Our Lord of Christ Computer
xAnswers all to those who ask
And offers Priests to teach and tutor,
xOthers who need more time in task.
xxBy inputting their deepest dreams,
The supplicants leave little to speculation.
xxThis machine outputs in digital stream,
xnxA flowing language of basic revelation.

-December 2013

Stan Salett has been a policy adviser to the Kennedy, Carter, and Clinton administrations and is the author of The Edge of Politics: Stories from the Civil Rights Movement, the War on Poverty, and the Challenges of School Reform and Beyond the Scene He now lives in Kent County, Maryland and has been an advisor to the Spy Newspapers since 2010. 

The 13 American colonies/states during the Revolution and until the ratification of the US Constitution functioned in many ways, like independent countries. In fact, it was their legislatures – not the people – that approved the Constitution, as countries would a treaty. The residents of the 13 states were accustomed to identifying themselves by their state first and were jealous of protecting their local powers, and many still are.  

Thus, there were two principal positions at the Constitutional Convention: one wanted a stronger central government and the other wanted to retain their state powers against a weaker national authority. However, after their almost 13 year experience with the weak, dysfunctional Articles of Confederation, the  majority early on accepted a stronger national government. And the Virginia Plan provided the template. And then there is the directly related Constitutional debate over the “Reserved Powers” (10th Amendment: “The powers not delegated to the United States, nor prohibited by it to the states, are preserved to the states respectively or to the people.” )

However, the conflict over states rights, even after the Civil War reconfirmed the dominance of the Union, continues in 2023. States pass legislation on important issues, that differ from one another, the national consensus and/or the Federal Constitutional position. The states rights’ squabbles now play out in the Federal court system.   

Another vocal group  in 1787, were those who feared that strong states or the powerful Federal Government could crush individuals.  Thus, the Bill of Rights , the first 10 Amendments to the Constitution, were added prior to ratification, giving the Feds authority to protect personal rights, e.g. to practice their religion, to assemble, free speech etc. 

By the middle of the 19th Century though, it became clear that a central government that did nothing regarding individuals participating in the US Congress and/or Executive Branch, was allowing a small minority of very wealthy people from Southern states, to take over the country and threaten to control the people. Thus, Abraham Lincoln and U.S. Grant and millions of Americans learned, at great cost) what their government could do, to impose equal rights before the law, equal access to resources and more, that were embodied in the 13th, 14th and 15th Amendments. All of which strengthened the hand of the Federal Government. 

Similarly, early in the 20th Century the damaging impact of industrialization expanded the role of the Central Government again, to protect individual workers from abuse by wealthy owners of giant corporations.  Once more the Feds stepped in, this time to rein in industrialists and to regulate how they did business. The strategic goal was to level the economic playing field. 

In the 1930s, following the catastrophe of the Great Depression, the FDR Administration added more missions to the USG. It created organizations to provide work for millions of unemployed Americans and ultimately introduced a basic social safety net. 

As we move through the 21st Century, most, but not all, Americans accept the evolving list of USG tasks and the authority of the Federal Government to continue to protect equal rights, to maintain a more or less level economic playing field as well as an effective social safety net. 

None of us knows specifically what comparable existential events will challenge us in the decades ahead, but the ability of our Federal Government to address them successfully, as in the past, should be a given. 

Tom Timberman is an Army vet, lawyer, former senior Foreign Service officer, adjunct professor at GWU, and economic development team leader or foreign government advisor in war zones. He is the author of four books, lectures locally and at US and European universities. He and his wife are 24 year residents of Kent County.

This is controversial: Maybe it’s time to rethink smoke detectors. Let me explain.

On a rainy evening after a long week not long ago, I had just settled down with a carb-heavy dinner and a soothing British period drama when an ominous chirrup shattered the quiet, and along with it any hope of a cozy tranquil night. OH NO! The pitiless call of a needy smoke alarm awoke a stabbing dread in my heart.

Thoughts of fire or suffocating from an unseen noxious gas never entered my mind. No, a far more terrifying fate was in store. My fears were confirmed moments later by another round of staccato chirps and then, even worse, a mocking silence. I sat in a hypervigilant state, heart pounding, pupils dilated, and nerves on edge, frozen in anticipation of the next aural assault, my sense of time kaleidoscoped by the waiting… the waiting… the waiting…

The moments ticked by, just long enough to con my nervous system into lowering its guard. Just as my pulse normalized and my focus returned to the rugged Yorkshire countryside and my warm, cheesy supper, BAM! As inexorable as death and taxes, three more laryngitic bleeps shrieked into the dark with sadistic glee and quieted before I could begin to suss out their point of origin. The source was almost certainly not where it belonged on the ceiling of a hall or bedroom inside the warm, dry house, where I could deal with it in good lighting. Oh no, this hazing ritual would have no such easy fix. How could I be so sure, you ask? Easy: our smoke detectors had long since been hastily dislocated from their proper locations, in incidents involving things like bacon or the fireplace flue.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not comfortable going commando vis a vis smoke detectors. Sparky the Fire Dog is embedded in my earliest neural pathways, so I’m fully aware it’s only a matter of time before we’re engulfed in flames. But life is to be lived, at least until the inferno, and this old world is stressful enough without earsplitting false alarms at breakfast time. Of course we had ripped the smoke detectors from the ceiling at some point, tossing them onto the porch, where the fresh air would make them Shut Up Already. Do I feel good about it? No. Has life been more peaceful since? It absolutely has.

