Editorials and Opinions

Gary Tischler • July 26, 2011

In the 1980s, Lena Horne, a pioneer, legend and star in her mid-60s, put on a one-woman show called “Lena Horne: The Lady and Her Music,” which became the longest-running solo performance in Broadway history.

She brought the show to the Warner Theatre in Washington, and if you had the good fortune to experience it (and that’s the right word), you got the essence of Horne, and a pretty good idea of what courage and perseverance were required to succeed in America if you happened to be black or of mixed race parentage and if you happened to be born early in the last century.

Horne brought all of her life experience, her humor, her still-burning bright beauty, her vocal abilities and her shazam style to the performance. She sang her signature song “Stormy Weather” twice during the course of the night. “I was young when I first sang it,” she said, and sang it right there like a naïve, lovely young girl, and sang it again, all the stormy weather she had experienced herself at full throat. “This is me now,” she said.

Horne came from a mixed marriage, and was married at one time to Lennie Hayton, a top conductor and arranger at MGM when the studio’s musicals where American landmarks.

When it came to civil rights and racial history, she was a little like Zelig, being everywhere: she was a Cotton Club chorine, she was both famous and half visible as an MGM starlet and star, including Vincente Minnelli’s “Cabin in the Sky” and “Panama Hattie,” in which she sang “Stormy Weather.” She was in numerous MGM musicals, but her roles tended to have the position of production numbers, which could be cut if the films where shown in the segregated South (and they were).

In the 1940s she worked with the controversial and politically active singer and performer Paul Robeson, a man of huge gifts and anger. She made United Service Organizations tour stops (where German POWs were routinely seated in front of African American soldiers), a task at which she balked.

She took part in the dramatic civil rights marches of the 1960s and sang on behalf of the National Council of Negro Women and the NAACP.

Her music, once she stopped making Technicolor movies, was beyond category, beyond jazz and completely enduring. She recorded well into her 80s.

Through all the trials and tribulations, the difficulties that were part of her life, she never succumbed to such shallow notions as complaining. She just kept on doing what she loved, stood up tall, and was dazzlingly emblematic of class, as in classy, as in first class. [gallery ids="99131,102679" nav="thumbs"]

Gary Tischler •

It’s official. Let the weddings begin.

As of today, March 9, gay men and women could get married in the District of Columbia, and many of them probably did.

Officially, same sex marriage was legalized in the district on March 3, when same-sex couples could get a marriage license in district court and many, many of them did, from the District of Columbia and elsewhere, states where same sex marriage is not legal, the number of which still constitute a large majority in the United States.

Still, the issue of gay marriage passed a gauntlet in the District of Columbia that seemed insurmountable at one time in a jurisdiction where Congress, which had veto rights over the District budget, routinely insisted that anti-sodomy laws remain in place.

That might seem a thing of the past, but the climate for legalization of gay marriage and gay rights and discrimination is still a stormy one. For all the celebration and sighs of relief and it’s-about-time commentary that erupts whenever a jurisdiction legalizes same-sex marriage or equivalent rights, there’s always an event, a fight, a comment, a slur, a legal battle or maneuvering that reveals just how far gays have yet to go to achieve rights that to them and to most reasonable people seem just.

To many religious organizations and institutions, same-sex marriage threatens their beliefs and threatens the family, an ill-defined word in these contemporary times where divorce among straight people is alarmingly high. And there is always the religious fringe whose hatred of gay Americans, or gay people in general, appears to know no bounds.
That’s why, for instance, the Supreme Court is set to deliver a free speech verdict, no less, on the fate of rabid (there’s no other word for their cruel use of speech) anti-gay protesters who routinely show up at military funerals with hate-filled signs like “God Hates Your Tears” and “Thank God for Dead Soldiers” (among milder examples). The groups, members of Kansas’ Westboro Baptist Church, believe that 9/11 and U.S. military deaths in Afghanistan and Iraq are God’s punishment on America for tolerating gays in America. Needless to say, they are not fond of same-sex marriage, either.

