Deja Vu All Over Again

For most, the debacle in our financial markets creates emotions ranging from fear to anger. How could so few in our culture engineer our economic catastrophe, free from scrutiny and now free from judgment? For me, it conjured up a bitter-sweet chapter in my life that occurred over twenty years ago, during my stint with a Wall Street Firm. I joined E. F. Hutton & Company in 1986. It was a name respected and revered at one time on the Street. By the time I decided to become a broker, I had accomplished a measure of success and had also been inspired over the years by an Uncle who had, after a career at Coca Cola, spent a successful second career at Merrill Lynch in Atlanta. My older brother had also experienced success as a bond broker during the late sixties, until the debt market had a hiccup.

By the time I joined E. F. Hutton, there had already been problems at the firm. I should have seen the storm clouds on the horizon. Bob Fomon, Hutton's CEO, was a notoriously vain man, a profligate spender of the firm's money and unknown outside of the boardroom, a sociopath. He lived in a castle of entitlement, not unlike that which exists to this day on Wall Street. Hutton had already been through a check-kiting scandal in '82, had pled guilty to 2,000 counts of fraud and paid a fine. Unfortunately for Hutton, those responsible escaped punishment and remained. For Bob Fomon, the scandal was just a temporary inconvenience in the otherwise imperial realm that he had built for himself. He chartered jets to fly his cronies and honeys to lunch in Paris, bought ridiculously-priced works of art to adorn his penthouse, lavished unearned bonuses on those in the firm he partied with and who looked the other way: all at the expense of the firm.

When the crash came in October of 1987, much like this year's collapse of the financial markets, all of the excesses and malfeasance, no longer hidden in the flood of cash from investors, now gone, all came tumbling down. Within months, a great name on Wall Street was sold to the lowest bidder and became Shearson Lehman Hutton, and only months later morphed into Shearson Lehman Brothers. The Hutton name was gone. Within a few years, the remnants were assimilated into a pathetic deal to become part of Smith Barney. Many books were written about the demise. I read them all. There were, however, no government bailouts. The markets, unsympathetic yet efficient, took up the slack and the world continued to spin.

The central theme both then and now is the culture on Wall Street of a perverse sense of entitlement. Though a "fear of God" was inculcated in the retail brokers to always do the right thing, practice impeccable ethics, assess "suitability" for each investment presented to clients, engage only in "non-discretionary trading", follow the tried and true methods of proper "asset allocation", ascertain a client's true "risk tolerance", apparently no one preaching these tenets practiced them. Living in New York during training, we were in an isolated world wherein we were brainwashed into becoming automatons of compliance while those that actually controlled the money had total disregard for the law. Does this sound familiar? Were there any unscrupulous retail brokers? Of course. Human nature, after all, is human nature. Yet the culture on the retail side was all about fanatical transparency. What we on the front lines collecting the money didn't realize was that the culture of those sitting in the real seats of power was all about creating wealth for themselves, clients coming in second. Fast forward to today.

When the former CEO of Merrill Lynch, O'Neal left the helm this year, he took $161 million in compensation for his efforts. And what exactly did he accomplish? On his watch, the favorites of the firm, the traders, created the end of the most powerful brokerage firm on Wall Street. Why was this allowed to happen? Well, half the firm's profits in 2006 came from the synthetic world of trading that exploded this fall. The Merrill Lynch story was only one of several stupendous collapses this year. And what, you may ask, have our best minds done to correct this egregious error? Our elected officials have poured billions of dollars into the very hands of those who engineered, oversaw and encouraged the behavior that brought the entire world to the brink of a depression unlike anything seen in 80 years. What's almost impossible to believe is that we now sit idly by and allow this to happen, with merely a whimper.

With two consecutive administrations and two completely different congresses from an ideological perspective having created this apocalypse, they now are pouring hundreds of billions of dollars right back into the very institutions that have nearly destroyed American Capitalism. With another rumored $850 billion to be spent after yet another new administration takes power, my only question will be, who gets it? What would American households do with the $1.5 Trillion dollars now being entrusted to those who created the mess in the first place? One can only guess. Probably fix up their home or pay it off, buy a car to replace the old one that's unreliable, pay off credit cards extracting 29% interest, legally. Most likely, they would all spend at least some of the money in an economy that is 2/3 based on we the consumers. Will the people we elected decide to help the Americans who are in large part the victims of this debacle? Don't hold your breath.

Borrowing from a work by William Bennett, where is the outrage?

Feline Futility

For generations, the argument has raged (well, maybe not raged) as to whether the dog or the cat represents the best choice as a pet. Cat owners call dogs stupid and dog owners call cats useless. For the sake of journalistic propriety, let me state for the record that I am a dog lover and have little or no use for cats. Yes, I think kittens are cute but am one who found Steve Martin's "cat juggling" skit to be hilarious, not inhumane.

One of the things that attracted me to my wife, Stephanie, when we met "online" on Match.com was in her bio. She went through a list of what she had in her life and ended with: "and two damn cats." I knew that if we held nothing else in common, her distaste for cats was at least a starting point. We eventually got married (almost 5 years ago) but the cats are still around. I must admit, they do grow on you after a while. One, I call "Grey Cat", is very affectionate, has been run over at least 5 or 6 times, and still keeps on. You've got to admire that. I renamed her Grey Cat because the name given her initially by my daughter, though innocent in its intent, made an ex-sailor nervous because the name, I believed, might offend any lesbian friends we might have. No, I will not reveal Grey Cat's original name, except maybe after a few glasses of wine.

The other cat, Feather, has no use for any human except at feeding time, when it makes a complete nuisance of itself whining for food. The only reason I tolerate her is that when Steffi and I were dating, this cat, who has never sought nor given any affection to anyone, came over and curled up in my lap. Everyone was shocked. Steffi joked that "Feather must approve of you." She has never repeated this behavior again.

It is believed that Grey Cat is older than Feather, and may be her 1st cousin, or aunt, or half-mother. Nobody's sure at this point. Cats inbreed and cross-pollinate so frequently it's like watching "Deliverance" all over again. You'd think that being related, they'd get along. Most of the time they just tolerate each other. Feather is constantly pestering Grey Cat and occasionally Grey Cat has enough. There's a lot of hissing and that guttural sound like no other. I have a can of compressed air that I use to pester Feather, just to make it fair.

With the prospect of moving in the near future, it has bothered me a little what we will do with these half feral cats. Of course, we could just move and take bets with the neighbors how long it would take for the cats to figure out we were gone. Just kidding. At their age, it also doesn't seem fair just to pawn them off on someone who likes the typical, genteel kitten. Another unspeakable option is not going to happen. I may not care that much for cats but I do love animals in general. Euthanasia might also precipitate a hand grenade over the fence from a PETA nut. I'd say we'd take them with us wherever we moved, though experienced feline types tell me that the disorientation would have them disappear, perhaps trying to hitchhike back to their hood.

I just don't know. Of course, this all began with a little girl that wanted pets. She is all grown up and gone away and the pets are still here. We're not complaining, we just wish our daughter was here with us, too.

Jubilant Banking

In the Old Testament, in the Book of Leviticus, it spoke of a time every 50 years of great rejoicing. Slaves were freed, prisoners released and all debts were forgiven. A merciful God was celebrated. It was to be announced by the blowing of a Ram's horn, during that year's Yom Kippur. Amazingly, Jubilee is still practiced to this day. Those that control our economy, the very ones that piloted us into this morass, are celebrating their Jubilee at this very moment. Here's how it happened.

Once upon a time, in the City on the hill, all of the people, called regular citizens, elected some of their friends to watch over their kingdom and the river of money that flowed through the kingdom from their labor. The elected citizens appointed others they knew to become their minions. The elected and their minions over many years became the special citizens. As time passed, and their power grew, the special citizens forgot about their friends back home.

Slowly, a little at a time, the special citizens felt that they were no longer answerable to those that had elected them. Their possession of power made them feel invincible, much unlike their old friends, the regular citizens. The minions, with their unique position, were able to take all of the money from the river and repackage it in their workshops. Those who lived and worked in the house of laws were no longer looking. They were busy creating special funds for their personal gain and making sure they would retain their power.

Unwatched, the minions created imaginary creatures, called debt swaps, collateralized debt obligations, collateralized loan obligations, and with complete impunity built an idol of paper. Now, the minions knew that this paper idol was a mirage, but the money flowed mightily in the river and the idol produced extra shares of the river for the minions, who then hired the elected special citizens when they retired. They would then share in the extra shares. Now, no minion would reveal the truth, as who would be silly enough to announce that "the King has no clothes"?

