Super Guest

Some years ago, a wag offered that he spread marijuana on his breakfast food. I thought he was both loony and hilarious. Now in sorrow I’ve forgotten his name and can’t apologize for my reaction to his wise insight.

In truth, I’ve discovered how to make myself a fine dinner guest, a great companion, a raconteur without malice, a wit without a cutting edge, and a pleasure to know. The answer is simply to write a new posting on my blog; it’s the greatest combination of tranquilizer and stimulant ever developed.

Years after one of my more unusually successful self help programs - quitting smoking, I learned that nicotine was the greatest and most fearsome drug available to man as it took care of whatever chemical hit was needed at the moment. Anxious, drag on a butt and you’ll find the world a better place. Hyper, no problem, just inhale; calmness is on the way. But I know now that blogs are better than cigarettes.

In this modern world of good health, I’m limited to two – large – cups of caffeine to jump start me each morning and at least two twelve ounce cans of alcohol to settle me at Happy Hour. With a chemically dependency like that every day, is it any wonder that I had become a social pariah at dinner parties; properly primed, I thought everyone wanted to talk about politics, religion and sex.

A technical cretin, I was unable to master any modern technology until a few months ago when I stumbled into the wonderful world of blogging. Like any addict, I started slowly. My first forays into insulting politicians, artist, actors, and authors were mild and those absorbing the blows could only have smiled had they ever read my commentaries.

Like every addict, over time my need for fixes grew more frequent and far more deadly. President Bush became the Emperor, neo-conservatives became complete simpletons; you see where I’m going with this.

Then I made my first major discovery. After a particularly barbed zinger into a political idiot, I found that I could go to dinner and feel no need to embarrass my hosts with vitriolic emanations about the puppet in the White House or just how stupid neocons really are. Invitations – mainly because of my socially adept wife – became more common and there was no hesitancy in pairing me with a woman whose ideas just weeks earlier would have forced me to explain just why she was an ignorant Neanderthal. Life became good again. It had to be the blog.

Within weeks, my technical capacity reached new heights and I reached the zenith of blogdom, a counter was placed on my blog. Within days I was able to scream out my window, “Eureka! Nobody cares! Nobody reads my crap!” Can you imagine the joy? I was free to heap my bile on any and all public figures. There was no limit to the dosages I was able to self prescribe. Do you know just what a stupid s—t ------- is? Just insert the name of a public figure from any sphere. I, in my new nirvana of wisdom, know just how stupid, venal, evil each and every public figure in the world is. It had to be the blog.

Blogs are completely secure. Unless you’re a total idiot and write good stuff, you’ll never be found out. Blogs are far more private than diaries locked away in attics. No one – NO ONE in his right mind would read one. Just scroll blogs and see what I mean. You’re my first reader and the first to know - I blog therefore, I am. I write down my most wicked thoughts and insults, and I feel good. Then I go into the phone booth and emerge as Super Guest. Want me over?

Sugar Plum Fairies

In case you’ve been on a planet far, far away, I gotta break it to you; dreams of an American Empire are on hold, maybe forever.

On May 1, 2003, the empire reached its zenith of hubris when the Emperor landed on the flight deck of the USS Abraham Lincoln and announced that major combat operations in Iraq had ended. Since then, dear reader, even if you have been on inter-stellar travel for the CIA, you must be aware that the `Mission Accomplished’ banner posted high above the cheering sailors has become the enduring symbol of a major league dream gone bad.

By now you’ve heard that Secretary of State Powell’s fabulous dog and pony show for the Security Council clearly marking all those weapons of mass destruction and chemical and biological laboratories has won him the Academy Award for the best original screen play of 2003.

Just weeks after the end of fighting in Iraq – is there something wrong with that phrase? – nasty little questions began to arise. Where have those biological and chemical agents gone? How about all that yellow cake uranium from Africa? It was about that time we began to hear the fairy tale that the weapons went to Syria; in the neocon storybook, weapons mysteries all end in Damascus

Sad, but the Emperor and all of his neocon brain trusters have been bailing water ever since. We knew that Saddam Hussein was bad guy, but just to be sure we have been reeducated on just how evil. Even out there way beyond Pluto you must have heard just how mean this cat, Saddam, was. Were you shocked to learn that he gassed his own people? Really! The Emperor also allowed as how Saddam had “tried to kill my Dad.” It must be nice to be an emperor and use the state army to avenge personal wrongs. But that phrase quickly made it to the cutting room floor.

Well after all the bailing, the USS Four More Years stayed above water – barely - until after Election Day 2004. Now Iraqi elections are coming right up so we can turn our attention to the other arms of the Axis of Evil, Iran and North Korea.

The original plan was to march up to the Iraq/Iran border and advise the Mullahs that if they didn’t fly straight, they’d be sitting in something akin to Abu Ghraib and playing cribbage with Saddam while we rebuild Iran and install that nice Pahlavi boy on the Peacock Throne. And after that stomping, we’d be off to Pyongyang for another victory celebration. Actually, neither of these scenarios was supposed to play out. After seeing how we’d changed the regime and delivered democracy to the thankful residents of Baghdad, there’d be no need to shoot. The Mullahs and Kim Chong-il would simply welcome us as liberators without a fight.

Sadly, it appears that many Republicans – not just those wimpy Democrats – think that our adventure in Iraq was a devastatingly bad idea that is hurting us in the War on Terror, so they’re beginning to give the Emperor fits and calling for the heads of the leading neocons. Can you believe it?

Where was I? Oh, yes, the neocons were snug in their beds with visions of sugar plums dancing in their heads and some guy in a red suit was yelling out something that sounds like, “Merry Christmas to oil and to oil a good night.”

Sadly, on awakening, those smug little neocons, the smartest kids in their class, find that the neighbors don’t want to come over to help us celebrate and our sugar plums have turned to lumps of coal. But there’s a bright side, clean coal technology will permit our dreams of energy independence to flourish.

So, “…to oil a goodnight!”


Wildbill944

Bush, a Lame Duck President?

Even as this is being written on the day before Thanksgiving in 2004, barely three weeks after George W. Bush was triumphantly reelected president, the question has arisen, is he a lame duck? Of course not; there just some inflammation in his joints. Being the leader of the sole hyper power in the world just ain’t easy.

As I type, two House of Representatives committee chairmen are refusing to roll over and pass the intelligence reform legislation being pushed by the 9/11 Commission and at least nominally supported by the president. This legislation has broad support among the voters and in both houses of Congress, but the military objects to it and the Chair of the House Committee with oversight responsibility is digging in his heels. The other Chairman objects that the legislation does not defend our porous borders and that, as a result the bill is a sham.

The Secretary of Defense states that he is on board with the president’s position on the legislation and that the military is acting independently, as required by law. Yeah, right! The president didn’t want this legislation and his tepid support reflects it. This bill will require his active support and the use of some that political capital that he was bragging about just days ago.

The Republicans on the Hill are moving away from George Bush. The wartime president has too much power and the legislature is moving to reclaim some of its power. The Executive has had its way for a long time, and the Congress – both parties – is moving to cut it down to size. Too bad, George!

So I guess the Prez is just saving his energy and capital for those major items that he’s been jawing about so happily for months like Social Security reform and permanent changes in the tax code that will favor that great Ownership Society of his. If the skirmishing on the intelligence bill is any indication, the going on his major interests may resemble the slogging in Iraq. Holy cow! This president stuff isn’t so easy or nearly so much fun as it looked the day after the election.

My guess is that George W. Bush will soon set his mind on becoming a statesman. Like most second term presidents since passage of the twenty-second amendment to the Constitution that limits Mr. Bush to two terms and which has weakened all two term presidents and has turned them outward to seek success, this president will soon turn to being his own Secretary of State.

Oh, but I forgot, he’s got many of our friends and a goodly number of our opponents and all of our potential enemies in a dither. He’s also got a few problems with his back. The invasion of Iraq has severely undermined the credibility of this administration both at home and abroad. Where are those WMDs that Colin Powell so clearly demonstrated to the Security Council? They weren’t there? Goodness.

At this moment, we face the other two elements of the Axis of Evil without the credibility to seek international or domestic support to prevent their loading up with WMDs. Can we sell the citizenry that we should overthrow the cruel mullahs of Iran? Not likely. Besides, even the neocons seem to have had enough swashbuckling for a while – a generation at least.

Then Mr. Bush has the problem of budgeting for defense. Everyone agrees that we are in a war with the terrorists and that we have to gear up to destroy them. But with what he’s already wrought with his tax cuts, the less than completely robust national economy, our massive trade deficit, and the War in Iraq means that our war on terror will call for some reprogramming of the defense budget.

Clearly, the idea of the neocons and the Defense Secretary that we can deal with situations like Iraq with fewer `boots on the ground’ is badly tarnished. Only the stubbornness of the Administration prevents an admission that we didn’t have enough troops in Iraq.

`Boots on the Ground’ create lots of problems. Troops cost money, lots of it. Troops provide very little in the way of big bucks and pork for defense contractors. Missile systems produce billions in revenue. The same goes for other high tech solutions to keeping potential national adversaries at bay. But whipping al Qaeda calls for `boots on the ground’.

