Ghastly Gein Pops Up Again
Ed Gein died of cancer in a mental institution two decades ago, but writers concocting stories about horrible events for the Halloween season continue to resurrect him. People who lived in Wisconsin 50 years ago, as I did, would prefer the world forget about Gein.
Younger generations may not have heard of the killer, grave robber, and mutilator of bodies who lived in a farmhouse he decorated with human remains near the small community of Plainfield, Wisconsin. But they can get the idea from a series of fictitious monsters patterned after him. Gein’s story was the basis for Alfred Hitchcock”s famous thriller, “Psycho.” He also was the model for Leatherface in “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.” Leatherface wore clothes made from human skin; so did Gein. More recently, Gein inspired the terrifying “Buffalo Bill” character in “The Silence of the Lambs.”
Gein admitted, without a trace of remorse or concern, to two murders and exhuming more that a dozen bodies from the local graveyard. He made lampshades, bowls, a shirt, and other items from the cadavers. The local sheriff investigating the disappearance of a woman found her in Gein’s farmhouse. Her beheaded and disemboweled body was hanging upside down from a ceiling beam. The discovery was made in November 1957, the year I graduated from the University of Wisconsin at Madison.
I never encountered Gein, nor did I help those who burned his farmhouse to the ground shortly after he was arrested. But I unknowingly passed too close to him for comfort many times over a four-year period. Perhaps I exaggerate the proximity, but nevertheless the annual resurrection of this creature scares hell out of me.
Plainfield is about the halfway point between Madison and my hometown. I, sometimes alone and sometimes with friends, drove through the area whenever a trip was made to or from home by auto. One time, three of us stopped in a Plainfield bar for a beer. Two men who stopped in a Plainfield bar a few years earlier never were heard from again. Although he was known to favor dispatching or mutilating women, Gein was suspected of doing the men in. He never admitted guilt regarding the missing men. There were several other mysterious disappearances in the area over several years.
Thank God I never hitchhiked home from school. That probably was due more to circumstance than common sense. Thumbing a ride was an acceptable way to travel in those days. Neither we youngsters nor our parents thought much about the danger involved. Nowadays, parents worry much more, and hitchhiking is rare. Teenage travel may be less adventurous, but it surely is safer.
If you are among those planning a pilgrimage to look for spooks where Gein’s farmhouse stood, or in the Plainfield cemetery where he is buried near many of his victims, please do us all a favor this Halloween. Stay away, and let Ed stay dead.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Help Is On the Way
An Associated Press headline today said, “Iraqis have money, but lack know-how in spending it.”
There’s a nonproblem if ever there was one. As soon as we vote a whole lot of incumbent senators and congressmen out of office week after next, we’ll send them over to act as advisors. This should be a bipartisan group. Plenty of blame for our current financial problems is available to shower on both parties.
When President Bush becomes available in January, he can assume command of the crew. It won’t take long for that bunch to show our Arab friends how to go from riches to rags.
An Associated Press headline today said, “Iraqis have money, but lack know-how in spending it.”
There’s a nonproblem if ever there was one. As soon as we vote a whole lot of incumbent senators and congressmen out of office week after next, we’ll send them over to act as advisors. This should be a bipartisan group. Plenty of blame for our current financial problems is available to shower on both parties.
When President Bush becomes available in January, he can assume command of the crew. It won’t take long for that bunch to show our Arab friends how to go from riches to rags.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Playing Around Comes Around
In the wake of huge drops in value of many shares on the stock exchanges this month, I feel sorry for three groups.
People who are in their sixties, entrusted their savings to the markets, and were planning to retire soon may have to postpone their entry into the golden years, and quite a few may have to work until they drop. This group doesn’t have ten or more years to wait for the markets to recover.
Younger guys and gals who were saving to help their kids with college education costs or to get a down-payment on a home also took a big hit if they listened to the sweet music of brokers and “financial advisors” who said putting their cash into the market rather than into more conservative savings plans was the only thing to do. The race no longer went to the steady; to be “with it” you had to be among the swift, nimble, and clever. You could charge or borrow for just about anything, and the big returns you would earn in the market would pay off your balances at some vague time in the future. The arguments were persuasive, but they were hogwash.
Some middle-aged workers also deserve sympathy. After their employers canceled or refused to finance any new company-funded retirement plans, they had little choice but to bet on the stock market through 401K’s as a way to accumulate wealth they would need in the future. Some tales are told of employers actually telling workers it was to their advantage to get out of company-funded retirement plans in favor of “personal choice” arrangements.
The people I couldn’t care less about are in the big group that smugly told solid citizens for years that they were outdated and stupid for putting their nest eggs into safe investments, such as long-term certificates of deposit or tax-exempt municipal bonds, because the returns just didn’t match the rich rewards available in the market. These jerks deserve what they got. They should have paid more attention to the words in some common descriptive phrases:
We play the ponies.
We play the tables.
We play the slots.
We play the stock market.
When you choose to gamble, you ought to be prepared to take the consequences without a lot of whining. Calling a gambler an investor doesn’t change the odds a whole lot.
Disclosure: The Gabbygeezer has no position in the stock market.
