COLD IN THE SAWTOOTH

How cold was it? So cold that the water in my Army-style canteens froze solid, top to bottom, front to back, side to side. So cold that my wet boots were blocks of ice in the morning. So cold that my fingers were still numb and tingly a month after the trip.

Why didn’t I put canteens and boots in my sleeping bag to use body heat to keep them from freezing? Because I had too much other stuff in there that I was trying to keep warm.

In short, cold, and its sibling snow, were the central ingredients of a late September backpacking trip into the high country of Idaho’s Sawtooth Wilderness Area. A winter backpacking trip had not been the plan. No, the plan had been a pleasant fall stroll into the mountains, with warm days and cool put not disagreeable nights.

More specifically, the plan was an eight-day sojourn exploring the southern and western portions of the Sawtooth. I was to enter at Alturas Lake in the southeastern corner, work my way west and north, perhaps going as far as the western boundary, and exit at Pettit Lake, which was just a few miles north of the starting point. Thus I would be making a loop, a loop that could be as short as 30 or so miles if I took the most direct route or much longer if I was ambitious and had good weather.

Fortunately, I was mostly, but not completely, prepared for cold, wet weather. The synthetic sleeping bag was rated to zero degrees. In addition, I had a military poncho liner that in essence was a blanket of nylon and polyester. It had proved its usefulness many times in the past in a variety of conditions. Clothes-wise, I had rain gear, an outer shell coat of heavy nylon, two fleece inner garments, military pants and shirt, several long and short sleeved tee shirts, medium weight long underwear, two knit hats, and one floppy-brimmed hat. The major inadequacies in the clothes department turned out to be socks and gloves or mittens: I only had two pair of wool socks and not the best collection of hand warmers.

Shelter was a three-season tent that survived the snow in part because I kept the snow from accumulating on it.

The first three days were cold but relatively uneventful. The trailhead was a little beyond the western end of Alturas Lake, at approximately 7,100 feet in elevation. The trail went up Alturas Lake Creek (yes, “Lake Creek”), over an 8,800-foot pass to Mattingly Creek, and down the creek to the Boise River. On the afternoon of the third day, I followed the river north for about three miles, making camp at an old campsite on the bank. Firewood was relatively abundant, indicating that even during the summer the area did not see much traffic. A good fire and a starry sky made for a pleasant evening, the first, and last, on the trip.

Pleasantness ended the next day. The old nautical saying proved true: “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight; Red sky in the morning, sailor take warning.” The early morning sun reflected red off clouds moving from west to east. The trail crossed and recrossed—several times—the Middle Fork of the Boise River. Each crossing required taking off boots and socks, putting on wading shoes, and working my way gingerly, with the aid of two walking sticks and under the bulky backpack, through the water and over slippery rocks.

Rain arrived in mid-afternoon. It was steady and occasionally heavy. The campsite was at the junction of the Middle Fork of the Boise and Flytrip Creek. The elevation was 7,500 feet. Rivulets created by the rain flowed through the campsite, making selection of a specific location for the tent no easy task. I finally located a spot that, with a little trenching and damming, avoided major water. With difficulty, supper was prepared—that is, water boiled for the dehydrated food—just outside the tent door, under the small vestibule.

By morning the rain had stopped, but the wetness was pervasive. I debated whether to continue on or to backtrack down the Middle Fork of the Boise. Ahead was high country—8,000 to 9,000 feet—four hard climbs, and uncertain weather. Back was an outlet at the southern edge of the Sawtooth. The journey would not be as long, the elevation not as great, and the margin of error a bit lower. I decided to tackle the high country. The only rational part of my reasoning was that my pick-up-person, my daughter, expected me at Pettit Lake. We had reconnoitered the trailhead. If I took a different route out, I would face the problem of notifying her of the change
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So I headed north, into the high country. It was only eight or so miles to the last pass, 9,200-foot Sand Mountain Pass. If I did just one climb a day, I would be in the high country for four days and three nights. The major risk was getting snow bound.

The first objective was Spangle Lake. It was 10:30 a.m. before I got started. Packing in the cold and wetness was time-consuming. The route was up. . . , and up, and up. The distance was only two and a quarter miles, as the crow flies, but it took four hours. Initially, my hands were so cold that I had tears in my eyes. Note to self: next time, heavy mittens. Boots and socks became soaked in a poor effort at crossing a small stream. Fortunately, the afternoon and early evening were clear. I had a large fire, a roaring blaze actually—much too close to the tent—and dried out myself, boots, and soaks. The warmth was the last I was to have for two days.

Snow fell during the night, a heavy, wet snow that built up on the sides of the tent. In spite of the zero-degree rated sleeping bag and the Army poncho liner, I woke up cold and miserable. The thought of packing up was more than unappealing: it was down right scary. But I had to move. Shivering in the tent would accomplish nothing, and would have to end sometime.

Skipping coffee, fumbling with totally numb hands, I broke down the tent, stuffed stuff into the pack, struggled with buckles, straps, and snaps, and got underway at about 9 a.m. Again, the trail was up, only a mile, but it was stairway-steep. On the other side of the highest point, the trail was a switchback down an open mountain side and hidden in calf-deep snow. Gingerly, I made my way down, arriving at Ardeth Lake around 1 p.m. For the second day, it had taken four or so hours to cover a bit over two miles.

The choices were to stop for the night by the lake on which a cover of ice was beginning to form, or to go over the third of the four passes that separated the high country from warmer temperatures and civilization. I decided that the quicker I could get to lower elevations, the better it would be. Thus I set off for another climb. It was steep and snow covered but relatively short. By 4 p.m. I was over the pass and near Vernon Lake. I got the tent set up just as a heavy thunder snow storm broke.

Inside the tent I watched as the snow accumulated. The sides and top were, of course, not transparent. But the areas of accumulating snow on and against the tent were darker. I spent the remaining hours of daylight kicking and pushing the walls and top to keep the tent from collapsing. During a lull in the storm, I got out and packed down an area around my abode.

Sometime after dark the snow eased up. But a strong wind blew the cold air through the tent walls and into the far depths of my sleeping bag. And the temperature fell as the night wore on. In the sleeping bag, I had on a layer of clothes and the poncho liner wrapped around my neck, shoulders, and upper body. I did not feel I was dangerously cold, but only portions of my body approached warmth, and I was distinctly uncomfortable. It was a long night.

The morning dawned bleak and discouraging. Outside the tent, the snow was up to calf deep. I had one only more pass to cross, but it was the highest, and the previous night’s snow meant the way was more uncertain. I was not in the best of spots. Maybe it was even a dangerous spot. Dire scenarios ran through my mind. I hoped that if I was not at the trailhead at the appointed time three days hence, my daughter would call search and rescue pronto. Our usual plan for such wilderness endeavors was to give the overdue party some leeway before calling for help. But this approach ignored a troubling realty: if the overdueness was caused by real difficulties, pausing before calling for help would not be good, indeed could be tragic.

For a second morning, I forwent coffee, struggled with unfeeling hands to pack up inside the tent, broke down and packed the tent itself, and finally got underway. I had cleared one hurdle: the simple act of getting going. Now I had another hurdle: 9,200-foot Sand Mountain Pass.

An annoying problem soon developed. The ends of the boot laces and the draw strings at the bottom of the pants were somehow manufacturing ice balls. The ice balls formed around the ends of the laces and strings, reached the size of baseballs, and banged into my legs with each stride. I had to stop every so often and spend considerable time bashing ice balls. Tucking in the ends of the laces and strings only partially alleviated the problem.

I struggled upward. Once out of the treeline, the switchback trail became obscure. The steep slope was just an unbroken, smooth white blanket. I gingerly poked the walking sticks into the snow ahead of me, finding the trail a step at a time. The altitude was exacerbating the fatigue from the climbs, the cold, and the nights of fitful sleep. I was close but concerned about loosing the trail, running into an unnavigable section, or taking a tumble down the steep slope.

Fate was kind, however. About 1 p.m. I reached the top of the pass. I was elated but it was a subdued elation. Fatigue hindered exuberance. The first thought was that the need for rescue was now unlikely. Eight or so miles and a day and a half lay ahead, but it was mostly downhill.

The trail followed the contour line for a while and then started sharply down. The snow soon disappeared. I camped for the night at Toxaway Lake. It was still a cold night, but certainly better than recent ones, both physically and mentally. The next day—finally a sunny day—I encountered my first humans in a week, several small groups. I also encountered the pleasant fall day that my trip had anticipated. It was Saturday, and day hikers and overnighters were exploring the edges of the Sawtooth Wilderness.

I had that disconnected feeling one gets when, after a draining, challenging experience, communication is attempted with others who were not involved. I was on a populated trail, the day was warm and sunny, and I was wearing just a shirt. A day earlier and a few miles to the west, I had been alone in near winter conditions, dressed in multiple layers, and harboring concerns about basic survival. Small talk with those I encountered did not come easy.

DSH

(SMALL) WINDOW OF OPPORTUNITY

Okay, so in spite of the advice from across the political and ideological spectrum, George Bush, the Decider, the Decision-Maker, is bound and determined to up the ante in Iraq. A cynic might note, what has he got to lose? If things continue to show no improvement, he is destined for historical infamy. But if by some chance the new strategy, the “surge,” causes even a small improvement, he might avoid making the list of the worst Presidents in U.S. history. He might even place above Millard Filmore.

But a favorable outcome will require a level of nimbleness and nuance that this “Bull in the China Shop” Administration has not displayed in six years of governing. Yet it does have one thing going for it. The Bush Administration could contain the best practioners ever of “spin.” If an award is given for talking a pig pretty, George and company certainly deserve it.

So here’s how the Decider and crew might stagger to 2008 with a pinch of dignity left. The “surge” is large enough to actually tap down violence in Baghdad for a short period. And latching on to the unfollowed advice given in another war, the Decider declares victory and leaves. If there is a short period before the inevitable chaos follows, the Decider can argue that he brought peace to Iraq. It wasn’t his fault that things later (a week, a month, whatever) deteriorated. After all, one can only lead the unwilling and ungrateful so far.

Of course, not everyone will buy into the notion of victory. But enough might that the Decider can convince himself of his greatness, and the true believers—the Wall Street Journal editorial page, Hannity, Coulter, Beck, O’Reilly, neocons everywhere—browbeat the unthinking into intellectual submission.

dsh

SIX-POINT PLAN

Yesterday, in his weekly radio address to the nation, the President challenged those who oppose his new “surge” strategy for Iraq to offer a different plan. Okay, Mr. President, here is an alternative plan. It may not be perfect, but it sure beats yours.

