PART THREE

I took another turn at the issues as best I could.

“You know, I’m not comfortable with blaming others when times get tough. I’m well aware there is truth to the line, Reverbo didn’t apply himself enough. But damnit, Ross, they stole from us. They sold us out and swiped our future. Working Americans have a legitimate beef this time. Jobs were allowed to swim away, wages tanked, and the cost of decent education and medical care went through the roof. Living on credit was the only way to keep up. Then the contrived real estate bubble went pop, and we had to cover that. Four hundred people now control half the wealth in the United States, and our piece of the pie looks like a crumb.”

“And that is basically what I predicted would happen nineteen years ago!” said the magical magnate. “Things turned out just like the chorus from an old honkabilly number by the Farmer Boys from 1957. Those howlers could have been singing about policies that wouldn’t afflict the country for fifty years.” He sang the following line in an excellent Bakersfield-styled imitation: ”There was a flash, a crash and some thunder, take a look now at what you done to me.”

“Or more accurately, to us,” I added. “How the hell are the baby boomers going to make it back now? Does this make any sense, RP?”

Ross nodded and squinted into the sun glinting off the bay, his nose and thoughts deep in his rockeroo and the Farmer Boys’ tangy tune. “How is any working or middle-class citizen going to make it back?” he said. “This was a deliberate design. The government has allowed an aristocracy to literally buy political power at your expense, and there is no We The People in this model. They control the money, the message, and the elections, and their plan is simple: a new feudalism. Sacrifice you to protect them, and they will do anything to keep it that way. The Republicans have been happy to help. What’s new is that far too many Democrats are for sale now, too. Make no mistake about it–we’ve elevated money and wealth to the highest motivating component in our political system, and this has sabotaged the democratic process with the thoroughness of a coup d’etat. What that leaves, Reverbo, is a government that does not listen to you anymore. By the way, that song I attempted was co-written by Buck Owens. I’ll bet you didn’t know Buck’s real first name.”

“As a matter of fact, I did,” I said. “Alvis. I would imagine everyone knows your first name is Henry, right?”

Accepting his disapproving look, I took a long sip of my drink and stared at our beautiful curved blue world. “You know,” I continued, “most of us aren’t born into the accident of privilege or power, and I also know that perseverance can trump talent. I mean, how else do you explain Richard Nixon, Brittany Spears, David Hasselhoff, and Paris Hilton? What do you do with a Jim Belushi, a Sarah Palin? Just having money doesn’t explain these people. Did I mention Nixon?”

I wanted a wrap-up for now and this was it. “It wasn’t that long ago when the middle class was enjoying the wide-track life on one salary, remember? Is it really like George Carlin said: ‘They’ll get it all, sooner or later, because they own this fucking place. It’s a big club and you ain’t in it. You and I are not in the big club.‘ The fundamental ideas of the United States are going down the tubes.”

“It’s just sad,” agreed Ross. “We have become an oligarchy, and the class at the top and their corporate friends successfully lobby against any legal, trade, or tax barriers to ditching the country. They feel no obligation to the American workers who enabled their success, and their stooges in government cultivate and recruit bus loads of well-chumped fools who keep voting them in. And the thing is, the wealthy and powerful never have enough, but keep telling you that if you just take care of them, y’all will be millionaires one day, too. While you’re waiting for that ship, they’ve sailed to the Cayman Islands.”

We sat in silence for a spell and then Perot, his cocktail finished, stood up and stretched. “Now Larry, I know you’re probably thinking, well Ross, how am I going to cut through this and land one right in the wheelhouse? There seems to be only two possible realities: that opportunities exist even in these dark times, or you may already be retired, my friend, no matter how much we look. The answer is, you have to think outside the tetrahedron. Let’s get our heads together, set the neuron activators to income generation, and see what turns up. But first, how about lunch? Put on some Johnny Tyler and the Riders of the Rio Grande, bring this airship down to the water, and we’ll catch us some dejeuner.”

