Notes From a Quiet Street

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Lewis Carroll wrote a poem called The Walrus and the Carpenter that seems to fit these occasional reflections on life:

“The time has come,” the Walrus said,

“To talk of many things:

Of shoes — and ships — and sealing-wax —

Of cabbages — and kings —

And why the sea is boiling hot —

And whether pigs have wings.”

We discussed “cabbages” separately recently. Today we want to start with some ruminations about shoes:

I have concluded that shoestrings are an endangered species.

I bought some new dress shoes recently and I can’t keep the blasted shoestrings tied.  The left shoe, especially.  I believe the shoe and its string are in cahoots, planning to make a break for freedom at some particularly embarrassing moment—perhaps when I am walking down the governor’s staircase at the capitol or when I am leaving the church chancel, carrying the communion trays, or perhaps on a wet or snowy day when I am rushing to warm and/or dry place.   The right show and its string are a little less bold but it, too, shows signs of rebellion.

The strings are round, thin, and perhaps a bit on the short side. Maybe it is a reflection of the aging of my fingers that are not so supple as they once were and thin-ish round shoe strings cannot be handled with the dexterity and the firmness of my younger days.  Or maybe its just the design of the shoestrings.

Solving this problem reveals an important cultural collapse.

Shoe stores are disappearing.

First, shoe repair shops disappeared, probably as shoe sole technology improved and longer-wearing non-leather soles became popular and shoes became more disposable and informal.

Now it’s shoe stores.

I went to a shoe store to get replacement laces—flatter ones that I could tie tighter.  The lady went to the back of the store and rooted around for several minutes before producing strings that were supposed to be of the proper length for four-eyelet dress shoes.

They weren’t.

There was enough string to get through the four eyelets but not enough left over to tie a bow knot.  I tied the two strings together and the cats have been playing with them since.  At least somebody is getting some use from them.

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If a new Profiles in Courage is ever written for our times, there will be many cowards and few heroes.  Liz Cheney will have one of the chapters.

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Took a look at a new cell phone of a friend the other day.  Holy cats!  These things keep getting bigger!  Clothing-makers need to be planning larger butt pockets.  I’m seeing commercials for cell phones that open up so they’re twice as big.

Good Lord!  They’re turning into half a tablet.  Is there a size line that won’t be crossed or will this trend continue until they have handles and wheels so we can pull them along behind us?

And when will it be impractical to call them cell phones anymore?

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Been watching quite a bit of the local news on the teevee lately.  Actually, I’ve been watching quite a bit of local weather.

With a little bit of news and sports thrown in here and there.

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Got a little political education when President Biden spoke to a joint session of Congress on April 28th.   It sounded like a State of the Union Address.  It looked like one except for social distancing.  One ingredient (thankfully) missing was the irritating introduction of common folks in the galleries who are examples of noble events or noble presidential proposals.

But it was NOT a State of the Union address.

Jordan Mendoza, writing in USA Today explained that the Constitution does require a President to “from time to time give to the Congress Information of the State of the Union, and recommend to their Consideration such Measures as he shall judge necessary and expedient.”  But there’s no set time for such an address.

Ronald Reagan started a new tradition in 1981, the year he was inaugurated.  Since then neither new  Presidents nor outgoing Presidents have given a State of the Union Address coming in or going out of office.  Mendoza reported that is “primarily because a president can’t really speak about the state of the country (after) just a few weeks into office.”

Although Mendoza didn’t report it, it seems logical to suggest that no such speech is given by an outgoing president because his recommendations for action will have no weight of authority behind them—and because Congress has better things to do than listen to one more presidential address that would be mostly self-congratulatory.

Since then the new President’s speech has been “An Address Before a Joint Session of Congress.”

 

 

 

Racing’s Happy Warrior (updated)

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(We’ve decided to add a sports page to bobpriddy.net.  With some re-construction going on with the Missourinet web page and its sports section, we’ve decided to move our weekly racing summary reports to this page—-and expand it with sometimes keenly insightful observations about other sports and their participants)

We watched something remarkable happen Sunday at the Indianapolis Speedway—not from our usual perch on the back porch of the media center but from the forced comfort of our living room recliner—put there by recent surgery and by limits on spectators and reporters because of COVID.
There is a Missouri connection with Helio Castroneves, the man we call “racing’s happy warrior,” and his career at the Speedway that now includes him as the fourth man to win the 500 four times.  We’ll get to that in due course.

