My brother Bernie had some suggestions for blog topics, including today’s edition, so if you don’t like it, blame him. Trust me, it’s very satisfying to do.
Anyway, his suggestion was to list creative ideas or inventions that have made life simpler and easier, such as wheels on luggage. Sounded interesting, so herewith my hastily prepared list without the not-so-obvious, such as laptop computers or anything Apple. Feel free to send me your choices which I don’t promise to include in a future post but may if there are sufficient usable contributions.
1. the aforementioned luggage with wheels
2. resealable ziplock plastic bags
3. one size fits all chenille gloves
4. the pocket nail clipper (the most versatile cutting tool you can carry around)
5. retractable gel point or rollerball pens
6. anything Polartec—vests, gloves, sweaters, sheets
7. pocket toothbrushes
8. daily dose pill boxes
9. folding umbrella baby strollers
10. personal portable fans with spray misters
11. intermittent windshield wipers
12. heated car seats
13. passenger side car air conditioning/heating controls
14. electric plug outlets under airplane seats (when available)
15. charging stations at airports
16. whipped cream in a can (my personal favorite. Yes, it’s been around a long time, but whipped cream to me is ambrosia of the gods)
17. trial/travel size health and beauty care products
18. ratchet screwdrivers
19. DVRs (and before them VCRs)
20. electric heated mattress pads
21. tasting stations at Costco
22. E-Z Pass
Okay, that’s my quick list. Your suggestions gratefully accepted.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Predictions Come True and Some Corrections
As I predicted, Black Friday madness turned violent. Reports of gunfire in South Carolina from a possible robbery in a parking lot and pepper-spraying by one shopper trying to diffuse the competition seeking an X-Box player in a California store vied for headlines with another pepper-spraying incident, this time by a security guard in North Carolina trying to retrieve a cell phone that had fallen from a display.
Rome had its Circus Maximus and then the Coliseum where the public was entertained for days on end by games, gladiator contests and pageantry. We have Black Friday and subsequent sales days from now till Christmas, and then the post-holiday clearance sales period. For some lighter fare, we have the continuing series of Republican Party presidential debates.
It’s hard to believe we’ve matured as a society from those ancient times.
Corrections: In my last blog on Cooper Union and Brooklyn College, I made several mistakes when writing about Open Admissions. So here’s a cleaned up version, thanks to Gilda’s keen editing eye and better memory:
Gilda and I attended Brooklyn College, the closest entity to free higher education. Back in the late 1960s, Brooklyn College and City College accepted only the best students, basically anyone with an A average. B students went to one of the other City University of New York schools, such as Hunter College or Queens College. Tuition at Brooklyn College each semester was $50 ($332 in current inflation adjusted dollars) plus the cost of books. Today, tuition is $2,565 per semester for matriculated full-time students. Since it was a commuter school, few if any students incurred housing costs.
Shortly before we graduated in 1971, the City University of New York initiated Open Admissions. Mostly anyone with a high school degree could attend. Brooklyn College began accepting students with less than an A average. Quality deteriorated. The grand experiment failed. The school has reverted to a more stringent admissions policy. I’m not familiar with Brooklyn College’s current academic standing, but when Gilda and I attended, it was a top notch liberal arts institution, virtually free to all who qualified.
Rome had its Circus Maximus and then the Coliseum where the public was entertained for days on end by games, gladiator contests and pageantry. We have Black Friday and subsequent sales days from now till Christmas, and then the post-holiday clearance sales period. For some lighter fare, we have the continuing series of Republican Party presidential debates.
It’s hard to believe we’ve matured as a society from those ancient times.
Corrections: In my last blog on Cooper Union and Brooklyn College, I made several mistakes when writing about Open Admissions. So here’s a cleaned up version, thanks to Gilda’s keen editing eye and better memory:
Gilda and I attended Brooklyn College, the closest entity to free higher education. Back in the late 1960s, Brooklyn College and City College accepted only the best students, basically anyone with an A average. B students went to one of the other City University of New York schools, such as Hunter College or Queens College. Tuition at Brooklyn College each semester was $50 ($332 in current inflation adjusted dollars) plus the cost of books. Today, tuition is $2,565 per semester for matriculated full-time students. Since it was a commuter school, few if any students incurred housing costs.
Shortly before we graduated in 1971, the City University of New York initiated Open Admissions. Mostly anyone with a high school degree could attend. Brooklyn College began accepting students with less than an A average. Quality deteriorated. The grand experiment failed. The school has reverted to a more stringent admissions policy. I’m not familiar with Brooklyn College’s current academic standing, but when Gilda and I attended, it was a top notch liberal arts institution, virtually free to all who qualified.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Thanksgiving Message on Eating Better, Hoarding and Free Tuition
With Thanksgiving upon us (mostly inside us by now), it’s hard to think about anything but food, so I’ll lead off with the thought that I eat better today than when I grew up because of TWA’s frequent flyer program.
Rarely did my mother’s dinner table exhibit any green-colored food item. The occasional broccoli head or asparagus spear showed up drooping in its limpness. My mother served no vegetable not thoroughly overcooked. I think she stayed away from serving green peas because they reminded her of my lousy eating habits. She claimed I drove her to return to full-time work in my father’s factory because I would throw back at her the peas she placed on my high chair tray.
Gilda had little success at first altering my diet. If meat and potatoes were sufficient for my father, they were good enough for me. All that changed about 10 years into our marriage. As an early member of TWA’s frequent flyer plan, I took advantage of first class upgrades when the elite section had seats available (back then just being a member of the program entitled you to free upgrades at no cost in miles).
