1681 Fox After Ailes

With Fox News’ co-founder Roger Ailes disgraced out of office, the new guard has taken the reigns. And guess what? The new guard... same as the old.

They’ve shuffled around a few people, promoted others and have agreed to continue the investigation into who did what under Ailes. Um… who did what in the Ailes era.

But one change is more significant than the others.  Rupert Murdoch now works in Ailes’ old office.  In one respect the significance is in the insignificance:  A crusty oldster occupied the room for 20 years.  Now a crustier older oldster sits there.

Interchangeable crusty oldsters?  Maybe on the surface. But not beneath it.  Realistically, Ailes was a hired hand. Murdoch is the company. Oh, yeah, his middle aged sons have titles.  They have their own plans and ideas for the future.  But for now, Fox still is a one man show.

Let’s here digress about rich guys -- or formerly rich guys.

Steve Forbes, the head of the Forbes magazine empire-turned- atoll once opined that by the time a third generation gets to run a family business, it’s… it’s... an atoll.  Steve is of the third generation to run B.C. Forbes’ magazines and they have shrunk to near nothing. The irony may have been lost on him, though that’s hard to imagine.

Back to the Murdochs.  Rupert has been around so long and so prominently that people may think he founded NewsCorp.  But he is second generation. And that makes “the boys” the third.  So if you think Fox is a pox, be patient.  

Gen-3.0 is readying to carry on the Great March. But as long as The Man is alive, nothing is going to change.  The minute he dies, the boys will start the downhill ride.

Shrapnel:

--Rest in peace Glenn Yarbrough, lead singer with the 1960s folk music trio the Limelighters.  A troubled life after the folk bubble deflated, Yarbrough kept performing until recently.  A friend of recent vintage, he was 86 and died of complications from dementia which didn’t show in our correspondence.

--We welcome aboard New York Times columnist Maureen Dowd who has at last realized that Bill and Hillary are Republicans.  That’s a point we’ve been making both here and on the air since 1992.  Also, we welcome the Daily Beast’s expose as phony of Breitbart’s viral claim that Hillary is in bad health.

--Here’s proof you’re old: Over the weekend the Retro Game Expo on Long Island drew 15-hundred visitors. All of the “retros” were computer or video games. To some of us, a real retro game is stickball or potsy or Clue.

Grapeshot:

-The endless Olympics will soon be over and we can report happily that no one is known to have been sickened by whatever is in the sewer that passes for a river in Rio.

-We’d be grateful for the end of the endless Olympics’ even if the water were pure as a Colorado mountaintop snowfall.

I’m Wes Richards. My opinions are my own but you’re welcome to them. ®

Please address comments to wesrichards@gmail.com

© WJR 2016

1681 Air Biles

This corner of the room isn’t big on sports.  We’ve railed against football, been put to sleep by baseball and refuse to watch any but the last five minutes of the last quarter in basketball. Even bikini volleyball doesn’t excite, though that may be a function of advanced age.

But every once in awhile, someone comes along who is so good he or she elevates a sport to art, to dance and in so doing rises above the game and pulls it higher, too.

Babe Ruth.  Fat, cigar smoking Babe Ruth.  Even though his home run record fell decades ago, he’s still king.  He’s who you think of when you think of home runs.

Michael Jordan.  Who can name a basketball player who even comes close?

Muhammad Ali.  A glorious beautiful man who made a brutal sport elegant.

Wayne Gretzky. It was like he teleported the puck into the net.

Now there’s Simone Biles.

Go on, admit it. Until the Rio Olympics you never heard of her.  

And what’s her sport? Gymnastics.  Gymnastics… who cares?  Watch her -- all four foot-nine of her and you will because you’ve never seen anyone else like her.

She stands on the edge of the mat like all gymnasts do, then seems to levitate on the spot while others need a running start.  But that’s the easy part.  She’s as fast as a pre-catalytic Corvette. So she spends more time in the air doing… doing…  Well, there are names for all of the mid air turns and flips and other moves she makes but only the pinwheel experts know what they are called.  Anyway, before landing she does more of them than anyone else has.  And better.

