“Without looking at the present,” said Marc Bloch, “it is impossible to understand the past.” I open my Impromptus today with this subject: what we can learn from the present; what we can learn from the past. There is a lot more as the column goes on, concerning matters weighty and light. See whether it’s for you: here.

When I was growing up, there was a slogan: “The personal is political.” I rejected it out of hand. And I wrote about this in a recent column. A reader writes,

I, too, bemoan the politicization of everything. And it cuts all ways. Let me tell you what I mean. When I was young, such pastimes as angling, hunting, and driving a pickup truck were not viewed as statements about how strongly one identified with conservatism. In fact, conservatives used to bond with liberals over such common pursuits, and that inadvertently made for a healthier democracy.

I did a podcast with Carl Gershman, and, in a light moment, we talked about his name: “Carl” with a “C.” He said there have been many outstanding “Carl”s, including Carl Erskine, the pitcher with the Dodgers (both in Brooklyn and in L.A.). I mentioned that Erskine is still with us, age 97.

A reader forwards this article from January: “Erskine documentary goes beyond baseball to highlight son with disabilities.”

In a column last month, I quoted Roger Ebert — or rather his wife, who reported something extraordinary:

. . . something really interesting happened. That week before Roger passed away, I would see him and he would talk about having visited this other place. I thought he was hallucinating. I thought they were giving him too much medication. But the day before he passed away, he wrote me a note: “This is all an elaborate hoax.” I asked him, “What’s a hoax?” And he was talking about this world, this place. He said it was all an illusion. I thought he was just confused. But he was not confused. He wasn’t visiting heaven, not the way we think of heaven. He described it as a vastness that you can’t even imagine. It was a place where the past, present, and future were happening all at once.

A reader says,

Jay —

I thought you would enjoy a sweet song, based on the account by Roger Ebert’s wife that you cited. It’s by the band Clem Snide: here.

I’ll be darned. My thanks, as usual, to all readers and correspondents.