Give My Regards to Ezra

Give my regards to Ezra

Remember me to A.D. White.

Tell all the hippies on the Hill

That I'll be back some night.

Tell them just how I did it,

Lampooning them in The Sun

We'll all take shots at Dean Ruloff's

When I get back again!

Four years and 110 columns later I reach this point. My unofficial estimate is that I have written more op-ed columns for Cornell publications during my time here than anyone in recent Cornell history, with the sole exception of Joe Sabia (who was here for 10 years).

I don't know how I got into this writing thing. I don't know how I ended up here. What I do know is that I didn't plan on it.

I went to the first Cornell Review meeting at the beginning of my freshman year in fall of 2002. I didn't know that I wanted to be a writer, but I reluctantly accepted my first assignment. I finished it and sent it in. Before the paper went to print, without prodding, I wrote another article. Two articles in the first publication of the year. I was hooked. The rest is history.

There are so many people I have to thank for influencing and encouraging me. So bear with me.

First, there is my father, who is the embodiment of the American dream. His father and mother came to America fleeing persecution from Russia. Through sheer blood and guts, my father became a very successful businessman, building my grandfather's small business into a far larger one.

I take this rag to riches tale to heart. And it is not just one anecdote. I know too many others with similar stories to believe that the American dream does not exist. It does. My family has proved it, as have so many others. If the son of a Russian immigrant can do such things in America, doesn't anyone have a chance if they work hard and take risks?

With this upbringing, it is hard for me not to be optimistic about this country and its great potential. And during my time at Cornell, I was unabashed in my belief that this country, with all its many faults, is the most amazing on God's green earth.

As for my mother, she instilled values in me that I carry today. While I don't always seem to appreciate her as I should, the core of what she wanted to instill in me remains. She taught me to be humble before God, for no matter how magnificent one's accomplishments, no one will ever be greater than He who created the world.

Then there is my late brother Brett. He died at the age of 20 when I was just 15. He was born with Cystic Fibrosis, a genetic killer that stole his life. The way that this shaped my perspective and worldview could fill a book. Brett taught me to love life. He fought to live because he believed that life was worth living, even in the most dire of situations. After witnessing his struggle and untimely death, it is hard for me to take trivial issues so seriously, as many are prone to do. It certainly puts things in perspective. I will try to carry his spirit with me in all my endeavors. And I will continue to do so as long as I have a breath in my body.

Of course, these are just some influences. Those who shaped my intellectual outlook are too many to list here. But to those who encouraged me to keep writing - especially Aunt Stef, Uncle Craig, Scarlett, Brittany, Gammy, Frank and so many others - I say thank you. You mean more to me than you can imagine

To my close friends at Cornell (i.e. the Chili's Crew, and especially Loni), who so often told me how wrong I was, thank you, but it wasn't me who was wrong - at least most of the time. We shared some great memories.

To my friends and political allies, thanks for everything. We accomplished a lot. I look forward to working with all of you on various issues for the rest of my life.

To the Cornell Review, thanks for pushing me to start writing my freshman year. And to Erica Stein, who asked me to write for The Sun, thank you for giving me the opportunity. You were an amazing editor. Thanks also to Zach and Carlos, who edited my articles after Erica departed.

I said I wouldn't list any intellectual influences. But I lied. I will list one. Those of you who know me and have followed my writing know that I am a Churchillite. While fighting my insignificant political and intellectual battles here at Cornell, I have tried to follow his advice: "I like a man who grins while he fights." I think I have lived up to that, and while I vehemently disagreed with people, I was not disagreeable - even to those with the craziest of ideas.

Speaking of crazy people, I would be remiss if I didn't thank the freegans. Thank you for being absurd. I'll tell you what. You give me the place and time, and dinner is on me. I'll buy it, eat part of it and you can scavenge for the remains in the trashcan. Only in Ithaca.

I have covered a lot of topics and lent my voice to many causes. But before I sign off I want to highlight those causes which I failed to address rather than those I did. My voice has been too silent with regards to genocide in Sudan, concentration camps in North Korea, repression of political dissidents the world over and the need to end our dependency on foreign oil by developing new energy sources. I apologize. I hope I have a chance to rectify this.

Well, that's it, folks. I did my best. I know it wasn't enough. But I hope I did something to better this University - despite all my many criticisms, I am a Cornellian, after all, through and through.

The Time Out! is now over. You can resume play on this all too liberal playing field. I won't let the door hit me on the way out. But you haven't heard the last of me. Not by a long shot.

Jamie Weinstein is a senior in the College of Arts and Sciences. He can be contacted at jsw46@cornell.edu. Time Out appeared Fridays.