Brookfield Basics

Over the course of the last twenty years the two governing parties in Washington DC have morphed into a gelatinous political goo.  This goo has subsequently congealed into a dough so homogenous as to render the once proud and distinctive parties all but indistinguishable from one another.  Both are so addicted to the drug of incumbency, and both are so devoted to the god of big government that it is difficult to discern any measurable differences.  I am convinced the only cure for this is term limits, but that is the subject of another column.  

But one of those few remaining criteria is the matter of judicial appointments, and with millions of kids in America returning  to school amidst the heat of a Presidential race, we see a case that reveals the importance of this issue.

In April I wrote about a ruling of the California Supreme Court in which the Justices opined that "parents do not have a Constitutional right to home school their children" (see link at bottom).  First I need to correct an error in that article, as it was a California District Court of Appeals that made that ruling - NOT the State Supreme Court.  I had read an article which reported it as a Supreme Court decision, and I wanted to acknowledge and apologize for the subsequent error in my posting. 

In that initial ruling the Appellate Court decided that parents or guardians would be allowed to home school only if they first received a certification from the State, thereby making their choice and conscience hostage to the approval of the California's edcuational beaurocracy.  Parents across America choose the option of home schooling for a variety of reasons ranging from academic performance, to spiritual beliefs, to protecting the physical safety of their kids.  The notion of these parents being able to exercise their rights only after being properly "certified" is as invasive as it is alarming.  Thankfully the same Court reversed its decision, and two weeks ago ruled that home-schooling parents will NOT need to be certified by the State.  The Court even went so far as to say that "such matters are best decided by the legislature...."

A high Court exercising judicial restraint and recognizing the proper distinctions between itself and elected legislatures is a rare and welcome event. 

This particular issue will come back.  But for now the causes of educational freedom and individual liberty won a significant victory in California. 

It is a victory that has national implications.  

http://blogs.brookfieldnow.com/brookfieldbasics/archive/2008/04/03/bone-of-their-bone-and-flesh-of-their-flesh.aspx

We can talk about water and public policy all we want.  But no policy will be effective until we as citizens - individual by individual and family by family, begin to develop and exercise a RESPECT for this vital and limited resource.  

In 1667 John Milton wrote Paradise Lost, an epic poem of theology and linguistic beauty.  If Milton had been with us last week he might have been moved to author the sequel to his great work.

The eastern shoreline of Lake Michigan, from Grand Haven to the Mackinac Bridge, is some of the most spectacular country in America, and last week we were again blessed with a family vacation there.  The Indians of the upper Midwest named the Lake "Missi-Ken", meaning in their lyrical language - 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, 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.  We marvelled as the sun plunged down the horizon like some great, incandescent eye, illuminating the sky with colors and shapes so lush 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 past, 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.  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 encapsulate 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 pound of the surf in a soul-piercing 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.

On June 19th I wrote about the false notion of "obscence profits" in a blog entitled The Latest Rant About Oil.  This posting can be considered part two of that article. 

In the hedonistically debauched days of Imperial Rome, Emperors like Lucius Aurelius Commodus (likeness above) staged wildly exotic and violent spectacles in the Coliseum in order to placate and divert their citizenry.  Before the carnage began, horse drawn carts drove along the earthen floor of the stadium, as minions of the Empire dispensed free bread to the screaming hordes.  Such scenes of mayhem and largess were transcendantly captured in Ridley Scott's film, Gladiator; one of the few movies of the last twenty years that I would preface with the descriptive "great". 

Last week's announcement from the Presidential Campaign trail of a plan to extort money from Exxon and her corporate sisters, the proceeds of which would be distributed to America's families at the rate of one-thousand dollars per (this despite the fact that many of those families are already the owners of said proceeds), harkens us back to the days of the world's first Senate - that of ancient Rome.  It represents such tawdry pandering that it does not even warrant the label policy.  And it clearly illustrates that most pandemic of Washington afflictions - the ignorance of basic economics.

Now in fairness, "Robinhood-ism" as public policy is hardly a new phenomenon, and ignorance of economics has plagued both sides of Washington's political aisle for decades.  And certainly many politicains have used oil companies as easy press conference fodder.  But this latest gambit is so brazen that it needs to be challenged for what it is.

By all means let's debate the issues of Exxon's profits and our energy predicament.  But if this is the result, perhaps our candidates would be more honest to begin construction of a coliseum in our nation's capitol.

