Who’ll be taking the Presidential Oath of Offiice on Jan. 20, 2013?

      It should be stated at the outset that my leapfrogging over the primaries that far ahead was prompted by two reasons

      First, because 2012 is also Leap Year, which occurs nearly every 4 years as a concept that has existed for more than 2000 years, and is still associated with modern folklore and superstition and a popular day for women to propose marriage to men.

      But those years are long gone for me when I could turn a young woman’s head in my direction, and refraining from answering the phone and venturing outdoors, for fear of being entrapped by some scheming female waiting in hiding.

      And secondly, because I can see absolutely no sense in waiting until the nomination process in both parties are concluded to know who’ll emerge victorious and square off in the General Election held on Tuesday, November 6.

      For barring a third-party appearing on the scene between now and then, that would work more to the detriment of the GOP nominee than to the president’s reelection prospects, it will be that plutocrat-usually a pompous person in higher income and social prominence-Mitt Romney who’ll be debating President Obama on the world’s stage.

      The only question is, whether he’ll be able to hold his own in the substantive and rhetorical exchanges, or be outclassed to the degree that Nixon was by Kennedy in their 1960 debates.

      But they will never match the excitement and hoopla that surrounded the seven Lincoln-Douglas debates of 1858, where crowds of 10,000 or more would attend them as they crisscrossed Illinois.

     Will the 2012 election results be as lopsided in either candidate’s favor as, say, Grant winning all 286 electoral votes vs Horace Greely in 1872, and FDR winning all but 8 electoral votes in the 1936 race against Governor Al Landon?

      Or will it be a squeaker, as most polls and pundits indicate it’ll be And perhaps be the squeakest and disputed election since the one in 2000, which was decided by the Supreme Court ruling in favor of Bush in Bush vs Gore on December 12th?

      And among other very close elections in the 20th century were in 1960, with Kennedy beating Nixon by less than 100,000 votes (or 0.1 percent) in the popular vote and by 303 to 219 in the Electoral College; and with Carter prevailing over Ford  in 1976 by the slimest margin in the Electoral College, and Carter leading by 200,000 votes in the popular votes.

      But we can safely eliminate the possibility of this election resulting in a tie vote in the Electoral College-such as occurred in the election of 1800, when the Federalists nominated John Adams to  be President and Charles Pinckney to be Vice President, and with the Democratic-Republicans nominating Jefferson as President and Aaron Burr as Vice President, and then making the mistake of assigning both of them the same number of electoral votes.

      Thus, since neither had the majority, the election was turned over to the House of Representatives (as the Constitution then provided for), where the House voted 36 times before selecting Jefferson over Burr.

      What a blessing that turned out to be for our young nation, when what that became known as the Burr Conspiracy, where he conspired with others to carve out his own empire, by attempting to detach the Western States and Louisiana Territory from the Union, came to light. For which, he was arrested by Jefferson and tried for treason, but not convicted for lack of direct evidence. 

      His being exposed for his treasonable coduct must have brought a smile to Alexander Hamiliton’s face as he laid in his grave, who he’d killed in a dual in 1804, after Hamilton shot his gun in the air.

      Quote of the Day: “We get who we deserve.”  Ben Franklin’s comment on elections.

Playing ‘King of the Hill’ is a rough and tumble game

      And I had the black and blue marks to prove it, in that children’s game. The object of which is to stay on top of a large hill or pile, while other players attempt to knock the current King off of it.

      Ordinarily, pushing is the most common way of doing it, but there are rougher variations where punching or kicking is allowed.

      And I can recall instances of when  pulling off shoes of others and hair pulling in scrambling to reach the top were considered as fair play 

      The name of that game has become a metaphor for any sort of competitive activity, such as that currently underway among the wannabe nominee for president in the Republican Party.

      Now, while Mitt Romney reigns as the King of the Hill going into the battle royal within the Republican Party and conservative movement in South Carolina, he could still be toppled from his lofty position  by a series of gaffes and overconfidence by believing he’s already the de facto nominee, no matter how ferociously those biting at his heels may wound him there and in upcoming primaries.

