MSNBC versus THE TRUTH

I am not a fan of cable news regardless the slant, bias or point of view. It is all vile spew including few facts, little accuracy and loud-mouthed spin doctoring. (Perhaps a network would be wise to produce a reality show based on news reporting – that would be a refreshing twist.) Of course, given my personal political views I do my best to keep the remote from clicking to MSNBC – the station my sweet wife prefers for her news. Given that network’s daily and nightly whooping by the Fox News Corporation I am perplexed why they continue to add liberal hosts to their roster. The Ed Show, for instance. What overpaid, left-leaning pecker head decided that this was an interesting personality imbued with a sharp intellect and inquisitive mind? They are gaining no ground with these decisions. Recent data shows that from 5:00 PM (EST) through midnight on a typical Monday-Thursday each hour-long segment has Fox beating MSNBC in viewers by a ratio of 2.5 to 1 (For every 10 people watching MSNBC 25 are tuned into Fox.) Now, don’t get me wrong – I am not a fan of Fox news. With the exception of Bret Baier and Greta Van Sustren I find their roster of hosts to be little more than partisan dancing clowns doing dark tricks on armed unicycles. However, I have so little regard for their MSNBC counterparts that I have been reduced to the adolescent posture of refusing to mention or scribe their names. But what do these statistics mean or matter? Well, I think it means that U.S citizens who are trying to pay attention prefer and trust the pronouncements emanating from Fox – clearly a very conservative news network. Whether they prefer the hosts, the slant, the graphics or the presentation they are voting with their remote controls and choosing FNC by a significant margin. (If a presidential race ended with margins like these that candidate would be king-like.) But for me the real problem of accessing honest and accurate news persists. I do appreciate the no-nonsense delivery of Lou Dobbs and tend to trust his instincts for bullshit. But his is a show of commentary more than simple news reporting and typically has a narrow focus. Can anyone help me with this dilemma?

The Sad Case of Susan Boyle

The first thought that came to my mind after joining the millions who viewed Susan Boyle’s glorious performance on ‘Britain’s Got Talent’ was this: heartache is just around the bend. I’ve spent my adult life in the music industry so this was an easy conclusion to reach. Anyone with a heartbeat was moved by Ms. Boyle’s poignant 3 minutes of fine singing but our enthusiasm for her emanated from a place in our souls that had far more to do with who she was rather than how well she sang. She was one of us: raggedly dressed, not so attractive, somewhat uncomfortable in her own skin, trying hard to be appreciated and nervous as hell. That’s what drew us to her side: she was one of us and suddenly she was rising above the anonymous monotony of existence. Her performance cut through the haughtiness and beauty of the panelists causing them to come face-to-face with her raw and unexploited gift. Had the judges not unanimously acquiesced to the truth of that moment the crowd would have stormed the stage, tied them up and ravaged that music hall as if Manchester United had just lost a home game because of an unjustly presented red card. But now there is a new chapter unfolding in this heretofore Cinderella story: Susan’s entire being seems to have unraveled. In a mere 6 weeks she has gone from world-class and beloved superstar to second place and with the collapse of her dream has come the collapse of her self. This is very sad. It has been my experience that the entertainment business fractures individuals - not all, but many. It toys with our desires, taunts our hopes, lifts us up from obscurity, empties our tanks and abandons us at some dark dead end. It is then that we face the monumental task of recreating reality. There is no going back to who we were before – momentary fame has scrambled the hell out of that former and simple life. And so it is that Susan Boyle is struggling to become someone new and we continue to cheer for her – because she is one of us: raggedly dressed, not so attractive, somewhat uncomfortable in her own skin, trying hard to be appreciated and nervous as hell.

