My Sunday Feeling

The two year anniversary of my taking early retirement from my job with Uncle was October 1.  That was also the day the government shut down.  I do not think there is a cause and effect.  

This is one of the reasons I left government service.  While I could not have predicted a shut down 2 years out of the chute, working for the Feds had become more stressful since 2008.  Every September saw a fight over funding the government through Continuing Resolutions to continue funding the government.  Forget passing actual budgets in a timely fashion.  A Presidential election was coming up in 2010 that had every chance to be the nastiest in history given the rise of the Tea Party in the previous Presidential election.

The Agency that I worked for had no money for travel or training.  One of the lawyers I worked with had a hearing in Louisiana.  She needed to pay for gas and to book a room.  She was told by the Regional Office to ask the Judge down there to hold the hearing in Little Rock.  

Right.  Now THERE'S a helpful suggestion. 

No.  I was sick of it all by 2011.  And so I got out while the gettin' was good.  

I had been through at least 3, maybe 4 shutdowns in my 28 year career.  The first one was under Reagan. The longest was under Clinton.  I think that lasted about 5 days.  We were days away from one in either the last years of the Bush administration or the early years of the Obama administration.  Hell, I don't remember and I'm too lazy to look it up.

Closing down a Federal agency is not easy.  Individuals were told who were considered "essential" and who were not.  Full disclosure: I was never deemed "essential."  I was cool with it.

Cases, the legal work that the taxpayers were paying us to do, and which was the reason for our jobs, had to get long range planning about a month out.  Which meant that if you had a case load of 200-250 cases, as I did, you picked the 4-5 biggies that had discovery deadlines or God-forbid actual hearings, and made sure that you had them covered by whoever at Justice was deemed "essential." 

By the way, I ran into an Assistant United States Attorney buddy of mine today in the grocery store.  She is furloughed.  She had a deposition scheduled for last Friday.  One of the guys from the Criminal Division covered it for her.  Which is, of course, crazy.

The closer you get to the day of the furlough is when you get the "talking points" from Washington to give folks if you are asked why you were spotted on the driving range during working hours.  You were given a script to use for your voice mail greeting and the "out of office (and boy were you fixing to be out of the office)" reply on email.

The support staff secured the office.  Instructions were gone over.  No you can't volunteer to work.  That's actually against the law.  And the rule back then was that you couldn't accept any other outside employment.  My thought was "the hell with that." If the shutdown we were preparing for lasted more than 5 days I was going to instantly become "of counsel" somewhere until sanity was restored.

Then there was the issue of the actual, well, paychecks.  I was privileged to be making a lot of money for around here in the practice of law.  I could handle the hit at least for awhile.  But there's a difference between a GS-14 attorney and GS-7 documents examiner.  The idea of not having a paycheck was terrifying to a lot of good people who did nothing to deserve it.

I realize that nobody cares about Federal employees.  So let's talk about the taxpayers.  People expect government services.  They expect the parks to be open.  They expect to be able to get their farm acreage certified.  They expect to get their passports.  They expect to have their applications for Social Security processed.  

But they can't because the United States Government, the same government that built the Hoover Dam, brought electricity to the Tennessee River Valley (You ever dealt with anybody from the Tennessee Valley Authority?  What a bunch of assholes.), invaded Normandy and put a man on the moon is out of business.

Not sufficiently absurd for you?  How about this?  The United States Government is out of business but Chrysler is up and running.  

This is beyond ridiculous.  

Like I said, I got out while the gettin' was good.  

My Sunday Feeling

I called the grandfather-to-be last week(expectant grandfather doesn't sound quite right for some reason) just to take his temperature.  I asked him how he was holding up.

His youngest daughter had gone into labor in Birmingham.  Here we go!

" You know," Don said. "Some things just don't seem possible.  The first time I felt like this was when you retired.  I looked in the mirror and asked myself 'How can this be possible?'," he said.

"Then a year later Annie tells me she's going to have a baby.  Again, I looked in the mirror and asked myself 'I'm old enough to be a grandfather. How can this be possible?'" 

I confess that this is sufficiently surreal to me to as well.  Come October 1st I will have been divorced from Uncle Sam two whole years.  There are no bears in the windows.  No wolves at the doors.  I sometimes feel like I ought to be doing something more than what I am doing.  But obviously, I'm not working real hard at trying to figure it out.

I was still gainfully employed when Annie blew through town.  She was going to Oklahoma City for some reason and stopped here to spend the night with me.  I'm thinking 5 years ago.  I was still working.  I was still with J and Hugh was still alive.

We all had a great time.  We went for pizza that night.  I took Annie to breakfast the next day.  She said that I looked nice in a suit.  I, in turn, sternly lectured her on the importance of an education.  Lucky her.  I'm surprised she ever spoke to me again.

And now that goofy kid with the big brown eyes has a daughter.  Alexandra is her name.  Mother and baby are fine.  I would be happy if Mother and Grandmother would return phone calls from Little Rock.  But it's OK.  They are kinda busy.  

Of course, Alexandra is both beautiful and miraculous in equal measure, as all babies are.  My friend Ann has had 5 of  them.  She said the first thing she did each time a new baby was placed in her arms was to count fingers and toes.  That was her threshold completely unscientific way of ascertaining that each new kid was OK.  

As far as I know, little Alexandra has the full compliment of digits.  And I do know that she comes into this world surrounded by a cloud of witnesses that love her very much.  Loving parents, grandparents and great grandparents.  At least one Aunt that I know of and a disreputable honorary Uncle back in Arkansas.  That's a pretty good start.  It doesn't hurt your chances in life when you start out with all kinds of folks that can't wait to hold you in their arms.

But Don's right.  It doesn't seem possible.  I can close my eyes and be transported back to Tulane in an instant.  Don and Karin were dating.  Now they are grandparents.  I'm no longer working for the government (or working much at all actually).

And little Annie is a mama.  

I will head over to Birmingham to make her acquaintance once the dust settles.  To the extent the dust ever really gets settled when a new baby arrives. There will be plenty of time for me to get to know her.

Actually, that's not true.  While there's no great rush for me to get a look at her there's not plenty of time.