The phrase has been used in politics from time to time. When young Franklin D. Roosevelt nominated New York Governor Al Smith for the presidency in 1924, he called Smith “the Happy Warrior of the political battlefield.”  The same title was applied to Senator Hubert Humphrey during his time on the national Democratic tickets, and more recently it was affixed to Joseph Biden by Barack Obama in his presidential victory speech.

But there is no one in all of sports, at least today, to whom that title applies more fittingly than Helio Castroneves, and watching him celebrate his long-sought fourth victory at Indianapolis Sunday makes it clear why. 

Castroneves, fierce behind the helmet’s face shield, is animated and joyous when the hat comes off and the most instant issues of car and contest are set aside. Any INDYCAR fan has seen it many times.

What he did Sunday, however, is only part of the incredible story of the race.

Let’s begin with this:

Castroneves’ fellow Brazilian, Tony Kanaan, won the 500 in 2013 at the record speed of 187.433 mph.  Castroneves broke that record by more than three miles an hour.  190.690.

The first sixteen cars averaged more than 190 miles an hour. The slowest car to finish the full 200 laps, driven by2014 winner Ryan Hunter-Reay, still was two miles an hour faster than Kanaan’s record. RHR finished 22nd.  Will Power, the 2018 winner, finished 30th, three laps down, and was still faster than Kanaan’s record.

Let me put some personal context into this discussion.

When I was but a sprout, my parents and I went to the Speedway for the first time to watch the first day of qualifications for the 1954 race.  From our seats in the low wooden bleachers between turns one and two we watched Jack McGrath in his yellow Hinkle Special run the first officials laps at the Speedway at more than 140 miles an hour.

Sunday afternoon, I watched SIXTEEN DRIVERS run the full 200 laps and average more than 50 mph more than Jack McGrath ran on my first day at the track.

And how about this:  Castroneves was only 2.6 seconds per lap away from averaging 200.

Here’s another thing about this guy:  He has finished second three times by .2011 of a second, .2290 of a second, and .0600 of a second.  He has come within a combined total of less than one-half second of winning SEVEN of these races.

There a a few other remarkable things about what might have been (individual perceptions using individual standards will differ) the greatest 500 ever run.  This race produced the most remarkable finish in race history, beyond what we outlined earlier.

Al Unser Jr.’s .0423 of a second victory margin over Scott Goodyear in 1982 remains the closest finish; the  Castroneves-Palou finish ranks eighth at .4928 of a second.

BUT—-Until May 30, 2021, the closed first-to-third finish had been in 2006, when Sam Hornish Jr., beat Marco Andretti by .0635 of a second (now the third closest finish) and finished 1.0187 seconds ahead of Michael Andretti.  This year, the top FOUR drivers finished within 0.9409 of each other (Castroneves and Palou, then 2019 winner Simon Pagenaud, and Pato O’Ward.

A couple of the Kanaan race records survived the 2021 race.  His race had 68 lead changes involving 14 drivers.  The 2021 race had 35 lead changes involving 13 drivers.

The Missouri connection to his story:

Helio (the “h” is silent) was born Hélio Alves de Castro Neves a little more than 46 years ago.  His first taste of big-time open-wheel racing in the USA came in 1998 when he ran for Tony Bettenhausen Jr., with a best finish of second at Milwaukee. But it was when he drove for St. Louis trucking entrepreneur Carl Hogan in 1999,  that he began to arrive. He started third and finished second at Gateway International (now World Wide Technology International) just across the river from St. Louis, leading 38 laps—more than he had led in his entire season with Bettenhausen, in this car, a Mercedes-powered Lola owned by Hogan.

The next weekend, he won his first pole at Milwaukee. There are those who thought he should have won at least three times that year for Hogan but mechanical issues short-circuited those hopes. In those days, Helio had not yet combined the last two parts of his name into one.

He became Castroneves in 2000 when, after gaining some prominence, some reports in the United States referred to him either as “Castro,” or “Neves” and he wanted them to use his whole name.

Hogan folded his team for financial reasons at the end of the year but the young driver by then shown the kind of potential a man named Roger Penske liked to see.

He drove for Penske in 2000, picked up his first three wins, and in 2001 as a rookie at the Indianapolis 500, got the first of his now-four 500s.

In 2003, the last year Gateway hosted an INDYCAR race until the series returned in 2017, Castroneves led a 1-2-3 Brazilian podium sweep with Tony Kanaan and Gil de Ferran finishing behind him.

He lost his fulltime ride with Penske a few years ago when Penske decided to bring in some younger talent. He drove for Penske’s sports car team until it was disbanded last year after winning the IMSA Sports car championship. He was picked up by Wayne Taylor Racing for the Daytona 24-hour sports car endurance race.  He won it. But Taylor doesn’t run INDYCAR.

