THE CHICKEN AND ICE CREAM SOCIAL

A couple of months ago Brian Protheroe penned a letter to the Gazette advancing the idea that we need a great national divorce. He suggested we find a way to amicably divvy up the community property. The “blues” would get the coasts, the Great Lakes, and any other piece of valuable real estate. The “reds” would get what’s left.

How generous!

I’ve had some time to think about it and I’ve decided I’m more partial to the philosophy of Woodie Guthrie. As I sit here typing I’m wandering back in my mind’s eye to September 13, 2011. Like everyone else in America, Nancy and I were numb from the pain of the 11th. We were sitting on a train of shell-shocked pilgrims bound from Williams, Arizona to the south rim of the Grand Canyon. About fifteen minutes into the trip a troubadour made his rounds from car to car, singing an old standard. As he did, the words reverberated, reminders of the things that bound us together: “This land is your land; this land is my land, from California to the New York islands. From the redwood forest to the gulf stream waters, this land was made for you and me.” By the time he’d moved on there wasn’t a dry eye to be found.

I refuse to accept the notion that it’s time to part ways. The redwood forests are every bit as much mine as they are Mr. Protheroe’s. The gulf stream waters are every bit as much his as they are mine. The same holds true for our Constitution and Bill of Rights. We share these things in common. They’re OURS.

Divorces are messy. Rarely, if ever, are they amicable. They’re painful; everyone loses. Mr. Protheroe may think divorce is a good idea. I don’t.

America’s been down that road before. Before the divorce and bloodletting began, Abraham Lincoln pleaded with the nation in his first inaugural address: “We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection.” He asked America to look deep within its collective heart so that it could be “touched by the better angels of its nature.”

Tragically, the plea was ignored. The result was four years of death and destruction on an apocalyptic scale. If we’re not careful about how we approach our differences now, I fear this could be where we’re headed. We must not go there.

If coming together is essential to our national well-being, how do we get there? It’s a difficult question to answer. The sounds of division and discord seem to be omnipresent. Our dialogue, if it can be called that, has become rooted in rigidity and hate. Too few of us have any appetite for the once tried and true American notion of live and let live. There’s a new rule of community life. Our philosophical opposites must bend to our will. If they don’t, they’ll be exorcised like demons.

The anger is becoming white hot. A week or so ago, Dan Cathy, owner of the Chick-fil-A, responded to a question about marriage. Had he responded to the question three or four years ago he would have been in the majority. But, times have changed. A May 10, 2012 Gallup poll revealed that 50% of us favored same-sex marriage and 48% opposed it. Cathy expressed what has become a minority opinion. His response, understandably, angered many in the gay community. But, when politicians entered the fray, the issue became even more explosive. Chicago mayor Rahm Emanuel declared that “Chick-fil-A’s values aren’t Chicago’s values” and threatened to deny Cathy franchise licenses. It was like lighting a stick of dynamite.

Given the shallowness of our leaders, how can we possibly come together?

We need to bypass the politicians and have a national chicken and ice cream social, with Chick-fil-A catering the chicken and Ben and Jerry catering the ice cream. A gentle conversation over some good spicy chicken and a cup of Chunky Monkey or Cherry Garcia might do us a world of good.

We can overcome our differences. I’ve seen it done in my lifetime. I’m a conservative, evangelical Christian. One of the most rewarding professional experiences I’ve ever had was serving with two other engineers, one a devout Muslim and the other a lesbian. We were acknowledged as the best of the best, not only because of our professional competence, but because we truly learned to love and value one another. Not once in our two years together did we expect our mates to bend to our respective wills. It wasn’t always easy, but we did it.

That’s the way America should work. That’s the way we must make it work! If we refuse, I fear the divorce and the mayhem that follows will destroy us.

EVERYTHING IS BROKEN

We’re in the midst of a drought of Biblical proportions here in flyover country and, strangely, my mind is on broken pipes, broken levees, and broken everything. As Bob Dylan put it, we’ve got “Broken hands on broken ploughs, broken treaties, broken vows, broken pipes, and broken tools.”