Alexandra's arrival punctuates the fact that 30 years just went by in a finger snap. 

Like her Grandpa said, "How can this be possible?"  

Rest Cure

I have been pretty much preoccupied by all things Harvest Fest this week.  So, no MSF today.  

Keep calm and bet the over next week when the Hogs play A&M.  

My Sunday Feeling

I will have been "retired" 2 whole years come October 1.  This still seems pretty surreal to me although not so much as it did those first dreadful months when my life did a complete 360.  Now, everything is way cool. But there are times where I still see things through a lens somewhere outside the body.  Friday was one of those days.  

According to my calendar, or what passes for my calendar nowadays, I was scheduled to sing the National Anthem for a Naturalization Ceremony at the Courthouse.  I got up, put on a jacket and tie for the first time since the last funeral I attended, or maybe since last Easter, and headed downtown.  

I take that back.  I wore a suit to the Centennial Service at Pulaski Heights Baptist Church a couple of weeks ago.  But suffice it to say, I don't wear ties that often anymore. 

Driving downtown was so familiar to me.  Down Kavanaugh to Markham.  Past the Arkansas Schools for the Deaf and the Blind.  Through the State Capitol grounds to 4th street. All so familiar. How many times have I made this drive? And yet I never go downtown any more.

I parked a few blocks from the Courthouse in a free space on the street.  I headed on foot toward the Courthouse.  I forgot how slippery leather soles are.  

Past the Federal Building where I toiled in relative obscurity for 28 years.  One of the guards recognized me.  We shook hands.  No other familiar faces.  I was rather relieved. 

The first sign of a problem should have been the notice outside the Federal Courthouse that no cameras or cellphones were allowed.  I didn't much think about it as I had my Courthouse Technology Permit in the front pocket of my shirt.  But they always let folks carry cameras into the Courthouse for the Naturalization Ceremony.  It's pretty much the only time they allow it.

I walked up to the security point where I was greeted with "What are you doing here?" At least that salutation wasn't accompanied by the production of weapons.  

I told them I was there for the Naturalization Ceremony.  Wrong.  I was a week early.  

"Now THAT'S the mark of a man who is retired," one of the Security Officers said as he put his arm around my shoulders.  I would have never made that sort of mistake back when I was working.  But now I can't remember anything.  A therapist friend says it is because I am no longer hypervigilant. She says I will live longer this way.  

Great.  I may live longer but I will do so as a goofball.

So I had time to kill before meeting Phil for lunch. What to do? Go drop by my old office?  God no.  Unless I am being audited or I lose my Social Security card I don't think I will ever set foot in the Federal Building again.  

It was a pleasant day.  So I went and sat on the bench by the fountain in front of the Courthouse.  How many times had I sat there?  That's where the deaf lady from the IRS taught me sign language.  That's where I learned that Hugh had gotten sick.  That's where I met folks who wanted to talk about stuff they didn't want to talk about inside.  

And here I was again.  Same as ever and yet somehow completely different.

After I awhile I went back to the car and headed down to the River Market for lunch.  I didn't really remember how to get to the restaurant.  Then again, I hadn't eaten there since before I left government service.  Just don't have a reason to go down there anymore.

I was looking for the street where I always parked down there and I was having trouble finding it.  I suddenly found myself crossing the center line.  Oh yeah, the one way becomes two way after you cross Main Street.  Shit.

I eventually parked the car without incident and found my way to the restaurant.  Phil was waiting.  It was the kind of pleasant lunch that I used to do all the time.  Now I never meet anybody for lunch.  Hell, I don't much eat lunch anymore.

Adult themes were the order of the day.  Phil talked about taking a young colleague with money problems under his wing.  I talked about a friend who was sick. He asked me to try to figure out the story on the house across the street from him that was on the market.  

He heard that the owners just gave it back and walked away.  This was inconceivable to him.  They both had jobs.  They had done lots of work on the house.  What could be going on behind closed doors that caused them to lose such a nice house in Phil's pleasant neighborhood? 

As I headed home I pondered on all the trouble in the world.  Bad stuff happens to good people.  Good stuff happens to bad people.  People get sick.  Young people lose their way and need the advice of someone who has been around the block.  Everything that was once so familiar can seem distant and foreign.

I made a mental note to put the Naturalization Ceremony on the calendar.  I can't trust myself to carry information around in my head.  I'm no longer hypervigilant.  

I drove past the Courthouse.  "See you boys next week," I said to myself.  

And I will make the trip again.  

My AWOL Feeling

This week had too much action.  So no blogging.

However, I have a great story to tell when I get the time to tell it.

Until then, talk among yourselves.  

My Sunday Feeling

Yesterday's news is indeed proof of the old saying that some people will steal anything that's neither tied down nor red hot. 

Some bastard or bastards broke into the storage unit at Miracle League Field here in Little Rock and stole 75 baseball gloves.  Around 4:30 yesterday afternoon it was discovered that 2 buckets containing around @ 50 "soft" baseballs were also taken.  You know how these things go.  I'm sure that as Peggy, the Executive Director, continues to poke around she will discover that other stuff is missing.  That's the way it usually works.

To the uninitiated, Miracle League is a nationwide franchise dedicated to baseball for disabled kids.  In Little Rock, it has expanded to two leagues.  The Friday night players actually learn skills, get called out and keep the score.  It was for those players that we needed the gloves.  Naturally, we start up next Friday night.

My first reaction is to repeat what I usually say about this kind of offense.  Property offenders sure work awfully hard for a minimal payoff.  It would be easier to hold down a real job. 

Here, the crooks apparently climbed up the side of the building, pried off a loose panel on the metal roof and dropped themselves into the shed.  That's a lot of work to steal a bunch of stuff that has zero resale value on the street.  As a matter of economics and tactics, this heist makes no sense whatsoever.

Which makes me wonder if somebody is trying to outfit a couple of tee ball or pitching machine teams on the cheap?  That makes more sense than trying to fence this stuff.

Stealing from disabled and underprivileged kids to gather gear for your own kiddie team is so completely fucked up, I kinda like it as a theory.  In any event, nothing else makes much sense.

