This is a work in progress, so keep checking in! Please feel free to comment on any of my posts or pages. I welcome discussion and new ideas, which is why I chose a blog over a traditional website. I intend for this to be an interactive journalistic medium, and I welcome your input!

Belva Davis
San Francisco, California

NAME THAT TIGER:

Anyone out there remember the name of the celebrity bengal tiger from Marine World Africa USA that used to be trotted about town as a promotional stunt for the theme park when it was in the South Bay?

I remember going to a cocktail party for Liberace, the rhinestoned leather Hot Pants suit wearing Las Vegas pianist. The party was given by publicity man Peter Marino. The tiger was there strutting through a crowded room of drinking party goers. We left quickly…no one was hurt.

Drop me a line if you think you know the name of that tiger?.

THE DANGER IN SHARING YOUR VIEWS

For those of us who live in the Bay Area and spend time on the Internet, there are numerous reminders of the truth of the saying that we live in a bubble.It is almost impossible to imagine the following events happening here. This account is about a City Councilwoman in Tennessee and was posted on the Huffington Post July 30.

“Janis Fullilove, a Councilwoman in Memphis, Tenn.,received death threats on Tuesday over her support for a non-discrimination ordinance requiring equal protection for gays working in city government.”

In addition to the calls, she also found a dead cat on her front lawn. Police have said the calls, which Fullilove stated had threatened to kill her, were serious enough in nature for them to place officers on patrol by her house for protection.

As alarming as the story is, Councilwoman Fullilove’s response is heart warming. She said that she will continue her advocacy for equality in spite of the threats.

Bubble or not, just post a piece on SFGate’s City Brights blog, and if it has one of the keywords that the rightwing swat team is alerted to respond to, you will discover how quickly your inbox fills with hate mail.

Councilwoman Fullilove is not only expressing her views. She is taking action to implement them. How many of us are willing to do that? Our country is filled with good people who care about each other, the environment, the disadvantaged and our government. Yet, it appears that only those who want to harm another person, smash an idea or institution with whose purpose they might not agree, are ruling the day. Just look at the domination of the cable news channels by Fox News where personal opinions are often sold as factual news. The July Neilsen ratings for Fox viewers were more than all the other cable channels combined. The number of viewers of CNN, where they try to play it straight, are on a rapid decline.

It is vital that we hold national news organiations accountable and support those making efforts to be fair in their reporting. If we don’t, those with power in our government assume either that we don’t care or that we agree with them. Thank goodness, polls show that the majority of Americans still support our right to free expression. Hopfully we can continue that practice without death threats.

So what can you do if you are weary of the demagogues?
Remind those with whom you have contact that the Janis Fulliloves of this world deserve support and salute them for their courage, and tap into your own courage.

Even under normal circumstances, life is unbelievably difficult on the island; it is hard to imagine that any more pain and suffering could be possible. But there it was: late Tuesday afternoon, a massive 7.0 earthquake struck near the capital city, Port-au Prince, wiping out power and communication lines. Darkness came too soon, making rescues even more difficult.

In the poorest nation of the Western hemisphere, there are no “first responders”, no rescue teams, no fire fighters, little heavy equipment capable of digging survivors from the rubble. If help came to survivors in the dark of night, it was from a family member or friend who answered their cries and tried to extricate them from the debris, often with nothing more than bare hands.

Daniel Morel, via Twitter

Woman buried in rubble after 7.0 earthquake, Port-au-Prince, Haiti

The majority of Haitians who live in the capital city of Port-au-Prince are profoundly poor. Over a million live in shantytowns on the edge of the city. Eighty-seven percent live in such deep poverty that finding food is a daily struggle and clean water is a luxury. This is a country where poor mothers feed mud pies to their hungry babies to fill their empty little stomachs. In light of this level of poverty, the fact that daily life in Haiti proceeds with any orderliness stems from the resilience, strength and will of the people — that, and the presence of missionaries, relief organizations and UN peacekeepers.

