Memories From Third Grade

I had a tough childhood. No kindergarten for me. First grade. Cold turkey.   No practice napping. No half-day classes to get used to what it’s like to be inside the big house.

My first grade teacher was Miss Hoover, a pretty young lady who served graham crackers and milk and begged for silence.  My second grade teacher was Mrs. Sparks, a no-nonsense high-breasted woman who was not particularly electric. She wore printed cotton dresses and looked through eyeglasses that had Coke bottle lenses. She could have been my grandmother’s sister. She was sane and diligently, if not enthusiastically, went about the boring daily business of math and spelling.

Miss Miller was a round, low-breasted woman who always wore a black cotton dress, perhaps the same one every day.  Her black hair was pinched into a tight, little a bun.  Like Mrs. Sparks and unlike Miss Hoover, Miss Miller never smiled.  She kept a yardstick or pointer in her right hand and a Bible in her left. She used them both.  She was a dark presence. Armed and dangerous.

Now I’ve talked with Catholic kids and heard story after story about those ferocious nuns.  Sorry, they couldn’t have lasted 30 seconds in the ring with Miss Miller. Sure the standard crack on the knuckles.  Yes, the ear was not only there for listening, it was also a handle by which Miss Miller could extract you from the classroom.  That’s just the physical stuff. There was a lot more to Miss Miller than the mere threat of, or actual, physical violence.

Every morning, after the pledge of allegiance and a prayer as long as a three-act play in the original Greek, she would read us something from the black book, usually something harsh and bitter showing the vengeful side of God’s nature.  I’ll admit that’s when I began to develop a dim view of the Creator. That and what he did to Moses put me off.  Of course I said nothing at the time. She had a Stalinesque hold on the third-graders. The smart-aleck seeds of my personality had not yet bloomed. The unfortunate thing is that most folks can read my face.

The Bible reading was followed by a moral tale.  One of those stories told to us 64 years ago survives to this day, albeit in tattered form.  I was eight at the time. Seems as if a frail little boy committed a sin, stealing perhaps.  He was caught and found guilty.  He was to be paddled (another weapon in Miss Miller’s arsenal).  “But he was so small and so weak,” Miss Miller said. “Surely there must be a better alternative.”  She looked around the classroom.  No one spoke. “All was lost, it seemed,” continued Miss Miller, “until one boy, a big, strapping child, raised his hand and volunteered to take the beating.” Miss Miller may have actually smiled, having conveyed what in her mind was an important moral lesson.

I think the reason I remember this story is that it never made sense to me. I’ve been trying to figure this out since I was eight. There seemed to be, even then, a simpler solution.

At 3:15 — the end of the day in Miss Miller’s third grade class, she would stand at the door as we all filed through and left for home.

That afternoon, as usual and being the polite child my parents taught me to be, I said to her: “Goodbye, Miss Miller, see you tomorrow.”

Without blinking, she replied, “If there is a tomorrow.”

Rant — Our Own House of Cards

When a presidential candidate makes a veiled suggestion that gun advocates might use their passion to eliminate the opposition, you might have greater drama in the real world than the darkly humorous piece of fiction about the Presidency, ‘House of Cards.”  Some of what happens in the Netflix series seemed preposterous. No more. It is reality that is unbelievable.

Narcissist In Chief (Donald J. Trump)

One could believe a conniving politician and his equally avaricious wife team up to gain the most powerful positions in the world. We’ve had time to adjust to it in a kind of parallel reality filled with all sorts of drama – accusations of illicit affairs, claims of murder, potential violations of national security, illegal quid quo pro deals and actual impeachment. While TV’s “Madame Secretary” shines a golden light on the Hillary Clinton type, “House of Cards” seems to have been inspired by the shadowy side of Bill and Hillary.

Though trending upward, Former Secretary of State, Senator and First Lady Hillary Clinton is regarded unfavorably by more people than almost any other presidential candidate in history.  ALMOST, I repeat.  Even less liked and trending downward is the pretend billionaire, foil hatted conspiracy theorist, fake patriot, race baiting, incredibly uninformed and unhinged Donald Jong Trump.  His antics have set up a scenario more bizarre than Doctor Stangelove. He is a misogynist with videotapes to prove it. He makes fun of the disabled. He has a history of bad business practices and failed casinos, though he runs by peddling his success as a businessman, and refuses— unlike every modern presidential candidate before him — to make his income taxes public. Why? Will they reveal his real income?  How little taxes he pays? Will they show that his very public promises to charity have gone unfulfilled?  Trump is currently on trial for fraud and racketeering for operating a bogus university.  He promises to bring jobs home though nearly every product with the Trump brand is outsourced. He is anti-immigrant, though he employs them en masse at his various golf resorts and spas. 

