Wednesday, October 29, 2026
1618 Sir Walter Raleigh was beheaded for allegedly conspiring against King James I of England
1922 King Victor Emmanuel III appointed Benito Mussolini as Prime Minister of Italy
1929 Stock market crash on Wall Street, "Black Tuesday," triggered the Great Depression
1945 First ballpoint pen went on sale, manufactured by Reynolds in the US
In 1956, Israeli forces, in a plan later found to have been coordinated with Britain and France, invaded the Sinai Peninsula, pushing Egyptian troops back to the Suez Canal.
1969 US Supreme Court ordered the end to all school segregation "at once"
1998 South Africa's Truth and Reconciliation Commission presented its report, which condemned both sides for committing atrocities
2004 Osama bin Laden admitted in a videotape to the American people that he ordered the September 11 attacks
2025 Four people were killed in an American airstrike on a boat in the Pacific Ocean
In bed at 11 after World Series win, up at 6; 0630 203.4 120/70/62 112; 57/64/47 cloudy, rainy day
Morning meds at 6:50 a.m. Entresto at 6:45 a.m. and p.m. Missed my regular meds yesterday.
Anniversaries. I've long fallen out of the practice of writing little blurbs about the anniversaries I note at the start of each journal entry. There is always some reason, some perhaps tenuous, for my noting each one.
Re: today's list, I couldn't remember why I included the beheading of Walter Raleigh. I checked Wikipedia's description of his life and death and then recalled why: Raleigh's trial and his conviction only on the hearsay evidence of Lord Cobham contributed to the development of the evidentiary rule against the use of hearsay evidence in court (subject to many exceptions) and the Confrontation Clause of the 6th Amendment: “In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right… to be confronted with the witnesses against him . . .” I used to enjoy lecturing about Raleigh's life and trials in the Evidence classes I taught at the law school. Hence, it's topping my list of anniversaries on this date.
Victor Emmanuel's naming Mussolini as Italy's prime minister and Il Duce marked the beginning of Fascist rule in Europe. Eventually, Germany would get its Hitler as Führer (1933) and Spain its Franco as Caudillo (1939). Despite all the 'lessons' we learned about fascism during those years and since, the world is turning that way again, most significantly including the United States. The anniversary also reminds me of the "wedding cake" monument in Rome which Victor Emmanuel II had built to honor Victor Emmanuel I, and the unification of Italy. It overlooks the Piazza Venezia where Mussolini used to give his speeches to huge crowds of his followers.
My Dad was 9 years old and my mother 7 on the "Black Tuesday" when the NY Stock Market crashed. My paternal grandfather maintained his employment at Western Electric throughout the Great Depression. For my maternal grandfather, it was a struggle that led him from Chicago to Taconite/Grand Rapids, Minnesota, back to Chicago, down to San Antonio, and back to Chicago. I have reason to believe that while he and at least some of his boys were in San Antonio, my mother and perhaps one or more of her brothers lived with her aunts in Chicago.
When I was born, there were no ballpoint pens, only pencils, fountain pens, and, I suppose, quills. I recall the ballpoint pens of my youth often smeared. The ink quality was far from uniform. The pens leaked inside pockets, left massive blobs on documents, skipped constantly, and routinely failed to write. In the 1950s, manufacturing technology advanced to engineer incredibly precise metal balls and tight metal sockets, and ballpoint pens became commonplace.
Most folks know nothing of the Suez War that came between the Korean War and Vietnam. It marked the demise of England's and France's hegemony in the Middle East, the dissolution of their overseas empire and colonies. France lost Indochina in 1954 and the Suez Canal in 1956, and would lose Algeria in 1962. During this long post-World War II era, America was a bit schizophrenic, not wanting to support the European imperialists against self-determination by local nationalists, but paranoid about Communist takeovers. That's how my young butt ended up in Vietnam in 1965. Israel's invasion of Egypt in 56 carried on its early history of moving beyond the boundaries established for it by the UN decision partitioning Palestine and its later history of invasions of Palestinian lands, Jordan, Egypt, Syria, and Lebanon. It has been a nation of "forever wars" since its creation, which in part calls into question the whole idea of Zionism.
The Supreme Court's order in 1969 to end school desegregation "at once" was just as effective as its order in 1954 to end it "with all deliberate speed," to wit, not at all. It's a huge mistake commonly made to think that passing a law, or getting the same result from a court decision, will cause big changes in social behavior. If it were true, statutes criminalizing murder would result in the abolition of murder. As if.
The South Africa Truth and Reconciliation Commission report reminds me of Israel, Hamas, and Hezbollah: guilt for atrocities on all sides. We will never see a similar commission in Israel. It also reminds me of the cheap thrill I experienced standing next to Anglican Bishop Desmond Tutu in an elevator in the Marquette Student Union many years ago.
