Does History Repeat: Parallels Between the Civil War and Our Polarized Present

I am neither a TV news addict nor a history buff. My television time is spent mostly viewing family dramedies and Brian Cranston serials, whilst my reading tastes run strongly to Cold War spy novels and “unreliable narrator” fiction popularized in the last decade by Gone Girl.

I have stepped out of my comfort zone. For the past two weeks, I have been reading (technically, I have been listening to Will Patton read) The Demon of Unrest, Erik Larson’s description of the run-up to the Civil War. And for the last three nights, I have been glued to cable news watching each speaker, performer, and talking head at the Democratic National Convention.

I suspect I am not the first, and will not be the last, to comment on the parallels between the two events—the war that tore our country apart, and the upcoming election that is having a similar polarizing effect on the American character and soul.

Larson takes us inside the diaries, notes, military orders, and personal letters of a wide array of people in describing the tenor of the nation in the months leading to President Abraham Lincoln’s inauguration and the firing of the first volley at First Sumter.

Congress’s certification of the Electoral College vote, concern about assassination attempts, and investigations of conspiracies all played a role in bringing us to war. The South’s dependence on the sin of slavery probably made conflict nearly inevitable, but hyperbole, misdirection, fear, and poor communication guaranteed it.

In our world of everything, everywhere, all at once, many of those pressure points are once again present. I am not forecasting a Civil War. Unlike the Blue vs. Gray, I don’t think we are rushing to a Blue vs. Red armed conflict. But I do fear for the future of our country.

I’ll listen to more of The Demon of Unrest in the car today. I will be glued to MSNBC tonight. I will work hard to support my candidates. And though not a religious man I will pray that “this government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”

Just A Quick Address Correction

My bad!

Greetings readers,

For those of you who were trying to contact me via the email address in my previous post, I apologize. My email address was missing a letter. Comments can always be made directly here on Substack or sent to me at:

lesrraffblogger@myyahoo.com

In the previous post, I was missing the 2nd “r” in raff.

Shout out to MK for alerting me to the possible error. And thanks to all for being loyal readers! Keep those cards and letters coming in (now that they can get here!)

Les Raff

A Day at Home Depot Shines A Light On My Past

I sometimes miss the simple life.

Growing up in Rogers Park I frequently accompanied my mother on an important mission. As we walked through the neighborhood, I was trusted to carry a small rectangular piece of stiff white cardboard. The card was not a postcard or an invitation. It was a bill, our monthly chit from Commonwealth Edison, the city’s sole electricity provider.

Mom and I were not out to pay the bill. Like all of our family payments, that duty was handled by my dad, a meticulous bookkeeper who was never late meeting a financial obligation. The journey Mom and I were on was to a neighborhood hardware store, where we could present the bill in exchange for 10 light bulbs.

The bulbs were “free”; their cost was likely built into our monthly bill. At the store, we could choose from any of the available bulbs. And what was available? We had a choice of 60, 75, or 100-watt incandescent light bulbs. Standard light bulb shape, standard light bulb size, standard light bulb base. They were a perfect fit for every fixture of our apartment.

I remembered the lightbulb task this morning while standing in Aisle 1 of the Home Depot store in Northbrook. I was there because a 60-watt incandescent light bulb, one of the three bulbs in the ceiling fixture of our home office, had burned out. My goal at the store was to find equivalent LED replacements for all three bulbs.

Through more than 7 years of service, the incandescent bulb had projected a warm yellow glow through the glass base of the fixture. That’s what I was looking for as I studied about 400 shelf-feet of bulbs at the Home Depot. They were virtually all LEDs but beyond that, the variations and choices were uncountable and unimaginable.

There were long bulbs, short bulbs, round ones and square ones. Candelabra bases, standard bases, and something in between. Bright white, soft white, daylight, and plain white. There were even smart bulbs that changed colors with your mood, your music, or your appetite. Overwhelmed, I chose some daylight bulbs, assuming they would project light with a soft, sunny, slightly yellow appeal.

