The Eclipse of Honesty

As readers of my columns must know, I believe in honesty.  I have all of my life.  Although my parents also believed in honesty, they didn’t always live it because of their need to deny personal issues with which they could not deal. This made it imperative that I cling to the truth when who I was, was being misrepresented.

It is not surprising, therefore, that as an adult I have used honesty to maintain my sanity.  This, however, has become more difficult as the times became more insane.  Dishonesty is everywhere.  Switch on the television news and it will be minutes before you hear egregious lies.

Although I am a conservative, I have talked to many liberals about these developments.  They too agree that dishonesty has become pervasive.  The difference is in the source they identify.  Thus liberals believe that conservatives are liars, whereas conservatives believe the reverse.

If you push liberals a little further they will retreat to an everyone lies position.  The disinformation, they tell me, comes from both sides; hence those on the left should not be blamed for the current flood of deceitfulness.  Progressives too are caught up in the political turmoil of the moment.

Only I don’t see it that way.  I am convinced that most of the lies emanate from liberals.  As I have frequently observed, liberalism is it its death throes.  Its promises keep failing.  As a result, its partisans are in deep denial.  Dishonesty is one of the ways they keep the truth from seeping into their consciousness.

Two years ago, liberals were claiming that the news coverage of president Trump was balanced.  They insisted that conservatives did not realize this because of their biases. But then a whole series of studies demonstrated that ninety percent of mainstream coverage of Trump was negative. I suspect that studies of dishonesty would find a similar imbalance.

Anyway, not long ago I was appalled by the duplicity demonstrated in the wake of the Mueller hearing.  Most people concluded that the house of representative’s judiciary committee put on a dog and pony show that utterly backfired.  Even Democrats described it as a disaster.

But there, two days later, was chairman Jerry Nadler praising what had transpired.  Mueller had supposedly provided dramatic testimony as to why Trump should be impeached. He had even said that the only reason Trump was not indicted for obstruction of justice was because the DOJ had ruled a sitting president could not be so indicted.

In point of fact, I heard Mueller explicitly rule out this interpretation.  He said that this wasn’t the reason for his conclusion.  Not only did this unambiguous statement not deter Nadler from contradicting him, neither were a host of other Dems dissuaded from deception. They too were not about to let the truth get in the way of a good talking point.

It used to be that people made mistakes about the truth because they forgot what happened years ago.  They genuinely did not remember details that went against what they had come to believe. Nowadays our memories seem to get erased within days.  Today it is possible to totally mischaracterize what happened the day before yesterday.

So who cares?  Plainly liberals don’t.  They boast about their integrity but routinely demonstrate that it is a thing of the past.  They are so intent on discrediting Trump that they completely overlook their own sins. Their goal is winning, and as they have said many times, they don’t care how.

While conservatives may care more about the truth, they have done little to promote it.  Rather than stand up and identify the lies, they have preferred to avoid confrontations. To some extent, the overwhelming volume of deceit they meet has intimidated them.

Nevertheless, no society can survive when the level of dishonesty is as high as it has become.  What happens is that people can no longer trust one another.  It becomes impossible for them to work together because they cannot rely on the dependability of their colleagues.

This is already happening.  Liberals and conservatives are finding it impossible to talk to one another.  Neither side has confidence in what the other says.  As a consequence, they only associate with folks who are of a like mind.

This truly is a disaster for which honesty is part of the cure.  I know this is difficult because the truth may be hard to swallow.  Even so, if we collectively do not do this, our society is doomed.  Although I am leaving the scene, I hope that good sense eventually prevails.

Melvyn L. Fein, Ph.D.

Professor Emeritus

Kennesaw State University

Why I Love Living in North Georgia

North Georgia is my home.  Although I was born and raised in New York City, this is where I will be buried. This is the place that has nourished my spirit and allowed me to grow into a person with whom I am now comfortable. As a result, I wish to express my gratitude.

Not long ago, a friend returned from getting his son settled in Manhattan so that he could attend Columbia University’s Law school.  My friend explained that a one room apartment was renting for $1800.00 a month.  The renters also wanted a fiscal guarantee that could only be met by someone earning over a half million dollars a year.