This all started for me last week. Nancy and I were in Kansas City. We spent part of our last morning in the big city wandering around Westport. Our primary purpose was to trade some of our books at Prospero’s Bookstore. We had two bags of them.

We arrived in Westport at about 9:30. Prospero’s wasn’t open yet. The guy cleaning up in front said they would open at about 9:45. So, we made our way from storefront to storefront along the street, reading menus and flyers. As we passed by one shop the following blurb, nestled between two “we are the ninety-nine” placards caught my eye:  “When the people clamor to be shielded from reality, when they praise the government for keeping things from them, when they choose to conduct their lives within the limits of whatever fantasy the government supplies, then they are no longer consenting to be governed, they are begging to be ruled.” The quote was from Michael Ventura, a New York City native who has been writing a column titled “Letters at 3AM” since 1983. It’s currently published by the Austin Chronicle.

We made our way to the next storefront, which was an Indian restaurant. My mouth began to water as soon as I read the words “Mulligatawny soup.” But I couldn’t shake Ventura’s words. As I ambled along I couldn’t find myself agreeing 100% with him, but I couldn’t say he was all wrong, either. “There’s got to be some happy medium in life, some place where harmony and diversity do more than co-exist or make demands on those we disagree with. There’s got to be a place where we can consent to be governed without finding ourselves begging to be ruled.”

Prospero’s opened right on time. We browsed around for a bit and then began negotiations in earnest with the owner. “We’ve got some books we’d like to trade.” He paused for a second, then made his counter offer. “I hope you’re not wanting cash for these books. I’m broke.” “Nah,” Nancy replied, “just a swap would be fine.” With that, he made his final offer. “How about seventy-five bucks worth of store credit?” “Wonderful,” Nancy and I responded in unison. The deal was sealed on a 3 by 5 note card – “Seventy-five dollar store credit for Phil and Nancy Dillon.”

Assuming that our work was done, we started to leave. But, before we could, he asked an odd question. “Are you guys interested in what’s going on in this country?” I told him we were. “What’s your point of view? Is it conservative, progressive, tea party, the ninety-nine, libertarian, radical?” “Conservative,” I said proudly. The hint of a smile appeared on his face. “That’s alright, we can still do business.”

We made a bit more small talk and he apparently decided we were safe to be around. “I think I’m a radical. I just want the powers that be and the government to leave me alone. I guess that make me a radical, doesn’t it?” He paused for a moment, and then launched into the deep. “There are only three things I want – this bookstore, the freedom to grow a few of my “flowers” for medicinal use, and an occasional nude walk around the block at three in the morning.” I don’t want “them” bothering me and I don’t want to bother them.”

He’d made a pretty convincing case to me. All I could think to say in response was, “Whatever floats your boat.”

I think that’s what we all want. We want the same things our founders said they were fighting for – “Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” What could possibly be wrong with that?

How have we managed to stray so far? The answer hit me like a ton of bricks the moment we sat down for lunch at the Indian restaurant. I think our leaders like things as they are. It’s tea partiers versus the ninety-nines, it’s conservatives against liberals. It’s the have not’s clawing away at the haves. We’re at the boiling point and our leaders seem to be content with that. And why not. As long as we’re at each other’s throats, they maintain their grip on power and do nothing but argue about the price of passage on the Titanic, knowing that when we all hit the iceberg they’ll be manning the lifeboats and the rest of us will have to cast our fate to the icy waters.

It’s time to stop the insanity. It’s time to come together!

ROBIN HOOD IN REVERSE

Four days till the primary. I feel even more strongly now than when I started that a NO vote is the only responsible course of action.

Bob Agler and I recently took part in a KVOE on-air forum. Brian Creager and Roger Wells represented the vote yes side. Mr. Wells told everyone that the merger wouldn’t cost much at all. Brian Creager said that a NO vote might mean the elimination of 4H programs. Both complained about the numbers.

Was any of what they said true? No. Why were they saying it? They were using scare tactics designed to divert attention away from the central issues of this campaign – UNLIMITED, INDEPENDENT TAXING AUTHORITY AND LOSS OF LOCAL CONTROL!