1. Stop yakking about victory. By viewing the struggle in such classic terms, you and others who have disagreed with you but still speak in your language, such as Senator John McCain, are striving for an impossible goal. In your speech the other night, you finally acknowledged that, even if your proposed strategy is followed, the struggle in Iraq will not end in “victory” in the sense of signing surrender documents on the deck of a battleship. Yet you still set up victory as the goal.

2. Similarly, stop yakking about the only alternative to victory as being defeat and some sort of great Middle Eastern catastrophe. The Middle East is going to be a mess for decades if not generations. But it could be a controlled mess. The challenge is to prevent the level of chaos from rising too high.

3. Stop shifting the blame to the Iraqis. We are trying to impose a complex, sophisticated form of governance on a politically backward people. Chiding them for not “stepping up” is more a comment on our naiveté than on their abilities.

4. Stop trying to preserve the nation of Iraq. Ninety years ago—a mere hiccup in human history—there was no nation of Iraq. Iraq is the home of three distinct peoples: Kurds, Shiites, and Sunnis. Maybe we can find a way to hold them together under one sovereign entity, and maybe we can’t. But our focus ought to be on building from the bottom up rather than imposing a national government from the top down. Concentrate on forming three sub-governments, and if they eventually are able to come together, fine. If they can’t achieve a sort of federalism, it is not a catastrophe. And how come Joe Biden is the only U.S. national figure that shows awareness of Iraqi history?

5. Stop making the false argument that a “defeat” in Iraq will result in a safe haven for terrorists. First, as noted above, just as we will not achieve a classic “victory” in Iraq, so we will not also suffer a classic “defeat,” unless we insist on defining the outcome as such. Second, if even what results becomes a Taliban-like rogue state that has to be thrashed periodically, okay. We will still be fighting on their ground rather than ours.

6. Learn from those who oppose us. They practice subtly and nuance. We are the proverbial bull in the China shop, aggressively threatening, thrashing around, smashing everything within reach, creating an image of gross incompetence. Whatever happened to Teddy Roosevelt’s “speak softly and carry a big stick?”

MORE TROOPS TO IRAQ?

A “surge” of U. S. troops to Iraq seems to be a distinct possibility. The numbers being bandied about are in the 25,000 to 30,000 range. An official rationale has not yet been provided, but the general, ephemeral idea is probably that more troops will reduce the overall level of chaos. Maybe. Or maybe it’s a case of a day late and a dollar short. Or maybe by this stage it’s just plain too late and any number of U.S. troops short of the 500,000 who should have been sent initially won’t, in the long term, make a difference.

Here are some facts about the U.S. involvement in Iraq. First, at some point in the not-too-distance future we are going to leave. It may be three years, it may be five years, it may be ten years or longer. But we ain’t staying permanently. They don’t want us there, and the American people don’t have the patience to be long-term occupiers.

Second, there will be no “victory” in Iraq in the classic sense: no surrender by the opposing forces, no wiping out of all opposition by us, no victory parade down 5th Avenue by triumphant returning troops. At best there would be a semblance of stability, most likely imposed by an authoritarian government whose human rights record will be dismal. The chances of this “best” scenario coming about are slim.

Third, to counter the nonstate forces that would do us harm in this world, we need to be one helluva lot smarter than we have been over the last few years. We have sought to meet the threat posed by a relatively small number of nihilistic terrorists by waging a conventional war. A major consequence seems to have been the creation of a lot more potential and actual terrorists. We have come to be viewed by much of the world as a lumbering ineffectual bully and are being treated accordingly.

Fourth, the nation of Iraq is a relative new concept. The nation was created by some mid-level British and French diplomats after World War I. The three distinct groups in Iraq—Kurds, Sunnis, and Shites—share one thing: a distinct dislike of one another. Why try to hold together these three ancient adversaries?

From the United States’ viewpoint, the major problem—other than George W. Bush’s pride and stubbornness—is summarized by former Secretary of State Colin Powell’s observation that if we break the pottery, it becomes ours. Well, we broke it. So now what?

Well, here is one solution from the peanut gallery. First, stop yaking about victory, accomplishing the mission, bringing freedom to the people of Iraq, and the like. Second, accept the fact that Iraq is really three distinct “nations.” If they can manage to live together under a federal umbrella of some sort, fine. But stop trying to mix oil and water. (Not a very good metaphor or analogy, but you get the picture.) Instead of trying to create an Iraqi army, an Iraqi police force, an Iraqi government, let the Kurds, Sunnis, and Shites each create their own. If in doing so the various sides feel they have to pound the crap out of each other every now and then, fine. Let them get it out of their systems.

Third, pull U.S. troops back to a few isolated bases. The near term mission would be to, when the fighting between the factions gets excessively rough, emerge and pummel the participants a bit. The long-term mission—18 months or so—would be get all U.S. troops out of the country.

Finally, in 2008 elect a U.S. President who does not believe the neoconservative notion that bringing democracy and freedom to the world is a task easily accomplished with just a modest expenditure of resources and the appearance of a few U.S. soldiers. In short, elect a President whose idealism is tempered by reality, who is not the slave of an ideology, any ideology, right or left. Core values are one thing. Trying to ram your view of the world down the world's throat is another.

DSH

NANNIES AGAIN

Wow! The cranky old guy didn’t realize that nannies were such a hot, er, touchy, er, compelling subject.

Let’s be clear. Cranky is not against nannies. And he does not mean to imply that having an attractive young foreign woman in a household is necessarily a source of tension and stress. Although to be perfectly honest, it certainly can be. No, the cranky old guy is mainly an interested observer of the nanny culture that has grown up in many localities, including his own. Nannies were once limited to the households of the elite super rich. No longer. In a middle class community such as the cranky old guy’s, nannies are now as common as cats (and not nearly as annoying).

The issues raised by the nanny culture constitute a sizeable proportion of the comments and queries on the website of the cranky old guy’s neighborhood. How do I find a nanny? What do I pay a nanny? What should the nanny call me? How do I discipline a nanny? Is a nanny my partner in raising my children, or my employee? What if my children don’t like the nanny? What if my children are little hellions who need a drill sergeant rather than a nanny? (No one ever asks this question directly, but Cranky can read between the lines.) What if my children get too attached to the nanny? What if my husband gets too attached to the nanny? Okay, the cranky old guy’s mind is wandering again.

A major topic concerns part-time nannies. “I need a nanny between 1 and 4 on Tuesdays, 3 and 6 on Thursdays, and for any hour Friday morning. Can anyone help me?” Or “Anyone need a nanny Wednesday afternoons? Our nanny has Wednesday afternoons off and would like to work during that time.” Or, “Need a nanny for two adorable children [yeah, right] and a dog on alternate Thursdays, except in November.”

Of course, nannies also have their side of the story. The cranky old guy has been doing some research into this (No, not in the way your dirty little mind is thinking). Some families apparently think nannying is a 24/7 job. Time off? Not from our household, Sweetie. Our jobs require emailing, cell-phoning, and Blackberrying around the clock, so don’t even think of time off.

Many nannies are found through agencies, and in theory the agencies have hotlines that a nanny can turn to if she is having problems with her family. But to the nannies, the hotlines appear to be manned only on the second Monday of every week. Not getting along with your family? Required to work on weekends? Being followed around by ol’ lecherous eyes? Forget about getting any help through the hotline.

Finally, the cranky old guy himself is in the market for a part-time nanny. He is a member of a neighborhood group of cranky old guys who play poker once a month. We need someone to serve drinks, stack chips, and other stuff. And no, a spouse would not be an acceptable substitute.

WHAT TO GET THE NANNY FOR XMAS

The cranky old guy lives in an upscale suburban neighborhood of the nation’s capital. A goodly proportion of the climbing, networking young families populating the neighborhood depend upon au pairs, or nannies as they are sometimes called, to hold the household together. The two adults can thus pursue their dreams and careers in government, the K Street law firms, or whatever, while the children are under the protective care of the finest young women of Europe, Latin America, or the Far East.

Of course, a nanny-dependent economy is not without its issues. One such issue was recently posted on the website of the cranky old guy’s neighborhood. Incidentally, communication via neighborhood website is fast becoming an integral component of modern urban and suburban life, but comments on this phenomenon are beyond the scope of the present piece. Anyway, the issue posted on the cranky old guy’s neighborhood website concerned nannies and Christmas bonuses: “Is there a standard for nanny Christmas bonuses? Any advice?”

Before responding to this inquiry, the cranky old guy, prompted by his too-much-time-on-his-hands son-in-law, must ask a question: “Is the nanny hot?” Depending on the answer to that question, the cranky old guy has two lists of suggestions.

BONUSES FOR THE NON-HOT NANNY

1. Christmas morning off.

2. Twenty-five dollars.

BONUSES FOR THE HOT NANNY

1. The gentleman of the house serves the nanny breakfast in bed.

2. The gentleman of the house gives the nanny a therapeutic massage.

3. The gentleman of the house and the nanny take Christmas week off, and maybe the next week too.

4. At least $500, more in "special" cases.

Okay, so the cranky old guy is also a dirty old man. He’s just happy that back when he and the Mrs. were a young couple, he was not surrounded by the temptations that now pervade his neighborhood.

WHERE HAS THIS GUY BEEN?

The President had a post-election press conference today, the day after his party took a “thumping” (his words) at the polls. He acknowledged the significance of the defeat, expressed a willingness to work with the opposition party, did not demean and denigrate those who have been disagreeing with him, subtly dissed Dick Cheney, and fired Donald Rumsfeld.

Where has this President been? If he had been in evidence over the last few months, the Republican defeat might not have occurred. But what had been in evidence for some time was a close-minded, arrogant, intellectually narrow man who spoke only to the lowest common denominator among the American people, was contemptuous of those who disagreed with him, and was incapable of admitting error.

Which President will be in office for the next two years? That is the sixty-four dollar question. The answer will depend in part on the Democrats. If they follow the path of the Congressional Republicans who came to power in 1994 and attempt to ram their righteousness down the nation’s collective throats, the Old George will likely resurface very soon. But if the Democrats can restrain their baser instincts, can keep in focus the message that the American people want less partisanship and more pragmatism, maybe the New George will be persuaded to stick around for awhile.

Every so often in the flow of history, clear alternatives are evident. The leaders of the United States are now at one such moment. The clear alternatives are not of policies or about the war in Iraq. The clear alternatives are about how policies, including a policy for Iraq, are determined. The leaders can continue the vituperative approach of the recent, and not-so-recent, past, berating, insulting, and maligning one another. Or in addressing the nation’s problems and difficulties, they can exercise a civility and respect that might actually get something accomplished. One can only hope.