So IMSA competitor, Meyer-Shank Racing, which does run at Indianapolis, signed him.  Many people doubted an aging Castroneves driving for a small team such as Meyer-Shank, could contend for a win.  But Helio was fast throughout practices and was among the nine fastest qualifiers, an indication that he couldn’t be dismissed lightly.  He ran near the top all day, led a few laps, and didn’t go away.  And when crunch time came, he knew he could pass Alex Palou on the outside going into the first turn on the next-to-last lap and have his chance for that cherished fourth win.  He won by a half-second.

So that’s our connection to this remarkably talented, persistent, happy, warrior.  And anybody who has watched him climb the fence after each of his four wins at Indianapolis and especially who watched his unrestrained joy on Sunday has no doubts that he deserves the designation.

(photo credits: Bob Priddy, various times and places, and Meyer-Shank Racing Facebook)

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We would be remiss if we didn’t report that NASCAR ran its longest race of the year, 600 miles at Charlotte, its Memorial Weekend tradition, Sunday night.  Kyle Larson started first and finished first. He led 327 of the 400 laps. He averaged 151 miles an hour and he won by eleven seconds.

And that’s about all we can say about that race.

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Marriage and the modern woman

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(Tomorrow begins the traditional month for marriages. We offer Dr. Frank Crane’s musings on what marriage should be.  It was written in 1913 and might surprise some people because he was writing eight years before women became full, voting, citizens of the United States and years before the concept of the liberated woman emerged, a phrase that has become dated.  He describes—-)

THE PERFECT MARRIAGE

Let us think to the end and imagine what the ideal marriage ought to be, and someday will be.

Let us for the moment put away all practical ideas, common sense arrangements, adjusting ourselves to things as they exist, and all that. Frequently light can be thrown on the perplex ties of present problems by stripping them of their concreteness and treating them in their clean absoluteness. Algebra often saves time and trouble and solves puzzles that baffle arithmetic.

Marriage is never going to be ideal until it is absolutely free in choice. The only reason for getting married should be the mutual, irresistible attraction of love.

Any other factor mixed into the matter is bad. Hence, economic dependence is not good. No woman ought to get married in order to be supported.

Somehow, I know not how, marriage should be removed from the list of occupations, where it now too often is, among school-teaching and typewriting.

The fundamental thing to do is, in some way, to render woman economically independent. Thus, her selection of a husband need not be alloyed with the base metal of seeking a means of livelihood.

For this reason, I look upon the invasion by women of many fields of business as, on the whole, a move in the right direction, although like all human conditions it is accompanied naturally with some peril.

“Whatever,” says E. H. Griggs*, “tends to free women from any external compulsion to marry places marriage itself upon a nobler plane.”

Secondly, the permanency (and, hence, the beauty) of marriage cannot rest on strict divorce laws. Outer compulsion of the kind is well enough at present owing to our “hardness of heart” and our imperfect morals, but at last the sureness and firmness of marriage must depend on the development of an appreciation of the worth and beauty and joy of it.

I believe in monogamy, not because of any law or authority, but because it is psychologically and physiologically the most satisfactory arrangement for the ideal expression of love of women and love of children. Any other system debases the affection of man and woman, and results in cruelty and injustice to the child.

There is no hope for the family outside of the growth…of strong ethical and religious feelings; that is, the sense of the sacredness and nobleness of sex relations. It must be something man wants to work for, suffer for and, if need be, die for.

And then, marriage must be between equals. I do not mean in rank or money or education, nor any such idiocy, but in nature. It must be eye to eye and hand in hand. There must be no superiority. A man is most manly when he is womanized; that is when his strength is made gentle and forbearing and kindly. A woman is most woman when she is thoroughly mingled with the manly qualities; that is when her tenderness and sweetness acquire power and firmness and practicality.

Love does this. Love is the equalizer. It is the hydrostasis paradox of souls, for as a column of water rises to the same level in an inch-tube and a six-inch tube when they are joined, so love puts two souls on a spiritual level…

With it we shall go on up to the divine stature; without it we surely will revert to barbarism…

The solution of marriage, therefore, depends on three things:  Freedom, nobleness, and equality.  More deeply on one thing—love.

*Dr. E. H. Griggs was an author and lecturer who once headed the Philosophy Department at the Brooklyn Institute of Arts.

The Brickyard

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We’re going to talk about a car race today. This is the weekend when we take a break from pithy political observations or discussions of historical events to talk about The Race.

