And Justice For All

Scholars, politicians and regular citizens have debated its merits and detractions over the years. Capital punishment, or the death penalty, generally prompts one to form an opinion one way or another. The polarized opinions on the topic are as divergent and diametrically opposed as the pro-life and pro-choice stances taken on the abortion issue; a simple "yes" or "no" clearly acknowledges your posture on such a controversial topic. But I seemed to vacillate on mine.

My personal dilemma on the matter first traversed the path of pure vengeance: the old eye for an eye mentality. It dictated those perpetrating the ultimate violence on the innocent would pay in kind, as society could extract its rightful payment in flesh. After reading a story about the death penalty meted out against a criminal for an unspeakable crime, I would peruse the comments posted by other readers on their reactions to the sentencing. Some were superfluous, cyber-graffiti if you will; some merely expounded rhetoric in a forum because they were able to do so. 

And then there were those that meandered down that other path, favoring the preservation of those criminal’s lives. These presented viewpoints that were more bothersome to my beliefs, and gave pause to what I thought was my firm conviction favoring the state's right to execute criminals. They were inconvenient, forcing me to re-think my stance; causing hair-line fissures to slowly snake their way through my smug logic. One such comment on justice for convicted murderers I pondered for weeks. It eventually caused an epiphany and swayed me to where my opinion stands today.This solution is definitely not complicated, it should pass the scrutiny of our esteemed Supreme Court and I believe it satisfies the urge for retribution while simultaneously retaining at least a semblance of compassion for this asocial part of society...at least for me. Picture the following...

It's hot, unspeakably hot; summer never seemed so malevolent. In turn, each of the three shackled prisoners wipe their brows with the sleeves of their shirts. But their efforts are futile; sweat immediately reforms on foreheads as the merciless sun seemingly increases in intensity. The lone armed guard watching their movements does not share in his charges' discomfort as he sips a cool drink in his dark-glassed, air-conditioned station 50 yards away. He is ever-diligent, but knows the proximity sensors the convicted murderers wear on their ankles would emit an ear piercing howl if they somehow became untethered from their current position and ventured ten yards in any direction. Seeing the prisoners stop, the guard hefts his rifle, leans forward, switches the loudspeaker on and warns the criminals to return to work or they will be placed on the prison's severe ration diet of bread and water. Shoulders slumped, rakes and shovels are picked up and the reluctant trio resumes their endless grounds keeping duties.

Cruel and unusual? Just consider...how many of us work on lawns and gardens in the summer in sweltering heat? Or shovel/plow snow in the winter? Or mop floors, install fencing, prepare meals or perform countless other labor intensive jobs during the course of a day? Granted, most of us don't perform our household or employment duties under the surveillance of an armed guard, but most of us haven't killed another human being in cold blood, either. Why is hard, manual labor considered cruel and unusual punishment when millions of Americans perform similar functions every day? 

Think about it. Millions of dollars are spent on death penalty appeals...where does that money come from? Prisoners receive free clothing, room and board, medical coverage and sit on their collective asses all day while we work to support THEM. Offended by the crass terminology just used to denote the posterior of the human body? Save your outrage for the criminals that have murdered innocent victims. While you work every day to support them with your tax dollars, THEY are permitted to watch cable TV, read, work out or, if the notion prompts, do nothing at all. But no matter what THEY do, their lodging, meals and medical attention is guaranteed. Some deal, eh?

We have heard that people are put to death after advances in science or additional evidence is discovered that would have proved their innocence. Such mistakes would not happen under a penal code that requires hard work but no longer the death penalty.

The move to hard labor for convicted murderers, instead of being subject to the death penalty, certainly won't bring back the victims of such heinous crimes. But it can show their surviving family, friends, acquaintances and society in general that the perpetrators of such crimes will be working their collective asses off for years to come as payment for their offenses.

Pain Redux

A little something I wrote a few years ago...

