With the release and success of George Clooney’s “Leatherheads,” about the early days of pro football, I revived my list of the best sports movies, arranged by individual sports. It’s not a top 10 list, although it would be simple to glean such a collection.
Some sports lend themselves easily to drama or comedy (boxing, baseball, horse racing) and others have yet to witness a cinematic effort worthy of their sport (gymnastics, tennis, figure skating).
So here is my best (and favorites) per areas of endeavour:
Auto racing – Strangely, not many superior movies here, except for John Frankenheimer’s “Grand Prix (1966) with James Garner. The best drag racing movie was the Oscar-nominated Shirley Muldowney biopic “Heart Like a Wheel”(1983), the best Indy car flick was Paul Newman’s “Winning” (1969), and the best stock car movie (not “Ricky Bobby,” folks) is either Richard Pryor’s “Greased Lightning” (1977) and the first black champion, Wendell Scott, or “Last American Hero” (1973) with Jeff Bridges.
Baseball – This lineup is loaded, from “Pride of the Yankees” (1942) to “Field of Dreams” (1989) to “Bull Durham” (1988) to “The Natural” (1984) to “The Bad News Bears” (1976, original with Walter Matthau). Because “Field of Dreams” reached me on a personal level (about father-son relationships), it gets my vote.
Basketball – Once you go past “Hoosiers” (1986), you need not go anywhere else, or see anything else. This film is in the argument for best sports movie ever made.
Billiards/pool – “The Hustler” (1961) – the original character of Fast Eddie Felson, as portrayed by Paul Newman, is, perhaps, his greatest role.
Bobsledding – “Cool Runnings” (1993) – The story, based on the true events of the Jamaican bobsled team, in the 1988 Calgary Olympics that caught the world’s imagination.
Bowling – “Kingpin” (1996) – Any movie with Bill Murray swearing a ridiculous toupee and bowling with a ball containing fish is classic.
Boxing – Among the best MOVIES ever made involve boxing, including Martin Scorsese’s “Raging Bull” (1980), Sylvester Stallone’s “Rocky” (1976) and Clint Eastwood’s “Million Dollar Baby” (2004). Not just as sports movies, but as movies, period.
Chess – “In Search of Bobby Fischer” (1993) – A small film that caught the soul of the most mental of games.
Curling – “Men with Brooms” (2002) – Yes, Virginia, they’ve made a movie about curling; a small Canadian movie … but aren’t all Canadian movies small?
Cycling – “Breaking Away” (1979) – Nominated for Best Picture, this is on most critics’ top 10 sports movies of all-time’ Dennis Quaid at his earliest. Also up there is “American Flyers” with a young Kevin Costner.
Dog Shows – “Best in Show” (2000) – So bitingly funny, it hurts.
Football – Since “Brian’s Song” (1971) was actually a made-for-TV movie, it shouldn’t (technically) count, and “Horse Feathers” (1932) was as much about football as the Marx Brothers would allow (not much), “The Longest Yard” (1974 original) is probably the best.
Gymnastics – The problem with this sport is that the two “best” movies – “American Anthem” (1986) and “Stick It” (2006) look nothing like actual gymnastic competitions.
Golf – “Caddyshack” (1980) – The funniest sports movie ever made and one of the funniest films EVER! Perhaps the most quotable films ever produced … if you’re a guy.
Hockey – “Slap Shot” (1977) – The greatest movie about professional hockey, with Newman (again), and listed on everyone’s all-time top 10 sports movies list. The best amateur hockey movie is “Miracle” (2004) about the 1980 U.S. Olympic hockey team that beat the Soviet Union.
Horse racing – “Seabiscuit” (2003) and “National Velvet” (1944) excellently represent a sport that has deep roots in filmdom. My favorite is the little-known “Let It Ride” (1978), with Richard Dreyfuss as the epitome of the horse gambler.
Martial arts – “The Karate Kid” (198?) – Oscar nominated as best picture from the director who directed “Rocky.” And please, don’t say “Enter the Dragon” was better.
Poker – “The Cincinnati Kid” (1965) – Steve McQueen in a five-card showdown with Edward G. Robinson. Enough said!
Roller Derby – “Kansas City Bomber” (1972) – Raquel Welch on wheels!
Rugby – “This Sporting Life” (1963) – Richard Harris introduced to audiences.
Sailing – A lack of good movies in this area, given the length of America’s Cup competition so the winner is “Wind” (1992) with Matthew Modine.
Soccer – “Bend It Like Beckham” (2000) – One of the surprise sleeper hits of the 21st century and a film that did more to introduce Beckham to U.S. audiences than the L.A. Galaxy.
Skating – Too much like gymnastics movies, when “The Cutting Edge” (1992) is thought to be the best of its genre and it has nothing to do with real skating competition.
Skiing – “Downhill Racer” (1960) – Robert Redford as an egotistical Olympic hopeful.
Swimming – “Pride” (2007) – A true story about a coach starting an inner-city program in Philadelphia.
Tennis – Poor representation for this sport. Little to choose from for, by walkover, “Wimbledon” (2004) wins.
Track and field – “Chariots of Fire” (1981) – Winner of Best Picture; with one of the most unforgettable musical themes ever heard.
Wrestling – “Vision Quest” (1985) – Starring Modine and Linda Fiorentino, about a high school wrestler’s quest to defeat a particular opponent, the movie features a classic soundtrack (Madonna, Journey). For pro wrestling, would you believe The Fonz (Henry Winkler) in “The One and Only” (1978)?
I’m sure you can find others, but this is my list. I couldn’t find a place for Rollerball” (1975) because it’s not really a sport ... yet (FOX hasn’t figured out how to get it on TV). Let’s hear from you.
Sunday, April 06, 2008
Monday, March 17, 2008
... and on the 8th day, God made golf
Author's Note: The following column was published in the March 6 edition of the Dallas Morning News Collin County Opinion pages.
It is written that, in the beginning, God created Heaven and earth. On the seventh day, He rested. A few weekends later, He displayed his incredible sense of humor and invented … golf.
That is the only explanation. Otherwise the game makes no sense.
After all, the concept defies explanation. Hit a little white ball, go find it hundreds of yards away, lying somewhere between trees and tall hay. When you find it, you hit it again ... and again ... and again ... until it falls into a hole no wider than a coffee cup.
And when that happens, pick up the little white sphere, march to the next tee, and proceed to repeat the entire process. For 17 more holes.
Under a blistering sun. Dying of thirst. Shaking like a leaf. Dog tired. Ready to collapse.
Or until you run out of those little white things. Whichever comes first.
It isn’t blasphemous to believe that God can be funny. The human race was made in His image, and we laugh our heads off all the time. Hence, God must possess a crackling wit and a wicked sense of humor.
Otherwise how do you explain a platypus? (Is it a beaver or a duck?) Or penguins (funny looking birds with feathers that can’t fly). Or the AMC Pacer? Or the Texas (baseball) Rangers? Or Sunjaya’s hair?
Lord only knows ... so to speak.
Obviously, God looked down at Adam, bounding around the Garden of Eden in his Ralph Lauren Polo fig leaf, representing Mankind, and He wasn’t happy.
God must have thought, “Adam looks too content, too comfortable, too at ease. I’ll invent something that will drive him crazy, keep him totally frustrated, perplexed, unnerved and exasperated.
“There’s already a woman in his life, so I guess I’ll just add golf.”
And that is how it happened. I read it in the Gospel According to (Ben) Hogan.
Soon, Adam reacted much like the rest of us to this newly-formed recreational activity. He left the Garden early in the morning with his clubs for the course, with Eve wondering when, or if, she would get him to cut the grass or do his chores around the hut.
Eventually Adam became obsessed with such terms as “cavity back,” “bermuda grass,” “draw,” “fade,” “you da man,” and “that dog will hunt.” When Adam would shout about “snaking” in a putt, Eve might have taken that a little too much to heart.
One day, Adam had enough of the game and tossed his clubs into the River Styx. He swore never to play the sport again ... unless God invented some Big Berthas that Adam could afford.
When Adam looked toward the heavens and questioned his Master, a sudden bolt of lightning cut through the sky. God had heard enough and ended the conversation abruptly.
“Be lucky I haven’t thought of bowling yet.”
Adam immediately looked for an apple to bite.
And we’ve had the “sport” of golf ever since.
Chuck Bloom, who was once called “Moses” by a caddy because he spent SO much time in sandtraps, is a former Texas columnist-edito-newspaper publisher.
It is written that, in the beginning, God created Heaven and earth. On the seventh day, He rested. A few weekends later, He displayed his incredible sense of humor and invented … golf.
That is the only explanation. Otherwise the game makes no sense.
After all, the concept defies explanation. Hit a little white ball, go find it hundreds of yards away, lying somewhere between trees and tall hay. When you find it, you hit it again ... and again ... and again ... until it falls into a hole no wider than a coffee cup.
And when that happens, pick up the little white sphere, march to the next tee, and proceed to repeat the entire process. For 17 more holes.
Under a blistering sun. Dying of thirst. Shaking like a leaf. Dog tired. Ready to collapse.
Or until you run out of those little white things. Whichever comes first.
It isn’t blasphemous to believe that God can be funny. The human race was made in His image, and we laugh our heads off all the time. Hence, God must possess a crackling wit and a wicked sense of humor.
Otherwise how do you explain a platypus? (Is it a beaver or a duck?) Or penguins (funny looking birds with feathers that can’t fly). Or the AMC Pacer? Or the Texas (baseball) Rangers? Or Sunjaya’s hair?
Lord only knows ... so to speak.
Obviously, God looked down at Adam, bounding around the Garden of Eden in his Ralph Lauren Polo fig leaf, representing Mankind, and He wasn’t happy.
God must have thought, “Adam looks too content, too comfortable, too at ease. I’ll invent something that will drive him crazy, keep him totally frustrated, perplexed, unnerved and exasperated.
“There’s already a woman in his life, so I guess I’ll just add golf.”
And that is how it happened. I read it in the Gospel According to (Ben) Hogan.
Soon, Adam reacted much like the rest of us to this newly-formed recreational activity. He left the Garden early in the morning with his clubs for the course, with Eve wondering when, or if, she would get him to cut the grass or do his chores around the hut.
Eventually Adam became obsessed with such terms as “cavity back,” “bermuda grass,” “draw,” “fade,” “you da man,” and “that dog will hunt.” When Adam would shout about “snaking” in a putt, Eve might have taken that a little too much to heart.
One day, Adam had enough of the game and tossed his clubs into the River Styx. He swore never to play the sport again ... unless God invented some Big Berthas that Adam could afford.
When Adam looked toward the heavens and questioned his Master, a sudden bolt of lightning cut through the sky. God had heard enough and ended the conversation abruptly.
“Be lucky I haven’t thought of bowling yet.”
Adam immediately looked for an apple to bite.
And we’ve had the “sport” of golf ever since.
Chuck Bloom, who was once called “Moses” by a caddy because he spent SO much time in sandtraps, is a former Texas columnist-edito-newspaper publisher.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Nurses are God’s angels on earth
Author's Note: This is the unabridged version of the column published in the Sunday, March 16, 2008 edition of the Dallas Morning News Collin County Opinion page. The author suffered a heart attack March 3 and was hospitalized until March 8. He is now home recovering and rehabilitating his eating and exercise habits.
It took another serious medical episode for me to remember several vital facts of life.
First, a hospital is really no place for anyone to get well.
Second, nurses are God’s angels here on earth.
I survived a recent stay at Medical Center of Plano because I had a group of special people watching over me. More than the doctors who performed the various exploratory procedures (and helped stabilized me when I arrived in the emergency room), a patient is totally dependent on the shift nurses to maintain some sense of contact with the real world. Without them, you’re lost, often scared, confused … and completely alone.
I’ve visited hospitals far too frequently in the last decade or so, but before that, I’d never been hospitalized for anything more than removal of my tonsils (for which I hold no memory). So to most people, everything that happens, from the IV in your arm to the incisions you receive to the constant monitoring of vital signs, is brand new.
And, more often than not, it’s a frightening experience, especially when you have no idea of what the future holds. In my situation, that fear was eliminated by those “angels” – always there, no matter the time of night or how petty the request might have seemed to the non-patient. They were there to hold a hand if needed, to share a newspaper when sought, to talk a little politics when the sound of your own voice became unbearable and to explain what was often unexplainable in terms that the normal person can grasp.
I learned more about my procedure, options and the multitude of medications from the nurses than from my doctors (who were wonderful as well, but just not as omnipresent as the nurses). It wasn’t the technical knowledge that these men and women shared; it stemmed from their experiences with other patients, or in some cases, having gone through the same thing.
If I may, a word of praise for a moment of this particular facility – Medical Center of Plano – one of the possible “hidden” gems within the Collin County scene.
In this season of wide-ranging political debate, it needs to be stated that Americans do NOT have a health care providing problem; we have access to the finest institutions, best equipment and best-trained personnel in the world. We have a health care coverage/payment problem between the low-balling insurance companies and those within the business who must offset ever-increasing costs. The consumer/patient is caught in the middle of this tug of war and usually feels pulled in multiple directions.
But not here – at least not as the public face to its patients. MCP is one of THE best facilities I’ve seen from the inside. Everyone’s direct charge seems to be providing the best treatment and experience with a positive attitude; and trust me, with someone like yours truly, it can be tested to the hilt. MCP passed with flying colors because no one seemed to be able to say “no.”
At this hospital, little things matter. The food can honestly be judged against any restaurant in the area. When was the last time you heard of a hospital menu that provided fresh grilled asparagus or very tasty sugar-free cheesecake? “Rock-a-Bye and Good Night” is played softly over the hospital intercom when a child is brought into the world in the maternity ward. Patient advocates visit to specifically inquire about individual needs and patients can be discharged and take home a CD of their tests and documentation for future referrals.
In the catherization lab, support personnel asked me what music should play in the background, and from their library, I chose Dire Straits’ classic “Brother in Arms,” because I thought “Walk of Life” set the right tone … and I wanted to hum “I want my MTV” to distract me from my pain.
Even the gracious and accommodating dietician successfully determined the carb count (suddenly one of MY vital numbers to know) of matzo balls – one of my all-time favorite foods. While it might have been the most unusual request she’s received, she completed the assignment with total professionalism and humor (another indispensable item to one’s recovery).
It’s hard to imagine any major hospital functioning with any degree of proficiency without its well-trained, professional nurses. They have to wear simultaneously several gowns (medical service deliverer, maid, friend, confidant) and probably don’t earn nearly enough financial compensation for their troubles. I know they seldom earn the public’s highest respect; so it’s fallen to me to deliver such praise.
So this tribute goes to the doctors and nurses in the ER and on the seventh floor of Medical Center of Plano – Drs. Neeta Bavikati and Samaha Syed; ER personnel Dr. Jeff Shaffer, RNs Carolyn Sanders, Jackie Jirsa, Candice Stroh; floor RNs Fernando Cruz, Janet Trowbridge, Chandrika Solanki, Diane Finch, Abhini Joseph, Arlyna Lange, Blessing Ukaji, Morag Robson; nursing student Cathy Skarsten; and techs Happiness Robinson, Addie Robinson, Okama Bassey and Vicki Cuthbert.
They are to “blame” for getting me back to this keyboard and to my home, feistier than ever.
I’ll just call them as “Charlie’s Angels” if you don’t mind, and I will remember them for the rest of my (hopefully extended) life. :-)
It took another serious medical episode for me to remember several vital facts of life.
First, a hospital is really no place for anyone to get well.
Second, nurses are God’s angels here on earth.
I survived a recent stay at Medical Center of Plano because I had a group of special people watching over me. More than the doctors who performed the various exploratory procedures (and helped stabilized me when I arrived in the emergency room), a patient is totally dependent on the shift nurses to maintain some sense of contact with the real world. Without them, you’re lost, often scared, confused … and completely alone.
I’ve visited hospitals far too frequently in the last decade or so, but before that, I’d never been hospitalized for anything more than removal of my tonsils (for which I hold no memory). So to most people, everything that happens, from the IV in your arm to the incisions you receive to the constant monitoring of vital signs, is brand new.
And, more often than not, it’s a frightening experience, especially when you have no idea of what the future holds. In my situation, that fear was eliminated by those “angels” – always there, no matter the time of night or how petty the request might have seemed to the non-patient. They were there to hold a hand if needed, to share a newspaper when sought, to talk a little politics when the sound of your own voice became unbearable and to explain what was often unexplainable in terms that the normal person can grasp.
I learned more about my procedure, options and the multitude of medications from the nurses than from my doctors (who were wonderful as well, but just not as omnipresent as the nurses). It wasn’t the technical knowledge that these men and women shared; it stemmed from their experiences with other patients, or in some cases, having gone through the same thing.
If I may, a word of praise for a moment of this particular facility – Medical Center of Plano – one of the possible “hidden” gems within the Collin County scene.
In this season of wide-ranging political debate, it needs to be stated that Americans do NOT have a health care providing problem; we have access to the finest institutions, best equipment and best-trained personnel in the world. We have a health care coverage/payment problem between the low-balling insurance companies and those within the business who must offset ever-increasing costs. The consumer/patient is caught in the middle of this tug of war and usually feels pulled in multiple directions.
But not here – at least not as the public face to its patients. MCP is one of THE best facilities I’ve seen from the inside. Everyone’s direct charge seems to be providing the best treatment and experience with a positive attitude; and trust me, with someone like yours truly, it can be tested to the hilt. MCP passed with flying colors because no one seemed to be able to say “no.”
At this hospital, little things matter. The food can honestly be judged against any restaurant in the area. When was the last time you heard of a hospital menu that provided fresh grilled asparagus or very tasty sugar-free cheesecake? “Rock-a-Bye and Good Night” is played softly over the hospital intercom when a child is brought into the world in the maternity ward. Patient advocates visit to specifically inquire about individual needs and patients can be discharged and take home a CD of their tests and documentation for future referrals.
In the catherization lab, support personnel asked me what music should play in the background, and from their library, I chose Dire Straits’ classic “Brother in Arms,” because I thought “Walk of Life” set the right tone … and I wanted to hum “I want my MTV” to distract me from my pain.
