My Sunday Feeling

"I did not say she was innocent.  I just said there was not enough evidence.  If you cannot prove what the crime was, you cannot determine what the punishment should be."

                                                    Jennifer Ford, a member of the jury that acquitted Casey Anthony

By whatever criterion you would care to devise, Casey Anthony was one hell of an unsympathetic defendant.  Most of us, well, all of us, cannot imagine partying, and otherwise making a spectacle of oneself, if our child had disappeared.  2 year old Caylee Anthony was missing, dead actually, and Casey's out getting tattoos and cavorting with numerous men as if she no longer had a care in the world?  Casey Anthony sure looked like she was guilty of killing little poor little Caylee.  Indeed, she looked for all the world like an intemperate head case, a less stable version of Lindsay Lohan, the kind of barfly that sensible young men would do well to avoid but inevitably do not.  And the State of Florida proved that she came from a family that was, to use the current catch-all definition, "dysfunctional."

But that's not murder.

I am no criminal lawyer.  Nor do I play one on TV.  And while I didn't follow the case like some people did, it always seemed to me that the case was overcharged.  Which means nothing in a certain sense in that prosecutors typically charge a defendant with anything and everything they can think of in hopes of getting at least a plea or conviction on a lesser included offense.  Not to go all pedantic on you but a lesser included offense is an offense that is a constituent element of the charge with the highest penalty.  To put it very simply, and making up a criminal statute to do it, if I attempted to murder you, I at least assaulted you, assault being the lesser included offense of the charge of attempted murder.  And it is unknown, at least to me, if they offered Anthony a deal to plead out to a lesser offense or not.  I'm guessing that the State had no choice but to go all in, given the glare of publicity surrounding the case.

Which leads me to the next question.  What made this murder trial a national issue?  If Nancy Grace hadn't sunk her fangs into Anthony's backside I submit to you that we might have never heard about this case.  Don't get me wrong.  The death of a child, any child, is a grievous and pitiable loss.  What reasonably sentient parent wouldn't be wild with grief or worry over a lost child?  And the thought of poor Caylee being buried by the side of the road while her Mother disported herself like unto a white trash version of Paris Hilton is hard to reconcile.  No, there is a lot to dislike about Casey Anthony.

But that's not murder.

And children are killed every day.  Often at the hands of a parent or-forgive me-caregiver and nobody hears about it.  At least it is safe to say that the abuse and murder of children does not ordinarily throw the media into a frenzy.

As has been pointed out elsewhere, we have CNN's Nancy Grace largely to thank for turning this case into a circus and inflaming the court of public opinion against the Defendant, who granted didn't exactly help herself on that score with her reprehensible conduct. But you don't convict a person of capital felony murder because of  behavior in saloons that might cause Salome to blush.  You have to have evidence.  And the State couldn't prove causation or time of death. That's pretty big.  It is hard to sell a murder charge with only circumstantial evidence in an age where folks are used to seeing the genius cops on TV wrap things up in a hour with computers and microscopes.

When O.J. Simpson was acquitted in his trial, it was said by some that it was proof that the legal system doesn't work.  Well, under the Constitution the burden of proof is on the State to prove guilt.  When it doesn't sustain that burden the Defendant gets to "go home" as my criminal lawyer friends say.

And for Nancy Grace, a lawyer who professes faith in the legal system, to say after the verdict that"[s]omewhere the devil is dancing tonight" is reprehensible and unprofessional and panders to the lowest common denominator.  Check that.  It would be unprofessional if she were using her training and experience to do straight up legal reporting.  She is not.  It is strictly show business.  She is to legal reporting as Rush Limbaugh is to politics.  So I take that back.  Sorta. 

Did Casey Anthony get away with murder?  Only she knows that for sure.  The juror quoted described their task correctly.  Because innocence is not a legal concept.  It is a moral concept.  The question before the jury was whether there was enough evidence to prove that Casey Anthony was guilty of the crimes for which she was charged.  Period.  And the jury ruled that there was not. 

Like it or not, like Casey Anthony or not, that's the way the system works. 

May God have mercy on her soul. 

My 4th of July Feeling

I got up bright and early Saturday morning.  I had some coffee and glanced at the paper.  I got a bottle of water, I powered up the camera and headed out the door en route to Van Buren Street next door.  I very quickly noticed that something seemed amiss. 

There were no cops.  There were no barricades at the top of the hill.  There were no......runners.  Seeing as how nothing much gets past me, I quickly suspected that the annual Firecracker Fast 5 K race was actually going to be run on the 4th of July this year and not on Saturday.  A quick visit to the Internet confirmed my suspicion.  Thus began, in such an inauspicious fashion, my Fourth of July weekend.

Granted as far as screwups go, I have committed far worse.  But I have to think that I must have looked pretty stupid standing out on Van Buren with Nikon Senior as the only other folks out at that hour seemed to be the usual yard sale type ladies going up and down the street looking at the classifieds as they drove.  Which seems more dangerous than texting and driving if you think about it.

This weekend is going to be a scorcher.  My friend Marge over in Jackson, distraught as she is after losing a jury trial last week, has rethought her earlier plan to go lie in the street.  Too damn hot.  So some good did come from this.  I would hate to lose her.  Especially in such a ridiculous fashion.

My plans are pretty simple.  NV and the boys are coming over Saturday night.  She has graciously included me in  celebrating the happy fact that her oldest boy Paul got into the Honors College at the University of Arkansas.  The young man wants me to cook hamburgers on the grill.  OK, son.  You got it. 

Other than that, going to play a little golf, watch the Gentleman's Final tomorrow morning at Wimbledon and join friends for dinner.  Maybe try to catch up on my reading. 

And take pictures of the runners on Monday morning.

We do take all of this for granted, you and I.  I have written about this before but it bears repeating on the 4th of July.  I do not understand the campaign rhetoric that suggests that our freedoms are somehow being "eroded."  I can pretty much do whatever I damn well please as long as I can afford it, it doesn't hurt anybody else and is otherwise legal.  So can you.

I can have whoever I want over to my house.  I can pretty much keep anybody out.  Assuming they are not carrying both a badge and a warrant that is.  I can watch what I want to on TV.  I can go to church to hear a patriotic sermon on Sunday or I can refuse to go because I find patriotic sermons stupid and/or borderline dangerous.  I can read whatever I can put my hands on.  An old friend called me late last night.  We talked for sometime.  Unlike my latest  pro se lunatic, I reasonably believe that my phone is not tapped.  I can stand out on the street with a camera without being questioned by the authorities.  Indeed, there were none to found when I stepped out early Saturday morning.

We take our freedoms for granted.  But that's different from being paranoid about them.  We take them for granted because we can. 

That's because all of the men and women out in the Veteran's Cemeteries across the world wore the uniform in defense of rights and freedoms we enjoy today. 

I have a couple of buddies who served in Iraq.  I'm going to send them a message Monday thanking them for their service. 

I can't think of a better way to celebrate the 4th of July. 

Due Diligence

The question of how a relatively small time operator like Frank McCourt managed to buy one of the most storied franchises in all of professional sports is a fair one.  Certainly McCourt was a wealthy man having made most of his money in real estate development-parking lots mostly-in the Boston area.  But he wasn't Steinbrenner level rich. 

Indeed, McCourt tried to buy the Boston Red Sox and was turned down.  He also tried to buy the Los Angeles Angels back when they were happy to be from Anaheim and was likewise turned down.  The reason?  He didn't have enough money.  Or at least he wasn't considered sufficiently liquid to become a player in that world.

And yet, in 2004 McCourt managed to "buy" the Dodgers with only 9 million of his own money.  The rest of the financing for the 430 million dollar deal came from Bank of America, Fox and-get this-Major League Baseball.  That's right. MLB loaned McCourt 75 million to help him join the club.  As an aside this would make MLB a creditor as well as the trade association that is most likely going to try to seize ownership of the Dodgers from McCourt and his numerous corporate alter egos.  Some might find this to be a conflict of interest.  Some, myself included, might find this hilarious.  Talk amongst yourselves.

So how in the name of Calvin Griffith did this deal get done?  I have a couple of theories.

First of all, compared to the NBA and the NFL, the baseball owners are considered to be for the most part, well, idiots.  Twas ever thus. As the perpetually cranky Philadelphia Daily News columnist Bill Conlin once said, " If it were raining soup, baseball's owners would be standing outside with forks."