He has picked as his running mate a failed governor of Indiana who believes the earth is little more than 6,000 years old and that human activity is not affecting climate despite overwhelming scientific proof to the contrary. This at a time NASA is sending back photographs of Jupiter? How could this not make an uproarious satirical comedy much more interesting than “House of Cards?”

This does not mean Donald Trump is without savvy. Even a ten-year-old can be cunning. Trump has the knack for self-promotion. Like the jokester in the back of the classroom or the bully on the playground, he has discovered the art of disruption. “Pay attention to me!”  But if you do, you realize he has nothing to say. As people tire of his tantrums, Trump has had to escalate his threats through calculated, carefully worded statements. About Hillary, he said:

Frank J. Underwood (Kevin Spacey)

“If she gets to pick her judges, nothing you can do, folks. Although the Second Amendment people — maybe there is, I don’t know.”

The meaning is clear to anyone who has half a brain. Through ambiguity, he has deniability. He was only encouraging them to come out and vote, he said. Trump has one more protective layer. If he’s caught, as he was here, he claims the “liberal media is after him.  The bully is the victim.  He whines.  The system, through which he purportedly became rich and certainly famous, is rigged against him. 

The only constant is that it’s all about him. However, in the end, he has no substance anyway. Even his words are empty.  He rarely uses words let alone sentences that have substance. They are exclamations. Everything is incredible, fantastic, unbelievable, amazing. Especially him. True. An “amazing “number of “ditto heads” (remember them) follow him, some with their confederate flags and some with their pointy hats.

Unfortunately for Trump, the very people who were drawn to him because “he tells it like it is,” haven’t been told anything useful. They simply worship a man who worships himself.

Yet the world quakes, awaiting his spontaneous threats and insults. Leaders from major countries —many our long-term allies — cringe, not because they fear his strength as a leader (or negotiator), but because they fear his stupidity in a nuclear age. He is our Kim Jong Un, a thin-skinned egomaniac who inherited his position in life, and who now masquerades as savior.

We haven’t had such a threat to global stability since Stalin, Hitler and Mussolini.  The thing is: we truly don’t know whether to laugh or cry. He is a truly dangerous clown.  Who could make the movie of a man who once was the playboy of the western world and became someone who could actually destroy it? Mel Brooks?  The Coen Brothers?  John Waters? David Lynch?

“Certainly House of Cards,’ clever and seductive as it is, collapses as cutting edge political theater in the face of the surreal nature of the 2016 U.S. election. Yes, yes, and with irony, Hillary represents the establishment, the “good old boy” network. Not my first choice, or second, but we’re down to two. The former secretary of state is intelligent, experienced in world affairs and most important, not a nutcase.

Rant — Crime Reduction for the One Percent: Make Bribery Legal

In the Citizens United Decision, The U.S. Supreme Court somehow came to he conclusion that corporations are people AND money is speech.  To put limits on corporate donations to political candidate is to therefore limit free speech.

It is apparent now — if the Supreme Court’s decision on Citizens United didn't clue you in before – that bribing government officials is quite all right. The U.S. Supreme Court said so, and has just said so, again. There is no intellectual or common sense argument that justifies these decisions.

Here is what The New York Times had to say then.

It’s that tortured logic that led to the conclusion that money is speech.  We’ve known this for a long time.  Except it used to be said in a less constitutional way that “money talks.” And while practiced widely, it was illegal.  But now that it’s “speech,” bribery is legal.  So if you are the P.R. czar for a big company or an organization that wants to sell guns or pills or food or without regulation you can pay congressional representatives to pass laws to help you succeed.

George W. Bush And Pro-Bribery Justice Alito

I don’t know about you, but my twenty bucks isn’t going to buy much influence; whereas the NRA can buy off congress who might otherwise regulate the sale of military assault weapons to the public; whereas big food corporations can pay off reps to prevent full and honest product labeling; whereas Nestle can continue to use public land for free to sell your water back to you.