But some good has come of this.  Like discovering that Facebook can be used for something more useful than posting pictures of lunch.  And to see folks from all walks of life get to work out of a sense of complete outrage is wondrous indeed.  The Junior League is pissed.  My State Representative's wife is pissed.  The Better Business Bureau is putting out a collection box as are local Starbucks. 

The guys at a local high end men's store have been sending me good ideas about resources to tap.  My brother is in contact with an acquaintance in the corporate office of a nationwide sporting goods chain.  The Junior Deputy baseball program, who deeded Miracle League the land where we play, is going to scare up some balls and gloves.  Before it's over, I suspect the Hillcrest Baptists and Methodists will pitch in.  Because I have put the arm on their respective pastors. 

The very idea that somebody would steal from disabled children has a whole lot of folks completely riled up.  But another typical reaction may be summed up from my buddy Jeff who texted the following: "It is a sad world we live in." Indeed.

I hope whoever did this can live with himself.  But because a whole slew of good folks from all walks of life, some of whom could give a rip about baseball, couldn't live with what he did to those kids we are gonna play ball as scheduled this Friday.   

Whoever you are that did this, if there are Bunsen burners in the lowest part of Hell, I hope you get assigned one. 

Because you stole from disabled children. 

You son of a bitch.

Hiatus

Elmore Leonard will spin in his grave at this news but there will be no MSF today.  

Talk among yourselves.  

My Sunday Feeling

My friend R lost his mother the other day.  She was quite elderly and confined to a nursing home.  She sustained a stroke a week ago and finally passed away in hospice care last Friday.  So he finally joined the club I was inducted to a little over 4 years ago.

Which can't seem possible.  But it is.  I will have been "retired" 2 whole years in a little over a month. And my nephew Henry started college yesterday.  Time seems to proceed at an accelerated pace the longer I walk this Earth.  None of this seems possible.

R had talked about his mother every now and again. He is a man of a deep and abiding faith and so when he talked of welcoming the prospect of her passing, he spoke from the perspective of a Christian son who wanted his mother's suffering to end.  

My own relationship with faith is, shall we say, a negotiable one.  But I have been there.  My own Mother's last years were just awful.  She somehow broke a hip in the bed.  Her Parkinson's had caused her dementia to accelerate to the point where her grasp of reality was occasionally tenuous.  For example, there were times toward the end of her life that she did not remember my name.  

As my friend Mark said of my mother's state before she died, "We just live too long."

I tell the high school kids that one of the scariest aspects of financial planning is the prospect of outliving your money.  I tell them that longevity is a rather recent phenomena.  During the time of the French Revolution people tended to die in their forties. Indeed, people would come from miles around to get a look at somebody my age.  

Of course, I exaggerate.  But not by much. Our medical technology can keep us going longer than Mother Nature intended or our finances contemplated.  Or, maybe in the case of R's mom and my mom, they were just tougher than most of us.  I know Mom almost set a record at the nursing home for living without food or water while she was in a coma.  Sounds like R's mom gave her a race.

Keeping a vigil is hard. Mother died during what the advertising industry refers to as the Holiday season.  Hearing Burl Ives sing "Holly Jolly Christmas" over the Muzak system was excruciating. To this day I damn near break into hives when I hear it. And R's a busy man with many people that depend on him.  He had to have been torn between his duty to his mother and his professional duties.  Been there too.  

The timing of these things is never good.  R will hit the ground running when after the funeral.  Events that have been planned for years are on the immediate calendar.  St. Vincent-Millay put it best concerning the death of her own father. "Life goes on. I forget just why."

And of course, those of us who love him felt useless during this time.  Because while you want to do something, there is really nothing you can do and you don't wish to intrude.  But you want to do something. It's just human nature.

He asked me to cancel a meeting for him.  I was happy to do that.  On my own I contacted some of his professional peers to let them know what was going on.  One of them described my doing so as "thoughtful."

He is kind.  I don't think of it as being thoughtful so much as the very real appreciation for the breath that God has lent me.  And so I viewed my gesture as trying, in a small way, to pay it forward.  And back and sideways.

Because R is my friend.  And because I have been in his shoes.

Damnation

This is what I found gracing the front of Pulaski Heights Baptist Church the other morning.  Hillcrest is like a lot of neighborhoods in Little Rock.  It has graffiti punks who place their "tags" on other folks' property throughout the neighborhood.  It is mostly an annoyance which the police, understandably, don't have much time to look out for.

But it's one thing to deface Kroger.  It rises to another level when it is done to a place of worship.  That is an act of desecration.

I am certain that the idiot who tagged the church is not well versed in history.  He (I say "he" because these "artists" are almost all young men as I am made to understand)probably doesn't know what the Nazis did to synagogues.  He doesn't know what the Klan did to black churches.  He doesn't know that desecrating a church is a hate crime.

Granted, it's not up there with burning a cross or throwing a Molotov cocktail into a church full of people.  But it is a hate crime nonetheless in that whoever did this showed little regard for the generations of folks who have worshipped in that building or for all the good PHBC does for the community.

And I madder than hell about it.  

I told the Mayor about it.  I called 311.  I told the Residents Association.  That crap is gonna get removed if I have to clean it myself.  This is intolerable.

Now I know that the odds are slim that the moron that did this will ever be caught.  But if he is, here's how I think he ought to be punished.  I think he ought to be sentenced to spend 90 days with Dr. Randy Hyde and Rev. Carolyn Staley.  He should be made to do public service, write essays on the history of church desecration and to attend church.  Over there.  If anybody could make a man out of whoever did this it would be those two.  

And he better hope that he is apprehended by the cops.  Because he doesn't want me to get my hands on him.  

Because he would wake up in the hospital.  Preferably at Baptist.  

My Sunday Feeling

Let us all agree on something right from the start.  If Johnny Manziel autographed items in exchange for money, he violated the NCAA rule that expressly forbids student-athletes from receiving "extra benefits" beyond what they receive as part and parcel of an athletic scholarship.  If it turns out that he did indeed violate the "extra benefit" rule he must be suspended.  And until the NCAA determines this, Texas A&M can be forgiven if it feels the better course of action is to keep him off the field rather than run the risk of forfeiting games for using an ineligible player.

