Immersed In Red

by Mike Shotwell

  Lewontin, was a colleague, friend and fellow professor at Harvard with Gould, and they co-authored many articles together. Lewontin, like Gould, was a member of the radical science movement group Science for the People. His pursuit of scientific thought and exclusion of contrary facts largely mirrored Gould’s,

  We take the side of science in spite of the patent absurdity of some of its constructs, in spite of its failure to fulfill many of its extravagant promises of health and life, in spite of its tolerance of the scientific community for unsubstantiated just-so stories, because we have a prior commitment to materialism [emphasis added].

  Lewontin continued,

  It is not that the methods and institutions of science somehow compel us to accept a material explanation of the phenomenal world, but, on the contrary, that we are forced by our a priori [previously formed opinions] adherence to material causes [anti-supernatural] to create an apparatus of investigation and a set of concepts that produce material explanations, no matter how counter-intuitive, no matter how mystifying to the uninitiated. Moreover, that materialism is absolute, for we cannot allow a Divine Foot in the door.

  Lewontin’s and Gould’s approach to science in general, and the study of evolution in particular, could not be clearer: science is not necessarily a path to truth based on facts; objective information can be dismissed; materialistic results are required even if it’s counterintuitive; and a priori conclusions and science mixed with social and political ideology is completely acceptable.

  The foregoing, to me, is perhaps the starkest example of what resulted from basing one’s entire world view on Marxism and its practice, communism. As I have described in multiple ways, my upbringing was an exercise in seeing every single aspect of life and society through a communist lens. Not only did it promote an undercurrent of inhumanity, but it even usurped scientific thought, one area that should always remain an arena of open discussion and research from all sides.

  The further tragedy is the exclusion from Science’s “hallowed halls” of anyone examining theories that might touch on the unexplained or unexplainable, whether you call it religion, science fiction, or superstition. Ultimately, it exposes the liberal lie of supreme tolerance and openness; in practice, the left can only accept adherence to their own established doctrine. Darwin’s theories may have appeared over 150 years ago, but the political and scientific ramifications I have described have become the norm in American schools; a disturbing reality.

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  PART VI

  REFLECTIONS

  CHAPTER 17

  REMEMBRANCES FROM MY YOUTH

  All of the experiences I have discussed to this point show one persistent theme: the omnipresent world of politics coloring all major facets of our family’s life. But aside from the large topics of politics, religion, the government and so on, the same outlook permeated even smaller areas of daily life.

  Baseball and golf: The best memory I have with Orville occurred in May of 1951, just before moving to California. I remember the date because it was when Orville took Peter and me out of school to see Willie Mays play at the Minneapolis Miller Ballpark. This was just before Mays was brought up to the major leagues with the New York Giants. Although the historical value of black Americans breaking the color barrier was probably lost on me at that age, I still remember how exciting it was to go to that game.

  Baseball was clearly the best part of both my brother’s and my relationship with Orville, beginning when we moved from Minnesota to California. When I was age eleven to twelve, he managed our Little League team. He had an affinity for the sport, appreciating how it grew up from the streets and sandlots rather than being a snooty man’s pastime. He also enjoyed the attention (according to my mother) from my being an all-star pitcher. I excelled at that position, certainly adding to my love of the game.

  But like everything else, Orville’s approach to coaching Little League carried political overtones. As the teams were being formed, there was some consternation that I did not fully understand, but it had to do with Orville’s charge of discrimination against the Japanese and Latino players, aimed at one of the influential members of the Little League board. I never knew the whole story, but among the kids there was no racial bias of any kind; we were just friends playing ball. What seemed clear was that Orville felt justified in stirring things up and then acting as the arbiter of “justice,” however, there would be little accommodation for the complexity of emotions that might exist among the participants. It wasn’t that long after the war, and there were people who had been touched by the internment camps, as well as those who had fought against the Japanese. It was a complex situation requiring finesse and thoughtfulness.

  At any rate, Orville increased the percentages of Japanese and Latino kids on our team, perhaps to right a wrong, whether real or perceived; it’s unlikely, however, that he would have felt the same benevolence to kids of German ancestry.

  Orville’s inconsistent approach to praise and blame was on display a few years later during my first year in high school. It was either on Memorial Day or Pearl Harbor Day, when a few of the Japanese students ran a Japanese Zero flag up the school flag pole, burning the rope so it was difficult to remove; a naïve and unfortunate prank. As for we kids, Asian, white and Latino, in our sad ignorance we all thought it was great fun. We were all just good American buddies. In fact, the class president was from a Japanese family.

  Understandably, though, members of the Foreign Legion and others in the community were furious. On the other hand, Orville expressed his displeasure with those who were critical of the prank, the veterans, who were a constant target of scorn.

