The great founder of philosophy and of the concept of liberal arts education, Socrates once remarked to a student, who supposedly was meandering on without much of an objectively identifiable foothold, "If you would speak with me, you must define your terms".

This quote from antiquity came to mind this morning when I saw another in the sadly long line of headlines referring to so called "suicide bombers".

Suicide....................Really?

While it is true that such bombings or shootings result in the death of the perpetrator, his or her own death is most certainly NOT the objective.  The clear and sole objectives are mass homicide, the  instigation of social terror and unrest, and the attendant advancement of some political cause celebre.  THAT is the objectve - the death of the perp. is just the price paid to obtain it.  

Aristotle, buidling on what Socrates and Plato left for him, wrote an essay entitled A is A, the premise of which holds that all proper and effective analysis begins with accurate recognition and discernment of what is real.

I believe both these giants of Western thought might have labeled suicide bombers for what they are - HOMICIDE bombers and terrorists.

They would have done so not out of hatred or derision for any particular individual or group.  


They would have done so because they were interested in viewing things rightly.

Most people forty or younger probably think of Steve Martin as a movie actor.  His roles in solid hits like Cheaper By The Dozen, Father of The Bride, and The Pink Panther have established him as a reliable, if not spectacular fixture in Hollywood.
 

But people of my age will always first think of him as a stand-up comic who burst upon the pop culture scene in the late 1970's.  His signature white suit, banjo and stage props, and outrageously ground-breaking material were entertainment icons of the day.  A frequent guest host for Saturday Night Live, he was a kindred spirit with that ensemble crew of emerging superstars.  Fueled by the incomparable imagination of the show's writers they not only entertained; they shifted the tectonic plates of American entertainment, and redefined comedy as we know it.  Martin was one of the few hosts who could withstand the withering blasts of Belushi, Akroyd, Murray, and Radner, and hold his own as an equal talent.  One of his signature monologues was titled "getting small" - a reference to the use and effects of marijuana. 
 

This summer our family had a chance to get small - a trip to Colorado's fabulous Rocky Mountain National Park.  As always, the long drive provided some of our favorite memories, thereby proving Cervantes' maxim that the road is indeed better than the inn.  Two of America's greatest waterways were crossed, and as we viewed the mighty Missouri I told our kids of Lewis and Clark's mythological journey; a trek which began by pulling and poling their way UP that river, an effort that can only be considered super-human.  Our son's soul felt the pull of the tale, and he is now reading Undaunted Courage, Stephen Ambrose's chronicle of their epic quest.  On the return trip we crossed the Mississippi under the cloak of night, and thrilled to see that great artery illuminated by hundreds of moored boats, anchored in anticipation of fireworks on the Fourth.

Hiking up, down, and through the Park's mountains leaves no alternative other than to "get small".  Walking through forests of pine, the overarching trees forming a canopy that all but blocked the alpine sun and my aching feet delighting in their inch thick carpet of needles, I thought of Robert Jordan,  Ernest Hemingway's protagonist in the timelss tale of love, war, and betrayal - For Whom the Bell Tolls.  The end sees Jordan alone, facing his imminent death, and Hemingway's signature simplicity, "He could feel his heart beating against the pine needle floor of the forest".  
 

And the arduously magical climb to Sky Pond (pictured below), a five mile, three-thousand feet ascent that took us past roaring falls and cool-calm pools.  We watched a trout spawn, rolling on her side to fan her eggs into the stone-covered bottom.  We gazed slack-jawed at boulders the size of Winnebagos, sliced by glaciers out of the mountain stone like so much ham off a bone.  We marvelled at the fragile and delicate beauty of the wild flowers, growing just yards away from enormous mounds of snow.  Standing with your children at the exquisite waterfall before the final vertical climb to the Pond, heart in mouth as you watch them ascend that rock wall...........Gazing down the miles of valley just traversed as the sweat crystallizes on your shirt, trying vainly to sear the image into your consciousness.  I listened to Song for America by Kansas, my thirsty eyes drinking in the scene as Robbie Steinhard's soaringly exultant violin provided the perfect audible backdrop for that stunning vista.
  