Then one day, a storm came. The wind blew and the river, penned up in the paper idol's grip, escaped and washed away businesses, homes, lives. The imaginary paper idol came tumbling down. No one could be found to stop the torrent. The minions all scrambled for cover, waiting for the blizzard of worthless paper to cease. Oh, how they bemoaned the aftermath of the disaster. Fingers were pointed in every direction, heads bobbing in wonder, they had endless theories about how the whole thing was a fool's paradise of someone else's making. "What shall we do", they nervously queried to stop the panic out there? "I know", said one! "Let's create stories for the media fairies, then implore our brothers in the house of laws to turn their river of money back into our other storehouses." "Huzzah" they all shouted.

With the media fairies buzzing around them, hanging on their every word, the special citizens worked their magic, some of the minions were even appointed to operate the floodgates, diverting the river of money back into their storehouses. A lone soldier that worked for the special citizens, a regular citizen himself, stirred from the corner of the workshop and asked, "What of the regular citizens. What happens to them?" The special citizens all roared with laughter. "You silly fool", they snorted, "What's good for us is good for all". And they turned and began twisting and turning the levers to divert the regular citizens' river of money into their coffers.

As the river of money flowed back into their storehouses, the media fairies joining in the chorus of "we must save the minions", all sins were forgiven for the special citizens and the seas and skies began to calm. The minions known as "bankers" collected the fresh money, counting each dollar and loaning out none. They watched silently from their glass cubes as their neighbors, the regular citizens, packed up and left their homes, while cars were towed away on trucks with hooks and factory doors were padlocked for good. They turned their heads back to their counting machines, watching their mistakes get washed away.

The lone soldier, not to be dissuaded, spoke again. "Why not turn the river of money back to the regular citizens. They could live in their homes, drive your cars, buy your goods and gasoline?" One special citizen, turned red-faced to the soldier, "You idiot, they don't know what's good for them." The soldier then added, "But what if the regular citizens come to the castle walls and demand their money back?" The angry special citizen then sneeringly replied, "We'll just go to our brothers in the house of laws and they will make new laws. It's really for their own good." And the Ram's horn stayed silent.

December 7, 1941

After the United States cut off oil supplies to the Japanese in the Summer of 1941, the Japanese Combined Fleet Commander Yamamoto was finally able to convince Emperor Showa that the U.S. Fleet, recently moved to Pearl Harbor from San Diego by President Roosevelt had to be neutralized. Japan's expansion into Malaya and the Dutch East Indies was critical to the need for oil and rubber to conduct the war. The actual go-ahead came from the Emperor on December 1st.

The removal of any threat by the U. S. Fleet seemed a reasonable strategy. The Japanese were concerned that by attacking British and other western interests in Southeast Asia, the United States would enter the war in the Pacific. They were mistaken. The U. S. wanted only to protect the Eastern Pacific sea lanes while it prosecuted the war in Europe. While most Americans know little about what happened at Pearl Harbor that Sunday morning 67 years ago, President Roosevelt called the act "a date which will live in infamy".

The American death toll was 2,400 dead and half again as many wounded. 5 Battleships were sunk and 3 badly damaged. Almost half of the casualties were the men entombed on the U.S.S. Arizona when she sank. Two destroyers sank, on fire, and three Cruisers were badly damaged. A vast majority of the Army Air Corp's 390 airplanes were destroyed (188) or damaged (155). Among the chaos and carnage, there were incredible acts of gallantry. Ensigns taking control of their ships from dead cold to full power in minutes in attempts to save their ships; sailors stepping over the bodies of their friends to reach their battle stations, pulling shipmates out of the fires. Army Air Corps pilots kept trying to take off under withering fire from the Mitsubishi Zeroes.

Though a tactical victory, the Empire of Japan made a fatal strategic error. Far from breaking American morale, the isolationism we felt as a nation was instead destroyed. Debate ceased and the entire country quickly got on war footing. Never before, and not since, have Americans sacrificed and struggled to bring an end to the totalitarian regimes that threatened to envelope the world. The Great Generation created the most awesome war machine in history, in a very short period of time. In less than four years, America and her allies utterly destroyed the Axis powers.

Lest we forget.....

Why I Shot Myself On Christmas Day

The conversation during the holidays invariably comes around to a discussion about why so many people are depressed, angry and otherwise unpleasant during the holidays. For me, it's about always being sick around Thanksgiving. It was so bad that about two years ago, I decided to do a Zen kind of thing and, with the help of zinc, Airborne, sleep aids and Lexapro, psyched myself into not being sick. It lasted one year. This year, I was sick with that nasty phlegm stuff going around Atlanta. For those of you that have no idea what I'm talking about, I hate you, and go back to you bong pipe for another hit.

Holiday seasons are all about family. Because (unofficially) 98% of all American families are dysfunctional, the holidays bring out all kinds of poo poo (medical term) in our psyches. We watch the traditional movies, look through the windows of our neighbors imagining the perfect world they must have with that amber glow of Christmas lights around the tree, and thank God we're not looking through their windows at any other time of year because it would be hard to explain to our spouse why we just got arrested for being a "peeping-Tom".

My favorite time of the year is Christmas. It is the single joyful time of the year I remember of my childhood. The rest is poo poo. For whatever reason, my family put aside the entire logbook of wrongs and rights, and who owes whom what, during that one season. I probably have deluded myself completely about the memories, but hey, leave me alone and let me have one time of the year that I enjoy. Now that everyone in my family is dead save the goldfish, I have evolved. I have a new favorite season.

My favorite season the last few years has been summer. I enjoy summer by the pool for the water, the sun and nude sun-bathing, but I had to bribe my neighbors to sign off on a sun room extension that would partially block their view of the golf course, which in return, entailed my cutting down all the privacy hedges that adjoin our two properties. Unless they're nudists, I have lost my freedom of exposure. Life is all about trade-offs.

Holidays are apparently the place where all things emotional come to rest for the winter. All of our childhood hopes and dreams come crashing into the reality of the putz we married and the job we hate. So, after a glass of wine and a Hallmark Hall of Fame tear-jerker, we are convinced that we are the only person on the planet cursed with a psychotic family, lousy spouse, ungrateful children and the luck of the Polish. Deep down, there is the undercurrent of how-in-the-hell-am-I-going-to-pay-for-these-presents depression, followed by the let-down of discovering that the Christmas list that you painstakingly wrote down and emailed to your family apparently ended up in Heidelberg, Germany, where Gretchen Gundenberger of Munich is now working out in your exercise clothes and listening to your "I hate Men" music on her ipod.

I will leave the religious significance to those better qualified but other than that, the Christmas holidays are a celebration of all things consumer. We all have heartfelt desires to love and be loved but being honest, we want to hit the mother-lode monetarily at Christmas. If we don't get what we want, we smile and then go pout in our rooms and secretly plot to have certain members of our family murdered. I really think that Christmas, after the one hour we spend being reverent for our faith, should be spent in Vegas. There is where we could have the most fun, lose the less interesting of our family members among the slot machines, and finally, stand the highest chance of reaping the kind of financial gain we covet for ourselves.

Iconoclasts on Parade

Whenever anyone doesn't agree with us, our first instinct is to defend ourselves. If we have nothing at stake, like a familial relationship or friendship, we typically just blow these pesky people off and try to avoid being around them anymore. As a student of human behavior (albeit admittedly on the amateur level), I've always taken for granted that we surround ourselves with those who basically believe as we do. The church says we should seek fellowship with those who share the faith. Cocktail parties usually go far more smoothly when the participants, especially after a certain point of alcohol ingestion, think similarly about life in general. Then there's the pariah of social intercourse, politics and religion. We try to avoid them like the plague.

Growing up in suburban Atlanta in the 50's and 60's, I had a neighbor across the street that became a close friend. He was an "oops" baby born late to a man who spent his life with the National Forestry Service and a woman who gave her life to education, specifically as a science teacher in the public school system. My friend, Rhond Roth, had a genius-level I. Q. and for that reason alone, was considered a nerd by most of my other friends. It was a weird friendship. I helped him negotiate the normal things most kids do like sports and social interaction, and he was a mentor to me in all things academic and cerebral. It was a symbiotic relationship that probably benefited me more than it did Rhond.

