Our Promise 

The right mix for the USA


                                                                   
A Cocktail Party
Pledge



The American Cocktail Party pledges, in all our activities, to vigorously argue against the policies of our opponents. We promise, however, to refrain from personal attacks on those who do not agree with us. We will discuss programs and proposals, not personal characteristics, and avoid inflammatory language and symbolism.

Now if the leaders of both traditional political parties and commentators on radio and television would join us in this pledge, maybe, just maybe, there would be no more Tucson massacres.

(Our best wishes for a speedy recovery to fellow blogger Ashleigh Burrows, who was shot three times by the perpetrator of the Tucson crimes.)

The Consistent Mystery


Every New Years Day, I look forward to two things. Gifts and good wishes from family are one. A birthday greeting from John “Jake” Jirschele is the other.


Once again, the family came through. So did Jake, at about 8 a.m. on January 1.


Jake Jirschele lived a couple of blocks up the street from my childhood home in Tomahawk, Wisconsin. He was in the class behind mine in high school. I haven’t seen him for about 50 years, but I remember him well. Obviously, he remembers something about me very well.


Jake was consistent, as I recall. He stroked every shot as hard as possible in Spike’s Pool Hall, whether it was a long one or a four-inch “gimmee.” He made a lot of them, and bounced a few cue balls off the walls in the process. He fired off shots from outside the circle (three-pointers nowadays) with reckless abandon on the basketball court. He made a few of them. When he itched, he invariably scratched. Where? Well, we won’t go into that.


When it comes to my birthdays, Jake has been equally consistent for a long time. We connected to the Internet as soon as that became possible. Early on, we added Jake’s addy to our list and knew he had ours, but we rarely corresponded. The first New Years Day we could receive e-mail, to my surprise, Jake sent me a happy birthday message.


How did he know? The first greetings arrived many years before my birth date became readily available to the world through this Blog and, more recently, via Facebook. Jake has remembered the big day every year—probably about 15 times—since his first message. Each time I ask him how he knew New Years Day was my birthday. He has never answered the question. Either he has a very long memory or a well-maintained calendar.


The Jirschele birthday message always includes wishes for good fortune in the year ahead. We’re planning on making those wishes come true.


Everything here is Jake, Jake.


For you youngsters, that saying is said to have become popular in the 1920s and still was heard often during my teenage years. “Everything is Jake” means “everything is OK.” I hope it applies to John Jirschele as well as to our present situation and our prospects for 2011. Maybe Jake will even answer my question this year.

Take Heart, Fellow Geezers

I’m not so sure all those experts who claim fully mature adults develop short-term memory losses are correct.

When I was 17, my high school baseball team traveled 20 miles to play one of our big rivals. Upon arriving, a frantic search revealed I had forgotten my catcher’s mitt


My son just phoned. He bought some herring to serve yesterday while we celebrated New Years Day at his place. It’s a family tradition. He forgot to serve the herring during the seven hours we spent together.


After all, it’s not a catastrophe to forget a few things at any age. I borrowed another guy’s mitt for the baseball game, and although that didn't work out so well at least I didn't have to rely on my bare hands.

We’re going to our son’s house in a couple of hours to snack on the herring. Some forgetfulness doesn’t spoil much of anything; it just extends the celebration.




The right mix for the USA

To Your               

Good
Health   

A Cocktail Party
Progress Report 
                          
The Cocktail Party platform committee is working diligently on a national health care position statement. So far, the members have been unable to reach a consensus. What’s new about that, when health care is the topic?

The committee, however, has announced one important bit of progress. It has adopted a slogan for the health plank:

“Of all things that won’t cure a cold, martinis are best.”

Here’s to you—Happy New Year!

Be Happy, Don’t Worry

‘Tis the season when many contemplate wondrous births and the mystery of death and what may happen then. So it seems appropriate to offer up a few thoughts.

Most people I know have no reason to fear death. If there is an afterlife and they are ushered into heaven, they’ll be pleasantly surprised. If there is no afterlife, it won’t matter.

The odds are different for the few who seem to have dedicated their lives to behaving badly. They might do well to worry a bit.

Whatever you believe about your inevitable departure, the geezer hopes you will put aside any concerns about it and enjoy a very Merry Christmas.

What Power (?)