And staring into the pounding torrent that is Alberta Falls, gazing transfixed into the green-blue pools and feeling the cool mist of the spray on my face.  I thought of Starbuck; Ahab's first mate in that greatest of novels, Herman Melville's Moby Dick.  His soul in torment over his growing awareness of Ahab's madness, Starbuck's words, murmered to the ocean as he gazed over the bow, came back to me - "'Loveliness unfathomable, as ever a lover say in a young bride's eye.  Tell me not of they teeth-tiered sharks or they kidnapping, cannibal ways.  Let faith oust fact, let fancy oust memory; I look deep down and do believe". 

And everywhere in the park, the sound of water; urgently probing and inexorably finding the shortest route downward.  The pristine, arctic calm of Sky Pond, the roar and spray of the mighty falls, the pastoral calm as it wends through the meadows of the exquisite Moraine. 

But burned most of all in the lens of my memory is the Big Thompson River.  Birthed by glacial melt atop Long's Peak nearly three miles above the sprawling cattle ranches of northeastern Colorado, it exits the the lovely Moraine, gathers volume and speed, and morphs yet again from a quietly soothing vein (below) into a raging torrent.  We sat for an hour on those boulders with our kids, and as I watched them; I knew their souls were being both humbled and expanded.  I thought back ten years to our first trip to the Park - standing in that exact spot, our son in a harness on my back.  I thought of the changes in my life in those ten years; the changes in our country and in our world.  I wondered if the four of us would come again to that spot in ten more years.  I thought of how much I love Rocky Mountain National Park and the Big Thompson River, and how I hope to return to it some day, perhaps then with a grandson upon my back. 


And I thought of the exquisite prose of F. Scott Fitzgerald, and his ending coda of The Great Gatsby; "so we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past".
 

And finally, I heard Walt Whitman's simplistically eloquent murmur from  Leaves of Grass.

"I hear America singing, the various carols I hear".

There are certain dead giveaway signs of getting old.  Do you audibly sigh when settling into a comfortable recliner?  Do you find youself going to bed about the same time you used to be heading out for the night?  Do you hear youself saying, "man - what is with this music today"?

Well - in the last few years I can plead guilty on all three counts.

To be sure - there are certainly plenty of good contemporary musicians out there.  Groups like Jimmy Eat World, The Killers, The Strokes, Cage the Elephant, and individual performers like Joe Bonamassa all offer great stuff.  And I am sure there are plenty of bands I have never heard of putting out compelling music as well.  But it speaks volumes of today's music scene (and yesterday's) that the number one selling CD in Europe is the re-release of The Rolling Stone's 1972 seminal double album Exile on Main Street, and the number one selling single is a never before released track on that new CD, Plundered My Soul.    

So much music today is devoid of anything meritorious.  Where is the texture and lyricism and blending of instruments?  And what about thematic content, imagery, and story telling that artists like Neil Young and Van Morrison routinely presented?  Well, as Donnie Brasco famously said, "FOGGEDABOUDIT".   Most contemporary music is driven by the two V's - Video and Volume; and so much of that video is little more than soft porn.  Lady Ga Ga may be ga ga, but she certainly is no lady.  And I submit her entire career would be impossible without video and YouTube, and if left to rely solely on her music, we would not so much as know her name.

All of this presented itself a few weeks ago when, driving to Michigan at 'O Dark Early - my family asleep in the van - my I-Pod tripped over a classic old song by Eric Clapton called, Promises.  It is one of the loveliest songs I have ever heard; a gentle but insistent rhythm guitar, a softly evocative lead guitar, simply advancing chord progressions, and tremulously playful harmonies between Clapton and Marcy Levy; Clapton's musky baritone, honed by countless smoke-filled club gigs in London, and Levy's redolant alto dancing around his lead.  Sadly, harmonies have all but disappeared from today's music.  
 

Many of the great rock and blues artists like Clapton also wrote and recorded great country songs.  Listening to Clapton I thought of his forays into country music, and the many similarities he shares with Rolling Stone guitarist, Keith Richards.
 

Both were founding members of the British Invasion that reshaped the sound of America's air waves and the texture of pop culture in the 1960's.  Both are legendary guitarists who left their personal signature on the sounds and signs of their time, their claxon-like, textured riffs standing as cornerstones of audible architecture.  Clapton was the reculsive prodigy; the strong, silent player.  As the decade of The Sixties slammed shut and The Stones dominated the music scence; Richards, with his egg-beater haircut, swaggeringly debauched life style, and gypsy camp fashions, became the personification of the anti-establishment counter culture.  Both men descended into the dark labrynth of heroin addiction, and both had the grit  to shake off their besotted lethargy, emerging like Theseus, unscathed if not unchanged.  And both loved the music of America - the blues and country, and incorporated it extensively into their own work. 