It has been many years since I was in Haiti. Its history of struggle against the odds, and the talents of its many artists, drew me to this island nation. It became the place where I accepted the limitations of my own ability to tolerate abject poverty, or to alleviate the suffering of its victims. We had parked our car near the Iron Market. It was hot and too crowded, so I decided to stay in the car alone while the rest of our group shopped. Within minutes, the car was surrounded by faces pressing on the windows, through the front, back and both sides of the car. These were the faces of mothers whose babies appeared to be merely bundles of skin, bone and rags, of old people with all kinds of ailments, their haggard faces begging for whatever could be gotten. In my locked car, in the teeming heat, surrounded by all those begging faces, I cried and trembled alone behind the locked doors.

It wasn’t until years later, in Egypt, while riding from the airport to the center of Cairo, that I understood what I had done, what so many of us do when forced to look into the faces of people in extreme poverty. We concentrate our attention on the beautiful views and try not to look down.

That day in Cairo, the car was traveling on a very high, elevated roadway which afforded sparkling views of the city as we sped along. The views were so thrilling that it took a while before I looked down from my perch and saw the teeming crowd of people below. In just one glance, I saw hundreds of ragged people, gathered in a crowded, rundown sector of the city, while people with plenty, people like me, sailed past on the sky bridge overhead. The way that road was designed, a tourist could complete an entire visit to the pyramids without having had any contact with the poor Egyptians surrounding them — without even seeing them.

For decades, that’s the way it has been with Haiti. Most of the developed world seems to have been traveling past on an elevated bridge, riding high above Haiti, never looking down to see the impoverished masses below. But this time, with the Obama administration pledging its unwavering commitment of assistance, with the full attention of Secretary of State Hillary Clinton and her husband, UN Special Envoy to Haiti, former President Bill Clinton, and with the eyes of the world focused on this desperate situation, let’s hope the people of Haiti can finally be seen eye-to-eye, face-to-face.

This time, with so much damage and so much suffering, it is time for the world to reach down and lift them up.

Originally published in the San Francisco Chronicle online edition The Gate.

Now, don’t get “preschool” confused with “childcare” or “nursery school”. Believe me, this is something entirely different and far more sophisticated; our precious, precocious Little One will become a proud member of the “Penguin” class in the “Yellow Building” today…and I couldn’t be prouder.

In preparation for an auspicious beginning to her academic career, this child has been making practice runs to the school for weeks now, she’s met her classmates, been assigned to her teacher and classroom, attended a family outing with her fellow future scholars and most importantly, learned to say “pee pee”– and mean it–as she runs to the potty, fast as her tiny feet will carry her.

Her grandfather and I are convinced that our granddaughter is already a certified Winner. Why? Because she’s been selected for the incoming class at this preschool, surviving a competition with four hundred other hopefuls! When we heard the news, we all celebrated. Why were we so excited? Because the learning focus at this particular preschool will be what I call “conflict resolution for toddlers”. The children will be taught how to negotiate, how to listen and how to get along with others.

Being both a grandma and a journalist, I am more than aware that these skills are absolutely necessary for human survival in a nuclear-armed world, on a planet poised to destroy itself at any moment. Our children must learn as early as possible that there are many answers to the same question, all based on truths learned within our respective cultures. As a journalist and a newshound, I happen to know that at this very moment there are eight major conflicts and two dozen minor wars raging around the world. Of course, there is no such thing as a “minor war”, not if there is any loss of life, limbs or livelihood, and especially if the conflict is initiated just because some adults did not learn as children how to negotiate, how to listen and how to get along with others.

So, as soon as all of the silly parents and grandparents finally pocket our tear-moistened handkerchiefs and head to our homes and jobs, our little darlings will start training to become citizens of the future, to become survivors in our flawed and fragile world.

As an only child, our granddaughter has been coached to learn colors, to love books and music, and to count to ten–all the appropriate ways to achieve preschool readiness. But like so many doting families, we have found it difficult to teach her to share with others. She’s the center of our universe, but now she must learn how big the real universe is, and realize that she is not the central planet around which everything must orbit. She’s just one more little star twinkling, twinkling in the sky.

