No liquids on board

drummondI came to Drummond Island, Michigan via Toronto and Sault Saint Marie, Ontario.  My flight from Munich came in late and it took forever to get through customs in Toronto, so I didn’t have time to check in my suitcase again to make my connecting flight. I ran to catch my flight, because taking a later one would have been too complicated: The Sault Saint Marie airport is 2 1/2 hours away from my family’s cabin, and I wasn’t certain I’d be able to get in touch with my brother Larry. Continue reading No liquids on board

Growing up in DC in the 1960s

This morning I found a newspaper clipping and a picture that took me back to my childhood, growing up in DC.

The clipping shows my kindergarten class at St. Peter’s School on an excursion to visit an actor, the father of one of my classmates, who was appearing in Macbeth at the local theater. Our school teachers at St. Peter’s tried hard to get us to read books and go to the theater, with mixed success. Anyway, this kindergarten field trip got everyone’s attention.


King Duncan’s Transformation
Robert Prosky, who plays Duncan, King of Scots, in the current Arena Stage production of Macbeth, shows kindergarten youngsters how he makes up for the role. Prosky gave the young Shakespearean fans some idea why the show, scheduled to run through next Sunday, has excited theater-goers. His crown in place, the king applies touch of makeup to Sandy Wallace of St. Peter’s School where Prosky’s son, Stefan, is member of the class. In addition to the makeup art, the actor demonstrated some of the tricks and weapons used in the Arena Stage production. Sandy Wallace, Ann Hodgson and Sidney Barkla are entranced.”

Sandy, the blond girl, was my best friend, and Carlton, the black boy closest to the actor, was my neighbor.

The photo below shows Minnette, Carlton and me in my backyard, playing “statues”, where you whirl around until someone yells “stop!” and you have to say “what you are” – a dumb game that I loved.


These were the mid ’60s, and we were, of course, an integrated school with kids from elegant Capitol Hill and what was known as “the projects”, social housing further south, where poor black families lived. Our teachers were nuns in light-blue short habits who carried around guitars, singing “Yes, Jesus loves me ’cause the bible tells me so” with us. But I didn’t like St. Peter’s. I remember being beaten up and having toys stolen and being afraid of some of the bullies there. Plus, the nuns were so busy integrating us that we didn’t do much except reading and writing. There was no math to speak of. My dad was not pleased.

So since my family spoke German at home, he and my mom decided to send me to the German School, a private school for German expats, in 3rd grade. My education there was a lot better, and I liked school more, but frankly, my life got much more segregated. I was in “Little Germany” all day, and that had nothing at all to do with the inner city realities of Capitol Hill. It wasn’t intentional, but I lost touch with my old classmates and only met the neighbors at St. Peter’s church. And then our neighborhood got more expensive. Carlton’s family moved away because they couldn’t afford the rent, so I lost my black playmates.

So here I was, living is what is known as “Chocolate City“, with no black friends. My family did “white middle class things”, the kind of stuff exposed so mercilessly by the satirical and totally accurate blog,, so apart from functional things like community action, our family social life didn’t include blacks. When I struck out on my own as  teenager, I prefered black music, which sounds like home to me, but I got that from the streets, not from friends. At my first dance party I played Stevie Wonder, Aretha, James Brown and  Sly and the Family Stone, music my classmates didn’t even know. I felt infinitely superior. The arrogance of a 12 year-old!

How successful has school integration been? It all depends on who you talk to. Today you can choose between cultural options. With more people acknowledging their mixed genetic heritage, you can even choose to be white or black or something in between.

You’ve probably heard that the USA is a melting pot of cultures, right? Well, a lot of people say it isn’t, that we’re a mixed salad culture. I would tend to agree. There are many new ingredients in the salad, but we still have the old ones there.

So do we no longer need to force social integration as defined way back in the ’60s? Many schools have become charter schools, setting up their own rules to create a learning environment they consider most productive for their students. Last year, in Parents v. Seattle Schools, the Supreme Court decided that public schools should be free to choose their own policies regarding integration. It’s hard to say what consequences this will have. I found a thought-provoking article by Elatia Harris, entitled White Girl in the Promised Land. She writes:

“To make no legal distinctions between black children who grow up with the stresses of poverty and white children who live in privilege is to make the law a guarantor of that privilege. Trust me on this one, for I can remember when the law was exactly that.”

Michelle Obama made a speech to college kids a while ago about us being too comfortable about living separate lives in that mixed salad bowl, and parts of the public have reacted very strongly. So I’m curious to see where this public debate will take us in the coming months.

M. Obama spoke out at the University of South Carolina

“We don’t like being pushed outside of our comfort zones. You know it right here on this campus. Y’all folks are sittin’ at different tables, y’all livin’ in different dorms. I was there. You’re not talking to each other, taking advantage of the fact that you’re in this diverse community. Because sometimes it’s easier to hold on to your own stereotypes and misconceptions, it makes you feel justified in your ignorance. That’s America. So the challenge for us is, are we ready for change?”

Learning the ropes – Wortschatz bauen

newspaper clipping – Zeitungsausschnitt
field trip – Ausflug
backyard – garten
whirl – wirbeln
social housing – sozialer Wohnungsbau
nun’s habit – Ordenskleid einer Nonne
to be beaten up – verprügelt werden
no math to speak of – keine Mathe die den Namen verdient hätte
expats – Landsleute im Ausland
lose touch with – Kontakt zu … verlieren
afford the rent – sich die Miete leisten können
mercilessly – gnadenlos
community action – Nachbarschaftshilfe
to strike out on your own – selbstständig werden
infinitely superior – unendlich überlegen
to acknowledge – anerkennen
mixed genetic heritage – gemischte genetische Abstammung
melting pot – Schmelztiegel
mixed salad – gemischter Salat
I would tend to agree – ich würde dem zuzustimmen
charter – staatliche Gemeindeschule mit einer eigenen Charta
public schools (USA) – öffentliche Schulen (D)
policy – Politik
thought-provoking – zum Nachdenken anregend
the Promised Land – das Gelobte Land
legal distinction – rechtliche Unterscheidung
stress of poverty – Druck der Armut
guarantor – Bürge
bowl – Schüssel
y’all – you all, all of you (southern & black English)
feel justified in your own ignorance – sich in seiner Ignoranz gerechtfertigt fühlen

Learning English tip of the week

If you want to read “Stuff White People Like“, you can start by looking at the list. This blog (now also a book) is giving whites and blacks and asians and latinos and whoever else a chance to talk about all of the comfortable lies we have come to accept as social dogma. It’s a process that exposes both class and race taboos, but laughing helps. The language isn’t too difficult.

Pretty in blue

I was pretty blue a couple of weeks ago when my trusty laptop gave out on me – leaving me without equipment at a very bad time, just as I am getting ready to teach my first seminar for Management Circle. So I’ve decided to invest in a MacBook. I’m so happy that I feel like the headless wonder. I hope can figure everything out quickly. My dad had the first Macintosh, and he would be so pleased. Continue reading Pretty in blue


A while ago we had a little domestic crisis involving our espresso machine. It had been steaming and dripping and making little explosive noises, so Helmut went out and bought an exploratory screwdriver. I was worried. “What about the warranty?” “No, let me just tinker with it and I’ll find the leak myself!” Famous last words. Continue reading Tinkering