I was wrong. The new bulbs filled the home office with an unpleasant, glary, harsh, white light. Twenty minutes later I was back at Home Depot exchanging those bulbs and grilling the store clerk on the best bulb for my needs. We chose soft white bulbs and the soft yellowish-white light is just what I like while I sit at my desk typing this post.

We have traveled a long way since those Rogers Park days in the 1960s. Technology has gifted us a wonderful assortment of energy-efficient, environmentally friendly, and cosmetically stylish light sources. But sometimes, in our quest for progress, we lose sight of the small, simple treasures that once illuminated our lives—like a walk with Mom and a bag of light bulbs.

________

Hello friends—this is the first time I have used Substack to distribute a blog. I am still trying to figure the site out. Please let me know if you have received this by emailing me at lesrrafblogger@myyahoo.com

Commetns are always appreciated!

A Day at Home Depot Shines A Light On My Past

I sometimes miss the simple life.

Growing up in Rogers Park I frequently accompanied my mother on an important mission. As we walked through the neighborhood, I was trusted to carry a small rectangular piece of stiff white cardboard. The card was not a postcard or an invitation. It was a bill, our monthly chit from Commonwealth Edison, the city’s sole electricity provider.

Mom and I were not out to pay the bill. Like all of our family payments, that duty was handled by my dad, a meticulous bookkeeper who was never late meeting a financial obligation. The journey Mom and I were on was to a neighborhood hardware store, where we could present the bill in exchange for 10 light bulbs.

The bulbs were “free”; their cost was likely built into our monthly bill. At the store, we could choose from any of the available bulbs. And what was available? We had a choice of 60, 75, or 100-watt incandescent light bulbs. Standard light bulb shape, standard light bulb size, standard light bulb base. They were a perfect fit for every fixture of our apartment.

I remembered the lightbulb task this morning while standing in Aisle 1 of the Home Depot store in Northbrook. I was there because a 60-watt incandescent light bulb, one of the three bulbs in the ceiling fixture of our home office, had burned out. My goal at the store was to find equivalent LED replacements for all three bulbs.

Through more than 7 years of service, the incandescent bulb had projected a warm yellow glow through the glass base of the fixture. That’s what I was looking for as I studied about 400 shelf-feet of bulbs at the Home Depot. They were virtually all LEDs but beyond that, the variations and choices were uncountable and unimaginable.

There were long bulbs, short bulbs, round ones and square ones. Candelabra bases, standard bases, and something in between. Bright white, soft white, daylight, and plain white. There were even smart bulbs that changed colors with your mood, your music, or your appetite. Overwhelmed, I chose some daylight bulbs, assuming they would project light with a soft, sunny, slightly yellow appeal.

I was wrong. The new bulbs filled the home office with an unpleasant, glary, harsh, white light. Twenty minutes later I was back at Home Depot exchanging those bulbs and grilling the store clerk on the best bulb for my needs. We chose soft white bulbs and the soft yellowish-white light is just what I like while I sit at my desk typing this post.

We have traveled a long way since those Rogers Park days in the 1960s. Technology has gifted us a wonderful assortment of energy-efficient, environmentally friendly, and cosmetically stylish light sources. But sometimes, in our quest for progress, we lose sight of the small, simple treasures that once illuminated our lives—like a walk with Mom and a bag of light bulbs.

The Story Is My Eyes

“Does that bother you?” Dr. Counter, my optometrist, was completing my annual eye exam and pointing at my droopy right eyelid. I told her I knew about it, but didn’t pay it any attention. I relayed that my dad had the same malady. He had ignored his languid lid too.

“You have a condition called ptosis. Your drooping eyelid is blocking your pupil,” Dr. Counter continued. “It could affect your eyesight, particularly your peripheral vision. You should see Dr. Press, our ophthalmologic orbital surgeon for a consultation.”

At first, I resisted the idea. I was convinced that my eyesight issues were due to progressing presbyopia and incipient cataracts. What did my eyelids have to do with that?