Far Beyond Anger

I’m seeing a great deal of coverage this morning about the murder of Dr. George Tiller. Surely this was a cold-blooded and reprehensible act. As with all other weighty events in recent years the guests on cable news networks and talk shows are screaming at and on top of one another. The rage is palpable, the information slim and the truth hidden. Once the spin is removed from this awful story I think it is fair to state that a significant component of Dr. Tiller’s medical practice included abortion procedures and someone who held radical and opposing views shot and killed him in the lobby of a Lutheran church. This ‘someone’ has been apprehended in Kansas. Print reports include the information that the car in which he surrendered bore a red rose sticker on the rear window (a pro-life symbol, apparently) and one of those fish decals with the name Jesus inside. I’m uncertain what bearing this had on the story other than to associate the suspected killer to with two movements not generally supported by the press: Pro-Life and Christianity. 

Abortion, of course, is perfectly legal in our sort-of-free country, with few exceptions. This has been the case since 1973. For the 197 years preceding 1973 abortion was illegal in The United States of America. That’s not to say that abortions were not performed. Indeed, one of the early challenges to the illegality of abortion was the data that reflected the number of women who were dying on the tables of back-alley clinics. (Since the procedure became legal following Roe v. Wade decision the lives of 50,000,000 women have been saved from the ravages of those horror chambers. Oh, what a dark blessing.) It is no secret that ‘we the people’ continue to disagree wildly on this very large issue. Simply put, there are those who view abortion as legal murder and there are those who view it as a human right in the realm of medicine. There are those who feel the state has no right to meddle in the very private and personal decisions anyone makes regarding their reproductive rights and there are those who feel that any abortion at any stage for any reason is homicide. There are very loud voices on both sides of this raging river but most of us, whether or not we have an opinion, wallow around in silence wishing it would just all go away. It will not. The problem is there are few forums for rational debate: there is never any middle ground – there are only stubborn, angry, fact-spinning screaming matches between arrogant and obnoxious hard-liners and we the people finally tune it out and turn away. And just when it all calms down someone from the fringe calmly wakes up one morning and mails a bomb to a professor, parks a truck in front of a government building or walks into a Lutheran church with a gun. Somewhere between the screaming and the silence evil slithers in and does its dirty little jig right in our faces. And then it starts all over again but the voices get louder and the gap gets wider with every hellish event. And boy, are they ever at it today. 

I hold very strong opinions about abortion. I spent many years as a volunteer board member of Hope Clinic for Women in Nashville, TN. The primary focus at Hope was post-abortion counseling (if you think abortion has no lingering impact on lives you don’t know the truth.) We did not involve ourselves with loud and abrasive protests, sign carrying or throwing blood on the steps of abortion clinics. Rather, we tried (and they continue to try) to be a Balm in Gilead – a Voice of Reason and Reconciliation. Lots of people held me in contempt for the work I did with Hope Clinic. My quiet solicitation for funding among friends and co-workers garnered very little. I was turned down at many local clubs when I wished to put on a small benefit for the clinic. My preacher at the time refused my request to make a brief donation pitch to our congregation. When the issue arose during a dinner conversation with longtime friends two women scowled at me and left the table. The pro-life posture has become anathema in our society. Oh my.

Today the blogosphere is sounding every kind of alarm. They are shriek and shrill and there’s not an ounce of give in anyone. This egregious act has been called karma, murder terrorism and retribution. A heart has stopped beating, a mind has stopped dreaming and a life has been ended involuntarily – by the hand of another. That is murder. On the other hand, a heart has stopped beating, a mind has stopped dreaming and a life has been ended involuntarily – by the hand of another. That is abortion.

Coupon Book

Surely you have purchased a coupon book from a niece, a cousin’s son, a neighbor or your own child as part of a fundraising effort for the Brownies, the Little League or the high school band. These catalogs are filled with bargains and special offers on certain goods and services in your community. Coupons typically include a free dessert at a restaurant that has since gone out of business; a 6th tire free with the purchase of 5 others at full retail price; a free entrée’ of equal or lesser value at a chain of eateries you hate; a free oil change every 650,000 miles (oil and labor not included) and 20% off your next dry cleaning bill (expires yesterday.) Whether or not the deals offered in these coupon books are of any value, I still believe the concept is valid and I have chosen to adopt it for another purpose. The balance of this post is a text-only, first draft version of something I am developing called ‘Transcendental Coupon Book for Middle-Aged Children of Aging Parents.’ Each coupon in this book will contain the following statement: ‘In matters related to Elderly Parents, The Bearer of this Coupon possesses the Unquestioned Authority to:

Coupon 1: Turn down the volume on all electronic devices.’