Those are the rules and those are the potential consequences.  Just so we're clear.

And I think it also a fair comment to suggest that the young man's flair for reckless behavior is not confined to the playing field where his breathtaking play lead Texas A&M to last year's Cotton Bowl and for which he received the Heisman Award, the first freshman ever to be so honored.  

And it has been all noise all the time from College Station ever since then.

"Johnny Football" has over 400,000 followers on Twitter upon,which until recently, he could be counted on to pop off with frequency.  As you might imagine, some of those tweets have been problematic, such as the one in which he lamented life in College Station and the one in which he and a buddy are pictured in a casino brandishing wads of cash.  

I bet that latter exercise of his First Amendment rights amused the Aggies' Athletic Director to no end.

He has had a couple of minor run-ins with the law. During one such contact by law enforcement, he was found to have fake ID.  He has showed up at the NBA Finals.  He has thrown out the first pitch for a Rangers game.  His mug has been plastered all over the Internets at parties where it is evident that spirituous refreshment is abundant.  

Much of this is rightfully attributed to his being a kid in the age of the Internet.  Lord knows the trouble I could have gotten into if I had owned an iPhone at 18. And JF is not the only kid to find himself in hot water due to an indiscretion that got into the public. Indeed, I know a girl who got kicked out of boarding school in another state after a picture of her pretending to smoke from a bong in her dorm wound up on Facebook.  Technology frequently trumps teenage sense.

But if JF indeed autographed a bunch of helmets for a memorabilia broker in exchange for $7500.00, as the broker claims, he has created a huge headache for both himself and for Texas A&M.  But it is clearly against the rules.  No two ways about it.

Which again brings up the issue of the hypocrisy of college athletics, particularly in D-I Men's sports. Why is it OK for A&M to auction off stuff JF has autographed to raise money for renovations to Kyle Field but it's not OK for JF to get a piece of the action? What gives the NCAA the right to potentially come down hard on JF when up until fairly recently you could buy a jersey with Manziel's name on it from the NCAA website?

Isn't it the height of hypocrisy for everybody to get to line their pockets but the student-athletes themselves?  

I don't the answer to this.  I do know that I'm an enabler.  Which makes me a hypocrite as well.  I subscribe to my cable provider's premium sports channel.  I go to Razorback games.  I take 3-4 sports magazines.  

I donate to the booster clubs of both Hendrix and Tulane.  And when September 7 rolls around I will be in Conway watching the Hendrix Warriors play football again for the first time since the Sixties.  

And so I really have no room to talk.  

But I will say this, Johnny Manziel is not exactly some kid from the inner city who maybe takes a $50 buck handshake from time to time so he can buy gas and go to the movies with his girlfriend.  Although that is just as illegal as what JF is alleged to have done, I get that.  Especially when everybody is making money off of him but him.  

Johnny Manziel comes from a well-to-do family.  He doesn't need money to buy gas or to go to the movies.  Indeed, alarm bells went off throughout the system when he was seen courtside at that game in the NBA playoffs.  They were cancelled when it was revealed that his daddy paid for the ticket and for airfare.

Having little regard for appearances is not an NCAA violation.  Otherwise, JF would have been in the NCAA hoosegow a long time ago.  

But if these allegations are true, then both the NCAA and Texas A&M need to drop the hammer on the young man.  

Because he didn't need the money.  He did it because he's Johnny Football and because he evidently believes that this makes him bulletproof and invisible.  

Am I hypocrite?  Absolutely I am.  

But I'm a hypocrite with a sense of proportion.  At least I got that going for me.  

On The Road

I'm outta here for a couple of days.  Will resume this foolishness next week.

Talk amongst yourselves. 

My Sunday Feeling

I suppose the fact that I still have really good peripheral vision is a good thing.  Because of that I at least saw it coming.  But even though I saw it coming, I can't really describe how it happened.  

I was stopped in the left turn lane looking South on Van Buren.  When I saw something white and large way to my left.  It was an old-prophetically named- Dodge Ram flying out of the Exxon station.  I guess he was trying to get across my lane and into the right hand lane.  All I knew was that I was as good as hit.  I raised my arms as if I were doing a chin-up to protect my face from the glass and the airbags.  

Then BOOM!  

I was lucky.  He hit the front wheel well.  No glass.  No air bags.  I just sat there for a minute while I made sure that I wasn't injured.  Then I got mad.

"What were you thinking?" I yelled as I slammed the car door.

"I didn't see you.  I'm sorry," he said.  An older gentleman.  Wearing the clothes of a working man.  

"Didn't see me?" I said, wearing the clothes of a highly agitated lawyer. "How is that possible? I wasn't 2 feet away!"

"I'm sorry,Sir," he said. "It wasn't intentional."

"Huh?"

 "I would never do something like that on purpose."

What an odd thing to say.  Maybe he felt that he was liable only for intentional torts.  Maybe he was shook up and that was what came out under the stress of the moment.  Anyway, it appeared to me that he was sincerely remorseful.  I lightened up.  Dealing with the insurance company and getting a rental was going to be a pain in the ass, as per usual.  But at least nobody was hurt.  

The police came and worked the accident.  Information was exchanged.  I'm pretty sure the man in the Dodge got a ticket.  One of the officers was carrying his ticket book and he didn't give one to me.  I'm guessing reckless driving or something for no other reason than trying to hang a left on Van Buren from the Exxon station during the shift change at the hospitals was nothing if not "reckless."  Indeed, if you could get a ticket for "driving like a goddamned fool" the man in the Dodge would have been a prime candidate for one.  

We exchanged our information.  

"I'm sorry," he said. "It wasn't intentional."

I shook his hand.

"I believe you."  

He walked off. 

One of the cops was standing nearby.  We watched the man cross Van Buren. 

"He said what?"

" I know.  Weird, huh?"

"Have a good day, Sir," the officer said as he walked back to his cruiser. He was shaking his head in that world-weary way of law enforcement officers everywhere.  Just when you think you've heard it all, boy.

