DOGHOUSE IN THE SKY

It’s been a week since we had Jack euthanized. The pain of loss is slowly subsiding.

Ever since last Saturday I’ve been trying to get my mind back to the routines of earth, thanks to our Sheltie, Ranger.

Nancy often tells me I’m a man of routines. She’s right. With Jack gone, the routines have changed a bit, but they are routines nonetheless. I get up at 5:00. I make the morning coffee, prepare food for Brudder the cat, check my e-mail, read a chapter or two from the NIV posted on Bible Gateway's internet page, take a peek at the Gazette’s web page, and read a couple of op-eds from the Real Clear Politics website, one politically left and the other right (Paul Krugman and Victor Davis Hanson, for example). Then, by 6 o’clock, Ranger and I are out the door for our morning walk. We spent the next thirty minutes or so wrapped up in our respective worlds. Like me, Ranger is a creature of habit. Each morning, he turns right as soon as we get to the north side of 12^th and Rural. I don’t have to gently tug on his leash or issue a command. He just seems to know what to do and when to do it. When we get to the university he makes his way over to the fountain, circles around it, and heads back home. The only interruptions to the routine are the frequent stops to pick up the scent of some wildflower or a beagle who’d passed by earlier.

While Ranger is engrossed in his routine, I’m winding my way through my own little world. I don’t spend any time wondering about local issues. There’ll be plenty of time later in the day for that. As I followed Ranger around this past week I’ve given a bit of thought to my buddy, Jack. Where is he right now? Has he become nothing more than a bunch of disconnected atoms? Was he ever even conscious of his own existence? I’ve concluded that he’s cavorting around paradise right now. I don’t have any great philosophical or theological reasoning to bolster me. It just seems right. Jack did alright in this life. In fact, he did a lot better than some of this world’s’s high and mighty. If they can claim paradise, so can he.

If there are any professional theologians reading this they’re probably apoplectic right now. “You blockhead!” “Did you ever see your dog pray?” Did he ever discuss eschatology with you? Did he ever read Tillich or Altizer?  I have to admit I never did see Jack pray, nor did we ever discuss theology. He never read theology because he had far better things to do with his time, like chasing squirrels or barking when the doorbell rang. Jack led a pretty simple life.  He never did bite the hand that fed him, which is more than I can say about some of the theologians and self-appointed gatekeepers I’ve met in my time. About the only time I’ve seen some high-degreed theologians pray is when they crave public attention and adoration. I’ve heard them at public coronations of politicians or important civic events. While the rest of us are silently praying they’d shut up, they’re droning on with meaningless phrases like, “Oh thou ground of all being.” If I read Holy Writ correctly, their words just bounce off heaven as if it were impenetrable brass.

A dog’s mortality or eternal destiny is one thing; human mortality is something else. Most of us are floundering around, trying to find our way back home. Jesus recognized this and simplified things. “Come unto me if you’re weary and burdened,” he said.  Unfortunately, these same paragons of public virtue are about as much help with people as they are with dogs. They prefer slamming doors to opening them. Jesus was right about them – “Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You shut the door of the kingdom of heaven in people’s faces. You yourselves do not enter, nor will you let those enter who are trying to.”

Now, it’s not my place to deny them a mansion or a doghouse in the sky, but I think it would be poetic justice for these paragons of public virtue to see Jack and Balaam’s donkey, along with humanity’s riff-raff, social misfits, and the rest of the welcoming committee inside the pearly gates.

JACK'S FINAL LESSON

It’s said you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. But, an old dog can teach a man a very valuable lesson about life.

I knew a year and a half ago that the day would come. Jack was living on borrowed time. The enzymes Floyd Dorsey prescribed back then to keep Jack’s kidneys functioning were only stop-gap measures.

The blood tests done on the 9^th revealed what we intuitively knew. Jack’s kidneys had shut down. There was really no choice for me but to have Doc end things as mercifully as possible.

Once the decision was made it didn’t take long. First there was a sedative. It took about 12 minutes for it to take hold, which gave me time to say goodbye and thank Jack for being such a loyal friend. Then came the intravenous injection that ended his life. Within 30 seconds, Jack twitched a few times, let out one last gasp, exhaled, and everything stopped.

Jack died peacefully.

The pain of loss is still with me. Our mutual bonds of affection were strong.

I didn’t think they would be almost five years ago when Nancy tried to convince me that our Sheltie, Ranger, needed a playmate. She’d noticed a dog named Butterball at an animal adoption fair being conducted by Wayside Waifs at the River Market in Kansas City. For Nancy and Ranger it was love at first sight. It wasn’t for me. He was the ugliest dog I’d ever seen. He was obese. He grunted. He was ding-toed and his eyes bulged in his head. His legs were spindly. For the life of me, I don’t know how they supported his body.

In the end I was out-voted. Ranger and Nancy wanted him and Butterball himself seemed quite pleased with the arrangement. So, Butterball became Jack. 

A lot has happened since that morning at the River Market.

I came to love the sound of his tap dancing as I prepared meals for him. We taught him how to sit on command. He learned how to give a gentle “high five” in exchange for a dog biscuit. As soon as he heard the sound of his leash in the morning he’d scoot along the hall runner and howl with excitement. He loved neighborhood strolls and chasing squirrels.

Last summer we took Jack to Poochapalooza and he won the ugly dog contest. He was quite proud of himself. I’d occasionally tell him, “Oh, Jackie, you’re soooooo ugly.” He’d wag his tail with delight. If it hadn’t been for his weight he might have taken off like a helicopter.

