Last week we learned of Anthony Stancl's sentence of fifteen years in prison for his role in what is now known as a "sextortion" case.   We know the lurid details: the procurement of nude photographs of fellow students, the subsequent blackmail of those students for the performance of sexual acts, and the stunning power of technology to make those threats real.  Gosh - the things that happen in the inner city.......

OOPS - guess not.  It happened right here in the cozy, prescription drug-hazed land of suburbia, just a few short miles from our own two High Schools.

These are not new topics for this column.  I have written several times on the threat narcotics and prescription drugs pose to suburban kids, and yesterday's Milwaukee Journal Sentinel tells anew the wrenching story of Madison Kiefer.  Last October I wrote of Patrica Strosina of Racine, who by instructing her own son in the finer points of heroin injection, abetted his death.  Thus did Ms. Strosina claim her fifteen seconds of fame, and a place in the "You Can't Make This Stuff Up" Hall of Fame.  More recently I have written on the topic of technology, and the insidious hold it is exerting upon our youth, leading contemporary sociologists to speak openly of the pandemic of "electronic addiction" (see post to the right entitled Technology and Our Kids).   

The upsides to technology are as numerous as they are real.  But its power and dizzying portability pose a threat to our kids just as real and significant as the threat of drugs.  The coupling of that portability and its attendant Internet access creates yet another predator stalking our youth as they walk the halls of their daily lives.  And if you think I exaggerate by using the term "predator", I invite you to peruse the details of the Stancl case, and consider the families and the lives that have been consumed by it.

Though a hundred years ago, I remember my High School years.  My chief concerns were my next meal, my next swim meet, and summoning the courage to speak to a pretty girl.  High School for me was shletered and jock-ish; my "walk on the wild side" would come later.  But who amongst us just twenty years ago envisioned such a High School story as presented by Anthony Stancl?  Or even ten years?  Our technology has exploded at a pace far greater than our ability or willingness to consider its impact.  And here we stand - our overwhelmed and assaulted senses staring numbly at the TV or Internet news as they try to absorb the details of yet another episode as the Stancl case.  We view these stories through world-weary eyes; eyes that Spanish poet Federico Lorca might have had in mind when he wrote, "they were sad infinite eyes, like those of a newborn beast of burden".   

It's out there folks - GAME ON.  Only it's not a game - it's a war.  And the casualites in the war, both real and potential, are our beloved children.

Our schools can and should play a role.  And I am grateful to see many in our area (both public and private/parochial), use the auspices of parent organizations and staff resources to bring forth information and experts to discuss this topic with parents and students alike.  Watch for such programs and attend them whenever possible; they are filled with good and helpful information.  But all of that is so much "air support" in the war to protect and equip our young people.  Like tactical air support in war, such things are certainly helpful.  But they are not and never will be decisive.  

If we agree that it is a war then I submit that what our young people need is the only factor that has proven to be effective in the history of war - trained, committed, and deployed ground troops.  The most effective of course, are parents and guardians engaged on a daily basis in the training and equipping of their kids.  Adults with the courage to INTRUDE upon their lives when warning signals manifest themselves.  

It's time to PARENT-UP.  It's time acknowledge that this is more than just a good idea - it is a responsibility. We need to talk to our kids about the darker side of what the technology they carry around in their pockets can do.  Its' time to talk to them about the detailed particulars of the Stancl case, and how they need to respond if some creep like that ever crosses their path.  I don't like the fact that I have to do this any more than you do.  But to ignore this responsibility is tantamount to painting a target on their backs and sending them out the door.     

What about all those kids who do not have engaged parents or guardians?  Our schools and churches and civic organizations can and should play a role, but I don't believe they can be ultiumately decisive.  Kids who don't have a consistenlty comitted adult presence in their lives are at an enormous disadvantage; and the enormity of it only increases as these threats proliferate.  But it's time to realize what organizations and resources can be effective in the war, and to STOP investsting in the societal and financial drivel represented by beaurocratic ciphers like a "Drug Coordinator", and to invest in agencies and organizations that have "troops on the ground".  Agencies that are more interested in winning the war and preventing casualties than in the size of next year's grant from Washington.  They are all around us, they are fighting, and they are tyring to win this war one at risk youth at a time.

In the meantime parenting, never easy, is now a contact sport.

There's another Anthony Stancl out there somewhere. 

And it's time to parent-up.

In December I wrote of the episode of Tiger Woods in a post entitled Tiger and Elin - A Christmas Story; it appears in the column immediately to the right.  In that article I drew heavily upon the imagery and content of Greek mythology, and at its end noted, "we await the third and fourth act of this morality play.  We wait to see if Tiger is Oedipus or Odysseus".

Tiger Woods' address on February 19 was the third act of the morality play.  There can be no question that the entire matter was managed.  He spoke before a hand-picked, friendly audience.  He took no questions.  It was held at one of his sport's inner sanctums, with blue curtains, and warm, inviting colors.  It was staged.  But the first thought I had was how different his face looked.  Gone was the imperious, Rushmore-like edifice carved into the rock of his persona.  I was instantly reminded of how O.J. Simpson looked when first apprehended.  I don't believe any pancake make-up or ginned-up sentiment can achieve that.  He looked more than humbled or chastened.  He looked hollowed.

Is he sincere?  Does he feel true contrition or does he just want his standing and his children back?  Should Elin take him back?  Opinions raged last weekend, but the reality is we don't know and we can't answer.  But I want to consider other dynamics that this situation presents.  Here are the primary takeaways from his address:

 >He unequivocally identified that he was to blame for his behavior, and accepted sole and complete responsibility for it.  No rationalization - no tawdry tale of emotionalized clap-trap that we have come to expect from our fallen politicos.  Only the definition, recognition, and acceptance of responsibility.  While it may have been the obvious move it was no less important because of that.   

 >He acknolwedged that he had reached a state of self-rationalized deception where he believed he was "entitled".  He admitted thinking that "the rules didn't apply to me".  He admitted reaching a state of emotional and mental superiority that again, our fallen politicos are never able to publicly confess. 

 >He acknowledged the public's interest in what was happening between himself and Elin, but staunchly proclaimed his intention to keep the intimate content of their relationship between themselves.  BRAVO!  Whatever happens with their marriage - whether it continues or dissolves; it appears there will be no relational freak show visited upon our already overly titillated senses. 

>He gave us an insight into his wife's simple wisdom and tungsten character with the comment that, "Elin told me that my real apology would not be in words, but in the content of my behavior over time".  BRAVO AGAIN!  If we can take this to be illustrative of her character and wisdom, then I judge them to be even greater than her quiet beauty and strength.  She told the mighty Tiger what Rachel Dawes told Bruce Wayne, that "it is not who you think you are underneath.  It is what you DO that defines you".

I know - it was just a well-rehearsed, scripted talk.  No matter how proper the words they are in the final analysis, only that.  If not followed by the proper conduct they will only serve to dig his reputational grave even deeper, and they certainly do not "wipe clean" the enormity of his wrong doing.  But it would seem he is intent upon winning back his wife, his family, and his place, for if his sole objective was a return to The Tour and the amassing of additional trophies, he could be doing just that.  Regardless, it is not given to us to see into the heart of a man, and we will never know if his motivation is contritionally legitimate, or selfishly base.  That is for Elin to judge.    

But here is the angle I want to consider.  Should we dismiss this as just another celebrity crack-up played out before our world-weary eyes?  Or - can we imagine for a moment the possibiity of Tiger harnessing his physical behavior, steadying his emotional state, and righting his marital ship.........Imagine if they can bequeth the example of such conduct to a society that no longer believes it important, much less possible.  If so, he will have present an accomplishment far greater and infintiely more worthwhile than winning ANY number of Major Championships. 

And what of Elin?  Tiger said of her, "Elin deserves to be praised - not criticized".  I could not agree more and we have only to look to her conduct to understand why.  Though suffering monstrous wrong and humiliation, how has she responded?  She has withdrawn herself completely from the stage and steadfastly maintained the dignity of silence.  She has refused the gin-milled maw of hype and retribution, instead, protecting herself and her children.  Compare her conduct to the reactions of most jilted Hollywood or reality TV wives who, scorned and enraged, cannot grab the lawyers and the headlines fast enough.  If the Nordic princess can set aside her humiliation and hurt to accurately discern whether or not Tiger is sincere............if for the sake of her marriage and her children she can summon the grace to display forgiveness, endurance, and marital continuity; she will forever outshine ANY accomplishment of her husband's, and be deserving of greater laud than he has ever heard or imagined.  I only speak to the possibility of a significant cultural dynamic.  Whether or not she SHOULD do this is not for us to say.  That is her decision. 

