DE GUSTIBUS AND ALL THAT JAZZ

It's been a good week, i must say. My youngest daughter and her two sone, 17 and 14, came over from their home on the east coast of Florida and stayed three nights with us. We ate out three nights in a row, and that was an experience.

I had almost forgotten how growing boys can tuck it away. They would eat the table cloth, if possible. Last night we went to Cheeburger, Cheeburger where I had not been for years. We went late because our island is jammed at the height of the tourist season, and I knew we would have a long wait at such a tourist trap, so we waited until after 8:30 and only had to wait ten minutes. Prior to going to dinner, around 5:30. the boys had light snacks: one had one and a half english muffins, a rice cake and a few Thai egg rolls; the other had the egg rolls plus a large portion of two kinds of ice cream. At Cheeburger Cheeburger they showed admirable restraint and only had the "Serious Cheeseburger", a 3/4-pounder with a host of condiments plus fries and onion rings. One had a strawberry shake and the other two Pepsis. They allowed as how they really could have had their photo taken with bells ringing and a round of applause by eating the one-pounder or maybe going for the crown with the five-pounder. For an old fart I did pretty well, polishing off the "Semi-Serious" half- pounder plus fries and rings.

They also manage to do well at breakfast. One had three slices of my French Toast made with cinnamon and vanilla extract; the other polished off cereal---and then an hour later made a Ramen Noodle soup with eggs. Then they went to lunch and had, with their mother (who is no mean chowhound herself), conch chowder, two dozen oysters, a side of fries and some terriyaki wings. I'm sure they'll stop for a snack on the way home and then be ravisingly hungry for dinner!

I should talk. I remember when my two older brothers and I dominated the Shrove Tuesday Pancake supper and won win. place and show: my middle brother had 32, the oldest 28 and I a measly 21. (We were 15, 13 and 9.) I also remember summer picnics with ny mother on the Ohio River where she would have a large roasting pan of fried chicken, overflowing the top---and she would get two pieces while the three of us devoured the contents as well as a host of side dishes.

Ah, youth, with no waistline and a constant itch to eat. Next come raging hormones!

N.F.L. MANIA

The National Football League has been hogging the spotlight in the sporting world recently with three manias: Peytonmania, Tebowmania and Bountymania.

Peyton Manning has made his choice, and I do hope---and I have plenty of misgivings--- that some 375-pounder with 4.6. speed in the forty yard dash doesn't smash into him and really take care of his career. With his admiration for John Elway and the similarities of their records, it seems to be a promising relationship. I'll have to get used to him in orange.

Tim Tebow in the Big Apple can be a flak artist's dream: the hype can be endless. One of the sportswriters commented on the pronouncement that Tebow will strictly be a special situation player and Mark Sanchez will be the starting quarterback: wait until Sanchez throws a couple of interceptions early in the season! Can't you hear those wild Jet fans screaming, "Tebow! Tebow! Tebow!" A devout Christian in Sin City could be interesting.

Roger Goddell did the only sensible thing he could by really smacking the Saints and barring Sean Payton for the season. I'm not naive enough to believe that the Saints' defense was the only case of bounty hunting; it has been prevalent for a long time, only not so obvious as the Saints' exposure. I hope the Commmisioner's message is loud and clear. Individual fines on Saints players are to follow, probably some one or two game suspensions. It may be a deterrent, but some of these monster lineman, I suspect, can get pretty creative in adminstering pain in a pile-up.

We'll be watching...

AND IT WASN'T KANSAS, TOTO

My eldest daughter, Alison, and the younger of her two daughters, Lindy, will spend Easter with us, which is always a delight. Alison loves to go to the theatre and particularly wants to see "Wicked", a highly successful theatrical musical twist on "The Wizard of Oz" story, recounting how the Wicked Witch of the West and her sister, later the Good Witch of the east, got that way.

"The Wizard of Oz" has always been a family favorite and it is truly one of the most innovative films every made, still in everybody's top ten of great films. Alison's two daughters, Ashlee and Lindy, always loved it. I remember, when Ashlee was six, sitting next to her on the couch watching one of the many TV revivals of the film and being amazed as she mouthed every word of dialogue by Dorothy. At six, mind you!

I secured the undying awe of my two granddaughters as little ones when I informed them that I once had lunch with The Wicked Witch of the West. Both sets of eyes got huge, and they looked at me in amazement. "Wow, Googoo (that's my grandfather name!), was she really mean? How did you meet her?"

My stepmother had a sister named Zamah Cunningham who was an actress in New York. She appeared, probably most successfully in a play called "Watch on the Rhine" starring Paul Lukas, who later won an Oscar in the movie version. Zamah was probably most recognized for frequently being on the Jackie Gleason show where she, as a fat lady, was the butt of many of his zany antics. I was in New York on business, and I liked Zamah and called her to have lunch. As it turned out, she was planning to have lunch with an old friend and actress named Maggie Hamilton and asked me to join them. Get the picture?