The rumor at the time the Dodgers were put on the market by Rupert Murdoch was that Mark Cuban was interested in getting into baseball.  Cuban, the owner of the recently crowned NBA World Champion Dallas Mavericks, was in those days frequently fined by NBA Commissioner David Stern for his sideline antics and post-game tirades about officiating.  The story is that the thought of Mark Cuban elbowing his way into "the club"sent MLB Commissioner Bud Selig and some of the other MLB owners straight for the Mylanta.  These guys thought McCourt would be a better fit than the brash young owner of the Mavericks. 

The second theory is that the whole economy at that time was running on the foolish assumption that real estate was forever going to appreciate.  My guess is that McCourt, like many other people during that halcyon time who put up real estate as collateral for loans that they couldn't afford -in his case parking lots in the Boston area-looked good on paper.  Well we know what happened don't we?  Real property values went through the floor taking the economy along with it.

Boston Globe sportswriter Bob Ryan said something on ESPN's Sports Reporters to the effect that the folks in Boston were on to McCourt all along and that Bud Selig is getting exactly what he deserves.  Some people in the Commissioner's office have said that maybe, just maybe, they should done a better job of due diligence when Frank McCourt first hiked his skirt at MLB.  Ya think?

I bet Mark Cuban, who has recently been quoted as saying that he wants nothing to do with the Dodgers mess, is looking pretty good in retrospect.  He may have a big mouth but he's got a ring.  And he can pay his bills. 

I bet he looks pretty good.  Especially on paper.

The Commissioner Digs In

Well.  That didn't take long.  Yesterday, Major League Baseball, acting by and through Commissioner Bud Selig filed its Objection to the Dodgers' Application for Interim Financing.  We'll get to the Objection in a minute.  First, the boring procedural stuff.

Monday, I told you that the Dodgers had filed bankruptcy and that they had filed an application for Interim Financing.  Such an application is just what it sounds like.  When a Debtor-in-Possession or DIP, files for bankruptcy protection, it often (in the case of a large corporation) has a "white knight" that it approached pre-filing to arrange to fund the business.  Indeed, some very sophisticated lenders will require a business to file an 11 as a condition of making the loan.  Why?  Because bankruptcy stops all collection efforts by the creditors. 

But the DIP can't just get the loan money and fund the business.  It has to get permission of the Court to obtain the financing.  Here, the Dodgers requested approval of the loan it had negotiated and an initial draw of 50 million against it in order to make tomorrow's payroll.  They requested interim financing until the hoped for Final Order Confirming a Plan of Reorganization.

MLB objected.  They reasons for the Objection are basically three-fold.  1) They allege that Frank McCourt, the former owner of the Dodgers siphoned off millions of dollars and misappropriated them to his personal use; 2) Oh, and by the way, we took McCourt out of baseball and installed a monitor to run the club.  He can't requisition paper clips without the monitor's approval much less put the Dodgers in bankruptcy.  I confess that I wondered about that one too and; 3) MLB is ready to make a loan for Interim Financing on much more favorable terms, will not charge a fee or place a lien on the assets.

The response of the Dodgers is that the decision about who to approach for financing is vested in the "sound business judgment" of the DIP, and yeah, the rates and terms of such financing is typically at murderous rates and terms because DIPs are typically in acute financial distress.  Secondly, they say, the Dodgers are not required to do business with someone who is trying to take over the business.  And thirdly (thirdly?) we don't believe the Commissioner has the authority under baseball's Constitution to take over a member baseball club. 

The Judge granted the Application for Interim Financing.  The report is that MLB agreed to it and I believe that.  They had no choice.  There was no time for a trial on the Objection.  The payroll has to be made.  All of this will be tried down the road.

So what's next?  ESPN reported today that MLB will try to terminate the Dodgers franchise and then take it over in order to sell it to somebody else.  Eventually there will have to be a ruling on the issue of a) whether the Commissioner of Baseball has the authority to take over a team.  Every Commissioner since the time of Judge Kennesaw Mountain Landis has viewed the Commissioner's power to act "in the best interests of baseball" to be damn near plenary in nature. 

So I guess the threshold question before moving too far forward is who is entitled to run the Dodgers?  Is it Frank McCourt?  Or the monitor appointed by Bud Selig?  Oh, let's not forget Jamie McCourt.  She contends the Dodgers are marital property to be divvied up by the Divorce Court Judge in Los Angeles.  Look for her to intervene in the bankruptcy before too long.

This is all fascinating stuff.  I will continue to monitor-pardon the expression-the activity in the case.  And in the next installment we'll talk about McCourt's acquisition of the Dodgers and how MLB is partially to blame for the current mess.

Stay tuned.

Frank McCourt Goes High And Tight

The Los Angeles Dodgers filed a Petition under Title 11 of the United States Code today.  To put it in layman's terms, otherwise widely known as English, the Dodgers filed a Chapter 11 in the United States Bankruptcy Court in Delaware.

First some background. Chapter 11 is a business reorganization.  You may recall that Chrysler and GM both reorganized under this provision of the Code.  You may ask why Delaware?  And the answer would be that many, if not most, major corporations incorporate under the laws of Delaware because of Delaware's corporate-friendly organization and tax laws.  Chapter Elevens are time consuming and expensive.  And in my experience with smaller corporate debtors, rarely successful in reorganizing the business.

Some more background.  In 2004, the Dodgers were acquired by Frank H. McCourt, who made all of his money in the parking business in Boston.  His wife Jamie will figure into these chronicles soon enough.  Long story short:  In 2010, the Dodgers started experiencing what the Emergency Motion for Interim Financing dryly refers to as "cash flow difficulties."  According to the Motion this was due to a decline in attendance and  failure to make the playoffs.  Oh.  That and a whopping 22 million in deferred compensation to current and former players.

In April Major League Baseball Commissioner Bud Selig ousts McCourt and appoints a monitor to run the Dodgers.  The Motion refers to Selig's authority to do this as "questionable."

McCourt cuts a deal with Fox Sports that will get him well financially. Here's where Jamie comes in.  As if the Dodgers don't have enough drama in sufficient supply, the McCourts are embroiled in an exceedingly nasty divorce.  One of the issues in the divorce is whether the Dodgers are marital property along with the numerous other entities created by McCourt.  Indeed, a hearing on the issue is set for August.  Or was until the bankruptcy filing.  Anyway, part of the deal with Fox was that if Jamie McCourt prevailed in divorce court on her theory that the Dodgers were marital property, she would get 100 million (Yes.  You read that right.) which would be partially funded by the loan.  The other part would come from a loan from Fox to Frank.

Selig doesn't approve the deal because of the proposed payment to Jamie.  That, and the McCourts have run the business like their own personal candy store.  The Dodgers are officially broke by June 30 if they don't close with Fox Sports.  So off to Bankruptcy Court we go.

Which if nothing else, will serve to piss off everybody in Major League Baseball.  Let me count the ways.

1) The Debtor in case 11-12010 isn't Wally's Pizza.  It's the Los Angeles frigging Dodgers.  One of the crown jewels of professional sports.  Broke the color barrier with Jackie Robinson.  Won 6 World Series.  Created everlasting enmity in Brooklyn when the franchise moved to LA in 1962.  This is a black eye on the sport.  Which leads to......

2) The other owners will be pissed especially the Chicago White Sox to whom the Dodgers owe 3.5 million.  This filing is a black eye for baseball. 

3)  The Commissioner will be pissed.  His powers to act "in the best interests of baseball" are damn near plenary.  Until they run into the Automatic Stay provisions of 11 U.S.C. 362.  If MLB wanted to sell the Dodgers, no can do without a fight in Bankruptcy Court. 

4)  The Major League Baseball Players Union will be pissed.  Most of the Dodgers' unsecured creditors are current and former players.  They owe Manny Ramirez @ 22 million.  They even owe Marquis Grissom @ 3 million.  He played for then what?  A year?  These insane contracts were made possible by a collective bargaining agreement.  Expect the player's union to bring hell if the Dodgers try to impair (again, in English the word would be screw) these claims. 

5)  Speaking of collective bargaining agreements, ask the United Auto Workers how their contracts held up in the GM and Chrysler bankruptcies. 

I'm just getting started good. 

I may have no life.  But it is for these moments that I indeed live. 







    

AWOL Again

This is becoming a habit.  I know.

Will be back next week sometime.

Talk amongst yourselves.