Memorial Day Weekend, the unofficial beginning of Summer for many of us—–

And I’m not going to be where I love to be on Memorial Day Weekend.  COVID and “Cabbages” are keeping me in my living room, in front of a television set, instead of being part of the sounds and sights and spectacle that will be unfolding in Indianapolis.

At the Speedway, the Brickyard, down on the starting grid, headed to my usual observation post as Jim Cornelison sings “Back Home Again in Indiana,” moments before the engines start. For thousands of people NOT from Indiana, that song in that place is magic in itself.

Every year when I go to the Indianapolis 500, I look for a story with a Missouri connection.  I’m holding a couple in reserve—about the only Missouri native to win the Greatest Spectacle in Racing—and about a Texan whose road to the Speedway went through Missouri and one of its legendary race tracks.

Today, we have a story that turns out not to be a story but it’s a story anyway—about why they call the Speedway “The Brickyard.”

The first 500 was run in 1911 on a brick-paved 2 ½ mile track, a huge race track in its day, at a time when the mere thought of going 500 miles in an automobile in a day, let alone in seven hours and change, was beyond the imagination of most people.

But before there was the 500, there was the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, the first race track to use that descriptive name.

And before there were cars racing at the track there were hot-air balloons and then motorcycles.

Charles Leerhsen, the author of Blood and Smoke: a True Tale of Mystery, Mayhem, and the Birth of the Indy 500¸ recounts that the first racing surface at the track was “two inches of large gray gravel laid upon the natural red-clay soil…followed by two inches of limestone covered with taroid, followed by two more inches of slightly smaller, taroid-drenched gravel, stopped off with another wo inches of dry white stones…each layer being steamrollered repeatedly to pack it down hard.”   (Taroid was a mixture of tar and oil.)  The result was supposed to be a smooth, dustless racing surface. Several competitors refused to run because of the track’s condition and those that did run didn’t come close to running at record speeds.  The meet was a disaster.

The first automobile races were held in August, 1909. The first practices showed the track surface was hardly solid, that the tires of the speeding (70-80 mph) were picking up rocks and throwing them back at trailing cars, which had no windshields and whose drivers were protected only by glass goggles.  Sometimes, entire chunks of the taroid surface were flung back. Leerhsen recounts that the pavement “eroded into a ditch two and a half feet deep and eight to ten inches across that led to one car to flip end over end twice, throwing the driver and the riding mechanic to their deaths. The next day, a car crashed through the fence, killing two spectators and a riding mechanic.

Clearly, a better racing surface was needed. Concrete was considered although its track record, so to speak, was inconsistent. There were brief thoughts of using creosote-soaked wood, or a new gravel-tar compound.

And this is where we thought we had a great Missouri story to go with the Indianapolis 500.  Leerhsen records Speedway President Carl Fischer was contacted by “a St. Louis man named Will P. Blair…the secretary of the National Paving Brick Manufacturers Association,” who convinced Fisher the track should be paved with bricks, 3.2 million of them.

I started looking for references in St. Louis to Blair or the National Paving Brick Manufacturers Association, but I couldn’t find anything.  Leerhsen later told me at the Speedway he could not recall where he found that information about the St. Louis connection.

Now, many years later, along comes Mark Dill, who has written The Legend of the First Super Speedway; the Battle for the Soul of American Auto Racing.  He identifies William P. Blair as an “Indianapolis-based representative of the manufacturers’ group, drawing the description from a September 8, 1909 article in the Indianapolis Star.

So there went a great possible story about a Missouri connection to the Indianapolis 500.  But I still have a couple left in the bank.

It took a little more than two months to put down all of those 9 ½ pound bricks.  The final brick laid was a gold-plated one, put down by the governor of Indiana. Although the brick was supposed to be guarded, it later disappeared and has never been found. As car speeds increased, the need for a smoother racing surface became obvious, especially on the turns.  Asphalt was added here and there, particularly in 1936 when some of the rougher turns were smoothed out. All of the bricks on the turns went under asphalt a year later and in 1938 all of the track was asphalted except for the middle part of the main straightaway.

That’s the way I first saw the track in 1954.  The entire front stretch was covered in 1961, the fiftieth anniversary of the first 500 (and the year young A. J. Foyt won the race for the first time) except for one three-foot wide stretch of the original bricks that marks the start-finish line. A special gold-plated brick was put in that yard of bricks to honor the fiftieth anniversary of Ray Harroun’s win in the first 500. That brick still exists although not as part of the track.

The yard of bricks remains of the original Brickyard. That yard of bricks has become one of the great ceremonial gathering places in all of racing worldwide.