A family of one dead soldier who sued the protesters and initially won a $5 million verdict is appealing a U.S. district appeals court decision that overturned the verdict on First Amendment grounds, saying that the signs had “imaginative and hyperbolic rhetoric” which was protected.

Meanwhile, Virginia Attorney General Kenneth Cuccinelli II, who had toned down his ultra-right rhetoric during the recent election campaign, has written letters to Virginia higher education officials asking them to back off policies against discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation, causing a furor among students on public university campuses.

And the unworkable and painful “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy about gays in the military remains in place, even though some of the highest ranking officers in the military have spoken out against it.

All of these landmark efforts on same-sex marriage, legal rights and recognition are essentially about making gays and lesbians a part of mainstream America, a notion that absolutely terrifies anti-gay forces. If gay people have the same visible rights and place as other members of the community, it becomes impossible to marginalize them with slurs, rhetoric, oppression, discrimination and open hateful acts. If gay men and women come into the community light in terms of equal rights and responsibilities, it forces bigots to slink into the dark, where they belong.

Gary Tischler •

Well into the middle months of Mayor Adrian Fenty’s final year of his first term, there is an unsettled, faintly ominous feel to the political and economic atmosphere in the District of Columbia.

While the mayor appears to have made significant progress in many areas, large sections of voters throughout the city seem to be unhappy with Fenty, as well as his chosen Chancellor of Public Schools, Michelle Rhee. Speculations have it that some members of the city council, notably Chairman Vincent Gray, who has been visibly at odds with the mayor over a number of issues, will challenge the mayor’s re-election.

No one is exactly betting against the mayor, who has a fat war chest. But electoral politics are a background noise to the business of the council, which now has to contend with a looming budget deficit of the kind not seen by most of its members.

The man least fazed by turbulent political clouds or impending economic troubles, and who probably knows more about them than anyone on the council, is the council’s finance committee chair, Jack Evans. More telling, Evans is the longest continuously serving councilman, having won a special Ward 2 election in 1991, when he emerged the winner over a large field.

Evans has seen the mayor-council relationship ebb and flow over his nearly 20 years in office. “It’s never been ideal,” he says. “Mayor Kelly and council Chair John Wilson were at odds often. Mayor Williams at first didn’t have much to do with the council but that changed in his second term, where there was a lot more contact and cooperation. Right now, I’d say, we’re having some problems in that arena. It’s no secret that Chairman Gray and the mayor rarely communicate. There are several people on the council who’ve had no words with the mayor for months. Maybe years.”

Evans isn’t one of them. It is generally recognized that Evans, who supported Linda Cropp in the mayoral race, has become Fenty’s most consistent and strongest supporter on the council, as well as supporting the school reform efforts of Rhee. “That’s fair to say,” he says. “I think the mayor is a doer, he believes in action, and when something’s done or settled, he moves on.”

The electoral hubbub doesn’t really concern Evans, although if Chairman Gray should run for mayor, “I can tell you I will run for chairman,” he says. “No question.”

Right now, though, politics are not at the top of his list. The budget is. “We’ve been very lucky in terms of the economy,” he says. “We’ve done extremely well and haven’t felt the main brunt of things. That’s not true anymore. As everybody has noted, we’re facing a shortfall of nearly $500 million. It’s almost a cliché, but this requires some extremely tough, painful decisions. We’re better off than other jurisdictions, but things are not going to get better right away.

“There’s only so many places you can look, so many things you can do. Now we’re going to be perhaps talking about looking at freezes on wages, maybe even pay cuts. We are required to balance the budget.”

Evans is by far the most experienced member of the council when it comes to financial and budget manners, making him ideally positioned to be heard in his role as head of the Committee on Finance and Revenue.

Mayor Fenty is scheduled to bring the Fiscal Year 2011 Budget Request Act of 2010 and the Fiscal Year of 2011 Budget Support Act of 2010 to the Council April 1.