`Boots on the ground’ create the need for many things in the defense budget. But military payroll, boots and shoes, small arms ammunition, body armor, and meals ready to eat are hardly the things to warm the cockles of the hearts of the military industrial complex. Sorry, George.

So what have we here? A newly elected president with a mandate to pursue all of those things he talked about in his winning campaign faces his second term. Karl Rove got you elected – you said it. Your tax cuts have worked and will continue to work after you make them permanent. Supply side economics will solve the budget and trade deficits – you said so.

Everyone is behind you now. Well at least they’ve all stepped back. Whew! Good luck to you, Mr. President. You might want to check with your doctor about that heat and the creaking in your hips and knees.

Ask Not What Your Country can Do For You

The legacy of John Fitzgerald Kennedy is alive and well. “Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country.” Millions of Americans went to the polls this month with that spirit in mind and reelected George W. Bush president of the United States of America.

On November 5, 2004, The Washington Post ran a feature story by David Finkel that clearly describes how tens of thousands of hard working people appeared to vote against their best economic and political interests to support the Republican nominee. In one case, the paper relates how a resident of rural Ohio was earning about $55,000 in September of 2001 and on Election Day was earning about $20,000 less and yet he is pleased with the result.
That man did not blame President Bush for, “…anything that’s happened to my income.” Rather, because the president believes in “personal responsibility”, he voted for Mr. Bush.
The article made the point that this man is far from unique especially in rural parts of the country. Mr. Finkel’s article tracks many other newspaper pieces and television news stories that ran during the election cycle.

What are we to make of this? At its most primary level, I find this attitude to be as admirable as any that could be imagined and an affirmation that good honest people from across the land would willingly sacrifice for the good of the nation and note that it is completely in accord with the sentiments expressed in the Preamble to the Constitution.

“We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the defense, promote the general Welfare, and to secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United Sates of America.”

However, after many years of public service, I often find myself in tune with the wag who described the purpose of government is to determine “who gets and who pays.”

In the 1960s when the Kennedy administration was celebrating its tax cut victory on Capital Hill, the Republican Party was on the ropes and being beaten to within an inch of its viability. So how did the Democrats fall into the sorry state that the party finds itself today? Of course the Vietnam War was very high on the list of reasons. But it is more than that.

As most know, the Republicans were the dominant party from the Civil War until the stock market crash of 1929. At that juncture the people lost confidence in the G.O.P., its president, and Congress all of whom were simply unable to cope with the social and economic devastation, and Franklin Roosevelt, a political genius, put together a program and political apparatus that is in some ways still recognizable.

Over a period of many decades, the parties realigned themselves. The Democrats, in the New Deal and for some decades thereafter, were the champions of the downtrodden and disadvantaged. From the perspective of the upper classes the equation as they saw who gets were the unemployed and those on the lower rungs of the socio-economic ladder and they were the who `who pay”.

Long after the Great Depression and W.W.II, the disadvantaged diminished relatively into a smaller slice of the society and the coalition of the Democratic Party was a grouping of large interest groups seeking to become the recipients of federal largess and support. Thus, for example, educators developed arguments that siphoned money from various other parts of the coalition to their sector. Labor leaders sought protections for their members. The bottom line was that many of those perceived to be victims during bad times had been broadened and the need to fund the new initiatives had to come from a broader coalition on the other side of the question.

The Republicans came back to power with a vengeance after the excesses in war and peace during the Great Society initiatives of President Lyndon Johnson.

In my judgment, the equation of who pays got too big for the coalition of who gets and tipped in favor of the Republicans, and during the last four decades they have been better at framing the debate between getters and payers and how much of the national wealth should be redistributed.

John F. Kennedy was fully aware that the government’s share of the gross national product was becoming too great, and his tax cut was stimulating to the economy. But the Democrats were unable to win their own internal struggle on this and related arguments, and Republicans gained greater success at the polls.

While the Democrats were not shut out in elections, it is very clear that only when bad things line up, do they have good shots at controlling the federal government. But the battle lines are still quite even, and it is the Republicans who have built to successful coalitions of the last generation.

But the Republicans have pushed the pendulum a very far in their direction, and, while they appear to be riding high, I think that they are in a position to suffer great reversals at the polls in just a few years. The Democrats have successfully defined the economic policies of George W. Bush as greatly in favor of the wealthy minority, and while the Republicans made much hay on questions such as national defense, their coalition does not look nearly so solid as it might.

The new Republican Party is dependent on large corporations and other groups successful at the federal trough such as farmers. But as these groups shrink as a percentage of the electorate, the party has had to mine votes elsewhere, and the mother load has been conservative Christians, those to whom the party championed itself as the protector of the nation’s moral values.

The Republicans made much of moving to support its hard right base. Naturally, this caused its moderates to find themselves in difficulty with other elements of the party. Thus while the party finds itself doing very well at the polls, it has yet to find a way to pay off one of its key coalition members. Obviously, the leaders of the party and President Bush recognize the debt and have given much lip service on values and have moved to pump funds for social services to religious organizations to promote social services, but the financial rewards are not great for the fundamentalists and values oriented individual voters.

Were some of the initiatives promoted by the religious right such as overturning Roe v. Wade to come about in their favor by means of the appointment of Supreme Court Justices, the reaction of the other side would be very extreme. But if little of their agenda ever succeeds why should people who are being largely ignored by the real nuts and bolts government continue to support politicians all the way to the top who just give lip service to their concerns? A few jobs in religious social organizations and getting their entitlements through friendly institutions hardly compares with their need for health insurance and jobs to replace those lost to other countries.

Even in the wake of this election, the Democrats are moving to assure the religious among us that they are loved and respected and that the party is not entirely secular. Over a not too long time span, it is likely that if the Democrats can find a way to convince sizeable numbers in that block of voters that they are being used by the Republicans without much real return in the form of the values argument, the Democrats will be able to troll for votes in what at this moment looks like such a solid group.

Gay marriage serves an example. The Christian right was very successful in striking a blow to the societal movement of better treatment of gays and lesbians. When all of the laws are passed defining marriage as between men and women, how much will the values people have won? While the real or psychological damage done to the gay community is great, surely, the trend toward greater legal and social equality of gays will continue and some among the hard right of the G.O.P. will see their victories at the polls as not much more a distinction without a difference except for a single word, marriage.

In the meantime, a number of the successful economic groups in the Republican coalition such as large corporations, defense contractors and farmers will be seen as greatly profiting while the Christians got one word instead of real reform. How long will the Evangelicals turn blind eyes to their true plight within the coalition? Billions for farmers, billions for defense contractors, billions in tax cuts for the wealthy and very little for those who may have worked the hardest for the Party, somehow even those most dedicated to values and the welfare of the nation will begin to question their loyalty to a party that uses them rather rewarding them.

Thus, as the parties succeed in luring members of the opposing coalition such as a greater share of Hispanics voting for President Bush, surely the Democrats will find ways to cherry pick within the religious portions of the Republican body. While the faith based Christian right is very solid, even monolithic appearing, there may well be chinks in the Republican armor. Tens of thousands of the Evangelicals judge themselves by their faith, but millions more are willing to add good works to their identity.

As the members of the Evangelical portion of the Republican coalition see little coming from their hard work in electing politicians who bask in their values, many members will begin to reassess the situation in which defense contractors make billions from weapon systems suited for Cold War type adversaries rather than the conflicts likely to occur in the War on Terror, the rich are given huge tax breaks and groups such as farmers prosper and the reward for Evangelicals is often little more than the word marriage.

Many of these Evangelicals could be moved by the prospect of actually doing good, and, if the Democrats are not idiots, these good people may be lured by the programs proposed by Democrats to actually assist the downtrodden in our society in the form of economic development and health care, and, at the same time find themselves the recipients of some good old fashioned pork in the process.

So like Lyndon Johnson, President Bush is taking his election as a mandate to implement his programs that are as far from the norm in one direction as the Great Society’s were in the other.
The War in Iraq is George W. Bush’s war as few other conflicts can be pinned on his predecessors. Even if he is successful in removing our troops, how long can the newly elected government survive? The budget and trade deficits will not go away, and the tax cuts exacerbate the president’s ability to do anything curative. This is President Elect George W. Bush’s world, and as he rides high on his way to inauguration, surely a little bird must be whispering a sad song in his ear.

The Democrats lost, but I sure like their chances in the future. They should not despair too greatly. They must convince a large number of good people that the Democrats are not the lions. Rather they must convince them that they are being herded into coliseum by lions in sheep’s clothing. It’s daunting but far from impossible.

Red Sox Rule

It was a brilliant summer day with puffy cumulus clouds drifting over the Back Bay. Only one image of the proceedings remains, Dave "Boo" Ferris hurtling his body and the baseball toward home plate. Each time I sit near the spot of the point of view of that picture in Fenway Park, the big right hander drives off the rubber once again.

The year was 1944, and my Uncle Henry was taking me to my first big league game. It began at Frye's Cigar Store on the corner of Main and School Streets in downtown Brockton, Massachusetts. Yes, they had tickets available and my lifelong passion for the Red Sox had been ignited.

With the return from the war of Ted Williams, Bobby Doerr, Johnny Pesky, Dom DiMaggio and the rest there could be no doubt that an era of Red Sox baseball dominance filled with World Series trophies was about to dawn. My grandfather's daily summer exercise of two hours of uninterrupted pressing of his deaf ear to the Philco to learn of the latest exploits of our returning heroes as they mowed down the hapless Yankees would pay great dividends for decades.

