Brookfield Basics

Mark Twain once observed that, "the man who does not read holds little advantage over the man who cannot read".  Despite current levels of literacy that would surely astound the great American author, today I think Twain might have said something like, "the man who does not read worthwhile material holds little advantage over the man who does not read anything".

Over Christmas break I read a worthwhile book which I recommend for two reasons:  it is very well written, and its tale is one of great value; an all but vanishing combination in contemporary American publishing.  There are many reasons for this, but two primary ones, I think.  First, many contemporary stories lack meaningful content or value - the literary equivalent of empty calories.  Secondly, while many modern stories may be worthwhile, much of the writing is so vacuous and shoddy as to end up be-fouling the very tale it is trying to tell.   

That's why I felt this book so worthy of commendation - it is Flowing Streams, written by long-time Senior Pastor of Brookfield's Elmbrook Church, Stuart Briscoe.  It is a memoir of his remarkable life-long ministry, which began for him as a teenager in post-World War Two England.  

Though he began his career as a Royal Marine and a banker, and has no formal theological or seminary training, he has long been recognized as one of the world's leading expository preachers.  Briscoe uses the imagery of a flowing stream to tell the story of his life and ministry, which has been so ably supported and shared by his wife Jill, an accomplished writer and speaker in her own right.  The imagery is predicated upon the the rivers of flowing water referred to in the Gospel, along with repeated references to one of the author's favorite poems, The Brook, by Alfred Lord Tennyson.  Writers use imagery to help illustrate and emphasize a theme, and Briscoe does so here with great efficacy, generating insights that edify, delight, and reveal, as he weaves the fabric of his own words and stories upon the loom of Tennyson's timeless poem. 

Briscoe chose the title from a saying of one of his personal heroes, British Army Major Ian Thomas, who remarked that, "a flowing stream cuts its own channel".  We live in an age that has banished the very notion of heroes, despite the fact that our collective need for them has never been greater.  Through their personal examples, lived out quietly and consistently, the Briscoes stand as heroes to countless people, though this statement would undoubtedly lead to hastily issued protestations of British embarassment.  Eight years ago at the age of seventy, Stuart "retired" from the position of Senior Pastor at Elmbrook, and seldom has the word retirement been more ill-used.  The couple eschews the comforts of typical retirement so that they might finish as they started, living what one friend has described as "the abundant life of work and service".  They regularly travel to some of the world's most unsafe and unpleasant locations to train and encourage emerging leaders of the worldwide Christian Church, maintaining a schedule that would flatten people half their age.  This all "flows" from their simple yet unshakable decision that they wanted their lives to "be of service and of some eternal consequence".  They are walking demonstrations of why Tom Brokaw chose to call people of their age, "The Greatest Generation".      

There is no question that a shared belief and worldview yields a greater affinity for this book.  But perhaps the greatest testament I can offer is that I don't believe you need to share their theological views in order to enjoy or benefit from it.  Flowing Streams is rife with secular wisdom on topics ranging from two career marriages, to parenting teenagers, to models of leadership and governance for large and complex organizations.  It is a treasure of reflection, history, humor, wisdom, and encouragement, presented in a wittily crafted and winsome narrative that reads as richly as standing cream and luxuriantly as pouring honey.  I can't think of a better way to start the New Year than by reading it. 

Disclaimer - This article was written and presented of my own volition.  It contains my personal thoughts on the book, and is in no way affiliated with the author or Elmbrook Church. 

One of my favorite things about the Christmas Season is the music.  I break Christmas music into two categories:  hymns (spiritual in nature and content) and songs or carols (secular in nature).

My favorite hymn is Oh Holy Night, with its beautiful ascent and simple, clear telling of the Gospel story.  One of my favorite carols is Silver Bells, first sung by Bob Hope and Marilyn Maxwell in the 1951 movie, The Lemon Drop Kid. 

But with all due respect to Hope and Maxwell, my favorite version of this song is by Tanya Tucker, the beautiful but troubled country western star of the 1970's and 80's.  Her slower pace gives the song an entirely different characterization, and her redolant southern alto wraps itself around the words, investing them with an almost tangible texture, and caressing the listener in a cocoon of sound and imagery. 

Another favorite Christmas song is Two Thousand Miles, by Chrissie Hynde and The Pretenders.  Hynde is a great rarity - a woman in the rough and tumble world of rock, who founded, led, and managed a successful and long-running band.  The second date I ever had with Barb was a Pretenders concert at the beautiful Fox Theater in downtown Detroit.  Seated in the fourth row, we could hear the chatter of the musicans between songs, and I will never forget her mesmorizing stage presence and rich, lilting voice.  One of the best CD's I have ever heard is The Pretenders' Isle of View.  In this un-plugged recording session, Hynde showed her musical genius by completely re-arranging fourteen of her favorite songs, and adding a string quarter as background.  The disc is an intimate dance between the violin and her incomparable voice, combining to take us on a wonderful journey of contemporary music, wrapped in a tight and cozy blanket of classical heritage.  Two Thousand Miles is on this disc, and depicts the heartache of separation from loved ones at this time of year, displaying a tenderness which belies Hyndes' outwardly defiant and butch exterior. 

What are some of your favorite Christmas songs?  Whatever they are, and no matter how full your schedule, don't miss a chance to sit down in your favorite chair and listen to some of them.  And ask your kids to join you to enjoy their company and to expand their musical horizons.  

And whatever we do this Christmas and Holiday Season, may the words of Charles Dickens, spoken through his timeless and mighty character Tiny Tim, be in our minds and hearts:

"Merry Christmas - God Bless us, everyone".

