The Saturday Evening Post November/December 2017

Americans are known for their generosity. In the wake of this fall’s brutal hurricanes, millions reached for their wallets. Many others, without prompting, dropped whatever they were doing and traveled sometimes hundreds of miles to help out. This volunteer spirit is exemplified by three of our own. The day after Hurricane Harvey hit Houston, Mike Waldner, who had just retired in August as our director of licensing, volunteered with the Red Cross and went into intense training in disaster relief. Mike credits his psychologist wife as his inspiration: “She volunteered to help counsel the victims of Katrina in 2005. It was a life-changing experience for her, and I always felt that if I had time, that’s something I’d want to do.” Cris Piquinela, our director of licensing and business development, works every…

Tom Hallman Jr. In “Saving His Music” (page 42), we meet Steve Goodwin, a lifelong musician who struggled to play his original compositions as his memory began to fade from Alzheimer’s, and the young pianist whose challenge and privilege was to rescue it. “Stories provide us meaning and insight into life,” says Hallman, a Pulitzer Prizewinning author whose work has appeared in The Oregonian, Esquire, Men’s Health, and Reader’s Digest. “This story, reader, will change you. It is not about a disease, but about love, family, and courage.” Ellen Michaud “Who knew that giving up a grande mocha decaf at my local coffee shop five days a week would mean that I’d be able to contribute $1,157 to organizations that help children and the homeless — and put me one step closer to…

All Together Now Your magazine has always been part of my life, and after the most recent issue, I had to write. I treasure Andrew Wyeth’s cover illustration Sycamore Tree and Hunter (Sept/Oct), particularly since my son is a hunter. Nell Younger, Stevensville, Maryland Ken Burns’ Vietnam Thank you for Jeanne Wolf’s fascinating interview with the filmmaker in “Ken Burns: Vietnam” (Sept/Oct); his series always are interesting. The one question I would have liked to ask Mr. Burns is whether he drew parallels between the Têt Offensive and the Battle of the Bulge? Both were desperate ploys by the losing sides to improve their position for the upcoming cease-fire negotiations. The outcomes were totally opposite to each other. Joseph Celkupa, Florence, New Jersey Every writer and film director has to project a frame of reference and…

If the tax code treated all income as income, and got rid of all the loopholes, the whole process of paying tax would be vastly simpler, and tax rates could be drastically cut. The U.S. tax code often seems to be at war with the taxpayers. The tax law has become so stuffed with obscure provisions that were important to some group or other at some point in time that the mess just becomes too difficult for anybody to understand or to manage. The resulting complexity — made worse by the so-called anti-complexity clause that Congress threw into the stew some years back — has reached absurd dimensions. When I asked the commissioner of the IRS whether anybody in his agency has read the 73,000 pages of IRS regulations, he laughed…

“It’s not a hobby. It’s a lifestyle. This is not like your grandma’s diary.” Diaries used to be a really big deal, particularly among girls who every night confessed their most intimate secrets in them. Not so much anymore. Dedicated diarists are scarce these days. They’ve pretty much been replaced by a bunch that enthusiastically “journals.” Journaling is a lot more serious, essentially gender-neutral, and definitely a more demanding exercise. Plus, it has more (as grown-ups might say) purpose. Presumably, that’s why many so-called life coaches love it. I’m not here to talk dirt about diaries or journals (or even the silliness of life coaches), which have their fans, but rather to advocate for a hybrid model that’s grown increasingly popular. Adults who journal — that is, who regularly keep handwritten records,…

“I have everything I need,” Mom would tell us when we asked her what she wanted for Christmas. My mother died this past summer, so we’re sailing into the holidays absent our commodore. For the 63 years my parents were married, my mother let my father think he was in charge, though we all knew she steered the ship of state, both deftly and demurely. It’s an odd feeling to imagine Christmas without Mom. She did much of the holiday’s obvious work, plus a hundred other little things we’ll likely forget in the holiday rush. I fear no one will remember to buy a flannel shirt for a down-on-his-luck man in our town, and have it gift-wrapped and under the tree, awaiting his arrival on Christmas Eve. He’s spent Christmas Eve with…