The images of 1946 are vivid, the picture perfect swing, the grace of nonpareil middle infield play, a ball struck hard into the triangle causing ten thousand hearts to stop only to have life restored by the Little Professor gliding under the harmless sphere. And there were mighty men on the mound for the locals. Tex Hughson and Joe Dobson would join Boo in bringing glory to the home team.

I adored Bobby Doerr and practiced all of his graceful moves in my backyard. My dream was to play second base for the Sox but, as I could not bear the thought of supplanting him, poor Pesky whom I liked only slightly less would have to give way at shortstop so that I could team up with my hero in the middle. There were minor impediments to the dream such as lack of speed, power and talent, but they would be overcome by time, nature and practice. Acknowledging at least the size deficiencies, I would bat leadoff, followed by Johnny - moved, sensitively, to third base, the mighty Splinter, "The Big Cat Rudy York at cleanup, Bobby fifth, and Dom would be moved to the eight hole, also with due regard for his feelings for having to step aside in favor of the new rising star from Brockton. With that lineup, we would dominate well into the sixties.

But the impossible happened, Country Slaughter with reckless disregard for sound baseball raced all the way home from first. Don't you believe for a moment that. "Pesky held the ball!" That simply did not happen. Slaughter just erred by running when he shouldn't have. Honestly, that's it; you could play it again a thousand times. He should not have run. Oh, from the vantage point of almost sixty years, I guess the Cardinals probably can claim they won and that I'll have to grant them at least a nod. But it was not fundamental baseball; it wasnt, really, honestly, I'm telling you, cross my heart and hope to die.

It was only after that debacle that through overly intense readings of tea leaves and careful explorations of the entrails of small animals that had been killed on roads all across New England that `it' was divined. There was no curse from 1918 until October of 1946. Only after Slaughter completely screwed up was the curse discovered.

New England remained a strange place in the middle of the last century. It was still under the influence of the descendants of those who'd spotted a witches brew in Salem and who were ever at the ready to see the hand of Satan working its evil. Predestination was the accepted orthodoxy of the controlling tribe, and they were ever capable of working backward to find a preordained reason for every sin. And why did Slaughter run? The devil made him do it. It mattered not that. "Pesky held the ball" which as I said he did not do; Johnny did nothing wrong. Satan made Enos commit the sin of bad baseball. The search for reasons was on.

What was in those dried entrails? Success in 1918 and failure in '46. Babe Ruth and Harry Frazee, even a dolt could connect those dots. The curse was born. And so it grew. How could Bucky "xxxxxxx" Dent have hit that ball over the Green Monster? Of course, the devil guided and speeded his swing. How could solid Bill Buckner have missed that grounder? I've watched that play a thousand times and swear that there was a bad bounce. Oh, they'll tell you otherwise, but it wasn't till well after the nine hundredth time that I saw that Satan's handiwork was evident. Look for yourself; you'll see it if you look carefully enough even if it takes you all winter, it'll be worth the effort.

How could heroes like Yaz, Dewey, and the ever calm and resolute Spaceman not prevail? The clear sighted Radatz, the finesse around the bag by Dr. Strangeglove, the ever calming Jimmy Piersall, and the smoking bats of Rice and Lynn, the power of the Golden Boy and Junior, and the wondrous left arm of Mel Parnell and so many other stars too numerous to be named that what all New Englanders knew - it could only have been a curse. They knew and, with the full complicity of the Evil Empire, convinced the inhabitants of every Middlsex village and town, as well as those in hamlets from Portland to New London and beyond that we were forever doomed.

My sainted mother watched a thousand games in both black and white and color. She knew the names of the wives and children of all of our worthies. She never believed for a minute - nor did I - the stories of their excesses while on the road - clearly, the knights of the keyboard were at their vituperative worst.

I remember well when television replay first came into use and visiting with her during an important game - they all were - when our center fielder made a spectacular catch to Ma's cheer of approval. Unbelievably, we watched the screen and she screamed, "My God, he did it again." There was nothing that those good boys could do wrong as far as she was concerned.
There was always a hint of respect when "The Baltimores" and "The New Yorks" were in town. Yogi and Whitey while surely nice lads from good homes drew her full measure of scorn and distaste, and that nasty Earl with his Raleighs in the dugout and his too smart tongue with all those swears - ah, you know what I mean...

After all the disapointments, I decided to make the far more exciting world of government manual and memorandum writing my career. It was selfish decision but the call from the glamour world of bureaucracy was simply too strong to resist.

In turn, my own sons, all the way from far off Virginia, absorbed the ambiance of the old park. The flashing Citgo sign, the rush from Kenmore Square, the brick façade of Yawkey Way, "Scoah cahd! Get yoah scoah cahd!", the smell of Fenway Franks and all the rest.

But a new day has dawned in New England; the Puritans no longer reign. A team resides in the Back Bay. No longer do twenty-five taxis deposit twenty-five individuals in the Bronx to face down what used to be their `betters'. Never again will "Who's your daddy?" and "1918!" rain down from beer blushed bullies. Now the stands will be silent as the patrons chew their nails. From now on they'll worry that Ortiz, Manny or Trot will smash the babe's bulbous bronze nose with a heroic swat. Now they must fear that their paper warriors will be hitting nothing but air as Pedro pulls the string on his changeup or that a weak grounder to Bellhorn from a Lowe offering will squelch yet another aborted rally.

There never was a curse, just the lunatic ravings of those who believed in Halloween. The scruffy boys from the Back Bay have exposed the empire and its curse for what it is, merely a tiny man with a too heavy check book and an overworked right arm howling at the moon from behind a pin striped screen.

RED SOX REIGN! RED SOX RULE!

King of the Mantle

Often on rising in the morning, I look upon the pictures of my beloved ancestors – my parents, two of my grandparents, and a favorite uncle – and on many more evenings before retiring I try to visualize them as the living beings they truly were. Sadly with age the images fade, and I realize that when these photographs are looked upon by future generations the subjects will be little more than quaint antiques.

My father, Bill Brennan, collapsed while I was an infant and died before I was four. Thus the picture of the most important man in my life holds only miniscule meaning for me. My mother told that my father was a kind and gentle man. What does that mean? What would he have wanted to impart to his toddler son whom he saw but half a dozen times after he became ill? No one will ever know.

My mother’s portrait is of a vibrant woman of forty-eight years, full of life and still attractive. Yet the image in my mind’s eye is of an old and tired being who tried always to remind me of a past that had great meaning for her but which held not nearly so much cachet for me. Helen Sullivan Brennan raised me alone while caring for her failing mother and father, sacrificing her life for ours.

The proud fifty-six year old man, Henry Patrick Sullivan, gazing out at me was well over seventy when I came upon him. We shared a common address for his remaining years, and we lived in the same household for the final several years of his life. He was my daily companion and bestowed his wisdom generously upon me. There was no question that was beyond his best effort at an honest answer. He was a thinking man who saw a possible kindred spirit even in an eleven year old. When he died, a part of me expired and never fully recovered. But what was a thirteen year old boy to truly remember of such a short period of lucid discourse? Much, I hope.

The old woman in the small frame beside my grandfather’s, Nellie Carney Sullivan, is almost a stranger, remembered only as my demented and helpless roommate during her final months in 1944 and by the tales of her former strength told to me by my mother. In photos she is a worn out old woman after lifetime of drudgery and the loss of two sons and a granddaughter to violent deaths. According to all who knew her, she was never the same after the death of her youngest boy. It is both ironic and fitting that she shares a common cemetery plot with those three and her husband, Henry.

The last picture is that of my hero, my Uncle, Henry Francis Sullivan, he had moral principles of the highest type and demonstrated them many times. The most important example was when we sat alone in St. Edward’s Church in Brockton, MA as the congregation was called upon to rise and recite its pledge not to attend movies or read books forbidden by the Archbishop. I sat with him because I was protected by his great courage in the face of extraordinary peer pressure to conform and renounce the use of reason.

They are all gone, none for less than two decades at this writing and, in the case of my father for more than two generations, but they live in my heart and mind to extent that I can recreate their images in my consciousness.

Why am I writing about these people in such a public forum? They were important to me, and because I am nearing the time when I am expected to supplant them on a mantle somewhere. But I have come upon a means to communicate with my own grandchildren and theirs that will provide an opportunity for them to know me that was never afforded my deceased loved ones and which they and I can never change.

Human beings have ever attempted to communicate from beyond the grave, and art and religion have been their two most obvious vehicles. The cave painters of France had to think that others – even far in the future – might admire their art. Sophocles, based on the reaction of contemporaries, could not have helped but dream that his plays would give pleasure and enlightenment long after he was gone.

Shakespeare was confident in his ability to write immortal lines, while Dickens, writing novels almost until the day of his death, had to believe that his work was not in vain. The same could be said for many other great writers and artists.

As for religion, half the world believes in a resurrection in which they will be reunited with those who went before and those who will pass later, but belief in an after life in which we will be united with our all of our loved ones assumes of course that we all get off at the same stop.

