Friday, August 31, 2007

Liars Poker


Sometimes you find wisdom in the darndest places. Steve bailey's column in today's edition (see link below) attempts to throw some cooling common sense on the stampede to make Middleboro into Vegas east. He is absolutely right, you can smell the money


Thursday, August 30, 2007

Richard Jewell, R.I.P.

He was a likeable overweight white guy with a southern accent and aspirations for a career in law enforcement. He wanted to be a small town cop because he liked to help people and when he finally got his chance, by all reports, he did a pretty good job. But in July, 1996, in the middle of Atlanta’s Summer Olympic Games, he became, overnight, a bumbling caricature of a psychotic mass murderer simply on the basis of a leak that, in all likelihood came from the F.B.I., that the “Bureau” considered him a person of interest in the Centennial Park bombing. “We don’t need no stinking trial, or even any stinking indictment, he’s just guilty,” chanted the national media like a Greek Chorus. Jay Leno called him names on national TV and even his mother came in for some nasty lambasting.

Jewell was working as a security guard at Centennial Olympic Park, when he noticed a suspicious abandoned backpack. He notified the cops and started moving people away from the area. When the bomb inside the backpack exploded a few minutes later, one person was killed and over a hundred were injured. It was generally agreed that his actions substantially reduced the casualty rate. Initially, he was hailed as a hero, but when his hometown Atlanta Journal Constitution ran a headline touting the F.B.I.’s suspicions, a whirlwind was launched where Jewell and his mother were hounded un-mercifully by the authorities and thoroughly pilloried by the press. He managed to become a national villain and laughing stock all at the same time.

A few months later, the government finally realized that he was not involved in planting the bomb and while he had never been arrested or charged, the persecution by the government came to a close. It would eventually be found that Eric Rudolph, a dyed in the wool wacko, was the real bomber. But where does Richard Jewell go to get his name back. Where was the outrage? Think of the outcry at Don Imus for his lame attempt at humor at the expense of the Rutgers Women’s basketball team.

Since 1996, there have been some lawsuits and some settlements, but I suspect Richard Jewell would have passed on the money if it meant re-claiming his reputation. Somehow Janet Reno and the F.B.I. never got around to apologizing to Jewell. Her boss, the impeached one with the ambitious wife, however did use Jewell’s experience as an example of how rumor and innuendo can be used to sully a man’s character, meaning, of course, himself, but that was before the blue dress came to light, so to speak.

Richard got his wish and served as a policeman in several towns around his home state. He married and got on with his life. Then, ten years after the fact in 2006, Georgia Governor Sunny Perdue, presented Jewell with an official state award praising him for his heroism. It read, in part: “Mr. Jewell deserves to be remembered as a hero for the actions he performed during the Centennial Olympic Games. He is a model Citizen, and the state of Georgia thanks him for his long-standing commitment to law enforcement.” Last we heard, the Atlanta Journal Constitution still stands by its story.

Richard Jewell, dead at 44

Monday, August 27, 2007

The Tin Roof Blowdown


Fans of Dave Robicheaux novels are well-advised to grab a copy of James Lee Burke’s latest. It includes all of our old friends from New Iberia Parish, Louisiana, where Dave serves as a detective in the Sheriff’s office, and nearby New Orleans. Clete Purcel makes early and frequent appearances leaving a litter of mayhem, busted heads and empty liquor bottles in his wake, proving the old maxim that there is no situation that can’t be made worse. At the same time, he’s definitely the guy you want watching your six. He and Streak go back to their days on the NOPD, with some Viet Nam flashbacks providing a keyhole view into their shared experiences. There are a number of new names and faces including Sydney Kovick, a fearsome crime boss, who, when not separating his victims from their legs with the help of a chain saw, can be found at his florist shop creating artful flower arrangements.

Robicheaux’s character is a leader in the most nickname category. In addition to Streak, he is also called: Dave, Noble Mon, Pops and Bwana, the last by his boss the androgynous, but highly-effective, Sheriff of New Iberia Parish, Helen Soileau. Dave’s current wife, (he tends to go through them) Molly is an ex Maryknoll nun who’s loyalty vouches for the good side of Streak’s complicated character. His adopted daughter, Alafair, who shares a name with one of Burke’s daughters, has graduated from college and emerged as a smart tough cookie, a characterization that comes in handy when you are Dave Robicheaux’s daughter. Family pets Tripod, the three-legged raccoon and Snuggs, the killer-cat round out the roster at Chez Robicheaux.

The story’s plot follows this full cast of intriguing characters as they each follow their personal quest, which range from the retrieval of a bag of hot diamonds to achieving mere day-to-day survival. But what gives the story added electricity is the fact that it unfolds amid the incredible chaos and devastation left in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, one of the most destructive storms in American History.

