All: This is My Last Day - Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2
For 75 years United Press International was known as one of the world's leading news organizations. The wire service, which was founded in 1907 as United Press, gathered news from bureaus around the world and delivered it to a worldwide client base.
On June 3, 1982, Scripps-Howard sold UPI to Doug Ruhe and Bill Geissler for $1. At the time, Ruhe was 38 and Geissler 36 and practically unknown. They took over a news organization of more than 1,500 employees in more than 200 bureaus around the world.

A Wall Street Journal story that appeared in the Washington Star in 1979 bore the headline:
UPI, Its 17 Years of Losses Mounting, Banks on Scripps and Satellites.

The lead paragraph stated:
Jerry McGinn isn’t doing much traveling any more, but it has nothing to do with the gasoline crunch.
McGinn is the manager of the Spokane, Wash., bureau of United Press International, the second largest news service in the country. Over the last two years, he says, his travel budget has been cut 10 percent to 15 percent because “the company is losing money” and “we’re told to keep it down on spending.” So, he adds, he hasn’t “been out of Spokane in a year.”

According to the Wall Street Journal story, UPI had a deficit of $2.5 million in 1978 and had a total loss of $17 million since 1961, its most recent profitable year. While citing "some observers" who said UPI was struggling for survival, it said UPI officials insisted that they had remedies for their problems and that they were counting on continued support from the E.W. Scripps Co., which owned 95 percent of UPI.