Geez, just days after my post urging Congress to repeal the "don't ask, don't tell" policy on gays in the military, Congress actually did that.


Unfortunately, no evidence indicates that any members of Congress read Cocktail Party opinions. One library board member does, though. Does that count?

Open the Closet Door

A Cocktail Party Position

Opponents of the military’s “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy toward gay servicemen and women are trying to ram through repeal legislation during the dying days of this Congress. The Cocktail Party hopes they succeed.

“Don’t ask, don’t tell” is bad policy. The American public recognizes that, as poll after poll shows a growing body of opinion that all our citizens deserve equal treatment under the law. Recent polls show most military personnel hold the same view, although some, primarily in the Army and Marines, disagree.

The policy was different, and more unfair, when the Cocktail Party chairman served in the U.S. Army in the late 1950s. At that time, any member, or potential member, of the military could be asked about their sexual orientation. An admission of homosexuality kept the individual from enlisting in the service or resulted in a speedy dishonorable discharge.

The 1950s policy apparently was effective in keeping “queers,” “homos,” or “dykes” (today’s “gays” sounds much more civil) out of the military, or deeply hidden within it. Your party chairman served nearly two years in a huge unit (850 enlisted men) in the Sergeant Major’s office, where just about everything was known about everyone. Not a single man was discharged for gay conduct or admitting to being gay. No one was even suspected of being gay.

A WAC battery right down the street was home to several hundred women. The old soldiers among the men claimed that most of the older enlisted women and many WAC officers were lesbians. Your chairman never saw or heard of any concrete evidence to back up those assertions. Certainly, there was plenty of evidence that a large number of the younger WACs were straight. Pregnancy discharges were fairly common, and intimate boy-girl conduct was commonplace.

No doubt gays have served in our armed forces throughout history, but they had to stay deep within the closet to continue their careers. The prospect of immediate discharge, or worse, must have been a constant nightmare for them. In the 1950s, a gay soldier would have been shunned by his comrades at best, and probably would have been subjected to physical violence in many units. Then, he would have been discharged.

“Don’t ask, don’t tell,” adopted during the Clinton administration years, made service by gays at least more possible and safer. But, this is 2010, not 1955 or 1995. It’s a good thing that attitudes and policy have changed on the side of justice, but now the policy needs to change once again to match current public attitudes and meet ethical standards.

The Cocktail Party firmly believes it is morally wrong and indefensible for any human being to be forced to lie, or worse, to live a lie, to have the opportunity to begin or continue any career, including military service.

Showing Your (?) Colors

Those with a sharp eye will recognize a Bucky Badger and University of Wisconsin “W” adorning son Lee’s apron pocket as he and fiancée Karen took a photo op break from preparing this year’s Thanksgiving dinner.

With Wisconsin on a football roll toward the Rose Bowl, the UW emblem was only fitting. What didn’t fit is that Lee is a University of Minnesota grad. I gave him the apron a few years back.

It was a retaliation gift. Lee had presented me with two Golden Gopher golf sweaters and a cap. The cap had a big Minnesota rhomboid emblem. I tried, not very successfully, to make the cap work to my advantage.

My golfing partners in Utah had no idea what the block “M” represented, and when they asked I informed them it stood for “Money,” and that’s what I intended to win during that day’s round. The theory was my brazen statement might rattle opponents and negatively affect their games. Of course, once they saw me play a few holes any edge I had acquired evaporated.

When Lee was a Minnesota student, Sandy and I would journey to the Twin Cities for U of M-UW football games. Lee visited Madison with us when the games were played there. He went one up in the family rivalry one year when he lulled me into trusting him to buy the Madison tickets. Our seats were right next to the Minnesota band. The proximity to the loud “Here’s to the U or M” guys had the desired effect of drowning out my feeble “U rah rahs” for Wisconsin.

Karen is a Purdue University grad. She’s not big on football rivalries, and thus takes a more adult approach by wearing an apron devoid of school colors. However, if she decides to pull some sort of sophomoric stunt on the geezer, she may qualify for her very own Bucky Badger apron, or perhaps a nice chef’s hat with a cardinal “W.”

Economics vs. Common Sense

A Cocktail Party Analysis

One of the least publicized, but most onerous, provisions of the Obama-Republicans compromise on tax legislation is the item that would reduce social security tax withholding by two percent throughout 2011. This sounds like a winner for American workers. It’s a potentially huge loser.