In the wake of huge drops in value of many shares on the stock exchanges this month, I feel sorry for three groups.
People who are in their sixties, entrusted their savings to the markets, and were planning to retire soon may have to postpone their entry into the golden years, and quite a few may have to work until they drop. This group doesn’t have ten or more years to wait for the markets to recover.
Younger guys and gals who were saving to help their kids with college education costs or to get a down-payment on a home also took a big hit if they listened to the sweet music of brokers and “financial advisors” who said putting their cash into the market rather than into more conservative savings plans was the only thing to do. The race no longer went to the steady; to be “with it” you had to be among the swift, nimble, and clever. You could charge or borrow for just about anything, and the big returns you would earn in the market would pay off your balances at some vague time in the future. The arguments were persuasive, but they were hogwash.
Some middle-aged workers also deserve sympathy. After their employers canceled or refused to finance any new company-funded retirement plans, they had little choice but to bet on the stock market through 401K’s as a way to accumulate wealth they would need in the future. Some tales are told of employers actually telling workers it was to their advantage to get out of company-funded retirement plans in favor of “personal choice” arrangements.
The people I couldn’t care less about are in the big group that smugly told solid citizens for years that they were outdated and stupid for putting their nest eggs into safe investments, such as long-term certificates of deposit or tax-exempt municipal bonds, because the returns just didn’t match the rich rewards available in the market. These jerks deserve what they got. They should have paid more attention to the words in some common descriptive phrases:
We play the ponies.
We play the tables.
We play the slots.
We play the stock market.
When you choose to gamble, you ought to be prepared to take the consequences without a lot of whining. Calling a gambler an investor doesn’t change the odds a whole lot.
Disclosure: The Gabbygeezer has no position in the stock market.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Slightly Provincial
The nice lady on the phone several days ago was a true voice from the past. Betty Rowe Baker was a close friend of my sister and the daughter of one of my heroes (see Nov. 2, 2007 post, “My Hero, Dr. Rowe Baker”). I hadn’t talked with Betty Rowe for at least 50 years.
We did a lot of reminiscing about days in the old hometown. My caller mentioned that she subscribed to the Tomahawk Leader, although most of the names in the news no longer were people she knew. That observation got us onto the topic of something that was unknown to many of us when we were kids in a small town. We seldom knew the street names, or if we did, we were hazy about where they were.
We found houses because they were “across the street from Nick’s, next door to Schmidt’s, “ or “right where the road turns north in Jersey City.” I knew where Wisconsin Avenue was because we lived on it. And Fourth Street was familiar, because beyond it, when walking “downtown,” Wisconsin Avenue was known as “Main Street.” Other than that, my knowledge of the location of streets was limited.
We thought we were pretty sophisticated in Tomahawk, Wisconsin. After all, a passenger train stopped beside the depot at the end of Main Street every day. It disgorged travelers from such grand places as Chicago and Milwaukee. We even had a famous eatery. Jim’s Logging Camp, a steakhouse a few miles up the highway, modestly advertised itself as “The Antoine’s of the North,” assuming that we and tourists who came to our city were acquainted with New Orleans’ restaurants. We thought we were pretty worldly in many ways, but in fact we could be very provincial.
One night at our dinner table Mom started a conversation about a “man from Illinois” who lived in our immediate neighborhood. After a while, my sister asked just who this man was. When Mom revealed his name, we learned that the immigrant has lived across the street from our family home for 27 years!
Apparently, it took a little time to become recognized as a fully integrated citizen of my hometown.
The nice lady on the phone several days ago was a true voice from the past. Betty Rowe Baker was a close friend of my sister and the daughter of one of my heroes (see Nov. 2, 2007 post, “My Hero, Dr. Rowe Baker”). I hadn’t talked with Betty Rowe for at least 50 years.
We did a lot of reminiscing about days in the old hometown. My caller mentioned that she subscribed to the Tomahawk Leader, although most of the names in the news no longer were people she knew. That observation got us onto the topic of something that was unknown to many of us when we were kids in a small town. We seldom knew the street names, or if we did, we were hazy about where they were.
We found houses because they were “across the street from Nick’s, next door to Schmidt’s, “ or “right where the road turns north in Jersey City.” I knew where Wisconsin Avenue was because we lived on it. And Fourth Street was familiar, because beyond it, when walking “downtown,” Wisconsin Avenue was known as “Main Street.” Other than that, my knowledge of the location of streets was limited.
We thought we were pretty sophisticated in Tomahawk, Wisconsin. After all, a passenger train stopped beside the depot at the end of Main Street every day. It disgorged travelers from such grand places as Chicago and Milwaukee. We even had a famous eatery. Jim’s Logging Camp, a steakhouse a few miles up the highway, modestly advertised itself as “The Antoine’s of the North,” assuming that we and tourists who came to our city were acquainted with New Orleans’ restaurants. We thought we were pretty worldly in many ways, but in fact we could be very provincial.
One night at our dinner table Mom started a conversation about a “man from Illinois” who lived in our immediate neighborhood. After a while, my sister asked just who this man was. When Mom revealed his name, we learned that the immigrant has lived across the street from our family home for 27 years!
