Commentary
No one ever walked away from a conversation with Tom Hale and said: “I wonder what he wanted to tell me”? Tom embraced life in all its complexity, passionately and fully. He cared deeply about the world around him, its past, its present and especially its future.
Martha’s Vineyard is a perfect place to start a life. Especially in the fall. A time for renewal. A time to re-tool. The next best thing to moving here is marrying here. The perfect place to start a life — together.
And the cry rings out, “A.P. did it!” I think
he’d be tickled. It’s an honor bestowed on each and every one of us on our way down to the cemetery. A.P. built most of the houses on the island. For 40 years he was the town builder, mason, plumber, architect, electrician and building inspector. Since his death he has become solely responsible for every single piece of bad building ever perpetrated on this rock. He has singlehandedly absolved every one of us of our sins. He is a saint, the patron saint of scapegoats.
I missed Angela Davis’s description last month of life on
Palestine’s West Bank when she was there on behalf of Jewish Voice for Peace. I did, however, read last week’s letters about her talk and Alan M. Dershowitz’s attack of her view of the inhumanity to West Bank residents. I add to the discussion now only because, just six months ago, I, too, was a visitor there.
I went there from Israel.
Last Friday, pressed for time, I
took the evening Cape Air flight to Boston, having enjoyed a few days alone after settling my daughters at their colleges on opposite coasts. Summer was over and I was of course sad to be leaving the Vineyard and already missing the people I didn’t have time to see and things I didn’t have time to do, feeling a bit beleaguered by all the “letting go” thrust upon me in one week.
The airport was so still and quiet I thought I had the time wrong, but the attendant said there were only two passengers.
Can’t get there from here. Bert and I said it first,
but Chappaquiddick truly took the sentiment to heart. Giving (or receiving) directions on Chappy is nothing if not impossible. Sisyphus himself would have said “aw, screw it” after the third run-through of the same direction to the same person.
There are markers on Chappy, real landmarks that denote location, which are fine if the location that you’re describing is within 10 yards of that landmark. Any further and you must rely on the ever-changing mailbox or disappearing street post.