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A Billion Here…

5/29/2019

Everett Dirksen from Illinois was a Republican representative and then senator in the U. S, Congress, serving from 1932 to 1969 when he died in office.

He was instrumental in the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, having written part of it, and he had good relations with Democratic Senate Majority Leader Mike Mansfield.

Yes, I did say he was a Republican. Times have changed.

As with all legislators, he liked to orate. And he was good at it. I remember loving to listen to him speak, paying little attention to the words and more to the manner, his rich baritone issuing sound waves that were a joy to intercept. Not everyone was so charmed, and opponents labeled him “The Wizard of Ooze.”

He was a fiscal conservative and opposed unrestricted expenditures, although in early days he was more moderate and supported much of the New Deal. I remember well one comment I heard, and a recent event reminded me of it. I checked to see if I accurately recalled the quote, and to my amazement I had. Here it is.

“A billion here, a billion there, pretty soon, you’re talking real money.”

What he was referring to, of course, was all the different demands on the public coffers. Any one wasn’t so bad (only a billion dollars!) but do enough of them and things get out of control.

To most of us a billion is an unimaginable amount of money. But what about $200 here, $300 there, pretty soon, you’re talking real money? That might hit closer to home.

Unfortunately, we get to experience such a reality on occasion, often by purveyors of services.

Cable companies operate this way. Want TV? Sure, we’ve got a package and it’s only $85 a month. Oh, want all the NFL games? A bargain at only $15 more. You will need a cable box, of course, for each of your three TVs. They are a mere $7.50 apiece. Now the internet will cost you another $60 but for a measly $10 more you can get higher speed that will let you stream at lightening rates. Taxes and other charges are another $25.

When you hear the numbers, nothing sounds outrageous. But add them up and you get $217.50 every month, or $2610 each and every year, before the inevitable price increases. Real money!

An even better example is funeral homes. We’re all suckers there, distraught and not thinking about money, only wanting to do what’s right for good old Harry.

The cost of basic services isn’t too bad, a lot less than feared. Do you want embalming? An extra charge, of course. Doing hair? Just a little more. Fingernails? The same. The casket’s a big item, but you expect to pay for it. And even that isn’t as bad as imagined. Of course, the law requires a liner and there is this one. Unfortunately, it lets water in while, for only a little more, you can get one that’s waterproof. The programs and sign in book are a bargain at $350 and flowers for the top of the casket a reasonable $400.

A few dollars here, a few there. The sum total of all the “reasonable” charges is huge.

Everett Dirksen was onto something.

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Sports in East Orange—a Kid's View

5/22/2019

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I grew up in East Orange, New Jersey. At the time it was a charming middle-class town with streets lined with maple trees. It had superb schools and television was an oddity destined for the future. This meant much of our time was spent outdoors, which in turn meant we got to know our neighbors because they were outside too.

Sports were big. Football occupied our young minds. The competitions of interest involved local high schools and Ivy League games broadcast on the radio and summarized at day’s end by Stan Lomax.

So was baseball. We all had our favorite teams, but our location steered us toward the New York Yankees, the New York Giants, or the Brooklyn Dodgers. There were 16 teams total, eight in the National League and eight in the American, none, I believe, west of the Mississippi. I was a Dodger fanatic and listened to every game I could, announced by Red Barber in the “catbird seat” and Vince Scully.

Jackie Robinson joined the team and created an uproar. I didn’t understand the fuss. Personally, I was delighted. He knew how to hit and steal bases, even home! That’s all I cared about.

Not too many years later the Dodgers moved to Los Angeles. It was a real blow, made worse by my realization that professional baseball wasn’t a game; it was a business. Once I discovered money drove professional sports, I lost interest in them and to this day I care not a whit about them. As money has come to dominate the college level, my interest there also has waned.

However, as I was growing up it wasn’t the professional sports that shaped my activities, it was the pickup games that fell into place when a critical mass of short guys got together. This was before the time of Little League and Pop Warner football with full uniforms and obnoxious parents.

It was a time that allowed the talented and the untalented to just have fun, often in East Orange’s streets, often with two on a team, or, on rare occasions, two on one team and one on the other. We’d be alert for cars and clear the street when one came.