Half a day ago, Air Biles won the Olympic Gold for all around performance. And by a relatively and uncommonly large margin.

Nineteen years old. Raised by grandparents who later adopted her because daddy vanished early on and mommy was spending all her time with coke or meth or maybe both.

The grandparents got her into tumbling school early on, but she’d been jumping on and off furniture, fences and staircases long before that and with no training.

You look at this little mini woman and all you can say is “Wow! Did I just see what I thought I saw?”

Yeah, you did.

Today’s Quote: “...at times she is a very stubborn teenager.” -- Nellie Biles drawing laughs from herself and her daughter nee granddaughter Simone saying the second most important thing you can say about her:  she’s a regular, normal teen.

Grapeshot:

-Does the president have an actual key to the White House and if so, what happens if it gets lost?

-A weak Tornado touched down near Mattituck on New York’s Long Island the other day, but it found no trailer parks and fled quickly out to sea in search of aluminum boats.

I’m Wes Richards. My opinions are my own but you’re welcome to them. ®

Please address comments to wesrichards@gmail.com

© WJR 2016

1680 Political Suffleboard

Okay, everyone, it’s time to play shuffleboard.  Political Shuffleboard.  Even if you’re immobilized and  have never had one of those stupid sticks (they’re called “cues” much to the ire of pool players) you can join in the fun.

Here’s where we try to shuffle the presidential politics discs (called “pucks” much to the ire of hockey fans) into the high scoring end of the painted triangle on the ground.

Right now, Trump has built a wall around his triangle not to prevent a Mexican invasion but to keep you from either finding out his true beliefs or signaling that you oppose him.

First, Trump doesn’t know his true beliefs or even if he has any.  He built the wall so he can say he lost the election because there was a wall around his triangle.

Second, don’t be so sure he’s going to lose. After all there are mysterious mostly invisible forces at work as there are in every presidential election. And in every game of shuffleboard.

Third, people lie to pollsters.  So right now it looks like people are swishing their cues and sending their pucks right into that wall.

It’s rigged.

Just like Trump says. Just not in the way he means it.

It’s a long time from August to November (apologies to Kurt Weill and Maxwell Anderson.) And people may be all hot and bothered about the lunatic candidacy of the failing small business owner from Queens.  But we humans have a tendency to “normalize” over time.  

And in the case of elections, “normalize” means we cling to the triangle of our origin.

You may be zipping that puck all over the court right now, but by the time November 9th shows up, you’ll have made peace with whatever evil your party is committing and vote for its candidate as you always have.

In the case of Trump, you’ll have risen above the Mexican wall, the Muslims, the gold star parents, the bogus unworkable economic plan, the failed steaks, the America First clothing made in Bangladesh, the unreal real estate courses, the crazy tweets, the crazier speeches.  And that call to assassinate his opponent.

If you’re one of Clinton’s supporters, you’ll have risen above concerns about Benghazi, emails, the foundation, the costly speeches attended largely by Wall Streeters who sleep or drink their way through them and the standing by your man while Bill charitably boinks every girl who wants sex and can’t find it anywhere else.

We “normalize” by saying “enough already. Let’s get this over with so I can go back to my big screen TV, my YahHol Chat Room and my football Sundays.

You know you mean well, but you can’t help yourself: when George Gallup knocks on your door… or the NBC/Wall St. Journal guy or Joey from previously unknown Quinnipiac University, you're going to lie.  Oh, you may mean what you say at the time.  But that won’t matter in November. Everyone lies.  Everyone.

Of course, if George Gallup actually knocks on your door, you’ve got a problem. Gallup died in 1984.  But he’s had ghosts and surrogates doing his work ever since.

And remember those mysterious forces.  George W. Bush won in 2000 by only nine votes.  And they were all absentee ballots.

Okay, everyone.  The shuffleboard field is now open for the day.  Get your pucks and cues out and let’s play.