But what of those of us lesser beings not so confident of meeting up with those we love? Amateur artists and diarists through time have hoped that their works would at least inspire their loved ones to preserve their efforts, and many were right. Scholars constantly troll through diaries of those who lived in the times they study, culling tidbits that show either the sentiments of the era or a prescient view of the future.

But we live in an age of technology. My ancestors lived in the beginning stages of this epoch, and they’re photographic portraits gave them great advantage over those just one generation before them. How are we to view the changing world of science and what can it do for us in maintaining some semblance of reality for our relatives yet unborn?

With no thought of mantle time or of being remembered after I pass from the scene, I exploited one of the technologies that are just now becoming available, `on demand publishing’. When I retired from government service, I decided to become a novelist. Where I developed the chutzpah to attempt this trick, I shall never know. But with the help of a couple of texts on writing, I dashed off the first book that was destined to be the first rung on the climb to fame and fortune.

In re-reading this low tech thriller, I was confident that it was quite good and that royalty checks would soon be overwhelming my mail box. Fantasies of Hollywood and the intellectual and arts circuits mesmerized me as I shipped chapters off to dozens of agents. These were short lived dreams, however, as the first returns came in. “No”. Not for us.” “Good luck elsewhere.” These and many that simply were never answered were my reward for many months of hard work.

Descending from a long line of dreamers with concrete in lieu of ordinary gray matter, I was too obtuse to take no for an answer, and I shipped queries off to dozens more agents and publishers. As the empty hooks were hauled in, even I began to think that getting a novel published might not be as easy as I’d suspected.

The first adult decision I made was to throw out that first book and to write a more exciting, if not better, thriller. And I did. I won’t dwell on the fact that this effort received the same reception in the market place.

An even more mature decision was made after chucking that masterpiece into the landfill. Since I found myself unable to compete in the popular market place, I would regroup and truly examine my place in the world of letters. The result was my novel; A Tattered Coat Upon A Stick. While I recognized the book as flawed, at that moment, it represented my absolute best effort at literature. My insecurities prevented me from properly vetting the work with friends and relatives, and my need to place the book in time and place that somewhat diminished it as a work of art. Despite this, I thought it was quite good.

The book was sent off to agents and publishers without any of the false confidence of the earlier pulp and soon came home with similar messages. “Bug off little man!” None the less, I was pleased. I had written a book that I thought had merit. I kept it for later reference. Shortly thereafter, the world of `on demand publishing’ came to my attention, and I quickly took advantage and self-published it.

Without dwelling on the difficulties gaining recognition of self published books, the book sold only because I worked hard at presenting it around New England where it is set. The number of copies in circulation far exceeds my friends and relatives and all of the reviews have been extremely favorable. As stated, it is flawed but represents a powerful statement on American justice.

My next effort, Au Revoir, L’Acadie, is, I believe, a far better novel from a technical standpoint. It, too, is a novel about historical events in New England. With more confidence in my ability and standing, it was vetted among my friends whose comments improved it greatly. That the book was not self published represented a major step forward in my career as a writer. I won’t dwell on how close it is to the bottom of the commercial pile, but it is out there for sale. The critics have been even kinder than with the first book.

One kind reader, Jacques L’Heureux of Columbia, Maryland, became enthused about this novel that describes the tribulations of Franco-American characters as they suffered through the Great Depression. He voluntarily set up a web site for me in order that his ethnic counterparts – and others – could become familiar with this almost forgotten but vital period in their history.

But it has been through my frustrating efforts to sell my books that I have come to see that modern technology holds the key to my place on the mantle and how I will fight to maintain the heights for at least one additional generation.

When living in retirement in Massachusetts, I was fortunate to find a niche in the lecture circuit and was able to collect a few modest honoraria and sell quite a few books by singing for my supper. It was fun and I became quiet proficient, but it soon became evident that cracking the ceiling to the next level of commercialism was not going to happen as result of turning myself into an itinerant peddler.

During this extraordinarily difficult phase of book marketing I came across the following:

“To write books is easy, it requires only pen and ink and the ever-patient paper. To print books is more difficult, because genius so often rejoices in illegible handwriting. To read books is more difficult still, because of the tendency to go to sleep. But the most difficult task of all that a mortal man can embark upon is to sell a book.”
Felix Dahn - paraphrased by Sir Stanley Unwin

Having suffered more than Willy Loman over these many years, I can certify without equivocation that Mr. Dahn was right. What to do next? My books are good; ask my readers. I was growing older and more of the same old song and dance patter was out of the question, but I was not about to give up as a man of letters – although I must admit that fame and fortune are no closer now than when I embarked upon this journey.

As I’d stumbled upon the `on demand’ publishing business and only serendipitously came upon my web master, Jacques, so I tripped over blogs. I’d heard of these strange things but had no idea what they were or how one might be established. One day as my wife, Barbara, and I shared a wonderful day in Baltimore’s Inner Harbor with Jacques and Maryann L’Heureux, my host described these strange entities and steered me to Google.

Obviously, dear reader, as you read these lines you know that a blog was created, and I thank you for your time. Would you like to buy one of my books? I’m sure that they are still in print and easily available to such a discerning person as you.

Just as important, dear greatgrandchild, are you really certain that you wish to make room on your mantle for a more current occupant? Have I not entertained you enough to postpone that awful decision until the next spring cleaning?

Perhaps I should explain my outrageous nom de guerre, WildBill944. The nickname emanated from my youth when I was really wild. The 944 was the winning number in a lottery in which I won a real live pony. In 1946, I won the little beast and brought it home to my Tipperary neighborhood in Brockton, Massachusetts. My Uncle Henry – my hero – bought the ticket for me and suffered more by having to lead the work crew of my Uncle Joe, my grandfather and him in converting our little summer house in the back yard to a stable. Fortunately for all, the madness of my life as a famous equestrian ended quickly and `Babe’ departed for a new life elsewhere.

Like any good salesman, all I need is one more renewal. Would you also kindly consider another term for my love, Barbara, and the five folks whose cases I’ve also pleaded? Thank you for your continued love and support. See you on the other side if you happen to get off at my stop.

Love,


Wildbill944




.

A Visit With Henry

Well over a decade had passed since my last serious sojourn to the pond so, when wandering nearby, I couldn't help but stopping to inquire whether memories of past visits remained valid. As you know, a long and thoughtful rumination at the site isn't as easy as many think and most, except for that obligatory trek as first year college students, talk about tramping so far from town rather than really slogging through the woods.

Much sooner than expected, I found myself tiptoeing along the right of way peering across the short reach of the pond toward the house and helloed. As to everyone, the occupant was most welcoming to this pilgrim.

The journey was not made in order to compare my life in Virginia near the seat of government in Washington with his in New England but such weighing was inevitable, doubly so as people abiding within shouting distance of the pond are considerably closer in habit to me than him. As you well know, his opinions were more than a little strong when he penned them and how things were proceeding near the Capital, or in Concord for that matter, this day might well have been upsetting.

His view that man needs no more than a savage's wigwam to satisfy his need for shelter is compatible with my own - at its most basic level. That his neighbors' houses, thought immodest by the Henry's standards, have since he commented trebled or quadrupled in size and in the number of rooms to make way for half the number of offspring would have caused consternation, but all was put easy when it became clear - at least to me - that his thesis that we enslave ourselves to our dwellings remains alive and valid.

Just think of how he might react to the thought of village women transporting their miniscule number of children in self propelled wagons with the power of more horses than the train engine that passed by his house each day?

There was little need to shatter his world concerning the news that still drives the universe beyond the wood. He observed that the need to know of another crime in Concord was of no use to anyone. For me to agree but then to double the ante by describing the present mantra of, "If it bleeds, it leads," would have been too much to swallow. At that moment, a jet flew overhead but it seemed to make no impression on anyone but me.

Needless to say, if the changes in our customs of housing might create havoc with the thinker's pondering, how could I ever explain to him or anyone the latest in apparel? The solid common sense prescriptions in clothing that he espoused were timeless, and I had a difficult time picturing him at ease on Casual Friday. The subject was dropped even from my mind as the possible outburst might well have shaken the house off its foundation and created apoplexy in my host.

Shifting to the natural world, I felt my thoughts on what had transpired since his observations would be both interesting and not unsettling. That woodchucks still attack town gardens and foxes are prospering even more than when he penned his lines would certainly be of great interest. I skirted the issue of how deer had virtually taken over the woods and the gardens since their enemies had been routed and that some of his neighbors seemed more concerned for the safety and freedom of these ruminants than for the balance of nature which had long been toppled in these parts.

Henry pointed out that deer had been exterminated from the woods around Concord. Obviously, he would have little difficulty in understanding that we'd persecuted their enemies to extinction and our mark on the land had favored the deer more than other species. But knowing his respect for hunters and woodsmen he would have had no difficulty in having them culled to reasonable levels. Since my host had little qualms about dragging pouts from their place at the bottom of the pond and filleting them for the skillet, I have no doubt that his support would have been with the hunter rather than those intent on protecting what have become vermin of our own creation.

Pouts, now that's a term. Like Henry, I fished for horned pouts as a boy in Massachusetts and never heard them called anything else, but they're bullheads or catfish now. I wondered if he'd recognize these names but soon relaxed, knowing that he knew both the proper and common name of every species that ever swam, flew, or walked these parts.