 Is 4H going away? Absolutely not!   No one on our side of the issue has ever advocated the elimination of 4H or 4H programs. Lyon County has been generous and will continue to be generous to extension. We believe extension and the county commissioners can work together to achieve mutually satisfactory ends. That doesn’t require a merger.  

What’s this really about? It’s about money – YOUR money!

Why us? When you compare Lyon County to Franklin and Osage counties, it’s evident we’re poorer than them. Based on 2010 U.S. Census data, the people of Franklin and Osage counties average household incomes are 25% higher than ours (about $50 thousand for them versus $37 thousand for us). When it comes to poverty rates, ours is 11 to 14 percent higher than theirs (22.4% versus 8.4% and 11.5%).

Why would a poorer county like ours be so desirable?  It’s our total valuation. While Lyon County incomes are much lower, our total valuation is higher than Osage and Franklin counties. At the proposed startup mill levy, Lyon County would incur a significant property tax increase over its current level of extension support.  The people of Osage and Franklin counties would be the beneficiaries of a decrease from their current level of extension support. We’d be paying more; they’d be paying less. Money will be taken from the poorer county and given to the richer ones. Further, Lyon County would be assuming the lion’s share of the financial load for the new district – about 40%. When the Westar peaking plant comes on the Lyon County tax rolls in 2014, the total valuation would increase by about $100 million and we’d be taking on an even bigger share of the load.

Merger proponents have said that mill levies would more than likely go down over time. Not true. Of the fourteen districts, only nine had measureable data. Of those, almost half had significant increases. They also claim that any tax increases or decreases would be fully equally because of a common mil levy. That’s not true! Why? Because of the huge gap in valuation. Ours are higher and will actually increase when the peaking plant goes on the tax rolls. Lyon County will always bear the brunt of the burden. The common mill levy and our higher valuation means the overwhelming tax burden will always be ours. The gap between the richer county and the poorer ones will increase, not decrease.

In their glossies they call this a “tax shift.” Well, to paraphrase Ross Perot, “that giant sucking sound you’ll be hearing is your money being “shifted” all the way to Franklin and Osage counties!

The numbers are as frightening as they are accurate. Bob Agler’s analysis and the U.S. Census Bureau numbers demonstrate that the merger is a bad deal for Lyon County.

We understand Frontier District’s current difficulty. One of extension’s field directors spelled it out in a response to us. When asked about the merger, he said that without Lyon County’s revenue, Franklin and Osage county’s “mill levy and ad valorem taxes would need to be higher to meet their current expense budget.”

They’re trying to stave off an increase for Franklin and Osage counties at our expense. We shouldn’t be used to solve a problem we didn’t create.

That’s why we believe a no vote on August 7th is the responsible vote.

There’s one last thing. Not once during this campaign did merger proponents express any concern about other county departments or, for that matter, you. Have they expressed any concern about the onslaught of sales taxes on your horizon? Have they expressed any concern about the future of Newman Regional Health, the road and bridge department, or the public library? No! They’d have you believe it’s all about them. Well, this vote is really about all of us. The citizens of Lyon County have a shared destiny.  We all want a brighter future. We believe it begins with a No vote on August 7^th. Then, on August 8^th, the necessary work to ensure that our local extension and the people of Lyon County find mutually beneficial solutions can begin.

THE GREAT TACO WARS

“My fault, my failure, is not in the passions I have, but in my lack of control of them.”   - Jack Kerouac

A couple of us ran afoul of the Gazette's monitor over the weekend. This past Saturday we found out that St. Catherine's Church wasn't going to be at the county fair this year. I've only been here thirteen years, but they've been a fixture at the fairgrounds ever since we came here. Every year Nancy and I have gone down, gotten in line with the crowds waiting patiently for the best tacos, tamales, and burritos in the world, possibly the universe. For ten bucks you can get the best meal money can buy. And, best of all, the money goes to support a great cause - St. Catherine's School.

As to why St. Catherine's isn't at the fair this year, no one can say for sure. There's some talk of local politics getting overheated. There's talk of high rental rates for space at the fair. St. Catherine's did find a place at the corner of Ninth and Commercial and set up their stand there. Nancy and I went over around noon and feasted. I asked the St. Catherine's crew why they weren't at the fair. All they said was, "It's a long story." I'll leave it at that.

