The King Thing

# 347 The King Thing

This space devotes one submission a year on "Don't try to second guess Martin." Or more accurately we don't know what he'd say about today's conditions and circumstances. Don't speak in his name if you're not him. Don't try to impose YOUR ideas and label them "Martin-late" or even "Martin-lite." This year there are some extra thoughts, in addition to "don't try to guess what he'd say from the Great Beyond."

King's national holiday is around the corner. There's a big hoo-hah going on because Hillary Clinton said --more or less -- that he'd have gotten nowhere without President Johnson pushing the civil rights bills.

This has gotten a lot of people into a twist. They say it is hurtful. They say it diminishes -- or tries to diminish his legacy and his prominence.

There's no doubt today that historically, King was the most important figure of the civil rights era. But he did not act alone.

By his words and by his actions, Dr. King was a coalitionist, a collaborator, a recruiter who wanted as wide a range of supporters as he could find and gather, and as many.

So when Lyndon Johnson went to congress -- with triple clout -- as the president of the United States, with enormous influence as carrier of the Kennedy legacy and as the former top guy in the Senate, the legislators listened and did what they were asked, albeit some of them kicking and screaming.

We heard no squawking from the sidelines when he did that. At least, not from followers of Martin Luther King. In fact, they were pleased that he -- or someone -- had recruited the President of the United States, a southerner, to the cause.

But it wasn't only LBJ. It was also the leaders of the country's northern-based Protestant churches who said "this guy," meaning King, "was right. We should support him." Without the Bishops of the Methodist Church, the civil rights legislation of the time might still be languishing in committee. But they directed their ministers to get up and support their fellow minister's good works. And they did.

And that got ordinary people to thinking "yeah, what were we thinking?"

The decision of the President cost his Democratic Party, in his own words, the south "for a long time..." as he put in an interview with Bill Moyers.

Actually, after the aforementioned kicking and screaming was over, the south fell in line much more rapidly and rigorously than the north. Southern bigots were always pretty up front about their bigotry. Northern bigots (including many of my fellow New York Liberals) were much more circumspect about it, and much more subtle.

The south said "okay, we have to change. We don't want to, but we will." And they did. The north said "we were never bigots in the first place. So nothing's different. No 'colored only' water fountains and lunch counters up here. Now, let's all move to Levittown." Baloney!

Martin Luther King did not work alone.

And he never claimed to.

So giving credit to those who helped him along the way is a compliment, not a criticism.


I'm Wes Richards. My opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.®
©WJR 2008

A commentator's Quandary

#346 A Commentator's Quandary

So here's Young Einstein on the radio, doing a talk show under strange conditions.

Two jobs in a row now, the owners say "It's your show, do what you want."

Anyone who's ever done a program knows that's almost too good to be true.

First time, the guy saying it was Mike Bloomberg, who meant it and had both the clout and the money to protect Einey and his own operation, maybe not in that order.

Now, here it is eight years later and it's being said by people with a world of less money and clout, but no less sincerity.

And along comes an opportunity to do some real good for the audience, but at what cost to those good and well meaning folks who will not be getting on the Forbes 400 list any time soon?

Here's the situation: A member of Congress who needed to retire before he was elected has finally decided to retire. For the record, he's a Republican in a Republican district and a primary for his job would probably be the real contest, with the actual election a formality.

For now, there are two guys who want this job. One is a public drunk of a kid, the other a pompous, blathering senior citizen recently twice rejected by the voters for a lower office.

The public drunk of a kid is the son of a relatively wealthy business type (again, not Forbes 400 class, or even close. But compared to the rest of the locals, Mister Moneybags.)

When you're the local Mister Moneybags, you have local influence. If MM goes to, say, Honest Bob's Used Cars and says "Hey, Honest Bob, my kid's getting dissed something awful on that Young Einstein Radio guy." Honest Bob will think "hey, if I stop advertising on the radio station with the Young Einstein show, I'll score brownie points with Mister Moneybags." So, without being asked, Honest Bob pulls his ad schedule. Moneybags notices and sends a lot of business Honest Bob's way in return. Not a word's ever said. And there are a lot of guys like Honest Bob who advertise on the Young Einstein show.

So, this increases the chances of Public Drunk Kid getting elected, because even though everyone knows about his bottoms-up lifestyle, it might not be shoved into their ears day in and day out.

Thing is, it SHOULD be shoved into their ears day in and day out. And the guy should drink all he wants whenever he wants, but not on the public dime and not in the halls of congress.