During one transcontinental flight, the first class stewardess offered cold asparagus vinaigrette as an appetizer. Naturally, I passed, but then had second thoughts. Why not take full advantage of my first class status? It was a decision that changed my gastronomic outlook. I’d never before tasted properly prepared asparagus. Delicious. In short order I even became a delighted consumer of that most vile of childhood revulsions—Brussell sprouts. It helps that Gilda has become a gourmet cook.
The neurosis du jour is hoarding: At least three reality TV shows. Newspaper articles or columns such as the one Jane Brody wrote the other day in the NY Times (http://www.nytimes.com/2011/11/22/health/the-hoarder-in-you-a-book-that-can-help-cut-through-the-clutter.html?_r=1).
I'm a semi hoarder. Gilda’s always complaining I never clean out the week’s worth of newspapers from the kitchen until recycling day. Yes, Your Honor, I’m mostly guilty of that transgression. And my desk is a magnet for all sorts of papers and junk. When it gets really cluttered I spend half an hour throwing out really old papers whose reason for keeping in the first place escapes me.
My hoarding habit centers mainly around various pieces of apparel. I’m partial to pocket T-shirts, so naturally I bought a rainbow’s worth of shirts. I’ve also never come across a coat department that didn’t tempt me. Accordingly, our front hall closet is chock full of coats and jackets chosen to keep me warm in gradations of 10 degrees in temperature, but I’m clueless as to which one to wear on any given day. I have separate pairs of gloves, and scarves, for each coat.
Later, rather than sooner, I wind up donating a good portion of my excess apparel to charity. But while it’s in our closets, Gilda gives the greatest gift a hoarder can receive—patience.
Free No More? One of the last citadels of free college education, New York City’s Cooper Union, may begin charging tuition to undergraduates for the first time since 1902 (http://www.nytimes.com/2011/11/01/education/cooper-union-may-charge-tuition-to-undergraduates.html).
Gilda and I attended Brooklyn College, the closest entity to free higher education. Back in the late 1960s, Brooklyn College accepted only the best students, basically anyone with an A average. B students went to one of the other City University of New York schools, such as City College or Queens College. Tuition each semester was $50 ($332 in current inflation adjusted dollars) plus the cost of books. Today, tuition is $2,565 per semester for matriculated full-time students. Since it was a commuter school, few if any students incurred housing costs.
Shortly after we graduated in 1971, Brooklyn College initiated Open Admissions. Anyone with a high school degree could attend. Quality deteriorated. The grand experiment failed. The school has reverted to a more stringent admissions policy. I’m not familiar with Brooklyn College’s current academic standing, but when Gilda and I attended, it was a top notch liberal arts institution, virtually free to all who qualified.
Rarely did my mother’s dinner table exhibit any green-colored food item. The occasional broccoli head or asparagus spear showed up drooping in its limpness. My mother served no vegetable not thoroughly overcooked. I think she stayed away from serving green peas because they reminded her of my lousy eating habits. She claimed I drove her to return to full-time work in my father’s factory because I would throw back at her the peas she placed on my high chair tray.
Gilda had little success at first altering my diet. If meat and potatoes were sufficient for my father, they were good enough for me. All that changed about 10 years into our marriage. As an early member of TWA’s frequent flyer plan, I took advantage of first class upgrades when the elite section had seats available (back then just being a member of the program entitled you to free upgrades at no cost in miles).
During one transcontinental flight, the first class stewardess offered cold asparagus vinaigrette as an appetizer. Naturally, I passed, but then had second thoughts. Why not take full advantage of my first class status? It was a decision that changed my gastronomic outlook. I’d never before tasted properly prepared asparagus. Delicious. In short order I even became a delighted consumer of that most vile of childhood revulsions—Brussell sprouts. It helps that Gilda has become a gourmet cook.
The neurosis du jour is hoarding: At least three reality TV shows. Newspaper articles or columns such as the one Jane Brody wrote the other day in the NY Times (http://www.nytimes.com/2011/11/22/health/the-hoarder-in-you-a-book-that-can-help-cut-through-the-clutter.html?_r=1).
I'm a semi hoarder. Gilda’s always complaining I never clean out the week’s worth of newspapers from the kitchen until recycling day. Yes, Your Honor, I’m mostly guilty of that transgression. And my desk is a magnet for all sorts of papers and junk. When it gets really cluttered I spend half an hour throwing out really old papers whose reason for keeping in the first place escapes me.
My hoarding habit centers mainly around various pieces of apparel. I’m partial to pocket T-shirts, so naturally I bought a rainbow’s worth of shirts. I’ve also never come across a coat department that didn’t tempt me. Accordingly, our front hall closet is chock full of coats and jackets chosen to keep me warm in gradations of 10 degrees in temperature, but I’m clueless as to which one to wear on any given day. I have separate pairs of gloves, and scarves, for each coat.
Later, rather than sooner, I wind up donating a good portion of my excess apparel to charity. But while it’s in our closets, Gilda gives the greatest gift a hoarder can receive—patience.
Free No More? One of the last citadels of free college education, New York City’s Cooper Union, may begin charging tuition to undergraduates for the first time since 1902 (http://www.nytimes.com/2011/11/01/education/cooper-union-may-charge-tuition-to-undergraduates.html).
Gilda and I attended Brooklyn College, the closest entity to free higher education. Back in the late 1960s, Brooklyn College accepted only the best students, basically anyone with an A average. B students went to one of the other City University of New York schools, such as City College or Queens College. Tuition each semester was $50 ($332 in current inflation adjusted dollars) plus the cost of books. Today, tuition is $2,565 per semester for matriculated full-time students. Since it was a commuter school, few if any students incurred housing costs.