Even the gracious and accommodating dietician successfully determined the carb count (suddenly one of MY vital numbers to know) of matzo balls – one of my all-time favorite foods. While it might have been the most unusual request she’s received, she completed the assignment with total professionalism and humor (another indispensable item to one’s recovery).
It’s hard to imagine any major hospital functioning with any degree of proficiency without its well-trained, professional nurses. They have to wear simultaneously several gowns (medical service deliverer, maid, friend, confidant) and probably don’t earn nearly enough financial compensation for their troubles. I know they seldom earn the public’s highest respect; so it’s fallen to me to deliver such praise.
So this tribute goes to the doctors and nurses in the ER and on the seventh floor of Medical Center of Plano – Drs. Neeta Bavikati and Samaha Syed; ER personnel Dr. Jeff Shaffer, RNs Carolyn Sanders, Jackie Jirsa, Candice Stroh; floor RNs Fernando Cruz, Janet Trowbridge, Chandrika Solanki, Diane Finch, Abhini Joseph, Arlyna Lange, Blessing Ukaji, Morag Robson; nursing student Cathy Skarsten; and techs Happiness Robinson, Addie Robinson, Okama Bassey and Vicki Cuthbert.
They are to “blame” for getting me back to this keyboard and to my home, feistier than ever.
I’ll just call them as “Charlie’s Angels” if you don’t mind, and I will remember them for the rest of my (hopefully extended) life. :-)
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Stop worshiping money more than life
Perhaps Michelle Obama is really on the mark. We haven't done much lately in this nation to make people proud.
Perfect example: In Saturday's Dallas Morning News, there was a page 4A article about the indictment of Republican congressman Rick Renzi of Arizona (oh yeah, a CLOSE advisor to one John McCain) for extortion and fraud involving a land deal A supplement box listing other bad boys in Washington (Jim Traficant, Larry Craig, Tom DeLay, Duke Cunningham, etc.) charged and convicted congressmen points out a harrowing fact.
If anyone needs to know what is wrong with our society and the people who choose to lead our government. Those convicted for stealing money, one way or the other, through fraud, bribery, extortion, etc., were given fairly harsh prison sentences. Cunningham got 8 1/2 years, Traficant got eight years and good ol' Bob Ney got 2 1/2 years.
But the man, William Janklow of South Dakota, who actually killed someone (while drunk and speeding), convicted of vehicular homicide, was sentenced to a whopping 100 days in prison. That is total bullshit!
When, oh when, will our society stop placing, and worshiping, money above the worth of another human being's life? When did theft become a more henious crime than killing someone?
Comedian-activist Dick Gregory used an analogy during his student assembly concert days inthe 1970s (when he was true greatness). He said that if a man broke into a woman's house, robbed her of $100 and then killed her, he would be branded a monster.
"Why did he kill her for $100?" people would scream.
But if he robbed her of $1 million out of her safe and killed her anyway, the reaction, Gregory claimed, would be different.
"What was she doing with that kind of money alying around?" they would posture. "She was asking for it."
But the woman would be just as dead. Except the money was different.
When those scales are tipped in favor of humanity, only THEN will our nation and society TRULY become great.
Perfect example: In Saturday's Dallas Morning News, there was a page 4A article about the indictment of Republican congressman Rick Renzi of Arizona (oh yeah, a CLOSE advisor to one John McCain) for extortion and fraud involving a land deal A supplement box listing other bad boys in Washington (Jim Traficant, Larry Craig, Tom DeLay, Duke Cunningham, etc.) charged and convicted congressmen points out a harrowing fact.
If anyone needs to know what is wrong with our society and the people who choose to lead our government. Those convicted for stealing money, one way or the other, through fraud, bribery, extortion, etc., were given fairly harsh prison sentences. Cunningham got 8 1/2 years, Traficant got eight years and good ol' Bob Ney got 2 1/2 years.
But the man, William Janklow of South Dakota, who actually killed someone (while drunk and speeding), convicted of vehicular homicide, was sentenced to a whopping 100 days in prison. That is total bullshit!
When, oh when, will our society stop placing, and worshiping, money above the worth of another human being's life? When did theft become a more henious crime than killing someone?
Comedian-activist Dick Gregory used an analogy during his student assembly concert days inthe 1970s (when he was true greatness). He said that if a man broke into a woman's house, robbed her of $100 and then killed her, he would be branded a monster.
"Why did he kill her for $100?" people would scream.
But if he robbed her of $1 million out of her safe and killed her anyway, the reaction, Gregory claimed, would be different.
"What was she doing with that kind of money alying around?" they would posture. "She was asking for it."
But the woman would be just as dead. Except the money was different.
When those scales are tipped in favor of humanity, only THEN will our nation and society TRULY become great.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Gentlemen: the two most important words …
This short piece is for all you brides-to-be; you need to cut this out and hand-deliver it to your prospective grooms. Make him/them read it, memorize it and recite it later ... and often.
Gentlemen, the two most important words you need to know about your upcoming nuptials are NOT “I do!”
They are “Yes, honey!”
Repeat them. “Yes, honey!”
You will be saying that phrase far more often than you know and it will be the correct thing to utter each and every time. You need to understand, in advance, that you will be agreeing to almost everything your woman wants on her special day because … it’s HER day – not yours.
As a father and a married man (twice actually), a wedding is for, and about, and produced, by the bride. It’s her day to shine and you merely need to see her in all the radiance possible. On that day, it will be as good as it can be (with the possible exception of the birth of your first child together).
Your job, despite what any wedding planner tells you, is 1) show up on time; 2) be respectful to what’s happening; 3) please be sober; 4) make sure your buddies are sober; and 5) make sure you have the ring and license! Afterwards, make sure you’ve got everything packed for the honeymoon, all documents secured (tickets, traveler’s checks and passports) and the gas tank is filled.
Don’t worry about the cake (unless you’re allergic), the seating arrangements (unless you’re a Hatfield and she’s a McCoy), the flower arrangements (unless you’re in the business) or the color of the bridesmaid dresses (unless you designed them). And stay clear of the future mother-in-law because she’s usually on a mission and you’ll get run over like Earl Campbell used to knock over defensive backs for the Houston Oilers.
The best idea you can “insist” upon is the hiring of a professional wedding photographer. Letting “Uncle Bob” take the pictures is an instant recipe for disaster and your bride will cry for the rest of her life, and yours, if her wedding photos are lacking or horrid … or missing. While saving money at every possible turn is preferable, this is where the budget needs to allow for leeway.
Because … you know about that “’til death do us part” part? Knowing that you could have prevented a wrong-footed start to a lifetime together tends to avoid that slippery “part.”
Gentlemen, also a few good suggestions for your pre-wedding behavior. If you feel the urge and need to have a rollicking bachelor party, do it at least 2-3 days BEFORE the wedding. That way there will be plenty of time to … recover. And don’t strive to do embarrassing, wild activities that you will regret when they are later seen on YouTube. Again, that dastardly “part” part tends to rear its head.
As a father and groom, I cannot emphasize the need to conserve money. Trust me, you’ll need it when you begin the marriage and start living together under one roof. Even if you each bring your belonging to merge as one household, there will be plenty missing and, to quote the great philosopher Chico Marx, “That runs into money.” I guess I’m kind of frugal but you can produce a life-long memory without busting the bank account.
But if she wants something bad enough, men, you must go back to those two words, “Yes, honey!” in order to survive. You will soon realize your life will dwindle into two word conversations. Your parts will be:
“How come?”
“How much?”
“Say what?”
“And because?”
“Yes, honey!”
Gentlemen, the two most important words you need to know about your upcoming nuptials are NOT “I do!”
They are “Yes, honey!”
Repeat them. “Yes, honey!”
You will be saying that phrase far more often than you know and it will be the correct thing to utter each and every time. You need to understand, in advance, that you will be agreeing to almost everything your woman wants on her special day because … it’s HER day – not yours.
As a father and a married man (twice actually), a wedding is for, and about, and produced, by the bride. It’s her day to shine and you merely need to see her in all the radiance possible. On that day, it will be as good as it can be (with the possible exception of the birth of your first child together).
Your job, despite what any wedding planner tells you, is 1) show up on time; 2) be respectful to what’s happening; 3) please be sober; 4) make sure your buddies are sober; and 5) make sure you have the ring and license! Afterwards, make sure you’ve got everything packed for the honeymoon, all documents secured (tickets, traveler’s checks and passports) and the gas tank is filled.
Don’t worry about the cake (unless you’re allergic), the seating arrangements (unless you’re a Hatfield and she’s a McCoy), the flower arrangements (unless you’re in the business) or the color of the bridesmaid dresses (unless you designed them). And stay clear of the future mother-in-law because she’s usually on a mission and you’ll get run over like Earl Campbell used to knock over defensive backs for the Houston Oilers.
The best idea you can “insist” upon is the hiring of a professional wedding photographer. Letting “Uncle Bob” take the pictures is an instant recipe for disaster and your bride will cry for the rest of her life, and yours, if her wedding photos are lacking or horrid … or missing. While saving money at every possible turn is preferable, this is where the budget needs to allow for leeway.
Because … you know about that “’til death do us part” part? Knowing that you could have prevented a wrong-footed start to a lifetime together tends to avoid that slippery “part.”
Gentlemen, also a few good suggestions for your pre-wedding behavior. If you feel the urge and need to have a rollicking bachelor party, do it at least 2-3 days BEFORE the wedding. That way there will be plenty of time to … recover. And don’t strive to do embarrassing, wild activities that you will regret when they are later seen on YouTube. Again, that dastardly “part” part tends to rear its head.
As a father and groom, I cannot emphasize the need to conserve money. Trust me, you’ll need it when you begin the marriage and start living together under one roof. Even if you each bring your belonging to merge as one household, there will be plenty missing and, to quote the great philosopher Chico Marx, “That runs into money.” I guess I’m kind of frugal but you can produce a life-long memory without busting the bank account.
But if she wants something bad enough, men, you must go back to those two words, “Yes, honey!” in order to survive. You will soon realize your life will dwindle into two word conversations. Your parts will be:
“How come?”
“How much?”
“Say what?”
“And because?”
“Yes, honey!”
Sunday, February 03, 2008
When reading isn't fun - dyslexia major problem NOT properly diagnosed at the right time
Author's Note: The following column appears in today's edition (Sunday, Feb. 3, 2008) of the Collin County Opinion Pages of the Dallas Morning News.
My daughter, Lisa, is a terrible speller. She admits to it and, as a professional editor, I know it as well. And, yes, it drives me up a wall akin to the child of an Olympic swimmer being afraid of water. You would hope one's natural talent would be something of a family inheritance.
Having disclosed that, I must say that it is not her fault. She suffers from dyslexia, a learning disability that makes it very difficult to properly learn to read and spell.
It doesn't mean the student lacks intelligence; in fact, far from it. Many dyslexics are highly intelligent and highly gifted. It means a person's brain merely processes written and/or verbal language differently than the normal individual. It is a neurological problem. The brain simply cannot correctly digest some letters as seen through the eye.
All too often this goes undetected in the place where it matters most – the classroom. A simple eye test administered in most elementary schools won't send up the needed red flag to either teachers or parents. As a result, affected students fail to acquire the help needed to combat the problem and overcome the difficulty. "Just try harder" is not the proper answer.
Dyslexia affects anywhere from 5 to 9 percent of all school children, but some studies increase the numbers to as much as 17 percent. Even more astonishing is that only 20 percent of adults who suffer from early childhood reading problems learn fluent reading skills; that's 1 in 5, folks.
Since it involves words, it requires more time and practice for those with dyslexia to master the skill of reading. For example, if a child needs 30 to 60 hours to learn to read, a dyslexic child needs 80 to 100 hours. It is even more important because of the inability to correctly associate what he or she sees with what is heard, a process which is called "phonics." Phonics is a common method to teach children to read.
Dyslexics can compensate for their disability with the proper therapy, training and technological help. Dyslexic students are legally entitled to extra time during tests (which also applies to such tests as the SAT and ACT college boards). However, it doesn't always happen that way.
Lisa had a high school AP English teacher who refused to cooperate; but my daughter, not wanting to seem "privileged," did not fight hard enough for her rights because no one within the school administration informed her of all those rights.
There are some charitable organizations, such as the Scottish Rite Foundation locally, which test for dyslexia and make training classes and materials available, often at no cost, for teachers and students. But the problem must be diagnosed at the starting point – our elementary schools.
It isn't too much of a stretch to state that dyslexia receives inadequate support in American public schools. There have been several legal cases in this nation, plus Canada, England and New Zealand, brought by parents against public education, for failing to provide enough support for children with learning disabilities. I, for one, don't want this played out in the court, but solved in the classroom.
In order for a student to be properly treated and assisted for dyslexia, it must be diagnosed at an early age. While young American schoolchildren are given eye examinations to detect vision too poor to read blackboards or even books, nothing is done to see if they are neurologically impaired in that process – if what they see is correct.
The "full monty" of tests to fully reveal dyslexia in a child is not possible for each and every U.S. student. But some sort of early detection exam can (and should, by law) be administered. Once they are warned of a possible problem, the responsibility will then rest with parents and teachers.
Dyslexia crosses all racial, ethnic and social lines and, without proper help and detection, it places our children at risk and harm that is preventable.
It's probably too late to really help Lisa. But it isn't too late to help many others.
My daughter, Lisa, is a terrible speller. She admits to it and, as a professional editor, I know it as well. And, yes, it drives me up a wall akin to the child of an Olympic swimmer being afraid of water. You would hope one's natural talent would be something of a family inheritance.
Having disclosed that, I must say that it is not her fault. She suffers from dyslexia, a learning disability that makes it very difficult to properly learn to read and spell.
It doesn't mean the student lacks intelligence; in fact, far from it. Many dyslexics are highly intelligent and highly gifted. It means a person's brain merely processes written and/or verbal language differently than the normal individual. It is a neurological problem. The brain simply cannot correctly digest some letters as seen through the eye.
All too often this goes undetected in the place where it matters most – the classroom. A simple eye test administered in most elementary schools won't send up the needed red flag to either teachers or parents. As a result, affected students fail to acquire the help needed to combat the problem and overcome the difficulty. "Just try harder" is not the proper answer.
Dyslexia affects anywhere from 5 to 9 percent of all school children, but some studies increase the numbers to as much as 17 percent. Even more astonishing is that only 20 percent of adults who suffer from early childhood reading problems learn fluent reading skills; that's 1 in 5, folks.
Since it involves words, it requires more time and practice for those with dyslexia to master the skill of reading. For example, if a child needs 30 to 60 hours to learn to read, a dyslexic child needs 80 to 100 hours. It is even more important because of the inability to correctly associate what he or she sees with what is heard, a process which is called "phonics." Phonics is a common method to teach children to read.
Dyslexics can compensate for their disability with the proper therapy, training and technological help. Dyslexic students are legally entitled to extra time during tests (which also applies to such tests as the SAT and ACT college boards). However, it doesn't always happen that way.
Lisa had a high school AP English teacher who refused to cooperate; but my daughter, not wanting to seem "privileged," did not fight hard enough for her rights because no one within the school administration informed her of all those rights.
There are some charitable organizations, such as the Scottish Rite Foundation locally, which test for dyslexia and make training classes and materials available, often at no cost, for teachers and students. But the problem must be diagnosed at the starting point – our elementary schools.
It isn't too much of a stretch to state that dyslexia receives inadequate support in American public schools. There have been several legal cases in this nation, plus Canada, England and New Zealand, brought by parents against public education, for failing to provide enough support for children with learning disabilities. I, for one, don't want this played out in the court, but solved in the classroom.
In order for a student to be properly treated and assisted for dyslexia, it must be diagnosed at an early age. While young American schoolchildren are given eye examinations to detect vision too poor to read blackboards or even books, nothing is done to see if they are neurologically impaired in that process – if what they see is correct.
The "full monty" of tests to fully reveal dyslexia in a child is not possible for each and every U.S. student. But some sort of early detection exam can (and should, by law) be administered. Once they are warned of a possible problem, the responsibility will then rest with parents and teachers.
Dyslexia crosses all racial, ethnic and social lines and, without proper help and detection, it places our children at risk and harm that is preventable.
It's probably too late to really help Lisa. But it isn't too late to help many others.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Early Texan of the Year nominee
Here is an early entrant to the Dallas Morning News Texan of the Year sweepstakes:
Scott Drew.
Drew is the men's basketball coach at Baylor University, which, when he accepted the job coming from Valparaiso University in Indiana, was like assuming command of the Titanic ... on the way down. The BU program was given the harshest penalty, short of the SMU death penalty, for its past, including covering up a murder and telling players to lie by a coach.
Its prior history before that also involves other coaches who had to break the rules just to compete. The Bears were smacked hard by the NCAA - couldn't recruit, couldn't play non-conference games and were dead, for all intent and purpose.
Last night, Baylor completed its phoenix-like rise with what should be the game of the year in college basketball (116-100 five OT win over ranked Texas A&M in College Station). And it has all been due to the tenacity of Drew, who has single-handedly brought the Bears out of the abyss. He's done it by following the rules, choosing his student athletes-carefully and wisely.
BU will make the NCAA field, short of a total collapse, and any victory in the tournament will be a major accomplishment. In this case, this "Hoosiers" like comeback can be pinpointed to one man - Scott Drew and hopefully the Morning News will recognized that in 11 months.
Scott Drew.
Drew is the men's basketball coach at Baylor University, which, when he accepted the job coming from Valparaiso University in Indiana, was like assuming command of the Titanic ... on the way down. The BU program was given the harshest penalty, short of the SMU death penalty, for its past, including covering up a murder and telling players to lie by a coach.
Its prior history before that also involves other coaches who had to break the rules just to compete. The Bears were smacked hard by the NCAA - couldn't recruit, couldn't play non-conference games and were dead, for all intent and purpose.
Last night, Baylor completed its phoenix-like rise with what should be the game of the year in college basketball (116-100 five OT win over ranked Texas A&M in College Station). And it has all been due to the tenacity of Drew, who has single-handedly brought the Bears out of the abyss. He's done it by following the rules, choosing his student athletes-carefully and wisely.
