President Trump today tweeted “Tell the Democratic Governors that ‘Mutiny On The Bounty’ was one of my all time favorite movies. A good old fashioned mutiny every now and then is an exciting and invigorating thing to watch, especially when the mutineers need so much from the Captain. Too easy!” The not-even-slightly-veiled threat was meant to tell Democratic Governors that he, Trump, would withhold Federal resources from Governors if they held the position that the Governors of the states will themselves control the ‘reopening’ of their respective states’ economies, rather than be influenced by any uninformed and cavalier declaration by the President. Trump’s tone says bring it on!

So much to unpack here. In short, Trump has heretofore attempted to shed responsibility for his inaction during the coronavirus onset and subsequent devastation by pointing to states’ rights in mitigation decisions within their states. (In the glaring absence of unified coordination from the top, Governors are acting as best they can to protect their constituents from the pandemic by imposing various social distancing and business shut-down measures.) Consequently, and unavoidably, the economy has since crashed. In an obvious effort to resuscitate the stock-market, and to keep his own reelection bid off of a ventilator, Trump is now saying that states must adhere to his ‘total authority’ as President, and his notion of when to reopen the economy–which he is wanting to do ahead of science, data, and Governors. Trump then will presumably reap the credit for ‘saving’ the economy. Of course, beside the garish hypocrisy leaping out of his trying to have it both ways, Trump is constitutionally, ethically, and morally incorrect and his pronouncements will not induce Governors to sacrifice their citizens’ lives at the altar of Trump’s transparently juvenile political machinations.

But, let’s get to the mutiny movies! First: Mutiny on the Bounty. Trump is either shockingly ignorant as to what the movie is all about and is arrogantly trotting out that ignorance while addressing a nation during a horrific disaster, or he is publicly confessing to his own inadequacies by way of a brilliantly apt metaphor. Captain Bligh, the Commander of the H.M.S. Bounty, was high-handed, imperious, and demanded that his subordinates obey his every command. He was tempestuous, he regarded subordinates as disposable, and his name has become synonymous with paranoia and despotism. Captain Bligh is, in short, a loser and the villain of the movie. His men eventually mutinied. But, Trump purports to love the movie, publicly invoked its dynamic as a threat, and I guess he either 1.) lied about seeing the movie and/or is too stupid to understand or remember its implications or 2.) he is confessing, by way of brilliant analogy, to his horrible character flaws by identifying with Captain Bligh. I’m betting on 1.): lying and stupid. We’ve seen plenty of that, daily, and we haven’t yet seen even trace amounts of humility or integrity. It’s been three years.

Interestingly, the only other ‘mutiny’ movie that the public might remember is The Caine Mutiny. In this movie, Captain Queeg, commander of an obsolete WWI era destroyer, loses the respect of the crew and loyalty of his staff through a series of incidents that expose him as cowardly and unworthy of his position. (Don’t get ahead of me.) Queeg slowly comes undone in plain sight as the movie progresses, and key staff begin to question his mental health. Finally, at the height of a storm, Queeg’s paralysis of action leads his second in command to relieve him of his position in order to save the ship.

I don’t care what movies Trump watches. But I do wish Pence would watch The Caine Mutiny.

We are born on this ship called Earth. This is one of many planets that colonize space as we know it, and it sails through the deep black ocean quiet and slow, as day turns to night, night to day, and things live and they die. That is the way. It never docks. We stand on the deck and watch with wonder the lights in the sky.

We live in the United States. This is one of the many countries that colonize Earth as it sails through space, quiet and slow, as day turns to night, night to day, and things live and they die. It is the aggregate of all the states within its boundaries. We are in some of the better rooms of the ship, and enjoy a comfortable life while other countries change our linen, serve us food, and provide entertainment. We can afford to indulge the many activites of the ship, but still, sometimes, at night, we watch the lights in the sky and wonder when we’ll die.

We live in Massachusetts. This is one of the many states that colonize our United States as it sails through space, quiet and slow, as day turns to night, night to day, and things live and they die. It is the aggregate of everything within our boundaries and Massachusetts has its own room onboard the ship. Everything is arranged just so: birth, friends, college, jobs, marriage, and kids. And in retirement, we sit on the porch, look at the lights in the sky and wonder why.