A jilted smoke detector harbors a stunning level of narcissistic cruelty, expressed in a charming safety mechanism, used to demand attention when its battery is dying or it’s otherwise not in good working order. The system is, whenever a unit randomly decides it’s lonely, it emits a triplet of shrill, unignorable BLIPS, like an attention-seeking toddler chanting “Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. MomMomMom. Mom.” Only unlike a toddler, after those three cute but ear-splitting blips, it waits with malicious delight as you stare dumbly at the shards of your peace of mind scattered at your feet. Each chirp is just a fraction of a second long. The ear has no hope of identifying a location. The silent lull that follows is fiendishly timed to last just a few moments more than a human attention span. It’s kind of like playing a really slow game of Hot and Cold, but the only clue is “cold.” Ironically. It’s a system designed for torment.

So it’s a cold and rainy night, dark as a coal mine, and that alarm is getting its revenge. Frantically problem-solving, I get the brilliant idea to time the silent interval, so my echolocation powers can be at the ready for the next set of chirps. This strategy is successful as far as it goes, but it really just confirms that the device is indeed somewhere in the depths of the dark porch. When I try to home in on it, the sound just bounces around, sending me on a series of wild goose chases into damp and cobwebby corners.

“Chirp! Chirp! Chirp!” Move to the other side of the porch. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Shiver. Cold droplets on my neck. Stare at the stopwatch. Wait. Ok… almost time… get ready… Ears on alert. NOW! “Chirp! Chirp! Chirp!” Dammit, it doesn’t sound any closer! Where is it coming from? It’s everywhere! Maybe in this damp cardboard box? Nope, just ancient weatherstripping and a socket wrench in there. Ugh. Ok, three steps in this direction. Wait. Wait. Shiver…

It’s quickly clear that this operation is doomed until daybreak. I resign myself to an evening of torture and, with the benefit of sunlight the next morning, I’m able to find the alarm. Unearthed from the bottom of a pile of old ping pong paddles and someday yard sale items, the unmuffled sound is eardrum-piercing. It chirps on, merry. Intermittent. Ruthless. I can’t just put it out in the trash barrel; it wouldn’t be fair to the neighbors, and is probably not environmentally responsible, so I google desperately for a customer service number. After I refuse to feed my contact info into yet another insidious database, the nice lady on the phone officially recommends that I “wrap it in a towel or something and maybe if you have a garage, put it out there until the battery dies.” FANTASTIC. (I don’t have a garage).

Could I take it to the fire department? Sparky the Fire Dog would definitely arrest me. Also, I’d have to either drive with that infernal noise in my car, or walk down the street carrying it in ignominy. I ruefully wrap the thing in a towel and leave it outside the back door, wishing it a swift and very painful death.

48 hours pass.

Suddenly the alarm SHRIEKS. LOUDER THAN EVER. PROLONGED SIREN-LIKE WAILS. It’s unconscionable, even wrapped in a towel and outdoors on the far side of the house. I fear Chestertonians showing up with pitchforks, so I google “Can you smash smoke detector with a hammer,” only to learn that even wanton violence might not stop the sound.

I try the 800 number again, and this time I get a much more self-assured weekday customer service professional. I’m a hollow husk of a person by now, so I cave and provide my phone number. I will receive spam calls until the end of time. I start to explain my dilemma, but Call Center Guy interrupts, telling me to slide the switch on the back of the device to “off,” as indicated on the back. Shockingly, I had tried that before I called the first time, because I can read and follow directions. CCG wants the model number, so I tiptoe outside to unwrap the alarm from the towel, which has been providing at least some degree of sound absorption. While I worry about my ears bleeding, CCG continues to ask questions. Finally, without his help, I discover that sliding the switch back into the ON position stops the shrieking. Naturally.

In the blessed quiet, CCG’s tone grows even more contemptuous. He says I need to vacuum the dust out of the device, insultingly (if accurately) insinuating that I haven’t kept up with  my proper monthly maintenance. It dawns on me that he’s trying to tell me how to keep this infernal contraption alive even though it’s clearly no longer trustworthy, and also will possibly lead to murder, or suicide, or both. I explain that I absolutely do not want to restore the unit’s ability to chirp. He says, “if you want to disable the alarm [unspoken: you dumb broad], you have to slide the switch all the way under the tab, but then you won’t be able to use it, ever again” [unspoken: you deserve to die in a fire]. “Awesome,” says I, immediately sliding the tab. CCG continues talking at me. I say “Thank you” and hang up.

