Morning Thoughts: April 8, 2018

I dreamed I saw John Lennon last night. Alive as you or me. Says I, "But John, you're a long time dead." "I never died," said he. Yes, it was a dream and I apologize to both Alfred Hayes and the memory of Joe Hill. It was a dream, after all.

It continued when John Lennon looked at me said, “Quick, tell me my killer’s name.”

I thought, but couldn’t. My mind was as drifty in dreamland as in real life.

“No,” he said. “You can’t. But why?”

I kept staring.

“The press,” he said. “The press made a pact not to print his name. They just called him John Lennon’s killer and such. Now he’s forgotten to history.”

“I don’t understand.” I said.

“You will,” he said. “Remember the ‘Monsters From the Id’ who fed on the very attempts to destroy them?” He winked and continued, as he began to fade, “Now go and give peace a chance.”

On my awakening, it dawned on me. We are our own monsters. It began when we gave maliciousness a name, a brand, and an excuse for irrational statements. Perhaps the press can save us by taking away those aggrandizing supports. Consider how it would sound to hear or read the following.

“The President of the United States of America said today that Mexicans are rapists and murderers.”

“The President of the United States of America today said all ‘negative polls are fake news.’”

“The President of the United States of America said today that ‘the overwhelming amount of violent crime in our major cities is committed by blacks and Hispanics.’”

“The President of the United States of America said today that ‘maybe we should have a rating system for movies.’”

“The President of the United States of America said today that ‘millions of people voted illegally in the last election.’”

“The President of the United States of America said today that, "I learned more about war in military school that veterans do in the service.’”

“The President of the United States of America said today that ‘with [hurricanes] Irma and Harvey devastation, Tax Cuts and Tax Reform is needed more than ever before.’”

“The President of the United States of America said today that ‘James Comey lied and leaked and totally protected Hillary Clinton. He was the best thing that ever happened to her!’”

Wouldn’t that put things in a different light? It would apply Occam's Razor to our president's current bondage with Vince McMahon, and force comparisons to the likes of Lincoln, the Roosevelts, Truman, and Eisenhower.

Wouldn't that make sense? Or is it just me?

Notes From the South: April 7, 2018

It’s a typical Arkansas day in early April. The temperature is near freezing. There is a heavy wind blowing dust around the muddy fields. I’m sweating from the humidity. The dogwoods are blooming in their quiet glory. Sleet and snow are forecast for later this morning. I’m at our farm and I do believe I just heard a cow moan “WTF?”

One thing living in Arkansas teaches you is not to take things for granted. The weather stands as an independent proof. There are others. Some changes come inevitably here, whether they come fast or slow, or with an inexorable steadiness.

Look at politics, it took over 40 years, but we’ve gone from the likes of respected statesmen like J. William Fulbright to … to … to … well, whatever you call what it is that we have now.

It took us a little longer to go from a progressive, visionary (albeit sometimes inebriated), and compassionate governor like Winthrop Rockefeller to, … excuse me while I dry my eyes.

Other political changes seemed to happen overnight. One day we had a sadly significant segment of the Democratic Party who were racist, sexist, anti-progress Neanderthals and the next day they all had a different letter behind their names. The change came overnight, it seemed, and along with the change came trainloads of corporate money designed to perpetuate the change.

We went to bed one night with the rich farmers in Southeast Arkansas making fun of the poor hillbillies in Northwest Arkansas. We woke up the next morning to hear those same hillbillies and their new friends bemoaning the fact that those pitiful sounds from the Delta were keeping them from enjoying their Eggs Benedicts.

Now we are witnessing the death of small community churches that once taught oiled and polished children to practice love and grace, to worship a pale Galilean who said “love thy neighbor as thyself,” and to sing some of the most grandly spiritual songs ever penned by our Christian brothers and sisters. Those quiet pillars of the community are falling to regional mega-facilities that tell us who to vote for, rail against education, exalt selfishness, encourage tribalism and bigotry, and keep the kids happy with “Jesus is my boyfriend” music.

They tolerate both greed and divorce, practices that I’m sure would have the Galilean shouting, “Oy vey!”

We’ve gone with tragic speed, it seems, from families sitting around the supper table discussing the day, to a solemn group of strangers eating fast food meals and studying a handheld device designed to isolate one from any semblance of real world love and companionship.