Today’s Quote: “Everyone lies.” -- Gregory House, MD, fictional TV character.

I’m Wes Richards. My opinions are my own but you’re welcome to them. ®

Please address comments to wesrichards@gmail.com

© WJR 2016

1679 I am a Bank Magnet

1679 I am a Bank Magnet

It’s nice to feel wanted.  And in the last week or so, I’ve received pitches from 39 of the 40 banks and credit unions that populate my town of about 40 thousand people.

The 40th is the one where I have my accounts.  I’ve heard from them, too, but in a strangely presumptuous way.

Here’s the story.  The Little Bank on the corner -- the one I started with ten years ago -- sold itself to the Midsized regional bank from out of town.  A couple of years later, Midsize realized it had bitten off more than it could chew and sold itself to the Bigger Midsize Bank from out of state.

Then, Bigger sent notices to customers of Midsize painting a picture of a banking paradise to come.  It was almost evangelical in its enthusiasm and its promises of a better world in the next bank.

This awakened the rest of the sleepyheads around here and they’ve tried to seduce us with come hither looks and piles of fine print.

When the actual transition of Midsize to Bigger took place, all the customers received a package of “information” bigger than a phone book.  Tough to read all that and retain much.  But the gist of it was there would be hoops for the customers to jump through in order to maintain services like direct deposit and direct bill deductions.

As soon as the Gospel According to Bigger reached us another round of competitors’ ads came in like high tide.

So the question now is should customers leave Bigger and go with one of the other locals?  That would require the same hoop jumps as staying put. So maybe the question should be whose hoops are easiest to jump through?

Inertia says stay where you are. Annoyance says move.

A bank is like a light switch. You flip it and the lights go on.  If the lights don’t go on you have to check the fuse box or breakers.  If that doesn’t work you have to call the electric company.  But usually, when you flip the switch, the lights go on.

Same thing with a bank. You need to deposit or withdraw, visit your safe deposit box or trade your coins for bills, you do it and that’s that.

You have questions, you leave them in the question box on the website.  Or you call, just like you would Con Ed.

Except when you do call, you listen to the menu -- the endless menu -- and finally choose to push the number for “Former customers of Midsize.”  Which brings you to “your call is very important to us…”  We all know what that means.

But in this case, you get a little more service. They tell you the expected wait time.  Twenty three minutes the first time.  In the middle of the night, the answer still is 23 minutes.

More hoops.  

Who has 23 minutes to wait for some cheery customer disservice operator from Charlotte or Bhopal or Manila?

So wait until the branch opens and learn there’s a new vocabulary in place.  The tellers who used to have answers now say things like… “I’ll have to call someone for that answer” or “um… uh…” or “Let me look that up for you.”

Now where did I stick those mailings from the other 39 banks?

Today’s Quote: “When you act as if you are insane people are liable to think you’re insane.” -- Wall Street Journal columnist Peggy Noonan, a Republican, on Donald Trump.

I’m Wes Richards.  My opinions are my own but you’re welcome to them. ®

Please address comments to wesrichards@gmail.com

© WJR 2016

1678 A Day's Work for a Day's Pay

1678 A Day’s Work for a Day’s Pay

Or is it the other way around?

An obscure data company called Find the Company.com has compiled a list of the highest paid US executives.  The top of the list received salary and other defined payments of $114 million. The 25th and lowest on the list -- the lowest! -- received a mere $23 million and change.

$114,000,000 divided by 365 days = $312,000 a day, assuming a seven day work week and a 24 hour work day, which you can’t.

Would you like to know what makes these people “worth” that much? Well, you won’t find out here.  Or probably anywhere else.  And the reason is… (drum roll, please) there IS no reason.

But these gargantuan figures point out that there’s a stark difference between the sky and the earth.

Let’s pick someone from the middle, say Marissa Mayer of  YahOL. Thirty six million.  That’s $3 million a month.  Who on this planet is worth that?  And remember, she’s about dead center in the top 25 payees (the polite term is “earners,” but payees seems more accurate and only slightly less neutral.)

