Community Views
Ron Brown:
A Special Individual
How To Bring Bath(
The Magic Of One Day
MELVIN HOLLOWELL SPECIAL TO THE JEWISH NEWS
ELIZABETH APPLEBAUM ASSOCIATE EDITOR
Everyone, it seems,
has a "Ron Brown
story."
At the barber
shop, at communi-
ty meetings and in
conversations on
the street corners,
I have heard a non-
stop torrent of rev-
elations of favorite memories of
the late commerce secretary.
The stories have a common
theme: total admiration for his
ability to work effectively at the
epicenter of American politics and
business, but to do so never for-
getting where he came from. For
that reason, the tragic crash of
Mr. Brown's plane into the side
of a Bosnian mountain has sad-
dened the nation as a whole.
My sense is that the loss is felt
even more deeply in the black
community.
Even if they had never met the
man, African Americans knew
that Ron Brown was special.
When he ran for chairman of the
Democratic National Committee,
many party regulars thought that
the selection of a black man with
ties to Ted Kennedy, Mario Cuo-
mo, Jesse Jackson and the Urban
League would be a death knell for
Democrats in the 1992 elections.
Instead the country witnessed
Mr. Brown perform brilliantly.
His seamless eloquence on the
talk-show circuit won rave re-
views, and his behind-the-scenes
organizing skills were central to
President Clinton's victory.
As the first black secretary of
commerce, he again pushed the
Melvin Hollowell is a
shareholder at Butzel Long
and a former candidate for
Congress from Detroit.
edges of the envelope. He ener-
gized the low-key department by
flying around the world advocat-
ing for blue-chip U.S. businesses.
But in those meetings, he was leg-
endary — in the black communi-
ty — for ensuring that minority
firms were included in the con-
tracts ultimately awarded.
Unlike Justice Clarence
Thomas, who, upon confirmation
to the Supreme Court conve-
niently forgot about the existence
of discrimination, Ron Brown
never forsook his Harlem roots
when he reached the top. As the
old saying goes, "He walked with
kings but never lost the common
touch."
Ron Brown
I first came to know Ron
Brown when I was a member of
the Wayne County Executive's
staff. We had hired him to rep-
resent the county in connection
with securing federal funding for
Metro Airport. He was smooth,
smart, effective and was a pleas-
ant person to be around. Later,
I spent a significant amount of
time with him during Carl
Levin's 1990 reelection cam-
paign.
On one of Mr. Brown's visits,
we covered six cities along the I-
75 corridor, ending the day with
a taped appearance on "Night-
line." At every stop, he greeted
people with enthusiasm and
warmth; and he listened intent-
ly to the concerns of the local lead-
ers.
On a recent trip he made to De-
troit, I picked up Secretary Brown
from the airport. I drove my Jeep
onto the runway, and after the
plane's door swung open, he
walked down just a few steps
from the top of the boarding stair-
case. Then, in a moment I will al-
ways remember, he stopped
briefly, gave me a salute and
flashed the brightest smile I've
ever seen. He could really make
a person feel good.
Yet, last week I heard Rush
Limbaugh talk about how the re-
action to Secretary Brown's death
was somehow overblown. Mr.
Limbaugh sent a chill down my
spine as he said in a mockingly
tearful tone, "Now the little black
children will have no one to look
up to as a role model. Look, folks,
I'm not being insensitive here; but
you'd think that JFKjust died or
something." Then I read that
none — not one member — of the
Republican leadership attended
the funeral of the U.S. secretary
of commerce. Not the kinder, gen-
tler Bob Dole; not Newt Gingrich;
no one from the top Republican
ranks had the inclination to shed
his intense partisanship (let alone
shed a tear) for a black Cabinet
official who died serving his coun-
try.
Ron Brown's legacy of success
is a testament to the fact that we
as a nation have come a long way.
But we still have a long way to go.
He will be greatly missed. ❑
Comment
How Am I Doing?
A Parent Never Asks
ERICA MEYER RAUZIN SPECIAL TO THE JEWISH NEWS
former mayor of New York
was known for asking,
"How am I doing?" I sup-
pose people answered him,
with or without candor; after all,
he was the mayor. But there is no
point asking, "How am I doing?"
when you are a parent. At best,
you'll get an answer along the
lines of, What-da-ya mean, Mom-
my? Can I have a popsicle?"
Unfortunately, the very things
you do that are good for your chil-
dren—the things you know (from
A
the lofty perspective of adulthood)
that your parents did correctly for
you—are the exact things that are
likeliest to infuriate your children.
Forbid desserts before supper
or ice cream for breakfast? You get
anger.