The other guy is slightly less influential, but only slightly so the same quandary applies. This guy's got a PhD in some subject that doesn't help you get honest work, and is living proof anyone can earn a doctorate. The part of the degree he gets right is the part that teaches you that if you have one of these you walk on water, and possibly air. It's a fake lesson. But an awful lot of people believe it.

So here you have two guys shooting at the same target (either election to congress or us. Or both.) And one of them's going to get closer to the bull's eye than the other, and close enough is enough to win.

What can Young Einstein do? He "needs" to get the truth out there in stark relief. But he also has to make sure he doesn't damage those good people who say "do what you want," because it could be an economic and reputational hit they can't take -- and shouldn't have to.

Solutions anyone?

I'm Wes Richards. My opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.®
©WJR 2008

An Unlucky Number

#345 An Unlucky Number

The unlucky number is eighty eight.

Ask the skinheads. They use it to signify allegiance to their long-dead leader. This was a big secret until someone figured out that H is the eighth letter and that 88 meant "Heil Hitler." This makes people uncomfortable with the number. In one case, New York radio station WCBS, which used to call itself "News Radio 88" took to calling itself "News Radio 880." The owners say the change was made to more accurately describe its dial position (880 Khz,) but maybe not.

Then there was the most famous model of one of America's most famous car. The Oldsmobile 88. The Olds, named for Ransom E. Olds, who also built the Reo, turned into typical GM tin and plastic in its last decades. And one day, one of the financial geniuses at General Motors figured out no one needed the Olds. So goodbye, "88."

Then there's the sort-a general store that recently elected to close its doors after doing business for 88 years.

Are these 88s really connected? Probably not. The problems of the skinheads (redundant as that phrase may seem, since BEING a skin head is the chief problem of being a skinhead. That there's an 88" involved is probably incidental.

Was it the model 88 that killed Oldsmobile? No. They had models with other labels, though the "Rocket 88," was the most famous. Olds was just a homeless brand amid other slow selling GM cars whose division heads probably had more clout with the board room wheels.

And the store that closed its door? Yes, it was 88 years old. But they probably could have closed it at 78 or 68 with equal justification. And maybe they could have hung on until they were 89.

The guy who started it wanted, he said, to have a place where "...people could come for anything from flat (roofing) shingles to a steak." And that's what they did for most of those 88 years.

Announcement of the closing was made only three days before the event (or, more accurately, the non-event,) itself.

Fifty people out of work.

And while there are plenty of other places around where you can buy roofing shingles and steaks, and the canned goods and window curtains and work clothes and furniture and appliances and coffee makers and shelf knickknacks they sold, there were things you could get that you CAN'T get anywhere else.

The houses in its neighborhood were built early in the last century; some of them in the century before last. These buildings require plumbing fixtures that they don't sell in Wal-Mart, Home Despot or Plastico's Home Improvement Centers. It's going to be tough when the sinks and toilets start breaking and Joe Homeowner has to get custom made elbow joints from.... from.... well, from somewhere.

The place had character. And characters. And an elevator that made you obey a list of obscure and anti-intuitive laws before it would deign to carry you, wobbling, to the upper floor or the basement.

Walking into that building was like stepping into 1948. While it was decently clean, it had a World War II era sag and dinginess to it that a lot of customers found endearing.

Well, not a LOT of customers. A FEW customers. If they'd had a LOT of customers, they'd probably be open today.

It's tough to compete in the Big Box era. Some still manage. Would that they all could.

I'm Wes Richards My opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.®
©2008 WJR

The Liars!

#344 The Liars

Those closed mouthed, sneaky stone farmers in New Hampshire? They're liars. They told us they were going to make Sen. Obama of Illinois their choice for the Democratic Party presidential nomination. Then they turn around, and go to the ballot box, and stuff it full of paper for Hillary Clinton!

Teach us to believe what voters tell poll takers.

Lies. Damned lies.

You ask 'em if they think it's going to rain, and they pause for half an hour and say "yep," and no rain for a month.

You ask 'em who they want for President, they say Obama. THEN it rains. But only on the candidate.

Oh, the pundits say, "we missed something... but WHAT?"

Yeah, you missed something. You missed that people from places like Maine and New Hampshire and Vermont don't like to be pigeon-holed, and when they feel they're in a coop, they do the opposite of what they led you to expect.