The tax holiday was recommended by economists, according to news reports, as a very effective way to quickly pump money into our struggling economy, thus creating jobs. That could possibly be correct, although it would be easy to find a bevy of economists holding other views. The old adage usually holds true—“If you laid all the economists in the world end-to-end, each would point in a different direction.”

In this case, the Obama economists have only theory in their corner, as economists often do. They have no real proof that this kind of pump priming will create or preserve any jobs. In this case, if those who favor this tax holiday have a sound argument for their position, we have yet to hear it. It would be a quick injection of spending power into the economy, that’s all. It surely would create some profits for businesses. Anything else is conjecture.

What Obama’s advisors and he are ignoring is the bigger picture. They say the $120 billion or so cost of this gift to working people will be repaid to the social security trust fund from “other general revenues.” Truth is, we have no “other general revenues” available to pay much of anything back. Our public treasury is trillions of dollars in the red, and projected to be so for many years into the future.

The social security trust fund at the moment is in the black. It has large reserves invested in special U.S. Treasury bonds. But, the treasury must make good on those bonds not many years from now, when annual social security payments begin to exceed payroll taxes collected to support them. At that point, social security starts going broke, and many years from now would become able to provide only a fraction of today's benefits. That’s just what the guys who negotiated with Obama want. They want to kill social security.

Do you believe that a year from now there will be a rising groundswell of public opinion for the government to take money away from all working people by restoring social security payroll taxes to current levels? Damn right there won’t. It would be political suicide. Once this gift is made, it will be very difficult to take it back.

The fact is that Social Security financing would be much less solid, a welcome development for those who want to destroy the system. They would use that as an excuse to privatize the system; that eventually would kill it. Gambling in the stock market with funds that now go into the social security trust fund offers no safety, and social security was designed to be a safety net.

Common sense says the temporary “gift” to workers should be dropped from the tax settlement. It is bad public policy that would endanger the future of social security, a truly successful insurance program that allows millions of worthy American citizens to live out their lives with a measure of dignity.

The Cocktail Party strongly recommends that this smelly part of the tax compromise be poured down the drain.

Angels Among Us

Wealthy Americans for years have bestowed gifts of higher education on individuals and groups of students whose families’ modest means could not finance college attendance. I know of two such situations from my teen years in Tomahawk, Wisconsin. The work of financial angels in each case got similar results, but the details of how help was given were quite different.

Tom Higgins was a classmate and good friend who probably was the best basketball player in the history of our high school. In one game, against a school with three times the enrollment of ours, Higgins scored 46 points while the entire opposing team had 44. He was twice named to the all-conference team as a center, although he usually played guard or forward, which he could do equally well.

Higgins was slightly above average as a student. He worked hard in school, but academic scholarships would have been beyond his reach. Attendance out-of-state at an excellent university would have been well beyond the financial reach of his family.

A prosperous Notre Dame alumnus made sure Higgins attended his school. The alum, coincidently, lived in Merrill. The Merrill High School team was the one Higgins single-handedly outscored. The alum paid all of Higgins’ school expenses not covered by his athletic scholarship. “All” meant every single thing, including costs of clothing and transportation from school to home during breaks. When Higgins thought he had met the girl of his dreams (as it turned out, she wasn't the one), the sponsor financed a beautiful diamond engagement ring.

The alum’s good work was far from anonymous. Before Higgins left to enroll at Notre Dame, his sponsor threw a party at his Merrill home for anyone the basketball star wanted to invite. I was among the invitees, but I couldn’t attend. Those who did said it was a big, grand, and probably very expensive party.

As a freshman, Higgins was the sixth man on the Notre Dame varsity basketball team playing guard. He was on the squad again during his sophomore year. But then, for reasons unknown to me, he dropped out of the basketball program. His angel, however, didn’t drop out. He continued his financial support until Higgins graduated. Higgins had a successful business career; he became a vice president of a firm operating in the Green Bay area.

Higgins died while a fairly young man, which is why I feel free to write about his personal situation. The other classmate I knew who had an educational angel is very much alive, and I think he might be embarrassed if I identified him. So I’ll call him Sam.

