Dear Candid Yam


When I returned to college at New Paltz in the fall of 1975, after having dropped out for a semester, it was a bit disorienting. Since I had been elected to the Student Government Association (SGA) Financial Council (by a handful of disputed votes – but that’s another story), I gravitated to hanging out in the SGA offices.
The SGA was not happy with the established student newspaper, The Oracle. It wasn’t that the Oracle was saying bad things about them; in fact, the paper was hardly saying ANYTHING about them, having been taking over by a bunch of folks who were concerned about prison reform and the United States policy re: Chile, to the near exclusion of local student issues. And there was one big issue that fall, the representation of students on some college governance committee that intended to cut student participation.
Because of its free speech concern, the SGA was loath to pressure the Oracle to write anything. Instead, it started a newsletter. A guy named David was the editor of the Wind Sun News, published every weekday. It was an odd name more suited to some environmental journal.
Soon, I started reading about some young woman I dubbed Candid Yam, for reasons I will explain some day, and her organization that opposed the governance change. I’d never heard of her, and I knew all the players in activist circles.
One day, I was in the office when Fran, the secretary, was talking to a young woman and called her by name. “So, YOU’RE Candid Yam!” I said. She was startled. Had she made some enemy from her newsletter exposure? No, and in fact we became fast friends.
Meanwhile, I got to be in charge of the events calendar for the WSN. The day before the big rally, I submitted the upcoming events. I was surprised to find that one of the events, some Bible study, I think, hadn’t made it into the galley copy. David took it out because it was taking place at the same time as the rally. I argued that we were the student newsletter and should put in everything that was submitted. This became an amazingly heated argument. Cheech, the Comptroller of the Financial Council, came in, took my side in the argument and shut down the WSN, effective after that newsletter.
The rally did go on that next day, with CY and I helping to lead the charge.
Later that semester, the WSN was reinstituted under the direction of my then and current friend Judy, and CY and I were staffers. It came out weekly, I believe.
For the following semester CY, a guy named Kevin, and I, nicknamed TR by CY, became co-editors of the WSN, which then came out every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Kevin named himself OP just so we could be collectively called CYTROP.
It was clear that CY was first among equals. She and I had a routine of working on the paper on Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday nights, taking it to the printer that night, then later picking it up MWF to distribute, then go out drinking that night. Ah, the hard drinking journalists. Actually, some of the material we did was pretty good. I wrote about riding around in a village police car with a cop, which I liked and the cops didn’t hate.
CY turned 20 that semester, and was freaking out. A friend of hers, Pam, took her out to dinner, and Kevin and I got the paper to bed early, that is by 11:30 (usually it was closer to 1 a.m.. Or 2. Or even 3.)
She came back to the paper around 11:45, groaned that we were all there, figuring on work for her, so we were able to surprise her with a party.
During some school breaks, I went to visit her home in Westchester County. Mostly we sang. Her father got very angry once when we pooh-poohed our singing ability.
Ultimately, I graduated, but we were in regular contact, with me even crashing on her sofa for a few weeks in the fall of 1977.
I attended her graduation in 1980, and we managed to keep in touch.
Then a few years later, I called her and got her answering machine. This happened several times. Finally, I did get her and she said she’d call me back. Something in her voice said that this was untrue, though I didn’t know why. But I waited a few months, tried calling her again.
Finally, irritated, I sent her back the elephant.
The elephant was this huge, ugly orange and green and white stuffed animal she got as a child, and which she gave to me fairly early on. I figured this would anger her or hurt her, but it would generate a reaction. Nothing.
It’s been a long time now. I did try to track her down through the college alumni association but by the time the book came out, her address had changed.
One of the gifts I got being on JEOPARDY! was something called U.S. Search. I was surprised to find how many people had the same name and date of birth. Anyway, today CY is having a significant birthday. I always remember the date, because it’s arithmetically significant. If she was freaking out at 20, Allah knows how she’s feeling about THIS one. Happy birthday, CY, wherever you are.

Dead Presidents: A Taxing Situation

Abe Lincoln was shot April 14, 1865 and died the next day. So we do “celebrate” the Lincoln assassination by forking over our pennies (and $5s) to the government?