  The other sport that I was able to share with Orville, albeit less intensely than baseball, was golf. He loved the game, and could feel good about participating in it knowing the “common man” had access to municipal courses; no need to be a rich capitalist with a country club membership. Most Saturdays he would absent himself to play, sometimes giving us a few dollars to do the household chores he was neglecting. When I was older I played with him a few times, but mostly hacked my way around. I know that Orville played as a guest of some member friends at the private Saticoy Country Club in Ventura County, and really liked it, but sadly he had been unable to bring himself to join as he felt it was too “bourgeois;” a poignant reminder of how all-encompassing one’s ideology can be.

  The Boy Scouts: To most people, the Boy Scout organization was just a healthy involvement for youth around the world, teaching young men about self-reliance, participation in community activities, learning various outdoor and social skills in regard to cooperation and appreciation of their fellow scouts and adult leaders. It involved young people from all strata of life and from all nationalities, not only in local troops, but in relationship to the larger scouting community.

  I wasn’t much of a scout, being far more interested in baseball and basketball, but because my older brother was a member, at age eleven I joined the local scout troop, too. But whatever carefree fun I might have experienced was to be short-lived.

  Wearing the scout uniform and occasional parade-marching with the flag was part of the focus on love and appreciation of country. After all, this was only eight years after the end of WWII, when patriotism much in the general public’s hearts. Reciting the Pledge of Allegiance and occasional group prayers at meetings was also an integral part of the Boy Scouts at that time. These activities infuriated Orville and my mother and we were instructed not to participate in them. In fact, they made a federal case out of it, in keeping with their “in your face” political views. Sadly, I became a pawn in the expression of their dissatisfaction with the organization.

  The local Boy Scout council sent a contingent to our home to try to figure out a way to avoid conflict and allow me to remain a scout, while still remaining true to scout principles and regulations. Orville strutted around the living room, book in hand, quoting Patrick Henry and Jefferson, and making fun of the pathetic scout leaders who were t
here on my behalf. I listened to the goings-on in the adjacent hallway. To make matters worse, an executive with the Boy Scouts who attended the meeting was our next door neighbor; his sons and I played Little League together. In fact, he was the assistant manager of our Little League team. I don’t recall a resolution being reached at that meeting, only that I quit the Boy Scouts soon after.

  The Stantons – A bright light: I met Ed Stanton in the eighth grade, and he became my closest school friend. His wonderful family turned out to be my salvation; although I’m sure they had no sense of that at the time. They lived in an attractive, understated, lovely home with a view across the Santa Monica Mountains. I stayed overnight at Ed’s fairly often, and we were together at school and most weekends in one fashion or another. Ed’s father was a strong, responsible, upright businessman. Ed’s mother, Rose, was a loving woman, attractive, well dressed, and kind. She was always looking after the well-being of her family. She would make breakfast in the morning, and when I was there she even asked me what I’d like to have! This was unheard of at home, except on a very occasional Sunday. Rose smiled a lot, always had thoughtful words and never seemed to be grinding her ax over others’ shortcomings. I never observed the kind of turmoil and suffocating environment I was used to at home.

  When I was in the presence of Rose Stanton, I felt my world was centered and the stars had aligned. It was this woman, over a half-century ago, who offered me a glimpse of a life that I wished for myself. I’m sure she was not aware of the impression she and her family made on me. Since her death in 2011, I maintain a photo of her on my desk, with the dear, loving smile I recall so vividly.

  Of course, I didn’t or couldn’t discuss my family’s political perspectives, even with the Stanton’s, as I was told it was dangerous to do so; you never knew who you were really talking to, and besides, what you said could be reported. But Ed, always calm, seemed to understand my feelings, even though his family experience was nothing like mine and he wasn’t totally aware of the political issues in our family. Just the fact that he listened was the true mark of an unbelievable friend.

  It took a number of years, some serious counseling, and a failed marriage to achieve my goal. That new life took root in 1976, when I married Gwyneth, and we formed the type of family that I had hoped would happen one day.

  I was aware that this example of an American institution carried little value for my mother. Her attitude about our marrying was of a perfunctory nature; well, that was just what you did; nothing particularly special. An illustration of this indifference was that, for the first three years of our marriage, my mother, living about eight blocks away, only babysat our first child once; and rather than coming to our house, we had to bring the baby and all the equipment to her 4th floor condominium. That particular role was not in her repertoire, and we did not ask again. As for Orville, with whom I remained in contact over the years after his divorce from my mother, extending himself to meet and get to know my young family was similarly avoided. When he and I would meet, it was always away from our homes. This allowed him to just be himself without having to interact with others, which might require accommodations and false chit-chat.

  I led two lives: In contrast to the picture of misery that was drummed into my head, we were living in a beautiful community, surrounded by mostly healthy, smiling, happy people who populated California in the 50s. The US was in one of the greatest bursts of economic growth ever witnessed in human history, the postwar Eisenhower years. Outside of the home, I loved my friends, enjoyed athletic events, and was a co-founder of a high school social club. We had a corresponding sister club that we had been friendly with since junior high.

  But at the same time, I could act like the perfect young communist; for instance, from about the age of thirteen to seventeen, when I wrote a paper for a history class about China or Russia, Orville would thoroughly brief me on the subject. I wrote well, and could articulate the class struggles and the adulation of communism in these countries. Little of what I wrote was truly internalized; I just did what was expected of me. In retrospect, I don’t really know what I thought or believed at the time.