Sam was an above-average student who was serious about hitting the books. Sam’s family was no more prosperous that Higgins’ and Sam had no chance of any financial help with higher education expenses from relatives.

A Tomahawk businessman, who insisted on anonymity, paid most of the expenses, including out-of-state tuition, for Sam to attend a well-regarded university in a Midwestern state. Sam graduated in four years and enjoyed a long and successful career in a technical field.

The businessman had no direct connection to Sam or Sam’s family. He just learned of a deserving young man and stepped in to make sure Sam had an opportunity for advanced education. I know the identity of the angel, because my father was well-acquainted with him. Dad slipped once and told our little family about the educational sponsorship. None of us ever revealed the identity of the angel, and I won’t now.

The two angels from my youth did good things. I’m sure there have been many individuals like them in other places. But when we moved to southwestern Michigan, I learned how educational angels can accomplish incredible things when they decide to combine their efforts.

Their work is called The Kalamazoo Promise.

Five years ago, a group of anonymous donors, assisted by a local educator, launched a program that provides free tuition to any public college or university in Michigan for qualified graduates of Kalamazoo public schools.

To date, the unidentified angels have given $21 million dollars. Individual gifts can cover tuition for a full four years. They can range from a smaller percentage of total costs up to 100 percent, depending on how long the student’s family has resided within the school district. Students must perform satisfactorily to qualify, and if they do, they must maintain 2.0 grade point averages in college to continue in the program.

Results of the promises kept have been little short of amazing. Since 2006, the first school year for Promise students, some 1,900 high school grads have begun receiving advanced educations most would not have been unable to afford. Fifty-six have graduated with bachelor’s degrees.

The majority of tuition money has gone to the University of Michigan, Michigan State University, and Western Michigan University, but 15 schools are eligible, and Promise students now are attending 14 of them.

The students are graduates of Kalamazoo’s two public high schools and three alternative schools. Unlike many other school districts in Michigan, especially urban districts, enrollment in Kalamazoo schools is increasing. Educators report significant strengthening, year by year, of a college-going culture. Advanced Placement enrollment has increased by 71 percent in the past two years, and the rate is even higher for African-American and Hispanic students.

Observers say the Promise has changed the entire culture in the Kalamazoo public school system virtually overnight. Every student who performs satisfactorily has a chance to go on for higher education. Students are working for, and taking advantage of, the opportunity. Eighty-five percent of eligible white students have used the Promise. Eighty-four percent of eligible African-American students have.

No one claims the Promise is a cure-all for improvement in the public schools, but it brings hope. Children who never could have considered higher education now routinely make it their goal. That seems to be a cornerstone anchoring many other programs for positive change in the schools.

The Kalamazoo Promise structure (for details, go to http://www.kalamazoopromise.com/) is adaptable to other districts, and similar programs have begun to spring up around the U.S. Some are supported by tax dollars; some are financed by various combinations of individual and business donations. Some are public-private partnerships. All promise hope.

Great things can happen when angels flock together.

Look Out, Turkey

In Jerry Kramer’s Farewell to Football, the author describes a gridiron invention claimed by his fellow guard Fuzzy Thurston. The Green Bay Packers were thrashed by the Detroit Lions in a contest on Thanksgiving Day, 1962. One reason for the beating was a lack of effective pass blocking, especially by guards Kramer and Thurston.

The Lions sacked quarterback Bart Starr 11 times, a league record. After the debacle, Thurston joked that he and Kramer had invented the “lookout” block. He said throughout the game the guards would make unsuccessful attempts to block charging opponents, and then yell, “Look out, Bart.”

Well, maybe Thurston and Kramer launched the first lookout blocks in the National Football League, but they certainly were not the first players to use the term. A pair of high school gridders practiced a version of the “lookout” 10 years earlier.

In 1952, I played right guard and my pal Gordy Newborg was the right tackle for the Tomahawk Hatchets, a Wisconsin high school team somewhat less renowned than the Packers, and not nearly as fearsome as its name implies. Newborg intensely disliked one of our halfbacks. I wasn’t too fond of the guy, either. During most practice scrimmages, the back usually managed to infuriate Newborg and antagonize me in one way or another.

When that happened, Newborg nudged me as we broke the huddle after the halfback’s number was called. He whispered, “Let “em in.” We would fake blocks, turn, and yell, “Lookout.” The “play” usually resulted in two hefty defensemen bashing our mouthy halfback before he could get under way.

