Are We Having Fun Yet?

“Nineteen fifty-six,” the bearded twenty-something clerk told me as the digital display from the cash register confirmed the $19.56 that I owed for my rather meager purchase. I was a regular at this convenience store, one of a chain that my dad had started with two other partners in the late-60’s. Back then C-stores were small neighborhood grocery stores, with a deli counter and a little bit of every kind of grocery item, including fresh produce. Now they’re gas stations with attached stores that mainly sell snacks, beer, wine, sodas, and a very limited amount of groceries. I had already exchanged “hello’s” with the kid (as I thought of him). We weren’t really friends, but we had talked some and had a cordial albeit time limited relationship. I had surprised him a few days ago when I came back in the store after I figured out that he had undercharged me $2.00 for some lottery tickets that I bought and handed him two singles, explaining his mistake. I try to be honest, and was secretly hoping for a little good karma to spill over on my lottery tickets. It hasn’t helped (so far).

“Ha,” I laughed without any real joy, “nineteen fifty-six was the year I was born.”

“Really,” the kid answered. Then to my surprise he added, “I wish I was born in 1956.”

“No you don’t,” I assured him, thinking of my increasingly sore muscles along with various other aches and pains that resulted from an hour or so of furniture moving and cleaning that I had just completed. Getting old is not really any fun at all.

“Oh yeah,” he contradicted. “You guys had a lot more fun back then.”

A smile spurred by unsought memories spread across my face. “That’s true,” I confirmed, “we did have lots of fun…a whole lot.” I was almost laughing as I left the store and walked to my car as the happy memories flooded my mind.

When I was younger, the old-timers who would endlessly prattle on about the “good old days” always annoyed me. I promised myself that I would never do the same. Live for the moment was my creed. Focus on the here and now, forget the past, and embrace the future. I’ve tried my best to keep current with new technologies, enjoying the benefits of the computer age. But technology has outpaced me, I’m sad to say (although I do know that it wasn’t really a “cash register” but rather a fully integrated “point of sale system” that indicated my year of birth on its digital display).

As I drove away, memories of many of the fun things that I experienced flowed easily through my head. Maybe the kid was right, although some of those things resulted in the pains that I was feeling from my recent exertions. The twinge in my right leg was a constant reminder of pulling my hamstring one evening after work when I tried slalom skiing without stretching first. But I’ve got to say that living in a house fifty feet from a lake had a host of other benefits and contributed greatly to having fun. The ache in my shoulder is a constant reminder of the broken clavicle I received from a high-speed bicycle run down a grass covered hill that was a bit more steep than it appeared from the top (I arrived at the bottom before my bike). However, I don’t really associate pain with fun; that’s just crazy. Although it is funny how something seems like such a cool idea right before it slips sideways into something else entirely.

I’m not really sure what the young man was referring to as “fun” although I am sure that I’ve experienced it. Did he mean that we had better recreational substances to abuse (he looks like he could dabble)? We probably did, although my best memories of fun don’t involve those things with which I had considerable exposure. Perhaps a cold beer, or a good bottle of wine or champagne was present at times, or even a pina colada or two (or four, or five) were involved, but my best memories of fun are relatively unclouded by chemical enhancements.

It could be that he meant that going places and doing things was so much less expensive back in the day. I don’t mean it was relatively less expensive as a percentage of income, but it seems that many things were cheaper even when inflation is figured into the equation. I went to concerts in Canton to see big-name stars for only a few bucks, like the Elton John concert that I took my girlfriend to when I was fifteen. Just try getting into one of Sir Elton’s Las Vegas shows with a date for under $10 today. Nowadays, the big shows don’t even come to Canton, and the tickets cost more than a week’s wages for most kids (if they can even find a place that hires people under age eighteen). Dining out has experienced similar hyperinflation. I’ve eaten at some really nice restaurants and had a great time with friends or family in the past doing just that. Today, the cost of such feasts means indefinitely postponing retirement.

But having “fun” at dinner isn’t really directly correlated to how much money you spend. Eating Maine lobsters at Testa’s Restaurant in Bar Harbor was a cool experience, but I had more fun eating Maine lobsters on my deck in Ohio with a few friends (they didn’t allow us to hose down ourselves and our dining area at Testa’s when we were done). I’ve eaten at some really nice places throughout the country, but we had more fun outside on a patio in Key West with a basket of peel-and-eat shrimp and some cold beers. It was an all-you-can-eat deal, and I think Mike had three, or maybe four, baskets of steamed rock shrimp. Probably not a big profit maker for the owners, but the waitresses seemed pretty amused after a little while.

Many things have changed since I was a kid, and perhaps the entire concept of fun is one of them. Most of the people I grew up with had part-time jobs after school, but it’s much harder for youngsters to find employment these days, since many places require them to be at least eighteen. We had our own cars and usually paid for them ourselves, along with our gas and insurance. The workplace was a different experience as well. I can remember leaving work at noon on a Saturday and heading out to a diner for a sit-down lunch with a group of guys from the store. We had an hour for lunch, and time to talk and joke and laugh. You don’t find that at most retail environments these days. You’re lucky to get thirty minutes, and they don’t really want you to leave the building. It is also likely that you have to take your break alone. It is much harder to have fun without the fellowship of others.

Today, technological advances allow for super-realistic video games, and most kids seem to have them. Video games didn’t really exist until I was older, and they were pretty simplistic when they first appeared. Although it isn’t really clear to me that such modern systems really produce a significant amount of “fun.” Certainly there is a sense of accomplishment in having your personal video avatar wipe out whatever group of terrorists, mutants, or zombies are invading your digital world, but the games are so gruesome that I’m not sure they really provide enjoyment. They may, in fact, provide unwanted twists to easily manipulated young psyches. We did spend many hours playing pinball at the bowling alley or an arcade, but it was usually with a friend or two. Again, the fellowship added to the fun (but I’d still like to have a vintage Bally “Fireball” in the garage, right Bob?).

Like video games, there are many other things that are better these days than when I was a youngster. Modern cars handle better, are safer, and faster than the ones we grew up with, and the roads we travel are generally safer. However, rattling around in an old convertible on a warm summer night was lots of fun, as were those bench seats that allowed your girlfriend to slide right over next to you in the driver’s seat. Not that it was really safe of course, but no one who has grown up with bucket seats can comprehend the profound bliss that this simple act could bring to a teenage boy.