My Father's Day Feeling

As I have said in the past, I like Father's Day.  Later on today, I will hit the sales and buy stuff for me on sale.  It's not like I'm cheating.  I can't stand Christmas or Valentine's Day.  For me, participation in either of the latter civic rituals is complete hypocrisy.  But I need a new golf bag.  I know where I can get one on sale today.  Somebody is going to buy it.  It might as well be me whether or not I have any "heirs of the body" as the old property law cases used to say.

Besides, most Dads I know would love to treat Father's Day as no big deal.  Here's a true story. Back in April I submitted a essay on Father's Day to the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette.  My editor at that time was a devout Roman Catholic father of a little girl whom he adores.  Here is the following e-mail exchange.

Editor: " This is great.  I want to use it."

Me: "Cool."

Editor: "When is Father's Day anyway?"

Me: "You're asking me?"

Editor: " Yeah well.  It's no big deal to those of us who are actually fathers.  I would just as soon be left alone."

Me: "But that won't happen will it?"

Editor: "Oh no."

Anyway, no, there are no heirs of my body of which I am even remotely aware.  And that's OK.  I assumed that I would be a father at one point in time but it just never worked out.  But on the other hand, I am in a position to do some things with my life and what little money I have scraped together that I would not be able to do if I had to worry about the college fund.  Which certainly is in line with my essentially narcissistic personality.

My memories of my own father are kind of diffuse at this point.  After all, by now he's been dead longer than I knew him.  I know it's different with girls and their daddies, but I suspect Hugh's daughters will experience at least some of the same disconnect when they consult the memory banks when they are in their fifties as well.  Human nature is what it is.  And 34 years, to use my example, is a long time to bear witness.

But what of my father?  Here's what I remember.  He was quiet.  He was shy to the point of social ineptitude.  Looking back at some of the weirder aspects of his personality through the modern prism of diagnosis I wonder whether he had ADD or Asperger's.  He was the kind of guy that could teach thermodynamics and yet fully believe that no one could see him from the outside as he passed by a window in his skivvies.  Which, as one of my shrink friends who evaluates children would say, sounds kind of "aspergery" to me.  Then again, maybe I come by it honest.  My father always struck me as a lonesome person who had something of an impaired ability to relate to others.  As for me, I am not lonesome to the slightest degree and I play well with others.  And yet, for the most part I am the most content when I am by myself.

Maybe I'm a little more aspergery than I care to know.

One of my aunts maintained that he was a drunk.  I don't know about that.  I only saw Dad real bad drunk once that I know of.  It was not pretty and is a story for another day.  Sometimes it takes awhile for dust to settle.  That time has come.  But this is Father's Day.  Today is not the day.  In any event, I do know he was addicted to nicotine and this is why his heart blew up at 53. 

Bottom line.  He was a good person.  He worked hard.  He wore the uniform.  He faithfully did his duty in harm's way.  He was a good provider. He loved his sons.  Like most marriages his had its up and downs.  And from what I could tell from my perspective of limited discernment as a young person, the downs were practically Wagnerian in their scope and intensity.  But over time I have come to see just as bad if not worse.  And he made sure that there were investments in place that were so sufficiently sound that only recently have they been liquidated pursuant to his spouse's Will. 

My father and I clashed a lot toward the end.  In my junior year at Hendrix I began the process of applying for law schools.  I applied to schools all over the country.  While he grudgingly paid the application fees for Vanderbilt, Tulane, SMU and Arkansas, he made no secret of the fact that he wasn't going to pay for me to go to school out of the state.  Which struck me as an odd position for somebody who up until then had routinely disparaged higher education in Arkansas.  Eventually I figured it out.  He didn't want me to leave. 

Unfortunately, he left before I did.

If I am doing the math right in my head, which I am probably not having still no aptitude for math or science which he found unfathomable, Buck Bowen would have been 87 as of this writing.  Most likely, he would not have lived that long given his chain smoking ways along with the genetic predisposition to coronary artery disease that recent testing revealed he bequeathed to guess who?

But I wish he had been around after I returned to Arkansas after getting my law degree from The Tulane University of Louisiana.  I wish we could have played golf.  Maybe we could have worked some of this shit out on the driving range.  Maybe not. 

I wish he could have seen that I turned out OK.  I wish I could have said "Thank you."

Not A Morality Play. Still, Karma Is A Bitch.

It would be the easiest thing in the world to say "I told you so" after the Miami Heat and the much-ballyhooed Big Three of Chris Bosh, Dwyane Wade and LeBron James were dispatched in the NBA Finals in 6 games by the Dallas Mavericks, the final win taking place on the Heat's home floor.  So by all means let's do it: http://themovingfingerwrites.blogspot.com/2010/07/my-sunday-feeling.html

Particularly, I direct your attention to the quote from legendary tough guy Paul Silas who at the time LeBron told a rapt America that he would "taking [his] talents to the South Beach" was telling ESPN Radio that James didn't have much of a killer instinct.  Silas was LeBron's first NBA coach.  So he should know whereof he spoke.  And LeBron's disappearing act late in games in the Finals, although he played pretty well last night, seems to bear that out.

Text from a friend Saturday: "Why can't LeBron make change for a dollar bill?"

"No 4th quarter."

While it is a safe bet that nobody outside of the Sunshine State was rooting for the Heat in this series, let's not make a morality play out of it.  Sure, LeBron's (and ESPN's) stupid decision to announce that he was leaving the Cleveland Cavaliers in prime time during a contrived "special" entitled "The Decision" in retrospect made LeBron, a guy who up until that point was not particularly known for hubris or arrogance, seem steeped in it.  And when James, Bosh and Wade were introduced to the Miami fans strutting around in their white home unis as if the NBA Title was a foregone conclusion it rubbed a lot of people the wrong way.  Myself included.

But let's not forget that, again, these guys didn't have bad reputations for being knuckleheads prior to that night.  And they still don't. Sure, Wade and James looked like a couple of punks for mocking Dirk Nowitski's sinus infection after a shootaround after Game 5 which Dirk played while running a 101.  Hey, assholes!  You lost!  Shut up.  But still, there are far worse citizens in the NBA than these 3.

Also, James and Bosh's decision to go to Miami was a business decision they were entirely free to make.  Indeed, depending on what kind of labor agreement the NBA Player's Association and the League can hammer out after the lockout-you do know there's gonna be a lockout right?-free agents will continue to essentially collude with each other to join teams that they believe gives them the best chance to win a title.  Somewhere Curt Flood is looking down and smiling.

And let's give the Mavericks some credit.  Dirk Nowitski had a series for the ages.  Jason Terry and Jason Kidd shot the Heat out in games 5 and 6.  Shawn Marion (who has to be carrying an AARP card by now)and Tyson Chandler held their own with Bosh.  They were quite literally the better team last night, scoring 27 points off of highly unsure Heat ball handling.  Note to Erik Spolestra:  who thought it was a good idea to have LeBron bring the ball up the middle on the fast break.?  I'm sure that it wasn't you.  And if so, I'm sure Pat Riley was not impressed.  Also, your team's free throw shooting was generally atrocious especially in light of the the Maverick's excellence at the line.  So that's two notes.

So while we don't need to make a morality play out of the victory of the Dallas Mavericks, there is some real satisfaction in seeing the Heat get taken down a peg.  And that tells you everything about what a PR disaster "The Decision" and the events afterwards really were.

Because basically OK guys instantly became the very embodiment of arrogance and hubris.  And the whole country-or at least the part that follows the NBA- pretty much rooted against them in the Finals.  Which is remarkable when you think about it. 

Oh.  And I told you so.

AWOL

There will be no MSF tomorrow.  My excellent friend Jim Nelson is coming up from Baton Rouge to play golf with me and my little friends in the Hendrix Warrior Booster Club tournament.  He is a big LSU Tiger booster.  I think it does him some good to see real student athletes that aren't getting paid either over or under the table. 

In any event, I am all jammed up this weekend.  Will return next week. 

Talk amongst yourselves.  Happy Father's Day to all the Dads!

Narcissus Shrugged

I have done some foolish things in my life.  Odds are you have too.  And we have all done things that we would just as soon never finds the light of day.  Maybe they are not very bad things in the great scope of fucking up.  But they are things that might otherwise not reflect entirely well on a reputation for sound judgment and probity that one might hope to attain at a certain station in life.

Like sending a picture of your crotch on Twitter to some girl in Texas.  While you are married.  And a Congressman.

I never did anything that stupid.  Point for me.