One of the most important features of our friendship growing up was Rhond's firm insistence that I not get lazy intellectually. We debated almost everything, from the latest Chevrolet vs. Chrysler models' superiority to why the Selective Service System (the military draft) was unconstitutional. While I lazed away in my Southern Baptist roots, Rhond read volumes by everyone from Plato to Edgar Cayce. We so enjoyed our conversations on religion that we created a church in his basement for the kids in the neighborhood to attend after they had already been to their respective churches those Sunday mornings. We switched off. I would preach one Sunday and he would play the antique organ for musical accompaniment and the next Sunday, we would change places. Rhond was gifted at music. I was not. He had to teach me some rudimentary chords and melodies so that I could be the Music Director while he preached. It was fairly lame. But, on the other hand, through some friend of Mrs. Roth's, "Look" magazine was thinking of doing a piece on this church until one of Rhond's and my debates precipitated one of several "spats" during our childhood that had us giving each other the evil eye in the corridors of our school. Look magazine never did the piece. Rhond and I did restore our friendship, however.

That friendship with Rhond helped motivate me to take a position with the school newspaper, the debate team, the honor society and make friends with those I ordinarily would never have known. In short, he dragged me kicking and screaming into situations that helped me grow.

Fast Forward: Rhond flew through Emory University with honors, as he did the Richard B. Russell Law School at the University of Georgia. He took a position with the International Trade Commission in Washington, D. C. and was considered to be a stellar employee. His was a resume that many of us were in awe of.

Upon graduation from high school, as Rhond headed for Emory and I headed for boot camp, he wrote in my annual: "Don't ever let your thoughts crystallize." It was this note, written 38 years ago, upon which I built my outlook for all things debatable. Now, as a self-proclaimed social iconoclast, I realize that I am somewhat impatient with those that take positions for life, safely tucking them into the folds of their coffins when they pass on to the next plane. Their only passion is to cultivate and reaffirm that which they already know. While a life built on principle is to be admired, surrendering one's curiosity and sense of wonder is tragic. We defer deliberative judgment and inspiration simply to assuage the fears that we refuse to face. We stunt our enormous capacity for learning to simply filling in the blanks of our paint-by-numbers life. We tend to confuse optimism with emotional weakness, open-mindedness with lack of principle.

A conversation with Rhond would invariably lead to the participants becoming red-faced and militant, or, occasionally stimulated to become more interested in the things outside of their comfort zone. Unconsciously, in a somewhat diminished capacity, I tend to do the same with friends and family. I am impatient with those I love becoming trapped in complacency, being intellectually lazy.

Rhond passed away quite tragically at the age of 36. He died of the same ailment that took Jim Henson's life. I never knew his wife nor his child. I guess if I ever was able to return the favor, as it were, it was when Rhond and I reconnected during the holidays one year and he grew interested in my modest success in real estate in Houston. He did indeed leave the ITC and began to invest in real estate in the D. C. area. He was fairly successful at it.

I still champion his view of what our lives can be, if we only allow ourselves the chance.

The Rise and Fall of Capitalism? No way.

Studebaker. Nash-Kelvinator. Packard. Hudson. American Motors. GM?

After the rebuff by Congress, their tails tucked between their legs, Detroit's big three are back home probably fuming that they can't tap into the billions being doled out for the financial giants. Ridiculed for their private jets, Rick Waggoner of GM took two of his five out of service after returning to Detroit. Nice gesture.

One thing I think that is missing from this discussion is the nature of capitalism itself. Adam Smith must be bristling in his grave. The whole basis for capitalism as put forth in the "Wealth of Nations" in 1776 and later complemented by David Ricardo in 1817 in "The Principals of Political Economy and Taxation" form the basis for the economy we treasure. Without seeming too Darwinian, the nature of capitalism itself allows for the failure of enterprises to be replaced with more efficient competitors. While the American psyche, as the UAW and the Big Three suggest, might indeed be affected by the failure of our automotive manufacturers, we will survive. We did so when the American Steel giants myopically marched into oblivion when foreign steel manufacturers produced superior steel for lower costs. In short, the arrogance and short-sightedness of automakers should not be underwritten by your and my tax money.

Despite Obama's ties to unions and campaign promises to reward their support for his election, he should think long and hard about pouring good money after bad. Even the liberal leaders of Congress, House Speaker Nancy Pelosi and Senate majority leader Reid, have no patience for rewarding businesses that have managed themselves into bankruptcy. Somehow, though, failure is a competitive notion we have come to believe is unacceptable. In truth, it is the natural selection process that capitalism in its purest form embraces. Our history is littered with mismanaged enterprises that could not, or would not compete. GE is the sole company remaining on the Dow Jones Industrial Average since its inception.

While pouring money into financial giants like Citicorp and AIG, mismanaged into insolvency, is a poor idea, so is underwriting the mistakes of a failed automobile manufacturer. The cry goes up, "What are we to do about America's leadership in the world? How are we to compete in an increasingly global economy?" The answer is, if we still believe in a free market economy, let the private entrepreneurs flourish. They will continue to meet the needs of the ever-evolving perceptions of what we want for our future, developing the skill sets and creating innovation where it makes sense and of course, a profit.

The late Peter Drucker, at one time hailed as the father of modern management, while often chastised by his peers, was a brilliant spectator of what innovation really means. Paraphrased, he described innovation as the reallocation of existing assets into new subsets that better address the needs of the end user. Total Quality Management, the TQM model championed by W. Edwards Deming, embodied this notion. Dr. Deming was thrown out of the Detroit automaker's offices 50 years ago, only to find an eager audience among the Japanese. That compelling story, as they say, is proof positive that: a) capitalism is efficient and, b) American automakers created the seeds of their own destruction.

While no one relishes the idea of millions of Americans being tossed out onto the unemployment line after generational devotion to their foolish employers, we must remember that the unions helped create their bosses' inability to compete. This was a joint effort and the results will be, or should be, shared by both.

The financial black hole that has crippled our economy should be allowed to run its course. Citicorp should be allowed to fail. GM, Ford and Chrysler should either sink or swim based on a free market ideal of "either innovate or die". We apparently look at our past dominance of the industrial age and have decided, as a nation, that this is the future model of our ability to dominate the world stage. That's a ridiculous notion. Just as the agrarian economies gave way to the industrial age, we now enter a future that could be just as exciting and promising. Our ability to create, unfettered by government interference, will allow us to enter and dominate the age of technology, or post-modern transportation, or communication, or any number of promising new discoveries that will change the way we live our lives into the next century. If we persist in this mindset that says we have to shore up the inefficient producers of the industrial age or the pathetic greed of our financial sector, we will set back the evolution of our economy for a generation or more.

If we were a nation with $2 trillion in cash like China, we might be tempted to undertake the re-tooling of our automakers. Insofar as the United States sits buried under $10 trillion of debt, this should not even be under discussion. But let's leave that idea for another time...

Too Close to the Heart.

There is so much news coming out about layoffs, especially in my industry, home building, that news of one more home builder closing his doors shouldn't affect me. Today, a friend told me that a builder he used to work for, and that I know personally, closed his doors and laid off his entire staff this week. I cannot reveal his name to protect his dignity but I will tell you that I respect him. As do his peers. We'll call him Don.

Don's father died when he was the age of 9 and he went to work to help support his mother and siblings. He was denied a childhood from the fate that befell him but he never complained and he never felt cheated. I actually interviewed with Don when I first came back to Atlanta but as it turned out, a better offer seemed more enticing.

Most of Don's staff went back 20 years with him. He was honest, hardworking and he built a pretty dang good home. I do not doubt for a minute that Don will survive and come back stronger than ever. He is made of the right stuff.

It's interesting to see how people handle these type of things. When you're working, it's not quite as compelling. There is a website that cites failed builders. It gloats over the latest failure in the home building industry. I can't imagine applauding the failure of anyone who tries their heart out to make a small business work. According to the N. Y. Times this morning, it is expected that no less than 14,000 more small businesses will fail by the end of the year. Where is the joy in that?

Most of the trades that service me as a home builder are trying very hard to survive. My plumbing contractor laid off 14 so far this week. My electrical contractor is down from 100 employees and 50 trucks running to 5 employees and 4 trucks running (both down 1 from yesterday). More than half of the Latino workers are back south. New Permits that hit a high of almost 56,000 in Atlanta a couple of years ago are going to end up 2008 around 14,000, and it is expected that as few as 8,000 permits will be issued for new projects in 2009.

Believe me, I thank God every morning for the opportunity to do what I do, for as long as it exists. Those that have trumpeted "let the free market run its course" are getting their wish. I have always thought that way. I am quietly and reverently praying that we have neared the bottom and recovery is around the corner. There are so many that now have no option but to reinvent themselves, uproot their families and move, wipe out their savings and get out of bed every morning with hope for the future. God bless them.