***

I noticed the voice mail while I was getting my rental car the following evening.  It was a runner for a local chiropractor.  
I guess I have lived a charmed life.  But while I have heard of this sort of low commerce I have never actually been a party to it.  I didn't return the call.  After all, I have access to excellent health care and I wasn't in any pain seeing as how I had, as I far I could tell, sustained no injuries.  

By Wednesday I had received letters from 7 attorneys, most of them came loaded with refrigerator magnets, which I very much appreciated as I can always use magnets.  After today's mail I am up to 9 lawyers and 2 more chiropractors.  And one letter from State Farm advising me that they haven't been able to reach me to discuss my claim.  This is not true.  

Now it was obvious to me that the actual lawyers behind these solicitations employ someone else to crank them out.  I know a couple of these guys or know lawyers in some of these firms.  They would not address me as "Arthur" if they wrote to me.  

Indeed, if they had actual knowledge that I had been in a wreck they would have called me to see how I was doing.  Maybe end the conversation with "Let me know if I can help you."   Leave it at that.  

I don't need a lawyer to navigate this process because a) I am one and b) I'm uninjured and all I need is my vehicle repaired and a rental car until I get mine back.  I have every confidence in the world that State Farm will be diligent in getting after the hapless gentleman that struck me the other day which means c) I don't have dollar signs in my eyes.  I just want to get my car back so I can turn this crappy Jeep Compass in.

Don't get me wrong.  If I had been injured, I would have lawyered up.  But I know who I would retain.  

But having said that I have to ask the question: Hey McMath-Woods! Hellooooooo Wilson, Engstrom, Corum and Coulter! Where are my refrigerator magnets?

Don't you guys want my business?  I mean, if I was really hurt and had a real case and all?  

Sick Leave

The literary world will have to accept that I am taking a leave of absence today due to a really bad sinus infection that is lingering on despite my following the advice of the medical professionals in my life to lay low, drink lots of water and take horse pills.  

I'm thinking of taking up smoking.  Clean living doesn't seem to be working out for me.  

Catch you later.  Talk amongst yourselves until I get back.  

My Sunday Feeling

I did something the other day that I hope I won't come to regret.  I agreed to become the President of the Hillcrest Residents Association.

Our immediate past President had to resign to tend to family business due to the unexpected death of his father.  That was certainly understandable.  But when the Nominating Committee unexpectedly turned to me in this dark hour not only was I surprised but I was also extremely ambivalent.

Don't get me wrong.  I was flattered.  And I love my neighborhood.  If my life's plan works out, I will leave here feet first and my earthly cremains will be stuck in a wall over to the Methodist church about 6 blocks from my house. That's why I agreed to serve on the Board in the first place when they asked me aboard a year or so ago.  

And still, it's not like the Board of Trustees at a college, or the Board of Directors of Women and Children First where I once served as President.  The stressors are few with this group.  The meetings typically revolve around such issues as graffiti in the neighborhood, crime in the neighborhood, what's going on in the local schools, stuff like that.

Occasionally, we have speakers.  For example, a couple of meetings ago a developer addressed the group seeking approval to build a driveway in such a way to avoid a certain street.  The adjacent neighbors objected.  Everybody got to get it off their chest.  

But every now and again there is an issue before the Board that involves something that folks on all sides of the question have a lot of emotion about.  And a couple of meetings have gotten ugly.

But I had to ask myself, did I really need this?  After all, even though I don't consider myself "retired" I am enjoying my mostly stress free life right now.  I enjoy pretty much doing whatever the hell I want to do whenever the hell I want to do it.  

When I looked at the situation through this prism, it made shirking responsibility seem pretty attractive.  

Still, these folks know me pretty well by now.  "Look," they said. "You're a lawyer, you're plugged in with the Mayor and with law enforcement.  You know everybody in town. You've run Boards before. And you've got the diplomatic skills for the job."

Hated to tell them that not very many people have ever accused me of being a diplomat.  I am polite, respectful and I mind my manners.  But I am no diplomat.  But they didn't know that.  So I didn't tell them.

But still, it wasn't until I had a beer with a former Board member that I decided to go ahead and do it.  

"You've got to admit you've got more time than anybody," he said. "And it couldn't be as hard as running a women's shelter."  

All true.  Keeping the doors of the shelter open and putting food in bellies and clothes on backs got pretty dicey at times.  The HRA by comparison deals with the Christmas tree lighting ceremony and the Ice Cream Social on the 4th of July.  And we're not even quasi-governmental.

In other words, I cannot possibly screw this up.  Which allowed my acceptance of the Board Presidency to conform completely with my new acceptance of my utter complacency and uselessness.  

Hell yes.  I'm in.  

Guess I'll have to quit drinking before the meetings now though.  

Damn.  

My Sunday Feeling

My young neighbor to the West of me was mowing his lawn when he saw me leave the house yesterday.  He cut it off and motioned me over.  After talking about what all we had done for the 4th of July, he asked me if he could ask me a legal question.  He is a surgical resident.  I bug him all the time with medical questions.  Fair is fair.

"Sure," I said. "What's on your mind?"

"I don't quite know how to put this," he said.  "I know I will say this wrong.

M is a thoughtful kind of guy.  And he doesn't like to be imprecise in his language.

"Tell me," he said.  "What do you think about the recent Supreme Court decisions?"

"Which ones?"

"About gay marriage.  Can you just explain this to me?"

It is safe to say that M is a conservative kind of guy.  He is a Southern Baptist from Texas.  But, like I said earlier, M is also a very thoughtful guy.  He is fair minded and never argumentative.  And so when we have these talks I try to keep my personal opinions out of it.  Just to give him the state of the law as I would if he were sitting in my law office.  If I had a law office.

I told him that while I hadn't followed it as closely as I might but that the provision of the Defense of Marriage Act that barred same sex married couples from availing themselves of certain federal benefits like survivor's benefits, the right to file joint tax returns, to be covered under federal health care benefits in states that had legalized gay marriage was unconstitutional.  I told him that the Proposition 8 case involving California's gay marriage statute was thrown out due to a lack of standing to sue.  In other words, that the wrong parties had brought the suit.  And that's about all I know.

"Do you think that's right?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter what either of us think."

"It seems like this is a trend."

"I think that you are right. And I don't have a problem with it."

