Monday, July 13, 2009

Here's To All The Bikes We've Loved: Photo Essay

NOVEMBER 29, 2008 9:24PM


1


Above is a file photo of a 1957 250 cc Maico Typhoon, identical to the bike I rode while at Wichita University. It was a 2 stroke bike so you had to premix the oil into the gas. I put a lot of miles on that little bike, mostly traveling to Topeka and back to visit my mother and to far western Kansas to visit my father. I graduated from Wichita in 1960, and went on to the University of Colorado to work on my first Master's degree. I sold the Maico when I left Kansas. See my blog post series "Motorcycles: A Magnificent Obsession" where many of these bikes are discussed.


2

The photo above is identical to the Honda CB350 cc I rode for the first five years I was in Washington DC working in the Executive Office of the President. This is the bike I rode on that ill advised long tour from DC to Daytona and back. I traded in the bike on my shaky return to Washington. It is also the bike that I rode when Earl and I tried to find and sample every tavern on every blue highway in the four states nearest Washington DC.

3


The pic above is a friend's restored 1968 Triumph Bonneville 650 cc like the one I bought when they first came out in the Fall of 1967. That bike was my first new motorcycle and my first large bike for long distance touring. It was also the first bike I truly loved and I traveled all over the eastern half of the US on it. It had over 80,000 miles on it when it finally wore totally out. My first big motorcycle love sometimes let me down but was always a thrill to ride and, after I traded it in, I always said I would get another Bonneville some day. I did.


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The pic above is from the internet of an unrestored 1968 Montgomery Ward Riverside 250cc someone is trying to sell. Good luck. Not. While we were riding our regular bikes Montgomery Ward had an ill-fated affair for several years with Benelli Motorcycles from Italy. When they broke up Ward's offered the remaining 250cc "Ward's Riverside" bikes in a sale catalogue, sold unassembled, still in the crate, for less than half price, plus freight. As I recall they were about $199 plus a few dollars freight. I talked Earl into buying one also which led to some odd and pretty funny times. They were totally awful bikes, really evil little bikes. The pic above is off the internet, before restoration. Ours were red. Like the blood we spilled trying to assemble them. I will do a blog post on that disaster in the motorcycle memoir.

4


By 1972 I had thoroughly worn out the Bonneville and I traded it in on a Suzuki GS550 cc, like the one pictured above. It a strange but very hot bike, 2 cycle, automatic oil premix, three cylinder. It was smooth and a good tourer but, as I was to learn, once you own a Bonneville nothing else has quite the appeal. I did quite a bit of touring on this bike and it was much smoother than the Bonneville. To me it was almost too smooth, to easy going and too bland, even though it was wickedly quick off the line. From about 1974 through 1978 when I sold it and moved to NYC I rode it far less than I had the Bonneville. I was busy with my work; my marriage had failed, and I developed an interest in sailing on the Chesapeake which reduced my riding a lot.


5


This file photo, above, is of a 500 cc Triumph Daytona. As I moved up the ladder in the federal government and traveled almost constantly I rode the Suzuki less and less. When I finally got out of government service, had a short stint with private industry in NYC, and later settled in St. Louis, I bought a used Daytona around 1980, two years after I sold the Suzuki. I intended to restore it but ended up not having the time or the money. Sue and I were married in 1983 and, while my memory is poor on just when I sold it to a friend who restored motorcycles it was around that time. I do remember going over to his garage and seeing what a beautiful bike he had turned it into. Today, both old Daytonas and old Bonnevilles fetch top dollars in the restoration market. They are considered very desirable classics and are highly sought.


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After I graduated seminary in St. Louis in 1994 we moved to Ottawa, Illinois to take the pastorate at my first church. I was once again without a bike. Then, after moving to Ohio to accept an appointment in Port Washington in 1997 I delayed getting another motorcycle until I had finished the work on my doctorate and we had moved out of the parsonage and settled in our own home in Newcomerstown, Ohio. With no further detours in my way and our lives settled into a routine where we intended to put down some permanent roots, I started looking for a used motorcycle. The 1979 KZ650 Kawasaki was the first bike I got. It was a perfect size for my "re-entry" into riding and I liked it a lot. Ultimately I lost patience with having to take the carbs, 4 of them, off what seemed like dozens of times to change jets and move shims around fix an aggravating lean condition hesitation at about 4500 rpm. I never could solve that problem, nor could the best bike mechanic in these parts, so I ended up selling the bike.



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Above pic: Sue was still riding pillion behind me at that time and I was pushing our rides further and further. After one long day on the Kawasaki we stopped at a Burger King still 70 miles from home and she informed my that her rear end would not let her go any further, and I could ride home and get the car and come back to get her! Well, she did ride the rest of the way home on the bike but only after I told her I would get something more comfortable for us to tour on. The result was the 1981 Honda Gold Wing Interstate that you see above. It had some miles on it but was not in terrible shape and had about all the bells and whistles you would want in a two wheeled living room. And I kept the KZ650 for solo riding. We rode the Gold Wing for a couple of years and I decided I wanted to upgrade to a newer Gold Wing with a bigger engine. So I sold this one to a fellow in northeast Indiana.

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The beautiful white Gold Wing is a 1997 Aspencade 1500 cc. After I sold the old Gold Wing I gott this one from the original owner with only 9000 miles on it. It was always garaged and well cared for. It was a smooth, beautiful, classic touring bike, the model winner of every major motorcycle "best touring bike" contest. We were so pleased that I got a very excellent price and that this model was so highly respected that we were certain we would love it. And we did. Until we actually toured on it.

We took it on a trip to Springfield, Il. for the most famous motorcycle dirt track race on the planet: The Springfield Mile. It is held twice a year, once on Memorial Day weekend and then again on Labor Day weekend. We went to the one in May and were very excited about it. The wind, however, was blowing out of the north, both going out and coming back, at 30 mph, gusting to 45 mph.

That beautiful white fairing that makes the bike look so sleek is also a TupperWare sail in a cross wind. Gusts and coming to the end of a wind break or out from under an overpass would strike the bike and push it two or three feet sideways in an instant. This bike weighs over 750 pounds plus our weight, but it made no difference. I was tense and grumpy all the way out and all the way back. When we got back we looked at each other and said, in one voice: "Let's sell it!" Interestingly, I got enough more for it than I paid to cover the titling and taxes and came out a little better than even. So this was one motorcycle love that was short lived, ending in a quick annulment.


1975HondaCB200

While this was going on I decided I wanted a small bike to ride to and from the church, about 12 miles each way, that was easy to ride, used almost no gas, and did not require any struggle getting turned around in the garage. I found, literally in a small barn, the small 200 cc Honda CB200 you see above. It has suffered from benign neglect, needed a battery, new tires and a paint job. That was it. I got it for $400, put $150 into it, rode it, often two up with Sue on vacations to Florida and Myrtle Beach when we would bring it down with us on a motorcycle trailer we built. It was a fun and indestructible little bike. We kept it a few years but when our 1 1/2 wide garage filled up with Sue's car and 4 bikes something had to go. I sold the "little Honda that could" to a nice guy from Columbus and he loved it. I got back what I had in it, but that little bike will always have a place in my heart as the best example I can think of that a bike doesn't have to be new, powerful or big to bring a lot of pleasure.

