With You I Am Born Again

Not long after I moved to Los Angeles in November 1990, I attended Marianne Williamson's lectures on "The Course in Miracles" three times a week on the west side -- in Hollywood, in Santa Monica, and at the Wilshire-Ebell Theater in the Mid-City area. Each location was about a 20-25 minute drive from my home near Venice.

Marianne attracted a large crowd of followers, adults of all ages, including a sizable number of people in their 20's and 30's. I was in my early 50's, but the younger people in the audience, especially the women, always made me feel welcome.

In 1992, her first book was published and became a blockbuster. It was called A Return to Love: Reflections on the Principles of A Course in Miracles. According to Wikipedia, "It is to date the biggest selling book of interpretation of the spiritual thought system found in the book A Course In Miracles. Most estimates claim that A Return to Love has sold in excess of three million copies, making it not only the best selling book of ACIM interpretation but one of the best selling self-help books of all time."

Wikipedia adds that "A Return to Love was one of the first books to be endorsed by Oprah Winfrey, though it was never selected for Oprah's Book Club because it was published several years before the club's founding." I remember one night an usher at Wilshire-Ebell whom I had come to know asked me to sit in the aisle seat of a row about 10 rows from the stage and asked me to watch the four seats next to me that were reserved for Oprah Winfrey and her three guests. Oprah sat next to me. She asked me if Marianne's audiences were always so packed. I said, "Yes!" without hesitating, adding that lines always ran around the block before the doors opened.

Wikipedia continues: "Though Williamson has authored several books, A Return to Love remains her only book to sell more than a million copies.

“Williamson might be called Oprah's patron saint. She's all about love and healing, yin and yang, being wounded, and using love and prayer to heal all wounds. A Return to Love: Reflections on the Principles of A Course In Miracles (1992) was number one on the Publishers Weekly non-fiction best-sellers list for eleven weeks. Williamson promoted her book and ACIM when she appeared on the Oprah Winfrey Show, an episode that received more pro viewer mail than any other show for 1992. She also plugged the book and the course when she was interviewed by Barbara Walters on the ABC television news show 20/20.”

"A Return to Love spent 39 weeks on The New York Times best-sellers list in 1992. A decade later, A Return to Love was credited as being one of the two books that helped bring New Age perspectives to the American mainstream."

Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Return_to_Love

Marianne soon became famous from coast to coast and in other parts of the world. In time, she moved to the Detroit area. She has written other books over the years and continues to lecture, sometimes returning to Los Angeles.

I wished she had never left.

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.” ----from A Return to Love, by Marianne Williamson.

Marianne always began her evenings with prayer and meditation followed by a couple of musical numbers by guest performers, usually local musicians and singers. One evening, a young black couple sang With You I Am Born Again, a beautiful song I had never heard before. I loved it right away -- and I still do.

A few days later, I heard it in a book store I often visited in the Ladera Heights neighborhood while my car was being worked on at a Honda dealer across the street. The saleswoman told me the recording was by Billy Preston and Syreeta Wright, one they made in 1980. She suggested that since I liked music like that I should attend the Agape Church, which turned out to be only a mile from my apartment. She added that she sang in the choir there every Sunday.

The Agape had a mixed congregation and a mixed choir that sang beautifully. And they could really swing! I looked forward to hearing them every Sunday. The choir gave new meaning, at least to me, to church music.

Sadly, Billy Preston (1946-2006) and Syreeta Wright (1946-2004) are no longer with us. But at least we have this wonderful, haunting song to remember them by....

With You I Am Born Again by Billy Preston and Syreeta Wright


And, here's a video of them singing this beautiful song in December 1979:


George Spink
Los Angeles
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Is Fox News Nuts?

I used to watch E.D. Hill everyday on Fox News at 11 am (Pacific). Fox News dropped her show on June 10th. Why? Because E.D. called the fist gesture that Barack and Michelle Obama use a “terrorist fist jab.”

Actually, E.D. put it this way on her June 6th show: “A fist bump? A pound? A terrorist fist jab?”