In addition to being a highly-talented story teller, Burke also possesses some of the best descriptive abilities in popular literature. His description of the southern Louisianna locales both before and after Katrina’s knockout punch comes through in vivid and intriguing detail. At the same time, his deeply-felt love for this part of the country colors his descriptions of its dramatic beauty, presented with warts and all.


















Sunday, August 26, 2007

On the Road

With full deference to Jack Kerouac, the View took to the highways this week for a two-day trip to North Central Massachusetts, to the banks of the Nashua river where my alma mater, Fitchburg State College basks in the shadow of old Wachusett Mountain. I serve on the Board of Directors of the FSC Foundation, an honorable position where the absence of financial remuneration is offset by long hours and limited prestige. A labor of love if there ever was one. But the love is significant for this tiny college that sometimes gets overlooked here in a state containing so many prominent institutions of higher learning. One of our current projects is a fundraising campaign that will seek to have the school’s many alumni and friends express that love in a more tangible way, but more on that later.

I was barely out of Plymouth, heading west on Rte 44 in Middleboro, when I noticed a KOA campground on the north side of the road. But what is of interest here is rather the lush forest land lining the south side of the road. This pristine woodland sheltered by a verdant tree canopy is the closest thing we have to a forest primeval and it is exactly where the Sovereign citizens of Wampanoag Nation and their financial backers are planning to build the thirty-something-story casino complex that will change forever the face of sleepy little Middleboro. Rte 44 is a dusty two-lane road and as I continued on my way, I wondered how it will look in a few years, widened to freeway dimensions and lit up so as to obscure the distinction between night and day, all to whisk the gamblers to the casino’s door. The good citizens of Middleboro have voted for the casino in the expectation that the Town’s share of the revenues will lower their property taxes, and for a while they probably will. Casinos separate money from gamblers the way my Orrick vacuum separates the dirt from my rugs. There will be plenty of money taken in. But by the time they realize that their share has been seamlessly absorbed into the municipal budget and the need for tax money arisen anew, it will be too late to turn back the clock to what the town used to be before it became a magnet for high-rolling low life. And, not to be that way, but the Wamps, holed up in their new gated communities in Mashpee (new town motto: a Benz in every garage and a Rolex on every wrist) won’t be spending a lot of time worrying about the quality of life in Middleboro.


***



Pause for breaking news. This just in: State Senate President Therese Murray (D. Plymouth) has endorsed Hillary Clinton for President. In acknowledging Murray’s support, Clinton cited Murray’s efforts at helping pass health care coverage for all in Massachusetts. Putting aside the question of whether or not this magic wand solution to a major problem will ever work, it tells us that imposing a system of socialized medicine on the citizens of the USA continues to be one of Hilary’s pet projects. Murray, on the other hand, is predictably backing a candidate who is fully committed to having the government dictate to the people on issues large and small, just as she and her cronies in the Massachusetts General Court, decided that the issue of gay marriage was best decided by themselves in spite of the 170,000 citizens who petitioned for a popular vote. If Hilary is elected, we will all have plenty of time to discuss this as we wait in line at the government medical clinic. And we still have fourteen months to go!


***

Once I reached I-495 in Middleboro, I went north, across the Mass. Turnpike to Rte 2, which leads westward to Fitchburg and beyond. Had I continued north on I-495, I would have soon passed the City of Lowell where Jack Kerouac was born in 1922 and where my son, Mark, was also born forty four years later. As near as I can tell, they remain two of Lowell’s more famous native sons.

Next week, 3,150 full-time day students will begin the fall semester at Fitchburg State. The college was founded in 1894 as a Normal school to prepare teachers. Today it provides educational opportunity through fifty undergraduate programs including: Nursing, Communication Media, Education, Business Administration and Industrial Technology. Another two thousand or so will pursue graduate studies. Historically, the Commonwealth funded the bulk of the operating budgets of the college, but over time, this has changed to the point that today, public funds account for less than fifty percent; the balance coming from student tuition and fees. Following a nation-wide trend among public colleges, the college has ramped up its quest for private donations to enhance the educational experience of the student body through financial aid and other programs. Currently, we are in the early phases of a capital campaign where we have been approaching friends and local businesses seeking financial support. As time goes on, we will announce the public phase of the campaign as we broaden out our appeal to our 35,000 alumni and friends across the country. I am proud to be associated with this effort to raise the quality of an FSC education to new heights.


Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Old Friends and Memories












We moved to Larchmont, NY in 1980, and soon met our neighbors, Jim and Eileen Hughes and the Gorman’s, Chris and Bridget. So began a splendid friendship that is nearing its 30th anniversary.