And you missed this: Hillary Clinton won the primary

This New Hampshire Primary was supposed to be hang-up-your-cackle-and-tears time for Clinton.

"Ehhh, nope."

So what else are they lying about?

Not McCain. The voters spoke the truth and the polls were right.

But since the whole state is just a tryout in advance of the Broadway opening, the results don't matter beyond giving new life to a winning candidate everyone expected to lose.

Nice that Sen. John made a hurrah, perhaps his last, though who knows, because there are liars in every state.

Second place horse Romney says he's going to carry on. Great. A big show for people who buy kaleidoscopes or have pet chameleons.

He made a little speech when it became clear he wasn't going to win, which itself was not a terrible shock for anyone beside the 182 members of his immediate family.

Third place (show horse) Democrat John Edwards, who often is confused with Romney (they share a barber and a dentist) came out with that same speech. He's going to carry on.

Oh Joy.

About the best thing you can say for the New Hampshire thing is that the turnout was heavy. Probably, that's a function of the spring-like weather, as much as it was the passion of the voters. We could take a poll about why they voted. But since we've established that New Hampshire is populated almost exclusively by liars, who'd believe the figures.

A lot of people missed two important points:

(1) Global warming is, indeed, man made. Look at the hot air generated in this thing. And
(2) No one is trying to figure out how to harness the output of hundreds of blowhards -- the politicians and their lackey legions, the advertising creators and the talking heads of the media world.

By the time the campaign ends and the election is held, we'd have enough wind power to put ExxonMobil, Saudi Arabia, Venezuela and a raft of otherwise needless entities out of business.

I'm Wes Richards. My opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.®
©2008 WJR

Moo

#343 Moooo

Ever try to bust up one of those plastic milk bottles? Can't be done. You need an H-bomb and a platoon of jackhammers and even then, it's iffy.

They could fix all the decaying bridges by propping them up with these things. They could build escape-proof jails out of this stuff. You can bury one in a landfill and come back 60-million years later and still be able to read the label. If Detroit built cars out of this stuff, they'd put the entire auto body repair industry out of business overnight.

And of the seven trillion of these things manufactured since the dawn of the Plastic Age, none has ever leaked. Until now.

And when it leaked, it leaked big time, first filling the plastic grocery bag in which it was wrapped, then the trunk of the car in which the bag was placed and finally the street below (trunks may be water proof, but they're not milk proof.)

Fortunately this happened in the parking lot of the supermarket. The same parking lot where that guy (Wessay #349, "The Flashback") was caught whistling "Jingle Bells" well after Christmas. Fortunately, because a squadron of customer service women came out to help clean up the mess.

That wasn't the plan. The plan was to buy a half gallon of milk and put it in the refrigerator. But when both the container and the bag started leaking, then trailing milk in on the pavement and all the way back into the store and then onto the customer service counter, the ladies came out with their bottles of Windex and their cleaning cloths and paper towels, back tracking all the way to the car.

It's nice to rub shoulders, a store counter, pavement, a wet market cart and a car trunk with Cute Young Things.

Checker-outer Kim asked (appalled,) "was that MY fault?"

"Kim, is your last name Scissorhands?"

"Um... no..."

"Can you crush stones with your bare hands?"

"Um... no..."

"Do you have a silent jackhammer in the bagging area of your checkout counter?"

"Um... no..."

"Well then probably it's not your fault."

(Obvious sigh of relief.)

The good news is that there was nothing in the broken bag but the broken bottle. So nothing else was damaged. In fact, the milk that leaked onto an adjacent bag didn't penetrate it, so its contents, two bottles of hand lotion, a tube of Neosporin, a loaf of bread two broccoli crowns and a copy of "The Globe" were undamaged.

Meantime, there's a chance to check out one of the great untested scientific principles of modern times. The guy in the movie "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" says Windex is good for everything from cleaning glass to treating cuts and bruises. We'll see how it does with the carpets that line the trunks of cars.

The back of the car smells like Windex. When that fades -- and it will -- the result will be either no scent, or the stink of milk sitting in a carpet for a week.

Let's hope he was right.

I'm Wes Richard. My opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.®
©WJR 2008

The Iowa Crocuses

#342

The election is over, now we can all go back to normal. Oh. Wait, wasn't the election, it just seems like it. It's the Iowa crocuses, where people get together and quilt and tat and tell the rest of the country who the next President of the United States will be. Or at least who the contestants will be. Here's a state that in no way is a microcosm of America, that has relatively little electoral clout and hardly enough electricity to run all the cable TV and satellite news trucks that flood in once every four years, telling the future for the rest of us. News Satellites. Crystal balls in space.