And right next door to it - an enormous bakery.

The decision has been made and Aldi's is coming.

There was no reason to deny Aldi's occupancy of that building, and the Town Board's unanimious vote to appove it showed good sense and judgment.  Competition is efficacious for consumers, and our community will now have an additional option for grocery shopping.  This can only be a good thing, particularly at a time of rampant inflation in food prices. 

But what I want to explore is the reaction this matter generated.  When this issue was being considered by the Town Board, Brookfield Now offered an on-line forum where people were able to enter their opinions and views on whether or not the Town should allow Aldi's to open a store at Bluemound Plaza.  The comments were not only prolific, many were intense, almost incendiary.  There is no question that it exposed a tap-root of emotion and sentiment, most of which was rabidly anti-Brookfield.  

Perception is reality, so I say - fair enough. 

But it got me wondering about the people that live in this community.  To hear us described on the pages of NOW, we are little more than affluent elitists, langorously idling away our time in hammocks, all while wondering if our Great Danes need grooming, or agonizing over the quandry of whether to use the Jag or the Mercedes for our drive to the club.  There is no question that the Town and City of Brookfield and the Village of Elm Grove are home to some people of considerable means.  But the more relevant question remains this - does that reality define the collective character of the individuals comprising these communities?

The financial means of my parents was at best, modest.  They carved out a good life for their family, often denying themselves things that today are deemed necessities, so that their kids would have what they needed.  While we never lacked for anything critical, it was clear to us as we grew up that at times they struggled financially.  This background was the source of a major culture shock when I attended a small, liberal arts college in Michigan.  There was a lot of money there - and I mean BIG money.  Suddenly I was hanging with and dating eighteen year old kids who had nicer cars than my parents, had grown up in country clubs and prep. schools, and had never once in their young lives encountered the notion of financial limitation.  I admit to having some resentment at the time.  Who are you, I thought, to have all these things that my parents didn't have?

While there I got to know some of the wealthiest families in the United States, and as I did a reality became clear.  Many of them were also amongst the finest people I had ever met; the content of their character, to paraphrase Martin Luther King, exceeding the considerable content of their bank accounts.  And of course some of them were cruds.  But I came to realize that it was not their money or their cars or their club memberships that defined them, any more than our LACK of those things defined my family.  It was the content of their character that defined them. 

I thought a lot about this as I read the comments that peppered the pages of Brookfield Now.  I kept trying to reconcile those horrific descriptions with the people I know in this area.  I couldn't do it, and I still can't. 

Most of the people in Brookfield that Barb and I know work hard every day, doing their best to care for their families and to support their schools and churches.  We know countless people who give generously of their time and financial resources to charitable and humanitarian causes, often denying themselves rest, leisure, or financial betterment in order to do so.  They cut their grass and shovel their driveways and care for their homes and look after their kids and watch out for their neighbors and try to use less gasoline, and guess what - they even try to save money on groceries. 

I am glad that Aldi's is going to be in our community and am certain my family will patronize it.

But let's not get so swept away that we believe the presence or absence of a particular grocery store defines the character of thousands of people.

I'm a big Sheryl Crow fan and heard her song Steve McQueen the other day.  It's half anthem of rocker-rebellion and half tribute to a Hollywood King of Cool. 

Crow's music is great but her lyrics might be better, and I was struck by the following lines from the song: 

"We've got rock stars in the White House, but all our pop stars look like porn.

All my heroes hit the highway - they don't hang out here anymore".

All our pop stars look like porn...................

A walk down most grocery store check-out lines confirms that, and recent news on the pop culture front speaks of our continued slide.  It goes without saying that cultural erosion is not a gender issue, but this latest news happened to involve Hollywood and young women.  I see there are two prime time cable shows that are going to be based on the lives and  - ah - careers of high priced prostitutes.  LOVELY - I suppose we should send Eliot Spitzer a thank you note for this enlightened programming development.

So what's the big deal?

Well - you don't need to look very far to see the impact that our entertainment saturated and media-driven culture is having on real life.  In New Jersey recently a group of young teenage girls were discovered to be circulating topless pictures of themselves throughout their middle school for no other reason than they thought it would be chique.  Meanwhile at a High School Prom in Texas, a female student was barred from attending the dance because her dress was too risque (kudos to the school officials).  I was doing some paperwork and watching the news when they showed a picture of the young lady.  The - er - dress, was something you would expect to see on a Paris runway model - not so much a garment as a few strategically located pieces of fabric.