Hair-splitters may claim that the ineffective Klade-Newborg blocks were intentional, and therefore not the same as the Kramer-Thurston “lookouts.” That’s true. If the Packers had known of the Tomahawk play, perhaps they would have yelled, “Sorry, Bart; Lookout,” to better define their modification of our invention.

One thing’s for sure, they didn’t yell, “Happy Thanksgiving,” but that’s my shout to you today.

In Grateful Memory

Sp. Shane Ahmed (U.S. Army), 31, Chesterfield Township, Michigan. Killed November 14 in Afghanistan. Buried today at Fort Custer National Cemetery.

Practice What You . . .

Only two restaurants within a five-mile radius of our home provide what we would consider fairly elegant dining. Establishments offering fast-food and down-home meals abound.

One of the latter, a “Big Boy,” is a favorite of the locals. It features hearty fare and generous portions at reasonable prices. We go there sometimes when I get an overwhelming urge to forsake my usual healthy morning stuff for a traditional bacon and eggs breakfast. The “Big Boy” crew excels at whipping up tasty breakfast dishes.

During our visits, we have noticed an unusually large number of mature adults among the clientele. Not all are there for breakfast; our observations of order deliveries indicate great variety in what the elder diners consume.

During our latest visit, Sandy reminded me of a recent post (Oct. 7, “Ya Gotta Know When to Play ‘Em) advising readers not to be bashful about requesting discounts. She asked if “Big Boy” offered any. I confessed I’d never asked, but said I was sure they did not. “Ask anyway,” Sandy advised me in one of those wifely tones that is not to be ignored.

When our waitress stopped by, I said, “I’ve noticed a lot of old people in here. Any chance you have senior discounts?”

That got a giggle as she appeared to quickly correlate her estimate of my age with my comment about older customers. It also got a surprise positive response. “You belong to the Big Boy Seniors Club, don’t you?”

“What’s that?”

“Oh, club members get a punch card. Every time you have a meal here we stamp your card. When the card is full after ten visits, the next meal is free.”

Assuming geezers last long enough to make it to ten meals, that sounded like a 10 per cent discount to me. Ten per cent reductions are among my favorites.

The restaurant manager was working the cash register that day. “What do I have to do to get a senior punch card?” I asked.

“Hold out your hand,” he said.

“Can each of us have one?”

He plopped Sandy’s card on top of the one he had placed in my palm. Both were stamped with the date.

It’s a good idea to ask about discounts—and it’s not a bad idea to practice what you preach.

In Grateful Memory

Pfc. Shane M. Reifert (U.S. Army), 23, Marine City, Michigan. Killed in an attack in Afghanistan, November 6, 2010.

The Commander Salutes Some of Us

The national commander of the American Legion, Jimmie L. Foster, is:

a. An expert at flip-flopping.

b. A man with a very short memory.

Or,

c. A blatant liar.

Just in time for Veteran’s Day 2010, my local paper published a lengthy letter from Foster under the headline “American Legion Strives to Represent All Veterans.”

Headlines sometimes misrepresent stories they introduce; however, in the fifth paragraph of his letter, Foster said, “. . . from its inception, the Legion always has maintained that a veteran is a veteran.”

Bullshit!

As the Geezer pointed out last Veteran’s Day (11/12/09 and 11/16/09 Posts), the Legion denies membership to several million honorably discharged veterans because they did not serve during the Legion’s definitions of “wartime.” I am one of those. My two years of honorable service (1958-1960) in the U.S. Army don’t mean a thing to the American Legion. Neither would 20 years of service by a Marine whose enlistment ended on Dec. 6, 1941. How ridiculous is that?

Was I not exposed to danger when men in my unit were returning from service as “advisors” in Laos and Cambodia, even though officially we were not at war in Southeast Asia? I could have been sent just as they were. One sergeant in my unit gave a speech at a class I attended in which he described how he directed artillery fire onto the Chinese mainland. When’s the last time we were at war with China? Was my hypothetical pre-World War II vet never at risk during two decades of service in which he pledged to serve his country however and wherever he was ordered to do so?

Perhaps Foster just forgot the facts for a moment. Two paragraphs later, he said, “If you honorably served our country during wartime (emphasis added), you have a home in the Legion, period.”

