We took Liz’s parent to San Francisco International Airport, and after a tearful goodbye, we headed into the city where I interviewed a fascinating couple visiting from Denmark. They said the longest prison sentence in Denmark, no matter what you’ve done, is 17 years. And there is a quite comprehensive effort at rehabilitation (education, mental health counseling, and so on) while the person is incarcerated. I told the couple we, too, lean heavily toward this type of “restorative justice,” because people often don’t commit crimes in a vacuum. They either come out of disadvantaged situations, or are plagued with mental disorders, or addictive/compulsive conditions… and once these are addressed at their roots, the problems often clear up. What’s more, each life is imminently important to God, we believe, and each person should be treated with the utmost dignity — not merely left in “dead-end” warehousing in a prison. I mean, they’re all God’s kids. Right? …We then headed inot the heart of the city, taking in a bustling China Town, crossed through a “Little Italy” section and stopped for Mass at Notre Dame Church, only to find it was in French. Liz commented about how refreshingly rich in diversity San Francisco is. And after the diversity, perhaps the second most noticeable thing is: the homeless. While here, we spent a good deal of time talking to the homeless, listening to their stories. One man, John, appeared to be in his early 60s. He said he’d been homeless here the past 10 years, no family, he claimed, just an old suitcase he carried about. We had our ‘Jon’athan in a stroller and periodically I would ask Jonathon, 14 months, to “wave to Mr. John.” He didn’t. But each time I couldn’t help but think, really think, that this elderly, rather disheveled looking man, with yellowed uneven teeth, sunken eyes… was once a bright-eyed, young innocent baby — just like our Jonathan. As Jonathan and I walked the street before we met John, people stopped to wave to him, engage him in a smile… as people do. My guess is few try to engage this other John, in any way. Jonathan finally did, however. Engage “Mr. John,” that is. Jonathan, who can say “bye,” but no names, except “Mommy,” turned back as we started to walk off, waved, and said: “bye John.” God’s grace.


In Winnemucca, Nevada (pop. 8,004), a place we were pretty sure the Bush and Kerry campaigns hadn’t targetted, we did a whistle stop in the shadows of the “biggest piece of driftwood” ever found in North America. It is actually part of the trunk of a Redwood. (Why it’s in Winnemucca, Nevada? Well, you got me.) Now while I wasn’t sure about the driftwood, I told the Humboldt Sun newspaper that I was sure: “I don’t want my children growing up in a world laced with pollution, global warming and ozone holes, often from the burning of fossil fuels [commensurate with our selfish desire in this country to drive as far as we want, to stay as warm, or cool, as we want, to manufacture as much as we want…]”


The Schriner family in front of  Hangar 5 where the Enola Gay aircraft was kept at the Historic Wendover Airfield in Utah.  Schriner used the opportunity to talk about his proposal for a U.S. Department of Peace.

We stopped at the “Historic Wendover (Utah) Airfield” where I met with Airfield Manager Jim Peterson. He has formed a foundation and is trying to restore what’s left of the now closed Army Air Base. This once “secret location” spans 3 and a half million acres of desert and was used as a training base for bomber crews during World War II. Among these was the crew for the Enola Gay, who dropped the atomic bomb on Hiroshima. (“Hanger 5,” where the Enola Gay was kept, still stands here.) Peterson explained to me he wanted to restore the field to honor the sacrifices made by service people here. I told the Wendover Times newspaper that I applauded Petersnon’s efforts and said the country should, indeed, remember the sacrifices — and also remember the agony of war in general. And with that in mind, I also told the newspaper about our proposal for a U.S. Department of Peace. As part of this, we would suggest providing much more incentive for people to join the Peace Corp. I said we also believe if we mobilize much more social justice help for people in the Third World and other disadvantaged countries, more worldwide tension would be diffused. As an example, I said kids growing up in dead-end inner city situations in this country sometimes join gangs. Kids growing up in dead-end situations in the Third World sometimes join terrorist cells. “If we want to fight terrorism at it’s roots, we need to address poverty in the Third World,” I added.


We stopped in Cheyenne, Wyoming, not to campaign, but to go to the Wrangler Store. (“The place all the cowboys and cowgirls go,” said a billboard.) Liz’s parents are here from New Zealand for the first time and are part of the “campaign caravan.” They have been particularly captivated by American television westerns over the years, and at the Wrangler Store Liz’s mom bought a “Buffalo Bill” shirt (she apparently hadn’t heard what I had said at the last stop, plus the Wrangler Store didn’t have any “St. Patrick” shirts), and her dad got a big, brown Stetson hat. That evening on Rte. 80, Stuart drove through the wide-open expanses of Wyoming into an absolutely breathtaking sunset — with his Stetson on, windows down and country music blasting. What a scene!