Jerry expanded on the story with me:
Here's my story on this.
I remember that story very well. It was on page one, left column, of the Wall Street Journal. I was told later that was THE spot for THE lead story each day in that paper. One friend unfolded that story out of his wallet about 20 years ago and said, "Jerry, you are the only person I know whose name showed up in the Wall Street Journal. That's why I saved this." Yes, he was tipsy, but sincere.
The WSJ author called me at the UPI-Seattle bureau one day and said he had been given my name by a Unipresser in New York who said I would probably answer questions about the status of UPI when no one there would. He refused to tell me who had given him my name.
I said I'd give it a go. So we talked for about 10 minutes.
When the story broke, and the prominent spot in the WSJ sunk in, UPI brass went crazy. I was told later Scripps was pissed, too. They thought they had put a lid on the listing if not the sinking of UPI. They were wrong.
My favorite reaction was from my wife, Chris, when she saw it. She said: "Well, darlin', you've always wanted to see your name on page one of the WSJ. Now you are there."
The president of UPI, Rod Beaton, ordered me fired immediately, according to my immediate boss, state manager Marty Heerwald. I was told he was apoplectic that one of his reporters would talk to another member of the news media. I laughed out loud when Marty, a strong supporter, told me that.
I explained to Marty, and later in a letter to (UPI management), that that was what we do for a living: interview people. I had never turned down a client interview before and didn't think, since I had been recommended by New York, that I should blow this guy off, either. They then demanded to know who in New York had recommended I be called. I said honestly that I did not know. I still don't.
In any event, I apparently had supporters in New York (I was definitely on Editor-in-Chief H.L.Stevenson's good list because he offered to move me east if I so desired, a couple of different times) because it blew over. I was a member of the WSG (Wire Service Guild), too, and they stepped in and (guild officers Kevin Keane and Dan Carmichael) said they'd have a huge problem if the brass tried to can me. The guild would not stand for it.
Keane and Carmichael were gifts to us working stiffs.
The only real big dust-up that occurred after that was during an EdiCon in Portland, Ore., hosted by Billy Joe McFarland (Portland, Ore.), Marty Heerwald (Seattle), myself (Spokane) and which featured (Pacific Division Manager) Reeve Hennion, UPI President Bob Page, Bill Lyon, New York pictures editor, and H.L. Stevenson. Plus all the owners and editors of a dozen or more Washington and Oregon newspapers.
Bill Lyon, who fancied himself (I learned) as a tough guy (and a wise guy wannabe), was very icy around me after we were introduced. As we and our wives had cocktails and mingled before dinner and generally mixed with our Washington-Oregon editors, I could see he was itching to have a chat with me. He liked to stare and he assumed I was in fear. I knew he was angry but, frankly, had no idea what was up at that point.
Lyon was also getting pretty sloshed.
Finally, Lyon got his opening and he came over and basically called me a traitor to UPI and asked in front of a few standers-by how in hell I would dare talk to the WSJ the way I did. I told him what happened and it just made him madder.
He said something like, "In New York, you'd have your ass handed to you."
I'd had it by then and told him to go fuck himself. In front of HLS, Page, Hennion and some others. He leaned in and so did I. He suggested we go outside and I said I would be delighted. And at that point I would have been delighted.
Someone separated us and Lyon's last words to me were, "If you were in New York, I'd put a hit on you."
I said if his friends weren't holding him at that moment I'd kick the shit out of him and enjoy it immensely. He continued to try to stare me down the rest of the night.
But that was it.
Except the next day Lyon apologized and I accepted. I told him I was sorry, too, sorry that I didn't kick his ass when he threatened to get me killed. He smiled sheepishly but it was clear we were not going to be friends. Ever. Ironically, we wound up working on features and what used to be called (I think) national horizons packages and the artwork that went with them. Got along fine vis a vis the message wire.
I understand from others after that that he was a bit of bully in New York but was a damned good shooter (photographer). Photogs, I guess, respected him. But that was the end of our association, even though there was a bit of a buzz going around the EdiCon at the time.
Jerry was "invited" to leave UPI on April 26, 1985, a date that became known as the Friday Night Massacre. But he said he did not get the Western Union telegram telling him of his departure until Saturday morning. "I put a smiley face sticker on it, framed it and it was featured on the wall at my desk for several years thereafter."
Unipresser Ed Hart believes UPI's demise "was assured in the spring of 1984 with the sale, lease or whatever it was of the UPI Photo Library to Bettmann. Not only was this invaluable asset physically moved more than a mile away from our headquarters in the Daily News Building on Manhattan's East Side, its staff of professional researchers was dismissed. The replacements were young and inexperienced.”
Ed explained:
“These replacements had no knowledge of photography, no knowledge of the news business and were discouraged by their management from asking the one or two Unipressers in their office any questions about the library or the wire service itself.
“We were reminded daily that we (UPI employees) were Bettmann's ‘guests.’ An adversarial relationship developed even before I agreed to Ted Majeski's request to represent UPI in Bettmann's office on East 21st Street. That relationship and Bettmann's attitude as expressed by its two managers, was soon felt by our clients.
“’We don't make any money from UPI's clients,’ I was told repeatedly, and I was there, so I was to blame. Also, ‘You (UPI) order too many pictures.’
“For every picture we used from what had been ‘our’ file we paid Bettmann $35. Yes, we matched obits, sports, spot news with filers. I once asked a Bettmann manager to examine one of our fax rolls and tell me which of the pictures was ‘too much.’ Of course she didn't reply.
“I was in the position of trying to explain to our clients why they weren't getting their requests on time and why Bettmann's researchers couldn't find stuff our researchers had located within minutes and I was running out of excuses.
“Some of our clients were calling the AP photo library to ask our former librarians who had been hired by Grandma where to locate photos they knew we had but Bettmann couldn't find.
“Our clients voted with their money. They weren't getting what they paid for.
“In 1983, UPI had a million dollars from its Photo Library sales. And that was with what one ‘veteran’ has described as an ‘arcane filing system.’ Those sales were also achieved without cross-filing (cataloging), according to the same ‘veteran’ who never worked in or with our library when it was ours.
“I remember describing the Bettmann situation to one of our general deskers, someone I had worked with for years. ‘Wow,’ he commented, ‘They really screwed you.’ ‘No,’ I replied, ‘They screwed US!’
“Seven years later and 44 years after I started at Acme Newspictures I wrote my goodbye message. It was short. It read, ‘73 et 30.’ It was signed ‘eh/nxp’ (Ed Hart, New York photos).”
By the new millennium UPI was barely a whisper in the news community, a victim of years of incompetent and greedy owners, who in their attempts to climb out of debt only dug the hole deeper. In the process, they trashed hundreds of loyal, dedicated, talented print, broadcast and photography journalists. An excellent book has been published that details the grim details of how this once proud wire service was decimated and subjected to a slow and cruel death -- Down To The Wire, UPI's Fight for Survival, by Ronald E. Cohen, Washington bureau chief and managing editor, and Gregory Gordon, an 18-year veteran who headed UPI's investigative team.
This book does not attempt to duplicate what Ron and Greg accomplished.
Instead, it is dedicated to the hundreds of Unipressers who were yanked from
their jobs or who were forced to leave because of the uncertainty under
which they worked beginning in the mid-1980s. It is told in their words,
expressed in what had become a tradition at UPI -- the farewell messages.
Many of us had worked for years, sometimes decades, without meeting the
hundreds of colleagues stationed in bureaus around the nation and around the
world. We knew each other by our work and by our names. But, we became an
extended family and the farewell messages contained in this book were
good-byes to our brothers and sisters. Their messages were poignant, angry,
nostalgic, scared. And they carried a common theme: No matter their feelings
about why they were leaving, almost all of them expressed their love for the
work they did, the people they did it with and the logo under which they
worked -- UPI.