He walked the roads to town and trekked the dark paths through the woods in all seasons. As the miles passed, he observed and watched and thought and set the stage for his great gifts to me - and you. And back at the house in the quiet of the evening he made sweet music on his flute, notes that gave him ease from his labors. I wonder what he would think of today's practice of passively listening to music, heads bobbing like shore birds to the heavy beat as lives fritter away.

You know he considered Irishman with more than a little prejudice concerning their religion and its impact on their thinking process, and I wondered if he would have suffered some guilt on learning that more than a few of the descendants of these shanty dwellers were intent on understanding his lessons. After taking my leave, I concluded that he was more than flexible enough to cope with such changes.

Pondering the changes in Concord since first learning of his adventures, had I truly simplified my existence? Had I thought? Most important, since, "in the long run men hit only what they aim at, therefore, though they should fail immediately, they had better aim at something high." Had I aimed high? As to the first question, perhaps not so much as I should have. The second, I hope so, but, obviously not as deeply as I should have. And the third, yes, emphatically! In my writing I do aim high. Whether the target has been struck matters far less than having joined the contest intending a bull's eye.

Imagine a man less than half my age wrestling with the questions that have challenged the best of our species and inviting us all to join him in his walks. I’m retired now and freer because of it. Perhaps I should moved to a garret years earlier, but that's the past and, as we all know, even God can't change that. My house is not immodest and my car coughs and sputters, but I could have done with less and gotten on with writing. On the other hand without these visits each decade or so, I might be an even greater tool of my tools.

I took my leave of Henry and his Walden Pond and placed the volume back in its cherished place and wondered if our paths might cross again? What was my gain this time? Oh yes, "Simplify, simplify, simplify."

Epilogue

Without conscious knowledge that 2004 is the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the publication of Walden, I plucked it off my bookshelf. Naturally, within ten minutes I was, like a Walden pout, hooked.

As I neared the end of the book, I happened to catch Diane Rhem's show on National Public Radio celebrating the anniversary of the publication. Her three guest were wonderful and described many things about Thoreau that either I didn't know or had failed to remember.

Most importantly the highly qualified panel described how much Thoreau had influenced their lives and how influential the book had been on many who had long forgotten its words. As I was in the process of such an epiphany, I was disappointed that the show had to end, ever.

I cannot begin to describe how so many of Henry's observations - even though their source had long faded from my active memory - had become part of my own thought process. This book is as influential as its admirers say. If you have never read it, read it! If you read it long ago, read it again!


Wildbill944

Hostile Takeovers and Other Government Fun

Among the most worrisome prospects facing middle managers, especially those who have made their way to within sight of the corner office are changes in top management and hostile takeovers. When the whisper of change reaches the ears of mid-level executives, the need for ant-acids quickly increases.

Few well ensconced employees embrace organizational change. The devil they know is better than the one they fear. Corporate America's middle managers quake at the thought of turnover above them. Their positions will be in play when the new broom starts down the hall, and they suffer angst over all aspects of their lives. They even ponder the notion of life without the comforting embrace of mother corporation.

Such anxiety in the face of major change is not unique to the private sector. Government managers in local, state and federal agencies suffer stress that is very much akin to their corporate cousins. This may come as a shock to many members of the public who've been told that government service is safe from the pains of market oriented institutions but it is a fact.

This commentary will be confined to the federal government in Washington, but similar stresses take place in the regional offices and in state and local agencies as well. During my long career, I worked in each of these types of organizations and, while a practitioner and not a scholar, feel that I'm not too far off in speculating about the entire spectrum.

To tell the truth, government - especially in the headquarters of agencies and most importantly in those offices that formulate and communicate policies - is populated by an ambitious breed of public servants that yearns at least as fervently as those in private sector to rise and compete for the ear of top management. This, of course, is a far cry from the stereotypical slackers who in public imagination populate government service.

You may think that hostile takeovers of the government do not happen or that they occur only every eight or, at most, every four years, but that simply isn't the case. And after the politicians point with pride or view with alarm, the voters flip their coins and a new crew determined to make its mark descends upon the mass of quietly desperate bureaucrats.

The average tenure of presidential appointees to sub-cabinet positions is a little less than two years. Think of it, a new vice-president for sales every two years; that would disrupt any company. Even more shocking, ponder the hiring of all of your senior executives from outside the firm. Obviously, when things go radically wrong, your firm may look afar to hire new management, but this is done with full knowledge that the institution will be seriously disrupted for sometime after the shake up.

Yet top ranks in government are shaken and new outside executives are brought in to run organizations with multi-billion dollar budgets almost every two years. That's one reason for what is perceived to government inefficiency - just one, I grant you. This article is not designed to make you feel sorry for career government managers but, rather, to provide you with insight into a world that you may not know is even there.

A couple of exceptions are in order. Agencies whose missions are perceived to be vital to the nation are spared more than those whose objectives do not coincide with the philosophies of the administration in power even though that sometimes proves to be erroneous. Thus, the FBI, State, and Defense are more insulated from the rigors of constant reorganization than the Environmental Protection Agency, Housing and Urban development, parts of Health and Human Services, and other 'soft' - I leave the term for your defining, at least in this piece - agencies. The debate ongoing as these words are written on the intelligence agencies demonstrates that insulation from such rigors do not always yield the desired results. This undercuts my premise but bear with me.

Government executives are, in my view, a strange combination of bold and fearful. While it was long my thesis that the major difference in the managers, public and private, was the door they chose to enter when their preparation loosed them into the market, time and experience have shifted my opinion to some degree.

Obviously, the goals in the private sector are far easier to define. Even I can understand words such as numbers, quotas, and profits. Ah, but doing good is so hard to define and quantify. This difficulty provides another causation of why government is considered so inefficient - just one more. Yet those who set the goals can do little better. Increasing home ownership or reducing homelessness are worthy objectives and committing millions or billions to those ends are the best legislators can do. How many homeless were housed as a result of a given law as compared to another group that lost their dwellings because of other public policy is grist for many a talking mill. Surely, you'll grant that in selling hotdogs or mattresses it's easier to judge performance than in doing the people's business.

So we've established - haven't we? - that we have a new management team that views its employees, especially those who most closely supported its failed predecessors, with some suspicion and a group of middle managers whose fear is tending them toward paralysis might not be a pretty sight. Each time one group reaches out to the other, past gaffes and history get in the way. So the leaders seek out younger more vital workers who seem ready and eager to assist them in achieving mighty objectives. A new group in harness is on its way to glory but with the baggage of prior wars still on board - but shifted to the side. In the public sector, the outs are shunned with all the shame that goes with it. More inefficiency, wouldn't you agree?

As this process is repeated, sometimes for and sometimes against the public interest, new leadership comes and goes. Middle managers are sent to the wilderness up the hall where they can contemplate their sins, and new Young Turks and revamped heroes from prior administrations fill their places. I won't talk of scores settled and other unpleasantries that are more personal than business like, but with each rise and fall, the insecurities of those who chose the public life become more apparent.

The new paladins recognize that they are there because of the shortcomings of their predecessors. Only fools would rush in to embrace those managers who brought the disgraced executives to grief.

There, now you know the sad life of public managers. I'm sure that your tears are for them and not yourself and other taxpayers.

When We Ran The Country

Okay, alright already, it's overstated, but we tried to run it. 'We', you ask? 'We' were a small group of hot shots - well warm bodies anyway - assembled within the Executive Office of the President in the Office of Management and Budget (OMB) in the early 1970s to coordinate the delivery of federal services, especially among the grant making departments and agencies of the government.

For decades, the President and the Bureau of the Budget (BoB) were criticized for their inability to bring rational management to the federal establishment and, during the first administration of President Richard M. Nixon, this defect was rectified - as best a piece of legislation and reorganization can - and OMB was born. Mr. Nixon and his most powerful associates determined that they would indeed attempt to lash the beast toward good behavior.

To digress, I worked for the federal government for well over a third of a century and have been observing its workings during the twelve years of my retirement. During that nearly half a century, never has a president come close to Mr. Nixon in his grasp of how government works at the management level. That is not to say anything more than that. The actions that led to his resignation remain reprehensible, and his role in the Watergate debacle diminishes his memory. But, again, I never felt that any other chief executive understood the levers of administrative power as well as RMN.

When Nixon was elected, I was working at the Department of Housing and Urban Affairs (HUD). Meanwhile in the Executive Office of the President many initiatives were being tried to make sense of the federal grant making and state and local assistance programs. One that preceded ours and that was closely related it was the so called 'Flying Feds'. The agencies identified highly qualified employees and made them available to state and local governments to provide expert advice.

To make a long story short, that program was a bust. Sometimes the feds weren't properly identified and weren't right for the job. Often, the state or local elected official requesting the assistance was imposing something from above that just wasn't going to be accepted by his or her bureaucratic underlings. From this venture came the slogan, "I'm from the federal government and I'm here to help." which lingers to this day as a vestige of bureaucratic arrogance.

In any event, the President and his minion continued to cast for ways to get a handle on the federal beast. Among those with ideas was Ken Kugel a long time federal manager who had been around the government and the Bureau of the Budget for many years and whose most recent assignment had been with the Agency for International Development (AID). Ken told us - his troops, the 'we' in this story - that as he observed the way the ambassadors coordinated the efforts of the officials from all of the agencies in the country the idea was sparked of similar cooperation among the domestic agencies.