      And given that state is known for its anything goes in its negative ads campaigns, and has been the graveyard for many frontrunners-a la presidential candidate Sen. Mc Cain, who after winning handily in New Hampshire, suffered a crushing defeat there to G. W. Bush, due in large part to the scurrilous accusations hurled at him by unscrupulous sources, like alleging that he had fathered  rather than adopted a black child, or that he was “off his rocker” as a result of his imprisonment in Vietnam.  

      But perhaps the biggest hurdle he has to overcome if he is to remain in the “cat-bird     seat” are the charges of his doing more flip-flops from his earlier positions-on abortion rights, stem cell research, gay rights, gun rights, and universal health care-than Olympic gymnasts ever do in the floor exercises competition.

      And therein reveals the glaring differences between him and his father, George Romney, who also went from the boardroom to the presidential campaign trail.

      For he was a hard-core centrist, who as his former campaign aide Keith Molin said of him, that he “never tacked back to the right and faced charges of flip-flopping as his son has.”

     But then again, as writer Roberto Loiederman points out in the op-ed page of the Jan. 5th edition of the Baltimore Sun, that “Mitt Romney has changed his prior moderate views on hot-button issues because it would have been political suicide not to do so.”

      He then goes on to say, “that whereas George Romney showed courage in changing his pro-war stance on the Vietnam War-claming that military brass had brainwashed him into believing rosy predictions about its successful conclusion-his son has taken the expedient route by telling voters what he thinks they want to hear.”

      That he chose to do an about-face on his heretofore stated principles reminds me of     several apt quotes: “The most useful thing about a principle is that it can always be sacrificed to expediency.” (W. Summerset Maugham”…”The moral losses of expediency far outweight the temporary gains.” (Wendel Wilkie)…”Expedients are for the hour, principles for the ages.” (Henry Ward Beecher)

      Quote of the week: “The hen is the noblest of creatures, ’cause she only cackles when the eggs are laid.” Abraham Lincoln

My New Year Resolutions are to make none

      Never have. Never will. For I couldn’t see any sense in lying to myself or others that I could keep them for longer than one day, much less than throughout the year. 

      For to believe I could would be as fatuous as my pledging to be less critical of the commissioners in the New Year.    

      Here are some randomly selected New Year quotes to start your year with a hearty laugh or at least with a wry smile:

      o “New Year’s is a harmless annual institution, of no particular use to anybody, save as a scapegoat for promiscuous drunks and humbug resolutions.” (Mark Twain)

      o “Youth is when you’re allowed to stay up late on New Year’s Eve; old age is when you’re forced to.” (Bill Vaughan)

      o “May all your troubles last as long as your New Year’s resolutions.” (Joey Adams)

      o “New Year Resolution: To tolerate fools more gladly, provided this does not encourage them to take up more of my time (James Agate)

      o “An optimist stays up until midnight to see the New Year in; a pessimist stays up late to make sure the old year leaves.” (Anonymous)

      o “The proper behavior all through the holiday season is to be drunk, with the drunkenness culminating on New Year’s Eve, when you get so drunk you kiss the person you’re married to.” (P. J. O’Rourke)

      o “Good resolutions are simply checks that men draw on a bank where they have no account.” (Oscar Wilde)

      o “Drop last year into the silent limbo of the past; and let it go, for it was imperfect, and thank God that it can go.” (Brooks Atkinson)

      o “Many people look forward to the New Year for a new start on old habits.” (Anonymous)

      o “From New Year’s on the outlook brightens; good humor lost in a mood of failure returns.” (Leonard Bernstein)

      o “A New Year’s resolution is something that goes in one year and out the other.” (Anonymous)

      o “Time has no divisions to mark its passage, there is never a thunder-storm or blare of trumpets to announce the beginning of a new month or year; even when a new century begins, it is only we mortals who ring bells and fire off pistols.” (Thomas Mann)

      o “Now there are more overweight people in America than average-weight people; so overweight people are now average…which means you have met your New Year’s resolution.” (Jay Leno)

      o “Happiness is too many things these days for anyone to wish it on anyone lightly; so let’s just wish each other a bile-less New Year and let it go at that.” (Judith Crist)

      o “Making resolutions is a cleansing ritual of self assessment and repentance that demands personal honesty and, ultimately, reinforces humility; and breaking them is part of the cycle.” (Eric Zorn) 

      o “It wouldn’t be New Year’s if I didn’t have regrets.” (William Thomas)

      o “One resolution I have made, and try to keep, is this: To rise above the little things.” (John Burroughs)