Yes, things do change, particularly here in Arkansas. Some don’t though. After all, this is a state that ranks near the bottom in every measure of physical and social health and near the top in such measurable tragedies as teen pregnancies, drug addiction, and abject ignorance. It’s a state run by people who think professional wrestling is real, that the reality of physiological differences is the work of Beelzebub, and that The Beatitudes resulted from fake news.

Now we hear the mantra of “Make America Great Again.” I’m not sure what that means, short of the re-introduction of slavery. In the meantime, from what is happening, that sort of change is reminiscent of the way many people would renovate a grand old house that has graced the area in which it stands for centuries.

First demolish it. Second, grade the site. Third, replace it with a cheap metal building.

Vote for the rich. What
do you have to lose?

Morning Thoughts: April 6, 2018

When we don't know anything about a subject, we tend not to worry about its destruction. Our thought is "If I ain't involved, I vote to dissolve."

I fear that this attitude is why so many Americans think it is "cute" for a sitting president to act like a damn fool on camera as he goes about destroying the basic structure of an America that helped defeat Nazism, then was instrumental in the rebuilding of much of Europe, ended polio, sent someone to the moon, and did so many other wonderful things.

If I ain't involved, I vote to dissolve.

An example: I once asked a very bright group of my students, (senior level Intro to Public Administration) to take a moment and consider whether local sales taxes should apply to internet sales.

They thought, discussed, and gave a unanimous, "NO."

If I ain't involved, I vote to dissolve.

Okay then. How would you describe the concept of "reasonable expectations."

They did a pretty fair job, so I followed.

Do you think a person driving a delivery truck to bring an internet purchase to you has a reasonable expectation that a passable street allows the delivery to your house?

- That a police force is there to see that thugs don't empty the van before it reaches you?

- That firefighters are available to come in case the van with your purchase catches fire?

- That an ambulance is available should a drunken person slam into the delivery van?

- That medical aid is available in case someone sprays poison on your package?

Well yes, they decided, those expectations are reasonable.

Would it cost anything to provide services to meet those expect ions?

Yes. If it involves me, it can't be free.

Would it be fair for the city or county where you live to charge the delivery companies a delivery charge for each package delivered to your house? The brick and mortar companies pay a tax to allow you to come and pick things up yourself.

There was a dead silence, broken only by a collective whisper of "Don't tax you, don't tax me, tax that fellow behind that tree."

But, they reconsidered, did some cipherin', took another vote, and chose the sales tax.

We look for reasons why Americans did such a foolishly destructive thing as electing a man like Donald Trump as president.

"Oh," you say, "it's because so many of us think it is funny to see government run as a professional wrestling show."

Maybe. Maybe the trouble began when we quit teaching civics in our high schools.

Ever hear the story about the father
who was able to indulge his son's
interest in computers because that
father received an education through
the GI Bill, a tax-supported benefit?

Morning Thoughts: April 5, 2018

Ahh. Ever remember hearing something and trying to verify it later? Just did. You know what a fool I am for verisimilitude, when it suits me.

This one involved something I heard on an NPR segment years ago while driving. It spoke to the percentage of colonists who actually took part in the so-called “American Revolution.” Point was that the percentage taking an active part was smaller than one might be led to believe. I remembered it was 20 percent or so but had been able to find a source to cite. Well, I found one.

Reading A People's History of the United States  by Howard Zinn late last evening, I ran across this passage quoting John Shy, (author of A People Numerous and Strong) and John Adams (second president of the U.S., but hell, you ought to know that).

“Shy estimates that perhaps a fifth of the population was actively treasonous. John Adams had estimated a third opposed, a third in support, a third neutral.”

At the time, I applied this to the gains made in civil rights in the 1960s. The efforts then, of a few, were bolstered by a significant segment offering tacit support, that segment being appalled by the likes of George Wallace, Ross Barnett, and others. The sight of Bull Conner turning dogs and fire hoses on children certainly grew support throughout the nation for the rights of minorities. Good Americans felt disgusted at the tactic of using violence and venom against children as a political tool, particularly when those children were only seeking basic human rights.

In short, the forces of good gained support with each evening broadcast of television news.

