I’ve been invited on WJR-Detroit (NewsTalk 760 AM) on Monday morning, (11:10-11:30 a.m. Detroit time) to talk about the 1967 Detroit riot.

I covered the riot for The AP as a member of The AP Racial Task Force. The evening the Detroit riot started, I was on a plane from Chicago to a city I’d never visited in my life. I remember flying in around 11 p.m. and seeing the East Side in flames from above.

I got to the Detroit Bureau around midnight, was issued a rental car, went to my hotel and went to bed. The next morning at 8 a.m. I was driving down Twelfth Street on the East Side, epicenter of the riot. A bright sunny day. The Detroit police were (stupidly) still letting cars through single file. I’ll never forget my first look at stores along a street I’d never seen before, their glass fronts shattered and merchandise looted, the “Soul Brother” sign in some of them, debris and smoke everywhere. The sign didn’t do a lot of good.

After that, over three days or so, I was in just about every neighborhood the riot touched. Some things I remember:

– Getting shot at in the dark somewhere on the West Side.
– Being pinned down by gunfire beneath a fire truck along with the firemen, watching a frame house a block or so in front of us burn to the ground in about 20 minutes because the firemen were afraid to get out from under the truck.
– Returning to my rental car to find the rear window shattered.
– And most of all, little white me standing just off Taylor Street — unarmed but for a steno pad and a pen — surrounded by an angry crowd of black neighborhood residents on that first morning-after, listening as they aired their grievances and writing everything down madly.

Parking the car, getting out and just walking toward the corner of 12th and Taylor, with no idea of what I was doing or what would happen to me, was certainly one of the craziest, bravest things I’d ever done in my then-27-year-old life. It paid off in a Page One story. The fictionalized version of that encounter is in Chapter I of “A Sweet Guy -or- The Pulitzer,” working title of the novel-in-progress I’m now trying to finish. (Read the first few pages at www.frankjoseph.com.)

The Detroit riot never should have — never would have — occurred but for the idiotic behavior of the National Guard and police. When they heard gunfire, they responded by shooting out the streetlights. This plunged block upon block into darkness so that, next time shots were fired, they had no idea who was shooting. It might have been friendly fire — the cops in the next block, maybe — but they didn’t know, it was dark, they were untrained and unprepared, so they panicked and responded with gunfire of their own. I’m quite certain many of the 47 people who died in the Detroit riot were killed by stray National Guard and police bullets fired thusly.

What does this have to do with To Love Mercy? Directly, not much. Indirectly, quite a bit.

The riots of the mid ’60s helped drive me from the news business and, at age 27, go back to graduate school. Witnessing history, then having to write it in 350 words for the “A” wire, grew discouraging. And in addition, we at The AP had to write it down the middle, no analysis or interpretation. Yet I was seeing behavior on the streets I couldn’t capture in 350 words — things my white, middle-class, rational little brain could not make sense of. Chief among these was the “carnival factor,” which I saw over and over — blacks destroying their own neighborhoods, places there was so little to begin with. After three nights of Molotov cocktails and looting, there would be next to nothing.

Those people I talked to at 12th and Taylor gave me some of the answers. They were articulate about the lousy conditions in which they lived. But that still didn’t explain why many in the neighborhood — others, maybe, the “criminal element” maybe, but plenty of them just the same — were willing to destroy what little they had. And have the time of their lives doing it.

So I went back to graduate school at the University of Chicago, determined to get a Ph.D. in political sociology and spend the rest of my life exploring and answering these questions.

That turned out to be a bad decision. I discovered that no one in the U of C Political Science department had the least interest in my experiences on the street. Their attitude: If it didn’t happen in a book, it didn’t happen. I languished at the U of C for two dismal years, then moved to Washington and got back into the news business.

Now here I am, late in my life, still troubled by such questions, still convinced race is the single most important issue in America. It’s the issue no one wants to talk about — not us, certainly not our politicians — in an honest way. So it just sits there like the proverbial elephant in the living room, never going away. Elephant? What elephant?

That’s where I am. I long ago gave up on political sociology to help me answer such questions. Indeed, I despair of ever discovering answers in my lifetime. All that’s left are the questions. So I’m using the techniques of fiction to ask the questions as provocatively as I can.

Frank Joseph
www.tolovemercy.com

P.S. WJR-AM is a 50,000-watt station. On a good day, you can hear it in 38 states. And you can listen on the Internet at www.wjr.com. The information again: WJR (NewsTalk 760 AM), 11:10 EDT Monday July 31, the Frank Beckmann show.

In American Judaism, there was a strange interregnum that probably started around the 1920s and lasted (I’m guessing) into the 1960s. This phenomenon had a name, assimilationism.