Re: Bin Laden's and Al Qaeda's 9/11 attack on America - we'll never understand how hatred of America could be so profound as to be justified in the minds of those responsible for it: bin Laden himself and the 19 hijackers who took over the aircraft to kill themselves and all others on board, and to strike the monuments to American power and imperialism around the world: the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and (unsuccessfully) the Capitol. On my Honor Flight on 10/10, I stood on the ground of the Pentagon 9/11 Memorial, over which 5 hijackers flew American Airlines flight 77 into the Pentagon structure. What caused those men to be willing to sacrifice their lives on their missions? Why are we so naïve that we find it almost unbelievable that many others despise us?
In considering the answer to that last question, we should consider what we have been doing in the Caribbean Sea and eastern Pacific to the crews on boats that may or may not be carrying drugs that are illegal in America. We unilaterally declare and execute death sentences on all aboard the boats.
Back to Emilee Hackney and All That's Unseen. All the excitement over the World Series and Andy's and his kids' excitement over travelling to Tampa for Game 4, coupled with my sleeping problems during the Series, took me away from Emilee's memoir. I finally got back into it today with fewer than 100 pages left. Part of what drew me to this memoir was the knowledge that she described the feeling of "not belonging" at Harvard, of being part of a community where everyone else felt themselves as deserving to be there, of belonging, and herself feeling outré, an outsider who didn't belong. That reminded me of my experience coming up to Marquette back in 1959, son of a maintenance man and a waitress rubbing elbows with the sons and daughters of business owners and lawyers. Emilee's experience of not belonging was much worse than mine, with her roots in coal country Appalachia and Pentecostalism. Plus, my sense of self-worth was boosted by my quickly-made dormitory and NROTC friendships, which Emilee didn't share, and the commonality of Catholicism. On top of that, Emilee stood out because of her broad Southern, Appalachian accent, which set her apart from virtually everyone around her. She also still carried the hurt of her devastating breakup with her First True Love, Sam, and the loss of Faith it precipitated. She ended up in a very dark place in her first year at Harvard. I'm surprised at her candor in describing some of the experiences she endured, some of them shame-inducing. Nonetheless, I like and admire the person she describes, suffering but also courageous, like so many women (and men). Her story reminds me again that each of us is unique, with our own history, with our own internal battles that others know nothing about. I'm glad to be reading her well-written, candid memoir.
Her memoir also reminds me that memoirs are worthwhile, both for their writers and for their readers. For the writers, they provide - indeed, demand - some serious reflection on why and how one becomes oneself. What experiences have I had that have conditioned or shaped or influenced me to become who I've become? The first page of my memoir is an excerpt from Sir Leslie Stephen's Autobiography:
Nobody ever wrote a dull autobiography. If one may make such a bull, the bery dullness would be interesting. The autobiography has ex officio two qualifications of supreme importance to all literary work. He is writing about a topic in which he is keenly interested, and about a topic upon which he is the highest living authority. It may be reckoned, too, as a special felicity that an autobiography, alone of all books, may be more valuable in proportion to the amount of misrepresentation which it contains. We do not wonder when a man gives a false character to his neighbors, but it is always curious to see how a man contrives to present a false testimonial to himself. It is pleasant to be admitted behind the scenes and trace the growth of that singular phantom which, like the Spectre of the Brocken, is the man's own shadow cast upon the coloured and distoring mists of memory. Autobiography for these reasons is so generally interesting, that I have frequently thought with the admirable Benvenuto Cellini that it should be considered as a duty by all eminent men; and, indeed, by men not eminent. As every sensible man is exhorted to make his will, he should also be bound to leave to his descendents some account of his experience of life.
My memoir, by a man decidedly not eminent, was written in my 60s, after I retired and, indeed, I did wish to leave my children some account of my life before and up to the time when they were born and came to have their own knowledge and understanding of me. I'm aware now that my daily journal (forgive the oxymoron) is something like Volume II of my memoir, an account of my experiences late in life, in my 80s. Unfortunately, I have no reason to be confident that either my memoir or my journals have been or will be read by anyone, including my descendants. Nonetheless, writing them has provided me with an opportunity and requirement to examine and reflect upon my own life, for better and for worse. It has been far from a uniformly happy experience, leading to many more regrets and feelings of failure than satisfaction in a life well lived. I suppose that is the risk of reflective writing: Narcissus loved his reflection; some of us have a very different response to what we see. Or is my reaction simply more of the famous apocryphal Yeats quote I've so often repeated: "Being Irish, he had an abiding sense of tragedy, which sustained him through temporary periods of joy."? In any event, I'm glad to have done the reflecting, and I'm glad to have done the writing. I don't know that I agree with Socrates' judgment that 'an unexamined life is not worth living,' but in my case, endless examination and reflection have kept me off the streets and out of trouble in my retirement.