Apparently, it took a little time to become recognized as a fully integrated citizen of my hometown.
Thursday, October 09, 2008
Bring the Sheriff Back to Town
A whole lot of us thought deregulation was the way to go when our hero Ronald Reagan made it a pillar of his campaign in 1980. After all, wasn’t free enterprise the American way, something to be taken literally? And with less government interference, business people would just naturally be freer to lead us to prosperity, and wouldn’t that be wonderful?
So we ran roughshod over what we saw as a misguided regulator crowd. Laws were changed. Officials were admonished to be kinder and gentler to the very guys they were supposed to be watching, because, after all, American business leaders could be trusted. And, of course, private enterprise does everything better than government. It can even regulate itself, we were told.
Well, American business leaders can be trusted. Their job is to operate efficiently and maximize profits for their shareholders. They can be trusted to work hard to make their operations successful. There is nothing wrong with that. Without guidelines about what is permissible, though, financiers and business people face too much pressure to produce large short-term profits, and do it quarter after quarter. That was part of the problem when we went overboard with deregulation. Caution became a dirty word. Many individuals crossed the line and committed fraud. Others had no ethics to begin with, and gleefully took advantage of the new deregulated situation.
Somewhere along the line, we forgot the lessons of the not-so-distant past. Government programs that did work in combating effects of the Great Depression included considerable regulation of our financial institutions. That inspired confidence, which along with wartime spending, lifted us out of economic disaster. In the late 1980s we should have learned the lesson again when relaxed regulation of Savings and Loans created an expensive bailout crisis. We quickly forgot about that and went on our merry deregulation way.
We ignored two very fundamental things about human nature. First, like it or not, greed is a major motivator of Homo sapiens. Second, many of us like to think we are considerably smarter than we really are.
Let’s face it; most of us simply do not understand the complexities of high finance. We haven’t a clue about what’s going on with derivatives, hedge funds, credit-default swaps, and exotic mortgage-backed securities. Hedge fund managers don’t even reveal how they are investing the money entrusted to them! Investors are supposed to just have faith.
Ignorance about high-level money matters is not confined to the middle and lower classes. The wealthy often don’t understand sophisticated financial deals, either. They, however, can hire accountants, lawyers, and other expensive advisors to protect their interests and make big profits for them. We common folks simply are unable to do that. We have neither the money nor the contacts.
We are the minnows in the financial pond. It should come as no surprise that the big fish just ate a whole lot of us little fish. They almost always do. This time, we suffered the additional indignity of being forced to pay the costs of the meal.
We must empower our government to closely monitor and regulate our financial institutions simply because we cannot protect ourselves from greedy executives and the predators who are ever-ready to pick our pockets to benefit themselves or their clients.
We need to get the sheriff and a whole lot of deputies back into our financial community right now. We need to back them up by restoring many old regulations and creating some stiff new ones, and we need to cheer them on as they round up the wrongdoers and hang them high. We need enterprise that is both free and fair.
A whole lot of us thought deregulation was the way to go when our hero Ronald Reagan made it a pillar of his campaign in 1980. After all, wasn’t free enterprise the American way, something to be taken literally? And with less government interference, business people would just naturally be freer to lead us to prosperity, and wouldn’t that be wonderful?
So we ran roughshod over what we saw as a misguided regulator crowd. Laws were changed. Officials were admonished to be kinder and gentler to the very guys they were supposed to be watching, because, after all, American business leaders could be trusted. And, of course, private enterprise does everything better than government. It can even regulate itself, we were told.
Well, American business leaders can be trusted. Their job is to operate efficiently and maximize profits for their shareholders. They can be trusted to work hard to make their operations successful. There is nothing wrong with that. Without guidelines about what is permissible, though, financiers and business people face too much pressure to produce large short-term profits, and do it quarter after quarter. That was part of the problem when we went overboard with deregulation. Caution became a dirty word. Many individuals crossed the line and committed fraud. Others had no ethics to begin with, and gleefully took advantage of the new deregulated situation.
Somewhere along the line, we forgot the lessons of the not-so-distant past. Government programs that did work in combating effects of the Great Depression included considerable regulation of our financial institutions. That inspired confidence, which along with wartime spending, lifted us out of economic disaster. In the late 1980s we should have learned the lesson again when relaxed regulation of Savings and Loans created an expensive bailout crisis. We quickly forgot about that and went on our merry deregulation way.
We ignored two very fundamental things about human nature. First, like it or not, greed is a major motivator of Homo sapiens. Second, many of us like to think we are considerably smarter than we really are.
Let’s face it; most of us simply do not understand the complexities of high finance. We haven’t a clue about what’s going on with derivatives, hedge funds, credit-default swaps, and exotic mortgage-backed securities. Hedge fund managers don’t even reveal how they are investing the money entrusted to them! Investors are supposed to just have faith.
Ignorance about high-level money matters is not confined to the middle and lower classes. The wealthy often don’t understand sophisticated financial deals, either. They, however, can hire accountants, lawyers, and other expensive advisors to protect their interests and make big profits for them. We common folks simply are unable to do that. We have neither the money nor the contacts.