But after a few days and a gentle nudge from Barb, I reconsidered. There was no harm in having a specialist assess me, so I made an appointment with Dr. Press. Her first opening was in the middle of September but when another patient canceled their scheduled visit, her staff moved my slot to last Thursday morning. I had to drop out of an anticipated pickleball match to get to the appointment. C’est la vie!

The visit to Dr. Press’s office began with “field of vision” testing to see if my peripheral vision was intact. If you have ever had this done, you know the testing is usually pretty crude. The tech or doctor moves two fingers around the edges of your vision and asks if you can see them. That is all that is necessary in most circumstances.

The testing in Dr. Press’s office was more sophisticated. Under the guidance of a pair of techs, I stared into a binocular device and clicked a buzzer (Jeopardy! appearance flashback) whenever I saw a light flash at the very edge of my vision. The process was repeated with my eyelids taped open.

After the tests were complete, Barb and I were introduced to Dr. Press, an engaging young woman somewhere between our daughter and our granddaughter in age. During introductory chit-chat, we discovered that she grew up in the subdivision we now live in. That felt like good Karma.

Dr. Press examined me and then made her pronouncement. “I’m looking at the field of vision test data and your eyes. You have bilateral ptosis. Weakened eyelid muscles are the culprit. Our testing confirms that the droop affects your vision, so surgery is advisable. I can make a small incision into the underside of each lid and tighten the muscles, leaving the eyelids more elevated. It’s outpatient surgery with minimal risk and a quick recovery.”

“Surgery for weak muscles?” I wondered. “What happened to exercise and spinach?” But it is doubtful incessant blinking will bulk up my eyelid muscles, and I prefer kale to spinach. If surgery is the best way to improve my vision, I’ll go under the knife with Dr. Press, my Doc from my Block. When it’s all over I’ll see better–and look better too. I’m all in on that Daily Double.

And to my pickleball friends, sorry I dropped out of last week’s match, but wait until you see me after surgery. You’ll all want to be my partner. It’s going to be a whole new game!

You can also join my Facebook Page

Rock and Roll Roulette: My Journey Through the Classic Rock Top 1000

Music and lists. These are two of my passions that are deliciously intertwined. Since the days of WCFL’s Big 10 Survey, through Casey Casems American Top 40, to all the online sites listing the top five partially blind one-handed tambourine players, those compendia have always interested me. Last month I hit the jackpot–I discovered Sirius XM’s Classic Rock Top 1000 satellite radio station.

The station is exactly what it says it is. It plays 1000 songs, in order, on an endless loop. Who picked the songs? Who put them in this specific order? Who knows? What classifies as a Classic Rock song, anyway? The station has no announcer, just a female voice giving the countdown number after every 3 or 4 songs.

I listen to the station in 30-minute snippets while running through our neighborhood or burning calories on our basement elliptical. Monday I might hear songs 424-412 while Tuesday morning brings 110-102. By the next time I listen the list may have wound past the top songs and it’s the bottom 50 that’s on tap.

Despite listening for a month, I rarely hear the same segment of songs twice. That’s not a surprise; I hear less than 1% of the 1000-song collection each time I listen. At my tune-in rate, it will take me about 3 or 4 months to get an earful of every song.

What artists has the mystery selector put on the list? From the 300 or so songs I have heard so far, the playlist is mostly what the average baby boomer would expect and demand–and my fellow WXRT listeners would hate! British invasion bands, 70’s hair bands, singer-songwriters, and heartland rockers.

While my favorite artists (U2, Steely Dan, Bruce with E Street) are well represented, female voices are scattered like diamonds in a mined-out shaft; there’s a little Janice here, a couple of Hearts there, and a Joan Jett when no one is looking. I haven’t heard Linda Ronstadt yet, but I suspect Blue Bayou or You’re No Good is lurking about.

My private game is identifying each song by the second note–my Name That Tune challenge. (I am good.) Another trick is recognizing the one-hit wonders on the list, the bands that came out of nowhere, had a top 1000 hit and then crawled back under their rock. Ten points and a shoutout to readers who can name the artist responsible for Something in the Air. No cheating!