      Now, despite my skepticism about the value, or the lack thereof, in making resolutions, I’ve always made a daily resolution for God’s ears alone: “To be a better man for you and me.”

      And that he has let me remain on earth for eight decades is, so I’d like to think, a sign that he hasn’t given up on me completely.

All I wanted for Christmas was what I always want

       And that’s for peace on earth and my own peace of mind. And it’s a toss-up as to which has proven to be more elusive and difficult to attain.  

        Now, each year at Christmastime brings back fond memories to me, as I’m sure it does you, of joyous ones (especially in our youth).

        But it also evokes the unpleasant thoughts of not being able to share them with loved ones who are no longer with us.

       The Christmas, that forever sticks in my memory, is the one I spent in the frozen mountains of Korea, where nothing grew in that battle-scarred terrain, except for the length of the icicles hanging from the top of our sandbag bunkers; and where frostbite was as much of an enemy as the opposing forces. 

        I’d celebrated Christmas by eating two instead of just one can of beef stew in the box of C-rations, and paying $50 for a bottle of rot-gut whiskey smuggled up to the frontlines to share with my tank crew.

        But I’ve gotten ahead of myself. For the main reason for writing this blog was to wish one and all the happiest of holiday seasons, and to offer my sincere sympathy if you didn’t get the gifts you so wanted; and had to wait in long lines to exchange those out-of-fashion or wrong-sized clothing or worthless kitchen gadgets.

      Speaking of receiving gifts, I can’t help but wonder whether the commissioners got the gifts they’d asked for in the lists they faxed to Santa’s solar-heated home in the North Pole.

      Now, even though I of course have no way of knowing what was on their lists, if I were to hazard a guess as to what they were, they might have been something like this: 

      o For Howard. A timer, like those used in chess tournaments, that he could use to allot commissioners a limited amount of time in which to make their spiel. He could be more generous with his cohorts than he is with those standing at the microphone in public meetings, who are limited to 3 minutes. I’d recommend setting the timer for them at, say, a maximum of 9 minutes. (Heck, it takes Rothschild more than 3 minutes to get warmed up.)

      o For Shoemaker. Boxes of petitions for voters to sign urging Rothschild to throw his hat in the ring for the 6th congressional seat (currently occupied by the rusted-out, Roscoe Bartlett). For there’s no one more motivated than him to spearhead that grassroot movement, who’d give his eye teeth to see his nemesis going to Washington to spread his balderdash, not to mention his then regaining the title of VP. 

      o For Frazier. The courage (and gall) to present to this board the proposed policy changes she’d made in her first term, in which she argued vehemently (forgive me RR for using one of your favorite terms) for (1) eliminating all zoning laws; (2) removing the cap on building permits; (3) prohibiting recreational activities from being held on Sundays on county property; and (4) banning the annual Wine Festival from being held on county property.

       o For Rothschild. I doubt if he asked for anything, believing as I’m sure he does that handing out baskets of food to the needy and toys to their kids during the holiday season is nothing more than a thinly veiled, socialist plot-backed by the armed forces of the U.N. Agenda 21-to capture the minds and hearts of the proletariat they’ll need to fill the ranks in its invasion army, which was formed in order to keep this nation from (in again using Rothschild’s words) “going over the precipice.”  

      o For Rousch. Material things he doesn’t need or would have asked for, what with that fat retirement package he undoubtedly received after slaving away mixing cement for so many years at that giant cement company. But if he’d agreed to read it, I’d gladly pay (if the board won’t) for a book on speaking effectively and succinctly.