Jack wasn’t above the occasional practical joke. His favorite was to sit quietly between Nancy and me while we were watching TV. Then, without warning, the odor of sulfur would fill the air. Feigning innocence, Jack would then ease his way over to his bed. It took us a while, but we finally figured out that it was Jack’s little “gotcha” game.

What was it about Jack that I found so endearing? It certainly wasn’t the tricks or his good looks. It’s taken me a while, but I think it had much more to do with my own self-image than it did with the things that Jack did to amuse me.

A few days before Jack died, I told Nancy I’d come to see that in life we often project what we’d like people to believe about us through our possessions or titles. There are times I like to think I’m a Ranger kind of guy. I’ve seen people’s reaction to him as I’ve walked around town with him. “Oh, what a beautiful dog.”  I sometimes feel the urge to take credit where it isn’t due. “Thanks, I made him from some spare parts I found in the basement.” The reaction to Jack was usually different. “What an interesting looking dog.” I never knew how to respond. Did they think that Jack was born on the rings of Saturn? Couldn’t they see that Jack was a creature of the earth who simply delighted in being himself? Isn’t that what we all should be?

If Jack had been a person he would have been an “everyman.” He wouldn’t have needed a title to make himself feel important. He would never have worn a mask to hide what was really going on inside. He wouldn’t have been pretty, but he would have been real. He’d have been known as a guy who was limping his way to the Promised Land.

Jack left a valuable life lesson. We’d be much better off if we took of the masks and shed the pretenses.  The titles we like to hear along with our names, the images we project for the sake of public consumption and the alter egos we adopt in life are no substitutes for the real thing.

ONE GOOD FABLE DESERVES ANOTHER

“One day a countryman going to the nest of his goose found there an egg all yellow and glittering. When he took it up it was as heavy as lead and he was going to throw it away, because he thought a trick had been played upon him. But he took it home on second thoughts, and soon found to his delight that it was an egg of pure gold. Every morning the same thing occurred, and he soon became rich by selling his eggs. As he grew rich he grew greedy, and thinking to get at once all the gold the goose could give, he killed it and opened it up only to find nothing.”

    From Aesop’s Fables (The Goose with the Golden Eggs)

As with many fables, this one has many lessons that can be drawn from it. For instance, the good people of Lyon County could easily be viewed as the golden goose. The countryman could represent political leadership. Seen in that light, it’s not too hard to discern that there are times when political leaders, in their haste to exploit resources, go too far.

I should feel flattered that some are accusing me of inciting an electoral riot. The truth is, all I did as get out in front of the parade that formed in the wake of the County Commissioners’ vote to approve the extension merger.

I’m also accused of not promoting facts. The truth is, some pro-extension folks seem to believe they have an exclusive reign on the facts.

It’s interesting how anger sometimes wells up in the heat of battle. I’m reminded of a whistle stop Harry Truman made in Harrisburg, Illinois during his 1948 campaign. As he started to speak, one of his supporters shouted, “Give ‘em hell, Harry.” Harry responded, “I don’t give ‘em hell. I just tell the truth and they think it’s hell!”

Pro-extension folks say they want facts. I’m delighted to oblige:

Fact: My property taxes have more than doubled since my wife and I moved here in ’99. It’s been like death by a thousand cuts.

Fact: There are 52 entities levying taxes against the people of Lyon County. That amounts to a lot of people wanting to get their hands on your money, and mine.

Fact: Emporia and Lyon County have extremely high poverty rates.

Fact: Our average incomes are well below Kansas, and national averages.

Fact: If the merger is approved, the new district will be an independent taxing agency, with unlimited taxing authority.

Fact: Politics is the realm of the ambitious. If given authority, politicians will use it.

Does that mean I believe that those who are pro-extension are evil incarnate? Absolutely not! They’re no better or worse than the rest of us.

Some facts from the history of western civilization are now in order. I’ve been accused of being a self-anointed expert. The truth is, I rely on experts that history has deemed reliable. It was Adam Smith, for example, who outlined the basis for free market economics. As a moral philosopher he was a keen observer of humanity. He saw that people almost always act in their self-interest. John Locke, another keen observer of humanity observed that “The great and chief end therefore, of Men’s uniting into commonwealths is the preservation of their Property.” Western economists take that to mean money as well as land and homes. His work also became foundational in the framing of our representative (note the embedded word “represent) form of government. It was James Madison who learned through experience that men aren’t angels, whether they’re being governed or doing the governing. He put it this way: “If angels were to govern men, neither external nor internal controls on government would be necessary.” Our commissioners aren’t angels. They don’t always represent our will. They didn’t in this case. Therefore, we have the right to exert some external control over the things they’ve done, through petition, peaceful protest, and the ballot box.

Finally, I’ve been accused of fear mongering. That’s poppycock. All I’ve done is what I’m entitled to do as a citizen.

We’ll all get to decide this issue in August. I’m not afraid of the outcome. I’m not the one who’s hinting that only the “enlightened” and “informed” should be voting on this measure. We’ve been victims of that paradigm far too long. Have our leaders become so arrogant that they believe they’re the county’s only gatekeepers? As I said, I’m not afraid of the outcome. People can vote for or against the merger for whatever reason they like.  There are no gatekeepers. There are no enlightenment or social status tests. There’s no Jim Crow. The only requirement is citizenship. Therefore, when August comes I’m going to cast my ballot and I encourage every eligible Lyon County voter to do the same.