This brought back memories of dingy apartments inhabited by way more cockroaches than people.  What came to mind was my first Manhattan abode that had bars on the windows and a police lock on the front door.  When I moved in, I felt as if I were in jail.

I also remember being jostled in the subway cars.  Usually it was impossible to read because the throng of human beings intruded into every square inch of space.  A book in hand might therefore be knocked aside at any unpredictable moment.

Despite these discomforts, I believed that New York was the center of the universe.  Bright people from all over the country flocked there because of its intellectual ferment and economic opportunities.  Back in the hinterlands, the territory was thus depleted of talent and enthusiasm.

At the time, I did not realize how absurd this was.  Nor did I understand the depth of New Yorker arrogance. This hit me when I moved to upstate New York.  Every now and then the place where I worked would bring in experts to update us on the latest advances in our field.

What struck me was that when these erstwhile authorities came from the big apple, they often had a chip on their shoulder.  They seemed to be saying that we folks from the big city are much more sophisticated than you outlanders.  They thus looked askance at me even though I had recently been one of them.

Here in north Georgia this is not the problem.  Indeed, the reverse is often true.  People are likely to be more modest than they need to be.  As it happens, not all realize that they are every bit as good as those who pretend to be their betters.

What accompanies this modesty is a niceness that is not always found in urban agglomerates.  Most of the Georgians I know not only have good manners, but they are decent human beings. They care about the wellbeing of others. They want for others the happiness and good fortune they want for themselves.

A lot of non-southerners believe—as I once did—that the south is a hotbed of racism.  This may once have been true, but it is no longer.  The relationship between blacks and whites is far closer and warmer than it is up north.   Moreover, Atlanta has become a place of opportunity for everyone.

Not only this, but north Georgia has become cosmopolitan.  Where once it might have been a backwater, today it is a melting pot for people from around the globe.  The graciousness of the old-line southerners has melded with the ambitions of the newcomers to produce a very healthy hybrid.

On top of this, I just love the beauty of north Georgia.  The trees and flowers are everywhere.  I also appreciate the hills and mountains, as well as the reservoir that is within walking distance from my home.  These all bring tranquility to my heart.

Nor lest I forget, I love the birds.  For a while my wife and I thought of naming our place goldfinch glen because so many of these creatures came to our bird feeder.  To this day, we can look out our window to see these birds peeling the seeds from our zinnias.

For me, what this adds up to are feelings of peace and belonging.  But most of all, north Georgia is the place where I found love and acceptance.  It is here that I married my wife and had a rewarding career as a college professor and author.  No location can offer much more than that!

Had I never taken the chance of moving from up north little of this would have been available too me.  I got lucky. Sometimes it is impossible to gage where the road of life will lead.  My path led to a place I would never have imagined, but one that is dear to my heart.

Melvyn L. Fein, Ph.D.

Professor Emeritus

Kennesaw State University

A Memoir of Personal Discovery

About three decades ago, as my father lay dying, I visited him in his Florida hospice.  He had always been a physically strong man, but now he was a shadow of his former self. Very thin, and unable to sit up if unaided, he could barely speak.

What is more, he had always been terrified of dying.  But now, as the end was coming, He gurgled out, “ I want to die!”  He did this in so emphatic and pained a way that I have remembered his words and tone ever since.

In any event, as he lay in his bed I went over to say some final words. As we looked each other straight in the eye, our arms clenched.  He was not a powerful as he had formerly been, but his effort told me how important our connection was.  Despite our differences, we were father and son.

It was at this point that I felt compelled to tell him what I had never previously uttered out loud.  While I don’t recall the exact words, I essentially said, “ Don’t worry Dad, I will finish your unfinished business.”  I will fix what you left broken.  

My father did not live up to the expectations he and his family had for him. Given his intelligence, everyone assumed he would be very successful.  Although he became a self-taught electronic engineer, by the time he was in his mid-fifties he could no longer find work.

In his final two decades, he spent most of his time alone in a darkened room, brooding about what he could not change.  Up to this point, he had always tackled problems head on.  His solution to every dilemma was to break down the doors that stood in his way.  Furthermore, he expected me to do the same.

In fact, I resisted him at every turn.  As a result, he labeled me a miserable and rotten kid.  He also punished me whenever I violated his demands. This did not stop me from ultimately finding a direction of my own.  From the beginning, I was determined to be my own person.

