Month: December 2021

Yes, Virginia . . .

We believe what we’re told we’re supposed to believe,

We believe what we want, or we believe what we see.

                        –from my song, King of the Classroom

Christmas is right around the corner, and many parents are wrestling with the dilemma of what to tell their inquisitive children who are beginning to doubt the existence of Santa Claus. In 1897, an 8-year old girl named Virginia O’Hanlon wrote a letter to the New York Sun seeking a definitive answer to her question, “Is there a Santa Claus?” A reporter named Francis P. Church responded with a famous, uncredited editorial by saying, “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy.” It was a great seasonal sentiment, typical of the Victorian Age, and his response became the most reprinted editorial in history. 

Our grandson Lucas, also 8 years old, is a sweet boy who will undoubtedly cling to his childhood beliefs for as long as possible. Last week, as he eagerly helped us hang ornaments on our tree, we explained that we bought each of the decorated items during our various travels, and each ornament carries special memories of a place we had visited together. He nodded and said sagely, “Yes; Christmas is the time for memories.” In contrast to Luke’s enthusiasm, his older sister Abigail, is reluctant to partake in anything that smacks of sentimentality. She developed a pronounced eye-roll about the time she started pre-school and probably gave up her belief in Santa, the tooth-fairy, and the Easter bunny around the same time. Abigail is 11, and already a strong skeptic on pretty much everything. I feel sorry for her Catholic-school teachers when they get to religion classes.

Meanwhile, a new conspiracy theory has taken hold in America. Since 2017, the “Birds Aren’t Real” movement has spread across the country. The essence of the theory is that all birds have been replaced by government-controlled drones for the purpose of spying on Americans. This spying, purportedly, all began as a CIA plot back in the 1970s, and the mechanical birds recharge themselves by resting on powerlines. In attempt to make people aware of this menace, information and the slogan “Birds Aren’t Real” have appeared on T-shirts, billboards in major cities, and on social media outlets such as Instagram, TikTok, and YouTube. The group has held well-attended protests when they burned a Cardinal flag beneath the St. Louis Arch and when they demanded that Twitter stop using a bird as their logo.

Before you start shouting, “I knew it!” and asking where you can learn more, I should tell you that it’s all an elaborate hoax. The movement is a parody of the various other theories into which people have bought over the past few years. The whole idea, begun by a disillusioned college drop-out named Peter McIndoe, is to poke fun at the numerous “Big Lies” currently circulating and see how many people will go for the bait. The “Big Lie” is a tactic used effectively by Adolf Hitler and Joe McCarthy, even before the spate of lies that proliferated over the past few years. Like those luminaries, the Birds Aren’t Real perpetrators made up a lie so preposterous that people laughed the first time they heard it. They told it so often, and with such conviction, however, that many people who lack the ability to think critically began to believe it. McIndoe came up with and elaborated on the idea after watching helplessly as people bought into incredible lies such as: Hillary Clinton controlled a child-sex ring, Barack Obama is not an actual American, vaccines of all sorts are dangerous, Biden stole the election from Trump (the latest polls show that 60% of Republicans actually believe this one), the January 6th terrorists who tried to kill Mike Pence and end democracy were actually just tourists enjoying a stroll through the Capital, and Covid isn’t a serious problem, despite 800,000 deaths. If people will believe those things, he thought, they might even believe that birds aren’t real. It was, as a BAR organizer explained, “fighting lunacy with lunacy.”

Birds Aren’t Real today has many thousands of followers across the country. How many of those are true believers and how many are “in” on the joke is impossible to say, but McIndoe was always conscious of not going too far, lest the naïve minds who accepted those other lies actually buy into his. “Dealing in the world of misinformation for the past few years, we’ve been really conscious of the line we walk,” he said. “The idea is meant to be preposterous, but we make sure nothing we’re saying is too realistic.” Ultimately, he hoped that it would cause people to examine the conspiracy theories and beliefs to which they adhere.