E.D. has been with Fox News for 10 years. Is that any reason for Fox News to drop her show? How dumb can Fox News be?


I have seen latino, black, asian, and white teenagers, not to mention many adults, using the so-called “terrorist fist jab” for years. My roommate and I use it all the time, jokingly imitating Barack and Michelle Obama. I bet many of you do, too.

Look what Wikipedia says about this:

On June 6th, 2008, Hill was criticized for referring to an affectionate gesture made between Barack Obama and his wife after the final 2008 presidential Democratic primaries as a “terrorist fist jab”.

Hill, introducing an upcoming discussion, wondered aloud if the gesture was “A fist bump? A pound? A terrorist fist jab?” Hill apologized for her comments four days later, on June 10th.

Later that same day, Fox News announced that Hill’s show America’s Pulse had been canceled. Martha MacCallum’s show The Live Desk would become two hours, and Trace Gallagher would become a co-host with Martha.
Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/E.D._Hill

Take a look at what Media Matters says about this!

I used to enjoy watching Martha MacCallum at 10 am and E.D. Hill at 11 am. Now Martha and Trace Gallagher co-host the 10 am to noon slot Monday through Friday. Both of them are clearly uncomfortable in this dual role. Trace seems much happier working as a reporter than in the studio. Martha seems much happier hosting her own show.

Yes, Fox News is nuts!

Or, maybe Fox News is just prejudiced against women over 40.

Gloria Allred, are you reading this? Give E.D. Hill a call.

George Spink
Los Angeles
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Tim Russert

Like so many others, I was deeply saddened by Tim Russert's untimely passing. At 58, Tim died way too young.

I'll be 68 in September. Like Tim, I am overweight. I need to lose weight and exercise.

Like Tim, I am Roman Catholic, but Tim was a far better Roman Catholic than I have been.

Tim led an exemplary life, a role model in so many ways. I admire his devotion to his family. Tim was lucky to have his father still around.

My father, born in 1910, died from Hodgkin's Disease in January 1957, a month shy of his 47th birthday. I have missed him every single day since then. He is buried at a Catholic cemetery near Chicago.

When my Uncle Bob, now 81, and I visited Chicago in 2003, we visited my dad's grave and those of other relatives buried back there. It was sobering indeed to look at my dad's marker and see 1910-1957 on it. Uncle Bob was very close to my father and my mother (one of his older sisters).

When Tim Russert's book about Big Russ came out in 2004, I meant to read it but never did. Now I will. And his follow-up book.

"Meet The Press" has been one of the finest programs on television for a long time, especially since Tim took it over in 1992. I don't know what it will be like this morning, but I'll be watching.

On Friday, I was watching "my main man" at Fox News during his noon hour (Pacific Time) show when, near the end, Shep told us about Tim's passing. My roommate and I were glued to Fox News for the rest of the day, through Greta's show.

I cannot imagine a sadder day for television news journalists -- and for those who follow and depend on them.


Thunder Road by Bruce Springsteen

Ad Deum qui laetificat juventutem meam.
Goodbye, Tim....

George Spink
Los Angeles

Forty Years Ago: June 5, 1968

On June 5, 1968, Senator Robert F. Kennedy (New York) was shot shortly after midnight by a deranged young man, Sirhan Sirhan.

The whole nation watched it happen. Sen. Kennedy and his supporters had been celebrating a major victory in his run to be the Democratic nominee for President when he won the California primary on June 4th. Sen. Kennedy was shot as he and his supporters walked through the kitchen of the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles. Television news crews, which followed RFK everywhere, broadcast the shooting live from coast to coast.

Senator Kennedy died the next day, June 6th.

He would have been a good President — far better than Richard M. Nixon, who was elected President in November 1968.

Forty years ago….

Rest in peace, Senator Kennedy.

George Spink
Los Angeles

Congratulations, Amber Lee!

Memorial Day 1946

I remember Memorial Days in the 1940's and 1950's in my hometown, Berwyn, Illinois, just a few miles southwest of the Chicago Loop. Those were always fun days for my family, our relatives, and our friends. We always thought of it as the beginning of summer.

