrum either. I'd like to think I would be more generous with both my time and money as regards beggars, but there is a possibility that I'd have the tendency, still, to shy away.
A few days ago, I walked into downtown East Lansing with my son for lunch at a local deli. After withdrawing some cash from an ATM, we made our way towards our destination, and along the way, we passed a man carrying a plastic shopping bag and looking a bit haggard.
We were several paces in front of him when he called out to us, saying something about helping him find something to eat. I turned back and to my right and told him, "I'm sorry."
Zachary shot me a look that I couldn't decipher... one that I've not asked him about yet. I was overcome, however, with the feeling that I'd just let my son down, not to mention yet another human being.
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EXPOSURE.Detroit
I am pleased to say that I've been invited to be part of a group photo exhibit to take place in Detroit at Karras Bros. Tavern. The show, dubbed EXPOSURE.Detroit, is an offshoot of an idea of a group of photographers in Pittsburgh, brought home to Michigan by Detroit native Bobby Alcott.
Here are the details... if you're able to get to the reception Friday night, please come and say hello.
EXPOSURE: Detroit
Opening Reception
Friday, June 23 at 7:00pm
Karras Bros. Tavern
225 Joseph Campau
Detroit, Michigan
Karras Bros. Tavern website
Phone: 313-259-2767
Participating Photographers:
tEDgUY49 (Ted Fines)
kiddharma (Sam Mills)
Images Of Elbows (Ian Tadashi Moore)
Detrart (Chip Carroll)
O Caritas (Patrick Power)
Allan M (Allan Malchieski)
gsgeorge (Geoffrey George)
UrbanTiki (Bobby Alcott)
Exhibition runs until July 21st, to be followed by a solo exhibit by Bobby Alcott (UrbanTiki) beginning July 28.
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Unless otherwise noted, all writings on this blog are copyright Patrick T. Power. All rights reserved.
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I posted this at flickr a week or so ago and only now the thought hit me that this could be a metaphor for me and my brothers.
I'm the third of four and — depending upon how you look at it — either slightly askew or just a little different. I don't know how it is that I grew up to be so different from them, but I did.
If you were to ask me what the four of us have in common, I don't know that there would be much more than a handful of things I could cite. We all pretty much liked the same things as kids, but that surely changed in our post-high school years. They all like to say that I'm my mother's favourite, and perhaps I am. If indeed it's true, I wonder sometimes how that might have come to be. I don't think that I was really any different in the way I acted towards her as a kid than did my brothers. I didn't really excel as a student or anything. Might it have been that I was more productive in the Mothers Day cards and such than they were? Probably not.
I have also wondered many times about why I was the only one (that I can recall) to get piano lessons. Also, I was the only one to have received encouragement with my knack for drawing, having received a "How To Draw" kit which was based on a television show we would watch.
As for the piano lessons, my mother used to tell me that I could be the next Liberace. He was somewhat popular at the time (so that was her motive, I guess) and turning classical music on its ear a bit with his penchant for flamboyance, and the manner in which he injected a modern pop-ish edge to classical tunes. An ever-present candelabra was his signature, as were his gaudy diamond rings and sequined tuxedos.
Hah! You don't know how relieved I am now that that wish didn't happen to come true!
I dropped piano lessons after a couple of years as I had other things on my mind, I think. Baseball was still my activity of choice and I was beginning to notice girls with a bit more of an interested eye (distancing me further from the Liberace mold! Heh!) and while I liked my piano teacher, Pat Perlaky, a lot, I just didn't have the ambition to continue. I think that I performed one recital at Pat's home along with a couple other of her students. I don't recall much about it, except that it wasn't anything exceptional.
Back to the brothers...
For some reason, I took more to social causes (anti-war, pro-environment) during high school than my brothers did. Jim, the youngest, didn't really experience the angst about going to Vietnam, but the rest of us did. Bob, the oldest, joined the Air Force at some point. I Believe he enlisted. Thankfully, for whatever reasons, he never had to serve on active combat duty. His life then took turns that have pretty much been shrouded in mystery (for me) ever since. At any rate, Bob was the only one to serve in the military and actually face the possibility that he'd be sent into a war zone.