How did we run afoul of the monitor? We shamelessly plugged the cause and the tacos on the Gazette website. I suppose the moderator was right. The forum isn't supposed to be an advertising medium. So, as I did yesterday, I plead guilty. It serves me and Create right for trying to channel Jack Kerouac so early on a hot Saturday morning.

This medium, my blog, however, is mine. So, I'm going to once agin shamelessly plug the world's greatest tacos.

Starting tomorrow, August 1st and running through Saturday, August 4th, those wonderful nuns and their support team will be cooking away at the church, which is located at 205 S. Lawrence St. here in Emporia. You can call them at 620-342-1368 to get more information about their hours of operation.

As I said, the tacos are absolutely wonderful, the nuns and the other good folks doing the work are down to earth, and the cause you'll support is well worth your attendance.

One last plug. Share this with your circle of Facebook friends. Let's get the word out. I realize some of the folks on my friends list aren't philosophically aligned with me. Please, set that aside for a minute and share it with your circle of friends. This isn't about me. It's about tacos and a great cause!  

GUILTY AS CHARGED!

The primary is a few days away. It’s been a tough fight.

Folks have asked me what I’d do if the “vote yes” side carries the day. I’ll congratulate them, of course. I’d be disappointed, but elections come and go and the disappointment over the loss in an election couldn’t come close to the ache I felt in my heart when I lost my old buddy Jack. I’d lose a hundred elections if it would bring him back to greet me with that wagging tail in the morning. And, when I think more about it, I can only imagine how deep the well of grief might have been in me if one of my children or grandchildren had been at that theatre in Aurora a few days ago. I’d have been absolutely distraught.

There really are more important things in life than election results.

Besides, there will be other windmills to chase. Emporia and Lyon County have enough to last a man a hundred lifetimes. The windmills are actually getting bigger and bigger, so I intend to keep flailing away all the harder. I have to chase them. I won’t give in.

Lyon County didn’t get the way it is now, with its skyrocketing poverty, lack of a coherent economic development plan, and downright neglect, by accident. This long, slow, tortured descent is the result of careful planning on one hand and a blind eye turned from the inconvenient facts that years of neglect have piled up in the “less desirable” parts of the community.

I’ve often heard during this campaign that I tended to focus too much on Lyon Countians with low or fixed incomes and the impact our political decisions have on them. I am proud to plead guilty to the charge.  I intend to maintain my guilt.

In the run-up to the election I’ve heard from Emporia’s elites grudgingly admit that “A dollar is a dollar” or ask quizzically “What’s the big deal? This will cost less than a slice of pizza.” There’s the milk of human kindness for you.

They have absolutely no understanding.  That dollar they so glibly talk about is far more critical to the folks living at or below our 22% poverty rate than it is for the mighty. The proposition that concludes that because person “A” can afford getting whacked, everyone else, including the poor, can too, is seriously flawed. Using that logic, dogs become cats, the wealthy become the superior class, and the poor become useless. Only honor graduates of the Marie Antoinette School of public policy could think that way. It makes me want to puke.

When it comes to guilt and “excessive” concern for the poor and marginalized, I believe I stand in the very best of company. In 1935, New York mayor Fiorello La Guardia, the "Little Flower," filled in for a judge at night court. An elderly woman, a grandmother, was brought before him. She’d been caught stealing a 50 cent loaf of bread. La Guardia asked her if she was guilty. She said she was. She explained that her daughter was sick and her children had nothing to eat.  Desperation had driven her to steal. LaGuardia then asked the shopkeeper if he wanted to press charges. He did, explaining that his store was in a bad neighborhood and he needed to discourage criminal activity. The penalty for the crime was ten dollars or ten days in jail. LaGuardia took ten dollars out of his wallet and gave it to the bailiff. The legal requirement met, LaGuardia then ordered the bailiff to collect 50 cents from everyone in the courtroom except for the woman. He explained that he was fining everyone for living in a city where a destitute grandmother had become so desperate she felt the only thing she could do was steal a loaf of bread to feed her loved ones. The bailiff collected $47.50, gave 50 cents to the shopkeeper and the rest to the woman. It’s said that everyone in the courtroom, including the shopkeeper, gave LaGuardia a standing ovation.