DSH

BENCHMARKS

The new word for the nation’s Iraq policy is “benchmarks.” We’re going to establish some benchmarks for the Iraqi government and armed forces to meet, although there won’t be any penalty if the benchmarks are not met. But perhaps we need some benchmarks of our own. Here are some suggestions for our nation and its leaders.

1. The President admits that the war in Iraq has been a colossal blunder.

2. The Vice President admits that we weren’t greeted with flowers and the thanks of multitudes of grateful Iraqis.

3. The Vice President acknowledges that the insurgency may not be in its last throes.

4. The Secretary of Defense admits that he is a bonehead of the first order.

5. The President and the Secretary of Defense acknowledge that the generals wanted much more than what they were given.

6. The generals acknowledge that they were pressured into asking for much less than what they wanted.

7. Neoconservatives admit that they have little understanding of how the real world actually functions.

8. The citizens of the United States admit that in 2000 and 2004 they put the nation in the hands of simpletons.

9. Fox News admits that “Fair and Balanced” is a misnomer.

10. The Republican Party admits that it no longer welcomes centrists.

DSH

TACTICS, STRATEGY, GOALS, MISSION--AND RESPONSIBILITY

Any thinking individual who has spent time in organizations, government, or the military has to be at least a little cynical about the current word games concerning the war in Iraq. This past weekend, the President sat down with his generals to consider new tactics, but new tactics only. Anything else—strategy, goals, mission, whatever—was off limits. Just a day or so later, it came to light that the Administration was no longer characterizing its approach to Iraq as “stay the course.” Indeed, the President even appeared to claim initially that he had never used the term, but this assertion quickly fell victim to the videotape. In any case, “stay the course” was being jettison because it failed, as a strategy, goal, tactic, or whatever, to capture the supposed dynamism of our strategy, goal, tactic, or whatever.

The many talking, blogging, and writing heads have entered the fray, arguing about which policies and actions of the United States are properly termed tactics, which constitute strategy, which are goals, which are the mission, which are objectives. To anyone who has had the pleasure of sitting through an organizational session to develop a mission statement, an organization vision, a plan of action, or the like, the blather is familiar. Just think of the last time you were imprisoned in an “offsite” location for two days and came close to strangling the bonehead across the table who insisted on endlessly debating the theoretical differences between tactics, strategies, goals, missions, objectives, time lines, et al.

Here’s the cranky old guy’s take on the matter. If you’re bogged down on where a particular action or policy fits in the nomenclature spectrum, you should not be making decisions about, or even debating, important matters of national interest. Maybe you need to get an MBA. Conversely, maybe your MBA has muddled your brain. Whatever the case, you’re part of the problem rather than a contributor to a solution. You should be selling toothpaste rather than dealing with life and death matters.

Noticeably absent from the Administration’s rhetoric has been any acceptance of responsibility. The President said his generals presented him options and he told them, “You choose.” The abandonment of the “stay the course” approach occurred because us citizens didn’t understand what it meant. In short, the groundwork is being laid to pin the blame for the likely failure in Iraq on anyone but the decision makers, the “deciders,” who got us into the mess.

DSH

SENATOR TWO-GUN: IT COULD BE WORSE

One of the criticisms Virginia’s Senator George Allen has had to endure the last couple of months is that he has yet to outgrow a pre-puberty infatuation with cowboys. In a state bordering the Atlantic Ocean, he romps around in cowboy hat and boots, apparently fantasying that he is riding the open range in search of lost doggies, or something. (That Virginians put up with this infantilism says something about how far they have fallen since the state’s glory days.)

But it could be worse. When the cranky old guy was a youngster, he too had an infatuation. It was with Indians, or Native Americans as one is suppose to say nowadays. He ran through the neighboring woods in nothing but a loincloth and moccasins, dodging snakes and catching poison ivy.

Now a loincloth is not a particularly restraining piece of clothing. It is just a rectangular bit of material that is centered in the crotch of the wearer. The front and back rise to a belt around the waist, and the ends hang over the belt. Vigorous, or even minor, activity tends to result in exposure of portions of the anatomy best kept unexposed.

As he grew older, the cranky old guy’s interest in the history and culture of Indians, or Native Americans, continued, but his need to play make-believe waned. Perhaps it was the loincloth. Or maybe the poison ivy.

Senator Allen’s childhood infatuation is still front and center. Many of his constituents might find it strange, even irritating, but it could be worse. Instead of periodically donning the regalia of the make-believe cowboy—the hat, the boots, the chaw, the big belt buckle, the string tie—the good Senator could inflict has enormous girth on us covered only by a loincloth. Even the Senator’s most loyal constituency—Southside Virginians—might draw the line at that spectacle.

DSH

US DISLOYAL APPEASERS

The latest Bush Administration effort to counter critics of its incompetence is to raise the specter of Hitler, fascism, and World War II. In a speech before the American Legion in Salt Lake City, Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld implied that critics of the Administration’s War on Terror, or War on Islamic Fascism, or War on Whatever, were like the appeasers of the 1930s who allowed Germany and Japan to become powerful enough to threaten the free nations of the world, or Western Civilization to use a now politically incorrect term.

An obvious point is that being critical of the Administration’s incompetence is certainly not the same thing as wanting to appease our enemies. Indeed, much of the criticism of the Administration rises from the belief that it is not countering our enemies very successfully. Sure, there have been no attacks on the American homeland since 9/11. But that would have likely been the case whoever was in charge. Does anyone honestly believe that the massive buildup in homeland security would not have occurred but for George, Dick, Don, and company? The real long-term battle for our security is being fought beyond our borders, and many Administration critics think this battle could be fought smarter, more efficiently, and more effectively, in spades.

Mr. Rumsfeld appears to think of the Bush Administration as the Winston Churchill of the 21st Century. Well, equating George, Dick, and Don with the likes of Churchill, Franklin Roosevelt, and George C. Marshall is a bit of a stretch. Indeed, if the likes of George, Dick, and Don had been in charge six or seven decades ago, we might now be saluting the Rising Sun with extended arms.

A real cynic might argue that what George, Dick, and Don want to do at this point is to get by the next two years with their policies intact. Then they can hand the mess off to someone else. They must realize by now that Iraq will be chaos for some years to come, chaos for which their bad decisions and poor implementation will be largely responsible. But if they can just hold the lid for two more years, they will be able to say when the crash comes, “If only you’d stayed the course, as we were doing.”

DSH

SENATOR PHONY

Lost in the brouhaha about Virginia Senator George Allen’s labeling of a native born Virginian as a “macaca” (say what?) is that fact that George himself is most certainly not a native born Virginian. Indeed, Senator George might be considered something that was once abhorrent to real Virginians: a carpetbagger.

Senator George is prone to wax lyrical about such things as Virginia values and Jeffersonian principles. In his “macaca” speech, he went on to talk about showing the “macaca” the real Virginia. If by real Virginia, he meant what sounded like a crowd of boisterous, at least slightly bigoted rednecks, then he did so.

But us true Virginians like to think there is more to our state than boisterous, bigoted rednecks. And many of us true Virginians have marveled at how a cowboy-boot-wearing native of California—the birthplace of Senator George—has so completely adopted the trappings of a Virginian, and even more surprisingly been accepted as a Virginian by so many of our fellow citizens. It’s certainly nothing wrong with an individual pursuing a political career in a state other than his or her birthplace. But the individual should have the humility and decency to not oversell his or her connections to the adopted state.

Which brings to mind another politician who has successfully distanced himself from his birthplace and background. Born to an old New England family that has a palatial summer estate in Maine, educated at Phillips Academy in Andover, Massachusetts, and Yale, George W. Bush has a goodly proportion of the population believing he is your basic Texas oilman and cowboy. His image is much of his appeal. Many of his supporters would no more vote for an individual who identified himself or herself as being from New England as they would vote for a, well, “macaca.” Yet they have no problem with a New Englander who has developed a Texas accent, cuts brush on a Texas ranch, and cultivates an air of anti-intellectualism

Is it just a Republican phenomenon to be taken in by image? Probably not, but at the moment the leading image politicians, most notably Senator George and President George, happen to be Republican. Maybe it is the nature of the image: Good Ol’ Boy. A sizeable segment of the population thinks of themselves as Good Ol’ Boys or the Gals of Good Ol’ Boys. So when a politician adopts the pose of a Good Ol’ Boy, that segment is sufficiently flattered to overlook the silver spoon in close proximity to the alleged Good Ol’ Boy’s mouth.

DSH

GEORGE, DICK, AND DON OF ARABIA

Okay, so maybe none of the top policy makers who have given us the Iraq quagmire and caused our standing to plummet across the Muslim world had much knowledge of that world, particularly its history, culture, and religion. Maybe any pertinent courses they took in their long ago college careers glossed over the field. Maybe their highest level of academic accomplishment on the topic was the proverbial “Gentleman’s C.” Maybe their reading habits didn’t include such esoteric matter.

But didn’t someone at least see the movie Lawrence of Arabia?

The dominant, pervasive role that tribal and ethnic disputes played in the lives of the folk that poor naïve Lawrence was attempting to educate about nation-building certainly must have left some impression. Any viewer of that movie surely had to come away with the thought that maybe the Middle East and New England-style town hall meetings lacked compatibility.

But apparently not. How else does one explain the actions and rhetoric that have probably enlarged many times over the ranks of those who would do us harm? How else does one comprehend the crusade to bring “freedom” and “democracy” to a part of the world that has known practically nothing but authoritarianism during its recorded history?

So now we have a world wrought by George, Dick, and Don of Arabia. It is a world in which our enemies are more numerous than they were five years ago, in which our military is dangerously over-extended, and in which we are fed such pabulums as the insurgency is in its last throes, Hezbollah has been defeated, and we will achieve victory in Iraq. It is world that caters to the unthinking. It is a world in which anti-intellectualism has triumphed.

The only victory that George, Dick, and Don of Arabia have thus far achieved is over any intelligent, objective analysis of the world situation. They brought myopic ideology to the table. They have lowered the level of debate to little more than slogans and buzz words. They have reached for the lowest common denominator among the American people, and they have found it.

In just over two years, the nation will have new leadership. The challenge for that leadership, whether it be Democrat or Republican, will be to make critical thinking again respectable. The challenge will be to base policy and actions on facts and not narrow ideology. The challenge will be to refocus the nation from the lowest common denominator to a more thinking part of the electorate. The challenge will be to return America to its better self.

DSH

"MY GOODNESS!"

The Secretary of Defense interrogates himself:

“Have mistakes been made in Iraq?”
“Gee wiz, certainly. Mistakes are inevitable in everything.”

“Did things go according to plan?”
“Golly, no. Everyone knows that the plan goes out the window when the shooting starts.”

“Were more troops needed?”
“Gee willikers, I gave the generals what they asked for.”

