Media Culpability

I run the risk of being labeled an ‘old curmudgeon’ or ‘fuddy-duddy’ when I proclaim that the media in general has been guilty of culpability in news reporting. I’m old enough to remember when Huntley and Brinkly were the anchors we trusted most and Walter Cronkite was the gold standard for national news reporting. My, how things have changed.

A friend of mine has it right when he commented that in so many cases: “The only two assets a news anchor needs today is a pretty face and the ability to read a teleprompter.” Unlike a cafeteria catholic, no self-analysis needed (or wanted.) Heaven forbid, you should think for yourself. I can’t count the number of times I’ve watched a news anchor read the news and ‘we’ both knew he/she had no idea what they were saying. Gobble, gobble, next paragraph, please.

It would seem that the over-the-airwaves national networks and cable channels sometimes act like New York Tabloids. Perhaps not as agrégés as the National Inquirer but certainly not with any more thought or reasoning than is needed just to get by. It’s as if simply reading press releases from the white house or either political party has eliminated the added stress of venting their validity or authenticity or honesty. It’s just easier that way.

Just as financial literary should be taught in schools, I think media literacy should also be part of the core curriculum in any educational institution. Some classes are already out there under the label: Critical Thinking: A must for anyone on the planet who can still think and reason.

Photo courtesy of Amy LaComb

Full disclosure: The following was lifted from Google:

The Center for Media Literacy (medialit.org) defines media literacy as a 21st-century educational framework designed to help individuals access, analyze, evaluate, and create media messages in various formats. This approach emphasizes essential critical thinking and communication skills for navigating a democratic society.[1]

Core Principles (CML):

• Constructed Nature: Messages are built using specific creative languages and rules.
• Interpretation and Influence: Different people interpret messages uniquely, and these messages often reflect specific values and power structures.
• Purpose: Media is often created for profit or influence. [1, 2]

Goal and Inquiry:
The goal is to foster critical, effective communicators rather than censoring content. Key questions for analysis include identifying the creator, recognizing techniques used, evaluating represented values, and understanding the purpose of the message.

The key here is critical thinking whether you’re still in middle school or have entered adulthood. If folks just took the time to listen and calmly evaluate the information thrown at them each day, they would have a much better grasp on what’s ‘really’ happening here and abroad.

Unfortunately, for some folks, it’s simply easier to let others do their thinking for them. Pontifications from social media, the tabloids, Tik Tock and other channels of dis-information allow these robots to let others rule their lives. For each of us, the responsibility to ‘get it right’  rests between our ears in the gray matter above. And while it can take some hard work, that a lot of folks can’t be bothered with, it’s worth the effort.

When I was a Younger Man

On the surface, it might seem conceited of me writing yet another article about myself. Perhaps it’ll be mistaken as some self-absorbed treatise on the wonderment of youth and the trials (slash) tribulations of growing up in the 50’s in the Midwest. Like some opening act or shadowy prelude to my oft-mentioned ‘Lost Years’ during the Sixties. In reality, it’s a sobering realization that the complexity of youth is often realigned as age and maturity gain some foothold on one’s memory.

My Mother appears in these two pictures; the first on her wedding day and the second with some skittish grade-schooler in her own backyard. Yet her presence can be felt in every picture…one vision then, another now.

I can’t say the pictures unleash a floodgate of fond memories drowning my consciousness with warmth. But nor do they harken back to a darker period in my life. Instead, the photos tell a simple story. It was what it was. That would be defined as growing up in a single parent household and raised by an emotionally-vacant woman who was just trying to survive under some very tough circumstances. And she did it with little to no support from other family members. Boyed by her Catholic faith and the resiliency of her rural upbringing this woman made the best of numerous life-changing events in her life.

My mother came from an agrarian culture, much like the woman I would eventually marry. Beneath that façade of modesty was one tough, hard-working and determined woman. With little more than her own mental smarts and street-learned determination my mother made her way through a hard-scrabble, ever-changing world…with two kids under tow and no husband at her side.

I look back at these pictures of myself now and see them quite differently than I have in the past.

I used to see a scared kid unsure of himself with no father or father figure to guide him along. Now, I see a kid heavily influenced by the work ethic and penny-wise attitudes of his mother. She started working at age five by cleaning out the chicken coop. I started working in seventh grade with my first paper route. We both always had/have side hustles going on.

I used to see a teenager desperate to find love and affection and someone to be close to. Now I see an ordinary kid just like every other kid I knew who was searching for love…only I didn’t know it at the time.

I used to see kid so proud of his ROTC training and the Lieutenants bars pinned on his shoulders even if it was only in high school. Now, I see a kid who got the message early on that education was everything and he was determined to pass that on to his own children and grandchildren.

I used to see a young man in his hippie beads trying to express himself with a mother who never quite understood why. Now, I see that same young man in his hippie beads and understand what she was smiling about.  I think I’d be smiling right there alongside her now.

Age and maturity have finally brought clarity to the reality of those pictures now. It’s too late to tell her now but if I could…..I’d tell my mother:

I’ve never said it before, Mom, but you did good. With very little help and lacking any formal education you managed to pull off what a lot of other married women and single mothers weren’t able to do.