I was sitting in a bar in St. Louis back during what I recalll was Bill Clinton's first term.  Like everyone else in there I was transfixed by the breaking news of the Monica Lewinsky scandal that was breaking in on the TV.  The man sitting next to me must have picked up on my Arkansas accent whenever I ordered a refill of my iced tea.  He asked me if I thought that the story might be true.

"No," I said. "Bill Clinton may be many things but he isn't stupid."  Of course, subsequent events proved me completely wrong.  He was that stupid.

At least Clinton had the basic good sense to lie about it. Congressman Weiner led off with the  plausible explanation that his Twitter account had been hacked.  But I have a pretty good bullshit detector after all these years.  And it started going off when Weiner said that he wasn't going to turn it over to the investigators to spare that the taxpayers the expense. After alleging that he, a Member of Congress, had been hacked?  I'm willing to bet that the FBI advised his office that an investigation was not an option which I'm sure started the bullet sized sweat droplets.  Because you do not want the FBI poking around if your story is even remotely hinky.  I refer you again to Bill "I did not have sex with that woman" Clinton.

But what really sent the ole bullshit detector into the red zone was when Weiner stated that he could not say for sure that the image that got transmitted to the girl in Texas was indeed not of him in his skivvies.

I am not a Congressman.  Having said that, there are no pictures of me in the Jos. A. Bank jockey shorts that I favor.  Nor will there ever be.  If anyone ever shows you an image that purports to be me in such scant attire, it is not me.  It might be Congressman Weiner.  But it is not me.

Which leads one to the inescapable question: What kind of an idiot what do something like this?  Isn't being a powerful elected official who happens to be married to a beautiful woman validation enough?  Evidently not.

My take?  Leave it to the Democrats, his wife and his constituents to deal with him.  I know. Nancy Pelosi has called for an ethics investigation.  Undoubtedly the Republicans will demand he be turned over for the criminal equivalent.  Please.  From what I can tell Weiner's behavior, though disgusting, unseemly and juvenile, was not a violation of any criminal laws.  Let this be between his constituents and his wife.  If they can live with it, I can live with it.

Here's another good question for the folks in his District.  Presumably they sent him to Washington to represent them on the major issues of the day.  Health care, the national debt, the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq.  And Congressman Weiner has time to send texts and pictures to some young woman in Texas whose only mistake was contacting an elected official she admired? 

Earth to Anthony:  She admired you for your positions as a public man.  She did not like you as a person.  And now she probably thinks, with some justification, that you are a creep.  Well played.

But back to Bubba.  Weiner would have been better off to haul off and lie like a damn rug.  Just like Clinton did.  Coming clean is just marginally useful as a matter of tactics as he is probably now realizing to his infinite chagrin.

What he should have done was enlist his wife in the defense.  Really. He should have put her up in front of a mic.  And she should have said:

" That doesn't look like my husband's crotch.  Actually, Anthony is much smaller than that."

Bet she would have done it.  Most of the women I know would have done it.

Up On The Rooftop

The sounds of Lance Armstrong level strong woodpeckers overhead are building my new roof.  Read into that what you will.   The roofing crew got here as I left for my white collar job.  They are still here as I type this while drinking wine in the comfort of the air conditioning.

How bourgeois.

And it occurs to me that this little house here in the People's Republic of Hillcrest, sitting here,as I am being my bourgeois self,  drinking wine while Mexicans work 14 hour days in the service of me and the insurance company, is a symbol of the national debate on immigration.

Young men going up and down on the ladders carrying-what?-bags of shingles that weigh a hundred pounds per bag.  In 100 degree heat. 

These guys on the roofing crew are here because nobody else will do this kind of labor.  The "Build the Wall" types are not opposed to the maids, agricultural workers or the guys on my roof.  As far as I can tell, they are opposed to providing government assistance to the children of these people who are "taking jobs away from Americans."

But what should I do?  Ask these guys to produce green cards?

I will do it whenever you ask your Caucasian or African American roofing crew to do the same.

My Sunday Feeling

It wasn't the worst scandal in the history of college football.  I will give The Ohio State University that.  That dubious distinction will forevermore reside with SMU whose players were getting paid in a scheme that reached all the way to the Governor of Texas.  And the NCAA gave their football program "the death penalty" for the first, and I predict the only time.  But it was pretty bad.  Especially after Sports Illustrated went with a story this week that was so damning in its exposure of the utter corruption of Buckeye football and in revealing head coach Jim Tressel to be a pious fraud that Tressel resigned before the article hit the stands.  Resigned without extracting a severance deal from The Ohio State University even.  Which is not only unheard of but is indicative of just high pissed the Buckeye brass was at Tressel.

As most of these things go, it started small.  Before 2-a-days started last season, Tressel got an e-mail from a booster who also happened to be an attorney that had gotten wind of the fact that the FBI was investigating a Columbus tattoo parlor where players liked to hang out.  The investigation also revealed that some, if not most, of these guys had been selling sports memorabilia such as game worn equipment and autographed programs and the like for money or in exchange for getting ink.  Now this was a clear violation of the extra benefit rule, which would conceivably render the players ineligible for the upcoming season.  But this is nickle and dime stuff which likely would have resulted in some lesser penalty if Tressel had acted on this information or told his Athletic Director about it.

Tressel did neither.  But what he did do is he executed the NCAA compliance letter and certified that he knew of no NCAA violations and that his players were eligible to participate in the upcoming season.  Which was, of course, a flat out lie.  And lying to the NCAA is THE cardinal sin in the coaching business. 

Flash forward to December.  The Buckeyes are headed to the Sugar Bowl where they are scheduled to play-guess who?-the Arkansas Razorbacks.  About that time the Department of Justice passes info along to The Ohio State University about a raid it conducted on the tattoo joint in question which confirmed that 6 players had been selling or trading memorabilia.  Tressel, and his supporters, including the President of the school, state that he knew nothing of any of this.  Which was Tressel's second whopper.  Or third since he obviously lied about it to his AD and his President.

The NCAA declares the players involved, including star quarterback Terrelle Pryor to be have violated the extra benefit rule.  But it didn't rule them ineligible for the Sugar Bowl.  Rather, they were ruled ineligible for the first 5 games of the NEXT season in the first ruling of its kind in the history of the NCAA.  Armed with the full compliment of players, Ohio States defeats the usually sure handed Razorbacks who evidently caught a fatal case of the butterfingers the day of the game.

In March of this year Tressel 'fesses up.  In what was both an obvious sop to the NCAA and a bid to keep his job, Tressel offers to join the players in the suspension.  By this time Sports Illustrated and local media are sniffing around.  Turns out that this kind of thing had been going on on a widespread basis since 2002.  Suuuure Tressel didn't know.  And so he was histoire by Memorial  Day.  Which was about when the local media revealed that about 50 current and former Buckeyes received sweetheart deals on vehicles from local car dealers. 

Now this situation stinks to high heaven for any of a number of reasons.  An athletic scholarship is a hell of a deal.  Free room and board and tuition.  But since the NCAA won't let the student-athlete work at a job-with some exceptions- during the school year what's a poor kid gonna use for gas money?  Or to take a girlfriend to the movies?  Hell, Rick Majerus got a reprimand from the NCAA when Utah self-reported that he had taken a player out to get a pizza.  This was despite the fact that the kid had just found out that his father had died.  As one of the players interviewed for the SI story said, "Technically we knew if was wrong, but a lot of those guys are from the inner city and we didn't have much, and we had to go on the best we could.  I couldn't call home to ask my mom to help me out."

Schools like Ohio State and Arkansas, and the coaches they employ, make millions off these kids.  And eventually Division I sports is going to have to figure out a way to provide some kind of financial assistance for the kids in the revenue producing sports.  Whether they can figure out a formula that is fair and equitable is not known.  A lot of D-I schools are barely scraping by in trying to support their football programs.  Tulane certainly couldn't afford to provide as lucrative a stipend to the men who wear the Olive and Blue as could LSU.  And could they do it at all without violating Title Nine which mandates equal athletic opportunities for women?  Who knows? 

And lest the NCAA get too high on its horse, remember that it allowed clearly ineligible players to participate in the Sugar Bowl game.  Why?  They won't admit it but a Sugar Bowl without Terrelle Pryor would have hurt ratings.  Its all about the money.