This turned out to be fortunate for me.  It enabled me to find answers that eluded my Dad.  Moreover, these discoveries permitted me to attain heights he never managed.  They also convinced me that I could make my father’s life worthwhile by building on what he achieved.

Be that as it may, I have now written about how I got to where I am. In a book called, “Too Lazy to Chew: A Memoir of Discovery” I describe the tortured process whereby I got from unhappy child to relatively successful—and happy—adult.

My latest work is now available on Amazon.com.  The paperback costs $12.00 because it is the longest of my recent books, while the eBook is $5.00.  My hope is that this is not a vanity project, but a worthwhile contribution to understanding how personal change occurs.

For readers of my columns, this may provide eye-opening insights. Thus I have often been asked how did someone like me became a conservative.  Given that I was born and raised in an extremely liberal New York Jewish environment, how did this happen?

The short answer is that it was not easy.  Nonetheless, the way I did was embedded in a larger tapestry of change that is even more interesting.  While I may be biased, I have found that the actual processes through we transform ourselves are more complicated than fictionalized accounts of them.

But let me answer another question.  Why the title “Too Lazy to Chew?”  What can that possibly mean?  The answer is simple yet revealing of the circumstances in which I entered this world.  In this case, they have more to do with my mother than my father.

As an infant I was force-fed.  This led me to fight back against efforts to get me to eat.  These continued when I changed over from the bottle to solid foods. As hard as my mother tried, I battled off the morsels of food she spent hours attempting to thrust down my throat.

Why I defied her was a mystery.  It did not make sense.  Was there something wrong with this child?  Why wouldn’t he do what every normal toddler is supposed to do?  There had to be an answer.  Eventually Mom decided that I was simply too lazy to chew.  That was why I left food uneaten.

How I discovered that this was not the reason for my conduct is one of the questions I answer in my memoir.  As I also learned, I was not as lacking in common sense and courage as alleged. If you want to know more, you know where you can find it.

Melvyn L. Fein, Ph.D.

Professor Emeritus

Kennesaw State University

Too Lazy to Chew

When I was in the seventh grade, our English teacher asked the class to write our autobiographies.  Just entering puberty, I had nothing much to write about.  Nor was I inclined to tell the truth lest anyone learn about the unpleasantness taking place in my home life.

So instead of revealing family secrets, I made light of my personal history.  Using exaggeration and a wry sense of humor, I fabricated an exciting pastiche.  The result was so stimulating that the teacher awarded me an A.

Since then I periodically thought of writing a memoir, but I had achieved nothing worthy of public proclamation.  Who would be interested in the doings of a vocational counselor or a college professor?  Nor was I going to write a “Mommie Dearest” expose of my past.

It was not until I entered psychotherapy for the second time that I began to write about what I experienced.  I did so at the behest of my therapist who explained that this would enable me to put what occurred in better perspective.

That was about two decades ago.  From then until recently, I had not even looked at what I produced.  When I did in conjunction with clearing up a lot of my previous writings, I found that it hung together pretty well.  I, of course, am not the best judge of the quality of my work, but I found it interesting.

As a consequence, I decided to complete my memoir and put it out for publication.  This has been accomplished and the work is now up on Amazon.  The paper back costs $12.00 (because it is longer than my other books), while the eBook is $5.00.

So first things first.  What is with my title; Too Lazy to Chew: A Memoir of Discovery?   This derives from my mother’s assessment of me when I was a toddler.  Because I resisted her efforts to feed me solid foods, she explained my behavior by concluding that I was too lazy to chew.

Much of what I wrote therefore concerns why I resisted her and ultimately how I discovered that I was not lazy at all.  Life, as I learned, is complicated; hence unraveling its intricacies can be painful and time consuming.  Moreover, what is discovered can be surprising.

In a way, my memoir can be regarded as a mystery story.  So much of our conduct is not understood even by us. This is because we feel impelled to move on without comprehending the painful springs of our motivation.  As it happens, I have spent more time investigating myself than most folks do.

My father warned against such things.  He believed that self-analysis was for crazy people.  It was an unproductive detour that strong individuals avoided.  Life was something that you simply did.  He was a physically active man who would not waste time on ephemeral nonsense.

