Awhile back I posted about Hillbilly Elegy, a book that has gotten a lot of attention and raised a lot of hackles. Author J.D. Vance tells the story of his upbringing in Ohio, and of his forbears and other family members’ roots in Appalachia.

The people Vance describes initially thrived in industrial Ohio, but eventually hit hard times once the rust belt started rusting back in the 70s. A lot of ink’s been spilled over how his book might explain why some Americans support Donald Trump. That Vance’s Elegy explains the newly fabled forgotten white working class’ alienation and resentment, particularly toward a group that they (cued by Roger Ailes) describe as elites. Liberals. Globalists. Davos Conference goers.

The First White President is just one essay from Coates’ new collection.

I liked the book and found it valuable even though I don’t agree with all the author’s conclusions. I thought it was a well-written description of one particular part of the American experience, but if you ask me, all the political pundits theorizing that the election was all about a disenfranchised white working class are way off base. A factor probably, but THE factor, no. (And it should be noted, Vance didn’t write it to explain about the election, but to tell his family’s story.)

I think there were a lot of factors, and some are horribly ugly and difficult to confront and own up to. Which brings me to a loooonnnnng piece in The Atlantic by Ta-Nehisi Coates called The First White President. Coates argues very compellingly that Trump’s victory was about a standing effort—sometimes overt, others more subtle—to enforce white supremacy.  (There’s also a really good rebuttal by one of the people Coates took to task that is also online at The Atlantic.)

I think it’s a strong piece—even though, or maybe because—it made me squeamish and defensive sometimes. My disagreement with it is that Coates believes it’s only about race, and he excludes other factors (but I think that probably helped him make his point).

So, as with Elegy, I didn’t agree with everything in The First White President; but it helped me see what Coates sees, and what the world looks like to many black people.

I hope you’ll read it, too, and that like me, even if you don’t agree with everything, you’ll learn something.

My memoir-writing classes don’t meet during the Jewish high holy days (the ten days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur) but that doesn’t mean these seniors stop writing!! I was so moved by this email Hugh Brodkey sent yesterday that I asked if I could share it with you Safe & Sound blog readers.

Hi, Beth,

At temple for the Jewish New Year, our rabbi made a couple of comments that I realized might suggest writing assignments.

He started off by saying that he had recently been helping his mother downsize in order to move into a senior residence. She had lifetime collections of letters and greeting cards from her family and kids as they were growing up, many, many family pictures and a major collection of decorative pill boxes.

What do you move, and what do you give away? If you decide to give it away, who wants it? If nobody wants it, what happens to it? (This last point struck a chord with me. When my Dad died, he left an office where the walls were covered with framed awards and testimonials. We couldn’t figure out what to do with them.)

The rabbi’s sermon then shifted to the current crises of flooding and forest fires and earthquakes in which thousands of people are told that they have only a few moments to decide what to carry out with them to safety. Almost invariably it was the family pictures and mementos…most of which had no value to anyone but themselves.

What does that say about how we live our lives…or how we should live our lives? What is more important in our lives than what? Hope we never have to make such important quick decisions……and that you and your family have a peaceful New Year!

Best…Hugh

Bev’s eight-year-old grandson Bryce interviewed me for his Summer Awesomeness youtube show before cocktail hour began.

It all started in Grand Haven, Michigan Tuesday evening. Poolside cocktails (Bev had rented their community clubhouse for the event), dinner inside afterwards, dessert, my short talk, a Q & A, a writing exercise, and then, big finish: I showed them how I manage to read excerpts of Writing Out Loud at book events without being able to see.

”It’s hard for me to read Braille and talk at the same time,” I confessed, wrestling an earpiece into my left ear and plugging into my digital recorder. “Before we left Chicago, my husband Mike recorded a part of the preface onto this little handheld contraption,” I said, explaining that once I turned it on I’d listen to Mike reading inside my ear and repeat what I hear. “Kind of like a TV broadcaster.” I was sailing through my reading when suddenly, the power went off. Which means, of course, that all The lights went out, too.

Not one of Bev’s polite friends interrupted my reading. I kept on, literally and figuratively in the dark. Cue the Twilight Zone music!

Turns out lights were out off all over the neighborhood – a power surge of some sort — but one book club member thought I’d orchestrated the whole thing. “I thought maybe you have them do that at all your presentations!” she laughed.

And you know what? From here on out, Maybe I will!

Wanna know more about Rishi? Check out his site, https://www.rishiforjudge.com

Earlier this year Beth gave her senior writers at the Chicago Cultural center this prompt: My Favorite Year.

Anu Agrawal chose 1969, when she and her husband immigrated from India. Anu shared her reminiscences about seeing the lakefront for the first time, the museums, and Marshall Field’s here at the Safe & Sound blog back in February—it still rings with the optimism she was feeling decades ago about her new home.