If we were naive enough to believe that Citizens (money is speech) United was a one-off, here’s a case (taken from a story by Jon Schwarz at Intercept) that shows this is the direction of the ultra-right leaning Supreme Court, who like their Republican friends believe it’s only fair the rich get richer – no doubt because they are so kind to  the rest of us.

Former Virginia Governor Bob  McDonnell

“In the McDonnell case, it was proven that Jonnie Williams, the CEO of a dietary supplement company, gave McDonnell an engraved Rolex watch, took McDonnell’s wife Maureen on a $20,000 shopping spree at Louis Vuitton and Oscar de le Renta in New York, loaned the couple over $100,000, and much more. In return, McDonnell set up meetings for Williams with Virginia officials that Williams used to push for the state to fund studies on the effectiveness of his supplements, pestered his staff about it, let Williams throw a product launch lunch at the governor’s mansion, and allowed Williams to add himself and associates to the guest list for a reception for state healthcare leaders. Williams himself testified that the gifts he gave the McDonnells were ‘a business transaction.’”

Yet the U.S. Supreme Court threw out the conviction. The Justices, as well as many of McDonnell’s friends and associates, believe that he simply did what friends do for friends.  We’d like to think that when a judge gets to the Supreme Court, the highest court in the land, the last chance for justice, you really try to find your higher self.

The Supreme Court is determined to make bribery not only legal but also an enforced right, therefore an integral part of U.S society.

Young Justice Alito is one of the prime players in this mess. I’m not sure he’s bright enough to figure he is largely responsible for legalizing pay-offs.  He actually denies it. He should brush up on his Shakespeare: A rose by any other name….”

Meanwhile, this far right George W. appointee will be around awhile. And if the next president provides him with some allies on the bench we will have a even smaller voice in our government for years to come — unless of course you, like Trump, have a few million tucked away for such incidentals as bribing senators.

Rant – Defeating The American Politics of Hate

I’m reposting an edited version of this rant from last year. It seems more relevant today than it did then.

I’d like to think I’ve mellowed, but lately I’ve succumbed to the other side of old: disgruntlement. With all this unbridled hate from so many Americans based on skin color and religion, I have to hold back a loud screaming, “A pox on all your houses!” Some houses are worse than others, despite the fact that many of them claim to be God’s house.

Unfortunately God, in all his or her guises, has been imagined re-imagined, co-opted, adopted politicized, interpreted, and reinterpreted to serve mankind’s baser instincts. The so-called “word” has been translated into so many languages so many times no one really knows what was intended, not even the folks who claim to have heard the word directly from God’s mouth and transcribed it for posterity. Then again, what do we usually think about people who hear “voices?”

What’s going on here and around the world really is a battle of people afraid of knowledge and science, bound instead to superstition and paranoia. They form gangs of often violent followers who demand you believe in their made-up story, not the other guy’s. There has been and will be torture and torment in nearly every land in the world because someone says Mohammed is the greatest, another says Christ, another Buddha, another Ganesha (my personal favorite).  Moses fits in there somehow. And then there’s that whole Zeus-Jupiter dispute, not to mention the sun Gods. And let me add: I think pantheists are vastly under rated.

There is enough confusion just in Christian circles. When I was growing up, I was curious about the seeming unexplainable.  A Catholic kid who lived a couple of houses away learned that my family was Lutheran and told me matter-of-factly that I was definitely going to hell. Only Catholics went to heaven.  I told a young friend of mine, an evangelical Christian, what my other friend said and he told me to stay away from Catholics because all Catholic schools had guns in their basements and planned to kill us all when the time was right. In my formative years I went to various churches, places where bodies were dunked in water, eventually sputtering, coughing, choking to the surface suddenly saved or reborn. I could do that at home, in the bathtub, I thought. I’ve always had an independent streak. I could save myself, thank you. I also listened to those souls who testified, in a state of mind just short of a voodoo trance.  