BU will make the NCAA field, short of a total collapse, and any victory in the tournament will be a major accomplishment. In this case, this "Hoosiers" like comeback can be pinpointed to one man - Scott Drew and hopefully the Morning News will recognized that in 11 months.
Monday, January 07, 2008
Clemens: The truth is somewhere out there
I watched Roger Clemens' interview last night on "60 Minutes" and it is difficult to tell who is lying and who is telling the truth on either side.
A few pitchers, if the path is followed properly and if they are so physically inclined, CAN pitch into their mid-40s. Clemens' idol, after all, was Nolan Ryan and no one has accused the Ryan Express of carrying a car load of steroids on the journey.
Did he? No one knows for sure, which is the proper answer with Roger Clemens.
Ryan DID play in the steroid era, and was on teams with admitted steroid users. But no one believes he did and no one should automatically take the word of one person that someone did.
But is awfully difficult to unprove a negative. It's like proving he didn't beat his wife. Who would ask that in the first place?
I just don't know.
A few pitchers, if the path is followed properly and if they are so physically inclined, CAN pitch into their mid-40s. Clemens' idol, after all, was Nolan Ryan and no one has accused the Ryan Express of carrying a car load of steroids on the journey.
Did he? No one knows for sure, which is the proper answer with Roger Clemens.
Ryan DID play in the steroid era, and was on teams with admitted steroid users. But no one believes he did and no one should automatically take the word of one person that someone did.
But is awfully difficult to unprove a negative. It's like proving he didn't beat his wife. Who would ask that in the first place?
I just don't know.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
My Christmas message: We can do better!
I enjoy writing a column, almost published weekly, for The Community News in Aledo, Texas, west of Fort Worth. This week that publication is becoming The Community (Good) News because there’s not enough of it to be read, seen or heard in the media these days. It’s not really the fault of the news-deliverers; it is more of a function of the society that still ogles at car wrecks on the side of the road and want to hear every juicy details of any Hollywood star’s personal problems.
If the public would insist, through its choices of music, books, films and publications, to accentuate the positive instead of morbidly dwelling on people’s shortcomings and tragedies, there WOULD be more good news to be read, seen and heard.
Parker County has its shares of good news to spread among the masses. And I would like to add a couple of words for the future: We can do better! As a collective known as the human race, we can do better! Much, much better, in fact!
People in east Parker County read too many stories of tragedy over the last 12 months – children dying too young for going too fast on roadways or being innocent victims when adults could no longer cope with everyday lives. The most graphic involved a woman, with a low-paying, mind-numbing job, stuck in poverty, living in near-squalid conditions, unable to escape an abusive relationship, who took the lives of her adolescent children before committing suicide – all out of complete desperation without anyone to help her.
In almost every case, including this one, it was probably preventable if someone had decided to help – to prevent – to avoid. Had someone come forward to help, to have pointed that person in the proper direction, taken a hand and led them to the proper agency, those would have been stories never told because that misery would not have occurred.
I was reading last Sunday’s Points section in the Dallas Morning News, and some of the facts published struck like a Maxwell’s Silver Hammer (bang! bang! on my head!). Each page made me realize how much people can treat other people much better in order to product a more peaceful co-existence within mankind.
I was stunned to learn that Texas ranked first among all states in the number of teenage pregnancies and next-to-last in the number of working poor families (emphasis on the word “working”). Texas is also third lowest in the county for its expenditures on public welfare programs per capita ($808). A full 40 percent of those in poverty are under the age of 18 – meaning children who have NO control over their environment.
One out of every four children in Texas are born into poverty and, as a state, we are third-highest in the country (behind Mississippi and New Mexico) for the number of people who go hungry, or live in fear of starvation, every single day!
If education is the answer, why is the Texas high school drop out rate at 34 percent? Why does it ranked second to last for its verbal SAT scores and only 46th for math scores? Why has the average spending per public school student slid from 25th in the nation in 1999 to 41st?
Why does Texas rank first among all states in terms of uninsured population at 24.6 percent? Why do we allow this? Surely, we can do better!
The section continues about the state’s prison population, the makeup of the youth sent to the wasteland known as the Texas Youth Commission and which county is considered totally toxic to be am American resident (answer: Jefferson). Each cold, hard fact just screams at you to begin to fulfill my four word statement: We can do better!
How? That’s a more complicated question. It is going to require more compassion and initiative from a cross-section of society. It will mean more interaction from service organizations, churches, social outreach agencies, civic groups, school classrooms and, more importantly, normal day-to-day living human beings. It will mean people of means might have to share a little wealth with those not as fortunate, or gifted, or blessed with such worldly possessions – and do so without denigrating those being assisted.
It means if you see someone in obvious need, in obvious inner pain (that a pill or a shot of penicillin cannot cure), you must try to do something to help them. Show them where to go to ask for help. Show them HOW to ask for help. Tell them if it perfectly acceptable to seek help in order not to do harm to others. Oh yes, it means that help has to be available, through consistent charitable efforts or governmental support. After all, isn’t the job of government to “protect” all the people – not just the richer ones?
Tell someone close to you that he or she can do better for their children or for their relatives. If it is a co-worker, tell them they can, and should, ask for help to kick addictions, to face personal challenges, to avoid splintering their lives into the kind of Humpty-Dumpty pieces that cannot be put back together again.
Motivate yourself in whatever manner you find acceptable – from “What Would Jesus Do?” to “If for the grace of God, go I” to “Do onto others as you have them do onto you.” Or you can simply tell yourself, “It just the right damn thing to do.” That YOU can do better in order for others to do better.
Yes, we can do better and that IS the good news I share today. We should do better; we can do better; we must do better.
For their sake … and ours.
If the public would insist, through its choices of music, books, films and publications, to accentuate the positive instead of morbidly dwelling on people’s shortcomings and tragedies, there WOULD be more good news to be read, seen and heard.
Parker County has its shares of good news to spread among the masses. And I would like to add a couple of words for the future: We can do better! As a collective known as the human race, we can do better! Much, much better, in fact!
People in east Parker County read too many stories of tragedy over the last 12 months – children dying too young for going too fast on roadways or being innocent victims when adults could no longer cope with everyday lives. The most graphic involved a woman, with a low-paying, mind-numbing job, stuck in poverty, living in near-squalid conditions, unable to escape an abusive relationship, who took the lives of her adolescent children before committing suicide – all out of complete desperation without anyone to help her.
In almost every case, including this one, it was probably preventable if someone had decided to help – to prevent – to avoid. Had someone come forward to help, to have pointed that person in the proper direction, taken a hand and led them to the proper agency, those would have been stories never told because that misery would not have occurred.
I was reading last Sunday’s Points section in the Dallas Morning News, and some of the facts published struck like a Maxwell’s Silver Hammer (bang! bang! on my head!). Each page made me realize how much people can treat other people much better in order to product a more peaceful co-existence within mankind.
I was stunned to learn that Texas ranked first among all states in the number of teenage pregnancies and next-to-last in the number of working poor families (emphasis on the word “working”). Texas is also third lowest in the county for its expenditures on public welfare programs per capita ($808). A full 40 percent of those in poverty are under the age of 18 – meaning children who have NO control over their environment.
One out of every four children in Texas are born into poverty and, as a state, we are third-highest in the country (behind Mississippi and New Mexico) for the number of people who go hungry, or live in fear of starvation, every single day!
If education is the answer, why is the Texas high school drop out rate at 34 percent? Why does it ranked second to last for its verbal SAT scores and only 46th for math scores? Why has the average spending per public school student slid from 25th in the nation in 1999 to 41st?
Why does Texas rank first among all states in terms of uninsured population at 24.6 percent? Why do we allow this? Surely, we can do better!
The section continues about the state’s prison population, the makeup of the youth sent to the wasteland known as the Texas Youth Commission and which county is considered totally toxic to be am American resident (answer: Jefferson). Each cold, hard fact just screams at you to begin to fulfill my four word statement: We can do better!
How? That’s a more complicated question. It is going to require more compassion and initiative from a cross-section of society. It will mean more interaction from service organizations, churches, social outreach agencies, civic groups, school classrooms and, more importantly, normal day-to-day living human beings. It will mean people of means might have to share a little wealth with those not as fortunate, or gifted, or blessed with such worldly possessions – and do so without denigrating those being assisted.
It means if you see someone in obvious need, in obvious inner pain (that a pill or a shot of penicillin cannot cure), you must try to do something to help them. Show them where to go to ask for help. Show them HOW to ask for help. Tell them if it perfectly acceptable to seek help in order not to do harm to others. Oh yes, it means that help has to be available, through consistent charitable efforts or governmental support. After all, isn’t the job of government to “protect” all the people – not just the richer ones?
Tell someone close to you that he or she can do better for their children or for their relatives. If it is a co-worker, tell them they can, and should, ask for help to kick addictions, to face personal challenges, to avoid splintering their lives into the kind of Humpty-Dumpty pieces that cannot be put back together again.
Motivate yourself in whatever manner you find acceptable – from “What Would Jesus Do?” to “If for the grace of God, go I” to “Do onto others as you have them do onto you.” Or you can simply tell yourself, “It just the right damn thing to do.” That YOU can do better in order for others to do better.
Yes, we can do better and that IS the good news I share today. We should do better; we can do better; we must do better.
For their sake … and ours.
Monday, December 17, 2007
The beginning of steroids in sports
Since the release of the Mitchell Report, sports fans are pretending to themselves that this is a scandal with parentage in the early 1990s, as if steroids in baseball, and sports overall, appeared overnight. Drugs, of one kind or another, in various forms from amphetamines to pain-killers to old-fashioned alcohol, have been part of the athletic fabrics for decades.
In 1970, former Yankee pitcher Jim Bouton exposed the underbelly of baseball and its rampant pill-popping in his landmark book, “Ball Four.” The baseball establishment, led by then-Commissioner Bowie Kuhn, labeled Bouton as a heretic and a liar. Today, we might view Bouton’s revelations of drug use, players cheating on their wives and the overt drunkenness of superstar Mickey Mantle as “the good old days.”
However, the problems of steroid usage in baseball and other sports can be traced back to one event and a complete different sport. The year was 1976, the sport was Olympic swimming and the place was Montreal, Canada. What resulted from that competition forever changed the landscape and the methods used to achieve victory.
A small history lesson: prior to those Olympic Games, swimming supremacy has generally contested between two nations – the United States and Australia. And specifically, most of the U.S. swimmers came from Southern California, where the warm weather and long-standing aquatic tradition, allowed hopefuls to begin training at very young ages.
Many of them lived most of their lives in pools and trained for many, many hours each week. It was the training that got them into the upper echelon of American swimming, not any physical superiority. The greatest American swimmer ever, Mark Spitz, was not that physically imposing, less than 6-foot tall and around 160 pounds. But he had the perfect swimmer’s body – long arms, long legs and an elastic, sinewy build. His pectoral muscles were as flat as could be as to offer no resistance while gliding through the water.
In many cases, the contestants resembles their environments – tall, tanned, surfer boys with bleached blonde “Moondoggy” hair and girls, also bronzed, blonde and more mature-looking “Gidgets” – and, yes, you knew they were all California girls, like the song desired.
In the early 1970s, word filtered through the swimming community of world records being shattered by large differentials, from Eastern bloc countries. It became much of the talk around the pool and lockerroom area during such important national competitions as the NCAA men’s indoor, and AAU Indoor and Outdoor championships.
However, the United States was confident in its lineup, especially, the women’s roster, for the Montreal Games. The Americans were led by California sprinter Shirley Babashoff, a striking honey blonde from Whittier, who won the world title in the 200 and 400 meter freestyle. “Babs” was a gold medalist four years earlier in Munich in the 400-meter sprint relay, helping to defeat the East German women, making their initial mark in Olympic competition.
The East German women, including a 13-year-old girl from Bitterfeld named Kornelia Ender, did not take home a gold medal that year. The sports federation officials back home would be determined not to be shut out the next time around.
So in Montreal, something radical happened. Instead of the team and competitors seen at Munich, or even in the World Championships one year earlier, the East German contingent that took to the starting blocks were different – drastically, shockingly and, more important, intimidating.
When Babashoff went to compete in the 200-meter freestyle, next to her was Ender, now 17, and completely transformed physically. She has huge muscles, more like any man, and spoke in an extremely husky voice, more like any man. And many of the East German girls had noticeable hair growth on their face, arms, legs and underarms, more like any man.
Babashoff, at that time, a fairly happy-go-lucky girl, was stunned at what she saw. Ender wasn’t just bigger; she dwarfed the world champion and in the water was no match for any other competitor. Ender proceeded to win four gold medals (a first for women in swimming) and set individual or world records in each event – obliterating the former standards.
Babashoff could only muster second places in all her events until the last race of the competition – the 400-meter sprint relay. Only through sheer will did she out-touch Ender in the final strokes to earn her only gold medal of the meet.
Her lack of success was not due to poor pool performance or times. Her silver medal clocking in the 400-meter freestyle (losing to Ender) was faster than the winning time posted by another American swimming legend, Don Schollander, at the 1964 Olympics in Tokyo.
When the carnage was completed, Babashoff began to voice her suspicions loudly and publicly about possible cheating by the East Germans. She was vilified by many in the international swim community, earning the nickname, “Surly Shirley.” She never again was a major factor in the sport, but was inducted in the International Swimming Hall of Fame in 1982.
Only later, was she proven correct when it was revealed that the East Germans had, indeed, used performance enhancing drugs to win all those gold medals. East German doctors were regularly injecting athletes like Ender with newly-developed steroids to advance physical development and super-size performance. In a sport like swimming, power COULD overwhelm form, an din 1976, it did.
Sadly, the epilogue for Shirley Babashoff is inglorious. She became a single mother and wound up as a mail carrier for the U.S. Post Office in Orange County, Calif., home to some of the most successful Olympic training programs in her sport – swimming.
And what has been done about this obvious injustice? Nothing! The International Olympic Committee, that hypocritical “watchdog” over amateur athletics, has never stripped the East German swimmers of their ill-gotten medals. American sprinter Marion Jones was recently shorn of her medals, similar to the old-fashioned Army method of “branding” a disgraced soldier – tearing off epilates one at a time and breaking the man’s sabre.
But what became of all those chemists and doctors who were developing those drugs? What do you think happened to them? Most likely, they were gobbled up by pharmaceutical firms, including the German-based Bayer (with its own dubious history), and went to work on developing … steroids.
Remember, our nation’s initial atomic research program only advances upon the defection of the original nuclear engineers, refugees in the 1930s from Nazi Germany. Without the Werner von Brauns of the world, the U.S. would have been years behind in its program development.
So here we are today with the state of baseball, and other sports, at the mercy of medical and technological advances. The Tour de France has been rendered almost totally illegitimate by its drug scandals, track and field cannot hold a major event without drug scandals and everyone is questioning records and performances from the past two decades in baseball.
And to think, it all began in a swimming pool.
In 1970, former Yankee pitcher Jim Bouton exposed the underbelly of baseball and its rampant pill-popping in his landmark book, “Ball Four.” The baseball establishment, led by then-Commissioner Bowie Kuhn, labeled Bouton as a heretic and a liar. Today, we might view Bouton’s revelations of drug use, players cheating on their wives and the overt drunkenness of superstar Mickey Mantle as “the good old days.”
However, the problems of steroid usage in baseball and other sports can be traced back to one event and a complete different sport. The year was 1976, the sport was Olympic swimming and the place was Montreal, Canada. What resulted from that competition forever changed the landscape and the methods used to achieve victory.
A small history lesson: prior to those Olympic Games, swimming supremacy has generally contested between two nations – the United States and Australia. And specifically, most of the U.S. swimmers came from Southern California, where the warm weather and long-standing aquatic tradition, allowed hopefuls to begin training at very young ages.
Many of them lived most of their lives in pools and trained for many, many hours each week. It was the training that got them into the upper echelon of American swimming, not any physical superiority. The greatest American swimmer ever, Mark Spitz, was not that physically imposing, less than 6-foot tall and around 160 pounds. But he had the perfect swimmer’s body – long arms, long legs and an elastic, sinewy build. His pectoral muscles were as flat as could be as to offer no resistance while gliding through the water.
In many cases, the contestants resembles their environments – tall, tanned, surfer boys with bleached blonde “Moondoggy” hair and girls, also bronzed, blonde and more mature-looking “Gidgets” – and, yes, you knew they were all California girls, like the song desired.
In the early 1970s, word filtered through the swimming community of world records being shattered by large differentials, from Eastern bloc countries. It became much of the talk around the pool and lockerroom area during such important national competitions as the NCAA men’s indoor, and AAU Indoor and Outdoor championships.
However, the United States was confident in its lineup, especially, the women’s roster, for the Montreal Games. The Americans were led by California sprinter Shirley Babashoff, a striking honey blonde from Whittier, who won the world title in the 200 and 400 meter freestyle. “Babs” was a gold medalist four years earlier in Munich in the 400-meter sprint relay, helping to defeat the East German women, making their initial mark in Olympic competition.
The East German women, including a 13-year-old girl from Bitterfeld named Kornelia Ender, did not take home a gold medal that year. The sports federation officials back home would be determined not to be shut out the next time around.
So in Montreal, something radical happened. Instead of the team and competitors seen at Munich, or even in the World Championships one year earlier, the East German contingent that took to the starting blocks were different – drastically, shockingly and, more important, intimidating.
When Babashoff went to compete in the 200-meter freestyle, next to her was Ender, now 17, and completely transformed physically. She has huge muscles, more like any man, and spoke in an extremely husky voice, more like any man. And many of the East German girls had noticeable hair growth on their face, arms, legs and underarms, more like any man.
Babashoff, at that time, a fairly happy-go-lucky girl, was stunned at what she saw. Ender wasn’t just bigger; she dwarfed the world champion and in the water was no match for any other competitor. Ender proceeded to win four gold medals (a first for women in swimming) and set individual or world records in each event – obliterating the former standards.
Babashoff could only muster second places in all her events until the last race of the competition – the 400-meter sprint relay. Only through sheer will did she out-touch Ender in the final strokes to earn her only gold medal of the meet.