      Quote of the week: “A good conscience is a continual Christmas.”  Ben Franklin

‘Ding Dong-The Wicked Witch is Dead’

      One could just as easily substitute Kim Jong II name in the title of that song of rejoicing sung by the Munchkins in the Wizard of Oz, whose death on Monday was greeted throughout the free world with a sigh of relief (however tentatively), unlike the response it got from those on the streets of the North Korean capital, Pyongyang, who upon hearing the news of his dying, reportedly wailed in grief, kneeling on the ground or bowing repeatedly.

      As his grief-stricken son and heir-apparent, Kim Jong Un, lamented: ‘How could the heavens be so cruel?…Please come back general… We cannot believe you’re gone….”

      He’ll be the next Kim Jong to rule the country, beginning with  its founder. Kim Jong I, then by his father. That only goes to prove three “Jong’s” don’t make a right.

      That his father was a loony-tune was borne out by his obsessions: spending $800,000 a year in importing  Hennessy’s cognac; wearing stylish elevator shoes, that added four inches to his five-foot two height; breeding oversized rabbits to feed the starving people; consuming lobsters and roast donkey meat at every chance he got, watching over and over such U. S. movies as Rambo and Friday the 13th; and with his having a complete collection of Daffy Duck cartoons and memorabilia. (It figures that he could relate to his exploits.)

      But by no means was he the only son who followed in the footsteps of  a tyrannical father in recent history. For before he was ousted in 1986, Jean-Claude Duvalier, nicknamed “Baby Doc,” ruled Hati with an iron hand for 15 years after his father, Francois “Papa Doc Duvalier, died, and used his father’s security apparatus to continue ruling in a totalitarian manner. Upon his fleeing to Paris, France, where he lived a luxurious life style, it was alleged that he had embezzled at least $500 million from Hati during his rule. 

      And Saif Al-Islam Gaddafi, his father’s favorite son and heir apparent, who was feted by the West as a “moderniser” who would guide Libia along the path of democracy, chose family loyalty over reform when the rebellion began. And the urbane image he’d cultivated over the years as a friend of the West were dispelled upon his being captured in robes and a beard, proving that he turned out to be very much his father’s son.

      But there are also many notable instances of where the “apple did fall far from the tree,” such as:

      o King David and his son Absalom, who waged a war against his father and who ended up hanging in midair by his long hair caught in the thick branches of a large oak tree  when riding a mule; and when Joab found him there, plunged three javelins into his heart. (Let that be a warning to the long-haired kids of today riding dirt bikes in the woods.)

      o Ben Franklin and his illegitimate son William, who unlike his father was a steadfast Loyalist throughout the war of Independence, who served as the last Colonial Governor of New Jersey; and which tore the two apart from thereon, despite his father’s efforts to reconcile their differences.

       o General Douglas MacArthur and his only son Arthur, who truly did march to a different drummer than his father and grandpa, who were both legendary military leaders and recipients of the Medal of Honor; and who went so far in order to show his disdain for the military environment in which he was raised, as to change his still unknown last name and live in relative obscurity in New York City where, according to a forme aid to General MacArthur, he became a concert pianist and writer. 

       So far, me and five sons (albeit that I lost one-but only for the time being in my mind-on his fourth tour in Iraq at the age of 54) have been able to maintain more than a semblance of a normal-however that’s defined-father-sons relationship over the years, strained as it was at times by my shortcomings as a father. For as Robert Frost said, “You don’t have to deserve your mother’s love; you have to deserve your father’s.”

      Quote of the week: “It’s easier for a father to have children than for children to have a real father.”  Pope John XXIII

2011 Report Cards for Commissioners

      When writing for local papers over the years, I’d announce the “Grand Awards” for that year, which to many local politicians, who received the two-inch high trophies (in the shape of an extinct do-do bird) was about as welcomed as meeting a former lover during a honeymoon.

      But this time around, I decided to take a different less flamboyant approach, by simply grading the individual and collective performances of the commissioners in the various categories-like sportswriters do following each Raven game.

      Assigning grades, however, to anyone is not easy for me to do, evoking as it does the bitter memories I have of my highschool days, when I never got more than a D+ in most classes, and finished 147th out of 149 in graduating.