Pollyannish or Profound?

About six months ago my brother, Graham, called me from Port Angeles, Washington and told me there was a movie he had just seen that Stephanie and I have to see. I could hear it in his voice. There was something he deemed remarkable in this film. Our not going to public theaters delayed it somewhat, but we saw it on Pay-per-View a few weeks later and found "The Secret" to be more of a documentary, with the centerpiece being the exhortation to find the "truth" discussed within. The film claimed that a common thread runs through history and a nugget of wisdom that has been embraced by the genius of each age of mankind. The thread, or nugget, being the key of finding the joy and fulfillment we all chase in our own way.

Now, when it comes to profundity, I'm as big a skeptic as the next guy, and like all things simplistic, I discounted and discarded this spiritual flash of light in less than 24 hours. Put another way, I saw the light and put on some Raybans. Like almost everyone, I am too busy chasing life, or in some cases, running away from it, to be bothered with reflection. The whole thing with personal discovery is invariably disquieting. Try taking a halogen beam into your attic, that one closet or the unfinished portion of your basement and shine it around. Ugh, what a mess. Looking at one's intellectual and spiritual constructs without the labyrinthine justifications and defenses we hide behind is well, unsettling at best.

A couple of weeks ago, fed up with the stresses and injustices of my profession, I walked into a book store near our home and began wandering through the aisles. Ever the shopper, I went to a discount table and began thumbing through the books. I found a small book that had "40% off cover price". Naturally, this prompted me to peruse the contents. As I read, I was astonished at the effect this little collection of nuggets was having on me. After 10 or 15 minutes of getting lost in the land of Wisdom, I closed the book and looked at the title: "The Secret". Hmmm. Never wanting to get lost in the la-la land that psychologists term "magical thinking", I still carried it to the checkout counter and purchased it. I have been reading it on and off lately and I am amazed at the effect it is having on me.

Yeah, yeah. I know. There have been deaths and stress in my life so I'm more prone to be affected by such tripe. But, in reality, the reading of this missive has been lifting me not only out of my depression of loss, but also giving me a joy and perspective I've never had before. I can read your mind: "Oh God, another religious nut in the family". No. This isn't a conversion experience where I lay at the altar, slain in the Spirit. It's just a slow awakening to what and how we experience today, the exact same world we lived in yesterday. Or, our ability to recognize a spiritual law much like the physical law of gravity, both immutable.

Without too much more detail, as my daughter Emily tells me lovingly that my blogs are way too long, I also fear that any attempt on my part to encourage others to read "The Secret", due to my inadequate writing skills, will instead innoculate the reader against ever picking it up. Let me try to distill it. There is a law that operates in our world called the "Law of Attraction". It knows no person, place or thing, much like gravity. It simply exists. We have all noticed that when we are down and displaced, things typically only get worse, never better. "Death comes in threes". "Murphy's Law again." Our suffering attracts even more suffering. Then, there are those among us who seem bulletproof. They are always "up", always full of joy, always reaping where they didn't sow, performing feats of incredible accomplishment, etc. The Law of Attraction simply put, states that we attract what we envision for ourselves. It cites religious leaders statements, quotes from the greatest minds of our history books and remarkably, they all say exactly the same thing: "We are what we think we are." "We have what we envision for ourselves." "We create our own lives."

Now, not to be fooled by such simplicity, I've actually attempted to put this law to the test. Surprisingly, it's proven to be true. By envisioning those things, small things, I desire to be true, they start to materialize. No, I'm not smoking anything. Believe it or not, I'm amazed at this dynamic. I am more outgoing, joyful, at peace and stress-free than I've ever been. O.K., maybe I have duped myself in some way, but nevertheless, this nugget is yielding rewards. I encourage anyone who has the slightest interest in such things to ready this book. It will not disappoint.

Definitions: Lessons I Learned From The Election.

Well, the election's over. What a relief. Most people have moved on and written their congressmen about their concerns or joy, gotten back to their lives and most have generally forgotten it. There are exceptions. As you know, some people live and breathe politics. For them, no matter who wins, they spend most of their spare time endlessly dissecting every phrase, every word and every action of politicians. They listen to either Rush Limbaugh or Al Franken or their ilk. Then there are those who, when their candidate loses, just can't live with what happens when the electorate disagrees with them. Ignoring their own citizenship papers, they howl, "Americans are idiots!"

In spending time with family, friends, business associates and passersby on the street the past couple of weeks, there have been comments that bother me to no end. I can't reconcile the wonderful nature of some of these people when I hear their words. Let me share some of the words that pop in my mind when I listen to them:

zeal⋅ot

–noun

1.	a person who shows zeal.

2.	an excessively zealous person; fanatic.

in⋅tol⋅er⋅ance

–noun

1.	lack of toleration; unwillingness or refusal to tolerate or respect contrary opinions or beliefs, persons of different races or backgrounds, etc.

2.	incapacity or indisposition to bear or endure: intolerance to heat.

3.	abnormal sensitivity or allergy to a food, drug, etc.

4.	an intolerant act.

big⋅ot⋅ry

–noun, plural -ries.

1.	stubborn and complete intolerance of any creed, belief, or opinion that differs from one's own.

2.	the actions, beliefs, prejudices, etc., of a bigot.

fear

–noun

1.	a distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, pain, etc., whether the threat is real or imagined; the feeling or condition of being afraid.

2.	a specific instance of or propensity for such a feeling: an abnormal fear of heights.

3.	concern or anxiety; solicitude: a fear for someone's safety.

4.	reverential awe, esp. toward God.

5.	that which causes a feeling of being afraid; that of which a person is afraid: Cancer is a common fear.

–verb (used with object)

6.	to regard with fear; be afraid of.

7.	to have reverential awe of.

8.	Archaic. to experience fear in (oneself).

–verb (used without object)

9.	to have fear; be afraid.

---

As I've heard and read what these people have said, many of whom I love, I thought I'd just get out the old dictionary.com and find out what the words that circle in my head really mean. It brings to mind that old movie, "A Clockwork Orange", where the State subjected criminals to scenes of terrible crimes and their aftermath to condition them against committing crime again. Could subjecting people to the words themselves change them? Probably not. But, maybe, just looking at the meanings of the words will eliminate the anonymity they hide in when letting out their dark side even if just in jest.

We all have better and lesser angels in us. I hope that the words I've heard, the awful comments, the intolerant attitudes, will lose out to the good in all of us. If not, we're probably too late to save our culture. Polarization of the masses will inevitably lead to our demise. It's happened over and over in history. What I think is unconscionable is to simply watch and wait for the end.

This continent we inhabit has seen Indians, Spanish, French, German, English, African, Italian and others all come here to find a better life. Some voluntarily and some not. We have a unique opportunity right now to start a new chapter. For the zealots and bigots trapped in fear, which is truly where the lesser angels truly get their power, let's leave them to their hatred. For the rest of us, let's push forward, get involved and try to create what the founding fathers really had in mind. I am often reminded of those that seek to return us to say, 1776, with the intention of dismantling our government and have us stooping over a fire for light and comfort, of these words:

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness."

Time Out

When one seeks refuge, one might look to the ocean, the mountains or even the anonymity of a City park. This weekend, it was found in the mountains of North Georgia. The Blue Ridge Mountains provide a beautiful setting of changing seasons this time of year. With some close friends, a fire in the outdoor fireplace and a good bottle of wine, the rigors of everyday living were stripped of their power. Though everyone had different views of life, peace was found in the collegial nature that comes from being in a place of serenity. A time of joy was found in the similar need of everyone letting go of the pressing issues of jobs, schedules and deadlines. It was a cathartic weekend.

Blue Ridge, Georgia is a study in conflicted history and breathtaking natural beauty. Left to itself through generations of sameness, the influx of Boomers looking for the perfect hideaway has transformed it. The locals might argue, not for the better. While one can find, locked away on a state highway, a convenience store that advertises racial bigotry, ammo and confederate flags, "downtown" Blue Ridge sports wine and rare book shops, trendy restaurants and art galleries. There is obviously a tenuous peace between the two colliding worlds.

There is also the paradoxical nature of the evolution of communities. While fine wine can be purchased, it simply cannot be corked at the restaurants. You can buy the wine there and drink it in the parking lot, just not at your dinner table. Odd. While locals welcome the business during a recession that touches even here, they privately begrudge the liberal-leaning views of some of their patrons. Suspicion walks lock-step with a paper-thin gratitude for the patronage. In the end, the tranquil, soul-mending experience of wandering through God's fingerprints more than offsets the underlying roiling of the local population's mistrust.