In the ideas of sacred geometry, the tetrahedron–and it’s geometric iterations–is considered the fundamental repeating mathematical shape in the universe. And he wants to think outside it? This fizzy financier must be vibrating at a frequency beyond anyone I know. Though never having met Claudia Cardinale, I can’t say that for sure. It was theorized by some physicists, including the legendary Richard Feynman at Cal Tech, that the torso of the astro-arrayed Italian actress contained the elementary numerical equivalent of the sought-after Golden Ratio. Suffice to say that in HRP I was in the presence of a heavy hitter.

The Silver Pelican descended over a calm stretch of the Miles River near the Hooper Strait Lighthouse, and we broke out the rods and reels. Ross tied on some old EDS-logoed blinking flash drives for lures, and in tandem with some experimental proprietary-coated hydro goggles, turned out to be a pretty fair angler. I mixed a couple of more rockeroos, and Perot returned to the topic of music as we waited for some action.

“You remember we were talking about the Farmer Boys and Buck Owens,” said Ross, “but here’s a fact you may not know that might come in handy some day: The great Tammy Wynette was married five times. And I’ll bet you don’t know her first husband’s name.” He had me and he knew it. “It was Euple. Euple Byrd,” he said. “You can almost imagine how it went on their wedding day. Feel free to come up with your own ideas for the parts, but this is how I picture it: for the Justice of the Peace–the JOTP? It’s John Goodman all the way. For Tammy, let’s see–Scarlett Johansson? No, maybe too alluring for the role. How about Holly Hunter? And for Euple, a sweaty M. Emmet Walsh or Harry Dean Stanton. Here’s the scene:”

JOTP:     (nods) Miss Wynette. (then turns to her fiance) And you must be…

Euple:     Euple.

JOTP:     Well, Euple, you don’t know this, but Miss Wynette is going to marry five times. You are the first of four more husbands. (Turns back to Tammy) That’s how it’s gonna go, right?

Tammy:  I’m afraid so.

JOTP:     Now, Euple, there’s something else that might affect your decision today. You don’t know this either, but within no more than a year or so, the both of you will be sucking on rhinocerous tranquilizers just to brush your teeth in the morning. But I can tell you this. For as long as it lasts, you will be driving down the road in some fine automobiles. You still want to go ahead with it?

Euple:     (looks at Tammy, then, somewhat dazzled, back to the JOTP)  Yes sir.

JOTP:     All right then, repeat after me. I, Euple Byrd…

We were both laughing so hard, we almost spilled our rockeroos. ”Called the First lady of Country Music,” said Perot. “Only 55 when she died. It’s just sad. Hey, feels like I got a bite!”

In short business we had landed two plump rockfish. While Ross scaled and filleted them, I prepared my signature Tampico salsa (onions, tomatoes, mangoes, serrano chiles, mushrooms and lime), and we grilled up a trophy mid-afternoon repast which I hoped would energize the exceptional executive’s brain cells. I was correct. After lunch, I took the Pelican back up to about 2000 feet, assembled the easels, clipboards, sunscreen, artists supplies, and cocktail tray, set the iMac on voice activated audio capture, and prepared for a Perot-inator mind meld. Remember the t is silent. I wasn’t disappointed.

Next: Uncle Dave has a pesky rash, and Ross unveils some fantastic options.

Reverbo                                                                                                                                                                           Critic-At-Large

“Somebody once asked me if I ever went up to the plate trying to hit a home run. I said,  ‘Sure, every time.’” – Mickey Mantle. Born October 20, 1931, died August 13, 1995.

Mickey Charles Mantle decided early in his baseball career that the appropriate way for a player to circle the bases after taking a pitcher deep was like he’d been around them before. He knew he’d probably be doing that a lot, and after giving up a 565-foot blast, like Washington starter Chuck Stobbs did in Griffith Stadium on April 17, 1953, most pitchers would most likely be feeling bad already. No matter how big or timely the hit, his signature home run trot was always respectful, head down and never showboating.

You have to appreciate Mantle’s honesty about swinging for the fences; an egotistical admission by many, but for No. 7, a simple truth. Mickey Mantle hardly ever choked up on a bat in his life, unless it was to lay down a bunt. Without arrogance or conceit, he was sincerely unabashed in his concept of the game and his place in it. In his eulogy, sportscaster Bob Costas described Mantle as “a fragile hero to whom we had an emotional attachment so strong and lasting that it defied logic.” Mantle wanted the words “A Great Teammate” engraved on a marker after his death, and that earned title is carved on both a plaque at his gravesite in Dallas, and inscribed on a statue in his hometown of Commerce, Oklahoma.