We are people. We are one of the many things that colonize this state as it sails through space, quiet and slow, as day turns to night, night to day, and things live and they die. Within our bodily boundaries, we are the aggregate of all the microbiota that reside on or within our human tissues and biofluids along with the corresponding anatomical sites in which they reside. Types of human microbiota include bacteria, fungi, and viruses. Microorganisms are unaware of lights, or the sky, or the lights in the sky.

We are the viruses. We are not human. You are my host as we sail through space, quiet and slow, as day turns to night, night to day, and things live and they die. We colonize your body in order to replicate. We viruses are, in the aggregate, the most abundant biological entity onboard this ship, and we have no boundaries. When we replicate inside you, you may live, or you may die. We don’t know the difference between night and day. We don’t look at the sky and wonder why. That is the way.

There is a familiar and old joke about certain Supply Sergeants in the Army that Commanders at all levels have experience with: When a Supply Sergeant evinces reluctance, or flat-out refusal, to distribute supplies to the troops, we all say “Why would they give it out? Then they’d have less on the shelf.”

Then a Commander gets involved, and, in my experience, that Supply Sergeant quickly is made to understand who paid for ‘his’ stockpile (taxpayers) and who is entitled to it (troops). And if he doesn’t do a 180 on the spot, he is negatively counseled, demoted and/or fired. This is because we all know the large degree of truth behind German Field Marshall Erwin Rommel’s comment: “Battles are decided by the quartermasters [supply guys] before the first shot is fired.” Rommel again? It’s Rommel month!

That’s one type of Supply Sergeant, encountered frequently enough for us to all know the occasional juvenile human impulse to husband resources and blur the lines between possession and ownership once things are under one’s control. Fortunately, this is not a frequent occurrence, and Army supply experts are usually of another type:

This second type are those that take enormous pride in using all of the resources under their control and their logistics training and acquisition skills to make their units the best supplied units in training or on the battlefield. And when I say ‘acquisition skills’ for this second type of logistician, I can tell you that we’ve all been amazed by the creativity and tireless effort that often surfaces when these guys try to make things happen to benefit their Commander and the troops. I saw this in action everywhere and can still remember specific efforts and results of logisticians from the National Training Center in California, to Katrina in New Orleans, and in Afghanistan. I remember countless ‘situations’ saved by logisticians and have great respect for them to this day ̶̶ and I’m delighted to give these Supply Sergeants a shout-out in this obscure blog post today.

Jared Kushner said on camera yesterday that “The notion of the Federal Stockpile was it’s supposed to be our stockpile. It’s not supposed to be states’ stockpiles that they then use.” Well . . . he’s that first type of Supply Sergeant, ain’t he? If he gives it out to the states, he’ll have less in ‘his’ stockpile. And he resents it. You could see it in his face; you could see him straining to be polite about it when in his heart he wanted to really shout “Don’t take my stuff!”

If an Army Commander had heard that said by a Supply Sergeant in their presence, everything would stop. People in the room would all look around with knowing ‘uh-oh!’ glances and then the senior guy would ask most of the people in the room to leave. Then, the slap in the head (I mean the ‘re-training’) would happen: that guy would be given one chance to re-learn who pays for the stuff and who it belongs to.

So. What type of re-training should Kushner receive? It didn’t help that his administration tried to back up his thinking by changing the purpose of the National Stockpile in their website. But, the media is helping to course-correct his notion of who owns the stuff and what it is for. And, there is of course the statute that his comment violates, and there is the logic question I’d personally ask him: “Who are the people you reference by ‘our’ that don’t live in the states?”

But a good Commander would also go to the training records to see what Kushner’s training record is, how he became qualified to manage the greatest and most important logistical asset in the country. Was he the Quartermaster General of the United States Military prior to this post? Was he the Chief Logistician for Boeing, or IBM, or GM?

No. There is only one document in his training file: a marriage certificate. He married the President’s daughter.