2001TriumphThunderbird

After the disappointment with the beautiful Gold Wing I decided I wanted a traditional bike - the kind that the wind can go through, not push over! I was looking around a dealership up in Canton and came across the bike above. It was a 2001 Triumph Thunderbird, 900 cc, 3 cylinders, and only a few thousand miles on it. Since the dealer did not move many Triumphs and was a huge Honda, Yamaha and Kawasaki dealership, I was able to help him unload the Thunderbird for 2/3 of what he was asking for it. I added a touring seat, saddlebags, wind shield, luggage rack and some odds and ends and I had my traditional tourer.
It was a marvelous motorcycle and I put over 15,000 miles on it in a heartbeat. On Sue's birthday in 2005 we were riding on the Va-WVA border in the mountains. A deer ran out of the bushed at the side of the narrow road and hit the front wheel causing the bike to fall and me go over the handlebars, sliding over 150 feet. I was a mess and was eventually ended up in first an ambulance, then a small hospital, then a helicopter and finally at the Trauma Center of the U of VA hospital in Charlottesville. Sue, thankfully, was on her own bike and was able to stop without running into me, the bike or the dead deer. The Thunderbird was totaled. I'll write more about the accident some other time. There was a lot to be learned that day; not about avoiding the accident because that was impossible, but about how to deal with a major accident emergency.

1983HondaNightHawk550

The doctors said I could not ride for a minimum of three months until my bones and body healed. Three weeks later I saw a bike in the paper that I knew would be just the right physical therapy. It was the pretty little 1983 Honda NightHawk 550 cc you see above. Sue drove me up to Sugarcreek to look at it. I somehow talked her into test riding it, even though she could just barely touch the ground on both side with her toes.
She liked it. I bought it. And we brought the trailer up for it the next day. We took it to the bike shop we use and had tires and a couple of small tune up things done to it and it was ready to go.
It took me about 2 hours after we brought it home in a couple of days to decide that the docs were wrong and what I really needed to do was ride. So I did. It was a really nice mid sized bike with a shaft drive and a real sharp torque curve above about 7000 rpm. It would really haul if you kept the revs up. I don't ride that way once I figure out what a bike can do, and I never pushed it hard. Later that summer I was itching to tour again and so Sue and I took a trip to Holland, Michigan. Both her bike and the Honda did fine, even on the interstates at 70 mph. I had intended to keep it only until the next spring when I expected to buy another new bike to replace the TBird. But I liked it so much I kept it another year and sold it the spring after that.

2005BonnevilleBlack

Above pic: During the Fall and Early winter after the deer accident I started looking for a larger replacement bike for the ThunderBird. I was still interested in Triumphs and still had great memories of my first new Motorcycle, the '68 Bonneville. Triumph had gone under in the late '80s, and had been resurrected in 1994 by an new owner with new manufacturing facilities and a whole new line of bikes.
Since the Bonneville was the historic flagship marque of the Triumph line the new owner had wanted to wait until they had a "New Bonneville" worthy of the legend of the Bonneville. They started making the new Bonnevilles in 2001. They were a huge success. As I was getting older and the new Bonneville was quite a bit lighter than the Thunderbird I started looking for, and found in January, 2006, a left over 2005 Triumph Bonneville 800 cc at a dealer in Columbus.
The black beauty and I hit it off from the beginning. I outfitted it with a center stand, touring seat, wind shield, saddle bags and supports and a luggage rack and I was good to go. I trailered the bike home and started riding it as soon as it got over 40 degrees. I love the bike and have put over 20,000 trouble free miles on it, in addition to the miles I put on the Honda. With the new Bonneville we were up to 5 bikes and so I had to sell something because you couldn't move in the garage. First I sold the little 200 cc Honda; then the pretty NightHawk.
With the new Bonneville, Triumph has built a bike with none of the little niggling problems of the old model, yet with more power, a much smoother engine, better suspension and all around better cruising and touring capabilities. I see a nice symmetry in having a Bonneville for my first new bike and what will likely be my last new bike a be Bonneville as well.

1975HondaGoldWing

After I bought the Bonneville and sold the Honda NightHawk and the little blue Honda and there was room to actually walk around in the garage, I decided to buy another old motorcycle as a project bike to give me something to do over the next winter. Sue's bike was fine, the Bonneville was new, and I wanted something to tinker with. In Columbus through Craig's List I found a neglected classic 1975 Honda Gold Wing complete with a period Vetter fairing system.
It was a sweet bike that needed a lot of TLC. Sounded like my kind of project bike. I never intended to keep it and I didn't. But I got it looking pretty much like new, I advertized it in Cycle Trader and sold it to a guy who came down from Michigan to pick her up and take her home. I made a couple of bucks out of the deal and kept myself out of trouble that winter. But I have to admit that Sue was glad to get that bike out of the garage since with all its touring attachments it took up a lot of room.


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While all this was going on I was encouraging Sue to consider riding her own bike rather than staring at my back. For my birthday present in December of 2002 she gave me a receipt saying that she was enrolled in the Motorcycle Safety Foundation's "Ride Ohio" beginners course in the Spring. I was excited that she was going to do this and so I started looking for a small beginners bike for her.
In Fort Wayne, Indiana I found a 1979 Honda CM175 cc TwinStar that was in nearly perfect condition. In January we took the motorcycle trailer over to Indiana and brought back the little jewel of a bike you see above. Absolutely perfect size for her and perfect to learn on. We did a few lessons in the high school parking lot and she was a natural. Later in the Spring she aced the safety course and got her motorcycle endorsement. She's been touring on her own bike ever since. She has averaged over 8000 miles a year on her bikes. I'm very proud of her, but, most of all, she loves to ride. Perfect.
We sold the pretty little red Honda CM175 later that summer to a local man whose daughter wanted a small street bike. She was already proficient on dirt bikes. We see the little bike around town now and then, looking just as cute as it did when we had it.

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As a surprise present for Sue for getting one of the highest scores in the Motorcycle Safety Course and for getting her cycle endorsement, I went looking for the right size bike for someone 5" 3" and yet big enough to tour on, with the capability to easily cruise at freeway speeds. I found a 1997 Yamaha Virago 550 cc in nearly perfect condition in a small town north of here.
The owner was a big man and had simply bought a bike that looked like a toy under him. Why he did and how drunk he was when he did it I cannot tell you. But he was more than willing to sell it to me at a very good, ridiculously good in fact, price so he could "get him a Harley..." Fine with me. Sue really liked the bike. It had under 7000 miles on it. And it was not long before she put another 20,000 on it. Then, since it needed tires, better brakes, and was developing a head gasket leak and a few other odds and end problems I decided she should sell it. Well, that was a two year battle.

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As you can see above, after her two year holdou, Sue finally agreed to trade in the Virago on a new Kawasaki cruiser. Once she got used to the new bike Sue became fast friends with her new 2006 Kawasaki Vulcan 500 cc that we bought in early 2007 at a good discount.
It is a great bike in all respects. It fits her well, has six speeds which allows for an easy overdrive cruise at 70 miles per hour; and I doubt she will ever try for its 110 mph top speed. Great brakes, smooth as silk and MUCH easier to start when it is cold than my cold-blooded Bonnie. I'm jealous of that part! She has a little over 10,000 miles on it and that is even when considering that we did not tour this year because of my medical issues. I'm very proud of my wife's abilities with motorcycles and am delighted that she shares my passion for riding.

2007Touring - BikesLoaded

I thought you might like to see what the bikes look like when we are on a week long tour. This pic was taken when we were on a tour of the Pennsylvania Wilds area and US Route 6, which is a favorite motorcycling vacation road. The only things not in this picture are the magnetic tank bags that sit on the gas tanks, between the rider and the wind shield. Those cream things on the seats are unsheared sheepskin throws that are cool in the summer, and behind them are large seat bag waterproof luggage packs. Beyond that are luggage bags hooked to the luggage carrier, and on both sides are snap off, carry in saddlebags.

I hope you enjoyed this little interlude in the motorcycling memoir. I thought, and I think I'm right, that straightening out the chronology of the various bikes I have had would help sort out the order of the stories I am writing in that series of memoir posts. I'll be getting up part 5 of that in the next few days. Right now I am thinking of ending the motorcycling memoir series with stories of the Washington, DC period, thus completing "the early years" and coming back to the later years at a later time.
Thanks for stopping by.
Monte (and Sue)

Motorcycles: A Magnificent Obsession, Part Four

First published NOVEMBER 28, 2008 11:35AM

There 10 parts to this memoir. You may find quick links to each of them in the Archives sidebar to the right.