On a short run last week my soundtrack was the top 5 songs. Some of the selections are unavoidable. Others up there seem peculiar. At #5 is Hotel California. It’s had to be there. It is always being played somewhere.

I can accept Sweet Home Alabama qualifies as #4. It is the epitome of Southern rock, and Skynyrd puts on a good show. But if the list has to have a Queen song at #3, why Another One Bites the Dust? I would have chosen Bohemian Rhapsody, the most streamed rock song of all time (2 billion Spotify streams and counting.)

It’s no surprise that a certain four-piece British band takes the top two slots. And I won’t disagree with Stairway to Heaven at #2. But Black Dog as the #1 classic rock song of all time? Most people don’t even know the name of the song. That placement is as absurd as Hey Jude‘s location way down in the 400s.

But in the end, I have my music and I have my list. The order doesn’t really matter, it’s just fun to hear the songs. I’m living in a Boomer Paradise.

Getting More From Les: Housekeeping 101

As my blog reaches its 9th anniversary it is time to do some necessary housekeeping.

I began writing Getting More From Les in the summer of 2015. Early posts detailed the good and bad of home-building as Barb and I built our empty-nester dream home. Subject matter slowly expanded, and so did my readership when the blog joined ChicagoNow, the digital arm of the Chicago Tribune.

In 2021, Alden Global Capital purchased the Tribune Company. The cost-cutters at Alden axed the Trib’s great salaried columnists and then dismissed us unpaid ChicagoNow contributors. That left the blog with a satisfied and satisfactory audience of loyal subscribers, social media followers, and list-serve readers.

But over the last few months, many subscribers have asked why I have stopped writing my blogs. I haven’t! But new rules, regulations, and ever-diligent mail servers (Outlook, Gmail, and others) block subscribers from receiving notifications from a subscriber list or emails with an embedded link. It all becomes spam.

My low-tech way of keeping the blog subscription readership alive began this weekend. First, I sent individual emails to each member of all my subscriber lists asking if they still wanted to hear about Getting More From Les. Rewardingly, many of you replied, “Yes, please continue to include me.” Beginning with this post, all those lovely people will receive an individually emailed copy of all posts. No links to click–the blog will just be there. A little extra work on my part, but well worth it if it gets the blog to my readers.

For my many social network readers, nothing has changed. I hope you will all continue to read and enjoy new blog posts on Facebook, LinkedIn, and X.

And as always, I want to hear your comments and thoughts about the blog and anything else you want to tell me about. Any advice on the technical aspects of blog publishing would also be appreciated.

That ends the housework. Thanks for your patience. The good stuff (personal challenges and triumphs, politics, music, and more) will be coming up soon!

Navigating the Car-Buying Teeter-Totter: Our Journey to the Audi A6 Allroad

Barb and I have been on the new car teeter-totter for months. We’ve evaluated the cost and environmental impact of cars with gasoline engines vs. electric or hybrid styles. And we parried whether to buy a 4-door sedan or drive out of a dealership in a new SUV.

I am a sedan type of guy. I prefer them understated, stylish, and engineered in Germany. I’ve been that way for 30 years. Yes, I’ve driven various SUVs as rentals or loaners but I have never comprehended their immense popularity. And although I am a member of the Riverwoods Sustainability Committee, I am not quite sold on going EV, especially for long-range travel.

We decided on a pairing of objectives. If we bought a new sedan, to be used mostly for short-haul local trips and Saturday night date nights, an EV sedan made the most sense. But if we were looking for a car suited for long-distance driving, our best alternative was a gas-powered SUV. It was a difficult choice. We flip-flopped so often that I felt like JD Vance talking about Donald Trump.

Until Barb stumbled upon a quote in an online Car and Driver review.”If you can’t choose between a luxury sedan and an SUV, the Audi A6 Allroad splits the difference–and beautifully so.” Is someone at Car and Driver clairvoyant?