Richards insisted on a country influence for The Stones, and it can be heard in little known tracks like Country Honk, Sweet Virginia, You Got the Silver, Torn and Frayed, and Dead Flowers.  And Clapton, who turned out such incendiary riffs in the formative years of modern rock, was versatile and gifted enough to also record, amongst others, songs like Promises, a lilting, bouncy track which tells the story of a love that simply ran out of gas; fatigued and stressed by ended promises.  It is lovely - full of a world weary wistfulness. 

http://s0.ilike.com/play#Eric+Clapton:Promises:17164:s32369.16646.4892664.1.1.50%2Cstd_2765f1e7dff59f1e66c32e3aac82a26d

Click on the above link and give it a listen.  And compare it to what the rappers and ga ga's are turning out.  If you don't find yourself humming or singing along a bit, I might suggest a higher fiber diet.  

And while you're at it, play it loud enough so that no one hears you sigh when you sit down in that recliner.

"Well - you know how to read; now you need to learn to love to read".

I can still remember my Mother saying that to me as a boy.  And while this might not have proved the most important lesson my parents taught me, it has perhaps been the most cherished.   

http://wi-brookfield.civicplus.com/DocumentView.aspx?DID=645

Last Friday our daughter and some Key Club members helped the Friends of The Brookfield Public Library prepare for its anual book sale fund raiser.  Information about the sale and its remaining dates can be found at the above link.  It's a great chance to pick up some bargains and help a worthy cause at the same time.  Saturday morning I took our son there and was pleased to see it well attended.  For five dollars I walked out with the following four treasures:  Citizen Soldiers and Band of Brothers by Stephen Ambrose, Goodbye, Darkness by William Manchester, and My Losing Season by Pat Conroy.

The first three reflect my love of history in general, and in this case, military history.  Ambrose is superb and relates history in bight-sized, resonant pieces.  These two books tell the story of American GI's in World War Two's European Theater, which while led by titans such as Eisenhower and Patton, was fought and won by American GI's and British Tommies.  The American GI's were the grocer and hardware store clerk; the engineer and school teacher.  They were quite literally, "the man next door".  They fought, marched, ate, lived, and died in the snows of Belgium in that awful winter of 1945.  

Manchester is the greatest biographer/historian I have ever read.  His works are more scholarly than Ambrose's and his writing talents superior.  Manchester's insights were so penetrating, and the canvas of history he presented was so completely and richly painted that for me, he simply has no equal.  The Last Lion, his three volume biography of WInston Churchill** is so sweeping, and illuminating as to render any other author's work on that subject superfluous.  But Darkness was auto-biographical; a personal memoir of Manchester's experience in the Marine Corps and in the hell of Pacific Theater combat.  It is a searing tale; starkly and brutally honest, leaving no emotion or experience unexplored.  Manchester brings war right into your lap in this memoir, and conveys in unmistakable terms the strongest of all bonds that exist between human beings; the bond between men and women who serve together in combat, and live their daily lives in harms way. 

Lastly, My Losing Season by Pat Conroy is one of the most poignantly beautiful works I have ever encountered.  Those familiar with Conroy know that he does with words what Raphael did with a brush, bringing the landscape of human experience into prisms of lushly colored range and emotion.
 

But Season is not fiction - it is entirely auto-biographical, and tells the true story of Conroy's senior year season as point guard of the Citadel Bulldog's basketball team.   I loved the book 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 episodes, 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.    

I did learn to love to read.  And attendant to that love has been a life-long love of books.  The advent of technology and Kindles are changing yet another industry, and while I appreciate the convenience and portable power of a Kindle, I lament its coldness.  They will never replace the presence and reassurance of bound and printed books in my home, what Churshill referred to as his "old friends".   

Do youself and our library a favor and stop by the sale on one of the remaining dates.  In addition to the hundreds of books, there are CD's and DVD's for sale as well.

Enrich your life - enlarge your horizons.  And help a Brookfield institution at the same time. 

**William Manchester suffered a stroke, then died before completing the final volume.  His friend Paul Reid, personally chosen by Manchester and using the thousands of pages of his research notes, is completeing the final volume titled, Defender of The Realm.   Look for its publication in 2011.