Roadside restaurants were a mixed bag back then, but occasionally you found a real gem. Today’s eating choices are the same set of identical outlets of fast foods and chain restaurants across the country with consistent quality (or lack thereof) but no surprises. Airliners are better, but air travel isn’t really any fun these days. When I first flew, almost every male on the plane wore a jacket and necktie, and ladies wore dresses. Everyone checked his or her luggage. It was a more elegant and refined experience than cramming all of your belongings into the overhead compartment and squeezing past the unwashed masses. Boats, from little runabouts to cruise ships, are better these days, but again, at a much higher cost.

Sound systems are better these days, but digitized music tends to lack warmth and depth. If new musicians have superior talent, they tend to hide it. Why are so many new songs remakes of a classic rock songs from our youth? Maybe because they really are destined to be classics. Amusement park rides are way better these days, but again, the cost of going to the park makes it a once a year experience at best. Smaller parks are mostly gone these days, places where you would go and ride some rides, then have a picnic with your family. They were victims of the need for bigger thrills as well as the high cost of liability insurance. Big parks would much prefer that you sampled their refreshment stands and restaurants than indulging in a picnic with your family. Disney has such a large group of restaurants and entertainment venues in Florida, that it is a park unto itself.

Some of the things I’ve tried in order to have fun, didn’t really turn out to be fun. Learning to fly an airplane started out to be a blast, until I realized just how serious and focused I had to be to survive the experience. When the door of the aircraft pops opens by itself during a steep-banked turn, and you are looking straight down to the earth’s surface a few thousand feet below you, it’s exhilarating, but not really fun. Softball or volleyball games with family and friends were fun, but the organized sports that I participated in were not that much fun. I suppose there was too much emphasis on winning, but winning is fun.

So was the kid right? Did my generation really have more fun than his generation experienced? The real problem, as I see it, is that it takes time to recognize that we had fun. Constant texting, tweeting and posting our experiences as they happen may be cool, but it tends to take you out of the experience as it happens. Perhaps we don’t understand that we’re really having fun until long after the event has occurred. Perhaps we had more fun because our parents didn’t have the technology to phone us at anytime, no matter where we were. Cell phones are a true blessing, but not always, if you are young. I hold out hope for the young clerk. Some fun things have become horrendously expensive, but money cannot by itself purchase enjoyment. The passing of time may yet reveal to him just how much fun he’s had. Maybe it will turn out that he had more fun than I had (but I doubt it). My advice: seek out the small things that make you smile, and whenever you can, treat yourself to a good laugh.

    

 

Gaming the System and Our Dysfunctional Democracy

When I was studying business methods in college there was an old joke that circulated in the halls outside the accounting classrooms. It seems that there were three experienced accountants applying for the job of controller for a major industrial conglomerate. At the end of their interviews, the director of Human Resources gave each of the three all of the raw financial data for one of the company’s subsidiaries with the instructions to prepare income statements, balance sheets and tax returns based on the data. The results were collected several hours later. The first candidate turned in a well-documented set of figures, strictly adhering to all relevant laws as well as all Generally Accepted Accounting Principles. The director acknowledged the candidate’s knowledge and thoroughness. The second candidate produced a set of documents that pushed deductions to their extremes, playing fast and loose with the data, and producing a higher bottom-line return for the company. The HR director smiled at the second candidate’s resourcefulness and willingness to take a certain amount of risk. The third candidate turned in a set of blank pages.

The Human Resources director stared at them for a moment and then stated the obvious: “You haven’t written anything.”

The candidate gave him a clever smile then explained, “You haven’t yet told me what you want them to say.” Guess which candidate got the job?

There are some lessons that stick with you long after the mechanics taught in classrooms are forgotten or pushed aside by more relevant current procedures, and the above story is likely one of those things, based on what we observe in our society today. It is important to understand concepts like laws, or the principles of your chosen profession. However, there is one thing that trumps everything else. In order to succeed, to reach the very top, you must become adept at gaming the system.

The case of HSBC bank is a glaring example of how corporations have become adept at arraying things to go their way. Among the many sins uncovered in this worldwide banking conglomerate (and this probably wasn’t even close to being their worst), it was found that the bank’s Mexican subsidiary was laundering money for drug cartels. The U.S. government fined the bank a record $1.92 billion, but decided against prosecuting the bank based on the fear that it would harm worldwide financial markets. The bank is considered too big to fail. The fine is about equal to what the U.S. government has sent to the Mexican government since 2007 in the ongoing effort to eradicate the illegal drug trade. It also equals about four weeks of earnings for HSBC. They will likely weather this storm with ease.

The U.S. Justice Department also decided against prosecuting any of the individuals involved in the money laundering scandal, apparently reasoning that this too would undermine the global financial system. The officers of the bank are too important to prosecute. This is a dangerous precedent that goes against every concept of right and wrong that has ever been formulated, whether in religious doctrine, ethical teachings, or just plain common sense. I can understand it from the financial point of view, but it is very troubling from an ethical perspective.

Across the globe, our society is full of individuals who are both clever and resilient. Clearly some, their numbers apparently dwindling, are more kind-hearted than others. We say that we reserve our greatest rewards for our best and brightest, but the fact is that these rewards go most often to our most devious individuals, the ones who have learned how to best twist the system to their benefit.

The recently renewed debate on the issue of gun control is another example of how the system gets gamed. President Obama proposed a series of laws the other day aimed at reducing the chances of yet another tragedy like the recent Newtown school shootings or Aurora theater massacre taking place. No one, from the President on down, thinks these laws will completely prevent a future incident, but it is possible that the probability of occurrence could be reduced. One life saved would make the effort worthwhile, the President said. In addition, President Obama signed a series of executive orders, many dealing with mental health issues, which could also help reduce the chance.

 As Obama predicted, the opposition was both immediate and vicious, with concerned citizens crying out that the President was trying to take away all of their guns. Of course, our right to own guns (which are statistically more likely to cause harm to ourselves or loved ones than phantom bad guys) was not only not mentioned, but it was explicitly stated that it was not the case. Our constitutionally protected rights to own firearms would remain in place under any version of legislation passed in this regard, however unlikely, despite widespread support by a majority of voters.