5/21/04 (cont.)

We headed further south to North Platte, Nebraska, where I told North Platte Telegraph reporter Jenice Johnson that on a previous visit to the area I had noticed that the parking lot at the Buffalo Bill Museum here was full, while the lot at St. Patrick’s church here, which features the story of St. Patrick in stained glass and some literature, was empty. “In the scheme of life, St. Patrick and his life might have a lot more important things to say to children than Buffalo Bill,” I said. “In a saner, more wholesome America for children, perhaps some of the tourism draw to the North Platte area should be touritst coming to learn the story of St. Patrick with their children.” –While that might have cost us a few votes in North Platte, I nevertheless felt it important to say.


We headed south on Rte 83 through “The Badlands” to the Rosebud Reservation in southern South Dakota. There I talked with pastor Ed Bausell of the Tiospaye Bible Baptist Church. He has worked among the Lakota Sioux here for the past 25 years. Pastor Bausell said he believes that just as God worked with the Isrealites over generations in preparation for the coming of Christ, He too had worked with the Native Americans in the same way. Pastor Bausell said many of the Native American rituals and lifestyle all revolved around spirituality and, uncannily, a type of Christian spirituality. He points, as an example, to the age old “Sundances.” In this ceremony, Lakota men are pierced and hung on a tree. Before this, the man goes through a long “hanbleca,” or vision quest. According to tradition, he is preparing himself to be peirced and put on the tree as a sacrifice “that his people might live.” Pastore Bausell said he believes, strongly, that the revelation of Jesus as Savior was merely the next phase of the Native American history and God was, indeed (again, like He had been with the Isrealites) carefully shaping their spirituality. [Paradoxically, what the Native Americans experienced from many of the early settlers, who proclaimed to already be “Christians,” was anything but Christian.]

5/20/04 (cont.)

We headed farther west this afternoon, stopping in De Smet, South Dakota, a “Little House on the Prairie” site. Because of what we believe, in many cases, has become an increasingly damaging influence, our family doesn’t do television. So, for instance, we read to the children at night. In the past couple years, Liz has read our children the whole “Little House on the Prairie” series (nine books) about the early pioneers. Besides looking at the Ingall’s home here and a one-room school house that has been preserved, a couple days earlier we had stopped in Walnut Grove, Minnesota, another “Little House” site. A rather memorable scene in one of the books is of Laura Ingalls, the main character (and author), as a child of about our Sarah’s age (8), wading in Plum Creek here. We took Sarah and Joseph down to the same creek to wade that afternoon. And the look of wonder and sheer delight on their faces, with the books coming even that much more to life for them, was worth the whole trip, campaign, or no campaign.


We did a whistle-stop event in downtown Brookings, South Dakota today. The Brookings Register reporter John Kubal asked me about my proposal for making tangible amends to the Native Americans for past wrongs. I said, for one, I would propose establishing creative Land Trusts to give them some of the land back. I mean we stole it from them, plain and simple, I told Kubal. And if something has been stolen, you give it back — no matter how many generations have passed. And it is our childrens’ innocence that is being stolen in the sea of violence, drugs and sex that is now permeating our culture, I told ABC reporter Rob Wilson after the event today.

Joe's daughter, Sarah, is interviewed by ABC News in Brookings, South Dakota, as Joe and son, Joseph, look on.


We stopped in Oregon, Illinois (pop. 3,945) where, just a few days earlier, “higher than accepted” radium levels were found in a city well. The Byron Nuclear Power Plant is just north of here. And while an explanation from an Environmental Management Corp. is the radium is probably “naturally occuring” — is it? What’s more, I told the Oregon Republic Reporter newspaper that we should be stridently questioning the nuclear power industry in general, in tandem with tremendously increased efforts to shift to much more non-polluting wind and solar energy sources.


We left from Ohio on our “Coast-to-Coast Tour” heading west. We stopped first in Shipshewana, Indiana (pop. 509). Amish country. We toured a rather elaborate, and quite interactive, Amish-Mennonite Museum called “Menno-Hof.” During one of the documentaries, it was explained Old Order Amish and Mennonites dress for simplicity, modesty and their fashions “never seem to go out of style.” In that spirit, our family tries to dress with a good degree of modesty and simplicity as well. [On a Midwestern Tour last summer, I told a regional network news TV reporter in Merrill, Wisconsin that although you couldn’t necessarily legislate modesty, as the First Family — or the almost First Family — you could model it.]