THE COUNTDOWN

The countdown of my objections to the Extension merger continues. I’ve got a long way to go. As Franklin Roosevelt said during the 1936 Presidential campaign, “We have only just begun to fight.”

Extension proponents have tried to convince us that a merger will produce efficiencies and economies of scale. They seem to be laboring under the assumption that saying it often enough will make it so. But, that’s not the real world. I spent part of my professional career as a member of a team whose primary task was developing and implementing economies of scale and operational efficiencies. It was something we could never undertake in a willy-nilly fashion. Anything we developed had to be fully justified before it was implemented. We had to quantify personnel savings. There had to be demonstrable operational cost savings and they had to be significant. And, we had to develop a plan that would measurably improve service to internal and external customers. If/when upper management approved, the implementation had benchmarks to be re-measured at 30, 60, and 90 day intervals to ensure that what we’d meet our promised objectives.

The proposed Extension merger isn’t even remotely close to being an economy of scale, nor does it create efficiencies.

Extension has also claimed that the consolidated district would enable cooperative effort. I couldn’t believe they’d said when I first heard it, but they’ve said it more than once. About the only thing missing was the marketing slogan – “Consolidate to Cooperate.”

Is it true that it will take consolidation to produce cooperative effort? If so, what’s getting in the way of cooperation now? Distance? Good Lord, Alexander Graham Bell invented the telephone 136 years ago. I don’t believe we’ve so underfunded them they’ve got to resort to tin cans connected by miles and miles of string. They’ve even got computers to work with. And e-mail is this wonderful administrative tool that’s been around for a while.

I actually think more highly of Extension personnel. I believe they’ve got it in them to cooperate. If Extension leadership is saying it’s going to take consolidation to make it happen, they’ve got some really serious problems, problems that no amount of money will solve.

Some Extension proponents tout the benefits to the public, including volunteer income tax help, support in raising kids/parenting, Kansas PRIDE, etc. Now, who could be against that? I’m not really against those things, but there are already far better agencies involved in those things. The I.R.S itself provides free income tax support to taxpayers. So does our local chapter of the A.A.R.P. We’ve got plenty of family support professionals. We’ve got a lot of churches and plenty of competent pastors and support staff who provide outstanding support to families. The county is also blessed with a wealth of civic organizations who volunteer time and treasure to help their neighbors through difficult times, including Lions Club, Habitat for Humanity, Kiwanis, the Salvation Army, Sertoma, and so forth. There are a lot of caring people in Lyon County.

Extension also has been talking up its slate of youth activities. Those of us who are against the merger believe these things are great. But, keep in mind that these activities have been supported thanks to the generous allocation Lyon County has given our local Extension service. A no vote in the primary election wouldn’t change that. We’ve been generous. We’ll continue to be generous.

There’s something else to consider. As with other activities, there are other organizations here in Lyon County who support youth activities. A few months back Lyon Countians were graced with visits from Girl Scouts making their annual pitch. We love seeing them. I don’t know the names of the girls who visit you, but for Nancy and me it was Sidney Baldwin and Makayla Gray. Their marketing skills and charms seem to have grown exponentially over the years. By the time we’d placed and received our orders this year we had enough cookies to fill a cupboard to overflowing. We’re glad to do it. It’s our voluntary way of supporting wonderful youth activities.

One of the things we’re especially grateful for is the fact the Girls Scouts have never levied taxes against us. They learn. They market. They sell.  They succeed.

Of course, it never would have come to this if the County Commissioners had listened to the people. When it came time to vote, Commissioner Martin said public opinion in his district was fifty-fifty. Commissioner Walters said opinion in hers was against the merger. Yet, they voted for the merger. The public might have understood if there was some moral reason for their doing so, but there wasn’t. It was politics at its very worst. There was nothing wrong with things as they had been. And, there is absolutely no reason why they shouldn’t stay that way.

THE SOUTHBOUND TRAIN

Nancy and I spent a couple of weekends in May away from Emporia, one in Kansas City and the other in Eureka Springs, Arkansas.

Eureka Springs is one of our favorite places on the planet. We arrived on Friday evening, checked into our downtown hotel, and went over to the Czech-German restaurant. We had a great time there, as we have since we first ate there twenty-five years ago on an anniversary getaway. There are many things that have changed over the years, but, thankfully, the food at the Czech-German hasn’t. The sauerkraut is still to die for. The sauerbraten and red pickled cabbage are still wonderful. The spaetzle is just right. So are the potato pancakes. And even when there are new offerings on the menu they reflect the tried and true that have made this restaurant so wonderful. Nancy tried one of the innovations, sauerkraut soup, and it was absolutely incredible.

On Saturday, we spent most of the morning in and out of the downtown shops. Nancy bought a hat and I bought a pair of tennis shoes (at her insistence, mind you). As we strolled along we passed the storefronts that reflect the eclectic nature of Eureka Springs. There were jewelry stores and tattoo parlors, diners, and shops cluttered with incense, crystals, plastic Buddhas, peace symbols, and wooden crucifixes. Walking along the streets, one gets the sense that he or she is in a place that has somehow managed to find the delicate balance that facilitates co-existence between the traditional and new age.

We stopped in Eureka Springs’ only Christian bookstore before returning to the hotel. We bought a CD – Jon Foreman’s “Limbs and Branches” and a book – Brennan Manning’s “Ragamuffin Gospel.”

Later in the afternoon we went to a wild animal preserve, Turpentine Creek. There are more than 200 large cats housed there, including tigers, lions, ligers, jaguars, leopards, and bobcats. The overwhelming majority of them have been rescued from families who had purchased them believing that the cute little cubs they were looking at would somehow remain forever young and cuddly. It was either that or a purchase made as a hedge against neighbors complaining about loud music, un-mowed lawns, or moldy old sofas sitting on front porches.

