Opinion
Ship to Shore
From Gazette editions of October, 1933:
I have been thinking a great deal lately about a word that is flying around out there. The word is change. It is the buzz word of Obama supporters, a monosyllabic beacon of hope in an ominous, oncoming perfect storm of globalproportions. While the word evokes hopefulness in the hearts of most Democrats, it conjures up suspicion, incredulity, evendread for many Republicans.
Certain aspects of the Wall Street meltdown are not unlike the great Ponzi scheme foisted on investors by Charles Ponzi who promised a 75 per cent return on investment in 45 days and 100 per cent return in 90 days to investors in Montreal in 1919. Just as the floor fell out from under those duped by investors, it was predicted by many economists who were watching this unprincipled scheme that the same would happen on Wall Street, where mortgages were sold down the line, each taking a cut until the money stopped flowing and collapsed into the mess we see today.
Our last unforgettable visit to Dean Sayre’s home in Vineyard Haven was on Saturday, August 9. I had called him on Wednesday, August 6 and talked with him about our planned visit with my husband, Mana Sanguansook and the King of Thailand Birthplace Foundation officer, Charles Intha. He recognized me on the phone and we planned for a visit. The nurse was a little concerned when she learned that we planned to arrive on the Island on the 10:30 a.m. ferry because he always got up around noontime and could no longer walk a mile.
The 90 walkers apparently raised $20,000 - plus last Sunday, Oct. 19 when they and at least five dogs (four of them had money pledges riding on them) made the annual crop walk. Tony Peak, in kilts with his bagpipes, led the round-trip march from Vineyard Haven and back, and Tristan Israel was the grand marshal on this walk to raise money so Church World Service/Crop may feed and provide for the hungry on-Island and in 80 other countries.
October Days
A screech owl has been trilling outside the farmhouse this week, his voice soft and full of vibrato in the gathering darkness. Late autumn has arrived slowly this year, like a modest young girl at the ocean’s edge, reluctant to shed her terrycloth beach robe. Warm, Indian summer days lured us out onto the pond to dipnet for scallops with an old friend. We shucked the day’s catch with the sound of the Red Sox in the background, pennant hopes still alive.