Let the gaming begin. Members of congress and NRA spokesmen cried out that there are already 20,000 gun laws on the books, and more effort should be made to enforce those laws. But those laws have already been gamed. The majority of the laws lost their teeth in an obscure amendment made to an unrelated spending bill several years ago. The amendment was proposed by a former Congressman who later received an award (what other reward was included is not available) from the NRA for his services. The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms (ATF) has not had a director for over six years, because the job requires Senate approval, which continues to be withheld. Background check information must be destroyed within a day, preventing any chance to discern a pattern of purchases that may point to a future tragedy. Leaders of both parties in both houses of our legislature came out and said they doubt if the support could be found to pass anything like the proposed assault weapons ban. This is despite polls that indicate a majority of Americans favor such action.

There was a young man in the audience at the President’s announcement the other day. He was a survivor of the Virginia Tech massacre in 2007 that left 32 dead victims (excluding the suicide of the mentally unstable perpetrator). The young man was shot four times and still carries three of the bullets in his body. He was present, as quoted by the President, not because of what happened to him, but because what happened to him continues to happen to others. It is a noble sentiment. He’s probably way too nice to make it to the top in a big bank.

To all of my friends and family members who have already loudly voiced their opposition to any type of gun control, I offer my apologies, because I think a ban on assault weapons is a good idea. It’s not perfect, but it just might help. President Reagan supported a ban on assault weapons and Supreme Court Justice Scalia said that it was constitutional. These guys aren’t exactly left-wing extremists.  Expanding background checks to all gun buyers is also definitely a good idea. I personally don’t think either idea will infringe on our rights to own guns. My coworker, who is an avid hunter, agrees. No one uses assault weapons to hunt deer. Few people even consider that type of weapon to be the one of choice for home protection since it would be way too easy to cause collateral damage with one, such as injuring the family that you are trying to protect.

The sale of bulletproof backpacks and child-sized bulletproof vests has skyrocketed in recent weeks. The gun lobby has proposed arming teachers and other school officials, and putting armed police in every school. Is this the kind of traumatic future that we wish to bestow on our children? Who really thinks that a janitor with a pistol is the best person to protect our youngsters? Isn’t there a great deal of inherent danger in having loaded guns in our classrooms, even if they are in the hands of teachers who have been instructed in their use? Remember the law of unintended consequences. Whatever could possibly go wrong in that situation probably will go wrong.  

Our founding fathers established our Second Amendment rights under the guise of allowing for a well-regulated militia, which was deemed necessary for the security of a free state. There was no significant standing army at the time. Protection of our country rested in the hands of an armed population that were prepared to go to war to protect our country. It will never be clear that the founders’ intent was for anyone to own a gun since at any time any individual could be called on to protect our rights. That issue will not be called into question here, although I think the founders might recoil at what passes for a militia these days (aside from our fine National Guard). We have the right to own firearms. No one is trying to change that. But many people are trying to game the system and make you think that you are in imminent danger of losing this sacred right. That is not the case.

Our democratic process is far too easily influenced by special interests that are based on personal greed rather than what is truly good for our people. Laws are passed and amendments are made to unrelated bills that have far reaching consequences that are given little thought at the time. The mere threat of filibusters can indefinitely postpone votes on people appointed to fulfill important executive positions in government agencies. It's the little things we need to focus on before we can address any important issue. Unfortunately, even those who would like to benefit their country are going to have to learn how to game the system.

In order to protect our troubled financial system, which was plunged into the Great Depression after the stock market crash of 1929, President Roosevelt nominated former Ambassador Joseph P. Kennedy, Sr., to head the newly created Security and Exchange Commission (SEC). Kennedy was one of our nation’s wealthiest citizens with a fortune based in large part on his ability to manipulate the stock market. Observers at the time called it a case of putting the fox in charge of the hen house, but FDR reasoned correctly that he had to put someone in charge that knew what he was doing, someone who was an expert in gaming the system. Kennedy was considered mainly successful at his appointed job (he redirected many of his own investments into the real estate market after the financial markets became regulated). Only recently, as banking regulations have again become more relaxed, have we experienced problems in our financial markets, with significant risks in banks and other financial institutions deemed too massive to allow to fail.

It is time we face some hard truths about our government. It has become dysfunctional. We have let the little things, procedures, policies and influence peddlers, prevent us from achieving the goals we desire for our nation as a whole. Why not make our government less likely to be derailed by gamesmanship, and more responsive to the needs of everyone? Let’s do away with influence peddling. Let’s make it a requirement to have immediate votes on presidential appointments. We need to be a little less willing to succumb to the greed of a few individuals in control of way too much power, and prevent tragedy for many. Above all else, we need to protect our children.
             

Adult Education

We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility  provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.

Do you recognize these words? I added the bold print and I’ll get to that in a minute. It is the preamble of the Constitution of the United States of America. It’s a pretty important document. When our founding fathers came up with it, they didn’t think it was the perfect solution, but they needed something better than what they had, because our new country was in pretty bad shape under the Articles of Confederation. So they came up with the Constitution; in order to form a more perfect system of governance than what they had. Not the perfect system, just one that was better. There really isn’t a perfect system. They did a pretty decent job. Not perfect, but better than it was.

I consider myself to be fairly well-educated, and I like to think I’m also pretty well-informed. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not tooting my own horn here. I also know that the world is full of people who are smarter than I am, including people who are way, way smarter. I’m also positive that there exist people who are not so bright. I was mostly educated in a public school district, although I spent a couple of years in a private school. My public school district was well regarded academically when I attended, and it is still highly ranked today. But there is a problem that I see in my early education, both public and private: we never studied economics to any major extent. It wasn’t until I started studying business in college that I had any real exposure to economics.

I remember walking out of an Economics class in graduate school, where we had just discussed how the federal budget was derived. It’s an ugly process by the way. A friend of mine, Steve, was so upset that he vowed to devote his life to becoming President of the United States in order to change the system. It was a noble thought. I think I would have considered voting for Steve, but I’ve not seen his name come up in political circles. I told him that the problem as I saw it was that by the time he had risen through the ranks of government that he would be swayed by the status quo, and wouldn’t be able accomplish his ultimate goal. We were surprised to find our professor walking behind us and apparently eavesdropping. He was grinning and nodding his head. “That’s right,” he told Steve, “by the time you reach a position of power in the system, the system will have co-opted you.” I don’t know why he was smiling about it. It seems to be a pretty sad indictment of our political system.

Now we as a nation have just been through some difficult times from an economic perspective. We continue to suffer through a major recession (by the way, do you understand the difference between a ‘business cycle recession’ and a ‘financial market recession’? *), and have been brought to the brink of a “fiscal cliff” by lawmakers eager to force their personal beliefs on everyone. By now it should be obvious that what everyone really needs in this country is a clearer understanding of economics.