She will learn that “mine” does not begin with a capital “m”, nor is it followed by an exclamation mark! She will learn the true meaning of the words “we”, “us” and “ours”. As she climbs the ladder from “Penguin” to “Prairie Dog” to “Panda” and finally “Polar Bear”, I will share her social development with you, my readers, because I am one proud Grandma.

And because we all need to learn how to get along with one another, no matter how young–or how old–we are.

Originally published in the San Francisco Chronicle online edition The Gate.

Here’s why: during the second half of the burial service, as daylight dimmed over Arlington National Cemetery, bursts of lightning repeatedly flashed through the clouds in the darkening sky. Those flashes of light from behind the clouds, like a display of celestial fireworks, continued to distract my thoughts, long after the sky went pitch dark and the “celebration of life” came to its inevitable conclusion. Still I wondered: What was the symbolism of the lightning? Was Teddy’s indomitable spirit bidding us goodbye, or was he struggling to stay with us just a wee bit longer? Was the lightning a message from the Other Side? Of course, there was no rational foundation for my thoughts, but my Southern roots often cause me to look for signs or signals from the heavens to explain the mysteries of this earthly life.

There was no doubt in my mind that Ted Kennedy’s life had been a good one, ending on the high side of the struggle for humanity. Was he trying to give one more speech to the American people? Make one more proclamation? Was his brilliant spirit flashing in the dark sky, reassuring us that he would be around to light the path of leadership, even in the dark and stormy days that may lie ahead? Or was it a final goodbye from this man who had fought through tragedy, pain and sorrow, in turn sharing his struggles with the nation’s disabled and disadvantaged? I decided that the light show in the sky was a good sign: that good souls never leave us, as long as we continue to believe in our hearts that they can light the way toward a bright future.

I thought about his widow, Victoria Reggie Kennedy, and the elegance and spirit she demonstrated in these very public moments. Like me, she is from Louisiana, so I imagined that she would get it, she would interpret the symbolism of the lightning display too, and she would comprehend his message, just as I was trying to do.

Then, like a flash of lightning from somewhere in the somber recesses of my mind, a scene emerged, one I had forgotten for many years. I remembered a sunny time back in 1960, when a vigorous John F. Kennedy was running for President of the United States.

As a young woman, I had joined a group of other idealistic, young envelope-stuffers as a volunteer in the candidate’s campaign office on Market Street in San Francisco. In this particular instance, my friends and I rushed over from Berkeley in hopes of getting a good look at Kennedy’s dashing younger brother, Teddy. Understand, this was not an easy thing to do, because he never seemed to be around the office when we were there. Then one day, he just walked right through the door, flashing his healthy, glowing good looks and brilliant, high-wattage smile. With a shock, I could remember the physical thrill of that moment. Our mission was accomplished! We now had bragging rights to return that night to Berkeley, impressing everyone we knew with the fact that we had actually met the magnificent Ted Kennedy. Fifty years have passed, yet all at once, I could remember that day as though it were unfolding before my very eyes.

Finally, after hours spent thinking about the contrast between that dark burial scene and the shining vision of that handsome young man in the campaign office, I began to feel peace about his death. It’s not that I had not seen or thought of Ted Kennedy over the years; quite the contrary. It’s the fact that, just like those flashes in the sky, his brilliant young smile and ceaseless, electric energy still have the power to light the fire of my imagination.

Originally published in the San Francisco Chronicle online edition The Gate.

As of today, the Obama Family is racing toward the end of their weeklong vacation on the island of Martha’s Vineyard, just off the coast of Cape Cod in Massachusetts. Right now, I can’t imagine this has been a completely peaceful respite from the Washington whirlwind, especially now, with the monumental death of Senator Edward M. Kennedy nearby.