      But I wasn’t embarrassed by being at the bottom, for the two guys I despised the most were below me. Nor did it bother me, that by the time I walked across the stage to receive my diploma the janitor was in the process of sweeping it off, and that only my parents remained in the audience.

      And I found it comforting later in life to learn that I wasn’t alone in being a poor student, what with Albert Einstein having flunked his algebra class; that Henry Ford only had a 4th grade education; that Thomas Edison only made to the 6th grade (with his teacher indicating on his report card that it was a waste of time sending him to school); and that Andrew Carnegie never went to school.

       So, that should serve as a note of encouragement for the commissioners who I’ll be grading, that no matter how low the grades they get, they can still succeed in improving them over the next three years, with the help of the Almighty and an indulgent public.

                                                             A drumroll, please

      Collectively, working as a team., I’d give ‘em a C- mainly because I sympathize with Howard, who has the difficult task of having to keep the board focused on their governing responsibilities; of his having to play the peacemaker’s between the opposing factions; and of having to rein in members who go off a wild tangent on extraneous matters.

       For decision-making in a timely manner, I would, in the spirit of the Holiday season, give it a D-, because of its procrastinating for so long in making up their minds on such important issues as the expansion of the airport, waste disposal and, most importantly, in finalizing the county’s Master Plan. (At the rate they’re going, I daresay they’ll surpass the gestation period of 22 months for elephants.)

      For management style, I’d lower the grade to F, because of it micromanaging the internal operations of the departments, to the point of where those who appear before them are resigned to being put through the meat grinder, with  nearly every answer they give being dissected. 

                                                             Another drumroll, please

      Individually, I’d grade them as follows, irrespective their being proud neo-cons or of the opinions I formed of ‘em well before now.

      Dave Rousch, who I’d give a C+ to, for  his uncanny, acrobatic ability to straddle the fence with neither foot touching the ground, but who at least broke the tie by voting aye on filling the PR position in-house.

      Haven Shoemaker, who I’d give the highest grade of B+ to, for his not only being the voice of moderation and for his pragmatic approach to problems, but even more so for his no longer making like the fire-breathing dragon he was during the campaign, intent on incinerating Julia Gouge.  

      Robin Frazier, who I’d give a D-to (which would have been an F, if were not for my fearing she’d called upon the Lord-with whom she enjoys a more intimate relationship (or so she would have us believe) than any one else on the board-to send down a bolt of lightning striking me dead. And for her openly defying the U.S. Supreme Court decision banning invoking the name of a specific deity in prayers held in public buildings, which, paradoxically, shows her contempt for that biblical admonition, to “render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s….” 

      Richard Rotschild, who I’d give a a F to, not soley for his leading the board down the primrose path, by that ill-conceived and poorly executed forum on Plan/Maryland, but for his coming close to matching Machiavelli’s art of manipulating, or exerting excessive control over events or another. And for his innate talent in deluding himself into believing that his glibness and the smokes and mirrors he employs to conceal his loftier ambitions from the public at large will go undetected, even by those bird-dogging his every step. 

      So it is, with those who rely on guile rather than substance to achieve their ends.

      Quote of the week: “Look at the dust I doth stir up.”  Said the ant riding on the hub of a ancient chariot wheel.

Levelheadedness prevails over wrongheadedness on PR position

           Now, I have always been selective in the public meetings I’ve I gone to over the last 20 years, with my criteria for attending them being that the topic must hold the promise of drawing a large turnout, along with having the potential for raucous behavior to make it worthwhile for me to miss a meal or a favorite TV show to write about

        And, when entering a meeting, I try to be as unobtrusive as possible and rush to find a seat in the back, so as to avoid any evil stairs or verbal missiles aimed at me. 

      But none of those precautions, however, were necessary when I entered the commissioners’ meeting room the other day. For as I quickly observed, there were only three other people there besides the board members. 

      So, throwing caution to the wind and with shoulders squared, I took a seat in the front row, which had me almost eyeball to eyeball with the board members, who, understandably so, weren’t about to greet me with a smile or wave of the hand.