I have an excellent, inexpensive, and potentially life-changing suggestion for that "tough to buy for" person on your Christmas list.  It is the book Younger Next Year - A Guide to Living Like 50 Into Your Eighties, by Chris Crowley and Dr. Harry Lodge.  While an excellent read for any age, it is specifically targeted towards people my age and above.

I am fifty years old.  Not old, perhaps - but certainly no longer young.  I have been blessed with good health, mostly due to heredity and being raised by a father who modeled physical fitness decades before it became fashionable.  He used to smile and shake his head at all of the different diets, claiming there was only one diet that worked for the long term.  It was the E.L.M.M. Diet and he personaly guaranteed its success.  "Eat Less - Move More". 

We always hear about the health care crisis in America, but too seldom hear that so much ill health is preventable.  There is no question that heredity and good fortune play a significant role in physical health.  My low blood pressure and the positive example of my father are certainly nothing of which I can boast.  And all of us know of tradgic cases where disease strikes healthy people who are living healthy lives.  But that said, it is abundantly clear that we can have an afwul lot to say about the relative levels of health we enjoy, or don't enjoy.  The major health threats, and the major costs associated with them, can be effectively combatted with PERSONAL BEHAVIOR and EARLY DETECTION.   We have total control over our behavior and significant control over early detection.   Let's be honest - in general, Americans eat way too much and exercise way too little.  Add to that inadequate sleep and unhealthy behaviors, and it's no wonder we are a nation in a collective physical swoon.  No serious discussion of public health policy can or should be held without these realities.   

This book does an outstanding job of addressing things we ALL can and SHOULD do to manage our own health, and it does so in a humorous and light-handed manner.  I cannot recommend it highly enough - particularly to people of the targeted age group.

Health care in the twenty first century means accepting personal responsibility and accountability for doing the things you can to maintain good health.  A good friend of mine who is sixty read this book a few years ago.  And after he read it, he decided to put its tenets into practice.  He looks younger now than when he was fifty, and that's no bull.   More importantly, he says he feels younger, thereby vindicating the title of the book.  Not only will he have a higher quality of life, but he will have significantly lower health care costs as the result of reading this book.   

It's the perfect stocking-stuffer for that gracefully aging or not so graceful curmudgeon on your list.  And maybe along with the book you could include a download of the classic Byrds song My Back Pages.  It contains their fabulous harmonies, and the lyrics of Bob Dylan which wistfully proclaim, 

 "Ah but I was so much older then - I'm younger than that now". 

May we all sing these words, and mean them, a few years after reading this wonderful book.

Readers of this column know I love music, and last weekend I had a chance to listen to some I had not heard in years.  I played a wide offering but two stood out - some Sinatra, and Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata.  It got me thinking about both artists.

Sinatra was an enormous talent, and the first real mega-star of the modern entertainment era.  He came of age in the big band era and grew into a living legend.  His personality, charisma, and ego were legendary, and the combination of his wealth and celebrity gave him real power.  As he exercised that power he was given the nickname he relished, "The Chairman of the Board".  Long rumored as having ties to Mafioso, many claimed he was the model for singer Johnny Fontaine in Mario Puzo's novel, The Godfather.  He was also an actor of considerable talent, winning an Oscar for the role of Angelo Maggio in From Here to Eternity, and delivering strong performances in dozens of other films.  You know someone is a pop-culture icon when they become the object of repeated caricature on Saturday Night Live.  SNL comedians Joe Piscipo and Phil Hartman mimmicked him over the years, displaying some of the most brilliant and hilarious impersonation work I have ever seen. 

The song I most enjoyed listening to was Just the Way you Look Tonight.  It features the spectrum of his talent - the range of his voice, his sense of timing and feel for the instruments supporting him, and his magical touch of weaving pop music into and around a love song. It also holds a nice personal memory for me as I think back to a Christmas Party I attended with Barb many years ago.       

While listening to Moonlight Sonata I recalled an episode of William F. Buckley's magnificent show Firing Line, during which he sparred with one of his guests about the issue of excellence.  For most, matching wits with Buckley was like bringing a BB gun to a nuclear testing ground, and the unfortunate panel member put forth the suggestion that, "well you know Bill - anything can be improved upon".  Buckley instantly retorted, "Really?  Then perhaps you will share with us how you might improve upon Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata"?

Buckley was right.  Sonata is a broodingly evocative piece of piano music so pristinely perfect that it all but interrupts the celestial timetable, and summons the image for which it is named.  Of all of mankind's achievements Beethoven's work is to me the most staggering.  For anyone to have written the volume and quality of music he did is in itself almost unimaginable.  But to have accomlished most of it while deaf defies imagination or description.  So enormous and so concentrated was his genius that he wrought the magnificent range, complexity, and volume of sounds from no more than the silent tuning fork in his memory and the metronome in his soul. 

Like many such giants, Beethoven paid a high price for his gift.  Son of an alcoholic father and long-suffering mother, he was tortured by the loss of his hearing.  Given to fits of strident anger, he was incapable of normal social interaction.  German author and philosopher Wolfgang von Goethe, a contemporary of Beethoven's, captured him in two sentences.  "He is un-tamed.  Poor old Beethoven - walking around with all those glories in his head". 

Beethoven's music has stood the test of two centuries and Sinatra's that of three generations.

Who is performing today about which the same will be said?

Sixty-seven years ago this Sunday, America was signifcantly and forever changed.

The ancient Hawaiians called Pearl Harbor "Wai Momi", which literally translated, means "Water of Pearl".  On December 7, 1941, the Empire of Japan attacked the United States Naval installations located there. 