Coupon 2: Demand the purchase of hearing aids.’

Coupon 3: Turn up the volume on all hearing aids.’

Coupon 4: Refuse to ride in a car driven by parent.’

Coupon 5: Garnish car keys.’

Coupon 6: Sell car/s.’

Coupon 7: Disregard all inflexible political positions.’

Coupon 8: Pretend dad didn’t just say that.’

Coupon 9: Hide remote during Lawrence Welk reruns.’

Coupon 10: Turn on some lights.’

Coupon 11: Set thermostat conducive to human survival.’

Coupon 12: Clean out freezer and refrigerator.’

Coupon 13: Make you use your walker.’

Coupon 14: Wipe off your lips and cheeks at the dinner table.’

Coupon 15: Tap you on the shoulder and transport you to a dance hall in Atlantic City where you will dance, unabashedly, to a 20-minute version of ‘Sing. Sing, Sing’ performed by Benny Goodman and Orchestra with Gene Krupa on drums. 

Coupon 16: Exchange the irritation, frustration, anger, anxiety and sadness caused by being in your presence for the memories of your amazing love, tenderness, kindness, patience, generosity and grace.

Coupon 17: Be blessed with whatever you had as a parent and a human being. 

Feel free to add to the list. 

Either Way

When I turned 50 my physician demanded that I have a colonoscopy. As it turned out my health insurer would not approve the procedure at that time and opted for a less intrusive exam that was, nevertheless, unpleasant. The results concluded that I was in good shape in the lower intestines and beyond. Good. Today I have read that our government has estimated that Medicare is anticipating a $38 trillion dollar shortfall over the next 75 years based on their projections of life expectancy, disease, an aging population and the growth of our citizenship. The first decision put forth by OMB is that Medicare will no longer cover the costs of colonoscopies. There now exists a ‘virtual colonoscopy’ (not available in stores) that enables trained technicians to view the same delightful sights (and sounds) accessible, heretofore, only to doctors performing the standard and invasive colonoscopy. If, during the ‘virtual colonoscopy,’ polyps or other matters of concern arise, the patient will then be cleared for the real deal. When colon cancer is detected early there is more than a 90% chance of full recovery. When detected late the rate drops to less than 10%. Given the raging waters flowing away from common sense in our country it is obvious what health care will be like in this country within 15 years. Either way, we’re all going to take one for The Gipper.

Too Many Parents

I spend a great deal of my time with young people between the ages of 12 and 22. I hear lots of things as I interact with them in myriad situations and circumstances – mostly upbeat and funny. However, as life continually unfolds before and between us we are visited by events not so lovely. Sadly, these events confront us more than we wish – more than we can sometimes handle. Amidst the vitality, vigor and hope of youth come the dark shadows of car accidents, drug addiction, gravely ill parents, divorce and other forms of grief and pain. This being the season of graduation we keep busy and focused on the near future – a future that will see many leave the fold and wander out into this big old world. There is so much anticipation and uncertainty in the air that there is precious little time for reflection. I, however, was forced into such a space by the words I shared recently with a dear, young friend. A week before her graduation she looked sad and detached. Surely, I thought, this is a natural state-of-mind for a teenager moving through such a monumental moment and preparing for a new chapter. But when I asked about her countenance she gave me a curios response: ‘I have too many parents, Thom.’ I gently asked for further clarification. ‘Well, so many people show up at these events and they want to do nice things for me and they want to claim me but I just get agitated and sad. I guess I should be grateful but it’s kind of hard.’ I told her that I understood and explained what I thought she was saying to me. ‘Yeah, basically that’s it,’ and then she told me some things I already knew – but I didn’t really know. ‘After they got divorced my parents got re-married and then my mom got divorced again and is married again. I loved my first step-dad – he was a great guy but he got married again, too. So, I show up at these graduation events and my mom’s there with her 3rd husband that I hardly know, my dad’s there with his 2nd wife who wants me to call her Mom but I don’t want to and then my step-dad is there with his new wife who I really just met. So, I’ve got like 6 parents with all their advice and then a bunch of my stepbrothers and stepsisters come along and it’s just too much. It’s too much – too many parents.’ 