At the same time, a report from the Urban Institute quoted by Bloomberg News says ten percent of Americans over the age of 65 falls below the poverty line as does 36 percent of African Americans under the age of 18.  That’s 50 million seniors and 14 million black children and teens, respectively.  Even if the figures here are imperfect, the trend is clear.

What’s wrong with this picture?  The report says part of the reason is the poverty line is inaccurate.  Another reason might be -- could it be this simple? -- there isn’t enough help for either group.

So, 25 people are paid vast amounts of money for what is essentially very little work, while old people and kids don’t know where their next meal will come from.

This is America?

Oh, but look at the deficit, you say.  Yes.  Look at the deficit.  Income trails outgo.  That itself is not a problem because most American bond buyers are Americans… so we’re borrowing from ourselves.

The problem is sources of revenue.  “The rich must pay their ‘fair’ share” say the people who already do, and they’re right.

To an extent.

Let’s take a closer look at those top 25.  Salaries are only a small part of their compensation. Stock options, stock awards, deferred payments are the lion’s share of each one.  Taxes on that stuff are low, low, low.

And, of course, it’s not just the top 25. This ruse is repeated at dozens of levels at thousands of companies.

Since capital owns congress, there’s little chance of raising taxes on capital gains.  

And there’s little chance huge corporations that avoid taxes entirely or almost entirely by slithering through loopholes will be brought to heel, though there are mini efforts to fix that.

The bottom line is this:  the bottom line and short term gains are the villain, not organized labor, disorganized labor and government’s failure to meet its moral and fiscal responsibilities.

Sounds like a socialist rant, right?  So let’s end this with

Today’s Quote: “A rising tide raises all boats.” -- Wrongly attributed to John F. Kennedy and sometimes Ted Sorensen but its origins have been sunk.

I’m Wes Richards. My opinions are my own but you’re welcome to them. ®

Please address comments to wesrichards@gmail.com

© WJR 2016

1677 The Bill Bratton Traveling Snake Oil Show.

Bill Bratton has packed up his painted wagon and pointed it toward the exit.  Again.  Bratton is commissioner of police in -- wait, what day is it again? --  yes, New York.  Pretty sure it’s New York.  Although with Bouncing Bill, you’re never quite certain.

The other day he mounted the little balcony at the back of the wagon, noticed there was no audience waiting for him and started the traveling snake oil pitch anyway.

Passersby began to gather as Billy Pinball announced that he would not serve in mayor de Blasio’s next term.  That story had a short shelf life.  It wasn’t much later that he said, ya know what? I’m going to leave the job September first.

No problems at City Hall or One Police Plaza, he said. No, of course not. He just got an offer he couldn’t refuse from “the private sector.”  “The Private Sector” along with “Pursuing Other Interests” and “Pursuing New Challenges” is kind of like seriously accepting the advice “don’t let the door hit you … on the way out” or “Here’s your hat, what’s your hurry.”

Big secrets like job offers to big shots don’t stay secret too long.  So it was only a few moments until Teneo Holdings announced that Pinball was going to join it.

Teneo calls itself “the global CEO Advisory Firm.” Now you might think what that means is when the head of some conglomerate can’t decide where to have lunch or take a vacation or in which country to park his secret bank account, Teneo would advise him.

But its website goes on to describe it as the place where its “...12 divisions solve the most pressing reputational, transformational and capital markets issues.”

So if you’re a private equity vulture trying to loot a business, these may be the guys to help you with those pesky little “issues.”  And make you smell like a rose in the process. Plus they probably do know the best lunch spots.

Bratton was police commissioner in Boston. He drifted down to New York when Giuliani offered him the job of police commissioner without letting on that the work was mostly as errand boy.  Eventually, Bratton bristled and bounced to Los Angeles.  Then it was back to New York at de Blasio’s request.