We are the minnows in the financial pond. It should come as no surprise that the big fish just ate a whole lot of us little fish. They almost always do. This time, we suffered the additional indignity of being forced to pay the costs of the meal.
We must empower our government to closely monitor and regulate our financial institutions simply because we cannot protect ourselves from greedy executives and the predators who are ever-ready to pick our pockets to benefit themselves or their clients.
We need to get the sheriff and a whole lot of deputies back into our financial community right now. We need to back them up by restoring many old regulations and creating some stiff new ones, and we need to cheer them on as they round up the wrongdoers and hang them high. We need enterprise that is both free and fair.
Thursday, October 02, 2008
Campus Comedy
A promotional ad during a timeout in Saturday’s Wisconsin-Michigan football game extolled the virtues of the “Wisconsin Idea” in education—“The Boundaries of the Campus are the Boundaries of the State.”
That’s another way of saying UW pioneered in developing extension activities. When I was a freshman at Wisconsin, another activity that often drew attention, and sometimes criticism, was nearing its end at the school. The student humor magazine, the Octopus, was in its final year. The magazine’s motto was “The Bounders of the Campus are the Bounders of the State.”
Only a true zany could come up with something like that. The editor was one. He lived in the room next to mine in the cheap rooming house where I spent my first semester. One of the editor’s favorite projects was producing an Octopus issue that was a parody of the student newspaper, the Daily Cardinal.
The editor christened the parody paper the Daily Crudinel. I don’t remember the exact number given, but I do recall one of the most ingenious items on the Crudinel sports page. A headline proclaimed: “Fencers Lose to Illinois, Six Dead.”
A promotional ad during a timeout in Saturday’s Wisconsin-Michigan football game extolled the virtues of the “Wisconsin Idea” in education—“The Boundaries of the Campus are the Boundaries of the State.”
That’s another way of saying UW pioneered in developing extension activities. When I was a freshman at Wisconsin, another activity that often drew attention, and sometimes criticism, was nearing its end at the school. The student humor magazine, the Octopus, was in its final year. The magazine’s motto was “The Bounders of the Campus are the Bounders of the State.”
Only a true zany could come up with something like that. The editor was one. He lived in the room next to mine in the cheap rooming house where I spent my first semester. One of the editor’s favorite projects was producing an Octopus issue that was a parody of the student newspaper, the Daily Cardinal.
The editor christened the parody paper the Daily Crudinel. I don’t remember the exact number given, but I do recall one of the most ingenious items on the Crudinel sports page. A headline proclaimed: “Fencers Lose to Illinois, Six Dead.”
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Bring in the Clowns
There it was, right on the front page of my morning paper, a direct quote from one of our brilliant Utah politicians commenting on a proposed bailout of national financial institutions:
"I don't believe this crisis has been caused by an unregulated market. In fact, the free market probably hasn't been given enough of a chance to perform."--Congressman Rob Bishop
No wonder we so often are the laughingstock of the Nation.
There it was, right on the front page of my morning paper, a direct quote from one of our brilliant Utah politicians commenting on a proposed bailout of national financial institutions:
"I don't believe this crisis has been caused by an unregulated market. In fact, the free market probably hasn't been given enough of a chance to perform."--Congressman Rob Bishop
No wonder we so often are the laughingstock of the Nation.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
A Crisis, For Sure
A whole lot of disagreement has been swirling around regarding the state of the U.S. economy. It's been a little hard to really know who's doing what to whom. For some time our president was claiming that the fundamentals of our economy were sound, but even he lately agreed we have some big problems.
Just yesterday, I encountered indisputable evidence that we are in an economic crisis of the most desperate kind.
During my 26 years in the U.S. Forest Service, we often referred to the outfit as the "Forest Service family." That was not a corporate invention of some public relations practitioner. There really was a family spirit throughout the organization.
Employees at all levels did what they could to help each other out. It was almost a requirement to invite visitors from other locations home for a meal with one's "real" family. Supervisors often hosted their subordinates at group dinners or parties as a kind of "thank you" for good work, especially around the holidays. Groups of employees frequently socialized after hours at restaurants or taverns. For some, the organization was the hub of their social as well as working lives.
Part of the mutual help was sharing knowledge of where to get the best bargains on just about anything. If you wanted to find the most inexpensive place to get decent restaurant food in almost any city, you could tap into the Forest Service underground network and the favored spot was described for you very quickly. We were known widely as tightwads. I will admit to that, although I like "careful spender" better.
Some years ago as a combined birthday and Christmas present, I took Sandy along when I had to make a week-long business trip to San Francisco. While I was in meetings, she had a great time taking the various tours available in that wonderful city. One was with a prominent chef who took a small group to lunch at favorite restaurants over several days. Sandy then took me to the best places for evening meals.
The first time we did that, she extolled the virtues of one Chinese restaurant that her host chef had proclaimed the best value in a city famous for that type of food. When we got there for dinner, there was a line waiting to get in that stretched about halfway around a city block. We had to pass all the waiting diners to take our place at the end of the line. Every single Forest Service man and women who had been in my meeting that afternoon was in that line. All had tapped into the value network.
