CELEBRATING 165,000 READERS

BEFORE THE YEAR ENDS, WE WILL HAVE MORE THAN 180,000 UNIQUE VISITORS

Thanks for reading this.

This is roughly our 1,900^th daily blog post.

Before the year is out, we will have hosted more than 180,000 unique visits to this humble blog on travel, urban issues and disability advocacy.

We started this when we were in our 40s. Now we are well into our 50s.

We first started writing for a living in 1985.

Our first job at a big daily newspaper was the Akron Beacon Journal.

That Pulitzer-winning Ohio paper reached a daily circulation peak of 176,929 in 1973.

In early 2019 at the latest, we will eclipse that circulation of a mighty newspaper where our dad worked nearly 4 decades and where we honed our craft in the 1980s while attending Kent State University.

It’s been a fun ride. More than 90 percent of the thousands of photo images shared on this site our originals that we took ourselves in Turkey, Spain, Brazil, Mexico and dozens of other places that require a passport to visit.

We have published enough words of disability advocacy to fill an entire, standalone non-fiction book.

We have shared great ideas for the built environment through affiliations with PlusUrbia Design, On Common Ground, New Mobility and dozens of other firms and publications.

We will continue to mix fun with passionate advocacy for as long as blogging is a form of online communication.

MAY 4TH, 1970, A TRAGIC DATE IN AMERICAN HISTORY

AN OPEN LETTER TO KENT STATE STUDENT, NATIONAL GUARD

SHOOTING SURVIVOR AND ACTIVIST ALAN CANFORA

I wrote this letter to Alan Canfora nearly two years ago. He was shot in the wrist during Kent State protests of the Vietnam war. He worked tirelessly to ensure that the lessons learned from Kent would never be forgotten. Because it is solely from me – no back and forth – I do not believe I’m breaking any trust by publishing it.

In these times of GOP butchers and mad man in the white house, my words embracing dissent and democracy seem more poignant than ever.

My wife, who I met with both of us were students at Kent State University, lived in a dorm that overlooked the land where innocent students were gunned down by Ohio National Guardsman during a military takeover of KSU. As a journalism student, I studied in Taylor Hall, which overlooks the site where guardsmen turned and fired on innocent (most were not even protesting the war) students – killing 4 and injuring 9.

Alan,

I don't believe we’ve ever met.

We were in the same room a few times, when I was a reporter for the Daily Kent Stater or when I was attending a May 4 observance event when I attended KSU 1983-1987.

I'm going to briefly share an all-too-familiar narrative with you.

I was only 5 when the shootings took place.

My folks were typical factory worker, striving for white collar work and leaving Akron for the exurbs of Wadsworth.

My dad served in Korea -- hated every moment of it -- but was much closer to a “my country right or wrong type,” than a “dissent is key to a Democracy” guy.

I grew up with him cursing at you on the TV. Saying you suffered an injury no greater than most do on a football field and that you made a career out of being in the wrong place at the right time.

My folks really didn't want me to go to Kent, but I was already working part-time at the Beacon Journal and I convinced my dad that Kent's Journalism School was better than Akron's -- so I got to live in Kent dorms and race to work nights at the Beacon.

I was probably far more interested in 3.2 beer, girls, pulling a B average with little sleep, impressing the Beacon newsroom bosses and earning the first college degree in Wright family history -- than I was in the bloody events of May 4.

Being a journalist and taking classes in Taylor Hall, even a beer bellied college boy couldn't really ignore the history that took place 13 years before right outside the doors of the building that housed the journalism school.  

One of the Stater editors, an older non-traditional student, was big with the May 4 Task Force, so we all got a strong introduction into the weight of the events.

I never really discussed my evolving feelings about May 4 with my dad.  He was no tyrant and not nearly as right wing as a lot of the suburban dads. But it really wasn't worth trying to convince him that what he viewed as "hippies throwing rocks" weren't at least 25% at fault for the shootings – in his way of thinking...

I always wanted to say “dad, if I gave the finger or tossed a pebble or waved a sign at a rally protesting a terrible war that killed more than we can count,” would he want me to suffer the death penalty?  Because that’s what four students got. And most were not even protesting.

But he passed away a few years ago, at least hating Vietnam casualties and feeling the Gulf Wars were a waste of time.

I just read the 67 Shots book and a flood of memories came back....from being a bring 5 year old who read the paper daily and trying to figure out what happened at Kent....to being a proud Kent grad who felt the presidents of the University --even in my day and right after my graduation -- continued to fumble the opportunities for 20K+ students to learn from the history that took place in the heart of their campus.