The place we should start with this economic education is with our elected leaders. I had to look up the part of my state that is represented by the current Speaker of the House of Representatives. I don’t really know what the public school system is like in his district, but if it’s anything like the one here, they aren’t teaching enough Economics. The Speaker attended a private high school, and studied business in college, so he should know a little about what is considered to be the most important issue of the day, but his recent actions might suggest otherwise. Over and over again during the debate we heard the standard rhetoric spewed out that we must maintain adequate income for the “job creators” (that’s political shorthand for “the really rich dudes that pull our strings”) and not raise taxes on the wealthy. Unfortunately, this is flawed logic. The Congressional Research Service conducted one of their fact-filled scholarly reports that showed no relationship between the size of the top tax rate and job creation (by the way, the CRS works for Congress. You would think that the employers would listen to their hired experts). In fact, history tells us that more jobs were created when top tax rates were higher. Respected billionaire investor Warren Buffett laughed out loud at the notion that investors would stop investing if they had to pay a few extra cents on each dollar earned. He went on to say that he and other wealthy people should be paying more taxes, not less.

What I think we should do is to require by law that every Representative, Senator, Federal Judge and senior member of the Executive Branch take a comprehensive course in Economics. There should also be a test, with grades posted so that we can see just how bright (or dim) our elected representatives are. Maybe they might make some better decisions for our country. Perhaps we might make some better decisions about those people we choose to represent us too.

Now I know that some of you might be quoting Ronald Reagan at this point and saying that the government isn’t the solution to our problem, the government is the problem. Yes, I know the government has screwed things up before, but maybe they just lacked a certain base level of knowledge. I recently read Bill Clinton’s book, Back to Work: Why We Need Smart Government for a Strong Economy. You may not agree with the former President politically, or philosophically, but he makes some very strong arguments for the things that can be accomplished by a smart government. Throw in the fact that he is the only guy that has held the job in many years that had three years of budget surpluses. Not even the Gipper can say that. Do yourself a favor and read the book. Your library probably has a copy. Whatever you do, don’t throw up your hands and say it can’t be changed, because it has happened before.

So how do we get a smart government? Let’s start with that required course in Economics for our elected officials. Maybe if Representatives and Senators have to share notes or form a study group, they’ll be able to do something useful, like cooperate enough to make decisions to get our country back on track. Too much time is spent in Congress raising money for reelection, and too little time is spent in formulating ideas to raise the standard of living for the people being represented. That’s not just dumb government, that is a recipe for corrupt government. While we’re at it, let’s beef up the teaching of Economics in our school system. We’re never too old to learn, or too young to start. Educate yourself (Note: watching the news on TV will not make you better educated) and try to interest others in educating themselves.      

*Answer: Read the book, it’s in there. Please note that financial market recessions, such as our current economic situation, as well as that period in our history known as The Great Depression, require a much longer recovery period than the more typical business cycle recessions that are more familiar to us. Just in case you were wondering what the heck was taking so long.

Memories of Watts Bar Resort

It’s snowing again. I am not a fan of snow. It hinders one’s mobility in a car or on foot, and then there’s the cold. It makes these old joints ache and, well, it’s just too freaking cold. So what did I start doing? I’m remembering summer days from my youth. Specifically, vacations at Pete Smith’s Watts Bar Resort, in eastern Tennessee.

Thomas Wolfe wrote the novel You Can’t Go Home Again, and perhaps there are many things in this world that are best left to our memories, and not updated with current realities. My family’s favorite vacation spot from the 1960’s and early-‘70’s is probably one of those things. Several years ago I was on my way back from visiting my daughter and her new family in Cleveland, Tennessee. I was heading north on Interstate-75, and had seen the sign on my way down pointing to Watts Bar Dam, a few miles to the west on Highway 68. It was a beautiful, clear, sunny day, and I had plenty of time. I decided to make a small detour, exited the freeway, and headed west.

Watts Bar Dam is one of a series of hydroelectric dams built on the Tennessee River by the Tennessee Valley Authority, or TVA, during the ‘30’s and ‘40’s as a means of flood control and to provide electric power to an underdeveloped portion of the country. It also provided much needed construction jobs during the Great Depression. A small village of cabins were built for use by the workers, and were unused in 1950, when an entrepreneur named Pete Smith entered into a long-term lease with the TVA, and renovated the cabins for use as Pete Smith’s Watts Bar Dam Resort.

Pete and his wife Sally operated the place from April through October each year, then spent the off season traveling around the world. Must have been a pretty nice life. The Game Room in the Gift Shop/Restaurant building featured mounted skulls with horns from Antelopes and Thomson’s Gazelles that Pete (or someone) had shot on safari in Africa, with little brass plaques to identify the origins. My brothers and I found them fascinating. The gift shop was full of unusual little keepsakes from around the world. I’m sure there are a few items purchased there that are still around the house someplace.

From a modern entertainment perspective, the place was pretty boring when you think about it. Originally, they offered horseback riding, and Rick, Gary and I took several rides through the woods in the hot June air, swatting mosquitoes and horseflies. Once or twice was all it took before the luster wore off of that activity. In the later years, the stables closed, a victim of apathy and rising liability insurance.  The lake was a much better choice for recreation. Dad would rent a little aluminum fishing boat with a small outboard motor for the week, and we boys would use it for fishing or just cruising around (without parental supervision). For kids too young for a driver’s license, anything with a motor is cool. The entire family also usually rented a pontoon boat for a day, and took a picnic lunch prepared by the restaurant, cruising all over Watts Bar Lake, and occasionally stopping to fish or just lie in the sun.

Much of our time was spent by the pool, which was located beside the restaurant. You could get lunch, a sundae, or lemonade served by waitresses poolside in the afternoons. It was thrill for us kids to be able to sign for our own food, just like an adult. I remember a cute little lifeguard that worked there one year. Rick was running beside the pool, and she called out: “Don’t run. Don’t run around the pool.” Her melodious voice with a thick southern accent extended the simple seven-word warning into a much longer and sweeter sounding request. We began running around the pool just to hear her voice. For weeks afterwards that summer, and even years later, we would mimic her to each other, warning: “Don’t ruuunnn around the ppoooll!” I can still hear her in my head.