And here's another wrinkle.  The NCAA just laid the wood to Southern Cal, primarily over the Reggie Bush and O.J. Mayo episodes.  You can bet that the Trojans-and the PAC 12 (or 27 or whatever it is now)- will give the NCAA unshirted hell if they don't lower the boom on the Buckeyes at least to the extent that they themselves got tossed in the hoosegow.  These are indeed happy days up the road in Ann Arbor. 

All we know now is that Jim Tressel will be raking the leaves this fall instead of roaming the sidelines in his trademark tie and vest. The situation at The Ohio State University will get far worse before it gets better.  And it all started over Jim Tressel covering up for poor kids selling otherwise worthless crap that has value only for the sports obsessed booster types that feed the beast that is Buckeye football.

Read the article on the jump.  Make up your own mind: http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/2011/magazine/05/30/jim.tressel/index.html?sct=cf_t11_a2#&sct=cf_t2_a3

Oh.  The "pious fraud" remark with which I led off this post?  There is an incident in the story that put my Hypocrite Meter into the red zone that is usually reserved for politicians and televangelists.  Let me know if you find it and if you concur.
















  

My Sunday Feeling

It has been a terrible Spring in the South and Midwest.  Hundreds of people killed  and millions of dollars of damage from tornadoes.  And that's just last week.  In one 24 period last week, 84 tornadoes touched down in Arkansas, Texas and the Midwest.  84.  Godalmighty.  And of course, since about the first week of May the Mississippi River has been doing its damndest to cut over to the Atchafalaya.  It has been held at bay by both the Army Corps of Engineers and sheer luck.  But they had to open the dam at Morganza to flood the spillway.  Unfortunately people and wildlife live in the spillway.  We shall see what is left when the water recedes sometime in June.

But things are looking up.  We haven't had any rain since Wednesday or so.  Otherwise sensible people are speaking wistfully of Summer.  It may be hot but it will be dry.  We are technically in a drought which hardly seems possible.  But nobody cares about that.  People are ready to be cooking on the grill and playing golf.  We are sick of being cooped up indoors or checking our rooftops for hail damage.  The good news is that I saw that the kids who operate the snow cone shack have hauled it back to the parking lot down the hill from Mount St. Mary.  If that ain't a sure sign of the advent of Summer here in the People's Republic of Hillcrest, I don't know what is.

The Memorial Day weekend also is the unofficial start of the Presidential election season.  That seems hard to believe but I read it somewhere on the Internet.  So it must be true. 

One of the common themes that I have been hearing from the Loyal Opposition in recent years is that the next election will be about restoring freedoms that we have lost.  What to do about health care and the national debt I get.  Restoration of lost freedoms I do not.

In the last 2.5 years, nobody has told me what church to attend or that I have to attend church at all.  As far as I know, nobody in the government is monitoring my communications.  If my usual telephone and Internet traffic created an exception to the Court Order requirement allowed by the Patriot Act I am honored.  Which means that the National Security Agency knows that I bought a golf GPS today and that my buddy in North Carolina is taking Vicodin for back pain.  Big whoop.

My last post on this blog was about how I view Harold Camping's predictions of apocalypse as complete nonsense.  It did not result in the seizure of my laptop.  Earlier this morning I took a walk.  There were scores of runners, walkers and bikers out this morning.  Everybody was pretty much going whatever direction they damn well pleased. 

I went to Little Rock National Cemetery to take pictures.  Nobody seized my camera.  A police officer drove through as I was walking unescorted among the graves of our veterans.  He waved.  I waved back.  I was glad to see him.  Here and there folks were laying flowers on the graves of loved ones.  They were completely unsupervised.  By now you should be getting my none too subtle point.

There has always been a paranoid element in American politics.  But it seems now that the notion of sacrifice of self to the greater national good is seen by some as naivete.  Or that laws enacted by the legislature, such as the recent health care reforms, or seat belt laws even, are an impermissible infringement on personal liberty.  Be that as it may, I have not heard much from the Tea Party in either Baton Rouge or Joplin lately.

Here is a true story.  A woman with whom I am passingly acquainted started dating somebody.  He is a small business person and enamored of the Tea Party.  Anyway, she told me that he is insisting that she read "Atlas Shrugged" as what I gather is a condition of their continued relationship.  When a crackpot like Ayn Rand makes something of an inroad into the zeitgeist I wish to suggest that these are indeed remarkable times in which we live.

But that's OK.  Everybody is entitled to their opinions.  And they are pretty much free to express those opinions as they see fit so long it doesn't involve a bullhorn at 3 AM in front of my house or the use of explosives.  That's because men and women came together for the greater good in times of national peril.  They put themselves in harm's way so that we might be secure.  So that I might be free to go see the Catholics whenever I see fit or that you can read Ayn Rand.  Or anything else you damn well want.

Or to go get a snow cone if you want.  The snow cone kids are back.  Which means it is officially Summer in the People's Republic of Hillcrest.

Just take a moment this Memorial Day weekend to remember those folks at rest just East of Downtown Little Rock.  Remember those men and women from all walks of life united in death at the National Cemetery because either they wore, or they were related to someone who wore, the uniform of the military of the United States of America. 

And give thanks for their service. 

 

Wrong As Usual

I was driving to an event around 6 o'clock Saturday night.  I took an extra minute while paused at a stop sign to take a look at the sky.  I didn't see any bodies being assumed into Heaven.  I rolled down the window.  No trumpet.  I rolled up the window and increased the volume on the radio. 

Harold Camping, a California radio evangelist, was wrong again.  The world did not end, contrary to the predictions that his ministry have relentlessly hyped for the past year or so.  The first I heard of any of this was as I was driving home from work back in March.  Purple vans festooned with "The World Will End on May 21, 2011!  The Bible Guarantees it!" were rolling through the State Capitol grounds.

I didn't give it a second thought until I started reading news stories about people divesting themselves of money to give to Camping's ministry in anticipation of the End Times.  People quit jobs.  Left college.  All in expectation of no longer being on this Vale of Tears on the 22nd.  Well, guess what?  We're all still here.  Sinner and Members of the Elect alike.  People were willing to act on faith or at least to suspend disbelief.  This despite the fact that as of the May 22, Harold was 0-2 in the prophecy game.

As I say at times like these, this is an opportunity to teach.  If any aspect of Christian doctrine has proven spectacularly elusive it is the belief that Jesus Christ will come again to judge the living and the dead.  Every prediction dealing with the Second Coming of Christ has been wrong.  Every single one.  The early Christians thought His coming was imminent within their lifetime.  Wrong.  American theologian Barton Ehrman has posited that Jesus himself got it wrong when He preached that the Kingdom of God was at hand.  Because it wasn't.  And if anybody might have had a clue, it would have been the Son of God.

Just because End Time theology has been a spectacular failure in human history doesn't mean that it still doesn't have its adherents.  When I was a kid, a man named Hal Lindsey wrote a book called "The Late Great Planet Earth" that had everybody stirred up.  Lindsey predicted that the Great Tribulation would occur in the late Eighties.  I also seem to recall that he tweaked that prediction to allow as how it would occur around 2000.  Last I looked he was wrong both times.  And if the latest fuss over Mr. Camping's latest busted attempt at sooth-saying was not proof enough, I give you Tim LaHaye who has made a fortune with the "Left Behind" book series.

But back to Camping who admitted to being flabbergasted when the world didn't go kablooey last Saturday.  He now says that the Second Coming did indeed occur as previously scheduled.  Only Christ returned long enough to place a "spiritual judgment" on the world and execution of same will actually occur on October 21.  Kinda like the filing of a Lis Pendens to tie up property you are foreclosing on.

Now I don't know if Harold Camping is a charlatan, a con artist or whether he actually believes this foolishness.  I know he hasn't gone broke in the radio ministry.  I also know his reckless claims of certitude regarding May 21 led gullible followers to make imprudent decisions.  So far, I don't think Mr. Camping has offered to help them in anyway.

My birthday is on October 24, assuming that, well, the world is still here and all.  My tightwad buddy Don is not going to send me a present this year just in case.  I think it's just an excuse not to spend money.

He might as well send it.  Because I am going to offer my own prediction.

On October 21, Harold Camping will be 0 for three.

AWOL

I am going to be pretty much out of pocket for the next week or so.  Between work stuff and out-of-town company I ain't got time to fool with the blog. 

The literary world may not recover but exigent circumstances have forced me to prioritize. 

Talk amongst yourselves for the time being. 