He kicked the concept around with such old BoB Mandarins as Bill Kolberg and Bill Boleyn. Out of this came the concept of Federal Regional Councils (FRCs). By Executive Order, the President created ten standard regions of the federal government. It was no longer sufficient for an agency with state and local assistance programs to locate its regional headquarters where it saw fit but, rather, all such regional centers would be located in the same ten cities - Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Atlanta, Chicago, Kansas City, Dallas, Denver, San Francisco, and Seattle.

This was a major advance, and as a result the Mayor of Manchester New Hampshire could go to Boston to plead for all of his grants and beat up on the bureaucrats he perceived were yanking his chain. No longer did he have to go to Boston, New York, and Philadelphia and make separate cases, and so it was with the governors and mayors across the nation. It made sense then and it still does. Nixon is unlikely to be remembered for such tinkering, but, from a management perspective, this is an important legacy.

There they were, ten uniform regions with all of the important agencies working - independently - to assist the states and cities. Another need was for an OMB coordinating mechanism to breath even more life into the concept of one-stop shopping and coordinated delivery of assistance.

Kolberg, Kugel, and their friends sold the concept of Federal Regional Councils (FRCs) to the President's top staff and within a short period the concept was born. Within each region, the regional administrators of all of the major grant making agencies would meet on a regular basis and coordinate their activities with the other levels of government. One of these regional federal administrators was promoted in grade and title to the role of Chairman of the FRC.

Back in Washington, the Under Secretary of each of the grant making agencies became a member of the Under Secretaries' Group under the coordination of the Deputy Director of OMB. The baby cried and drew breath. The Under Secretaries could hardly avoid the call from the President and their clout added to the drama and push at the regional level.

Still another nurse maid was perceived to be needed to bring the plan to full fruition. Staff had to be provided in both Washington and in the field. A small staff from the Regional Chairman's agency was dedicated to the task in each FRC, and the highly titled Under Secretaries' Working Group came into being. The Assistant Secretary for Management in each member agency was charged with day to day oversight of the function in each agency, and - usually - one staff person did the work. This group was chaired by Ken Kugel.

I don't know how or why but I became that HUD's staff working group member. The task was in addition to other work on a myriad of department projects. I met with my counterparts from the other agencies at OMB where I came to know the people there who were pumping air into the new entity. The agency staff people, especially the relatively lower ranked ones like me were enthusiastic as we saw any chance at an improvement in managing the federal government as a potentially great advance.

It soon became clear, however, that the higher ranking agency people were not nearly so keen on the idea and were dragging their feet, however discreetly, to avoid getting too close to the embrace of OMB. Students of the federal government know that the lines of command and control do not go straight from the president to the departments heads to the regions. That's the story for political scientists and for another day. Suffice it to say, The departments and agencies were as much under the sway of Congressional Committees as they were to the president.

The great power reserved to the president was that of appointment. The top brass in each department is appointed by the president with the advice and consent of the Senate, and the interest groups and committee chairs from the Congress often provide the field of candidates. Surely, dear reader, you're not shocked at this? For the sake of argument, let's just assume I know what I'm talking about. That's huge and many of the 'we' would support you, but we have to move on if you are the least bit interested in the story.

To recapitulate, the Executive Office of the President, including - I think - the President and the Mandarins of OMB saw the Federal Regional Councils (FRCs) as potentially useful vehicles for coordinating the activities and grant making of major agencies such as Housing and Urban Development; Health, Education and Welfare (Since renamed and reorganized); Labor; the Environmental Protection Administration, Transportation; the law Enforcement Assistance Administration; and others.

The Congressional whales and the top echelons of the agencies saw the FRCs as mechanisms undermining their powers and traditional ways of doing business. In fact, I think both parties were correct and an improvement in state and local assistance could be deduced, at least I thought so - as did my buddies at OMB and in the agencies.

The system was very interesting and I asked Kugel for a job. Within a few months, I found myself working at OMB as a Regional Representative. I liked and admired the managers and my co-workers. Over the coming years and months, I thought the system performed reasonably well - from the perspective of one committed to its success.

Before any great change in Executive Branch management could be perceived, however, the great crisis erupted. The break in of the Democratic National Committee offices in the Watergate complex occurred and the Nixon Administration was on its heels and on the defensive. Opponents of the FRC initiative were soon in the ascendancy and we quickly lost momentum.

After Nixon resigned, interest in FRCs disappeared and the Ford Administration was far more into healing the country and the relations with Congress that had been so strained by the Nixon debacle, including his overreach for power. Those of us working on the effort, took our leaves over the coming months and years and nothing remained of it after several years.

The management and staff of that small office devoted to regional coordination and related activities was, in my judgment, one of the finest groups of people I ever served with. They were called upon to do far more than grant coordination.

Before the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) became the relatively well oiled machine that it is today, our OMB staff and the agencies working with it successfully coordinated federal disaster assistance to State and local governments and citizens devastated by hurricanes, tornadoes, floods and a host of other natural disasters. Long forgotten, some of my colleagues did wondrous work under very trying circumstances.

The staff and the agencies worked closely together to bring aid to communities adversely affected by military base closings and by major new facilities such as the Trident Submarine Bases on the East and West Coasts of the U.S. My friends performed brilliantly under terrible conditions during the oil embargo of 1973 to create the federal organization designed to deal with the crisis.

I would like to name all of the people who served in the agencies and in OMB to achieve what 'we' did, but I know that very worthy people would be left out. Some of these people went on to superlative careers as high as Cabinet level appointments. Others served with distinction in less lofty but very important positions.

To this day, those still alive meet regularly to reminisce about that short but sweet period. That time and its adventures created bonds that still mean much to us, and we remain great friends. There were men and women, young and old, Black and White. It was a time and place in which we served with pride. Time has not diminished our enthusiasm. The federal government has changed and there is little point in re-creating such an organization, but those of us who served will always speak of that time and our associates with pride and fondness.

Wildbill944

After The Fall

More than a generation has passed since my closest brush with history. What I did could have been accomplished by a number of folks with whom I worked, but I was selected to do the job. It wasn't heroic and to date has not warranted even a footnote in the saga of Richard Nixon, but someday a graduate student in political science or history may find it interesting. I kept no notes or records so, as it's entirely dependent on my memory, it will have to be discounted accordingly.

Since I do not overvalue my role in the change of administrations from Richard Nixon to Gerald Ford, I chose not to write about it before today. Another consideration is that most of the actors are dead and there is little need to protect anyone - not that there was before. Besides what I did and know is not likely to alter the record in a substantive way.

I was working in the Executive Office of the President as a management analyst in the Office of Management and Budget (OMB) during the summer of 1974. My primary job was to represent the Office (and by extension, the President) in the operations of one of the ten standard regions established by Mr. Nixon. I will write on this function more in a later posting as it, too, may be of interest to students of Mr. Nixon and his presidency.

You will recall - from memory or the historical accounts, depending on your age - that the pressure on President Nixon to resign was building rapidly as summer of 1974 approached. The cover up of the burglary of Democratic National Committee office in the Watergate office complex was collapsing on all fronts, and the administration was in disarray. As the legal and Congressional screws tightened, it became obvious from press and TV accounts that Nixon was through, and he soon quit rather than face impeachment. The images of his farewell in the White House and as he boarded his plane (formerly Air Force One) are very vivid in my mind's eye.

I recall being appalled by the President's behavior as the saga played out, but I was brought to tears by the poignant scenes that played out for the world to see as he expressed his goodbyes. It was a tragedy in the classic sense, and Sophocles could not have dreamed up a better plot or central character.

To digress, based on my family's experience as working class Irish Catholics during the Great Depression, I had been a life long supporter of the Democratic Party and its presidential nominees. As a career federal employee, I remember being quite apprehensive when Nixon won the election. But over the course of five years, I changed my mind about the president. It was apparent to me that he was no enemy of the career force, and I had the opportunity to thrive during his administration and began my shift to a more conservative political outlook.

So it was that Nixon departed into exile in San Clemente, California, never to be heard from again or so it was thought. But that wasn't the end of it. Apparently Mr. Nixon understood that he was no longer in office but giving up power was one thing but perks was another. From what I recall, it wasn't Nixon who was the problem but a number of those in his entourage who left for the West Coast with him. It seems that the General Services Administration (GSA) - the government's procurer and provider of internal goods and services - was being pushed by various aids to the former president to provide a level of service to him - and them - that didn't take into account the fact that he was no longer the top dog and, by extension, they were no longer big shots. On the other hand, the management and employees of GSA were quite conscious of the fact that a change in administrations had taken place, and they were resisting demands from them for a level of service reserved for sitting Presidents.

Not surprisingly, phones began to ring off the hook in my place of employment, The Office of Management and Budget, the nerve center in the federal government where administrative power is most exercised over departments and agencies. While not privy to what was happening, the rumor was that the then OMB Director, Roy Ash, and other senior officials were being bombarded with complaints from Nixon's staff to straighten out the GSA and get the goods and services flowing as they had before the fall.