The first Memorial Day I remember clearly was the one in 1946. We also called it Decoration Day. I was five years old, turning six in September.

My mother, her father, and her two sisters who lived with us and I left home about 6:45 AM to attend 7:00 AM Mass. After church, we drove to St. Joseph Catholic Cemetery a few miles north of our home. We brought flowers to decorate the graves of my mother's mother, Genevieve, who died in 1942, and my mother's sister, Edna, who died in June 1940. She was only 20 years old. We said prayers for each of them.

A few yards from their graves was one belonging to Bobby Franks, a 14-year-old Hyde Park boy murdered by Loeb and Leopold in 1924. We stopped by his grave and prayed for him. I didn't learn what happened to Bobby Franks until I was a few years older. I simply prayed for him.

We returned home and had breakfast. Then we walked over to see the parade.

The parade began at 11 o'clock and ran down Oak Park Avenue, two short blocks west of our home on Wesley Avenue.

Many members of the American Legion and the Veterans of Foreign Wars marched in that parade. I remember seeing four very old veterans of the Spanish-American War (April-August 1898).

There were also quite a few veterans of World War One in that parade.

What was most memorable were all the veterans of World War Two who marched in that parade in 1946, only 10 months after the war ended. There must have been a thousand of them! They marched proudly in their uniforms. Everyone cheered and cheered, so happy to have their loved ones home at last! The American Legion band played Glenn Miller's "American Patrol" and "The Saint Louis Blues March."

The parade started at 11 o'clock at 16th Street and proceeded about three miles south down Oak Park Avenue to Auburn Cemetery in Stickney, where there was a prayer ceremony and a 21-gun-salute. The parade ended about one o'clock. We watched it go by 31st Street and Oak Park.

Thousands of people lined the parade route in 1946, anxious to welcome the veterans home.

After the parade, we had a picnic in our backyard for our friends and relatives. There was an empty lot across the alley from our home. We called it a prairie. My dad, my uncles, and some of the men in the neighborhood broiled steaks, hamburgers, chicken, and corn on the cob on a makeshift grill. My mother, my aunts, and the other women prepared potatoes, salads, and desserts. We ate about three o'clock.

Everyone remained sitting around the picnic table in our backyard until dark, drinking coffee, soft drinks, or beer. The women helped my mother with the cleanup while the men played cards and listened to the Cubs or White Sox. My cousins, playmates, and I played in the yard or on the street in front of our house.

People went home by nine-thirty. I was already in bed. My folks and my aunts listened to the ten o'clock news on the kitchen radio. The news ended at 10:15 PM. They were all in bed by 10:30 PM.

Only yesterday....

George Spink
Los Angeles
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Northwestern (1961-1963)

I went to Northwestern for my last two years of undergraduate work, graduating in June 1963 with a B.A. in political science (with honors).

My mother and I lived in Berwyn, about 10 miles southwest of downtown Chicago. Northwestern is about 10 miles north of downtown Chicago. Commuting by train took about an hour or a little longer each way. I didn't have a car. And I didn't want to spend two hours or more each day commuting by train.

I visited Evanston in mid-August 1961 to look for a room to rent in a house near campus. The housing office gave me a list of rooms they had checked. The counselor pointed one out in particular. "I'd go there first," she said. "The family is terrific!"

The house was at 2018 Orrington and a few doors north of Sherman, a block west of Sheridan Road and the heart of the Northwestern campus.

I knocked on the front door. Mrs. Lee answered. She and I hit it off from the start. A petite woman in her 30's, Mrs. Lee said she rented two rooms in their furnished attic to students. The larger room facing Orrington was already rented to a second-year grad student in economics.

"He's as quiet as a mouse," she said.

The other room was smaller but just what I needed. Like the living room I saw when I entered the home, the student rooms also had Colonial furniture. There was a a clean bathroom for the students to share. Their home was impeccably clean. It was a large, two-story Victorian home built near the end of the 19th century, like many homes near Lake Michigan in Evanston.