One time a dog, not belonging to any of us, joined one of the teams. When we vacated the street for an oncoming vehicle, the dog didn’t get the message and was hit. The car stopped, a man emerged, and immediately started binding the hurt paw. Turned out he was a doctor. The dog’s owner had shown up by then, was grateful for the intervention, and offered the doctor money. He smiled, said he couldn’t take it, that if he did he’d be breaking the law for practicing medicine on other than a human. Nobody even considered the concept of a lawsuit.

While the street was fine for football and kick the can, basketball needed a net and baseball a space. Fortunately, a short bike ride brought us “athletes” to a playground with a basketball court and an easy fence climb granted entry to the local high school athletic field.

Nowadays highly organized sports teams exist for kids starting at an early age and extending to the teens. I have mixed feelings about them. In some ways I think they teach cooperation and collective spirit. In others I think they bring out the worst in some. Parents become fixated on winning.

For a couple of years I coached a “Cap League” baseball team. This was a pre Little League group. After every game, win or lose, we would supply some treat such as popsicles. Several parents chewed me out, saying their kids shouldn’t be rewarded for losing! These nine-year olds! Needless to say, I didn’t last long. Because of my desire to get out and the desire of others to just see me go.

I fear all the organization has eliminated too often the spontaneity of a pickup game when a few kids get together to have a good time. Maybe such activity still exists. I hope so.

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Democrats—Grow Up

5/15/2019

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In the 1930s Will Rogers was famously quoted as saying, “I am not a member of any organized party—I am a Democrat.”

Now, almost 90 years later, the quote remains apt.

Except now the consequences of incompetence are a threat to our way of life.

We have as president a man whose life ethic is win at any cost with no respect and perhaps no knowledge of the great principles that have sustained our nation for close to 250 years. His administration has ridiculed science, childishly mocked opposing views, and stoked the festering hatred that has been lying dormant in so many of our citizens.

During past periods of concern for our country, I have always held the belief that we were ingenious enough, we were smart enough, and we were decent enough to right the ship. I’m not sure I maintain such beliefs. There used to be a time when men and women of both parties had integrity. The current Republican legislative makeup lacks this integrity as it adopts an agenda that is restrictive, cruel, and cowardly.

I normally tell myself to decide who to support at the polls by determining their views on the issues of interest to me: immigration, education, world affairs, transportation or any of the myriad other problems we face.

But, for the survival of our nation, in this coming election there is only a single issue: removing Donald Trump from office. Because giving him and his sycophants another four years will erode our democracy/republic to a depth from which it might never rise.

The only way to do this is for the Democrats to get their act together and I don’t see that happening. I’m reminded of another Will Rogers quote: “You’ve got to be an optimist to be a Democrat, and you’ve got to be a humorist to stay one.”

Well, I’m no humorist. Here are a few of the things I want in order to keep the Democrats from working to lose the next election.

Over 20 individuals have declared they are a candidate for president. This is a recipe for disaster. It’s what happened to the Republicans in 2016. For the longest of times, through many primaries, Trump received substantially fewer than a majority of the votes. However, usually he received more votes than anyone else so he claimed that state’s prize and began to make people think he might win. Unfortunately, he, probably the worst of all the candidates, did. I fear some minor star might do the same thing for the Democrats. But I don’t think that would be a winning choice. What I want is for the candidates to get together, forget their egos (fat chance) and find the perfect candidate, not necessarily from their group, one who is young, charismatic, competent, smart, able to handle the nastiness, has no baggage, and has the best chance to win.

I want every Democrat and every person of good heart who is disgusted by the current situation to vow they will vote for the Democratic candidate, even if he or she does not best represent the voter’s views. I’m tired of Ralph Nader pulling people from a Democratic win; the same for Jill Stein. This is one election where we can’t afford to be petty.

I want the party platform to represent views that will appeal to the most people, even if some worthy ideas such as Medicare For All and the Green New Deal aren’t included. Remember, the only important thing to do this election is win.

I want Congress to think before every investigation of Trump and determine if the effort is going to help defeat him or if it is going to backfire on the Democrats. This is especially true for impeachment which has zero chance of success and will have a devastating negative kickback at the polls. People want leaders, not whiners.

I want us to encourage contacts with Republicans. Many are fine people who are as disgusted with Trump as we are. They may not agree with us on all matters of policy. On the other hand, everything we state as our belief is not necessarily correct. We have to be willing to have honest civil discussions about issues and recognize opposing views are worthy of consideration. Then we can encourage our Republican acquaintances to vote, if not for our candidate per se, at least against Trump which is, of course, the same thing.