The furnace churns to a stop, the vents groan in relief as the last of the hot air is expelled from them and the stillness of the cold winter night once again descends upon the house. Next to me, my wife sleeps soundly, her breathing rhythmic, a comforting island of refuge in the harsh reality that had impeded my own efforts so far to sleep. I lay awake, the pain I had jokingly nicknamed "the Companion" slowly dissipating. Knowing what might need to be done while dreading the consequences of such an unnatural act has not helped my efforts toward somnolence, either.

Ever so slowly, I rise from the cozy warmness of the bed into the stark chilliness of the room, careful not to disturb the person I have shared so many laughs, tears, triumphs and tragedies with over the years. Cautious as I am, she still turns once and puts one of her arms on the pillow where my head had rested only a few moments before. I hold my breath for a second but thankfully she resumes her sleep. I tip-toe to her side of the bed and for a brief moment look down at her, so peaceful, so child-like in her sleep, so utterly vulnerable. I reach out to put my hand on her soft neck but instead take a step backward as she stirs again in her sleep. Thinking about the troubles facing me, I desperately wish we could return to a simpler time but know such is merely the gossamer fabric of dreams. Then my resolve beckons and I promise myself I won't dwell on that abhorrent solution looming as a viable alternative.

Our old house best reveals its age on cold winter nights such as this, when drafts are attracted to bare feet like steel to a magnet. In anticipation of this problem I pull on my woolen sox but cradle the rest of my clothes in my arms as I slowly exit the bedroom, partly closing the door behind me. I only get as far as the bathroom when my Companion comes to visit once again, this time with a vengeance; the pain is unbelievably intense. Dropping the clothes from my arms I try to stifle a cry of pain before it leaves my mouth because I don't want to awaken my wife. The method I had used previously, one way to lessen the intensity of the Companion's frequent visits and to hold at bay that other dreaded alternative, was to simply walk around. Of course, in the wee hours of the morning in the dead of winter, there really aren't too many places to walk, so it's down the hall, through the kitchen to the back door, then all the way to the other end of the house.

Over and over, I walk and walk, with the Companion's throbbing presence rising to a painful crescendo I had never yet experienced. Still, I walk, waiting for blessed relief that to date eventually came after a while. Feeling as if my Companion is alternately squeezing and then twisting my insides into a ball, I actually break out in a cold sweat as I now try to put one foot in front of the other, no longer certain I could walk any further. Forced to stop, I'm thankful there is a doorway to lean against. As I quietly gasp for air, my Companion finally starts its denouement, and I sink to the floor, resting, waiting to see if I can outlast this latest unwelcomed visit. But first, I must see if this bout with my Companion had awakened my wife, forcing a change in my plans.

Gathering some residue of strength I didn't even know I possessed, I rise unsteadily to my feet, walk back to the bedroom, push open the partly closed door and look in. She's gone, the disarrayed bed covers providing mute testimony to her departure. Defeated, I slump up against the wall, slowly lowering myself to the floor and sit with my head in my hands. I wasn't sure if I had dozed off or not, but minutes later I hear soft footsteps approaching from down the hall. Something reaches out to touch me gently on the shoulder and I look up. In one hand she holds two small pills, in the other a cup of water. "Take these," my loving wife, my Angel of Mercy says in her soft voice, "they'll make you feel better." Beaten by my Companion, saved by my wife yet again, I take the pills in my hand, look at them in disgust, throw them into the back of my mouth and swallow them with a gulp of water.

As I slowly get to my feet my wife takes my arm, guides me back into our bedroom and settles me down. In a mere two or three minutes the effects of the pills start to kick in and I am transported once again to an alternate universe where pain does not exist, seasons never change and where I float around aimlessly as an ethereal being rather than exist purposefully as a man made of flesh and bones. Removed from reality, from troubles, from my wife, nothing matters any more, at least not for the next hour or two.

I hated those pills. I loved those pills. It was so damn unnatural.

School Manifesto

I wish I had written this, but it was rather given by a new HS principal in Florida. .