What does that have to do with confirming that our economy is in the toilet? Yesterday, I had coffee with a group of Forest Service retirees in North Ogden. They have been meeting for years on Wednesday mornings in McDonalds, because the purveyors of Big Macs and other health food would sell a cup of coffee to a mature adult for 27 cents. Unlimited free refills were available. These guys knew a good deal when they saw one.
We were horrified to learn that next week McDonalds is increasing the price of a senior coffee to 40 cents. We old Forest Service family members were in total agreement that failed financial institutions and rising gas prices were indicators of problems, but a 60 percent increase in the price of our McDonalds coffee was conclusive evidence of an economic calamity.
A whole lot of disagreement has been swirling around regarding the state of the U.S. economy. It's been a little hard to really know who's doing what to whom. For some time our president was claiming that the fundamentals of our economy were sound, but even he lately agreed we have some big problems.
Just yesterday, I encountered indisputable evidence that we are in an economic crisis of the most desperate kind.
During my 26 years in the U.S. Forest Service, we often referred to the outfit as the "Forest Service family." That was not a corporate invention of some public relations practitioner. There really was a family spirit throughout the organization.
Employees at all levels did what they could to help each other out. It was almost a requirement to invite visitors from other locations home for a meal with one's "real" family. Supervisors often hosted their subordinates at group dinners or parties as a kind of "thank you" for good work, especially around the holidays. Groups of employees frequently socialized after hours at restaurants or taverns. For some, the organization was the hub of their social as well as working lives.
Part of the mutual help was sharing knowledge of where to get the best bargains on just about anything. If you wanted to find the most inexpensive place to get decent restaurant food in almost any city, you could tap into the Forest Service underground network and the favored spot was described for you very quickly. We were known widely as tightwads. I will admit to that, although I like "careful spender" better.
Some years ago as a combined birthday and Christmas present, I took Sandy along when I had to make a week-long business trip to San Francisco. While I was in meetings, she had a great time taking the various tours available in that wonderful city. One was with a prominent chef who took a small group to lunch at favorite restaurants over several days. Sandy then took me to the best places for evening meals.
The first time we did that, she extolled the virtues of one Chinese restaurant that her host chef had proclaimed the best value in a city famous for that type of food. When we got there for dinner, there was a line waiting to get in that stretched about halfway around a city block. We had to pass all the waiting diners to take our place at the end of the line. Every single Forest Service man and women who had been in my meeting that afternoon was in that line. All had tapped into the value network.
What does that have to do with confirming that our economy is in the toilet? Yesterday, I had coffee with a group of Forest Service retirees in North Ogden. They have been meeting for years on Wednesday mornings in McDonalds, because the purveyors of Big Macs and other health food would sell a cup of coffee to a mature adult for 27 cents. Unlimited free refills were available. These guys knew a good deal when they saw one.
We were horrified to learn that next week McDonalds is increasing the price of a senior coffee to 40 cents. We old Forest Service family members were in total agreement that failed financial institutions and rising gas prices were indicators of problems, but a 60 percent increase in the price of our McDonalds coffee was conclusive evidence of an economic calamity.
Sunday, June 01, 2008
Going Green Again
Ah, once again we live in a nation of people singing the praises of going green. It's happened before.
When the "environmental movement" went into high gear in the early 1970s, some Americans bought economy cars like the VW Beetle and some even started to use public transportation. The enthusiasm pretty much wore off until an oil embargo raised new alarms a few years later. When the embargo was lifted and gas availability and prices returned to normal, we went into a prolonged period of favoring gas-guzzling SUVs and over-sized trucks as our family vehicles.
But now, we are serious about going green. Gas prices are horrendous, and better days ahead are unlikely. Everywhere, we learn of Americans taking the pledge to reduce consumption and thus force prices back to more reasonable levels while combating air pollution at the same time. Could that work? Yes it could. Will it work? Probably not.
Last week Sandy and I made our monthly run to Idaho to help support schools in the great potato state by purchasing a lottery ticket. I decided to perform a little test to learn what greener gallivanting could achieve.
It's almost exactly a 180-mile roundtrip to our favorite lottery ticket peddler with all but a few yards of it on an interstate highway with a 75 mph speed limit. Usually, I set the cruise control on 77, turn on some great music, and cover most of the distance in the fast lane. This time, I cruised at 65 miles per hour.
Sandy's car got 29 miles per gallon on the trip, four better than it had been getting at the higher speed. Gas was $3.80 per gallon that day. We saved one gallon by slowing down, which covered almost 40 percent of our usual lottery loss—a pretty good deal. The roundtrip took 22 minutes longer than usual. The scenery and music were great and I experienced a marked reduction in stress by staying in the slow lane, so the extra time spent on the journey could be considered a plus.
Of course, multitudes of others already had figured out that slowing down on an interstate trip had benefits. Sure they did. We passed exactly two vehicles—two decrepit old trucks—during the entire journey. The several hundred other drivers taking the same route all whizzed past us. Talking green is one thing, driving green apparently is quite another.
Ah, once again we live in a nation of people singing the praises of going green. It's happened before.