If the Democrats don’t get smart, we can kiss our country goodbye.

Remember, there is ONE issue and ONE issue only in 2020.

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But for the Grace of God

5/8/2019

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The man carries a message written in small printed letters on a piece of cardboard torn from a discarded carton. As I wait for the light to become green, he walks past me between lines of cars and I glimpse the words “homeless” and “hungry.”

When I exercise my dog, another approaches and explains he has been robbed and has no money for food or a place to stay.

In a grocery store parking lot, a woman comes up saying she has to get to Tampa and needs help raising the necessary funds.

A man rings my doorbell and states he’s a veteran wounded in one of our many wars and needs assistance with the rent for the current month.

The number of such incidents over the years must be in the hundreds.

We all have experienced them. How we react differs.

Some are disgusted. They don’t like the lack of cleanliness and believe only laziness and an unwillingness to work has created the current situation. Probably some truth here, but 22 years of volunteering at a suicide prevention and crisis intervention agency taught me it’s not the norm.

Others with some justification point out destructive actions such as the homeless sacking out in a business storefront or even urinating on it.

Some resent having their personal space violated.

Many have said they don’t contribute because the recipients will just use it to buy wine.

Others, more kindhearted, will purchase food and bring it to the person.

I have one friend who gives money and asks them to read a religious tract he gives them. I guess it couldn’t hurt.

As with everyone else, I agonize over how I should respond. I may not agree with how others approach the problem, but I’m sorry to say I understand where they’re coming from. Obviously, I can’t solve problems, and any amount I contribute is a drop in the bucket. So I give what little I can when I can.

It finally occurred to me that no matter a person’s demeanor or wine breath or implausible story or truthfulness, the individual accosting me had to be living, at least by my norms, a most unhappy life. How dare I offer some kind of judgement!

So I sometimes contribute for what is purported to be for food or towards a bus ticket, knowing full well the story they have spun is likely to be false and the money indeed probably will go to wine. It doesn’t matter to me. The pittance I give will be used in a way that satisfies some need in the recipient, and that’s good enough.

So when people complain about how any money given is wasted, I say, not always aloud, “So what!”

Occasionally, depending on my mood, I’ll attempt to initiate a conversation. Often they make no response and rush to intercept their next hope. That’s okay. But sometimes they’ll talk with me, telling me things about their history or how they are surviving. Many are truly decent human beings whose life stories have been tragic.

I hope this doesn’t sound like I’m some sort of good guy. Nothing could be further from the truth. I do my share of ignoring, turning my head so I don’t see. I don’t like it when I’m like that.

I hope in the future I’ll be more understanding of the plights of so many of my community who have not been as fortunate as I.

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Strollers

5/1/2019

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The baby peeks from under a cover, pulls the blanket down from her face, gurgles and smiles. Her proud father propels the stroller, loving every moment of the adoration heaped on his daughter by passersby. It won’t be long before the baby grows and spurns with disgust the childhood device that indicates babyhood.

A short distance away, in a retirement home, an elderly woman pushes a four-wheeled walker/stroller with excessive caution. When her family bought it for her, she set it aside, swearing she’d never use it. Now she’s afraid not to.

A child at the beginning of life eager to put her stroller days behind her. A woman nearing the end of hers delaying as long as possible acceptance of a brand new stroller.

Begin with a stroller, end with a stroller.

In between is what we call life!

How will we use those glorious days stretching from young to old?

We’ll go to school. We’ll find a profession. We’ll work hard or we won’t. We’ll exercise or we won’t. We’ll make mistakes. We’ll make some folks happy. We’ll hurt others. We’ll deal with setbacks. We’ll deal with losses. We’ll retire. We’ll grow old.

We’ll leave an imprint. We’ll impact the lives of others: family, friends, colleagues.

What kind of an imprint will it be?

So much depends on the choices we make as our mind grows from that of the child and develops into the patterns that define the person we are. Will we be kind, or judgmental, or cruel, or self-centered?

It matters a great deal what we are—to everyone with whom we interface.

Perhaps it is less important to us because, after all, we have chosen to be who we are.

But no matter what we make of ourselves, that stroller is waiting for us, and, while we’re pushing it along, we’ll have to live with the memories we’ve created.

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A Billion Here…

Sports in East Orange—a Kid's View

Democrats—Grow Up

But for the Grace of God

Strollers

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