Shortly after we graduated in 1971, Brooklyn College initiated Open Admissions. Anyone with a high school degree could attend. Quality deteriorated. The grand experiment failed. The school has reverted to a more stringent admissions policy. I’m not familiar with Brooklyn College’s current academic standing, but when Gilda and I attended, it was a top notch liberal arts institution, virtually free to all who qualified.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Taking the Pledge
The failure of the Congressional supercommittee to reach a deficit reduction compromise is being hailed and attacked as a victory for Grover Norquist and his Americans for Tax Reform organization. For those not familiar with Norquist and his outfit, they are dedicated to the proposition that the fewer the taxes levied on the public the better. Moreover, Norquist has signed up almost every Republican of note to a pledge never to vote for another tax increase. Thus, any compromise by GOP lawmakers that included additional taxes, especially on the wealthy, would have been a violation of the non-binding but politically pragmatic oath they signed.
Speaking to NPR today, Norquist discounted any criticism from members of the Grand Old Party, such as David Stockman, Ronald Reagan’s budget director, that his pledge ran counter to the national interest. “They’re no longer Republicans,” he reasoned.
I won’t venture into purely Republican internal squabbles, but I would like to suggest an alternative to the no new taxes pledge. How’s about a pledge that in the richest country in the world we don’t let children go to sleep hungry; or that we provide workers with a livable wage; that we don’t allow corporate executives to reap huge bonuses while everyday workers are laid off or have their wages and benefits slashed; that we don’t reduce veterans’ benefits; that we provide affordable health care to all who need it; that we protect our citizens from unscrupulous corporate greed, unsafe products, pollution, and unsafe working conditions?
Conservatives would say I’m advocating a welfare state, that in this land of opportunity if you just worked hard you’d have everything you require or want without the need for government intervention or assistance. Sadly, they are not only mistaken, they are also ignorant, for history has shown time and again that without government oversight and control companies and individuals cheat, pollute, harm, oppress, violate the law and take advantage of the less fortunate. The argument that the free market will regulate offenders hardly compensates those who are offended, surely not in a timely manner.
Few people like to pay taxes. But the alternative is either anarchy or a system where the elite live well and the rest of society does not.
No Sympathy: I don’t have much sympathy, check that, I have no sympathy, for the laid off workers from the financial sector, as depicted in a NY Times article today (http://dealbook.nytimes.com/2011/11/21/wall-st-layoffs-take-heavy-toll-on-younger-workers/?scp=1&sq=sam%20meek&st=cse).
Oodles and oodles of dollars were made over the last 20 years by Wall Street practitioners cobbling together mergers and acquisitions, LBOs and IPOs, managing hedge funds that only the wealthy could afford to invest in. At the end of the day, any day, though they made tons of money they hardly ever produced anything tangible, of lasting value. They destroyed as many companies as they saved.
Tell me, what child or teenager, except the Michael J. Fox character Alex P. Keaton in Family Ties, wakes up and says, “When I grow up I want to be an investment banker”? No, I’d wager the idea of Wall Street first entered their brain when they read or saw movies about the fast and luxurious life of financial honchos.
Assuming many of these unemployed financial types are good with numbers, perhaps they should reconnect with some down to earth values and look into teaching math. I understand there’s a real need for math teachers in many school districts.
I’m apparently not alone in my unsympathetic response. Check out the feedback to the original Times article: http://dealbook.nytimes.com/2011/11/22/for-distressed-young-bankers-a-symphony-of-small-violins/?scp=2&sq=sam%20meek&st=cse
Speaking to NPR today, Norquist discounted any criticism from members of the Grand Old Party, such as David Stockman, Ronald Reagan’s budget director, that his pledge ran counter to the national interest. “They’re no longer Republicans,” he reasoned.
I won’t venture into purely Republican internal squabbles, but I would like to suggest an alternative to the no new taxes pledge. How’s about a pledge that in the richest country in the world we don’t let children go to sleep hungry; or that we provide workers with a livable wage; that we don’t allow corporate executives to reap huge bonuses while everyday workers are laid off or have their wages and benefits slashed; that we don’t reduce veterans’ benefits; that we provide affordable health care to all who need it; that we protect our citizens from unscrupulous corporate greed, unsafe products, pollution, and unsafe working conditions?
Conservatives would say I’m advocating a welfare state, that in this land of opportunity if you just worked hard you’d have everything you require or want without the need for government intervention or assistance. Sadly, they are not only mistaken, they are also ignorant, for history has shown time and again that without government oversight and control companies and individuals cheat, pollute, harm, oppress, violate the law and take advantage of the less fortunate. The argument that the free market will regulate offenders hardly compensates those who are offended, surely not in a timely manner.
Few people like to pay taxes. But the alternative is either anarchy or a system where the elite live well and the rest of society does not.
No Sympathy: I don’t have much sympathy, check that, I have no sympathy, for the laid off workers from the financial sector, as depicted in a NY Times article today (http://dealbook.nytimes.com/2011/11/21/wall-st-layoffs-take-heavy-toll-on-younger-workers/?scp=1&sq=sam%20meek&st=cse).
Oodles and oodles of dollars were made over the last 20 years by Wall Street practitioners cobbling together mergers and acquisitions, LBOs and IPOs, managing hedge funds that only the wealthy could afford to invest in. At the end of the day, any day, though they made tons of money they hardly ever produced anything tangible, of lasting value. They destroyed as many companies as they saved.
Tell me, what child or teenager, except the Michael J. Fox character Alex P. Keaton in Family Ties, wakes up and says, “When I grow up I want to be an investment banker”? No, I’d wager the idea of Wall Street first entered their brain when they read or saw movies about the fast and luxurious life of financial honchos.
Assuming many of these unemployed financial types are good with numbers, perhaps they should reconnect with some down to earth values and look into teaching math. I understand there’s a real need for math teachers in many school districts.