     The discussion opened on a cordial note, with all members in agreement of the necessity for having a person(s) to assume the role of a media consultant, acting as the conduit between them and media outlets. And, in turn, for keeping their constituents abreast of the latest goings-on.

      But that collegial, spirit of cooperation was short-lived, when Commissioner Shoemaker-who as of late has become the voice of reason on the board and the arch pennypincher-made a motion right off the bat to have someone from within the ranks to perform that vital function, as opposed to contracting it out.

      That set the stage for what was to be the ongoing mano o mano between him and Rothschild, with Frazier at his beck and call to support his every argument, even with his non sequiters and contridictory statements.

       And sitting as Rothhschile and Shoemaker were onlly an arm’s length apart, one could tell by their body language the low regard that had for one another-personally as well as professionally-and how that surely contributed to and stiffened their resolve to come out on top in the no-holds-barred Donnybrook they were engaged in. 

       As I watched ‘em fighting like kids in a sandbox, rather than maintaining the decorum expected of a deliberative body of public officials, I knew my coming there would be handsomely rewarded by providing me with ample fodder for writing a more insightful blog, focused on revealing the interacton that goes on among the board’s members, sans having to rely on my usual, jaded sense of humor to capture the reader’s interest

       Now, what with both Rothschild and Frazier having already tipped their hand as to their preference for awarding a service contract to Jim Simpson, making it a foregone conclusion that Shoemaker’s original motion would receive two ayes and two neys when voted on, thereby leaving it up to Roush to break the tie. 

      And given that he tends to be as indecisive in making up his mind as a Scotchman standing in front of a pay toilet, and who seems to enjoy playing the role of the Devil’s advocate, there was no way to predict which of the sides he’d align himself with.  

      Ultimately, however, when the last-minute point-counterpoint exchanges finally ground to a merciful end, he signed on with the Howard/Shoemaker team. Much, I would add, to the consternation of those on the losing team, with Frazier looking at him with eyes as hard as buttons, and Rothschild as crestfallen as a dog who’d lost a bone.

      Then, with a sigh of relief, I hurried to the nearest fast-food restaurant to quiet my growling stomach, before returning home for a long overdue nap, to hopefuly flush out of my mind what I’d witnessed of the best and worst traits of our county’s leadership .  

      But apparently that nap didn’t have the recuperative effects that I thought it would. For it remained clogged up, after I read in the paper a few days later that the board, in playing its version of musical chairs, had voted by secret ballot to give Rothschild the honorific title of vice-president, rather than allowing Shoemaker to retain it  

      You can bet he ordered a new nameplate with that revised title right after his anointment, that leaves him with only one higher rung on the ladder to climb on the board, in furtherence of his ambitions to seek a position at the state or national level.

      Remember, you heard it here first.

      Quote of the week: “There are two sides to every question-my side and the wrong side.”  Mark Twain

‘Brother, can you spare a dime?’

      That was the Depression-era anthem for the times. Written in 1932, that song still resonates loud and clear today, especially among those who find themselves, due to no fault of their own, in a daily struggle for mere survival.

      And hard as it may be to imagine for the approximate 15 million Americans who are unemployed today (not including those working part-time jobs, or who’ve given up looking for jobs), and for for  the 46.2 million currently living below the official poverty line of $22,314 for a family of four, and for those who’d attended-mostly in vain-career and job fairs, that there were even worst times in our nation’s history.

      For as bad as things are today, what with  a total of one million home foreclosures since 2008 and 45 million receiving food stamps as of June this year, that’s sure better than how it was in the 1930s, what with  having to stand in long lines to get a stale crust of bread and watery soup; and with the homeless living  in shantytowns (called ”Hoovervilles”), in caves, cardboard boxes and even in sewer pipes.       

      Herewith, are some of those firsthand accounts I’ve read about, coupled with what I’ve gleaned from the Digital History website.

      Unemployment. Jumped from less than 3 million in 1929 to 4 million in 1930, to 8 million in 1931, to 13 million in 1932, and to  a quarter or 35 percent of the non-farming workforce in 1933. 