When the "environmental movement" went into high gear in the early 1970s, some Americans bought economy cars like the VW Beetle and some even started to use public transportation. The enthusiasm pretty much wore off until an oil embargo raised new alarms a few years later. When the embargo was lifted and gas availability and prices returned to normal, we went into a prolonged period of favoring gas-guzzling SUVs and over-sized trucks as our family vehicles.
But now, we are serious about going green. Gas prices are horrendous, and better days ahead are unlikely. Everywhere, we learn of Americans taking the pledge to reduce consumption and thus force prices back to more reasonable levels while combating air pollution at the same time. Could that work? Yes it could. Will it work? Probably not.
Last week Sandy and I made our monthly run to Idaho to help support schools in the great potato state by purchasing a lottery ticket. I decided to perform a little test to learn what greener gallivanting could achieve.
It's almost exactly a 180-mile roundtrip to our favorite lottery ticket peddler with all but a few yards of it on an interstate highway with a 75 mph speed limit. Usually, I set the cruise control on 77, turn on some great music, and cover most of the distance in the fast lane. This time, I cruised at 65 miles per hour.
Sandy's car got 29 miles per gallon on the trip, four better than it had been getting at the higher speed. Gas was $3.80 per gallon that day. We saved one gallon by slowing down, which covered almost 40 percent of our usual lottery loss—a pretty good deal. The roundtrip took 22 minutes longer than usual. The scenery and music were great and I experienced a marked reduction in stress by staying in the slow lane, so the extra time spent on the journey could be considered a plus.
Of course, multitudes of others already had figured out that slowing down on an interstate trip had benefits. Sure they did. We passed exactly two vehicles—two decrepit old trucks—during the entire journey. The several hundred other drivers taking the same route all whizzed past us. Talking green is one thing, driving green apparently is quite another.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Monday, April 09, 2007
Cold Off the Press
Oops. A couple of friends have accused me of negligence for failing to announce here the completion of a project that kept me out of other mischief for nearly two years. So, to make things right, here's the pertinent poop.
Building a Research Legacy: The Intermountain Station 1911-1997, by Richard J. Klade, actually was completed three months ago. However, bureaucratic haggling among the publisher's minions and financing snafus prevented copies from rolling of the presses until just now. Attempts were made to fill some of the 259 pages with accounts (and photos) of people and events somewhat more interesting than those in many dull histories. So it might be worth a look.
The book can be viewed or printed out at two web locations:
www.fs.fed.us/rm/pubs/rmrs_gtr184.html offers a way to order a CD or paper copy. There is no charge for a disc or copy, and no shipping charges. Who says there's no free lunch?
www.treesearch.fs.fed.us/pubs/25206 lets a reader view or download the document, and also offers the chance to evaluate the book. If you do that, please be kind!
To order a paper copy or CD direct from the publisher, ask for Building a Research Legacy, RMRS-GTR-184. Provide your name and complete mailing address.
Telephone an order to: (970) 498-1392
Fax an order to: (970) 498-1122
E-mail an order to: rschneider@fs.fed.us
Snail mail an order to:
Publications Distribution
Rocky Mountain Research Station
240 West Prospect Road
Fort Collins, CO 80526
Or, if you are among the masses who probably are not intensely interested in getting a look or a copy, but like alternative methods, put a note in an old bottle and toss it into the nearest major body of water. That seldom works, but is interesting and can be a good test of your throwing arm.
Oops. A couple of friends have accused me of negligence for failing to announce here the completion of a project that kept me out of other mischief for nearly two years. So, to make things right, here's the pertinent poop.
Building a Research Legacy: The Intermountain Station 1911-1997, by Richard J. Klade, actually was completed three months ago. However, bureaucratic haggling among the publisher's minions and financing snafus prevented copies from rolling of the presses until just now. Attempts were made to fill some of the 259 pages with accounts (and photos) of people and events somewhat more interesting than those in many dull histories. So it might be worth a look.
The book can be viewed or printed out at two web locations:
www.fs.fed.us/rm/pubs/rmrs_gtr184.html offers a way to order a CD or paper copy. There is no charge for a disc or copy, and no shipping charges. Who says there's no free lunch?
www.treesearch.fs.fed.us/pubs/25206 lets a reader view or download the document, and also offers the chance to evaluate the book. If you do that, please be kind!
To order a paper copy or CD direct from the publisher, ask for Building a Research Legacy, RMRS-GTR-184. Provide your name and complete mailing address.
Telephone an order to: (970) 498-1392
Fax an order to: (970) 498-1122
E-mail an order to: rschneider@fs.fed.us
Snail mail an order to:
Publications Distribution
Rocky Mountain Research Station
240 West Prospect Road
Fort Collins, CO 80526
Or, if you are among the masses who probably are not intensely interested in getting a look or a copy, but like alternative methods, put a note in an old bottle and toss it into the nearest major body of water. That seldom works, but is interesting and can be a good test of your throwing arm.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Give Yourself a Proper Sendoff
A badly overused joke among mature adults is that they read death notices in newspapers just to make sure they're not among the deceased that day. Having reached a ripe old age, I'm certain the real reason oldsters read the obits so religiously is because their contemporaries are dropping like flies, and the readers are very curious to see what is written about the dearly departeds they knew. I maintain that obituaries prepared by funeral directors or newspaper staffers with information provided by family members are not first rate, an unfortunate situation that could be corrected with a bit of advance work.