“That’s where it starts,” Evans says. The council will hold a public briefing on the mayor’s budget plan on April 12.

Gary Tischler •

It’s springtime, and in this city, in our neighborhoods, we could be living almost anywhere, with slight differences of details because we lead daily lives as prosaic as a suburbanite filling his SUV with soccer gear. You can close your eyes and the world is not that much with you, breathing down your neck with alarming tales of celebrity or war.

But in Washington, that’s hardly ever true. In the most beautiful weekend of the year so far, the SunTrust National Marathon, thousands strong, came through our neighborhood and others, the water bearers lined up along Columbia Road as the early batch, loped through. It transformed, if not transfixed, where we lived — streets closed off, drivers grinding through the maze of Lanier Place, Ontario Road or Adams Mill Road, trying to get out to the grocery stores.

“My daughter’s in this,” a neighbor said, rushing to get to the race. “Gotta get out there.”
Elsewhere, at Lafayette Park, thousands of anti-war(s) protesters gathered, protesting not only the U.S. presence in Afghanistan and Iraq, but Israel’s settlements. As of old, they brought masks, megaphones, coffins, the regalia and passion of the young.

They may have picked the wrong time to gather this way in front of the White House or in the city. For one thing, there was the spring fever burning bright, infectious. For another, the transient politician among us, and the occupants of the White House were pre-occupied with other things.

This was the weekend, when, in contradictory fashion, the big health care reform bill, almost in a flash, spurred by encouraging CBO statistics about its cost and by the impassioned pleadings of the president himself, suddenly was about to come to a vote.

Which meant, of course, that the Tea Party folks were in town. This may have meant little to people in Georgetown, or in my neck of the woods off Rock Creek Park in Adams Morgan, but they made their presence felt on Capitol Hill.

On the Hill, history and history-making kissed us squarely on the mouth. It was pure theater, mixed in with the regular theater, the president giving one of his classic campaign style speeches — “Don’t do it for me, don’t do it for the Democratic Party, do it for the American people” — while the GOP stalwarts, including the sour-faced House minority leader Jim Boehner, repeated his mantra: the American people don’t want this bill. Outside, the Tea party folks accused Democrats of socialism, communism, big-ism, take-over-ism, and so on, with a fury rarely seen in this city since the last Cowboys-Redskins game at RFK stadium.

Some members of the Tea Party, it should be noted, also exposed themselves, not in the usual way, but with racial and homophobic slurs directed against black and gay Democrat legislators on Saturday and again on Sunday. Mr. Boehner, when pressed, called this reprehensible, although somehow managed to say it in a way that suggested the American people were so angry about health care that they forgot themselves.

What was certain was that if the GOP party itself had previously tried to keep a thin distance between itself and the Tea Party, it disappeared entirely on Sunday. Faced with a vote that would pass a historic bill they had fought so bitterly, GOP legislators moved out to a balcony and egged the crowd on with “Kill the Bill” signs.

Eventually, history was made: the bill, by a 219-212 margin, had passed.

We were asleep by then. Many of us had also missed the sunny Sunday afternoon on the mall where still another group in the thousands had gathered to ask for immigration justice.

The very fact that history looms over our shoulders daily in this city is what makes the things we do from day to day so precious here, because we hear the hollering of the Tea Party, the banging of the drums of the protesters, the epic words of political opposites. We have our own little political struggles to overcome: the murmurs of discontent about our mayor pop up in the neighborhoods, there and there. Overnight, history sweeps through our sleep, through our locked doors.

We wake up, like everyone else and pick up the morning paper on the third day of spring, awaiting rain.

Gary Tischler •

Walk into the offices of DC City Council Chairman Vincent Gray, and it’s like walking into two different
worlds.

Along a small corridor of offices and cubicles, there are people talking on the phone; computers are on. It’s got all the signs of any busy bureaucratic office. Walk into his office, with Gray leading the way, and the busy sounds die down. His office is reminiscent of an expansive drawing room — leather chairs, a large desk, books and pictures on the wall.