There is a story taught in Army Officer leadership schools about Oberleutnant Erwin Rommel as a junior Commander in World War I. (Rommel is largely considered by Western leadership as Germany’s best General during World War II, though Germany itself lessens his place in history.)

One night, Rommel ordered his unit to ‘dig in’ for the night on the side of a steep hill overlooking an apple orchard valley. The troops weren’t happy about it due to the fatigue of marching all day, the fact that they soon discovered they were digging into somewhat rocky ground, and the general feeling of lack of danger at the moment. As they dug, their disgruntlement was further heightened as another German unit entered the valley below and, directly in sight, prepared to happily bivouac in the orchards without digging in. Nevertheless, in any Army–let alone a German Army–orders are obeyed, and Rommel’s men dug in. Later that night, his men were awakened by the screaming of the other men in the valley who were being ripped apart by artillery fire as the whole area was pounded. Rommel’s unit went relatively unscathed.

On its face, the lesson is simple but powerful: something akin to ‘better safe than sorry’ and ‘always do what is right.’ It was ‘right’ for Rommel to make his men dig in in order for them to be ‘better safe than sorry.’ However, as a former Private doing the digging, and a former Commander giving the orders, I think there is also a deeper lesson here.

I think not about the risk that Rommel was mitigating, but instead about the risk he was taking. He was willing to wake up with his men the next morning in a valley and hillside that had been quiet. It was probable that this would happen. His men would have looked to the valley and seen the other unit luxuriating in wakefulness after a longer and better night’s sleep, and probably enjoying fresh apples for breakfast. It is no small thing for a Commander to risk being seen as wrong, as the unit ‘climate’, often referred to as morale, is a precious and vulnerable commodity. Beyond the Commander’s own ego, he must look to preserve morale (largely influenced by how his men perceive him as a Commander) as a valuable combat tool– a ‘force multiplier’, if you will.

In another context, with less visibly at stake, parents today struggle to make the right decisions for their children, especially their teenagers. Strict implementation of social distancing for teenagers risks disgruntlement, and a perception that their leader is not ‘cool’, or is overreacting and it can be uncomfortable in the household. I say especially teenagers due to the vital role that socializing plays at that age. Fortunately, most teenagers still obey their parents. And those parents must give orders that will keep their children safe, regardless of perception. Parents must be willing to risk that the virus will be less than projected, and that their prior decisions will appear to have been too much. But remember, the lens should be on the moment of the decision, and not the aftermath of that decision. Rommel was right to order his troops to dig in, when he did, regardless. And parents today are right to place their children under strict social distancing and virus prevention rules, regardless. We are indeed at war with the Coronavirus and it is hitting many communities like artillery fire. Dig in.

By the way, many of Rommel’s troops were teenagers.

Real life has been suspended.  Routine is upended,

a chess board topples pieces to the floor. A snow globe

is shaken, and our streets go dizzy, lonely and cold.

We are at war with the very air.  Numbers and charts

could not make real the fear; it took death

to show us, to tilt the board, to shake the globe.

It took death in our own town, on our own clouded streets. 

We live behind curtains and long for ‘before’,

and it shortens our breath, this knowing, this feeling ̶ ̶

a wolf leaning quietly against every door.

I’ve unwittingly spent the last two years of my life getting an Associate’s Degree in Stuck.  This is among the less lucrative fields of study, and I’ve never heard anyone bragging about this achievement at cocktail parties.  It was expensive, it took a lot of time and effort, and it takes determination to see it through.  But, I ended up learning a great deal about being Stuck.   So, for the benefit of those contemplating this field, I’d like to share what I’ve learned: 

Enrollment. There is a magical process for getting enrolled! You won’t even know it happened, and you’ll be perhaps in your second year of study before inklings of what’s happening begin to leak into your gut. Interestingly, these inklings will often serve to solidify the undercover nature of your pursuit, because by then you will have learned in the Rationalization class how to think about it. (Rationalization is a pretty easy class, but it is quite necessary for continuation, so don’t take it for granted.)