You built your home with your own hands; making sure your kids got a good Catholic education. You even managed to finally find the joy of love later on in life. And near and dear to your heart, you were loved by your grandchildren who still treasure their memories of you long after you left for that Novena in the Sky.

I’m sorry I wasn’t able to see the whole picture when I was growing up there alongside you. It was cloudy and vapid back then…and it’s taken a long time for me to put that puzzle together. I should have told you how very proud I was to have you as my mother. I’ve never said that to you before.

But I’m saying it now.

A Gathering Without Class

There were two Bentleys in the driveway and a classic convertible parked in the street. Aside from those glamor queens, the obligatory BMWs, Mercedes, Lexus, and other sundry desert chariots were all scattered about. I would have driven my Camry (I love that car) but the party was only a block away.  ‘High season’ had, once again, begun in Palm Springs.

Snowbirds, seasonal visitors, and other part-timers were returning to the desert and ICNO was there. ICNO, the Indian Canyon Neighborhood Organization, was hosting its annual get-acquainted party for the neighborhood. ICNO sponsors one party in the fall and another in the spring. The events are always hosted at someone’s house in the neighborhood. They’re great fodder for stealing decorating ideas, catching up on neighborhood gossip and renewing acquaintances with other seasonal players in town.

Last fall, the hosting house was a newly remodeled four-level custom designed home owned by two gentlemen from the coast. I always look forward to these parties because of the folks who attend. A lot of them are nearby neighbors and some are active on the ICNO board as I was a couple of years back. Then, there’s usually an eclectic assortment of newcomers rubbing shoulders with the old regulars who have been around since Frank Sinatra stalked the golf course with a martini and close friends under both arms.

The thing I appreciate most about these parties is the lack rarified air so typical of many West Coast gatherings. This isn’t a West Hollywood party where everyone is angling to hook up or a party in the canyons where movie deals are made around the swimming pool. It’s not like the gathering of those closed societies down valley in their cloistered gated communities. ICNO could be like that but never has been.

What sets these neighbors apart is an almost total lack of pretentiousness. These are accomplished folks who are comfortable in their own skin. Yet despite their financial success, they are charming, engaging, and fun to talk to. Most have fascinating backgrounds and abundant stories to share. It’s like meeting other seasoned world travelers who just want to share their travel ad-ventures. No one is there to impress. In fact, the ones who try to impress soon find themselves odd man (or woman) out. It’s a class of folks without a hint of class.

On a more personal level, it’s an interesting dichotomy for me to observe. I have several acquaintances and casual friends who now ‘have money’ but lack the panache to pull off what these folks can. These accidental associates seem to have forgotten where they came from. They were born middle class but feel they have out-grown their roots. They have this subtle need to either be showy or consciously put down those around them who are not as financially well-heeled.

One would think in those circumstances modesty would be the order of the day. One friend hasn’t really ‘arrived’ because she was never on the journey. With a jump start from daddy, it wasn’t affluence earned so (at least in my mind) it would seem best to be a little humble. As for the other friend who did make it on his own, I see no reason to put down those back home with less affluence. Both these folks seem to have forgotten the core values that are an intrinsic part of their common class roots.

Years ago, Sharon spent a great deal of time in her hometown of Wabasha, Minnesota. She was there to help sell her mother’s house, move her mom into assisted living, plus handle a laundry list of chores directly related to her mother’s care. This entailed dealing with the locals on a daily basis.

Wabasha is a small town. Everybody knows everybody else’s business. They either knew Sharon or knew of her; where she went to school, what she did afterwards and where she is now. There are few secrets in a small town. Sharon was constantly on display… but it hardly mattered. She treated everyone as she always has…with respect and common curtesy.

In many ways Palm Springs is a small town little different than Apple Valley. While it’s true Palm Springs has as many Yoga studios as Apple Valley has daycare centers, there are enough similarities to see that both worlds run on parallel tracks. On one level, there are different cultures, tastes and lifestyles between the two cities. Yet on the other end of the spectrum, there are a lot of similarities.

The movie star Alan Ladd once had a hardware store in Palm Springs and used to make home deliveries. Bob Hope used to stroll down Main Street to get his ice cream downtown. A precursor to the rat pack hung out at Chi-Chi’s nightclub and burned the midnight oil at Canyon Country Club.

Canyon Country Club, the precursor to Indian Canyon, had a storied history. Over the years numerous movie stars and noted celebrities made their homes there. Now it’s a curious mixture of gay couples, retired folks from the coast, Canadians and east coast transplants who don’t like the Florida scene. They’ve all come to enjoy our golf courses, spectacular mountain scenery and the whole Palm Springs atmosphere. Indian Canyon carries on that tradition of open hospitality and egos left at the door. There is comfort level here among neighbors equal to that back in Apple Valley.

The ICNO party was a great success. We renewed old acquaintances, made new friends, and planned for a very active season. Sharon and I are very fortunate. We’ve have been able to straddle these two worlds and live comfortably in both…without losing sight of where we came from.