How about this: In the 1953 season, Mantle astounded everybody with displays of almost unreal power. He either hit one off the roofs, or completely over and out of the parks at Pittsburgh, Washington, St. Louis, Detroit, Philadelphia and New York. Nobody could believe those shots. For his 18-year career, Mantle hit 266 of his 536 homers at Yankee Stadium, with a left field fence 402 feet from home plate; the fence in left center just a blur at 457. Rather intimidating numbers for round-trip plans. Not only could Mantle clear those fences from either side of the plate, but an opposing slugger’s 430-foot smash–a home run in many parks–could be a fly-out there, often run down by Mantle in center, bad knees and all.

The famous photo accompanying this column illustrates the incredible feats of which Mantle was capable even when he played in pain, which he often did. It’s September 3, 1961, the year both Mantle and Roger Maris were chasing Babe Ruth’s 60-home run record. Against the second-place Detroit Tigers in Yankee Stadium and with his left forearm basically useless from a badly pulled muscle, Mantle blasted his 49th homer into the right field stands off Jim Bunning. Then in the ninth inning, with only one good arm, he hit number 50.

With all the excitement of New York City baseball in the 1950s, including the great Duke Snider in Ebbet’s Field, and the greater Willie Mays in the Polo Grounds, Mantle was the one. What his baseball legacy would have been had his body stayed healthy is just scary to ponder.

I suppose I loved Mantle like I later loved John Lennon. They both demonstrated a quality of skill, style, and spirit that placed them at the top of their craft, but they were also scarred and imperfect men. Neither were role models and they knew that, but they were most definitely heroes, reluctant or not. As Bob Costas said, it does almost defy logic how strongly people felt, and still feel, about Mickey Mantle. You didn’t just want to be like him, you wanted to be him. Mantle is immortal, at least to people my age. And as Mantle’s physical ability began to fade, the Beatles were coming on. Connected? No. Pretty good timing? Absolutely.

Mickey Mantle was my favorite player–my favorite person– when I was a little kid; no one else came close. I lived in NY from about 1954-60, until I was eight years old, and I remember going to Yankee Stadium and actually getting to watch Mantle and those great teams in person. Now, I can’t say I recall that like it was yesterday, but I have memories of taking the subway up to the Bronx with my father and sitting in those legendary stands. And there he was, the coolest guy in the world, in the on-deck circle, waiting to walk up to the plate for another understated, but spine-tingling announcement by the Yankees eminent PA voice, Bob Sheppard: “Center Fielder…Number 7…Mickey…Mantle.”

In his eighteen seasons with the club, Mantle led the Yankees to twelve A.L. Pennants. They were World Champions seven times. Mantle won the Triple Crown in 1956 and was league MVP three times. His number 7 was retired by the team in 1969 and he was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1974. A few pieces from not just any player’s stats.

Mantle was only 63 years old when he died, his life damaged by injuries, alcohol and cancer. What I’ve sometimes held against other fallen idols I could never hold against him.  Even at the end, after knowing how much harm he caused himself, I rooted for him and wished he could restore his ravaged body and be Mickey Mantle again.

There was a time, now a century ago, when America was once a better place because Mickey Mantle was in it. It seemed like Mantle almost personified our Post-War Golden Age, a era sadly but ultimately unsustainable and unrepeatable. It still gives me chills thinking about him now.

Reverbo                                                                                                                                                                             Critic-At-Large

With the August 28 “Special” Democratic Primary fast approaching, it is appropriate, as a service to voters, to conduct a head-to-head comparison between the two main opponents, Joe Manchin and Ken Hechler.  The following represents that attempt:

	Manchin	Hechler
1.Used Car Salesman Good Looks	Advantage: Manchin
2.Actual experience in Washington		Advantage: Hechler
3.GREAT Hair	Advantage: Manchin
4.Trans-generational Wisdom		Advantage: Hechler
5.Fawning obsequiousness to Big Coal	Advantage: Manchin
6.Unimpeachable commitment to Human Rights		Advantage: Hechler
7.Yachting Experience	Advantage: Manchin
8.Educational Experience		Advantage: Hechler
9.Motorcycling Experience	Advantage: Manchin
10.Tremendous accomplishments in Congress on behalf of working West Virginia families		Advantage: Hechler
11.Ability to saddle WV with Earl Ray Tomblin as Governor	Advantage: Manchin
12.Saving the lives of mining families		Advantage: Hechler
13.Likely to vote in U.S. Senate more like a Republican than a Democrat	Advantage: Manchin
14.Unimpeachable commitment to Justice		Advantage: Hechler
15.Shares views similar to those of Kentucky GOP Senate nominee and Social Security despiser Rand Paul	Advantage: Manchin
16.Courage of convictions		Advantage: Hechler
17.Will make sure planet continues to get hotter,and Hotter and HOTTER and West Virginia gets flatter, and Flatter and FLATTER	Advantage: Manchin
18.Shares views in-line with a majority of West Virginia voters		Advantage: Hechler
19.Will make sure WV waters become more poisonous and West Virginians keep getting sicker.	Advantage: Manchin
20.Eminently qualified to sit in the U.S. Senate (a body named from the Latin root word meaning “old men”)		Advantage: Hechler
21.Privatized WV Workers Comp; likely to think the same way about Social Security	Advantage: Manchin
22.Less likely to be indicted during term in Senate		Advantage: Hechler

Executive Summary

As you can see, the head-to-head comparison is almost dead-even.  Only with a closer examination of the metrics may we see what the data genuinely discloses.  While Joe Manchin clearly has it all over Mr. Hechler in the things that really matter in American politics, things like hair, yachting and those used car salesman good looks, we really cannot ignore the fact that Mr. Hechler has what the old-timers liked to call “substance.”

Consider the candidates’ commitments to social justice.  While it’s true that Joe Manchin has had opportunities to actually do social justice, he really hasn’t shown much interest.  Why else, when tens of thousands of people around the world begged for a new Marsh Fork Elementary School, did he and his former staffer (and recently appointed senatorial seat-warmer), Carte Goodwin, actively oppose it?  Why did Joe have to wait until “outsiders” came in to finally get on the right side of justice and history?  On the other hand, as he noted at the time, when many members of Congress jetted away to Cape Kennedy for some NASA event, then-Congressman Hechler chose instead to risk arrest, beatings and even death to march with Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. at Selma.  To me, it’s clear that Mr. Hechler’s contribution to the betterment of our nation as a whole far outpaces Mr. Manchin’s tepid attempts at what he likes to call “balance.”

It is impossible to disagree that Mr. Manchin surely owns the field when it comes to courting the money.  How many politicians do you know who can hoodwink Labor into thinking he’s for working folks at the same time he’s blithely taking fistfuls of corporate cash from folks who loathe people who earn by the sweat of their brow?  Ken Hechler couldn’t do that in a million years, and never even tried.  He stood with working people, literally making possible entire next generations of mining families with his advocacy for mine safety and health legislation.  His part in the struggle for Black Lung benefits, alone, foreclosed any of the kind of love Joe Manchin gets from Corporate America.

If you work for A.T. Massey or any of the other non-union coal giants, I won’t be surprised when you vote for Joe Manchin, although Don Blankenship would far prefer you vote in the GOP Primary, what with its slate of “free-market” (read: anarchist) luminaries.  Frankly, to Mr. Manchin’s dubious credit, you really can’t tell the difference between him and a Republican, so I understand the confusion.  By comparison, Mr. Hechler is likely thought, for this day and age, quixotic for his dedication to the Democratic Party principles that made this country great.  Then again, what would you expect from a man who was on a first-name basis with an American Hero like Harry S. Truman?

One of the great successes of the modern Republican Party lies in its ability to have convinced a great number of Americans that Social Security is either dead or dying, even though the facts don’t support the conclusion.  If you’re one of those folks who believe that piece of shiny, sparkly misinformation, it will not shock me in the least when you vote for Joe Manchin on August 28.  After all, given the fact that Joe Manchin dismantled West Virginia’s government-run Workers Comp system and replaced it with a lumbering, profit-driven Frankenstein’s Monster, privatized version, you won’t be surprised when Joe Manchin starts mumbling about the need to find “balance” in privatizing Social Security.  What you’ll get from Mr. Hechler, however, are the facts: to paraphrase Mark Twain, the rumors of Social Security’s demise have been greatly exaggerated.  It is, at present, with absolutely nothing done to augment it, wholly, fully, completely funded through 2037.  Mr. Hechler will act and vote accordingly.