I condemn no one. But I must ask, oh my, what are we doing; oh my, what have we done? The acceptable term in our oh-so-tolerant society is The Extended Family. But there is a sub-category: The Stretched Children of Tolerance – stretched to the point of breaking. This is a mighty cross to bear.

The Judge, The Doctor and The Boy

It was reported this morning that a judge in Minnesota has ruled that a 13 year-old boy must continue undergoing chemotherapy treatments for a recently diagnosed case of Hodgkin’s lymphoma against the wishes of the boy’s parents and the boy himself. The boy and his family had chosen to forgo further treatments turning instead to natural and alternative methods of healing aligned with their religious beliefs. The oncologist associated with this case has suggested that chemotherapy had a 90% rate of success in such circumstances but further stated that without the treatments the young man faced only a 5% chance of survival.

This is tough stuff. Most of us have witnessed the struggles and devastation that accompany cancer and other horrific diseases. Watching a family member, loved one or other friend waste away helplessly from the aggressive attack of bad cells is gut wrenching. The treatments, however – whether successful or otherwise – are also accompanied by powerful side effects often resulting in elevated suffering in the form of nausea, weakness, headaches, damage to other organs and all manner of tag-along problems. After all, it is poison fighting poison.

The judge in this sad case has suggested that this young boy has been ‘medically neglected’ and is in need of child protection services. This is absurd and over-reaching, at best. This is a foreshadow of government-controlled medicine. This is a clear blow to human rights. What would you do as a parent in this situation? I don’t think it matters. Whatever an individual, spouse, child, parent or other caregiver chooses to do in such difficult circumstances is a private matter. I have seen child neglect and abuse face-to-face and from my vantage point – admittedly many mile away – this has no resemblance. May I humbly suggest that this court and this judge turn their attentions to matters more appropriate and remove their noses, gavels and opinions from the lives of these people rather than add more aches to their already broken hearts. 

Open Letter to The Tennessean

To The Editor:

I find it most disturbing and ironic that, in a time when news organizations are closing left and left, you would devote space to a former editor (and his wife) to review the latest wines that have come into the marketplace. Now, in better times I may have taken a moment to look at the pictures and labels of the wines they touted but in these troubled months there are better things – or darker things – to consider. It’s also amusing to me that a man so dedicated to liberal thoughts, words and actions would be engaged in such haughty, class-bashing antics. Why is he not out in the community feeding the poor, teaching the under-class, clothing the impoverished or flying around with Al Gore on his Green Jet? Please remove this toxic and most unnecessary commentary from the pages of your newspaper like you have removed most of the other pages from your newspaper. It is a smalltown outrage.

Life Without My Sister

When events both sad and unexpected occur many of us are good at tapping the necessary human resources to help others through the dark valleys. We perceive their immediate needs to be more profound than our own and busy ourselves with all manner of activities to ease their pain and anguish. Although this selflessness is to be commended it has been my experience that this good-deed-doing often serves to mask our own need to grieve and really is not as ‘selfless’ as it may appear; in fact, at times it enters into the realm of selfishness. Once the needs of others are met - when the meals are served and the kitchen cleaned, the notes written and the casseroles returned, when the hands are held and the tears wiped away - we return to our once-familiar surroundings and wander helplessly about in the surreal wilderness of our own, unreleased anguish. This is not a happy destination and if you have landed there I urge you to retreat from it immediately. If we do not allow ourselves adequate time to grieve we corrupt a natural human system as necessary and perfect as breathing. Where does the selfishness come in? We protect ourselves from the pain and it has a peculiar way of manifesting itself in unhealthy ways somewhere down the line. We must ache and ache deeply. 