Last weekend, we took advantage of the Gorman’s trip to Cape Cod for a family wedding to lure Eileen and Jim up for a few days of re-connection and reminiscing. During this two-day memory-fest, we all enjoyed recalling our many friends and the highlights of life in greater Mamaroneck and especially the Larchmont Shore Club. We recalled our excursions that ranged from the theatres of Manhattan to the West Point gridiron and one truly memorable trek around Italy.

On Monday morning, we piled into the car for a planned trip to the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum, forty-seven miles up the road in Boston. As we exited the Expressway in Dorchester, we caught our first glimpse of the JFK. Situated on a spit of land that juts out into Boston harbor, the distinctive architecture of I.M. Pei was visible for miles, gleaming against the bright summer sky, its sleek black and white design contrasting nicely with the red brick architecture of the nearby University of Massachusetts. While we had all made previous visits, the facility has evolved continuously since its dedication in 1979. We were all struck by the fresh view that its exhibits provided of the 35th president and his times.

For all of us, the early sixties was a magic time. While Dwight Eisenhower had been a towering hero of World War II, we saw him through the hazy ignorance of our youth as a dowdy old man of our parent’s generation. When John F. Kennedy was elected it was as if the skies had opened to perpetual sunshine. We now had our own president, handsome and quick-witted, who would lead us out of the depths of cold war despair into a new golden age where we would loose the restraints of the old antiquated ways and soar into a limitless future.

Watching the videos of his stirring speeches and the quick give and take of his press conferences brought back the public JFK, every bit a young leader. The snippets of more casual moments showed that the qualities we so admired were an integral part of the man and not just put on for special occasions. And those of us from Boston, and knew where Hyannis Port was located, puffed up even greater with hometown pride.

But the limitless future was not to last and on that terrible Friday afternoon, each of us would learn that our hero was gone, shot down in far away Texas by a muddled punk with a cheap rifle. And then it was all gone and our worldly urbane leader was replaced with a graceless homespun cracker with a funny accent. Under different circumstances, it all might have been fodder for countless jokes. But the jokes were few and far between as this bumbling replacement led us into a meat grinder foreign war that tore our country apart.

I hadn't expected to be as moved by visiting the JFK as I was. But during a weekend of remembering old times with good friends, the sounds and images of those thousand days brought back memories of a long-ago time of brief splendor.








Sunday, August 19, 2007

Vinny DeMacedo, Goat or hero?

A recent letter to the local newspaper took Representative Vinny DeMacedo (R. Plymouth) to task for his vote in a recent constitutional convention in favor of allowing a proposed constitutional amendment to continue on the road to the state-wide ballot. The amendment, if passed by the popular vote, would define marriage as a union of heterosexuals and effectively stop homosexual marriage which has been allowed in Massachusetts since 2004 by virtue of a ruling by the Mass. Supreme Judicial Court. The letter went on to draw an agonizing parallel between the “struggle” for gay rights and the American Civil Rights movement. The twisted implication was something like: Given Vinny’s vote to advance the amendment, he probably would have opposed Brown vs. Board of Education in 1954. Please...

Bear in mind that the constitutional convention was not deciding on the underlying issue, but rather only whether or not it be advanced towards a popular vote. Moreover, the initiative itself was the result of a petition signed by a 170,000 citizens, a substantial number by any measure. Given that the original decision was imposed by a panel of un-elected judges, it is easy to see why so many signed the petition demanding a popular vote.

This question deals with a basic cultural value and many of those opposed to legalizing gay marriage have strong opinions based on deeply-held beliefs. And while some might dismiss the opponents as mean-spirited homophobes, they might want to stop and consider the totalitarian process by which this amendment was squelched. A major change to the fabric of our culture has been made by judicial edict and the remedy denied by a recalcitrant legislature with a disregard for the opinions of a large number of its electorate. Even those in favor of homosexual marriage might want to pause and consider the danger in this procedural precedent.

Vinny DeMacedo deserves praise for his courage in supporting the democratic process and refusing to be stampeded into supporting this denial of redress to the citizens of Massachusetts.

Friday, August 17, 2007

A Rising Star

Kudos to Brian Malloy for completing the work for his M.B.A at B.U. to which he commuted via the M.B.T.A. Another feather in the cap of one of the fastest-rising stars in the firmament of Boston investment juggernaut, Fidelity. In his ongoing efforts to accumulate acronyms, Brian is reported to have his sights now set on a C.F.A.

Brian is, of course, part of the (in)famous Malloy Troika which also includes Kevin and Chris and which is a key cog in Fidelity’s financial empire, according to Roland, a source who is known to be “close to Ned’s ear”. Brian, who also dabbles in Boston real estate, is clearly a man to watch.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Welcome Ashore



The Mayflower II, a replica of the ship that carried the first settlers of Plymouth (aka the Pilgrims) from England to the shores of The New World, provides visitors with a sense of what it might have been like as the tiny crowded ship crossed the fearsome North Atlantic. Let’s just say the living was rustic and creature comforts were scarce. Most of us couldn’t conceive of taking such a voyage even with the prospect of acquiring free ocean-front property. A visit to the MFII gives all of us a chance to feel good about our heritage and those brave souls that arrived in the Mayflower in 1620. But as we disembark, we get a face full of cold water as we are met by members of the Immigration Patrol of something called Wampanoag Nation.