Unfortunately, that got me to thinking Kellyesque weird thoughts:

What have we done for James Garfield, who was shot on July 2 (in his first months in office) in DC but didn’t die until September 19? What did the country do? Chester Arthur was Vice-President, but the 25th Amendment, of course, hadn’t been passed. Did Arthur take over anyway? Inquiring minds want to know. I discovered that if one types in Garfield in Google Images, one finds several pictures of the cartoon feline.

Then there was William McKinley, the only President assassinated in the state of New York, or indeed, north of the Mason-Dixon line, shot September 6, died September 14, 1901, with our youngest President, TR, taking over.

Maybe we can have a joint Garfield-McKinley Memorial Day. Yeah, right – how many Americans can even identify Garfield as a U.S. president? At least McKinley had served a term and has a mountain named for him.

Of course, JFK ended up on the 50-cent piece (not to be confused with the former Curtis Jackson). They changed the name of Cape Canaveral to Cape Kennedy, in honor of his vision of going to the moon. Then they changed it back.
***
Anyway, I didn’t mind filing my income tax, back in the day when I was just using the simple forms 1040A or 1040EZ. Since I’ve been married, though, it has meant itemizing, which never fails to mystify me. I STILL don’t know the difference between ordinary dividends and qualified dividends.

Then there is the Alternative Minimum Tax, allegedly designed to keep the rich from paying nothing, but which somehow has become the bane of the more moderate wage earners.

O.K. Question 45 is about the AMT, which requires that one needs to fill out a worksheet just to answer that one question:

2. Enter the smaller of the amount on Schedule A, line 4 or 2.5% (.025) of the amount on Form 1040, line 38.

But my favorite is this:

7. Enter the amount from Form 8962, line 2

What the heck is Form 8962? I went to the IRS website, but this wasn’t on the list of forms. Finally, I searched the site to discover that 8962 is a form for “Exemption Amount for Taxpayers Housing Individuals Displaced by Hurricane Katrina”. O.K. Bottom line, I spent nearly an hour figuring out one question, the answer of which is ZERO.

Every year is just slightly, maddeningly different. When they came up with the 16th Amendment, which is comprised of merely 30 words, did they envision the monstrosity that the tax code has become?

Fortunately, we have a few extra days to file because the 15th is on a Saturday. Those of us to send our returns to Andover, MA get yet ANOTHER day, because April 17 is Patriot’s Day in Massachusetts. And since I believe we’re going to end up paying, we’re going to s-t-r-e-t-c-h out the process as long as possible.
***
You probably heard that Katrina was retired as a hurricane name, but four other names were retired as well. If memory serves, Stan hit Central America around the same time as the deadly earthquakes in Pakistan, so it didn’t get as much play as it otherwise would have warranted.
***
In his post of April 11, friend Fred noted that I corrected him over Hugh Hefner’s birthday. In answer to that question I got, “How did I know THAT?”, let’s be clear here – I HADN’T marked Hef’s 80th natal celebration on my calendar; I just happened to see a piece on CBS Sunday Morning. Why, I don’t even BUY Playboy, not even for the interviews. And the next time I go to a Playboy mansion will be the first. Or doth he protest too much?

Command

Despite what I said a few weeks ago, based on the ABC-TV website at the time, and contrary to what it says in this week’s PARADE magazine, the next episode of Commander in Chief will NOT be on next Tuesday, April 18 at 9 pm Eastern, it will be on TOMORROW (Thursday), April 13 at 10 pm Eastern.
Someone pointed out that the two actors who played Hawkeye Pierce, Donald Sutherland on Commander, and Alan Alda on West Wing, are now playing Republican members of Congress. It doesn’t seem to reflect their personal choices.

The Departure of MB

One of my library co-workers, Mary Beth, is leaving today. I’m sad about that, for a number of reasons, including the fact that she’s become my friend, some of which is indicated here.

Beyond that, though, is the very real problem facing the remaining three librarians. We were having problems keeping up with the reference pile with the four of us. For three of us, it’ll be that much harder.

Adding to the mix are these factors:
1) we’re all going to a three-day program-wide conference next month, for which we’re doing a presentation that still needs to be done
2) I’m going to a three-day conference next month, for which I’m doing a presentation that still needs to be done
3) The Move

The Move will get its own post mighty soon. Let’s just say for now that I’m NOT happy.

It occurred to me that this will be the fourth major move in less than 14 years on this job.