Her lack of success was not due to poor pool performance or times. Her silver medal clocking in the 400-meter freestyle (losing to Ender) was faster than the winning time posted by another American swimming legend, Don Schollander, at the 1964 Olympics in Tokyo.
When the carnage was completed, Babashoff began to voice her suspicions loudly and publicly about possible cheating by the East Germans. She was vilified by many in the international swim community, earning the nickname, “Surly Shirley.” She never again was a major factor in the sport, but was inducted in the International Swimming Hall of Fame in 1982.
Only later, was she proven correct when it was revealed that the East Germans had, indeed, used performance enhancing drugs to win all those gold medals. East German doctors were regularly injecting athletes like Ender with newly-developed steroids to advance physical development and super-size performance. In a sport like swimming, power COULD overwhelm form, an din 1976, it did.
Sadly, the epilogue for Shirley Babashoff is inglorious. She became a single mother and wound up as a mail carrier for the U.S. Post Office in Orange County, Calif., home to some of the most successful Olympic training programs in her sport – swimming.
And what has been done about this obvious injustice? Nothing! The International Olympic Committee, that hypocritical “watchdog” over amateur athletics, has never stripped the East German swimmers of their ill-gotten medals. American sprinter Marion Jones was recently shorn of her medals, similar to the old-fashioned Army method of “branding” a disgraced soldier – tearing off epilates one at a time and breaking the man’s sabre.
But what became of all those chemists and doctors who were developing those drugs? What do you think happened to them? Most likely, they were gobbled up by pharmaceutical firms, including the German-based Bayer (with its own dubious history), and went to work on developing … steroids.
Remember, our nation’s initial atomic research program only advances upon the defection of the original nuclear engineers, refugees in the 1930s from Nazi Germany. Without the Werner von Brauns of the world, the U.S. would have been years behind in its program development.
So here we are today with the state of baseball, and other sports, at the mercy of medical and technological advances. The Tour de France has been rendered almost totally illegitimate by its drug scandals, track and field cannot hold a major event without drug scandals and everyone is questioning records and performances from the past two decades in baseball.
And to think, it all began in a swimming pool.
Monday, December 10, 2007
I’m FORD tough
Author's Note: The following column appeared in the Dec. 6, 2007, edition of the Dallas Morning News' Collin County Opinions.
As Collin County remains one of Texas’ fastest growing suburban counties (and in America), so does the level of its diversity. Neighborhoods are now populated by people of Asian, Indian, Middle Eastern, Eastern European and Latin American descent – a veritable United Nations.
And then there are people who represent minorities like me. FORDs. Fat. Old. Rumpled. Democrats.
In the land of Lexus, Jaguar, Mercedes and Hummers, it is the BMW (your imagination can complete the anagram but bigoted materialistic whites MIGHT apply) that is all too often seen and heard. And too the dismay of the FORD, the BMW also rules politically; they’re just called Republicans.
Being a FORD is a family affair for me. My father was pretty much a FORD man until the day he died – the older he got, the more partisan he remained. He grew up with FDR and stood by those principles far more than anything he heard in the years afterwards. I went voluntarily into that realm; no one, including my Dad, had to coerce me.
So what makes a FORD run? We don’t like paying taxes anymore than others, especially when they surface in the new age form of road tolls – an increasingly popular mechanism amongst the ruling party in Austin to snatch money from its citizens without truth in labeling. When “See the USA in your Chevrolet” was popular, it meant driving the open roads – free from cost other than related to the vehicle. Hey, Buzz Murdock and Tod Stiles drove their Corvette on “Route 66” for nothing.
FORDs want to save the environment, but many among us care less about what’s being recycled and more about the brown stuff we call breathable air. After all, when it rains, my truck should not have more dirt ON it than before the showers began.
Mostly, a FORD cares about who made this nation strong and vibrant – the men and women who built things – from skyscrapers to bridges to the tools that created them. American workers are more responsible for the economic success and growth of this nation, following World War II (our golden jubilee apparently), than, frankly, corporate management. Sadly, too many worker bee positions have been sacrificed overseas for profits’ sake, while not enough suits-and-ties have seen the same fate. You see, workers tend now to be FORDS like me and suits tend to be BMWs.
When I was a pup, American-made meant something; for top-grade quality. Of course, I come from a time when my refrigerator was made in Amana, Iowa, my Zenith television came from Chicago, my Emerson radio was built on Long Island and the phone was made by Western Electric – an American company. My baseball glove was an American Wilson model, my shoes came from Brockton, Massachusetts and my baseball bats had “Louisville, Kentucky” stamped on each piece of wood. The cars we drove were ONLY made in Detroit because we supported the home team.
Our homes stood for American products, even if it cost a bit more than the cheaper brands. You did get what you paid for; the purchase of anything USA kept the economy strong. Wages from buying our products circulated through families, neighborhoods and businesses – to buy more American goods and hire more American workers – the ones who actually stood on that factory line.
Too many BMWs have turned the word “union,” into something dirty, unpleasant and vilified. But those same BMWs scream the loudest when all these foreign-made products, which have flooded the market because of the low, low cost-per-unit price, have begun to make Britney, Buffy and Carter (and others) sick as dogs.
Gee, that really didn’t happen when American workers made those same items, did it?
In this land of BMWs, the honk from this old FORD just can’t be heard. The local BMW drivers run everything from the courthouse to the outhouse, where many of us find our current lot in life.
I have always believed that no man needs to own a Rolex or any other expensive watch in order to tell time. A Bulova or Timex does the same thing at a fraction of the cost. After all, isn’t that the “function” of a watch?
Same holds true for being a FORD. My beliefs will get me to where I want to go; no need to own and maintain an expensive, overpriced philosophy. And when the others in this area realize that a FORD works as well, or better, than any BMW, things might get changed for the better.
Until then, I remain FORD tough. And gruff.
As Collin County remains one of Texas’ fastest growing suburban counties (and in America), so does the level of its diversity. Neighborhoods are now populated by people of Asian, Indian, Middle Eastern, Eastern European and Latin American descent – a veritable United Nations.
And then there are people who represent minorities like me. FORDs. Fat. Old. Rumpled. Democrats.
In the land of Lexus, Jaguar, Mercedes and Hummers, it is the BMW (your imagination can complete the anagram but bigoted materialistic whites MIGHT apply) that is all too often seen and heard. And too the dismay of the FORD, the BMW also rules politically; they’re just called Republicans.
Being a FORD is a family affair for me. My father was pretty much a FORD man until the day he died – the older he got, the more partisan he remained. He grew up with FDR and stood by those principles far more than anything he heard in the years afterwards. I went voluntarily into that realm; no one, including my Dad, had to coerce me.
So what makes a FORD run? We don’t like paying taxes anymore than others, especially when they surface in the new age form of road tolls – an increasingly popular mechanism amongst the ruling party in Austin to snatch money from its citizens without truth in labeling. When “See the USA in your Chevrolet” was popular, it meant driving the open roads – free from cost other than related to the vehicle. Hey, Buzz Murdock and Tod Stiles drove their Corvette on “Route 66” for nothing.
FORDs want to save the environment, but many among us care less about what’s being recycled and more about the brown stuff we call breathable air. After all, when it rains, my truck should not have more dirt ON it than before the showers began.
Mostly, a FORD cares about who made this nation strong and vibrant – the men and women who built things – from skyscrapers to bridges to the tools that created them. American workers are more responsible for the economic success and growth of this nation, following World War II (our golden jubilee apparently), than, frankly, corporate management. Sadly, too many worker bee positions have been sacrificed overseas for profits’ sake, while not enough suits-and-ties have seen the same fate. You see, workers tend now to be FORDS like me and suits tend to be BMWs.
When I was a pup, American-made meant something; for top-grade quality. Of course, I come from a time when my refrigerator was made in Amana, Iowa, my Zenith television came from Chicago, my Emerson radio was built on Long Island and the phone was made by Western Electric – an American company. My baseball glove was an American Wilson model, my shoes came from Brockton, Massachusetts and my baseball bats had “Louisville, Kentucky” stamped on each piece of wood. The cars we drove were ONLY made in Detroit because we supported the home team.
Our homes stood for American products, even if it cost a bit more than the cheaper brands. You did get what you paid for; the purchase of anything USA kept the economy strong. Wages from buying our products circulated through families, neighborhoods and businesses – to buy more American goods and hire more American workers – the ones who actually stood on that factory line.
Too many BMWs have turned the word “union,” into something dirty, unpleasant and vilified. But those same BMWs scream the loudest when all these foreign-made products, which have flooded the market because of the low, low cost-per-unit price, have begun to make Britney, Buffy and Carter (and others) sick as dogs.
Gee, that really didn’t happen when American workers made those same items, did it?
In this land of BMWs, the honk from this old FORD just can’t be heard. The local BMW drivers run everything from the courthouse to the outhouse, where many of us find our current lot in life.
I have always believed that no man needs to own a Rolex or any other expensive watch in order to tell time. A Bulova or Timex does the same thing at a fraction of the cost. After all, isn’t that the “function” of a watch?
Same holds true for being a FORD. My beliefs will get me to where I want to go; no need to own and maintain an expensive, overpriced philosophy. And when the others in this area realize that a FORD works as well, or better, than any BMW, things might get changed for the better.
Until then, I remain FORD tough. And gruff.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Waiting to ‘excel’
By a younger generation, I am considered to be “old school.” The place where I attended high school was certainly outdated and crumbling and well past its prime, and, in truth, was a piece of shit. Still, I got a better and more complete education for the times, than any child in public OR private school today. More on that in a second.
But I digress … I am an old fart – no doubt about it. I will, however, battle like Don Quixote against the forces of technology to keep that crap as much out of my daily life as possible. I’ll win some battle and lose most, which is the track record of most human beings on earth – except for the New England Patriots.
By most standards, I am fairly (but not totally) aged – although not fine, like wine or beef. I have my AARP membership card, but I don’t quite qualify for the Golden Corral senior discount meals. My eyeglasses are as thick as Mister Magoo’s and I possess enough years under my double chins to mimic that cartoon character (and his voice).
When you say “school,” I remember a time when classes had chalkboards and when purple-ish erasers that were pounded in open air to be rid of choking white or yellow toxic chalk dust. I was taught geometry, algebra, calculus and trigonometry with a plastic slide rule and the only “keyboard” we saw was attached to a manual Underwood typewriter, which weighed as much as an anvil. I learned proper English composition, as much American and world history as possible … because it was vital to the future.
In other words, I didn’t grow up in an era where computers reigned or controlled all aspects of one’s life. To me, software was what you wanted your boxer shorts (or briefs) to feel like.
So when I do things, they are usually “old school,” much to the consternation of the long-suffering, computer science-degreed spouse. She likes things orderly and digital. When she makes a list of things to do, or things to buy, or address lists, it is done of some Microsoft Excel spreadsheet.
Here, I always thought “spreadsheet” was something you did to the bed after washing the dirty linens.
No … when Senor Magoo here heads to the supermarket, he carries a written list of the items needed for consumption, done in ballpoint pen (because my Scripto blue ink liquid cartridge instrument is empty) and usually on the back of a legal envelope.
No Excel. No Microsoft Word. No fancy font face. Just good old fashioned scribble that often requires a hieroglyphic dictionary to decipher. Man, you can’t beat it with a stick.
I still enjoy balancing my checkbook with a piece of paper, a pencil and doing the math in longhand. There is no need for a calculator when it is simply addition and subtraction at play. I have always thought it silly for students to compete in UIL Calculator competition (in Texas) when the emphasis should be on knowing what the machine is actually doing. When I took the SAT tests in high school, you were only allowed a few blank pieces of paper to execute the math questions. You HAD to know the process; not just the ability to punch in the numbers.
Besides, you can’t (or shouldn’t) haul a laptop around the grocery store, hitting the “delete” button when you grab a can of tomatoes. There usually isn’t WiFi in the cereal aisle, but I’m sure some snot nose is planning for that in the near future. Blackberries are next to the Granny Smiths, not in your pants pocket, sounding some horrid computer-generated song when they ring every 15 seconds.
And there is NO greater irritant that having to dodge the wandering cart pusher more interested in the conversation than steering. Oh yeah, it’s a conversation you don’t want to hear in the first place.
More digression … I have this theory, which is constantly proven to be correct, that people, while pushing shopping carts at the local grocery store, drive like they shop. Every bad habit that people exhibit behind the wheel of a Chevy, a pickup or SUV, is on full display between aisles 6 and 7 and while parked along side the green peppers. Those who drive while talking on their cell phones pay less attention to the road than should safely be permitted. Those who discuss the differences between balsamic and rice vinegar, while trying to turn a blind corner into the cereal aisle, pay even less attention to oncoming traffic.
Also, ever notice that people never look in the direction of the hand in which the phone is placed? Not only are you distracted by talking to someone else, you loose half of your sight line because that is what people do.
They also seem to do things with only one hand – either because of the cell phone or the ever-present cup of coffee in their right hands. Ever try to shop quickly (or drive) with one hand tied behind your back? Or while sipping a mocho-latte with cream?
Back on subject … The city of Plano, Texas (on the home front) has scaled back its ambitious plan to hotwire the entire 250,000 population under WiFi (presumably grocery stores, too), but someone literally put pencil to paper and determined – in an old school fashion – that it might not be economically viable. A shrill outcry (or ring tone) came was heard among geeks from the Dallas Tollway to Central Expressway.
In my advancing age, I’ve had to learn to adapt. Admittedly, I miss the clickity-clackity sound of a Royal typewriter and the ding of the carriage return. I have gotten use to “keyboarding” – which is akin to waterboarding because it is also torture when your hands are too big for the shrinking keys.
“Old school” should never infer something wrong or bad. It just means a different way to do things. For many, MANY people like me, we’d rather excel than Excel.
But I digress … I am an old fart – no doubt about it. I will, however, battle like Don Quixote against the forces of technology to keep that crap as much out of my daily life as possible. I’ll win some battle and lose most, which is the track record of most human beings on earth – except for the New England Patriots.
By most standards, I am fairly (but not totally) aged – although not fine, like wine or beef. I have my AARP membership card, but I don’t quite qualify for the Golden Corral senior discount meals. My eyeglasses are as thick as Mister Magoo’s and I possess enough years under my double chins to mimic that cartoon character (and his voice).
When you say “school,” I remember a time when classes had chalkboards and when purple-ish erasers that were pounded in open air to be rid of choking white or yellow toxic chalk dust. I was taught geometry, algebra, calculus and trigonometry with a plastic slide rule and the only “keyboard” we saw was attached to a manual Underwood typewriter, which weighed as much as an anvil. I learned proper English composition, as much American and world history as possible … because it was vital to the future.
In other words, I didn’t grow up in an era where computers reigned or controlled all aspects of one’s life. To me, software was what you wanted your boxer shorts (or briefs) to feel like.
So when I do things, they are usually “old school,” much to the consternation of the long-suffering, computer science-degreed spouse. She likes things orderly and digital. When she makes a list of things to do, or things to buy, or address lists, it is done of some Microsoft Excel spreadsheet.
Here, I always thought “spreadsheet” was something you did to the bed after washing the dirty linens.
No … when Senor Magoo here heads to the supermarket, he carries a written list of the items needed for consumption, done in ballpoint pen (because my Scripto blue ink liquid cartridge instrument is empty) and usually on the back of a legal envelope.
No Excel. No Microsoft Word. No fancy font face. Just good old fashioned scribble that often requires a hieroglyphic dictionary to decipher. Man, you can’t beat it with a stick.
I still enjoy balancing my checkbook with a piece of paper, a pencil and doing the math in longhand. There is no need for a calculator when it is simply addition and subtraction at play. I have always thought it silly for students to compete in UIL Calculator competition (in Texas) when the emphasis should be on knowing what the machine is actually doing. When I took the SAT tests in high school, you were only allowed a few blank pieces of paper to execute the math questions. You HAD to know the process; not just the ability to punch in the numbers.
Besides, you can’t (or shouldn’t) haul a laptop around the grocery store, hitting the “delete” button when you grab a can of tomatoes. There usually isn’t WiFi in the cereal aisle, but I’m sure some snot nose is planning for that in the near future. Blackberries are next to the Granny Smiths, not in your pants pocket, sounding some horrid computer-generated song when they ring every 15 seconds.
And there is NO greater irritant that having to dodge the wandering cart pusher more interested in the conversation than steering. Oh yeah, it’s a conversation you don’t want to hear in the first place.
More digression … I have this theory, which is constantly proven to be correct, that people, while pushing shopping carts at the local grocery store, drive like they shop. Every bad habit that people exhibit behind the wheel of a Chevy, a pickup or SUV, is on full display between aisles 6 and 7 and while parked along side the green peppers. Those who drive while talking on their cell phones pay less attention to the road than should safely be permitted. Those who discuss the differences between balsamic and rice vinegar, while trying to turn a blind corner into the cereal aisle, pay even less attention to oncoming traffic.
Also, ever notice that people never look in the direction of the hand in which the phone is placed? Not only are you distracted by talking to someone else, you loose half of your sight line because that is what people do.
They also seem to do things with only one hand – either because of the cell phone or the ever-present cup of coffee in their right hands. Ever try to shop quickly (or drive) with one hand tied behind your back? Or while sipping a mocho-latte with cream?
Back on subject … The city of Plano, Texas (on the home front) has scaled back its ambitious plan to hotwire the entire 250,000 population under WiFi (presumably grocery stores, too), but someone literally put pencil to paper and determined – in an old school fashion – that it might not be economically viable. A shrill outcry (or ring tone) came was heard among geeks from the Dallas Tollway to Central Expressway.
In my advancing age, I’ve had to learn to adapt. Admittedly, I miss the clickity-clackity sound of a Royal typewriter and the ding of the carriage return. I have gotten use to “keyboarding” – which is akin to waterboarding because it is also torture when your hands are too big for the shrinking keys.
“Old school” should never infer something wrong or bad. It just means a different way to do things. For many, MANY people like me, we’d rather excel than Excel.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Texan of the Year
Every year, for the past three Decembers, the Dallas Morning News’ editorial board has chosen one person, or group, to be its Texan of the Year. Since Karl Rove earned its initial “honor,” you cannot be judged by the company you keep.
