Author: Ernie McCray

Boy, things you do when you’re seventeen.
Especially when you think you just about the coolest thing
the world has ever seen.
Know what I mean?
Now, I was cool at seventeen,
not to brag or anything,
but being a teenage male Negro
in 1955,
a dude had to be cool
just to stay alive;
That’s positively no jive….

Thoughts Stemming from 9-11

My radio alarm woke me up with someone summarizing a study that found that a significant number of schools have not done much as far as engaging students in learning experiences involving 9-11. Because it’s too “controversial.” Is that not sad?

That reminds me of a man on TV, not too long after that fateful day, who said we should tell our children that nothing like this will ever happen again.

There I am as happy as I can be, at 58, posing in front of a camera at the 40th reunion of Tucson High’s Class of ’56.

It’s a cliche but time does fly, like a peregrine falcon diving steeply for its prey against the background of the sky, as in a few weeks I will be basking in the midst of an increasingly dwindling number of classmates for our 55th. Boy, they’re getting old – and vice-versa.

I remember a night

my wife said to me:

“How come you’re not listening to me?”

Well, I wanted to listen,

you see,

There’s a proposal floating around the country called a “Contract for the American Dream.”

It’s an ages old dream, simple in its scheme, a dream where everyone has a place of employment (JOBS, NOT CUTS!), roofs over our heads on homes we own and secure futures for ourselves and our children so they can pass the good fortunes on.

The dream eases me into a “What if?” kind of modality. Like what if tomorrow Obama woke up truly realizing that the Good Old USA is in a kind of “do or die” situation. Either he, and Congress, does something or we, in spirit, without a doubt, will surely die.

Oh, did I ever fall in love with this morning. It was so nice and sunny, so soothing to my soul and bones. And I was still all a swoon when this lovely beginning of the day segued into the afternoon.

At some point on such a day I knew I would want to write, something, anything, because writing to me, is a form of play and this was a day in which to play. I, however, had no particular topics to approach in mind so I went to a website of writing prompts and blindly chose one that asked me to go through a dusty photo album which was no problem because my soul mate, a photographer del mundo, bequeathed me enough dusty albums to ignite a Haboob like the ones that smothered Phoenix…

This venture I’m involved with, the UT’s Community Editorial Board, has brought about mostly affirmative responses from around the city.

But of course there have been those who’ve reacted to what we’re trying to do by throwing dirt on it like Richard Rider, well known tax fighter about town, who had this to say regarding my “Let’s Make a Better World for Our Children” kind of essay: “The first editorial “for the children” is by board member Ernie McCray, a lifetime hard left advocate. Indeed, as I recall, at one time McCray was actually the spokesperson for the local Communist Party. No, not the Democrat Party, or the Peace and Freedom (socialist) Party. The actual COMMUNIST PARTY. His lame response when confronted about this was that he was not a MEMBER of the Communist Party — they just needed an articulate spokesperson for their cause.”

Many people have read my piece, “Making a Better Place for Children,” that was in Sunday’s Union-Tribune. My friends have responded with “Right on!” And then they ask: “So, do you think the U-T is on the up and up with all this ‘diversity of ideas’ talk?” And to that I say: I do. But we’ll just have to see, won’t we? I mean this is a “new category” of “new territory” for me. But my optimism lies simply in that they solicited me.

It’s been two, baby
Two years since
You went away…

Yet it feels just like yesterday. And I still miss you like it was yesterday. But I’m getting better everyday. Now, I have to say, I still find myself shedding tears (tears that will be around forever, I’m thinking) but the deep intense bone and soul searing emotional pain that wore on me for so many months has faded away. I’m learning to be at ease with my sweet and precious memories of you, giving way to the poetry in the imagery that comes to me, like a click from your camera, to play on your photography.

Working to counter military recruiting and demilitarize our schools

I was asked to see if I could rekindle (and I can barely keep a campfire going) energy around leafleting our high schools with information to help students understand and deal with the attempts at militarizing them they’ll find in their schools and in their communities and beyond, as anyone can see in commercials, video games, and every form of media.

Well, it should be obvious that there’s a tremendous need for us, especially those of us who dare to refer to ourselves as “community activists.” We look out for our children when Uncle Sam comes after them with his zest for war, even though some of the organizations and activities that counter the militarization of young people are shrinking nationwide.

I’ve found myself lately thinking of a man everybody, including me, called Mack. My dad. Just about the most laid back human being the world has ever had.

The man was always at ease, a man of simple tastes. I can see him in my mind, chomping on his almost ever present cheap cigar which chokes me even in my memory, sipping some whisky, and uttering that obligatory whispery “ahhh” that drinkers who like their liquor neat always sigh and he’s going about any one of his enterprises: playing solitaire, reading True Crime magazine or crossword puzzling – when he wasn’t playing the piano.

I have six kids I’m proud to call my own and this past Father’s Day, my 54th as a dad, I spent a few moments just thinking about them when I was alone.

Our journey as father and offspring began when I was but 18. My own life, in the scheme of things, seemed to have just begun as I welcomed Debbie, my very first one, into the world. What a darling little girl. She took that frightened teenager who was me and, ever so innately, and ever so gently, guided me with a demeanor of “Hey, I don’t know what I’m doing either – so let’s just go with whatever feels right.”