Maggie Hamilton played The wicked Witch of the west and achieved theatrical immortality. She also did other films and was frequently seen in Maxwell coffee commercials. She was a charming lady and the three of us had a wonderful lunch.

I scored a ton of Brownie points with my granddaughters in that little adventure!

A TALE FOR THE TIMES

I reestablished contact with an old school friend from sixty-odd years ago, Bob Abernethy. Bob and I went to the Hill School in Pottstown PA together. He later went on to Princeton and got his B.A. and M.A., after which he joined N.B.C. where, at various times, he was correspondent in L.A., London and Moscow. He retired in the nineties and then started a new career as Executive Editor and Host of Religion and Ethics Newsweekly on P.B.S. where he conducted in-depth interviews with a variety of religious leaders of many faiths as well as philosophers and teachers. A really interesting guy with diverse interests and talents.

In our correspondence Bob brought up the name of his old prep school and college roommate, Peter Clapper, about whom he recently wrote a bittersweet article for the Princeton Alumni Weekly. Pete's father was a well-known columnist, Raymond Clapper, who was killed in World War II when the navy fighter-bomber carrying him broke formation in order to give him a better view of the bombed airfield and collided with another plane in the air.

I,of course, knew Pete as a classmate at Hill: he was a likeable, redheaded bright kid who was editor of the school paper. He was small but tough and took crap off no one. As a senior in prep school, he enlisted in the Marines and was called up after graduation, only to be released in a few months because the war was over.

Then came Korea in June of 1950. Pete had graduated from Princeton by then, joined the Marine Reserves and went back in the Marines, Then the real story begins. Rather than recount it, I refer you to go to the Princeton Alumni Weekly (PAW) website and the issue of March 7, 2012 with an article by Bob Abernethy entitled "The Long Hard War of Lt. Peter R. Clapper". Go to http://paw.princeton.edu/issues/2012/03/07/pages/1528/

It is worth your time and will ring bells with you, particularly with the returning veterans of Nam, Iraq and Afghanistan,as well as Korea and WWII.

Lest we forget...

PARADISE LOST

I read on the Op-Ed page of the New York Times yesterday an article by Greg Smith, "Why I am Leaving Goldman Sachs". Then today, I note, the world press is picking up on it with commentary, pro and con.

Smith is a South African of Lithuanian Jewish ancestry who obviously is bright and talented. He got a full ride to Stanford, was a Bronze Medalist in table tennis in the Maccabiah Games (the Jewish Olympics)and a Rhodes Scholar finalist. He had been with Goldman Sachs almost twelve years, recruited as a summer intern while at Stanford and then joining the firm after graduation. As of yesterday, he left the company.

All kinds of opinions are being bandied about regarding his article. Some skeptics say he was bitter at being dead-ended and passed over for a more senior position; others say he is naive and doesn't understand how the game is played. Quite a few others express admiration for his willingness to put himself on the firing line and live by his principles. To quote him, "Goldman Sachs today has become too much about shortcuts and not enough about achievement." He decries the reigning philosophy of making money any way you can and to hell with the clients, whom they describe by insulting nicknames like "Muppets".

Goldman Sachs has been under continuing investigation for its cynical policy of loading clients with derivatives and other nasty financial schemes like subprime mortgages---and then going against them by expecting and betting on the market to fall. Would you call that a slight case of conflict of interest?

To me it speaks of the prevalent attitude in our business society of today of "morality, be damned, full speed ahead to profits by any means". I've often said my age is showing when I recall in my earlier business dealings, a handshake meant trust and integrity. Care to try that today?

Greg Smith is now coming out of the Garden of Eden, eyes wide open, principles bruised and future clouded because of his lost "innocence". It is a very sad morality tale.

MAN'S BEST FRIEND

i just heard another wonderful dog story. If you follow my blog, you know that I am a dog lover, even though, due to travel schedule going to England in the summer and living on an island with alligators where dogs must be kept on leashes, I have not owned one for quite awhile.

We own a condo on the island which we rent and also make available for our children and grandchildren at Christmas time. Today we had the condo annual meeting where, after a short and sweet business meeting, we have a wine and pizza party. I was chatting with one of my friends there, a really nice guy from Wisconsin, who winters at the condo. Somehow the subject of hunting came up, and I discovered we both once enjoyed pheasant shooting.

My friend, Gary, had a Golden Retriever who was his hunting dog and, as the story will attest, his boon companion. One autumn day Gary decided to go hunting and, just before he planned to leave, he noticed the gutters of his home were overflowing with fallen leaves, so he thought he best clean the gutters out before going hunting. He attached a ladder to the house, and, as he hit the last rung, with one foot on the roof and the other on the ladder, the ladder broke and Gary fell on the concrete driveway. He smashed a hip. broke an arm and ribs and was knocked out with a blow to the head that turned out to be a fracture and a severe concussion.

