Notes from a quiet street—elections issue

A week from today is elections day.  We look forward to elections days for the wrong reasons.  Instead of being excited about taking part in the voting process we are excited because it’s the end of that interminable period when our intelligence is assaulted 30 seconds at a time—all the time, it seems, on the television.

—and when our mailboxes are stuffed with mailers of questionable veracity usually provided by people without the courtesy or the courage to admit they paid for the appropriately-named junk mail.

Interestingly, at the end of the day, a lot of people will transfer from being the kind of people they campaigned against to being those people. And what will they do to correct the impressions their voters have about government?

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We have been interested in some of the reasons various groups don’t want us to vote for a new system of drawing legislative districts after the 2020 census.  One side says it would be a mistake to let the state demographer (a person who spends his or her life analyzing population and population trends) draw new districts because they’ll just use statistics and will come up with districts that are more gerrymandered that some districts from the last go-around.  Others worry that letting the demographer draw the districts will weaken the political power of this or that group.   We must have been mistaken all these years because we thought reapportionment dealt with representation rather than power. Silly us.

Could it be that the state demographer won’t care if two legislative incumbents wind up in the same district instead of benefitting from a process that is suspected of protecting incumbents or at least their party majorities?  As far as the demographer coming up with screwball districts, surely that person couldn’t do worse than the creation of the present Fifth Congressional District that I dubbed the “dead lizard” district after the last congressional redistricting (it looks like a dead lizard lying on its back with its feet in the air) that has a former Mayor of Kansas City representing a rural area as far east as Marshall.

What the heck.  We can always change the constitution back to the present system if the legislative districts after the 2020 census are as bad as some interest groups forecast they will be, can’t we?

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Elections almost always have issues created by petition campaigns.  It’s an important freedom we have as citizens to propose laws or to ask for a statewide vote on something the legislature did that raises questions in the minds of enough people that they want citizens to have the final say.  But that freedom can carry with it unintended consequences because petitions don’t go through the refining process of legislative committee hearings, debates, votes, and compromises where possible.   Of course the legislature sometimes fumbles an issue and in both cases ballot issues can be issues financially backed by a special interest if not an individual.

Voters have an often-overlooked responsibility to get out the spy glass and read all the fine print in the election legal notices.  We haven’t talked to very many folks who have done that. So we get what we get and the courts often have to figure out what we got regardless of what we thought we were getting.

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The best part of election day is that all of the junk mail campaign propaganda that goes straight to our waste baskets will be replaced by Christmas catalogues.  We prefer Christmas catalogs for several reasons.  They don’t forecast national or international catastrophes if we buy something offered by another catalog.  They usually are honest about their products (the pictures usually are more accurate than the pictures of the hamburgers at fast foot joints). We have never gotten an L. L. Bean catalogue that suggests the products in a Land’s End catalogue are dangerous to our well-being because of who wears them or because of who the wearers hang out with.

And they don’t proclaim exclusive knowledge of what our “values” are.  The Vermont Country Store is filled with traditional values—soap on a rope, Adams Clove chewing gum, old-fashioned popcorn makers or hand-cranked ice-cream makers, or dresses whose styles are timeless.  Coldwater Creek is for people whose values tend toward the stylish with a little “bling” thrown in.   We have yet to see the Vermont Country Store catalogue that says the Coldwater Creek catalogue is too liberal to be good for us.

In short, the catalogues have a lot more things that we will buy than most of the campaign junk mail that winds up in landfills instead of recycle bins.

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Jefferson City is building a new fire station, replacing an older one in the east end of town (the building will be for sale, by the way, in case you want a unique home, assuming you can get a zoning change).  News of the planned sale of the old fire house brings to mind our old friend Derry Brownfield, who used to occasionally remind us why fire engines are red:

“Because they have eight wheels and four people on them, and four plus eight is 12, and there are 12 inches in a foot, and one foot is a ruler, and Queen Elizabeth was a ruler, and Queen Elizabeth was also a ship, and the ship sailed the seas, and in the seas are fish, and fish have fins, and the Finns fought the Russians, and the Russians are red, and fire trucks are always ‘russian’ around.”

Uh-huh.

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Go vote next Tuesday.  Do yourself and your state a favor and spend the next seven days with your reading glass studying all that fine print.

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It’s only a band-aid but I’ll wear it

A new product came on the market in 1920.  The Band-Aid (registered trademark symbol is supposed to be here) became so popular that its name has become a generic term for anything that temporarily solves a problem.

Missourians will vote on a gas tax increase in a few days and I’m going to vote for it because I am part of the problem the proposed tax increase seeks to temporarily solve.

My car’s dash tells me all kinds of stuff including the cumulative fuel mileage since I bought the car in 2014.  This is the way it looked yesterday.