So I guess we’re currently in violation of the Maryland law requiring smoke alarms with sealed, 10-year batteries on every level of the home, and we have been for a while now (since the last Bacon Incident, probably). I suppose we’ll need to replace the one I disabled and can’t use ever again. But let’s be honest. We’ll surely end up right back on the same merry-go-round. A system to let people know when smoke detectors need attention is a good idea, and I truly appreciate the good intentions behind it. But now that we see how works in the real world, it could maybe use some adjustment. How about coming up with a system for people who occasionally burn their breakfasts and would sprain a wrist trying to vacuum a device attached to the ceiling?

Maria Wood traveled throughout the country as production and tour manager for award-winning musician David Grover, with whom she co-founded a non-profit organization dedicated to enhancing education and fostering positive social change through music and music-making.  She returned to school mid-career, earning a BA in American Studies and a Certificate in Ethnomusicology from Smith College. More recently, she has written and taught on the meaning and impact of the musical Hamilton, served as Deputy Campaign Manager for congressional candidate Jesse Colvin and was Executive Director of Chestertown RiverArts. She lives in a multigenerational human/feline household in Chestertown. 

Their Eyes Speak Louder Than Words

A little over a year ago I took our 16-year-old black lab to be euthanized. Years of chasing a tennis ball coupled with the inevitable ravages of old age resulted in severe arthritis and a steadily diminishing quality of life for her.

Her eyes told us — “It is time.”

I took her on her last ride to the vet, laid on the floor with her, stroked her head, said goodbye, and held her as she painlessly and quietly took her last breath.

After we buried her in our yard (something we have done with every one of our former pets), I said to my wife, “I can hardly stand thinking about this happening again. We now have another hole in our hearts that will never go away. No more dogs beyond keeping our other senior dog.”

Two days later she said, “I have a picture and a story about a dog to share with you.” The picture was of Josie. Her story was she was pushed from a car in Texas and abandoned with eleven unborn puppies. Fortunately, a witness to her predicament took her to an animal shelter. They took her in, but it was made clear that due to overcrowding, she would be euthanized if she was not adopted. My wife said “Look at her eyes. They are silently saying – “I need you and you need me.” She also reminded me that while the holes in our hearts from the loss of all our beloved pets will never go away; they can be made to grow smaller.

Four weeks later, after giving birth to her puppies we brought Josie (now Maisie) to her new home. Prior to then, all her puppies also found new homes.

The rescue organization told us about the rule of three for rescued dogs. They need three days to explore their new surroundings. They need three weeks to get comfortable with those new surroundings. They need three months to settle in. They told us – “Please be patient with her, she has been through a lot.”

When we took Maisie into our home she wandered through and smelled every room. She met our cats and our dog. She even met our ducks in their backyard pen. All the meetings were uneventful. No growling, no chasing, and no fights. It was an indication of things to come. Later that night, Maisie climbed into our bed. When we scratched her ears, she let out a deep sigh and her eyes silently said “I like it here. I want to stay.”

Fast forward to today. She is more than settled in. She has turned out to be the best dog we have ever had, and we have had many great ones. The biggest adjustment was getting her into our truck for rides. Based on her dumping and abandonment experience, she was terrified of getting anywhere near any vehicle. After four months of bribing her with treats and McDonald’s burgers, we succeeded in taking her on short rides that always ended with her safely back home. The results have been heartwarming. She now wants to go EVERYWHERE with us. If we jingle the keys, she comes running from a sound sleep and waits impatiently at the door. Her eyes now “say” — C’mon guys, let’s go. I have places to go, people to see and things to do (mostly watching out the window knowing these rides will end well).

Maisie is a constant reminder of the story about the young boy on an ocean beach picking up stranded starfish and throwing them back into the water. A passerby tells him there are countless stranded starfish on this beach and you cannot make a difference for all of them. As the young boy picks up another one and returns it to the water he says –”Maybe so, but I just made a difference for that one.”

Sadly, there are countless dogs, cats, and other creatures like our Maisie that have been abandoned or given up on through no fault of their own. They need and they deserve good homes. They need someone to make a difference for them.

We hope that in sharing our experience with Maisie; more people will consider rescuing dogs, cats, and other creatures. Yes, they will die. Yes, it is very hard to bear the grief that happens when they do. It has been said some of the best days of your life happen with your pets and only one of the worst days occurs when they die. Their legacies are wonderful memories that with patience, love, and attention they will return deep loyalty and unconditional love.

Their eyes will speak louder than words.

David Reel is a public affairs/public relations consultant who serves as a trusted advisor on strategy, advocacy, and media matters who resides in Easton.