The messages are arranged chronologically and include the debate that raged
on the internal UPI message wires in 1990 over the company's second request
that Unipressers take a pay cut, this time of 35 percent of their pay.

On April 28, 1985, UPI filed for Chapter 11 and was officially bankrupt.
Although many owners in the subsequent years attempted to reverse the
downward spin, the company never recovered.
Mexican publisher Mario Vazquez-Rana purchased UPI in 1985. His money kept
the wire service alive, but the euphoria quickly disintegrated.

The messages usually were written all lower-case. I have for the most part
kept them in their original form as they were filed, including with many of
their message wire abbreviations and shorthand.

They begin with the farewell message posted by Cohen in 1986 after he was
fired.

To all Unipressers

Today is my last day with UPI. Since I no longer fit into the company's
plans, I finally must acknowledge my family's long-time question, "What do
you want to be when you grow up?"

Twenty-five years can be an eternity, or it can be an instant. To me, it
seems but a moment ago that I walked into UPI's Hartford bureau, was plunked
down into a sculpture of ancient metal and stuffing generously called a
chair, and learned I had five minutes to assemble, punch and begin
transmitting the 8:30 a.m. Connecticut news roundup. I never had seen a
teletype machine before. Welcome to UPI.

My three years as managing editor have been both tumultuous and surpassingly
gratifying. Most of the industry wrote our obit in April of 1985, but
Unipressers reached into deep reserves of enterprise and professionalism and
defiantly shouted, "Surrender, hell!"

Thumbing our noses at the external Cassandras and our internal turmoil, we
brilliantly covered such stories as the TWA and Achille Lauro hijackings;
the Tokyo, Dallas and Milwaukee plane crashes; the Mexico City earthquake;
the Challenger disaster.

Even while we crafted the magnificent, we uncomplainingly churned out the
mundane -- performing the vital but less glamorous tasks that told the world
we not only were alive and well, but kicking too.

I have said it many times, and I will say it again; Chapter 11 bespoke of
the guts and the talent of Unipressers more eloquently than any period in
our long and legendary past.

I am profoundly proud of what we accomplished together. Nobody can ever take
that away.
I know that, whatever happens, you will acquit yourselves with honor and
grace, and I am confident that, in UPI's continuing struggle for survival,
you will bear the torch proudly and high, and never quit reaching for the
dream -- always just beyond your fingertips.

I will miss UPI, but especially I will miss all of you.

It is an honor to have been your colleague, and a privilege to call you
friends.
73s, and 30.
Ron Cohen-wa
The "wa" was the call letters to designate the Washington, D.C., bureau.

Ron's message created a message wire orgy. Unipressers from around the world
flooded the message wire with notes of outrage, condolences, tearful
good-byes. They were collected and printed out and pasted on the walls
surrounding the door to what had been his office.

Another top management victim was Maxwell McCrohon, who had come to UPI from
The Chicago Tribune where he had been the newspaper's editor. But after
three years at UPI, McCrohon found himself at odds with Vazquez-Rana, who
had frozen him out of the decision-making process.

On Nov. 11, 1986, McCrohon filed his farewell message.

To all UPI staff

Working with you over the last three years has been a most rewarding
experience.

The respect I had for UPI even before I joined you has grown as I personally
encountered your professionalism all over the world. Frankly, I have never
seen such dedication to an institution and an ideal. Working together,
you're going to make it a success.

Print, pictures and graphics, broadcast and radio -- you're a bloody fine
outfit.