  The lack of a sense of closeness in our home, combined with the pervasive negativity, gave me a gnawing discomfort when I was there. I kept communications with my mother as minimal as possible and engineered my routine to avoid interaction. During the week, Orville left early in the morning and returned late. On Saturdays, he was generally off playing golf, also avoiding the home as much as possible.

  During several summers, I lived on the east coast with my father and occasionally with my grandparents. In contrast to my West Coast life, we hardly ever discussed politics; it was blissful.

  The result of these factors was that I basically shut out much of what went on with our dysfunctional family. I also drifted apart from my brothers. After my older brother Peter eagerly left for college, happy to vacate the family, I took over his “bedroom.” It was a small, windowless basement area where the furnace was located, with black building paper tacked up over the studs. It was wonderful to be physically separated from the family. Lucky for me the pilot light on the furnace never malfunctioned. I probably didn’t know any better, but my mother never expressed any misgivings about the safety of having her sons live down there.

  What I felt was an overall numbness and disconnect with my feelings, not knowing what I wanted to do with my life. Perhaps it was fortunate that I was so unhappy, since it galvanized me into examining my experiences and doing something about it as an adult.

  My brothers’ response: My brothers and I all reacted negatively from the years spent with my mother and Orville, albeit to varying degrees. After Peter escaped the suffocating family, he rarely came back for visits. After dismissal during his first year at Swarthmore College for violating various school policies and poor grades, he immersed himself in the subcultures of New York City and San Francisco. Over the following years, he traveled around the world, working enough to keep himself going. Returning to New York, he worked as an apartment building superintendent while continuing his work on various books and papers. He eventually became an acknowledged historian of the Chinese game “Go” and lives with his wife in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

  My younger half-brother, Bjorn, on the other hand, probably suffered the most, being eight years younger, and still at the tender age of nine when his parents divorced. With Peter and me out of the house, he lived alone with our mother. When our grandfather joined them in California, the environment became challenging for them all.

  Bjorn had been a pretty unhappy and stubborn child, who was not well-equipped to handle his problematical parents or his own emotions. By age twelve, he became inappropriately involved with classmates, and during his junior and high school years became incorrigible. At one point he was sent off to Juvenile Hall, and later a boarding school in northern California. He fully embraced the alternative lifestyle of the late 60s, getting deeply involved with the gay world, drugs, and leftist politics.

  He pulled things together for a few years, working in high-level restaurants, getting architecture and landscape architecture degrees and working in a few architectural offices. But his life took another turn when he contracted HIV at about age 35. He lived with that for twenty-eight years, along with Hepatitis C for twenty years. This became overlaid with depression, drugs, and alcohol.

  After his death in 2013 at age 63, I read a surprising passage in one of his journals. He was 48 when he wrote, “I’ve had every opportunity since childhood to pave a road to success and happiness. I had good schools, good hobbies, gardens to work in, a safe environment, and I got involved in liberal politics as an activist which led me to rebel and hang out with less than desirable dope smoking teenagers. The pot led to jail which led to worse situations.” I knew he had had a difficult road, but I found this description especially poignant.

  Over the last five or six years of his life, I was in close contact with him, and often listened to his rages against the wo
rld. I found out after his death that he had relied on heavy amphetamine use to maintain what to him was a semblance of a hold on reality. He died alone in his apartment in Portland, Oregon, and I couldn’t help feeling that he was finally released from the tragic and unhappy burdens of his life.

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  CHAPTER 18

  WHY DID MY MOTHER AND ORVILLE RESPOND TO COMMUNIST IDEOLOGY?

  Probably the most persistant question I am asked when describing who my mother and stepfather were, what they actually believed, and the political environment I was raised in, is how and why they came to make the decisions they did? How did they come to such a deep, religious belief that the likes of Josef Stalin and Mao were the bearers of light and the answer to all of mankind’s problems?

  The reply to this question seems to lie within the areas of individual makeup, personality flaws, perceptions of reality, and persuit of pure idealism. Both Orville and my mother had an inability to deal with or admit to any personal flaws, and instead looked to the world around them; a world they saw as filled with confusion and faulty thinking that could be fixed with the right system … a new society with its everflowing fountains of goodness, caring, and love … elements lacking in their own lives. Using the benevolent words of the communist ideal they could rationalize their personal inabilities by focusing on a far more important goal; fixing humanity and the world.

  Rather than looking at people and the world the way it actually was, and working within those confines, they embraced an ideal world which became their reality. But as author and newspaper columnist, Dave Richardson, states in his book Transparent about foundational assumptions that control people, that way of thinking was flawed. Orville, and to a degree my mother, assumed that commmunism was fair to all, that Lenin, Stalin and Mao were benevolent figures, visionaries who could see the ideal and had the political power to mold it into reality. They also assumed that the evils of capitalism and American democracy were rigid and could only be changed by Marxian violent upheaval and destruction.