Here we had, though, in the 1700s, perhaps 20 to 33 percent of active participants, backed by another 33 percent of the population as non-participants, defeating perhaps the most powerful army in the world.

That is why it troubles me so to see people who, in my opinion, are on the right side of history acting in ways that offend and diminish that vital segment of the center. Blocked freeways, riots, blind allegiance to third-party candidates, self-denigration, single-issue voting, and harsh vitriol do not build support among the non-participants.

Just an opinion troubling my thoughts this morning.

Scenes like this build support
in the struggle against injustice.

 

Morning Thoughts: April 4, 2018

My thoughts go back 50 years today to one of the saddest days I can remember. I had eight months and seven days left “in-country,” but who was counting? I carried an assault rifle in my job, to use when danger threatened our country they told us. They didn’t tell us what to do when our country threatened us. It would be a scary day for me in a year filled with scary days.

Yeah, we had heard the news. It seemed like almost monthly we heard the news. There would be a rumor, then the truth would emerge that another great American lay dead from the gun of a nobody, a sick vermin whose only desire in life was to destroy America. Evil natures had lain hidden ahead of us like booby traps. They still do.

That day, they called us, a man I’ll call Rainey and me, into the shack that housed the base security. Rainy was a tall, lanky African-American seaman. We called them “brothers” back then, a name they selected and we all used as an identifier. Later I realized that the commander had chosen us because we were both a bit older and got along well with the other men in the security forces. He wanted a sailor of each skin color.

“It’ll be 12 on for you today,” he told us. “The rest of our spare men are at the front gate. The base is on lockdown. Nobody leaves. Anybody coming in better damn well have business here.” He didn’t tell us why, but we knew.

We assembled our gear and headed out to the back gate of the base where we would spend the next half-day. I couldn’t think of a thing to say, so I didn’t say anything during the walk out. When we got to our post, everything was quiet, not an “all is okay quiet,” but a sort of “all hell’s gonna break loose any moment” quiet.

I still couldn’t think of anything to say, so we just stood watch without talking much. Nobody wanted into the base, but there was a steady stream wanting out. Most were “brothers,” although there were some loudmouthed white sailors in the throng as well. Most, both black and white, were armed. They weren’t supposed to be. Only security forces and selected others were issued weapons. You could buy them on the “black market” though, any kind you wanted.

All you had to do was ask one of the young boys lining the roads where the GIs hitchhiked into DaNang and around the sprawling Air Force Base. It was available, pistols, women, sunglasses, hats, tire-sandals, whiskey, tuk fin, anything you wanted. They could get it for you.

We made it through the watch. They said they turned the patrol dogs on some brothers trying to get a protest started out near China Beach. I don’t know if it was true or not. I hate to think Americans were fighting one another when there were so many others wanting to do us harm and who weren’t Americans.

As I said, we completed our watch, Rainey and I. We turned everyone trying to leave back. A few argued, a few cursed us since we were the only ones available. One sailor even cried. The commander had told us not to “lock and load” unless we were threatened, and we never had to. Nobody really wanted off base that badly. I think they just wanted to feel as though they had done something.

The day ended before our watch. A normal quiet settled on the base with the darkness. Around the world in a place called Memphis, a good man lay dead, his still body proof of what a lone deranged person can do to harm a country, the same country that had sent us to war.

Walking back to our barracks, I felt I had to say something, but what? I was sure that in the villages adjacent to the base there were people watching us and wondering what was happening.

As went walked along in this strange and soul-twisted place, I turned to Rainey, who was deep in thought.

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

He nodded and said nothing. We walked on into the night.

Ready to protect my country
 from foreign enemies.

Morning Thoughts: April 2, 2018

Over my career as a planning consultant, I’ve worked for many a mayor. I’ve found them to be a honest, hard-working, and dedicated group. Of course, the nice thing about being a consultant is that it doesn’t allow one to judge one’s clients. I may have a slight bias, although I do have a good vantage point.

That said, I’ve seen all kinds, genders, races, backgrounds. A very few traits, predominately back in the day, I could attribute to prejudice of one sort of another. Meantime, I’ve never known one to steal, ignore the law, or collude with foreign enemies. Most do use the political prerogative of prevarication, but almost always to further the common good, scarcely ever for fun, entertainment, or retribution.