In spite of his occasional failings, Ted Kennedy, a man who admired and was admired by President Obama, was one of the classiest gentlemen in American politics. A lifelong sailor, his sense of ebb-and-flow and give-and-take helped him to navigate any waters, from a legislative point of view. He once said, ” Don’t let the perfect be the enemy of the good”. To me, that attitude shows class, finding a way to do good even if the solution is not as ideal as you might have imagined it could be, and having the patience and confidence to understand that perfection is the impossible objective of a lifetime of service.

Obama and Kennedy on the campaign trail

Anyway, the Obamas’ vacation rental was just miles away from the Kennedy compound in Hyannis Port, which would have enabled the President to visit his good friend and Senate mentor one last time. As we discussed in the earlier post, the First Family was ensconced in Martha’s Vineyard, where for generations an elite group of wealthy African Americans has gathered to entertain one another. There was no controversy about their holiday plans, until some Vineyard resident whispered to a reporter for New York magazine that perhaps the First Lady would not fit in with the Vineyard’s moneyed elite because she had been raised on Chicago’s South Side, a place many consider a “ghetto”. The derisive term used for Michelle Obama was “ghetto girl”.

As soon as it was published, this unfortunate quote ignited a firestorm of controversy. In reaction, third-generation Martha’s Vineyard resident Abigail McGrath stepped in to defend the first lady by creating a t-shirt with the slogan “Ghetto Girls Rock!!! It’s not about where you’re from; it’s about where you’re going…” There followed a list of forty-eight distinguished women from US history, all of whom Abby considers to fit the sobriquet “ghetto girls”. All of the women came from less than wealthy backgrounds, all worked to improve society. The list is clearly intended to challenge the notion of poverty as a barrier to great accomplishment.

“Ghetto Girls Rock!!!” t-shirt design

In the reader comments from Monday’s post, the list, by itself, sparked its very own controversy on The Gate and other online forums where the piece was subsequently re-posted. Should Mother Teresa and Oprah even be on the same list? Would Barbara Jordan have been insulted to be called a “ghetto girl”? Were Frida Kahlo or Helen Keller really “ghetto”, since their families were relatively well-to-do?

Other questions surfaced. Is money enough to confer class upon someone? Buggedknot on The Gate thinks that money can’t buy class. “Class is not a social class, it is a state of mind and usually based on where you came from”. Sagigirl found the list of women who had risen despite the odds ” a true source of inspiration for us all.” Most commenters expressed their admiration for Mrs. Obama and pooh-poohed the notion that class distinctions should exist today. One reader forwarded over three dozen comments from a right-wing blog, many of them critical of the First Lady for all sorts of perceived social and style mistakes, but primarily critical of her husband’s liberal political positions, as though that had been the point of the article.

In the end, maybe Abigail’s shirt design is a clever ploy, challenging us to learn more about the biographies of these women of accomplishment, if for no better reason than to discuss them amongst ourselves and to debate the significance of their achievements. Maybe Arundhati Roy, Molly Pitcher or Dorothy West deserve a Google search.

And again, just maybe, Michelle Obama couldn’t give a hoot about the Vineyard “class“-ification bestowed upon her by some anonymous crank. After all, she is the First Lady of the United States. And the White House is not a ghetto.

This post was originally published in the San Francisco Chronicle online edition The Gate.

virtualtourist.com

Dock at Oak Bluffs, Martha’s Vineyard

The idea that rich, smart, black people get together to entertain each other (there is little else to do there) has intrigued the media lately. Why the new focus? Well, this week, the First Family will join that tradition, another socially-prominent, African American family escaping the summer heat on the beaches of the Vineyard.

When the news broke, the writer Toure penned an article for New York Magazine about this annual gathering of the clan, focusing on its elite status (generational ownership of homes on the island) and the myriad criteria for being welcomed there, especially during the popular Labor Day weekend.

While trying to unlock the mystery of the island’s attractions and assess the Vineyard’s suitability as a vacation spot for our new First Family, one anonymous, snobby, long-time islander is reported to have questioned Michelle Obama’s place in the group’s hierarchy, referring to the First Lady as just a “ghetto girl”, one who did not belong in the august company of the regulars.