Polling data has indicated that a majority of West Virginians oppose the practice of Mountaintop Removal coal extraction.  The people who make money doing it, however, are not a part of that majority, and they can be expected to vote en masse for Mr. Manchin, since he’s been consistent in his ongoing struggle to seek “balance” between his need to curry favor with the coal industry and the will of the people of West Virginia to end Mountaintop Removal.  Even though Mountaintop Removal coal accounts for less than five percent of the less than 45% of America’s electricity provided by coal generally, Mr. Manchin has continued, day after day in his dogged, determined, lonely quest to find that ”balance” between what’s good for him and what’s good for the people of the State of West Virginia.  He is a tireless seeker, Mr. Manchin.

Mr. Hechler, on the other hand, is just tireless, and refuses to hold Mr. Manchin’s youth against him.  Mr. Hechler has shown that tirelessness (not to mention courage) in his willingness to be beaten by thugs on a march to commemorate the Battle of Blair Mountain (which, interestingly, Joe Manchin helped de-list from the National Register of Historic Places and, he hopes, from West Virginians’ collective consciousness, as well), not to mention being arrested in his effort to stand up for little children being poisoned by a coal prep plant next to an elementary school.  Come to think of it, where was Joe Manchin that day in June 2009 when Ken Hechler was standing up for little children?  Probably out hunting that elusive “balance.”  I hear it likes to nest with snipes.

Not to be outdone in Civil Disobedience, however, Mr. Manchin is on yet another quest.  If elected to fill Robert C. Byrd’s unexpired term, we may well see him cross that Finish Line in the next two years.  Mr. Manchin will not allow Mr. Hechler to outshine him in the Getting Arrested Department.  We may yet see the fruits of Mr. Manchin’s labors if he is, in fact, shown doing the now-all-too-familiar “perp walk” into the Robert C. Byrd Federal Courthouse in Charleston (Irony!) following the Federal Grand Jury Investigation of his administration that is presently under way.  Bravo, Joe!  We all admire initiative in such a balanced man!

So it is that we see a comparison much closer than I’m sure Mr. Hechler would prefer.  Granted, compared to the half-century of public service Mr. Hechler has rendered to the people of both his nation and his state, Mr. Manchin’s resume must look a little, well, thin, and wanting in gravitas, but I’ve never known Mr. Hechler to take an election cycle for granted.  More than anything, Mr. Hechler’s long experience in public service gives him a sense of perspective that no amount of that elusive balance can surmount.  He understands that this isn’t simply a statewide election; that, in fact, this election holds in the scales the fate of a nation.  West Virginia literally powered the Industrial Revolution.  Now, West Virginians will decide how we power the 21^st century.  Will we power it with compassion, courage and vision, the hallmarks of Mr. Hechler’s entire life, or will we power it with the heady-but-toxic fuel of lobbyist-delivered Corporate Money that flows like what Dr. King called “a mighty river” into Joe Manchin’s campaign, potentially influencing his senatorial votes on the issues of our day, not the least among them the pressing question of whether we will continue to cook ourselves right off this planet?  What kind of “balance” is there between the frying pan and the fire?

For the answer, and if you prefer not to cook your own goose (and that of every other American) in either frying pan OR fire, go to the polls Saturday, August 28 and cast your ballot for Ken Hechler.

Bob Kincaid is a broadcaster and activist living in West Virginia.  He was recently recognized as one of the Top 50 internet broadcasters in the country by the industry publication “Talkers” magazine.  He can be heard nightly around the world from 6 to 9 p.m., Eastern Time at www.headonradionetwork.com

“Mr. President, I, uh, don’t think it’s quite fair to condemn a whole program because of a single slip-up, sir.” These famous words of support were, of course, offered by Gen. Buck Turgidson, played by George C. Scott, in the classic black comedy, Dr. Strangelove, after a rogue U.S. Air Force general subverted America’s “fail-safe” system and sent a wing of nuclear-armed bombers to annihilate the Russians.