I can remember my father, by all accounts an educated and articulate man, reflecting back on that day and trying to capture in words the staggering impact of the attack.  His inability to do so told me more than his words could have.  In Kohler, he and two of his brothers would enlist to serve in the Navy, Air Force and Army respectively.  His third brother was too young to serve, and my Uncle John has shared that the day his older brothers enlisted was the loneliest day of his life. 

Pearl changed everything.  World War Two (not the policies of FDR's New Deal) ended the Great Depression, and dragged America out of her geo-political isolationism.  There were 3,581 casualties at Pearl, and hundreds of planes and ships were lost.  It could have been much worse, as the U.S. aircraft carriers were out on un-scheduled training missions, thereby saving them and their enormous crews from certain destruction.  The most devastating loss was the U.S.S. Arizona, whose Memorial (below) is anchored in beautiful simplicty in the center of Wai Momi.

World War Two had already been raging in Europe for nearly two and a half years.  Hitler had already consumed Austria and Checkoslovakia, and his seemingly invincible Wermacht had conquered Poland, France, Greece, and most of Russia.  America had been on the sidelines, offering only material assistance to England through the FDR/Churchill brokered lend-lease program.  But after Japan's attack, and Hitler's declaration of war against the U.S. on December 8, we jumped into the war with both feet.  We vowed total victory, the only satisfactory measure of which would be the unconditional surrender of Germany and Japan.  For the next three and a half years the United States waged total war on two global fronts, and in that short span, traveled from defeat and isolationism, to complete victory and world prominence.

Prior to Pearl, Japan had enjoyed a series of stunning victories in China, the Phillipines, Singapore and the Malay Penninsula, the horrific savagery and barbarism of her conquests rivaling anything the Naziis did.  America was led in the Pacific war by our greatest soldier, General Douglas MacArthur, whose genius and leadership confounded, bedazzled, and ultimately defeated the Japanese.  MacArthur conquered more territory, inflicted greater casualties, and sustained fewer casualties than any commander in history.  He accepted the surrender of Japan in May of 1945 on-board another battleship named for a State - the U.S.S. Missouri.

The road to victory in the Pacific War began in 1942 at the battle of Midway, where on the brink of another major defeat, the pilots of the USN's Dauntless dive-bombers wrote their names into immortality.  Having located the Japanese fleet of carriers, they knowingly flew into almost certain death to attack and destroy them.  Most did die, but not before crippling the Japanese fleet and turning the tide of the Pacific War.  Remembering Pearl Harbor as he watched the Japanese carriers burn, Naval Airman Wilmer Gallaher exulted into his radio, "Arizona - I remember you". 

It was a different time.

The Holiday we know as Thanksgiving has two foundations in our nation's history.

The first lies in the autumn of 1621.  The people we know as the Pilgrims gathered to give thanks for having survived their first winter in North America, and for the liberties they enjoyed upon coming to this continent. 

The second lies in the year 1863, our country in the crucible of the Civil War and mourning the 55,000 casualties of Gettysburg.  Just a few months after that battle, President Abraham Lincoln issued a Proclamation which served to establish this day as a National Holiday.

Here is a brief look back on both events.  From the Journal of Nathaniel Morton of Plymouth Colony we read:

"Being now passed the vast ocean, and a sea of troubles before them in expectations, they had now no friends to welcome them, no inns to entertain or refresh them, no houses or towns to repair unto to seek help.  And for the season it was winter, and they that know of the winters of this country know them to be sharp and violent".

And in November of 1863 Abraham Lincoln penned this closing stanza to his Thanksgiving Proclamation:

"We have been preserved these many years in peace and prosperity; we have grown in numbers, wealth and power as no nation has ever grown.  Intoxicated with unbroken success, we have become too self-sufficient to claim this necessity of reclaiming and preserving grace.  It has seemed to me fit and proper that God should be solemnly and gratefully acknowledged, as with one heart and one voice, by the whole of the American people.  I do therefore invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United States, to set apart and observe the last Thursday in November as a day of Thanksgiving".

It was the Pilgrims whose magnificent courage and modest conventions established the traditions that we now know as Thanksgiving.  Two hundred and forty two years later, it was Lincoln who institutionalized this Holiday, and wove it into the fabric of our national life and consciousness.

Amongst many other things this Thursday, I will give thanks for the heritage these people left.

I wish you and yours a Happy Thanksgiving.

This posting is a re-print of last year's Thanksgiving comments, and the first part of its title is taken from a Sergio Leone film of the same name.

The French Revolution occurred in 1789, but remains one of the most profoundly impactful events of the last one-thousand years.  Forged from that crucible of upheaval and social strife, Napoleon was the political child of that event, and more than any one individual, wrote the history of the 19th Century.  All of history's immortal commanders have been men of genius, and he was no exception.  His audacious strategies, brilliant combinations, and on field leadership make his campaigns the object of study in military academies to this day. 

He was witheringly impatient with slow witted or slow acting subordinates, as one of his generals learned.  The last official act of that unfortunate commander was to send the great Bonaparte a memo asking, "why have you not sent me the requested reinforcements"?  Like the back of his hand Napoleon's reply fired back, "Because I never reinforce failure".

Last week the top executives of the auto companies, disdaining travel with the likes of you and me on the pedestrian nuisances known as commerical flights, flew private jets into Washington to sing a triumvirate chorus of the "bailout blues".  Napoleon would have known what to do with the jet-setting executives.  He would have dispatched an emmissary to greet them on the tarmac, issue the same acid reply noted above, and sent them back to Detroit.   