The winning driver and his crew gather right after the race to “kiss the bricks” as Takuma Sato did when he won his first 500 in 2017. (He got to repeat the ceremony last year with a late-race pass of Scott Dixon and a crash by another competitor that led to a finish under a yellow flag that kept Dixon from a late attempt to regain the lead.)

And as Will Power did when he won his only 500 (so far) three years ago.

One of the bricks is not a brick-brick but one of the bronze bricks honoring a four-time winner of the 500.  The first such brick was put down to honor Foyt. Others have been added to honor the other two four-time winners, Rick Mears and Al Unser, Sr.

The 500 is rich in traditions but “kissing the bricks” did not begin in May.  In 1994, the Speedway decided to allow a second race to be held each year.  It was called the Brickyard 400—the 500-mile race is reserved for open-wheel racing in May.  The winner of the third Brickyard 400, Dale Jarret in 1996, decided with crew chief Todd Parrott to pay tribute to the track’s long history by going out to the start-finish line and kissing the bricks.  Their entire crew joined them, creating a tradition that somebody will continue on Sunday.

A lot of fans can kiss the bricks, too.  The Speedway has extended the yard of bricks into the plaza behind the pagoda and on days leading up to the race and on race day itself, it’s not uncommon to see dozens of fans turn their caps around, put down their coolers, and kneel down for their own ceremony.

This year is the 105th running of the Indianapolis 500 (it was not run in 1918 because of the war, and not run 1942-1945, again because of a war).  The race is never a “given” for anyone. Unlike golf, for example, where a tournament winner gains some exemption privileges, all 33 drivers have to earn their way onto the starting grid—by being faster than all other competitors. Past wins at the Speedway and past INDYCAR championships earn a driver no favors. Last year’s winner, Takuma Sato, starts on the outside of the fifth row Sunday, 15th.  And Will Power, just three years after his victory, had to push his car so hard that it brushed the second turn wall on his final qualifying attempt, starts 32nd, buried in the middle of the last row.

This is the first race in which the average qualifying speed of the 33 drivers is more than 230 mph (230.294), breaking a seven-year old record.  Just saying it in no way conveys what a person sees or the incredible skill and courage that is on display when a car roars past at almost 240 mph—-

—and turns left with the car’s accelerator on the floor. You have to witness it to appreciate it.

It’s hard to describe how fast those cars go.  But here’s an example: By the time the race is about twenty laps along, the cars are strung out pretty well.  If you’re sitting in the front straightaway grandstand behind the pits and you watch the entire field go past you and you follow the last car as it disappears into the first turn, you suddenly realize the leader already is back in front of you. Only forty seconds have passed.  It can be breathtaking.

Unlike last year, this year will have fans in the stands and in the infield—135,000 of them, all masked.  That’s a lot of people but it will seem like only a few.  In 2011, wen the centennial 500 was run, the crowd was so large that about one in every 100 people in the United States was at the track.

The generations are changing in this country’s biggest open-wheel racing series.

Scott Dixon, who turns 41 years old in July, starts first, his four lap (10 mile) qualifying speed only .04 miles an hour faster than Colton Herta, who was eight years old when Dixon won the 500 in 2008.

On the outside of the front row is Rinus Veekay, who won’t be 21 until September. He is the youngest driver ever to start from the front row. There are similar stories back in the pack of young drivers yet to reach their mid-20s, who will be competing with former winners and other mainstays of the race who are in their 40s.  In a few years, names such as Dixon, Castroneves, Kanaan, Hunter-Reay, Power, Carpenter, Montoya, and even Sato will be history, their winning cars cold and static in the Speedway Museum.

And the Brickyard will be the realm of today’s young lions.  And “Back Home Again in Indiana’ will still be magic.

(photo credit:  Bob Priddy)

 

What You Drive and How You Vote

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This has been crowded out of our discussions since before the November, 2020 elections but there’s enough breathing room to bring it up now.

Next time you go to a polling place, look around.  See if you can figure how your precinct will go at the end of the day, based on the vehicles you see in the parking lot.  We’re going to give you some hints.

Last October, Forbes columnist Bill Howard suggested the vehicles we drive might indicate our voting preferences.  For example, he wrote, “Many Honda and Subaru drivers are more likely to lean Democratic…On the other hand, full-size pickup drivers lean heavily Republican.”  He draws his information from Strategic Vision’s 2020 New Vehicle Experience Study that was shared with the Forbes Wheels column.  The findings were based on more than 46,000 responses.  Strategic Vision is a company that dives into “value centered psychology” that determines behavior” to determine what motivates people to make the choices they make for the vehicles they drive.