I wrote a post in June titled Father's Day; a fond remembrance of and tribute to my Dad.  That post appears in the column immediately to the right. 

A friend who read it was kind enough to suggest and then loan me a book called Messages From My Father, by New Yorker columnist, Calvin Trillin.  It was an absolutely delightful read, full of whimsical remembrances and winsome reflections; a "pocket rocket" of a book.  "Pocket" in that it is small and short; "rocket" in that it is packed with good and powerful content.  I cannot recommend it highly enough.
 

The differences between Abe Trillin and my Dad were significant.  My Dad was raised as a Roman Catholic in Kohler, Wisconsin; Trillin's father was raised in the Jewish faith in Kansas City.  But it was their similarities I found compelling.  Both were the children of immigrants, and both had humorous and singular proclivities; habits that could border on the maddening.  But what was most compelling was the bedrock sense of conviction and purpose they shared, and predicated their lives upon. 


A more poignant and personal connection was that while growing up, Calvin Trillin was known in his house as "Bud" or "Buddy"  My father's given name was Rene, but he was always known as Bud.  Conversely, our son has been known in our home and circles as "Buddy", a name so ubiquitously adherrant that even his elementary school Princpal came to use that monniker when referring to him.  As a professional writer, Trillin explored the depths of his father's life and creeds with greater clarity and skill than I, and therin lies the strength of my recommendation for this book.  Each page is filled with pathos, heart-warming anecdotes, and at times, laugh out loud humor.  I read this book on vacation in the early mornings as I watched the sun rise over Michigan's Portage Lake, my only companion a mug of strong coffee.  I frequently laughed out loud, prompted by Abe Trillin's proclivities, and his son's skill at relating them.  When you are alone reading a book and experience audible laughter - that's when you KNOW something is funny. 

But the overriding takeaway of this book is the the realization that the life his father lived still speaks to Calvin Trillin; hence the name of the book.  Its greatest gift is that it underscores the importance and impact of a life well and faithfully lived; and the irreplacable legacy that provides across generations. 

If you are a father or know one, do yourself a favor and read this book.  It has me thinking about what "messages" my kids will receive from me, long after they are gone from our home, and ultimately, after I am gone from their lives.

And that is something worth thinking about.

What is your answer to the question, "What is America's biggest problem"?

Immigration law?  The terrorist threat?  The Federal defecit?  Funding for education?  An oil-spewing hole in the Gulf floor?  A second stimulus package?

Nope - none of these even come close for me.   I think America's biggest problem is too few fathers in general, and specifically, too few like the one I had.

To paraphrase Toqueville, my father was a great man because he was a good man.  I had the honor of delivering his eulogy, and I read that oration again this morning.  And as I did, I reflected on the blessing it was to be raised by him.   

I have traveled the world and have had the good fortune to see many things and to know many people.  But more than anyone I have ever known, my Dad personified these words of Churchill: "All great things are simple, and many can be expressed in single words:  freedom, justice, honor, duty, mercy, hope". 

My Dad's given name was Rene, but he was known as "Bud".  The home he was raised in still stands on Church Street in Kohler, just a short walk behind the American Club.  That house is a metaphor of him - quiet, understated, strong.  And while it is true that he lived his life in a simpler time, he anchored and predicated that life upon such simple themes as Churchill articulated.  And he never let life's complications or viscitudes weaken his bedrock orientation towards such truths and realities.

Most people who briefly met my father rarely gave him a second thought - he didn't have much of a personality.  And that's because he wasn't interested in personality; he was interested in character.  Personality makes its instant impression, but character imparts a lasting one.   Subsequently, those who came to know him never forgot him, a reality I continue to learn in conversations with people who did, and whose lives he impacted in such tangible ways.  I had such a conversation recently with a man who used to be our neighbor.  I was two at the time this story unfolded, and completely oblivious to it.  This man shared with me the story of how he lost his first wife to cancer, leaving him alone to face life and the raising of his two young children.  He shared the entire story, summing up with the emotion-choked comment, "your Dad couldn't save my wife.  But he saved me".    

Things like right and wrong, integrity, and duty were not just words to my Dad - they were the lighthouses by which he navigated the seas of life; the mooring slips to which he anchored his decisions.  He was as uncomplicated as a glass of water - and as strong as the torrents of Niagra.

I'll say it again..............What America needs more than any of the things in my first paragraph is more Dads like the one I had.

Happy Father's Day, Dad.