Given the now established pattern of bailouts this one is certainly difficult to say no to.  But say "no" we should because it has no chance of SOLVING anything.  It will not STOP the death spiral of the auto companies - it will only PROLONG it.  It's not the bad economy that is killing Detroit - the auto makers were spewing red ink for years, even in good times.  I predicted the bankruptcy of the Big Three automotive manufacturers fifteen years ago, and first wrote about it on this blog nearly two years ago.  I further argued that it is only under the auspices of Chapter Eleven that they have the remotest chance of survival, and the sooner they file the sooner they have a chance to fight their way back to some semblance of health.  The chief of General Motors keeps prattling on about how "bankruptcy is not an option", but that's just Beltway rhetoric.  The fact is his company is ALREADY bankrupt, and is only operational because it still has a few months of cash left.  Filing Chapter Eleven will not mean death for the auto companies.  Rather, it would allow them to continue operating (as Delphi has), and give them a chance to change the carcinogenic management habits and labor agreements that were put in place over forty years ago, when the world was an entirely different place.  If this  bailout goes through it will only be a matter of time before they come back for another one.  That's not clairvoyance - it's actuarial reality.

A bailout, no matter how large, will only prolong the death spiral.  The economics of today's global environment simply do not allow for paying employees in retirement nearly the same wages and benefits they had when they were working, particularly when the number of those retirees is five times greater than thoses currently employed. 

It is sad and it is unfortunate.  But it is an inexorable reality that no President and no Congress, Democrat or Republican, can change.  

The sooner we realize that the healthier our public policy and private economy will be.

Yesterday I had the pleasure of attending the Twentieth Annual Brookfield Central High School Thanksgiving Dinner for Senior Citizens. 

The Student Council gets the credit for underwriting the cost and staffing the event.  The planning was handled by Shirley Smanski and Su Edington, with assistance from Principal Don LaBonte, and Associate Principals Natalie Collins and Jim Darin.  Students staffed the parking lot to assist residents who needed it, and to ensure they were comfortably and swiftly seated.  They also waited in attendance on them, bringing them coffee, water, dessert, or anything else they might have desired.  It was clear that both youth and seniors enjoyed each other's company.

This day was special to me for several reasons.  It was my first attendance of this fine and noble tradition.  Secondly, I had the pleasure of escorting my mother, God-mother, and three of their life-long friends to the event.  I was able to meet and visit with several delightful people, and end the afternoon by a surprise visit to my daughter's locker at the end of her school day.  Lastly, and most importantly, it was just heart-warming to see so many of our local residents turn out and enjoy each other's company, and be waited upon by the students.

Over three hundred area residents attended, and while visiting and eating, enjoyed music provided by The Lancer Jazz Ensemble led by Jason Gillette, and the Choir, led by Phil Olson.  Superintendent Matt Gibson played a medley of seasonal and patriotic songs on the piano, and was joined in song by the seniors.  He also recogonized a World War Two Veteran who was in attendance.

It is a unique event.  It is a uniquely AMERICAN event.  If you are a senior citizen and have not attended, I urge you to consider doing so next year.

So often we hear about problems or negative issues in our schools, and I don't suggest that yesterday obviates such concerns.  But it should be placed alongside of them in recognition that, even in times like these, there are ALWAYS things to be thankful for.  And even amidst all of the bad news out there, we still have young people who find joy in offering events like this, and serving those who paved the way for them.  That is something to celebrate.  More importantly, it is something to nurture and encourage. 

I walked home with a lighter step than I have had in some time.

Thanks to everyone involved, and most of all, to our seniors.

It's time for a feel good story - wrapped inside of a warning.

In the final analysis the only thing that really matters on this earth is the people in our lives, be they well known and loved, or be they strangers we might encounter only once.  I met such a stranger Friday morning morning by the name of Riley.

I hesitate to write about this because it is not my intent to call attention to what happened.  But it was such a defining and revealing moment that I wanted to explore it.  Revealing because it showed me what a huge difference twenty minutes can make in someone's life, and it underscored the reality that when we talk about "helping people", we can only do so one person at a time.  It was defining because it showed me with stark clarity the capacity that each of us has to choose.  We can choose to sew the seeds of peace, or seeds of unctious self-involvement. 

I was in Germantown driving on Pilgrim Road, hustling to be on time for a "very important" appointment, when suddenly I was confronted with a different, and far more important one.  I noticed a young boy sitting on the sidewalk who was in obvious distress.  It was 8:15 in the morning; broad daylight in a "safe and suburban" setting.  I was deeply preoccupied with my meeting, knowing it was going to be difficult, and I figured he would be fine.  So to my shame, I kept driving for a few hundred feet.   

Suddenly I was gripped with the strongest sense of concviction I can recall.  The conviction took hold, I parked quickly, and ran over to him.  Kneeling down so as to speak eye to eye, I learned he had been riding his foot-powered scooter to school and took a nasty spill on the sidewalk.  He was clearly in pain but thankfully he was more frightened than injured, with just a scrape or two to show for his mishap. I assured him he was going to be fine, and after a few pats on the back and further reassurances, we stood up and started chatting.  His name is Riley and he is a fourth grader at MacArthur Elementary School.  I told him I had a son in the fourth grade, and that created a definite connection as his dark and worried visage began to relax and brighten.  I offered him a ride to school which was just a half mile down the road.  I hesitated to do so for obvious reasons, but I did not want him getting back on that scooter so quickly after his accident.  He accepted, and I took him right to the office to be sure he would be checked out and OK.  Lastly, and as a sad reflection of the times, I realized that his parents might be justifiably concerned upon hearing Riley tell them the story of a strange man stopping and giving him a ride to school.  So I made sure the Principal had my name and phone number in case they wanted to allay those concerns.

I think the feel good part of the story is obvious.  The incident left me with a feeling of bouyancy for the remainder of the day.  And I kept thinking of my own fourth grade son, my "Buddy", and praying that if he ever had such an accident someone would be there to help him.