My childhood occurred smack in the middle of the assimilationist tide. I consider myself a victim of it.

My father was the son of immigrants from Eastern Europe, my mother the granddaughter of immigrants from Germany and Hungary. (In the subtle forests of Jewish sociology, these are big differences. The German Jews behaved like royalty; they treated the Litvaks, like my dad’s father, as low-rent, arrivistes, “greenhorns”.) My father was rather keenly aware of his identity as a Jew, my mother much less so. Both were nonreligious, nonobservant, secular Jews.

Even so, they were married by Rabbi Louis L. Mann at Chicago Sinai Congregation and they were members there too. They visited Sinai in person seldom more than twice a year, on Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashanah. But they sent their kids.

Sinai Temple, located on the South Side in the University of Chicago neighborhood of Hyde Park, was among the wealthiest, most prominent, most influential Jewish congregations in the city. It was also, along with its North Side counterpart Temple Sholom, among the most aggressive in erasing the outward signs of Jewish tradition. At Sinai ca. 1950:

– Services were on Sunday. There were no Friday-night services. (FYI to non-Jews: The Jewish sabbath starts on Friday night.) I don’t remember any Saturday-morning services either.
– No Bar Mitzvah nor Bat Mitzvah on offer. I was confirmed.
– Beyond the Sh’ma, there was next to no Hebrew in the services.
– There was a choir — a good one. I seem to remember an organ too. No cantor. I never even heard of cantors until I was a teen-ager.

Little wonder my friends and I referred to it as “St. Sinai the Baptist, the friendly church by the lake, for all Christian Jews.”

Little wonder I grew up confused.

I visit friends’ synagogues and feel as out of place as if I were in a mosque. I had no idea what the services, in Hebrew, were about. And as far as the davening men in tallis and tvillim, they could have been Tibetan monks.

The s— really hit the fan when I went to work for The AP. My beloved editor and mentor, the late Joe Dill, also liked having nasty fun of the ethnic variety. He kidded me about my Jewishness on a daily basis. These taunts and torments would have amounted to anti-Semitism in anyone but Joe. Even so, they left me at a total loss. I could either laugh them off, or draw myself up and act insulted. The former felt like a betrayal of my Jewishness — but the latter would have required me to embrace it.

I wasn’t prepared to do either thing. I was prepared to assimilate.

This confusion I felt as a kid and a young adult finds its way into the pages of To Love Mercy. The Steve character, modeled on me, is as confused about his Jewish identity as I was. But Steve has his friend Sass to help him work things out. There they are, a 10-year-old white Jew and an 11-year-old black Christian, son of an evangelical storefront preacher, having theological discussions about kosher hot dogs. By the end of the novel, they’ve both come to a deeper understanding of themselves and their world than that of their parents.

I wish, in my growing-up, that I’d had an experience like that. Instead, I had to write a novel about it.

Over the years, I’ve had deep conversations with myself about Jewishness and related topics. (The existence of God, for example, is always good for at least a few minutes of thought.) I’ve decided that I’m a Jew true blue, through and through, whatever that means.

It doesn’t seem to mean I’m religious; nor does it seem to require a belief in a God who cares and is paying attention. It certainly doesn’t lead me to live in service to the 613 Mitzvot, or holy laws, that some others feel are the essence of Judaism.

But there’s another precept of Judaism, to be found in Micah (6:8), with which I feel quite comfortable. It’s the injunction to do justice, to love mercy and to walk humbly with thy God.

I take that last clause metaphorically, to mean that it’s my obligation as a Jew — and as a person — to live by a code of ethics, or anyway try. The Golden Rule, something I associate with Christianity, is a good starting place for an ethics code. And here we come to the point of this meandering note.

We Americans live in a Christian society — that is, a society whose dominant culture, mores and values are influenced more by the Christian majority than by any other religion, sect or belief system. (Note to G. Bush: It’s not a Judeo-Christian society. Us Jews know when we’re being shmeichel‘d.) Back in my parents’ and grandparents’ day, when Jews were starting to succeed big-time as Americans and wanted only more of the same, some thought the road to success was to shuck those yarmulkes, lop off those paes, eat bacon for breakfast, and pass for Gentile.

But somewhere down deep, they were still Jews and they knew it. Thus arose comfy places to worship and send their kids — places like Temple Sinai and Temple Sholom.

But guess what. Sinai wasn’t a total loss.

While I was snickering at it behind its back, it was teaching me certain valuable lessons. Social justice. Compassion for the underdog. Using one’s head for something more than a hatrack. These are things Jews (some Jews anyway) stand for, and I stand with them.

