The Godfather

197 The Godfather

The big guns of yesteryear must be green with envy. Capone, Gotti, Luciano, Lansky. All drooling and wondering why they hadn’t thought of it.

Protection, prostitution, numbers, sports books, race track books. Concrete, labor unions, even drugs: small potatoes.

Look what the White House Crime Family is about to accomplish. A stooge in every federal regulatory agency. This isn’t hidden. It’s right there in the Federal Register. They call it establishing a policy office headed by an appointee. But this really is a gold mine.

You’re the electric company. You want to burn old coal, which is dirty. You go to the Environmental Protection Agency, and there sits a White House Family capo. You want freedom from the oppression of regulation? Sure. No problem. I do you a favor and maybe – and this time may never come (to quote Vito Corleone,) I might ask you one in return – not something you can’t do, but something you might do anyway. Brilliant.

Maybe you have a chicken factory and there’s salmonella hanging out. You know this. OSHA knows this. But – there’s that trade of favors again.

Fooling around with concrete and construction? That’s chicken feed.

The Waterfront? The Family tried to muscle in on that, too, when they wanted to put their Kuwaiti stooges in charge of the shipping ports. It didn’t work. But have they stopped trying?

Can the present Godfather make this “policy” thing happen? Yes, by “executive order.” Does The Council (or Congress) need to go along? Nah.

This Crime Family doesn’t believe in councils. Almost every other crime family in the world sends representatives to the UN. These guys don’t care. They’re going to do what they’re going to do.

Wars? The Mob wars of New York and Chicago have nothing on the mob wars today. Then it was about who gets to run the loan sharking on which block. Now, it’s about oil.

The fictional Corleone family wanted to “go legit.” This bunch couldn’t care less. And they have a LOT of soldiers to enforce their whims.

The Moustache Petes brought guys over from Sicily to do the small jobs and the dirty work. A boatload here and there every now and again.

The White House Family brings over boatloads of Mexicans and Guatemalans and Hondurans. Same thing. Ask either Pete or George and they’ll deny it. But that’s what they do.

We should have laws against this stuff. Oh, wait. We DO. Small matter when you control the pawns on the Supreme Court.

They had a small setback in the election of 2006. Opposing gangsters made a move on them and won a lot of territory and the rights to parts of the spoils. But no worries. There’s plenty to go around for everyone.

Wetting the beak is what the Sicilians call it. That’s kindly. To the rest of us, stealing is what they call it.

So where are the “RICO” laws? Because if this ain’t racketeering, what is?

I'm Wes Richards, my opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.

(c) 2007 WJR

Liner Notes

196 Liner Notes

Here’s a question you probably never have been asked before. Ever buy a record album you didn’t care about just because you love the liner notes?

Wouldn’t be surprising if the answer were “no.”

After all, most liner notes are worthless, when they bother with putting any together at all these days.

They’re either boring: “Beethoven lived in an attic and wrote Symphony No. 9 while almost completely deaf….”

Or they’re irrelevant: “Chet Atkins prefers to play his own guitar, but sounds fine on any.”

Or they’re just silly: “Before he was convicted of murder, Charles Manson would spend the times between club dates writing new songs and doing drugs and sex with members of his cult, ‘the Manson Family.”

But the other day, a copy of Jimmy Dorsey’s last album dropped out of the sky, and on the back were liner notes by Earl Wilson, one-time gossip and Broadway columnist for the New York Post when it was slightly more respectable and oodles more left of center than it is now.

In fact, the Post had a stable of columnists that were (or should have been) the envy of any other newspaper (with the possible exception of the Herald-Tribune.)

Jimmy Cannon, Murray Kempton, Paul Sann and Wilson, just to name a few. There’s been enough about newspapers here recently, so we’ll just concentrate on the pictures these liner notes conjured up.

Some background: Jimmy Dorsey and his younger brother, Tommy had individual and occasionally combined “big band” orchestras, and each had a bunch of hits. Jimmy played saxophone and clarinet and fought bitterly with Tommy, mostly over music, all their lives.

He was nearly on his deathbed when Fraternity Records asked him to record the album and he got five tracks done, was hospitalized and others finished the remaining eight tracks.

The record company says the four tracks with Dorsey were recorded on November 11, 1956. Four tracks in one day would be considered a miracle today. Four tracks in six months is more like it, now. But these were club musicians. The set up, played their set, packed up and left.

Here’s Earl:

“…Jimmy died knowing he had accomplished a rather unbelievable comeback in the recording field.