It has been a privilege.
Much good luck.
Sincerely,
Max McCrohon
1986, started with a bang -- literally. On Jan. 28, 1986, the U.S. spaceship Challenger exploded. The world's worst nuclear accident occurred in April in Chernobyl, the Soviet Union, and the Fox Network was launched in America. Vice President George Bush said, “I do not like broccoli and I haven’t liked it since I was a little kid and my mother made me eat it. And I’m President of the United States and I’m not going to eat any more broccoli. Now look, this is the last statement I’m going to have on broccoli. There are truckloads of broccoli at this very minute descending on Washington. My family is divided. For the broccoli vote out there: Barbara loves broccoli. She has tried to make me eat it. She eats it all the time herself. So she can go out and meet the caravan of broccoli that’s coming in.” Republican Arnold Schwarzenegger married into a prominent Democratic family when he married Maria Shriver and Haley's Comet returned. The two incidents apparently were not related.

In 1987, Baby Jessica McClure fell down a well and was rescued, Margaret Thatcher was re-elected in London, the U.S. stock market plummeted 22 percent on Oct. 19 and condom commercials began to appear on television. The U.S. budget reached the trillion-dollar mark and Robert Bork of President Nixon's Saturday Night Massacre fame was denied a Supreme Court appointment. Gary Hart didn't fare much better. His political career was destroyed with his involvement with Donna Rice.

At UPI, the departures continued in 1987. But, first, there were arrivals. Toward the end of 1986, Milt Benjamin, a former UPI reporter in Boston and Washington, was lured from his job as foreign editor at the Washington Post. And early in 1987, Benjamin introduced UPI's new managing editors: Barry Sussman, who had directed the Post's Watergate coverage, Ben Cason, Washington Post assistant managing editor, and Kim Willenson, a Newsweek reporter who had covered the Vietnam War for UPI.

Their tenure did not last long. They immediately ran into conflicts with Vazquez-Rana, who had given Cason marching orders to cut 250 editorial jobs.

Nov 3, 1987
To: the staff and the subscribers of UPI
from: Ben Cason
Barry Sussman
Kim Willenson
With this letter the three of us announce our resignations from United Press International, effective Nov. 20, 1987.
We take this action with deep regret, but with the conviction that we can no longer assure the quality and integrity of the UPI report. It is not our desire to pursue these matters here or in any other public forum.
We came to UPI ten months ago with plans to improve the report, and feel we have helped to do so. We learned very quickly that there existed, long before we arrived, a talented, energetic, devoted staff that has made many sacrifices in the name of putting out a quality news report.
These men and women have performed superbly under adverse conditions. The staff of UPI is capable of setting a national standard for fast, accurate, thoughtful and enterprising coverage of the news. Its efforts deserve continued support from the nation’s news media.
That backing, in the months ahead, will be vital to the survival of strong competition in American reporting of national and international news.
We have arranged our departures, including the provision of advance notice of his announcement to the company’s present ownership, to allow successors to be located without a loss of editorial continuity. We wish the people of UPI every success, and ask UPI’s subscribers to give the new editorial management of UPI a chance to prove that the company remains deserving of their patronage.

Then it was time for the grunts of the wire service and the floodgates opened.

all
it is with sadness that today i end my 22-year career with upi, half of it
as national political writer. in a job that has taken me to virtually every
upi bureau in the nation, i have worked alongside the greatest crew of
professional journalists i will ever encounter, and in the process
i have made hundreds of friends i shall take along with me. 73's (Clay)
richards-wa
11-20-87

all
upi is such a rare place. there are people all over who i think of as
friends, and it comes as a start to realize how many i've never met -- over
the years the message wire starts to feel like real conversation.
in 11 years at this joint, from the deep onite to the luxurious dayside, the
one thing i've never been is bored. excited, angry, delighted or despairing,
yes. but bored, no. the work has always been meaningful -- journalism on the
guerrilla edge of the profession.
the official slogan used to be "around the world, around the clock with
upi." on the onite at upr (radio), we stuck by the more realistic "we may
doze, but we never close."
we've come too near to closing too many times in the past several years. but
once again we're pulling out of a crisis with upi's quality and integrity
intact. you're the people who make the wire run, and now the company's
editorial leaders are people who know that fact in their guts because
they've been in the trenches for decades.
i'll be rooting hard for all of you, my friends met and unmet.
73s, (Judy) dugan-upr (UPI Radio)-gendesk-waftus (features)
11-20-87