Except that my father’s strategy did not work very well.  He thus ended his life in a darkened room brooding about a past that did not live up to his expectations.  I, on the other hand, have been more successful.  Instead of running from by bugaboos, I faced them head on and, miracle of miracles, defeated many of them.

How I achieved this is what my memoir is about.  Readers will find that it is a remarkably candid account that includes many of my embarrassing failures.  I decided that there was no point in sharing my history if I was again going to fictionalize it.

In any event, it will enable readers of my columns to figure out from whence my ideas derived.  I am, after all, a very atypical New York Jew.  As a conservative, who came from an extremely liberal background, breaking away and learning to think for myself took a lot of doing.

Toward the end, I also tell a love story.  For a long while, I believed that I would never marry.  I considered myself unlovable and therefore would never find a decent woman who would love me.  Happily for me, I was wrong.  My wife Linda and I are deeply in love.

In the end, one of my greatest discoveries was that I could chew. I am not talking about food, but about ideas and complicated questions.  I put in the effort to find out what personal change is about and what constitutes genuine love.

It is these insights that I believe are worth sharing.  For me, they were hard won.  Perhaps by making them public, I may ease the way for others. In any event, I hope that what I wrote is interesting enough for readers to find entertaining.

Melvyn L. Fein, Ph.D.

Professor Emeritus

Kennesaw State University

A Reluctant Farewell

I love life!  I do not want to depart it.  But that is what is going to happen in a few short weeks.  Much to my regret, I have been diagnosed with inoperable pancreatic cancer.  Despite a year of treatment, nothing has staved off the end that was in sight from the beginning.

Not long ago, the political columnist I most deeply admire, Charles Krauthammer, faced a similar crisis.  He lost his battle, but in the process provided me with a model for how to face death with dignity.  While I did not then know I would follow in his footsteps, I hope I can live up to his example.

Nonetheless, there is a huge difference between Krauthammer and me. Even though he was a psychiatrist, he did not believe in introspection.  Instead of analyzing his motives or sharing them with others, he preferred to keep the focus on the political subjects he scrutinized.

I am the opposite.  Self-analysis has been at the core of my adult life.  In order to extricate myself from the shackles of my childhood, I sought to understand how and why these were forged.  As I explained in my autobiography Too Lazy to Chew: A Memoir of Discovery, this was a lengthy adventure that led to many unexpected findings.

Along the way, I learned to communicate what I learned to others.  For the most part, these were people close to me. This remains the case. Nonetheless, I have decided to convey what I am currently experiencing to a larger audience.  Although this causes me some anxiety, I decided that it is unfair to leave my readers entirely in the dark.

First of all, as to what I am currently undergoing and why it is ineluctable.  Pancreatic cancer has become such a scourge because while it is developing it produces no symptoms.  As a consequence, it is usually discovered when it is too late to do much good.

That is what happened with me.  The cancer announced itself by preventing me from eating.  All of a sudden, nothing what I ate would stay down.  This eventually motivated me to go to the hospital where a CAT scan revealed that there was a “mass” on my pancreas.

Several more months went by before it was confirmed that there was another cancer around my stomach.  At this point, it became plain that an operation would leave me a cripple, while radiation would inflict such widespread damage that it was inadvisable.

The only alternative was chemotherapy.  For a while, this provided relief by opening my duodenum to allow food down.  This worked so well that in enabled my wife and I to take a Mediterranean cruise a couple of months ago.

But times change.  All of a sudden, the cancer became more aggressive.  No longer would the chemotherapy keep it at bay.  It was now stopping up my digestive canal at several points.  Food would simply not go down.  Furthermore, all of the possible remedies would make things worse.

At the moment, I can neither eat nor drink.  Arrangements are thus being made to infuse liquids in intravenously. This should prevent me from expiring from dehydration.  As to solid foods, I am forced to go on an unwanted diet.  My body will therefore have to cannibalize what is already available.

In short, I will die of starvation.  This is not a pleasant prospect, but what cannot be changed cannot be changed.  Along the way I have discovered that I do not fear death so much as hate it.  Rather than terror, I have experienced stoicism. There is likewise a sense of unreality. Me, I will live forever.