Another “screen” told me that I have driven this car about 63,000 miles.  In all of that driving, town and highway, summer and winter, short trips to the grocery store or longer trips to, say, Nashville or Indianapolis, this car has averaged 25.4 miles per gallon, pretty good for a 300 hp car that can hit 60 in a little over five seconds.

This car replaced one that got 26 mpg, tops, on a long trip.  Obviously I don’t burn as much gas in this newer car as I did in the older one making me one of those who doesn’t contribute as much in gas taxes with the present car as I did with my previous one. But I drive the same roads most of the time and cross the same bridges most of the time as I did with the previous car.

I am, therefore, one of hundreds of thousands of the people on our roads who are the collective cause of our Transportation Department’s long decline in financial ability to operate our highways.

As a good and responsible citizen who prefers not to replace his shock absorbers anytime soon or fall through a bridge floor, I’m going to vote to increase the tax on the gas I burn.

Frankly, it’s kind of a chicken way to go about it—a ten-cent increase that’s phased in during four years so the percentage increase is small enough that it won’t be too painful to the parsimonious Missourians who have been told for a couple of decades now that it’s okay to think state services and programs can get by on less and less and less and less because the people know better how to spend their money than the government does.

But the potholes and the patches have become such an inconvenience to motorists that maybe they’ll decide the government really can make better use of 2.5 cents than they can.

But this is only a band-aid.   Only a temporary solution.  A good friend is a reason the gas tax isn’t a long-term solution to the problems with our transportation system.

My friend recently bought a Tesla 3.   He likes it a lot.   He’s had it for about a month and has not put a single gallon of gas in it.  (Anybody who buys gas for their Tesla might be planning on setting the thing on fire.) Tesla claims drivers can get 310 miles out of a full battery charge but battery technology is moving quickly and when a 500-mile battery car hits the market at a reasonable price, watch out.

Even 310 miles isn’t bad.  We’ve been told Teslas come with a directory that can be called up on the big cockpit screen and shows where there are chargers—such as these we saw the other day at a fast foot place in Limon, Colorado. It’s like of like the printed directories that came out in the 1970s when a lot of people started driving diesels, showing them where there were gas stations with diesel pumps for cars.

You’ll notice there’s a Tesla like the one my friend has that is getting a re-charge while the driver is inside the Limon restaurant enjoying a casual cheeseburger or something.  Tesla says it has 1,359 Supercharger stations with 11, 234 superchargers like those in Limon. Plug in for thirty minutes and you’re good for another 170 miles.  That gets you to 480 miles with a lunch stop on the way.

Tesla is quickly getting competitors and that means prices will become more reasonable and that means more of us will be paying zero gas taxes before long.  I have thought that each of the last two cars I have bought would be the last completely gas-powered vehicles I would own.  A Tesla, by the way, will get to 60 in about half the time my current car does.

So a ten-cent gas tax increase (spread through four years) is only a band-aid.  It’s going to take more than a Band-Aid to permanently assure our road system doesn’t go back to gravel.  We hope those who formulated the ten cent (after four years) gas tax increase are thinking about what comes when tens of thousands of motorists don’t use gasoline or diesel fuel at all.

I’m going to vote for the band-aid.  The four-year phase-in means it’s flesh-colored so it’s not so noticeable.

What would you save?

We caught some video a few weeks ago of North Carolinians who had fled their homes and who had taken refuge at the Charlotte Motor Speedway, which was providing parking space for trailers and RVs, camping facilities, and food service to hurricane refugees.  Some of the folks were interviewed about what they had brought with them.

One woman’s pickup truck contained a small chest freezer with all of her home’s frozen food, ready for hookup to an electrical supply.  She also brought along a generator.  A family of seven brought five dogs.  One family brought some children’s drawings and a blanket with family handprints on it. Another family brought things it would use while away from home; the father had stayed at the house in a rural area to prevent looting.

Watching news coverage of various and recent natural disasters such as forest fires and hurricanes and floods, we started thinking about a group consensus exercise we have done from time to time.

If you had a few minutes or a few hours, to flee from your endangered home, what would you take?   We are assuming your first priority is yourself and any other family members.  But after that?  Here’s a list of possibilities.  Feel free to add others in the comment section below.

Computers

Wallet

Passport

Pets

Cell phone

Coin collection

Television(s)

Clothes

Children’s (Grandchildren’s ) Refrigerator drawings

Family archives

Financial records

Video games

Family heirlooms

Jewelry

Medicines or medical supplies

Wedding dress and/or album

Art collection (prints, posters, originals, etc.)