The two-world metaphor works in another way now: Gray, who prevailed over incumbent Mayor Adrian Fenty in the race for the Democratic mayoral nomination on September 14, now has his feet in two different places. He’s still the Council Chairman, but he’s also the presumptive mayor of the District of Columbia.

It’s presumptive because usually, in this heavily Democratic city, if you win the Democratic Party’s nomination you become mayor. There are only ever nominal Republican or third-party opposition in the general election, which this year is November 2. This will probably be the case again, even though some disaffected folks have started a Fenty write-in website.

“People don’t know what to call me or how to describe my status,” Gray joked as we settled in for an interview.

Gray’s victory has unsettled people. While it’s sometimes jarring even to Gray, it’s even more jarring to Fenty supporters and supporters of DCPS Chancellor Michelle Rhee, who had trouble imaging such a result ever coming to pass. Some of the same people have painted the results in the darkest of terms.

That included Rhee, who at first, in the aftermath of the Newseum’s premiere of “Waiting for Superman”, used the word “devastating” describing the election results. Of course she later backtracked.

Gray, who says he hasn’t yet seen the film, said that he’s not making personnel decisions at the moment. So the oft-asked question about Rhee’s status, asked almost routinely throughout the campaign, goes largely unanswered when I asked it yet again. “I know, I know,” he said. “But I haven’t made a decision on that yet. Honestly, when she and I met we didn’t talk about any of that. We talked about educational issues, education philosophy, ideas about schools and children and teachers. It was a pretty far-ranging conversation, so we didn’t get to that. We’ll obviously be talking again.” But if pictures and video of the two emerging from their recent meetings were any indication
— the two literally stood at some distance from each other, and Rhee left quickly — than clearly the discussions had some heft to them.

“Right now, nothing is off the table,” Gray said. Asked if that included Rhee staying on as chancellor, in some form or another, he said, “I haven’t ruled it out.”

As usual, Gray is being deliberative, not making up his mind quickly even if there is a certain amount of pressure — most of it coming from the media.

“Sometimes, it’s hard to believe that we are where we are,” Gray said. “I feel most of the time incredibly humbled by what’s transpired, but I was confident in making that decision to run. I never thought we couldn’t win. And as those first polls about the mayor surfaced, and later on, it was pretty clear to me that there were a lot of unhappy people out there, some angry people.”

“Of course, when some early polls came in election night they had us behind,” he said. “That had a chilling effect, to say the least.”

Back in the summer, when we first had a long conversation with Gray at the Busboys and Poets site near his campaign headquarters, he stated emphatically that this city was more divided today than at any time in its history of home rule. He turned out to be acutely accurate.

“I get these questions all the time,” he said. “What are you going to do about Marion Barry? Are we going to go back to the old politics? That sort of thing.”

“I understand that, believe me. But…people should remember that I wasn’t part of all that. I’m not a career politician, who’s been doing this stuff all of my life. I didn’t run for office until 2004, the first time,” he said. “And when it comes to Mr. Barry, I’m interested in responding to the needs of his constituents, as well as the constituents in all of the city’s wards. I’m not obligated to Mr. Barry.”

It’s fair to say he proved that earlier this year, when Mr. Barry once again came under fire, and the council as a whole voted to censure Barry and strip him of his committee chair position. When the vote came, it was Gray who handled it with both dignity and toughness, unwavering, because it was the correct thing to do, in spite of Mr. Barry’s emotional importuning during the proceedings.

“We did what we had to do. People seem to forget that,” Gray said.

There is certain toughness in Gray that isn’t always readily self-evident. He has what in old-school terms you might call good manners, but there are fires burning there. A widower, he’s lived alone, in a house in the Hillcrest neighborhood, in Ward 7 since the death of his wife Loretta, a schoolteacher, in 1998. He has almost a courtly way about him. He’s a man who believes in observing the formalities.
There’s almost an idiosyncratic dynamic about him. You saw it in the campaign. He carries himself with authority and confidence, fully aware of the importance of position and endeavor. But at the same time, he has the very quality that many people thought Fenty lacked: a consideration for and curiosity about people.

