Bro. Anthony Ambrogio, RIP

Early in my junior year of high school I was opening my American literature textbook to the proscribed page when I was jolted by a shriek that came from the front of the room. Everyone looked up and the teacher, Bro. Anthony Ambrogio, was staring at a pair of students who'd slid their desks together so one could "look on" with the other. This was not allowed in Bro. Anthony's class, and needless to say no one in my class ever forgot his book again.

Bro. Anthony passed away a week ago at age 76. At Savio, he was easily the most feared teacher in the school. Everyone dreaded junior year, and his class was the most orderly and intense I ever had. We had to write a many-paged paper titled "The Evolution of American Thought," which was the longest and most important assignment I had in high school..

Bro. Anthony was always intense and he wore a black suit, white shirt and black tie to class every day, but the strangest thing about him was that he was a completely different person when you saw him outside of school. I was a Boys & Girls Club member at the time and, being that both Savio and the Club were run by the Salesian order, Bro. Anthony popped in a few times while I was there. He joked and laughed, which he never did in class, and at first that caught me off-guard.

I got a letter last week from a Savio classmate of mine. There are plans for a 30th reunion in the works, and I'm sure we'll tell some Bro. Anthony stories when we get together. My, how the time does fly.

Photo courtesy EastBoston.com.

R.I.P.: J.D. Salinger

He suddenly got to his feet. He looked at the ocean. "Sybil," he said, "I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll see if we can catch a bananafish."

"A what?"

"A bananafish," he said, and undid the belt of his robe. He took off the robe. His shoulders were white and narrow, and his trunks were royal blue. He folded the robe, first lengthwise, then in thirds. He unrolled the towel he had used over his eyes, spread it out on the sand, and then laid the folded robe on top of it. He bent over, picked up the float, and secured it under his right arm. Then, with his left hand, he took Sybil's hand.

The two started to walk down to the ocean.

"I imagine you've seen quite a few bananafish in your day," the young man said.

--From "A Perfect Day for Bananafish" (1948), by J.D. Salinger

R.I.P.: Howard Zinn

In the film Good Will Hunting, Matt Damon's character says to his psychologist, played by Robin Williams, "If you want to read a real history book, read Howard Zinn's A People's History of the United States. That book will knock you on your ass."

It's true. Zinn's book tells a much more real and relevant story of American history than all the watered-down truths and pumped-up mythologies we're taught in high school textbooks. People's History records the struggles and successes of average citizens -- workers, students, slaves, men, women, young, old, etc., and it's not a better tale just because it's true. It's also much more interesting.

Howard Zinn died today at the age of 87. A decorated veteran of World War II, Zinn fought against the immorality of war for the rest of his life. A leader of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, he was on the front lines of the struggle for civil rights in the 1960s. Even after he retired from his post as a professor at Boston University, Zinn never stopped standing up and speaking out.

Tonight there is one less courageous person in the world.

Ted Kennedy

Until his passing overnight, Ted Kennedy had been a US Senator from Massachusetts as long as I've been alive. In fact, he was sworn in for the first of his nine terms on the day I was born -- Nov. 7, 1962. For progressives, fighting the good fight will be a little bit harder without him.

One of the striking things about Kennedy is the way his office handled constituent services. I'd heard many tales before, and today on NPR every caller told a story of how they'd met the senator or called his office or worked for a cause and were surprised and gratified that he personally called back or that he remembered someone's name or that he sent a personal thank-you note.

Of course, the events of July 18, 1969, in Edgartown, Massachusetts, cannot, and should not, be dismissed. Kennedy left his overturned car in the tidal channel that separates Chappaquiddick Island from the mainland of Martha's Vineyard after he drove the vehicle off the wooden bridge that connects the two. Inside was 28-year-old Mary Jo Kopechne, who had worked on Robert Kennedy's presidential campaign, and Kennedy later said he dove down "seven or eight times" to rescue her and then went back to the site of the party the two had left, returning with two other men, and the three of them again attempted to free Kopechne. Kennedy, however, did not notify authorities until the next day.

Questions about Chappaquiddick dogged Kennedy for years -- and rightfully so -- and it seems likely that his inability to explain clearly exactly what had happened, his apparent panic and irrational behavior in response to a stressful incident and his escape with a two-month suspended sentence -- attributed to his illustrious last name -- doomed any chance he ever had of being president.

However, what do we want of those who fail morally, especially in the spotlight of fame, except for them to commit to being better people and to do their best from here on? Kennedy did rise up and fought for issues that matter to average Americans, especially in the areas of poverty, education and health care. Like FDR, he leveled the playing field for those on the bottom rungs of the economic ladder despite the fact that he hailed from the uppermost class. Kennedy's resources left him beholden to no one but his principles.

Liberals are now without their torch carrier, and so the way forward for us is now a little darker and a little more difficult.

When a news anchor told it like it was

Salon.com blogger Glenn Greenwald ripped into the popular media a few days ago in the wake of Walter Cronkite's passing. Much like the death of journalist David Halberstam, mainstream television and print reporters are using this occasion to slap themselves on the back in celebrating the achievements of one of their own. Greenwald notes that today's celebrity journalists are often little more than shills for the government and corporate America. They praise Cronkite while ignoring that, in 1968, the CBS news anchor told Americans on live TV that the government wasn't being honest with them and that the Vietnam War would end in nothing better than a draw.

Those eulogists had their chance to step forward with equivalent truth-telling but instead they spouted the party line on Iraq. Greenwald quotes one network reporter as saying it's not his job to point out to Americans when their government is lying. Cronkite himself wrote in 1999 that "there has been an abdication of responsibility within the profession..." And that's the way it is.

Uncle Pete R.I.P.

I just received news of the death of Pete Cucchiara, the owner of Uncle Pete's Hickory Ribs, which opened originally in East Boston and then relocated to Revere a few years ago. Those who visited the restaurant know that Pete was a familiar sight, stopping to chat with people at every table. His wife, Pha, is friendly as well, and hopefully she will carry on with the business.

Update (4/1): I went to Uncle Pete's with friends this evening and Pete's wife, Pha, confirmed what we'd heard: that the restaurant is shutting down. This Saturday, April 4, is the last day.

RIP

Winthrop and East Boston lost a couple of long-time civic-minded sons this week. Alan Lupo, who chronicled the lives of average Joes and never held his tongue when confronting abuse of power, died Monday at age 70, while Tony Marmo, widely active among non-profits and youth sports organizations, passed away Tuesday at age 90.

Both communities are lesser places in their absence.