Favorite furniture

Mom’s recipes

Cameras

An additional vehicle or vehicles

Antiques

Baseball card collection

Food

Guns

Family Bible

Insurance policies

Sleeping bags

Tools

I’ve run consensus exercises with groups using a similar list.  Admittedly the exercise assumes there is at least SOME time to grab things although many disasters such as house fires in the middle of the night require instant escape in whatever sleeping attire is being worn—or whatever clothing can be grabbed on the way out.

The answers show generational differences.  Younger people are more likely to take the material things—the television set, the pets, the tools, the jewelry.  Older folks are likely to make memories the priority—pictures, recordings, some family heirlooms.  Younger folks grab things they can replace. Older folks grab things that cannot be replaced.

When I was a high school freshman, I dashed out the front door of my house one morning to get on the school bus.  Six hours later a man met me in the principal’s office to tell me that my parents were okay but all we had left were the clothes we were wearing, the family car, and whatever was in my gym locker.  A person never forgets what was lost in a disaster. A small nugget of fear deep inside never goes away.  And sometimes people spend the rest of their lives trying to recover what was lost (which is why I have a complete set of Fran Striker’s Lone Ranger novels on the bookshelf five feet from where I am sitting).

Many people have their family photographs, documents, and all kinds of other things stored in the cloud, which might alter the disaster-grab priorities.  But a lot of us haven’t gone there yet.

There are three places in our home where we keep family archives, one of them a basement cabinet filled with thousands and thousands of slides.  I’ve made up my mind that if I had the time, those would be the first things to go in the minivan—after the second row seats had been removed, if possible—then the computer. What would you save, beyond yourself, if you had the time to save something?   It’s worth thinking about.

Because we never know.

 

Political fashion statement

Overalls.

There was a time in our younger years when it was easy to identify the farmer boys at school.  They were the ones wearing the bib overalls.  The rest of us wore Levis or Lee Riders or just denim jeans from Monkey Ward or Sears. The rich kids wore slacks, eventually the kind with buckles in the back.

For a while not long ago, bib overalls became fashionable, especially for girls.  They came in bright colors—which made them fashionable.  Some even had short legs. Can’t recall any of the green or pink overalls with the “Big Smith” label.  Big Smiths had loops to hold hammers and were built for working comfort not for style.  And, like all REAL bib overalls, they were blue.

Almost a hundred years ago, however, overalls were political statements.  There were overalls clubs formed.  The craze started in the southern and southwestern states.  In April, 1920, W. H. Pahlen, an automobile accessory salesman walked into the St. Louis City Hall and announced he was a representative of the American Overall Club.

Pahlen met with F. W. Kuehl, the head of the Municipal Employees Union, and got permission to circulate lists for city employees to sign up as club members. Workers in Kuehl’s office, the Water Rates Office, quickly signed up, promising to wear overalls “whenever possible” until the prices of clothing had been lowered to a fair level.

That’s what the movement was all about.  Clothing costs had taken off (to coin a phrase) in the post-war years and a lot of folks thought the situation was out of hand.

Mayor Henry Kiel refused to pledge to wear overalls but he didn’t object to employees showing up at city hall in denim.  “I have lots of old clothes at home which I can wear in the time to come if I find the prices of new clothing too high…I have no objection to overalls; in fact, I have worn them myself long enough and I might wear them again but I have no interest in the overall club.”

City Sewer Commissioner William Clancy said his workers already had organized an overall club.  In fact, his statement sounded like a mandate. “Until the cost of men’s clothing is reduced to a price commensurate with the ability of the employees of the sewer division to pay for same, all employees in the future will wear overalls.”

Real estate salesmen peddling lots in a new subdivision pledged to greet possible purchasers while wearing overalls until clothing prices came down.  Other real estate salesmen were considered likely to follow suit (to coin another phrase appropriate to the discussion).

Ninety men at the Wagner Electric Company had formed a club, pledging to wear a standard khaki uniform each work day.

The members of the Central YMCA announced they planned to attend church services that day dressed in blue denim.

The Financial Corporation and Development Company chartered, under the common law, an Overall Club to solicit membership from “white-collared” citizens.  Company Secretary E. Kreyling told a reporter, “Lawyers, office men, business men, are all getting in line with the army of blue denim-clad fighters against the profiteers. The association will equip its members with the uniform of the overall brigade and muster them in as high privates in the antiprofiteering army.  There are no generals or colonels or other officers; all are privates.

Three-hundred students and three professors at Washington University signed the agreement to organize the Overall and Old Clothes Club at the school, promising to wear overalls or old military uniforms “or any other cast-off apparel” until “the objective of the national overall movement is attained.”  A dance was scheduled at the school gymnasium with entrance restricted to those wearing old clothes.

About forty Wash-U coeds pledged to refuse to speak to any “gentleman friend” and refusing to be escorted to any event by any guy not dressed in overalls, old military uniforms, or old clothes.