all
here i go quitting again after 8 1/2 years with upi. 5 years with a client,
then 3 more back at upi (returning rite after the pay cut). i sorta hate to
leave just when things are starting to get interesting (as in the old
Chinese curse: may you live in interesting times).
i reckon i'd still be here, come what may, if i hadn't fallen in love with
drake-kp (Kansas City, Mo.) the 60-plus miles between buros was unbearable,
and she's too special to let slip away. she becomes braden-kp on saturday.
spending nearly 10 years in the statehouse buo of an ap-stronghold
state -- face to face with the folks from the cooperative -- you become familiar
with the arrogance that comes from nearly unchallenged power. an ap-only
world is a frightening prospect.
from that vantage point, i offer an observation to u, u overworked,
often-unappreciated gang of ruffians.
u are among the few persons on the planet whose efforts truly could have an
influence on the future of this free people. seldom does an individual have
a chance to make a difference.
that and 40 cents will buy you a cup of coffee, but it also sets u apart
from the mundane mass of nine-to-fivers in their gray little world of
mortgages and manicured lawns.
keep smiling. it drives 'em crazy.
73s
braden-ac (Topeka, Kan.)
10-22-87

By the end of 1987, UPI had shrunk to less than 900 employees. Its 4,500 newspaper and broadcast clients numbered less than 2,400.

All: This is My Last Day - chapter 1

All: This Is My Last Day ...
By Henry David Rosso
CHAPTER 1

August 19, 1999, was a gut-wrenching day in the basement radio studio of United Press International. On that day, shortly after noon in Washington, D.C., UPI Radio sent the following to its radio clients:
One final story. This is the last broadcast from UPI Radio. United Press International is getting out of the radio business and has sold its contracts to Associated Press Radio. For those of us suddenly out of work, it has been fun. We feel UPI Radio has done its job well over all, even as we struggled with fewer and fewer resources. So, we sign off now with smiles, memories, a few tears, but no regrets. I’m Craig Smith.
Many believe that broadcast was the final nail in UPI’s coffin, closing the lid to a once-great news service that saw the likes of Walter Cronkite, Helen Thomas, Merriman Smith, Gail Collins, Joseph Galloway, Brit Hume and many, many more.
That year was also my last year with UPI after 27 years – almost every day of which I looked forward to going to work. I left UPI twice. Once I was invited to leave – abruptly. The second time I left – abruptly.
The year I left for good was also the year of the death of my father, who I believe passed journalistic fervor into my genes. When he was a 15-year-old Princeton High School student he interviewed Albert Einstein. When he was 17, he became the editor and reporter for the Princeton, N.J., Local Express.
When my father died, I found a letter he had written to me, "his son
who is just beginning his freshman year at Syracuse University."
He began by telling me what it was like at press time in the Gazette office
where he was working. "'Old Bill' is anxiously puttering over the forms
before he puts them to bed, Duke is busy picking up the mattrices that
'Betsy,' the linotype, has been spewing all over the floor, and I am
relaxing at your desk, a victim of that
'Thursday-afternoon-and-all-my-work-is-done' languor."
He took a moment to remember his days at Syracuse University. "Perhaps you
have felt, as I once did, that surge of printer's ink in your blood as you
walked through the Castle, and you have glanced with scorn at that towering
monstrosity, the Hall of Languages. All in all, you should be well adjusted
to college life and to the campus."
Then there was the college advice:
"Dave, you are not in college to absorb a lot of impractical knowledge; you
are there to gain wisdom. There is a difference. Knowledge can be found in
an encyclopedia. Wisdom is the effective and practical use of that
knowledge."
Finally, my dad's hopes came out:
"I can picture you when you return from Syracuse, Dave. It will be a
reflection of me when I graduated. What a reporter you will make! Instead of
describing a slight delay in the city council as such, you will refer to it
as 'unconscionable dilatoriness promulgated by a group of insignificant,
procrastinating octogenarians."
That letter had been written in 1946. I was 3 years old.
Fast forward to my real college days -- at Marin Junior College in Marin
County, across the bay from San Francisco. Much to my father's chagrin, I
was majoring in music.
"What are you going to do with a music major?" he asked.
"Teach music," I answered.
One day, my choir director and composition professor, Dr. Drummond S. Wolff,
approached me after class with one of my compositions. It was filled with
red circles, exclamation points and comments. He showed it to me, looked up
into my face, and said, "Why don't you go into journalism?"
I don't think it was a question.
I took a break from college in 1962 and traveled to Europe. I had seen an ad
in the school paper that offered: "Earn and learn in Europe." It promised to
set me up with a summer job in a country of my choice. I chose Germany and
went to work in a spool factory in the small town of Reutlingen. After a
month, I wrote the mayor of Munich, explained that I was a college student
working in Germany and did he have a job in Munich. He set me up with a job
at the Bayerische Motoren Werke (BMW) factory there. At that time, in the '60s, many non-Germans worked in Germany’s factories. While in Germany, I wrote first person accounts of my
days in Europe, which stretched beyond the original summer job to nine
months. I wrote four articles for the Marin Independent Journal. I think the
remuneration was 11 cents an inch.
Fast forward to 1968. I was fresh out of the Air Force and attending
American University in Washington, D.C., and working at the Washington Daily
News, one of three dailies in Washington. The other two were The Washington
Post and The Washington Star. At the News I measured art for advertising.
Not exactly what I had in mind for a career, but it got me in the door and I
got to rub shoulders with reporters.

