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Harry Chapin was many things, with a hefty dose of political activism included with his musical talent. He touched on a number of political issues over the years, but the one he kept coming back to, again and again, was hunger. "There's enough food to feed everyone on this planet twice over. Why, why, why are people going hungry?"
This time of year, Harry would always talk about Thanksgiving food drives, when schools would ask kids to bring in canned goods and other food to share with the hungry. "Just imagine," Harry would suggest, a principal who would stand up after a successful food drive and after the holiday and say "What we're gonna talk about is 'What are those people gonna eat next week?'"
People are hungry all year. Thanks for remembering to share what you can, when you can.
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I ran into Chris (Dan's son) last night. I actually vaguely expected to see him downtown, and sure enough I did, when I was out helping Tammera (yes, that's really how she spells her name) celebrate her birthday. I'd peeked into Mahogany Grill to see if he was there (he used to bartend there) but it was an hour or so later, at the Ale House, that he showed up.
Chris told me I should come to the memorial service tomorrow (I missed the calling hours yesterday, having not heard about them until afterwards) but "don't wear black." He thinks his dad would've hated people wearing black. So, I'm going to see if I can find a red blazer; Dan was unsurprisingly often dressed in one red garment or another when I saw him, which was nearly always at something Cornell-related.
Chris is absolutely his father's son, fun-loving and just a little bit inappropriate when talking to or about women, but never in an actually disrespectful way. Everyone's comment the last few days has been that the two of them were so close. He's been working out of state the last several months, probably never imagining that his time with his father was limited. I was glad he made it back to town before Dan actually passed away, though I have no idea how aware Dan was after the stroke. His older brother just got to town yesterday, I gather; their sister lives here.
I've been mostly staring at this post for about an hour since I started writing it, thinking there's more to say, but it's not coming, so I'll stop here.
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The church bell chimed 'til it rang twenty-nine times for each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald. The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down of the big lake they call "Gitche Gumee." "Superior," they said, "never gives up her dead when the gales of November come early!"http://www.ssefo.com/
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