The Word That Shall Not Be Named

My friend Ken Mcdowell has written often and forthrightly about the loss of civility in our national discussions. While he sees himself as the voice of reason, and often he is, he still sometimes hears the exact same tone as either the soothing sounds of songbirds or the suffering wail of a banshee depending on whether it emanates from the right or the left. In a recent blog post Ken discussed Bill Maher’s use of a certain ugly word to describe Sarah Palin. http://kendrickmacdowell.wordpress.com/ . Some words are too ugly to even partially spell using asterisks to replace vowels. I don’t even want to go that close to this particular word. Let’s just say it rhymes with the thing men are doing when they carry guns into the woods to find dinner.

There are all kinds of terrible words in the world. Some of them are just overwhelmingly ugly and embarrassing when used publicly, but can be appropriately inappropriate, even pointedly precise when used in more closed settings. There are no ugly words among whisky-ed men in smoky rooms. As long as everyone in the room has given permission by their presence in such places, there are no politically incorrect words, just colorful, descriptive adjectives and racist, sexist and filthy jokes. But Maher was doing his “Stand Up” act in heavily Democratic Dallas County. Maher claims he was well received, though no one polled the women in the audience.

Some words are fighting words, some make us cower, embarrassed for humanity to hear one of our own use or misuse it.  However, there are words at the very edge of the flat earth of language beyond which is nothing but the void. A word that rhymes with the smallest weakest puppy in the litter, is one of these.

The word Bill Maher used to describe Sarah Palin is one of the most provocative words I know. I wish I didn’t know it. A friend told me he used it in the last argument that he and his ex-wife had while living under the same roof. I have heard of men who were startled to find a butcher knife up under their ribcage after using this word. I know many perfectly polite women for whom this word triggers the nuclear option. I have seen it used by people who knew full well that once the word crossed their lips, fists would fly and all hell’s fury would break loose. F-bombs get dropped like napalm on the jungles of Vietnam, but one ugly little word rhyming with a football term for a strategic kick that relinquishes possession of the ball, makes Dresden look like a playground.

I once saw a teacher of deaf children take on a stripper in way-too-high heels (that story is rather complicated but exonerates me of any accusation of having been in a so-called gentleman’s club) and grab a beer bottle as a weapon, to emphasize her objection to the use of the word. One can only imagine the row – no, one can’t imagine – if Maher had actually said this insult to Palin’s face. I have no doubt Palin could have and would have been within her rights to kick Maher’s tookus.  

Maher’s use of “the word you never say” is interesting in all kinds of ways. First, it’s like a signal admitting he is less and less often funny, going the way of almost all comics (Robin Williams, George Lopez, Gallagher, Carrot Top) save a few, such as, Bob Hope, a rare, funny Republican of yesteryear.

Apparently, the PC police have now infiltrated the right and are offended by name calling when it is directed at them. This is like the black kettle that has been blackened further after being left over the fire for days while cooking black bean soup, calling the kettle black. For years they scoffed and belittled the “PCers”, starting their racist jokes and their sexist comments with “…well it may not be “politically correct” but…” They always got their little finger workout doing the quote signs in the air for emphasis, and then headed off into something that was sure to offend, unless of course they were in some inner sanctum of male inebriation. You can call the President of the United States the Anti-Christ but if you use a word that rhymes with the professional man who does the dangerous stuff in movies so Tom Cruise stays pretty, you have broken all of the rules.

If you want to be polite there are some perfectly nice church groups, book clubs, and nursing homes that you can visit. However, politics is a tough game and since there is little common decency among the men who play it, there is no reason to expect a special set of rules for the ladies. That said, if I was Bill Maher, I would grunt out an apology and watch my back.

Noting Spring 2011

Spring wells up from the blackland prairie and the post oak savannah of North Texas. The warming ground comforts the seeds. Blankets of wildflowers burst from the ground in the full sun fields between the shadows of the tree canopy. The parade of waving colors swirl through days of wind, each in its own time. First, are the brave little Blue Bells, unafraid of winter turning back for a final assault.  Soon, the anticipation of the Bluebonnet is relieved, followed by Indian blankets and Paint Brushes, all accompanied by other voices of the choir. Some have but a short time, others slowly wither as the heat of summer comes, and wears, on. Days of wind in March and April ruffle and smooth the low painted fields and roadsides. The wild plum, pear and apple blossoms explode in the still brown thickets, awaiting the dogwood. The assurance of Spring is in the dogwood and the Bluebonnet.

Rolling Blackouts

Sometimes it’s all just too much to watch and listen to, isn’t it? Spring Break came at just the right moment this year. While I did pay attention to what was happening in Japan, I have ignored most everything else this side of Charlie Sheen and the 24 - 7 news cycle for a couple of weeks. While the world didn’t end, I was a little disappointed that no one wrote to say, “Hey, I miss your blog.” Undeterred by a lack of popular acclaim, there are a couple of items to catch up on.

On his radio show on March 18, Glenn Beck said, "If This President Is Re-Elected In 2012, There Is No Way We As A Nation Survive In Any Form That We Understand". The idea that 10 million people a week listen to this nonsense is worrisome enough, the fact that many of them are driving at the same time is absolutely frightening. And they say texting while driving is dangerous.