It was my understanding that top GSA and OMB managers understood each other and were in agreement that the staff of the former president just didn't get it; they were disgraced and out of office and expected to be treated as if nothing had happened. There was no easy solution to the problem. No one wanted to call the former president and order him to clamp down on these over privileged and spoiled staffers, but a solution had to be found.

Paul O'Neill, who later became President of ALCOA and Secretary of the Treasury under President George W. Bush, was one of Ash's key aids. Paul and I had been trainees in the same agency and neighbors in Northern Virginia, and he was a very friendly acquaintance of mine. He was the one who came up with the solution to send me to San Clemente to handle the situation.

On the day that President Ford issued his pardon of Nixon, I arrived at the former Western White House, Casa Pacifica, in San Clemente, CA. I do not remember much of what happened in those first hours but I met early on with Ron Ziegler, Press Secretary to President Nixon who told me of the pardon and - I felt - tried to intimidate me right from the start.

Over the next hours, I met a large number of people on the Coast Guard Station which was the host facility for the Nixon group. I remember being quite confused about who - aside from the celebrities - was with the former president and those who were with the GSA on site.

Most of the names have been forgotten in the intervening years, but the Nixon people with whom I interacted over the next five or six weeks included Ziegler, Major Jack Brennan, USMC - the president's military aid, Diane Sawyer - now of TV fame who was working with Ron, and Steve Bull - Mr. Nixon's personal aid and executive assistant.

Rightly or not, I soon focused in on Steve Bull as my principal point of contact. During this period, from my perspective, he was far closer to the boss than the others, and I inferred that he was speaking for Mr. Nixon and that the others represented their own interests. Steve was also very supportive of my mission and seemed not at all hung up on the lack of perks that I gathered were most galling to Messrs. Ziegler and Brennan. I soon began avoiding that pair to the greatest degree possible.

As I went about my business, I interviewed the top GSA managers on site. I was very impressed with their competence and their willingness to cooperate with me. Although it was obvious that they were very gun shy about the Nixon staff, especially the two I'd spotted as being difficult. They also harbored bad feelings toward Nixon's staff based on what they told me was very difficult behavior on the part of the president's people over the entire five and a half years they were in power.

It was evident that the two camps were at loggerheads over how the entourage would be treated. It has been many years since I reviewed the legislation on former presidents, and I'm not going to waste time on this except to say that former chiefs are granted many perks and significant resources during their lifetimes. But Nixon was different in both public perception and in the eyes of GSA managers. Nixon had been disgraced and deserved little of the honors granted former leaders.

On the other hand, President Ford, as far as I could determine, wanted nothing more than to calm troubled waters and to get the government and the nation back on a healthy footing. So the problem became focused for me. We had a small group of people who wanted all or more than all of the perks due them as staff to the former president, and we had an agency full of people who didn't like these people at all and who wanted to assure they got the minimum of assistance. My job was to find the appropriate middle ground.

To the best of my recollection, I never called my bosses for guidance during the entire period I was in San Clemente and was bound and determined that I would create peace between the warring gangs. The Administrator of GSA and one of his key aids flew out and we all danced around the subject. After a long session, I convinced them - that's my story and I'm sticking with it - that the only way to settle the problem was for the GSA folks from top to bottom to stop pouting and start treating the Nixon people like they were any other agency of the government seeking goods and services. By this time, they seemed ready to start acting properly. I pledged to them that I'd get the Nixon folks on board with the same proposal.

One day in the midst of my ordeal, I struck up a conversation with Diane Sawyer. She was very nice and a very attractive young woman. We were in viewing distance of the work stations of a number of the clerical staff, and I commented something along the line of it was very sad to see how demoralized the staff was and how hang dog the members appeared to me. I indicated that I could empathize with their situation of having served the most powerful figure in the world and but who were now suffering the angst that was permeating the air. We parted and I thought nothing more of the incident.

Within minutes, however, I was summoned by Ron Ziegler. As I entered his office I found him in a wild purple rage -at me. He accused me of undermining Mr. Nixon with the Ford Administration in general and with top OMB and GSA managers in particular. He wildly shouted that I was reporting to Washington that the staff in Casa Pacifica was sitting around doing nothing. His ranting continued for perhaps ten minutes before I could get a word in edgewise.

To say that I was embarrassed, shocked and worried would be an understatement. Here, just as I was beginning to make headway with my mission, I stood accused of being a traitor to those I was supposed to be helping, according to the apoplectic Ziegler. It took me some minutes to gather myself. Ziegler had me off balance - a great 'gotcha' - and showed no signs of allowing me to regain my equilibrium.

But I quickly realized that he was playing a false premise to a fair-thee-well and just had to resist him no matter how embarrassing it might be to me. I was not working for the Nixon folks, I was there to settle them down. By this time, Ron was threatening to call Roy Ash and have me recalled to Washington immediately. I had just enough presence of mind to call his bluff. I knew that I was right, but I was more than a little frightened. To be turned into Ziegler's agent would have been ridiculous and would have ruined my mission.

I told him that I was sorry if he thought my observations were injudicious and that I had never made them known to Washington. I was in this job alone and would do it to the best of my ability. If that wasn't sufficient, he was told to make the call as I was sick of the whole affair and was willing to chance being recalled in disgrace.

My apologetic non-apology gave him sufficient room to find an out and we moved on. Naturally, my conversations with Ms. Sawyer and Mr. Ziegler were far more formal and circumspect after that cheap effort to undermine my mission.

Over the next day or so I wrote the definitive manual of how the office of THIS former president would request goods and services from the GSA and how the agency would respond. I gave copies to Steve Bull and the GSA managers. Everyone seemed satisfied. I kept a copy but lost it in the years ahead. Perhaps it still exists somewhere

When I received the call to arms, I was told by my boss, Dick Feezle, that my assignment would be for the indefinite future, maybe up to six months. But everything seemed to settle down and after some four to six weeks (I can't really remember), I declared victory and headed home.

As nothing was ever heard again from the Nixon crowd or the GSA on the matter, my mission was a great success.

EPILOGUE

President Nixon was quite successful in rehabilitating his persona and died in not nearly the level of disgrace that might have been had he passed away shortly after the resignation.

I saw and heard Mr. Nixon almost every day I was in San Clemente, but I never met him. Each morning, I'd hear him greet the guards outside my office window. His booming voice was unmistakable. I was amazed that he could pull himself together to chat with the officers in a time frame so close to the resignation.

Steve Bull gave me a tour of the presidential office, and I have interesting but completely unimportant stories about that too. To me, Steve was the good guy and steadying influence in what was transpiring during those extraordinary days.

Diane Sawyer became rich and famous and a great success in broadcasting.

Ron Ziegler moved on, if not up, and had a middling successful career as a lobbyist and association executive.

I lost track of all of the others.

It took me months to recover from the assignment. During my stay in San Clemente, I had become nearly as paranoid as the exiles themselves. It was not a job that I bragged about much during the intervening years.

While in California, I stayed at the San Clemente Inn. This hotel had been the social and political center for the presidential entourage and the hangers on while Nixon was in Casa Pacifica. There were pictures of all of the beautiful people and the great parties on the walls throughout the place. But while I was there, the pall that had descended on the inn was heavy indeed. I've never been back, so I have no way of knowing if business and the atmosphere recovered. But as I recall, it closed after a few years.

Deep Throat
The GSA managers in Casa Pacifica never hesitated to criticize the Nixon staff. One of their constant complaints was that GSA staff was considered sub-human by the entourage. This manifested itself in many ways but one common means was by leaving important - if not highly classified - papers on their desks when they departed for the day or for play. This was interpreted by the managers as disrespectful to the intelligence of the staff since it was inferred that they were not smart enough to understand what was in the documents.

While these managers and I had no clue on who might be "Deep Throat" of Woodward and Bernstein fame, this lack of respect for the brains of ordinary government employees always left me with a miniscule feeling that the ultimate source of the downfall might have been a little cleaning lady with far more on the ball than that for which she was being given credit.

A couple of interesting hearsay points. The GSA managers on site were not reluctant to describe to me their feelings toward some of the famous members of the entourage and a couple of them are worth passing on. Bob Haldeman and John Ehrlichman were the two most important and powerful staffers to President Nixon. As you know, both served time in prison after the fall and both were much feared within the government during their days in power. On site in Casa Pacifica, Haldeman was despised by the GSA folks, but, contrary to what I had expected, Ehrilchman was much admired and respected as a kind and gentle man in his dealings with low level staff.

I had an ordinary life as a mid level federal manager and a great retirement in which I wrote historical novels

The End.

Wildbill944

Telling the Truth to Power

The principal job of many employees is to tell the truth to power. That's pretty simple and straightforward isn't it? Perhaps not if the truth is that management is running the business into the ground and, especially, if it's a family owned business. So it is with government; candidates for mayor, governor, and president run on platforms or policy proposals that pretty much guarantee the electorate that they know how to run or reform an agency or department. As their fantastic new policy is implemented, data begin to accumulate and occasionally ('Rarely' might be the better word as you well know, dear reader) the program just isn't working the way the leaders intended. Somebody (Now who might that be?) has the nasty task of telling the truth to power. Do they (does it) really want to hear it?