“But weren’t the generals intimidated by me?”
“Golly gee, how could anyone be intimidated by such a nice guy?”

“Shouldn’t we have foreseen the breakdown of law and order?”
“Holy moly, you can’t foresee everything.”

“Why have the optimistic predictions not come to pass?”
“Gol darn, I never made such predictions.”

“But didn’t someone say this would be an easy war?”
“Stacey wacey, it certainly wasn’t me.”

“Did I approve torturing detainees?”
“Lucy wucy, certainly not.”

“But didn’t I imply that the normal rules didn’t apply?”
“Hunky dory, I only said that I stood at my desk all day.”

“Did the President ask me whether or not we should go to war?”
“Foosy woosy, no.”

“Did I advise the President on whether we should go to war?”
“Lacey dacey, he didn’t ask.”

“Am I the best Secretary of Defense ever?”
“Tory dory, probably not.”

“But am I in the top two or three?”
“Funky wunky, quite possibly.”

DSH

PUDGY BOY TOUGH GUYS

The problem with American foreign policy in this century, including the nation’s misnamed war on terror (it’s actually a war against radical Islamic anti-modernists), has been that Pudgy Boy Tough Guys are calling the shots. What’s a Pudgy Boy Tough Guy? Simply someone who talks tough but who has rarely taken or delivered a punch, either physically or metaphorically. In short, someone who has little understanding of the difficulties in actually getting things done in this world.

Pudgy Boy Tough Guys have spent most of their lives talking for a living. They may have been politicians, such as Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld. They may have been CEOs of mature corporations, also such as Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld. CEOs primarily talk for a living? You bet, particularly if the organization is a mature one. Bill Gates built an organization from scratch, a real accomplishment. Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld stepped into the leadership of existing organizations, yelled at a few subordinates, made a few decisions from a selection of options handed to them by those trembling subordinates, and concluded to themselves that they were great leaders. CEOs are the most overly compensated, overly worshiped individuals in American capitalism. Mature corporations run themselves, sometimes successfully, sometimes not, and the CEO is little more than a busy bee figurehead.

Another Pudgy Boy Tough Guy is George W. Bush. He may look trim and fit but at heart he is a Pudgy Boy. Born to wealth (visit Kennebunkport sometime and gaze upon the Bush island estate; that ain’t no log cabin, folks), a business career greased by family and political connections, a political career similarly padded, George Bush learned tough talk without having to think much about the consequences of failure. He had a safety net—family, money, and alternative opportunities—that ordinary folk don’t have.

Advising George Bush may be the ultimate Pudgy Boy Tough Guy, Karl Rove.

And then there are the Pudgy Boy Tough Guy cheerleaders—the think tankers from the Heritage Foundation, the Cato Institute, and similar institutions and the sympathetic members of the media. Let’s name some names: neoconservatives in general, the Wall Street Journal editorial board (Paul Gigot, Daniel Henninger, and friends), Fox News, Sean Hannity, William Kristol, Fred Barnes, Brit Hume, Bill O’Reilly, Charles Krauthammer, Newt Gingrich, Kate O’Beirne, and Rush Limbaugh, for starters.

Religious leaders are also among the Pudgy Boy Tough Guy cheerleaders. Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson come readily to mind.

All of these individuals and groups make their living by talking, and their talk is tough. What they haven’t had to do much of is physically get something done, is implement the tough talk. They talk and someone else does the implementing. In particular, most of them have little first hand knowledge of the messiest, most difficult environment in which to get things done, the battlefield. And they have no recognition of or humility about their lack of experience.

Let’s bring the discussion down to the essence, remove it from esoteric level of, well, talk. If you were about to enter a badass biker bar, would you be comfortable with any of the aforementioned groups or individuals watching your back? Karl Rove? Fred Barnes? Dick Cheney? That’s right, they would be out of their element. Similarly, they are out of their element when they talk tough about the world’s problems without having much background in implementing tough talk. Yes, Dick Cheney was Secretary of Defense during the First Gulf War. But some guys with real world experience in implementing tough talk were around him: George Herbert Walker Bush, Colin Powell, and Norman Schwarzkopf.

Just because you have been a talker all your life doesn’t disqualify you from being a leader, from policy making or policy influencing positions. But you need to know what you don’t know. And the Pudgy Boy Tough Guys haven’t shown that they realize their limited life experiences have left major gaps in their knowledge.

This nation has for real tough guys, and gals. They, and the rest of us, deserve better leadership than has been provided in the first years of the 21st Century by the Pudgy Boy Tough Guys.

dsh

FLAG BURNING

The Fourth of July is upon us, so the Cranky Old Guy will give you the benefit of his view on the proposed Constitutional amendment to prohibit flag burning and other forms of flag desecration. Cranky’s view is simple: he thinks the proposal is ludicrous. The Constitution of the United States expresses fundamental principles. A flag burning amendment would trivialize it.

But that is the logical, rational argument. Now let’s go to a gut argument. The Cranky Old Guy doesn’t like the flag burning amendment because he is an American, and like most Americans he doesn’t like to be told what to do. You see, this is a nation that was born in rebellion. It’s in our genes. We don’t like authority.

Oh, we get told plenty what to do. And we usually do it. A long, long time ago, Cranky was in the Army. The Army told him what to do, and he did it. Cranky has had many jobs through the years. Many jobs means many bosses. Bosses told Cranky what to do, and he did it. Governments tell Cranky to pay taxes, to stop at stop signs, to do a thousand other things. For the most part, Cranky does them, as do most of his fellow citizens.

The reason Cranky and most of his fellow citizens do most of the things they are told is that a sensible reason usually exists to do those things. But what is the sensible reason not to desecrate a piece of cloth? That desecration would offend some people? Hey, if mere offensive conduct is grounds for legal prohibitions, Cranky has a whole list, starting with public use of cell phones and extending all the way to just being a general jerk.

Cranky is as patriotic as the next guy. He’s done his military service. He doesn’t like the wising off that use to take place, before 9/11, during the playing of the National Anthem. He gets a lump in his throat at Memorial Day concerts.

But this idea that he has to be commanded by the Constitution to treat the flag of his country a certain way is touching a raw nerve. Someone wants to require Cranky to do something, and there’s no sensible reason for the requirement. Deep within Cranky, a little spark of rebellion is beginning to smolder.

You see, Cranky is an American, and Americans don’t like to be told what to do.

DSH

BIRD FLU

So when is this bird flu gonna happen? Governments, the media, and elements of the medical community have had us in a semi-panic for more than a year now. But the pandemic, as it is currently being called, keeps refusing to materialize.

The cranky old guy has come to this conclusion: it ain’t gonna happen, at least in the form and manner of the predictions. After a lifetime of surprises and dashed expectations, the cranky old guy has arrived at this truism: things you expect to happen, don’t; and things you don’t expect to happen, do.

What purpose bird flu is serving is to provide fodder for slow news days. No bombings in Iraq today? No young blonde white girls gone missing? No member of the Bush Administration putting his or her foot in his or her mouth? No member of Congress caught in a scandal? No hurricane bearing down? No earthquake or tsunami devastating Indonesia? No update on the shrinking Antarctic ice cap? West Nile virus no longer interesting? No new whack job third world country about to get the bomb? Then let’s go to bird flu. Nothing to report, actually, just that it is on its way and when it arrives, civilization as we know it will be over. Come to think of it, that might not be such a bad result after all.

And what is the relationship between bird flu and mad cow disease? Is this the revenge of the food chain? The next thing you know, broccoli will be attacking Philadelphia.

In a recent report, the Bush Administration—the folks who brought you the Katrina response, who are monitoring your phone conversations, and who are doing such a great job bringing democracy to the Middle East—put forth some bird flu rules. When it happens, employers are to keep employees at least three feet apart. Now really, who gets within three feet of a co-worker anyway? Unless, of course, . . . oh well, you know.

No, the cranky old guy thinks bird flu is not in our future. But don’t feel deprived. You can be sure something nasty is looming just over the horizon. How about a blight that will destroy coffee crops worldwide? Imagine mornings without a Starbucks fix.

DSH

PAVE THE PIT

Every so often, the cranky old guy’s ‘hood, like probably most ‘hoods at one time or another, goes berserk. Currently, the berserkness concerns a location referred to as “The Pit.” The Pit is actually a small public park, maybe 30 by 50 yards (or 27.42 by 45.70 meters: we’re supposed to be adopting the metric system, folks). Some time back, the city, known lovingly as The People’s Republic of Alexandria, stocked it with toys, small play houses, and tricycles of various sorts. Users of the park added their own playthings to the wonderland.

Now the city, concerned about liability, is threatening to remove most of the items. This has aroused those who have come to view the use of the free stuff as the natural order of things.

The cranky old guy sympathizes with both sides in the matter, but he has concluded that some opponents of the removal have become a little overwrought. Much of the debate is taking place on a neighborhood chat site on that marvelous invention, the Internet. (Hey, this is on the Internet too, isn’t it?)

One commenter with an impressive signature block indicating an important-sounding position with an important-sounding company wondered how she was going to explain the absence of toys to her five-year old. Another complained about nannies having to wrestle both children and tricycles to the Pit. When someone suggested bringing the media in on the matter, a commenter said he felt violated by having the contents of the chat site exposed to wide-spread scrutiny. The word “whining” made a number of appearances.

The media did indeed enter the fracas. The Washington Post had a large article. The media attention touched on another issue in the chat site. The upscale neighborhood has been experiencing something of a crime wave, mostly burglaries and vandalism. A debate had been underway about whether media attention should be sought for the crime wave, with some fearing a negative impact on property values. (The cranky old guy’s attitude is that anything bringing inflated property values, and outrageous real estate taxes, down can’t be all bad.) Now the subjects of media attention, petty crime, and toys in the Pit have become hopelessly intertwined.

The cranky old guy thinks that the Pit is perhaps more of a problem than it is worth. Some years back, the issue at the Pit was basketball. There were basketball nets, and a decidedly riff raffian group had taken to gathering there on weekends. Beer and strange types of cigarettes were in abundance. After a lengthy debate within the neighborhood, the city took down the basketball facilities.

Now there are the toys. And the most divisive issue regarding the Pit is lurking just over the horizon. Every Christmas season, the Pit has a manger scene and a neighborhood caroling session. It can’t be too long before some perceptive zealot grabs this First Amendment situation. In other words, the Pit is just one ACLU-hiccup away from a Constitutional crisis.

So the cranky old guy says, Pave the Pit. The place has room for a plethora of townhouses. Surely some kind-hearted developer can be found who will take the property off the city’s hands. And just maybe, more taxpayers will result in slower growth of real estate taxes. (Okay, the cranky old guy admits that‘s a long shot.)