So it’s now official. Vegas odds-makers say President Obama is the favorite in 2012. This is good news for Beck. What sort of programming could Beck sustain if the Tea Party has completely taken over America? So really Beck is rooting for the President in the same way Rich Little rooted for Nixon. This is called hedging your bet. My own entertainment aside, Beck’s prophesy on the fate of our nation in 2012 is another across the line example of how un-American that whole movement really is. They clearly never understood the responsibility part of the “Rights and Responsibilities” of Democracy, the tenets of majority rule and a loyal opposition. As long as the Republic has lasted, through civil war and civil rights, it is insulting to the American fabric that the re-election of Barrack Obama could be cast as the defining moment of the downfall of the empire. And in 1964, the same people were saying it was the Beatles.

Is there any credibility left anywhere? Wolf Blitzer just dubbed the actions compelled by U.N. Resolution 1973, “Obama’s War”. This made me laugh out loud until a second or two later I realized he might not be kidding. Either my writer’s wit has lost its way or there really are no good metaphors to describe how crazy that statement makes WB sound. The only thing that comes to mind is a small boy being dragged into the women’s apparel department by his mother and then calling it, “Little Barrack’s Shopping Trip”. By all accounts, the President had to be dragged into this Libyan expedition and the handling of it is open for debate on the right and the left. Calling it “Obama’s War” is nothing but the plundering of a theme offered by PBS on their Frontline Series, which focused on “Bush’s War” in Afghanistan and Iraq and then in 2008 “Obama’s War” in Afghanistan (again) as the new administration  took control of and re-branded that ongoing conflict. Two final thoughts, this isn't a war and if it is Obama's, then the guy who sweeps the popcorn out of the theater also directed the movie.

The credibility, and perhaps sanity, disappeared further in the last few weeks when ex-snake handler, Mike Huckabee, once again repeated the Kenya-myth about the President. He later claimed he misspoke. Now, you are free to believe the President was born in Kenya if you want and many of my immediate family members fought in “Reagan’s War” in Grenada to defend your right to believe as you please, but who in God’s money-green America can actually believe Mike Huckabee misspoke “Kenya” when he actually meant Indonesia, er uh, Hawaii. If you believe Huckabee misspoke on the subject of Kenya and the President, then you probably believe Lee Harvey Oswald was just trying to aim high with a few warning shots or that Huckabee is actually from planet earth. Birth Certificate? I want to see the mother ship.

A phrase that is becoming more and more a part of the lexicon is the term, “rolling blackouts.” While these refer to an actual loss of electrical power, there is an irony laced, subtext to this phrase. One can see evidence of rolling blackouts in the coverage of Charlie Sheen or the obsession with Dancing with the Stars. Or, OMG, the President, in a refreshingly light-hearted moment, picked a March Madness bracket and caused hours of broadcast hissing and gnashing of teeth. While rolling electrical blackouts are costly and dangerous, rolling mental blackouts seem to be a serious national problem.

Recent polls show that Tea Partiers and Republicans now favor the repeal of incest laws to get the government out of our personal business. Further, they are introducing legislation to hang anyone who ever voted in a Democratic primary. Tomorrow or the next day I’ll get around to admitting that I misspoke. What’s the difference? America ceases to exist in any form that we can understand in 2012. With Barrack Obama as President for another four years, Doomsday will have arrived, and Glen Beck will be left to wander through media world muttering, “I can’t understand. I can’t understand.” Now that, will be worth watching.

BP's Comeback

CNN Money and Bloomberg.com carried a little story on Feb. 28 that probably didn’t make your news feed. The first Deepwater drilling permit since the Deepwater Horizon blowout has been issued to Noble Energy Inc. The new well is near the site of the disaster that killed 11 workers. However, CNN Money, Bloomberg and apparently the A.P.,  failed to report that Noble Energy and several other partners own only about half of the well, while our old friend, BP owns 46%.  

This is a hold your nose moment for many people. Somehow, it just doesn’t seem right does it? If you are naughty in elementary school, they at least send you to the end of the line, don’t they? Still, one of the problems is we have failed to plan and invest far enough into the future. Human kind does not yet possess the higher thinking or the courage necessary to attain true sustainability. Our immediate needs, which really have never been needs, but rather excesses, have always driven the energy machine which drives the economic machine. BP is not the devil. To accept that makes me the devil’s keeper. I’m just a guy who likes to drive down to the coffee shop or put up Christmas lights.

I don’t hate BP. Hell, 60% of self-described “vegetarians” in a recent poll admitted to eating meat within the last 72 hours. As much as it is talked about, energy remains like an elephant to a blind man. We feel the parts – dependence, independence, conservation, regulation, alternative, utility bills and price at the pump, but we really can’t grasp how big and complicated this thing is.   