By the end of the summer of 1966 Earl and I had taken numerous one, two and three day weekend motorcycle tours. Sometimes we would have a destination in mind but more often it was just to take a travel bag, fill it with a couple of T shirts, underwear, socks, and throw in a shaving kit, bungie it to the back seat of the bike, and point the bikes in a general direction and take off.

In those days neither he nor I had very big bikes, mine a four stroke Honda 350cc and his a Yamaha 350 two stroke. Anything above about 60 mph set up wicked vibrations in the handlebars and foot pegs that got to wearing on you after an hour or two. So those trips were not anything like the high speed touring that we would get into in a couple of years. These were leisurely rides on the blue highways, far from the interstates, rolling through small town America.

The joy was in the going, never in the getting there. That was a very good thing because after eleven in the morning there was never a tavern, bar, or road house that we didn’t feel obligated to visit and do our part in helping sustain the economy of rural Maryland, Virginia, Pennsylvania, and West Virginia. I’m not saying we dropped a lot of bread in any one town. There were so many small towns, so many little bars, and so little time to help them all out. But we tried to be fair and to do our best. We dropped a trail of dollars and left many dead soldiers (empty beer bottles) standing on the bar at many a honky tonk in the course of a day.

And we did our bit to keep the music industry going by distributing some nickels and dimes in the local juke boxes. We had rather eclectic taste ranging from Johnny Cash and Ray Price, to Johnny Rivers and the Beach Boys. The more we drank the better the Beach Boys’ “Good Vibrations” sounded, especially when we added our outstanding voices to the mix and encouraged the rest of the boys there in redneck heaven to sing along.

Truth is that in all the years that we walked in to dozens of red neck bars in dozens of tiny villages we never once even came close to getting into a fight. We were happy drinkers, lovers not fighters, live and let live “good old boys.” We made sure, however, that we never told anybody where we worked because you never could be sure you wouldn’t run into a 280 pound solid hunk of Republican gorilla with a broken elevator who would want to crush us like flies. The subtlety inherent in explaining that in that we were “civil service” and not political appointees would, we feared, be lost on old Bubba there, so we just said that we were from “back east,” “up north” or “down south” and let it be – which always seemed to work.

Earl was, even back then, a person who liked a certain minimum level of creature comforts. He would not be caught dead sleeping in a sleeping bag in a tent, or in an unheated park cabin, or in a flea bag motel. And I never found the reality of camping nearly so gratifying as the imagining of it. So, along about three hours before sundown he would have us making our way toward the nearest interstate or sizable town and finding a nice middle class motel. Motel 6, when it actually cost $6 a night, and Super 8, when it actually was $8, were too down scale for his taste. So we inevitably ended up splitting the tab at a Holiday Inn or Best Western.

I did notice that he may not have been telling me exactly the truth as to why he insisted that we do that. But those motels that he somehow could sense like a bloodhound on the trail of a convict, always just happened to have a restaurant and a bar on site. And by that time of day, having worked hard all day at saving the economies of small town rural America, neither of us were anxious to try to ride to another bar when we could walk or crawl down the hall to the first martini of the day.

Those were a couple of pretty nice, low key, riding years. Neither of us ever got so totally sloshed that we couldn’t walk, with a little care, and ride, with maybe a little more care and attention to what we were doing. But I kind of doubt the latter. We never got in any trouble with the law, never had an accident and never harmed anything other than killing a few million insects, and, of course, our own bodies. Looking back on it I think that it was all at least half insane and yet we thought not only that it was “normal” but that anybody who wasn’t putting ten thousand miles or more a year riding T to T (tavern to tavern) down blue highways in beautiful rural America on a motorcycle was downright unenlightened.

What we never could quite explain to anybody was the feeling of getting up early, just after dawn, while the dew was still on the grass, the mist had yet to rise from the ponds, and the sun was burning an orange glow into the fog. Then starting out for another day without a care in the world, the birds starting their chatter, the cattle walking in well orchestrated lines to the barns to be milked, Canada geese, Mallards and Teal stirring on the ponds.

Our bikes were not loud. They did not sound like our job was to tear up Hollister as soon as we reached town. We never wanted loud bikes drowning out the sounds of nature and life. To this day I refuse to ride a motorcycle that insults every living thing with its arrogant ear splitting rumble and roar. To me if your bike is loud you have thrown away half of the joy of riding.

I hate breakfast; can’t gag it down; never could; never will. Earl had to have breakfast; a big breakfast that essentially had to last him all day since the rest of his caloric intake until supper would be purely liquid. So he would eat, and eat, and I would sit and drink cup after cup of coffee and we would both smoke half a pack of cigarettes before he finished.

Like booze, tobacco was de rigeur in those days. I smoked cigarettes, sometimes cigars, and at my desk I smoked a pipe. I also chewed tobacco and used snuff when I was outdoors. Other than that I would have nothing to do with tobacco. The truth is that everybody smoked, or so it seemed. Doctors advertised the “smoothness” and lack of “harshness on the throat” of this or that brand on television. My doctor smoked. His nurse smoked. There were ash trays all around the waiting room. Most bars were so thick with blue smoke that you couldn’t see to the end of the room. Nobody thought anything of it.

So, that is what it was like in the mid ‘60s for a couple of motorcycle happy Executive Office “professionals” who still managed to get 60+ hours of work done every week and ended up traveling most of the blue highways in the four states closest to Washington, DC

I haven’t forgotten that I promised you the stories of Earl and I mapping out the Grand National Motorcycle Racing Circuit and following the stars. And how we decided to buy motorcycles from Montgomery Ward (I’m not kidding) and try to assemble them while sloshed. And, finally, I promised to share the insanity of my taking a trip from Washington DC to Daytona Beach on the Honda 350, which explains why I sold it when we got back!

We will get to all of that and much more. I promise. But something has changed since I started writing this little memoir. I find that I am writing this at least as much from the memories of my heart as from the memories in my head. As I sit here typing away, unexpected memories that I have not recalled in decades come rushing back into my consciousness.

So the outline and structure of this memoir that I thought I had figured out before I started writing, has given way to these refound images that keep tumbling, unbidden, out of me. I thought that this was going to be just recalling a few glimpses of the past that I hoped you might find interesting. And I still hope that you will find them enjoyable to read.

But what is also happening, quite unexpectedly, is that I am seeing sketches of my life that were essentially lost to me; and, I find myself having to reprocess those memories through the filter of the person I have become. Sometimes that is enjoyable, sometimes it is painful, but always I find it adds a new subtlety to the person I thought I was and the person I now am. In essence, what started as a writing exercise has become an exercise in self examination. I’m not quite sure what I think of this new thing, but I need to go with the flow and see where it leads.


Monte


Motorcycles: A Magnificant Obsession, Part Three

First Posted on NOVEMBER 25, 2008 6:04PM


Earl and Kathy
Earl and his friend, Kathy, Tampa, Christmas, 2003,
two years before Earl died.
Earl, Sue and Monte with 3 of Earl's 15 motorcycle
Earl, Sue and Monte with three of Earl's 15 motorcycle "toys"
Tampa, Christmas, 2003
Sue with Earl's bikes
Sue with the two bikes we borrowed from Earl
to ride at Tampa Bay, Christmas, 2003
Monte
Monte at a beach park, Tampa, Christmas, 2003

There are 10 parts to this motorcycle memoir. Quick links to each are in the Archives side bar on the right.

Part Two of this motorcycle memoir ended:

“It was at about this point where I started spending more time with a mistress that I had started hanging around sporadically since high school. Her name was alcohol. She was sly, forever agreeable, offered no resistance to my advances, and didn’t object to sharing me with either my work or my motorcycling.

Next: Unfortunately Booze, Work and Motorcycling DO mix.”