CRANKY'S SCHOLARSHIP

The world keeps coming up with new ways to tell the Cranky Old Guy that he is coming down the stretch. Such things as AARP membership applications, iPods, and ever slower running times are just a few of the ways one message is being pounded home: “Your time is running out, buddy.”

Now another set of voices has begun to enhance the chorus. The old alma maters are sending communications about such things as “estate gifts” and “legacy bequests.” A recent communication from one alma mater ask the Cranky Old Guy if he wanted information about: gifts of real estate; charitable remainder trusts; gift annuities; gifts through wills and living trusts; gifts of life insurance; and gifts of retirement plans. Gifts, gifts, gifts.

The communication said a Cornerstone Society of donors who have made planned gifts to the school had been set up. Seems like Gravestone Society would be a more appropriate term.

Such entreaties for the Cranky Old Guy’s money are premised on a falsehood: that the Cranky Old Guy has money. Some of his contemporaries went on to fame and fortune. Cranky went on to a modest pension that local real estate taxes are devouring.

Still, Cranky is moved by the need to buttress the endowment of his rapacious alma mater, who incidentally can’t seem to produce any sort of sports winner that Cranky can identify with. And Cranky likes the thought of leaving something behind with his name on it.

So Cranky is contemplating “Cranky’s Scholarship.” Ideally, the scholarship should go to an individual similar to the young Cranky. In other words, the individual should have a fondness for lower intensity alcohol—that is, beer—an aversion to strenuous academic challenges, an intense but largely unrequited interest in the opposite sex (okay, to be politically correct, in any sex), and a deep, profound disrespect for any type of authority.

The problem with Cranky’s Scholarship is that it won’t be very lucrative. About the only spare wealth Cranky has is around $600 in aging U.S. Government bonds that he was “encouraged” to buy backed when he worked for the bureaucracy (“Our office has to have 100 percent participation; you don’t want to be the lone holdout, do you?”). But the alma mater says every little bit helps, so how do you guys want it: a charitable remainder trust, an annuity, outright? And Cranky does get a tax break, right?

DSH

SECDEF AS CEO? BAD MODEL

In the matter of the Generals versus Donald Rumsfeld, one of the defenses offered on behalf of Mr. Rumsfeld is that he is simply operating as a tough CEO, sharply challenging subordinates and closely questioning the accepted way of doing things. The assumption behind this defense is that the CEO model is an appropriate one for the Secretary of Defense, often referred to by Pentagon insiders as the SECDEF.

But is the CEO model an appropriate one for the SECDEF? After all, having a CEO, a Chief Executive Officer, does not guarantee a company success. Enron had a CEO. General Motors has a CEO. Yet the former ended up in bankruptcy and the latter is desperately trying to avoid that fate. Companies with CEOs fail every year. And in many cases, the argument can be made that the CEOs bear a large share of the responsibility.

The CEO model might well be one of those American inventions that has morphed to the negative side of the social, economic, and political ledger. At the extreme, or maybe not so extreme, the CEO has become a grossly overcompensated prima donna who rules by fear and fiat. Subordinates are not rewarded for individual initiative and intellectual vigor but for their ability to anticipate the thinking and wishes of the great man or woman. If the thinking and wishes of the great man or woman are flawed, the prevailing culture of group think prevents corrective action, or even hinders realization that a problem exists.

Yet the CEO model does not always punish CEO failure. A company can be less than successful or even fail, but the CEO does not necessarily go down with the ship. The upper echelons of the American corporate world constitute an elite club that can be very protective of its members. Much can be forgiven, including such minor matters as an overbearing, arrogant attitude toward subordinates.

So what happens when the CEO model is transported to the public sector, particularly to a monstrous entity, the Department of Defense, with a fundamental overall mission—the protection of the nation—that requires the determination of a number of difficult-to-quantify implementing efforts?

Compared to the task of national defense, the task of business is simplicity personified. In business, success is measured by profits. And many times, profits are created or enhanced by cutting costs. The cutting of costs can be a cold-hearted endeavor. Attention to detail and the ability to blot out from one’s mind the effects on employees are often attributes of the successful cost cutter.

In the struggle for success in the private sector, in the search for profits, what businesses do is provide products and services. A pill, a cell phone, a will, a tank of gas, a television program, an advertisement: these are things people or companies pay for.

Donald Rumsfeld has led a varied life, holding high positions in both the public and private sectors. In the private sector, he has been CEO of a pharmaceutical company, G.D. Searle and Company, and a technology company, General Instrument Corporation. In both instances, his companies were considered, in terms of profits, successful. His companies provided goods or services that people paid for.

As a wartime Secretary of Defense, Rumsfeld has faced a much more daunting task than profitably providing a good or service. Yet by many accounts, he has brought a profitability mindset to the effort. Tremendously complicating the situation is the type of subordinate he has encountered in the Defense Department.

A stereotype exits of a military man or woman who lacks the ability or willingness to think independently. The stereotype exists by exception only. The upper reaches of the military have a high percentage of individuals with intelligence, advanced education, initiative, and a record of accomplishment. Contributing to the intellectual ferment is the constant movement of individuals from assignment to assignment. The military is certainly not perfect, but compared with many mature companies in corporate America, and with many government agencies, it is a place of energy and enthusiasm.

If Rumsfeld did indeed bring the CEO model to the job of Secretary of Defense, the events of September 11, 2001, made him a man in the wrong place at the wrong time. No longer was he merely presiding over reorganizations or transformations. No longer was cost-cutting the main event. No longer was the interaction with and treatment of subordinates a minor matter. No longer was understanding there were things he did not know unimportant.

Four decades ago, another star of corporate America, Robert McNamara, slid into one of the most challenging and frightening of positions: being a wartime leader in a prolonged war. He also was not successful. He also did not appear to understand there were things he did not know. And he also seemed to approach the messy, nasty business of war as simple matter analogous to selling, say, toothpaste.

In peacetime, when the focuses are on controlling costs, on budgetary procedures, on PowerPoint presentations, on proper protocol, the CEO model for the Secretary of Defense might be acceptable. In wartime, the nation needs better.

DSH

REPUBLICANS THINK I'M STUPID (THEY'RE PROBABLY RIGHT)

Political fund raising solicitations cater to the lowest common denominator, a fact with which everyone other than those in the lowest common denominator will likely agree. Recently, however, the cranky old guy received a solicitation that might give pause to even the lowest common denominator.

The solicitation was from the Republican side of the aisle, but Democrats should not feel too superior: their communications certainly are not aimed at rocket scientists. Still, this particular Republican effort sets a new low.

North Carolina Senator Elizabeth Dole, a graduate of Duke University and Harvard Law School, was, in her capacity as Chair of the National Republican Senatorial Committee, the signatory of the covering letter. The cranky old guy hopes her signature was nominal only and not indicative of any actual awareness of the contents of the solicitation. If she was aware of how low her appeal was aimed, well, the nation has a sorrier passel of leaders than even the cranky old guy believes.

The cranky old guy will not dissect the solicitation point-by-point. Life is too short. He will just hit the highlights, saving the totally outrageous item, the item that aims below the lowest common denominator, for last.

A characteristic of low-life solicitations, both political and otherwise, is an official, government-like look. The theory apparently is that the more the thing looks an official communiqué from the government, the greater the response from the more trusting members of the populace. Aunt Maude sees the official-looking envelop and thinks, “Oh, the government needs my help.” The fact that the more trusting members of the populace are likely to be old, decrepit, and financially strapped doesn’t seem to bother too many consciences.

Senator Dole’s solicitation certainly looks official. In the upper left hand corner is an official-looking American eagle. In white letters over a black bar above the address window is “U.S. INDIVIDUAL RESIDENT.” In the bottom left hand corner is “Form 1163 (2006) Return Enclosed.” Aunt Maude’s hands are already shaking.

Stamped in red on the upper right hand side of the covering letter is the imposing label “Registration # 54.93.252.” The letter starts off: “Your immediate attention is required on a confidential and time-sensitive matter.” And then, “Enclosed, please find your official SURVEY DOCUMENT—REGISTERED in your name only—assigned to you as a REPRESENTATIVE of ALL REPUBLICANS living in your voting district.” By now, Aunt Maude is in a sweat with knees trembling and heart pounding.

Near the end of the letter is the slightly sinister warning: “DO NOT DESTROY YOUR SURVEY! The enclosed Republican Leadership Survey is an OFFICIAL REPUBLICAN PARTY DOCUMENT. Your Survey is REGISTERED IN YOUR NAME ONLY and MUST BE ACCOUNTED FOR upon completion of this project.” Aunt Maude is envisioning time in the slammer.

The letter continues in similar pleading, cajoling, and threatening veins for several pages. Gradually, the cause of the nation’s troubles and the source of dear President Bush’s difficulties become clear: liberal Democrats. Aunt Maude had no idea.

The survey document has 28 questions ranging from the innocuous “Do you think we should fix the federal tax code so that it is simpler and fairer?” ( go ahead Maude, check no) to the real gist of the matter: “Will you help continue to build a strong foundation of Republican grassroots support for President Bush and his agenda by making a generous contribution to the NRSC today?”

And then comes the insult to the intellect of even the lowest common denominator. Aunt Maude has three choices. She can check YES!, she wants to help defend the Republican Senate Majority in an amount of $500, or several lesser alternatives. She can check No, she does not wish to participate in “this vital Republican Senate Leadership Survey,” but she does want to give a generous donation of $500, or several lesser alternatives, to “help build grassroots support for President Bush and his agenda."

Or she can claim membership in the group below the lowest common denominator by checking No: “I do not wish to participate in the Survey, nor do I wish to make a donation to help the Republican Party. I am returning my Survey Document, along with a contribution of $11 to help cover the cost of tabulating and redistributing my Survey.”

Two questions. First, how was the odd figure of $11 determined? Second, Aunt Maude, you’re really not gonna send them $11, are you?

DSH

EDUCATION

The nation’s education system is in crisis. Tests of various sort show that our kids are dumber than kids in other countries, dumber than their dumb parents, just plain dumber. Schools don’t teach what is needed for a high-tech 21st Century environment. It’s all going downhill.

Well, the cranky old guy doesn’t buy it. For more than half a century, he has been hearing that the education system is failing. His first remembrance of the crisis goes back to the ‘50s when something called Sputnik started circling the earth. Many of you youngsters are probably unfamiliar with Sputnik and a lot of accompanying stuff, such as the Cold War, a world not encircled by man-made satellites, and the cranky old guy is not in the mood to bring you up-to-date. (Cranky is peeved about an article in the March 12 edition of the Washington Post about the National Security Council being staffed by a bunch of youngsters whose knowledge of history is about nil; no wonder they are doing such a lousy job of running the world.)