Before we left on Sunday morning I snatched Nancy’s I-Pad away from her and took a quick peek at the Gazette’s opinion page. I read Floyd Dorsey’s piece, “Miracles,” and spent a few minutes reflecting on my fragile foothold on knowledge and wisdom.

We got back to Emporia late in the afternoon. I was tempted to say we got home, but I resisted the urge. It’s not that Emporia’s such a bad place. I like things here. It’s just that I’m a bit unsettled these days. I really want to go home and I’m learning that Emporia is just a pit stop along the way. I think one of Jon Foreman’s tracks best expressed the way I feel. It’s almost as if I can hear the whistle of a train that’s headed “home” in the distance and I have a longing to get on board. Foreman put it this way:

“So I’m lookin’ out the window and I’m driftin’ off to sleep

With my face pressed up to the pane

With the rhythm of my heart and the ringin’ in my ears

It’s the rhythm of the southbound train.”

In the weeks since we returned the news has taken on increasingly ominous tones. About a week ago, some guy in Miami under the influence of a new drug called “bath salts” was shot by a policeman while he was in the process of eating a homeless man’s face off. In Canada, a porn star mailed severed body parts to legislators. In Syria, the Bashad regime has been shelling cities and massacring women and children while Kofi Anan dithers. In keeping with our national pre-occupation with marriage, a woman in North Dakota got married to herself.  In Seattle, a young woman protesting the gentrification of the city got married to a building on the corner of 10^th and Union.

The Church, which should be an institution of stability and sanity, is becoming increasingly polarized and politicized, left and right. Political positions, twisted into religious dogma, have become the prevailing theological measuring rod. On one side it’s anything goes. Michael Bird, who lectures on systematic theology at Australia’s Crossway College, recently described this group as “Nero’s chaplains.”  I think he may be right, which I suppose would make their right leaning champions of rigidity ‘Cromwell’s captains.”

Like the other Dylan¸ I’m wondering if it might be time to “overturn the tables and disconnect the cables.” Maybe so, but I can’t make that happen.  I just need to go down to the station and wait for that southbound train.

LET ME COUNT THE WAYS

Folks occasionally ask me why we expended so much effort on the recent petition drive. The answer is easy – We did it because we care about the people of Lyon County and the impact that political decisions have on them.

I’m also asked why I’m against this merger. I remind them of the words of Elizabeth Barrett Browning – “Let me count the ways.”

One of the first arguments proponents of the merger made after the two to one decision was that the cost to taxpayers would be negligible. It was a political way of saying, “This is no big deal.” If they’d put their argument into the form of a logical proposition it would have read, “This is no big deal…I can afford it…Therefore, everyone can afford it.”

The logic was as bad as it was incorrect.

The cost of this merger will be higher than Extension proponents claim it will be. They inadvertently let the cat out of the bag a while back when they said this was really about increased revenues. Now they’re trying to hide that fact from the people in a flurry of misinformation.

Those of us who worked on the petition drive spent over a month going door to door, meeting fellow citizens on downtown sidewalks, watering holes, restaurants, and businesses. We saw the community needs up close and personal. We saw retired railroad workers who had come upon hard times. They know that this really is a big deal. We met widows who know full well that the “little bit” being touted means something they won’t be able to afford if the merger is approved. We met laborers who work for minimum wage, folks who work a hard forty hours a week. They understand that one person’s “no big deal” is very big indeed to them. We met men and women on the brink of insolvency.  Here are some of the things we heard from them. “The last thing we need is more taxes.” “If they keep this up I’m gonna’ go under.” We heard the questions. “What was wrong with things as they were?”  “How can they be so out of touch with me?”

Chris Walker framed the big picture in this debate in January. It was beautifully stated. He noted that there are 52 different taxing entities Lyon Countians have to cope with. This is how he put it: “While many entities that receive tax money work on the premise of lobbying for little increases, it is the taxpayer who gets hit with the big increase in the end when all the little increases are added up.” He cited some of the organizations and departments dependent on taxpayers for support, including Newman Regional Health, USD 253, Emporia State University, the County fairgrounds, and others.

Chris also said: “At what point does our community ask elected officials to have vision with regards to our taxes?” “Our world and community have changed dramatically since Emporia’s boom years. In the internet age we have lost business and population and need to be careful of how we spend our money.”

Amen, Chris. Amen!

Things were difficult here in January. It’s now spring and things haven’t gotten a lot better. Dolly Madison just published a WARN notice to employees. Management and labor intentions may be good, but they’re navigating their way through stormy seas, with hundreds of jobs on the line. While we hope for the best, the truth is that the future is very uncertain. Fanestil is still in the appeal process, with another fifty or so jobs at risk. Home foreclosures are at high levels. The unemployment picture is murky, at best. Our poverty rates are going up, not down. Household incomes are low, and stagnant.

I think it’s reasonable to ask, given our situation, why we need another taxing entity, and an independent one at that. What was wrong with things as they have been? The answer? Absolutely nothing!

As things stand now, Extension represents one line item on the Lyon County budget. Each year county departments submit budgets. The Commissioners review each one, then review the county’s financial condition and make adjustments where necessary. It’s not a fun process. There’s a lot of bloodletting. I know. I did annual budgeting for FedEx operating units.