In my 56 years I have never met a person as pure, innocent and loving as my sister. Her middle name was Joy and it was perfectly chosen. I was not around in the early years as I was a very late arrival – ten years after the birth of my closest sibling. But I know some things. She’s the one that insisted that we have a stereo in our home in 1956. Dad obliged. She’s the one who bought the recordings of Peter, Paul and Mary, Burl Ives, Tchaikovsky and Little Richard. She’s the one who paid for the upright piano that arrived in our home one night in my childhood. She’s the one who paid for my piano lessons. She’s the one who opened a savings account to pay for my education. She’s the one who lifted our family from oblivion. She’s the one.

Last summer my darling sister was vacationing with her beloved husband of 45 years with friends they’d known and loved for an equal amount of time. She died in the middle of the night from a freakish heart attack. We had been planning a special reunion for the following month with our Mom and her 4 children. I have never heard heartache like I did when I spoke to my Mother on the phone that day. Three good sons cannot replace the importance of one great daughter. Oh my – the heartache, the heartache.

Do things ever get better? Well, I talked to my brothers last week about getting together this summer and Dick said, ‘Things just aren’t the same without Beverly.’ And then a little bitty tear let me down. 

With as much love as I can put on this page – Oh, how I miss you.

Small House

When I was a young guy just starting out in Nashville I was fortunate to have carried with me a trade: I could frame a house and use a saw and hammer to do lots of things. It kept me employed. Because of my modest talents as a carpenter and Sarah’s adeptness at teaching art and calligraphy, we were able to buy a house – a small one, indeed – 1,200 square feet – but Sarah’s sweet spirit and eye for beauty turned it into a lovely and welcoming home. Children arrived – two of them within 18 months – so we spent weekends turning the attic into another bedroom. Then the music thing began to come true. I wrote a hit song (or rather, I wrote a song that became a hit) – and then another - and soon another. One day I bought a bunch of tickets for my kids and their friends to go to the circus. I told their parents that I would take everyone and they could have a free afternoon. The only caveat was that they had to bring their children to our house and pick them up there after our outing. They all did and they all came in – except for one guy. He didn’t come into our house. I’ve never gotten over that – he stayed outside. It seemed to me that our home was not good enough or big enough for him to enter; I still think that. I took his son to the circus and he was there to pick him up. He didn’t come in. I’m glad. Our modest dwelling would have made him uncomfortable – he would have been forced to speak with someone. He lived in a big house in which people don’t have to encounter one another. 

Sarah and I have moved up a little, but not much. We like to rub shoulders, ask our kids where they were last night, pass in the hall, eat together, do laundry, wash dishes, share towels, sleep together, talk, yell and hug. We love being a family. Being a family is beautifully dangerous. It’s where and when you learn the best things about life. It’s like a circus where we all get to put our heads in the lion’s mouth. 

Thom's Ten Techniques to Quit Smoking

I admit that I’ve had a lifelong struggle with tobacco – in every form it is legal. I have quit smoking cigarettes 30 times – each time unsuccessfully. I have attempted to woo myself away from the pack-a-day habit by switching to pipes, cigars, dip and chew. It always comes back to those doggone butts. What I have discovered is this: there are a handful of significant moments and environments in the course of a day that seem to beg for a cigarette. So, my simple thought is this: if we can remove ourselves from those circumstances we have a much better chance to kick the addiction. Here they are:

1. Don’t wake up.

2. If you do wake up do not have a second cup of coffee.

3. Never get in an automobile by yourself.

4. Never have a drink.

5. Don’t play golf.

6. Don’t play poker.

7. Never become anxious.

8. Never be in the presence of others who smoke.

9. Do not talk on the telephone.

10. Don’t get married.

That’s it. I believe if you can avoid these very common situations for three years or more you have an excellent chance to kick the habit. Best of luck and enjoy your lives!

Lou's Amoco

During my childhood and adolescence there was a neighborhood gas station about two blocks from our house - an Amoco station operated by a fellow named Lou. It was classic in size, smell and architecture including a small office filled with a counter, cash register and cigarette smoke, a two bay garage and a couple gas pumps always manned by Lou or his assistant. There were also a few older cars perpetually for sale parked at the side of the lot. Lou had lots of faithful customers. But this was more than just a gas station and mechanic’s shop; it also served as a gathering hall for local guys who stopped by for a free cup of coffee, a few smokes and a good chat about The Eagles, The Phillies, The Steel, the dethroning of The King by The Bear, the Kennedy clan or the increase in crime on hot summer nights in The Projects just down the road. These conversations were not at all like those we now hear on The View, The Bill Maher Show or Oprah. Rather, they were raw, insightful, perfectly and politically incorrect – full of hard reality and lower middle class angst. My dad was a regular.