So what's the warning in which the story is wrapped?  It lies in those few moments after I first saw Riley; the few seconds where I just kept driving, more concerned with my pathetic little meeting than I was with a nine year old boy in turmoil and pain before my very eyes.

That's the blessing Riley gave me.  He revealed with riveting and unflattering clarity, that there are two of me.  The one who attempts to do right, and the one who is content to "drive on", and let someone else deal with it.

I gave some time and some attention to Riley.  He gave me back a bit of myself.

I am in his debt.

I am going to take a break from blogging for a bit - don't know how long.  Given what is going on in the world my heart is just not in it right now.  And just as I am not overly interested in writing, I am certain you are not too concerned with hearing from me at this time.

How the heck did we get here?  That question can only be answered with a book or a few sentences.  I'd like to write a book some day, but for now, two paragraphs will have to do:

I believe that at the root of all of this political and financial turmoil is a lie that that to our shame, we have believed.  Post-modern intellectuals and our universtiy campuses have told us for forty years that things like "truth" and "morality" and "ethics" are relative; that there is no objectively definable and un-changing definition of such things. 

And I believe we have looked too often to Washington for every solution to every problem, when in fact the problems either originate or are magnified there.  It is time to look to ourselves, our beloved families, our churches, and our communities for solutions.  Big Government is broken - and I believe the only fix is term limits for Congress.

As we consider how we are going to navigate this crisis in our own lives, and as we consider who we are going to vote for at all levels of office next month, I ask that we all give some thought to such matters.

I believe it is time to walk what Jeremiah called "the ancient paths" again.  It is time to seek the simple truths that don't change and are not relative.

They are there - we just need to remember how to look for them.

Our energy policy in America today is dysfunctional.  And the reason it is dysfunctional is that Congressional (and Presidential) leaders are unwilling to portray realities to the American people such that we can forge a cohesive way forward.  They clammer and clang about being "energy independent" and "bringing relief to the pump", as if their empty rhetoric could make it so.  I believe both candidates, but in particular John McCain, missed an enormous opportunity by not making this a key component of the campaign. 

Reality Number One:  While we absoluely need to explore alternative energy sources (especially nuclear), there is no reason to believe that ANY alternative to fossil fuels is going to have a measurable impact for at least fifteen years.  So while we pursue alternatives, we also need to pursue every drop of oil and every cubic foot of natural gas we can.

Reality Number Two:  We would want to fully exploit our fossil fuel alterantives even if we were farther down the road with alternatives than we are.  As fragile as our economy is right now do you want it to be MORE or LESS dependent on the likes of Iranian President Ahmadinejad.    

Readers of this column know that I love northern Michgian.  Lake Michigan, the Au Sable River, the Leelanau Penninsula, Tahquamenon Falls - all have their claim on me.  I have written of her land, shore and water many times, and to the extent my heart can reside in a physical place, it does so there. 

I came to love northern Michigan when I lived there for nearly five years.  I worked for Amoco Production Company and spent many months as a roustabout working in the "oil patch".  And a result of working there is that I learned exploration for and production of oil and natural gas can co-exist comfortably with the environment.  I remember walking in the woods with some out of town visitors and telling them we were within one hundred yards of a producing oil well.  As they considered the dense forest and beautiful greenery, they simply did not believe me.  But a short walk down a trail revealed the truth, for the forests and fields of northern Michigan, topography that Melville would have described as "loveliness unfathomable", are replete with well-heads and pump jacks inexorably pulling energy out of the earth. 

While it is certainly true that the drilling phase is messy, sites can are restored to a level of pristine cleanliness that is all but pre-production, with only some trees cleared to make room for the well head equipment.  That was the case thirty years ago, and with the technological advancement that has occured since then, the energy companies can look for and produce this bounty with even less impact on the environment.  It is simply no longer credible to suggest that the exploration for and production of oil and natural gas is a significant environmental threat.  Yet many still cling to this tired and long debunked argument.

So what?

Well - Alaska's ANWR (Arctic National Wildlife Refuge) is currently sitting atop staggering reserves of natural gas and oil.  Estimates peg the amounts as fifteen BILLION barrels of oil and nine TRILLION cubic feet of gas.  And the estimates of reserves that exist off-shore are far greater than even these numbers. 

It is time to unfetter our energy companies and send the unequivocal signal to them that it is time to go and get it.  And it is time to realize that such a decision can be taken without trashing our responsibility to the environment. 

And the only group of people keeping us from doing exactly that is the United States Congress. 

I was on the UW campus Saturday afternoon and at the Badger game Saturday evening.  It was a beautiful autumn day, and I was again reminded of the myriad reasons that for me, make the pageantry of college football superior to any other sport.

The fans narrowley missed out on a Badger victory.  They also missed out on the tremendous and always entertaining performance of the spectacular UW Marching Band.  The band, already on probation from an incident two years ago, was suspended from this game for activity occuring on the previous week's trip to Ann Arbor, Michigan.  Officials are interviewing band members "one at a time" to investigate "allegations of serious hazing", alcohol consumption, and "inappropriate sexual behavior". 

Now here are a few quick thoughts.  First, for the University to suspend a band that is almost as much a part of the football program as the team itself, is a very serious step.  The timing of the suspension reveals this with even greater emphasis, for this was no afternoon game against South Dakota State.  It was a night game against the mighty Ohio State Buckeyes, served up to our sports-frenzied nation on live, prime-time television.  For officials to deny the kids this chance, and the invaluable publicity attendant with such a show, indicates that the alleged behavior went well beyond college kids just having some exuberant road-trip fun.  