"You know?" he said. " Didn't state government have more power that the federal government at one time?"

"Still does in some areas.  For example, the state of Arkansas regulates both our professions.  The feds don't.  The feds regulate Medicare because its a federal program.  But it block grants Medicare money to the states to run.  There are federal regs but the states run it."

"That's true."

"Here's another story.  When I was at Tulane the legal age to buy alcohol was 18.  The federal Department of Transportation told the Governor that Louisiana needed to change the law.  Louisiana told Uncle to stick it."

"What happened?"

"Uncle told Louisiana that they could keep the legal age at 18 if they wanted to, it just wouldn't get any more federal highway money.  The law changed practically overnight.  People hate the government until they need the government."

"You're right. The money always comes with strings attached."

"Always.  But ya know, Americans have argued over the proper scope of federal power versus state's rights from the time  Alexander Hamilton floated war bonds to fund the army and suggested the creation of a National bank to Obamacare.  This has been a part of the national conversation since the Declaration of Independence.  And I think it's pretty cool that a couple of guys can stand in the yard and have a pleasant, respectful conversation about this stuff."

"You're right," he said.  "That is pretty cool."

He returned to mowing and I set out about my errands.

I always enjoy our talks.  I tell him the state of the law as I understand it.  He tells me why he either likes or dislikes what I told him.  Nobody tries to change the mind of the other.  Our talks are completely free of rancor and are conducted with the volume turned way down.

I think that's pretty special in this present age of angry sound bites, spin and making stuff up.

Imagine that.  A mutually respectful conversation about America a couple of days after Independence Day.  Why, that's damn near patriotic!

My Sunday Feeling

I confess that I really hadn't paid much attention to Paula Deen prior to the recent troubles.  I don't watch the Food Network and I didn't look at any of her cookbooks as I had always been told that her food was not particularly healthy.  I really had no opinion about her.  I still don't have much of one.  Other than she is proof that business acumen is no real predictor of actual intelligence.  That, and her "empire",as it were, seems to be falling in and around her ears after she fessed up in a deposition to use of the "n" word.  That the deposition was being taken pursuant to a discrimination case filed against her by 2 former employees seems to have caused but a ripple in the national consciousness.

Despite profuse and tearful apologies, the Food Network and all of her other sponsors are dropping her like a hot rock.  This has caused her supporters to threaten boycotts of these sponsors (2 of them being Wal-Mart and Target ) and of the Food Network.  A more clement reaction came from an unusual source when Rev. Jesse Jackson chimed in to say that her apology was sufficient for him.  Former President Jimmy Carter is on the record as saying that she has suffered enough.  And some of the commentary has been completely ridiculous, such as Glenn Beck's comparing the furor against her to be reminiscent of McCarthyism.

Which leads me to my first point.  Some folks have referred to the reaction of her skeedadadling sponsors as "censorship."  It is not.  Censorship is when the government comes in and takes your laptop for something you have written.  Or arrests you for something you said.  Corporations making the business decision that its spokesperson is sufficiently divisive to cost it money is not censorship.  It's business.  Look at Michael Vick.

My second point is that whether you believe that  boycotts are fair typically follows the principle of the gored ox.  As I have written in the past, I don't have a problem with boycotts.  People can spend,or not spend, their money anyway they damn well please.  So if Paula's supporters want to stick it to Target or Wal-Mart that's jake with me.  My only thought is that I'm guessing, giving the apparent strata which is supportive of Paula, that a goodly number of these boycotters didn't think much of it when the gay folks urged a boycott of Chik Fil'A.   Again, the gored ox.

Finally, I also confess that I have a little sympathy for the ole diabetic slinger of high sugar foods.  It's not like she got caught in a casual conversation using racial slurs.  She gave truthful answers under oath during a deposition.  What was she supposed to do?  Lie?  And the fact that the deposition was taken in a discrimination case against her doesn't mean much to me.  While I don't know much about the case at hand, I have defended more than one such case that was merit-free.  Granted the story about wanting black folks in plantation garb to serve the guests at a party (or whatever it was) was just plain stupid.

But she's a woman of her age and station.  And she evidently ain't real bright.  That's not to defend her.  But it's not like they got video of her catering a Klan rally.  Again, it's the companies' right to disassociate themselves with her if they want.  It's the law of the jungle, baby.  It may be neither right nor fair.  But it's Business 101.  You can't let somebody hurt the brand.

I suspect she will be OK.  After all, Michael Vick started getting sponsors again.  Nike even took him on again.  And he killed, or caused to be killed, a bunch of dogs.

So you never know.  She may not ever get the diabetes drug manufacturer back.  But maybe someday she can pitch recipes for Jenny Craig.  Is this a great country or what?

My Sunday Feeling

I saw the poster for the first time when I was taking a walk in the neighborhood.  It depicted an earnest looking young man named Lucas sitting with a guitar.  The poster advertised guitar lessons.

"Do you have a guitar in your house that you aren't playing?"

Actually I did.  Note the clever use of past tense as dramatic foreshadowing.

I sent him an email.  We went back and forth.  Told him I could play pretty well at one time but hadn't really played in 20 years or so. I told him that I wanted to take it back up but didn't know where to start.  He seemed to act like this was no big impediment.  Still, I was hesitant.  He was playing out in the neighborhood that night.  He invited me to come hear him to judge for myself.

Fair enough.

When I got there he was sitting outside the local butcher shop/sandwich place playing the living hell out of a Stratocaster.  Jazz.  Improvising.  Riffing off of scales with his girlfriend by his side.  I went inside and asked Kevin what he thought about the kid outside.  Kevin was a professional musician at one time.  I figured he would have an informed opinion.

He pointed to the street.  "THAT boy can play," he said.  All I needed to hear.  When Lucas came in to get a drink I introduced myself and a week later I found myself standing in front of a rent house behind the Methodist church with a guitar case in my hand, fixing to go in for my first lesson in easily 45 years.

To paraphrase Mr. Eliot "In short, I was nervous."

I don't know why I quit playing.  I guess I felt like I was too busy to really take it seriously.  Maybe I was too busy trying to learn how to play golf.  Sheer laziness cannot be discounted in its entirety either.  But there I was.  Me and the old Ovation that my father gave me when I graduated from high school.  Going to give myself over to a 24 year old to try to make the damn thing produce music again.