Strategic Vision President Alexander Edwards told him, “Democrats outnumber Republicans in the sedan segment and they are more likely to drive hybrids or EVs. Republicans lead in trucks, luxury, sporty and family vehicle categories>”

The company split its findings into 12 different vehicle segments, 250-plus car models and a baker’s dozen political categories.

The biggest difference in partisan vehicle tastes lies in ownership of heavy duty pickup trucks.  For each of those bought by a Democrat, eight Republicans buy one.

Democrats are more likely to buy used cars “because they skew younger” and buy used (think back to your younger days. Could you afford to buy something new?  We sure couldn’t.). The study finds younger people also are more likely not to have a vehicle and opt instead for car- pooling or public transportation. They’re more likely to keep a car longer than Republicans.

The study says Democrats are more likely to want something that is economical and “cool” and friendly to the environment. Republicans want something prestigious, powerful and rugged.  Independents?  Sensible.  Reliable.

The study of the top six vehicle preferences showed Democrats liked three Honda models, a Subaru and a Nissan sedan. The “Liberal/Progressive” people’s top choice was the Tesla Model 3, with a couple of Hondas, a Toyota small SUV hybrid, a small Chevrolet SUV and a small Kia sedan.

Five of the top six for Republicans are pickup trucks, two by Dodge, one by Ford, two by Chevrolet/GMC and a Ford SUV. Conservatives without a party affiliation like three Ford pickups, a Kia Sedan, a Jeep SUV and a Honda minivan.  Independents list two Hondas and a Honda small SUV, a Nissan sedan, a Dodge muscle car, and a Toyota SUV.

The lists actually are longer than the six vehicles we’ve listed here. If you want to read the whole thing, go to https://www.forbes.com/wheels/news/what-your-car-might-say-about-how-you-vote/.

The Strategic Vision webpage is at: https://www.strategicvision.com/

Original Thinking

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(In the cartoons, it’s a light bulb that comes on over the head of the character—the bright idea, suddenly arriving.  Did Thomas Edison have a light bulb come on over his head when he finally perfected the light bulb?  All of us have had those sudden thoughts.  But we don’t think about them. From where did they come?  What inspired them?  Dr. Crane returns after a week off to offer some thoughts about thinking)

IDEAS OF A PLAIN MAN—I

“The thought that comes to you,” says a French writer, “has arrived in your mind after a long voyage through space and time, longer than the last of stars is distant from your eyes.”

Everyone has been startled to find, upon opening some book of old ideas that Augustine or Plutarch or Zeno, that some idea he had fancied to be his own, private, and as yet unuttered,  leap out and laugh at him. It gives one a queer turn.  Am I them but a Thought-Inn, a lodging for the night, wherein perceptions, old and indestructible…come and abide? To think is to plagiarize!

About the only original thinking in any of us is that hazy, not understandable, yet most vitally real thing that we call Personality. When Shakespeare or Browning write, they are but restating world-old things, but the things acquire a Shakespeare taste, a Browning flavor.

Even the words of Jesus, many of them, may be traced to this or that source: His sentiments and commandments may be picked up here and there in eastern literature; the intensely original element in him was his rare and wonderful Personality. His enduring miracle was Himself.

Thoughts are Ancient Vagrants. The New things on this worn out old stone are you and I, souls little flames of God, sparks from the central Sun of Life.

Tell the truth, pay a fine

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We never say, “Well, I’ve seen it all now” because there’s always somebody in the wings just waiting with something more outrageous than what we’ve seen.

And one of the latest in an increasingly growing number of outrageous characters in our political system is this bird:

Michigan State Representative Matt Maddock has introduced a bill requiring all of those who check politicians’ statements for truthfulness to register with the state and file proof of a $1,000,000 fidelity bond.  The Detroit News reports fact checkers who don’t register could be fined $1,000 per day they are not registered. The bill also says an “affected person” could file a civil action claiming the bond for “any wrongful conduct that is a violation of the laws of the state.”  Maddock says a judge could order the bond forfeited “for demonstrable harm” stemming from something the fact-checker wrote and said.

The Washington Post says Maddock, a Republican, is married to the co-chair of the Michigan Republican Party.

Maddock was one of those last year who tried to impeach Governor Gretchen Whitmer because of her restrictions intended to control the coronavirus.  He joined a federal lawsuit in December challenging President Biden’s election.

Even more outlandish is that he has eight co-sponsors.

Maddock seems to resent people such as CNN’s Daniel Dale and organizations such as Politifact, Factcheck.org, Snopes, NPR Fact-Check, and the Washington Post and its famed system of awarding Pinocchios to those telling who have a problem with the truth.