The best thing you can say about the whole sorry mess is that a goofy, bass playing mini-state governor is scaring hell out of the neo-con dominated Republican Party. If you look at the guy's record, you see a bunch of actions and policies most of which could easily be accepted by a normal American. Except too much New Testament and not enough foreign policy. The neos and the reaganauts thought they had the party in a pin fall, or, at the very least, a headlock. Apparently not. This will make the Think tank crowd crazy. They'll be up on the tube for the next six months frothing and drooling about Iraq and releasing criminals and coddling illegals and how their hard work has been betrayed by an ungrateful voting public. Democracy goes just so far, after all. At least when your guys lose.

The second best thing you can say about the whole sorry mess is that the arrogant and detached Hillary Clinton got whumped. She managed a show (as in win-place-show,) but that's not good enough. And someone's sure to whine about how she lost because she's a woman. That ain't so. There are roughly 150-million women in America, and plenty of 'em are qualified to be President. Golda Meir she's not.

In hindsight, Obama's win on the Democratic Party side is not surprising. He's young and articulate, and unlike Edwards, he shows little sign of down-spiraling into another hysterical Howard Dean. Further, there aren't enough African Americans in Iowa to get a decent "there goes the neighborhood" movement going among the state's white population. That he's been in the US Senate for something like 20 minutes doesn't seem to matter much, at least not yet.

Poor Governor Richardson and Senator Biden, probably the best qualified of this lot. Guys like that rarely stand a chance. Of course, even though it seems that this campaign started before the invention of the wheel, it's only just now really getting rolling.

By the time this all ends, our minds will be totally numbed and our eyes totally glazed over. Or we'll feel like we're six feet under, pushing up crocuses.

And they wonder why the turnouts are so low.

I'm Wes Richards. My opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them. ®
©2008 WJR

Sound Off

#341 Sound Off

Cruising through the antique mall the other day, a book of Norman Rockwell paintings popped up and asked to be noticed. Rockwell, as did Ronald Reagan, sought to depict or take us back to a time that never was. All those perfectly featured white guys. (There were a few African Americans. Usually railroad porters, dining car waiters and shoe shine men.) All those kindly elderly people -- the doctor, the dentist, the teacher. All those well behaved children (except a couple of 1920s or 1930s looking boys with taxi driver hats and the occasional black eye.

Life never was as Rockwell portrayed it. Mostly, we knew that in his heyday. Certainly we know it now. But he was an illustrator of grand ability, portraying with photographic reality things that could never be photographed because they didn't exist.

Near the book was a 1920s Royal Typewriter. (Owned a few of those. Wish I still did.) Hit a few keys on the thing, and realized how the wonderful clacking sound those things made has vanished. Wish there were a Norman Rockwell of sound.

As we cruise along in the 21st century, there are sounds from the past that today's young people will never hear and the rest of us never will hear again. The typewriter probably is the most familiar. But there are a slew of others.

Almost no one in a newsroom today has heard the sound of an active teletype machine. It's like a typewriter on usually much steadier. That's because people at the transmitting end typed with a regularity and a rhythm that no one has (or needs) today.

The only place you can hear a telegraph key is in a museum, and there's probably nowhere on the planet you can hear the music made by several of them in use simultaneously.

The sound of an electric car is, well, creepy. It's practically no sound at all. This does not make sense to the senses. Cars don't go uphill silently. Something's wrong.

The sound of an internal combustion engine has changed radically, too. Exhaust systems are now "tuned." They used to just rumble. And you could tell months in advance when you were going to need to replace them, because they got louder and louder and louder over time, and more raucus.

Cash registers, adding machines, record changers, door latches, windows, trains, propeller planes, horse-pulled wagons on cobblestone, the report of an M-1 rifle, a wind up watch, a dog-house bass fiddle, the sound the card catalogue drawer made in the library.

All of these are gone. The stuff that made those sounds was generally inferior to what has replaced them. No one wants to type when there's a word processor. Electric cars are good for the environment, or so it's said. What would you do with an adding machine that you can't do with a calculator and twice the speed, one tenth the cost and one per cent of the space?

We preserve images. We preserve textures. We preserve smells -- at least to an extent. But not sounds. And we should.

I'm Wes Richards. My opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.®
©2008 WJR