"So," he said after I had unpacked and stationed myself in front of him. "What do you want to do?"

"I don't know. I don't know where to start."

" Can you play the C, G and D chords?"

"Well, yeah."

"Cool. Let's play 'Twist and Shout' then"

He set the metronome on-naturally-his IPhone.  He played it first and then the two of us proceeded to play the first Largo version of Twist and Shout in history.  It wasn't very good.  But it was playing the guitar again.  And it was a lot of fun.

He told me to send him a list of songs I wanted to try to learn to play.  In between learning those we would would be working on technique and theory.  Sounded good to me.

We did some Neil Young the second lesson.  Went pretty easy.

"Seeeeeeee?" he said, in the way of teachers everywhere. "You're 10 times better than you were last week.  You can do this."

"You think?"

"Oh yeah.  I can tell you once could play and that you are a musician.  This is gonna be fine.  Trying to teach that 40 year old guy that has no musical background who wants to take up the guitar, now THAT'S a challenge.  But tell me.  What you wanna do with this?  What's your goal?"

"You really want to know?" I asked.

He took a sip of his chocolate milk while nodding his head.

"I want to go to open mike night at the Afterthought.  I want to play and sing again and not suck. That's all."

He pit down the chocolate milk.

"Oh, it's gonna suck," he said.

Hey, great.

"Don't take that the wrong way.  It's gotta to hit a certain level to suck."

"I'm not following you."

"Well, you told me that you like to play golf but that you suck.  But you can play golf.  And playing golf is really hard to do."

Ah.  A sports metaphor.  Now I'm dialing in.

"So while you may suck, we just have to make sure that you don't reallllllly suck.  So, I'm gonna sit in with you when you perform."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah," he said with a smile. "This will be fun."

Lucas will be going off on tour with some band after next week.  He said he's going to overload me with stuff to do while he is gone.  This week, he wants me to learn a basic blues progression just because he says every guitar player needs to learn some blues.

Learning to play again is really hard.  But it is great fun.  The most fun I've had in years.

Besides, while Lucas may have me playing the blues.  He's not gonna let me really suck.

My Father's Day Feeling

I've written before that I tend to forget Father's Day.  I remember Mother's Day but I forget Father's Day.  I guess it's because I don't have any children of my own although I did receive the nicest complement yesterday from straight out of the blue.  I'll get to that in a bit.  Maybe I don't remember Father's Day because my own father passed away so long ago.  By the way, Buck is the tall man with the glasses standing on the right.  I don't recall the other men.  Maybe I knew them at one time.  Just like I knew my father at one time.  Anyway, all the men in the picture are armed with little trophies. They must have won the company golf tournament or something.  Buck was a pretty good golfer.  I'm sure he would have been amused when I took up the goddamn game in my forties.

Maybe I don't remember Father's Day because I am pretty impervious to advertising.  Which is an odd statement from one who spends a good bit of his week sussing out deceptive claims in advertising.  I guess I just don't pay attention when I'm not on the clock.

A kid at Catholic High asked me how long I had been on my own.  I told him that I had been on my own ever since my father dropped dead when I was 21.  At least it felt that way.  That was 36 years ago.

So no, Father's Day isn't much on my emotional radar screen.  It's a good day to buy sporting goods and not much else.  Oh, I congratulate my friends and brothers.  But I never see the day coming anymore.

It hit me about the middle of last week while I was getting my hair cut.

"Damn, Bobby," I said to the image in the mirror.  "Sunday's Father's Day.  I completely forgot."

My friends Steve and Ann and I have been trying to get together for sometime.  She told me to pick a day.  Guess which day I picked?

"Gee Bob," I said.  "I need to change some plans.  I accidentally horned in on Father's Day.  Again, I completely forgot.  But then again, I haven't had a father in so long..."

Bob Hilliard has cut my hair since I came back from Tulane.  He knows me pretty well.

"Stop," he said as he undid the cloak.  "You have a father.  He's just not with us anymore.  My dad and your dad are both dead.  But we both have fathers."

True enough.  Interesting perspective.

I sent Steve a text when I returned home.

" It just occurred to me that Sunday is Father's Day.  I certainly don't wish to intrude."

Here's the response: "No intrusion.  Come be part of the family."

It will be my privilege to do so.

Now the compliment.  Earlier yesterday Dennis, who is one of my trainers, checked in on me.  He had tried to kill me Thursday morning and he wanted to know how I was faring.  Even by Saturday I felt like I had been hit by a cement truck.  So, it wouldn't do to share my response in this, a family blog.  But I did man up and wish the architect of my misery a happy Father's Day.

"Same to you my friend," the response said. "Same to you."

"Huh?"

"Yes you are a father to all those who you willingly mentor."

Damn.  I teared up.

If anybody has said anything nicer to me recently I sure don't remember it.  Such a kindness.  And from a man that could knock you into next Tuesday. These things always astound me.

I'm honored to be part of a big Catholic family's Father Day celebration tonight.  I have a little bottle of something for the man of the hour.  I've got a little something for my Godson who turned 13 last Friday.

And this year, I even got something for me.  From my buddy Big Dennis.  And just like most Father's Days I didn't see it coming.

Happy Father's Day.

My Sunday Feeling

I had never heard of Shannon Richardson until the other day.  She is evidently an actor and has appeared in shows like "The Living Dead" and "Vampire Diaries."  Of course, I had never heard of these shows either.  As my alleged friend and neighborhood pediatrician Jenny Paul hurtfully put it on Facebook once, I am behind the times.

I  took notice of Shannon after the FBI arrested her for sending ricin- laced correspondence to President Obama and the Mayor of New York.  Ricin is a by-product of the castor bean.  In its weaponized form it is a totally lethal poison for which there is no antidote.  An almost microscopic amount of the stuff is capable of killing a grown man.

Did Shannon allegedly commit these crimes out of misguided political motives?  No.  She did it to frame her estranged husband, whose child she is carrying, to gain the upper hand in their impending divorce.

Now there's some thinking.

