A Cry in the Wilderness?

STAND FOR LOVE: Sunday, July 17, 2016

c/o Skip Corris

     It is official. I am an activist. At least for a few hours on a Sunday afternoon on the Hope Memorial Bridge straddling the Cuyahoga River Valley.  Here several thousand people made a large circle extending from one side of the bridge to the other, joined hands, and spent 30 minutes meditating in silence, willing the world to choose LOVE over what seems to be a creeping tendency toward fear and hatred, violence and recriminations. Don't know if it did any good. That morning three police officers were killed in Baton Rouge.

We east siders who wanted to participate followed instructions posted on Social Media and showed of at the Wolstein Center near Cleveland State at 1 PM Sunday.  There we paid a "ten dollar donation" if we wanted a white shirt with STAND FOR LOVE in red letters blazoned across the chest. I did buy one, extra large, I am sorry to say, and looking even fatter in the shirt (see photo).

We then boarded yellow school buses with aisles wide enough for an 8-year-old to navigate. "Euclid City Schools" was pasted in black along the flanks. I sat next to a female Presbyterian minister from Cleveland Heights named Trisha who told me of the turmoil in the Presbyterian Church lately about admitting gay and lesbian ministers. We disgorged at the western foot of the Hope Memorial Bridge, a WPA structure with yellowish struts overlooking a breathtaking view of the city. And from here we walked, en masse, over 2100 and maybe as much as 4,000, onto the bridge. I looked around me.

There were church groups and clubs, persons of all ages and denominations, sexuality, creed, ethnicity, etc. but leaning heavily on Democrat liberals. The gay and lesbian community was out in force, including my friend and old college buddy Scott Plate who runs the much touted musical theatre program at Baldwin Wallace. We hugged (you're supposed to do a lot of hugging.) I stuck with theatre director Skip Corris and his wife Roseanne (see photo).

Gathered on the bridge we heard three women singing "IF WE ONLY HAVE LOVE" by Jaques Brel over a failing P.A. system and then we got our instructions to fan out across the bridge and then get in a single file line closing into a circle and join hands facing the opposite side of the circle. And then, when an air horn sounded we were to keep holding hands and fall silent. I had Roseanne Corris on my left and a total stranger, a middle aged and very tan woman on my right with blue painted nails I hated to defile with my hand's grasp. But I sacrificed this qualm for LOVE.

A troop of policemen in bicycles pedaled past us and we clapped in solidarity with them. They waved back. They were many ethnic groups represented and there were several women among them. We got into a straight line and grasped hands again, this time for real. Then a woman with an air horn walked by, having trouble with it at first but then finally- BRAAAAAAP!  And then silence. Wind whipped through us and sea gulls mourned overhead. Down below perhaps a ship's horn broke wind once or twice.

And we were videoed and photographed. NBC. PBS. NPR. Overhead a helicopter seemed to be stalking us. And a plane trailed a sign: "HILARY FOR PRISON 2016." Later another plane had a sign trailing it that said "IN DEFENSE OF REAL MARRIAGE."

But we thousands said nothing, holding hands, arms starting to ache, (you hold your hand loosely and let the breezes play through it and dry up your palm sweat.; much better for your companion not to be inundated):  thinking, wondering, enjoying being part of something though none of us completely understood what it was or what it would mean.But we hoped for the best. 30 minutes goes by both slowly and quickly when you are making a point and trying to do some good. BRAAAAAAP! Released back into the world by the air horn. Then we hugged each other. "Thanks for sharing your hand," I said to the woman on my right. "Likewise," she said.  And we parted forever.

On the bus back I sat next to Nancy, a retired phys ed teacher who lived in Cleveland's Chinatown (Payne Ave. and 30th Street about) who did not care for Chinese food but loved to walk around the city.

STAND FOR LOVE was supposed to be a counterpoint to the Republican Convention. Or maybe a prayer for peace, a benediction to the week to come. Let us come together.

The next day the Dump Trump faction was plowed over by forces who quickly ratified the rules over objections. Let the games begin...