In the years that have passed since the relative innocence of the early 1960s establishments like Lou’s Amoco have slowly disappeared. There are, I suppose, myriad reasons for this alteration of our nation’s landscape: the slow but deliberate mergers of multi-national oil companies (in most states Amoco no longer exists as a stand-alone company,) the concept and proliferation of the gas station/convenience store (an ugly and ubiquitous phenomenon,) the development of national tire, brake and battery stores, drive-through oil change shops and big lot retailers specializing in auto parts and the subsequent difficulties created by these developments thrust upon guys like Lou trying to maintain a small business like a corner garage. For many I’m certain these changes have been welcomed providing goods and services at a reduced price. But consider this: have you ever asked a convenience store clerk for a funnel, a tire gauge or a hose to fill your radiator? How often have you pulled up to a pump and found free air for your tires or window washing solvent and implements? Ask a 17 year-old counter worker directions to this or that high school or church and that’s when you get the Real Big Gulp. Do you know the name of the guy who just did that 6-minute oil change? How often do you really take advantage of those free rotations promised when you buy 4 new tires at the chain store and, if and when you do, how much glee registers on that guy’s face?

There are a few holdouts. I am delighted that there is an owner-operated garage in my neighborhood and I have been dedicated to having all my work done there for the past 30 years. They know my name and phone number. I receive preferred treatment – a reasonable perk for my continued commitment. If I or my wife or children stop there for any reason they drop everything and turn their attention to us. They call me and give me an expected cost before doing any major work. 

But there are other reasons for the demise of the neighborhood gas station with its dank and greasy environs. We, as a culture, have turned our backs on the men and women who have strived to make a living doing an honest day’s work with their hands, their backs, their knees and the sweat of their brow. We have raised generations of young people and urged – in many cases demanded – that they go to college and get an education – in the process even ridiculing the concept of a working class by stating, ‘You don’t want to end up like your father working on car engines your whole life, do you?’ So, as directed, we went out and got educations and made some money and now we are above the notion of hanging out in a nasty gas station office with a dusty fan and a rinsed out mug of coffee when we could be sitting in an air-conditioned Starbucks with a $4 latte or grazing through a posh cigar or wine shoppe spending $20 on a CAO or $120 on a bottle of Lagavulin. We’d also rather talk about the stock market or the new driver we just bought for $450 (it was a bargain) or the new BMW 700 Series we’re leasing with the 100,000-mile warranty (it’s a good thing – you’ll need it.) Our nails are clean and our knuckles are not scraped. We drive late model foreign cars 18 miles into the suburbs 3 times a year for maintenance checks at the dealership and we sit and wait in a room filled with art, stuffed chairs and proper lighting or we are escorted to our offices in chauffeur-like elegance. We have risen above the working class and my intuition tells me my generation has cut all ties to it. This is a sad and frightening development. Yes, we are educated; yes, we are well prepared; yes, we have succeeded; yes, we cannot use a Crescent wrench; yes, we cannot change a tire; yes, we are useless.

Given a modest amount of time I could give you the names of 100 lawyers, bankers, brokers and insurance salesman – some excellent, some not so.  On the other hand, I know one reliable plumber, one honest mechanic and one great housepainter.  So my advice to high-schoolers everywhere: go get an education and while you’re at it learn how to use a hammer, a Skil saw, a paint brush or a set of wrenches.  They will serve you well.  You may even enjoy it; you may even choose to pursue a noble vocation crafting cabinets or re-building transmissions.  That’s good stuff – that’s art - that’s a very worthy way to make a living.  I’ll stop by your shop for a cup of coffee.  ‘How ‘bout them Phillies!’