As for me - I care not a fig whether Tiger ever plays or wins again, but  I will be rooting for them both OFF the course.  I will be doing so for their own sake, for the sake of those two adorable children, and for the sake of a society that is, quite literally, STARVED for an example such as they might provide.  

In the pages of Homer's The Odyssey we see Odysseus endure war, wanderings, and hardships unimaginable, all so that he might return to the halls of his ancestral home and reclaim the rights of his title, his house, and his beloved wife Penelope; she who for years had maintained her fidelity and resisted the pursuit of lesser men.  At the climax of the epic tale she took her husband's mighty bow from its rack and laid it before those men declaring, "whomever amongst you can bend this bow, and shoot its bronzed arrow through the back of the twelve axe handles, shall have me, this house, and all that is in it".

All tried  - none succeeded.  None but the lowly beggar in the courtyard who was in fact the triumphantly returned but disguised hero.  To the amazement of all who watched, he picked up the bow, bent it to his will, and executed the shot that he alone could perform.  We don't know if Tiger can or will do this.  Like Odysseus, Tiger heard the call of the Sirens.  But unlike the mythic figure, he lacked the self-knowledge and control to lash himself to the mast of his ship so as to avoid their temptations.  He has publicly stated his intentions to do so in the future, and we shall see if he can forge the relational ties that bind him to the mast.

Why will I root for them?  Living in the crucible of unimaginable scrutiny, they have walked through fires unkown to us.  But the mythological gods of Olympus who so capriciously intervened in the affairs of humanity, now also give them a priceless opportunity.  They have a chance to show our society thousands of years after Homer, the inherent VALUE and WORTH of such a story. 

For time immemoriam, scoieties have woven the moral and ethical fabric of their cultures through the vehicle of stories that illustrate their lives, their challenges, and their decisions.  The American Indians did so in order to immortalize Tecumseh, their greatest Chief.  The Greeks wrote the stories of Oedipus and Icarus to tell the consequences of the darker side of human nature.  Conversely, they wrote the stories of Theseus and Prometheus and Odysseus to illustrate to their culture the value of such men's conduct.  They told such stories through the edifice of institutions such as their public square, their academies, and their theaters, and it was in the content of such stories that the seeds of their culture and their democratic society were sewn.

Tiger and Elin might tell anew the story of Odysseus and Penelope; a story we need to hear and that our kids need to hear.  Such stories have been all but removed from their lives; replaced by an onslaught of technology and a menu of post-modern pablum that has little value or nourishment.  But here in this visual, Internet-driven age, is a chance for our youth to SEE the story played out, and THAT is why I will be rooting for them.  Regardless of how the fourth and final act plays out, whether it ends in an epic reconciliation or in the flaming conflagration of mega-celebrity divorce; Barb and I will discuss it with our kids.  Like the Greeks did, we will use this story of a great man's fall and possible reinstatement to help them measure and then make their own choices.    

Tiger's talk was in the end just that - a talk.  But if his sincerity is real and his comittment sufficient such that his future behavior matches his words, then in time it will prove to be far more than that.

In time it may be the vehicle to which I point and tell my kids, "that's when Tiger bent his bow".

The truest measure of off the charts super-stardom is to be known by an iconic name or nickname, a singular descriptive that defines not only a person, but a persona.

Tiger is a nickname, bestowed upon a young Eldrick Woods by his father in tribute to a Vietnam comrade.  It is now synonymous with an almost carnivorous competitive fire which, in combination with his other-worldly talent, has placed him on the dizzying summit of being the first BILLION DOLLAR athlete.

In my lifetime the list of super-novas so identified is a short one: Magic, The Great One, Michael, The Golden Bear..........individuals who did not just play their sport at unprecedented levels, but men who became icons of the popular culture; figures and images woven into the daily milieu of our lives.  Somewhere in the last ten years, as we witnessed achievement after Olympian achievement, Tiger morphed from gifted athlete, to walking conglomerate, to cultural icon, to quite literally, a branded product.  He scaled this summit via a three-legged ascent; the fully unleashed power of our visually driven, Internet based media, his staggeringly brilliant talent, and the reality that he plays a game where success is attributable solely to himself. 

Were it not for the howitzer leg of Adam Viniaterri and a Sphynx-like defense, Tom Brady would be just another one ring quarterback.  If Steve Kerr and John Paxson miss those buzzer-beating shots; Jordan's legacy is halved.  And as breathtaking as Gretzky was in establishing himself as the greatest performer in the history of team sports, he had Grant Fuhr and Jari Curry and Mark Messier .  Only Muhammed Ali - The Greatest - achieved what Tiger has.  He had no teammates - no one to look to when he raised himself off that stool in the outdoor sauna that was Manila.  There was only the repository of his own soul from which to summon the courage to face the thunderbolts of Joe Frazier's fists.  

The same is true of Tiger.  He is alone as he stares down the flags on Sunday, first imagining then executing those draw-droppingly exquisite shots that have propelled him to Olympus.  At times it seems he has simply willed the ball into the hole; his will an almost visibly tangible force chronicled by the thirsty cameras of ESPN.

The ancient Greeks would have understood better than we what has happened; in fact, they would have anticipated it.  They understood that no matter how high a man soars he is still a man.  The Greeks wrote the story of Tiger when they told us of Icarus, who in his primal and exultant arrogance, flew too close to the sun, melted the wax of his wings, and plunged to his death.  They understood what Heraclitus wrote - that "a man's character is a man's fate".

Gifts unimaginable were lavished upon him.  A super-abundance of athletic talent, a tungsten-tipped will forged on the anvil of his father's tutelage, and the ability to articulately present himself to a world whose appetite for his feats was insatiable.  From these gifts sprang wealth, fame, and all but unlimited power as princes, potentates, and the gliteratti of an entire planet fawned over and feted him.

But the Greeks also understood that their gods were jealous deities, and would suffer no rivals.  And so they would have known that the same gods who steered his ball into the hole on Augusta National's 16th green would one day decree, "it is time to balance the scales".

How could a man of Tiger's intelligence be seduced into believing his "transgressions" would remain private?  Where was that trusted friend or counselor who, as Nathan did to David, could say to the King, "Sire - you have done great wrong".  The Greeks again provided the answer - the ancient and foundational flaw of hubris; a belief that he was invincible.  Others had been caught in this trap perhaps but not me, Tiger may have thought.  Such things happen only to mortals, for as the Nike campaign once proclaimed to the world, "I am Tiger Woods".  When a man makes such a sweeping proclamation - he invites the scrutiny of the gods.

Who then - the ancients would ask us - who can drink of such heady wine and remain unaffected?

While it is right to condemn his actions, I level no personal judgment against him.  Could I walk the gauntlet of such temptation and remain true?  Could you?  I welcome his decision to postpone play in order to pursue what might prove his greatest and most unlikely victory - the redemption of his marriage and his family.  And what of his wife - that pale and lovely figure all but unknown to us?  Through no fault of her own she now must navigate the maelstrom.  And his infant children - those adorables who know nothing of El Tigre - only of Daddy.  Our hearts melt for them as they sense the seismic disturbance in their world.

Two words will determine whether or not he is successful - two decisions taken or withheld.  And to a man who has wielded Cyborg-like control over every aspect of his life now comes the humbling realization that he cannot dictate or control the events that will define his future.  He is now in that most terrifying of places for him - utter dependence on the actions and decisions of another.

Two words - repentance and forgiveness.

Can he attain and present to Elin Woods sincere and true repentance?  We shall never know, for it is not given to us to see into the heart of a man.  Only she will measure that repentance and judge its sincerity.

And it lies with her to as to whether or not forgiveness of his monstrous betrayal can be offered; forgiveness made immeasurably more difficult by the reality of the entire world's knowledge of these tawdry events.  His repentance is the easier and certainly the more natural act.  But sincere repentance comes hard for us all, much less for those chosen few who have walked the Fields of Elysium.  And sincere, unfettered forgiveness of such painful and public betrayal?  Well - it is an act of such purity as to require a spark of divinity.

And so we await the third and fourth acts of this morality play.  We wait to see if Tiger is Oedipus or Odysseus. 

We wait to see if true repentance is proferred - and if forgiveness is granted.

Repentance and forgiveness...........................

Sounds like a Christmas story.

Winston Churchill was a man of penetrating insight who saw human events with a clarity possessed by few in history.  Upon evaluating a seemingly incomprehensible situation he once remarked to his wife, "Clemmie - truth is stranger than fiction".