Mike also was of age with regard to the draft but lucked out. I recall watching one of the Selective Service's lotteries as it was broadcast on television, and his number (they used birthdates, if you're not familiar) never came up very high. Neither did mine, but by the time I was old enough to serve, Nixon had finally pulled the troops out. Mike tried to enlist, but Mom decided to get him braces for his teeth, thereby also getting him a deferment. Sneaky.
Considering that we're within three years of each other, and went to high school at about the same time (I was a freshman when he was a senior), it's beyond me how he never developed much of a social conscience. Many of his friends were peace activists to some degree, and environmental activists, but he didn't follow that path. Years later, when talking politics (he's a "Reagan Republican"), I posed the question (with regard to the environment), "Do you want your grandchildren and great-grandchildren living in such a polluted environment?" and he essentially dusted it off with, "What the hell do I care? I'll be dead." I suppose that's the typical libertarian response.
I never really knew Bob(by) that well growing up, to be honest. He's nine and a half years older than I am and I'm guessing that he left the house for the Air Force before I was even ten years old. I still recall a night which I recall him being around but we didn't really live in the same house for that long of a time. Oddly enough, I feel that I'm more like Bob in certain ways. He's always been a dreamer, I think... always having his sights set on something that would eventually be out of reach. And I think I have similar tendencies at times. I tend, however, to keep my dreams reined in a bit, closer to the vest and a little bit more within reach.
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Qui a marché ici ? — ©2026 Patrick T. Power
In Paris, I try not to get too taken in by the "sights" despite their very obvious presence... While I create lots of panoramic images of the popular places, I tend to prefer the less populated spaces. Galerie 88 was one such place... it was a very narrow salon de thé along the Seine, not far from l'Hôtel De Ville.
Until I entered here, I'd not entered an eatery in which I didn't think I could rely on my english. On this trip, I was hoping to actually use some of the french I've been learning, and not rely entirely on the likelihood that the people to whom I'd speak knew english. It remains a daunting task for me as words don't quite roll from my tongue with the ease I'd prefer. The time it takes to put only a couple of words together in french seems like an eternity at times.
If I have one regret about my stay, it's that I didn't request of Phil that he only speak to me in french... it would have been hell, no doubt—especially for him—but it would have forced me to use the language more than I did.
How did this stray to language? It was about small places!!
Ah, yes... I entered Galerie 88 wanting to see Anne McAulay's photographs and decided to sit and have a salad and a beer (two actually!). I expected that it would mean that I'd have to speak in french... as it turned out, I didn't have to speak much french as une salade grecque and une Carlsberg bière sound much the same in english as they do in french! Still, there is that whole approach/avoidance thing that occurs — that moment when we choose to take the safe route or choose to leap forth. This was one of those moments for me.
Besides, I really wanted to see Anne's photographs!
As for the title of this... it is a constant thought as I visit very old places — I wonder about those who have come before me. "Whose footprints have my feet just now retraced?" Famous or not, I wonder what kinds of lives have tread on these same floorboards or on the same cobblestone paths I've wandered. In a place like Paris, it's difficult to not feel something other than the stone or wood beneath my feet.
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They call him by "the Prince of Peace" And they call him by "the Savior" And they pray to him upon the seas And in every bold endeavor And they fill his churches with their pride and gold While their faith in him increases But they've turned the nature that I worship in From a temple to a robber's den In the words of the rebel Jesus We guard our world with locks and guns And we guard our fine possessions And once a year when Christmas comes We give to our relations And perhaps we give a little to the poor If the generosity should seize us But if any one of us should interfere In the business of why there are poor They get the same as the rebel Jesus from — The Rebel Jesus
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We Both Go Down Together
by Colin Meloy
Here on these cliffs of Dover
so high you can't see over
and while your head is spinning
hold tight it's just beginning
you come from parents' wanton
a childhood rough and rotten
I come from wealth and beauty
untouched by work or duty
and oh, my love, my love.
and oh, my love, my love.
We both go down together.
I found you, a tattooed tramp
A dirty daughter from the labor camps
I laid you down in the grass of the clearing
You wept, but your soul was willing
and oh, my love. my love.
and oh, my love. my love.
We both go down together.
And my parents will never consent to this love
But I hold your hand
Meet me on my vast veranda
My sweet untouched Miranda
and while the seagulls are crying
we fall but our souls are flying
and oh, my love. my love.
and oh, my love. my love.
and oh, my love. my love.
and oh, my love. my love.
We both go down together.
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