Regardless of where we fall on the social/political spectrum, I believe most of us can recognize such developments as inherently negative and disturbing.  Our pop culture is teaching America's girls that the way to be desirable is to display themselves as street toughs who scorn any hint of reserve or, dare I say it, feminine charm.  

And that's kind of a shame, don't you think?

I did not think I would ever see a tennis match as good as the Wimbledon Final of 1980, which matched the stoic Swede Bjorn Borg against the brash and temperamental New Yorker John McEnroe.  I remain too jealously protective of the sports legends of my youth to say it was better, but honesty forces me to acknowledge that last Sunday's Wimbledon final between the Swiss Roger Federer and the Spaniard Rafael Nadal was at least its equal.

I played competitive tennis about a hundred years ago, and still hold fond memories of my old wooden Jack Kramer Pro-Staff with its brown diamonds on the white neck.  I wasn't anything special, but played enough to understand and appreciate what is required to play the game.  As I watched these two play I slowly entered a state of disbelief.  The shots that they hit were simply that - unbelievable.  The speed, strength, reflexes, timing, and conditioning of these two players left me speechless.  The spectacular became commonplace in this match, as both players routinely executed shot after seemingly un-makeable shot.  John McEnroe, who provided outstanding color commentary for NBC and was the Number One player in the world in the 1980's, marvelled as well.  Agape with admiration, he openly fumbled for  words to convey to the audience the sheer brilliance that was on display.  My nine year old son added in understated simplicity, "Man - they are playing HARD".

In addition to their physical prowess, the match was nothing short of epic in its setting, its theater, and its execution. Like Yankee Stadium, Churchill Downs, and Augusta National, Center Court at the All England Club is one of the hallowed cathedrals of sport.  Federer entered the tournament as one of only two men to ever win five consecutive Wimbledons, Bjorn Borg being the other.  But just a short month ago, Roger the Great had not only been beaten, but dominated by Nadal on the clay courts of the French Open, and pundits of the game were openly speaking of a "passing of the torch".  In the match itself, Federer was down two sets to love in his bid to win an unprecedented sixth consecutive Wimbledon singles title.  But he clawed his way back from the precipice not once, but twice, as he won the third set in a tie-breaker, and battled back from the seemingly insurmountable defecit of 2-5 in the fourth set tie-breaker.  Fittingly, the fifth set also required extra games, and the longest Men's Final in Wimbledon history ended with Nadal prevailing 9-7 in set five, bringing to an end Federer's pursuit of the sport's Holy Grail.

It was the stuff of legend - almost mythological.  And as he did Hector and Achilles, Homer would have been proud to immortalize these two combatants with his pen. 

That's because even more than their incredible talent and athleticism, one is drawn to the character of these two men.  In today's world of sport, dominated by preeners and strutters and spewers of trash-talk, these two combatants are soft-spoken gentlemen, their respect for each other and for their sport as obvious as it is enormous. 

To say "it's a shame anyone had to lose" is to speak a cliche.  But phrases become cliches because they are true.

And this one was never more true than last Sunday in London.

Ford - General Motors - Chrysler.  Once American icons - now the Dwindling Three.

Before I go any further I want to indicate how serious this matter is to me on a personal level.  I work for a company that does a lot of business with the domestic automobile manufacturers.  Many people that I am happy to call friends and co-workers depend on that business for their livelihoods.  So I write with that sobering backdrop.

Over fifteen years ago I said it was not a question of "if" the domestic auto-makers would go bankrupt, it was a matter of "when".  Many laughed at me at the time, but a changing world, Dephi Automotive's Chapter Eleven filing, and open talk of GM filing has dampened everyone's sense of humor on this point.  About five years ago I said that the sooner they go bankrupt the better, a seemingly heartless comment, but one I stand by.  Why do I say this would be a good thing?  Because it is only under the operational rules of bankruptcy that these companies have even a ghost of a chance.

They cannot possibly survive the current environment.  That environment has been created by forty years of self-delusion on the part of management and the union - supposed business titans who thought their massive hordes of cash would enable them to ride out any storm, or that their political "cover" would protect them.  And it has been created by forty years of both of these parties living in the purple haze of halcyon days goneby, thinking they could somehow suspend economic reality.  

Today, many point to the rocketing cost of gasoline, with its lethal impact on the sales of more profitable SUV's and trucks, as the problem.  But while the recent trend in fuel prices is certainly a significant added pressure, they are only serving to HASTEN the end, not CAUSE it.  Detroit was well on the road to perdition before gas hit three and four dollars. 