Pete and his wife Sally kept the grounds immaculate. Sally and Pete’s sister looked after the flowers, which were everywhere, while Pete drove around in the mornings directing the large crew of migrant workers in their mowing and trimming, which was a non-stop chore. Fresh-cut flowers graced the dining room tables, and huge areas of plantings were visible from every window.  The workers were Mexican, and mostly the same crew came up every year and lived on-site beside the guests. The term “illegal alien” had not yet come into vogue, and we never thought much about the workers, but we always waved and smiled at them, and they did the same. Katy oversaw the kitchen. She had a prosthetic leg, and a sarcastic wit. She liked to tease me, since I was the youngest, but she made up for it when we would make a late evening run up to the snack bar for a tin roof sundae or a banana split. If Katy made it, I could count on extra whip cream.

The restaurant was one of the reasons that kept my family coming back year after year. There was a mural on the wall leading into the dining room that had a map showing the resort in relation to major population centers around the country. It also showed travel times, based on an average speed of 35 MPH. Even in the mid-'60's I couldn't imagine travelling at an average speed of 35. The food was always good, and the service was excellent. Breakfast included fresh squeezed orange juice, and typical fare like eggs, French toast, and old fashioned buckwheat cakes. Grits were available but they didn’t expect us Yankees to order them (Pete and Sally were both from Michigan originally, I think), although I seem to remember Gary taking a liking to grits at some point (Years later, I remember him ordering them on a drive we took to Florida).  Fresh biscuits were made twice daily, and the old ones were torn up and put in the bird feeders just outside the dining room windows. We would watch the procession of blue jays, cardinals and mockingbirds fly in and out, leaving each time with a big piece of biscuit clenched in their beaks. Lunch was big burgers, club sandwiches or chef salads, usually eaten poolside. Alternatively you could get a box lunch to take out on the boat with you. The menu changed nightly, rotating among various dishes of southern specialties. Each dinner included soup, and a salad chosen from a tray containing various Jell-O salads, fruit cups and cole slaw. The entrée and sides came next, and then a large tray of pies, cakes and cobblers was circulated at the end of each meal. Although we were never that big on eating desserts in restaurants as a family, that convention usually gave way to tempting choices, like my favorite coconut cream pie, every evening at Watts Bar.

The dam itself was an attraction. You could take guided tours that started in the art deco styled lobby and then led down via elevator to the generator area of the dam. Facts and figures were reeled off while wide-eyed boys like my brothers and I stared at the huge dynamos. Another attraction for boys like us was the cars around the resort. Pete drove an older Mercedes sedan when we first started going there, or one of several Checker sedans that he kept on site. He liked the bulletproof reliability of the Checkers, which were once the standard taxicab in the U.S., but he really liked Mercedes-Benz autos. His wife drove a black 190SL roadster with red leather interior, with its convertible top usually down. Pete told us several stories of his wife’s 100-MPH speeding tickets once we got to know him.

In 1968 or 1969, Pete got a Mercedes 300SEL, with the 4.5 liter V-8, Mercedes’ top-of-the-line sedan at the time (other than their limos). He stopped to talk with us while we were walking back to our cabin from dinner, and he was heading up to check up on things after one of his frequent Scotch breaks back at his house at the end of the lane. He was much more talkative in the evenings, and you could almost read from the red glow coming off of his nose. He had picked the car up at the factory in Germany, then drove it around Europe with Sally, before ending the trip in Portugal, where he planned to have it shipped back to the States. He was watching a big Mercedes (he thought it was his) being loaded by crane onto the ship. Just then a horn sounded. A general dock strike had been called, and the crane operator simply abandoned his job, allowing the car to slip into the harbor with a huge splash. Pete was crazed as he raced to over to where the cars were stored, and was relieved to find his car was still on the ground, and in one piece. He loaded his wife and luggage back into the car, and headed for Spain and a safe return for both the big Mercedes and the Smiths.

Pete was usually dressed the same every day. He wore loose, loudly patterned Hawaiian shirts, cotton shorts, and the most unusual shoes. They were called “Happy Toes” and consisted of a flat rubber sole, squared at the back and round at toes, with canvas wrapping your foot. There was no tongue, and the shoe had thick laces that cut into the top of your foot if you wore them all day. We usually picked up a new pair every year in the gift shop. I’ve searched on-line, but can’t find them anywhere, as if they’ve vanished from human consciousness. They didn’t offer much arch support, but they were comfortable and carefree, much like Watt’s Bar Resort. I once saw Pete wearing long pants when he was coming back from a trip into town and couldn't figure what was wrong until someone mentioned that it was the first time they had seen him without his trademark shorts.

Over time, we became friends with the Smiths and their crew, learning their history, and sharing stories. They cried with us when we returned the summer after Rick died. When Gary drove down in his Mercedes roadster, a powder blue 280SL in 1971, I thought Pete would be more interested in it, but it was Sally who really checked out the car when he arrived a few days after Mom, Dad and I had already checked in. Maybe Pete was worried that Sally wanted to upgrade, but he was happy to provide a hose and water so that Gary could wash it as soon as he got there.          

We used the resort as a starting or stopping point from other trips, too. In 1967, Mom took my brothers and I sightseeing in Washington, DC, before meeting Dad at the Knoxville Airport for our trip to Watt’s Bar. The Arab-Israeli War had just broken out, and we were in a traffic jam on Pennsylvania Avenue, caught between protesting Arabs on one side of the street, and pro-Israeli demonstrators on the other side. Our Ford LTD had an after-market A/C unit that caused the car to overheat in traffic, and as Mom reached down to shut it off, she tail-ended a Corvair driven by a Capitol Guard on his way to work. He was a nice guy who took pity on my diminutive mother and her brood of three boys trapped in the middle of an international dispute. He was also glad to find out that we were well insured. One year we stopped to see Cumberland Falls, and another year, the entire family finally succumbed to the “See Rock City” ads painted on barns that grew more frequent the closer you got to the resort. Rock City was a tourist trap located atop Lookout Mountain outside of Chattanooga. Dad and I toured the Jack Daniels Distillery in central Tennessee once, when the rest of the family just wanted to go home.
   