Get this.  Shannon, whom we may safely assume is not exactly bent over double with brains, goes to the local authorities in order to tell them that she found these here castor beans in the house over to New Boston, Texas along with some notes on her soulmate's desk with the addresses for the President and the Mayor contained therein.  You don't have to be Dick Fucking Tracy to guess what the first thing out of the mouths of the cops was:

"Do you have a home botany kit?  How the hell you know those are castor beans?"

Things went swiftly to hell in a bucket after that.  Shannon foolishly consented to a polygraph exam which of course she flunked.  By this time the Feds have come swooping in and discover evidence of research in how to manufacture ricin on their home computer.  Research conducted during periods of time when her husband is away at work.

Oops!  Ya know, is hard enough to bamboozle the local cops, let alone the FBI and the Secret Service once they get to poking around.  But then again, I believe it is safe to say that Shannon is not exactly the second coming of Madame Curie.

I have often said that one should leave the commission of crimes to criminals.  They are just better at it than people like you and me.

I went to a Continuing Legal Education seminar a month or so ago.  An FBI agent gave a presentation on Hate Crimes during which he told the story of the prosecution of these knuckleheads up around Searcy who burnt a cross at an apartment complex where a black man had the temerity to be living.  I remarked at the time that I had generally done well in school, and hold both a college and a law degree.

And I have no doubt that I could not attempt to ignite a cross or make crystal meth without blowing myself to Kingdom Come.  I never cease to wonder how full time morons accomplish such feats.  The good FBI agent allowed as how law enforcement is occasionally as mystified as I am about these matters.  This goes double for idiots who try to manufacture ricin which is really, really dangerous.

Similarly it would not occur to me to attempt to make threats to elected officials in hopes of laying it off on my spouse in order to gain the upper hand in a divorce proceeding.  There are way too many moving parts to that story.  And would have required much wool to be pulled over the collective eyes of the cops and the judiciary.  A nodding acquaintance with Occam's Razor would have done Shannon a world of good.  (Look up Occam's Razor.  It won't kill you.)

Hell, a nodding acquaintance with simple common sense would served her even better.

No, I never heard of Shannon Richardson until the other day.  Maybe I'll check out the zombie shows she performed in that I never heard of either.  Like Dr. Jenny says, I am behind the times.

Besides, it looks like that's the only place most of us will be seeing Shannon for the next 10 years or so.

My Sunday Feeling

I do a little work for a non-profit.  They station me at a desk in the conference room.  Last week I shared my space with auditors.  They were there performing the yearly audit that all non-profits have to go through.  I remember spending much quality time with auditors when I was the President of the Board of the local women's shelter.

Now, my current boss is a straight up kinda gal.  And the Executive Director over at Women and Children First is as well.  And still, the auditors had questions.  It's their job.  Sometimes stuff looks funny.  Expenditures sometimes don't get readily tied down to justifiable business reasons.  People forget to write stuff down.  It happens.  When the business is run by straight up people, explanations are found.  Corrective measures are taken if needed based on the auditors' recommendations and things roll on until the next year when it happens all over again.  Complete and total transparency will cure a lot of problems while you are getting audited.

For those of you who don't know the lady in the mugshot, this is Martha Shoffner who recently resigned as the Arkansas State Treasurer after she was charged by the Feds with extortion under something called the Hobbs Act.  It is alleged that she was caught taking a cash payment concealed in a pie box from an informant wearing a wire.  The informant is widely suspected in the media to have been employed as a broker with a small investment shop over in Russellville, Arkansas with whom the Treasurer's office did a substantial amount of business.

Shoffner's troubles began with-guess who?-the auditors when she couldn't provide them with a reasonable explanation-or any explanation really-why her office a) did so much business with this firm and b) as to whose idea was it to sell some bonds prior to maturity which resulted in a 700k hicky to the State's portfolio.

Now, that's all I am going to say about the criminal case.  She has the right to defend herself and her guilt or innocence will be determined by the jury.  As it should be.

What I am going to talk about is how it makes absolutely no sense for a 3 billion dollar investment portfolio to be managed by somebody whose only qualification is to win a statewide election.  Arkansas has too many Constitutional elective offices that serve very little useful purpose other than to give politicians a seat to warm until they are term limited or are elected to something else.  One exception to this general rule was Jimmie Lou Fisher who was Shoffner's predecessor  in office.  She brought the Treasurer's office into the 21st century.  I love Jimmie Lou.  But it's a low bar.

The State Auditor doesn't audit a damn thing.  The Land Commissioner sells property for the delinquent taxes.  The Lieutenant Governor presides over the Senate and causes headaches for the Governor whenever he leaves the State.  The Secretary of State at least is in charge of corporate filings and voting.  At least that's something.  The state would be better off if the people would abolish these nickleshit offices that haven't been particularly relevant or even needed since the Depression.  We would be better off to put these offices under the aegis of the Governor who would appoint presumably qualified people to run them.

I'm not the first person to suggest this.  Indeed, the press has been bristling with similar suggestions.  But this would take a constitutional amendment.  And Arkansas being Arkansas, there would be grumblings that this would put too much power in the hands of the Governor .  So it will probably never happen.

OK.  Here's a second thought.  Raise the salary in some of these offices.  Take the Treasurer's office.  The taxpayers pay the person in that job $54,000.  To manage a portfolio of 3 billion.  This is insane.  No wonder the Martha Shoffners of this world run for these rinky dink offices.  In her case, she needed the money and secondly there is no economic incentive for a person with expertise in the investment business to want that job.  For example, I don't know how much money the man that manages what passes for my portfolio makes per year.  But I bet it is at least about 5 times what the Treasurer's gig pays.  Indeed, I make more money than that office pays.  And I'm semi-retired.  Under these facts, it is a miracle from God that something like the Shoffner mess hasn't happened before now.

According to an article published last Sunday in the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette, Shoffner had trouble paying the rent for an apartment in downtown Little Rock.  Her present difficulties are not just a scandal.  Or a tragedy, although personally I refuse to see a tragic dimension to selling your office for rent money if indeed that turns out to be the case.

It's an embarrassment to the State of Arkansas.  Sometimes you really do get what you pay for.