Protest outdoor excursions sans
shoes? You get exasperation. Re-
strain contacts with the Easter
Bunny? You get resignation of the
"Oh, Mother" variety plus some
extra lobbying. Actually, my kids
didn't have any genuine interest
in the guy in the silly costume, but
they were deeply intrigued by can-
dy he was dispensing at the mall.
If I had asked, "How am I
do'ing?" at the moment when I
gave them a box of Passover
chocolate lollipops and told them
to forget about the candy eggs,
they would have given me a slight
ly better grade, based on bribery.
One of the reasons the question
is useless (or at least moot) is that
young children don't think you are
DOING page 20
I recently spoke
with an interest-
ing woman, the
mother of two
small children,
who said that a
broken VCR was
the best thing
that had hap-
pened to her in
years. She's never going to re-
pair it, she said. She doesn't
even want it anymore.
Naturally, I was prepared to
secure immediate psychiatric
care for this woman — even if
it meant paying for it myself.
What does she mean she
doesn't want a VCR? Every-
body with young children
wants a VCR. How else would
we get the dishes done, the
clothes ironed and dinner
cooked if not for children sit-
ting in front of the TV, mes-
merized by Barney and Disney
and Preschool Power?
The woman explained that
the broken VCR meant she and
her children had more time to-
gether. They read. They did art
projects. They talked.
I contrast this with a friend
of mine who comes from what
he describes as a "very tradi-
tional Italian-Catholic family."
When he was a child, he, his
siblings and parents always sat
down together for dinner. Now
my friend is a father of two,
and both he and his wife work.
They hardly ever have time for
a family dinner, he said. He
misses it.
I hear a lot of people talk
about the lack of spirituality in
their lives, and I'm not sur-
prised. When a family doesn't
make time to spend time to-
gether even once during the
day, when everything is
rushed, when work becomes
the central and only focus of
one's existence, when parents
do everything they can to avoid
being with their children, when
watching a basketball game be-
comes more important than at-
tending synagogue services,
what do you expect?
I have an answer.
It's called Shabbat.
Now before you think I'm the
Jewish version of Ramtha
("You must look deep within
yourself! You must trust the
wisdom of the ancients! You
must know that you are enti-
tled to happiness!"), let me as-
sure you that I'm not into
"spiritual" kinds of things. I
don't want to find my "inner
child" or "get in touch with my
feelings" and I don't care about
any previous lives I may have
led. I love chocolate and caf-
feine and I'd rather hear a sar-
castic joke than a sensitive
poem any day.
Nor am I ready to give up
my VCR now or in the foresee-
able future — like my entire
lifetime.
But I have to say that on
Shabbat (the one day when we
don't turn on the TV), there's a
very different feeling in our
home. I would almost describe
it as mysterious.
First of all, it's a lot quieter
(even with two small children).
It means I don't have to hear
those TV commercials where a
woman sings "Nobody does it
like you" to her vacuum clean-
er, or where two women drink
a nutritional supplement and
then coo, "To our health!" (Just
thinking about it makes my
skin crawl.) It means the whole
family sits down together with-
out the blare of the evening
news.
Time seems different. I lose
all sense of the hour, which is
absolutely contrary to my (and
no doubt your) usual schedule.
The day simply seems to be
there, with a definite beginning
and end, and yet no beginning
and end, as in a dream.
Now that Shabbat starts
late, so does our Friday-night
meal. It's an unusual feeling to
have dinner late at night. And
while I'm not a formal person,
I like the elegance of this meal:
the way we use our nicest dish-
es, drink wine, and have an ap-
petizer and soup, then the
main course.
In the morning I don't run to
get dressed. Instead, my chil-
dren and I play together; we do
puzzles and read books (thanks
to my son, I have The Grouchy
Ladybug memorized). In the
afternoon, we go on picnics,
feasting on dates and cookies
and apple juice, and play in the
park. My children give me gifts
of beautiful leaves and pieces
of brightly colored ribbon they
find as we walk home.
"Mommy," my daughter said
recently. "Even if we weren't
Jewish, I would want to cele-
brate Shabbat because I like it
so much."
I often find unusual events
happen on Shabbat. Perhaps I
will come across a photo I had
been looking for for years, or
speak with an acquaintance I
will suddenly discover knows
my sister, or my husband will
tell me of a lecture he heard at
our synagogue, in which a
guest rabbi spoke of the secret
place where "God goes to weep
over the fate of His people."
Or it might rain, seemingly
without end, as it did last Sat-
urday. It was very chilly, but
almost ethereal as my children
and I bundled up in blankets
MAGIC page 20