I read the stories in 67 Shots, about Kent housewives and workingmen sharing the "they should have killed more" sentiment. I thought about Dean Kahler (my wife, who I met at Kent, is a wheelchair user).  The only accessible dorm was Prentice, another exposure to the volunteers who lay on the ground at the candle light ceremonies to remember the dead) and his pain…some, but his resolve much more.

I thought about you living in Barberton (the school that kicked Wadsworth's butt in every sport!) and staying active in my Democratic Party.

I think about Trump and how easy it is to picture him uttering the same incendiary words that Reagan, Nixon and Rhodes did -- demonizing acts of dissent and conscience as some kind of threat to white middle class way of life.

I never have understood why right wingers tell me I should be ashamed of speaking out about wrongs in my nation -- "because soldiers died for your freedom" -- when I always thought the core tenant of that freedom is dissent, the right to assemble, etc.

I cannot fathom the amount of negative letters, phone calls, emails, screams, and worse that you have endured for nearly half a century.

I cannot imagine what it is to be the victim of a violent act, but labeled (by far too many) as the cause.

As I am now past 50, I have much more perspective than a hormonal 18 year old Kent freshman.

I pretty much know that had I been on campus in 1970, I may have hated the war, but I likely would have stayed on the sidelines.

And how ironic it is that in doing so, I would have had just as great a chance of dying in a pool of blood on my beloved campus -- as the front line protestors.

I'm glad I googled this morning and found your email.

I do not have words to express my thanks for your dedication to true democracy, to learning, to reminding generation after generation that if right wing intolerance goes unchallenged, we’ll have many more tragedies like that of May 4 1970.

Thank you for protesting the expansion of a bloody, pointless war...and thank you for making my university a place for learning about what is good and bad in America.

I've always felt that great life lessons are learned from some of the most horrible crises.

That's why I never could understand why the KSU of the 1980s, 90s, etc was so squeamish about acknowledging its history.

Perhaps, without your dedication, there would be no May 4th Center to visit – right there in Taylor Hall, where the college newspaper newsroom was located when I went to Kent.

Thanks again for being, in my vision, a true American in the most Democratic, room for dissent, sense of the word.

https://www.kent.edu/may4

http://alancanfora.com/

WHY MAY 4th MATTERS: "FOUR DEAD IN O-HI-O"

EARTHBOUND TOMBOY ON KENT STATE TRAGEDY

BY HEIDI JOHNSON-WRIGHT

It was 13 seconds that changed so many things. The way Americans viewed the Vietnam War. The reputation of a university. The lives of four families who would never be the same.

May 4, 2015 marks the 45^th anniversary of the Kent State shootings. When National Guardsmen -- called in to quell Vietnam War protesters -- shot their weapons in the air for 13 seconds, killing four students, and wounding nine others.

Americans were shocked and angered. Every parent of a college student froze in fear.

Artists, writers and musicians created works inspired by the tragedy. The Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young song, “Ohio”, still gives me chills.

I feel compelled to reflect on this milestone, to write about it because I went to Kent State University.

To be precise: I am a proud Kent State graduate.

I enrolled 12 years after the shootings, after the Vietnam War ended, when the go-go 1980s Reagan Era was picking up steam. When Levis bell bottoms had given way to designer straight-leg jeans. When hair got big instead of long and stringy. When classic rock faded and New Wave ruled.

So why does May 4^th matter to me?

Because Kent State matters to me. I got an outstanding education there. Just as importantly, Kent is where I learned to stop being apologetic and ashamed of my disability.

http://earthboundtomboy.blogspot.com/2015/04/why-may-4th-matters-four-dead-in-o-hi-o.html

A TRIBUTE TO KEN WRIGHT 1935-2014 PART 12

MY DAD TAUGHT ME...TO FOCUS ON THE BIG PICTURE

Sometimes I can be the most impatient and easily frustrated person on the planet.

But a foundation of values, created by my father and polished by my beautiful wife, has taught me to get over life’s maddening setbacks while focusing on the long journey and big picture.

That is why I have used humor in my words to describe my father's influence in my life.

I understand the tears of all the people touched by the life of Kenneth Lee Wright. But I feel this is more of a celebration than a ritual of sadness. 

My dad did most everything he wanted to do, saw most everything he wanted to see and raised two sons to ages 46 and 50.

In his 70s, the healthy as a horse Midwesterner who probably missed fewer than 10 days of work in 40 years, fought a combination of maladies that robbed him of his energy and tranquility.

That suffering has gracefully ended and why I have created a dozen blog posts to remember the man who taught his oldest son to be a man...

...a man that I hope he is proud of (he always told me he was proud of me and I loved him for saying it).

I am proud of him and I will tell his good story till the day when the time comes for my body to be at restful peace forever.