In high school, a group of us regularly met in a basement to discuss such matters without resolution or agreement, but with mutual respect and the enjoyment of a hearty discussion.  In college, nearly every night of my freshman year, often while playing euchre, we discussed the meaning of life, and sorted, with my friends, through various philosophies, Eastern and Western. Despite my focus on theatre and journalism, over the years I took elective courses in Western Philosophy, Buddhism and Hindu. And like most folks of my generation, I dipped into the popular and mysterious literature of the times, from Hermann Hesse to Carlos Castaneda.

After sitting at a bar in Bloomington, Indiana with still another group of intellectually curious friends, a young man whom I’d never met and never saw again said that everyone searches for an epistemology. I sensed truth here. Perhaps it was like hunger or sex. Something built in.  I asked about him later and no one in our little group heard from him again.  Perhaps he found his epistemology or perhaps he went off on a search. A third possibility was that he thought the whole idea was foolish and that his comment was far from an endorsement, more of a futile, disappointing observation.

He may have been puzzled at the notion that we need a rulebook at all.  At the time, I thought that by epistemology, he meant people needed a set of rules to live by. Most religions had them, it seemed. That would explain this extraordinary and to me silly dependence on so-called sacred text, no matter in what part of the world, or when it originated. Nearly everyone may be looking for the official rulebook, the one that would guarantee him or her not only an afterlife, but a damn fine one at that.  So imagine if you think you’ve found it and you did your best to live by it, then someone comes along and says you’ve been reading and abiding by the wrong rule book all your life. You are going to get pissed. Why not just try to live a good life?  You know how to do that. Do you really need a book to tell you not to do harm to others?

There are more than 4,000 religions on earth, and more than seven billion people, (a few more than can fit in a one-bedroom apartment in San Francisco). So maybe we, at least here in the U.S.A., need to listen to our founders who fled religious persecution and wanted religious freedom for all. That’s who we are as a nation. Work to protect all our freedoms and not be pro one religion and anti-another. So believe what you will, live as you like as best you can in a just manner, and keep your rulebooks to yourself.

Incidentally, “epistemology is the study of knowledge and justified belief,” according to The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. So we might want actual science to play a role in the outcome of our endeavors.

A final note: We, in the U.S., are approaching elections to determine who will represent American interests at home and abroad. Lately, we are experiencing a major candidate who seeks office by tapping into our fear and ignorance of other cultures and religions.  He takes advantage of world events, reshapes their meaning to ride the fear they have created. He skews statistics and blatantly lies. His party would revisit the tactics of the Nazis and use them on certain people they erroneously consider dangerous or inferior. His party would reinstate pre-Selma voting laws that would prevent certain Americans from voting. They would deny full rights to minorities based on little more than unverifiable folktales.

Let’s put the bluster of modern–day Mussolinis to rest.  Let’s keep the old-style Klan-inspired segregationists a footnote to history. Let’s ignore those who believe this is a nation that holds a single religious or philosophical belief.  I don’t regard pride as something to seek, necessarily.  However the United States of America should be proud of being a melting pot of the world. It has been our single, most outstanding accomplishment. It has been the source of our entrepreneurial energy and the inspiration for invention.  With the possible exception of native Americans — and they likely came from somewhere else, only much earlier — we are a nation of immigrants.  Many colors, many languages, many faiths. Let’s not get caught up in the cynical attempts to scare us into hate and discrimination.  

Rant — Trump For President: A Case For The Bunco Squad

If it weren’t so terrifying, it would be hilarious.  I remember the TV series “Dragnet”. I wasn’t a fan; but for some reason I couldn’t not watch it.  Occasionally they had a case of fraud, a “con’ man “ who found a “mark” and through lies and trickery took the mark for all he had.  That’s when Jack Web would say something like: “Turn the case over to “Bunco.”  The Bunco squad handled swindling, confidence games, and money-making schemes that broke the law.  Until now, Bernie Madoff may be one of the best- confidence men ever. He operated a Ponzi Scheme that cheated all sorts of folks, including charities, out of millions. He was a kind of understated con man — perhaps merely subtler than the current business model.

The current champ is made of different stuff. Here’s what Mr. Trump’s subconscious advises you to if you want to be a successful Bunco Artist.

What you do to be successful in the field is create a character.  If you want someone’s money, you must pretend you are already successful. You make a big deal out of it.  Put your name on everything. It is an effective cure for an inferiority complex or feelings of insecurity. Remember how much fun you had putting your finger in wet cement.  People knew your name! You also want to surround yourself with pretty women and hang out with A-list celebrities.  If you are a woman, find someone like me to protect you.  Otherwise you’ll never make it here or anywhere.