Anu and her husband thrived here, and their American born children are doing the same. She told Beth a few weeks ago that her son Rishi Agrawal is running for Cook County Judge, 8^th Judicial Subcircuit.

Since we’re eligible to vote in that contest, Beth invited Rishi to meet us at Hax (the new incarnation of Hackney’s). It was one of countless absolutely lovely evenings we’ve enjoyed this summer (I’ve taken to calling Chicago San Diego by the Lake), so we sat outside.

We covered a lot of ground. Family, education, work, values—his and ours. He’s a good listener. Time flew by and when we parted ways we’d agreed to do what we could to help. So today I’m offering the official Safe & Sound, Mike and Beth Endorsement of Rishi Agrawal.

And I’m inviting you South Loopers to visit our regular Saturday morning Printers Row Farmers Market this Saturday, September 23. Beth and/or I will be there taking signatures to get Rishi on the Ballot, and Rishi will join us for part of the time. To sign, you have to live in the 8th Subcircuit (see map).

We’ll be out with Rishi around 10:30 a.m. Saturday, September 23.  It’s at Printers Row Park, also known as the Fountain Park, on Dearborn between Harrison and Polk.

There’s an old saying about Chicago politics that speaks to all the connections and insider dealing Chicago is infamous for: “We Don’t Take Nobody (that) Nobody Sent.”

To that I’ll reply, “We’ll take anyone Anu sent.” Hope to see you.

I like promoting my books as much as I like writing them – you meet so many cool new people, and in so many different settings. We had a great turn-out at Women & Children First bookstore last Wednesday (big thanks to all of you who came), and I’m speaking to a group this afternoon at The “ssenior lifestyle facility” where Hannelore, one of the writers featured in Writing Out Loud, lives now. This past Tuesday? I nestled into a comfy chair in a beautiful condo on Chicago’s north side for a book party. The dozen women Sharon Silverman (another writer from one of my memoir-writing classes) invited to her place hadn’t all met before, but thanks to a little wine and a writing exercise, they left knowing each other pretty well. Here’s Sharon now, with a guest post about that party.

by Sharon Silverman

Let’s start at the beginning. Beth lives in the South Loop. I live miles away in Chicago’s Rogers Park neighborhood. How to handle the logistics? When Beth heard that the #147 bus stops right on my corner, she just shrugged and said, “Oh, I’ll take the bus with Whitney.” Piece of cake.

We had a great time at Sharon’s house.

Winding her way on the bus through the Loop, onto Lake Shore Drive, and eventually on Sheridan Rd., Beth would text each location to me. “Getting closer.” “At Greenville stop.” “Almost there.” Eureka! When they arrived at the corner of Farwell and Sheridan, I sent my friend Margaret down to escort them back to my place. Let the fun begin!

No evening at my place is complete without wine and goodies, so my wonderful women friends join Beth and me with glasses of red and white and plates of cheese, crackers and sweets. Bonus: cocktail napkins that say, “Book? I’m just here to drink.”

Each woman I invited is remarkable in her own right: a psychotherapist, a graphic artist, a Kohl award-winning early childhood teacher, a former college administrator, a piano teacher, a human resources manager, a community college teacher, a higher education professional. Sitting in a circle in my living room, let the stories commence!

“Let me tell you about the little three year old boy in my class who uses swear words.” “That reminds me of the college administrator I know whose vocabulary is full of unmentionables.” Laughter abounds. We are connecting and entranced as we listen to each other — a prelude to Beth’s presentation about writing memoir.

Beth tells her story and describes how she conducts her memoir writing classes. The stem of Beth’s glass of red is ensconced very tightly between her feet on the floor, right in front of Seeing Eye dog Whitney — who behaves herself and doesn’t dare take a sip.

Beth had asked if I’d share some examples of assignments I’d written for class. I chose a piece I wrote when she assigned “Late Again” as a writing prompt. My essay was about showing up late for school every day during my teenage years –I wasn’t terribly fond of high school. When Beth describes some other writing prompts she uses in class, I bring out the essay I wrote when we were asked to write an entire 500-word essay using only three-word phrases – my piece acknowledges my worries about what life might be like a decade from now. An excerpt:

Blood pressure high.
Mom’s was, too.
Bladder is weak.
Please don’t leak!

Lots of smiles and giggles, and then I pass around notebooks and pens for a quick memoir-writing prompt. The writing exercise is optional, but these 12 women are game. They all give it a try, and by the end of the evening, it’s apparent we have some budding memoir writers in the group.

I had to laugh when some realized they aren’t old enough to join one of Beth’s classes. “I’m just 50.” “Can I join a group?” “I just got my AARP card in the mail! Does that count?” More wine, more laughter, and as the party ends, Beth rummages through her backpack to dig out her ink pad and rubber stamp. Whitney’s pawtograph is ceremoniously stamped into our copies of Writing Out Loud, and Beth autographs them, too. Truly an evening to remember.