“’It’s the first band hit in 15 years,’ his friends informed him, even in the hospital room where he passed away.

“’That record will bring back the band business’ prophesied Guy Lombardo at the funeral in St. Patrick’s as the honorary pallbearers stood huddled around.

“With his characteristic meekness, Jimmy hadn’t wanted to cut the record…

“’I just don’t want you to get hurt, he told Harry Carlson of Fraternity records. Why fool around with a has-been?’

“Thus a whole new generation became smitten with ‘the has-been.’”

And some more: “Even when he had little time left, Jimmywould talk to (substitute conductor) Lee Castle about the tremendous enthusiasm for the record… and Jimmy would even call from the hospital to discuss with Lee whether he had the tempo just right.”

Even if you never heard of Jimmy Dorsey, these words brought out the essence of the personality, mostly in short quotes, sometimes in brief descriptions.

Fifty lines is all it took. There aren’t a lotta guys around now who can do something like that.

It was and is, like the hit song on the album, “So Rare.”

I'm Wes Richards, my opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.

(c) 2007 WJR

In A Moment

195 In A Moment

The Big Lie of television, revealed.

TV folks speak a different language. You THINK it’s English, but it amen’t. It SOUNDS like English and uses English words. But it’s TVspeak.

The favorite and most often used are “coming up,” and “after these messages.”

When they say “…coming up…” they mean they’ll soon show you this or that, so don’t go away. As in “coming up, we’ll show you how you can cook a ten course dinner in under 20 minutes.” But it always sounds like a prelude to the onset of stomach distress, to be followed by in involuntary expulsion of an oral projectile.

When you hear, say, Brian Williams or Katie Couric say they’ll be “…back after these messages,” you expect that an audience of several million viewers will whip out their pencil and paper in case any of the messages are for THEM.

Sample messages from the first “message break” in the NBC Nightly News:

“Dear Harry, I’ve decided to run off with your brother. Dinner’s in the fridge. Have a nice life.”

“Alfred, clean up your room.”

“Jack, the Friday night poker game is off because Harry can’t make it.”

“Attention all members of the Moote Pointe Country Club… the swimming pool will be closed for maintenance until next Monday.”

“Dad, can you pick me up after school tomorrow?”

But these aren’t the “messages” we receive. The messages we receive are those exhorting us to buy sleeping pills (ask your doctor about Lunesta.) Or heatburn medicine or a new Chevy.

Earth to TV: how about being up front and calling the “messages” what they really are?

The late David Brinkley was found of saying he would be “…back in a moment.” But word-lover Dave wasn’t using the word in its true or original meaning, which was 90 seconds, or even in its present-day distortion, “about a minute or so.”

TV is also guilty of overusing promotional announcements, or promos. In fact, it’s gotten to the point of promo-scuity.

On “Entertainment Tonight” and its clones, you get six promos for a report before anyone thinks of showing a report.

But the higher falutin’ among us are not immune from this, either.

“Dateline NBC goes under ground to cover ground hog day… and you won’t believe what we found. On Dateline Sunday.”

“Dateline” is up against the newly-diluted CBS 60 Minutes, which although is generally classy is not shy when it comes to promo-scuity, either. They just talk slower.

Probably the worst of these things is the weather promo: “Snow on the way. We’ll tell you how much.” This is accompanied by pictures of people shoveling out from chin-high drifts. But it could mean half an inch. Besides, there’s ALWAYS snow on the way.

Anyway… coming up next week in this space…. Behind the scenes at the Supreme Court Prom… SCOTUS unrobed.

I’m Wes Richards and I’ll be back after these messages. In a moment.

(c) 2007 WJR

The Surge Protector

194 Surge Protector

The pro-war among us are calling it a “surge.” The anti-war among us is calling it an escalation.

It’s not an escalation, because escalators go down as well as up. Escalation was popularized by the Johnson administration as a make-nice-ism to describe the intensifying of the Vietnam war and increasing the death, maiming, burning and destruction.

Surge is a make-nice-ism for escalation, and so is a make-nice-ism for a make-nice-ism. An escalation can be a horrible thing, whereas a surge is just a cuddly little increase, kind of like a surge in the value of your stock portfolio.

Aside: when you get an electrical power surge, you computer, your TV set and your refrigerator can easily fry. That’s why they have surge protectors – available cheap in electronics stores, office supply stores, supermarkets, drug stores, hardware stores (are there any hardware stores left?) 7-11s and practically anywhere else.