Cost. Holy shit, is this an expensive school. If I only knew up front! (But see ‘Enrollment’ above). This is tricky stuff. Besides all the money you spend on living, and coping (see especially ‘Substances’ below), you learn that while in school, you’re not making the money you would have made by working at a job instead of being Stuck. This latter deficit is known as ‘Opportunity Cost’ and you won’t find that class on the syllabus!

Independent Study. This degree is unique in that all students are Independent-Study and so anybody can pretty much get enrolled, regardless of demographic. I certainly didn’t think I would be the type of person who could swing it, but the tremendous flexibility of the Program allowed me to continue through one nowhere experience after another, and without regard to what I thought I wanted out of life. Hats off to the progressive nature of the Program.

Mail. I learned that mail needn’t be opened. The Mail classes were proving grounds for who really wanted to be Stuck, and those who couldn’t leave mail alone ended up leaving the Program. It sort of functioned as a weeding-out class similar to Organic Chemistry or Physics, I suppose. But, once you learn to abandon your mail, your odds of being Stuck go way up. The Rationalization class proved very useful here, e.g. “I don’t have room for one more piece of bad news in my Life.”

Life. Speaking of Life, I was taught in the Program that there was something in my life so bad that I deserved to be Stuck. I didn’t believe it initially, but when I raised concerns about the possibility that other people might go through tough times too, and were not necessarily Stuck, I was strongly reassured by the Administration that although this may be true in some respects, I was special. I had a special grievance, and certainly belonged in this school. (I think that this reassurance happened right around ‘Enrollment’ time, but I can’t be sure as it seemed to happen magically).

Sleep. The Sleep classes were my favorite. One every semester! I learned that sleep makes all problems go away and that the more you sleep, the more credits you get toward your Stuck degree. So, on any given day, if you don’t want to ignore mail, use substances, rationalize away issues, or do anything counter-productive or self-destructive, you can just Sleep. Getting college credits for sleeping most of the day away is like getting interest on money in a bank! And it sure feels good. This might be the thing I miss the most now that I’ve graduated.

Substances. OMG where do I start?! This has to be everyone’s favorite class, second only to Sleep possibly with certain people. I learned the value of active obliteration, and how things can really be other people’s fault and one can feel even more ‘special’ with respect to grievances as substances kick in. And, here’s the crazy part: you can feel like this and feel happy at the same time with the aid of substances. Gold!

Relationships and Feelings.  There are no Relationships and Feelings classes taught in the curriculum, and these subjects are expressly forbidden in this way:  if it is found out that you are thinking about, let alone studying, relationships or feelings, you will be kicked out of the school. 

Tomorrow.  Every morning starts with the mantra “There’s always tomorrow!” much the way the Pledge of Allegiance is taught in Elementary Schools.  I, and I suppose others, said this warily in the beginning of the Program, but, sure enough, by the end I was chirping this out with confidence.  They know what they’re doing at this school!

Someone Else. Here’s another truly magical part. Anytime I began to feel any reservations about what the hell was happening, or not happening with me, I felt that it was happening to Someone Else, thanks to the excellent Someone Else class I took early in the Program. A pre-requisite to it is the Disassociation class, and that was equally powerful. I feel I learned the tools to transfer negative realities to a cloud in the sky that would transfer the bad energy to someone else that was walking around in my stead. I don’t think I could have lasted as long in the Program had I not mastered this.

Graduation.  Like I said, I graduated; I’m guessing I wasn’t supposed to.  And things aren’t the same, as they are getting better.  I got too much support and love from my partner, family and friends, I guess.  I’m starting to become UnStuck.  (They don’t even let you say that word while Enrolled!)  I applied for a job today, started exercising again, and am in a self-help group, and am excited about the Spring.

Don’t let this happen to you! 

I was laying beside my woman the other night in bed.  For a couple of days prior, we’d been in the throes of a sustained relationship ‘disagreement’ let’s just say, but we were closing in on resolution I believed.  And, as she is a beautiful and amazing woman, and it had been several days, I was having amorous feelings.  So, in my usual clumsy way, I began to make my intentions known.