One day, I passed by the Associated Press offices and, out of curiosity, walked in.
I was amazed. I entered a room filled with teletype machines that made such
a racket I could barely hear the gentleman who was patiently answering my
questions. I knew nothing about wire services and was fascinated to learn
that those machines were sending news around the world.

It was not much later that I met Cyndy Cockrill at a party and started dating her.
She worked at United Press International and introduced me to Grant Dillman,
the Washington bureau chief. Dillman and I talked for a bit, he read some of
my writing and hired me with the words, "You'll never get rich in this
business."

I didn't, and I did.

I began my career with UPI in December 1969 as a switchboard operator and
dictationist. On the switchboard, I learned to manage the spaghetti of cords
that connected -- and oftentimes erroneously disconnected -- the incoming and outgoing
calls. Elsie Holecko taught me the ropes, so to speak, along with Susan
Fogg, whose father, Sam, was a correspondent for UPI. Elsie taught me who
was who and where they were. Susan taught me not to take any crap from
anybody.

While on the switchboard, I learned what a flash was -- or, more precisely,
was not. I answered the phone and a male voice on the other end said: "This
is the FBI. I've got a flash."
Dillman was walking by the switchboard as I pulled over the microphone and
announced, "FBI, flash."

Dillman stopped in his tracks and turned white, his lower jaw dropped open.
He grabbed the phone I had connected, talked for a while and then passed it
on to whoever was running the news desk. He then educated me. The call was
to inform us that the FBI had made an arrest for the murder of labor leader
Joseph "Jock" Yablonski and his family. This may have been an urgent, but
certainly not a flash. Flashes were for the death of a president or
declaration of war or something equally as momentous. I was no longer to
take the word of the FBI.

That night I was taught that there are flashes, which triggered 10 bells on teletype machines; bulletins, which sounded five bells, and urgents, three bells.

UPI was noisy what with the bells and the teletype machines and yelling reporters and editors.
The newsroom was open. No cubicles. And there was constant give and take of varying degrees of intensity. A television in the center of the room was always on.

But it was the teletype machines that were possibly responsible for the ringing I experience in my ears to this day. The room was filled with large black boxes that banged out the news on various wires -- A wire for primary national and world news, B wire for news of lesser importance and transcripts, financial wire, regional wire, local and state wire -- all banging at once. Occasionally, we would have a power outage and when all the machines stopped at once, the silence was deafening.

Beck is a Four-Letter Word

Beck is a living, breathing four-letter word.
On Aug. 28, 1963, Martin Luther King Jr. delivered one of this nation’s – perhaps the world’s – most inspiring speeches.
He began that speech:
“I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.”
And he urged his audience:
“In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline.”
And he made his refrain that has become so familiar to Americans: “I have a dream today.”
He said:
“I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.’"
Dr. King spoke to the throngs gathered in front of the Lincoln Memorial of his dream that:
“With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.”
http://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/mlkihaveadream.htm
And now Glenn Beck has planned a rally at the Lincoln memorial on the 47th anniversary of Dr. King’s momentous speech. Beck – yes, Beck is a four-letter word – has called for a rally called Refounding America. For Beck to have the unmitigated gall to hold a rally on the day Dr. King gave his speech is an insult to everybody who believes in what Dr. King stood for and fought for.
Compare Dr. King’s words above with Beck’s words below.
"This president I think has exposed himself over and over again as a guy who has a deep-seated hatred for white people or the white culture ... I'm not saying he doesn't like white people, I'm saying he has a problem. This guy is, I believe, a racist."