We are now in the midst of reforming the intelligence agencies of the federal government because they are considered to be unable to cope with the terrorist threat that faces the nation. That's a certainty. From the perspective of a person who is very interested in this process but who does not have the experience of working in or with one of the intelligence agencies, the reform seems long overdue as these institutions are still geared up to fight the Cold War.

But I do know something about how federal employees are dealt with as it relates to telling the truth to power. I spent most of my working life in Washington in positions close enough to power to observe the interaction between analysts and political appointees and politicians. My guarantee is that where truth meets political power there is ever tension. And that's not bad in every circumstance. That a federal education, housing, or agricultural program is not playing out as envisioned is usually not a matter of life and death for the nation. Most program managers do not have so much of themselves invested in a policy effort that they cannot bring themselves to accept the need for change even if it can't be accomplished politically.

Late night comics constantly remind us that many programs are quite funny in their application. Their jokes elicit laughs but not changes because, as we all know, inefficiencies are often built into the system in order to lubricate the gears of government. You're shocked? Please!

In the case of the intelligence agencies, however, the nation and the lives of our citizens are at stake, and there can be no doubt that we are in a life and death struggle with Islamist terrorists, regardless of the labels of their organizations. Of course, there are lots of things we might do beside doing battle with these monsters. We could capitulate - withdraw our forces from Muslim regions, drop our financial and military support for Israel, stop supporting what the terrorists call our puppet regimes in the Islamic world and otherwise bow to the pressure. We could assess the complaints of our enemies and institute reforms that appear reasonable in our approach to the Muslim world. Or we can maintain status quo in our policy and attempt to annihilate the terrorists. I don't know about you, reader, but the first and third options don't impress me. My guess is that over time, the wisdom of the American people will force our politicians into some form of the second option in concert with killing as many of these crazies as possible.

As the 2004 election approaches and the recommendations of the 9/11 Commission sit as a roadblock in the middle of the electoral highway, federal candidates leap to make hay from the report of the commission. Congressional committees are racing to hold hearings. The presidential candidates are shouting their support for all or major portions of the report. The Central Intelligence Agency will or will not be central. The new Director of National Intelligence will or will not have the power to hire and fire, to transfer funds between agencies.

One thing, however, gets scant attention as the deliberations express train rolls on: how do we assure that truth gets to told to power? Having participated in hundreds if not thousands of meetings between political appointees and staff, I wonder how reform can come to human nature through moving organization boxes about? Power in governmental agencies is by its nature hierarchical; there are always people at the table with far more clout than others. Many of those powerful people, dear reader - you'll be shocked - are very self confident and do not take lightly to being told that what they are pushing is contradicted by facts, especially by a bunch of low life bureaucrats. The usual reaction in human organizations calls for them to brow beat their underlings to see the 'truth'. Sort of a 'Flogging will continue until morale improves', approach. I know that this will raise an eyebrow, but higher ranking people in government and the military think that higher graded people are, by their rank, smarter and wiser than their underlings. You don't believe that? You are so innocent.

Thus, when the Bush - Cheney Administration made up its collective mind to attack Iraq, it didn't send the Vice President to CIA headquarters to learn that we shouldn't be acting on its already made decision. The analysts were under great pressure - can you envision the pressure that a figure like Dick Cheney brings to bear of a room full of ordinary bureaucrats? - to rethink their views. People do not run for high - really high - public office to learn that they're full of baloney from a bunch of lifer slackers.

The trick in reorganizing to save the nation is to assure that truth gets told to power without the messengers being stomped. And, just as important, that just because the messengers' analysis and recommendations are not accepted the commander isn't subject to every whistle blower's dream of a great big "Gotcha!"

I think they'll just move the boxes. That's all I could do. If they do their best, it will be an improvement.

Wildbill944

Random Thoughts on Landscaping and Gardening

Landscaping and gardening have been among my lifelong passions. I'm very lucky as my wife shares and complements me completely in these endeavors. My interest began in childhood when those I loved most dearly, my parents, grandparents and uncles and aunts with whom I lived in a large multi-family house got down in the dirt and created beauty in the City of Brockton, MA. Their effort was a combination of English cottage and English formal with an emphasis on tea roses. In my mind it is still very beautiful. Occasionally, when I pass by the old place, I can still see a few signs of their garden outline and I am filled with pleasurable memories.

My spouse and I have owned four houses, and we've landscaped all of them. The first two, suburban houses in ordinary but nice subdivisions in the Washington, D.C. suburbs of Virginia, got the Capital treatment - lots of azaleas, rhodies, andromedas - lightly echoing the English park style. We enjoyed the work as well as the efforts at creativity and we loved the neighborly recognition for our efforts. Obviously, we were young.

We then moved to a Cape Cod cottage in a seaside village in Massachusetts bound and determined not to landscape the large lot as we were tired of gardening and all the work it entailed. Over the course of several years our compulsions got the better of us and the madness returned full force. The result was a much closer version of the English park style. Something along the lines of a 'garden undressed' that Capability Brown might have patted us on the head for doing a good job - for rank amateurs.

These labors of love were accomplished without much thought. I had read a lot of books on landscaping and gardening and developed a rather substantial collection on the aspects of landscaping design and horticulture. As I aged, however, I found these texts lacked something very basic - the reason we get into the business. Most of them simply assumed that the reader was interested and failed to explore the why of the subject.

The book that had the greatest influence on me was Geoffery and Susan Jellicoe's The Landscape of Man. It was from this marvelous text that I came to understand the why of landscaping, that gardens could synthesize man's great and opposite needs - a place to satisfy those of religious bent with a reminder of paradise and, for those possessed of logical minds, an environment in which to think deeply and contemplate. Sir Geoffery and Susan also offered the clearest insight that I have ever come across concerning the derivations of both formal and informal style of landscaping. Shocking to me in its obviousness - but again maybe not to you, dear reader - the formal is inspired by man's agricultural manipulation of the land and the informal from beautiful and romantic natural settings.

The Jellicoe's steered away, however, from the problems of small residential gardens and busied themselves in explaining the magical landscapes of great civilizations with which most gardeners are at least somewhat familiar. My collection is full of books that tell the reader how to create a front garden, side and back gardens, Japanese Gardens, formal and almost any other type of landscape, but they avoid the why one would do such a thing, assuming that I - and you - know why.

Surprisingly, some of the best books in approaching this problem are the most commercial Ortho books and others of similar vein such as the Readers Digest books on landscaping. Most of the other books in my library stress how to rather than why. How to attract birds or butterflies with plantings, how to use color in the garden and so on. Why would you do such a thing? Why to bring pleasure, of course, but it's far deeper than that.

We dig and plant to create a paradise for contemplation and enjoyment, and we're right back to what the Jellicoes have been trying to tell us. How should we use this spark of wisdom? To attempt to understand what our personal paradise would look like and attempt to create it, to try to see just what makes us tick and to satisfy it by manipulating a small bit of our world.

Someone ought to write a book on why a person should be motivated to create a personal garden in the first place. I'm not going to do it. Why not you, dear reader?

One practical thing that I've learned about gardens that has never appeared in print before this paragraph is that at least for one purpose a garden situated on the east side or end of your house is the best. The books usually denigrate the east side as not sunny enough or whatever. But in very warm climates such as that of Northern Virginia where I live and on hot sunny summer days in most places, the east side cools early in the afternoon. Before the mosquitoes come out and make sitting and contemplating impossible, happy hour is best experienced in such a garden. Don't say there wasn't anything valuable in this column.

Cheers,

Wildbill944

Preemption v. Prevention

When the primary reason for the War in Iraq - Saddam had weapons of mass destruction that threatened us and our allies in the region - came up empty, the Bush - Cheney Administration moved on to less salient reasons for its action, e.g. ridding the world of a wicked tyrant.

As the American people became dubious of the value of the incursion into Iraq that appeared to divert resources away from our efforts in Afghanistan against the Taliban and al Qaeda, the President and his surrogates acted aggressively to backfill the arguments. Their message: no matter that WMDs were not found, we did the right thing in attacking Baghdad as Saddam posed a long term threat in the region and to us directly. Now that's a lot more dicey from the perspective of the world community and international law.

Obviously, if a government sees a build up in an enemy that, based on its best intelligence and the actions and statements of the threatening country, imperils its citizens, it is not - in itself - a violation of international law to preemptively strike that nation. Such action is always questionable, however, and, as you will recall, Hitler used this line of argument - overtly false - to attack Poland in 1939, setting off W.W. II.

On the other hand, the president's latest argument that prevention rather than preemption was sufficient basis for the attack creates a completely new ball game as it relates to international law and common sense.

Many countries act in ways that are not in the best interest of the U.S. For example, China threatens us in the Formosa Straits; India and Pakistan are in a long term nuclear standoff that involves us all; the use of oil as an economic weapon is threatened by a number of countries, including Venezuela. All of these actions could be considered threatening, but our self interest and international pressure and law prohibit our attacking them. Thank God!

Iraq will be a scar on this presidency that will grow more ugly as the events recede into history. Win or lose in November, the president has made a gross error of judgment that we will have to live with for a generation or longer. We are less able to fight the war on terror and we have stirred animosity against the U.S. in places undreamed of before this debacle.

The War in Iraq has made us less safe from terrorism, and it has wasted precious resources that could be being used right this moment to hunt down and destroy our enemies. Sad!

Wildbill944