                I was rebuffed.

                My advancements were rebuffed with the immediate and smooth delivery of the following words -and I quote-:

                “I have to know that you love me, that we’re in love, and that you understand me.  You have to respect me, and care about me.  And all the feelings.”  With that, a firm adjustment of blankets and a shift in body posture left no doubt as to the victor in the field. 

                Holy shit, can I just build you a house instead, or win the Boston Marathon for you or something like that?        

                This was a singular blast of feminine firepower that reminded me of the sudden employment of a North Korean rail gun.  These are huge artillery pieces mounted on railroad-like tracks that can be rolled out of granite mountain tunnels in North Korea to fire a blast at the hapless and unsuspecting enemy at a moment’s notice.  Then they roll right back into the mountain to remain protected and ready.

                That’s what I’m lying next to at night. 

                Anyway, I have a newfound respect for my partner.  And,  (Jesus, I hope I get this right) I love her, we’re in love, and I understand her.  I respect her and care about her.  And all the feelings.

                Oh, and don’t worry- we’re back in business now.  But I’m still working on the ‘all the feelings’ part.  (If any male reader knows what that means, please send me a discreet message.)                     

I’ve seen light. I’ve seen the early morning winter light filtering through a crystalline Jurassic palace of frozen rainforest in Washington State— and it took my breath away. Every step tinkled with the cracked and crazed enamel of ice that encased every twig giving the sun diamonds at every angle. I’ve seen the sun rise quiet, languid, slow and bright with fire over the ocean in a way that connected me to all color, all people, and all time. I’ve stood in the light of hospital rooms where people die, and are born, and thought the flat light mean on the one hand and miraculous on the other. And I’ve watched the black night sky punctured by crisp white stars while lying on my back in the cool grass with the one I love and thought that nothing could be brighter. All of these lights made me feel wondrous and warm in profound ways.

                But the light that made me feel the warmest happened in a dream. 

I dreamed I was walking on a long road and was being vaguely escorted by a friendly presence that was saying reassuring things to me. I noticed that I was drifting into my old neighborhood, as it was when I was young, and that it felt really, really satisfying and interesting. I could not have been more interested in anything than in observing Salah’s Corner where the older kids used to hang out, and Sergeant Street across the railroad tracks where we’d put coins on the tracks, and the raspberry bushes alongside the tracks that gave us such big red tart fruit. Here’s where we made little huts underneath the branches of this kind of giant bush, and here’s where Jimmy lives, and here’s where we played cards in the grass on summer days near that picnic table.

                And the magic was that things in the dream were exactly as they were back then.  People began to come into view, and I vaguely recognized them.  We turned a corner and began to walk up Willow Street.  My street.  The light shifted,  and I saw a group of kids at the green metal fence.  I recognized them.  Scott Kilman, Phil Hobbs, Frankie Enslow.  Then the presence beside me let me know somehow that I was also in that group of kids, and that we could walk past, exchange a few words, but that we must not linger, and that the boy wouldn’t recognize me as his adult self.  I looked again, and saw myself standing there.  I was about 16 or 17, casually leaning up against the fence with my friends on a soft summer afternoon.  I definitely remember that shirt. 

                I began to breathe fast and inquired quickly and urgently:  was there really only to be a few moments?  Yes.  Let’s go.  So we began to walk past and stopped and talked to the kids.  I have never felt such elation and such urgency!  We kept the conversation normal, and they treated us as if we were familiar and normal adults in the neighborhood.  I felt my escort presence scrutinizing me, waiting for me to use the moment, to say something.  The light got stranger and stranger, a cross between all of the other kinds of wondrous light I’d ever experienced.  I told Kevin in some vague way that he is a really good person, but I couldn’t get much more out than that before I found myself walking away with my escort again in the dream.  I don’t remember anything else we talked about at that brief encounter.

I woke up. I was emotional–it had seemed so real. I had missed a chance to impart real wisdom, and I wanted to get that chance back, to give him advice on life, to reassure him, to be close to him and tell him so many things.

                I have never felt so lit up as when I talked to Kevin at the fence that day.