Lauren Bacall - By Myself and Then Some

I know what you’re thinking. Yes, money bought me my apartment, but it was money that came from years of work, hard work – doing what I love to do, not to acquire. I like money as much as most people – more because it gives me independence and as long as I keep working enables me to live here and go where I wish to go. I loved the America of Franklin Roosevelt, of John and Robert Kennedy – I grew up on that, had pride in it – but I do not love the administration of now. Now is not about people or ideals, ideas – it’s about C.E.O.s – Bush buddies – Texas – oil secrecy – gun lobbying – anti-immigration corporations – all wrapped up in the American flag making this a pure Aryan (sound familiar?) country – a Christian country. Why don’t people realize this country was built by immigrants? One of the great basics and selling points of the United States was that anyone from anywhere in the world could come here, make a life and prosper in freedom. We’re all immigrants. I am an immigrant – my mother was born in Rumania. The glory has gone and, most devastatingly, the humor – the laughter has gone.

W hile I’m on the subject of non-functioning situations, here’s one more example. While I was actually writing this passage – with a low bow to Joe Heller, Something Happened. The lights went out. At first I thought it was a fuse – until I discovered that all the lights in my apartment were out, then that all lights everywhere were out. I picked up the phone to see if it was something in my building that had gone awry. My phone was dead. I tried to reach my children on my cell phone – could not get through to anyone. All of New York City was doing the same thing. It was the total blackout. It was eerie to look out across Central Park and see only black buildings of different heights with nary a light in sight. On Central Park West there was not a streetlight, traffic light, even flashlight to be seen. Once in a while a police car showed up with headlights on full blast and the red and blue lights atop the cars twirling around. There were only people, stranded for the most part, hoping a bus would appear. One finally did in the wee small hours with all lights shining inside and out – a stark picture against the pitch darkness. Luckily, I had flashlights and many candles, this time not for the romantic setting candles usually convey.

What I found to be the most distressing factor was the complete inability to communicate with anyone, in my case my children, mostly, and friends. I couldn’t get through to any city or state. I thought what would happen if someone had a health emergency under these conditions– just too bad! The radio station, which I was finally able to get on CBS and ABC, kept saying call 911 if you really need help. But the phones were dead, stupid! What were they thinking? There was the mayor giving advice – ‘stay home’ – not quite possible if you were stuck on a subway. The mindless radio voices reported that it was not a terrorist act – did anyone really think it was? – that people were walking across the Brooklyn Bridge – that the lights were out in Times Square – all theatres dark. They continued to repeat the same information over and over again. And then the President, from either Crawford, Texas, or California fund raising, gave a stilted speech about the safety of the country, how he was going to get to the bottom of the grid problem, etc. etc. Not exactly soothing and not a grain of humor or humanity to be heard. I repeat, where has all the humor gone?

When riding in a car, I’ll note the endless traffic – almost bumper to bumper. Somewhere in the distance a siren sounds. As it gets louder, more persistent, I see that it is an ambulance. I also see that with the traffic the ambulance is now unable to move. So what’s to be done? And if you happen to be the unlucky one needing an ambulance – forget it – you’ll just have to die. That’s life in the big city, as my son Sam says.

Forgive me if I’m sounding too grim. Maybe it’s just one of those days. I hold the thought until I hit the street. It’s a beautiful fall day – foliage still on the trees – no sign of Isabel (very feminine hurricane) as yet, though ‘they’ (the media) say she’s on her way. It’s nature that keeps us aware and awake – wet or dry. And it’s nature finally that makes it possible to deal with the rest of it, the bad stuff. I hate to knock the city of most of my life but being exposed to it day in and day out makes the negatives hard to ignore. If I could wish it back to the way it was, I would in a minute. Garbage on the streets cannot possibly connote progress. The occasional quiet times – early morning – dusk – are still appreciated and relished. I think for me, in addition to the obvious work reasons, friend reasons, it’s memories that keep me here. Not that I’m one to dwell on the past – I’m not – or wallow in the negatives – I don’t – but pictures of my growing up years crop up and my mother is always with me – on a certain street that I pass or is mentioned by someone. I either know that street, used to live on that street or wish I had. So it seems that I will stay where I am.

I still love traveling in Europe. Although, with the combination of airport security and the intense dislike of Americans, travel has become more difficult. Whereas for most of my life an American passport was more desirable worldwide than even the most desirable Tiffany diamond, now it is the Euro that has taken over and moved to number one on the popularity charts. So it is more than distressing to find the tables turned on the country of my birth. Here we are near the end of 2004 with the world in a mess, in my view due in large part to the Bush administration. Americans have become the most hated people on earth, we have run out of countries to visit. How we could declare war on Iraq – on any country – which did not attack us, I will never understand. As I write, November and the elections are looming. So there is hope that the present administration will disappear. (Please, God.) A new one will give a sense of openness, honesty and, at least, a fresh approach to the rest of the world. Experts have said that America has never been at such a low ebb. With our bombs destroying half of Iraq and its men, women and children, and our young men and women losing their lives as shown on every news program every day and night, there seems to be nothing but killing. And to what end? It is too horrible and not the same country I or my children grew up in. Having been brought up to be aware of my government and its elected officials and public figures, it’s a shock to have to now explain or apologize for the existing powers. Before, I always took such pride in our leaders – even if I disagreed with and fiercely disliked several over the years, there always was that small ray of hope one could find and hang onto. Now there is futility – I don’t know how it happened so fast – but happen it has. So I continue to cling to the great leaders of the past, hoping to instill in myself the pride of yore that was so much a part of me for so many years.

In my growing up years my idol was Franklin D. Roosevelt. He represented to me everything that was good – care for those in need, intelligence, quality, great wit, courage. Even as a child I remember being in awe of him, recognizing his courage in spite of his paralysis. Listening to his fireside chats he was the grandfather I never knew, the father who was never there, the friend, the teacher – he was warmth and comfort even when I was age eight, nine, ten and upwards – granted, I was needy and I romanticized every aspect of the man. He was worth it. He was a great man and he was a great leader. To this day I still feel the same about him. And his wife, Eleanor, who I was lucky to meet on several occasions in my twenties and thirties – she was the first woman in public life who made me aware or at least opened my eyes to the tremendous influence a woman could have, the contributions a woman could make and ultimately the power a woman could have in making her world and the world – then the man’s world – a better place. There are no seconds – only one Roosevelt, one Truman, one John Kennedy and one Robert Kennedy – one Adlai Stevenson. It is that level that I personally yearn for. I’ll keep searching for a glimmer of any one of those men and that woman.