This all reminds me of the old fable, The Emperor’s New Clothes. This folktale, which dates back to the 1300s, has a vain emperor falling for a scam presented by two con men. They sell him a magical suit of clothes that are supposed to be made of the most magnificent cloth in the world, but, they say, the cloth is invisible to those who are stupid. No one, including the emperor, wants to admit their lack of intelligence, so they all go along with the scam, pretending to see the wonderful cloth and even praising it. Finally, as the emperor marches in a grand parade to display his new clothes, a child yells out “He’s naked!” and they all realize what fools they’ve been. (The child was probably Abigail.) All, that is, except the arrogant emperor, who continues to walk proudly, head held high.

I guess McIndoe is hoping for the same sort of result. “Yes, we have been intentionally spreading misinformation for the past four years,” he said, “but it’s with a purpose. It’s about holding up a mirror to America in the internet age.” The ultimate message of Birds Aren’t Real is: If it sounds crazy, it probably is.

Eight-year-old Virginia, as all children eventually do, probably grew up, started to think critically about things, and gave up her belief in Santa Claus. Even the Bible (King James version, 1 Corinthians 13:11) says, “When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.” The “Yes, Virginia” editorial was perfect for its day and for a long time after that. Today, however, perhaps we need a new editorial, one with a little more truth, to combat the farcical nonsense in which many people believe. Today’s editorial should read something like, “Yes, Virginia, Trump lost the election by a wide margin, Barack Obama was born in the U.S., and vaccines will save your life and that of many others.”

‘Tis the Season

With Thanksgiving behind us, and Christmas bearing down like a category 5 hurricane, the holiday season is in full swing. Here in River Falls, a festival called River Dazzle officially ushered in the Christmas season.

Even before Thanksgiving, our little Happy Hour group of retirees had an fun gathering on November 17. On that day, I performed my first actual show in 35 years. Our friends, Dave and Nancy, offered their commodious garage—complete with fake chandelier—for the day’s entertainment. Daughter-in-law Amber joined us, and she had the school bus drop the grandkids off at our house rather than theirs, so they were able to be there as well. I love the fact that, in a small town, you can make that sort of change with a simple note or a phone call. One couple, David and Jan, brought some excellent homemade wine. The day before, David called to ask if he could bring a few bottles. I said of course and suggested that I would only sound better if the audience was lubricated with spirits. He replied, “I don’t have that much wine.” I had a blast singing some of my old songs as well as some I have never performed before. With two full years to practice, I slid back into the performing role fairly easily. Someone told me afterward that, when I finished, there was an attempted standing ovation. However, at our age, getting quickly out of those folding camping chairs is not an easy task, and the attempt fizzled. The only real difference I noticed was that my voice began to strain after about 75 minutes, whereas I held out for four hours in my last show in 1986. C’est donc avec la viellese (“So it is with old age.”)

After a Thanksgiving dinner that couldn’t be beat at Ben and Amber’s house, we planned to lie low the next day. About noon on Friday, however, I recalled that River Dazzle would be held downtown that day. River Dazzle is another annual event in River falls. (Have I mentioned that this town knows how to throw a party?) The town celebrates the official start of the Christmas season with trolley rides, hot chocolate, games, and face-painting for the kids, a parade featuring Mr. and Mrs. Claus, and it all culminates with the lighting of the Christmas lights in the trees along the median of Main Street. Like everything else, many of the usual activities associated with River Dazzle had been cancelled or reduced last year due to Covid, so two years of pent-up energy was waiting to be unleashed on the town this year.

The central event of the day is the “Chili Crawl.” This is a contest pitting 15-20 downtown businesses against each other in making the best batch of that cold-weather staple, chili. Groups of friends and families roam the 2-3 blocks of Main Street, ducking into the various businesses which are involved in the competition. The crawlers carry yellow scorecards and rate the various concoctions according to their own personal taste and criteria. At the end of the day, prizes are announced for both the cooks and the tasters.

