The Ghosts of Culture's Past

Good day to you all,
I hope this post finds you all well.

Today is Friday, which is always a plus, and I am now counting down the hours until I may start drinking.

However, my aforementioned imbibery is not the purpose of this e-mail.

Today is October 23. Our President, Barack Obama is in Boston today. October 23 is the anniversary of one of the sadder events in the history of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.

Boston is a strange city. It is a beautiful city. It is steeped in history and culture, its pride runs deep. It was founded as the "city on the hill," and to this day, the old world shadows hang amongst the skyscrapers and brownstones. It seems that every corner and alley, every building, bridge, pub, restaurant and each individual cobblestone that still line some of the streets of this somewhat ghostly city, all have a story to tell.

Indeed they do. But, this is where the city turns ugly. Amidst the history, culture and glory that is rooted in the city that truly was the spirit of America, we find, deep down in its bowels, in its alleys and pubs, its dark side. Amidst the landmarks that commemorate the Founders, the brothers of the revolution, the rejection of oppression, we find a rejection of beauty. The city that houses the blue-blood WASPs that spout sermons of equality, justice and morality is the same city that has, over almost 300 years, refined and rehearsed and mastered the skill of hiding its vices and playing up its class. The city know as the "Athens of America" has done its best to blind itself from truth and knowledge. Its not that Boston has no vices, its just that city has a knack of keeping its vices hidden from the rest of the world.

People that live outside of New England honestly have no clue of the reign of terror that gripped the city for so long, and dare I say, still does. People have no clue of what horrors were brought down upon the people of the city, and even the entire commonwealth, and still remain, by the likes of Joseph Kennedy, the Bulgers and Steven "The Rifleman" Flemmi, by Mayor King, and by Albert DeSalvo (the man arrested for and charged with the eleven murders attributed to the Boston Strangler, but never convicted, so technically, the Boston Strangler case is an unsolved one). Let us not forget John Morris and John "Zip" Connolly, the two FBI agents now doing felony time in federal prisons and, God forgive me, even Bernard Cardinal Law. The list goes on. There's Paul Rico, Howie Winter, and most recently Carmen "Cheese Man" DiNunzio. Then there is the laundry list of local, state, and federal law enforcement corruption on a biblical scale. I suppose I am belaboring the point.

Today's anniversary is of even a lesser known event, but quite possibly the saddest. Twenty years ago today, Charles Stuart, after attending a birthing class with his pregnant wife at Brigham and Woman's Hospital, shot her in the head, then shot himself in his lower abdomen, and proceeded to file a report that it was a black man from Mission Hill that executed his wife and shot him. Mr. Stuart claimed this black man forced his way into their car, had them drive to Mission Hill, robbed them, and then shot them. What ensued in the following days was an insult to any human being, no matter the color of one's skin. The Mission Hill neighborhood was torn apart by the Boston Police. The violation of constitutional rights were innumerable.

A man from Mission Hill by the name of Willie Bennet was put on trial for the murder of the uptown couple (Stuart was the manager of Kakas Furs on Newbury Street, and for those of you who don't know it, hoity-toity doesn't even come close). He was on his way to being railroaded and spending life in prison until Charles' brother Matthew came forward and revealed the truth, that Charles was the murderer. It was later revealed that Charles was having quite the torrid love affair with one of his employees.

Then, on January 4, 1990, Charles Stuart's body was pulled from the Mystic River. He had lept from the Tobin Bridge, the bridge that connects Charlestown to Chelsea, just north of Boston's North End, and left a note in his car that he couldn't deal with the allegations against him.

What is my point, you ask? It is this: Beneath the skin, Boston is a city that is screaming for help. Boston, amidst its history and beauty and celebrated "progress" is a city that is in deep decay. The rot in Boston runs deeper than The Charles River's inland reach. And Boston, of course, is merely a microcosm of society. The fact that Our President, who wants to celebrate diversity and institute a new era of hope and change, and is here to heal the wounds and bury the hatchet, arrived in Boston on this day, on this anniversary, may be no accident.

To our President, I say this: "Mr. President, may God have mercy on your soul when your judgment comes. You have turned your back on our culture, you have turned your back on Western civilization. You have abandoned the people you claim as your own, the African-Americans. You refuse to acknowledge the unborn. You refuse to acknowledge that abortion is even an issue. You have run our dollar into the ground, and now you want to cap salaries. You are working on assassinating a revival of Western tradition. You already have assassinated any faith this country has had in its leaders. And lastly, Mr. President, and maybe worse of all, the spirits of the dead of the wars that you refused to support, are "coming home to roost." Their blood is now on your hands, and you, Mr. President, are more concerned with jazz festivals on the White House lawn and the redistribution of wealth than you are concerned with the death of American soldiers, marines, sailors, airmen and coastguardsmen."

"Mr. President, I pray that it is not too late for you to hear the cries of the ghosts that haunt the streets of Boston. I pray you may hear their screams from the grave that herald the death and decay of our culture, of our way of life. The ghosts that walk the streets of Boston are the result of men such as yourself who talked but seldom acted, and when they did act, they, through either action or omission, became guilty of the most heinous crimes of humanity. These ghosts haunt Boston hoping to warn men such as yourself, who speak of lofty ideals and social progression and change and hope, of the looming catastrophic end of Western culture.

These ghosts of Boston, of New England, dating back to the Puritans, dating back to those who were unjustly executed by hypocritical, self-serving, self-centered, pompous men, who were so full of themselves, men such as yourself, that they murdered innocent women. These ghosts, the ghosts of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Stuart, the ghosts of the countless victims of the Bulgers and the Kennedys, they walk the Fenway, the Back Bay, the Boston Common, Mission Hill, Southie, seeking someone who would be willing to lend an ear to them, that they might whisper the secrets of the bowels of Boston. The message of the decay and rot.

"The ghosts of the dead from the Boston Massacre and the American War for Independence, whose blood was the ink of the Constitution, are begging you to be faithful to that document. The ghosts of the POWs who died in prison at Fort Warren on George's Island in Boston Harbor during the War of Southern Secession, are crying to you to defend and uphold the principles of the Constitution that they so willingly gave their lives for.

"The ghosts of the dead from the race riots walk the streets of Roxbury and Mattapan, also looking to tell their story. The ghosts of the Archdiocese of Boston, once the strongest and greatest in the city, and now has fallen so far, want to share their stories with you. Their stories of greed, power, sin and hatred.

"But make no mistake Mr. President, all the stories are the same. The stories are all about the rot and decay in Boston that is swept under the rug by men such as yourself. Men thirsty for power, hungry for fame. It is the same rot and decay of Western culture that you are so actively squeezing the last breath out of. Mr. President, its like Tom Waits once said, "no one speaks English and everything's broken."

"The ghosts are stirring, Mr. President. From Copley Square to Dorchester to Logan Airport, they roam the streets, seeking ears to whisper into. Listen closely, Mr. President. It may be your last chance."

I wonder if the president invited his Aunt Zetuni to come out today? I wonder if the president asked Willie Bennet to join him today?

Our culture may be likened to another Tom Waits line: its "an old shirt that is stained with blood and whiskey. And goodnight to the street sweepers, the night watchmen flame keepers, and goodnight to Matilda too."

Again, Mr. President, listen closely.

In Christ,
Jesse