I’m apparently not alone in my unsympathetic response. Check out the feedback to the original Times article: http://dealbook.nytimes.com/2011/11/22/for-distressed-young-bankers-a-symphony-of-small-violins/?scp=2&sq=sam%20meek&st=cse
Monday, November 21, 2011
Catching Up On My Reading
Sometimes I feel there’s just too much stuff to read. I marvel at those who have the time, perhaps I’m really envious of their inclination, to read books and magazines and newspapers and blogs and, oh, you get the picture. I thought today I’d comment on some articles of recent and not so recent vintage:
Earlier this month (Nov. 6) the NY Times magazine section did a short blurb on Switzerland joining other European countries and San Francisco in passing a law making it illegal to own just one guinea pig. Seems the critters are gregarious and prone to loneliness if they don’t have a mate, same sex or not, so the law is intended to avoid animal cruelty. I wonder if the writer, Jacob Goldstein, is aware that in her early journalism career Gail Collins, the paper’s Op-Ed columnist, and her husband Dan Collins, kept two guinea pigs. They named the fur balls Lionel and Stewart, after the owners of the New Haven Register, Lionel Jackson, and his son, Stewart. Dan and I were both reporters for the Register. Gail, at the time, ran an independent news service covering the Connecticut state legislature.
Spare the Rod: The next day The Times ran a story on the merits, and dangers, of spanking children. Followers of a Bible-belting (pun intended) preacher, Michael Pearl, have been accused of going too far in their administration of corporal punishment, resulting in the deaths of several children (http://www.nytimes.com/2011/11/07/us/deaths-put-focus-on-pastors-advocacy-of-spanking.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=michael%20pearl&st=cse).
I was spanked as a young child. My rump felt the wrath of my parents’ hands when I misbehaved. My father threatened to use a belt, but never did. Merely unfastening his belt produced the desired effect from me and my siblings.
In justifying their physical discipline regimen, Pearl’s adherents often cite the Bible (“He that spareth his rod hateth his son”). Of course, many choose to focus on more tolerant and loving prescriptions from Scriptures. They recognize that some passages, such as the admonition to stone a stubborn and rebellious son at the gates of the city, are no longer acceptable behavior, unless you’re a Taliban or some other Islamic fanatic.
As for my two children, I don’t ever remember spanking them.
Payback Time: For all those NY Jets fans who disapproved of my schadenfreude moment when their team lost to the lowly Denver Broncos last Thursday, Sunday night was their moment of gleeful revenge as my NY Giants played ineptly in losing to the down and hopefully not resuscitated Philadelphia Eagles.
No Deal: It appears at this writing the Congressional supercommittee charged with finding a deficit reducing formula has been unable to accomplish its mission. Each side points to the recalcitrance of the other to compromise. Congress no longer is an institution where priority is given to the people’s business. Rather, members are more concerned with ideological purity and their ability to win re-election.
No less an observer than former Republican Senate majority leader Bill Frist was quoted in The Times on Saturday thusly: “There was much more willingness (in the past) to reach across the aisle in a bipartisan manner for the good of the country as opposed to the next election.”
Black eyed Friday: USA Today, among others, is reporting a backlash by consumers and store personnel against retail companies that will be opening for business on Thanksgiving (http://content.usatoday.com/communities/ondeadline/post/2011/11/black-friday-employees-push-back/1?csp=hf). Just remember—I was among the first to rant against this despicable and demeaning practice (http://nosocksneededanymore.blogspot.com/2011/11/cain-not-able.html).
What Would John Hughes Say? USA Today reported over the weekend the increase in high schools doing away with student lockers (http://www.usatoday.com/news/education/story/2011-11-14/schools-lockers-safety/51205848/1). Don’t these well-meaning school administrators know they could be stifling the creative juices of the next film chronicler of American youth?
Learning the Trade: Sunday’s Times carried a story on the poor job law schools are doing preparing graduates for real world lawyering (http://www.nytimes.com/2011/11/20/business/after-law-school-associates-learn-to-be-lawyers.html?_r=1). I’m not a lawyer, but I can relate to the predicament new attorneys face learning their trade.
After earning a master’s degree in newspaper journalism, I thought I was qualified to be a reporter. Until, that is, I covered my first Board of Selectmen meeting in Seymour, Conn., for the New Haven Register. Oh, I easily followed the reports on requests for more sewer lines and the need to replace police cars. But I was confounded (perhaps even dumbfounded) when the discussion turned to the town’s budget. The selectmen kept talking about “mill rates,” not a term ever mentioned in any of my journalism classes (by the way, my professors also never told us what a selectman was).
It was only when the selectmen excused the reporters present for a short period while they discussed in executive session some personnel matters that I was instructed in the finer points of Connecticut town finances by my kindly competitor from the Ansonia Sentinel. Property taxes on buildings, motor vehicles and other major capital goods such as boats funded town finances. Assessments were based on the value of property. The tax per dollar of assessed value was expressed in the mill rate. One mill was one-tenth of a cent ($0.001). Each governing municipality set its own mill rate every year based on the community’s overall budget needs. If Seymour had a mill rate of 20, for example, a house valued at $200,000 would be taxed at $4,000. If the town had to spend more money the following year for new police cars and other projects, the mill rate might jump to 23, meaning the taxes on that $200,000 home rose to $4,600.
It was all Greek to me that night, but it quickly taught me real-life reporting was much more mundane and complicated than the glorified depictions seen in the movies and on the nightly news.