Further, the suspension of the band prior to the results of the investigation being completed, tells us that what has been alleged was not only serious, but dangerous.  If the allegations are true, the University was probably exposed to enormous financial liability.  And worse, students may have been subjected to risk of emotional or physical harm.

Lastly, it tells us that someone was so alarmed by what they saw that they took it upon themselves to come forward with an anonymous tip to Band Director Mike Leckrone.  We will probably never know, but in all likelihood it was a student of small group of students that took this step.  If that is the case it was an act of tremendous courage, for doing so put the wildly popular and successful program in serious jeopardy.

As is typical in such matters, we can surmise that most of the kids in the band are great students and musicians, and that the alleged behavior is a case of a minority emperiling the entire group.  The protection of that majority is all the more reason to take swift and definitive action, along with protecting the University from potentially staggering litigation. 

The competition to be a member of the UW Marching Band is enormous, and those who wear the red and white have earned that spot with hard work and talent.  UW officials are correct in conducting a thorough and confidential investigation.  They are to be encouraged to take firm and decisive action against any members of the UW Staff or band that may have emperiled its collective good standing and health.  

Membership in the elite UW Marching Band is an honor and a privilege.

One that should be revoked if necessary.

In the interests of disclosure, I have no formal or informal relationship with the UW Marching Band, nor do I know any individuals currently associated with it.

I have no idea what the average age of the readers of this column is, or how many will recognize this title, taken from the lyrics of Neil Young's great protest song, Ohio.

He wrote it in condemnation of the fatal shootings of four students at Kent State University on May 4, 1970.  The disjointed and fractured guitar riff, the devastating salvo of lyrics that form the title of this column, and the hauntingly repeated background vocals of "four dead in Ohio", are imprinted upon the musical DNA of an entire generation.  

I thought of this song last night when I saw more sad news from Ohio.  Yesterday a Federal Judge there enabled thousands of people to register and then vote on the same day, without even modest checks of identification or residency to stem what will now be a tsunami of illegal votes in next month's Presidential election.  It is news that will result in many more than "four dead" voting in Ohio.   

Of all the important stories that are routinely ignored by America's hopelessly biased main-stream media, election fraud is the most serious and the most damning.  Regardless of where one stands on the political spectrum, we can all recognize the reality of the last ten years.  It is the reality of dramatic increases in voter fraud, along with one of our two major political parties that is consistently and adamantly opposed to even the most moderate steps to ensure that pople who ARE voting SHOULD be voting. 

It is a reality that will probably decide our next major election.

And it is a tragedy as great as the one Neil Young wrote about. 

So proclaimed the fictional character Lucas Jackson - better known to us as Cool Hand Luke.

In my mind's eye I see Paul Newman barking out that line, delivered with a visage that was half grin and half smirk.  His face was sardonic, sarcastic, challenging, and joyful all at the same time.  It was acting in the greatest sense of the word; an indisputable talent that held the power to move us.  Those five words and that one look defined the character of Cool Hand Luke. 

I was saddened yesterday to learn of the death of Paul Newman; Academy Award winning actor, race-car driver, businessman, entreprenneur, and husband.  Working in an industry populated by the world's most desirable women, he could have had any one of them with little more than a nod.  Despite this, he lived in lifelong fidelity to the wife of his youth; his marriage to Joann Woodward a marital lighthouse to an industry of foundered vessels.  I was further saddened to think it has been forty-one years since the release of Cool Hand Luke.  Where did THOSE years go?

Paul Newman was huge.  He possessed what the actors and actresses of Hollywood's Golden Era had - presence, charisma, size.  Does anyone believe any of today's "A-list" leading men, while perhaps matching Newman's striking looks, could even THINK about pulling off a role like the Cool Hand?  Russell Crowe - perhaps.  Brad Pitt, Leonardo DiCaprio, or George Clooney - please.  Newman practiced his craft at a time when Hollywood had left behind its Golden Age and was transitioning to the modern world of American entertainment.  "Cool" is something we can't really define, but know it when we see it.  Newman had it, and along with Steve McQueen, epitomized Hollywood cool in this era.   

He appeared in over seventy films, with Hud, The Verdict, Slap Shot, and Absence of Malice listed as my favorites.  But I believe his defining work, a film that has entered into the iconoclastic halls of our popular culture, is Cool Hand Luke.

It was remarkable on many levels.  Directed by Stuart Rosenburg, it had an incredible number of actors who used it as a springboard to roles in film or television, like George Kennedy, Dennis Hopper, Wayne Rogers, JD Cannon, Harry Dean Stanton, Joe Don Baker, Ralph Waite, and others.  It firmly cemented the prison film as a major genre in Hollywood.  Lastly, it was a pivot point for leading-men roles, as it entrenched the concept of the "anti-hero" in American cinema and popular culture.

The title of this piece is taken from what I believe to be the foundational scene of the movie.  It comes just past the the film's half-way point, where Luke had become a cult figure in the prison and was locked in mortal combat with the warden over his refusal to "get his mind right", to conform to the "Boss".  His fellow prisoners clearly began to look at him as a savior figure, and Luke was pressured to achieve increasingly outrageous acts in order to hold their rapt attention.  So while lazily reclined on his cot, he issued this challenge, which immediately became the subject of furious prison wagering.  His first lieutenant George Kennedy (Dragline), said, "Luke - no one can eat fifty eggs" - and the bet was on.

The scenes of Newman eating the eggs (in one hour) ranged from hilarious to wrenching.  The scene of him at the end of the gluttonous fest, arms outstretched on the table, abdomen distended and feet together, was an unmistakable caricature of crucifixion, and a clear foreshadowing of Luke's ultimate sacrifical death to free the men.