The United States Congress is woefully ignorant on this topic.  That's not a shot at the Democrats, for I would levy the same criticism of the Republican suits that once lounged in the sunshine of a strong majority.  Just as Nancy Pelosi might glower imperially at the camera if faced with a question on this topic, so too would the moribund figure of Denny Hastert have balefully blundered his way through a response to the same query.  It's not so much that they would resent the question - they simply wouldn't understand it.       

Washington's ignorance of the laws of economics has been pandemic for decades, and has flourished on both sides of the political aisle.  The formation and deployment of capital is the Sine Qua Non of economic development, and it is time to give this matter consideration as the Badger State approaches an election season.  There are business leaders and entrepreneurs out there sitting on capital, one of the big reasons for the stalled "recovery".  They are waiting................waiting to see what happens to the environment for deployed capital.  And it is certainly what the managers of Harley Davidson are pondering.  It is going to take more than rhetoric to keep Harley here.  It is going to take an environment that both fosters and rewards the deployment of capital. 

As for the formation of capital, the last few years have actually witnessed the reverse, as the balance sheets of so many financial institutions all but imploded.  Balance sheets are the lagging indicator of a business; a barometer less sexy but far more fundamental than the income statement.  In the short term, income statements hold sway.  This is a sad reality that, along with Congress' eggregious administration of Fanny and Freddie May, Greenspan's decade long, Bachnalian binge of easy money, and unfettered human greed on the part of lenders AND borrowers, was the foundation of the housing bust and financial meltdown.  The income statements of financial institutions that were delivering such siren-song results, were allowed to achieve primacy over balance sheets that betold a more sobering tale.  Most banks that took Federal bailout money didn't use it to "spur the economy".  They used it to shore up balance sheets left torn and tattered by a frenzy of bad lending, debt collateralization, and weak management.    

As to its deployment - capital is a great white shark.  It is never resting, always moving; inexorably searching for its next meal.  The matter of capital deployment is a long-term issue, and decisions about it are measured in decades; a reality that Harley's managers are considering at this very moment.  Those who own or manage capital are constantly looking to better deploy it, a dynamic that cannot be obviated by legislation.  Human behavior and human nature have not changed over the millenia.  That is why I believe Ludwig von Mises was the greatest economist.  He titled his enormous treatise on economics Human Action, for the great Austrian understood that economics was at its core, the study of how individuals and organizations make decisions.   

As you reflect upon your choice for Governor and legislators between now and November, I would submit that the criteria of capital formation and deployment should loom large in your considerations.  By all means lets differ on what candidates might offer the best solutions.  But let's not debate the singular importance of this criteria.

Harper Lee's timeless book,  To Kill A Mockingbird turns fifty this month.   It is a cornerstone of American letters; firmly ensconced on my short list of "greatest novels".   And in the broader culture and media, it stands tied with Gone With the Wind as the greatest book/movie combination of all time.  

Lee's winsome and lyrical prose drips off the pages of Mockingbird like so much honey from a comb.   It is a masterpiece of American literature, a coming of age story, set against the backdrop of racism and the drama of the human spirit in a small southern town.  

Lee gave us one of the great fictional characters of the last half-century - Atticus Finch.  A widowed attorney doing his best to raise his two children in the aforementioned setting, ably assisted by the staunch and unbending Calpurnia; a black maid whose readiness to discipline and scold the Finch children was only exceeded by her unshakable committment to their welfare.  

And who of us that have seen the film will ever forget Gregory Peck's understated and utterly captivating portrayal of the great Atticus?  The next time you feel inclined to apply the descriptive "movie star" to someone like Brad Pitt, stop and recall Mr. Peck's performance. 
 

The book has a deeper connection for me, however; a connection to my own childhood.  It was introduced to me in elementary school by one of the two finest teachers I ever had, a woman by the name of Harriet Harper.  The other one was Miss Patricia Jones.  To these two individuals (and my parents) I owe a debt that cannot be calculated - my life-long love of reading and history.  

It has always been a curious coincidence to me that the great author and my great teacher shared the name of "Harper".  Harper Lee was a queen of American fiction.  Harriet Harper was a superb teacher; a graceful, dignified woman whose raised eyebrow could quell us such that she had no need of a raised voice.  As her students came to learn of her character and her unflagging committment to us, our primary motivation in the classroom became pleasing her.  That's how good she was.