The Sinai of 2006 is a far different place than the Sinai of 1946. It moved from Hyde Park to the near North Side — a huge leap into the unknown that resulted in a total shakeup of the place. The congregation now includes many more young families, childless couples, many singles, even (reflecting the neighborhood) a fair number of gays. (Did you know: Prior to 1965, there were no homosexuals in America.) In a world where the melting-pot concept has been rejected and ethnic pride has taken its place, where most religions have moved back toward the traditional, Sinai now has Friday night services, there’s more Hebrew in the service, and your kids can be Bar or Bat Mitzvah. But there’s still that strong commitment to social justice.

Now, you’re gonna love this next one.

At 10:30 Sunday morning, Dec. 3, at Chicago Sinai Congregation, 15 West Delaware Place, guess who is the featured speaker?

The irony is delicious, of course, but the mission is deadly serious. I don’t know yet what I’ll say to this new Sinai Congregation, but I’m already thinking hard about it. I guess this blog posting is a first draft.

Frank Joseph
www.tolovemercy.com

P.S. I had an hour-long interview on XM Satellite Radio Channel 169 on Tuesday night with host Jan Summers, but the booking came up just 12 hours before the show so I wasn’t able to notify you. However …

– Washingtonians can stop by Barnes & Noble-Bethesda on Saturday, Aug. 19, at 6 p.m., where I’ll be appearing with other local authors, and …

– Chicagoans can catch me on “Chicagoing” with Bill Campbell on ABC-TV Channel 7 (WLS-TV). The segment will air at 11 a.m. Sunday, Aug. 20.

When a book catches your eye, what do you do? You browse. If you like what you read, you buy.

That’s in a bookstore. What about online?

A little while ago, Amazon.com started offering “Search Inside,” an electronic way to browse. As with many things Amazon, this touched off controversy. Some felt it endangered copyright protections; others that it was a great way to simulate the bookstore browsing experience and sell more books.

Me being a marketer in my day job, you can guess where I came down on the question. I’d already posted the first chapter-and-a-half to browse on our website, illustrated with great period Chicago photos. (Check it out at http://tolovemercy.com/to_love_mercy_excerpt.html.)

I filled out Amazon’s form and mailed them a prepublication copy of To Love Mercy in March, even before the official publication date. I waited the requisite 6-8 weeks. Nothing happened.

I met an Amazon official in May at the Publishers Marketing Assn. annual meeting and complained. She said, No problem, I can make this happen with an e-mail. Still, nothing happened.

In late June, the publisher resubmitted To Love Mercy to the “Search Inside” program. Nothing.

Finally, early this month, I called the Amazon lady. She was cordial and most apologetic, said it had indeed slipped through the cracks (and that she’d forgotten to send the promised e-mail), but that Amazon had received the second submission from the publisher and It Would Happen. Although there’d still be a wait of 6-8 weeks.

There wasn’t though. To Love Mercy popped up on “Search Inside” within days. The first day, one week ago, my Amazon sales ranking shot to 59,481. They have stayed higher ever since. The best day was Friday, 50,679 — almost equalling the day I appeared on WBEZ-FM — and four of the seven days have been at five-digit levels. (Previously, To Love Mercy seldom broke into the five digits.)

“Search Inside” runs a little slow but works perfectly. It even has a “Surprise Me!” feature that picks out an excerpt out at random. Check it out at http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0974478539/sr=8-1/qid=1153182744/ref=pd_bbs_1/104-1715172-6663143?ie=UTF8

Amazon is a controversial company to be sure. They’ve given the willies to brick-and-mortar bookstores, including even the mighty big-box chains. Their customer service can be pretty awful (I have stories), and their behavior mystifying. For example, they listed To Love Mercy months before it was actually available, at a 30% discount; how they arrived at this number, when they did not know what the book would cost them — let alone had copies to sell — is beyond me and my publisher.

But on balance, my hat is off to Amazon. With features like “Search Inside”, customer reviews, “ListMania”, posting the titles of books bought by people who also bought your book, and many other innovations, they’ve created an ingenious cyberspace analog to the bookstore experience. If I were Barnes & Noble or Borders, I’d worry too.

Frank S. Joseph
www.tolovemercy.com

P.S. Frank on TV! The show “Chicagoing,” with host Bill Campbell on ABC Channel 7 (WLS-TV, Chicago), is taping a segment Aug. 10. Campbell is a three-time local Emmy winner. “Chicagoing” airs on Sunday mornings at 11 a.m. Central time. When I find out which day my segment will air, I’ll let you know.

And more Washington-area appearances are ahead. Barnes & Noble in Bethesda will happen Saturday, Aug. 19, at 6 p.m. The format is yet to be determined — probably a panel of local authors. Watch this space for details.

After my March 26 appearance on “The Sunday Papers with Rick Kogan” (WGN 720 AM Chicago), “To Love Mercy” briefly hit No. 1,042 on the Amazon rankings.