Earlier this month (Nov. 6) the NY Times magazine section did a short blurb on Switzerland joining other European countries and San Francisco in passing a law making it illegal to own just one guinea pig. Seems the critters are gregarious and prone to loneliness if they don’t have a mate, same sex or not, so the law is intended to avoid animal cruelty. I wonder if the writer, Jacob Goldstein, is aware that in her early journalism career Gail Collins, the paper’s Op-Ed columnist, and her husband Dan Collins, kept two guinea pigs. They named the fur balls Lionel and Stewart, after the owners of the New Haven Register, Lionel Jackson, and his son, Stewart. Dan and I were both reporters for the Register. Gail, at the time, ran an independent news service covering the Connecticut state legislature.
Spare the Rod: The next day The Times ran a story on the merits, and dangers, of spanking children. Followers of a Bible-belting (pun intended) preacher, Michael Pearl, have been accused of going too far in their administration of corporal punishment, resulting in the deaths of several children (http://www.nytimes.com/2011/11/07/us/deaths-put-focus-on-pastors-advocacy-of-spanking.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=michael%20pearl&st=cse).
I was spanked as a young child. My rump felt the wrath of my parents’ hands when I misbehaved. My father threatened to use a belt, but never did. Merely unfastening his belt produced the desired effect from me and my siblings.
In justifying their physical discipline regimen, Pearl’s adherents often cite the Bible (“He that spareth his rod hateth his son”). Of course, many choose to focus on more tolerant and loving prescriptions from Scriptures. They recognize that some passages, such as the admonition to stone a stubborn and rebellious son at the gates of the city, are no longer acceptable behavior, unless you’re a Taliban or some other Islamic fanatic.
As for my two children, I don’t ever remember spanking them.
Payback Time: For all those NY Jets fans who disapproved of my schadenfreude moment when their team lost to the lowly Denver Broncos last Thursday, Sunday night was their moment of gleeful revenge as my NY Giants played ineptly in losing to the down and hopefully not resuscitated Philadelphia Eagles.
No Deal: It appears at this writing the Congressional supercommittee charged with finding a deficit reducing formula has been unable to accomplish its mission. Each side points to the recalcitrance of the other to compromise. Congress no longer is an institution where priority is given to the people’s business. Rather, members are more concerned with ideological purity and their ability to win re-election.
No less an observer than former Republican Senate majority leader Bill Frist was quoted in The Times on Saturday thusly: “There was much more willingness (in the past) to reach across the aisle in a bipartisan manner for the good of the country as opposed to the next election.”
Black eyed Friday: USA Today, among others, is reporting a backlash by consumers and store personnel against retail companies that will be opening for business on Thanksgiving (http://content.usatoday.com/communities/ondeadline/post/2011/11/black-friday-employees-push-back/1?csp=hf). Just remember—I was among the first to rant against this despicable and demeaning practice (http://nosocksneededanymore.blogspot.com/2011/11/cain-not-able.html).
What Would John Hughes Say? USA Today reported over the weekend the increase in high schools doing away with student lockers (http://www.usatoday.com/news/education/story/2011-11-14/schools-lockers-safety/51205848/1). Don’t these well-meaning school administrators know they could be stifling the creative juices of the next film chronicler of American youth?
Learning the Trade: Sunday’s Times carried a story on the poor job law schools are doing preparing graduates for real world lawyering (http://www.nytimes.com/2011/11/20/business/after-law-school-associates-learn-to-be-lawyers.html?_r=1). I’m not a lawyer, but I can relate to the predicament new attorneys face learning their trade.
After earning a master’s degree in newspaper journalism, I thought I was qualified to be a reporter. Until, that is, I covered my first Board of Selectmen meeting in Seymour, Conn., for the New Haven Register. Oh, I easily followed the reports on requests for more sewer lines and the need to replace police cars. But I was confounded (perhaps even dumbfounded) when the discussion turned to the town’s budget. The selectmen kept talking about “mill rates,” not a term ever mentioned in any of my journalism classes (by the way, my professors also never told us what a selectman was).
It was only when the selectmen excused the reporters present for a short period while they discussed in executive session some personnel matters that I was instructed in the finer points of Connecticut town finances by my kindly competitor from the Ansonia Sentinel. Property taxes on buildings, motor vehicles and other major capital goods such as boats funded town finances. Assessments were based on the value of property. The tax per dollar of assessed value was expressed in the mill rate. One mill was one-tenth of a cent ($0.001). Each governing municipality set its own mill rate every year based on the community’s overall budget needs. If Seymour had a mill rate of 20, for example, a house valued at $200,000 would be taxed at $4,000. If the town had to spend more money the following year for new police cars and other projects, the mill rate might jump to 23, meaning the taxes on that $200,000 home rose to $4,600.
It was all Greek to me that night, but it quickly taught me real-life reporting was much more mundane and complicated than the glorified depictions seen in the movies and on the nightly news.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Sharing Some Values
Two days ago Finley marked his second birthday (we celebrated with him last Sunday). Gilda and I are so proud of the way Allison and Dan are raising him, of the choices they make, of the values they are imparting (for an update on how Finley’s doing, here’s a link to his blog: http://www.findingfinley.blogspot.com/
Values. It’s a word much in the news these days, what with the presidential election and the jousting between Barack Obama, Democrats, Republicans and the Occupy Wall Streeters being daily fare in the media. To me, it seems some of our public servants have forgotten the meaning of, or warped the meaning of, values in our society. Expediency and brazen political pandering have trumped reason, consistency and caring.
I’m forever amazed that even our most conservative politicians do not understand poverty is not a choice people opt for, that living in a state of need is not a life choice, that being unemployed, often despite higher education degrees, is not a consequence of their laziness but rather the result of an economy that has cratered because the 1% of the population that controls the financial system screwed up. Was it wrong for people to want a home, to want to live the American Dream they had been told they were entitled to all their lives, even if they knew in their guts they were getting in over their heads? Probably. But are they more or less culpable than the people, those one-percenters, who advanced them the monies to go deep into debt and who rigged the system to benefit themselves if the poor souls defaulted on their mortgages? Anyone with a decent sense of values would have no trouble answering that question.