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Earl helped me rekindle two smoldering passions, one risky and ultimately destructive; the other ultimately good but inherently risky. Both obsessions were already there, and without saying a word all he had to do was let me hang around to watch how he lived. I was free to join him in his life style, or not. That was strictly up to me. To the day he died he had no idea of the influence he had on my bringing to full flower the destructive passion: alcohol. I do not blame him for my decisions. His gun was laying around but I was the one who picked it up and shot it.

I started drinking beer in high school. I didn’t pay any attention to it at the time and I wasn’t in “denial” since nobody called me on it, but I was, from the beginning, incapable of having “a beer” with my buddies. It made no sense to me to stop before the beer was gone. I suppose that I never got to be a heavy drinker in high school simply because nobody in my crowd could afford to buy a lot of booze. But, when I was in college, and it was available in a keg at a party or liquor was free at an open bar, I clung closely to my new love, alcohol.

It always took a lot of alcohol to make me feel even slightly drunk and what I found as I grew older was that I could work quite effectively when moderately sloshed. By college and then graduate school I was routinely drinking cheap vodka and scotch on a daily basis, at home, sipping it as I worked on my school work late into the night.

If it affected my academic performance I never knew it. I graduated college cum laude because I switched schools after the first year, dropped out for a year to earn some money, picked up bad study habits and really didn’t study much at all for the rest of my undergraduate time. But when it became possible to go to graduate school on scholarships and assistantships I decided it was really time to study. So in graduate school I never got a grade below A when studying for my advanced degrees: MA, M Div, and ThD.

Looking back on it now I wonder what I could have accomplished had I been sober all those years, but the truth is that I was a very “functional” alcoholic until toward the very end of my drinking period when I was clearly dysfunctional and about to lose everything I valued. But being able to function for almost 40 years without seeing many the adverse signs of drinking, other than hangovers, and really none that significantly affected my work performance, meant that it took decades to admit that I was an alcoholic. That is a whole other story that I may write about some time, but not now.

Earl enabled the transition from moderate drinking to heavy drinking simply by “showing me the ropes” of how things were done in Washington. And what he showed me about how things were done involved a lot of booze. So we would go to lunch at places where they served the largest and least expensive martinis. And we would meet Earl’s friends from various government departments who also liked to go to places where they served the largest and least expensive martinis. And, since I really didn’t want to ask, perhaps because I didn’t want to hear an answer that I didn’t like, I assumed that “everybody” in DC “did lunch” the way we did. Two or three martinis at lunch made for mellow afternoons.

Then, after work the same floating group, with people drifting in and out of the mix, would meet at a bar or grill where they had an inexpensive “happy hour” and a nice free snack buffet. And I would have a few scotch and sodas before heading home on the motorcycle, a bulging briefcase bungied to the back of the seat. At home I would often have wine with dinner and then sip scotch well into the night as I worked of the pile in the briefcase. After four or five hours of sleep, a quick shower, no breakfast, the grind started over again. If I was a bit hungover I would pop a tranquilizer, which doctors prescribed like candy in those years. The places where we drank rotated, but the pattern was set.

Only after I stopped drinking did it really sink in that the way I was living while in DC was not “normal;” that “everybody” in DC didn’t drink all the time: and that I picked my friends from among those who had the same problem that I did, and avoided people who did not like to drink. And I realized that I routinely turned down social occasions that did not involve drinking and always said “yes” to those that had an open bar.

Having never touched a drink since June, 1990, it is perfectly clear to me now that Earl didn’t “cause” me to drink; he didn’t even encourage me to drink, and in no way is he responsible for my drinking problem. He was, of course, responsible for his own, and it is likely that his drinking was directly related to the fairly rare urinary tract cancer that ultimately killed him. Earl never stopped drinking until the day he died. He never loved anything or anyone enough to find motive to quit. As far as I know he never tried. It simply wouldn’t have occurred to him to think of that.

But he too was successful in his career. He never was as driven as I was and so he did not get to the level I did. In fact, he ended up working for me at the GAO as Administrative Assistant Director for the large division I was in charge of. He had a marvelous ability to unravel the human condition, as long as he wasn’t trying to unravel his own. And he did a great job turning a division that I created out of new hires and cast offs from elsewhere in GAO and other agencies into a model of efficiency and competence.

The second passion that Earl introduced me to was an intense love of all types of motorcycle touring, from day trips to two week long trips covering thousands of miles. I had a glimmer of touring during my college days and liked it. But those tours were by myself and were confined to one or two days at a time, usually going from the college to some relative’s home and back. So there was a certain “utility” to those trips which quite simply reduced the freedom of the tour. The best touring is the kind where the riding itself is the point and the arriving, while fine, is not the point of the trip at all.

By introducing me first to regular, intentional weekend travel on a motorcycle, then to “long weekend” travel – starting on a Friday or coming back to work on a Tuesday, or both, I learned to stretch my riding time and my touring distances. And, I also learned that I could do five or six days work in three or four and still get all the work done. My work didn’t suffer. On the other hand I usually got no more than five hours of sleep a night. But I was young when I started that pattern and I got used to it and kept to it for well over thirty years.

What was exciting for me was that this was the first time that I had a riding buddy who was as passionate about bikes as I was. We had known each other only a short time when it became clear to us that we shared the same deep love of riding motorcycles. And we set about to see as much of the country on our bikes as we could while still keeping our jobs. It was amazing how well that worked out.

Before we started riding together I was averaging about five to 6 thousand miles a year on my bike. Now I was averaging well over 20 thousand miles a year. And that was a pattern I would continue until I started getting old, although until my medical issues this year I have averaged well over 14 thousand miles a year for several years. With my problems I will get in under 5 thousand miles this year. But that, my friends, is far better than no miles at all!

So, my life changed radically in those first two years in the Executive Office and I would continue this newly enjoyed pattern of life for another 25 years, based on three pretty equal passions: work, motorcycles and booze. I now think that it is important for me to remember that for the most part I loved those years. When I first stopped drinking I spent a lot of time beating on myself trying to convince myself that those were “lost years.” I wanted to believe that those were miserable years and therefore, they were what I could expect to relive if I were to start drinking again. Those years, I thought, had to be bad to make sure I stayed sober.

The truth, however, slowly has come to me that those years were mostly very fine years in the living of them. I sowed the seeds of a lot of destruction in those years, including the destruction of my marriage and the estrangement of my children. I sowed the beginnings of an alcohol problem that would come close to killing me. And I neglected to do with my life a lot that I should have done to help others. There were many opportunities to do that and I did not act on the vast majority of them.

So how can I say that “I loved those years’? Its simple really. I loved them as I lived them because they were all about me. Me. Me. Me. So don’t confuse my loving those years with any delusion that I was the best that I could have been as a human being in those years. I was hardly that. Like St. Paul says, “We all are sinners and we all fall short of the glory of God.” I was living my enjoyable life and proving his point at the same time.

Next: Earl and I map out the Grand National Motorcycle Racing Circuit and we follow the stars. And we buy motorcycles from Montgomery Ward (I’m not kidding) and try to assemble them. And, finally, I take a trip from Washington DC to Daytona Beach on the Honda 350, which explains why I sold it when we got back!

Monte

The Bail Out is a Shell Game: But We Can't Stop Now!

First posted: NOVEMBER 24, 2008 6:53PM


My best friend is a bright, open minded and sensible conservative. Generally we are pretty much at the opposite ends of the spectrum when it comes to politics and economics. He wrote me an email this afternoon attaching a new chart showing a total exposure of the Federal Reserve System at pushing 2.5 trillion dollars. His conclusion is that we are "really screwed." The trouble is that he is partly right, and will be completely right if we stop now and do not bail out working people, create jobs, and help the States stay solvent.

What follows is my very quick summary of where I think we stand and what I think we must yet do. All this came out of my head as I wrote the reply to my friend; and I have not double checked the numbers. Some may be off a bit, but I don't think by much. But I am open to and hoping for corrections, both as to facts and sharing any disagreements with the conclusions I come to.