The first place I worked was on the fifth floor of the old Delaware and Hudson building, commonly referred to as the Castle, the headquarters of SUNY Systems Administration, still usually referred to as SUNY Central, on Broadway in downtown Albany. When I first arrived there, I was in an entranceway, sharing a phone line with the fax, so that when I answered the phone, I wasn’t sure whether I would hear a human voice or an electronically-induced painmaker. Eventually, though, I got an office, shared with one colleague for a year, and another for four. That wasn’t bad, although someone did a building study, which indicated that our organization had the greatest number of people per square foot in the building.

Then we moved around the corner to 41 State Street, the mezzanine, which was awful, at least for me, due to someone’s design that made my (shared) office a passageway between one set of offices and another. Difficult to get work done. I was there for about three years.

But then we moved up to the 7th floor of the same building, and it was great! My own office. No window, but that was OK. It’s been quite civilized for the past three for four years.

And now, move number four, going from downtown to a place oxymoronically named Corporate Woods. As I said, you’ll hear more about that soon. I’m trying to write about it so that it doesn’t sound like a bilious screed. So far, it’s not working.

Effa Manley


Last month, I noted that I was going to be reading about Effa Manley, the first woman in baseball’s Hall of Fame. You’ll note friend Fred’s commenting on former ESPN anchor and current MSNBC commentator Keith Olbermann’s ire at the exclusion of “baseball’s greatest ambassador: Buck O’Neil”. In that rant, he noted that:
“To honor the Negro Leagues, that committee also elected two white owners, J.L. Wilkinson of the Kansas City Monarchs and Effa Manley of the Newark Eagles, whose co-owner husband reportedly traded away at least one of the team‘s players because she was having an affair with that player.”

Fred wished me good luck in my read.

So, what does James Overmyer, author of “Effa Manley and the Newark Eagles”, have to say about these issues?

First off, I don’t know that whether her sex life is a relevant issue, but I’ll get back to that shortly.

On the other topic:

Late in her life…Effa claimed she was not only the illegitimate offspring of a liaison between a seamstress named Bertha Ford Brooks, and a man at whose house she worked, financier John M. Bishop. And since both were Caucasian, Effa in fact was a genetically white person who nevertheless spent her entire life living, without regret, in a black world.
In 1977 she said, “My mother was a white woman. Her first husband was a Negro by whom she had four children. In the course of her sewing, she met my father, who was a wealthy white man…and I was born as a result.” Her mother’s husband, sued the white financier for alienation of Mrs. Brooks’ affection and won a $10,000 settlement.
Mr. and Mrs. Brooks parted company over the affair, and Effa’s mother married another black, B.A. Cole. The family included seven childen, six whose black fathers made them definitely regarded as Negroes, plus Effa, about whom questions were frequently raised…
She could never offer a real reason for choosing to live as a black, even when the truth told to her in her teens [by her mother] might have caused her to abandon a life that would clearly subject her to bias, no matter how subtle…In her old age…she mused: “I’ve often wondered what it would be like to associate with white people.”

So, she was “biologically white”, whatever that means. But she passed for black, something one doesn’t often find. Back at the turn of the 20th century, the U.S. government had very specific terms for mixed race people: mulatto, octoroon, and quadroon, and the Census enumerators were instructed to pay close attention to these distinctions.

Whereas, if she were filling out a Census form in 2000, or indeed for the past few decades, she would be able to determine what race she is. Regarding racial statistics, according to the Census Bureau: “They generally reflect a social definition of race recognized in this country. They do not conform to any biological, anthropological, or genetic criteria.” So, if Effa Manley wanted to identify as black, then she should have been able to do so.

As for her sexual proclivities, Overmyer writes:

Recollections of Effa include accounts of her attraction to some of the Eagles, particularly the irrepressible Terris “the Great” McDuffie. Effa, [her husband] Abe [pictured above with Effa], and McDuffie took the facts of this alleged triangle to their graves…

In any case, whether someone had had an affair generally doesn’t matter in terms of their suitability for baseball’s Hall of Fame, although I believe there is at least one currently HoF-eligible player that has been kept out for that very reason.

I haven’t even touched on how difficult it was for Effa to operate in the male-dominated arena. It’s unfortunate that Olbermann’s concern for O’Neil seemed to cast aspersions on the qualifications of Effa Manley to be in the baseball Hall of Fame.

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