He lay in the driveway, unable to move once he revived. His dog was right there and saw that Gary was helpless, so he ran to the neighbors on the left and barked furiously. Nothing happened. Then this Golden ran to the neighbors on the right and, once again, barked furiously until, this time, the neighbors appeared and spied Gary prostrate on the driveway, whereupon they called emergency.

While Gary was in the hospital, his vet called to say that the thirteen-year-old Golden was in bad shape and would not have long to live. The vet made arrangements for the dog to be put on a gurney and stay next to Gary in his hospital bed, and the dog died a few days later in the hospital next to Gary.

"Greater love hath no man..." and, in this case, no dog. Wow!

THE BELLE OF THE BALL

The next few days in the life of Peyton Manning are going to be interesting, to say the least. He will feel like the belle of the ball with lots of suitors lining up for the dance.

i have mixed feelings because of worry about his neck. Doctors claim his neck will be stronger than ever, and obviously from recent reports the nerve regeneration in his throwing arm must be improving. He's such a great guy I would hate to have anything happen to him. I see him as a coach and/or owner in the relatively near future.

But he is, first and foremost, a prime competitor with a lot of pride, and he wants to show the world that he is still "The Peyton" with plenty of grit and competitive juices flowing.

Where will he end up? I'll put on my swami turban and predict Miami or Arizona. He likes warm weather and has a place in Florida. Arizona plays in a dome and has good weather (if you don't mind 120 degrees in the summer!). It'll be fun to see, and we'll soon know.

Whatever the choice, GO, PEYTON!

ST. AUGUSTINE GETS IT RIGHT

"In an earlier time, St. Augustine captured the sense of what is required in civil discourse: 'Let us, on both sides, lay aside all arrogance. Let us not, on either side, claim that we have already discovered the truth. Let us seek it together as something which is known to neither of us. For then only may we seek it, lovingly and tranquilly, if there be no bold presumption that it is already discovered and possessed.'"

This quotation is from a blog commentary by John J. DeGiola, the President of Georgetown University, entitled “On Civility and Public Discourse” in which he reaffirms the necessity in a democracy for civil discussion and debate of conflicting views on issues. The Sandra Fluke (a Georgetown law student)/Rush Limbaugh confrontation inspired his analysis. I would recommend it as compulsory reading in good political sense. It is available on “The Huffington Post”.

Limbaugh is famous for hyperbole and overstatement, and in this instance he seemed to do a thorough job of offending women who want choice in their lives. The debate of Pro Life vs. Choice is one of the prime issues of our time, igniting incendiary emotions on both sides. Personally, I am for Choice, as I think a woman’s right to choose is a Godgiven privilege. Within my own family both views are represented. It is one of the hot button issues of our age. I am willing to accept reasonable limitations on Choice and accept the premise that a human life is sacred and that certain limitations exist in the time frame of pregnancy where abortion should be performed. I also still think it is not a subject for governmental mandates but a matter of personal choice, Of course it is too late for that as the debate concernning Roe vs. Wade rages on and will end up back in the hands of the Supreme Court one day.

Behaviour on both sides of the issue is too often inflammatory and vicious. Until we learn to follow St. Augustine’s sage advice quoted above, we will not solve the problem. Let us seek together.

THE GONG SHOW

I was at a neighborhood party last night and chatted with the host, a really likable Nova Scotian who winters here in Florida. We got on the subject of American politics. He loves America, spending three months or more here, but he also is able to take an objective look at us. He noted in Canada the process of electing a new Premier takes ninety days. I noted it is about the same in England.

I’ve been on this soap box for a long time that the American electoral process has become tortuous and unnecessarily long. My Canadian friend used a wonderful image for the Republican debates---the Gong Show. I’m sure many of you remember that hilarious show back in the eighties where amateurs performed and were kicked off the show by a loud gong sounding. It was fun to watch.

I can’t say the Republican equivalent is quite so hilarious. It has its share of bumblers; all four candidates take turns making gaffes and then spending an inordinate amount of time removing their feet from their mouths. The unfortunate part is that this show isn’t comedy but more in the nature of tragedy as we watch the Republican Party self-destruct. More and more political pundits are commenting on the sad state of politics and the loss of moderation in political views.

I have also commented before that I am a political dinosaur when I said I was once a Moderate Republican. There ain’t no such animal left in existence today. A simplistic definition of a Moderate Republican could be summed up in the phrase, “a social liberal and a fiscal conservative”. The Republican in me preferred that as much and as efficiently as possible in government be handled on a state or local level. The liberal in me thought that certain federal standards and supervision were necessary in key elements of our lives like Education, Social Security/Medicare, Defense, Foreign Policy and Health (this latter being a really dirty word).

One of these days we old dinosaurs are going to win one and make a comeback. The extremes are doing to knock each other out, and suddenly civility, discussion, compromise, reconciliation and all those other outmoded terms will return to favor.

I hope it’s in my lifetime. I’m sick and tired of the current Gong Show.