I know of no better words to summarize the sad episode of Scott Lee Cohen, who just two weeks ago was the Lieutenant Governor of Illinois, until he was incinerated by the fireball of Andy Warhol's fifteen seconds of fame.  A trio of Saturday Night Live's most brilliant satirists could not have written a skit that even approximated the debacle of Mr. Cohen.  You cannot - you simply CANNOT make this stuff up.  

Where do such people come from that they are lauded and placed into such high office?  What is wrong with us as a people that we allow them to accomplish this?  Are our sensitivities so numbed that stories like this lack the power to even provoke a reaction?  And can we let go of our political leanings long enough to grasp the simple truth that while holding to a credo is a necessary and legitimate criteria of politics, personal character is also vital?

As Lieutenant Governor of Illinois, Scott Lee Cohen was a heart attack away from being the Chief Executive of one of the most populous states in our Nation.  Yet over the course of the last couple of weeks he acknowledged that, in addition to being a pawn broker (no particular shame in that), he was a steroid-popping, wife-abusing, prostitute-using, tax-evading criminal.    

Now let's just sit back and let that sink in for a moment.........................He claims he was just trying to help the good people of Illinois, and heck - he didn't know she was a prostitute.  Apparently the fact that his back rubs turned into romps for cash was not sufficient to discern that his massage therapist offered more than just back rubs.  But the unquestioned topper in this theater of the absurd was his unvarnished contempt for those he sought to govern.  So great was his contempt that he served up this tub of titillating tripe with the palpable expectation of being believed.  

We can now add Mr. Cohen to the list of walking train wrecks that populate the rails of our political leadership, with both major parties sharing the "first chair" in this orchestra of disgrace.  We see a Republican Congressman turned deviant, haunting airport bathrooms in search of illicit sex.  Can we even bring ourselves to use the word "deviant" to describe such behavior, or are we so cowed by the language of political correctness that we eschew it?  And there is Republican Governor Mark Sanford's cavort with an exotic, South American beauty; his self-described "soul-mate".  And most recently we learned the truth of John Edwards, the former millionare lawyer turned populist Democratic Presidential candidate.  He wove a nefarious web of abuse, deceipt, and corruption to cover his other life, leaving his beleaguered wife alone in her battle with cancer so that he could seek our support for the highest office in the land.  So eggregiously odious was his conduct  that Mr. Edwards accomplished the impossible - he ceded the moral "high ground" to The National Enquirer, and briefly gave it the mantle of journalistic credibility.  

And in all such cases, once the lurking effluence of their dark side is revealed, we are subjected to the inevitable denoument - the tsunami of sentiment as the tearfully remorseful office holder tries desperately to convince us that he's really just a regular guy who "made a mistake, or "went through a bad period".   

There are so many angles to take on stories like this.  One of the things that strikes me first is how in the heck do these people have the time and the energy to pull off these double lives?  Moral considerations aside, where do they get enough hours in the week to build, live, and sustain such a duality?  It is all I can do to keep one rather mundane life going.    

And when they are at last ensnared, why - WHY can't they comport themselves with some old-fashioned dignity?  Do we need to see them routinely march to the podium, douse themselves with rhetorical gasoline, and knowingly strike the match of self-immolation?  Why must they purge themselves at the obligatory press conference turned freak show?  Is it part of their healing - does it give them some sense of perverted "closure"?  Why must they insist on putting us through such misery in order that they might claim some end to their own?

I believe there are two reasons.  First, it is because they never learned the lesson that Rachel Dawes shared with Bruce Wayne in a tremendous scene from the movie Batman Begins.  In that scene Dawes, fooled by Bruce Wayne's masquerade of feckless playboy-hood, tells him, "it's not who you think you are underneath, Bruce.  It's what you DO that defines you".  

Secondly, I believe that, having invested themselves so completely in the enormity of their lie, they achieve a delusion so great they actually believe their manufactured alter ego;  the monstrous lie becomes the truth.  They reach a such a nadir of deception that they view themselves to be the men they TELL us they are, instead of the men their actions demonstrate them to be.  Rationalization is the most seductively powerful force in human behavior - a drug far stronger and more addictive than the most powerful physical narcotic.  It is a psychological descent that begins with a few furtively taken steps, turns quicky to a slippery slope, and ultimately becomes an ice covered, downhill plummet.  

Civil discourse and meritous conduct require certain building blocks; blocks that we have sadly removed from our language.  Concepts like shame and dignity need to be reconsidered.  Shame once acted as a legitimate deterrant to abberant behavior, and dignity served as an affirmation of desirable conduct.  Episodes as described above clearly demonstrate that concepts of shame and dignity have no place in the understanding of such men.  And having witnessed and digested an almost endless parade of such charlatans, our nation has all but subconsciously removed such considerations when making their choices for high elective office.  Dignity is so rare today in public life that we have almost forgotten what it looks like.  We need to have the courage to acknowledge shameful behavior.  We need to remember that there is such a notion as dignified conduct.   

And as for the Scott Lee Cohen's of the world, I have a request - leave us alone.

Please - maintain your life as the pawn-broking, pill-popping, wife-beating, hooker-hankering boor.  But if you can't do that - if you have swallowed the pill of your own mendacity so completely that you really believe yourself to be indispensible, then please - when all of the sad wreckage becomes public -just summon the requisite dignity to gently and gracefully apologize.

And then just quietly go away.

This post is a continuation of my last article on consumer driven health care.

The U.S. Department of Labor issued some interesting statistics last week, one of which was a graph showing the intersection of two lines.  This intersection illustrated that the number of Americans represented by public sector unions now exceeds the number of organized private sector employees.  This reveals the reality that while private sector employment is shrinking, government is a growth business, and it is a precursor to the potential of total public sector employment rivaling or exceeding that of the private sector. 

So what?  Well - the inevitable outcome of all this is that the cost of employment for an ever increasing number of people will be funded by an ever decreasing number of people.  It is an actuarial equation that simply cannot be sustained.  It is the same equation that led me to predict in 1997 that GM would be bankrupt within fifteen years; a statement that earned me gales of derision and laughter at that time.  No one is laughing anymore, as the prediction came true even faster; the deep recession in the auto industry hastening (not causing) GM's demise.   

It matters not what your politics are, who you voted for, or who you plan to vote for.  It is well beyond that, for things have reached a tipping point.  What matters is that the laws of economics are immutable  and will not be mocked.  They are routinely ignored but they cannot be suspended.  They operate independent of whether or not we like them, agree with them, or recognize them.

As the ranks of those employed by government swell, so too does the aggregate cost of the health care plans in place to cover them.  The total cost of health plans provided by public sector employers is significantly higher than the cost of comparable plans in the private sector (after its massive bail out, I no longer consider GM a private sector company).  There are multiple causes of this, but the primary one is that public plans are insulated from market forces, and rely on models of use and delivery nearly forty years old.      

This matter of public health insurance plans is the iceberg below government's financial water line.  The good news is that the tenets of consumer driven health care offer can offer some assisatance.     

Keep an eye on this graph - it has enormous implications.  

Ah - the joys of turning fifty..........

I had a colonoscopy in December.  For those of you who know what is involved - enough said.  For those of you who do not, it's really not that bad.  To paraphrase Tom Petty, "the fasting is the hardest part".  

In addition to my postiive test results, I am pleased to report that this expensive procedure cost our family budget not a penny.  Is this because I have an obscenely expensive health plan funded by my employer, or a supplemental plan secured at my own expense?  No - neither is the case.  

The company I work for has a consumer driven health care plan, the foundation of which recognizes two compelling realities.  The first is that over eighty percent of health care costs in America are associated with five primary diseases.  The second recognizes that early detection of and behavior modification relative to those diseases, are foundational tools in preventing both catastrophic physical and financial consequence.

A further reality of the plan recognizes that health care is subject to the laws of supply and demand.  Our company has secured an arrangement with The Milwaukee Endoscopy Center in Greenfield, such that any employee who has a colonoscopy there pays nothing for it. To qualify, you must be either fifty years of age or have a family history of colon cancer.  Why this singular arrangement with this one provider? 

Because colon cancer detected early not only gives the best chance of successful treatment, it also significantly reduces the company's long term financial exposure.  Our Human Resources Department actually SHOPPED for this procedure and learned that because this clinic specializes, it can offer it at a significantly lower cost.  If I had gone to almost any hospital the total cost would have been much greater, leaving me with a significant deductible and my employer with a hefty balance.  So the company incentivized me to go this clinic, thus lowering the cost for BOTH parties.  I was not required to choose the MEC - just incentivized.  Imagine that - I was actually engaged as a consumer of health care.