I asked Mrs. Lee how much she rent she was asking. "How about $12 a week?" she said. "We get $15 a week for the larger room. I clean the attic every week and changed the sheets." I agreed to rent it and asked when I could move in.

"Whenever you want!" she said. I explained that I was working for Western Electric in the Merchandise Mart in downtown Chicago but would be leaving at the end of August. I moved in on the Saturday following Labor Day. My mother drove me to campus. Mrs. Lee and her hit it off from the start. My mother adored the Lee home.

Mrs. Lee explained that they liked the students to use the rear entrance, that is, through the back porch, into the kitchen, and up the back stairs to the attic.

In the months that followed, I realized how lucky I was to find this room with the Lee family. Mr. Lee was an exec with Kraft. Mrs. Lee's mother lived there, but she was ill and died during my senior year. They had a 13-year-old daughter beginning her first year at Evanston High.

Living with the Lees made my days at Northwestern so enjoyable. They were a wonderful, kind, and caring family.

In 1968, I was working at the American Hospital Association on Lake Shore Drive, a couple of blocks east of the Hancock Building on Michigan Boulevard. On my way back from lunch, I saw Mrs. Lee walking south on Michigan passed the Hancock Building. We hadn't seen each other since I graduated in June 1963.

We both smiled and hugged each other. Mrs. Lee told me that she and her husband sold their home in Evanston two years earlier and bought a two-bedroom condo in the Hancock Building, not far from Kraft headquarters on Lake Shore Drive. Their daughter was in college. Mrs. Lee said that taking care of their large Evanston home eventually wore her out. She added that she was working down the street for an ad agency and that her husband walked to and from Kraft every day, about a mile each way.

I thanked her again for being so kind to me while I lived in their home during my days at Northwestern. I was very fortunate indeed.

George Spink
Los Angeles

My Cats, My Buddies

In November 1984, I had to have my 12-year-old cat, Muffin, "put to sleep," as I prefer to call it. He had been ill for a couple of months, suffering from cancerous tumors.

I had raised Muffin and his sister, Patches, since they were six weeks old. I also adopted another female cat, Cozy Nozy, a few months after I adopted Muffin and Patches in May 1972.

Muffin and Patches were gray tabby cats. Cozy Nozy was a white tabby cat with a few gray spots. There was a definite pecking order. Muffin and Patches always ate first as Cozy Nozy watched. When they finished, Cozy Nozy would eat.

Late one evening in early November 1984, Muffin was visibly ill, collapsing several times as he headed to the bathroom to use the litter box. I felt so sorry for him. Our vet had told me Muffin only had a short time left. "You could save him a lot of pain...," the vet advised, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.

That night I called a 24-hour emergency vet who suggested I bring Muffin in right away. The emergency vet was located about four miles from my apartment in the Old Town neighborhood of Chicago. Muffin and I arrived about 2 AM.

There were two young vets working. One of them examined Muffin and said the best thing I could do for him would be to have him euthanized.

"He's obviously in a great deal of pain," the vet said. "You can prevent him from suffering any longer."

"What do you do with his body?" I asked.

"We send it to a pet crematorioum in Arlington Heights," he said.

Very sadly, very reluctantly, I agreed. I asked the vet to allow me to spend a few final moments with Muffin. Those were long, tearful moments for me. I asked the vet if I could remain with Muffin after he gave Muffin the injection, but he said I could not. Finally, I said "Goodbye" to Muffin.

I hated going home without Muffin. Patches and Cozy Nozy sensed Muffin would not be returning ever again.

Early the next morning, I took a cab out to Arlington Heights to call on a new client (I worked in public relations). The client was located in a nondecript industrial park. As we entered the park, we drove by a pet crematorium, the same one to which Muffin's body had been sent. That sent chills through me....

Cozy Nozy lived until August 1987, also dying from cancer. Patches lived until December 1991, just a few months shy of her 20th birthday, also dying from cancer. Cozy Nozy and Patches flew out from Chicago to California with me in 1986. It took them a couple of days to get over flying in the baggage compartment of a jumbo jet.