However, this year, the choice will be difficult. Few Texans, if any, have distinguished themselves for such an accolade.
Except one man.
Last spring, former Dallas Cowboys running back Ron Springs received a healthy kidney from his Cowboys teammate Everson Walls. It marked the first organ transplant involving former U.S. professional teammates.
He did it willingly and without hesitation. He did not do it for the publicity or the fame – he had already garnered plenty of both on the gridiron. He did it because Ron Springs was his friend and there was a dire need.
When it was announced, people were shocked by the bravery and sacrifice, but, after all, isn’t that what friends are for (to pardon the cliché song)?
Sadly, Springs, 50, has been in a coma for more than a week after admission to Dallas’ Medical City Hospital for what friends believed was a routine medical procedure to remove a cyst from one of his arms.
The family won’t say why or how Springs lapsed into his coma and his prognosis is, at best, termed “bleak.”
However, it does not diminish the sacrifice made by Walls and the heroism shown by one friend to another.
The story sounds eerily like the Mickey Mantle liver transplant in 1995. Despite the heroic efforts to save him, Mantle was doomed from the get-go. However, in his last days, “The Mick,” hero to two generations of young boys and all baseball fans (n ot just for the Yankees) brought needed attention to organ transplants and his sacrifice probably saved countless lives.
Perhaps this story will also help shine the light on an important factor of medicine ... and will eventually help save lives. if that happens, Ron Springs and Everson Walls will be more than members of “America’s Team” – they will be American heroes … and why Walls is worthy of the title, Texan of the Year.
However, this year, the choice will be difficult. Few Texans, if any, have distinguished themselves for such an accolade.
Except one man.
Last spring, former Dallas Cowboys running back Ron Springs received a healthy kidney from his Cowboys teammate Everson Walls. It marked the first organ transplant involving former U.S. professional teammates.
He did it willingly and without hesitation. He did not do it for the publicity or the fame – he had already garnered plenty of both on the gridiron. He did it because Ron Springs was his friend and there was a dire need.
When it was announced, people were shocked by the bravery and sacrifice, but, after all, isn’t that what friends are for (to pardon the cliché song)?
Sadly, Springs, 50, has been in a coma for more than a week after admission to Dallas’ Medical City Hospital for what friends believed was a routine medical procedure to remove a cyst from one of his arms.
The family won’t say why or how Springs lapsed into his coma and his prognosis is, at best, termed “bleak.”
However, it does not diminish the sacrifice made by Walls and the heroism shown by one friend to another.
The story sounds eerily like the Mickey Mantle liver transplant in 1995. Despite the heroic efforts to save him, Mantle was doomed from the get-go. However, in his last days, “The Mick,” hero to two generations of young boys and all baseball fans (n ot just for the Yankees) brought needed attention to organ transplants and his sacrifice probably saved countless lives.
Perhaps this story will also help shine the light on an important factor of medicine ... and will eventually help save lives. if that happens, Ron Springs and Everson Walls will be more than members of “America’s Team” – they will be American heroes … and why Walls is worthy of the title, Texan of the Year.
Friday, October 12, 2007
When will someone tape this woman's mouth SHUT?!?
Dear Ann Coulter,
Please, on behalf of my fellow Jews, let say this as gently as possible.
BITCH, SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!
Here is the report from CNN.com and the transcript was made available on Media Matters for America.
As an author, she is no even close to being in the class of a William F. Buckley, George Will, David Brooks or even that toadie, Charles Krauthammer. At least HE can write. She is more akin to what Britney Spears is to popular culture.
The only reason any conservative takes her seriously on a partial scale is that all the male neo-cons want to fuck her brains out and she gives that impression better than any hooker in Sen. David Vetter’s little black book. She appears on TV in her party girl short dresses and peroxide blonde locks and is about two days away from major botox injections.
And her face?!?!! Only a four-legged stallion could appreciate that visage. Believe me, I am being kind in my description. It could get a lot worse and far more vulgar.
I can dismiss the political crap as just the cackling of a midway carney. But this constant drumbeat for a theocracy by the crackpot conservatives, now named crackheads in my book, so offends me to the core as to be anti-American. How dare people like her, and other so-called Christians defile the teachings of Jesus, which, by the way, were done before fellow Jews, with their warped sense of self-importance. Damn, if Jesus himself were to appear in the modern world, he’d be castigated by the very folks who swear to God that they are true believers.
Hitler was also a so-called Christian and a so-called true believer.
Is she “anti-Semitic?” Who REALLY knows? Is she insensitive and really just wants the spotlight all to herself by tossing out these verbal IEDs for no other reason than to offend, stir the pot and draw attention to her? Absolutely.
If you read this posting and are offended by my comments, just think of how I, and others like me (meaning Jewish) feel? When, dear God, will this kind of religious elitism END?
Please, on behalf of my fellow Jews, let say this as gently as possible.
BITCH, SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!
Here is the report from CNN.com and the transcript was made available on Media Matters for America.
This poor excuse for an American just need to find the rock she crawled from under and get back to where she once belonged, to quote the Beatles. She is a loathsome parasite who sucks the life out of any meaningful political discussion with her flamethrower attitude and disgusting personal references.Conservative commentator and best-selling author Ann Coulter may find herself in the midst of a controversy for comments Monday suggesting America would be
better if everyone was Christian.
Asked by CNBC host Donny Deutsch what the U.S. looks like in her dreams, Coulter said it would look like the Republican National Convention in 2004 (held in New York City).
“People were happy,” she said, according to a transcript provided to CNN by CNBC. “They’re Christian. They’re tolerant. They defend America.”
When Deutsch responded, “It would be better if we were all Christian?” Coulter said “Yeah.”
Deutsch, himself Jewish, continued to press Coulter on her remarks, asking, “We should just throw Judaism away and we should all be Christians then?”
“Yeah,” Coulter responded, adding “Well, it’s a lot easier. It’s kind of a fast track.”
“You can’t possibly believe that,” Deutsch responded. “You can’t possibly. You’re too educated.”
“Do you know what Christianity is?” Coulter replied. “See, we believe your religion, but you have to obey. We have the fast track program.” Later in the interview, Deutsch asked Coulter if she doesn’t want any Jews in the world, Coulter responded, “No, we think — we just want Jews to be perfected, as they say.”
“Wow, you didn’t really say that, did you?” Deutsch said.
As an author, she is no even close to being in the class of a William F. Buckley, George Will, David Brooks or even that toadie, Charles Krauthammer. At least HE can write. She is more akin to what Britney Spears is to popular culture.
The only reason any conservative takes her seriously on a partial scale is that all the male neo-cons want to fuck her brains out and she gives that impression better than any hooker in Sen. David Vetter’s little black book. She appears on TV in her party girl short dresses and peroxide blonde locks and is about two days away from major botox injections.
And her face?!?!! Only a four-legged stallion could appreciate that visage. Believe me, I am being kind in my description. It could get a lot worse and far more vulgar.
I can dismiss the political crap as just the cackling of a midway carney. But this constant drumbeat for a theocracy by the crackpot conservatives, now named crackheads in my book, so offends me to the core as to be anti-American. How dare people like her, and other so-called Christians defile the teachings of Jesus, which, by the way, were done before fellow Jews, with their warped sense of self-importance. Damn, if Jesus himself were to appear in the modern world, he’d be castigated by the very folks who swear to God that they are true believers.
Hitler was also a so-called Christian and a so-called true believer.
Is she “anti-Semitic?” Who REALLY knows? Is she insensitive and really just wants the spotlight all to herself by tossing out these verbal IEDs for no other reason than to offend, stir the pot and draw attention to her? Absolutely.
If you read this posting and are offended by my comments, just think of how I, and others like me (meaning Jewish) feel? When, dear God, will this kind of religious elitism END?
Monday, October 08, 2007
Upsetting one’s Constitution
Texas voters will be asked to return to various polling sites on Tuesday, Nov. 6 to approve, or disapprove, some 16 amendments to the state constitution, and frankly, it’s going to be an underwhelming response by the electorate. Almost nothing on the ballot is on major consequence and the time and expense is yet another reason why Texas needs to scrub its constitution clean and tighten the document to reflect all the hundreds of conflicting amendments.
On the ballot will be such illuminating matters as continuing to send funds to Angelo State University while it undergoes a change in its governance (Proposition 1). Quick, name the mascot for Angelo State. (Answer: Rams).
Proposition 12 provides “for the issuance of general obligation bonds by the Texas Transportation Commission in an amount not to exceed $5 billion to provide funding for highway improvement projects” but comes at an interesting time when the Texas Department of Transportation is whining about running out of repair funds. So which is it??
Some amendments (number 13 to deny bail for people violating certain court orders or conditions of release in felony or family violence cases or number 14 to allow a judge to finish his or her term even after reaching the mandatory retirement age in mid-term) should probably best be handled through regular state law. Others involve issuances of bonds to create various institutions or help targeted areas. Four amendments concern property taxes and exemptions for rural residents, car owners and totally disabled veterans. Again, why must a voter in Wichita Falls or Marfa have to go to the polls for something essentially to be decided by the legislature?
A few propositions are just too vague to know of their eventual impact on Texans. Number 8 states, “The constitutional amendment to clarify certain provisions relating to the making of a home equity loan and use of home equity loan proceeds.” Soooo … exactly what does THAT mean? What provisions and what clarifications?
Sadly, Proposition 2 should not be on the ballot at all. “The constitutional amendment providing for the issuance of $500 million in general obligation bonds to finance educational loans to students and authorizing bond enhancement agreements with respect to general obligation bonds issued for that purpose.”
This is to shore up the Texas Tomorrow Fund because prior legislative sessions and decisions have allowed this worthy program to virtually starve to death – all in the name of some sort of invisible property tax cut that few people have seen come to genuine fruition.
Proposition 7 sounds logical but might be really confusing. “The constitutional amendment to allow governmental entities to sell property acquired through eminent domain back to the previous owners at the price the entities paid to acquire the property.” If an entity goes through the trouble of the hated eminent domain process (to seize property from someone for something or other), why reverse the process? If it were me, I would want something MORE for my troubles than merely the original price and a note stating, “Sorry; never mind.”
In my mind, the most important question is Proposition 19, the so-called Recorded Votes proposal, “… to require that a record vote be taken by a house of the legislature on final passage of any bill, other than certain local bills, of a resolution proposing or ratifying a constitutional amendment, or of any other nonceremonial resolution, and to provide for public access on the Internet to those record votes.”
Government conducted in secret is simply wrong – regardless of the level on which it is done. With the small exceptions allowed in the Texas Open Meetings Act, everything should be above board and plainly told to the tax paying citizens who elect these officials to represent them (not to enrich their own coffers or fatten the wallets of a privileged few).
One of the major problems in Austin is the burning desire to keep certain votes hush-hush as to not tell the people exactly what in the heck is happening in the Capitol Dome. For years, the powers-that-be have wanted many of their votes to be out of public view in order to avoid accountability. Any other hogwash excuse is just the plain, smelly droppings from the back end of a horse.
Finally, after years (perhaps decades) or trying by newspapers like the one I used to own or manage, and other open government groups, the voters will have a chance to begin holding their elected representative more accountable by making each vote cast ON THE RECORD. I strongly urge all of you to vote “yes” for Number 19 – so you will know exactly when these officials stand.
But my favorite choice on Nov. 6 is Proposition 10: “… to abolish the constitutional authority for the office of inspector of hides and animals.”
I will tell you that I am voting “no” on this.
I know many a legislator that needs his or her hide tanned. Often.
On the ballot will be such illuminating matters as continuing to send funds to Angelo State University while it undergoes a change in its governance (Proposition 1). Quick, name the mascot for Angelo State. (Answer: Rams).
Proposition 12 provides “for the issuance of general obligation bonds by the Texas Transportation Commission in an amount not to exceed $5 billion to provide funding for highway improvement projects” but comes at an interesting time when the Texas Department of Transportation is whining about running out of repair funds. So which is it??
Some amendments (number 13 to deny bail for people violating certain court orders or conditions of release in felony or family violence cases or number 14 to allow a judge to finish his or her term even after reaching the mandatory retirement age in mid-term) should probably best be handled through regular state law. Others involve issuances of bonds to create various institutions or help targeted areas. Four amendments concern property taxes and exemptions for rural residents, car owners and totally disabled veterans. Again, why must a voter in Wichita Falls or Marfa have to go to the polls for something essentially to be decided by the legislature?
A few propositions are just too vague to know of their eventual impact on Texans. Number 8 states, “The constitutional amendment to clarify certain provisions relating to the making of a home equity loan and use of home equity loan proceeds.” Soooo … exactly what does THAT mean? What provisions and what clarifications?
Sadly, Proposition 2 should not be on the ballot at all. “The constitutional amendment providing for the issuance of $500 million in general obligation bonds to finance educational loans to students and authorizing bond enhancement agreements with respect to general obligation bonds issued for that purpose.”
This is to shore up the Texas Tomorrow Fund because prior legislative sessions and decisions have allowed this worthy program to virtually starve to death – all in the name of some sort of invisible property tax cut that few people have seen come to genuine fruition.
Proposition 7 sounds logical but might be really confusing. “The constitutional amendment to allow governmental entities to sell property acquired through eminent domain back to the previous owners at the price the entities paid to acquire the property.” If an entity goes through the trouble of the hated eminent domain process (to seize property from someone for something or other), why reverse the process? If it were me, I would want something MORE for my troubles than merely the original price and a note stating, “Sorry; never mind.”
In my mind, the most important question is Proposition 19, the so-called Recorded Votes proposal, “… to require that a record vote be taken by a house of the legislature on final passage of any bill, other than certain local bills, of a resolution proposing or ratifying a constitutional amendment, or of any other nonceremonial resolution, and to provide for public access on the Internet to those record votes.”
Government conducted in secret is simply wrong – regardless of the level on which it is done. With the small exceptions allowed in the Texas Open Meetings Act, everything should be above board and plainly told to the tax paying citizens who elect these officials to represent them (not to enrich their own coffers or fatten the wallets of a privileged few).
One of the major problems in Austin is the burning desire to keep certain votes hush-hush as to not tell the people exactly what in the heck is happening in the Capitol Dome. For years, the powers-that-be have wanted many of their votes to be out of public view in order to avoid accountability. Any other hogwash excuse is just the plain, smelly droppings from the back end of a horse.
Finally, after years (perhaps decades) or trying by newspapers like the one I used to own or manage, and other open government groups, the voters will have a chance to begin holding their elected representative more accountable by making each vote cast ON THE RECORD. I strongly urge all of you to vote “yes” for Number 19 – so you will know exactly when these officials stand.
But my favorite choice on Nov. 6 is Proposition 10: “… to abolish the constitutional authority for the office of inspector of hides and animals.”
I will tell you that I am voting “no” on this.
I know many a legislator that needs his or her hide tanned. Often.
Friday, October 05, 2007
That WAS the life!
His friends said goodbye to Tom Beesley yesterday. It was a sad affair because funerals usually are that way; you might celebrate the life of someone, but you also know, in your heart, that he or she won’t be with you, or among you, anymore.
For almost five years, Tom was part of the Cedar Hill, Texas, scene as the editor of the Cedar Hill Today newspaper (while I served as editor of Lancaster Today), and often, conscience. He was ever-present with his camera, his smile, his wit and his energy. If something important was happening in Cedar Hill, from football to council sessions to features on ordinary citizens doing extraordinary things, he was there.
He was there when the television tower tragically and fatally crumbled on the morning of Country Day on the Hill. He was present when the Lady Longhorns made back-to-back trips to Austin in their quest for a Class 4A state basketball crown.
Because that was the man he was – he always wanted to be the one who was in the middle of the action; the person you could count upon to get the job done and the right photo at the right moment. That was his talent and that was his gift to us. It hurt him NOT to be asked to go somewhere – regardless of what he had to do. He would juggle it all anyway to be there where people needed him.
When he and I were like the Batman and Robin (or often the Abbott and Costello) of Today Newspapers (and later for the Frisco Enterprise and DFW Community Newspapers in Frisco, Allen and Plano), we expended our work to all the papers in the Today family.
We could be found in the Cotton Bowl on New Year’s Day (including one game so cold and foggy that we couldn’t see the other sideline from the press box), at Reunion Arena to report on a Best Southwest legend in the pros, or at Floyd Casey Stadium in Waco to watch Cedar Hill alum Derrius Thompson in action. The 1996 season of Football Saturday publications proved to be an ill-fated experiment in business terms, but it was an opportunity to practice our craft on a serious deadline basis. Once deadlines were met, we would sit and shoot the breeze, like old soldiers exchanging war stories.
Tom also loved music, he played the bass when he found the time and his choices were almost as eclectic as mine. We would see a Czechoslovakian bluegrass group (Druha Trava) one night in Mineola, and then rock out to the trumpet of Bill Tillman at the gazebo in Lancaster for Musicfest the following week.
He loved cars – fast cars – and he loved racing, having covered the California motorcycle circuit for a magazine years before. He was one of the best auto reviewers in Texas and whenever he drove a new vehicle, it, and he, usually drew attention. One night, at a Longhorn baseball game, Tom parked the new VW Beetle, previously unseen to the general public, and almost everyone in the stands forgot the game and drifted to see this blast from the past. Even the coaches and umpires wanted a peek after the game.
He kind of hated modern technology, being an old school as I was, especially when his computer inevitably crashed in the middle of deadline work. His “reactions” were often headshakers, but that was Tom. He wanted to do the best job possible, despite any gremlins that got in his path.
“I think I’ve still got the eye and the desire and some good photos are still coming out of the old man,” he told me about a year ago.
Most of all, he loved his family, notably his wife, Sylvia and his son, Jared. Nothing brought a quicker tear to his eye than to watch Jared, a gifted musician in his own right, on a stage, or on a bicycle in his short-track cycling career. They were not tears of sorrow, but tears of tremendous pride.