Other notable aspects of this consumer driven plan include an on-site nurse practitioner, chiropracter, and dietician.  Perhaps most important - an annual health screen involving a blood draw and a comprehensive and confidential report to the employee.  The company pays the cost of the screen, which again is premised upon the value of early detection.  The test is not mandatory, but those who do not participate pay a substantially higher percentage of the cost of their health insurance, a market-based pricing mechanism that is as simple as it is logical.  Only the employee sees the results; and the assumption is they will pursue appropriate care and behavior modification in light of them.  I know of a young person who shared his story.  Though exhibiting no symptons, he learned via the screening that he has diabetes.  This individual has subsequently made significant changes in diet and habits, and is well down the road towards not only living a healthier and longer life, but saving the company tens of thousands of dollars at the same time.  

What about the question of sub-standard care?  Our dealings with this clinic were superb; Barb and I were treated with courtesy, care, and professionalism, and we were on our way less than three hours after arrival.  There is no doubt I received the highest quality of care at this clinic with respect to equipment, medication, and expertise - all provided at about one third of the average total cost of our area's providers.

Certainly there are some systemic issues with health care that a consumer driven plan does not obviate, such as the ever expanding list of medications and procedures from which we choose and consume.  But the reality of health care in America today is two-fold:  personal behavior and habits have a profound impact on the total cost of health care, and any attempt to slay the dragon of cost that is not founded upon this reality will ultimately be inneffective.   

I am not suggesting people are "at fault" if they become sick, and certainly we all know of tragic cases where healthy people who have cared for themselves contract disease.  I am suggesting that the manner in which we live our lives and make our choices is the greatest "physician" we will ever have.  Basic decisions such as not smoking, controlling our weight, avoiding excess, exercising, and getting enough sleep will take an awful lot of cost out of the system.  

The second reality is that not all health care is the same in terms of cost.  There is a menu of procedures for which lower cost providers have been found, such as colonoscopy, mammogram, major joint replacement, and general check-ups and care via an MD. The cost differences involved from provider to provider are often staggering - some measuring in the tens of thousands for the SAME procedure.  People and providers of insurance need to SHOP for such choices, rather than just accepting the first place they are referred to.  And the only way we will shop is if we are incentivized to do so.  That's not a political statement - it's a simple reality of human behavior.  

The company combines this approach of the annual health screen, consumer selection, and on-site providers to engage employees in the life-long practice of managing their own health and the health of their families.  I believe my employer does this for two reasons.

Because it cares about its employees.  And because it cares about financial survival. 

This is a tough one to write.


On this web site appears an article about an ex-priest convicted of sexually assaulting two young boys.  The trauma of such an event inflicted upon those lives is so deep; the level of betrayal from a source that should have stood for all that is good and noble is so profound.  What do we say in the face of such horror?  Our hearts can only grieve for the victims as we mutely consider the irretrievable value of a lost and ruptured childhood, and the enduring emotional pain.    

I have no animosity towards the Catholic Church.  I was raised Catholic but left the Church nearly forty years ago.  Despite this I recognize its importance and remain convinced that John Paul II was one of the great world leaders of the last fifty years.  I believe that had the magnitude of the Church's problem surfaced when he was in a state of physical health and mental vigor, the halls of the Vatican would have vibrated with anger and action.  A man who in his youth repeatedly put his life at risk to stand up to Hitler and Stalin would not have blanched from the task of cleaning his own house. 

But this problem is bigger than the Catholic Church, and ALL OF US, regardless of our espoused faith, should be concerned about it.  And that is why I take up this painful issue.

At a time in our nation when so many firmaments are crumbling, we need to learn afresh the critical and irreplacable role that major institutions play in our lives, in our society, and in our culture.  Institutions are the instruments through which our cultural music is played and our collective experience enjoyed.  When institutions that have played such recognizable and beneficial roles in the fabric of that collective experience are weakend, we all suffer.  And when the space they once occupied is vacated - vacuums occur.  Nature abhors all vacuums, be they physical or cultural.  And the debilitation of once great institutions creates cultural vacuums.  In my lifetime we have seen all manner of odious things move into those vacuums, and therein lies the nature of our collective concern. 

We need to affirm and rebuild institutions that have demonstrated the capacity to promulgate and sustain themes of continuity and value.  Whatever its faults (and ALL Churches have them), the Catholic Church has been such a societal building block.  It has been a force for good as demonstrated by its work in education, health care, music, scholarship, arts, culture, and of course, ecclesiastic and spiritual life.  When an institution responsible for such developments is so deeply wounded, so too are we all.  And most particularly so at this delicate juncture of history, when our young people look around and seek some semblance of order and sustained authority.  The landscape of societal institutions that stood so firmly in my youth is now roiled by the turmoil of failure and disgrace.  And make no mistake - this notion of cultural vacuums is a significant factor in the disaffection of an entire generation.

The Archdiocese of Milwaukee is such an institution, and it harbors a carcinogen that can only be removed by the surgery of leadership.  Max DePree told us that, "the first responsibility of a leader is to define reality".  Archibishop Jerome Listecki is by definition of his office, a leader, and based on what little I know of him, I am impressed.  I respectfully suggest that he reflect upon DePree's definition, and what implications it may have for his office.  

The reality is that Rembert Weakland and his actions have been an unmitigated disaster for the Catholic Church - financially, morally, ethically, and spiritually.  Its new leader should consider decisive steps such that all in Southeastern Wisconsin will stand in clear understanding that the insidious effects of Weakland's atrocitities will not stand, and have no place in the life of the Church.  I submit that this can only be achieved by removing that tired and confused man from the public eye.  

Weakland's presence at ostensibly formal functions of the Church confers an air of legitimacy upon him.  And the creation and placement of costly replicas in houses of the Church bestow a legitimacy upon his administration.  This is an ethical disaster, and a debilitating insult to the Church's existing ecclesiastic and lay leaders, nearly all of whom serve with selfless comittment and honor. 


Now here is where the argument gets difficult.  My views are not founded on notions of personal punishment or forgiveness.  It is not my place to judge the heart of this man; he did me no personal wrong, and I strive to be mindful of Christ's admonishment not to "cast the first stone".  But this is so much larger than a question of forgiveness or compassion.  It is a matter of the terrible responsibility of leadership to chart a course implicit in the understanding that such horrific episodes shall not occur, and that those who perpetrated them have no standing of authority or legitimacy in the life of the Church.  It is about the responsibility of caring for and affirming a great institution.  

I do not suggest a course of persecution or humiliation for Weakland.  I believe he should be cared for gently but firmly, in a place of quiet contemplation, permanently removed from the life and proceedings of the Church.  A place where he can reflect upon the past, and give thought towards the fashioning of a redemptive life.  I once hoped he would do the honorable thing and reach this obvious conclusion of his own accord.  Sadly he has not, and thus it falls upon current leadership to make it so.

Institutions stand or fall upon the foundation of their moral purpose.  They survive and flourish only under the service of leaders who not only understand that reality, but possess and demonstrate that clarity of purpose.  This clarity cannot be maintained when the presence of those who have so horribly sullied it is allowed to continue, even if such allowance is founded on a well-intentioned sense of compassion.

Insitutions are like people - they need care. 

It is time to care for this one.

"Technology is eradicating the wisdom of antiquity and slowly destroying our kids' ability to think".

Wow - what kind of reactionary Luddite crawled out from under a rock and gave voice to that mouthful?  Was it a joint communique issued by the firm of Belling, Beck and Limbaugh?  

No - they are the words of a noted anthropologist, writer, and educator that I had the pleasure of hearing at a two day conference in November.  He is not some myopic reactionary on the far right of contemprorary pubilc policy.  He is a brilliant, perceptive, articulate, politically liberal individual who travels the country speaking at conferences, schools, universities, and business enterprises.  Fifteen minutes with him and you will walk away with an awful lot to think about.  I had two days.

I have written more than once of the insidious impact our technology is having upon the fabric of our culture and the psyches of our young people.  I believe it is fair to say that the staggering array of technology we have before us, and its heretofore unimagined portability, has expanded far more rapidly than our willingness to evaluate the implications of that expansion.

I will start with some appropriate disclaimer - I enjoy and use technology and so do our kids.  The ability to locate and obtain information on any subject imaginable at the push of a button is extraordinarily efficacious.  In particular for me, the digitilization of music and the ability to carry thousands of songs around in my pocket has enriched my daily life.  Even as I write this article I am listening to a fabulous band called The Strokes on the streaming Internet music site Pandora.