What I'd really like to see come out of my quick scribble is the generation of a good conversation here in OS on this subject.

This is for two reasons. I believe that if we get frightened and cynical and stop bailing out our economic mess now then we are in for a real depression, complete with deflation and distress numbers approaching those of the Great Depression.

Second, all of this money we are spending belongs to our children and their children. We are spending their legacy. And we had better do that right so that there is a payoff to our actions that exceeds the money we spend. Otherwise we leave them with our problems. I find that unconscionable.

Here's what I emailed my friend:

What the chart shows is that the Fed's so-called assets have grown to just
under 2.5 trillion dollars. But, instead of most of its assets being
strictly in guaranteed assets like Treasury bonds and other Federal
Government assets these assets are much more risky as the Fed has taken
paper back against troubled assets of private companies. Bottom line is
that these "assets" in some cases may not be worth the paper they are
written on. I have never seen any discussion of how much of those assets are likely to be worthless.

The trouble is that this whole bail out is a shell game. The Fed has
exposed 2.5 trillion. The FDIC has exposed, as I recall, about 500 billion. Almost all of the FDIC exposure is likely fairly secure since they insure individual accounts, not banks.

The Treasury has exposed 300 billion and has authority to expose
another 400 billion, total 700 billion. Most of that money will be paid
back unless the economy tanks, and the country is sold to China. But it can take a LONG time to get it all back, just like it did in the S&L bail out in the 90s.

Add that up and you have a total of 3.5 trillion of potential exposure, not counting the 25 billion already committed the auto mfgrs and the 25 billion more that they want. THEN, add another 500 to 800 billion that Obama is likely to seek in January to provide stimulus to the economy through spending on infrastructure, helping the states and creating
jobs.

Ironically, that money which has yet to be specified and needs the approval of Congress is the only money that can actually create any jobs and affect Main Street. The rest, a far vaster number, is to shore up Wall Street and the international monetary system. It will prevent the loss of some jobs in the financial sector, encourage lending and prime the pump. But it will not directly create any jobs out in the working world.

I 'm not convinced that giving Wall Street and the Banks billions on billions was the first thing we should have done. I think that the bail out of Main Street and creating jobs should have come first. But Bush would not hear of that. But the bail out of working Americans has to be done as soon as possible.

The sick thing is that by bailing out the big shots first the government has generated a growing cynicism and even a sense of fatalism in the public; plus there is a growing anger at the idea of giving any more help to anybody. But if we don't spend INTO the local and regional economies all of the stuff we did to free up credit is totally wasted. In other words, we have to spend more to make the spending we made do anything useful to the economy.

[Note: I wrote about this in my blog back on October 26. http://open.salon.com/content.php?cid=34313]

I call this whole situation a shell game because the only thing in all this that affects, and is counted in, the Budget of the US Government is the 700 billion already authorized and the stimulus package that Obama will propose when he is President.

Meanwhile the Fed exposure and the FDIC exposures are not counted in the Budget. If you think about it, the exposures of Freddie and Fannie were precisely like the off-budget exposures of the Fed and FDIC.

Because Freddie and Fannie were not true government agencies their exposure was not included in the Budget.

And, to make it even more impossible to glue together how much and how fast we are mortgaging our children's future, keep in mind that the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan are also off budget.


If you want to really get sick, remember that most of the obligations
of Social Security, Medicare and Medicaid and other entitlement programs are not expensed as liabilities in any given year when future liabilities are known but are amortized over decades, so the overall cost and obligations of most of those programs' actual cost is NEVER considered in the Budget. Why take responsibility for the debt of the future when you can ignore it today?

It is all a sham. It deceives the people into thinking that only the Budget
expenditures are important, when, in fact, in this case it is the "non" or
"off" Budget exposures and guarantees that are where we are really jeopardizing our children's and their children's legacy.

Its pathetic. But please don't treat the economic and jobs stimulating
spending the same as these off budget items. Without spending our way out of this recession it will become a depression and we will experience true deflation; and this country will revert to numbers like in the 30s. Nobody wants that.

OK everybody. Please let the discussion begin. I have only one dog in this hunt: that we have a good old fashioned discussion of this issue which will affect not only us but generations to come.

Monte



Sunday, July 12, 2009

Hello, Pundits! If He Hires Her, He Can Fire Her!!

First published on NOVEMBER 21, 2008 7:15P


I have been reading reams of words, not only here on OS but in every conceivable news and opinion site on the internet, by every single talking head on every news network. We are bombarded with why Obama should make Clinton his Secretary of State; why he shouldn't hire her and myriad reasons why not. There are commentators ranging from the far, far left to the far, far right expressing positions ranging from ecstasy to fears of armageddon. They cannot all be right.

Please factor ONE FACT into your own equation that I have never heard discussed. She would serve at the pleasure of the President. When she signs on to the job she will sign not only to do the job but she, and all other appointees, will sign an undated resignation letter. That letter will go into a safe in the White House.

So, Clinton leaves a secure job in the Senate, one she can no doubt have for life if she wants it. She goes to a job in the Administration and serves solely at the pleasure of the President. If she messes that up she is in big trouble, not just from the Administration but from people whose approval she not only wants but needs.

If he were to fire her, just where would that leave her? If he were only to THREATEN to fire her she would be in real trouble. He would have reams of evidence, recorded from day one of her service by people close to him in the White House, of the problems she has created to cause him to "have no choice" but to "encourage" her to resign.

If someone thinks that doesn't happen or couldn't happen then he or she has no serious understanding of political history. The President would take some heat, of course, but every President has survived removing people who do not play by team rules, and he makes the rules.

If Truman could survive and become more popular after firing the enormously powerful Gen. Douglas MacArthur, Obama can get rid of Clinton if she undercuts him.

More importantly, the fact that he CAN do it, and can tell her if she screws up that he WILL do it, should be enough to keep the Clintons in line.

Once she walks into the Obama tent and the flap closes her only real political hope is to do a bang up job implementing Obama's foreign policy.

Monte

Motorcycles: A Magnificent Obsession, Part Two

From My Open Salon Blog: NOVEMBER 21, 2008 4:50PM



Executive Office Building

Executive Office of the President, EOB front view, Pennsylvania Avenue

West Wing, White House, Portico from West Drive

Top: Old Executive Office Building (EOB) viewed from White House side.

Middle: Old Executive Office Building viewed from front, Pennsylvania Avenue, side. West Wing of the White House can be glimpsed on left.

Bottom: West Wing White House Portico entrance viewed from West Drive. West Drive runs between White House and Old EOB.

There are 10 parts to this motorcycle memoir. Quick links to each are in the Archives side bar on the right.

Part Two:

I immersed myself in work, almost giddy about the fact that I was working in the Executive Office of the President. I wanted to do the very best I could and immediately realized that until I learned to competently do what was assigned to me I would be a drag on the system; and that would make a perfectionist like me miserable. That only spurred me to work longer hours as well as coming in every Saturday and some Sundays.

Soon I was spending almost all of my time at work, ignoring my family. I told myself that was alright because I was working for a wonderful President who would help change the world, and that this was the chance of a lifetime. As I became better at my job my superiors heaped praise on me. Rather than just saying “thank you” and slowing down to a normal pace, that only further spurred me on.

My private home life did not really exist. My children were an after thought and my then wife, Jan, fit nowhere in the equation. It wasn’t that I didn’t like my kids or wanted to shun my wife. It was that they simply were not relevant to my ambitions. I told myself that if I were to really make it in Washington, well, there would be plenty of time for them then.

As for now, they should understand and support me in my career. I was bringing home more money each year. We were saving a little all along. My school loans were being paid back on schedule. And we should be able to buy a house in a few years. They had it good. That is, I thought that they had it good. I never asked them what they thought.

Motorcycling was relegated to an after thought for the first year at the Executive Office. I rode my Honda to work almost every day, year round. But it was only a convenient source of transportation that got me the eight miles to and from the Executive Office far quicker than I could in a car. And, with the bike, I never had a parking problem.