How could anyone turn their backs on the hungry? Just come down and observe the needy, as I did today after dropping off our monthly donation to the White Plains Food Pantry. Her budgets have been cut, and more people are applying for relief, said Lorraine, the director of the food bank. As if oblivious to the plight of their fellow Americans, another civic group was spreading tablecloths for a nice luncheon in the same room where dozens of thankful recipients waited for their weekly bags of groceries. They couldn’t wait to move us out of the way, said Lorraine.
In what still might be the richest country on earth, more than one in five young Americans live in poverty, a million more than a year ago, according to the U.S. Census Bureau. How shameful.
The Occupy Wall Street movement has evoked many conflicting responses, but insensitivity to the economic polarization afflicting our society, and that of other countries, is among the most repugnant. Sure there are some who joined the demonstrations because they were looking for a good time. Or they were ”professional” protesters. But the vast majority were down on the luck Americans who either cannot get a job or are underpaid and cannot meet all their obligations.
Congress rightfully criticizes the exorbitant pay handed out to Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac public service executives. But nary a word is expressed about the gazillions made on Wall Street. Virtually no one has been held accountable for the banking and mortgage debacles of the last few years.
Rep. Michael G. Grimm (R,C-NY) said Tuesday the OWS “people have overstayed their welcome and it’s time they get the heck out of New York City. Between the filth, the smell, the incessant noise, and threat to public safety, they have done nothing but cause a nuisance to the people who work and live in Lower Manhattan. They’ve cost the city and surrounding businesses millions of dollars, and it’s time these people find a more productive use of their time. New Yorkers have had ENOUGH!...It has been two months and now it’s time for the OWS protesters to pack up their tents, buy a bar of soap, and head home.”
No mistaking Grimm’s grim sentiments about the value of the OWS protest. I just wonder what he would have thought of the colonial protests against British rule. Does he think our forefathers were united from the get-go in their beliefs, that they were organized in their demands, that it was all kumbaya in Valley Forge and Philadelphia?
Perhaps Grimm would do well to study this quote from Thomas Jefferson: “I believe that banking institutions are more dangerous to our liberties than standing armies. If the American people ever allow private banks to control the issue of their currency, first by inflation, then by deflation, the banks and corporations that will grow up around [the banks] will deprive the people of all property until their children wake-up homeless on the continent their fathers conquered. The issuing power should be taken from the banks and restored to the people, to whom it properly belongs.”
A most interesting comment was aired during Wednesday’s Brian Lehrer show on NPR. “In 1998, capitalism defeated communism. In 2008, capitalism defeated democracy.”
On a Lighter Note: Am I the only person in America who never watched Regis Philbin with either Kathie Lee Gifford or Kelly Ripa? ... I’m not proud of it, but I admit to some schadenfreude after watching the NY Jets lose to the Denver Broncos last night. I really don’t like the Jets. Never have. Go Giants. ... I was never happier to gain 2-1/2 lbs. than I was this morning. When I first stepped on the scale I was lighter than a week ago, cause of alarm as I had not dieted and could think of no reason except unknown illness for the sudden loss of weight. After shifting the scale to a different spot on our tiled bathroom floor, my true weight reappeared. Phew.
Values. It’s a word much in the news these days, what with the presidential election and the jousting between Barack Obama, Democrats, Republicans and the Occupy Wall Streeters being daily fare in the media. To me, it seems some of our public servants have forgotten the meaning of, or warped the meaning of, values in our society. Expediency and brazen political pandering have trumped reason, consistency and caring.
I’m forever amazed that even our most conservative politicians do not understand poverty is not a choice people opt for, that living in a state of need is not a life choice, that being unemployed, often despite higher education degrees, is not a consequence of their laziness but rather the result of an economy that has cratered because the 1% of the population that controls the financial system screwed up. Was it wrong for people to want a home, to want to live the American Dream they had been told they were entitled to all their lives, even if they knew in their guts they were getting in over their heads? Probably. But are they more or less culpable than the people, those one-percenters, who advanced them the monies to go deep into debt and who rigged the system to benefit themselves if the poor souls defaulted on their mortgages? Anyone with a decent sense of values would have no trouble answering that question.
How could anyone turn their backs on the hungry? Just come down and observe the needy, as I did today after dropping off our monthly donation to the White Plains Food Pantry. Her budgets have been cut, and more people are applying for relief, said Lorraine, the director of the food bank. As if oblivious to the plight of their fellow Americans, another civic group was spreading tablecloths for a nice luncheon in the same room where dozens of thankful recipients waited for their weekly bags of groceries. They couldn’t wait to move us out of the way, said Lorraine.
In what still might be the richest country on earth, more than one in five young Americans live in poverty, a million more than a year ago, according to the U.S. Census Bureau. How shameful.
The Occupy Wall Street movement has evoked many conflicting responses, but insensitivity to the economic polarization afflicting our society, and that of other countries, is among the most repugnant. Sure there are some who joined the demonstrations because they were looking for a good time. Or they were ”professional” protesters. But the vast majority were down on the luck Americans who either cannot get a job or are underpaid and cannot meet all their obligations.
Congress rightfully criticizes the exorbitant pay handed out to Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac public service executives. But nary a word is expressed about the gazillions made on Wall Street. Virtually no one has been held accountable for the banking and mortgage debacles of the last few years.