A few of them moved to other offices. Several became state reps or senators. One made a try at governor once, but failed. One became a U.S Representative. I think there may be more, and some from other states, but I can’t recall. Lyndon Johnson had been a teacher, an occupation as honorable as that of mayor.

Overall, cities are well run, usually more so than (this is my humble opinion and please feel free to harbor your own) state or federal governments. Of course, (my opinion again) there’s not a city I can think of that isn’t being operated better than our present federal government.

That brings me to this morning’s point, which is: maybe it is time for a mayor to be president. Goodness knows, we’ve tried everything from engineers to vice-presidents to movie-actors to trust-fund babies to professional wrestling promoters. A mayor couldn’t do worse, and, if past performance is any indicator of future probability, could do much, much better.

Attorneys have dominated the ranks of president and have generally served us well. Given the current bias against the educated, though, there are many who don't want to to see another president trained in law, and familiar with the United States Constitution. Betsy DeVoss probably doesn't even want to see a college graduate again as president.

But trend is not destiny.

Back to mayors, though. They understand balanced budgets. They understand diversity in population. They understand public finance. And half of them understand the need to keep a careful eye on the males of the species. That half would also understand that government can never provide the military-industrial complex all the taxpayer money that it wants. Women are much better than men at saying “no.”

To follow the idea further, I even have someone in mind. In the interest of non-partisanship, I can’t name names, but this one is a Southerner who understands a bit about hurricanes and a lot about a city enjoying itself when it isn't being ravaged by a hurricane.

This one denies even thinking about running for president, a fact that historically means one thing:

He’ll run if he thinks he has a chance. Yes, it's a male. Female politicians at the national level still tend to make too many heads explode. He has the current disadvantage of being thoughtful, educated, erudite, intelligent, and an attorney. But we had such a president just one back. There may be hope for us again.

We’ll know he’s serious the day Fox “news” starts producing lies and slanders against him.

I even think that the lack
of hair would lessen the
ridicule from other countries.

Growing Up Southern: April 1, 2018

If I could do it all over again, I would sure ask my grandmother more questions. I learned a lot from her, but wish I had learned more.

I learned a bit about her father, who joined the Confederate Army, and told her about his greatest fear. “It was walking back home,” she said, “he told me there were roving bands of bad men, they called ‘gray-legs’ who would kill and rob soldiers trying to get back to their families.”

She taught me some useful things her brothers had taught her. “The best grapevines for smoking weren’t too hollow or too thick. You wanted one that would draw good, but not too fast.”

She taught me about the dangers involved in going swimming in some man’s stock pond with Rupert, Ronnie, and Larry Austin. “I’ll whip your ass if you do that again,” she explained.

She taught me about the intricacies of politics in LA (lower Arkansas) back in Civil War times. When I asked her if It wasn’t odd that her daddy was in the Confederate Army and her future husband’s daddy was in the Union Army, she looked at me as if I had asked her why hens gave eggs and cows gave milk. “Why no,” she said, Daddy was a Democrat and Mr. Harris was a Republican.

Not all she taught was proper. When the butcher at my aunt’s grocery store talked to her in familiar terms, she was irate. She later explained, “He talked to me just like he was a white man.” Life in LA didn’t create perfection, and we are all, I suppose, prisoners of our times.

She taught me about decision-making. She used to read to me, employing her third-grade education. As I grew older, I realized she was misusing about every third word. You would never have guessed it, for she never stumbled, hesitated, or exhibited any lack of comprehension. I guess she passed the trait on. My mother later, in teaching me about the grocery business said, “If you don’t know the price of something, make the best guess you can. If you look confident and lie, they will believe you. If you go and look it up, they won’t.” We can see that developed into an art form, these days.

She taught me about other aspects of eloquence in speech. When I was about three, I once began playing with the earphone of a party-line telephone. While stopping me, she heard the sounds of a woman’s voice yelling bad things at me, “Mama-Rodgers” grabbed the phone, moved to the speaker, and let loose a stream of threats and obscenities that would have earned her the Navy Cross.

I used to have a large photo of her father hanging in my living room. Last year I found a distant cousin of that name and gave to him. The old man looked stern and held a Bible. His obituary said that he was a part-time preacher and never took part in neighborhood brawls.

I’d give anything if my grandmother had told me what that meant.

And she loved
that pretty hat.