Cute idea. Set up a mock immigration process for visitors leaving the Mayflower II so as to highlight the impact that the English settlers had on the natives of their new land. Visitors are invited to complete an “immigration questionnaire” and then have it reviewed by a member of the Wampanoag Immigration Patrol As it turns out, admittance to the Nation is not a slam dunk. After review, visitors may well have their papers stamped. “Denied.” Applicant’s who might want to acquire land or convert Native people to Christianity are not welcomed. Of course, it’s all good educational fun meant to highlight the impact the settlers had on the Indians. And make no mistake about it, the impact was profound.

In light of recent events, however, the Nation might want to modify its immigration standards. The recent event in question is the frenzy over the proposed Casino to be built in the nearby hamlet of Middleboro. For example, The Nation might want to encourage immigration by those who enjoy gambling and believe that it’s just a harmless way to have fun. Anyone flashing a deck of playing cards or a pair of dice at the Patrol would get the red carpet treatment. Those who turn up their noses at gambling, or even worse, see gambling as an inherently evil activity might be sent back to their ship.

The Wamps will probably want to continue to screen out religious types who, while attempting to convert the Natives, might also take issue with the morality of gambling They are also on shaky ground when it comes to rules for alcohol use. “Plying Natives (with alcohol), prior to signing documents or performing land transactions” is a Nation no-no. However, once the Casino is up and running it will be the Natives doing the plying by providing copious amounts of alcohol to the gamblers.

It is important to examine sixteenth century colonialism and its effects on the indigenous population. At the same time, the history of the world is all too rife with examples of man’s inhumanity to man. The Irish, for example know a thing or two about being on the receiving end of English colonialism. But empowering the descendants of these “victims”, four hundred years after the fact, to create a self-enriching money-sucking juggernaut that preys on our own citizens susceptibility to a nasty vice has to be one of the greatest feats of twisted logic to ever come out of our government.

Of course, it is the visions of cash-flow dancing in the heads of all concerned that have convinced the good citizens of Middleboro, to sell out the character of their town for the prospect of property tax relief. Our elected leaders, heartsick over the visions of all those Massachusetts autos in Foxwood’s parking lots, are only too ready to latch on to a new revenue stream, rather than doing the heavy lifting of prioritizing and limiting government spending.

The proceeds from the Massachusetts Lottery are famously earmarked for education. Yet in spite of all the money generated by those scratch tickets, the educational system has failed to educate many of our citizens on the futility of profitably playing the Lottery, a nasty regressive tax on those least able to afford it.

One of the qualities that we admire about the early Plymouth settlers was their determination and work ethic. What does it say about our present collective values if we encourage, instead, the futile pursuit of instant riches through government sponsored gambling?

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Boston Globe: This just in!

The front page headline in today's Globe reports that presidential candidate Mitt Romney and his wife "are worth"up to $250 million. In the the text of the story, we learn that the actual amount is somewhere between $190 million and $250 million. Okay, it's a lot of dough, but as far as I know,he didn't steal it.

I suppose it's important to know the financial status of the candidates, but I suspect that when it comes time to review the financial status of the other candidates, like the Clinton's, for example, the mighty Globe will somehow find such information not worthy of a headline, and , in all likelihood, not front page material.

Watch the Globe for more even-handed coverage of the campaign.

http://www.boston.com/news/nation/articles/2007/08/14/romneys_are_worth_up_to_250m/

Monday, August 13, 2007

The View

Since The Rock is located in a covered pit, the physical view is somewhat limited. Although, if you were to climb down to the bottom, you would enjoy a nice, albeit brief, sea-level look through the barred grate at the harbor boats with Plymouth Beach in the background. You might even get a souvenir photo before the park cops haul you away.

So what we are really dealing with here is a point of view. And by the way, if you got here by searching for information about Alcatraz, keep searching. Ditto for rock music aficionados.

Is there a paranormal energy radiating from this piece of stone enshrined on the Plymouth waterfront, or is it perhaps the radiation of a different sort emanating from the nuclear reactor located a few miles to the south? Whatever the source, the local environs have long been known to foster inquisitive and innovative thinking. This page will attempt to utilize this energy to consider important questions of the day. What, you might ask, constitutes an important issue of the day? Not to worry. This will be determined, from time to time, by me. But what if you find that you don't agree with my decisions? I suggest you start your own blog.