      (Incidentally, 1931 was when the Lord brought me forth unto the earth, with the small assistance of my parents; and then in honor of my arrivival, the Empire State Building opened its doors for the first time on that very day, 11 June. No wonder I’ve led a charmed life.

      Incomes. By 1933 the average family income had tumbled 40 percent from $2,300 in 1929 to just $1,500.  In that same year, a quarter of the nation’s families did not have a single employed wage earner. Three-quarters of all workers were on part-time schedules, averaging just 60 percent of the normal work week. And penniless men and women (including those who’d held professional positions) were selling apples on street corners for 10 cents.

      o Population shifts Saw gray battalions of Arkies and Oakies fleeing the ”Dust Bowl,” packed in Model A Fords heading for California only to find their having gone from one hell hole to another. And with millions of job seekers taking to the rails, with the Southern Pacific Railroad boasting as to how they’d thrown  683,000 hoboes off its trains in 1931 alone.

      o Diets. To say that many subsisted on less than a Spartan diet would be an understatement. Breakfast usually consisted of fried potatoes. And unlike many families in more urban settings, those living on farms survived on what the land could produce, on the hogs they butchered and on the animals they hunted; such as, groundhogs, muskrats, squirrels, rabbits, possums, skunks and raccoons.

      Urban dwellers, on the other hand, had far less meat to eat. And having the cheapest meat, a chicken on Sundays, and on no other days, was a sheer delight. The rest of the time, they ate cornbread, soups, beans or whatever else they could make with the sack of flour they received from the Red Cross that had to last two weeks. (A soup, aptly called Depression soup, consisted of a half cup of ketchup and a half cup of boiling water.) Yummy for the tummy!

      And the hungriest of the hungry were reduced to catching rats to put in the pot, to eating Dandelions, roots and weeds, to scrounging for food in garbage cans, and going from door to door looking for handouts, and making a chalk mark on those doors where they were given something edible to alert others where they should come to.

      Personal hardships. Examples of which were: to save money, families neglected medical and dental care…on wash days, one would have to stay home for the two days it took to turn the wheel on the washing machine…rates of desertion soaring with 1.5 million married women living apart from their husbands by 1940…large numbers of men  lost self-respect and became self-destructive, while others turned to alcohol and were abusive to their families. 

      No one ate at restaurants, for a steak dinner for one person could cost three bucks…only a few people went to the movies, for a ticket cost 15 cents, and that would buy a quart of milk and a loaf of bread…many families were evicted from their homes for nonpayment of rent, who could be seen huddled around bonfires in the winter to stay warm…and college graduates in 1929 could be waiting for ten years to land a job.

      And children living at home felt the brunt of it, what with more than 200, 000 vagrant children wandering the country as a result of the break-up of their families…often walking to school in light clothing and in shoes with cardboard soles when snow was still on the ground, or walking barefoot in warmer months…and having a lard sandwich with sugar sprinkled on it for lunch.

      But despite the hardships the Great Depression inflicted, it drew families closer together. And as one observer noted, “Many a family has lost their home and automobile and found its soul.”

      And the obvious lesson value for us today, is that we would do well to emulate the perseverance and will to survive they demonstrated so admirably, no mater how dire the economic circumstances we currently find ourselves in may be.

      Quote of the week: “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself-nameless,  unreasoning. unjustified terror, which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance.”  President Roosevelt’s First Inaugural Address on March 4, 1933.

A Rose is a Rose by any Name

      I could have just as well used that more common saying, “that if it looks like a duck, waddles like a duck, and sounds like a duck, then it must be a duck.”

      But I stuck with my first choice, for I’d rather smell the aroma of roses any day than listening to a duck’s loud quacking.

      To begin with, I gotta give two of the commissioners-Howard and Rothschild-credit for almost getting away with what I call a political shell game, by doing one thing we could see and then another thing we didn’t see.

      They were able to, not because they’re master of illusion, or sleight of hand experts,  but rather because they counted on us being either unaware or indifferent to their having hired two people-one to work for Rothschild (at a salary of $25,000 for a 25 hours workweek; and a private lawyer, to work for Howard (at a salary of $35,700 for a 30 hours workweek).