What we need is a surge protector for our involvement in Iraq.

When the engineering geniuses at Con Ed throw too much juice into the system, your surge protector deflects (or is supposed to deflect) the excess, thus saving you from destruction of your internet porn, your “WWE Monday Night Raw” and your beer.

When the strategic geniuses in the White House throw too much juice into the system, people (some innocent, some not,) die.

In his State of the Union Address, the president asked us to be patient and to give his Iraq policy a chance to work. Pardon? Haven’t we done that?

The Democratic Party Replier said today’s soldiers no longer trust the judgment of the Commander-in-Chief. If true, this is not a good sign. Military operations are based on trust and cooperation. It’s more important for the foot soldier to trust the sergeant and the lieutenant and the captain than it is to trust the president. But erosion is erosion. Welcome to the down escalator.

Aside: Since when do we need a “reply” from the party-not-in-the-White House? This is not an election debate where everyone gets a shot. It’s the presidents required report to Congress on the state of the union.

If you unravel the notion behind the notion of a reply, you have to figure that the government is made up of two private contractors, each making a bid for the attention, hearts and minds of the American public. This is, in fact, true, as has been pointed out in this space before. And often. Ford vs. Chevy. Four wheels and an engine. Not a whole lot of difference. But why be so blatant about it.

Hey, wait! Maybe THAT’s the surge protector.

I'm Wes Richards, my opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.

(c) 2007 WJR

Off and On and Off

193 Off and On And Off

Turn on the lights by flipping up a switch. Turn them off using the same switch only flipping down the switch, right? Well, mostly right.

But in modern times, we are faced with a complications. Some stuff you have to turn off by turning on the ON switch.

Like your computer. If it runs “Windows,” you shut it off by pushing the “Start button,” which is not really a button at all, but a picture that says “Start.” Only after pushing the start button (for something that’s already started, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to see the “Start button,”) can you turn it off.

Then, there are those lights that can be operated from more than one switch – like those that light a staircase, for example.

Turn on by flipping up a switch. Use the stairs, and once at the other end, turn off the light by flipping the second switch to “on.” So, now you have two switches in the on position, but the lights are off. In order to turn the lights back on, you have to flip the nearest switch to “off.” This turns on the light.

Somehow, these switches never go back to the original positions, which is that both of them are “off” and so is the light.

There’s no consistency in the locations of hot and cold water taps, either. This comes from the same general school of engineering. And it’s especially true of those single knob faucets where one device controls both the hot and cold water. Do you turn it clockwise or counterclockwise for hot? Varies. Even varies among sinks and tubs in the same house. Most are unmarked (putting “C” and “H” on one of those elegant faucets would be so gauche. So, you burn or freeze as the faucet maker or installation plumber decides.

Many cell phones are turned on by pressing and holding the “off” button, which is a real button you can actually push.

Some ATM machines have similar quirks. For example, once you get onto the “withdrawal” screen, they want you to confirm whatever decision you’re making by pushing one of a column of buttons (real buttons, not “Start button” buttons.) They have arrows leading from words toward the buttons. Invariably, the arrows fall between the location of the actual buttons and you have to figure out whether the machine means the button that’s higher than the arrow or the one that’s lower. Equally invariable, you pick the wrong one and have to start over.

We are very lucky that these things haven’t become more popular.

Let’s say you’re tooling along the Triboro Bridge, and come to the toll booth. The machine “reads” your “EZ Pass,” and the gate comes down, blocking your way. That wouldn’t work.

Suppose you turned on a stovetop burner and that extinguished the pilot light? THAT wouldn’t work too well, either.

How would you like a telephone that rang all the time except when someone was calling?

Or a blog that required a password to stop reading.

Ah, technology. What’ll they un-think of next?

I'm Wes Richards, my opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.

(c) 2007 WJR

Buchwald's Cigar

192 Buchwald’s Cigar

In the end, did anyone actually READ Art Buchwald? Mostly it was the Washington crowd and other writers. The Washingtonians either loved or hated to see their name in print, any print. The other writers were looking to steal.

Some were brazen (Marvin Kitman comes to mind.) Some were more subtle (Dave Barry comes to mind.)

The rest SAID they read, but didn’t.

--

There’s a newsroom saying “fooled ‘em again.” It’s usually said when the newscast is over or the paper comes out. It’s said sardonically.