Harriet knew that Mockingbird's content might be a reach for elementary school students, and that we might miss its deeper themes or passages.  But she focused on bringing the story down to our level, and I can still hear her saying, "you should read this book several times throughout your life".  It didn't stop her from setting the beauty of Lee's story in our minds, or discussing her writing skills and use of language.  And most of all, it didn't stop her from displaying the nobility of Atticus' character before our young and developing psyches.   

Harriet Harper was a giant, sadly felled to cancer some years ago.  More happily, I can report that I still correspond with "Miss Jones", and recently received a wonderful gift from her - a portrait book of Winston Churchill's paintings.  Though married for decades and known by a different surname, she will ever be "Miss Jones" to me.  

If you have never read this treasure don't walk - run to the library.  And while you are there see if they have the DVD of the movie as well.  

It's time for me to heed Harriet's suggestion, and read this wonderful book again.  It's time to watch the movie with our kids, and share with them the memories I have of elementary school.

And it's time to tell them about Harriet Harper, Patricia Jones, and Harper Lee. 

We recently returned from a tremendous trip to the Rocky Mountains, the subject of which might prove fodder for a subsequent submission.   We drove there and back, taking us across a great breadth of this Country, and as the miles clicked away, I thought about our Country, its history, and given the season of the Fourth, its founding.

A friend of mine lent me a tremendous book last winter entitled Vindicating the Founders - Race, Sex, Class, and Justice in the Origins of America.  Written by Thomas G. West, a professor of politics at the University of Dallas, it is a scholarly and penetrating analysis.  As its title suggests, his work is a vindication of The Founders with respect to their reasoning, rationale, and ultimately their work in laying the legal, political, and social foundations of our Country.  Specifically, Mr. West serves as an erudite and articulate apologist for the work of the Founders in the areas identified by his book's title: race, sex, class, and justice; a dynamic which has probably rendered him as "persona non grata" in much of his peer group.   

It has become not only fashionable, but virtually "di rigeur" in some circles to trash the lives, character, work, and results of The Founders.  Nowhere is this more true than in the halls of America's Universities where,  while noting the many outstanding exceptions like Mr. West, the general rule of our country's educational elite, protected by their tenure and substantial compensation, is to turn their focus to debilitating and denigrating the work of The Founders.  The motivations behid this "trashing" are many, and cannot be explored in this brief piece.  But its reality is in large part what makes Mr. West's work so refreshing.  

My own opinion is that, while recognizing the very real failings of early American society and the men and women that shaped our Country, the most odious of which was obviously slavery (a practice that many Founders railed against and worked to end),  the people who founded this Country and laid its political and social foundations were, as a group, the most educated, careful, and penetratingly analyitical in our history.  Their knowledge of politics, history, law, philosophy, and human nature was profound, and was collectively reflected in every document they authored or commentary they offered.  

There can be little question that some of the spiritual beliefs of The Founders were inseparable from their view of human nature and history - their "world view" as it were.  But contrary to what some in America's Evangelical movement believe, America was not founded as a "Christian Nation".  Rather, its cornerstones were carefully crafted and laid as a secular, independent political entity.  For what is now approaching three centuries, America has been blessed by a number of  phenomena:  things such as two enormous oceans girding our shores, a cultural quilt woven and nurtured by the input of several different cultures, abundant natural resources.......But none of these blessings have accumulated to our aggregate benfefit more than the system of government they bequethed to us, with its beautifully crafted system of "checks and balances", its insistence upon limitations of the reach of the Federal Government and protection of State's rights, and its foundational anchor of the recongition of man's inherent capacity to do wrong.   

James Madison, primary author of the Federalist papers once quipped, "if men were angels - none of this would be necessary".

Happy Fourth of July to all.

We were fortunate enough to go to Florida over spring break and we drove straight through on the way home.  An arduous drive, but not without its delights; chief amongst which were some great family time and seeing a previously unviewed region of our Country.

While streaming north through Nashville, the seventy mile per hour traffic suddenly hit a parking lot, as I-65 North was confoundingly congested due to the hardening of that great, four lane artery down to a single lane.  We quickly opted for "the road less travelled"; I-24 West through northwestern Kentucky and southern Illinois.  Despite our GPS' incessant scolding for ignoring her instructions, it proved to be a great decision.