So, I gladly admit my guilt. I pray that I remain this guilty for the rest of my life. I pray I remain willing to keep flailing away. Then, when all is said and done I’ll leave my guilt in the capable hands of my Advocate. My faith tells that he’ll say, “Well done, good and faithful servant, you have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master's happiness!” That’ll be more than good enough for me.

THE SLOW BOIL

The August 7^th primary election is less than a month away.

The issue of whether or not the people of Lyon County will approve the merger of our local extension with the Frontier district is on the ballot. Thanks to all those who petitioned, we get to decide. I’m one of the many Lyon Countians who is against the merger. I’m going to vote “NO!”

The lines in the debate have been drawn. I’ve read the pro merger literature and I’ve seen nothing that convinces me to change my vote. The more I see, the more I’m convinced that this merger isn’t a good idea.

It’s not a good idea for many reasons.

First, an approved merger will give the new district independent, unlimited taxing authority over the people of Lyon County. Merger proponents don’t like to hear that, but facts are facts.

What would that mean for Lyon County? Lyon County currently provides a $223,900 budget allocation to our local extension. The merger would increase our contribution to the merged district by 36.5%. That’s an increase of about $82,000 over our current contribution. Then, when motor vehicle taxes are factored in, Lyon County’s contribution increases by $123,000 over our current provision. That’s an increase of 54.9%!

If the merger is approved, Lyon County would be providing 40.8% of the total extension district’s support.

Merger proponents have claimed that the history of extension districts has demonstrated that mill levies have “almost always” gone done once the merger is approved. That’s not true. Based on the actual history, there are about as many districts where the levy has gone up as have gone down. The Meadowlark district levy has increased by 22.25% since 2006. River Valley’s has increased by 22.55% during the same time frame. Sunflower district’s have increased by 15.51% since 2007. Based on the Meadowlark district’s history, the individual taxpayer in Lyon County could easily expect an increase of 67% in his or her contribution to extension.

Merger proponents have claimed that any increase to the taxpayer wouldn’t amount to much. I think people know better. The increase would mean that Lyon Countians would have less disposable income, a cart or two of groceries, a couple of trips to the Flint Hill Cinema, a few meals out after a long, hard week of labor, or plants purchased at the annual garden show or a local business. For a small business struggling to compete, it would compound the struggle by a factor of over 2. Merger proponents say the increase wouldn’t amount to much. The truth is, it’s like telling the frog plunked in a pan of warm water that the flames under the pot aren’t going to hurt him.

Merger proponents say they will create efficiencies and economies of scale. Not true! Economies of scale drive costs down, not up, and the merger, based on their numbers will increase the costs of extension by 54.9% at startup! In an economy of scale, manpower requirements would decrease. Merger proponents haven’t shown us there will be any decreases in manpower. The truth is, there are no economies of scale to be created here.

Merger proponents have told us what this is about. Dale Fjell told us it’s “another way to generate income.” Brian Creager told us “we set OUR mill levy.” A few weeks ago, Mr. Creager said the merger was necessary so that they wouldn’t have to operate at the “WHIM” of Lyon County.

This merger has nothing to do with efficiencies and economies of scale. It has everything to do with money and independent, unlimited taxing authority.

Some merger proponents have said we are against extension. Nothing could be further from the truth. We have no personal axes to grind. We are simply against the merger. We believe that the best course of action is for extension to continue submitting its budget requests to the Lyon County Commission and allow the commissioners to make prioritized decisions on our behalf. Right now, for example, Newman Regional Health is requesting a 2 mill allocation to purchase an MRI machine. The County Library is requesting a 5% increase to cover revenue shortfalls at the state level. County departments all have needs. Extension’s requested “need” should be weighed in that light, not independent of it.

Is extension operating at the “whim” of Lyon County? Absolutely not! We’ve been generous. Since 2006, our allocation to extension has increased by 7.41%. For extension, that has meant an increase of over 10% in expenditures for wages and an increase of 20% in benefits. Overall, Lyon County provides 72% of extension’s budgeted revenue.