Rep. Michael G. Grimm (R,C-NY) said Tuesday the OWS “people have overstayed their welcome and it’s time they get the heck out of New York City. Between the filth, the smell, the incessant noise, and threat to public safety, they have done nothing but cause a nuisance to the people who work and live in Lower Manhattan. They’ve cost the city and surrounding businesses millions of dollars, and it’s time these people find a more productive use of their time. New Yorkers have had ENOUGH!...It has been two months and now it’s time for the OWS protesters to pack up their tents, buy a bar of soap, and head home.”
No mistaking Grimm’s grim sentiments about the value of the OWS protest. I just wonder what he would have thought of the colonial protests against British rule. Does he think our forefathers were united from the get-go in their beliefs, that they were organized in their demands, that it was all kumbaya in Valley Forge and Philadelphia?
Perhaps Grimm would do well to study this quote from Thomas Jefferson: “I believe that banking institutions are more dangerous to our liberties than standing armies. If the American people ever allow private banks to control the issue of their currency, first by inflation, then by deflation, the banks and corporations that will grow up around [the banks] will deprive the people of all property until their children wake-up homeless on the continent their fathers conquered. The issuing power should be taken from the banks and restored to the people, to whom it properly belongs.”
A most interesting comment was aired during Wednesday’s Brian Lehrer show on NPR. “In 1998, capitalism defeated communism. In 2008, capitalism defeated democracy.”
On a Lighter Note: Am I the only person in America who never watched Regis Philbin with either Kathie Lee Gifford or Kelly Ripa? ... I’m not proud of it, but I admit to some schadenfreude after watching the NY Jets lose to the Denver Broncos last night. I really don’t like the Jets. Never have. Go Giants. ... I was never happier to gain 2-1/2 lbs. than I was this morning. When I first stepped on the scale I was lighter than a week ago, cause of alarm as I had not dieted and could think of no reason except unknown illness for the sudden loss of weight. After shifting the scale to a different spot on our tiled bathroom floor, my true weight reappeared. Phew.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Down Memory Lane
I was less than enthusiastic about what Gilda was set to do. I couldn't stop her from knocking on the front door of the home we lived in 38 years ago in Seymour, Conn. I'm glad she did. She is so much braver than I when it comes to nostalgia tours and necessary, potentially embarrassing, intrusions if one truly wants to go back in time and place.
With our lucky 11:11 date buttressing our plan, Gilda and I set out last Friday to retrace our early roots together, our first four years of married life when I was a cub reporter and then a bureau chief for the New Haven Register and Gilda was a nursing student at the University of Bridgeport and then a newborn intensive care nurse at Yale-New Haven Hospital.
We drove up Route 8 from Bridgeport to Shelton, my second year beat assignment and scene of the largest industrial arson in U.S. history. We had just gone to bed Saturday night, March 1, 1975, in our Seymour apartment when my boss, Don Anderson, called from nearby Ansonia to ask what I was doing home when half of downtown Shelton was ablaze. I quickly rushed to the fire and stayed there most of the night as the Sponge Rubber Products Company plant (formerly owned by B.F. Goodrich) burned down. Authorities quickly determined it was a case of arson and who did it. But the already depressed economy of the Lower Naugatuck Valley towns of Shelton, Seymour, Ansonia and Derby took a hit as 1,200 jobs were lost. Today, the site of the factory is a park along the Housatonic River.
Driving over the aptly named Bridge Street, we made out way into downtown Derby. Thirty-nine years ago, as I drove through Derby for the first time during my job hunting travels, I thought it looked like Dresden after World War II, with dark, hulking, dilapidated buildings blotting out the sun. Hours later, when the co-managing editor of the New Haven Register, Murray Farber, offered me a job, he said the assignment would be covering Seymour and Derby. I inwardly cringed at the prospect of revisiting Derby on a daily basis but quickly accepted the $150 a week position ($773 in today’s values).
Derby’s downtown is brighter today. Gone are the turn of the 20th century buildings along the riverfront. Though still not vibrant, the area is less depressing. Deeper into the city, along Elizabeth Street, Griffin Hospital, where Gilda did some of her nursing school training, where they clung to the tradition of wearing uniform hats and pins, where the nursing stations were at the far end of each corridor and the head nurses ruled with iron fists, the hospital still stands and is now affiliated with the Yale School of Medicine.
Also on Elizabeth Street is the now shuttered Dworkin Chevrolet where we bought our first car, a Vega, in 1973. A few blocks closer to the downtown the temple we attended, Beth Israel, has been turned into a New Life Community Church, the only outward sign of its previous calling being the Hebrew words etched into the façade near the roof: “The world stands on three things: justice, truth and peace." It was in Beth Israel that we sat with other congregants Yom Kippur morning 1973 wondering about and praying for the fate of Israel after the surprise attacks by Syria and Egypt.
The women of Beth Israel always were amazed Gilda had met and married a Jewish man at college. She’d gently respond that with 95% of Brooklyn College’s 30,000 student population being Jewish it would have been hard not to find a mate from the “chosen” religion.
As we drove north toward Ansonia, we passed the restaurant where we’d treat ourselves to a meal away from home, the McDonald’s on Division Street straddling the border with Derby. Spector Furniture in Ansonia is still open for business. We bought our first TV there, a Magnavox, plus a desk we still have, now consigned to our garage. Around the corner, the Register’s bureau office is long closed. It was in that office I first heard the phrase “to Jew someone down.” It was not a saying common to the Brooklyn shtetl I grew up in.
Before visiting our first home, we entered downtown Seymour, dominated by a post office two to three times the size required for a town of 13,000. As related by local historians, the town benefited from a bureaucratic mistake. Seems the post office the head of the congressional oversight committee had earmarked for his hometown of Seymour, Ind., had mistakenly been erected in Seymour, Conn.