What turns this simple contest into a wild event, however, is the fact that most of the contestants happen to be bars, pubs, bistros, saloons, and taverns along Main Street. Thus, many of the groups doing the judging taste their little samples of chili, mark their scorecards, and order something from the bar. Then they move to the next pub and repeat the process. That’s where the “crawl” part of the day comes in. There are perhaps a dozen drinking establishments along Main Street, and most of them participate in the Chili Crawl. You can purchase a special blue cup at the beginning of the day, and obtain refills at any participating bar for $2. For this day only, people are allowed to take their blue cups out of the bars and into the streets. The contest begins at 1:00 and runs until 5:00. By about 2:00, the downtown streets resound with merriment. Groups of happy revelers slip in and out of bars, blue cups and yellow scorecards in hand, with their plastic tasting spoons tucked behind their ears or into a head-band of some sort.

Kathleen and I arrived on the scene about 12:30, slightly ahead of the craziness. We had lunch and a beer in one of our favorite haunts, The Mainstreeter Bar and Grill. The scent of chili brewing in a large slow-cooker in the back of the room filled the air. About the time we finished, the tasters began to stream in. These initial groups were rather sedate and serious about their task, intending to taste and grade chili in every one of the participating businesses.  We had already decided that we would eschew the tasting contest this year. Two years ago, in our only other River Dazzle experience, good intentions soon deteriorated into lethargy as we decided to skip the chili and simply find a comfortable barstool from which to enjoy the madness. This year, we didn’t even pick up a scorecard: we would be spectators and people-watchers, rather than actual participants.

Our next stop was Johnnie’s, a comfortable bar that we had discovered during the summer. It’s a bit of an “old school” type of place as they don’t take credit cards and no food is served. They do, however, encourage people to bring food in from outside or have it delivered. They also have a spacious back room that is lent to groups free of charge, making it a favorite spot for local groups to meet. As it was still early, we easily found a place at the bar, ordered drinks, and talked with a woman who had come from out of town just for River Dazzle. Soon after we arrived, the place began to fill up with crawlers in search of chili and others just looking for a party. They both found what they sought. While sipping our drinks, we decided that we should explore a bar that we had never before visited. You know me: always looking to broaden my horizons. As we left Johnnie’s we saw a group of high-school carolers dressed in Victorian clothes that looked straight out of a Dicken’s story. They are a great choir with excellent harmonies. During Covid, they came to our cul-de-sac and sang Christmas carols from the street, so it was nice to see them in full operation again.

Our next stop was Emma’s. From the street, Emma’s looks like a thousand dives I had seen in Chicago: about 30 feet wide and 100 feet deep, squeezed between two other businesses. In my mind, I pictured an apathetic old woman, cigarette dangling from her mouth, standing behind the bar, and coughing just often enough to let you know she was still alive. Instead, the place had a warm feel as soon as we entered. Actually, the first thing we noticed was an odd smell. We realized that, in order to distinguish themselves from all of the other chilis in the contest, they had added limburger or one of the other varieties of “stinky” cheeses to the mix. We soon adjusted to the odor, grabbed some beers and selected a table from which we could watch the parade of tasters as they came through the door. It was especially fun to watch the kids. As each one entered, they immediately covered up their noses or made a face that indicated they did not find the cheese odor pleasing. Many simply did an about face and left without tasting the chili. Even without the children, though, a steady stream of people came in, tasted the chili, and had a drink before leaving. People entered singing and laughing and left the same way, dressed in their holiday finery. We saw garish sweaters designed to test the boundaries of bad taste; there were gaudy green-and-red hats, some designed to look like Christmas trees; there were red tights and green lamé pants; many had battery packs that kept strings of brightly colored bulbs twinkling on and off; one had a shirt of bright red poinsettias festooned with green Christmas lights; some wore ornaments as earrings; one wore a fat strand of metallic garland as if it were a feather boa. And many of the women were also dressed up.

Eventually, feeling the effect of too many beers, we headed out. We ran into several friends and neighbors on the street, which added to the festive feel of the day. So, even though we didn’t stick around to see the parade or the lights, were able to nestle all snug in our bed that night, assured that Christmas was just around the corner.