Perhaps I should have left it at the memories, but I’m a curious sort sometimes, so I headed back toward our old favorite vacation spot after my visit with Andrea. The road toward the dam was vaguely familiar, although I think we only came in that way once or twice. The Interstate hadn’t been completed when we first starting going there, and we approached from the west, through the little town of Spring City. The first major change that I noticed were the cooling towers for the nuclear plant that had been added down river from the dam. That was new to me, and looking much like Three Mile Island’s cooling towers, they didn’t inspire a glad-to-be-here feeling. Crossing the bridge over the dam, I came to the entry to the facility, where our tours used to start. It was now enclosed with high chain-link fence topped with razor wire. Signs were posted telling one in no uncertain terms that visitors were not welcome. I suppose in this age of terrorism the last thing you want is a group of strangers roaming around the bowels of your hydroelectric dam, next to your nuclear power facility. I drove on, and was almost past the old Gift Shop/Restaurant when I realized that it was there. The landscaping, once a well-tended lush delight was now overgrown, with huge bushes nearly hiding the building. Turning down the lanes toward the cabins, it appeared that the pool was either filled-in, or at least abandoned. The place now catered to hard-core fishermen, who apparently prefer to stay on top of the water, in a boat. The cabins, once painted bright white, were now a sickly looking light brown. Moss grew on roofs. Bushes were too big, lawns were patchy and brown. I took a few pictures with my phone’s camera, turned around, and headed home.

Memories are sometimes best left undisturbed. Doing further research for this post, I learned that this entire section of the waterway had been polluted by a fly ash spill from a coal-fired power plant up river in 2008. The resort had closed, been abandoned, and eventually bulldozed. A sad ending to place that generated such happy experiences. The world was a better place with people like Pete and Sally Smith running a first class business that allowed families to find a way to unwind and enjoy spending time with each other. A world where youngsters could learn firsthand about amazing technologies that they were only vaguely aware of before is a better place than one that hides behind razor wire and keeps everyone away. Things are bound to change, and not always for the better. I am, however, happy to have had the experience. As Bob Hope always sang at the end of each performance: “Thanks for the memories.”

   

Christmas Memories and Stuff

As Christmas approached, my coworker shared her giddy delights in the bargains she had found in stores, how her gift list was nearing completion, and now she only needed a few big boxes to ship this or that. She runs one of America’s new “blended families” with her mate. Two teenage boys belong to him and one teenage boy came with her, but they’ve managed to put it all together and somehow make it work. As she bounced around the store bubbling with ecstatic energy, her enthusiasm was almost contagious. Then everything changed. Someone broke into her family’s apartment and stole a bunch of their possessions. Thieves made off with their X-Box and all of their video game cartridges, apparently as much of a loss to the husband as it was to the boys. They also took her jewelry. The day after it happened the local paper ran a story about a series of similar break-ins that currently plagues our area. In our hard economic times, jewelry and video games don’t even need to be “fenced,” that is, turned into cash by some shady middleman. One can get cash for used games at the video game store, no questions asked, and people selling gold for cash is an everyday occurrence, with a convenient choice of outlets nearby.

Everything changed for her in the blink of an eye. She became depressed, moping around the store, not doing her work, and managing to tell any customer who would listen of her travails. Along with their sympathy, a few of them actually gave her money. One of them brought in a jar for donations, with his contribution already in the bottom of the container. Her mood briefly elevated at this outpouring of generosity, until her cashier informed her that they could both lose their jobs for trying to solicit personal donations from their customers. I feel bad for her, but I have a broader perspective tempered by time and experience. She may have lost a bunch of “stuff,” but that’s all it was, just things. At least all of her kids came home from school safe that day. Many families in Connecticut weren’t as lucky, and I tend to focus all of my sympathy on such losses that can never be replaced.

When I was a kid growing up in the ‘60’s, we had a traditional American family. Dad operated his own prosperous small business and my mom helped out at the store while managing to care for three rambunctious boys. Christmas at our house was a time of overflowing abundance. I remember getting up long before sunrise and creeping out to the living room to witness a floor packed with so many brightly wrapped packages that there was scarcely room to walk. I recently found out that my dad’s friend, who managed a little toy store (in the days when small retail outlets could still thrive), used to let my parents come in after the store closed to buy our toys. It must have been near nirvana for my dad, who absolutely hates crowds. Christmas morning, we would sit on the floor and tear open package after package, tallying our take and piling our gifts in our own little mountains.

But all too soon the flow of boxes stopped and the rush subsided. Someone usually asked, in all innocence, “Is that all?” I’m surprised our parents never boxed us up and shipped us to the North Pole. My brother Gary would quickly take his stash back to his room where he had already cleared space in his closets and drawers for his planned acquisitions, his little idiosyncrasy that has become a memory still shared with amusement. Rick and I would tend to enjoy our newfound bounty in the living room, secretly peering beneath the tree in hopes of discovering some small forgotten box that may have been overlooked.

Christmas changed forever for my family in 1969. That October, my oldest brother Rick was killed in a car crash. As the holiday approached, mom got out the boxes of decorations, determined to provide some holiday joy for her diminished family. I’ll never forget her expression when she came into my room holding one of the red felt Christmas stockings that she had made years before for each of us. Our names were sewn on the front of each of them in white felt. The one she carried said “Rick.” I wanted to tell her that it would be all right, but I couldn’t lie. All I could do was to cry with her. Just as I still do now whenever I think about that day. Not every Christmas memory is good, but they are all important. We didn’t hang Rick’s stocking that year, or for years after. But we carried on as best we could.

As I got older, my joy of acquisition was replaced by the joy of giving. I used to relish finding the right gifts for my family and friends, especially after I had a good job making lots of money. I usually put off shopping until the last minute, but I power-shopped with a ferocious intensity, usually with success. One of my favorite memories of the time was rushing out to a department store right after work in my suit and tie, trench coat flapping in my own wake, to purchase one of the new shipment of Teddy Ruxpin animatronic teddy bears for my young niece. It was the “must-have” toy of the season, and I just had to get it for her. I remember getting dressed up and taking Andrea, Sherry and Erica out to dinner at Benders then to the Palace for a live performance of "The Nutcracker." I'll never forget the look of intense joy on Paul's face when we gave him and Jennifer a computer for Christmas. Watching the latest Disney video with Jenny on Christmas Eve morning became an all too short-lived tradition that still makes me smile when I remember. It was also around this time that I started my own little tradition of buying cool Christmas gifts for myself. I gave myself some really nice stuff. One year, I won $1500 in the state lottery right before Christmas. I took my winnings in cash, and spent them in less than an hour on expensive presents for mom and dad (oh yeah, and one for me, too).