So what is the cause?

GM has five former employees receiving free health care and pensions for every one current employee.  Now you can debate the "fairness" of this and the "policy" of this and the "politics" of this as long as you want.  What you cannot debate are the actuarial realities associated with that staggering measurement.  And so today, board rooms full of managers who KNOW what is going to happen suspend their disbelief as they preside over their ever-shrinking cash reserves. 

There was a time in our world and in our country when conditions could support paying people for sixty years when the span of their actual working years was half that.  That time is long gone - a reality that will see play itself out across many sectors of our economic and political life in the coming decades. 

It's not about politics anymore. 

It's about demographics and the immutability of economic law.

"And to this Declaration we pledge our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor".

Our kids' favorite movie is National Treasure.  It's a tremendous film containing action, humor, and lots of history.  It's proof that Hollywood can still put out good stuff without spewing truckloads of sex, violence, or special effects.

There is a great scene where Nicholas Cage is in the National Archives, reading a few lines from the original Declaration of Independence.  After doing so he pauses reflectively, and them comments to his companion, "you know - people don't talk like that anymore".

Take a minute or two this weekend and read the document that Jefferson authored and so many signed.  And then give some thought to the fact that when they pledged their lives, forutnes, and sacred honor, they valued most what they mentioned last - their honor.  These were not casual words glibly penned for dramatization.  Many of those men would forfeit their lives at the end of a British rope for the audacity of their actions.

Nicholas Cage was right - we don't talk like that anymore.

Maybe remembering those who did will help us to.

Happy Fourth of July to everyone.

This is my one-hundredth posting.  I don't keep track; the only reason I know is that the software of this program tracks the number of entries and displays it on a file-manager page.  So - I thought I would do some reflecting on the last ninety-nine entries.

Local stories, public health, music, economics, politics, sports, history, and reflections on our culture have constituted my subject matter.  In no particular order, the five most viewed postings of 2008 have been:

Person of the Year - A look at the life and death of Benazir Bhutto - the assassinated Prime Minister of Pakistan.

Nearer His God - A tribute to our American Churchill - William F. Buckley, who died a few months ago.

Out of Balance - Sports and Forensics in Brookfield - A look at the disturbing levels of local media attention paid, and not paid, to these two activities.

Time to Say Goodbye - A farewell and tribute to Brett Favre.

Wish List - A musical review of this Pearl Jam song, combined with a whimsical recounting of a cherished ride to school with my daughter; a life-long memory that I will always associate with this song.

The article I put the most time into was last year's three-part series on the Virginia Tech. Massacre entitled A Bed of Straw.  Perhaps my personal favorites have been the ones about music, and in particular, Wish List.  What I consider two of my better pieces were Getting Small - a look at history and modern times as seen through the lens of my back-packing trip through Glacier National Park, and the more recent Time to Say Goodbye.   The ones that generated the most criticism were the two part series Church and State, a look at the historical origins of this issue, and my take on the legacy of the Sixties entitled The Summer of Self-Love.

I have received all kinds of feedback ranging from contemptuous to favorable.  It's good to get both - the criticism keeps you grounded, and the kind words provide encouragement to continue. 

I try to draw from a number of "wells" as I write, and have admitedly ranged far afield at times, knitting together disparate subjects to make a larger point.  Whatever your view of my writing I say a sincere "thank-you" for considering it.  And thanks also to the staff of Brookfield Now for providing this venue.

Lastly - thanks for the fun you all have provided.  It's been a blast.

More and more evidence is pouring in from the realm of childhood psychology that our kids are over connected to technology and over scheduled in terms of activiites.  

This dependence on gadgetry (many psychologists are openly using the term addicition) is inexorably stealing our kids' ability to entertain themselves, and worse, leaving them disdainful of such traditional and "non-stimulating" activities like reading, legos, puzzles, board and card games, or just plain talking about what's on their minds.  These more "mundane" passtimes involve social interaction and critical thinking skills - fundamental building blocks for their social and intellectual development and emergence into adolesence.  I find it no coincidence that more and more kids seem less and less interested in serious engagement with their immediate social environment.  I also find it no coincidence that our technology crazy age has coincided with record levels of childhood obesity, and a rash of emotional/psychological disorders.  I don't suggest technology is the ONLY, or even the PRIMARY cause of these problems.  But I sincerely believe it to be one of the causes. 