You may think the speaker exaggerates - fair enough.  But I note the growing body of evidence and work from sociologists and psychologists who are identifying what they openly refer to as "electronic addiction".   Devices not much larger than a book of matches now carry more computing and communication power than early desk-tops.  And all too often they become not just tools in the hands of our young people, but virtual electronic appendages they can hardly seem to function without.  And it's not just an addiction that is unique to young people.  The now ubiquitous BlackBerry is referred to as the "CrackBerry", for its capacity to addict those who use them.

Technology is morally neutral, unto itself it is neither good nor bad.  It is a tool no different than a car or a refrigerator, designed to enhance and improve our lives, and there can be little question it does both.  But the AMOUNT that we use it, the PLACE it holds in our lives, is very much of an issue.  

My life is not nearly interesting enough to warrant constant updates to a band of electronic voyeurs - and I don't know anyone whose life is.  And I am convinced that the onset of technology is stunting our kids' interest in and ability to engage things more wholesome and edifying than staring at a shimmering green screen that calls to them like some modern day, Siren-song mirage. 

The defining difference between young people and geezers like me is that we now see a generation emerging that has never known life WITHOUT these devices and capabilities.  I know too many kids who are all but losing the ability to entertain themselves without them.  I know too many families with stories of kids taking their phones to bed, texting and surfing well into the night;  awaking stilted, tired, and unready to face the day.  I know of too many cases where alarmed parents have confiscated such devices, only to find their kids all but bereft and disaffected without them.

The onset of childhood obesity has been simultaneous to this explosion of technology.  I don't suggest it is the only cause, nor perhaps even the primary one.  But neither do I believe it is coincidence.  When technology begins to limit and stunt the ability of our youth to look outside of themselves, to interact with and engage people and ideas without the use of their contraptions, when they eliminate more wholesome and edifying activities from their routines, when the thought of going for a walk or listening to what Mother Nature has to say as opposed to the latest text message is utterly foreign to them, then this should give us pause. 

Think about it.

I am a huge Neil Young fan. 

Actually - my physical size is unimpressive; and unfortunately - I don't know the great musician.  So given my respect for the English language I will refrain from hyperbole and more accurately state that I am a big fan of his music.  Along with Wayne Gretzky, he stands as one of Canada's greatest exports. 

On May 4 1970, four students were killed while protesting the Vietnam War on the campus of Kent State University.  I well remember that day - most clearly - the depth of my father's concern over that awful incident.  Neil Young immortalized the tragedy with his iconic song, Ohio.  With its fractured and disjointed opening riff, devastating lyrics (tin soldiers and Nixon coming), and haunting refrain of "four dead in O-HIO", the song imprinted itself on the musical DNA of a generation.

As our Country's State Department remains mute and all but oblivious to the burgeoning developments in Iran, perhaps the great Canadian will write another song to memorialize the dead student protestors who gave their lives trying to expose and ultimately topple what might be the most repressive, militant, and dangerous regime on the planet - the government of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. 

What is happening in Iran is the stuff of history, and certainly has profound geopolitical implications.  And it is a gift wrapped development for the leaders of the Western world who have been blathering for months about the need to "do something" about Iran.  

The danger in dealing with tyrants like Ahmadinejad is that his rhetoric is so bombastic, so utterly, off the charts ridiculous, that we tend to dismiss it.  No one can really believe such things, we tell ourselves.  No one really believes "the Holocaust never occured", or that Israel "has no right to exist" and should be "wiped off the face of the earth".  I don't know any more than you do what his beliefs and intentions are.  I only know what he says.  

The young students of Iran who are leading the revolt against Ahmadinejad and his group of ruling Mullahs probably don't know any more than I do about their leader's geopolitical designs.  What they do know is that his regime is repressive in the extreme; and now resorts to torture, imprisonment, and murder to maintain and solidify its grip on power.  It is one of the most under-reported and under-analyzed stories in recent time.

So far our State Department has had tragically little to say about these stunning developments. 

If only Mr. Young were - ah - younger.

Last Sunday's edition of The Milwaukee Journal Sentinel published a lengthy article about a local bank's efforts to work through its woes.  I found it an interesting read, and thought I would offer a perspective from the business community.  My comments speak to the U.S. banking industry in general over the course of the last year, and it is only fair to note that there are certainly shining exceptions to this story.

What most banks did with the billions of Federally provided largesse was to immediately shore up their horrifically unbalanced balance sheets.  Those statements became so unbalanced through the combination of years of an overly easy Fed and a Bachnalian orgy of lending; lending which forsook all of the time-honored principles of this once proud and conservative industry.  You know - things like collateral and down payments and equity to debt ratios that had a toe-hold in reality.  What the banks have NOT done is put the money "to work".  In fact, many of them went out of the business of LOANING money and into the business of COLLECTING it, while at the same time increasing interest rates to long standing customers at a time those clients were fighting for their very existence.  This continues to a large extent today.

THAT is what most banks have done with the money Congress so eagerly gave them at the start of 2009.  And they are now engaging to the extreme the very tools and practices that might have prevented this meltdown in the first place.

It is a sad drama that has not played well in our local business community.  Already we see the formation of smaller, better capitalized banks, many of which have started or been strengthened by capital that now eschews the "big boys".  Such institutions are well positioned, and when the economic worm has sufficiently turned, many long-standing client/bank relationships will be turned on their ear.

Even here in little old Waukesha County.

In the past I have focused my Thanksgiving column on the historical foundations and meaning of this uniquely American Holiday.  That has been an enjoyable practice, but after what has so clearly been a difficult year for our nation and for so many people in it, I felt it appropriate to offer a more personal take by reflecting on more personal matters. 

First and foremost, I am grateful to be married to a woman of character.  A woman who despite a long list of more enjoyable options, chose instead to spend this week far from home, caring for her aged and lonely  father.  My maternal grandmother lived to be 104, and I well remember her 80th birthday party .  While holding court (and a manhattan-filled tumbler), our great matriarch opined that "gettin old ain't for sissies".  Coming from a woman who lost both parents at the age of two, lived through the Great Depression, saw two World Wars, and buried a husband and two sons-in law, her words stuck like glue.  Grandma was right - and now Barb's father, a man who once marched across Europe in Patton's Third Army, can barely walk steadily across his room.  And so - she has traveled to be at his side. 

I am grateful that, while certainly having felt the effect of the financial and economic environment visited upon us, that I am still employed.  I try and be consciously thankful for that reality every day.

I am grateful to be able to view the parade of nature in our back yard - to see turkey and deer and possum and fox and raccoon and the varied bird-life, instead of asphalt and steel and drugs and bullets.

I am thankful for last Memorial Day Weekend, spent in the heart of the UP's  Sylvania Wilderness.  For four nights and five days my son and I tromped and paddled our way through wilderness so dense it bore no signs of man ever walking the planet.  I am thankful for that time together, and for the opportunity to begin teaching him the ways of the wild, and to be humbled by what Jack London referred to as its "call".

I am grateful to live in a country founded by men and women of such requisite vision, wisdom and courage, that though we have done much to forsake their legacy, we yet live in the good of it.  I am grateful to live in a country that both molded and was molded by the likes of John Adams and Abraham Lincoln and Martin Luther King.

While mindful of its insidious invasion, I am also thankful for the technology that enriches our lives, enabling me at the push of a button to view the text of Lincoln's Second Innaugural Address, or Churchill's 1940 BBC broadcasts, or to hear any music I care to, including just this morning that most singularly beautiful piece of music, Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata.

And I am grateful to be able to write this column and express my views without fear of retribution, or of the midnight knock on the door that even today, so much of the world fears.  

This is by no means an all inclusive list - just some musings.  Give some thought this week to your own list - and comment if you care to.

I wish you and yours the Happiest of Thanksgivings.  

After two postings on the issue of youth drug use and a reflection on Veterans Day, I thought it was time to have a little fun. 

I stumbled upon a YouTube treasure last week which got me thinking of some of my favorite recordings. Some of them are “covers”, recordings in which an artist takes a song originally recorded by someone else, and “covers” it with their own rendition.  I love hearing a great song taken under the wing of another artist who then creates a different bolt from the same cloth, adding their own “feel” to an established classic.  While there are some disastrous examples of this, typically the efforts render tremendous outcomes.

Here are a few favorites that come to mind.........