Vox Populi-Outside The Courtroom

I was standing outside the Courtroom talking to my friend who is a Big Shot Court Official while waiting for the Naturalization Ceremony.  We were talking about tennis and golf as most sensible people would under the circumstances.  All of a sudden a little guy wearing some government badge I couldn't make out steps in and interrupts the conversation. 

LG- "Did you get my e-mail?"

BSCO- "What e-mail?

LG- "I am a Civil War reinactor. Remember?  I offered to wear my uniform."

The woman LG is with mouthed the words "I'm so sorry."

BSCO-"Ohhhhh yeah.  Look, technically speaking, this is an official session of Court.  We can't have folks showing up in costume."

LG-"But the D.A.R. is here.  So I thought it would be OK. But you never got back to me."

BSCO-"Yeah.  The D.A.R. is here.  But it's not like they're in period dress or anything.  They're in normal clothes like everybody else."

LG-"Well, I have a Union Army uniform if that would be more appropriate."

He actually said that.

LG pulls out a smartphone and pulls up a picture of him in his Civil War drag.

LG- "See I  could show up in this next time."

BSCO grabs my elbow and starts pulling me to him as he pretends to look at LG's phone.

BSCO-" You've never met Judge Marshall have you?"

Me: "No I haven't."

BSCO-"Well, let's go do that before we get started."

Me: "OK."

LG: "Get back to me on the uniform."

BSCO: "Sure thing.  Gotta go."

I look back at the lady with LG as I'm being dragged into the Courtroom.

She mouthed the words "I'm so sorry."

Great Miracle League Video

But the guy leading the "Take Me Out To The Ballgame" can't sing for shit.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=elyfFJjk1ow

My Mother's Day Feeling

"Son," Mother said. "I need to get some stuff. Some stuff for my hands."

I brought her to Little Rock for a doctor's appointment.  By this point in time, communication with Mother was getting more difficult as the Parkinson's induced dementia was beginning to take its dreadful toll.  It would not be long before she would be moved from assisted living to the nursing home.  But on that day she needed stuff for her hands.

"What kind of stuff,Mom?" I asked. "Do your hands hurt?"

"No.  My hands don't hurt.  When I could drive I would go to the big store and buy the stuff I like for my hands.  Oh God.  I can't remember anything."

She made a big production of rubbing one hand over the other.

"You want some hand lotion?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed while pointing a tremulous finger at me. "And I want to go to the big store."

Big store.  Hmmmmm.  We were sitting in a doctor's office on the campus of St. Vincent's at the time.  Big store.  Wait.  We had gotten off at the University exit.  Maybe this had caused something in her neurons to fire.  I took a shot.

"You want to go to the mall?"

"Yes.  I want to go to the mall to buy the, the,"

"It's Okay Mom.  We'll go to the mall on the way back to Conway.  We'll buy the lotion for your hands."

And so we went to the mall.  Once we entered she took my arm and we shuffled to a store that sells soaps and lotions.

"No.  This is not where I buy it."

Since I didn't know where else to go, I asked her to lead us there.  And eventually we came to another store down the way.

"Here," She said.  This is where I buy the stuff for my hands."

"You're kidding."

"No."

And this is how I came to make my first, and so far only, visit to Victoria's Secret.  To buy hand lotion for my Mother.

Suffice it say, Mother in her blue polyester pants, "Arkansas Songbirds" sweatshirt and SAS shoes didn't fit the profile of the typical VS customer.  And indeed, the store was full of hot young women buying the usual ammunition that hot young women buy.  But the hot young woman behind the counter where they sold the lotion and God knows what else could not have been kinder to this confused old lady and her greatly amused son.

Naturally, Mother couldn't remember what type of lotion she liked.  HYWBTC asked her if she could maybe recognize the scent of her favorite brand.

"I think so," Mother said.

And so HYWBTC would place a dab of goop on her own hand or arm and let Mother smell.  This went on for some time as HYWBTC patiently opened tube after tube of samplers.  Eventually Mother eyes lit up.  She had found the stuff for her hands.

HYWBTC opened a fresh tube.  She took Mother's hands and rubbed a generous portion into her skin.

"There," she said when she had finished.  "Now your hands will feel good and smell pretty."

"Thank you," Mother said as she brought her shaky right hand up to her nose.

She offered her hand to me.

"It smells great Mom," I said.

"I just love it," Mother said.  She was grinning like a child.

I bought three boxes.

Mother has been gone a little over a year now. She was an unpretentious person of simple tastes.  But somebody along the way had introduced her to hand lotion from Victoria's Secret of all places.  It was as close to decadence as Donice Bowen was capable of. 

I'm sorry that I didn't remember this story when we were planning the funeral.  While I am not usually given over to superstition, I would have made sure that they didn't close the lid on Mom on until her hands had been anointed by the stuff she used to buy for herself at the big store back when she could drive.

Damn.  I wish I had remembered.

A Very Good Thing

I paid a visit to the soldier down the hall as soon as I got to work.

"Ya hear about the woman that got shot?"

First thing out of his mouth.

He snorted derisively and turned back to his computer screen.

"Bastards. He got what was coming to him," the soldier said. "I'm good with it."

 Danny Woodyard served in Iraq twice.  Like most soldiers who actually pulled important duty, he is pretty taciturn about it.  Today was no different. 

The "he" to whom Danny was referring, of course, was the late and not lamented Osama Bin Laden, who had gotten himself whacked by Navy Seals in a small fortress in Pakistan.  During the firefight one of the "warriors" defending the compound attempted to use the body of a woman to shield himself.  She was killed.  More on that later.

Make no mistake about it.  Osama Bin Laden had it coming.  Not only was he the mastermind behind 9/11 which took the lives of over three thousand innocent people, his actions ignited a conflagration in Afghanistan where the Taliban had given him aid and comfort.  Eventually, the United States invaded Iraq creating thereby a two front war.  We may debate whether there was adequate cause to invade Iraq. What is not subject to debate is the United States and its allies have expended a tremendous amount of blood and treasure in a most unsettled part of the world largely because of one man.

Which made Osama Bin Laden a legitimate military target.  And not merely for the sake of retributive justice.  But because a man like that, who still had cachet on the Arab street, whether it was waning or not, was still dangerous.

And so while I am appreciative and grateful that our government was able to insure that he was taken out I can't say that I rejoice.  Terrorism is a tactic.  It is not the enemy.  It will not end with the death of Bin Laden.  Not while religious fanatics with access to technology that hate America still breathe.  And we cannot delude ourselves otherwise.  The bad guys will attempt to retaliate.  It may take them some time.  But retaliate they will.

Which brings me to my second point.   

We shouldn't be too quick to try to find the hand of Providence in the elimination of Bin Laden from the planet.  I don't believe for 5 minutes that God intervenes in sporting events, causes tornadoes to destroy homes and cities or that He gets an assist in Bin Laden's extermination.  Al Qaeda's god represents vengeance and blood atonement.  We need not stoop to that level even as we give thanks to closure of this chapter of American history. 

Which brings me to my final point.  While I'm not big on conducting military operations for symbolic reasons.  I am comfortable in saying that symbolism is a completely efficacious side effect to Bin Laden's death.  Al Qaeda is made up of death glorifying fundamentalists and mysogynistic nihilists, one of whom thought nothing of using a woman's body to protect himself.  Such an act is less than cowardly.  The coward might attempt escape first.  The adherent to radical Islam does not believe that girls deserve an education and that they may be raped with relative impunity.   Such a man would naturally have no hesitation in using a mere woman's body for cover.

Osama Bin Laden was the living embodiment of the man who hid behind the woman the night the Seals came to call.  It is a good thing that he is dead.

I do not rejoice particularly.  But I know that it is a very good thing that the son-of-a-bitch is dead.  Osama Bin Laden and his soldier that hid behind the woman.

My Sunday Feeling

Sometimes stuff happens that reminds you that life can utterly surprise and delight.  I'm glad that I have not yet lost the capacity to recognize that.

Most people have the idea that lawyers hate each other when they are in litigation.  Some cases  unfortunately do get personal.  But the fact of the matter is that I tend to get along with most attorneys that I do business with.  And I actually have become friends with other attorneys that I only met through some pretty nasty cases.  I mean, we don't try to do each other any favors and we don't expect any in return.  But most folks realize that we have a job to do and that once it's quitting time, it's time to get a beer and discuss baseball.  Which is one of the reason some consumers of legal services think it's a rigged game.  They cannot conceive of their lawyer not wanting an outcome as badly as they do.  Well, it's personal to them.  It had better not be to their lawyer.