A no vote on August 7^th wouldn’t change that generosity.

It’s time to say no! It’s time tell merger proponents that their “it’s only a little bit” strategy is a dog that won’t hunt. It’s time to say you’re not going to continue to be the slow boiled frog. I encourage everyone in Lyon County to vote no on the extension merger. You can do that early at the courthouse or you can do it on August 7^th at your precinct polling place. It’s important that you vote and it’s really important that you vote NO!

"I HAD TO PAY HONOR MY COUNTRY"

By the time you read this, the chorus of “ooh’s” and “ah’s” that accompanied the fireworks will be a memory and the lingering smell of expended fireworks may still be in the air. But, the American flags that hover over our federal, state, and local facilities or wave in front of homes all around town will be there long after the memories and the smell of gunpowder have dissipated.

In the epilogue to his 2001 book, “Making Patriots,” Walter Berns recounted the story of a foreign diplomat who was visiting the U.S. Embassy in his home country. As the man approached the compound, a young Marine was beginning to ceremonially lower the two American flags at the entrance. For about ten minutes the diplomat watched in amazement as the young Marine reverently lowered the flags and folded them. He then placed them on a stand in front of the Chancery. Once his tasks were complete, he apologized for the delay and said, “Thank you for waiting, Sir. I had to pay honor to my country.”

It was a simple act, but it made a powerful impression on the diplomat. He told Berns, “I have had to tell this story because there was something about a lone Marine carrying out a ceremonial task which obviously meant very much to him and which, in its simplicity, made the might, the power and the glory of the United States of America stand forth in a way that a mighty wave of military aircraft, or the passage of a super-carrier, or a parade of 10,000 men could never have made manifest.”

 I’ve spent the better part of a day wondering about that young Marine. Was he just an aberration? After all, patriotism isn’t as fashionable in America as it was a generation or so ago. Long before he wrote “Making Patriots,” Berns told the story of 4^th of July party he attended while he was on the faculty of Cornell University. When someone asked the wife of an economics professor if she had enjoyed the fireworks, she responded, “Yes, but I could have done without all the flag waving.”

Berns didn’t know why the woman disliked the flag waving. Maybe she’d been the victim of discrimination. After all, women haven’t had it easy in this country. They didn’t get the right to vote until late in our history. Even today, the right to equal pay for equal work is still more of an ideal than a reality for many American women.

Unfortunately, our national pilgrimage toward a “more perfect union” has often been painful. African-Americans came to America as bondsmen. They were deemed non-persons and denied the rights that come with citizenship. Minorities of all stripes, Hispanics, Irish, Chinese, Jews and Arabs have all had to scratch and claw their way up the ladder of the American dream.  We’ve had to pay in blood to correct the injustice of slavery. We’ve had to march in the streets when our political leaders refused to listen to us.

But, there are still quite a few of us who continue to wave the flag. Why? Are we fools who’ve lost our grip on reality? Not at all! We flag wavers are actually quite realistic. We’re keenly aware of this country’s shortcomings, but we love this country nonetheless.

I grew up embracing the ideal of America as "a city on a hill," yet I spent my early life in Boston’s shabby tenements and government housing projects. I served a tour in Vietnam, believing that we all had a responsibility to serve our country, yet I never met the son of a policy maker in the year I was there. I understood the bitter realities of life as well as any man and I wasn’t the only one. In 1965, a young man named Milton Olive became the first African-American recipient of the Medal of Honor during the Vietnam War. He was on patrol in the Iron Triangle when an enemy soldier threw a grenade at him and four of his fellow soldiers. He picked the grenade up in his right hand and pulled it to his body, taking the full force of the blast. He died almost instantly. The others lived. There were no dramatic last words. If there had been I think it would have been fitting for them to have been, “I had to pay honor to my country.”

Milton Olive had felt the sting of prejudice many times in his life, but he was willing to sacrifice his life for others. Was he just a flag waving fool? Was he a pawn or a dupe? No! Milton Olive was, in the truest sense, an American patriot. We need more like him, not less.

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.