Extension has to get in a prioritized line with a lot of worthy players. They have to compete with the hospital, the Sherriff, etc. They know we really need the hospital, the Sheriff, and that they just might be further down the priority list.

Yet, in spite of the difficulty, Lyon County has been very generous, maybe even generous to a fault, with Extension. You’d think a bit of gratitude would be in order. Instead, Extension wants more than our generosity. They want more of our money. Something is very wrong with that picture.

THE TRIAL BALLOON

On May 3^rd the Gazette reported that the Lyon County Extension has been discussing the possibility of imposing mill levy limits on their taxing authority if Lyon County voters approve Resolution 1-12. Extension’s Brian Rees said, “We’ve talked about it briefly. We haven’t talked about a number.” Rees further said he’d be “tickled pink to have a 2.5 mill cap at this time.”

It was a classic example of a political trial balloon, one of those meaningless gestures or suggestions meant to sway voters. Politicians or those who stand to gain from political decisions often do this sort of thing. Many of us were around in 1988 when George H.W. Bush uttered the now infamous words, “Read my lips…No new taxes!” It got him elected. But, in 1990, with deficits increasing, he agreed to a budget deal that included tax increases to solve the problem. He didn’t get a second term. Woodrow Wilson promised to keep us out of war. Herbert Hoover promised to end poverty.

It’s one thing to make promises; it’s another to keep them. When County Attorney Marc Goodman was asked by KVOE about the legality of what Extension was “considering” he said, “The situation warrants further study, but an initial look indicates the district could legally set a mill levy limit by way of a majority vote by the district board. The board could also vote later to adjust the limit or remove it entirely.”

In other words, any promise Extension might write in to cap mill levies wouldn’t be worth a dime. Things can change. They always do.

In 2011 decreasing revenues had put Wyandotte County in a bind. Desperate, the Unified Government approved an 8.9% increase in property taxes contrary to promises they’d previously made. The vote was 6 to 4; about the same narrow scale of vote by which our commissioners approved the Extension merger. The people of Wyandotte County howled in protest, which was about all they could legally do. Did Wyandotte County residents get what they wanted? No, but they did get an approval from the Unified government for “an efficiency and effectiveness study of all departments.”

Here’s a hypothetical situation to consider. The Extension merger is approved. They set a 2.5 mill levy and promise to cap it. All seems well until county valuations decrease. Revenues shrink and businesses buckle under the weight of economic difficulty. Extension suddenly realizes that 2.5 mills leaves them far short of what they “need.” They can tell me till all the cows come home they won’t violate their “promise,” but I know better. When reality bumps into an empty promise, I can assure you that reality will win. Maybe 3 mills will do the trick, or 4, or maybe even 5. They will get what they “need.”  We can howl in protest all we want, but it will only leave us frustrated.

What do you suppose might happen when, a year or two later, the increase to 5 mills gets Extension far more revenue than they need? Do you think they’ll give the money back to us? I know enough about organizational behavior to realize they’ll find something to spend the money on. There’ll be “needs” for new I-Pads, efficiency studies, updated digs, naugahyde chairs, “energy-efficient” vehicles, new credenzas, or training junkets.

A few years back Dale Fjell was asked what Extension was trying to accomplish by consolidating. He talked about efficiency and economies of scale. He talked about service. But he really tipped his hand when he said, “Here is an opportunity to be able to do that with another way to generate income. That is why we are trying to do that.” Brian Kreger put it even more succinctly – “We get to set OUR mill levy.”

There’s something Extension wants more than taxing authority. They want INDEPENDENT taxing authority. If they get it they won’t have to concern themselves with the needs of the Sherriff’s department, the library, Newman Regional Health, Road and Bridge, or other county departments. They’ll be as free as birds to do what they want.

There’s so much more to say. It will take subsequent essays to cover it all. I’ll close with this. Lyon County has been exceedingly generous with Extension. Since 2007 we have provided 67% of their funding. We’ve enabled them to increase salaries by close to 15% over that time, while county employees were getting no pay increases. In the early discussions about this merger, Extension has hinted that their future is uncertain. What are they saying? Haven’t we been generous enough? Has anyone against the merger said we were against funding Extension? Here is all we’re saying. We’re all for generosity. We’ve proven that. We simply don’t believe that his merger is a dog that can hunt. It needs to be left on the porch where it belongs.

THE FLOWER OF McIVERS

With Mother’s Day a few days off, I spent a good part of this early morning giving thought to my mother and her influence on my life. Over the years I’ve come to see that she did a really good job with the hand she’d been dealt.

Susie Park was born in McIvers, a small fishing village nestled in a cove about forty miles north of Corner Brook, Newfoundland. She was the youngest of Reuben and Fanny Park’s ten children. Her mother was a gentle soul. Her father was a stern man. I’ve seen a picture of him. To this day, when I think about that picture, I project a mental image to myself of what Ahab must have looked like chasing that white whale.

Everyone in McIvers loved my mother. They called her the “Flower of McIvers.” Her older brothers sometimes referred to her as “our little Susie.” I met them when I was stationed in Newfoundland from 1963 to 1965. They would recount stories of my mother and grandmother’s gentleness juxtaposed against Reuben’s stern ways. The most vivid of those tales was about a time when Susie was about fourteen. There was going to be a big dance in McIvers. She wanted to go. Her mother thought it was alright, but Reuben didn’t. She pleaded with him several times – “Please let me go.” He became enraged and beat her. She crawled up behind the wood stove and laid there all night, sobbing uncontrollably. My uncle Fye would shake his head every time he told the story. He’d sigh and whisper, “That Reuben Park were a mean, mean man”

She made her escape from Reuben in the early thirties by following her sisters, Annie and Frances, to America. She had no money and little in the way of education. She could barely read or write. Calculating the sum of six plus five was an enormous undertaking for her. But she was determined to make her way in life.