I-24 is a two lane road in excellent condition, and the fetid heat of congested, urban traffic quickly evaporated within a few miles of Nashville.  Taking us through some lovely and pastoral countryside, the landscape was in the full flush of spring.  Lush and gently rolling, it was as if a celestial carpet layer had placed a quilt of emerald upon the entire region.  

While approaching Paducah I noticed a woman walking through the fields and orchards of her lovely farm, and immediately thought of the enchanting and melancholy song Alone on the Farm from Sidney Pollack's epic film, Out of Africa.  I cued up the movie's sound track on my I-Pod and gave a listen to that achingly beautiful score as we rolled northwesterly towards home.  Written specifically for the film by John Barry, it is superb, and every bit the equal of that enormous film.  The great composer crafted songs that can pull the hardest of hearts out of the tightest of chests.  

Out of Africa is the last great epic I have seen that did not involve technology.  Pollack's masterful film was based on the true story and writings of Karen Blixen (Isak Dinesen), which told of her trek from Denmark to early Twentieth Century, colonial Africa.  The movie details her marriage of convenience, her move to Africa, her attendant failed efforts to establish a coffee plantation, and her heartbreaking romance with the unable to settle down, Twentieth Century hating big-game hunter, Denys Finch Hatton. 

The roles of Blixen and Finch Hatton were immortalized by two of the screen's biggest stars - Meryl Streep and Robert Redford.  From an acting standpoint I always thought Streep blew Redford right off the set, but there is no denying the great leading man's presence in this movie, and in retrospect it is hard to imagine anyone else in that role.  But despite their abilities and presence, it was the continent and the music that took center stage in this film.  Pollack's thirsty, wide angle lens drank in all of Africa's noble and savage beauty, and John Barry's score, using a minimilast ensemble of strings, oboe, and french horn, remains one of the loveliest pieces of music I have ever encountered. 

I wondered about the woman as we drove past..............Was she another Blixen, faced with heartbreak and tragedy?  Or was she a noble heartland wife and mother, secure and happy on her beautiful land? 

I'll never know.

And I'll never again listen to Barry's lovely music without remembering the imagery of that woman and her farm.

In Malcolm Gladwell's fascinating book Outliers, the author describes the community of Roseta, Pennsylvania, and offers up statistics as to the remarkable health and longevity of its residents.  In a considerably more difficult and scholarly work, Robert Nisbet chronicled a study of governmental institutions and our innate quest for community in his 1953 book, The Quest for Community.

A couple of weeks ago the front page of Brookfield Now carried a picture of the Arrow of Light Ceremony, held at Brookfield Elementary school.  This ceremony marks the point of transition from Cub Scouts to Boy Scouts, and Barb and I attended so as to participate with our son.  But we also went to express our appreciation to the men and women who have invested so much of themselves in him, and in the boys of our community.

The ceremony was steeped in Indian lore, capped by an archer dressed as a Chief firing an arrow into a target as the name of each boy was called.  During the ceremony all men in the audience who had achieved the level of Eagle Scout were called up on stage for recognition and comment.  The Eagle Scouts included our son's Pack Leader John Urban, Brookfield Central biology teacher Larry Hipp, Scott Teerlinck, and other community residents.  I fell well short of this distinction, but did enough Scouting to know what a tremendous accomplishment it is; certainly a lifetime achievement deserving of recognition.

I want to again say thank you to these leaders for so many things:  for showing the boys there is more to life than Wii's and PSP's and I-Pods, for showing them the world of Pinewood Derbys and rain-gutter regattas, the world of rope-bridges and camp fires.  Our technology is marvelous and certainly has its place in our lives.  But it cannot produce the joy that teaches, or create memories that imprint themselves upon one's very consciousness.  It cannot teach what tireless Cub Scout volunteer Kathy Otto described as "good old-fashioned skills".  And most of all, it cannot provide that most precious and vanishing of commodities - a sense of wonder in the mind and heart of a boy. 

And so I say a heartfelt THANK YOU to Kathy Otto, Jeff Heilman, and Mark and Kathy Kindler.  And to John and Kristin Urban, to George and Laurie Czechowski, to T.J. and Kate Roche, to Tony and Kristin Lillibridge, and to all the other Scout leaders and their families that were there that night.  I say thank you for your sacrifice of treasure, talent, and time on behalf of our community's boys and families.

In America today we have many needs and challenges. 

But there is no need as great as the one for more people like these.

"I'd sit alone, and watch your light - My only friend, through teenage nights.