I became friends with D, an attorney in Oxford, Mississippi, in the course of negotiating a settlement in order to keep my client from getting sued by hers'.  Quite frankly, she and I got off to a rocky start.  By way of introduction, she hit me with about a 12 page demand letter.  This resulted in my calling her to advise her that I had been around forever and that I had never seen the theory she was espousing. She wrongly assumed that I was casting aspersions upon her relative youth, as compared to me at least, and took offense.

Way to go you slick talking devil you.

Anyway, she advised me in no uncertain terms that I pretty much didn't know what I was talking about.  This forced me to resort-gasp!-to the lawbooks to look up the citations in her letter.  Sonuvabitch.  She was right.  But she was likewise wrong on the exact scope of the liability for my client.  Point for me.  We discussed my findings in our second call.  We started talking about working out a way to a resolution of the issues before us.  Turned out she wasn't a ballbuster.  And I gather she came to understand that I wasn't a condescending jerk.  For whatever reason, everybody cooled off.  And from that point on we were fine.    

Since that time our dealings have been pleasant in the extreme and we always take time to visit after we conclude our business.  And so it was last week that we came to a discussion  about home equity lines of credit of all damned things.  D and her husband are thinking about getting one for their house. I told her that mine sure came in handy when it came time to do home repairs on my little house here in the People's Republic of Hillcrest.

"It seems like there's always something to do on a house," she said.

"Especially when your house was built in 1927," I said.

"Your house is that old?"

"Yeah."

"Do you live in an older neighborhood?"

" I do.  It's called Hillcrest. First suburb of Little Rock. The rich white folks moved up the hill where the breezes were cooler than downtown. "

"My husband's parents live in Norman, Oklahoma.  When we go see them, we generally stop in Little Rock to break up the drive and to let the kids stretch their legs. Last time we were in Little Rock we drove around in a really neat part of town that was mostly older homes."

"Really."

"Yeah.  We had pizza at a really good place in that neighborhood.  Place had a funny name. Oh what was it called?  There was some kind of an ethnic bakery behind it."

"Damgoode Pies?" I asked.

" Yes! Damgoode Pies!" D exclaimed. "You know it?"

"Know it?" I said.  "I live about a half mile from it.  Eat there a lot." 

"Really?!?"

"Yep."

Laughter on both ends of the line.

"Well next time we are coming through maybe we can stop and you can join us there for pizza."

" Sounds like a plan to me. Be happy to show y'all around."

Now what are the odds that a person I do business with from Oxford, Mississippi would have decided to stop about two good tee shots away from me to get pizza for she and her family?  And that the only reason I deduced where they had eaten was because I had mentioned my old Hillcrest house during a discussion about the usefulness of a LOC.  Which jogged her memory about her last visit here.

What are the odds of that?  Not very good.  Of that there can be no doubt.

And at times like these, I am grateful for the continued capacity to be amazed.

My Easter Feeling

I talked to Laura on Holy Thursday.  This will be the first Easter without Hugh.  The plan is for she and the girls to go to Jonesboro, Arkansas for Easter.  Hugh's brother Barry lives there.  At least that's the plan.  She admits to getting overtaken by events at times.  If she can't do Easter in Jonesboro,well, she just won't. 

As for me, there is very little that I can tolerate about Jonesboro.  I can't imagine Easter Sunday making it any better.  I can imagine the discharge of a thermonuclear device within the city limits improving things a good bit.  But not even Easter can fix Craighead County.  I kept these thoughts to myself.

What we did talk about was the first year after the death of a major significant other being a year of "markers."  Now, there is a difference between the loss of an aged parent and the loss of a spouse.  There is nothing particularly tragic about the departure of a gravely ill elderly person.  It's quite another to lose a spouse at a relatively young age to a bizarre medical condition that most of us had never heard of before now.

Still, I don't really count my first Christmas without Mother as much of a marker for the reason that I can pretty much do without Christmas.  I guess my first one would be Mother's Day.  Or realizing in court last summer that we were in a trial on her birthday.  I was sitting there at counsel table when it hit me: "Damn.  Today's Mother's birthday."

It takes about a year to get those markers out of the way.  And Laura gets her first one right off the bat.  Still, if you gotta lead off with a marker, Easter is as good as any.  Way better than Christmas.

My own Father died @ 2 weeks before Christmas.  Even as a young man in college I didn't have much use for Christmas.  Never thought much of the near-mania to be happy or to find "meaning" in buying and receiving stuff.  Under the tragic circumstances of earlier in the month Christmas of 1977 was downright surreal. 

Easter, with its transcendant messages of love and hope, will meet Laura halfway.  Easter will let her be quiet and still. 

Easter will let her have some measure of peace.  And we can all use a dose of that from time to time.

I Gotta Nikon Camera. I Love To Take Photographs.

Here are some images of the storm damage from what has now been confirmed as a tornado that touched down @ 5 milesWest of my house.  The first image is that of a house on Lee Ave about 2 blocks from here.

This house is on Leawood Blvd across the street from my friend Rick's house.  Rick's house didn't appear to have been damaged.

This image and the one above it are Northeast of Leawood Blvd.  This is pretty much the path that the last tornado took when it came roaring through here 4 or 5 years ago.  The rest of the images are East of Mississippi Ave in the Hall High neighborhood.  This are is probably a mile and a half West of Hillcrest.  The tornado when Northeast from here toward the Arkansas River.  Many people over there are still without power judging from all of the Entergy vehicles I saw.

My Sunday Feeling

I guess the first sirens went off around 1:30 on Friday morning.  The first one that went off was the one to my East and behind me around War Memorial Golf Course.  I have to guess at this because I noticed that the alarm clock was flickering.  So the power had gone off at least at some time in the night. 

Springtime can be exceptionally deadly in Arkansas.  Friday morning was no exception.  The storm struck when most folks were in their beds.  Sirens or no sirens, a bad storm can get on top of you in a hurry.  Last time I looked 8 people had died.  2 children.  Most likely the toll will be worse before it is all said and done. 

I raised up in the bed.  The light from the wet bar that I had forgot to turn off before turning in was streaming into the living room.  I noticed that the ceiling fan was chugging away.  So I had power.  So far so good. 

The siren had no sooner gone silent than it cranked back up again only to be answered by the one that sounded like it was coming from Leawood over where Rick and Sharon live.  4 years ago a tornado touched down over there.  I found out about it from Don over in North Carolina who was watching the Weather Channel.  For some reason he remembered that I lived not too far from Mississippi Avenue which was being traversed at the time by a twister.  Small world.

Then a third siren.  This one sounded like it was coming from around Catholic High.  The mournful call and response of the three sentinels coming as they were from 3 different areas was kind of extraordinary.  But then again, I had nothing better to do at the time than lay there and listen. 

I next heard the unmistakable crack and ping of hail on the roof and against the wall.  I decided to get up and take a look outside if only to make sure that my little house was not en route to Kansas.  I walked into the kitchen.  Trees bent.  Stuff hitting the windows.  Hail and sirens.  It occurred to me that this must have been what London might have been like during the Battle of London.  Very little light and lots of noise.  And the call and response of the sirens. 

Eventually, they die down and I returned to bed.  The next morning I noticed that my cable and Internet were dead.  So I made a call to Comcast.  The disembodied voice said that they were aware of the problem and technicians were hard at work.  I checked Facebook.  Messages from all over.  Trees down.  Power outages.  Wrecks.  Which schools were open?

I checked the Internet on my Blackberry.  18,000 without power in Pulaski County alone.  Wow.  Some storm.

As I walked to the car on my way to work I had a sense that something was amiss.  I turned around and noticed that the gate to my privacy fence was wide open.  Upon further inspection I saw that the force of the wind put such torque on the gate that the latch sheared completely away from the wood.  If you need a lock for your fence I can recommend Masters.  It may have caused the latch to fail but I have to say the lock didn't break. 

The aftermath:  Called handyman to fix the gate.  E-mail to insurance company to send somebody to inspect the roof.  Calls and texts to and from friends to make sure everybody's OK.  E-mails from out of state folks who were just seeing the news. 

Another Springtime in Arkansas where Mother Nature tries to kill us about 3 times before giving it up for Summer.  Such is life in these here parts.

A Dumb Sense Of Vast Loss

Mark Twain wrote the following upon receiving the news of the death of his daughter Susy Clemens.  It captures perfectly the feeling I had upon learning of the death of my friend Hugh.