She met my father a few years after she arrived in Boston. He was the epitome of the dashing Irishman. He was strong, handsome, and had a full head of curly hair. Little did she know that he had the Irish proclivity for drink that was to be their undoing.

By 1942, passion had given way to constant conflict. The relationship ended in 1948 when my father died. By that time Susie was a bundle of raw nerves. She had a complete nervous breakdown and was institutionalized. My brother, sister, and I became wards of the state. Over the next few years the Reuben Parks of the medical community inflicted as much cruel and unusual punishment on her as they could, including shock treatments. By the time she was released from the hospital she weighed about 80 pounds. She looked like death warmed over.

I don’t know how she did it, but she survived it all. She fought with everything that was in her to gather her family back together. She always stayed one step ahead of welfare and immigration officials (she never became a U.S. citizen), somehow sensing when they were hot on her trail. She connived with politicians to get the crumbs that would keep us afloat for another month or so. She never did get an education or have material resources, but she kept clawing and scratching her way toward the light. She refused to give up.

I remember the last time I saw my mother alive. She was in the final stages of Alzheimer’s. As she had ever since she’d been in the nursing home, she just sat and smiled a half smile. The nursing staff loved her for her gentle manner. My wife, Nancy, asked me to say something to her. “God, Coach,” I said. “There’s no one there. What am I going to say?” Nancy went over to her and whispered in her ear. “You’re upset with him, Susie, aren’t you? He didn’t come to visit you last week.” Medical professionals would tell me it was my imagination, but I know better. Her eyes flashed. She was still there, fighting her way through the shadows.

At her funeral I was able to muster a few words of thanks – “You done good, Ma. You done good.”

If you’re thinking this piece was meant to evoke sympathy, you’d be dead wrong.  My mother taught us to fight life’s headwinds and never give up. She parlayed brokenness into a family that includes children who are college graduates and successful professionals, a grandson who graduated from Harvard, and a granddaughter who is an author commanding huge literary advances.

Susie Park was indeed the gentle flower who never broke. She was, as poet Janet Brennan observed, a “flower held sturdy by its rust.”  A man can’t get a better lesson in life than that.

THE QUADRILLION DOLLAR SOLUTION

I sent our taxes in on the 13^th, then attended Pat Roberts’ town hall meeting. Roberts appeared to be quite comfortable, due in large part to his popularity and years of experience. There were a large number of dignitaries present compared to the very few I saw at Tim Huelskamp’s event the day before. It’s good to know what side one’s bread is buttered on. Being seen or photographed with Pat Roberts is like money in the bank. Being seen around Tim Huelskamp is toxic.

During the Q&A session a young woman, probably a university student, asked something that’s on the minds of a lot of young people.  Shouldn’t the rich pay “a little bit more” in taxes as a matter of fairness to the rest of us? There was an aura of fear that hovered over her, understandably so. Like a lot of people her age she’s worried about her future. Jobs are scarce, the federal government is in big time hock to the People’s Republic of China, and hyper-inflation may be waiting in the weeds. As things stand today her share of the federal debt is 138 thousand bucks. Give it a few more years and her share will increase to 177 thousand.

She needs help. If I’d only known before I mailed the checks in. I’d have signed them over to her.  That would have been far better than seeing the taxable portion of our retirement nest egg being spent by the General Services Administration on booze, bonuses, and a Vegas holiday. 

Actually, I don’t think she was asking a question. I think she was silently screaming, “Somebody help me! I’m doomed before I ever launch my career.”

I’ve been thinking about this for a few days. How do we fix this god-awful mess? How are we going to slice this American pie? What’s a fair sized slice? Who does the slicing? And, what happens when the pie runs out because everyone is eating pie and there’s no pie makers guild around to make more pies?

I was stumped till early Sunday morning. Then I read the Washington Post. Sheila Bair, former Chairperson of the FDIC has come up with an ingenious solution for everything that ails America. All it would take, according to Ms. Bair, would be for the Federal Reserve to tweak its easy money policy just a tad.

Since the financial meltdown a few years ago the Fed has been lending money to the banks and hedge funds that got us into this mess at near zero interest rates. Seeing opportunity knocking, the banks and hedge funds have been re-investing the money in high-yield securities. The “carry trade” profits have been enormous. Talk about a gravy train.

As soon as I saw the rest of her solution I realized we’ve been looking at things the wrong way. Instead of trying to punish the culprits we just need to find a way to get on the train. And, Sheila Bair has found it.

Her recommendations? Have Ben Bernanke print 1.2 quadrillion (that’s a bit more than 10 to the 15th power) dollars and lend it to us at the same rate it’s being given to the fat cats. Then send a $10 million check to 120 million American households. Families could divvy up the loot. Each person would be free to re-invest the money however he or she pleased. Young people could buy Google stock or Portugal bonds, depending on how much risk they’d be willing to take.  Retirees like Nancy and me could buy ten year bonds at two percent and live like royalty. Then, in years eight through ten we could spend like drunken sailors till all the money is gone.

It’s a beautiful plan. As Bair observed, “Think of what we can do with all that money. We can pay off our underwater mortgages and replenish our retirement accounts without spending one day schlepping into the office. With a few quick keystrokes, we’ll be golden for the next 10 years.”

I’m really excited. This is the hope and change I’ve been looking for.