To those who have chosen Blue Ridge, Georgia as a permanent residence, the reviews are mixed. The primitive views of the established are at odds with a new citizenry that crave the most basic of amenities they take for granted back in Atlanta. One example. We had hoped to visit with the Restaurateur of "RePaz", a lovely new restaurant in downtown Blue Ridge. She had told us on our last visit in October that she would find a way to navigate the "Blue Laws" of the county so that we could experience the excellent cuisine of her new restaurant, with some complimentary wines, after closing of course. As luck would have it, she, the night before our visit, had received a visit from the local police warning her that her wine-imbibing tendencies could result in at worst, her arrest and at the very least, the loss of her business license. On the night of our visit with our friends, she had passed the message to us through the wait staff that she was "under the weather". She didn't show. What a shame. The myopic views of the locals, unfortunately, still hold sway. We can only hope that even if it takes another generation, all of this will change.

Witnessing History

Whatever one's political beliefs, last night was an epochal moment in history for every American. I watched in awe as our country elected an African-American to the highest office in the land. As a white, southern-born and raised male, it was almost surreal to watch the night unfold. In my wildest dreams, growing up in the South, I could never have imagined this happening. As a teenager, I was gripped in fear as my parents suggested that the race riots in Newark and Watts were coming soon to a city near me. My father bought a shotgun, thinking he needed more firepower in the coming race war. Sleep was more fitful in those times.

Fast-forward to last night. I am now the age my parents were in the turbulent sixties. What a journey! It will difficult to manage one's expectations in the wake of this event. On both sides of the equation, from conservative fears of a socialist state to liberal dreams of a Utopian society, we must recognize what has happened and try to believe the rhetoric of the President-elect, insist he live up to his words. For those that hate others because of the color of their skin, there will be no solace. For those whose hysterical joy knows no bounds, there will be disappointment. Even this sweeping victory does not spell the end to the systemic dysfunction in our economy. Even an electoral mandate does not remove the dangers we face in a world fraught with enemies that possess an inbred hatred of this country. Even with one party in control of the administrative and legislative branches, we will not erase the fractious nature of our arguments nor will it bring European Socialism to America.

We face sobering challenges in this country over the next decade. They will not be easily solved and the unexpected will continue to complicate the process. This morning, despite our fear or joy, the world is still the world.

We all will watch closely over the next couple of months at how the new regime picks the players that will shape Washington's course for the new administration. The selections that President Obama makes will themselves tell us how he will lead. The proposed legislation after the inauguration should also give us a pretty clear picture of which priorities the new President and Congress will foster during the next four years. And of course, the markets, allies and enemies will make their statements as well.

If, as the President-elect has stated, we must all push ourselves to contribute more to improve the long-term prospects for our country, then we individually should escape our comfort zones and find new ways to contribute to our neighborhoods and our communities. In the end, the future is more about how we each react to the challenges confronting us personally than it is about waiting helplessly for the government to bless or curse us. In fact, we realize that it has always been that way. What we do each day and how we view our world, as a place of great opportunity or as a place of fear and trembling, is far more important to the tenor of our lives than hiding in unrealistic fear or resting in false hopes.

Now that we've symbolically healed the American divisions surrounding race, let's focus on the real challenge: making a commitment of giving more of ourselves to others around us and most importantly, finding how we can be part of the solution, not part of the problem.

Reverse Osmosis

For everyone that pines for the days of the 1950's, when America was overwhelmingly white (you know, the blacks knew their place and the only Mexicans we knew of picked fruit and vegetables on the West Coast), I have good news. There's a reverse Exodus from America by the Latino. With a severe recession upon us, construction at a standstill, the travel industry imploding with the result of empty hotels and vacant restaurants at dinner time, the work for the undocumented worker is drying up. With it, employment opportunities for the unskilled and semi-skilled laborer are scarce.

Insofar as the draw to America for most Latino immigrants in the first place was that they could make money here and send it back to Latin America for their family's support, they have gone home, in droves. My Latino construction workers tell me that no less than half of their workers have gone back to their home country. The dynamic of our money going south at first raises the specter of someone "stealing" our currency. The reality is, this practice has helped stabilize the economies of our neighbors in Latin America to the extent that while Mexico, for instance, struggles to push its economy into the 21st century, the influx of dollars into the Mexican economy reduced the poverty of its citizenry thus providing more time and cushion for political remedies to take effect. This cushion is now gone. The global recession south of the border in most countries will be far more severe than we will suffer.

From many, the exodus of Latinos will raise cheers. These might be the same people who use the "n" word to describe African-Americans. True, these might also be patriots who seek the same modicum of security that most of our allies in the West enjoy. Who knows the hearts of our friends and neighbors? For those of us that depend on Latino labor, it is chilling. What most people who don't run a business fail to realize is that the American worker has long since abandoned the residential construction trades due to the Hispanic workers. Long ago, the labor necessary to run the food and travel industry became almost exclusively foreign. There are simply not very many legal Americans left to do this type of work. More disheartening, in truth, Americans simply do not want to do menial labor. Despite the influx of East Europeans and South Africans into the industry, the available labor shortfall, upon any restoration of a normal economy, will be dire.

I am not promoting illegal immigration, but taking the pragmatic view that if we, as Americans, are serious about sealing our borders, then we must be prepared to see the prices associated with home building rise, even as home values continue to drift. Paying 20% to 30% more for the same home built today, tomorrow, will not be a pleasant side-effect of closing off the Rio Grand River. With rising commodity prices, coupled with a significant increase in labor costs, we will see new home prices surge, complicating the solutions to a battered housing industry. If builders aren't selling $300k homes now, how will they, in a depressed market, be able to sell the same home for $375k? Will we rejoice when a hotel room costs $50. more per night when we travel? There are literally hundreds of examples of how this labor shortage will affect the price of everything we buy.

I hear many friends concede, grudgingly, that they will have to pay more in taxes to help dig ourselves out of the current economic malaise. I wonder if they will understand what is behind paying so much more for their new houses or hotel rooms during a severe recession? I suspect every American wants the ideal of the secure border. I like that concept if for no other reason than it makes sense in a dangerous world to know who is in your neighborhood. While there is no easy answer, I do have faith that in an era when everything is on the table politically, we can find the right mix of patriotism, security and generosity. I heard an awful comment the other day that when GM goes bankrupt, maybe we could retrain automotive workers to swing a hammer or change sheets. Not really that funny, is it?

An Open Letter to My Family

This will be the last unsolicited blog I send to the family. I hope somehow Steve gets a copy of this. If you wish to receive my future sophomoric meanderings, you'll have to request it. I know that to some, it will be just one more nuisance email that has to be deleted, along with the barrage of unsolicited tripe that bombards our computers. That's why I want this missive to say everything I have to say about family. If, in the end, it results in my family being constituted only by my loving wife and daughter, then so be it.

I moved to Houston years ago for a lot of reasons, not the least of which was because I was suffocating. The constant familial infighting, the soul-draining drama and endless intrigue was just too much for me to endure. The move west saved me. I put myself in a sink-or-swim condition and through my own mistakes and accomplishments, became my own person, impervious to the black hole that my family's relationships created.

I believe there is a misconception among most people that family, right or wrong, is family and it must be preserved at all costs. That's a foolish notion. Though in child-rearing I think it's important to expose a child to its extended family for the sense of security and belonging, the child is the most important issue. If a family, per se, represents a greater harm because of their behavior to the proper development of the child, then I believe it is incumbent on the parent to keep the child from being exposed to a family or member of that family that breeds negativity and/or sets a poor example.

Further, a healthy relationship is a far more important goal in life, whether it be family, friend, student or teacher, than any fanciful notion of cherishing relationships with someone simply because they possess similar DNA.

One of the greatest things about being in Houston was that every person I met was potentially a healthy relationship that could be built on, and the fabric of a new life spreading out before me each day filled me with promise. The incessant drumming of family plots, wounds, infighting, slights - real or imagined, moral outrage, it was all gone!

When a so-called family is dysfunctional to the point that it poisons the lives of everyone in it, it's time to either succumb to the attendent slow death or take action and remove oneself from it. I chose the latter and have not regretted it for a single instant. There is no implied blame in this statement. Whether one family member did or didn't do what they should have, or someone was most responsible for the seeds of all of the dysfunction is completely immaterial. At some point, each member of the family has to make their own decision to do what's necessary to lift themselves out of the morass, assume responsibility for their own lives, and in my case, continue to love while refusing to become sucked back in to the dysfunction. Each person is responsible only for their behavior and their reaction to the behavior of others. In the case of the good, bad and ugly of those around me, I choose to get over it and move on. I'm not going to carry that weight.