So many scenes and so many lines from that film remain ensconsced in our minds and our daily parlance, and none more so than the infamous, "What we have here is a failure to communicate". 

It is a tremendous film, full or heartbreak, humor, and humanity; revealed to us by a great actor at the height of his craft.

Watch it again, or for the first time. 

And tip your hat to a Hollywood legend as you do so.. 

William Manchester is my favorite historian.  An unparalleled researcher and a lover of language; he wrote of the great men and wars of the Twentieth Century, and wrapped them in context and insights so illuminating as to make his work unique amongst all I have read.  Such insight came at the price of personal experience - Manchester was a decorated U.S. Marine who was severely injured on Okinawa.  In his stunning memoir of World War Two entitled Goodbye Darkness, Manchester wrote of he and his comrades on Okinawa that, "we were living very fast".  He meant that they knew they were living in a pivot point of history.

Last week we saw the pivot point in a financial maelstrom of almost mythological proportion, and Secretary of the Treasury Hank Paulson and the world's financial markets have also been living very fast.  The debate about whether or not the U.S. Government should have done what it did is now academic.  What CAN and NEEDS to be debated are how it should best manage the bailout.  In order to do this it is critical to understand the foundational causes of this crisis.   

Our two Presidential candidates tried to respond to these very questions, and neither one acquited himself well.  Barack Obama did what he does - smoothly and articulately dispense a bunch of high-sounding but empty words, continuing his pattern of spewing rhetorical Cheetos to a nation hooked on political junk food.  John McCain looked frustrated and confused as he groped for a position.  I longed for one of them to say something like, "this is an incredibly complex and important matter and I am simply not going to use it as a political whipcord until I have had a chance to think it through".  How refreshingly courageous this would have been.  

Because problems like this are so ENORMOUS we assume the causes and solutions must be of equal size and complexity.  We view a dizzying menu of things like "sub-prime packages" and "securitizations" and "unwindings of debt", until the whole matter becomes an opaque bowl of data-laden goo.  While all of these things have their place in the discussion, they are simply too large for us to assimilate, and worse, cause us to lose sight of the truly foundational issues.  Our eyes move from headline to headline, and our ears absorb panel discussions until we contract intellectual lock-jaw.  The lock jaw then turns into capitulation; an almost involuntary "shrugging of our intellectual shoulders".  This is not a healthy development and we need to resist it.   

Amongst many enablers of this crisis there was one primary primary factor - the years of ridiculously easy money proferred by the Fed, in spite of nearly two decades of unsustainably soaring real estate values.  Alan Greenspan now postures that years of record low interest rates were not the cause.  I agree, but more so than any one factor it enabled this crisis.  And more than any other individual's, it was his hand that held the great National Needle of Morphine as it dripped the narcotic of rate reductions into our fiscal veins.  This would not have happened had Paul Volcker been Fed Chairman.

But while easy money ENABLED the crisis, it did not CAUSE it.  I believe there are two primary causes of this mess:  human greed and something closely linked to it - a failure of CHARACTER on the part of the leaders of America's enormous financial institutions.  

We all have it within us to be greedy; it is a propensity of our nature and one that can only be combatted with discipline and care.  But for all the prattle about "change" on the campaign trail, I trust we all agree that neither candidate is able to change the condition of the human heart.  Greed cannot be eradicated, and will always be an issue in our dealings.  It was greed on the part of prospective home buyers that led them to "rent" three-hundred thousand dollar homes because they were not content to "buy" a two-hundred thousand dollar home.  It was greed on the part of real estate speculators.  And of course, it was greed on the part of banks and brokerage houses, now joined together in an incestuous relationship, who churned out these packages to millions of such people, consciously spurning the time-honored and proven traditions of their industry.

But we need to loook further and deeper.  We need to acknowledge that it was a crisis of character on the part of the leaders of these institutions.  Men and women who simply knew better but could not bring themselves to stand up in their board rooms and say, "ENOUGH - NO MORE.  We will no longer engage in such risky and unsustainable conduct.  It may be legal, but it isn't RIGHT".  It tells us that managers who DID do this had the courage to say "NO" to the orgiastic joy ride of their industry.  It reminds us that a senior manager's FIRST and SACRED responsibility is to act in the best interests of their SHAREHOLDERS - NOT to achieve a particular level of quarterly bonus for their staff.  

Please remember this the next time you hear someone say, "I am more interested in a person's policies than I am in their personal character".  There are pivotal times in history where character is inseparable from policy, and indeed, far more important. 

So where do we go from here?

There is an interesting development ocurring which predictably, is going  under reported by our fallow mainstream media.  There are actually banks and financial firms that are still on their feet.  And some of them are beginning to enter the picture and conduct negotiations to buy some of the failed banks.  This tells us two things.  First, that such institutions were led by people who decided they would NOT engage in such incendiary practices.  And secondly, it tells us that the market can help the Government sort this mess out by purchasing the assets of now defunct organizations at a hugely discounted rate, and begin the process of building up their capital base and balance sheets into a stable condition.  The single best thing the U.S. Government can do right now beyond what has already ocurred, is to create an environment where such transactions are transparent, encouraged, and applauded.  It is also time to create an agency akin to the Resolution Trust Corporation and put the RIGHT PERSON in charge of it.  I don't know who that might be, but amongst many who have the professional competence, I would look for a person of unquestioned and Olympian CHARACTER.  I hope and pray that Paul Volcker, or someone of his caliber, is available to serve. 