There are a couple of potential hitches. First, Congress would have to approve the plan. I think this would be relatively easy. Our government is addicted to borrowing and spending. For those who think this may be even too large or complex for our government, keep in mind that they’re the guys who’ve given us a 73,000 page tax code. The second hitch would be what to do when the loans come due and we’re tapped out. Again, that’s relatively easy. In ten years we’d all too big to fail.  We could then declare collective bankruptcy and demand a bailout of $20 million per household. It would work. After all, congress loves bailouts every bit as much as they love borrowing and spending.

AN IMPERIAL PRESIDENCY?

“To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their women.”

-          Conan the Barbarian (Responding to the question of what is best in life)

I’m sure there are some Gazette readers who think I’m a fool for letting my religious views creep into the ballot box with me. I have no defense. I’ll maintain my right to be a fool. I realize that being a fool swimming against the tide of all the superior wisdom around me could be dangerous, but I’ll take the risk.

It’s now the middle of March. When June rolls around the Supreme Court will render its decision on the Affordable Care Act. Judging by the apoplectic response of progressives to the three days of argumentation, supporters of the Administration are worried. The President was clearly concerned. Declaring that the Supreme Court was treading on dangerous ground if they thought of overturning a law that had passed by a solid majority, he laid down the gauntlet. Some scholars are speculating that his comments were aimed at Justice Kennedy, who is considered to be the swing vote. Some say the President’s comments were nothing more than an unfortunate slip of the tongue.

I think there’s more to it. It’s a matter of power, with a bit of deceit mixed in.

Was the President telling the truth when he warned the justices that the law had passed by a solid majority? The final vote was 219-212. Further, it took some back room wheeling and dealing with 6 pro-life Democrats to win final passage. How did he get their support? By telling them he would draft an executive order prohibiting public funding of abortion. I don’t think fifty years from now the President’s signature would be worth a nickel on the Antiques Roadshow.

The only remaining hurdles are nine judges. The President knows that the Supreme Court has the authority to overturn the law and its individual mandate. He studied law at Harvard. He’s well aware of Marbury v. Madison. This isn’t about knowledge or instruction. It’s about power and intimidation.

Alexander Hamilton understood this. Here are some of the things he had to say about the Supreme Court in Federalist 78: “The judiciary, from the nature of its functions, will always be the least dangerous to the political rights of the Constitution; because it will be least in a capacity to annoy or injure them.” “There is no liberty, if the power of judging be not separated from the legislative and executive powers.” “Liberty can have nothing to fear from the judiciary alone, but would have everything to fear from its union with either of the other departments.”

The Supreme Court doesn’t always get things right. Dred Scott comes to mind. But our Founders set the Court up as a mechanism to protect the People from tyranny. In 1866, the Supreme Court overturned the capital conviction of Lambdin Milligan on the grounds that trying an American civilian in a military tribunal was unconstitutional. Justice David Davis, with the future in mind, wrote the following in his opinion – “The nation has no right to expect that it will always have wise and humane rulers, sincerely attached to the principles of the Constitution.” In 1935 the Supreme Court held that a Jewish poultry farmer’s economic freedom trumped the National Industrial Recovery Act (Schechter Poultry Corp v the United States). Franklin Roosevelt was so furious with the decision he concocted a scheme to pack the Supreme Court with justices who would do his bidding. Thankfully, it failed miserably.

Where do we go from here? If the Court overturns the law, is there a possibility that Barack Obama or a future President will use the “exceptions clause” under article 3, section 2 of the Constitution to circumvent the Supreme Court? If the law is upheld, could some future President find a way to ramrod a bill through the legislative branch mandating that all American workers join labor unions or buy a shiny new Chrysler? Could a pro-business Republican, with the consent of Congress, mandate that all Americans, including progressives, purchase trillions in stocks or bonds to prop up failing banks like Goldman Sachs when the next financial crisis inevitably comes? Jim Powell, senior fellow at the CATO Institute, seems to think these notions aren’t that far-fetched.

In 1973 Arthur Schlesinger warned of the dangers of an “imperial” presidency and the “expansion and abuse of presidential power.” When asked how it could happen he responded, “Through the mystique of the mandate, through the secrecy system, through executive privilege and impoundment, through political and electronic surveillance in the name of national security.”

I may not like every decision the Supreme Court makes, but I believe they’re essential to the maintenance of individual liberty. They’re our last line of defense. I pray in this case they decide in favor of the People.

RESPECT IS A TWO WAY STREET

Our Presidents may or may not merit our respect.  The Presidential office certainly does.

A few weeks ago Tim Huelskamp used what some consider inflammatory language concerning President Obama. It may or may not have been unprofessional. If it was, it was in keeping with a great American tradition. Huelskamp didn’t yell fire in a crowded theatre or threaten assassination.  He exercised his right to free speech.

I wouldn’t have used Huelskamp’s words, but I’ve seen and read worse things said of Presidents. Clark Clifford, one of Lyndon Johnson’s secretaries of defense, once described Ronald Reagan as an “amiable dunce.” Clifford was considered to be an absolutely brilliant man. He championed the policy of mutually assured nuclear destruction, a brilliant strategy if there ever was one. Interestingly, history records that the “amiable dunce” took the measure of the Soviet Union without firing a shot.  George McClellan, architect of our Civil War’s Peninsula Campaign and champion of the strategic retreat in the face of an inferior enemy force, wrote to his wife in 1861, describing Abraham Lincoln as “the original gorilla.” George Herbert Walker Bush, a decorated war hero, was called a wimp. Lyndon Johnson, who fell prey to superior intelligence of Robert McNamara, Clark Clifford, and others in his brain trust, had to listen to the almost daily taunts of “Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?”  Bill Clinton was called “Slick Willie.” At 5’11” and 260 pounds, Grover Cleveland could have played nose tackle for the Kansas City Chiefs. Some called him the “stuffed prophet.”  Others called him “Uncle Jumbo.” James Madison was only 5’4”. His political enemies occasionally called him “Little Jemmy.”