Hum, he must suddenly have remembered the Legion’s membership rules. Or, more likely, he knew them all along and just tossed in the corrected definition because the thrust of his message was not to reconcile with veterans like me who the Legion sees as “second class,” but to try to recruit women and minority “wartime” vets, whom the Legion tended to ignore for many years.

Foster could spearhead a drive to correct the injustice of the irrelevant dates of service restrictions. Because the Legion is suffering significant membership declines, such an effort by the organization’s leader would have a high chance of success. Don’t count on him doing that. Many Legionnaires, some of whom served much of their active duty time in the Officer’s Club, are not eager to have their heroic images sullied by allowing any second-class vets into their club now.

Foster concluded his letter with the final insult to what the Legion perceives to be second-class veterans:

“On this Veterans Day, let us thank God for the gift of freedom made possible by those who served our nation with honor, courage, and commitment in our armed forces during all wars (my emphasis; he uses the Legion’s definitions here, no doubt, again ignoring the Cold War period) that enabled so many of them to earn that coveted title of an ‘American veteran.’”

How nice of him to imply that we “peacetime” vets are not veterans at all and did not serve with honor, courage, or commitment. Whatever Foster is, a., b., c. or something else, I will not salute him today. But I will salute ALL my fellow veterans, regardless of gender, color, or dates of service.


Thank you for your honorable service, my comrades.

Who’s Team?

Claims by Dallas Cowboys’ fans supported by many television announcers that the Texas club is “America’s Team” long have rankled Green Bay Packers’ fans.

We think our 100,000 stockholders spread across the nation entitle us to that title. We also think many more people in many places without an ownership stake root for the Green and Gold week after week, seeing our heros as the classic small-town guys up against the big-city slickers.

The fact that the Cowboys have notched so many victories against the Packers rankles even more. It just didn’t seem fair that our hired guns were out maneuvered so often by theirs, and it happened more than once in recent years when playoff advancement was at stake.

Sandy and I have not been south of the border for some time, but we once were frequent visitors. Cowboys’ uniform replica shirts and t-shirts were everywhere. Mexican youths seldom were seen in clothing featuring Packers’ insignia. We never met a Packers’ stockholder in Mexico, except for fellow tourists.

It’s doubtful the situation has changed much, although there probably are some residual green and gold number 4’s still hanging around in Cabo, Cozumel, and points in between. Most Packers’ fans have disowned that guy, anyway, so shirts honoring Old No. 4 shouldn't count.

After Sunday night’s 45-7 thrashing in Green Bay of the boys from Texas is it fair to say “America’s Team” finally crushed “Mexico’s Team?”

How sweet it was.

Swept

It was a clean sweep. Not a single Cocktail Party candidate prevailed in Tuesday’s elections. This was not the stunning setback some may think. The party did not back any candidates.

Never fear. The Cocktail Party (see 8/5/2010 Post, "Coffee, Tea, or . . . ) is merely saving its ammunition for the big one—Campaign 2012. The presidential race started about five minutes after the polls closed in most places and even earlier in some places.

We believe millions of those eligible voters who failed to exercise one of the great privileges of American citizenship and did not bother to cast a ballot in the midterm election include many closet Cocktail Partiers who heeded this wisdom from Kin Hubbard:

“We’d all like to vote for the best man, but he’s never a candidate.”

The Cocktail Party will rectify this situation as we plod toward November 2, 2012. We will develop a strong slate of candidates. Along the way, we will be staking out positions on important matters in words that cannot possibly be misunderstood.

We will create some unique proposals, but also borrow thoughts from others just as we lifted the Hubbard quotation for a website titled “Time Goes By.” We may or may not credit those we steal ideas from.

We expect to glean very few useful thoughts from current members of Congress or those who belong to other political parties.

Still Undefeated

The records of only two pseudo lawyers are known to me—mine and that of William Shatner, who portrayed the zany attorney Denny Crane in “Boston Legal” on network television.

My memoir, Days With The Dads, included a tale about my 2007 triumph in small claims court as a representative of our homeowners association. I won by uttering a couple of sentences after the defendant failed to show up. Nevertheless, I concluded that real attorneys earn their keep, and announced my retirement from matters legal with an unbeaten record—one for one.