I see it all the time - kids in cars, at malls, at games, or in church  - connected to a device as if it were some sort of animated electronic appendage.  While using them they are typically oblivious to people and happenings around them, caring only for the center of the universe that is the screen or monitor on their "game".  Our technology and its unprecedented portability is re-writing the way our kids spend their time, and is something we need to take a hard look at.

As far as activities are concerned, in our rush to make sure our kids don't miss out on anything, we are scheduling their lives to unprecedented levels, leaving inadequate "down-time" opportunities to relax, play, read a good book, spend time in nature, or strike up conversations about whatever might be on their minds or hearts.

Technology is neither "good nor bad".  It is morally neutral, and like our automobiles, a legitimate tool that enriches our lives.  But the amount of time our kids spend using it, and the extent to which that use drives other activiites out of their lives, is a huge issue.  

This generation of kids will be more technology-wise than I ever thought about being.  But as the sprint down the Internet Interstate unfolds, let's be sure we are counting the cost of such electronic races.

In what seems to have been a proactive acceptance of the inevitable, the managers of CEC Entertainment have decided not to pursue a renewal of their liquor license for the Chuck E. Cheese pizzeria on Bluemound Road.

Those who have followed this story are familiar with the sad saga of unruly parents, confrontations in parking lots, irresponsible use of alcohol, and signs of drug use.  The Town of Brookfield Police Department has logged an incredible eighty-one calls to the venue in 2007 and early 2008; a rate of one every five days.

Aristotle was probably the first to introduce the notion of root cause analysis with his dissertations on "first things".  In business his notions are now called  "root cause analysis", a tool which teaches the need to understand the underlying relationship of cause and effect when trying to eliminate defects or errors. 

So what's the root cause in this matter?

A liquor license is not the root cause of this defect.  I certainly support the Town's position on this matter, but the real root cause is a matter of self-control; or more accuratley stated, the LACK of self-control that has been demonstrated by so many patrons of the establishment. 

It is clear who the real "kids" have been at CEC's over the last sixteen months, and while I am in strong supoprt of the Town's position on this matter, let's not delude ourselvs that a liquor license was the root cause.  

Self-control is a concept we don't hear much about anymore.  It's too limiting - too restrictive for our liberated and progressive age.  Many don't even want to talk about it anymore, much less exhibit it. 

But maybe it's time that we do.

In these uncertain economic times I thought you might want the name of a phenomenally successful investor.

Warren Buffett?  Donald Trump?

Nope.  He lives right here in Brookfield and his name is Tom Twinem.  His balance sheet does not consist of stocks and bonds; it consists of the lives of hundreds of Brookfield residents.  For twelve years Tom has managed his portfolio through the same investment bank - the Brookfield Soccer Association.  The BSA is a community treasure and it runs on the engine of volunteerism like Tom's.

He started coaching for the BSA twelve years ago when his daughter played youth soccer and he felt a responsibility to contribute.  But he continued long after she was finished, continuing to coach because he loves using soccer as a vehicle to invest in the lives of our community's youth.  This past Sunday Coach Tom presided over his final game. 

Our daughter Lauren played for Tom for three of those twelve years; years that saw him sacrifice thousands of hours and hundreds of weekends.  He did this all with only one expectation - that the girls and families who signed up for his team would have a positive experience.  He taught his "ladies", as he called them, to enjoy the game, and he made sure each one received an equal amount of playing time.  He taught them to respect the efforts of their opponents, and regardless of the outcome his team achieved, consistently demanded and demonstrated good sportsmanship.    

Last weekend was bittersweet for us.  Tom went out on a high note as his girls handed him the Bob Buss Trophy.  But it also marked the end of BSA soccer for Lauren, and of our regular association with Tom and his wonderful teams.  But we take with us so many wonderful memories, a few of which are captured below:

The 2005 Pumpkin Tournament, which saw parents bring gloves, hats, hot cocoa and blankets to keep their daughters warm between games.  Golden spring days where the sun was warm and the texture of the game was knit into a rich fabric of scent, sight, and sound:  a freshly mown emerald field on which the girls worked, sweat flying and muscles straining with their effort.  The shrill cry of the whistles as they cut through the unfettered chatter of youth.  The "thunk" of spiked shoes striking a leather ball.  The inevitable exultation of a winning goal, or the dagger-thrust of a last minute defeat.  And the image of Coach Tom walking off the field, practice bag slung over his shoulder as he amicably visited with the players and parents of both teams.   