Dale told colleagues Brianna Keilar and John Berman that Maddock is “scoring points with the conservative base by going after the media.”   He said it also shows “the growing disrespect for the principle of a free press, for the First Amendment, throughout certain segments of the Republican party, not just the base but elected officials.”

We note that fact-checkers have pounced on some of the things President Biden has said although his record for mendacity is miniscule compared to that of his predecessor.

The scary thing about Maddock is that there is a segment of the population that is cheering him on.  Truth be damned.  The public has no right to know when someone in government lies.

While Maddock wants to target people such as Dale and others, his legislation could apply to every reporter for every news organization because it’s the job of every reporter to challenge lies and misstatements.  People such as Maddock don’t want their “alternate facts” exposed for what they are.

Thank God for the First Amendment.  Maddock and his ilk prefer to ignore it; we won’t hazard a guess whether they’d like to cancel it.

In times like these, when truth is so blatantly ignored by those who seek power and control over our freedoms, when those who speak the truth are punished by their own political party that seems afraid to challenge its greatest liar, fact-checkers are ever more crucial.

And legislation such as that proposed by Maddock should be seen as a threat to the freedoms of all of us. His kind cannot prevail.

 

It’s about time

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The capitol started to cool at 6 p.m. last Friday, the official adjournment time of the 2021 regular session of the legislature.

Actually, as we understand it, the heat and the hard pulse of the building began to diminish at mid-afternoon when the Senate adjourned, deadlocked in an intra-party fight about the most notorious bill-killer issue for the last twenty or thirty years—abortion.

Tack some language on a bill that forbids any funding for any program that involved anyone who might say or think “birth control” and that bill goes to the grave’s edge with one foot on a banana peel.

That’s what took whatever wind was left in the sails of this session out of those sails.  Unfortunately, the effort this time was tied to a bill that continues a tax on hospitals—that are willing to be taxed—so more federal money is available to provide healthcare to poor people. Democrats let it be known the birth control amendment wouldn’t fly, especially after the Republicans refused to find funding for the expanded Medicaid program voters put into the Missouri Constitution last year. The Democrat leader moved to adjourn early and although the R’s had more than enough votes to defeat the D’s motion, it passed, leaving the House the only chamber still in business. The House, to its credit, slogged on despite expressions of urinary agitation toward the Senate.

It’s about time—-too little time to iron out problems assuming anybody wanted to do any ironing.

This isn’t the first time, by the way, that one chamber or another has quit early for one reason or another.

On the other hand, “it’s about time” has another and more positive meaning.

It’s about time the legislature approved a fuel tax increase that does not require a public vote.  The refusal of voter twice to support increases has left our transportation system in desperate straits and this observer thinks our lawmakers deserve a friendly pat for doing what had to be done—-although it should have been done years ago.

But discussing what should have been done has little value. What has been done is what’s important today.  Now.  My car is grateful and so am I.

It’s also about time the legislature finally decided state sales taxes should be collected on internet sales.  Again, it’s something that should have been done years ago but this year, it got done. Will it keep local stores trying to compete with internet super-super-super stores from closing?  In reality, not many probably.  But it’s nice to see the legislature get past the idea that having people pay sales taxes they should be paying is some kind of an onerous tax increase.

But there seems to be some kind of a tiny irony here.  Missouri will start collecting taxes on internet sales of things that lead to birth control.

We’re mulling what seems to be a logic disconnect in that but we haven’t figured it out yet.

To an Athlete Playing Old

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In my mind, I still think I could play third base, could field the one-hopper, hop-step and throw the bullet to first base to get the runner by a step.  In my mind, it’s me and the pitcher, one-on-one and I feel rather than hear the bat strike the ball and I hear the wind whip past my ears as I sprint to first base. I smell the dust.  I hear the voices from my dugout. I know my skin, by the end of the game, will have a light coating of mud—dust mixed with the sweat of sweet effort.

In my mind.

It has been fifteen years since I put the supple black glove in the green bag at the end of a game —I played third in a co-ed game and threw out a runner trying to score on one of those one-hoppers, the ball going over his shoulder perfectly to the catcher who forced him out at home in a bases-loaded situation.  My spiked shoes are in the bag, too, although the soles have pulled away from the tops because dozens of nights of game-sweat eventually rotted the stitching.

I say it was my “most recent game,” not my “last game.”

I know the love of playing the game, a changing game as skills eroded, from that first season of baseball as an 8-year old batter terrified of a 10-year old pitcher (I summoned the courage to swing at a pitch in my last game and singled past the undoubtedly stunned pitcher), to fast-pitch softball, and finally (when fast-pitch disappeared and too many young men found it easier to impress the girlfriends by mashing looper league pitches over fences) slow pitch softball.