It’s like he’s the only employee of a temp agency that specializes in police commissioners.

But then there’s that snake oil wagon. It’s where Bill trumpets his personal triumphs like reducing the crime rate and throws in a bonus of “broken window” policing to every buyer of the large size bottle.

Minorities don’t like him.  Majorities don’t care about him.  The largest police force in the country doesn’t think he’s hot stuff. And de Blasio?  Who knows what he thinks, if anything.

Of course, the NYPD and City Hall conducted a nationwide search for a replacement. Well, not exactly nationwide.  Come to think of it they just kind of ambled down the hall to chief deputy Jimmy O’Neill’s desk and said “Tag. You’re it.”  

An Irish cop heading the force?  Ah, the good old days.

As Bratton’s show wagon prepares for the trip uptown to Lexington Avenue and his new digs, the biggest question now for the commissioner-designate is “do we have to start calling you “James?”  Or even worse, “Commissioner” or can we still call you Jimmy?

I’m Wes Richards. My opinions are my own but you’re welcome to them. ®

Please address comments to wesrichards@gmail.com

© WJR 2016

1676 The Endless Commercials

Time was you could legally program “only”18 minutes of commercials in an hour of radio. Now the number seems like dozens.

You know this has happened to you:  You’re in the car for a five minute drive.  You turn on the radio. They’re doing commercials, usually bad ones. You arrive at your destination and they’re STILL playing commercials.

Doctor Joy Browne can hardly get out “Pretend to be cheerful and stupid” between breaks. Rush can hardly ask “What do you call a woman who wants to be paid for sex?” between breaks.  And poor Michael Savage no longer has time to build up the head of steam for his famous temper tantrums between pitches for gold sharks and miracle beet juice.

Sad times in radioland.  Ads for airlines and banks have been overrun by ads for lawyers who specialize in personal injury cases and class action suits against pharmaceuticals, credit report services, payday loans and debt “counselors.”

The ads are cheaply made and cheap to buy.  Sometimes they’re even free because the station doesn’t get paid by the minute, it gets paid by the number of callers to its toll free number. No calls = no money.

And while everyone is keeping a suicide watch on the AM dial, the FM band is suffering too.

Part of that watch was sparked by all the new media: satellite radio, internet streaming, iPods, MP3s and CD players. People have much more choice than even a few years ago. But a lot of listener desertion is because the programming is garbage.

The rotten ads drive away the good ones.  Put yourself in CitiBank’s position.  Would you want to be in an ad environment dominated by screaming furniture discounters, peddlers of phony trade schools and an endless line of insurance companies?

No, you would not.  So you take your dollars and spend them elsewhere. Or don’t spend at all.

Television is just as bad.  First it’s an ad for a new miracle cure for psoriasis followed by a high speed reading of side effects ending in the words “...and death.” Followed immediately by a lawyer’s spiel about a class action suit on behalf of the estates of people who died using the drug.

There are a few big ads out there.  But how many times a day can you take the Oxyclean man?

Shaquille O’Neal:  We love you.  But you’re wearing out your welcome with marathon runs for Gold Bond, Icy Hot, the Boys and Girls Club, and now General Insurance.

George Foreman:  We loved to hate you in the ring. We love to love you when you pitch your namesake cooking appliances.  But what do you know about your “...friends at Inventhelp?”

Flo: Go. And take that stupid and creepy talking box with you.

Arnold Palmer: Drive that golf cart into a water hazard, preferably one with a gator in it.

Montel Williams: Shame on you!

If the aircraft manufacturing industry ran like the ad industry, the NTSB would need a budget as big as the Pentagon’s and to hire 120,000 new crash investigators.

Today’s Quote: “Don’t put your head under water.” -- Valerie Harwood, chair of the Integrative Biology Department, University of South Florida, with advice for  Olympic athletes competing in Rio.

I’m Wes Richards and I approved this message, but not enthusiastically. And watch out for side effects and political mudslinging.

Please address comments to wesrichards@gmail.com

© WJR 2016