Things changed as things always do. I had a family of my own, and then I didn’t. Lots of my stuff was lost during my divorce, including a great deal of things I had acquired prior to my marriage. But what I lost was just “stuff,” and I got on with my life. Believe me, I would much rather see my daughter and her boys at Christmas than get another new sweater (and I like sweaters). My income was drastically reduced, but I still tried to find the most appropriate gift that I could afford for each recipient. After my brother Gary passed-away in 2008, we made a decision in my family: no more gifts. The presents just didn’t seem to matter anymore, but we still gathered to share a delicious dinner and recall memories. One of our best holidays happened last year, when my nephew brought several bottles of his homemade wine, and we shared stories much longer into the night than in years past.

Now, when harried shoppers ask me, “Are you done with your Christmas shopping yet?” I smugly smile and assure them that yes I am done. I don’t have to do any shopping. It’s just stuff anyway, and most stuff doesn’t matter in the long run. Something always happens to it, or we grow bored with it. I know it is trite to say that the holidays are about family, not the presents, but we never seem to realize that until too late.

So my Christmas wish for you all is for health and happiness. Don’t worry about the things, because they really aren’t all that important. If you’ve experienced a loss of stuff, well that’s too bad. You’ll get over it. If you’ve experienced the loss of a loved one in your life, I offer my heartfelt condolences, with the knowledge that while your life may never be the same, you must remember to get on with it as best you can. Those who we have loved and lost would not want us to dwell on the sorrow, but instead remember the good times that we shared, even if they were all too brief.

This year, for the first time in many years, there are three red felt stockings hanging from my mother’s fireplace mantle. They are a little faded, having survived for over half a century, but they still look pretty good. They won’t be bulging with holiday goodies come Christmas morning. They are however already filled with that most important of holiday gifts: memories.

Wishing you all a very merry Christmas and a happy and prosperous New Year.

Saving Our Children

Yesterday, as news of yet another horrific tragedy involving a deranged gunman and a school full of innocent kids unfolded, my coworker John told me of the conversation he just had outside the store with a student heading home from our local high school. John said that it seems that each generation is more screwed up than the previous one, and his (John is in his mid-30s) is the worst one yet. Seems he was trying to place some blame for the shooting on the shoulders of his contemporaries. The student disagreed with him, stating that it was his own generation that was truly messed up. I didn’t comment at the time, but I didn’t really agree with either of them. Every generation since the dawn of time has bemoaned the fate of the younger generation, wondering: what went wrong with the kids?

“Why can’t they be like we were,

Perfect in every way?

What’s the matter with kids today?”

Lyrics from: “Kids”, Bye-Bye Birdie

Back in 1974, as I was finishing high school (yes, it was a long time ago), I took an English course about how to write a research paper. We could choose any current topic of interest, and since recreational drug use was one of the big issues of the time, I wrote about the methadone maintenance program. Methadone was used to treat heroin addiction, by substituting a drug that didn’t get you high for one that got you very high. Turns out the program wasn’t really that successful, since (surprise!) most heroin addicts really wanted to get high more than anything. I came across one author’s view that the real problem with the failure of treatment programs wasn’t that America had a “drug culture” (a small subset of our overall culture). The problem was that America itself, in its entirety, is a drug culture. We thought then and probably think so even more today, that we can cure anything with the right pill (or right drug of whatever form). Our large multi-national pharmaceutical companies have been advertising their glorious triumphs over diseases, both real and imagined, for years. Why would we think it wasn’t so?

“One pill makes you larger

And one pill makes you small

And the ones that mother gives you

Don't do anything at all”

Lyrics from: “White Rabbit”, Jefferson Airplane

The same situation exists with guns. America does not have a “gun culture”; America is a gun culture. We grew up with guns. But unlike our ancestors, who required weapons to put food on our table and protect them from their hostile environment, we have come to think of guns as the great equalizer. When bad people attack us or try to take what is ours, what else can be done but to fight back? And how can the weak triumph over the strong? Use a gun.

“God created man, Samuel Colt made them equal”

-Anonymous

Our media has been overwhelmed with gun use for generations. Dime novels of the Old West, movies, television, and video games have all featured the use of guns as a prominent deciding factor. I used to play point-of-view shooter video games when they first came out. In such games, you start out with a pistol, then work your way up through the levels, acquiring more powerful and more effective guns as you progress. If you run out of ammo, you revert to a knife. You rarely last long against the forces of evil with just a knife. I’ve played more advanced versions, on better systems, over the years. The level of carnage has increased, as have the graphical displays of blood and gore. At some point, I lost interest. I’m really a peace-loving guy at heart.

So now you’re thinking that I’m about to propose radical gun control as the solution to our problem, right? Well, here’s another little surprising bit of information: I am a gun owner. I used to hunt a little, but never really enjoyed tramping through the woods in inclement weather. Besides, being out there with all of those other people with guns is a bit worrisome. Once the beer companies came out with 30-packs of beer in camouflaged cartons, I was pretty sure it was time to stay clear. I also liked to target shoot when I was younger. My brothers and I would go out in the woods of my grandfather’s “farm” (it was a hobby farm; he wasn’t really a farmer) where there was an old garbage dump and shoot up cans and bottles with our .22 rifles and BB-guns. Astonishingly, there were no firearm-related injuries. I suppose we should thank the Boy Scouts and the YMCA for good training, but we were generally just careful.

I have a good friend who is also a careful gun owner (at least I think he still owns guns). When he was a youngster playing in the woods with friends and guns, his buddy thought it would be cool to scare him by shooting into the water of the creek that he was crossing, so he did. Guess he didn’t know that bullets can ricochet off of water, which one did, and gut-shot my friend. He was given the last rites in the hospital and had emergency surgery by a doctor called off of the golf course. His amazingly strong constitution pulled him through, although he is missing significant portions of his intestines. Years later, he was lifting weights in his apartment bedroom at Ohio State. One of the neighbor girls came over to show his roommate the cute little pistol that her father had purchased for her to use for protection. His roommate pointed the gun at the wall and, perhaps unaware that it was still loaded, fired a round that went straight through the wall. Luckily, my friend was bent over, putting his barbells on the floor. When he stood up, he looked directly through the tiny new hole in the wall. A second earlier or later and his head would have been in the way of the errant bullet. He lost his cool in the heat of the moment, instructing his dumbfounded roomie in the proper use of human fists as a weapon. You can be perfectly careful about the guns you own, but always remember that there are idiots everywhere.