And always, I'll recall his penetrating voice booming across the field like a howitzer, firing his instructions and exhortations.  And I'll smile as I think that if ever there was a coach whose bark was worse than his bight, it is surely Coach Tom. 

But more than any of this, I'll remember how seriously he took his responsibilities to "coach-up" the girls under his charge, and to teach them as much as he could about soccer and about life.  I'll remember the positive example of his maturity and his calm.  Tom taught his girls never to hold on to victory or defeat, having understood Rudyard Kipling's warning to "treat those two imposters just the same". 

Tom is a walking treasure - one of the "good guys" we encounter in life.  When our final sums are tallied, the only value we create comes from the content and fruit of our relationships.  By that standard, Tom is a millionaire.  I speak for hundreds when I say well done, Tom, and may God's Blessing be upon you and your family.  Barb and I hope to meet your wife some day, so we can thank her for the sacrifices SHE made in this partnership of service.

He frequently joked with me that "once Lauren gets into High School she'll forget me as quickly as she closes on the ball". 

Well Tom - you couldn't be more wrong. 

Lauren will always remember you. 

And so will her Mom and Dad.

The market always works.  For centuries legislators have tried to control it, but the laws of economics are immutable, and stand well beyond the reach of their rhetoric.

The price of corn has tripled in less than eighteen months.  While it is fair to say there are a few factors causing this, there is a primary cause - and that is the well-funded and horribly misguided rush to legislate ethanol fuels. 

So why the title of this column?

My family spent Memorial Day Weekend in Iowa County, in the lush valley of the Wisconsin River.  Amongst other things, this is big dairy country.  Beautiful farms adorn the rolling hills, and milk production is a 24-7 operation.  For obvious reasons, dairy farmers have little use for bull calves, and for years have sold them to people who would raise them for beef.  But do you know what they are doing with them now?

They are shooting them.

That' s because most farmers are frantically selling corn to ethanol processors, and the ones that aren't can barely afford to feed it to their livestock.  So the market for bull-calves is shrinking, and instead of selling them, many dairy farmers are merely taking them for a walk behind the barn and introducing them to a bullet instead of a nipple. 

Instead of the bleating of calves in this lovely area of our State, one can now hear random gun shots - then silence.  Perhaps we will see P.E.T.A. add its name to the ever growing list of organizations on both the political right and the left that are condemning our government's dysfunctional ethanol binge.    

The work of the market isn't always pretty.

But it gets done.

While reading the news of President Bush's inept appeal to the House of Saud to increase its oil output, I was listening to an obscure Rolling Stones song called Sweet Black Angel, from the 1972 double-album Exile on Main Street.  Recorded under surreal conditions, with the band mired in the downward spiral of guitarist Keith Richards' heroin addiction, the album remains one of the seminal works in all of rock.  Angel is a tribute to the 1960's radical activist Angela Davis, and the lyrics include the "n" word - rightfully shocking in its raw and forbidden impact.  The combination of the song and the news got me thinking about another "n" word that, unlike the one in the song, we should all be talking about.

The discussion of energy policy in this country is dysfunctional.  Politicians who know nothing of economics blather about lower gas prices, trying desparately to believe they hold power over the law of supply and demand.  Many others demand a decrease in carbon emissions, while others still remain steadfast in their refusal to allow exploration or drilling ANYWHERE in the United States, despite growing evidence of significant U.S. reserves.  And of course EVERYONE wants to be less dependant on mid-East crude.  Yet somehow this is all supposed to just happen of its sweet accord?!   

It is time to bring  the "n" word out of its long-standing banishment.  It is time for us to come out of the energy closet, and join the rest of the world in the twentieth, much less the 21st Century.  It is time to have a serious national debate about nuclear power. 

It is certainly not the entire answer, but it has to be part of the discussion.  How are we to even approximate any of the aforementioned goals without making this part of our policy debate?   

I'll write in more detail on this subject soon.

Do you remember?? 

Eighteen years ago today our City was hit by a blitzkrieg.  About 3 AM heavy rain turned to snow, and by daylight nearly ten inches of the heavy wet stuff covered most of Waukesha County.  Trees, shrubs and all manner of plant life were devastated by the crushing weight, and though it would melt by the afternoon, the damage was done.  We spent a good part of that summer cleaning up from the storm, and the sound of chain saws reverberated throughout our city for weeks.