Lastly, I believe this crisis has taught us that economics is more important than finance.  Economics is the foundational science of commerce, for it is the study of how human beings make decisions under the context of unlimited wants, finite resources, and the condition of the human character.  Finance is the methodology through which economic decisions are enacted.  It is finance that says, "Hey - I have figured out how to mass produce uncollateralized loans for people who cannot afford them".  It is economics that says, "Well congratulations - but that is a BAD idea".  Finally, it is people who understand economics and combine it with personal character who say, "I don't care how much pressure builds up - we are NOT going to do it".    

The final and most important lesson of this crisis is to listen to the laws of economics, and to political and financial leaders who understand them. 

And who have the courage to respect them. 

I believe that the voices we listen to when receiving our news is becoming as important as the news itself.

Most people I know expect our leaders and our pundits to disagree and to hold different views.  They not only expect it; l believe they want it.

What we don't want, but regrettably have come to expect, is the strident tones of apocolyptic rhetoric that seem to have become the norm in the last fifteen years.  There is a savagery in our public discourse that is more than concerning - it is alarming.

And this is why Peggy Noonan of The Wall Street Journal has been my favorite columnist for a long time.  

Ms. Noonan is extremely bright and erudite, but this does not distinguish her.  In a field littered with so many poor writers, she is a very good one.  Her penetrating observations combine with a talent for making complex issues and relationships seem clear, and her use of analogy is brilliant.  Unlike the glut of talking heads who follow in her wake, she actually has some knowledge of cultural and political history.  She is willing to put in the hard work of honest self-reflection and editing of content, an old school journalist who honors the traditions of her profession.  And all of these are qualities that DO separate her from most of her peers.

She "made her bones" thirty years ago in a world dominated by men, and is rightfully proud of that accomplishment.  But her pride is tempered with, dare I say it, feminine style.  

But more than all of this, Peggy Noonan possesses one quality that puts her at the very top of my list.   

She is gracious.

Graciousness is a virtue, a pattern of character and behavior that indicates one possesses and is willing to dispense - grace.  And it is all but non-existent in the profession of print and television journalism.   

Regardless of our walk in life, I think we can all learn from Peggy Noonan.

I had dinner last night with a man who was in Manhattan on 9-11.  He saw the second plane; he smelled the burning steel and fuel; he wintessed the death and mayhem.  Driving home I recalled another dinner I had with my father decades ago, where somehow we got talking about Pearl Harbor.  My Dad was an articulate and educated man, but he could not capture for me the reaction that the country experienced upon news of the attack.  He tried to convey what it was like as he huddled around the radio with his parents and siblings, listening to Franklin Delano Roosevelt give his famous address to Congress.

We all have our memories of 9-11, and as the number of Americans who have first-hand memories of Pearl Harbor declines, 9-11 will stand as our singular collective memory of the United States of America being attacked by a hostile foreign power. 

Winston Churchill once said that "All the great things are simple, and many can be expressed in a single word:  freedom, justice, honor, duty, mercy, hope".

As I think of 9-11 and peel back the emotional onion layers of what that day holds for us, I try and think of Churchill's "great things".  Images that recall the unimaginable courage of the men and women of the NYFD - people who ran UP the staircases as maelstroms of fire, concrete, steel, and death poured down.  An itinerant taxi driver stopping to comfort a Wall Street Executive.  A mother clutching her child to her bosom, as the raw scenes of death and mayhem revealed with savage clarity the things that really matter in life.

But I also use the memory of 9-11 to try and put complex and incredibly difficult issues into a sense of focus.  In my view there are realities about 9-11 that some don't want to confront.  Worse, as evidenced by the sad case of Professor Ward Churchill, there are those who would contort these realities into such a mosh of post-modern psycho-babble as to have us think of OURSELVES as the guilty party, a party who actaully DESERVED this "rough justice".  What a sad irony that this small-minded and hate-filled man would share the same name of the great Statesman. 

The personal loss and tragedies of this horrific event can only be experienced on an individual level.  But on a national level we can look back on 9-11 and use it to remind ourselves of a few things.  9-11 serves as a reminder that there ARE such things as right and wrong.  9-11 reminds us that there is such a thing as EVIL in the world, and that it requires a response from us, both individually and collectively.  It reminds us of what Alexander Solzhenitsyn told us - that evil resides not in countries or polticial systems or creeds, but rather that it resides in the human heart on an individual by individual basis.  It reminds us that there is a DIFFERENCE between people who board a bus to get across town, and those who get on a bus with C-4 strapped to their bodies.

There are DIFFERENCES in the world.  There are DIFFERENCES in belief systems.  There ARE such things as good and evil, and choosing one vs. the other is an individual responsibility that MATTERS.  

My father's generation would not have felt the need to articulate such things - they viewed them as self-evident.

Why have we lost the courage to say so?

Perhaps recovering some of that courage is the best way to honor the dead of 9-11.

Tuesday of last week saw high humidity and temperatures approaching the mid 90's.  Then on Saturday morning as I walked around the Farmers Market there was a chill in the air.  Where else but the upper Midwest would you run air conditioning on Tuesday and wear sweats just a few days later? 

Realizing that the Market's season is drawing to a close made me appreciate it all the more.  What an array of bounty spread before our eyes, where in the space of a hundred yards you can purchase delectables ranging from steak to a smorgasbord of baked goods, spices and vegetables.  It is a feast for the senses - the brilliance of the floral arrangements, the deep green and pale yellow of the peppers, the scent of bakery, and OH MAN -  those tomatoes.  All too soon we'll be in the aisles of Pick 'N Save skeptically eyeing their limp imposters, and wistfully thinking to ourselves, "You call yourself a TOMATO"??!!  And all of this taken in while young performers serenade us with violin and harp.  What a tremendous way to spend a lazy half-hour on a Saturday morning.