It was, and is, the game.  Playing the game in whatever form talent and circumstance allowed.

Many of us now slow of foot, thick of waist, driven by delusions of adequacy, understand when a young—by our standards—major league star finds the game is beyond his competitive capabilities. Or is told the game is now beyond their once-awsome abilities.

NO, we cry.  No!  We can still play!  I can still do this!

But at 60 or 70 or 80, it is easier to admit that no, we really can’t.  Or shouldn’t.  But we will remember.  And we will wish.

It is much worse when you are but 40.

We look at players such as Albert Pujols, old at 41, hanging on or wanting to hang on because the game has a grip on him more than he still has a grip on the game.

It comes to all athletes in all sports.  But for those at the highest levels, the realization can be agonizingly hard to accept.  I can get one more home run. I can strike out one more batter. I can throw one more touchdown.  I can hit one more buzzer-beater.

But others can do more while I’m striving for my one-more. I can be pushed aside.

Most of us common folks who hold regular jobs have the luxury of deciding there are too many other things to do in life than go to the workplace every day. Stepping away is easier, sometimes just plain joyous.

We never have to face the idea that we are 40 and there no longer is a place for us in the world that has been the consuming passion of our lives—all our lives.

The passion is there.  The fire of competition still rages within. But in a world that relies on physical skills, recognizing that ours no longer match our passion enough to stay in the competitive arena is so hard to accept.

As fans of sport, we do not measure our heroes by their age and when we think they are done when they are “only” 40, we realize these heroes are not ageless but are as human as we are—although we don’t have to realize we are old until we are old.

Moments such as these recall for us English Edwardian poet A. E. Housman’s elegy for a young athlete who died before he joined the great mass of those who faded into obscurity as their skills waned. He called it “To An Athlete Dying Young.”

The time you won your town the race, We chaired you through the market place;  Man and boy stood cheering by And home we brought you shoulder high.

The poem later speaks of “the road all runners come,” and “fields where glory does not stay, and early though the laurel grows, it withers quicker than the rose.”

Such is the life of our heroes of the playing field.

We who watch them might realize before they do that “glory does not stay.”  That time comes for all of us but usually not when we are just forty and have spent our lives among an elite few who can do what they have been doing. We sometimes say goodbye to them before they can bring themselves to say goodbye to the world that has consumed their lives.

It is much harder to step aside when you are 40 and a 25-year-old is doing what you only think you can still do, than it is when you are 65 and realize there is something liberating ahead.

Another English poet, from one generation earlier than Housman’s, wrote, “The last of life, for which the first was made…youth shows but half; Trust god: See all, nor be afraid.”

In time the resistance to Robert Browning’s sentiment will diminish.  But it is hard to accept when you are an athlete playing old.

Legacy

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It’s all down to these last three days.

The human business of writing laws is about done for this year, at least in a regular legislative session.  Four months ago these ladies and gentlemen (at least in the house) and senators (in the senate everybody is a senator, as the ages-old saying goes; there are no ladies and gentlemen),  trouped to chilly, gray Jefferson City, many of them fresh off their first election to the most important office they’d ever been chosen to hold and some back for the second half of a term of the highest office they had ever held. Or ever would.

Now, probably tired and long-shorn of the freshness of January, they look at 6 p.m. Friday, some with wishes they could have done more and some glad that the legislature did not do more.  The record of this session by and large has been compiled.

A key question that should occur to all who have sat at their desks in those great chambers as they look back on what the record of this General Assembly will be is, “Did we defend and improve the welfare of the people of Missouri?”  For that is the main job of government.

There will be lists of bills compiled and circulated, the wording coldly descriptive.  But behind the unemotional language, how are the people better off for all the words spoken, all the words written and all the words re-written?

Each lawmaker will have his or her answer to the question that best suits their purpose and their self-image.

One of the shortcomings of our Capitol is that it has large composite photographs of members of the House and Senate for each legislative session.  But there are no accompanying signs that tell passersby what issues those people discussed, fought over, passed and rejected. Each session has a legacy but anyone pausing to look at the forgotten faces of past sessions will never know it.

In some cases, it’s best that those pictures are without written context.  Would the results of any session be different if lawmakers knew there would be a sign next to their pictures for generations to come detailing what they did—or didn’t do—or refused to do—for the people?

Even without a sign, what has happened this year that these folks will be proud to tell their grandchildren about?  Or proud to have mentioned in the last newspaper article that will ever be written about them?

The final words of the legacy of the 2021 session will be written in these last three days.