This seemed an appropriate intro to General McChrystal’s meeting today with President Obama, where the general’s attempt to explain numerous slip-ups to his Commander-In-Chief predictably resulted in dismissal. Scott’s line is also the lead-in to my reaction to a piece sent to me by Bob Kincaid, host of our favorite nightly progressive radio show on the HORN, describing our pay-offs to Afghan travel agents–otherwise known as insurgents and warlords–to safeguard passage for our military convoys. In a campaign fraught with mistakes and distorted vision, buying into protection rackets which invariably end up funding our enemy seems like another in a series of tragic slip-ups.

See http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2010/06/21/AR2010062104628.html?hpid=topnews

After you look at the story, try to re-read the opening sentence of paragraph six without making those gurgling noises we’re so fond of here at A Cavalcade of Crazy. No disagreement with that senior official here. After nine years and over 1100 American casualties, I think we need to give it more time. It’s just too early to tell. And all along, I thought U.S. Army trucks still transported the U.S. Army. Where have I been? Actually, I’m having trouble understanding what the program is at all, anymore.

Once again, we are totally out of our element. Here we are, once more, Third World invaders in a classic relationship-based country. News flash: The illegal heroin trade trade originates there. In addition to lacking a legitimate government–rather a huge obstacle to our success–Afghanistan has no, well, rules–no dependable legal structure with the incentives to chase down the bad guys. Were we expecting to go over some contracts with village leaders? These people conduct business on a handshake, plain and simple. Friends and enemies can change every day. This place has ground up everybody in history who’s tried to mess with them. On the surface, maybe greasing palms is a good idea.

Unfortunately, these tactics just sink us deeper into the quagmire. We’re not going to change any hearts and minds, let alone institute our democratic form of government for which they’ve been waiting so breathlessly for centuries, by buying them off. Of course if anyone reading this still believes we do this to spread democracy, we can find you some hogs to wash. Our military has and continues to be for rent at the pleasure of big business, for dirty resources and dirty money. We are up to our necks, past our necks, into where one hoped by now we would have discovered a brain, with the puppet Karzai and this scene of total madness. Do we even need to mention just how critically we must to attend to our own backyard, that it is redundant and ridiculous to even consider foreign entanglements?

The American people know nothing good can come from this. But we’re not in charge anymore, and haven’t been since the Industrial Age aristocrats opened up branch banking in Washington, D.C. This is corporatism at its finest. The fabulous New World Order. What’s Good for GM is Good for America–and the rest of the solar system, no doubt. Admittedly, GM’s stock price is a little low right now for such grandiose claims. Oh well, we all got the point.

Ah, the enduring Gilded Age. There’s so much in it for everyone, isn’t there?

In related news, let’s follow the Senate as they obstruct the latest unemployment extension benefits. Evidently, keeping the jobless remnants of our once-stalwart middle class alive is not on the agenda. It’s so difficult, these days, to get sustained help for life, but there’s always plenty of cash available for death.

We might as well be fighting space aliens on one of the moons of Saturn. Imagine the weekly briefing sometime in 2410: “Well General, how’s the mission on Titan coming along? What’s your assessment after 14 years of bloody warfare?”

“Well, we’re still taking it to them, although it would be easier if there was anything like a legitimate government or legal system up here. But we’re pressing on, and securing as much crazillium-7 as we can.”

“Sir, we understand United Crazillium is poised to make a fortune with the exclusive rights to sell this amusing and revolutionary energy source. Is that still our goal?”

“God willing. Their contractors have been working with us from the outset. Lord knows, they’ve written enough checks to right people.”

Four hundred years from now, those choosing to review the failed campaign on Titan will no doubt reflect on the history we ignored centuries before–and were thus doomed to repeat–of the conflict on a similarly hostile and formidable world known as Afghanistan.

Reverbo                                                                                                                                                                 Critic-At-Large

For the last month or so I have been busy relocating my cultural and navigational systems north, from below the Possum Line to a more progressive landscape. The reasons for this are varied, but among all the tedious moving arrangements, I was also able to complete a most enjoyable task: get a new library card.

Continue Reading