To the students and faculty of our high school:

I am your new principal, and honored to be so. There is no greater calling than to teach young people.

  

I would like to apprise you of some important changes coming to our school. I am making these changes because I am convinced that most of the ideas that have dominated public education in America have worked against you, against your teachers and against our country.

First, this school will no longer honor race or ethnicity. I could not care less if your racial makeup is black, brown, red, yellow or white. I could not care less if your origins are African, Latin American, Asian or European, or if your ancestors arrived here on the Mayflower or on slave ships.  The only identity I care about, the only one this school will recognize, is your individual identity -- your character, your scholarship, your humanity. And the only national identity this school will care about is American. This is an American public school, and American public schools were created to make better Americans.

    If you wish to affirm an ethnic, racial or religious identity through school, you will have to go elsewhere. We will end all ethnicity-, race- and non-American nationality-based celebrations. They undermine the motto of America , one of its three central values -- e pluribus unum, "from many, one." And this school will be guided by America 's values.

This includes all after-school clubs. I will not authorize clubs that divide students based on any identities. This includes race, language, religion, sexual orientation or whatever else may become in vogue in a society divided by political correctness.

Your clubs will be based on interests and passions, not blood, ethnic, racial or other physically defined ties. Those clubs just cultivate narcissism -- an unhealthy preoccupation with the self -- while the purpose of education is to get you to think beyond yourself.

So we will have clubs that transport you to the wonders and glories of art, music, astronomy, languages you do not already speak, carpentry and more. If the only extracurricular activities you can imagine being interesting in are those based on ethnic, racial or sexual identity, that means that little outside of yourself really interests you.

Second, I am uninterested in whether English is your native language. My only interest in terms of language is that you leave this school speaking and writing English as fluently as possible. The English language has united America 's citizens for over 200 years, and it will unite us at this school.  It is one of the indispensable reasons this country of immigrants has always come to be one country. And if you leave this school without excellent English language skills, I would be remiss in my duty to ensure that you will be prepared to successfully compete in the American job market. We will learn other languages here

-- it is deplorable that most Americans only speak English -- but if you want classes taught in your native language rather than in English, this is not your school.

Third, because I regard learning as a sacred endeavor, everything in this school will reflect learning's elevated status. This means, among other things, that you and your teachers will dress accordingly.  Many people in our society dress more formally for Hollywood events than for church or school. These people have their priorities backward. Therefore, there will be a formal dress code at

this school.    

Fourth, no obscene language will be tolerated anywhere on this school's property -- whether in class, in the hallways or at athletic events.  If you can't speak without using the f-word, you can't speak. By obscene language I mean the words banned by the Federal Communications Commission, plus epithets such as "Nigger," even when used by one black student to address another black, or "bitch," even when addressed by a girl to a girlfriend.  It is my intent that by the time you leave this school, you will be among the few your age to instinctively distinguish between the elevated and the degraded, the holy and the obscene.

Fifth, we will end all self-esteem programs. In this school, self-esteem will be attained in only one way -- the way people attained it until decided otherwise a generation ago -- by earning it. One immediate consequence is that there will be one valedictorian, not eight.

Sixth, and last, I am re-orienting the school toward academics and away from politics and propaganda. No more time will be devoted to scaring you about smoking and caffeine, or terrifying you about sexual harassment or global warming. No more semesters will be devoted to condom wearing and teaching you to regard sexual relations as only or primarily a health issue. There will be no more attempts to convince you that you are a victim because you are not white, or not male, or not heterosexual or not Christian. We will have failed if any one of you graduates this school and does not consider him or herself inordinately lucky -- to be alive and to be an American.

Now, please stand and join me in the Pledge of Allegiance to the flag of our country. As many of you do not know the words, your teachers will hand them out to you. 