      (Above figures obtained from acting head of county’s Human Resources.)

      And therein hangs the tale. For while both their jobs are described as “Administrative Coordinator,” one would have to be living in a bubble not to recognize such a blatant act of subterfuge on their part, in oder to avoid being accused of reneging on their word (as reported in a TIMES article of 5/8/2011, titled “Cost of running board of commissioners reduced”) to “get rid of special assistants.”

      It was purely by happenstance that I learned of their attempting to pull not only the wool but the whole sheep over our eyes.

      And no, there’s no “mole” in any county office(s) keeping me informed of their latest bit of skullduggery. Best known as hanky-panky.  

      Quote of the week: “The secret of life is honesty and fair play; if you can fake that, however, you’ve got it made.”  Groucho Mark

 

 

 

Lordy, Lordy! Look who’s claiming to be a member of the House of Lords

      Before the stench of that odor emanating from the site where the commissoners’ forum was staged fully disipates, it would be well, I thought, to delve into the background of Christopher Monckton, who was the keynote speaker at the eagerly awaited (or scorned) event focused on Plan/Maryland.

      It was held in the afternoon at a hotel in Pikesville on Halloween, when the goblins and witches were already on the prowl looking to scare people out of their wits.

      And judging by the critical reviews it received from many taxpayers, they must have taken time to cast an evil spell on that gathering of neo-cons, which  Commissioner Rothschild directed and choreographed (with the help of stagehand, Jim Simpson). 

       As I listened to his canned speech, I became increasingly upset at him apparently expecting his arguments to be accepted as gospel and irrefutable, and with no one in attendence to counter them.

      In Britain,  he’s viewed, if not as a quack, but as an egocentric curmudgeon, for touting himself to be the most knowledgeable person in the world on the fallacies of climate warming; and for his having blithely ignored being officially notified, in a letter dated 7/18/11 sent to him by David Beamish, Clerk of the Parliaments, telling him to “cease and desist” from claiming to be a member of the House of Lords, either directly or by implication,” and referring to his having been previously put on notice to refrain from doing so, by letters dated 7/21 and 7/30/2010. 

      And, as a reporter with the British Guardian newspaper once said of him, ”that his self-declared, worldwide  fame is only eclipsed by the size of his fibs.”      

      So, as a direct consequence of his duplicity, his attack on the validity of climate warming has to be taken with a mountain, not with “a grain of salt.”

     And while having nothing to do with the contents of his speech, I couldn’t help but observe his close physical resemblance to comedian Roger Dangerfield, what with the same bulging eyes and with words pouring out their mouths like bullets from a machine-gun.  

      Now, it must be said that his ruse puts him in the company of a long list of charlatans who throughout history were guilty of having made fraudulent claims of their holding prominent positions and/or titles. A few prime examples of which are:

      o Christopher Rocancourt, who pretended to be a member of the Rockefeller family.

      o Anna Anderson, who said she was the Grand Duchess Anastasia, daughter of Tzar Nicholas 11 of Russia.

      o Lambert Simnel, a pretender to the throne of England, like a Perkin Warbeck was.

      o  Fritz Holm, a Danish adventurer and self-styled Duke of Colachine.

      o  Jerry Allen Whittredge, who claimed to be an Astronaut, CIA Regent for Life, Medal of Honor recipient and Top Gun Trophy winner

      o Barry Bremen, who had entered multiple sporting events by claiming to be an MLB umpire, an NBA All-Star and Dallas Cowboys cheerleader. 

      o Joseph A. Cafasso, a former Fox News military analyst, who claimed to be a highly decorated Special Forces soldier and Vietnam War veteran, and who actually served in the Army for 44 days.

      Now, I’ve never represented myself to be anything other that what I’ve been in my life: an anomaly in my youth, an iconoclast in my middle years, and an anachronism in my old age.

     And to show that I do posses at least a smidgen of humility, the bio in my blogs simply reads: “A superannuated, run-of-the mill provocateur.”        

     Quote of the day: “Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.”  Sir Walter Scott