In Washington, D. C., Congressman William D. Upshaw of Georgia caused something of a sensation when he showed up in the House of Representatives wearing overalls.  Nothing unusual about it, he claimed.  It was just a move “to strike at the high cost of clothing.”

But the movement had detractors.  President Robert K. Rambo of the Southern Wholesale Dry Goods Association, not surprisingly, thought the whole thing was foolish because, “It will run the price of overalls up to a figure that cannot be paid by those who of necessity must wear them.”  He thought it made as much sense for overall club members to refuse to buy cars until prices dropped 25 percent. “So long as people are willing to pay any price for the things they want and are not willing to practice self-denial, all talk about cutting down the high cost of living is gabble,” he said.

Owners of cotton mills in New England charged southern cotton-growers had started the whole thing in an effort to drive up the prices of cotton.

Our governor, Frederick Gardner, refused to join the overall club when it was formed in Jefferson City.  He preferred to be a member of the W. Y. O. C., the “Wear Your Old Clothes” Club.  One newspaper observed that it was hard to believe the governor’s claim that his newest suit had been made in 1914, six years earlier.

The Jefferson City Democrat-Tribune was an even harsher critic. It noted a week after the formation of the city’s club that it had not seen any of the signers of the pledge going around “in their best blue denim bib and tucker.”  Instead of driving up the price of denim clothes, said an editorial, “Wear out you old clothes.  Send them to the cleaner. Let’s wear patched clothes as we did in our youth, and we will do more to reduce the price of clothes than all the overall clubs in the world. Cut out useless spending and extravagance and the price of living in every community will be reduced.”

And a few days later, it called the overall movement the latest example of American “pinheadedness” and observing, “Why any sane-headed citizen, whose occupation does not require the wearing of apparel of this kind, should wear overalls to bring down the high cost of living is about as clear as a mud puddle.”

The movement played out in a few months—midsummer, probably.  Its legacy might have been expressed by American Medicine magazine in April, as the movement was gaining momentum. “It is the first indication of protest to come from a class which has been a silent and patient sufferer during all the clashes that have taken place between capital and labor in recent years,” said an op-ed article.

Capital and labor remain part of our national dialogue today. We wonder what new clothing statement will emerge.

Notes from a quiet street—October, 2018

Get your speculation machines turned on.   Someone asked the other day, “If Josh Hawley is elected to the U. S. Senate in November, who do you think Governor Parson will appoint to finish Hawley’s term?”

Well…..?

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In a long life, a person is likely to make some interesting friends.  Well, all friends are interesting or they wouldn’t be friends, would they?  And if you’re lucky, you get to go to interesting places that broaden your perspective on the world and your place in it.  Some who read these entries might be scornful of those, such as your correspondent, who can see beyond the concrete, steel, and glass of the big cities and can cherish the big and the small worlds that surround us.

A friend in Indianapolis is the Executive Director of the Indianapolis Prize, the world’s leading prize for animal conservation.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UARcO8jTVk0

This year’s prize went to Dr. Russell Mittemeier.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=207&v=OqeoeDg-CTo

Harrison Ford flew to Indianapolis to attend the awards dinner.  Nice guy, said those who met him.   Why are we surprised to learn that big-time people we admire from afar are nice?

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In my news director days I sometimes reminded myself and my reporters that it was not always necessary to do a story about an event if nothing was done or said worth reporting.  If a committee or a commission or a council met for three hours but did nothing newsworthy, there was no reason for any of us to waste our listeners’ time by saying a meeting was held and then trying to find something in our notes or on our recorders to write or let people hear that had no purpose other than to justify our presence at the meeting.  “It’s just three hours of your life that you’ll never get back,” I sometimes counseled the news staff.  “Don’t spend any more time trying to find something not worth the time to put on the air.”

Somebody else had the same philosophy a long time ago. From the Jefferson City Daily Capital News of May 10, 1945:

Gov. Phil M. Donnelly yesterday held his first press conference in four days but it was unproductive of printing news.

We were told by a reporter who covered him that Donnelly used to hold two news conferences a day. One in the morning was for reporters from afternoon newspapers.  The one in the afternoon was for reporters from morning papers. He had more news conferences in a month than some governors have in a year.  Or two.

We also had a lot more reporters covering the capitol.

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Some of the saddest places are baseball diamonds in city parks and baseball parks in the big cities when there’s no more baseball to be played. Especially by January. With a little snow. Even hope has left.

But we’ll find it in Arizona and Florida in February.

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A restaurant sign seen from across the room recently:

It raises a question.  Does the sign mean the place isn’t all that dangerous?  Or does it mean that people who eat there live longer?

I rolled the dice.  I had a big breakfast.  So far, so good.