Promises, Promises

Walk down any street in the great city of Philadelphia and chances are almost one out of every ten people you pass will be medically uninsured. Besides the Eagles, you could fill Lincoln Financial Field twice with individuals without healthcare. Half the riders sitting or standing on the bus or train on a daily basis could be worried about how their next medical bill is going to be paid.

Statistics show there are 131,000 Philadelphians without health care insurance. Since 57% of these uninsured people work either full- or part-time, there was practically no chance of obtaining coverage on the job. But thanks to the Health Care Reform Act, also known as the Affordable Care Act, this will change. By 2014, employers with 50 or more employees will be required to provide healthcare to their employees, and state exchanges will offer the same to individuals of small businesses via subsidies or credits. But the road to health care reform was not for the feint-hearted, as evidenced by the events that unfolded as it evolved.

American history is replete with inaccuracies expounded by its Presidents. In 1945, President Harry Truman said an atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima because it would inflict only limited civilian casualties; the tally of 140,000 was almost all civilian. President Nixon in 1973 notified a skeptical public the he “was not a crook;” less than six months later, the IRS determined he owed over $400,000 in back taxes. And President George W. Bush assured us that weapons of mass destruction were stockpiled in Iraq; they are yet to be found.

More recently, during election campaigning, soon-to be President Obama touted that he would change Washington’s penchant to rely on lobbyists, special interest groups and other less than constituency-based methods of passing legislation. However, even a cursory review of the pharmaceutical industry’s maneuvering leading up to health care reform reveals it will take more than campaign rhetoric to quell such antics.

Some historical perspective on health reform is in order. Implemented in 2006, Medicare Part D provided prescription drugs to Medicare recipients. It also included a provision that restricted Medicare from even discussing the reduction of prescription rates with the pharmaceutical companies. During then 2008 election campaign, Mr. Obama and other Democratic candidates for the Oval Office sought to overturn this restriction, permit Americans to purchase their prescriptions from developed countries such as Canada and increase the use of generic drugs in Medicare and other public health programs.

The eventual President revealed his personal health care plan would find savings up to $2,000 per person by eliminating inefficiencies; prescriptions were to be a major part of those savings. This position effectively placed a bull’s eye on the pharmaceutical companies, and placed them directly in the cross hairs when President Obama assumed office. But far be it for the pharmacy industry to acquiesce to the wishes of the President of the United States.

Instead, the Pharmacy Research and Manufacturers of America (PhRMA) went on the offensive, albeit discretely. Enter one Billy Tauzin. This ex-congressman from Louisiana had been singled out by candidate Obama as the individual who drafted the Medicare Part D legislation prohibiting Medicare from negotiating rate reduction for drugs. Only months after Medicare Part D became law, Mr. Tauzin resigned his position in Congress and assumed the helm at PhRMA. His salary was reportedly $2 million a year.

Subsequently, it became the prime objective of Mr. Tauzin to protect the interests of PhRMA from Washington’s lawmakers. The lobbyist machine for his industry was oiled with funding to the tune of $26 million as reported by the Center for Responsive Politics and put into motion to persuade elected officials to see health care reform from its distinct myopic viewpoint.

Forty-seven separate lobbying groups were hired by PhRMA to present their case to congressional targets. This figure does not include in-house employees who ramped up the pressure. Recipients fromPennsylvania in the House of Representatives included Allyson Schwartz (D-13) with $93,472, Patrick Murphy (D-8) $78,550, Jason Altmire (D-4) $74,721 and Tim Murphy (R-18) $67,000. Pennsylvania’s Senators also received donations: Arlen Specter (R) $182,200 and Bob Casey (D) $50,250.

The Center reports PhRMA was assisted in their endeavors by contributions of $14.6 million from individuals and another $15 million from political action committees or PACs.

To help move things along, two non-profit organizations were formed in April, 2009 under PhRMA’s watchful eye to promote health care reform efforts through the media: Healthy Economy Now and Americans for Stable Quality Care. A sum of $24 million was appropriated to convince the public of the merits of health care reform. The contract for these services was awarded to AKPD Message and Media. Daniel Axelrod, a senior advisor to the President, was one of the founders of AKPD that still employed his son and owed him $2 million at the time. This same company also performed work on Mr. Obama’s presidential campaign.