I was overjoyed but my friends were baffled. Most assumed it meant I’d sold 1,042 books.

I wish.

What it means is that, of the more than 4 million books Amazon sells, my novel was selling better than all but 1,041 of them. During about two hours on March 26, at least.

The lower the number on the Amazon-o-Meter, the better. After that Sunday, though, the number began to rise; it hasn’t dipped even close to 1,042 since.

On a very good day — like the day I was on WBEZ-FM, the NPR station in Chicago — the number will drop below 50,000. Yesterday it ranked a respectable 106,080. There have been gloomy days when it descended to 400,000+, Amazon hell.

But now, courtesy of author Katha Pollitt and The New York Times, I have a better idea of what those Amazon numbers mean.

Pollitt wrote an amusing op-ed piece in today’s Times (”Thank You for Hating My Book,” http://www.nytimes.com/2006/07/12/opinion/12pollitt.html?_r=1&oref=slogin) in which she disclosed that she pushed her new book from 101,333, at 2:25 on June 17, to 6,679 at midnight of that day … by purchasing one book every hour.

She says she was going to do it anyway. “I have free shipping and a lot of relatives.”

Now, let’s see … from 2:25 to midnight is 9 or 10 hours (but I bet Katha bought 10, not 9, books) … so 10 pushes it to 6,679 … maybe 20 pushes it to 5,679 … maybe 30 to 4,679, 40 to 3,679, 50 to 2,679, 60 to 1,679, 70 to … 679? And thus, maybe my 1,042 ranking equates to around 65 books?

Maybe.

And maybe not. Amazon calculates its rankings with an algorithm that, to my understanding, is as secret as the formula for Coke. So authors like me (and Katha) sit up nights hunched over laptops, obsessively gauging their Amazon numbers and wondering what the heck they mean. Instead of writing.

But no more. Now I know. Sorta. Katha, thanks for going where no author has gone before. At a total cost of $256.68.

Frank Joseph
www.tolovemercy.com

P.S. Politics & Prose on Saturday was a peak experience, an affirmation, a warm bath, a love-fest. Some 65 persons — many friends, some drop-ins too — showed up. P&P sold 36 books. Thanks to scheduler Cleve Corner and bookseller Risa Gross for making me welcome, thanks to Politics & Prose for being a great community institution and supporter of authors and literature, deep thanks to Rob Samuelson for his moving introduction, and a big wet kiss to everyone who was there.

I have now made more than 30 appearances before Americans of every shade and hue. About a half-dozen of these lovely folks have asked me whether I am black.

Well, gosh.

I’m not, to my knowledge. I do have a broad nose and full lips, and the author photo on the back cover of To Love Mercy is black-and-white; so I probably look black to some who view that photo. A color photo would have revealed my pinkish skin tone though. My Dad was first-generation American of Russo/Baltic descent; my mom was second-generation American of German/Hungarian descent. Both were Jewish and both, or so I’ve always thought, were white.

But about a half-dozen (mostly black) people I’ve encountered have asked if I’m black … and one or two even seemed to want to argue about it.

What to make of this?

I’ve been taking it as a compliment, along the lines of: ‘Only a black author could have captured the black voices in this novel so accurately.’

But it’s also the flip side of the how-dare-you critique, which goes: ‘How dare you, a white man, expropriate our culture by writing in a black voice. How can you ever know the suffering of our people,’ &c.

I can’t. As a novelist, all I can do is imagine what such suffering might be like — for a 57-year-old black woman who’s “raised three sets of white folks’ children, and you two are the worst so far” … or her long-lost son, driven mad by a lifetime of bad luck, imprisonment and abuse … or an 11-year-old kid from the Chicago Bronzeville black ghetto, who sees his world in perfect clarity with no illusions … and hope I’ve gotten their voices right.

The test of my success in this endeavor has less to do with who I am than what I’ve written — whether readers black, white, brown, green or purple will pick up To Love Mercy then throw it aside in anger, annoyance, puzzlement, even simple boredom … or keep turning the pages.

Frank Joseph
www.tolovemercy.com

P.S. MEET JUDY JOSEPH THOMPSON ASSISI AT POLITICS & PROSE. Yes folks, it’s the chance you’ve been waiting for … now you can actually meet my one-and-only baby sister, model for that brat Beth in To Love Mercy, at Politics & Prose this Saturday. She’ll be there in the audience straight from Paramus NJ, gazing adoringly at her sadistic older brother, who’s never stopped picking on her since the day she was born. Admission is free but seats are going fast, so don’t delay … mark your calendar, 1 p.m. Politics & Prose, 5015 Connecticut Ave. NW (near Nebraska) in beatiful Washington DC. Don’t miss this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!