The locals are trying to remake downtown Seymour into an artsy community, with antique and curio shops. They need more restaurants, though the one we lunched in, Jimmie’s Place, was a classic throwback saloon with lobster roll, French fries and cole slaw for $8.99, a hard to beat price.
The house we lived in had been divided into a two-family dwelling. We had three rooms on the first floor: a big country kitchen where Gilda learned to cook, a living room and a bedroom with bright red walls when we first moved in but quickly painted over to reflect Gilda’s more refined sensibilities. Upstairs, our landlord’s daughter and son-in-law lived.
As I stood at the bottom of the porch steps, Gilda knocked on the door. The twenty-something woman who opened the door cheerfully let us in. Her big dog, and really big husband, gave her the confidence we weren’t going to harm her. Their family had bought the house from the previous owner and converted it back to a one family home. Our bedroom was now an office. The kitchen had been expanded and updated. They seemed happy there.
As we drove to and through New Haven where we lived for two years in a subdivided Tudor mansion off Forest Road (Gilda’ couldn’t gain access to that apartment unit), we reflected on how far we had come during the last 39 years. More on that, perhaps, another day.
With our lucky 11:11 date buttressing our plan, Gilda and I set out last Friday to retrace our early roots together, our first four years of married life when I was a cub reporter and then a bureau chief for the New Haven Register and Gilda was a nursing student at the University of Bridgeport and then a newborn intensive care nurse at Yale-New Haven Hospital.
We drove up Route 8 from Bridgeport to Shelton, my second year beat assignment and scene of the largest industrial arson in U.S. history. We had just gone to bed Saturday night, March 1, 1975, in our Seymour apartment when my boss, Don Anderson, called from nearby Ansonia to ask what I was doing home when half of downtown Shelton was ablaze. I quickly rushed to the fire and stayed there most of the night as the Sponge Rubber Products Company plant (formerly owned by B.F. Goodrich) burned down. Authorities quickly determined it was a case of arson and who did it. But the already depressed economy of the Lower Naugatuck Valley towns of Shelton, Seymour, Ansonia and Derby took a hit as 1,200 jobs were lost. Today, the site of the factory is a park along the Housatonic River.
Driving over the aptly named Bridge Street, we made out way into downtown Derby. Thirty-nine years ago, as I drove through Derby for the first time during my job hunting travels, I thought it looked like Dresden after World War II, with dark, hulking, dilapidated buildings blotting out the sun. Hours later, when the co-managing editor of the New Haven Register, Murray Farber, offered me a job, he said the assignment would be covering Seymour and Derby. I inwardly cringed at the prospect of revisiting Derby on a daily basis but quickly accepted the $150 a week position ($773 in today’s values).
Derby’s downtown is brighter today. Gone are the turn of the 20th century buildings along the riverfront. Though still not vibrant, the area is less depressing. Deeper into the city, along Elizabeth Street, Griffin Hospital, where Gilda did some of her nursing school training, where they clung to the tradition of wearing uniform hats and pins, where the nursing stations were at the far end of each corridor and the head nurses ruled with iron fists, the hospital still stands and is now affiliated with the Yale School of Medicine.
Also on Elizabeth Street is the now shuttered Dworkin Chevrolet where we bought our first car, a Vega, in 1973. A few blocks closer to the downtown the temple we attended, Beth Israel, has been turned into a New Life Community Church, the only outward sign of its previous calling being the Hebrew words etched into the façade near the roof: “The world stands on three things: justice, truth and peace." It was in Beth Israel that we sat with other congregants Yom Kippur morning 1973 wondering about and praying for the fate of Israel after the surprise attacks by Syria and Egypt.
The women of Beth Israel always were amazed Gilda had met and married a Jewish man at college. She’d gently respond that with 95% of Brooklyn College’s 30,000 student population being Jewish it would have been hard not to find a mate from the “chosen” religion.
As we drove north toward Ansonia, we passed the restaurant where we’d treat ourselves to a meal away from home, the McDonald’s on Division Street straddling the border with Derby. Spector Furniture in Ansonia is still open for business. We bought our first TV there, a Magnavox, plus a desk we still have, now consigned to our garage. Around the corner, the Register’s bureau office is long closed. It was in that office I first heard the phrase “to Jew someone down.” It was not a saying common to the Brooklyn shtetl I grew up in.
Before visiting our first home, we entered downtown Seymour, dominated by a post office two to three times the size required for a town of 13,000. As related by local historians, the town benefited from a bureaucratic mistake. Seems the post office the head of the congressional oversight committee had earmarked for his hometown of Seymour, Ind., had mistakenly been erected in Seymour, Conn.
The locals are trying to remake downtown Seymour into an artsy community, with antique and curio shops. They need more restaurants, though the one we lunched in, Jimmie’s Place, was a classic throwback saloon with lobster roll, French fries and cole slaw for $8.99, a hard to beat price.
The house we lived in had been divided into a two-family dwelling. We had three rooms on the first floor: a big country kitchen where Gilda learned to cook, a living room and a bedroom with bright red walls when we first moved in but quickly painted over to reflect Gilda’s more refined sensibilities. Upstairs, our landlord’s daughter and son-in-law lived.
As I stood at the bottom of the porch steps, Gilda knocked on the door. The twenty-something woman who opened the door cheerfully let us in. Her big dog, and really big husband, gave her the confidence we weren’t going to harm her. Their family had bought the house from the previous owner and converted it back to a one family home. Our bedroom was now an office. The kitchen had been expanded and updated. They seemed happy there.
As we drove to and through New Haven where we lived for two years in a subdivided Tudor mansion off Forest Road (Gilda’ couldn’t gain access to that apartment unit), we reflected on how far we had come during the last 39 years. More on that, perhaps, another day.
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