Therein lies the problem with ownership of weapons for self-protection: they rarely do their job as intended. I know that there are dozens of stories where a homeowner has saved their own life by using a firearm against an attacker, but the cold, hard statistics tell us that we are much more likely to harm ourselves or a loved one with a gun in the home. The perpetrator of the latest school shootings (*) reportedly borrowed his mother’s guns to do the shooting. His mother was among the first victim of her own guns. Tougher laws about purchasing weapons would not have worked in this case, because the gunman stole the ones he used. (*Do you realize how many school shootings there have been since Columbine? Answer: According to ABC News, there have been 31 school shootings since the Columbine shooting in 1999).

Of course we’ve all heard that “guns don’t kill people, people kill people.” To be fair to guns, today’s paper had a story from China about a man attacking a school full of youngsters with a knife. He injured 22 before being subdued, according to Chinese news sources. The sources also reported that no one was fatally injured. So yes, guns are more deadly, especially in mass-killing events.

Personally, this kind of mass-killing just makes me sick. Would we be safer with strict controls on guns, especially assault-type weapons and handguns? Yes, we probably would. Are we likely to see any type of government action to control such weapons? Probably not. I would gladly surrender my guns if I knew that everyone else would do the same. I’ve been robbed at gunpoint twice in my life, and if I had been armed in either situation I likely wouldn’t have had a chance to pull a gun to defend myself. If I had, it would have probably cost my life. Given the proliferation of firearms in our culture, it is likely that a gun control law would not remove all guns from the market. We once had a law banning the sale of assault weapons and large capacity handguns, but it was repealed. I don’t know if it did any good, but it probably didn’t kill anyone either. In recent months, I have seen several full-page and multi-page ads in the local paper that feature a vast variety of deadly assault weapons. These are not weapons used by hunters. The sole purpose of this category of gun is the efficient killing of a large number of human beings. It is a sad commentary on our society that we continue to acquire such weapons. Perhaps we should recruit the owners to stand guard at the doors of schools. They really should do something positive with them, don’t you think? Although it might just traumatize the kids more than they are already experiencing by just showing up at school.

We probably should do something as a culture in order to protect our loved ones, especially our children. But what is the proper course of action? Someone posted a message that more violence has taken place since God was banned from school. They wanted to put Him back in the classroom. Too bad that the world has been fighting over who has the best idea of god for thousands of years, blowing themselves and others to bits in the process. However, I think an increase in education about moral issues and philosophy is probably a good idea. In fact, better education in general might help. Then again, maybe we should just succumb to the desires of the wealthiest among us, and ban public education all together. Instead we could re-institute child labor. The kids could be worked so hard (and for very small wages) that they would be too tired and too poor to buy guns and shoot each other.

There are lots of ideas out there about what to do, but most of them won’t work. Not until we reach a certain level of cultural enlightenment at least. What ideas do you have? Care to share them? The only thing that I know for certain is that if we do nothing, this will happen again.

Suspension of Reality

My local paper featured a provocative story on the front page this morning, prominently displayed above the fold. The article was headlined “Hoover teacher writes erotic novel.” The subheading was “Back in classroom after suspension.” Needless to say, as a graduate of North Canton’s Hoover High School, I was intrigued. I love books, and I like reading as well as writing, but I’m not a fan of censorship. I sped through the story, and then read it again.

Seems the teacher in question authored an erotic novel titled Schooled, under the pen name Deena Bright. Her students, thankfully possessing naturally curious minds, found out about it somehow. Then the parents found out and some of the more outraged ones brought the matter to the attention of the Board of Education. The paper states that the superintendent showed the teacher’s personnel file the newspaper reporter, showing evidence that he had conducted an investigation into allegations of school-related misconduct in November. The teacher in question was placed on paid administrative leave for three weeks during the investigation. As a result of the investigation, she was suspended for five days without pay.

Parents were apparently in an uproar, not specifically about the graphic sexual nature of the book, but because the protagonist is a school teacher who has relations with fellow teachers and former students. The teacher’s union president got involved, and put the beleaguered English teacher in contact with the union’s lawyers, but he speculated that she didn’t like the advice they gave her. Seems they wanted her to resign. He said he was surprised to see her back at school. Such is the typical reaction to this type of situation in North Canton. Make it go away and we’ll never speak of it again. Personally, I’m glad she is back in school.

In the acknowledgment section of her book, the author wrote the following note: “Dear My School District: I love my teaching job. I love raising my kids here, being a part of this close-knit and outstanding community. I am proud to be here, honored and humbled to be a part of this district. Please don’t fire me! I’ve never slept with a student, not even remotely close. I love my students: they’re my kids, nothing more. We teach our students to dream big, work hard, and it will all pay off in the end. This was my ‘dream big.’ I do work hard every day, inspiring the future of America, but they have in turn inspired me to reach my goals.”

This morning, before turning my attention to The Canton Repository, I finished reading David Baldacci’s latest thriller, The Forgotten. The story deals with the modern-day slave trade and includes several murders, not to mention sex between the protagonist, an Army NCO, and a senior officer in the U.S. Army (which I believe is a violation of conduct, if not illegal). Not once while reading this book did I think that Baldacci was engaged in the slave trade or was contemplating murder. I never thought that James Patterson, John Grisham or even Agatha Christie was more likely to be a potential murderer than anyone else in our society. Their only “crime” is to have an extraordinarily gifted imagination, a necessity when it comes to writing fiction. We should be willing to make the same leap of logic when it comes to the author of Schooled. It is not her blueprint for planned debauchery; it is the realization of her dream to become a published author.

The unpaid suspension that the would-be author received was not because of her book. She was suspended because she had used a school computer for “social networking of a personal nature.” If everyone in the United States were placed under suspension at the same time for accessing a social network at work, our economy would grind to a halt, because so many people would be at home. I’m willing to bet that it has happened before at Hoover High, and has happened since. It will no doubt happen again. The only real crime that I see anywhere in this situation was when the school superintendent showed the reporter the teacher’s personnel file. Isn’t that a violation of the teacher’s right to privacy?

Stay in school and fight for your rights, “Ms. Bright.” At least until you get a decent publishing contract. You have accomplished what your fellow teachers have been trying to do since the dawn of public education: you got a student to read a book.

“Read, every day, something no one else is reading. Think, every day, something no one else is thinking. Do, every day, something no one else would be silly enough to do. It is bad for the mind to be always part of unanimity.”

- Christopher Morley (1890 - 1957)