It Ain’t Me Babe – by Johnny and June Carter Cash in 1965, from the album The Orange Blossom Special.  The super-star duo took this Bob Dylan classic and made it their own, and was featured in the fabulous film Walk the Line, starring Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon.  If you have not seen that movie do yourself a favor and rent the DVD; it’s a reminder of what a great story told by great actors can look like.  Anchoring the song is Cash’s baritone, with June Carter’s playful alto dancing around his vocals, her harmonies giving a heartfelt and evocative beauty that can’t help but take listeners back to a time and a person in their life when they might have claimed, “No- no-no, it ain’t me, babe”.  Less world weary than the Dylan recording, it speaks with a winsome wisdom that only age and a broken heart can bring.  The whimsical harmonica - that most under-used and simplistically beautiful background instrument, adds luster and fiber to the song. It is just superb, and captures the duo at the height of their talent and their love for each other.   

Just my Imagination – by The Rolling Stones. The greatest band in rock ‘n roll added their superb re-do of the Temptations classic on their triumphantly redemptive 1978 album, Some Girls.  The incomparable song-writing duo of Jagger and Richards took this MoTown classic and added an up-tempo and funkier feel.  Charlie Watts’ percussion both anchors and propels the song, while Richards' rhythm guitar and Jagger’s throaty lyrics give it an edge, without sacrificing its magical, pop feel. 

Last Kiss – by Pearl Jam.  The genius of Eddie Vedder gave an entirely new feel to this 1962 Wayne Cochran gold-standard of pop music.  Bassist Jeff Ament claimed, “it was the most minimalist recording we ever did”, proving again that less can be more.  Pearl Jam rocks it up just enough to give it an attractive edge, removing the overly saccharine feel of the original without molesting its pristine innocence.  The guitar chords in the second verse evoke shards of falling icicles, and Vedder’s mournful wails at the end, like the desperate cries of a mortally wounded animal, bring home with savage clarity the distended anguish of a broken heart. 

Beast of Burden – by Better Midler.  The Divine Miss M takes one of my all time favorite compositions, with its distinctively lilting riffs, wonderful harmonies, and wistful lyrics speaking of self-doubt and the longing for physical closeness, and delivers a completely different feel.  She powers the song with a far more accomplished and robust voice than Jagger’s, and the attendant video is hilarious; campy to the extreme and filled with ruthlessly sarcastic self-parody that casts a strutting and preening Jagger in the unfamiliar role of “second fiddle”.

Other great covers involve artists covering their own work, two superb examples being Eric Clapton’s un-plugged version of Layla, and The Pretenders string-quarteted re-mix of Back on the Chain Gang.  In both cases the artists took their own iconic originals, and using different instruments and tempo, created better songs than the originals.

These are just a few examples of great artists who, with a wink and a nod to their predecessor, add the flair of their talent to create a completely different effect with the same music.  I gotta believe it’s great fun for them as well. 

What are some of your favorite “covers”? 

Go tell the Spartans, those that passeth by.

That here - obedient to their laws; we lie.

So the Greek poet Simonides immortalized the Spartan warriors who defended their country against Xerxes, the Persian invader.  They did it because it was what they were raised to do, and because there were things in life they considered worth fighting and dying for. 

We have again arrived at the "eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month", the immortal words of Winston Churchill marking the timing of the Armistice that ended World War One.  His view of war was not just that of a towering statesman, but of one who fought in the troglodytic trenches of that awful conflict. 

We pass by them - don't we?  In airports, in football stadiums, at civic events.  We see them in their uniform, but it is not the cloth that commands our attention.  Rather, it is their bearing of quiet strength and dignity that compels.

November 11th began as Armistice Day, was changed to Veterans Day, and established as a National Holiday in the immediate aftermath of World War Two.  How does one adequately capture its meaning or significance?  How does one sufficiently honor the fallen, and those who currently serve?  I can only do so via the twin acts of remembrance and reflection.  Half-ghosted images of the past, impressions so fine they are woven into the fabric our collective sub-conscious..................................

I think of my Dad and his two brothers who all served in World War Two - a sailor, infantryman, and pilot.  Raised just up the road in Kohler, as America was awakening from its isolationist slumber, they left the only town they had ever seen to fight against Hirohito, Mussolini, and Hitler.  And I recall my father in-law, raised on a farm in rural Michigan, who marched and served in George Patton's mythical Third Army, and experienced its epic dash across France and Germany.

I think of the riveting scenes of Spielberg's masterpiece Saving Private Ryan, the aging veteran collapsing to his knees in the Normandy cemetery, overcome by the assualt waves of his emotions. The enormous, over-arching American Flags languidly lufting in the Channel breezes, keeping silent but faithful vigil over those who lay below.

I think of Douglas MacArthur, marching and drilling the Long Gray Line of Cadets on the plains of West Point.  And the soaring prose of his farewell to the Corps of Cadets, his resonant voice ringing out, "Duty - Honor - Country".

I again think of Winston Churchill, standing alone and staring into the maw of Nazi invincibility, jutting out that famous jaw and growling, "We shall never surrender".

I think of William Manchester, historian, biographer, and United States Marine, a writer so gifted he has brought me to tears as he tried to convey to a civilian the undying strength of the bonds which exist between fighting men and women; bonds forged upon the anvil of mortal combat.

But more than any one thing, I recall the British inantryman Siegfried Sassoon, who wrote of his World War One experiences in the masterful work, Memoirs of an Infantry Officer.  I think of his heart-breaking line, "Thank God that you shall never know, the hell where youth and laughter go". 

And I think of him staring into the avalanche of steel and fire that was No Man's Land, summoning the courage to go out and find his wounded comrade.  I imagine him finding his friend, and holding him in his arms such that he might spend his last conscious moments in some comfort, instead of lying alone in the soil of a foreign land.

And of that friend who gazed up at him and whispered with his dying breath, "I knew you would come".

These are some of the images and thoughts I consider on this day.

And however inadequate it may be, I say to the fallen and to those still stand and serve, "Thank you". 

 http://www.brookfieldnow.com/blogs/communityblogs/63747747.html                                         

Above is the link to Part One of this article.  Since the time of its publication, we learned the story of Patricia Strosina of Burlington who, like Madison Kiefer's father in Whitefish Bay, was the primary agent in the death of her own child.  So dulled and stunted have our sensibilities become that this story, which only fifteen years ago would have seared itself like a brand upon our collective consciousness, passed quickly through its fifteen seconds of fame, leaving us numb and muted in its wake.  

We need to pause and consider it for a moment.  The episode tells of a woman who knowingly facillitated the death of her son by instructing him on the finer points of heroin injection.  Ponder that final, macabre scene.  Did she watch the drug slide up the droppers neck?  Or as Brooklyn rocker Lou Reed sang, did she watch her son go "rushin on his run"?  Did she make a desperate attempt to snatch him from the murky fog of that final, opiated embrace?  If we consider Plato's definition of justice - "a rendering unto each man his due" - we can each contemplate the implication this might hold for Ms. Spinosa.  

This is serious stuff.  For more and more young people it is, quite literally, a matter of life and death.  We live in the cozy confines of Brookfield and Elm Grove - wonderful homes, manicured lawns, tony stores and automobiles, rolling acres of lush parkland, tree-lined boulevards.  But like make-up, these things enhance the good and cover the undesirable.  Drugs and alcohol are out there, growing steadily in availability and use.  And if we think they do not pass west of 124th Street, we are sadly mistaken.  And kids are not just walking around with a spliff in their pocket anymore, as rural, urban, and suburban America have all witnessed the advent of heroin, and a host of opiate-based prescription drugs.  These drugs are  insidiously addictive, behavior altering, and life-threatening - and the kids in their crosshairs are the ones we see every day walking down Pilgrim Parkway and Wisconsin Avenue; Gebhardt and Lily Roads.  

Isn't it time for us to pose some hard questions?  Isn't it time to ask why, in a period that has seen quantum leaps in government's collective expenditures at the local, State and Federal levels to combat this behavior, we have instead seen it escalate?  Isn't it time that, for all the "skin deep" attraction of programs like DARE, JUST SAY NO, and the endless stream of pithy television advertisements, we acknowledge they are little more than well-intentioned window dressing?  When will we summon the courage to look beyond the INTENT of such programs (which I do not question), and challenge their EFFECTIVENESS?     

Gven its failure in so many areas, why do we believe government can keep our precious kids away from this junk?  It's not the JOB of government.  It's NOT the job of the Department of Health.  It's NOT the job of Arne Duncan or Eric Holder.  It's NOT the job of Jim Doyle or Scott Walker.  It's NOT the job of the local DARE Officer.  And it is most CERTAINLY not the job of some insipid, Federally funded office like the Waukesha County Drug Commissioner.  These well-intentioned and capable people are like air support in a war - important but far from decisive.  