"It is one of the mysteries of our nature that a man, all unprepared, can receive a thunderstroke like that and live.  There is but one reasonable explanation of it.  The intellect is stunned by the shock and but gropingly gathers the meaning of the words.The power to realize their full import is mercifully wanting.  The mind has a dumb sense of vast lost-that is all.  It will take mind and memory months, and possibly years, to gather together the details and thus learn and know the full extent of the loss...It will be years before the tale of lost essentials is complete,and not till then can he truly know the magnitude of his disaster."

Or as the old hymn puts it, "I scarce can take it in."

My Sunday Feeling

"Manny Ramirez showed this Spring that he can still hit a fastball. He showed he can still use the whole field. Now he has to show that he can regain his power. The other question with Manny, as always, is how long he can stay interested."

This sentence appeared in Sports Illustrated's pre-season baseball edition that hit the newstands April 4th. Of course, the writer could not have known that, even as the publication went out, Major League Baseball knew that Tampa Bay Rays slugger Manny Ramirez had tested positive a second time for performance enhancing drugs, or PEDs.

Well, to be accurate, Major League Baseball announced only that an issue arose with ManRam under baseball's Joint Testing and Treatment program. And that Ramirez opted to retire rather than serve a proposed 100 day suspension while cooperating with the program. 100 days. Seems clear to me that he didn't test positive for Ben-Gay.

On the one hand, I am surprised that Ramirez was such an idiot. On the other hand, I am not. Manny Ramirez was a head case in a sport that is full of them. His career was punctuated with numerous examples of dogging it in the field and failing to hustle on the bases. These were described invariably as "Manny being Manny." You are given some leeway when you have 500 some odd home runs to your credit. He had and David Ortiz formed the nucleus of the most combustable lineup in baseball when he played for the Red Sox.

And yet, his approach to the craft of hitting was beyond reproach. After the news of his retirement came out many of his former teammates were asked about what it was like to have played with him. Every one that I heard talked about Manny's hard work in the batting cage and all of the extra film study. They talked of his willingness to help young players with their hitting.

And, indeed, virtually nobody attributed Manny's prowess at the plate with steroid use. By way of comparison, nobody believed that Barry Bonds was clean when he was launching them into San Francisco Bay. Manny Ramirez's body stayed about the same during his career. Barry Bonds and Sammy Sosa came into the league built like wide receivers. They left built like linebackers.

Still, you would have to think that the prudent man would only have to see the prosecutions of Barry Bonds and Roger Clemons to realize that using PEDs is not without almost prohibitive risks. Use of PEDs seems especially senseless in the twilight of your career.

Or maybe that's when the risk calculation says to err on the side of using the needle. Manny Ramirez has more money than he can possibly spend. He obviously could afford to walk away. Maybe using again was the ultimate example of "Manny being Manny." It has always been about him during his career. His retirement leaves a huge hole in the Rays lineup. Obviously the potential consequences to his teammates did not concern Ramirez overly much.

But in any event, the question is no longer whether Manny Ramirez can remain interested. "Manny being Manny" cost him the remainder of his career. And he probably doesn't much care.

Stand By Your Man

As some of you may recall, about a year ago, a man named Huff was arrested in a neighborhood not too far from here. He was charged with the home invasion and attempted abduction of a young woman.

The story that was alleged is pretty creepy even by the low standards of sex offenses. Huff allegedly coaxed the victim out of her house under the pretense of asking her about a dog he had found. Once she stepped out he hit her in the head and dragged her back in. He then proceeded tied her up. But not before allegedly getting her to pick out items of her underwear and get some high heels for God only knows what reason.

As he was taking her and her wardrobe back to her car she resisted. She screamed. A neighbor who was taking a walk confronted Huff who allegedly told the neighbor that he was doing an intervention on the girl. When the neighbor expressed misgivings, probably because the Bridgeway typically does not bind the folks it does interventions with, Huff allegedly dropped the girl and hit the trail.

A couple of days after that, the cops raided Huff's house where he was having a quiet evening at home with his wife and popped him. They also did a search of the premises which unearthed the practical tools of the do-it-yourself home pervert. Ropes, knives, box cutters, twist ties, sterile gloves, a camera and a bandana. You know, stuff that was on the prop table on the set of "Silence of the Lambs." These items of evidence were the subject of the suppression hearing that was held earlier in the week.

The defense attempted to establish that the search was the product of an impermissable search. The witness claimed that she was never served with a search warrant. The witness? Why, Mrs. Huff, of course.

Now I will be the first to tell you that I am not the best expert on the dynamics of relationships. I have been cashiered by women for no reason other than they didn't like the look on my face at a particular given moment. And yet I know a woman who stayed with her husband after he pleaded guilty to public servant bribery and lost his license to practice law. None of the women I know would put up with me if I had screwed up so royally. Indeed, I have been jettisoned on flimsier evidence of misconduct.

But I can't imagine testifying on your husband's behalf when he is charged with being a major league sex offender. I also imagine that the prosecutors didn't initially see that one coming either. And it's not like she could provide an alibi or other exculpatory evidence. She testified that she didn't get served with a warrant. She said that in order to keep her husband's toys that he kept in the house they shared out of evidence.

Well, it didn't work. As is the case in 90% of suppression hearings, the search was upheld. The toys will come in at Huff's trial at the end of the month.

Sex offenders are different from you and I. We might be capable of larceny. But some people got way out there itches that they got to scratch. Special people get charged with attempting to abduct a young girl.

And I guess it takes a special person to testify in in his behalf.

My Sunday Feeling

As I type this, it is the Saturday of the Final Four of the NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament. This year's final weekend has Butler against Virginia Commonwealth. While the other side pits UConn against Kentucky. Butler and Virginia Commonwealth are the Cinderellas of the field despite the fact that Butler made to last year's final against the despised Duke Blue Devils. Neither Butler or VCU were very good as late as February. Not only is VCU an 11th seed, but they had to prevail in a so-called "play-in" game to make the tournament. Accordingly brackets over on that side got completely blown up. The only people who have Butler and VCU in the semis on that side are people like your great Aunt who picked those two because she has a friend in Richmond who has a dog named Butler. You know. The scientific method. In any event, this is not likely to happen again.

By comparison, and perhaps to restore a feeling of normalcy to the proceedings, we have UConn going against Kentucky in what Tony Kornheiser refers to as the "Elliot Ness Division" of the tournament. UConn's coach Jim Calhoun, having taken the Bruce Pearl route in contacting prospective Huskies, will get to sit out for a portion of next season. Well known recidivist Kentucky is merely the Whore of Babylon. And they are coached by John Calipari who had 2 programs go on probation while he stayed one step ahead of the NCAA sheriff. And if that weren't sufficient intrigue, both coaches despise each other. Well, I think EVERYBODY hates Calipari.

I say it's Butler against Kentucky Monday night in a refreshing morality play in that folks can play the "good vs. evil" game in a contest that doesn't involve Duke for once. And then we'll see if UK goes on probation again.

While we're on the subject of sports, let us turn briefly to the NFL lockout. Talk about finding it hard to root for somebody. Millionaires versus Gazillionaires. As I understand the issues, the owners want to add to the 1.3 billion-yes, billion-that they take off the top of the niagara of income the league makes so that they can maintain stadiums and the like. Nobody is saying they are going broke. It's just that the profit margin is less obscene. On top of that they want to extend the season by two games.

The union is balking at less money for more games and has demanded to take a peek at the books. The owners refused. The union decertified so they could go to court and the owners locked the players out.

My thoughts are two-fold. First of all, the owner's position is basically one of "stop me before I kill again." Who told Jerry Jones he had to build that Taj Mahal of a stadium down there? Nobody told Al Davis to sign his long snapper for 1.5 million and not many people advised Dan Snyder to go anywhere near Albert Haynesworth. If the owners aren't making a sufficient killing they have only themselves to blame.

Secondly, this case is gonna settle and it will settle well before training camp for a very simple reason that as far as I can tell, noone has mentioned yet. And the reason is this: the NFL owners can't stand up to discovery. You don't want to show us the books? Fine. We go to court and subpoena the books. And we put in the public record the fact that the NFL not only did not bargain in good faith but that it lied about the finances.

Trust me. The owners do not want this. The case will settle.


But first, we have to ring out college basketball. Duke didn't make the Final Four and the bookies lost their pinky rings and gold chains on this year's tournament.

What's not to like about it?