And everything, I had to know - I heard it on my radio"

The opening lyrics of Queen's fabulous song, Radio Ga Ga.  I heard it this weekend for the first time in many years as it came up on a random play on my I-Pod during a long run on a treadmill.  So many memories rushed back at me...............  

The first was of the night I saw Queen in February, 1977 at the Toledo Sports Arena.  I remember it vividly; the drive down from Michigan, the amped and fueled crowd, the absolutely electric effect the staccatoed, opening chords of Keep Yourself Alive had on the crowd.  No one, not even Mick Jagger, commanded and entertained a live audience like Queen front-man Freddie Mercury.  Jagger's performances, though spectacular, were more scripted and contrived.  Mercury's were more spontaneous and audience-connecting.  So enormous was his talent that it surged over and through him, flowing out to the audience; no more to be restrained than the tide. 

The combination of his nova-like talent and visually stunning appearance morphed into a charismatic on-stage presence.  Songs like Killer Queen, Seven Seas of Rhye, Bohemian Rhapsody, Year of 39, Under Pressure, Tie Your Mother Down, and so many others captivated a generation of listeners at the very point of transition from the blues/rock based British invasion, to the more techno-pop driven sounds of the 70's.  Of all the lead men who performed in this era of unrivaled musical production, Mercury was by far the most accomplished singer.  His song-writing - building contemporary themes on a foundation of classical piano traning - was the brains and his voice the brawn that drove Queen to three hundred million albums sold, and a secure place on Rock's Mount Olympus.  

The second memory I had was of Mercury crooning the words of Radio Ga Ga to a packed Wembley Stadium in Bob Geldof's 1985 production - Live Aid.  From the moment he walked on stage in white Levis, a white muscle shirt and bicep-band, and white guitar, he held the crowd in the palm of his hand, orchestrating their swaying and clapping like some enormous musical puppet-master.  Anyone watching the show knew that he achieved what entertainers and public speakers call "projection" - an intimate connection with a large and expansive audience.  After less than a thirty minute set, the world had what is regarded by many as the greatest live performance in rock history.

But the song so grabbed my attention on the treadmill because I had forgotten the lyrics, evocative and wistful, wishing for a simpler time and bemoaning music's passing from an audio to a visually driven media:
 

"We watch the shows, we watch the stars - On Video, for hours and hours

We hardly need to use our ears - How music changes through the years".

Even as I ran and listened, one of the TV's at the health club was as always, tuned to a music video station, cranking out its endless array of cheap and tawdry productions; no more than a menu of gyrating hard-bodies and ever more outrageous costumes.  I wondered if Aretha Franklin, one of the most gifted singer/performers of my generation, could make it today.  She was super-cool and fabulously gifted, but certainly less than a beauty.  No - the Queen of Soul would not have done well in visual media; to her credit she probably would not have cared.  Drummer Roger Taylor and Mercury wrote Radio Ga Ga in the early 80's, when MTV was just hitting its stride.  I wondered what they might think of what I was watching here in the good old 21st Century.

Music has always been an extraordinarily powerful component of our culture, and most particularly with our young people.  The ancient Greeks loved music - but warned of its hypnotic ability to hold sway over human emotions.  Imagine their thoughts had they been able to conceive of the added power of the visual tsunami that now accompanies it.  I am an audiophile and listen to music regularly, but the attendant claptrap that is now accompanying current releases is all but drowning our imaginations in a sea of muck and mire. 

The last memories the song evoked for me was of the role radio has played in my life - before the endless parade of stultifying visual technology.  I thought of the old Philco clock radio in my room, with the "flip-over" numerals instead of digital numbers.  I thought of nights spent listening to the fabulous Eddie Doucette call those late night, west coast Bucks' games, and my Dad gently telling me to go to sleep.  I thought of college; waking up to WJR in Detroit - "the great voice of the Great Lakes".  And at night, listening to WRIF and its hilarious D.R.E.A.D. program - Detroit Rockers Engaged in the Abolition of Disco.  I thought of listening to all the greats of that era as they poured out through the radio, and having to capture for myself the imagery the artist might have intended, rather than having it forced upon my weary eyes.  

On November 23, 1991 Freddie Mercury announced what was widely assumed to be true - that he had  the AIDS virus.  He died in suburban London the very next day.  

But his voice still reverberates...........

"Radio it's true.................Someone still loves you"

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.  

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.

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.