Whether or not a parent was or wasn't the ideal role model, a sibling did or didn't behave as I wished, a dream of an Ozzie and Harriet world did or didn't come true is a waste of precious emotional and intellectual energy. Sooner or later, one must wake up and realize that the precious gift of life is fleeting, that we all must elect each day to love or not, give or not, challenge ourselves to get out of our comfort zone and contribute to the planet or simply wallow in our self-pity and resentments for the balance of our time here.

We cannot change the way others behave. They are what and who they are and we either choose to love them, or not. There is a miraculous spiritual law of the universe that affords us great comfort: If we love, it never returns void. If we forgive, then we are forgiven. If we show mercy, mercy is shown to us. This is not real complicated. Unconditional love is never restricted to what a parent feels for a child. It is an action that we elect to take, or not to take.

I have made awful mistakes in my life, some of which involve family members. I have asked, and ask again now for forgiveness. I cannot change those mistakes, but I do own them and take responsibility for the consequences for my actions. I harbor no ill will toward anyone, largely because of the example I try and follow of my Dad's feelings for his entire family. No action of any of his loved ones changed his love for them. Immediately upon confession of a wrongdoing, he forgot it. But, like me, he was fiercely protective of his loved ones. As am I. If others harbor ill will towards me, then that is their cancer-of-the-soul to endure. Not mine.

Finally, I know terrible things about family members, some of it directed at me, some of it at other family members, some at themselves. It is already forgiven and I have moved on. I can only suggest that others do the same. If not, that's for them to live with. I cannot and will not participate in the high drama that still seems to rear its ugly head from time to time in this family. If that means certain members of my birth family will not be in Stephanie's, Emily's or my life, so be it. I want to be helpful to anyone in trouble but as for an ongoing relationship, I'm not interested in being around persons, family, friends or acquaintances that choose to see everything through the prism of "if you behave differently than I wish, then you are a bad person". Life is way too short. Whether the reader takes this personally or philosophically is entirely up to them. This is not directed at anyone in particular but I felt once and for all, if anyone cares to understand my beliefs, you now know them.

Our home is always open.

Peloponnesus 2, Baseball 0

Many historians credit the Peloponnesian War with being the beginning of the end of the Greek Empire. The loss to Sparta brought recession, a loss of invincibility and a gradual decline of Greek influence in the world. One of the earmarks of the culture was an obsession with sports. One can easily draw conclusions between America and Greece in the area of art, engineering, political atrophy and moral decay. The obsession with sports grabbed me.

I grew up in Suburban Atlanta in the 50's, which then had no professional sports team. My heroes were the New York Yankee team that fielded Mickey Mantle, Roger Maris and Yogi Berra. I had their autographed pictures all over my room and collected their baseball cards. I played in Little League and revelled in the stories my Dad told me of the days of Ty Cobb and the Atlanta Crackers, a minor league club. It was the mid sixties before Atlanta began to get their major league clubs. First, the theft of the Milwaukee Braves brought baseball to the Big A. It was awesome as a teenager to be able to go out to the Atlanta Stadium and see real major-league teams playing my favorite game. The other pro teams came later. Yawn.

My love of baseball didn't wane until the strike of 1972. It didn't die until the strike of 1981, which actually included 5 work stoppages between 1972 and 1981. I never cared much for basketball, didn't know a thing about hockey and played football until my size threatened my early death at the hands of peers maturing much more rapidly than I. For a while, I switched my attention to football but slowly, over the years, my excitement "ember" slowly died out. I have had friends who feel the same way. Some hang on to the team representing their alma mater out of duty. Some watch just to be knowledgeable around the water cooler at work. But yes, there are avid sports fans around - just go to your local sports bar.

There are many theories about this loss of interest in sports that I apparently share with millions of other Americans. I once read that during my youth, baseball players made about 7 times the average annual income of Joe America. Now, it's somewhere around 770 times. Of course, that's only numbers but it might be symbolic of the disparity between the average baseball player and the average Joe. I used to watch and cheer for guys that I felt were just like me, only much better at baseball. Today, I know that I watch guys whose only similarity to me is that they play a game I did as a child. There's no loyalty to a city or team, no comfort in knowing the team that came so close this year will be back next year. There's the continual off-putting of whining and grumbling over how much money this player, or that player makes. It's all about money and there's nothing left of the spirit of the game.

I did not watch the first minute of this year's World Series. And, I don't feel cheated. I don't know who pitched and barely which teams were in it. I wonder if the recession will hit baseball. I hope so. I'd love to see the dissembling of the machine it has become. Wouldn't it be grand to sit in the stands and see guys playing for the sheer love of the game? The grit and grime of competition in America's pasttime without the grandiosity of Big Business? Well, maybe it will come and maybe it won't. The Atlanta Stadium is gone. Worse, Yankee Stadium is coming down and with it, for me at least, the last vestige of a game I loved as a child.

The Plumber's Pipes Always Leak.....

Being a builder is not all it's cracked up to be. And I'm not talking about the current economy. I'm talking about the builder's private residence. I'm talking about the ongoing maintenance and repairs that occur in a 35 year old house. I'm talking about having the job during the day of seeing any variance in the work necessary to erect a new home and then trying to turn that off when you return to the hacienda at night. It isn't easy. When I get home at night I see 3,465 variances. To remedy said variances would require somewhere in the neighborhood of $125,000.00.

Now for those who don't watch the nightly news, that's some pretty serious cash in a very uncertain world. I have the list. I have the schedule. I have the budget. I just don't have the cash. So, I sit and stare at 3,465 variances every night during commercials. I take sleep aids.

You might suggest, and rightfully so, that I learn to manage said stress with the help of a professional. Good idea, but during good times, I subscribed to an HSA that basically says in the contract that if I don't have a heart attack or major car accident requiring 35 operations to reconstruct my bowels, I'm on my own. So, any such counseling would require out-of-pocket expenditures, which would only further exacerbate my shortfall of cash necessary to remedy this stress. Catch-22 Chapter 11.

If anyone repeats this, I'll deny it, but I asked some friends at a gathering one evening if they knew any arsonists. After everyone laughed and left the table hurriedly,one of them seemed very thoughtful, turned and asked, "What would it pay?" I offered 20% of the net gain over the mortgage payoff. He walked off. Apparently 20% is not enough.

Others have suggested I "borrow" (a synonym for steal) materials from my projects and call in "favors" (another word for extortion) from my subs. Sorry, my late father didn't bring me up that way. Oh, that I could be so footloose with morality. At least the variances would get a big dent in them. And my house would quit leaking.

The only other plan I came up with last Spring was to sell it as is and move into a brand new condo. It was a hell of a plan, replete with yard sales selling off everything we owned. In my zeal, I never considered what would happen if we couldn't sell the house (see the comment above on the economy). Now I have a relatively furniture-free ranch home in Marietta on the golf course that needs $135,000. (inflation) in repairs and improvements.

Don't even mention banks. They don't know what to loan, who to loan it to, or how much to charge right now. I just fired my current banker because of this. I don't think he cared. He knows my collateral has 3,466 variances (one of my light fixtures just burned up).

Enough is Enough....

No more negative blogs. I've had it with bad news (especially from the bears on Wall Street). Of course, this is akin to telling the blindfolded captive about to be shot that he should laugh a little. But, for the sake of being able to laugh in the face of catastrophe, I am through with doom and gloom. Hopefully, it is also through with me. What does one choose as a subject when whistling past the graveyard? Politicians and pundits are too easy. How about those scoundrels in the news getting their comeuppance? Nah, one always is afraid to laugh at them for fear it will bring the demons of destruction down on oneself.

I've got it! Why not let's try laughing at ourselves? Self-deprecatory humor doesn't offend anybody. Just getting someone to laugh, whether it's at your own expense or not, is safe though to some, boring (most people like all the attention for themselves). Nevertheless, let's get started.

Last night, our next-door neighbors, Gene and Sandy invited us over for dinner, offering Stephanie and I a brief respite from the death, disease, destruction, hard-drive crashing month that we have had. Sandy had prepared a wonderful dinner of pork loin, spinach salad and potatos of unknown origin and we were celebrating their daughter's acceptance at OU for next fall.