The result of the blood, sweat, tears and mostly money of the pro-pharmacy contingent is interesting, if not troubling. In June, 2009, Max Baucus, the Senate Finance Committee Chairman appointed as the point person by President Obama for all health care reform discussion, announced that the pharmaceutical industry had “agreed” to cost cutting in the amount of $80 billion. The money earmarked $20 billion for an expanded rebate for medicines used by Medicaid, $28 billion for a new fee on drug firms and about $30 billion for additional funds to close the “doughnut hole,” prescriptions not covered by Medicare Part D. It was later learned the powerful and persuasive pharmacy contingent had convinced Baucus to step down to the $80 billion figure from the $100 billion he had initially proposed.

But PhRMA et al. actually fared better with their $80 billion concession than might otherwise be expected. Offsetting this figure are the tens of billions of dollars in additional revenue to be realized from the estimated 32 million previously uninsured individuals who will become eligible for prescription coverage either through employers or yet to be established state exchanges.

Mitigating losses from funds allotted for Medicare Part D prescriptions are federal subsidies which, in turn, translates into more elderly patients buying drugs.

And perhaps most remarkably, similar to when heavyweight Buster Douglas knocked out Mike Tyson, PhRMA, KO’d all hopes of the Democrats’ ability to negotiate lower prescription costs under Medicare, import drugs from other countries and permit generic drugs to be used by Medicare and Medicaid.

Pennsylvania residents deserve affordable health care. But, we should be aware of the price that was paid for it as well as the alliances, deals and bedfellows that were borne of its creation.

Our Beautiful English Language

I can't take credit for this as it was sent to me by a friend (thanks, CS). But it's certainly worth your time to read about these perplexities of the English language:

The bandage was wound around the wound.

The farm was used to produce produce.

The dump was so full that it had to refuse more refuse.

We must polish the Polish furniture. 

He could lead if he would get the lead out.
The soldier decided to desert his dessert in the desert.
Since there is no time like the present, he thought it was time to present the present .
A bass was painted on the head of the bass drum.
When shot at, the dove dove into the bushes.
I did not object to the object. 
The insurance was invalid for the invalid. 
There was a row among the oarsmen about how to row .
They were too close to the door to close it.
The buck does funny things when the does are present.
A seamstress and a sewer fell down into a sewer line.
To help with planting, the farmer taught his sow to sow.
The wind was too strong to wind the sail.
Upon seeing the tear in the painting I shed a tear.
I had to subject the subject to a series of tests.
How can I intimate this to my most intimate friend? 

Let's face it - English is a crazy language. There is no egg in eggplant, nor ham in hamburger; neither apple nor pine in pineapple. English muffins weren't invented in England or French fries in France . Sweetmeats are candies while sweetbreads, which aren't sweet, are meat. We take English for granted. But if we explore its paradoxes, we find that quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig.

And why is it that writers write but fingers don't fing, grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham? If the plural of tooth is teeth, why isn't the plural of booth, beeth? One goose, 2 geese. So one moose, 2 meese? One index, 2 indices? Doesn't it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one amend? If you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them, what do you call it?

If teachers taught, why didn't preachers praught? If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat? Sometimes I think all the English speakers should be committed to an asylum for the verbally insane. In what language do people recite at a play and play at a recital? Ship by truck and send cargo by ship? Have noses that run and feet that smell?

How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites? You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in which your house can burn up as it burns down, in which you fill in a form by filling it out and in which, an alarm goes off by going on.

English was invented by people, not computers, and it reflects the creativity of the human race, which, of course, is not a race at all.