As I said, he was someone a person who count upon to help; which was the reason I called him on Nov. 4, 1997, at the ungodly hour of 6 a.m., lying in the ICU section of Charlton Methodist Hospital in South Dallas suffering from a heart attack. I trusted no one else to make sure that the right people were informed and that all other aspects would not be interrupted. He groused initially but was the first one at the hospital and the person who cared more than anyone else.
In the last few years, Tom found another passion – sailing. It gave him an inner peace that might have been missing, despite all that he was involved with. In an e-mail, he told me how he felt:
Among the ones waiting for the fireworks were the Burn players and anyone else who wanted this unique vantage point – the perfect pitch (field) that was the Cotton Bowl. The field was lush green and felt like the finest carpet imaginable. Among us was Burn goalie Mark Dodd and his toddler daughter, simply playing as a father and child would. Tom took some photos and struck up a friendship.
So as two grown men, lying on the soft stadium turf, watching with childlike amazement at the color bursts high in the Dallas night, we just looked at each other, and almost simultaneously said, “Man, this IS the life!”
Tom Beesley will now forever be looking at the sun and the stars, having fulfilled that statement.
For almost five years, Tom was part of the Cedar Hill, Texas, scene as the editor of the Cedar Hill Today newspaper (while I served as editor of Lancaster Today), and often, conscience. He was ever-present with his camera, his smile, his wit and his energy. If something important was happening in Cedar Hill, from football to council sessions to features on ordinary citizens doing extraordinary things, he was there.
He was there when the television tower tragically and fatally crumbled on the morning of Country Day on the Hill. He was present when the Lady Longhorns made back-to-back trips to Austin in their quest for a Class 4A state basketball crown.
Because that was the man he was – he always wanted to be the one who was in the middle of the action; the person you could count upon to get the job done and the right photo at the right moment. That was his talent and that was his gift to us. It hurt him NOT to be asked to go somewhere – regardless of what he had to do. He would juggle it all anyway to be there where people needed him.
When he and I were like the Batman and Robin (or often the Abbott and Costello) of Today Newspapers (and later for the Frisco Enterprise and DFW Community Newspapers in Frisco, Allen and Plano), we expended our work to all the papers in the Today family.
We could be found in the Cotton Bowl on New Year’s Day (including one game so cold and foggy that we couldn’t see the other sideline from the press box), at Reunion Arena to report on a Best Southwest legend in the pros, or at Floyd Casey Stadium in Waco to watch Cedar Hill alum Derrius Thompson in action. The 1996 season of Football Saturday publications proved to be an ill-fated experiment in business terms, but it was an opportunity to practice our craft on a serious deadline basis. Once deadlines were met, we would sit and shoot the breeze, like old soldiers exchanging war stories.
Tom also loved music, he played the bass when he found the time and his choices were almost as eclectic as mine. We would see a Czechoslovakian bluegrass group (Druha Trava) one night in Mineola, and then rock out to the trumpet of Bill Tillman at the gazebo in Lancaster for Musicfest the following week.
He loved cars – fast cars – and he loved racing, having covered the California motorcycle circuit for a magazine years before. He was one of the best auto reviewers in Texas and whenever he drove a new vehicle, it, and he, usually drew attention. One night, at a Longhorn baseball game, Tom parked the new VW Beetle, previously unseen to the general public, and almost everyone in the stands forgot the game and drifted to see this blast from the past. Even the coaches and umpires wanted a peek after the game.
He kind of hated modern technology, being an old school as I was, especially when his computer inevitably crashed in the middle of deadline work. His “reactions” were often headshakers, but that was Tom. He wanted to do the best job possible, despite any gremlins that got in his path.
“I think I’ve still got the eye and the desire and some good photos are still coming out of the old man,” he told me about a year ago.
Most of all, he loved his family, notably his wife, Sylvia and his son, Jared. Nothing brought a quicker tear to his eye than to watch Jared, a gifted musician in his own right, on a stage, or on a bicycle in his short-track cycling career. They were not tears of sorrow, but tears of tremendous pride.
As I said, he was someone a person who count upon to help; which was the reason I called him on Nov. 4, 1997, at the ungodly hour of 6 a.m., lying in the ICU section of Charlton Methodist Hospital in South Dallas suffering from a heart attack. I trusted no one else to make sure that the right people were informed and that all other aspects would not be interrupted. He groused initially but was the first one at the hospital and the person who cared more than anyone else.
In the last few years, Tom found another passion – sailing. It gave him an inner peace that might have been missing, despite all that he was involved with. In an e-mail, he told me how he felt:
“Fortunately for me, the sailboats are saving the day. I endure going to work so I can take off to go sailing, whereas, when we worked together, I worked because that’s what I did. I was a desperation workaholic. Now I see there are other things in life besides news photos and believe it or not, in recent months, I’ve actually gone somewhere and just forgot to take a camera along. When my blood pressure is way up and I think I feel it squishing through my brain, I get concerned and worried. So I go sailing instead of going to work.When I close my eyes and think of my friend, I go back to the Cotton Bowl on July 4, 1995, where we were covering the inaugural season of the MLS’ Dallas Burn. It was the first holiday match and was held in conjunction with the annual Freedom Festival at the old Starplex (perhaps a Huey Lewis and the News concert). The contest ended with a Burn victory and then all the fans, more than 20,000, stayed for a huge fireworks show.
“And strangely, I have not written a word about sailing.”
Among the ones waiting for the fireworks were the Burn players and anyone else who wanted this unique vantage point – the perfect pitch (field) that was the Cotton Bowl. The field was lush green and felt like the finest carpet imaginable. Among us was Burn goalie Mark Dodd and his toddler daughter, simply playing as a father and child would. Tom took some photos and struck up a friendship.
So as two grown men, lying on the soft stadium turf, watching with childlike amazement at the color bursts high in the Dallas night, we just looked at each other, and almost simultaneously said, “Man, this IS the life!”
Tom Beesley will now forever be looking at the sun and the stars, having fulfilled that statement.
When kids simply go bad
Author's Note: The following column was published in today's ediiton (Oct. 5) edition of the Collin County Opinion Pages of the Dallas Morning News.
In this world, there is no such thing as a complete and iron-clad guarantee. I once had a roof installed on a building I owned and it came with a "lifetime" guarantee. Of course, when it needed fixing, and the reputable firm was no longer in existence, there was no more "lifetime" guarantee.
Not every car runs perfectly. Not every garment is stitched exactly. Not every battery starts each time.
And not every child turns out to be good. Some of them do bad things, no matter how good of a job their parents did. They lie, they steal, they cheat. Some they do very, very bad things … including murder.
There are probably thousands of incidents that plague today’s society — where those referred to as "good children" go so terribly wrong. When it gets as bad as it can, with kids killing kids, it doesn’t just happen in America’s inner cities, which most of us would just as soon forget about. It occurs in small towns involving young people easily described as "All-American."
In many cases, perpetrators come from broken homes without the proper parental guidance to steer them away from heinous criminal activities. In many cases, these children find solace and mis-guidance in gangs or cliques, leading to greater lawbreaking. History also begets history; it is well documented that the children of abusers themselves often (not always) become abusive. Just think of what happens when they begin to "raise" their own children?
But often parents do everything society has asked — all the proper family values are taught time and again. Yet the sad stories persist.
So what’s a parent to do? Parental responsibility can only go so far. At some point, that "child" must assume his or her responsibility for their actions. The concept of "if you do the crime, you do the time" can’t be wiped away because of a perpetrator’s age. At some point, a person has got to know better. If you rob, you’re a thief; if you kill, you’re a killer … at 16, 26 or 60.
In my extended family, there’s a couple that we adore, and they are as good as the day is long. For all their lives, they have respected others, helped people and been nary a burden upon anyone.
However, one of their sons is locked in a mental institution because of drug abuse, and another son is imprisoned for life for murdering his wife while under the influence of drugs. Yet their parents raised them correctly.
Parenting really involves throwing spaghetti against the wall and seeing what sticks. In their children, a parent can only instill proper morals, the knowledge and spirit of what’s right and wrong, and the importance of treating people with love, respect and kindness. You can teach them proper work ethic, the value of sharing and helping others and then, through example, you live that kind of principled, "Golden Rule" life. You can provide all the creature comforts and make the home shine with love and caring.
Then you cast them from the nest and hope, and pray that the spaghetti sticks.
Most of the time, those efforts are justly rewarded; sometimes, nothing you do matters. You can’t continue to bang your head against the wall and live with a permanent mental (or actual) ulcer about "what did I do wrong?"
Actions affect more people than realized; the pain is extended to many victims, including parents and family members on both sides of tragedies. But it would be wrong to simply go around and blanket-judge parents without garnering the full picture, just because their children followed the wrong paths of life.
Because sometimes, some kids merely go bad and there ain’t a darn thing you, or the spaghetti, can do about it.
In this world, there is no such thing as a complete and iron-clad guarantee. I once had a roof installed on a building I owned and it came with a "lifetime" guarantee. Of course, when it needed fixing, and the reputable firm was no longer in existence, there was no more "lifetime" guarantee.
Not every car runs perfectly. Not every garment is stitched exactly. Not every battery starts each time.
And not every child turns out to be good. Some of them do bad things, no matter how good of a job their parents did. They lie, they steal, they cheat. Some they do very, very bad things … including murder.
There are probably thousands of incidents that plague today’s society — where those referred to as "good children" go so terribly wrong. When it gets as bad as it can, with kids killing kids, it doesn’t just happen in America’s inner cities, which most of us would just as soon forget about. It occurs in small towns involving young people easily described as "All-American."
In many cases, perpetrators come from broken homes without the proper parental guidance to steer them away from heinous criminal activities. In many cases, these children find solace and mis-guidance in gangs or cliques, leading to greater lawbreaking. History also begets history; it is well documented that the children of abusers themselves often (not always) become abusive. Just think of what happens when they begin to "raise" their own children?
But often parents do everything society has asked — all the proper family values are taught time and again. Yet the sad stories persist.
So what’s a parent to do? Parental responsibility can only go so far. At some point, that "child" must assume his or her responsibility for their actions. The concept of "if you do the crime, you do the time" can’t be wiped away because of a perpetrator’s age. At some point, a person has got to know better. If you rob, you’re a thief; if you kill, you’re a killer … at 16, 26 or 60.
In my extended family, there’s a couple that we adore, and they are as good as the day is long. For all their lives, they have respected others, helped people and been nary a burden upon anyone.
However, one of their sons is locked in a mental institution because of drug abuse, and another son is imprisoned for life for murdering his wife while under the influence of drugs. Yet their parents raised them correctly.
Parenting really involves throwing spaghetti against the wall and seeing what sticks. In their children, a parent can only instill proper morals, the knowledge and spirit of what’s right and wrong, and the importance of treating people with love, respect and kindness. You can teach them proper work ethic, the value of sharing and helping others and then, through example, you live that kind of principled, "Golden Rule" life. You can provide all the creature comforts and make the home shine with love and caring.
Then you cast them from the nest and hope, and pray that the spaghetti sticks.
Most of the time, those efforts are justly rewarded; sometimes, nothing you do matters. You can’t continue to bang your head against the wall and live with a permanent mental (or actual) ulcer about "what did I do wrong?"
Actions affect more people than realized; the pain is extended to many victims, including parents and family members on both sides of tragedies. But it would be wrong to simply go around and blanket-judge parents without garnering the full picture, just because their children followed the wrong paths of life.
Because sometimes, some kids merely go bad and there ain’t a darn thing you, or the spaghetti, can do about it.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
"THE WAR" -- brilliant, ugly and total genius
Ken Burns' PBS documentary series, "The War," is total genius -- those who have missed it need to see it as soon as possible.
Burns has absolutely caught the pertinent parts of all major battles and the sense of what was happening in this country. By focusing on four cities and towns, as representative of certain attitudes and problems (segregation and the heinous interment of Japanese-American citizens), he has paid honor to the contributions of everyone and sacrifices - in many cases of people's freedoms and rights. The protests of certain Hispanic groups, about being "snubbed" in the original content, seems out of line. The war was SO massive that no amount of reasonable time could do justice to all possible contributions. The protests sonds too politically correct to me ... but I digress.
"The War" is a heartbreaking storyline. Burns has demystified the notion that this was a war of honor. It was a totally ugly affair (as death usually is) and he is driving that home like a jackhammer. The Episode 3 letters from Babe Ciarlo, corresponding from Italy, and then only to learn of his eventual death at the conclusion, brought tears to my eyes and also made my wife cry. You knew damn well it was coming but it still was upsetting. That is the quality of the writing and presentation.
It is the best thing on TV of its kind since .... well Burns' baseball and Civil War series. It is so superior to anything concocted on History Channel, etc. it isn't even close.
My wife said she wishes someone would chain George W. Bush to a chair and make his watch all of this to see what really happens to men when they fight and get killed in battle. It's horrific (Burns' has found film never seen before and it is graphic) and that smessage shines like a beacon as people today think that combat is something less than ugly.
I also present a top 10 list of the best WWII movies (actually 11 in no particular order).
Honorable mention goes to Sands of Iwo Jima; Letters from Iwo Jima; The Story of GI Joe; Battleground; Das Boot.
Burns has absolutely caught the pertinent parts of all major battles and the sense of what was happening in this country. By focusing on four cities and towns, as representative of certain attitudes and problems (segregation and the heinous interment of Japanese-American citizens), he has paid honor to the contributions of everyone and sacrifices - in many cases of people's freedoms and rights. The protests of certain Hispanic groups, about being "snubbed" in the original content, seems out of line. The war was SO massive that no amount of reasonable time could do justice to all possible contributions. The protests sonds too politically correct to me ... but I digress.
"The War" is a heartbreaking storyline. Burns has demystified the notion that this was a war of honor. It was a totally ugly affair (as death usually is) and he is driving that home like a jackhammer. The Episode 3 letters from Babe Ciarlo, corresponding from Italy, and then only to learn of his eventual death at the conclusion, brought tears to my eyes and also made my wife cry. You knew damn well it was coming but it still was upsetting. That is the quality of the writing and presentation.
It is the best thing on TV of its kind since .... well Burns' baseball and Civil War series. It is so superior to anything concocted on History Channel, etc. it isn't even close.
My wife said she wishes someone would chain George W. Bush to a chair and make his watch all of this to see what really happens to men when they fight and get killed in battle. It's horrific (Burns' has found film never seen before and it is graphic) and that smessage shines like a beacon as people today think that combat is something less than ugly.
I also present a top 10 list of the best WWII movies (actually 11 in no particular order).
Saving Private Ryan
The Longest Day
Stalag 17
Mister Roberts
Bridge over the River
Kwai
Patton
From Here to Eternity
Run Silent, Run Deep
The Great Escape
The Big Red One
Schindler's List
Honorable mention goes to Sands of Iwo Jima; Letters from Iwo Jima; The Story of GI Joe; Battleground; Das Boot.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Jena, Louisiana: just more of the same
Having grown up in a different region of the country (Detroit, Mich.) and living through the 1967 Detroit riots, AND being considered a persecuted minority myself (Jewish) my attitude towards people of different races was shaped by direct events.
I have been the subject of anti-Semitism and open hatred for no reasons other than a set of beliefs. I've been denied jobs because I was Jewish and spat upon, called a "Christ killer" by the father of the friend I had across the street. The man physically threw me out of his house because he didn't want a Jew to that I had to treat everyone equally because NOT to do so would violate every principle I held - to act towards people the same way you wanted them to act to you (I guess it's the golden rule).
While racism and bigotry manifested itself that summer of 1967 is the harshest manner possible, it was still a shock to me to see the overt examples in the South. When I came by bus through Arkansas, we stopped in Newport for a rest break. Inside the terminal was the rest rooms - but here I saw one marked "whites only" and one reading "colored." I stood there like a zombie (I had been up for 36 hours) looking at the doors. So I asked the bus driver which one I should take since I was Jewish. He just tapped his arm to indicate skin color.
I decided still to wait.
Jena, Louisiana is no different, sad to say. You just can't wash that racist impression or that racist attitude out of people like a spot on a blouse. It has been ingrained for generations and since hatred is a learned experience, it gets passed down through future generations. You don't learn it in a book or on TV or through anything but your family.
Jena is just another example of such anti-social bullshit attitudes and it won't be the last. No amount of marching or closing one's eyes will make it go away.
Sadly, too many people have turned such bigoted feelings to Hispanics - for no other reason than a language and cultural barrier. They hate people who are different for that exact reason; they are afraid of those they don't understand and refuse to learn about them. In two generations, it will be someone else.
It just goes on and on and on ...
I have been the subject of anti-Semitism and open hatred for no reasons other than a set of beliefs. I've been denied jobs because I was Jewish and spat upon, called a "Christ killer" by the father of the friend I had across the street. The man physically threw me out of his house because he didn't want a Jew to that I had to treat everyone equally because NOT to do so would violate every principle I held - to act towards people the same way you wanted them to act to you (I guess it's the golden rule).
While racism and bigotry manifested itself that summer of 1967 is the harshest manner possible, it was still a shock to me to see the overt examples in the South. When I came by bus through Arkansas, we stopped in Newport for a rest break. Inside the terminal was the rest rooms - but here I saw one marked "whites only" and one reading "colored." I stood there like a zombie (I had been up for 36 hours) looking at the doors. So I asked the bus driver which one I should take since I was Jewish. He just tapped his arm to indicate skin color.
I decided still to wait.
Jena, Louisiana is no different, sad to say. You just can't wash that racist impression or that racist attitude out of people like a spot on a blouse. It has been ingrained for generations and since hatred is a learned experience, it gets passed down through future generations. You don't learn it in a book or on TV or through anything but your family.
Jena is just another example of such anti-social bullshit attitudes and it won't be the last. No amount of marching or closing one's eyes will make it go away.
Sadly, too many people have turned such bigoted feelings to Hispanics - for no other reason than a language and cultural barrier. They hate people who are different for that exact reason; they are afraid of those they don't understand and refuse to learn about them. In two generations, it will be someone else.
It just goes on and on and on ...
Thursday, September 13, 2007
FORD tough
As Collin County continues to establish itself as one of Texas’ fastest growing suburban counties, as well as in America, so does the level of its diversity. Neighborhoods are now populated by people of Asian, Indian, Middle Eastern, Eastern European and Latin American descent – a veritable United Nations.