Shatner was retired when the network cancelled “Boston Legal” after six seasons. We find few television programs worth watching once nowadays, and none except this one worth viewing twice. Currently, we are enjoying reruns of the comedy show.

Denny Crane famously enhances his legal legend at every opportunity by loudly intoning his own name. Through usually strange machinations, he claims to have won every case in his long career. After each victory, he proclaims:

“Denny Crane . . . Still Undefeated.”

I came out of retirement as a pseudo attorney two years ago when our first property tax bill showed an assessed value nearly $40,000 higher than what we paid for our new home in Michigan. Sandy and I appeared before the township tax review board to protest. We thought we had a great case, including photos and documents and a carefully rehearsed presentation. The board members listened politely and then curtly rejected our claim in their decision letter.

That sent me to the Michigan Tax Tribunal with an appeal of the board’s decision. Taking the action was a bit scary. Aren’t tribunal decisions known to be followed by firing squads? In this case, the frightening part turned out to be the paperwork and the length of the process. I had to send a brief of my argument with supporting documents, and then wait more than a year to gain a hearing.

During the wait, our township surprised just about everybody by announcing a 17 per cent reduction in 2010 assessments for most residential property, including ours. I fired off a copy of my letter from the assessor to the tribunal with an amended argument that this action constituted on admission by the township that the tax review board was dead wrong in denying my 2009 claim.

Minutes before my appointment to plead our case before the tax tribunal, our assessor called my name in the courthouse hallway. She was accompanied by a tribunal judge.

“I apologize,” the assessor said. “You shouldn’t have had to make the trip here. You were supposed to get a letter, but something when wrong. I reviewed your case, and you are right in all respects, especially in light of what happened with the general tax reduction. You’ll be getting a refund check after we calculate your corrected rates.”

The check will be nice, but once again, folks, legal work ain’t easy for those whose only encounters with the bar were to order refreshments. So I am officially retiring from the courtroom scene (including hallways) once again, but I do so with pride:

“Dick Klade . . . Still Undefeated.”

In Grateful Memory

Spc. Joseph T. Prentler (U.S. Army), 20, Fenwick, Michigan. Killed by a terrorist bomb, Afghanistan, October 4, 2010.

The Fatty Factories

Agreement seems general that Americans are getting fatter, posing significant health problems that negatively impact the overly plump ones and our society in many ways. Perhaps most distressing are numbers for school-age youths.

We are told 10 million youngsters ages 6-19 are overweight, and a good many of them are obese. A recent study indicates the number of overweight kids in each class increases as the students grow older.

Recently, I had an opportunity to chat with the local superintendent of schools, and the talk turned to high school athletics. The superintendent said she was very pleased that week to have hired a well-qualified athletic director. I said I wondered why a high school needed a full-time athletic director.

It turned out I was a dinosaur on the subject. The local school district and the one in my hometown are roughly the same size. When I was a student (1949-53) the entire sports program in the Tomahawk, Wisconsin, district consisted of high school boys’ football, basketball, and baseball, plus small intramural basketball programs for boys and girls. The Plainwell, Michigan, schools superintendent said her district sponsors 72 team sports! She was right; Plainwell needs an athletic director.

Assuming this dramatic increase in the number of organized sports activities over a half-century reflects national trends, something doesn’t add up. Why the dramatic increase in the number of fat kids at the same time?

It is possible that junk food diets, more prevalent today than when I was growing up, contribute more to the national overweight problem than does a lack of exercise. However, health professionals are in agreement that both good diet and exercise practices are needed to develop and maintain healthy lifestyles.

One factor may be a decline in physical education training. A 2008 study by the Center for Education Policy found many schools cutting back on physical education because of financial pressures or curriculum priorities for other types of instruction.

Another study, reported in 2007 by the Centers for Disease Control, found 22 percent of schools had no physical education courses at all. Only 3.8 percent of U.S. elementary schools, 7.9 percent of middle schools, and 2.1 percent of high schools offered daily physical education classes for the entire school year.

If school boards are serious about doing their part to help slim students down, they might get serious about slimming down the number of team sport offerings.

Many team sports allow only a few students to participate. The cost savings of eliminating some of them could finance physical education programs for all students. Information on good eating habits ought to be included in the instruction.