"I'm thinking about killing Michael Moore, and I'm wondering if I could kill him myself, or if I would need to hire somebody to do it. ... No, I think I could. I think he could be looking me in the eye, you know, and I could just be choking the life out. Is this wrong? I stopped wearing my What Would Jesus -- band -- Do, and I've lost all sense of right and wrong now. I used to be able to say, 'Yeah, I'd kill Michael Moore,' and then I'd see the little band: What Would Jesus Do? And then I'd realize, 'Oh, you wouldn't kill Michael Moore. Or at least you wouldn't choke him to death.' And you know, well, I'm not sure."
"When I see a 9/11 victim family on television, or whatever, I'm just like, 'Oh shut up' I'm so sick of them because they're always complaining."

"The only [Katrina victims] we're seeing on television are the scumbags."

"I think there is a handful of people who hate America. Unfortunately for them, a lot of them are losing their homes in a forest fire today." –on why people who lost their homes in forest fires in California had it coming.

"I have been nervous about this interview with you because what I feel like saying is, 'Sir, prove to me that you are not working with our enemies. ... And I know you're not. I'm not accusing you of being an enemy, but that's the way I feel, and I think a lot of Americans will feel that way." –interviewing Rep. Keith Ellison (D-MN), the first Muslim U.S. congressman

"Al Gore's not going to be rounding up Jews and exterminating them. It is the same tactic, however. The goal is different. The goal is globalization...And you must silence all dissenting voices. That's what Hitler did. That's what Al Gore, the U.N., and everybody on the global warming bandwagon [are doing]."

Peace

I went outside this morning with my three cats and watched them play in the green grass speckled with little white flowers. The towering redwood poked high into the blue sky as the warm sun soothed me and I listened to a chorus of at least four different birds in the treetops warbling their various songs and I thought of what is going on in the world as I enjoyed the peace in my backyard and I suddenly thought of this song the Kingston Trio sang decades ago by Sheldon Harnick:

They're rioting in Africa
They're starving in Spain
There's hurricanes in Florida
And Texas needs rain.

The whole world is festering
With unhappy souls
The French hate the Germans,
The Germans hate the Poles

Italians hate Yugoslavs
South Africans hate the Dutch
And I don't like anybody very much

But we can be grateful
And thankful and proud
That man's been endowed
With a mushroom shaped cloud

And we know for certain
That some happy day
Someone will set the spark off
And we will all be blown away

They're rioting in Africa
There's strife in Iran
What nature doesn't do to us
Will be done by our fellow man.

Bisket Gets Lucky

Bisket Gets Lucky
OK, to start off, we never did decide on how to actually spell this cat’s name, so for the purposes of this essay, I am sticking with Bisket.
Bisket had been wandering around our neighborhood for a few days before we took her in. We had noticed that our neighbors had also noticed her and they asked us if she belonged to us. We already had two cats – Sylvie and Rico.
Finally, we took her in and started to ask around to try to find her owners. The moment I picked her up I fell in love. She purred so heavily and heavenly and she loved being held. Rico and Sylvie were not so sure. They let it be known right away that should she become a resident in our house, it was going to take some time.
We put up signs all over the neighborhood that we had found a cat. We took her to the veterinarian and got her shots and then we took her back to get her fixed. And that was when the first surprise hit. Bisket loved to eat. She ate so much that one of my wife’s colleagues at work suggested that perhaps Bisket was, good God, pregnant!
The vets called hours sooner than the time they said they would call for me to pick her up. “Mr. Rosso, you can pick up Bisket and we have a surprise.” “Oh, no,” I said, “She’s pregnant.” “No,” the vet said, “She’s a he.” They had already shaved her/him and anesthetized her/him when the discovery was made.
I picked him/her up and he/she staggered all over the house for a few hours until the anesthesia wore off and I stopped calling him her.
Over time, Sylvie and Rico started to accept Bisket. They still had their moments, but they also slept together, shared space together and ate together. Rico is all black, except for a small white patch under his chin. Bisket is all white. Sylvie is black and white. A perfect feline trio.
Last weekend, Susan and I took down many of the signs we had put up. It had been almost a month and no calls seeking a lost cat. Bisket was a member of the family.
Until this morning. At 7:15 this morning. That is when the phone rang. Gary was asking about a lost cat. Yes, Gary lived just a block away. His girlfriend got mad and left and let his cat out. Is your cat white? Yes. Gary said he could come by at 9.
A little before 9, Gary called again. This time Gary volunteered that Lucky, formerly known as Bisket, had a kink in his tail. Yes. That was Bisket/Lucky. Gary said, he and his father, who had a paper route had been out when his father ran over the cat. Gary retrieved it and nursed it back to health and has had it ever since, until his girlfriend put it out into the street.
Gary came to the house and I was holding Bisket and Gary yelled, “Lucky.” I handed Bisket/Lucky to Gary and he told his story again and how much he appreciated our taking him in and taking care of him and how happy he was to have Lucky back and we gave him the vet papers and he offered to pay for the shots and we said no and he said we could come visit and we said we would take him if he goes away on vacation and he told how he found Lucky and whey he named him Lucky and how his girlfriend let him out in the street and how much he appreciated us taking care of him and we had to go and we were happy he had him and I brushed a tear away and Gary hugged Lucky and we shut the door.
And Bisket is Lucky
And I cried.