And then there are people who represent minorities like me.
FORDs. Fat. Old. Rumpled Democrats.
In the land of Lexus, Jaguar, Mercedes and Hummers, it is the BMW (blonde, materialistic white) that is all too often seen and heard. And too the dismay of the FORD, the BMW also rules politically; they’re just called Republicans.
Being a FORD is a family affair for me. My Dad was pretty much a FORD man until the day he died – the older he got, the more partisan he became. The man who grew up with FDR stood by those principles far more than anything he heard in the years afterwards. But I went voluntarily into that realm; no one, including my Dad, had to coerce me.
So what makes a FORD run?
FORDs don’t like to pay taxes anymore than any other person, especially when they surface in this new age form known as road tolls – apparently an increasingly popular mechanism among the ruling party in Austin to snatch money from its citizens without truth in labeling.
When the slogan “See the USA in your Chevrolet” was popular, it indicated the desire to ride the open roads – open as in free from cost other than related to the vehicle. Hell, Buzz Murdock and Tod Stiles drove their Corvette for free on “Route 66.” If it was good enough back then, it should be good enough now.
FORDs can want to save the environment but I might be among those who care less about what is being recycled and more about why it is easier to see the browning of the air I breathe. After all, when it rains, my truck should not have MORE dirt on it than before the sprinkles came.
But mostly, it was about how helped make this nation strong and vibrant – the men and women who built things – from skyscrapers to bridges to the tools that created them,
I believe the American workers are more responsible for the economic success and growth of this nation, following World War II (our golden jubilee apparently), than corporate management. Sadly, too many positions of those who make the products have been sacrificed overseas for profits’ sake while not enough suits and ties have suffered the same fate. You see, workers tend to be FORDS now and suits tend to like BMWs.
When I was a pup, American-made meant something; it stood for top grade quality. Of course, I come from a time when my refrigerator was made in Amana, Iowa, my Zenith television came from Chicago, my Emerson radio was built on Long Island and the phone was made by Western Electric – an American company. My baseball glove was an American Wilson model, my shoes came from Brockton, Massachusetts and my baseball bats had Louisville, Kentucky stamped on each piece of wood.
The cars were drove were ONLY made in Detroit because we supported the home team.
Our homes stood for American products, even if they cost a bit more than the cheaper brand. You do get what you pay for and the purchase of anything USA kept the economy strong by circulating money among families and neighborhoods and businesses – to buy more American products and hire more American workers – the ones who actually stood on the line.
Too many BMWs have turned the word “union,” into something dirty, unpleasant and vilified. But those same BMWs scream the loudest when all those foreign-made products, which flooded the market because of the low, low cost-per-unit price, began to make Britney and Buffy and Carter and others sick as dogs.
Gee, that really didn’t happen when American workers made those same items, did they?
In the land of BMWs, the honk of this old FORD just cannot be heard. The local BMW drivers run everything from the courthouse to the outhouse, which many of us find our lot in life. Republicans in this county deem it more appropriate to give themselves raises, where the average elected county official earns around $100,000 compared to the median salary far less than that.
And some of them bitch like little girls about not getting a slew of bonuses, out of my wallet for absolutely not a damn thing done in return. They, like all these BMW owners, believe it is their God-given right to make obscene amounts of money at the taxpayer’s expense.
Yet not a penny for the poor among us, either for health care opportunities for children or sick adults; no help for the homeless because the BMWs firmly believe that such people do NOT exist in Collin County.
I have always believed that no man needs to own a Rolex or any other expensive watch in order to tell the damn time. A Bulova or Timex does the same thing at a fraction of the cost. After all, isn’t that the function of a watch?
Same holds true for being a FORD. My beliefs will get me to where I want to go; no need to own and maintain an expensive, overpriced piece of shit philosophy.
And when the others in this area realize that a FORD works as well, or better, than any BMW, things might get changed for the better.
Until then, I remain FORD tough.
And then there are people who represent minorities like me.
FORDs. Fat. Old. Rumpled Democrats.
In the land of Lexus, Jaguar, Mercedes and Hummers, it is the BMW (blonde, materialistic white) that is all too often seen and heard. And too the dismay of the FORD, the BMW also rules politically; they’re just called Republicans.
Being a FORD is a family affair for me. My Dad was pretty much a FORD man until the day he died – the older he got, the more partisan he became. The man who grew up with FDR stood by those principles far more than anything he heard in the years afterwards. But I went voluntarily into that realm; no one, including my Dad, had to coerce me.
So what makes a FORD run?
FORDs don’t like to pay taxes anymore than any other person, especially when they surface in this new age form known as road tolls – apparently an increasingly popular mechanism among the ruling party in Austin to snatch money from its citizens without truth in labeling.
When the slogan “See the USA in your Chevrolet” was popular, it indicated the desire to ride the open roads – open as in free from cost other than related to the vehicle. Hell, Buzz Murdock and Tod Stiles drove their Corvette for free on “Route 66.” If it was good enough back then, it should be good enough now.
FORDs can want to save the environment but I might be among those who care less about what is being recycled and more about why it is easier to see the browning of the air I breathe. After all, when it rains, my truck should not have MORE dirt on it than before the sprinkles came.
But mostly, it was about how helped make this nation strong and vibrant – the men and women who built things – from skyscrapers to bridges to the tools that created them,
I believe the American workers are more responsible for the economic success and growth of this nation, following World War II (our golden jubilee apparently), than corporate management. Sadly, too many positions of those who make the products have been sacrificed overseas for profits’ sake while not enough suits and ties have suffered the same fate. You see, workers tend to be FORDS now and suits tend to like BMWs.
When I was a pup, American-made meant something; it stood for top grade quality. Of course, I come from a time when my refrigerator was made in Amana, Iowa, my Zenith television came from Chicago, my Emerson radio was built on Long Island and the phone was made by Western Electric – an American company. My baseball glove was an American Wilson model, my shoes came from Brockton, Massachusetts and my baseball bats had Louisville, Kentucky stamped on each piece of wood.
The cars were drove were ONLY made in Detroit because we supported the home team.
Our homes stood for American products, even if they cost a bit more than the cheaper brand. You do get what you pay for and the purchase of anything USA kept the economy strong by circulating money among families and neighborhoods and businesses – to buy more American products and hire more American workers – the ones who actually stood on the line.
Too many BMWs have turned the word “union,” into something dirty, unpleasant and vilified. But those same BMWs scream the loudest when all those foreign-made products, which flooded the market because of the low, low cost-per-unit price, began to make Britney and Buffy and Carter and others sick as dogs.
Gee, that really didn’t happen when American workers made those same items, did they?
In the land of BMWs, the honk of this old FORD just cannot be heard. The local BMW drivers run everything from the courthouse to the outhouse, which many of us find our lot in life. Republicans in this county deem it more appropriate to give themselves raises, where the average elected county official earns around $100,000 compared to the median salary far less than that.
And some of them bitch like little girls about not getting a slew of bonuses, out of my wallet for absolutely not a damn thing done in return. They, like all these BMW owners, believe it is their God-given right to make obscene amounts of money at the taxpayer’s expense.
Yet not a penny for the poor among us, either for health care opportunities for children or sick adults; no help for the homeless because the BMWs firmly believe that such people do NOT exist in Collin County.
I have always believed that no man needs to own a Rolex or any other expensive watch in order to tell the damn time. A Bulova or Timex does the same thing at a fraction of the cost. After all, isn’t that the function of a watch?
Same holds true for being a FORD. My beliefs will get me to where I want to go; no need to own and maintain an expensive, overpriced piece of shit philosophy.
And when the others in this area realize that a FORD works as well, or better, than any BMW, things might get changed for the better.
Until then, I remain FORD tough.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
TEXAS FOOD FIGHT: ketchup v. mustard
I’ve learned a “thang” or two in more than 30 years of “columnizing” – like the topics that raise the instant ire of readers. Just express personal views on one of three subjects (religion, abortion, politics) and watch the fireworks. And now, ladies and gentlemen, I add a fourth to that list – the myth that is TEXAS food.
It might not go down with the classic confrontations about chili (beans v. no beans), barbecue (mesquite v. charcoal v. gas) or which community is actually THE peach capital (Parker County, Gillespie County or Freestone County). This moment of sacrilege centers on that item declared “genuine” to the Lone Star State – the hamburger, allegedly invented in Athens. My bone of contention is not its origin, but its accouterments. It is against all principles of nature, and taste buds, to put mustard on a beef patty. The correct answer should the Reagan-era vegetable of choice – ketchup.
My beliefs were stoked recently as I ordered one of Kincaid’s marvelous creations in Fort Worth (why isn’t there one where I live?). If you've never eaten there, you don't know what you're missing!
Had I not said something at the “place order here” desk, my burger would have been violated with that yucky yellow stuff. It should be the other way around; mustard should be an add-on, not a normal part of the process.
Mustard is a bitter seed which properly belongs on sausage-type products (sausage, hot dogs, brats, pork tenderloin, etc.). It can be yellow or brown, and contain fancy names like Dijon or Cajun. A strong mustard has a very powerful (and often painful) effect on the nasal membranes “if eaten carelessly.”
From the online encyclopedia, Wikipedia.com, comes this:
For Heaven’s sake, you want a Texas creation to be defined by the French??!!??
Beef, on the other hand, needs a tangy sweetness created by all things tomato. That means ketchup, not the more effete sounding “catsup.” It just goes together in perfect harmony.
If you’ve always wondered which reference (ketchup or catsup) was correct, according to Worldwide words.org, the product was referred to as “catchup” as far back as 1690 and in Scribner’s Magazine in 1859. The general consensus is that ketchup and catsup are exactly the same silly thing.
Please!
Children insist on ketchup on hot dogs because, frankfurterly, they don’t know better. The real test comes at the perfect setting for a hot dog – at a baseball game. When you get one from a vendor in the stands, the proper method to serve it is steamed, on a warm (not soggy) bun and with two slaps of yellow mustard. That’s it! The relish, onions and other items should be confined to tables next to concession stands where all sort of culinary perversions take place. Sushi at a baseball game?
Puh-lease!
For the naysayers, ketchup does not belong on scrambled eggs, egg rolls, ham sandwiches or any combination in a kosher deli. Bologna sandwiches can have either because there just too much of a mish-mash in normal bologna to determine proper food grouping.
Putting a little “mustard on the ball” is a good thing for a baseball pitcher. Throwing a rotten tomato at a theater performer is not a good thing. In the board game “Clue,” one of the murder suspects is Col. MUSTARD; not Captain Ketchup!
Texas is unique as its cuisine. It was once a “blue” state and is now seen as a strong “red” state. But it should never, ever become a “yellow” state.
Puh-lease!
It might not go down with the classic confrontations about chili (beans v. no beans), barbecue (mesquite v. charcoal v. gas) or which community is actually THE peach capital (Parker County, Gillespie County or Freestone County). This moment of sacrilege centers on that item declared “genuine” to the Lone Star State – the hamburger, allegedly invented in Athens. My bone of contention is not its origin, but its accouterments. It is against all principles of nature, and taste buds, to put mustard on a beef patty. The correct answer should the Reagan-era vegetable of choice – ketchup.
My beliefs were stoked recently as I ordered one of Kincaid’s marvelous creations in Fort Worth (why isn’t there one where I live?). If you've never eaten there, you don't know what you're missing!
Had I not said something at the “place order here” desk, my burger would have been violated with that yucky yellow stuff. It should be the other way around; mustard should be an add-on, not a normal part of the process.
Mustard is a bitter seed which properly belongs on sausage-type products (sausage, hot dogs, brats, pork tenderloin, etc.). It can be yellow or brown, and contain fancy names like Dijon or Cajun. A strong mustard has a very powerful (and often painful) effect on the nasal membranes “if eaten carelessly.”
From the online encyclopedia, Wikipedia.com, comes this:
“The French have used mustard seeds as a spice since 800 AD,
and it was amongst spices taken by the Spanish on explorations throughout the 1400s. Pope John XXII was particularly fond of mustard, and created a new position in the Vatican, ‘grand moutardier du pape’ or ‘mustard maker to the pope.’”
For Heaven’s sake, you want a Texas creation to be defined by the French??!!??
Beef, on the other hand, needs a tangy sweetness created by all things tomato. That means ketchup, not the more effete sounding “catsup.” It just goes together in perfect harmony.
If you’ve always wondered which reference (ketchup or catsup) was correct, according to Worldwide words.org, the product was referred to as “catchup” as far back as 1690 and in Scribner’s Magazine in 1859. The general consensus is that ketchup and catsup are exactly the same silly thing.
“Ketchup was one of the earliest names given to this condiment, so spelled in Charles Lockyer’s book of 1711, ‘An Account of the Trade in India:’ ‘Soy comes in Tubbs from Jappan, and the best Ketchup from Tonquin; yet good of both sorts are made and sold very cheap in China.’”There are plenty of examples to flavor my side of the argument. The Chinese use hot mustard often to spike their sweet and sour sauces and it ain’t the sweet part. No one in their right mind would slap mustard on brisket and would anyone ever make a real Texas bowl of red (chili for the uninitiated) with … mustard??
Please!
Children insist on ketchup on hot dogs because, frankfurterly, they don’t know better. The real test comes at the perfect setting for a hot dog – at a baseball game. When you get one from a vendor in the stands, the proper method to serve it is steamed, on a warm (not soggy) bun and with two slaps of yellow mustard. That’s it! The relish, onions and other items should be confined to tables next to concession stands where all sort of culinary perversions take place. Sushi at a baseball game?
Puh-lease!
For the naysayers, ketchup does not belong on scrambled eggs, egg rolls, ham sandwiches or any combination in a kosher deli. Bologna sandwiches can have either because there just too much of a mish-mash in normal bologna to determine proper food grouping.
Putting a little “mustard on the ball” is a good thing for a baseball pitcher. Throwing a rotten tomato at a theater performer is not a good thing. In the board game “Clue,” one of the murder suspects is Col. MUSTARD; not Captain Ketchup!
Texas is unique as its cuisine. It was once a “blue” state and is now seen as a strong “red” state. But it should never, ever become a “yellow” state.
Puh-lease!
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Looking back at 9/11 writings
Author's Note: The following are the two columns I wrote in the immediate aftermath of Sept. 11, 2001 for the Plano (Texas) Star-Courier. The sentiments expressed, although HIGHLY unpopular at the time, hold true today.
Exactly WHO does America go after?
A little more than seven years ago, I sat in a completely silent news room with scores of people surrounding me. It was another place, another time and a different circumstance that caused those folks, and almost everyone else in the nation, to stop, look and listen to tragic news.
That was Oklahoma City. Yesterday, it was New York City and Washington, D.C. The stunned silence was the same, the tear-filled eyes were the same and the numbness was the same.
And the questions posed were the same, “Who would do such a thing?”
In the case of Oklahoma City, where initial police and press reports suggested that the culprit was Arabic, the perpetrator was a good old boy, who wasn’t much of a man and wasn’t very good. He was one of us and that stunned the country almost as much as the act.
Who would do such a thing?
If the U.S. hadn’t learned before, it knows this morning clearer than ever – there are people, many people, more than we want to realize or accept, that do not like us and will do whatever it takes to see our country suffer. Humanity doesn’t enter into the equation. Acts like this suggest that the instigators embrace martyrdom – meaning they worship death while we have always worshipped life.
How can we overcome that kind of thinking when it is fundamentally opposite of what you know to be true?
I have asked these questions today (Tuesday) and I have no answers. The people in New York City have no answers and the government officials in Washington, D.C. have no answers. Otherwise, someone would be taking swift action ... and it didn’t happen.
All this pent-up emotion and no safety valve. People are (stupidly) ready to march off to war without fully weighing ALL the consequences. Others want scorched earth regardless of whose earth is being scorched.
So I pose it to you: Exactly WHO does America go after? Which foreign country is responsible for this act of terrorism? Do we know for sure, or would we be guessing?
And if you believe in the writings of the Bible or Torah or Koran, what does vengeance ever solve? It just inflicts more pain, injury and death upon innocent people whose sole “crime” is to have been born in another nation with a different skin color.
A pound of flesh weighs much heavier on the heart and soul than you think.
Let’s theorize that international outlaw Osama bin Laden is the power and the money (and perhaps brains) behind this well-executed and dastardly deed. OK, where is he? Where do we look? Where we would attack to capture him? Can we justify illegally entering a sovereign nation’s territory because we waive the Stars and Stripes?
Are we ready to start World War III? Because the next retaliation, if we would attack a Middle East nation looking for bin Laden, would be directed toward Israel and it won’t involve “conventional” weaponry. Bin Laden, Saddam and the other godfathers of terrorism won’t stop with a few exchange of bombs.
And no one alive is ready for that.
There was a movie done three years ago, starring Denzel Washington and Bruce Willis, called “The Siege.” Its premise was eerily redone on television screens across the world.
Terrorists strike New York, forcing federal troops to take control of the city, imposing martial law and interring all families of Arabic descent. The rationalization and justification used was the old, tired argument that you have to sacrifice some liberties to maintain freedom and peace.
Except, as the movie notes (in a convoluted manner), that is not how THIS country works. We have fought, and died, to have 100 percent of the freedoms guaranteed in the Constitution. Deprivation never works.
Yes, we need to find out, with total certainty, who did this. We need to bring them to justice – American justice. We need answers and we garner them without blindly pointing fingers at various groups.
And we need to pray. Our country took a bad body blow in the solar plexus. It hurts, a whole heck of a lot.
But we are strong and we are resilient. We don’t like having this happen and we will not yield to this kind of threat.
Someone misjudged badly. Tragedy unites us ... and united we DO stand.
Talk of war is not the right thing to hear
As a Jew, I am embarrassed by the reaction by a handful of our less-than-stellar citizens – committing criminal acts against people who happen to be of Arabic descent.
As an American, I am just as red-faced about how quickly and easily some people want to plunge headfirst into a pool where we know not the water level or contents.
