Two recent articles in publications have gotten some buzz. One written by AP reporter Luis Andres Henao looks at a rise of young adult interest in Friends and profiles a dramatic increase in attendance at Arch Street Meeting in Philadelphia. It’s been reprinted in a lot of newspapers. It quotes a Valerie Goodman:
“It feels like I can have a minute to breathe. It’s different than having a moment of meditation in my apartment because there’s still all of the distractions around,” Goodman says. “And it’s crazy being in a room full of other people that are all there to experience that themselves.”
It was as if someone had turned down the volume of the world, and all that remained was my feelings, sitting raw and open like a wound. Rather than running, I sat for an hour and let them wash over me. I left with a fresher perspective and spent the rest of the day in a calm daze. For the first time in a while, I felt anchored to something greater than myself.
I talked with Friends Journal author Ronald Marullo this week. His article, “I Aint’ Marching Anymore” (a nod to Phil Ochs of course), recounts his path to conscientious objection during the Vietnam war, helped by a very knowledgable Quaker counselor. It always amazes me that just a few conversations at the right time can help someone clarify their beliefs and set their lives on a different path.
I was especially interested in talking about the after-effects of the CO process since I went through something similar myself. Around age 17 my father started lobbying hard for me to go to the Naval Academy at Annapolis. Except for a few years in Presbyterian Sunday School we had grown up mostly a‑religious and I found the idea intriguing. I think in retrospect I was mostly excited by the idea of an orderly life that might address my ADHD (called hyperactivity in those days). I got far enough into the process to take a physical and get a letter of commendation from our congressperson but then thought more about the military itself. I realized I didn’t feel comfortable joining an organization whose purpose was threatening to kill. I had on principle, and without much deliberation, decided not to engage in schoolyard fights years before, and suffered the regular humiliations that comes of being the smallest kid in class who everyone knows won’t fight back. To the disappointment of my father I stopped the application process for the navy. As I pondered what to do next, I asked myself what other values might come from my newfound pacifism. Over the next few years I explored various leads and — being in the Philadelphia area — started running into Quakers, some of whom had a kind of inner conviction I found intriguing.
So while I was far too young to ever worry about a draft, I did have a similar defining “what do I believe” moment as a teenager. As Ron says in our author chat podcast:
That was a turning point in my life. I made decisions from filling out those forms and answering those questions actually made concrete what I had inside me, ideally. You think about this and think about that and whether or not you hold it true. But when you have to put it all on paper and you have to submit it to the world, it changes you. And I’ve lived by that philosophy since that age. I’ve done it in my educational experience with children. I’ve done it in my private life with friends, caregiving others. My wife and I have been doing that, you know, for decades.
Great story in Hidden City Philadelphia about Quaker aid to government-displaced Japanese Americans during WW2. A coalition of peace activists, Quakers, and religious progressives opened a hostel in West Philly and organized college admissions to area schools.
“Old Zinc Factory; Palmerton” by road_less_trvled on Flickr (creative commons license)
When I was growing up we’d make the trip from Philadelphia to my grandmother’s house a couple of times a year. As we headed north, the highway threaded across farm fields and through rock cuts in the hills. About an hour in, we’d start noticing the thin blue band on the horizon. It would slowly get larger and larger until Blue Mountain loomed in front of us and we whooshed into Lehigh Tunnel.
My Nana lived on the other side of that mountain. On this side the mountainside was red. The forests that carpeted the rest of the thousand-mile ridge had been ripped up by the decades of chemicals pouring out if the smokestacks of the giant zinc processing factories that bookended the town of Palmerton.
When conversation turned to adult matters, I’d wander to the back porch and count the dirt bike trails going up the barren mountain. When I tired of that I’d play in the stones of my grandmother’s backyard. Even grass didn’t grow in this town. Ambitious homeowners would sometimes make rock gardens for the space in front of each house that had been designed for marigolds, but most of the town had gotten used to the absence of green. When the EPA finally got around to declaring the mountain a superfund site we all snorted dismissively. My grandmother was actually offended, having long ago convinced herself that the factory effusions must be healthy.
The Palmerton factories were funded by New York bankers. Princeton University got multiple multimillion-dollar bequests in the wills of the founders of the zinc company. I’m sure there are still a few residual trust funds paying out dividends.
Today we have Philadelphia and Pittsburgh bankers orchestrating the removal of the mountaintops in West Virginia. As our technology has improved so has our capacity for ill-considered mass destruction of our natural surroundings.
All living creatures have an impact on their surroundings. My comforts rely on the coal, oil, and natural gas that are brought into our cities and towns. But I do know we can do better. I’m optimistic enough to can find ways to live together on this Earth that don’t break our mountains or poison our neighbors.
Local geo geeks will recognize that the sharp line of the most recent map almost completely coincides with the divide between coastal plain and piedmont. #geography #blog
Embedded Link
Shrinking Middle as Income Inequality Rises
The share of American families living in middle-income neighborhoods has decreased, while the share in affluent or poor neighborhoods has increased.
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Hidden City Philadelphia 