But sixty-eight years ago today HISTORY'S Blitzkieg was unleashed, as Adolf Hitler's Wermacht invaded France.  It is impossible today to grasp the stunning impact of this action which ushered in the greatest conflagration in history, re-wrote the world’s geopolitical landscape, and ultimately left FIFTY MILLION dead.  Throughout the 1930’s Europe's intellectual and political elite had coddled Hitler, ignoring Winston Churchill’s insistent and graphic warnings.  They watched as he swallowed Austria and Czechoslovakia, and even acquiesced to his invasion of Poland in 1939.  As long as Hitler gazed eastward - towards Communist Russia, his actions were tolerated, even encouraged.  But on this day his forces lunged westward across the Meuse River, and poured into France.

The French, who for months had been mired in defeatism and denial, awoke to their peril and along with their British Allies, rushed into Belgium to meet the German troops.............. BUT - the Germans weren't there.  The Nazi General Staff had revolutionized warfare with the introduction of their mechanized Panzer Divisions, and they used their mobility to swing far south of Belgium.  There they penetrated the Ardennes forest, out-flanked the Maginot Line, and cut like a scythe through the countryside of France, achieving the most rapid conquest since the days of Alexander.  In six short weeks the Swastika would be hoisted over the Eiffel Tower, plunging La Vielle de Lumiere into the darkness of foreign occupation.

The Allies were stupefied by the pace and depth of the Nazi advance.  In command of the lead Panzer units, General Heinz Guederian defied the frantic pleas of his superiors in Berlin, who begged him to wait for the slower moving German infantry.  The grim tank commander knew better, and growled, “We move or we fail.  Approve the advance or relieve me from command”.  Reflecting on those frenetic days of mayhem and death, Churchill would later say, “The Germans were everywhere – and everywhere were victorious”.

The Nazi occupation of France, while reprehensible, would not even approximate the savagery of their Eastern occupations. England, protected by her Channel, would finally turn to the one man she had long scorned. In London the sixty-five year old Winston Churchill’s time had finally come, and he would stand astride the pages of history like the lion he was.   

For months he would confront his fascist adversary with the only weapons he had - soaring prose and an indomitable will.  His broadcasts originated from an underground London bunker, and were carried to the listening world via the BBC. They stand today as some of the most stirring orations in history, and a profile in political leadership.

Last December I wrote a blog with this same title.  It addressed my thoughts on some fundamentally different approaches to Mid-East peace, and my desire that one of the Presidential candidates would make it a major foreign policy discussion of their campaign.  This posting will deal with the same desire but on a different issue - The United Nations. 

I would love to see one of the three candidates launch a comprehensive debate on the role of the United Nations, and what part the United States can or should play in it.  I believe it is time to acknowledge and understand how hopelessly flawed this body is.  No matter how noble and lofty its self-ascribed goals may be, the UN has proven to be little more than a geopolitical eunech, unable to perform or discharge any of its responsibilities.   For decades it has stood on the sideline flapping its self-righteous jaw and watching as atrocities ranging from the Cambodian Killing Fields of Pol-Pot, to the on-going genocide in sub-Saharan Africa, occured under its very nose.  Can't we bring ourselves to articulate what forty years of evidence has so clearly demonstrated?  Can't we have a political leader that will state the obvious - that the United Nations is simply incapable of conducting meaningful action or change?

In the interests of fairness I will acknowledge that the UN is good at something.  And what it does very well is foster corruption - and I mean corruption on a global, multi-billion dollar scale.  Can any candidate or member of Congress take a breath from the volcanic rhetoric they spew towards the oil business long enough to turn some scrutiny towards the UN? 

The "Oil for Food" scandal which ocurred under the watch of former Secretary General Kofi Anon, was so eggregious and widespread that even he was forced to some mild action.  Anon commissioned former Federal Reserve Chairman Paul Volcker to lead an investigation, the conclusion of which was a recommendation for sweeping and systemic reform of the UN's management and oversight systems.  Former United States Ambassador to the UN John Bolton was nearly hounded from office just for trying to bring the suggested reforms to a vote before the UN Budget Committee.  Ultimately, and to his great credit, Bolton was successful. 

Now here is something that we need to pay attention to - and it's a ready made issue for any of our three Presidential Candidates:

The Budget Committe of the United Nations voted by a margin of two to one AGAINST allowing a system of outside auditing to help manage and oversee its affairs.  The countries who voted IN FAVOR of these audits supply ninety-percent of the UN's funding.  The countries voting against the audits supply ten percent.