Needless to say, this quote has sent shock waves around the country.

My friend Abigail McGrath sent me this graphic of a t-shirt she expects to sell a ton of over the next week. Frankly, I didn’t know what to make of it.

“Ghetto Girls” t-shirt design

From her press release:

The very idea of confusing “ghetto” with negativity rather than historical disenfranchisement is wrong and offensive, says Vineyard resident Abigail McGrath: ” Folks are confusing cash with class.”

Only on the most poorly informed television networks and fictionalized TV series is “ghetto” equated with gum-chewing, finger-snapping air heads and gun-toting thugs.

So Ms. McGrath has designed a T-shirt bearing the slogan “Ghetto Girls Rock!!!”, listing on it the names of 48 famous women who came from “the ghetto” and made the world a better place. Women such as Mother Theresa, Mother Hale, and Fannie Lou Hamer grace the shirt with dignity and aplomb.

(For more information and to order, contact: Abigail McGrath at GhettoGirlzRock@aol.com)

There is so much to be said about the history of African Americans at Martha’s Vineyard, but it’s Abby’s t-shirt and the questions it raises that deserve discussion. I’ll talk about the list of “ghetto girls” in my next post…stay tuned.

This piece was originally published in the San Francisco Chronicle online edition, : The Gate.

Eureka! I finally found this photo of me and my husband Bill with Walter and Betsy Cronkite

Eureka!…I found it! I found the lost, cherished photograph I recently wrote about in my encounters with the late broadcast legend Walter Cronkite (And that’s the way it was, The Gate, July 19, 2009).

Well, that’s not quite true…I didn’t actually find the photo, per se; but I did find someone who sent me another copy. No doubt the original will show up at any moment, after all the effort I put into locating it. As soon as I quit looking, it will probably reappear. It will step out of its flat little hiding place, probably somewhere right in my sightline or someplace I’ve already looked, announce “Here I am!”, then be heartbroken to learn that it has already been replaced by a copy of someone else’s little photo, this one a fancier, newer, digital version.

The experience of losing and finding things is so much a part of my life these days. Certainly others must have the same experience. But as I tend to do with most things nowadays, I see a philosophical connection to a larger perspective on our world. In this instance, the frequent experience of misplacing and searching for something every day, brings to mind the state of our country these days.

We are the most successful democracy in the world. What’s gone wrong? What have we lost?

There is something that we dearly care about, it’s important to everybody, but we have misplaced it somewhere and we don’t seem to be able to put our hands on it. Without this special thing, something is missing in our lives. Each day that we cannot find it nags at us more than the last. Like an amputated limb, we can feel the missing entity more acutely in its absence. Our discomfort grows daily; the pain gnaws at our senses until they are rubbed red and raw. Everywhere we look, people have begun to act strangely, and it’s frightening. It’s not just my imagination that rudeness, violent talk, public gun toting and hate speech have become more frequent.

What have we lost? Where can we find it? What is this lost object? It is, simply, respect for our fellow citizens, even for people with whom we don’t agree. Respect is the key ingredient that makes our American brand of democracy so effective. Without it, we are not the same. Without respect, we degenerate into name calling, us-vs-them selfishness, paper-thin egotism, reflexive defensiveness and offensive, attacking activism.

Let’s put an end to this situation. Let’s all ask around for a friend who’s got the original document, so that we can quickly get back on the road to wholeness and healthy, civil behavior. What are we looking for? It’s called the Constitution of the United States. This document contains instructions for ensuring respect among the citizenry and its governmental branches. Heck, even if we don’t have access to the original, due to its fragility and need for museum preservation, there exist many digital versions which will serve us just as well. It’s time we found our original bearings as a society again.