How did the Republic ever survive these onslaughts?  You don’t suppose it’s been because the peoples’ right to freedom of speech is far more important than some notion of imperial superiority, do you? Our founders seemed to think so. They thought so highly of free speech they enshrined it as an addendum to our Constitution.

I came close to voting for Barack Obama in 2008. I actually sent contributions to his Presidential campaign. My accountant, who is also my wife, didn’t say so, but I think she was a bit miffed when the $200 donation to the Obama for President Campaign hit our credit card.

There was a lot I liked about him then. There’s a lot I like about him now. I loved “hope and change”. I was naïve enough to believe he could really make the oceans recede.  But I decided not to vote for him. What changed my mind?

I’m a pro-lifer. It’s an important consideration for me when I enter the voting booth. I don’t ask people to agree with me about this, nor do I ask for their advice when I go to the polls. Once I step into the voting booth my detractors have no control over me. They may think I’m uninformed, and that’s alright. I think there are a lot of over-informed people who pretend they vote for the right reasons.

I abandoned my belief in Barack Obama because he deceived me and millions of pro-lifers. There’s no delicate, polite way to put it. During the campaign he tried to curry favor from us. He told us he understood how we felt and said he had great empathy for us. Then I checked the record. In 2003, as a member of a state senatorial committee in Illinois, he was one of the deciding votes against the “born alive” bill, which would have prohibited Illinois abortions in cases when a “procedure’ was complicated if the “fetus” survived an attempted abortion. He told pro-lifers like me that he voted to kill the bill because he claimed it didn’t contain provisions to protect abortion rights legalized in Roe v Wade. It was a lie and he knew it.  Now, it’s one thing to vote in line with one’s principles; it’s another when one deceives a prospective supporter to gain votes he or she would otherwise lose. That’s deceit of the highest order.

I withdrew my support and asked for my money back. I never got it.

I once believed Barack Obama’s narrative about transparency and honesty, but facts are stubborn things. Ask whistleblowers like Thomas Drake. Ask yourself why Barack Obama, who promised to be the most transparent President in history, has used antiquated law to squelch dissent more often than any President in our history. Ask yourself why he feels so compelled to bully the Supreme Court into submission. Read Federalist 78 and do your own thinking.

I will never lose respect for the Presidential office, but I also deserve respect. I am a Citizen.

The first words of our constitution read “We the People.” Barack Obama doesn’t reign supreme, nor does any other President. We do, and we also deserve respect, not deceit.

THE SHELL GAME - PART ONE - COMPASSION

“And what do you benefit if you gain the whole world but are yourself lost or destroyed?”  - Luke 9:25 (New International Version)

Everything is big these days. We’ve got big business, big government, big media, big religion, big education, and blockbuster entertainment. Everything is so big it gives the rest of us the sense that we’re very small, institutional props to be used as vehicles for the institutions to become ever bigger. They constantly clamor for our attention. “I’ll protect you.” “I’ll be the champion of your cause.” “If you follow me I’ll bring you justice.”

Our experience tells us we should be wary, but we can’t resist.  They pull us from both the left and the right. It really doesn’t matter whether it’s Huey Long or his modern counterpart promising us that “every man will be a king,” or some mega church superstar telling us our contribution to the cause will not only bring eternal bliss, but also a Florida time share.

It’s fascinating. They know it’s a shell game. We know it too. But we keep looking for the magic pea under that walnut shell.

Why are we such easy marks? I think it’s got something to do with the way we’re wired. We don’t like to feel small and we gravitate toward something that appears big and important. We get hooked and become what Eric Hoffer termed “true believers.” Once that happens we rarely, if ever, question what’s happening to us. If we did, I’m afraid we’d find they’re getting bigger and richer while we’re getting smaller and poorer.

How do they hook us? By cleverly disguising the three walnuts, one marked compassion, one marked meaning, and one marked a cause.

Compassion is almost always the easiest button to push.

A little over two years ago a devastating earthquake flattened much of Port au Prince, Haiti’s capitol. According to Haitian government estimates over 300,000 people died and nearly a million were displaced. The international response was almost immediate. The task of reconstruction was huge, but the willingness to respond was even greater. Billions of aid dollars were pledged.  Compassion seemed to be the order of the day and we all felt good about it. There was even talk of fixing everything that has plagued Haiti for decades.

That was two years ago. You’d think that massive doses of compassion would change things. But that’s not the case. As the New York Times recently reported, “Haiti and its international donors were far behind in helping the hundreds of thousands still living in makeshift camps and the millions without formal jobs.” Billions have been raised, but very little aid has reached the people of Haiti.  How could that be? The U.N.’s Nigel Fisher is just as puzzled as we are.  “It's not so easy to track the NGO resources that were raised, and we guess that there were maybe $2 billion raised by NGOs around the world ... that has been difficult to track," he says.

I suspect once we pick up the “compassion” walnut there won’t be a pea in sight, which means some organizational shill is probably buying diamonds in Antwerp right now thanks to the generosity of widows who were donating their mites for what they thought was a good cause.