Stephanie had forgotten something at home and after a few minutes she returned to our friends' home mentioning that she smelled gas (not the kind from too much chili) between our two houses. Oh, how we laughed and dined and drank our wine while the Atlanta Gas Light man isolated the leak to where else, our house! We were so amused. A visit to him between courses led the Gas guy to conclude that this was a "Grade 1" leak, which meant nothing to me but made him somber. He told us that a repair crew was en route to fix it. He also said, "This will take some time." Beyond ready to go to sleep (suffering from a bad cold - ha ha) I suggested that he just cover the hole back up with mud and wait until the morning. He did not find that the least bit funny.

We finished our meal while trucks with flashing lights arrived and we told Gene and Sandy that despite the imminent danger, we were returning home. I reassured Stephanie that if there were a major explosion outside of our bedroom, the blast would probably atomize us into the next dimension and we'd never know what happened. Obviously, I didn't share with her my concern that such an occurrence might leave us trapped between two dimensions, wandering the planet looking for closure. Sometimes, a husband has to protect his spouse from bad news.

As Gene set up work lights for the repair crews, we repaired to our home. We giggled, Stephanie and I, as we took sleep aids and laid down to sleep while grunting emergency workers struggled to repair the gas line to our home. Clanking pipes and shouts of encouragement from one crew member to the other were not enough to keep us from entering peaceful slumber. At some point during the night, I realized that there were no more flashing lights, truck motors or Gene's lighting equipment outside and turned on our heater. Ah, the planet had been righted on its axis. After all, what good would I have been standing out there in the rain? Especially in light of my bedroom slippers that I received last Christmas being, along with the Duke Blue Devils logo, purple. It might have sent the wrong signal.

After a great night of sleep, I fear only that our good neighbor Gene and wife Sandy must have been thinking how one-sided this friendship had become. Thanks, guys and don't forget to laugh.

Loss

There isn't an easy answer to approaching death. For now, I would like October removed from the Julian calendar. This had to be the worst month I have ever experienced. How do we, the living, deal with the disappearance of those we love? Until it touches us personally, most of us don't really spend a lot of energy or time dealing with that question. Why should we? It isn't easy to fit that kind of depressing reflection into our busy lives. After all, after we're gone, who cares? Certainly not the departed. And let's face it, our culture isn't set up for long periods of grieving and contemplation. There's money to be made / preserved and appointments to be kept. It's very uncomfortable for those outside of the immediate circle of death to know what to say. The simple utterances are often of little import, save the fact that the utterer cares enough to express them.

As we grow older, the incidences of loss increase exponentially. My father, at his passing, no longer had close friends and few acquaintances still living. He had only his memories. These memories I have tried to memorize so that they become the lore passed down from generation to generation. Sadly, our culture also does not encourage such reminiscence. The written word certainly survives but with so much of it available, it is easily dismissed as non-important to our experience. I fear that whatever value there was in any given life is discarded with the body after death. It doesn't hold interest for any but the few infused with the departed's blood.

In the last few years, I have lost my Mother, my only sister, my best friend Mark C. Anderson, my beloved companion Tahoe, my father and many others whose lives touched those around me, both friend and family. If this is the nature of loss at 56 years old, I'm not sure I want to survive to my father's age of 86.

In loss of a friend, a loved one, a darkness descends that envelopes the soul. It is indeed a part of our life experience but it is unnaturally cruel. It reminds us of the fragility of life. It robs us of the resolute assurance that life is good. It interrupts the flow of consciousness that we select to survive in. It makes all of our temporal goals and achievements meaningless. It pierces our heart. It leaves us defenseless.

Tomorrow, there will be a morning, a noon and an afternoon that need to be filled. It will undoubtedly require enough attention to postpone or cure the emptiness inside. There will be quiet moments under the starlight, the new moon. They will nudge me to remember. My heart will yearn. I will wait for the new day, knowing that those that survive are important, needful. I will live on.

In Memory

This past week, my father, Joe Reaves, passed away. It wasn't totally unexpected yet, despite our knowing that this was imminent, we were not ready for it. His funeral went flawlessly, a tribute to a man of faith that only wanted to go join his beloved wife Fran and daughter Marti. God granted him that wish last Wednesday afternoon. Dad, who struggled with why he was still here now has the answer.

Joe Reaves was the genuine article. He was incredibly talented, singing, dancing and acting his way to Hollywood. And, I'm especially thankful for this - he rejected what amounted to a blank check from Warner Brothers to make him a star so that he could raise his new son and hold on to his beautiful young wife. He knew that the two worlds would never mix. He often told the story of walking down a foggy street in San Francisco at the time and having what amounted to an epiphany of sorts. He knew then that he would return to Atlanta.

Of course, once the "ham" is in your blood, it's hard to get it out. He became a broadcast personality, first on radio (WGST, WPTF and others) and then on television in Atlanta. He hung out in the television "crowd" though never fell into its behavior. There has been much family lore about how happy or distressed Dad was to have walked away from certain stardom. He has always protested that his family was his single most important purpose in life. Many of us wondered and now we probably never know.

The greatest memory I have of my father? There are many. Once, we were on an "Indian Guides" outing somewhere in Georgia when the 1960 Ford of Dad's suffered its rear window blowing out from the heat of the day. Rain was in the forecast, so he knew we had to return home. It was late that evening and I remember him telling me to lay in his lap while he put a blanket over me to protect me from any blowing glass. It was just Dad protecting me from harm. There are many stories like this.

My Uncle John, Dad's older brother threw me into Lake Lanier when I was 3 or 4 while in his cups, sure that it would be the quickest way to teach me how to swim. It was Dad who dove in, pulled my sinking body out of the water, cleared my airway and told Uncle John that if he ever did that again, he would (fill in the blank). It was 10 years before my fear of water subsided enough to learn how to swim.

Another time he undoubtedly saved my life was when I was a senior in high school, bound and determined to do my duty for my country during the Vietnam War. Without telling anyone, I went down and enlisted in the Marine Corps. After all, my brother Graham was a Marine. After about a month of suggestions here and there by my Dad that I reconsider the branch I had chosen, Dad sat me down for a talk. I believe it was the same week the first Draft Lottery came out. My number was 179 and I would never have been drafted. We had one of the few "all-nighters" in my life. Dad knew that my mind wouldn't be changed to enter the military but he finally convinced me to enter the Navy, his choice in the past during WWII. Since the Marines are part of the Department of the Navy and since my lottery number indicated I would never get drafted, the recruiters made the switch. It truly did probably save my life.

Dad's one undeniable flaw was his lack of patience. When Mom had her stroke in 1994, he had to become her caretaker. Eight years of caring for the love of your life as they slowly descend into helplessness is a great teacher of patience. As Dad basically just waited to join her after her death, he spent six more years learning the last measure of patience. Whatever he's doing now, God must have needed him to learn that one lesson.

I will miss him.

It's Just a Cycle

The panic of 1819 was the first major economic crisis of our young country's history. Sure, there had been swings in prices before but this was a true disaster for our economy. Debt from the War of 1812, bank excesses, a devastated Europe from the Napoleonic Wars buying only grain from us, frenzied land speculation in the Western United States ending in a burst of the bubble and a contraction of available credit brought on the panic. The following year began a six-year depression. Unbridled speculation, banking woes, no available credit and panic. Very interesting.

In reality, there were eight major crashes in the 19th century that with a few variations, were caused in large part by the same elements. The bank Crises of 1901 and 1907 were again the story of wild speculation surrounding Railroads / Copper respectively, and then: (plug in the above cycle). You'd think we'd learn. Learn what, exactly? What causes such catastrophes in our free market economy? Free enterprise is cyclical. No kidding? Whether you invoke the wisdom of Keynes, Minsky or your rich Uncle Floyd, there is a central theme to the capitalist boom to bust phenomenon.

Keynes called it Strategic Complementarity. I call it Herd Instinct. Once the panic sets in, no one wants to be the last one in the herd - face it, that's where most of the predators are. Or, let's call it Economic "Musical Chairs". No one wants to be left standing when the music stops. In the rush to liquidate / exit, the result becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy of sorts. You know the advice from those around you: "if people would just keep from panicking this would all work out". (Whispering, hand over telephone) "Hold on a minute, I'm talking to my broker". (Yelling into the telephone now) "Sell, you idiot, Sell!"

In America today, there is no available credit, this occurring in a consumer-driven economy. Well, it may not matter today- no one is buying anything, anyway. The Fed is now having to enter uncharted waters in offering to buy short-term (typically 90 days or less) commercial paper because the risk premiums being sought by the few lenders offering to buy that paper makes it too expensive to borrow the money. If corporations can't meet payroll, how are they going to [want to] invest in capital equipment? Individuals with credit scores near 800 can't get money individually. Why?