At candidate forums, he could get prickly and combative, but he also looked like somebody that was enjoying himself. His theme is that he will run a One-City government, inclusive of the participation and the views of others. “Don’t stand on the sidelines,” he urges people when it comes to issues. “Be a part of the debate, a part of the discussion.” Put him in a parade, and he might take hours to get through, as you could see, at the Adams Morgan Festival, two days before the election. His supporters surged forward only to lose the candidate, who had been buttonholed by someone he knew, jaw-boning as the parade passed by.

“Yeah, I guess it does take me a while to get through a parade,” he said. “I just think it’s important to talk with people and even more important to listen.”

He knows he’s got his work cut out for him. “We’re facing a huge $175 million budget deficit
— more than that I’m told — and we need everybody working together on that. We’re all in this together.”

He knows too that the election results, which showed him winning by huge margins in the mostly black wards and losing by large margins in the mostly white ward, exposed the great divide that he had identified. “It’s not just race. It’s economic; it’s perceptions of government,” he said. Nationally, his win was being touted by media types as a rejection of education reform.

Gray typically resented that notion. “That’s just not an accurate perception or reality,” he said. “I am firmly committed to education reform, and I think a lot of good things have already been done in that direction. The election wasn’t about whether or not to reform the schools or that they needed reform. They did. I want to continue to do that. In fact, I want education reform to expand to include early education, [with] more emphasis on charter schools, vocational schools. We have to tackle the other issues that impact schools — the lack of jobs in the poor wards. It’s disgraceful. My approach, I think, is a little more holistic.”

“We’re going to move forward,” he said. “Make no mistake about that.”

Gray’s vision of “One City” was tested in a previous race for the council chairmanship. There he defeated Kathy Patterson, the council member from predominantly white Ward 3, by a double-digit margin. “One City” was put into practice again this week, when he embarked on the first of eight promised town hall meetings across all of the city’s wards.

“We’re going to be there to listen to people,” he said. “We’ll have groups on different topics so that there won’t be redundancy. I want to know what’s on people’s minds — what they’re concerned about when it comes to myself.”

“I want to be the man that unites the city,” he said. “I want people to feel that they’re not forgotten — that they’re part of the debate, part of the discussion.”

He also said that he would revive Mayor Anthony Williams’ Citizens Summit, probably in November, in which residents from all wards can come together to provide input on planning and budget issues.

Gray is known as a consensus seeker, deliberative, and even “plodding,” as one critic described it. “That’s not it at all,” he said. “Leadership to me is not just about making decisions per se. It’s about making decisions and getting people to come with you — to understand what you’re doing, hopefully by inspiring people.”

Gray knows he’s walking a bit of a tightrope — allaying the fears of the people who voted against him while meeting the expectations of the people who voted for him.

“I think my wife would have warned me not to get a big head,” he said. “But I can tell you this much, nobody has to worry that I’m going to be wearing a hat that doesn’t fit me.”

There’s a solidity about the man. It’s not that he’s got a thousand close friends but that he has a solid life; his children, Jonice Gray Tucker and Vincent Carlos Gray, and grandchildren are proudly exhibited in photographs on the wall. There’s his Catholic faith and his best friend Lorrain Green, who was his campaign chairman and “the person I’ll talk with, go over things with” he said. “I’ve known her for 20 years or more.” Gray, who once was a highly touted high school baseball player at Dunbar High School — enough to make major league scouts look at him — still plays in a Washington Recreation League at first base. “Keeps me in shape,” said Gray, who at 67 is the city’s oldest elected mayor. He also has a cat named Samurai and is, apparently, known to be quite the hand-dancer.

Dignity and respect mean a lot to him. “I’ve always believed you treat people with respect,” he said. “Everyone.” [gallery ids="99204,103437" nav="thumbs"]