But Buchwald really DID fool us again. When he went into that hospice, he was supposed to die. That’s what hospices are for. But he didn’t. Now, THAT is fooling us. And then, there’s the posthumous video that starts out “Hi, I’m Art Buchwald, and I just died.”

But, what was the secret of his delayed death? Cigars. The miracle life prolonging of cigars.

The guy always had one in his mouth. He lived well beyond what the doctors say was his expected exipiration.

And Buchwald’s not the only one.

Look at Castro. When did he get sick? A few years after giving up those famous cigars.

Famous cigar smoker George Burns lived to 100.

How old was Groucho Marx when he died? Not as old as George, but, nevertheless, old.

Bill Clinton –fairly young – had a major health scare a few years back. He’d probably be dead now if it weren’t for the cigars. Same with Schwarzenegger. He also isn’t that old. But if you abuse yourself with all those years of weight training, and whatever “supplements” go with it, and DON’T smoke cigars, you die.

Buchwald “fooled us again…” and again and again. But he didn’t GET fooled. Not by the politicians who were in his cuddly crosshairs, and not by the people who outright stole from him.

The makers of the movie “Coming To America” come to mind. The movie, you may remember, is about a prince from Africa who comes to America and tries to live as an ordinary citizen while he searches for a wife.

Buchwald wrote “King for a Day” in the 1980s. There was an option for a movie, which expired and wasn’t renewed. And all of a sudden up pops the Paramount picture starring Eddie Murphy. Art and a cohort sued for a large bunch of money (a bunch is slightly smaller than a passel, for you technical types.) The studio promptly opened its books and demonstrated how the picture didn’t really make any money. A judge says that’s as phony as an African prince – the kind who sends out those scam e-mails asking for your bank account number so he can “deposit” money in your account, and awarded $900,000 (which is smaller than either a bunch or a passel.)

You can copyright a book or a script or a column, but you can’t copyright a style.

Anyone who’s written anything even faintly funny about politics in the last 50 years has “borrowed” from Buchwald.

I'm Wes Richards, my opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.

(c) 2007 WJR

Naming Your Rooms

191 Naming Your Rooms

Even if you live in just one room, you still need to call it something, right? Chances are you can get away with “my place…” or “crib” or “house,” or somesuch.

But what about if you have more than one?

What do you call the part that’s below ground? Some people call it the basement. But that has a tacky feel to it. You get WATER in your basement. Your furnace is situated there. If you’re a department store, “basement” is the short version of “bargain basement,” where you dump all the junk you couldn’t sell on the regular floors.

Come to think of it, you probably dump a lot of stuff in your basement, too. Old boxes, bags, furniture you no longer can use, lamps, broken appliances. Junk.

But you don’t do that to your CELLAR!. No. You keep WINE in your cellar. Macy’s used to have a bargain basement, called “Macy’s Basement.” It was filled with, well, all the junk they couldn’t sell upstairs.

They don’t have that, anymore. Now, it’s a CELLAR, and it’s filled with gourmet cooking utensils and stylish tableware and the like. In fact, even in their stores with nothing below ground, they still have a cellar. It’s on the main floor – or the only floor. But it has its own look and feel and its own typograpy.

Same room, different meaning.

So what about the other rooms in your house? Is that room with your TV a DEN, where you can slip away from everyone else for a little privacy and get some work done; maybe have a quiet cocktail in the evening? Or is it a FAMILY ROOM, where everyone comes and goes as he pleases and no one – or everyone – has a sense of ownership.

Maybe you have a foyer. Or is it a foy-YAY? Depends on how you think of it. (Vase, Vahs, tomayto, toMAHtoh.)

Is there something in your house called a “dressing room?” What do you do in it?

How about a “half bath?” Is that somewhere that’s so small, you can only bathe half of yourself? Or is it a gen-u-ine British style water closet?

We do more in the bathroom than bathe.

Most dens would escape notice of den-dwelling animals, like lions.

The names we use denote concepts, usually in need of fuller development. For example, do you live in the living room? What do you do in the hall, then, die?

Many of us now have what we call “computer rooms.” Some have “video game rooms.” These have not yet been around long enough to have fictionalized names like “sun room” or “breakfast room.” And they may never. A sewing room has always been a sewing room (why aren’t there knitting rooms?)

Maybe you should name your rooms differently. Bob. Joe. Martha. Blue, green, rough, smooth, Let people guess what goes on in them. They won’t be any more wrong than they are now.

I'm Wes Richards, my opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.

(c) 2007 WJR