In those days the White House staff and the Executive Office staff were far smaller than today. There were less than 100 people working directly in the White House and about four times that many working across the alley in the Executive Office Building (EOB) where I worked. The EOB, the former Navy, War and State Department building, is on the corner of 17th and Pennsylvania Avenue.

In that building, joined to the White House by an underground tunnel, were the Offices of the Vice President and the Offices of the staffs that formed the Executive Office of the President. The largest of the Executive Office organizations, the Bureau of the Budget, where I worked, occupied all of the first two floors except for a small suite of offices for the Vice President.

The rest of the building was occupied by the other, much smaller, branches of the Executive Office: the Council of Economic Advisors and the Office of Science and Technology. Maybe a half dozen other small, semi-permanent groups had offices there as well, such as the Water Resources Council and some environmental task forces.

The Secret Service has some of its detail stationed in the EOB on the ground floor (the floor below the “First Floor” that one could enter at street level.) The tunnel to the White House connected to the Basement level further below.

To give an idea of the small size of the President’s support team and the looseness of security, the first time I rode my Honda to work I stopped at the west Pennsylvania Avenue front gate of the White House, waved a photo ID at the guard and entered the lane between the White House and the EOB.

The guard had never seen me in his life, knew nothing about me, and the laminated photo pass could have been made by anyone. I then proceeded to the parking area immediately opposite the White House entrance and parked my bike on a cement pad reserved for bicycles and a couple of motorcycles. There was no further security as I turned west and entered the EOB.

Had I turned east into the White House there was one guard sitting just inside the double door entrance. Later I would routinely enter the White House that way and the security was the same; wave a photo ID and be waved through. This was true even after President Kennedy was killed in Dallas. After that the gates around the White House were kept shut except when in use and employees and visitors had to sign in as well as producing ID before entering the area.

I got to know a couple of the guys who parked their motorcycles there and one, Earl Darrah, turned out to work in the same Natural Resources Division that did. Earl would come to be my best friend and motorcycling buddy. Twenty years later he would be the best man at my wedding to Sue. He died three years ago from cancer. We visited him at his home in Tampa shortly before he died.

From 1963 until 1968 I worked in the Executive Office, being promoted annually from grade GS 9 to GS 14 in less than four years. It was not possible to rise in the Civil Service faster than that. My workaholic nature was paying off in my career.

My family life was a shambles. My children were growing up for all practical purposes without a father. My wife soon gave up on trying to have a life in which I was a true partner and decided to go back to work once the kids were all in school.

She was quite successful in designing and running a technical library for a nuclear energy consulting firm. It provided her some satisfaction, but that was small solace for the virtual loss of a husband.

It was at about this point where I started spending more time with a mistress that I had started hanging around sporadically since high school. Her name was alcohol. She was sly, forever agreeable, offered no resistance to my advances, and didn’t object to sharing me with either my work or my motorcycling.

Next: Unfortunately Booze, Work and Motorcycling DO mix.

Monte

Motorcycles: A Magnificent Obsession, Part One

From my Open Salon Blog: NOVEMBER 20, 2008 12:46PM


Maico Typhoon Street Bike

Honda CB 350 Street Bike

Top: A Maico Typhoon Street Bike

Bottom: A Honda CB 350 Street Bike

Life is better when traveling on two wheels. When I was growing up in Kansas, then California, and then back to Kansas, I had a succession of bicycles.

At around age 11 I got my first “motorcycle,” which consisted of no more than a box containing a Briggs and Stratton lawn mower engine with a rope pull start, a seat on the box, a floorboard covering a twin tube frame and a simple front end with a primitive yoke to which the handlebars attached.

The engine was more or less controlled by a throttle handle on the right side of the box. Stopping was risky since the only brake was a leather block that tried, mostly in vain, to push against the rear wheel when I slammed down with my foot on a brake pedal. Stopping was something I tried to avoid since I was never sure it would happen. Top speed was a startling 15 mph. I loved that odd contraption and rode it everywhere in my neighborhood in Topeka one summer.

I worked in a grocery store as a stock boy all the next winter to save money for a real motorcycle and got one in the spring: a used, battered 50cc motorized bicycle that was a huge improvement. That summer I was going 25 mph and my “territory” expanded to neighboring towns and rural Kansas back roads.

Through my high school years I was founder and head of a hot rod club we called “The Saints of Topeka.” While I still kept a beaten up old motorcycle or two for riding in the country, racing in amateur “scrambles” and hill climbs, and riding with some motorcycle buddies, motorcycling took a back seat to trying to do my best imitation of James Dean: black penny loafers or white bucks, blue jeans, white T-shirt with a pack of Chesterfields rolled up in the left sleeve.

In college, first at Washburn University in Topeka, then at Wichita University I rode a variety of used motorcycles, the most memorable being a Maico street bike that I rode pretty much all over the state of Kansas, and into Missouri and Oklahoma. My “territory” had expanded much further and, while I was not conscious of it, I was beginning a love of motorcycle touring that would be with me for the rest of my life.

I was married at 18 and soon had one son, quickly followed by another, followed by the birth of my daughter. After graduating Wichita U we moved to Boulder where I got a Master’s at Colorado U and from there to New York state where I worked on a doctorate at Cornell University which I did not complete because I ran out of money. My doctor’s degree would come almost 40 years later, but that is another story.

Out of money and deeply in debt I quit Cornell and we moved to Schenectady where I worked for Nelson Rockefeller’s Office of Executive Development in Albany for a year. My big break came when I scored well on the Federal Civil Service exam and was asked to come to Washington DC to work for John Kennedy in the Executive Office of the President. I was 23.

During the years at Boulder and Cornell I had neither the money nor the time for motorcycles. I think it was during that absence that I realized for the first time how much motorcycling had become a true passion, to the point of obsession, with me.

I missed riding and I particularly missed the freedom of touring, just getting on a bike and riding with no particular destination or purpose in mind. I longed for that sense of being at one with the bike and at one with the environment. I felt increasingly cooped up in a car, going through the country but never being “in” it, being part of it: the sounds, the smells, the vibrance of life were blotted out in a car. It is not by accident that motorcyclists call cars “cages”.

As soon as we settled in the DC suburbs I looked for another bike. I found a used Honda CB350, arranged financing, and was back riding again. The sense of freedom was immediate and my sense of “being myself” once again is a feeling that cannot be described. The purchase of that motorcycle was more than just buying a machine, it was buying back a lifestyle that had captured me and would remain with me the rest of my life.

And, since I was embarking on some serious work, with long hours and an enormous sense of needing to do my very best if I were to honor the privilege of working for the President, motorcycling would become my escape into a world of beauty, nature and solitude that I would need desperately as a relief from day to day pressures. I was beginning to realize that riding was much more than just something to do, it was my way of finding balance and personal pleasure in a life that nearly spun out of control.

To come: Starting to seriously tour, finding joy in like minded riders, attempts at being a serious racer, the beginnings of a serious drinking problem, and observations about finding a life well lived rather than a life well spent.


Bush Trashes the Civil Service System. Does Anybody Care?

From my Open Salon Blog: NOVEMBER 18, 2008 5:16PM


In a special investigative report that will hopefully get some attention - and outrage - two Washington Post reporters and two helping investigators have uncovered a disgusting practice that has been going on for months in the Bush administration. They have uncovered a practice that has been tried for decades in Washington during transitions and is alive and well in the outgoing Bush administration. Whether or not this call out will result in anything being done is anybody's guess.

The practice, called "burrowing," is as simple as it is onerous. Political appointees are appointed to civil service jobs, essentially guaranteeing that the policies of the outgoing administration will continue to be followed in the new administration. Further, once they are in a civil service position they automatically receive the protection of the system against being easily removed.

You can read the entire WaPo article by Juliet Eilperin and Carol d. Leonnig HERE.