“We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America…”

This article originally appeared in the San Francisco Chronicle online edition, The Gate, July 19, 2009

These qualities made her good at her job: interviewing people for the local TV news, asking people to answer the most personal questions while they were smack in the middle of their own tragedies and disasters such as the Oakland Hills fire or the Loma Prieta Earthquake. She genuinely loved people and she loved hearing and telling their stories. You could say this was because of her Southern roots; she always had a natural knack for keeping it real. But for Faith, reality struck like lightning, like one of the tragedies and disasters she had covered, one day in 1997.

KTVU-TV reporter Faith Fancher during her six-year struggle with breast cancer

In 2003, Faith became one of the millions of women who have lost their lives to breast cancer. Her journey was a very public one. But of course the entire journey was conducted in the public eye, since for most of her too-brief life she had been a television reporter, working for 20 years at KTVU-TV in Oakland and 10 years previously at CNN and NPR, among other media outlets.

I still remember the telephone call: her doctor had just confirmed that the lump she discovered in her breast was malignant. Yes, she had cancer, but my friend Faith could not accept that a radical mastectomy was the answer—not for her. Yes, she was vain, proud of her looks and in love with her dashing, handsome husband. Like many women, she just couldn’t imagine facing her future while being “disfigured”, as she called it. I begged her to consider the more radical surgical option, to ensure she would be able to live—and love—long into the future.

I told her the story of a 32-year-old woman whom I had met years earlier while working on a story about the choices women faced back in the early 1970’s. This particular woman was alone in California and didn’t want to “worry” her family back home by sharing her sad news. Like Faith, she was young and attractive, and she decided against any surgical intervention at all. Within a year she had lost her life to breast cancer. Faith and I shed a few tears over the phone, thinking about the example of that young woman, then we ended our conversation, leaving Faith to consider her care options.

When Faith’s doctor later informed her that her strain of cancer was a very aggressive one, she took the plunge. She decided to undergo the first of her seven surgeries and of course, she took all of us along with her through her Emmy Award-winning television reports. It was a wild ride. Faith lost her hair to chemotherapy, but she kept on working, exposing her cute, shiny, bald head to the public for the first time, telling her story on television, radio and in countless personal appearances, educating the general public and comforting hundreds of other women as they fought their own, very personal battles with the disease. We watched her hair re-grow and saw the sassiness return to her style as she cheered for all of her “warrior sisters”, her beloved, fellow breast cancer survivors. For them, she was one of their sisterhood, a heroine in their midst.

The very small club of women who work in Bay Area broadcast news formed an organization spearhead by Faith’s good friend Pamela Mays McDonald. We called ourselves Friends of Faith. In her life, and through her death, Faith did what we all want to do: she made a difference by giving it all she had to give, giving it all until she had nothing more to give. Now, six years after her death, the group continues the battle to raise awareness about breast cancer detection and raise money in her name, solely to help low-income, uninsured and underinsured women in need.

She said it and wrote it often and easily, and she clearly meant it.

The death rate for breast cancer is declining, especially for women with higher incomes. But the day-to-day journey for survivors, especially poor, minority, immigrant and homeless women, is a tough one—both physically and psychologically. You can help. Here’s how:

Next Saturday, August 22, Friends of Faith will host the 5th Annual Faith Fancher Breast Cancer Challenge 5K Fun Run/Walk at Lake Merritt in Oakland. Join me and many of Faith’s friends in the media, as we give it all we’ve got to raise funds at this annual fundraising event. It’s going to be fun, with a great group of friendly people, healthy snacks and a soulful closing concert by Linda Tillery and the Cultural Heritage Choir.

If you can’t join us, take a moment now to make an online contribution—any amount, no matter how small, will be appreciated by our struggling clientele. The plight of fifty million uninsured Americans is a national disgrace. Faith Fancher had a big enough heart to do something about it, even as she struggled daily with the on-again, off-again roller coaster of metastatic cancer. Won’t you help, too?

For more information about Friends of Faith (a 501c3 charitable organization), check out its website.

To make a donation, click here:

Register to join the walk here:

To volunteer, please telephone Friends of Faith, Inc. at (510)834 4142.

This post originally appeared in the San Francisco Chronicle online edition, The Gate.