Anyway, the nation’s reaction to the launching of the first earth satellite by the nation’s then mortal enemy—the USSR—was panic about the educational system. It had to be going to hell. Otherwise, how could the Russkies have beaten us into space?

And we have been bemoaning our educational system ever since. Never mind that we put men on the moon and robots on Mars, that we have created a society based on the technology of computers, that we have mapped the human genome, that we won the previously mentioned Cold War. None of it matters because the nation’s educational system is at death’s door.

In the cranky old guy’s view, the main thing wrong with the educational system is the people who have created professions for themselves by advocating repairs, and the politicians who cater to them, particularly those politicians who barely managed a gentleman’s C themselves.

If you want dumb, one of the dumber educational ideas in recent decades is national testing and its policy implementation, No Child Left Behind. Hey, some children are going to be left behind. We may have all been created legally and morally equal, but we sure weren’t all created economically and intellectually equal. For various reasons, pockets of inequity exist in our society. Penalizing those pockets by holding them to some arbitrary national standard doesn’t, in the cranky old guy’s view, do much more than, well, penalize those pockets. Yes, try to improve the performance of the underperforming. But use carrots, not the stick. Punishing whole states, communities, and schools because individual students don’t measure up makes sense only if you get your jollies from inflicting punishment.

One last thing. In the cranky old guy’s locale, the big thing is AP—Advance Placement—courses. They are such a big thing that some Einsteins want everyone to take AP courses. The cranky old guy recently learned that so-called honor’s courses are not really honor’s courses because AP courses are considered higher on the totem pole. It’s become sort of like Garrison Keillor’s world where every kid is above average.

Well, the cranky old guy thinks some differentiation is needed. So he proposes another layer of courses: SAP, or Super Advance Placement. Just plain courses will no longer exist. Most kids will be in AP courses, and the others, the super few, will be SAPs.

Any spelling, grammatical, or factual errors in this piece are due to the fact that the cranky old guy is dumber than dirt.

DSH

COMMERCIALS

Is the cranky old guy the only TV watcher in America who doesn’t get that Volkswagen ad with the mumbling little statute, indeed is considerably annoyed by said ad? Maybe the mumbling is understandable to quicker minds and sharper ears. Maybe the little grump is some pop cultural icon that has totally avoided the cranky old guy’s space.

Or maybe the little grump is a movie character from some recent movie. After all, the cranky old guy hasn’t been to a movie theater in decades. He stopped going when the audience started conversing with the screen. Besides, wait long enough and a movie comes to you.

But back to the ad. The cranky old guy finds it beyond irritating. What’s the message? VW drivers are wing nuts who have conversations with small inarticulate idols from some cult religion?

Another irritating ad is that Burger King thing from the Super Bowl, the one in which females dressed as lettuce, tomatoes, buns, and perhaps condiments combine to make a Whopper. Sorry, but the cranky old guy found it vaguely nauseating. If there were supposed to be sexual overtones, they completely escaped this refugee from carnal athletics.

The cranky old guy is not alone in panning the Burger King effort. Not much good has been said about it. But he seems to be in the distinct minority regarding the magic refrigerator, the one attached to the revolving wall so a dude can keep his beer to himself by quickly rotating the fridge into the adjacent room where a tribe of cretins worship it.

What the cranky old guy has problems with is the obvious question of what the dude does when his fridge rotates back empty. This would only have to happen once for the dude to realize that his beer-hiding operation has a problem. Such an obvious flaw prevents the cranky old guy from doing much more with this commercial than scratching his head.

A good portion of the problem is undoubtedly generational. Maybe the cranky old guy just misses the commercials of simpler times. Remember Joe Izuzu? Now that was funny, and the premise didn’t leave you with a headache.

DSH

HUNTING WITH DICK

In recognition of your longtime, unwavering, and unquestioning loyalty to the Administration of George W. Bush, you are invited to a weekend of quail-slaughtering and liberal-bashing with the Vice President of the United States, the Honorable Richard B. Cheney. It is suggested that in addition to your usual hunting equipment, you bring a suit of full body armor, preferably Kevlar, and a NASCAR-style, 360-degree helmet with a reinforced protective eye piece.

Hunting etiquette, and self-preservation, require you to position yourself to the rear of the Vice President, whose Secret Service code name is “Shoot First.” Since the Vice President is capable of sudden turning moves, you must be alert and nimble to maintain the rearward position. If you do find yourself facing the business end of a 28-gauge, dropping quickly to the ground will increase your chances of continuing to be a donor to the Republican Party.

Although this excursion entails little real risk, you might want to be sure your affairs are in order. And to avoid the monetary hardship that the Party would sustain in the remote event of your untimely demise, you should consider a bequest to the Party of, say, half of your estate. A bequest of this amount would entitle you to membership in the “They Gave Their All Club.”

If you are unable to take advantage of this invitation, you may want to consider an alternative, although considerably more risky, honor: a week-end clearing brush with the President. You would have to provide your own chainsaw.

DSH

LEAVES (FROM TREES) REVISITED

The residents of Alexandria—Virginia, that is—will soon learn that questioning authority has consequences. The questioning in question concerns the debacle that was the leaf collection—or more accurately wasn’t the leaf collection—over the last few months. Many residents have vehemently and exuberantly expressed their displeasure to city officials and city councilpersons.

Well, revenge is in the air. A memorandum submitted to the mayor and other elected officials by the Director, T&ES (the cranky old guy hasn’t a clue as to what the acronym stands for, and is too lazy to investigate), indicates that one of the reforms being considered is the “Arlington County Bag system.” The system would be used in “heavily treed neighborhoods.” Incidentally, the Director, T&ES, recently moved out of one especially “heavily treed neighborhood.” Nothing like a little inside knowledge to get ahead of the curve

This is scary. The only place in the State of Virginia more radically left wing than the Peoples Republic of Alexandria is the Socialist Commune of Arlington. Something with the moniker “Arlington County Bag system” is likely to involve levels of cooperative effort, government intrusion, and peer pressure far beyond what an individualistic capitalist citizen of these United States should have to suffer. Indeed, in some Alexandria neighborhoods, peer pressure from overbearing neighbors is already out of control.

The cranky old guy couldn’t find out much about the “Arlington County Bag system.” It appears to involve biodegradable (of course) bags that citizens have to pick up from central facilities. The cranky old guy wouldn’t be surprised if leaves had to be sorted by such criteria as type of tree and age.

From the deep, dark recesses of his memory, the cranky old guy has resurrected another solution. Back before biodegradable bags, leaf trucks, central refuse facilities, and semi-communist governments on the North American mainland, there was simply fire. Rake leaves into a pile, strike a match, and enjoy one of the greatest smells ever: burning leaves. Better still, don’t even bother to rake. Just light the ground.

But alas and alack, such pleasures are no longer permitted. So my fellow Alexandrians, prepare for the future. The “Arlington County Bag system” is on the way. Undoubtedly, it will require the imposition of higher real estate taxes. After all, biodegradable bags don’t come cheap.

DSH

GENERATION GAP

A while back, the cranky old guy and his son-in-law—all things considered, not a bad sort—got into a discussion about music. The son-in-law—let’s call him “Ben”—waxed lovingly and nostalgic about the music of the ‘80s. The cranky old guy, a product of the ‘60s, asked, “What, the ‘80s had music?”

So for Christmas, Ben gave the cranky old guy a CD of ‘80s music. The CD—incidentally, the cranky old guy still thinks of CDs as some newfangled invention—had 18 songs, assuming one defines the term “songs” loosely. The cranky old guy vaguely recognized several names: Hall & Oates, Duran Duran (because it (he?) sounds like a brand of paint), and Pat Benatar. As for the rest, for all the cranky old guy knows they could have been Australian football teams.

The song titles were totally unknown. “Would I Lie To You,” “Maneater,” “Rio,” “The Safety Dance,” and so on. Playing the songs was no help. None aroused even an iota of recognition.

So you ask incredulously, what was the cranky old guy doing in the ‘80s? Well, he obviously wasn’t listening to then contemporary radio stations. The ‘80s were when the cranky old guy finally discovered the music of his generation, the music of the ‘60s. The ‘80s were the heyday of the oldies stations playing the music of the ‘60s. During the ‘60s, music was just background noise for many youth. The cranky old guy himself could have named only two sources of songs: Elvis and the Beatles, and the King of course was left over from the ‘50s. But in the ‘80s on the oldies stations, the cranky old guy finally heard the anthems of his generation.

And his conclusion after listening to the ‘80s CD several times? The cranky old guy thinks he’s discovered the reason country music became so widespread during the decade.

Every generation is entitled to its own music. If the generation of the ‘80s is fortunate, maybe its music is still to come.

DSH

THE ASSAULT

The cranky old guy’s street came under assault today. Two front-loaders, a convoy of dump trucks, assorted support vehicles, a crew numbering in the double digits, and multiple supervisors descended. Usually a force of this size and complexity indicates a water main break or a major street repair. So what was this army after?

Leaves.

That’s right, leaves. Like from trees. For a number of weeks, the leaves had been in the gutters on the edge of the street, raked and dumped there by residents as they had been accustomed to do for many years. And for many years, the city leaf truck—a truck with a big vacuum nozzle—had, with a crew of two, swept the street clean, usually by mid-December.

But this year was different. One or two early leaf runs had occurred by the latter part of November. But the expected final run, the big run, did not come. Mid-December came and went. Christmas came and went. New Years came and went. The leaves remained.

Maybe the residents of our fair city haven’t been paying enough taxes. Maybe this was cosmic punishment for some unknown offense. Maybe the city authorities just forgot. But whatever the reason, leaves were clogging the street, occupying parking spots, reducing the travel lane to a narrow canyon between towering walls of decomposing detritus.

But today we finally saw our city government in action, in spades. The assault force—the front-loaders, the dump trucks, the support vehicles, the crew and supervisors—arrived and attacked. One front-loader pushed leaves into the other front-loader, which dumped the leaves into a dump truck. As one truck was filled and pulled away, another moved into place. A few of the crew participated in the action. Many helped the supervisors supervise. A lengthy lunch break was taken.

Finally, five hours after commencing, the assault force moved to another street. Many leaves remained. After all, picking up leaves with a front-loader is an imprecise endeavor at best.

And the leaf truck? The truck that formerly swept the street bare in 45 minutes, with a crew of two? It was nowhere to be seen.

DSH

VICTORY IN IRAQ

Reportedly relying on the advice of some pointy-headed academic from Duke University, the Bush Administration has decided that continuously throwing the word “Victory” at the American people will halt their eroding support for the endeavor in Iraq. The contention, based on the pointy-head’s research, is that Americans have a much higher tolerance for casualties in a war if they think victory is an achievable goal. Duh.