We were intrigued by the Allroad. I currently drive an A6 sedan, but neither Barb nor I had heard of an Allroad version. Driving deeper into the C & D article, we read that it was a powerful, gas engine, all-wheel drive vehicle mimicking the A6, but with a roof rack and a roofline less like a sedan and more like…a station wagon.

The Allroad is popular on the West Coast but has barely made a dent in the Chicago market. Checking with local dealers we found that only the downtown Audi dealership had even a single Allroad in stock. We made an appointment and then drove into the city for a test drive.

The salesperson with whom we had an appointment ghosted us, but after a discussion with the world’s least helpful receptionist, a salesman was found who could help us. He brought us to the Allroad on the showroom floor and spent 20 minutes showing us new electronic features; the Allroad has more doodads than my current A6, though it is nowhere near as techie as a Tesla. We then took a test drive around the Near North neighborhood, making one stop for the salesman to show us the buttons and touch screens he had missed during his first demonstration.

Barb and I liked the car — the lines, the size, and the ride. The color, gray with a cringe green hue in the sunlight, was less to our liking. The salesperson checked his inventory and found an Allroad still in production in a more comforting gray. A snazzy brown interior sounded good too. We discussed pricing and trade-in, were introduced to the sales manager (there is no way to look for a car without that happening), and agreed that when the Allroad arrives from the factory in 2 or 3 months, it’s ours.

Once we have the car I’ll be easy to spot. While most men my age love driving their Viagra-blue Porsches, Vettes, and Maseratis I’ll be the guy tooling around in a dark gray Audi station wagon. Be sure to wave when you see me!

One Word Describes Me. What Describes YOU?

What junk email do you receive? Among the plethora of posts sent to me every day is WordDaily, a newsletter that provides exactly what it says it does. Each morning at about 6 AM a new word appears in my inbox accompanied by its definition, pronunciation, and etymology. A few descriptive quotes complete the page.

Sometimes I recognize the daily selection (xiphoid, auteur, emeritus) even if I don’t have a precise definition at my neural synapses. Other times I learn a new word (perdurable, precatory, yare), and the belt reigning in my mental dictionary can expand by a notch.

Yesterday’s word was”phlegmatic.” It’s a word I have seen, but never used. I have always assumed it is related to “phlegm” and conceived of a phlegmatic person as someone suffering from a stuffy nose or a congested chest. And phlegmatic does have that derivation and can mean that. But that is not the definition that WordDaily gave and not the definition that interests me.

What definition did the newsletter present? Having an unemotional and stolidly calm disposition. After the definition, Queen Elizabeth II was given as an example of a phlegmatic person. WordDaily missed the boat. For “unemotional and stolidly calm” WordDaily should have looked at a living person, one of its subscribers…me!

I am as stony as the Rock of Gibraltar. The last person to see me cry was the obstetrician who slapped my butt at my delivery, and I barely got out a squawk before they rushed me into a newborn incubator. When unexpectedly severed from my pathology group, I left the room without raising my voice or losing my cool. I may give a fist bump to a partner after they make a great pickleball shot, but I am the first to try to cool down heated tempers after a blown line call or other on-court shenanigans.

There are a few times that I come close to letting loose. I almost danced a jig after my third par in nine holes last week and came dangerously close to hurling my phone at the TV screen during President Biden’s disastrous debate the week before. I am sure Barb can find a few other examples of times when I failed to be cool, calm, and collected. She would undoubtedly begin with the chair celebration at our son’s wedding.

Is preternatural calmness a good quality? It was an asset when I was the Board of Education president, especially when negotiating contracts. Throughout my life it has kept me from any bare-knuckles fights with their accompanying broken bones or screaming matches with their accompanying broken relationships. On the flip side though, I might have missed some adrenalin rush thrills and emotional purges.

But that’s who I am. I’m glad WordDaily gave me “phlegmatic,” the perfect word to describe myself.

Hey, today’s WordDaily just came in. The new word of the day is Epigrammatic: Of the nature or in the style of an epigram; concise, clever, and amusing. Maybe THAT’S me!

What do you think? And who and what are YOU?