Basically, all of the speculation in this particular boom cycle has resulted in a bubble bursting so loudly that the "POP" is being heard around the globe, to wit, the herds overseas are running for cover. Without a central bank, things are getting pretty ugly across the pond. Even here, we all know that bankers are basically cowards. They take your money and loan it back to you, never taking any of the kinds of risks you do when you start a business or invest in America. They then, like little lemmings, follow each other wherever the others are darting at any given time. The mortgage crises had them all trying to out-dart each other off the proverbial sub-prime cliff, trusting Mother Fed to bail them out if it all went sour. Cowards, but certainly not stupid. That's why they're not loaning your money back to you at the moment. You've got to love that.

Ahh, safe havens....

Municipal Bonds, exceeded in safety only by U. S. Treasuries, have been a popular investment of the more affluent for many moons. No problem, there right now, eh? Uh, Uncle Floyd, you may need to sit down for a minute (said with the same gravity as when you told him that you had just run over his pet cat in the driveway). State and local governments, broadly called Municipalities, have seen their revenues fall. This, due to lower property taxes from defaulting mortgages, lowering sales tax revenues from a lack of consumer demand and reduction in fees that spring from real estate, building and development.

At the same time, money has gotten too expensive to borrow for everyone. Refinancing their debt or borrowing for new projects that have been approved. As municipalities get more strapped for funds, another self-fulfilling prophecy, the rating agencies lower the government's rating, making it harder and more expensive to borrow. Bond referendums are being cancelled or postponed. Even Ambac, the insurer of municipal bonds, has been downgraded and risks having to double its capital reserves at a time when there is no money available.

Little Finance Lesson (please skip paragraph if you're already nodding off): In the bond market, if current rates go up to attract available capital, that nasty old inverse relationship of a bond's principal value to its effective yield occurs, dropping the underlying value of existing bonds to get them to a discounted price that "marks them to the market" so that they "yield" the same as current bonds of equal quality. The bondholder then has an unrecognized loss of principal in their bond portofolio. The tax-free income is still there, thank goodness!

IS THERE ANY GOOD NEWS?

The Good News? This is only one of many cycles we have endured in our country. It will settle down out there when the panic ceases and hopefully, the resulting damage will be contained enough to avoid anything more serious than a severe recession. If not, call Uncle Floyd.

Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?

During the Great Depression, a dime could get you a cup of coffee, or two. Today, you'd need a roll of them to buy a cup of coffee at Waffle House but you'd still be short at Starbucks. The whole era of the Great Depression has suddenly become a popular conversation starter. There aren't many among us who lived through it. Those that did were small children at the time. History teaches us that our nation and the world was impoverished. Except for the barons of the early industrial revolution and their families, everyone had to eke out the barest necessities to survive. Those then that were still out on the farm, who had not mortgaged their land for crops, survived literally by the sweat of their brow.

My maternal grandfather, Henry Baird, had been a successful middle manager in North Georgia at the time the Great Depression hit. His lot was unemployment and he eventually traveled the rails looking for work wherever he could find it. After all, he had a wife and nine children to feed. My mother, the baby, remembered only constantly being hungry and wearing hand-me-down shoes and hand altered dresses. I remember her telling me during her life that much of her health issues came from having to wear shoes that didn't fit. Her children always had shoes that fit.

The children of those that lived through the Great Depression were always reminded of what the world could be like again. We scoffed and rolled our eyes at their stories, though now, they come roiling back with import. It's hard to imagine 27% unemployment, especially when you consider that America still possessed a large part of it's population on the farm. If it were today, that number would probably double. Rolling past dozens of gas stations without fuel and getting more news each day of how close we are to a precipice financially, it's getting a little easier to envision. Fundamentally, a nation which has 2/3 of it's gross national product tied up in the consumer, without credit, is in serious trouble. Even if the government buys up all the mistakes of the financial institutions, the remaining few will still be strapped for capital. To think by avoiding a crash that we simultaneously will return to flowing credit is, well, naive.

When all the finger pointing is over, we will be left with a far different landscape in our financial markets than we had even a few months ago. The net result to you and I is that our ability to prosper will be less likely and the ability to meet our basic necessities a bit tougher. The party is over. So what now? Let's distill it to its simplest elements. If you're out of work, triple your efforts and lower your sights. It you're working, be thankful and work harder. Layoffs typically hit the dead weight first, the less productive second and the underachiever last. If you're in debt, pay it off, carry only one card that you use only in emergencies (defined by no food in the refrigerator, not shoes you've pined for being on sale) and save whatever you can. I know this works at cross-purposes to our being a consumer -driven nation but almost nobody is going to do this anyway, so prepare yourself to survive. If you have money to invest, keep it safe. Decide what you want liquid and invest the rest in solid companies that will weather even the worst economic storm. You know them.

Well, the sky is not falling and we're not there yet, but the signs are all there. Wisdom is the ability to see what is happening around you and not only prepare yourself, but also to perhaps profit from it.

Finally, Panic....

It's really happening. Panic in the streets over a shortage of gasoline. Not since the early '70's have I seen such fear among Americans about what has been assumed to be a commodity, endlessly available. Sitting in unusual traffic snarls for 20 minutes only to find that they are caused by snaking lines of cars trying to get the last few gallons of gas available at a BP station really does remind one of the time when OPEC embargoes brought us all to the obvious but unpalatable conclusion: there is not an endless supply of gasoline. No amount of money spent on advertising by carpooling advocates or the transit authorities could ever buy the epiphany that has occurred these past couple of weeks.

If gasoline in the U.S. hitting $5.00 a gallon this spring was the warning tremor, then for Southerners, at least, this is the earthquake (recent conversations with family, friends and acquaintances in other geographic regions of the U. S. point to this being a crises localized to the Southeast). Much hand-wringing and gnashing of teeth won't produce an answer but maybe it will provide some initiative among us to start the process we started during the last crises: reduce our dependency on petrochemical products. Remember the politicians pontificating about reducing our dependence on foreign oil in the '70's? Whatever.

There is potential for a lively discussion concerning the fact that we haven't built a major refinery in the U.S. in a generation or that half of our refining capacity is in the hurricane-prone Gulf of Mexico region. We'll leave that for another time. What's before us right now-over the next few weeks, is electing our next President. We have heard the sound bites and seen the platforms crafted by their experts. We watched the debate. What I want to know is in their heart, what do they really see as the potential answer to this crises? Further, how do we rid ourselves of having the geopolitically unstable oil-producing states, the proverbial tail, from wagging the American dog?

In reality, if Washingtonites continue their course of the last 50 years, the answer is a long way off, if it ever comes. If the Conservative view of eliminating government intervention in our everyday life prevails, there will be no government action and only cataclysmic meltdowns will compel profit-driven enterprises to actively seek remedies, if only in the name of profit. Our suffering during that time will be severe but we'll see what the profitable solution will be, at least in the eyes of the shareholders of that particular enterprise.

If we shift to a post-Great Depression stance of creating the answers in Washington, a favorite of the Democrats, the panic will quickly subside while we wait to see what remedy the legislation will provide to solve the problems. As one who lived through our government legislating the "Great Society" under LBJ, please be prepared to be disappointed, as save the Civil Rights Legislation that truly did set the stage for changes in racial equality, all the other economic programs were largely failures. The sad lesson is that governments historically make terrible businessmen.

Both candidates agree that exploring for more petroleum at home is a necessary short-term solution. I doubt seriously that Senator Obama will spend the political capital to begin drilling in the ANWR region of Alaska but I do love surprises. They both point to our needing more growth in alternative sources of energy but with paper-thin strategies for implementing this from both camps. John McCain likes France's model: build a nuclear power plant on every river. Of course, we'll never agree on what to do with the spent fuels, but who cares? He won't be around then, anyway.

I know I'm beating a dead horse (don't worry, I checked his pulse) but this is going to have to be a combination of individuals changing the way they live and demanding that government invest in us, instead of spreading it around the world to countries that hate us anyway (I'm not talking about humanitarian aide). Besides the foreign aide being squandered, what about our financial markets? Do we have to intervene? I guess the foreign banks that hold the credit swaps and other securitized sub-prime mortgages needed to be reassured. But just think what the creative American people could do with $700,000,000,000.00. if funneled into solving the energy crises, rebuilding our infrastructure and other issues. As it is, that money, your money, will go to remedy some of our neighbor's poor home-buying decisions getting their loans from greedy entrepreneurs, who in turn dumped them all on morally bankrupt financiers, which was all regulated by political appointees. I'm sorry, why are we acting surprised?

Fill 'er up.....