Everyone should write his or her own obituary.
An elderly writer who I supervised in the early 1980s convinced me of the truth of this. The guy wasn't extremely productive, but he could be creative. When he began telling me of the virtues of writing one's own swan song, I expected some of the usual fiddle faddle about how it would help the family in a time of great emotional stress. Nope. The principal reason was entirely self serving--you can portray yourself in a highly favorable way and not say a single thing that is untrue. And you'll be doing the readers a favor because you can leave out all those unfounded, irritating laudatory statements, such as "he was beloved by all who knew him" or "she was a true friend in times of need" or "he will be sorely missed" or similar banal nonsense.
Another virtue of the do-it-yourself approach is it gives you one last chance to say before a large audience a few nice things about the people you love or admire.
The secret to successful, yet honest, self-aggrandizement starts with the realization that all obituaries are written in the past tense. Thus, you can mention every positive activity you ever engaged in without regard to how long you did it or how effective you were. You know more of the little positive things in your life than anyone else, so you should do the job or work with another to prepare the final salute to yourself.
The obituary I wrote in preparation for my demise follows. Every word in it is the truth. But you will find several instances of making myself look more impressive than I was by simply stating an unqualified fact. An example is in the second paragraph. I was a class president in high school. Sounds pretty grand. However, I was the freshman class president, and the frosh came from several different grade schools. They hadn't been together long enough to get to know each other before elections were held. Most who voted for me didn't know a thing about me. And there were only 80 kids in the class, anyway.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Richard J. Klade left us on ___________ after __ years of living well, laughing often, and loving much.
Dick was born Jan. 1, 1936 at Tomahawk, WI, to wonderful parents, Fred and Margaret Klade. As a youth, his passion was playing baseball on youth league, high school, American Legion, and county league teams. He also was a high school class president, saxophonist in the band, and a football player.
He started working at age 10 as a shoeshine boy and later was a waiter, farm and canning factory laborer, supermarket butcher, and printing shop helper. His savings and two small scholarships financed study at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, where he earned a journalism degree in 1957. At UW, he was a member of Sigma Delta Chi, professional journalism fraternity, and was elected president of Sigma Nu social fraternity.
He served with pride in the U.S. Army from 1958 to 1960, primarily as a troop information specialist at Fort Sill, OK.
Dick's professional work included stints as City Editor of the De Pere (WI) Journal-Democrat and Sports Editor of the Daily Tribune in Wisconsin Rapids. He also worked in public relations and sales promotion at The West Bend Company, Allis-Chalmers, and the McCoy Job Corps Center as an RCA employee. His writing occasionally appeared in the Sporting News and other national media. Dick achieved his two minutes of fame in 1973 when he presented a report on the "CBS Evening News with Walter Cronkite."
He joined a great outfit, the U.S. Forest Service, in 1968. He served as a writer-editor at the Forest Products Laboratory, Public Information Officer for the Boise National Forest and Eastern and Intermountain Regions, and Director of Research Information for the Intermountain Station in Ogden where he retired in 1994. He was awarded 11 Certificates of Merit for outstanding performance during his Forest Service career.
Along the way he was a charter member of the De Pere Junior Chamber of Commerce, a Kiwanis Club member in Boise, and for several years volunteered as a Greek Awards applications judge for Weber State University. He devoted more than 16 years to serving his neighbors in various capacities with the White Barn Homeowners Association in Pleasant View, UT.
Dick married the love of his life and best friend, Sandy, in West Bend, WI in 1961. Their son Lee, a stained glass artist in Plainwell, MI, was raised to be an honest man with good values by Sandy while his father pursued less important activities. Sandy and Lee remain with us, along with five nieces and nephews.
Dick loved his family, people of integrity, trying to hit golf balls (he got four holes-in-one, but said all were accidental), the Green Bay Packers, and Dixieland jazz, in about that order. He was a member of People's Church, a Unitarian-Universalist congregation in Kalamazoo, where for several years he chaired the Men's Discussion Group and met many new friends.
A badly overused joke among mature adults is that they read death notices in newspapers just to make sure they're not among the deceased that day. Having reached a ripe old age, I'm certain the real reason oldsters read the obits so religiously is because their contemporaries are dropping like flies, and the readers are very curious to see what is written about the dearly departeds they knew. I maintain that obituaries prepared by funeral directors or newspaper staffers with information provided by family members are not first rate, an unfortunate situation that could be corrected with a bit of advance work.
Everyone should write his or her own obituary.
An elderly writer who I supervised in the early 1980s convinced me of the truth of this. The guy wasn't extremely productive, but he could be creative. When he began telling me of the virtues of writing one's own swan song, I expected some of the usual fiddle faddle about how it would help the family in a time of great emotional stress. Nope. The principal reason was entirely self serving--you can portray yourself in a highly favorable way and not say a single thing that is untrue. And you'll be doing the readers a favor because you can leave out all those unfounded, irritating laudatory statements, such as "he was beloved by all who knew him" or "she was a true friend in times of need" or "he will be sorely missed" or similar banal nonsense.