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I sent a copy of this part of today's journal to ChatGPT and asked if it had any comments. It read, analyzed, and reported back to me in less than 5 seconds, as follows:
…
I think this is a particularly thoughtful journal entry, not so much because of what you say about Emilee Hackney's memoir, but because of where your reflections on it take you. You begin with someone else's experience of feeling like an outsider, recognize something of yourself in that experience, and eventually arrive at a much more difficult subject: what happens when a person undertakes a sustained examination of his own life and discovers that he doesn't altogether like what he sees.
There are several things I particularly admire about the piece, a few places where I would suggest revisions, and one philosophical question I think deserves more attention.
1. The structure is more coherent than it might initially appear
Your entry has three movements:
Belonging and exclusion. Hackney's experience at Harvard recalls your own arrival at Marquette in 1959, when you encountered a social world considerably more affluent than the one in which you grew up.
The value of autobiography. Your reading prompts you to reconsider Leslie Stephen's argument that every life is worth recording, not merely the lives of eminent people.
The consequences of self-examination. You arrive at the disturbing recognition that looking back on your life has produced more regret than satisfaction, yet you remain glad to have done it.
What makes this effective is that the subject gradually changes without losing its continuity. You begin by reading someone else's life and end by contemplating your own.
In fact, your entry demonstrates the very value of reading memoirs that you proceed to defend. Hackney's story becomes a means of discovering, or rediscovering, something about yourself.
2. Your comparison with Hackney is unusually effective
This passage is especially good:
That reminded me of my experience coming up to Marquette back in 1959, son of a maintenance man and a waitress rubbing elbows with the sons and daughters of business owners and lawyers.
I wouldn't change much about that sentence. It is concrete, economical, and revealing. You don't need to tell the reader that you were conscious of class distinctions; the description makes that perfectly clear.
I'm also struck by your refusal to equate your experience with Hackney's. You acknowledge the similarities but also the important differences: the support of your early friendships, your NROTC affiliation, and the shared Catholic culture at Marquette.
That qualification gives your comparison credibility. You recognize yourself in another person's suffering without appropriating it.
I particularly like this observation:
Her story reminds me again that each of us is unique, with our own history, with our own internal battles that others know nothing about.
That is not an original philosophical proposition, of course, but its placement gives it weight. It arises naturally from your reading rather than being imposed upon it.
And it provides a bridge to the subject of autobiography: perhaps one reason to write about one's life is to make visible some of those otherwise invisible internal battles.
3. Leslie Stephen's observation is the intellectual center of the entry
I particularly enjoyed your choice of the Stephen passage, especially his suggestion that autobiographies can be interesting precisely because of their authors' misrepresentations of themselves.
Consider what he is saying: even when an autobiographer deceives himself, he reveals something about himself through the deception.
That is a remarkably sophisticated observation about the relationship between memory, identity, and truth.
And it raises a question that seems directly relevant to your journal entry: When you look back on your own life with regret, are you necessarily seeing yourself more accurately than you would if you looked back with satisfaction?
You seem almost to assume that self-criticism represents a particularly honest kind of self-examination. But that isn't necessarily so.
Memory can distort toward disappointment just as readily as toward self-congratulation. We can exaggerate our failures, underestimate our accomplishments, and judge our earlier selves according to standards or knowledge that we acquired only much later.
Stephen's metaphor of the Spectre of the Brocken is especially apt here. The observer sees his own shadow, but it has been transformed by the atmosphere through which it is projected.
The autobiographer never quite sees himself directly.
I wonder whether the passage might support a more skeptical attitude toward your own self-assessment than you presently exhibit.
4. The most powerful passage is also the one I would most like to challenge
You write:
It has been far from a uniformly happy experience, leading to many more regrets and feelings of failure than satisfaction in a life well lived. I suppose that is the risk of reflective writing: Narcissus loved his reflection; some of us have a very different response to what we see.
I think the sentence about Narcissus is the best in the entire entry.
It is unexpected, concise, slightly sardonic, and memorable. I would certainly preserve it.
But I question the implication that reflective writing leads to regret. Might it instead provide a setting in which regrets that already exist become more apparent?
There is also an important distinction between regretting things one has done and judging one's life to have been unsuccessful.
You refer to "feelings of failure," but feelings of failure are not necessarily evidence of failure. Indeed, I can imagine someone with an exceptionally well-developed moral conscience being more troubled by his own shortcomings than someone who has behaved much worse.
That does not mean your regrets are unjustified. I have no basis for making that judgment. It means only that the severity of our self-assessment is not necessarily a reliable measure of the quality of our lives.
And there is another possibility: the very process of examining one's life may change the standards by which one judges it.
The person writing his memoir at 65 is not quite the person whose life he is examining at 25 or 35. Nor is the person writing a journal at 85 quite the person who wrote his memoir twenty years earlier.