There is only one decisive antidote for the poison of drugs and alcohol - the active, engaged, and if necessary, intrusive involvement of adults who know better in the lives of individual kids - one at a time, one by one. Adults who are wise enough to see the signs, equipped enough to know what to do, and committed enough to be willing to insert themselves into the life of an adolescent, even though that intrusion might be enormously unwelcome. 

When considering young "'users" I believe there are two profiles:  those who do it for fun and rebellion, and those who do it because they have no reason NOT to.  American pop culture, while boasting components of value and legitimacy, is largely hostile to our youth.  Combined with the incessant encroachment of technology, the effect is a pervasive, Alan Ginsberg-like "howl", proferred to them on a 24/7 basis.  It drains, rather than replenishes their spirits.  Like a giant emotional Twinkie, it provides them only sugar - plenty of calories but no nutrition.  And in its wake we see disaffected and disassociated young people; kids who survey their present and their future, and when confronted with the question, "should you drink or do drugs", offer up as their best response "why the hell shouldn't I"?    

There is a second profile to consider which goes a long way towards explaining the first: those kids who are fortunate enough to have parents, guardians, or some other mature adult presence in their lives - and  those who are not.  For those that are - the answer lies there.  For those that are not, it's time to look at local institutions and agencies that can make a difference in their lives, and start funneling our financial resources to THEM.     

But the beginning point is the willingness to recognize what DOESN'T work. 

If one pays attention to such things we see the matter of opiate-based prescription drug use by teenagers becoming more and more prevalent, the most recent evidence being a front-page story in the October 8 edition of The MJS.  Heroin is known as "smack" and its use, once almost the exclusive province of rock stars and the glitterati, has been steadily on the rise amongst young people across our State in areas rural, urban, and suburban. 


Last spring I wrote of the tragic overdose of Madison Kiefer - a fifteen year old Whitefish Bay girl.  In a development that can only be described as sickening, we learned that the last adult who had contact with Madison, the last one who might have grasped her hand and pulled her up before she slipped into the murky fog of that final, opiated embrace, was her father.  Her FATHER for heaven's sake.   The man who should have been her greatest source of protection in fact facilitated her behavior.  Such was the world Madison Kiefer all too briefly inhabited.

This is serious stuff, folks.  We are talking about the safety and well-being of the young boys and girls we see every day on Wisconsin Avenue and Pilgrim Parkway; or driving up Lily and Gebhardt roads.  THESE are the young people we are talking about.  Maybe some of those kids are YOUR son or YOUR daughter or YOUR grandchild.  Two of them are mine.   

And since I write of such a serious topic, it is incumbent upon me to be equally serious.  I write with several perspectives:  that of a public servant, a taxpayer helping fund our so called "war on drugs", a member of a community that likes to think it is insulated from this pandemic, and most personally and importantly, the father of two beloved children who live every minute of their day "out there".

But there is one additional perspective..........

About a hundred years ago I ran with a fast crowd.  Doing so was my decision and my responsibility - mine alone.  On the surface I was the stereotype of someone who would NOT have done it:  middle class, a good athlete and student, the youngest child of a loving and supportive family, blah blah blah.................But run we did - fast and hard.  Thankfully most of us stopped short of the kind of stuff that claimed Ms. Kiefer.

As I later came to see, we didn't run because we were "rebelling" or "making a statement".  Our behavior was founded upon that most shameful of cornerstones:  personal selfishness.  We ran because we thought it was FUN, and we spent little time thinking about the collateral damage we might cause in the lives of those who loved us.  I think that is a fundamental difference between my time and that of  today's youth.  Certainly some may be doing it for selfish reasons, but I don't believe that motivation speaks to the aggregate who are on this collective descent.  But more on that in Part Two of this piece.

The tragedy of course was that some of those I ran with never turned 'round.  They kept running until they were trapped in a darkened maize; lost and utterly alone.  And unlike my boyhood hero Theseus, who for the love of his country entered the labryinth to stalk and slay the Minotaur, they carried no ball of string by which they could find their way back to the light.  I emerged  - perhaps a bit wiser to the ways of the world.  And I did so without causing undue harm to anyone else; a reality for which I thank God to this day.    

So as I sit at my keyboard, memories that don't exactly tickle poke and prod their way to the surface of my consciousness.  I acknowledge that this perspective doesn't grant me any special insights, nor does it make me any more "right" than the next person when talking of this matter.  But it whispers in my ear as I type, and if it gives me a more of a "voice" when I speak to young people about such matters, then so be it.      

Folks - society is not fighting a "war" on drugs.  We use that term because, like drugs themselves, it makes us "feel good".  But also like the drugs, such language leads to false contentment.  There IS a war out there.  But it cannot be won by the DARE Program or by an army of social workers, no matter how well-intentioned or capable.  And it most certainly cannot be won by Federal grants funding cipher-like beaurocrats who sit in the Waukesha County Courthouse, plotting data on a chart and issuing vapid communiques from "the front" of this so called war.   

Remember the movie A Few Good Men?  Jack Nicholson played Marine Corps Colonel Nathan Jessep, the defendant in a Court Marital trial, with Tom Cruise cast in the role of his prosecutor.  In the movie's pivotal scene an enraged Jessep lashes out at Cruise, until trapped in the vortex of his own rage, he ultimately betrays himself.  But not before heaping upon his tormentor all of the contemptuous scorn that only a commander of combat troops can feel for what is known in the military as an R.E.M.F.   

To paraphrase Jessep, it's time to stop using cocktail party punclines like "the war on drugs".  It's time for you and for me to "pick up a rifle and stand a post". 

Because our young people WANT us on that wall.  They NEED us on that wall.

In 1973 legendary movie director Martin Scorsese released his break through film Mean Streets, which featured a theretofore unknown actor named Robert DeNiro.  Both DeNiro and Scorsese have been writing their names in bold print upon the the big-screen ever since

We are by now all too familiar with the the barbaric assault upon Milwaukee Mayor Tom Barrett - what an utterly despicable and sobering incident.  We can all salute the Mayor for his courage, and hope for his rapid and full recovery.

There are so many angles one could take with this story - so many different commentaries to offer.  I will offer two quick ones:

No Police Department, no matter how well staffed and dedicated, can be expected to eliminate or prevent such wanton and unprovoked savagery.

Given that - my second comment is that the issue of concealed carry legislation may well become moot in the forseeable future.  If law abiding citizens, business people, and artisans arrive at a point where they no longer feel safe walking our urban streets, one of two things will happen:

They will cease doing so.................

Or they will do so only if prepared to protect the safety of their own person.

There are interesting and compelling arguments to be made both on sides of this policy.  But all the debate and pontification from both of those sides might ultimately reach a point of rhetorical irrelevance.

In the face of such barbarity, people will at some point simply take matters into their own hands.

And if we reach that tipping point it may be others who come to fear the mean streets, instead of honorable politicians and citizens who try and do the right thing. 

The immutability of economic law has been an occasional theme of this blog.  Given the inevitable impact of the policy and legislation that has held sway in our State for the last many years, and the monstrosity that is the current two year budget, this is a reality that will become far more evident in the next ten years.  

Director Steven Spielberg imprinted the Great White shark upon our national consciousness with his 1975 movie, JAWS.  The film generated a fascination with the beasts, and one of the things we learned is that they are creatures of ceaseless motion; never sleeping and always consuming.  Indeed, should they sleep or stop - they die.  

Like the great white, capital never remains at rest.  It is in constant motion, and given today's sophistication of communications and financial vehicles, it knows nothing of the bounds which once contained it.  It is in constant search for its next opportunity, and those who own it have but one objective - to maximize their return upon it.  And those who manage it are under no illusions as to what the owner's objective is.  


The recently passed Wisconsin State Budget is a vehicle that will send the great white shark of financial capital looking for feeding waters well beyond the depths of our State.  And though there is a lag period, another inexorable law of economics is that jobs follow the deployment of capital.

Our governing political class in Madison has little concept of how capital is sought, gathered, formed, and deployed.  And even worse, it sees no reason why it might be important to HAVE such an understanding. 

Our Governor and legislature are powerless to modify the patterns and behavior of the Great White shark.  They are equally powerless to change the immutability of economic law.

Unfortunately  - they are all too capable of impacting the disposition of capital. 

Oil - it has been a significant and consistent part of our news cycle since Hurricane Katrina, and rightly so.

But there is precious little talk about another liquid resource that is going to become even more valuable in the coming years - water.  It is disappointing that not one political figure at the local or State level is talking about the need to CONSERVE water.  There is only talk about if and when to tap into Lake Michigan to feed our largely irresponsible and slakeless demand for the stuff. 