Mad Dog

On a pleasant summer morning several years ago, I donned my running shoes to get in some hill training, an exercise that would soon have my body begging for the great draughts of oxygen it so desperately needed. The undulating topography of my rural country course was well suited for my endeavor as both significant and gentle swells eventually reverted to stretches of level road in an idyllic environment of verdant flora and happy, scampering fauna…but for a singular four-legged exception that I was to become intimately acquainted with momentarily.

After jogging about twenty five minutes, a steep hill presented itself to me, taunting me to maintain my constant pace. For an agonizing four minutes a battle with Mother Nature ensued, she seemingly increasing the length and grade of the hill; me refusing to quit, steadfast in my resolve to beat this enemy. I knew if I could just make it to the top of this hill I would be presented with a level road where the remainder of my run could be negotiated on a relatively even keel.

Straining, I somehow found an inner reserve, some fabric that a writer might perhaps address as the “stuff” that makes a human, well, human. Lungs burning in agony, I finally burst upon the summit of the hill and immediately stopped running, unable to go any further; my chest was heaving and I was doubled over with hands resting on knees. When my labored breathing slowed slightly, I looked up and there, planted in the center of the road was a huge, mud-encrusted, panting hulk of a dog, head slung low and looking me straight in the eye. The long silvery entrails of saliva dripping toward the ground from its jowls let me know this was no friendly dog merely out for a walk; the snarl and resulting bared teeth was the empirical evidence letting me know I was in deep trouble.

Dressed in light running attire, I was dreadfully ill prepared, having brought the proverbial knife to a gunfight. When I took a small step backward to create some distance between me and the dog, its displeasure in my action was quite apparent, as the snarl on its face seemed to grow another inch or two as it, in turn, took another step toward me. To make matters worse, I noticed that the dog was getting into a crouching position, undoubtedly preparing to spring at me.

My mind quickly shifted into the primal fight or flight mode, presenting me the options to either battle this formidable opponent or run the hell away. So when the dog leaped at me, I had just moved out of the path of its charge as I had decided on the flight option. The loud snap of its jaws in its failed attempt to bite into the back of my legs unnerved me so much that I lost my stride, stumbled and fell. On my hands and knees, I turned and saw that a long string of slobber was now wrapped around the animal’s snout and that it was panting heavily, apparently enraged it had failed to disable its prey. Its growl was barely perceptible, a truly menacing development; its huge teeth gleamed like scimitars; its fetid breath nauseated me as I scrambled back to my feet.

As I stood, eyes locked on my nemesis, my hand felt and then closed around a large rock. I grasped it firmly; I now had a weapon, albeit primitive at best. Circling to my right I raised my arm; the dog also circled to its right and mimicked my movement, the two of us engaged in our very own dance macabre. Then, it quickly assumed its crouching position, paws digging in for traction, its huge head level with the ground, and I knew it wouldn’t miscalculate its lunge this time. Just as it reared its hindquarters for its charge, I screamed “NO!” as loudly as I could, my arm ready to release the rock.

To this day I believe the mere authoritative “no” I yelled somehow shocked the crazed animal back to the realization that I represented Man, the species that fed it when it was hungry, that had befriended it and its kind since time immemorial, the species that ruled the world and held all other life forms subservient to it. The dog hesitated, raised itself from its “attack” position and although it continued to growl, I knew the battle was over. I carefully made my way around the animal, and once out of the range of its teeth sprinted away, all vestiges of my former fatigue now a mere memory.

As I finish writing this encounter years later, my own dogs rest at my feet, domesticated and well-fed, content with their environment and master. They sleep, but at the slightest scrape of my chair’s leg on the floor they collectively spring to their feet, immediately attentive and ready to accompany me out to the yard. Once there, we play, we frolic, we romp. Man’s best friend is well named, at least for the moment...

Rolling Stone Magazine Purchases Wall Street Journal

New York: Rolling Stone Magazine, long considered a bastion of pot smokers,, drug users and alternative culture hippies has acquired a majority ownership in the prestigious Wall Street Journal.

Initially construed by many as two different ends of the media spectrum,