I was a career civil servant in DC for about 20 years. Toward the end of that period I held high civil service positions that were awarded through a competitive merit process. Moving political appointees into those spots destroys the chance of further advancement for civil service employees into those positions.

Eilperin and Leonnig write, "Just weeks before leaving office, the Interior Department's top lawyer has shifted half a dozen key deputies -- including two former political appointees who have been involved in controversial environmental decisions -- into senior civil service posts.

The transfer of political appointees into permanent federal positions, called "burrowing" by career officials, creates security for those employees, and at least initially will deprive the incoming Obama administration of the chance to install its preferred appointees in some key jobs.

Similar efforts are taking place at other agencies. Two political hires at the Labor Department have already secured career posts there, and one at the Department of Housing and Urban Development is trying to make the switch."

Between March 1 and Nov. 3, according to the federal Office of Personnel Management, the Bush administration allowed 20 political appointees to become career civil servants. Six political appointees to the Senior Executive Service, the government's most prestigious and highly paid employees, have received approval to take career jobs at the same level. Fourteen other political, or "Schedule C," appointees have also been approved to take career jobs. One candidate was turned down by OPM and two were withdrawn by the submitting agency.

The personnel moves come as Bush administration officials are scrambling to cement in place policy and regulatory initiatives that touch on issues such as federal drinking-water standards, air quality at national parks, mountaintop mining and fisheries limits."


Such moves are commonplace and should not be seen as a uniquely Bush type of "dirty tricks." Bill Clinton approved 47 such appointments, including 7 to the highest civil service slots. All of those positions, once occupied, provide significant job protections that are not afforded to political appointees, so the incoming administration has a very difficult time unseating the incumbent.

Most of the moves uncovered so far have been in the Interior Department, with other similar moves being uncovered in Labor, HUD and in the Medicare/Medicaid offices. It is likely that many other such moves will be uncovered in most of the other agencies.

The Administration is orchestrating a standard response to the inquiries. Dana Perino, White House Press Secretary, today said that this was a good thing because it keeps highly knowledgeable and competent employees within the Federal government who would otherwise go back into private industry. The Interior Department's Solicitor, who has been responsible for the wholesale moving of 6 employees into career jobs, has said almost the same thing.

Environmental, wildlife, and conservation organizations are up in arms because many of the political appointees who are getting changed into career civil servants have been those who have worked hard to promote "... the cause of private property owners over the public interest on issues such as grazing and logging." Others have consistently taken the side of private minerals and energy companies in developing public land to the exclusion of the views of those who wish the public lands to be managed with multi-use and environmental concerns factored in.

There is little that can be done to stop this current activity since there is no law that controls it. It is difficult to even find out where it is going on or how much is going on.

One last quote from the Washington Post article:

"Outside groups are trying to monitor these moves but are powerless to reverse them. Alex Bastani, a representative at the Labor Department for the American Federation of Government Employees, said it took months for that agency even to acknowledge that two of its Bush appointees, Carrie Snidar and Brad Mantel, had gotten civil service posts.

'They're trying to burrow into these career jobs, and we're very upset,' Bastani said. "Everyone should have an opportunity to apply for these positions. And certainly career people who don't have partisan bent and have 10 or 15 years in their respective fields should have a shot at these positions."

This is one of those subtle abuses of power that makes so many people so cynical when it comes to what happens in Washington. Many complain of "bureaucrats." Often that complaint is misdirected and the so called "bureaucrats" are usually the ones who glue Washington together. Pubic civil service is an honorable profession and it is all too often the politicians who are giving the bureaucracy an unwarranted bad name. "Burrowing" is clearly one such obscenity.

The Congress should look into this issue and pass a law prohibiting the use of “burrowing” by political appointees into the career civil service. Meanwhile, President Obama should issue an Executive Order prohibiting such activity in his administration.

Monte


Why Trade Iraq for Afghanistan? Let's Stop Both Wars

NOVEMBER 14, 2008 10:32PM


Tonight Rachel Maddow had as a guest one of the really brilliant military and international relations minds in our nation: Andrew Bacevich. He is Professor of International Relations and History, Boston University. (BS, United States Military Academy; MA, PhD, Princeton).

In 2004, Dr. Bacevich was a Berlin Prize Fellow at the American Academy in Berlin. He has also been a fellow of the Paul H. Nitze School of Advanced International Studies at Johns Hopkins University, the John F. Kennedy School of Government at Harvard University, and the Council on Foreign Relations in New York.

His latest book has received rave reviews. It is called "The Limits of Power: American Exceptionalism." (2008)

His August 15 interview on Bill Moyers Journal is one of the great pieces of television journalism. You can watch that interview HERE. It is recorded in two video segments.

This post is not about Becevich per se. But you will much better understand the alternatives facing us in the so-called "War on Terror" if you watch that interview.

This post is similar to several like it that have been raised here on OS long before I became a member of this community. Unfortunately, they raised very little interest. This one may not either. But it can't hurt to try.

We are soon going to be in Afghanistan as long as the Soviet Union was, before they lost and backed out of that nation. Our main understanding of their misadventures there is, unfortunately, either essentially nonexistent or based on a good, but misleading movie, "Charlie Wilson's War." I like Tom Hanks but please don't assume that this docudrama hews very close to the truth.

The truth is that no one has ever invaded Afghanistan and won. Never. And there is no reason to assume that we will win a military victory there, with or without adding more troops on the ground.

President-Elect Obama campaigned on getting out of Iraq and increasing our presence in Afghanistan, and, as necessary, taking the fight into Pakistan.

Pakistan is an unstable nuclear country, largely ungovernable in its northwestern provinces closest to Afghanistan, and less than keen on our recent military incursions, supposedly in hot persuit, into those territories. Mr. Obama supports such activities in principle, on the grounds that we are taking the fight to Osama Bin Laden. Of course we do not know where Bin Laden is, but that doesn't seem to deter us.

Meanwhile, we are not only subjected to the increasing death and wounding of our own troops but, as in Iraq, many, many innocent civilians are being killed, by us by what we call accidents, and by the Taliban and tribal leaders, some of whom are said to be controlled by Al Quaeda. It has been said by more than one critic of the war that, by these actions, we are helping create more terrorists than we are killing.

Even with more troops on the ground we will make little progress without eliminating the poppy production which is the back bone of the Afghan economy. Many members of the current Afghan government are supportive of this drug trade and receive kick backs for allowing it. We have shown no willingness to insist on eliminating the poppy trade in exchange for our presence there. God forbid we were to put that to a vote because most Afghans want us to leave anyway.

It eludes me why we would move troops out of the charade that has been our occupation of Iraq to send them to Afghanistan. We need to bring them HOME! How many tours of duty will be extended and how many additional tours will we be adding on to the backs of these brave soldiers? We are stretched thin as it is and the logistics of warfare in the mountains of Afghanistan is a nightmare. Ask the Russians.

Finally, let me raise some very difficult questions. Are we actually doing all this to catch Osama Bin Laden? What price are we willing to pay to do that? If we are actually trying to catch or kill Bin Laden aren't there better ways to do it? Who is asking these questions and who is providing any honest answers?

I would like to think that our military policy and actions will be more intelligent under an Obama presidency. But I can't see that coming based on the rhetoric of the campaign. Yet, what other guide do we have to determine if anything will be really any different? By the time of the election both Obama and McCain were talking almost the same strategy for Afghanistan. That does not give me any comfort.

To steal a phrase from Rachel: Will somebody please talk me down on this one?


The Rich Man and Lazarus: Approaching the Coming Holidays

From my Open Salon Blog - NOVEMBER 11, 2008 1:31AM


The Rich Man and Lazarus: Approaching the Coming Holidays

One of the things that I miss the most being retired is researching, writing and giving sermons. Several members of the OS family have asked why I mostly write about politics and not about the vocation that is my passion. I suppose it is because many of the OS family do not share my faith, or have no faith at all. So, as one who has never forced my religious views on anyone, I have hesitated to write about religion. But now I am going to share with you a sermon that I wrote that seems, at least to me, to address a moral/ethical issue that is just as applicable to a secular humanist as it is to a religious person. We’ll see how it is received.