I have also discovered how many people love me.  When my father died, he was virtually friendless.  With me, it has been very different.  Friends and colleagues have rallied around me.  I suspect that even some of my readers will regret my passing.

As importantly, when I completed my memoir, I realized that I had little to apologize for.  Despite my many mistakes, I had never done anything for which I was seriously remorseful. Furthermore, I never gave up on my convictions or myself.  Although I sometimes retreated, I was never crushed.

My most serious regret is over my unfinished business.  As a sociologist, I believe I have made important discoveries.  Over the last several months I tried to make sure that these are in print, but I have run out of time to promote them.

While I have loved the process of writing columns, these never allowed me the space to develop my ideas.  Given that I believe my larger intellectual contributions shed light on our current political impasse and point the way to a solution, I consider this a shame.  But that’s life, isn’t it?

Melvyn L. Fein, Ph.D.

Professor Emeritus

Kennesaw State University

On Running Out of Road

On Running Out of Road

Let me get straight to the point.  I am dying.  While I know that we are all dying, I will be gone in a few short weeks.  While, like most people, I thought that my expiration date was a long way off, it has come upon me much to my regret.  I do not want to die; yet I can do nothing to prevent it.

So let me tell you how this feels.  When many years ago my teenage self asked my grandfather what it was like to be old, he said that felt he same inside as he did when he was eighteen.  With death, it is that way with me.  I feel the same as when I was not facing an imminent death.  Mind you, this feels unreal; as if I am still immortal.

Let me also address the question of religion.  When I was young, I was told that there are no atheists in foxholes.  The idea was that when people are forced to face their mortality, they always renew their belief in God.

Although this sounds plausible, I knew it was not true.  Again this owes to my grandfather.  Most of this life he had been an atheist.  This did not change at the end.  He remained an atheist and, as he told me, he was comfortable with the life he had led.  Death did not terrify him.

Nor does it terrify me.  I don’t like it.  It scares me, but so far I am handling the fear.  Unlike my grandfather, I am an agnostic.  I do not know if there is a God or a heaven.  If there is, I guess I will find out.  I also hope that if there is a God, he will be merciful enough to forgive my inadequacies.

Anyway, let me deal with what I find the more salient aspects of dying. First, as to the physical aspects of this process, my death is being caused by inoperable pancreatic cancer. Over the course of a year, I have fought this as valiantly as I know how, all to no avail.

At the moment, I can neither eat nor drink.  This means that within a few weeks I will expire due to malnutrition. In other words, I will starve to death. While I am sure this will be uncomfortable, at present all I feel is a little hunger.

This worries me, but I am more concerned with something else.  My legacy is much more on my mind.  When I wrote my autobiography Too Lazy to Chew, I explained how important it has been for me to understand my life, as well as to understand our shared social life.

As to coming to terms with who I am, I believe I achieved this far more effectively than most folks.  As I have said, I am comfortable with who I am.  Although there is always more we can learn about ourselves, I discovered enough not to bewail the empty chapters.

As to our social life, it is s different story.  This is so complicated and so resistant to the influence of individuals that the best we can usually do is to make our voices heard. I believe I have achieved some of this with my columns, and to a lesser degree with my books.

Herein lies the rub.  If I may be vain, I am convinced that I have learned things from which others may benefit. Precisely because I am a conservative sociologist, I have been able to walk down pathways my liberal colleagues eschewed.  This made me aware of facts they disregard.

The question then became, how do I get my observations into the mainstream?  Sociologists would not listen; hence I decided to turn to laypersons instead. This I have to some extent been able to accomplish on the local level.  As to the nation at large, I have made no impression whatsoever.

With respect to my books—with the help of Anazon.com—I have been able to get most of them into print.  In other words, my ideas are now available to be read.  The question is how to get people to read points of view with which they are not familiar.

This is where I have run out of road.  Although I plotted how I might publicize my endeavors, there is no time to put these plans into action.  All I can do is hope that some folks stumble over my insights and turn them into programs that make a difference.

The fact is that I will not be here to see what happens.  Will Trump triumph over the squad?  Will America eventually become socialist?  Will someone else rediscover my ideas after I am gone? I do not know.  I will probably never know.  This is why the end of my road leaves a hole in my soul.

Melvyn L. Fein, Ph.D.

Professor Emeritus

Kennesaw State University