The first point to note is that for a long time Republicans made political hay out of their characterization of Democrats as the party of pointy-headed academics. Just goes to show that pointy-heads range the ideological spectrum.

But is continually screeching “victory” at the American people going to be enough? After all, the Bushies are being very careful not to define with any precision what “victory” in Iraq will consist of. It certainly won’t be anything as well defined as the signing of surrender papers on the deck of the battleship Missouri in Tokyo Bay.

Well, this is the genius of the strategy, and here the Bush Administration may be borrowing an idea from a deceased U.S. Senator who was Republican but today would most likely be uncomfortable with the party’s ideological absolutism. As the American people were becoming increasingly disenchanted with the Vietnam War, Senator George Aiken of Vermont suggested that we simply declare victory and leave.

The cranky old guy predicts that something along the lines of Senator Aiken’s approach is in the works. The push following the elections will be to form a government. The U.S. effort will be to get the participants to agree on anything that resembles an in-charge body. The establishment of that body will be, if not the full “victory” itself, at least an important component of it. We might even have another carrier landing, with a “VICTORY” banner instead of a “MISSION ACCOMPLISHED” banner. And troops will be coming home, probably not all of them but a significant number, maybe even to a parade down 5th or on Constitution Avenue.

But Iraq will not resemble a tolerant peaceful democracy anytime soon. If “victory” is just a step in a long-term journey, then “victory” is achievable. By implicitly raising the specter of historical victories, however, the Bushies are setting the nation up for another letdown, and themselves for the charge of once again over-stating and over-promising.

Incidentally, the President is receiving kudos for finally admitting to a few mistakes. The cranky old guy thinks these admissions are commendable. But they are very little and very late. The cranky old guy wants to hear an explicit admission about the pre-eminent mistake: entering Iraq with far too few troops to secure the country. The cranky old guy doesn’t want to hear any more statements to the effect that “I gave the generals what they asked for.” Former Army Chief of Staff Eric Shinseki certainly didn’t get the troops he asked for. The generals were political enough to hear the underlying, unstated message: “don’t ask for much.”

DSH

IRAQ AND VIETNAM, PART II

America’s involvement in Iraq today and in Vietnam four or so decades ago have similarities, principal ones being the misjudgments and even incompetence of the advisors and decision-makers in the White House and in the upper levels of the Defense Department. But do those similarities mandate that the outcome in Iraq will be similar to the outcome in Vietnam?

No. Significant differences exist between the two situations, differences that will likely override the common characteristic of high-level ineptness. Although in both situations America and its local ally faced an insurgency, in Vietnam they also faced a regular, main-force army, the North Vietnamese Army. That army was the ultimate victor, and then only because, after fifteen or so years of conflict, America got tired, picked up its marbles, and went home. Indeed, in Vietnam, the insurgency was, by the early 1970s, a relatively minor annoyance, just a shadow of what it had been.

In Iraq, America faces no main-force army. Its foes are an insurgency and, on a wider scope, an anti-modern, nihilistic, Islamic radicalism. America’s task is complicated by its own less-than-impressive leadership, but the quality of its soldiers and diplomats on the ground may prove sufficient to offset the ineptness from above. If America were to pick up its marbles and go home, as it did in Vietnam, no modern military force is standing in the wings to fill the vacuum.

What is standing in the wings is most likely chaos. But a degree of chaos has been and is likely to remain a part of the Middle Eastern scene no matter what America does. Thus the challenge facing America is to find strategies that mitigate the chaos, that further the struggle against the real foe—which is anti-modern, nihilistic, Islamic radicalism—and that produce in Iraq itself a modicum of stability garnished with sprigs of democracy and tolerance. An ingredient of such strategies is certainly a lower profile in Iraq and a willingness to let Iraqis work out there own future, which may involve a dissolution into two or more semi-hostile semi-nations.

DSH

IRAQ AND VIETNAM

Comparisons between America’s involvement in Iraq today and America’s involvement in Vietnam four decades or so ago (has it really been that long?) are popular. Some of the comparisons are compelling, others strained. Here are three that are compelling, at least to this cranky old guy.

First, in both instances the United States attempted to control a far corner of the planet with a relatively small number of troops. Superior technology was supposed to offset the lack of manpower. It ultimately didn’t in Vietnam, and the experience thus far in Iraq has not met the initial optimistic expectations of those at the top of the command structure.

Which leads to the second similarity between the two conflicts: the top of the command structure, specifically the policy makers and implementers in the White Houses and upper reaches of the Defense Departments of Lyndon Johnson and George W. Bush. In both instances, those recommending and making policy seemed guided as much by hope for a successful outcome as by realistic, in-depth, hard-eyed, historically knowledgeable calculations of the likely costs and potential benefits. In both instances, the Department of Defense was led by a successful titan of the corporate world, an arrogant, number-crunching, efficiency expert who proved to have little understanding of the messy, nasty, brutal, dehumanizing nature of war.

And for the third similarity, in neither instance was there a universal belief that the nation was fighting for its immediate survival, as in World War II. Thus the national leadership was, and is, in a weak position to defend setbacks, apparent lack of progress, and misjudgments and mistakes that cost the lives of American soldiers. In the dark early days of World War II, Winston Churchill rallied the British people with words such as:

We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender. . . .

And on another occasion:

[T]he Battle of Britain is about to begin. Upon this battle depends the survival of Christian civilisation. Upon it depends our own British life, and the long continuity of our institutions and Empire. The whole fury and might of the enemy must very soon be turned on us. . . . Let us therefore brace ourselves to our duty, and so bear ourselves that, if the British Empire and its Commonwealth last for a thousand years, men will still say: “This was their finest hour.”

The limited nature of their wars and the disagreements about the necessity of those wars to the survival of the nation precluded Presidents Johnson or Bush from such stirring appeals, even assuming such appeals were within their capabilities, or more accurately the capabilities of their speechwriters. Instead, rather than talking bluntly to the American people about the conflicts, rather than admitting setbacks and mistakes, all too often the motivational messages from the Johnson and Bush White Houses were, and are, when not outright distortions, little more than pabulum, centered on such phrases as “the light at the end of the tunnel,” we are “making progress,” we must “stay the course,” and the insurgency is in its “last throes.” Moreover, the messages were then and are now based on dubious domino theories: if we don’t stop the commies in Vietnam, all Southeast Asia will fall under the hammer and sickle; if we don’t stop the terrorists in Iraq, all Islam will fall under their sway.

Here endth the lesson.

DSH

VOTING

Over the past few days, the Cranky Old Guy has told the following individuals to, in the immortal words of David Letterman, “Bite Me”: President George W. Bush, Senator George Allen; Congressman Tom Davis; some carpet-bagging Yankee name of Rudy Giuliani, and Sheriff Jim Dunning.

The encounters were not as satisfying as might be expected, however. The individuals had no reaction to the request. Indeed, each kept right on talking in what turned out to be a completely one-sided telephone conversation. Could it be that the Cranky Old Guy was not receiving a call from a real live person?

Really, is this sort of political advertising effective? In the Cranky Old Guy’s world, voting in response to a taped telephone conversation would be grounds for having one’s vote discounted. Voting in two different elections in response to taped calls would put you in the ranks of felons: you loose the right to vote. You are below the lowest common denominator.

Other actions that should result in a loss of the right to vote:

You actually belief a politician’s campaign promises.

You shake a candidate’s hand and get giddy.

You base your vote on lapel pins.

Negative political advertising makes you feel good.

You don’t think there is such a thing as negative political advertising.


dsh

Republicans And Democrats

Republicans come in two kinds: Money Republicans and Chump Republicans. Money Republicans, also known as 19th Hole Republicans for their propensity to arrive at simplistic solutions to the world’s complex problems over alcohol after 18 holes, are in turn of two varieties: Wall Street and Main Street. The Wall Streeters are the big boys, the ones with the real bucks. The Main Streeters are your local movers and shakers, the country club crowd. A common characteristic of both varieties is an inability to comprehend that everybody doesn’t have money.

Chump Republicans are ordinary folk who have somehow come to believe that they share common values with the Money Republicans. In some cases those values are known as family values. Many sincere Christians, overlooking the general moral and ethical sordidness of a good portion of Money Republicans, come to the Republican Party through this route. In other cases, the perceived shared value is simply a dislike of authority, and hence government, in general. But what this group of Chump Republicans misses is that the Money Republicans are not necessarily anti-government, just anti-any government they do not control. For still another group of Chump Republicans, the value shared with the Money Republicans is an abhorrence of the chaotic nature of the alternative, the Democratic Party.

And like the Republican Party, the Democratic Party also comes in two varieties: Money Democrats and Chump Democrats. Money Democrats, also called Victim Democrats and Whinny Democrats, and more accurately called Lack-of-Money Democrats, don’t have all the money they figure they’re entitled. The reason for the lack of money may be race, geography, occupation, or simply inadequate initiative. Whatever the reason, Money Democrats believe they got shafted in some way, shape, or form and want government to do something about it.

Chump Democrats have over-sized hearts and want to help the Lack-of-Money Democrats. The desire to help is unclouded by the question of whether or not a particular group of Lack-of-Money Democrats have a legitimate beef.

DSH

Wahoo Spin Artists

This commentary is dedicated to all true blue (and orange) Wahoo Cavalier U of VA football fans - both of you. Yes, it was another sad weekend when the highly touted home team got their collective butt kicked by an unranked and pretty much worthless conference rival that is coached by a happy fat guy who has no business running any team higher than division one A high school league (Yes, I mean the Terps).

But the phenomenon that is really of interest is the clever manner in which the good folks in C’ville are able, year after year after year, to spin an enormous amount of pre-season hype that convinces the national pollsters that the Wahoos are really top ten (or at least top twenty) material. Top fifty, certainly. But the ‘Hoos have never completed a full season that would justify the hype that constantly projects them into the ranks of the really big collegiate football powerhouses.

Yet there is real irony here because Mr. J’s beloved “academical village” (as they call it in Hook-ville) does not have a school or college of communications or media relations. You would think that with the ability that the athletic department has of deluding all the football polling organizations into believing that this is a top ten program that students wanting to study public relations would be lining up to study with such real pros.

And speaking of the media, I hope that all of you will join the Cranky Old Guys in protesting the coverage (or rather, lack of coverage) that the blue-and-orange gets form The Washington Post. Plenty of ink to spill on the Terps and Hokies, but the only front page (A-1) banner headlines ever give to the ‘Hoos is when they lose - never when they win. And why does the Post assign a full-time staff member to cover the Terps and Hokies but uses a stringer for the Cavs? This biased policy has been in effect for many years and is an affront to everyone who has sung a druken chorus or two of "The Good Old Song."