The little story Jesus relates about the Rich Man and Lazarus is told by St. Luke at Chapter 16 of his Gospel, verses 19-31. This is a good time of year to consider the meaning of that story. You do not have to be a Christian to understand the universality of the moral of this story.

Why this time of year? Because we are about to unleash ourselves upon the annual rituals of gluttony and greed and self gratification that begins at Thanksgiving and runs through New Year’s Day.

We will lavish on ourselves huge dinners, and attend many parties, most of which will have tables laden with food. We will go to holiday movies, and maybe take trips to the city to see the lights, or a play, or other entertainment. We will watch football games with friends and spare no calories in the process. Booze will flow and a good time will be had by all. Well, maybe not all. Maybe not the Lazuruses of the world.

And most of us have already started buying the massive piles of Christmas and Chanukah presents which we will give to each other, and our children, and our grandchildren. We will spend and spend some more, convincing ourselves that we can delay worrying about the economic impact on our selves until no earlier than January 2nd. And, mostly, we’ll keep all this within our own families and our closest friends.

Oh, I know that we will make some efforts to share some of this with others. We may ring the bell for the Salvation Army, or, if we are church goers we give our December benevolence to the a specified charity, and our Christmas Eve donations will go to another. Some churches and synagogues will finance and distribute food baskets to some needy families.

And all of this is well and good. No, I will go farther. This is not only well and good: it is our moral obligation to do these things. The question isn’t whether or not these are good and necessary things. They are. The question is whether or not they are all we can do; and, for the faithful, whether or not God will find them generous.

So, let’s honestly ask ourselves: as a percentage of our total self indulgences on food and presents and decorations and parties, and all the rest that goes into the Holiday Season, what percentage of our spending do we think we will actually give to the poor; to those outside of our family and friends; to those whom Jesus calls, “the least of these, my children?”

And, while we ponder that question – which, incidentally, I am not going to answer for you – it is something each must answer for him or her self – let’s spend some time looking at the story of Lazarus.

There was a rich man, dressed in purple and fine linen, who feasted every day. At his gate lay the poorest of the poor, Lazarus by name, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger even from the crumbs which would drop from the rich man’s table.

Notice the contrast. Jesus sets the entire story as a story of stark contrasts. Black or white; no shades of gray. No subtleties, no way to justify or explain or alibi oneself out of this situation. The Rich man is very rich. The poor man is not only dirt poor, but sick, covered with sores. And then there is the gate. The gate accentuates the contrast. The gate is the great dividing line between them. The boundary between the two men is set in solid wood, not to be breached.

The story is about boundaries: great gaps between us and our neighbors, between people who have it: money, power, prestige, education: who have the power to move in and out of the gates that society erects, and those who have nothing; and certainly have no power to move anywhere at all, who lie helpless, just beyond the gate, dying.

The contrasts are stark, and Jesus piles them on. The rich man feasts “every day,” and not just feasts, but feasts “sumptuously.” Lazarus doesn’t eat. The rich man is covered in fine linens, purple – the most expensive cloth. Lazarus is covered too: with sores! Lazarus would settle for the garbage that the rich man threw out. Nothing in the story suggests he gets even that.

The stark contract is accentuated by that infernal gate. Inside the gate, protected by the wall surrounding the house, secure, well-housed, well-fed, well-clothed, sits the rich man. Outside the gate lies Lazarus, wild dogs licking his sores.

Lazarus is refuse. What to do? At this point in the story a “good Christian” would hope that the next words would be that the rich man saw the plight of Lazarus and took him in, called a doctor to heal his sores, gave him some decent clothes, and fed him until he was on his feet. Maybe then find him some work so he could have a little dignity, a little sense of self-worth. After all, that’s what the Bible says he should do. What does Micah say? “What does the Lord require of you? To do justice, to show kindness, and to walk humbly with God.” What would justice and kindness and humility require in this case? What would God require?

Well, however you see the answer to that question, what God requires never happens. What happens is what you would expect: Lazarus dies. And, although sometimes we don’t expect it to happen to us when it does, the rich man also dies. Dead. Both are now stone dead.

And dead is dead. Right? No. Wrong. Not in this story. Lazarus is carried away by angels and placed in the seat of honor, in the bosom of Father Abraham. The rich man is simply buried. Which is bad enough. But it gets worse. The rich man goes to hell, where he is tormented day and night. The rich man sees Father Abraham and calls out to him to send Lazarus to wet his tongue with some cool water because, as he says, “I am in agony in these flames.”

Now, I don’t know about you, but this image of Hades that Jesus paints is pretty upsetting. I am pretty used to the hyperbole “fire and torment”; I guess because I have heard about it since I was a child. But, have you stopped to think how much worse it would be if you could actually see and talk to those who were on the other side? Now, folks, THAT is hell!

Father Abraham replies to him, and note how sorrowful the reply. The rich man is called “my child.” Abraham says, “My child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony. Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.”

Contrast again. Stark, harsh contrast. There is no gate separating them now. Instead, the gate has been replaced by something even more fearful: a deep chasm; a chasm so deep and so wide that it is literally impossible to bridge: and it is forever!

As in life, the two, Lazarus and the rich man, are divided. First by a gate; now by a chasm. But. Surprise! Their situations are reversed. Lazarus, who had nothing in life, now, in heaven, has everything. And, here we learn the significance of the name of Lazarus. Oh, that’s right! I forgot to mention what his name means in Hebrew, didn’t I? It means, “The one whom God helps.” No one helped Lazarus during his lifetime. Lazarus was so low, so socially repugnant, that no one helped him; certainly not the rich man. Now, however, he is lifted up. God helps!

From his place in eternal torment, and for the first time in the story, the rich man tries to bridge the gap, to eliminate the boundary between him and Lazarus. But, it is too late. The gate is forever closed; the chasm forever in place. Even Father Abraham himself cannot bridge the gap. There is nothing to be done.

There was a gap between rich in poor in life; now, in the after life, there is still a gap. The only difference is that the tables are turned. The gate which the rich man closed of his own free will in life has become the chasm between him and God in death.

The rich man, who undoubtedly had a big name in life: everybody knew who HE was; doesn’t even have a name in Jesus’ story. Lazarus, whom nobody knew in life, and whose name would not be caught on the lips of the socially acceptable if it were known, is the only person in any of Jesus’ parables who is identified by name. A name signifies many things; but most of all it signifies individual value: value in the eyes of God. Lazarus is “somebody.” Why? Because Lazarus is “one whom God helps.” It’s that simple.

All of which is to say that, the way the Bible tells us to value things and people who are other than us or our own is a far cry from the way our culture tells us to value them. Those whom we honor as insiders often end up as outsiders in God’s economy; and those we treat as outsiders, beneath us and barely worthy of our consideration, often end up as insiders in God’s eyes.

Jesus said it a hundred times, but still we don’t get it: The last will be first and the first will be last. The least will inherit the Kingdom of God. The humble will know God. Those who feed the hungry, give water to the thirsty, welcome the stranger, clothe the naked, heal the sick, help the poor, will inherit the Kingdom. The others? Don’t ask! Read Matthew 25 if you don’t believe me.

There is great injustice in the world now. It is all around us. We have become good at being jaded, at going through our gates into our protected homes without so much as an embarrassing glance at the Lazaruses of this world. This story from the lips of Jesus tells us that the justice of God will not be mocked forever. There will come a time of judgment, if not in this life then in the next. That is good news for the Lazaruses of this world. But whether or not it is good news for those who are clothed in purple, who have more than a small portion of the bounty of God’s blessing, depends not on whether or not they have been abundantly blessed. It depends on what they do with the riches God has given them. And, incidentally, if you wonder who is them; well, them is us.