After the vote John Bolton commented witheringly, "this tells you pretty much everything you need to know about how the UN operates".  Can you even conceive of the tsunami of condemnation that would pour forth from the Beltway if the Chairman of Exxon was to suggest an end to public audits of his company? 

There are many grounds of political philosophy on which one can debate the merits of the UN.  But the biggest reason to oppose it is a practical one - it simply does not work.  By any objective measure one would choose, it is hopelessly dysfunctional, inneffective and corrupt.

I believe this issue is a latent gold mine for any one of the three Presidential candidates.  And it's past time to have an open and comprehensive debate with the American people regarding this institution that we pay for. 

A big thumbs-up to Brookfield Now and Jessica Rasmussen for her article in this week's NOW on the musical group, Sacrifice of Praise.  The three area women mentioned in the article are using their gifts of music and song to minister inside of and beyond their community.  Through their examples of personal courage they offer hope, faith, and a tremendously positive example.

And another big thumbs-up for Jessica's article about the seminar conducted at St. John Vianney on the dangers of the Internet.  The article serves as a sober reminder to all of us, but especially to parents on the dark side of this technology.  And kudos to the parents interviewed for their courage in taking steps they deemed appropriate to safeguard their kids.

These are the kind of articles we need more of.  Please take a few minutes and read them if you have not already done so.  

BUT..........................

A big thumbs-down for the article that did NOT appear.

Once again the superb performance of the Brookfield East Forensics Team went unnoticed.  The Spartans recently defended their 2007 State Championship, and while they did not bring home the Trophy this year, they finished third in this State-wide competition. 

It is time and past time for a feature article on this team, and its long-standing record of consistently outstanding performance.  And a color photo would be nice as well.

In the interests of disclosure, I have no formal association with, nor am I related to anyone involved with the Spartan Forensics Team. 

The four of us recently took a fabulous five-day Florida vacation at a bargain price.  Some life-long friends let us stay at their townhouse, and I cashed in some frequent flyer miles.  The result was a memorable family vacation for pennies on the dollar.

The ocean, beach, pool, and a football were our primary entertainment.  As we watched our kids romp in the surf, their bodies tossed and jangled about like corks in a hot-tub and their laughter carried to us on the the salt-laden spray, I was reminded for the hundredth time that the best fun for kids comes when they are in nature and disconnected from technology.  We managed to get in some activities of educational interest as well.  We climbed a one-hundred foot high lighthouse that was built in 1860, one year before the Civil War began.  We spent a half day hob-nobbing in the super-high rent district, walking down Worth Avenue and South Ocean Boulevard in Palm Beach, our mouths agape at the sheer accumulation of wealth.  We window shopped a three million dollar necklace, and toured the old-world beauty of The Breakers Hotel.  Built in the waning days of the nineteenth century, its original clients were the titans of America's industrial age.  Today it is a playground and retreat for the world's wealthy; its art work and appointments alone worth tens of millions.   

But of all our activities, the one I will remember most is our tour of the small marine center at Loggerhead Beach in Jupiter, named after and dedicated to the loggerhead turtles that nest there each year.  Twenty-five years ago Barb and I were hiking up the Leelanau Peninsula in northern Michigan, and came upon a river where the salmon were making their annual up-stream trek.  I was mesmerized by the sight and wrote a poem that night called Falls Run to commemorate it.  And as we toured the marine center, I learned that sea turtles have much in common with salmon. 

A female sea turtle comes ashore to the same beach she was hatched on, and digs holes about two feet deep, laying several "batches" of eggs, with each batch holding 80-100.  Insulated and protected by the sand, the eggs hatch in the summertime.  Once hatched, the tiny turtles - not much more than a few inches long, dig and push their way to the surface of the beach, where predators of the air await to devour them.  Only 1 in 100 will succeed in their mad scramble to the water.  For those that do it is twenty years before they reach sexual maturity and are able to reproduce.  In that time they grow to enormous size (up to 2,000 pounds) and power (able to dive up to 1,000 meters).  They traverse thousands of miles in the great deep that is their home, the very definition of an ancient mariner.  Ultimately, the same force that drives the salmon somehow draws them back to the shallows of their origin to mate, and to come ashore on the same beach from whence their journey began. 

These creatures are so ugly they are cute, and I'll never forg