Remembering
Howard Zinn
by Freeman Z
(by Freeman Z) In
less than a year, I had done about six different projects with Professor
Zinn, most of them were chance meetings, and how Tavis' Producer found
me, I still have no idea. But there we were. I was thinking "Howard
must be convinced by now, that I'm either stalking him, or watching him,
...working for the Government."
As I set up the mic stands and recorders,
I had the pleasure of meeting Roslyn "Roz" Zinn. a beautiful
woman who had produced much of the art adorning the bright and humble Newton
home. We chatted about the usual things. I mentioned that I had gone to
high school in nearby Chestnut Hill, and the subject turned to health.
I had been dealing with high blood pressure, and she was "battling
cancer."
She'd
chosen not to suffer the brutal therapies that my sister had taken, noting
that she was eighty, and those treatments are for young people. I indicated
that I understood, and told her I had a friend who'd made the same choice.
I was relieved that she didn't ask what happened to Thomas after all his
weird-self-administered therapies, from bathing in peroxide to breathing
ozone and fiddling with his cockamaimee anti-cancer machines.
We all talked about art and life and how
to pronounce Bacevich.
I reminded Howard of meeting him years ago under an oak tree in Roxbury,
telling him I was interested in his books, but was too busy making media
of the people to have recorded him.
I reminded him of Martin Voelker, who used
to record Zinn, and years ago had encouraged me at least to hear him speak.
He was eager for news, and I told him that Martin's in Colorado working
with his old partner David Barsamian of Alternative Radio. I mentioned
anti-war workhorses Carlos and Mélida Arredondo,
and Zinn remarked "They've been remarkably active, that couple." |
Photos of Howard, friends, and family filled the wall
above the desk where we would record our side of the phone interview.
The studio in California would record the other half, and later, would
stitch them together to complete the illusion of a face-to-face. A few
weeks later, Democracy Now's Distributor Kevin Moynihan told me he'd
sent that studio, and that it's quite impressive. Of course, I can and
do that same sort of thing right here in my own control room.
Also above the desk, I noticed a
black and white print of Chomsky in his thirties, with a pink, hand-tinted
necktie. I mentioned how odd it seemed that these two are never seen
together. Once a decade we get a Chomsky Dershowitz meeting that some
call a "debate," I was to record the last one, but my ancient cat (and
bestest friend ever) was clearly preparing to cross the rainbow bridge,
and Harvard has a very bad attitude about letting anyone not of Harvard
record "their" events. So I skipped it. I was right, Harvard's team of
technicians with their wall of equipment provided our man with a crappy
sounding feed.
The phone rang, and the studio asked Howard to count
down from five, which he did, including a zero, and explaining that this
is necessary, not surprising for a former bombardier. The interview ran
about fifteen minutes.
I left the house with an autographed copy of the new
book, an illustrated version of the Peoples History of American Empire,
which kept me busy on the ride back from Riverside Station, learning
about my country's violent past, filling in some gaping holes in my education.
Roz passed away only a few weeks later. I heard the news
from an organizer not long after Howard cancelled his talk on the meaning
of Sacco and Vanzetti.
So Roz had made it. Like my precious kitty, she lived
a good long life and died at home with love and care. I
guess that's as good as it gets.
But Zinn's book had turned my attention back to the victims
of the American Empire, both Citizensl and foreigners, who are denied
either of these things, a good life or a dignified death.
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