But enough of this whining. Let’s focus on the things that really matter in the academic world - such as the new Wahoo marching band in full uniform with plumes in their hats and all sorts of neat stuff. Yeah, that’s what it’s all about!

JBY

ARMY TEN MILER

Today, the terrorists won, at least if winning is described as getting us to significantly change our routine. In response to a suspicious package sighting shortly after the start of the Army Ten Miler in Arlington, Va., and Washington, D.C., the 20,000 runners were diverted from the planned course at the 7-mile mark. They ended up running approximately 11 miles in what is being described as a “fun run.”

The sighting of the suspicious package was by a unit of a local police organization, described in some accounts as the harbor police. The sighting occurred just shortly after the start of the race. The location of the package was reported to be under the Fourteenth Street bridge. The bridge was on the last leg of the course.

If a mere report of a suspicious package is enough to shut down a race, perhaps the time has come to end mass public races. The Army Ten Miler, the Marine Corps Marathon, the New York Marathon, and many others attract thousands of participants and consequently are in theory desirable terrorist targets. And if mass public races continue, inevitably the day will come when one is the subject of a terrorist attack.

But just about any public gathering is the possible subject of a terrorist attack, so not venturing from one’s home would seem to be the only real solution.

Perhaps in the days ahead we will be given more details on the “suspicious package.” The cranky old guy’s thought is that it had better be a darn big suspicious package. It was apparently under the bridge. Therefore, to injure runners, it would have to bring down the bridge. A suspicious package this size is no longer a package.

For a mere “package,” this is how the cranky old guy would have handled the situation if he were the race director. As runners approached the bridge, someone with a bull horn would yell: “There may be a bomb under the bridge, so proceed at your own risk. If you do proceed, be best advised to move quickly.” Okay, so maybe that’s why no one has asked the cranky old guy to be a race director.

Seriously though, the cranky old guy thinks that someone may have overreacted in this instance. In these times, mass races entail a risk of mass casualties. If mass races are to continue, both the participants and the sponsors and conductors have to accept these risks. And in securing the course to the best of their ability, the sponsors and conductors need to do a more thorough job than what seems to have been a last minute inspection.

A long, long time ago in a place far, far away, the cranky old guy was a military law enforcement officer in an environment where suspicious packages were a dime a dozen. Infrequently, a suspicious package report turned out to be legitimate. So the cranky old guy is not unmindful of the dangers of suspicious packages and the need for care and vigilance. But dagnabit, he was having a good race.

DSH

COMPUTER STUFF

One of the cranky old guys was an English major. The other cranky old guy recently went back to school and got a B.S. in Electrical Engineering. So who is the computer expert?

That’s right, the English major.

The EE cranky old guy has been part of the computer world since the days of word processors, but he has never really mastered the things. Oh, he can do basic tasks, and even some more complex stuff, but with any new program or procedure, he needs lots of time, and an old-fashion, hardcopy manual.

And until just recently, the EE cranky old guy had never bought a computer. The little woman did that. But for a variety of complex reasons, the EE crank decided he needed a home office. So he not only undertook his first computer purchase. He also went DSL (that stands for something having to do with something else called broadband) and wireless (meaning the new computer would be connected to the internet not by wire but through radio waves, or telepathy, or brain waves, or whatever).

The effort to get all this up and occasionally running required five frustrating, exasperating days. Let’s try to just hit the highlights.

In theory you just plug stuff in, turn stuff on, insert disks in stuff, and nature, or Bill Gates, takes over. In a perfect world, after some blinking and burping on the part of your stuff, you have a working computer effortlessly exchanging pleasantries with the World Wide Web (is that where www comes from?).

But in theory, FEMA is on top of natural disasters. We’ve recently seen how well that’s worked out. The real world in terms of installing, trouble-shooting, and operating computer stuff involves talking on the phone to someone in India, which the last time the EE cranky old guy checked was on the other side of the globe.

Surprisingly, at least to the EE cranky old guy, the someone in India was usually quite helpful. But the someone always seemed to be reading from the steps in a manual, which causes the EE cranky old guy to wonder how come he doesn’t have that manual. Manuals, he can follow.

One difficulty with the someones in India was that they were limited in their jurisdictions. The DSL someone would only go so far before telling the EE cranky old guy that he needed to talk to the computer someone, who would stop just short of solving the problem to pass the EE cranky old guy to the wireless someone.

But the EE cranky old guy finally turned to the ultimate source of computer knowledge, the English major cranky old guy. Although the latter’s knowledge is far from complete, he was able to mesh the advice from the someones in India to produce, apparently, a working DSL wireless-connected computer for the EE cranky old guy.

The real test will be whether this blog is posted.

Eureka!!

THE QUEST

Every so often, the cranky old guy feels the need to undertake a quest. The latest quest is to travel by kayak from Northern Virginia to North Carolina’s Outer Banks, a distance of 300 some miles. Several motivations are behind this quest.

First, the cranky old guy is tired of fighting the traffic to get to the Outer Banks. I-95 south, I-64 east, Rt. 158 south, over the Currituck Sound bridge: the possibilities for backups and delays are infinite, particularly with all the other idiots on the highways. There’s got to be a better way.

Second, the cranky old guy wants to test the emergency evacuation plan put forth several years ago by occasional Washington Post columnist (and Ben Bradlee’s wife) Sally Quinn. The evacuation difficulties the folks of New Orleans experienced with Hurricane Katrina have focused attention on similar problems that other metropolitan areas might encounter. Regarding the Washington area, Ms. Quinn has recommended kayaks as a means for the populace to get quickly to safety. A terrorist attack? Hop in your kayak and head for. . . , well, that’s what the cranky old guy wanted to investigate. Ms. Quinn’s proposal was a little unclear on that point.

Third, why not?

The water route from Northern Virginia to the Outer Banks is down the Potomac River to the Chesapeake Bay, down the Bay to Hampton Roads, across Hampton Roads, up the Elizabeth River, and finally through canals of the Intercoastal Waterway to Currituck, Albemarle, and Pamlico Sounds. Piece of cake.

This will not be an all-at-once trip. Initially, the plan is day hops: the cranky old guy’s spouse/chauffeur will transport the cranky old guy to a starting point by car, drop him and his kayak off, and retrieve him, hopefully, later in the day further along the route. Thus the trip will be underway for some time, possibly even years as enthusiasm waxes and wanes. On the other hand, the quest won’t ever be a failure, at least until the cranky old guy croaks, because the next hop will always be scheduled.

The first two hops have already been completed. Hop 1 was an 18-mile, 7-hour, trip from Belle Haven in Alexandria to Leesylvania State Park. Hop 2 was a 13-mile, 5 ½-hour, trip from Leesylvania to Aquia Landing in Stafford County.

From these first hops, the cranky old guy has learned several things. Sitting in a kayak for longer than about two hours is extremely uncomfortable. If ever captured by the enemy, the cranky old guy will blab like a baby if threatened with hours in the kayak position.

Second, moving slowly on a large open body of water can be the epitome of boredom. The scenery changes are barely perceptible. The immediate landmark one is paddling for just doesn’t seem to get any closer. And the feeling of progress in general is pretty much absent.

Third, the mansions along some stretches of the upper Potomac serve to remind the cranky old guy that he missed the brass ring as far as wealth is concerned.

And finally, Sally Quinn is nuts.

DSH

INITIAL REFLECTIONS ON KATRINA

The cranky old guy has some thoughts on the disaster that has descended upon the Gulf Coast, and the responses of us pathetic humans.

(1) This was a catastrophe of the first magnitude, certainly among the most devastating in American history. But the cranky old guy is not willing to jump on the bandwagon of the we-should-have-been-totally-prepared crowd. Yes, in an ideal world we—meaning governments and individuals—would be prepared for any eventuality. But the ideal world is not constrained by limited time and resources. Our real world is. We can’t be perfectly prepared for every disaster that descends upon us.

(2) That having been said, we could have been better prepared for Hurricane Katrina. Long-term, the preparation failures included the unwillingness on the part of successive Administrations and Congresses to provide funds for improvements to the levies surrounding New Orleans. Short-term, governments at the local, state, and federal levels all seemed to have been somewhat lax in pre-positioning personnel, supplies, and equipment for the recovery effort that was sure to follow the landfall of a category III-IV hurricane.

(3) But in the cranky old guy’s opinion, the most condemnable immediate failure resides with the federal government. By late Tuesday, anyone watching television coverage knew that human suffering of epic proportions was unfolding. Consequently, by late Tuesday a massive influx of federal resources, including substantial forces of the U.S. military, should have been on the move to the Gulf Coast. Yet it appears to have been several more days before the decision to commit these resources and forces was made. The failure to make that decision in a more timely manner should be counted near the top of the negative column in any list of the Bush Administration’s pluses and minuses.

(4) The Bush Administration’s response to Hurricane Katrina has something in common with the campaign in Iraq. In both instances, the Administration has been reluctant to commit substantial manpower. In Iraq, the failure to have adequate forces on the ground following the end of initial hostilities—when the mission was declared accomplished—turned a difficult task of establishing law and order and restoring the infrastructure into a debacle. On the Gulf Coast, the failure to have an immediate influx of manpower resulted in substantially greater, and unnecessary, human suffering than would have otherwise been the case.

(5) In the first hours and days after Katrina’s landfall, the media performed yeoman service in alerting the rest of the nation to the extent of the disaster. By the following Sunday’s talk shows, however, the media effort was actually threatening to take the edge off one of George W. Bush’s worst weeks. As the federal government and the nation focused on the enormous recovery effort ahead, the Sunday talking heads concentrated most of their efforts on playing Gotcha’ with Administration spokespersons. For example, in an interview with Homeland Security Secretary Michael Chertoff, CNN’s Wolf Blitzer could pursue no subject other than “whose fault was it.” Chertoff had ample opportunity to give what is becoming the Administration stock response: it is a catastrophe of unprecedented proportions and our focus now should not be on recriminations but on the huge task ahead. By beating the subject of fault to death, the talking heads are making George W. a sympathetic figure to much of middle America.

(6) Finally, and on a lighter note, at least to people with a more secular bent, the religious interpreters are in action. The disaster is being proclaimed as the Almighty’s response to gambling on the Mississippi Gulf Coast, to the sins of New Orleans, to evil in general. Well, the cranky old guy is not adverse to such an interpretive approach. Only, as the cranky old guy looks around, he sees other things about which the Almighty might be irritated. How about this possibility: the Almighty is irritated because we put such an incompetent group in charge of the nation?

DSH