Charleston

Something had been bugging me about the coverage of the nine murders at Charleston Emanuel AME.

At this time, it seems pretty clear that the shooter was motivated by white supremacy, that he went out of his way to target this specific church because of its tremendous legacy, that he had been forbidden to purchase a weapon because of a pending charge, and that he still had access to at least one weapon. Furthermore, the Confederate flag still flies at the statehouse, but not over it, and will likely not be moved to half-mast.

All of this is documented reasonably well.

But what I return to, over and over again, is how that prayer group welcomed him, allowed them to join, and prayed together.

Faith, especially a faith of redemption, doesn't give people superpowers. If anything it makes people more trusting, more naive, more oblivious to warnings.

It is easy to say

"They should've been skeptical!"

"Why would a white boy show up there?"

and, I'm sorry to see some have even said,

"Innocent people died because of his position on a political issue" [voting against a law that would have permitted gun owners to bring concealed weapons into public places, including churches]

They were armed better than you or I know.

The pastor, Clementa Pinckney, appears to have been a young, healthy man. He didn't pull out a gun. He didn't try to tackle the shooter.

He talked to him. Even in the midst of such carnage and immediate danger, he tried to appeal to this man.

Now, some will say that this was a mistake, that perhaps he should've fought.

Perhaps faith made him more vulnerable.

But isn't that what faith is? Vulnerability?

Faith, for many, is about security, about certainty, about conviction. But it doesn't promise outcomes. The people gathered in that prayer meeting had lives that spanned several decades. They had seen history. They would have had to be blind not to know that what made them great made them a target.

They still welcomed him.

Maybe I wish that things had happened differently, that these nine people -- ten, even -- were still alive, able to do the works great and small that made them a community. Maybe they should have been more careful.

The only thing I know is that they had a welcoming, trusting, spirit that escapes my understanding, which I can only ascribe to a faith I cannot share, but appreciate nonetheless.

There are many stories written into this tragedy: terrorism, racism, gun violence. But there is also faith -- not in a distant God, but in other humans, that caused them to open the door, to welcome, and to appeal, to the very end, for the triumph of goodness over evil.

Now it's time for us to be worthy of that faith. What will we do?

Vroman's Bookstore

I'm a book hoarder.

Note: this doesn't mean I'm well-read. People seem to have that impression. The secret is that I talk about the same three books I've read all year. I'd like to think it's because they are good enough books that they have application to a wide range of circumstances or situations. But maybe it's because I'm a charlatan and a fraud in the knowledge cannery.

I stopped by Vroman's Bookstore, an independent bookstore in Pasadena, in part because I needed something to do in Pasadena, and in part because I now live in a bookstore desert. (The nearest Barnes and Noble stores are in Glendale and Fullerton. All others, including the one in Old Town Pasadena, have shuttered.) A student entering 9th grade needed a copy of The Glass Castle. (Her choice for summer reading -- she and her brother are pretty impressive.)

As I was browsing, I noticed these small laminated cards containing handwritten recommendations from staffers. I noticed that someone named Rafael seemed to have the same taste in US biographies. Curious, I inquired as to his disposition, both spatial and temperamental.

"Um, excuse me. Is Rafael working today?"

"Yes! He's in the back room."

"Does he ever work the floor?"

"Nah. He's the only one that requests to work in the back."

This sounded promising. The guy with tastes similar to my own seemed to be an antisocial troglodyte.

"Um... could I speak with him, if he's not too busy? We seem to have the same tastes in books."

"Sure!" *calls him up* "Oh, by the way, he teaches history at ELAC (East Los Angeles Community College."

For a moment I had that sinking feeling that I had in academic settings in which I demonstrated tremendous intellectual inferiority. I had a flashback to that time when I suggested Robert Kagan, a neoconservative, was writing as a liberal, which earned me the incredulous glance of the otherwise unflappable Professor Andrews. Or that time I asked a question, and had Professor Chen suggest, in front of my entire graduating class, "It looks like someone didn't read the book!"

Then I remembered: I'm a grown-ass man with money in an American store! I can be as ignorant as I damn well please! Emboldened by the pocket bulge of a wallet, I greeted Rafael with a vigorous handshake.

As it turns out, he was friendly and weird in that sort of academic way. We chatted about the relative merits of a biography written by a historian as opposed to a newspaper columnist, about accusations concerning Hamilton's heritage, and whether or not the new Nixon biography would live up to expectations. ("A lot of books written by journalists get a lot of attention, but they end up being surface rehashes of things already known.")

And so, I paid retail, hardcover prices for two books.

Reagan: The Life, by H. W. Brands

The author, according to Rafael, has conservative leanings. "If you're left-wing, you'll probably hate it." I took that as a challenge, though I suppose even if I hate it, it will make a welcome gift to my cousin. If nothing else, I am curious how Edmund Morris, the outstanding Theodore Roosevelt biographer, foundered on this subject.

Being Nixon: A Man Divided, by Evan Thomas.

Although Rafael had this book in mind when commenting on "rehashing known material", I found drawn by the Fresh Air interview too compelling....

wait, did I get the wrong book?

Argh.

Well, at least I still have the receipt somewhere.  The perils of shopping with a dead smartphone.

Anyway, this is probably going to be a difficult summer as far as reading is concerned. I'm probably open to suggestions, although there is perhaps no insult quite as specifically annoying as a rebuffed/ignored book recommendation.

Unforced errors aside, I liked this aspect of Vroman's. Makes me wish I was part of a book club.