I am scared for our nation by all the chest-pounding and talk of going to “war” after Tuesday’s tragedies in New York City, Washington D.C. and in Pennsylvania.
What happened was horrible, disgusting, inhumane, heinous, cowardly ... should I go through other terminology? I think you get the message. But when national leaders speak about mobilizing and enter into active combat, against an enemy that deliberately stays in the shadows, it should send shivers down everyone’s spine.
We’ve declared “war” on terrorism before, as we have against drug importing and other things most of us deem socially unacceptable. Yet all the efforts cannot stop actions of people hell bent, even to the point of death, on killing others.
I wrote this two days ago and nothing has changed. When our society and nation, which prides itself on quality of life, conflicts with people for whom death is the ultimate reward and martyrdom is the greatest achievement, there can be no understanding. It is fundamentally against our thinking and each time these incidents happen, we fail to comprehend what is happening.
And understand that terrorist attacks have happened before, even on American soil. Islamic fundamentalists tried to blow up the World Trade Center, and even had cyanide gas ready to be used (but failed to ignite) in order to inflict thousands of American casualties.
Our military bases and ships have been attacked and thousands of U.S. citizens have died prior to Tuesday. Planes have been hijacked before and, unless everyone is strip-searched and seated in handcuffs during flights, it will probably happen again - sad to say.
We’ve responded with bombing raids against alleged targets, economic sanctions and lots of blustery verbiage. But we’ve never thought about crossing the line to all-out war.
Until now. Be careful, my fellow Americans, of what you wish for.
War is not a Nintendo game; it’s far more graphic than “Band of Brothers.” At least the actors get up after the scene is shot. The real McCoy means young men (and now young women) come home in body bags.
With no guarantee that the “enemy” will be eliminated.
But I can bring forth this possible scenario, which is the worst thing imaginable. Say we invade Afghanistan to eradicate Osama bin Laden’s terrorist network (oh by the way, which country trained this guy?). We reduce the country to ashes because the Taliban won’t cough this yahoo up.
There are other neighboring nations, with leaders equally hateful of the U.S., and possessors of far more sophisticated weaponry, just itching to use their arsenal against ... Israel and even the U.S. It won’t be conventional; it will be chemical and possibly nuclear (we are going to be shocked to learn who has what capability).
One domino begins to fall and pretty soon the world is engulfed in a worldwide conflict - the result of which could be unthinkable.
If you stop to think about it.
Military responses are one thing; President Clinton tried it in 1998 hoping to get bin Laden and former President Bush faced his own crisis and criticism when he stopped short in Desert Storm of taking out Saddam Hussein. Hussein walked away untouched and continuing to finance terrorism against “the Great Infidel.”
To many in this world, that’s what we are. We will never change their minds and we should stop trying. They should stop trying to go against God’s will by killing innocent people over ideology.
And we should take a collective deep breath before doing something that could lead to catastrophic results.
I don’t think the victims would want that. We’re better than that.
Ours should be a war of wills; living well is the best revenge. And America should concentrate on living, not potential death.
Exactly WHO does America go after?
A little more than seven years ago, I sat in a completely silent news room with scores of people surrounding me. It was another place, another time and a different circumstance that caused those folks, and almost everyone else in the nation, to stop, look and listen to tragic news.
That was Oklahoma City. Yesterday, it was New York City and Washington, D.C. The stunned silence was the same, the tear-filled eyes were the same and the numbness was the same.
And the questions posed were the same, “Who would do such a thing?”
In the case of Oklahoma City, where initial police and press reports suggested that the culprit was Arabic, the perpetrator was a good old boy, who wasn’t much of a man and wasn’t very good. He was one of us and that stunned the country almost as much as the act.
Who would do such a thing?
If the U.S. hadn’t learned before, it knows this morning clearer than ever – there are people, many people, more than we want to realize or accept, that do not like us and will do whatever it takes to see our country suffer. Humanity doesn’t enter into the equation. Acts like this suggest that the instigators embrace martyrdom – meaning they worship death while we have always worshipped life.
How can we overcome that kind of thinking when it is fundamentally opposite of what you know to be true?
I have asked these questions today (Tuesday) and I have no answers. The people in New York City have no answers and the government officials in Washington, D.C. have no answers. Otherwise, someone would be taking swift action ... and it didn’t happen.
All this pent-up emotion and no safety valve. People are (stupidly) ready to march off to war without fully weighing ALL the consequences. Others want scorched earth regardless of whose earth is being scorched.
So I pose it to you: Exactly WHO does America go after? Which foreign country is responsible for this act of terrorism? Do we know for sure, or would we be guessing?
And if you believe in the writings of the Bible or Torah or Koran, what does vengeance ever solve? It just inflicts more pain, injury and death upon innocent people whose sole “crime” is to have been born in another nation with a different skin color.
A pound of flesh weighs much heavier on the heart and soul than you think.
Let’s theorize that international outlaw Osama bin Laden is the power and the money (and perhaps brains) behind this well-executed and dastardly deed. OK, where is he? Where do we look? Where we would attack to capture him? Can we justify illegally entering a sovereign nation’s territory because we waive the Stars and Stripes?
Are we ready to start World War III? Because the next retaliation, if we would attack a Middle East nation looking for bin Laden, would be directed toward Israel and it won’t involve “conventional” weaponry. Bin Laden, Saddam and the other godfathers of terrorism won’t stop with a few exchange of bombs.
And no one alive is ready for that.
There was a movie done three years ago, starring Denzel Washington and Bruce Willis, called “The Siege.” Its premise was eerily redone on television screens across the world.
Terrorists strike New York, forcing federal troops to take control of the city, imposing martial law and interring all families of Arabic descent. The rationalization and justification used was the old, tired argument that you have to sacrifice some liberties to maintain freedom and peace.
Except, as the movie notes (in a convoluted manner), that is not how THIS country works. We have fought, and died, to have 100 percent of the freedoms guaranteed in the Constitution. Deprivation never works.
Yes, we need to find out, with total certainty, who did this. We need to bring them to justice – American justice. We need answers and we garner them without blindly pointing fingers at various groups.
And we need to pray. Our country took a bad body blow in the solar plexus. It hurts, a whole heck of a lot.
But we are strong and we are resilient. We don’t like having this happen and we will not yield to this kind of threat.
Someone misjudged badly. Tragedy unites us ... and united we DO stand.
-- Sept. 11, 2001
Talk of war is not the right thing to hear
As a Jew, I am embarrassed by the reaction by a handful of our less-than-stellar citizens – committing criminal acts against people who happen to be of Arabic descent.
As an American, I am just as red-faced about how quickly and easily some people want to plunge headfirst into a pool where we know not the water level or contents.
I am scared for our nation by all the chest-pounding and talk of going to “war” after Tuesday’s tragedies in New York City, Washington D.C. and in Pennsylvania.
What happened was horrible, disgusting, inhumane, heinous, cowardly ... should I go through other terminology? I think you get the message. But when national leaders speak about mobilizing and enter into active combat, against an enemy that deliberately stays in the shadows, it should send shivers down everyone’s spine.
We’ve declared “war” on terrorism before, as we have against drug importing and other things most of us deem socially unacceptable. Yet all the efforts cannot stop actions of people hell bent, even to the point of death, on killing others.
I wrote this two days ago and nothing has changed. When our society and nation, which prides itself on quality of life, conflicts with people for whom death is the ultimate reward and martyrdom is the greatest achievement, there can be no understanding. It is fundamentally against our thinking and each time these incidents happen, we fail to comprehend what is happening.
And understand that terrorist attacks have happened before, even on American soil. Islamic fundamentalists tried to blow up the World Trade Center, and even had cyanide gas ready to be used (but failed to ignite) in order to inflict thousands of American casualties.
Our military bases and ships have been attacked and thousands of U.S. citizens have died prior to Tuesday. Planes have been hijacked before and, unless everyone is strip-searched and seated in handcuffs during flights, it will probably happen again - sad to say.
We’ve responded with bombing raids against alleged targets, economic sanctions and lots of blustery verbiage. But we’ve never thought about crossing the line to all-out war.
Until now. Be careful, my fellow Americans, of what you wish for.
War is not a Nintendo game; it’s far more graphic than “Band of Brothers.” At least the actors get up after the scene is shot. The real McCoy means young men (and now young women) come home in body bags.
With no guarantee that the “enemy” will be eliminated.
But I can bring forth this possible scenario, which is the worst thing imaginable. Say we invade Afghanistan to eradicate Osama bin Laden’s terrorist network (oh by the way, which country trained this guy?). We reduce the country to ashes because the Taliban won’t cough this yahoo up.
There are other neighboring nations, with leaders equally hateful of the U.S., and possessors of far more sophisticated weaponry, just itching to use their arsenal against ... Israel and even the U.S. It won’t be conventional; it will be chemical and possibly nuclear (we are going to be shocked to learn who has what capability).
One domino begins to fall and pretty soon the world is engulfed in a worldwide conflict - the result of which could be unthinkable.
If you stop to think about it.
Military responses are one thing; President Clinton tried it in 1998 hoping to get bin Laden and former President Bush faced his own crisis and criticism when he stopped short in Desert Storm of taking out Saddam Hussein. Hussein walked away untouched and continuing to finance terrorism against “the Great Infidel.”
To many in this world, that’s what we are. We will never change their minds and we should stop trying. They should stop trying to go against God’s will by killing innocent people over ideology.
And we should take a collective deep breath before doing something that could lead to catastrophic results.
I don’t think the victims would want that. We’re better than that.
Ours should be a war of wills; living well is the best revenge. And America should concentrate on living, not potential death.
-- Sept. 14, 2001
I was right then adnd I am right now.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Outrage in Frisco
My wife said this better than I could EVER have EV.I upset and saddened to read of this racism in Frisco (Texas - a suburb of Dallas) that occurred on Saturday...
http://www.dallasnews.com/sharedcontent/dws/dn/latestnews/stories/091107dnmetgunpoint.be25b0c7.html
After reading the article, I guessed the ethnicity of the man that was falsely and unjustly accused by a bank employee and subjected to being humiliated and threatened at gun point ... with the possibility of being shot by the police who believed him to be a bank robber ...
A case of "you can make the suburbs more diverse, but you can't take the racism away so easily!" The man in this case was an African-American gentleman. I do believe he's owed a big apology from the bank and the police department. His girlfriend and her small child were also impacted by this event according to the article. He was at the bank with a friend who was seeking a loan!
If this happened to me or my husband, I would be terrified and outraged ... but because we're white, I doubt this will ever happen to us. How long will it take for the culture to change? How long will it take for racism to be something that happened long ago and is unknown to our children? It's very sad that most people of the dominant ethnic group (white) are totally oblivious to it!
http://www.dallasnews.com/sharedcontent/dws/dn/latestnews/stories/091107dnmetgunpoint.be25b0c7.html
After reading the article, I guessed the ethnicity of the man that was falsely and unjustly accused by a bank employee and subjected to being humiliated and threatened at gun point ... with the possibility of being shot by the police who believed him to be a bank robber ...
A case of "you can make the suburbs more diverse, but you can't take the racism away so easily!" The man in this case was an African-American gentleman. I do believe he's owed a big apology from the bank and the police department. His girlfriend and her small child were also impacted by this event according to the article. He was at the bank with a friend who was seeking a loan!
If this happened to me or my husband, I would be terrified and outraged ... but because we're white, I doubt this will ever happen to us. How long will it take for the culture to change? How long will it take for racism to be something that happened long ago and is unknown to our children? It's very sad that most people of the dominant ethnic group (white) are totally oblivious to it!
Sunday, September 09, 2007
Insurance non-payoffs: There oughta be a law
Author's Note: The following column appeared in today's ediiton (Sept. 9, 2007) of the Dallas Morning News' Colln County Opinion pages.
This summer has been another horrible weather period for people in different parts of the country, due to massive flooding from a host of extraordinary storms. New Orleans and the Gulf Coast have YET to recover from 2005’s Hurricane Katrina and one of the major reasons for that lack of progress falls at the feet of insurance companies — unwilling to pay full restoration and damages on legitimate policies. These companies, who are flush with profits to the tune of many billions of dollars have spent much time, and legal expense doing all they can NOT to pay hurricane and flood victims.
In 2005, despite paying an estimated $56.8 billion in losses (according to the Los Angeles Times and the National Association of Insurance Commissioners), insurance companies earned a record $44.8 billion in profit — a whopping 18.7 percent higher than in 2004. The figures were posted despite Katrina, acknowledged as the worst disaster in American history.
In fact, all those losses were paid by policyholder premiums, with another 7 percent added to the industry’s surplus, which was NOT touched in 2005. The industry is paying a much lower percentage on policies, going from 60 percent of losses in the 1990s, to less than 50 percent after the Florida batch of hurricanes in 2005 to about 30 percent for Katrina victims.
Oh yeah, the insurance companies themselves had disaster insurance coverage with overseas firms, and those payoffs (up to two-thirds of insured losses) were added to the treasuries.
The problem lies with flood damage, which insurance companies will not cover. Homeowners are pushed to the federal flood insurance coverage and in many areas on the Gulf Coast and eastern shore, companies like Allstate have stopped offering homeowner policies at all.
The stories of how ordinary people have been treated by those supposedly in their "good hands" make you cringe as an American. The lack of fairness — seeing hard-working citizens who faithfully paid their premiums thinking they were fully covered only to forced (by desperation) to accept pennies on the dollar for a settlement claim — is unconscionable. Something should be done on the federal level, and applied across the nation and across the board.
My legislation would provide for the following:
1) Comprehensive coverage, which would be mandatory on homeowner policies, should include all natural possibilities — under ONE umbrella. This nonsense about having to purchase different policies for wind, rain, flood, fire and hail damage, when all these can occur during storms, only enriches the coffers.
Storms produce lightning (which can cause fires), hail, tornadoes and … yes, flooding in the form of wind and rain; you can’t have one without the other. Hence, flood damage should be covered instead of pawned off to the federal government as a secondary purchase.
2) If a policy says replacement for damages is to be paid at market value, the company does NOT get to set that value. A designated third party should be the determining factor. Failure to adhere would result in stout fines — enough to make it really hurt and discouraged companies from opting to pay fines rather than pay policies.
3) If a policyholder has met all premiums according to the signed agreement, insurance companies are totally bound to pay.
4) It should take no longer than one year for a policyholder to receive 100 percent of his or her payment.
A law should bring the full force of federal penalties against those companies that violate this trust. I wouldn’t go as far as to claim racketeering within the industry, but when all these folks warble the same song-and-dance, the smell is unmistakable.
Such comprehensive coverage should be the standard regardless of region. As we’ve seen, no section of the nation is immune, from the Texas Hill Country to the Minnesota range to the Gulf Coast to Northern California.
Insurance companies are not hurting, but many of their customers are. These giant corporations should not be in the business merely to collect premiums while failing to fully pay legitimate claims.
It is time fairness returns to our rules and our business. And for that, as the old comic strip said, there oughta be a law.
This summer has been another horrible weather period for people in different parts of the country, due to massive flooding from a host of extraordinary storms. New Orleans and the Gulf Coast have YET to recover from 2005’s Hurricane Katrina and one of the major reasons for that lack of progress falls at the feet of insurance companies — unwilling to pay full restoration and damages on legitimate policies. These companies, who are flush with profits to the tune of many billions of dollars have spent much time, and legal expense doing all they can NOT to pay hurricane and flood victims.
In 2005, despite paying an estimated $56.8 billion in losses (according to the Los Angeles Times and the National Association of Insurance Commissioners), insurance companies earned a record $44.8 billion in profit — a whopping 18.7 percent higher than in 2004. The figures were posted despite Katrina, acknowledged as the worst disaster in American history.
In fact, all those losses were paid by policyholder premiums, with another 7 percent added to the industry’s surplus, which was NOT touched in 2005. The industry is paying a much lower percentage on policies, going from 60 percent of losses in the 1990s, to less than 50 percent after the Florida batch of hurricanes in 2005 to about 30 percent for Katrina victims.
Oh yeah, the insurance companies themselves had disaster insurance coverage with overseas firms, and those payoffs (up to two-thirds of insured losses) were added to the treasuries.
The problem lies with flood damage, which insurance companies will not cover. Homeowners are pushed to the federal flood insurance coverage and in many areas on the Gulf Coast and eastern shore, companies like Allstate have stopped offering homeowner policies at all.
The stories of how ordinary people have been treated by those supposedly in their "good hands" make you cringe as an American. The lack of fairness — seeing hard-working citizens who faithfully paid their premiums thinking they were fully covered only to forced (by desperation) to accept pennies on the dollar for a settlement claim — is unconscionable. Something should be done on the federal level, and applied across the nation and across the board.
My legislation would provide for the following:
1) Comprehensive coverage, which would be mandatory on homeowner policies, should include all natural possibilities — under ONE umbrella. This nonsense about having to purchase different policies for wind, rain, flood, fire and hail damage, when all these can occur during storms, only enriches the coffers.
Storms produce lightning (which can cause fires), hail, tornadoes and … yes, flooding in the form of wind and rain; you can’t have one without the other. Hence, flood damage should be covered instead of pawned off to the federal government as a secondary purchase.
2) If a policy says replacement for damages is to be paid at market value, the company does NOT get to set that value. A designated third party should be the determining factor. Failure to adhere would result in stout fines — enough to make it really hurt and discouraged companies from opting to pay fines rather than pay policies.
3) If a policyholder has met all premiums according to the signed agreement, insurance companies are totally bound to pay.
4) It should take no longer than one year for a policyholder to receive 100 percent of his or her payment.
A law should bring the full force of federal penalties against those companies that violate this trust. I wouldn’t go as far as to claim racketeering within the industry, but when all these folks warble the same song-and-dance, the smell is unmistakable.
Such comprehensive coverage should be the standard regardless of region. As we’ve seen, no section of the nation is immune, from the Texas Hill Country to the Minnesota range to the Gulf Coast to Northern California.
Insurance companies are not hurting, but many of their customers are. These giant corporations should not be in the business merely to collect premiums while failing to fully pay legitimate claims.
It is time fairness returns to our rules and our business. And for that, as the old comic strip said, there oughta be a law.
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