A Vessel Filled With Bluster and Greed

You must say you give a lot of money to charity. This shows you have heart. Also, be the life of the party, any party, by saying outrageous things. Making fun of the disabled will get you some attention. It’s especially wise to talk tough, maybe get in the ring with a lot of sweaty wrestlers (people who believe wrestling is real will likely think you are too) pick on a minority group or two or three, to show you’re not one of those politically correct wimps. Talk tough. You can tell them that prisoners of war are losers because they got caught. I gotta tell you that’s double tough, right guys? If I can pick on POWs nobody’s free from my disdain. Also don’t worry about telling lies.  The people who will follow you will never check the facts. (For example, they won’t know I bugged out on Vietnam, deferred because of a bone spur on my foot. Ouch.  Of course that didn't prevent me from skiing and playing other sports).

And IF someone actually does tell the truth about you, remind your followers the accusers are being unfair. Remind them you are being victimized again and again like me. I was victimized by the judge while I defended my business practices at my fake university, one of the thousand lawsuits I have been involved in. I was victimized by the Republican Party because they refused to yield to my wishes. (A reminder, throw a couple of tantrums when you don’t get your way.) It works. I have been victimized by the IRS who would like to know a little more about my bankruptcies and other business dealings. Who do they think they are?  Don’t worry. My followers don’t understand anything. They don’t know that in those bankruptcies I didn't pay workers for their work or suppliers for their products. My followers believe I’ll create jobs.  Yeah, I will. They just won’t get paid. Suckers.

If you are running for office, don’t be specific about policies (except when you want to punish minorities for being minorities). Instead, call your opponents by childish names: “Wicked Wendy” or “Stupid Stewart.” This is especially effective during recess. Don’t worry; your audience will think you’re funny like the guy who blows 7-up bubbles out of his nose. They will applaud you for your cleverness.

More Helpful Hints From My Wonderful And Huge Subconscious:

Vocabulary, Schlmocabulary: Don’t fret about a limited vocabulary. Pick a few meaningless words and phrases and just use them over and over: Unbelievable, Great, Believe me, I gotta be honest with you, Gimme a break. You wouldn’t believe it. I gotta tell you. What can I say?  It’s huge. You don’t have to say anything to be popular.

If you want to get an idea of the way I talk, listen to Regis Philbin.  He’s been doing my shtick for years. Most important, though, don’t ever say you are sorry. Don’t ever admit to a mistake unless you underestimated how great you are.

Donald’s Angels: Get a team of young, Stepford women to appear on CNN and CNBC and Fox. Train them as spokespeople.  Make them memorize five responses to questions.  They arbitrarily rotate the answers no matter what the questions are.  Also, to show their undying loyalty and respect, these pretty little things must always refer to me as MISTER TRUMP. Make sure the men do the same thing only without the cheap make up.

Where’s the Money? Never release your tax returns.  People might find out you are not as wealthy as you say.  They might find out you pay less taxes than a Wal-Mart cashier.  They might discover you give very little to charity.  Look at what I did. In order to sell products (my book and a board game, for example, I promised to give the proceeds to charity.) Did I?  Oh, well.

Let’s You and Him Fight; Take a cue from me, the Donald.  Your physical gestures should include clenched fists.  That’s what a tough guy does, even those of us who dodged the draft. Next, you stir up the brain-washed crowd to do your fighting for you. It’s a lot of fun.  I get so adrenalin-charged when I do this, I take extra shots at the media because they victimize me too. Everybody is out to get me. Look at the Washington Post.  They said something I didn't like.  They are banned.  Banned, I tell you. Freedom of the press wasn’t my idea.

If you succeed at all this, it’s likely your followers are gullible like mine.  In other words they will believe anything. So go for those cheap and easy conspiracy theories.  Hillary murdered some guy. Obama was born in Kenya.   Just sayin.’

Make Atlantic City Great Again:  Come up with a catch slogan. I pretty much owned Atlantic City. It’s quite likely I can do for America what I did for them.

If you vote for Donald Trump, you are his mark, his stooge, his schnook, his victim. Ask Chris Christie who holds Mr. Trump’s coat and picks up his lunch.