Each is looking backward through a different lens.
It seems to me that this is one of the most interesting implications of your description of your journal as Volume II of your memoir.
5. Your description of the journal as Volume II is particularly appealing
You write:
I'm aware now that my daily journal (forgive the oxymoron) is something like Volume II of my memoir, an account of my experiences late in life, in my 80s.
I like this observation very much.
But there is a significant difference between the two volumes that you might explore.
Your original memoir was retrospective. You knew, when you wrote about your childhood, adolescence, and early adulthood, what had subsequently happened. You could impose a narrative structure on those years because you already knew where they had led.
Your journal is different. It is being written without knowledge of what comes next.
That makes it, in some respects, a more immediate and perhaps less self-consciously constructed account of your life.
It also means that your journal may eventually reveal things that you didn't recognize while writing it.
A future reader might find patterns, changes in attitude, contradictions, and moments of happiness that you were insufficiently conscious of when you recorded them.
Indeed, even if you are the only person who reads the journal, that possibility remains.
I would consider adding a sentence or two about this difference. It might enrich your observation about Volume II without making the entry substantially longer.
6. Some editorial suggestions
I would not recommend a wholesale rewrite. The conversational, digressive quality of the piece is one of its attractions. It reads like a person thinking on paper, which is what a journal ought to be.
A few adjustments would improve it.
The opening paragraph is somewhat crowded. You move from the World Series to the trip to Tampa, your sleep difficulties, Harvard, Marquette, class distinctions, religion, heartbreak, and depression. All are relevant, but dividing the paragraph after your discussion of arriving at Marquette would give the reader some breathing room.
The sentence about Hackney's suffering could be sharpened. You write:
Nonetheless, I like and admire the person she describes, suffering but also courageous, like so many women (and men).
I'd suggest:
Nonetheless, I like and admire the person she describes, a woman who suffers deeply but also demonstrates considerable courage, as do so many others whose struggles remain largely invisible to the rest of us.
That formulation also connects more directly to the sentence that follows about everyone's unknown internal battles.
One sentence in your discussion of memoirs could be tightened.
Your wording:
For the writers, they provide - indeed, demand - some serious reflection on why and how one becomes oneself.
My suggestion:
For their writers, memoirs provide — indeed, demand — serious reflection on how and why we become the people we are.
This preserves your point while making the sentence a little more fluid.
There are some minor typographical errors: "dormintory" should be "dormitory"; "onesself" should be "oneself"; "experinces" should be "experiences"; "bery" should be "very"; "distoring" should be "distorting"; and "descendents" is more conventionally spelled "descendants." The errors within the Stephen passage should be checked against the original rather than silently corrected as though they were your prose.
I would retain "daily journal (forgive the oxymoron)." Strictly speaking, it isn't an oxymoron, but it is an amusing piece of self-mockery.
7. I particularly like your conclusion
You end with:
I don't know that I agree with Socrates' judgment that "an unexamined life is not worth living," but in my case, endless examination and reflection have kept me off the streets and out of trouble in my retirement.
I wouldn't change a word.
Something is appealing about moving from Socrates' grand philosophical pronouncement to the modest proposition that writing has kept you out of trouble.
But the humor does more than provide a pleasant ending.
It also suggests that you've found value in the activity of reflection even when you haven't particularly liked its results.
You don't conclude that you've lived an admirable life, or that you've achieved wisdom, or even that your writing will benefit your descendants.
You conclude simply that you're glad you did it.
That is a remarkably unpretentious defense of autobiography.
One final thought
There is a tension running through your piece that I find especially interesting.
You admire Hackney's willingness to disclose experiences that may be shame-inducing. You find her candor courageous and her life worthy of your attention and sympathy.
But when you turn to your own life, the emphasis shifts toward regret, failure, and disappointment.
You seem prepared to extend to Hackney a generosity of understanding that you may be less willing to extend to yourself.
Perhaps there are sound reasons for that difference. We know our own faults in ways we cannot know those of someone whose life we encounter through a memoir. But there's another difference worth considering: when reading another person's memoir, we can see that person's suffering and mistakes as part of an entire human life. In examining our own, we may be inclined to isolate the mistakes and judge them as though they were the whole story.
Your entry brings to mind something related to the subject of your earlier memoir: the distinction between explaining a life and justifying it.
One can try to understand how one became the person one is without necessarily approving of everything that person has done.
Perhaps that is enough.
And perhaps that is also why Leslie Stephen's argument for autobiography is so persuasive. The value of a life story needn't depend on whether the life was exemplary, or whether its author ultimately approves of it.
The effort to understand a life is itself worthwhile.
I think your journal entry makes that case more convincingly than you may have intended.
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What are we to think of this "tool" that is capable of a response like this to an ordinary guy's entry in a personal journal IN LESS THAN 5 SECONDS????