Given the need we have to conserve water, and my life-long love of Lake Michigan, I believe it is useful to cast her in a different light; a light which depicts her as more than just some communal well.  Last week we were blessed with yet another wonderous family vacation on her eastern shores, and our collective readiness to pillage her was much on my mind even as we enjoyed her boundless depths abnd beauty.  Below is a reprint of some ruminations about water and Lake Michigan that I wrote one year ago:

The easter shoreline of Lake Michigan from Grand Haven to the Mackinaw Bridge is some of the most spectacular country in America.  The Indians of the upper Midwest named the Lake "Missi-Ken", meaning in their lyrical speech - large lake.  And so they gave name to the Great Lake and to the State. 

We spent our days there same way we have for the last several trips - sailing, biking, boogie-boarding, body surfing, sand-dune climbing, kayaking, hiking, and camp-firing on the shore.  Our morning entertainment consisted of bike rides to the Lake and to the artesian well to fill our containers for the day.  Nocturnal entertainment consisted of huddling on the beach to watch the sunset over Lake Michigan, marveling as the sun plunged down the horizon like some great, incandescent eye, illuminating the sky with hues of peach, orange, magenta, and violet, so lush and vibrant as to shame the canvas of Raphael. 

The Shawnee Chief Tecumseh was a great American, and sadly, too obscure a figure in our history.  He grew up in the forests and on the river banks of what is now southern Ohio, and often tried to give verse to the feelings he had for the land he so loved.  Despite his eloquence it always eluded him. 

Like Tecumseh - all I can do is recall images and sensations:  a bobcat darting across the trail of a deep woods hike, stopping briefly to freeze us with his penetrating gaze.  Watching your children lay hands on the tiller of a sailboat, and just as you taught them, reading the sails as the mylar lufts and gropes for the wind, all while remembering the terrified shrieks of their first sail.  Seeing them gaze at the towering Sleeping Bear Dunes as we cruise below them, jaws agape and souls humbled by the sight.  Watching the wind suddenly quicken as it gathers over the surface, and the mad scramble to reduce sail before it strikes the spinnaker and main like an invisible fist, heeling the boat to the gunnels.  The soft-green and beige of the dune grasses as they gently yield to the caress of the breeze.  The thigh-burning, lung-busting effort of ascending the mighty dunes, and the rollicking, limb-flailing descent, often hurtling twenty feet with a single leap.  The taste of the artesian well water after a long run in the sun - sweeter than any ice-cold Gatorade.  The images of my son summersaulting in the surf like some bronzed, human dolphin.  I could go on..............   

Try as I might I cannot capture the essence of what this land and water hold for me.  How does one convey the memories of a lifetime - memories seared like a brand onto the skin of my consciousness? 
 

Always - always I will hear Missi-Ken calling to me.  The primordial sound of the surf in its ageless assault upon the shore, and the matching refrain of the water's retreat.  The lonely, plaintive cry of the gulls as they lilt and bob above the surface, their calls mixing with the pounding surf in a soul-piercing, other-worldly texture of sound.   

Perhaps our son captured her essence best while perched atop the dunes one golden evening.  Staring out at her vastness, I watched as its majesty laid hold of him and slowly quieted his spirit.  And I could only nod my agreement as he murmured, "it's not a Lake, Dad - it's an ocean". 

I love Lake Michigan.  And my love for her has helped teach me to respect and conserve water.

Think about it.

Please.

As I have oft written, the laws of economics are immutable, and beyond the power of legislators and even Presidents to obviate.  They operate inexorably and will not be mocked.  

There are many reasons for our current economic and financial woes, but one of the foundational causes is that we have sent a generation of people into high political office that know nothing of economics.  This was true of all three Bush Presidencies (41 and 42) and is certainly true of Obama and the current leaders of the U.S. Congress.   One can consider almost any significant domestic policy initiative to see this, and none demonstrates it more clearly than the bloated and lurching monster that is staggering down Pennsylvania Avenue disguised as a national health care program.

There can be no question that Obama is a bright man, possessive of an engaging personality and broad powers of articulation.  These skills have served him particularly well after eight years of the wooden and stammering projection of George Bush.  However engaging Bush 42 might have been in more intimate exchanges, he lacked the ability to cohesively articulate and deliver messages on any matter of importance.  This, combined with his domestic spending record that rendered the two major political parties indistinguishable from each other in the eye of the American public, is what opened the door for an Obama candidacy.  Obama then skillfully walked through that door, snatching away from Hillary Clinton what was considered, just two short years ago, her birthright.

And now we see our President in almost breathless urgency, hastily escorting his health care monster down to Capitol Hill to see it enacted into law.  It is nothing more than a carcinogen; a legislative speedball to be injected into the frail and worn veins of the American economy. 

One could offer pages of analysis as to why it is such a horrific idea, and thankfully, there is no lack for insightful and articulate publications doing exacatly that.  But sometimes we make opposition to legislative initiatives seem overwhelming by the sheer complexity and volume of the arguments brought against it. 

 I would summarize this entire matter with one simple and hopefully, illustrative question: 

"Do we really want to place one-eighth of our economy in the hands of the same muted automatons (Republican and Democrat alike) that brought us the imploding trains of Social Security and Medicare, the S&L Crisis, years of overly easy money, Fannie Mae, Freddie Mae, and the horrifically mis-managed and inneffective bail-out and  stimulus package"?

Let's not make this tougher than it is.  

Sometimes, less is more.

Bibliophiles and readers rejoice - on August 11 Pat Conroy will release his latest novel entitled, South of Broad.

A journalist once asked Winston Churchill if he had read a colleague's last book.  "I certainly hope so", chortled the irrepressible statesman.  Contrary to Churchill's view of his associate's writing; I hope this is not Conroy's last book.  But it is his first release in many years, and cause for great anticipation.  

I love the work of Pat Conroy because I love words and language.  Words are his tools of trade, and he spins them into gold; more literary alchemist than writer.  He describes a Low Country boil with such exquisite precision that the scent of simmering shrimp rises off the page.  He describes a seaside landscape until the sand is felt between your toes, and the salt water spray cakes up on your lips.  And his descriptions of human emotion and experience are so utterly rich and textured as to ellicit the salt water of your own tears.   His characters assume larger than life status in YOUR life, and play out their roles on a fantastic, spinning tableau of jubilant triumphs and devastating defeats.

That is the essential Conroy - tales of fractured relationships and dysfunctional people who somehow summon the courage and find the grace to become whole.  South of Broad takes its name from a street in Charleston, South Carolina; the cultural capitol of the Old South.  Once the bastion of Southern wealth, aristocracy, charm, and society, it was also a cauldron of racism and stifling class consciousness.  Conroy grew up in Colleton County and the tidal basins, marshes, and rivers of that area left their indellible imprint upon his writer's soul.   He attended and graduated from Charleston's military academy, The Citadel.  His knowledge of the city is as personal as it is deep, and can be found poured out upon the searing pages of my second favorite Conroy book, The Lords of Discipline.

My first encounter with Conroy was The Prince of Tides, and I knew after the first page that I had ventured down a path charted by few.  That was nearly twenty years ago, and I have since read every one of his books.  My favorite is My Losing Season, the autobiographical chronicle of his senior year as point guard of The Citadel's basketball team.  As C.S. Lewis said of Tolkien's Lord of the Rings, the book is a beauty that "pierces like a sword or burns like cold iron".   

I loved Season because having played so much basketball in my youth, I related instantly to his love of the game, and his feel for its texture and beauty.  No one has ever described the sounds, emotions, and nobililty of sport better than Conroy did in this book, and I cannot imagine anyone ever will.  But more than basketball, it was the tale of a young and troubled man growing into adulthood; using his love of the game and his teammates to find his way in the world.  There are episodes in Season that will pierce your heart with the triple-edged dagger of descriptive beauty, personal memory, and the angst for things no longer.  Like all great artists, Conroy demands much of his audience.  His readers encounter a spectrum of nuanced and even violent responses, but the one state they never enter is that of  comfort.  One reads his books as a marathoner runs their races - infrequently. Time is needed to recover, and to put the great bleeding chunks of emotional meat served up by the author into the perspective of lessons learned.    

Readers of Conroy know the depths of emotion he plumbs.  The product of an abusive Marine Corps father and a lovely but damaged Southern mother, he has spent most of his life by his own admission, as an open wound.  His writing serves him as both a self-inflicted hair shirt of punishment, and an altar of redemptive grace, through which he finds his way back from the depths of his plunging and debilitating depressions.

Those familiar with Conroy know what to expect from South of Broad.

For those unfamiliar - I offer a warning and a promise:

The warning is he'll break your heart.

The promise is he'll restore it - and leave you with a wiser one.