Another virtue of the do-it-yourself approach is it gives you one last chance to say before a large audience a few nice things about the people you love or admire.
The secret to successful, yet honest, self-aggrandizement starts with the realization that all obituaries are written in the past tense. Thus, you can mention every positive activity you ever engaged in without regard to how long you did it or how effective you were. You know more of the little positive things in your life than anyone else, so you should do the job or work with another to prepare the final salute to yourself.
The obituary I wrote in preparation for my demise follows. Every word in it is the truth. But you will find several instances of making myself look more impressive than I was by simply stating an unqualified fact. An example is in the second paragraph. I was a class president in high school. Sounds pretty grand. However, I was the freshman class president, and the frosh came from several different grade schools. They hadn't been together long enough to get to know each other before elections were held. Most who voted for me didn't know a thing about me. And there were only 80 kids in the class, anyway.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Richard J. Klade left us on ___________ after __ years of living well, laughing often, and loving much.
Dick was born Jan. 1, 1936 at Tomahawk, WI, to wonderful parents, Fred and Margaret Klade. As a youth, his passion was playing baseball on youth league, high school, American Legion, and county league teams. He also was a high school class president, saxophonist in the band, and a football player.
He started working at age 10 as a shoeshine boy and later was a waiter, farm and canning factory laborer, supermarket butcher, and printing shop helper. His savings and two small scholarships financed study at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, where he earned a journalism degree in 1957. At UW, he was a member of Sigma Delta Chi, professional journalism fraternity, and was elected president of Sigma Nu social fraternity.
He served with pride in the U.S. Army from 1958 to 1960, primarily as a troop information specialist at Fort Sill, OK.
Dick's professional work included stints as City Editor of the De Pere (WI) Journal-Democrat and Sports Editor of the Daily Tribune in Wisconsin Rapids. He also worked in public relations and sales promotion at The West Bend Company, Allis-Chalmers, and the McCoy Job Corps Center as an RCA employee. His writing occasionally appeared in the Sporting News and other national media. Dick achieved his two minutes of fame in 1973 when he presented a report on the "CBS Evening News with Walter Cronkite."
He joined a great outfit, the U.S. Forest Service, in 1968. He served as a writer-editor at the Forest Products Laboratory, Public Information Officer for the Boise National Forest and Eastern and Intermountain Regions, and Director of Research Information for the Intermountain Station in Ogden where he retired in 1994. He was awarded 11 Certificates of Merit for outstanding performance during his Forest Service career.
Along the way he was a charter member of the De Pere Junior Chamber of Commerce, a Kiwanis Club member in Boise, and for several years volunteered as a Greek Awards applications judge for Weber State University. He devoted more than 16 years to serving his neighbors in various capacities with the White Barn Homeowners Association in Pleasant View, UT.
Dick married the love of his life and best friend, Sandy, in West Bend, WI in 1961. Their son Lee, a stained glass artist in Plainwell, MI, was raised to be an honest man with good values by Sandy while his father pursued less important activities. Sandy and Lee remain with us, along with five nieces and nephews.
Dick loved his family, people of integrity, trying to hit golf balls (he got four holes-in-one, but said all were accidental), the Green Bay Packers, and Dixieland jazz, in about that order. He was a member of People's Church, a Unitarian-Universalist congregation in Kalamazoo, where for several years he chaired the Men's Discussion Group and met many new friends.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
The Birth of This Blog
How could I resist? An AARP magazine article said that although only 5 percent of the millions of bloggers were seniors (I prefer "mature adults"), the number of oldsters was growing rapidly. I had to learn what this was all about. As the magazine recommended, I checked the blog created by Mort Reichek, an 81-year-old retired journalist who formerly wrote for such national media as Business Week and Forbes.
Reichek's musings were, or course, well written. They also were fascinating. After exchanging e-mails with him, mostly to see if the system worked as advertised, I was hooked. Reichek sees his blog as a creative outlet that also has provided a welcome network of pen pals.
Reichek "publishes" good stuff. Sometime back, one pundit advanced the opinion that the advent of the internet gave "vast numbers of people the opportunity to create vast amounts of junk."
I hope my meager efforts will fall into the "good stuff" bin more often than the "junk" box.
How could I resist? An AARP magazine article said that although only 5 percent of the millions of bloggers were seniors (I prefer "mature adults"), the number of oldsters was growing rapidly. I had to learn what this was all about. As the magazine recommended, I checked the blog created by Mort Reichek, an 81-year-old retired journalist who formerly wrote for such national media as Business Week and Forbes.
Reichek's musings were, or course, well written. They also were fascinating. After exchanging e-mails with him, mostly to see if the system worked as advertised, I was hooked. Reichek sees his blog as a creative outlet that also has provided a welcome network of pen pals.
Reichek "publishes" good stuff. Sometime back, one pundit advanced the opinion that the advent of the internet gave "vast numbers of people the opportunity to create vast amounts of junk."
I hope my meager efforts will fall into the "good stuff" bin more often than the "junk" box.
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