familiar fear mongering

Ahh, yes, Armageddon. This health reform bill will destroy our great United States of America. Does it sound familiar?

Here is Ronnie Reagan arguing against Medicare in 1961:
“The doctor begins to lose freedoms; it’s like telling a lie, and one leads to another. First you decide that the doctor can have so many patients. They are equally divided among the various doctors by the government. But then the doctors aren’t equally divided geographically, so a doctor decides he wants to practice in one town and the government has to say to him you can’t live in that town, they already have enough doctors. You have to go someplace else. And from here it is only a short step to dictating where he will go.”

With an echo from Republican Sen. Carl Curtis of Nebraska in 1965:
“It is socialism. It moves the country in a direction which is not good for anyone, whether they be young or old. It charts a course from which there will be no turning back.”

And what about that terrible Social Security and all the many sins it will rain down on our country. Listen to Republican Senator Daniel Hastings from Delaware in 1935:
“I fear it may end the progress of a great country and bring its people to the level of the average European. It will furnish delicious food and add great strength to the political demagogue. It will assist in driving worthy and courageous men from public life. It will discourage and defeat the American trait of thrift. It will go a long way toward destroying American initiative and courage.”

And now that we will be turning our attention to immigration, let’s not forget who we may be allowing to enter our sacred grounds. Let’s remember the prophetic words of Democratic Congressman Compton White of Idaho in 1943 on why Chinese nationals should not be allowed to immigrate to the United States or become U.S. citizens:
“I do not think we can take the Chinese with their habits and mentalities in this year and time into our great American melting pot and in ten years or a hundred years bring them up to our standards of civilization.”

And speaking of the Chinese, don’t forget that good ol’ standby threat – Communism, as expressed by the National Association of Manufacturers in 1938 coming out against minimum wage and guaranteed overtime pay (some of this may sound very familiar):
“[The Act represents] a step in the direction of Communism, bolshevism, fascism, and Nazism.”

And then there is Lee Iacocca, sounding very Ayn Randish in 1970 coming against regulations against airborne contaminants:
“[T]his bill could prevent continued production of automobiles . . . [and] is a threat to the entire American economy and to every person in America.”

Stand up and say ENOUGH!

Just sent this to Democrats: I have contributed money. But we need to do more than contribute money. We need to reawaken the silent majority. While we listen to the angry, insulting, racist, threatening screaming diatribes most Americans shake their heads and worry. Now it is time to stop shaking our heads and start speaking. It is time for Democrats – and Republicans – to start taking vocal and public stands and say ENOUGH! Enough of the threats of assassinations. Enough of the racial insults. Enough of the gay bashing. Enough of the bricks thrown into windows. Enough of the non-stop lies about what the legislation does. Enough of the distortions. Enough of members of Congress acting like children and spoiled brats. It is time for them to engage in intelligent, deliberative debate that involves listening to all sides, quietly and with the single goal of reaching an agreement on the best route that will serve all of the people. These are bad times that require good intentions. These are bad times that require dedication of the whole for the whole, not of the few or the special interests or the special egos or any one party. This is not time for any more division and the American people have had enough. It is the responsibility of all of our leaders to start leading, start speaking up and start insisting on decorum.