When it came time to put Cozy Nozy and Patches to sleep, I insisted that I remain with them while they were euthanized. I did not want them to die without me next to them. The vet allowed me to do so but insisted I keep my hands at my side.

Muffin, Patches, and Cozy Nozy were great pets! It tore me apart to put them to sleep. In 1993, I adopted another male cat, Thumper, who resembles Cozy Nozy, a white tabby cat with a few gray spots. Now 15 years old, Thumper is sleeping in the bedroom (it is about 8:20 AM on Saturday morning). He is in good health.

I blame myself for Muffin, Patches, and Cozy Nozy suffering from cancer. Why? Because I smoked about three packs of cigarettes a day until September 1989, when I finally quit smoking. By then, both Muffin and Cozy Nozy had died from cancer. Patches succombed to it in December 1991.

Thumper has not been exposed to cigarette smoking. He is in fine health.

Because I am an apartment dweller, I have not allowed my cats go outside, as much as they might like to do so. I live along a busy street in Los Angeles. A driveway runs along my apartment building to a parking area in the rear. I don't want Thumper getting crushed to death by a car.

In fact, that happened to a cute cat that belonged to a neighbor of mine around the corner. She was a kitten when I met her about 10 years ago and liked to follow me home after I parked my car. I always stopped to pet her and talk to her.

One morning as I walked to my car, I saw her owner talking with a neighbor. He told me that his cat had been crushed overnight while sleeping under a car. The car owner accidentally crushed his cat when he drove away that morning. The little cat was less than a year old....

Thumper will remain an indoor cat and live in a healthy environment for the rest of his days.

Now I'm going into the bedroom to pester him.... I think I'll give him a few Punce treats, which I call his "tasty tabby treats." He loves them!

George Spink
Los Angeles

Giggin' at Gotham National - Part 1

I've never been to a dinner such as the White House Correspondents’ dinner this weekend that had good food and good sound. Private clubs seem incapable of preparing good food and providing good audio.

The worst experience I ever had was in the 1970's when I worked in the public affairs division at Gotham National Bank in Chicago. A new staff member -- let's call her Gen, who came from Boston -- came off as a real hotshot, a tough feminist. She was assigned to produce a luncheon on world hunger. Our boss told her to invite Chicago's business and philanthropic elite and to find a suitable venue.

Gen selected the Union League Club.

When she announced this at our regular Monday morning staff meet, I told Gen there was a problem with the Union League Club.

"What, George?" she asked in a condescending tone.

"Gen, the Union League Club doesn't allow black or Jewish members. It is the most segregated private club in Chicago."

Gen was dumbfounded. Our boss glared at her.

"You should have checked with us before you booked the Union League Club, Gen," he said. "Besides, their food isn't the best in town."

The luncheon was scheduled for noon on a Monday. When I arrived about 11:45 AM, Gen was going crazy!

Everyone noticed the horrible stench in the dining room that permeated the entire club. There had been a dinner party the previous Friday at which salmon was the main entrée. After the dinner, no once bothered to empty the garbage cans in the kitchen. What we smelled on Monday at noon was three-day-old rotten fish!

I've never seen a luncheon where so many people offered so many excuses to leave early. The foul odor drove them away.

I left about 20 minutes into the luncheon. I couldn't take it any longer! My boss saw me leaving and walked back to the bank with me.

"What should I do about, Gen?" he asked me.

"Make her get your approval on everything, or else we'll all be out of work!" I said.

As soon as I arrived home that day, I took off my clothes. I washed my underwear, socks, and shirt in our laundry room and took my suit and tie to the dry cleaners on the first floor. They had to be cleaned twice to remove the awful odor. Then I took a long, hot, soapy shower....

At our staff meeting the following week, our boss praised Gen for her hard work on the world hunger luncheon. Before long, Gen was made one of Gotham National's first female officers.

The Peter Principle had worked again!

George Spink
Los Angeles
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