The good news is that deep water drilling will have to proceed more conservatively. (Funny how conservatives want everything to be conservative except when it comes to balancing competing legitimate interests in the making of the almighty dollar and then they want it wheels off, balls to the wall, no regulation, full speed ahead.)  The Obama Administration lifted the moratorium on permits back in October but the pace of permitting has been nil until now. All of the new regulations and requirements stymied a sudden rush back into deep water. The energy industry appears poised to embrace higher safety expectations and the Energy Department expects to permit more deep water wells soon

Companies that show that they can diligently work safely and have a disaster plan with the equipment readily available to implement the plan, will have no trouble getting the permit. It simply comes down to two questions: How will you prevent a blowout? How will you handle a blowout?  That’s what Noble Energy has done and provided a model for other companies to follow. Noble has a partner, Helix Energy Solutions Group that has the technology to contain and recover massive amounts of oil from a spill and to drill relief wells. There is that nagging question about what control BP can have in questions of operation and safety of the well but there at least appears to be resolve in the industry not to have more public relations, not to mention environmental, disasters.

BP ignored Helix’s offer of help for six weeks when Horizon blew out. Helix’s involvement is a good sign.  That and the fact that BP did not pay bonuses to executives responsible for operations in the Gulf of Mexico last year, may signal a new era of “safety first” at BP. In fact, new CEO Bob Dudley, who replaced the inept Tony Hayward, also refused any bonus this year. Early in his tenure, Dudley announced that in the future BP’s incentive payments would be linked to safety performance.

This is good for the economy and jobs and just as short sighted as we have always been about energy. One of these days we really will have to plan like 2111 is just around the corner. Well, because it is.

It's a Wonderful Life

One of my few impersonations is of the great Jimmy Stewart in “It’s a Wonderful Life” when his character, George Bailey, bemoans, “Why do we have to have all these kids?” It’s not a good impersonation, but it is executed with sincerity and empathy. Sometimes I feel exactly like George does at that moment. All parents have the occasional doubt. Of course, these moments are always followed, just like in the movie, by the epiphany of “Zuzu’s petals!” Despite the responsibilities, challenges, and disappointments, my wife Shannon and I stand in awe of the little unexpected miracles of being the parents of our three sons. I am not sure what we were thinking when we went into this parenting thing, so full of joy and trepidation, only to find ourselves at this late juncture in the process, so thoroughly confounded and relatively unscathed. Not that the wheels can’t come off at any moment – and usually have.

Shannon and I once had to hold my oldest, then three years old, down while a doctor stitched up his hand. The worst was the night he had a honking cough and they had to put him in the plastic tube with his arms straight up to x-ray his chest. I wore a 50 pound lead jacket and stood next to him offering feeble words of comfort. I can still hear the screams from both of those events. There were traumatizing events with the other two boys but, like war memories, they start to fade together. I do remember the broken wrist that buckled my knees and the orbital cellulitus over Y2K holiday, when the Pediatrician chased me out of the office yelling, “Get him to the hospital now. He could go blind!” Though it is true there are more photos of the first son, almost everything else was equal – good, bad, cost per unit. Despite the fact the middle and youngest would claim favoritism toward the first born, the financial receipts do not support this.

In the last few years, Shannon and I have, nearing the top of the parenting hill, encountered the steep part of the slope. The boulder is large, but our resolve is buoyant and steadfast. In just four years our youngest will be college bound. The choices now are so much more important than deciding how much TV is too much and when sugar treats are okay. The boys are not babies anymore but they do require counsel, or at least a maid and a chauffeur. We still live last minute notice to last minute notice. Several days a week are like a “Chinese fire drill”, as my mom used to say. Calendaring for a week is sketchy - a month ahead is like a corporate team building event. Returning to work the next day, we find ourselves a day behind on the work and 47 emails in the inbox.

February in Texas this year was irrelevant. Normally, February can be counted on to stand for something but instead it imitated March. It roared in like a Lion with snow and ice and by the end of the month the lamb of spring had arrived. Spring is not good news around my house. It means the end of any acceptable excuses for cozying up on the couch in front of the fire. My wife morphs into the allergy-zombie and suddenly there is a long list of house and yard chores. If she is going to be miserable she wants me in lock step. Spring brings an explosion of kid related responsibilities that have us scrambling in a thousand different directions.




As I recall, however, sitting in the emergency room at 2 a.m. is not nearly as difficult as the season of UIL, PAC-10’s, FAFSA, SSC, SAT & ACT, AP tests, high school audition, college planning, TAKS, and “the most important (fill in blank e.g. swim meet, water polo tournament, etc.) __________ of my life.” A teenager is like a cross between a toddler and an Alzheimer’s patient. One minute, they are so needy, the next minute they are belligerent because I can’t remember where they put their school backpack.

Also, I love the questions at 9:45 p.m. on a week night. “Where are the poster boards?” This question assumes that we store a ream of these somewhere. “You do remember I told you three weeks ago when we were stuck in that traffic and you were talking to mom on the phone that I have a big project due tomorrow?” There is no sense in arguing, I grab my car keys. At this point in my parenting evolution I can find a poster board in Dallas any time of the night but I can’t remember to teach the whippersnapper to get his own damn poster board. Maybe we are more alike than I thought.

Even though it is Spring these are melancholy moments for a weepy old dad like me. Caleb is off at Pac-10’s this week. His first two years of college as a music major and leader of the Arizona State Sun Devil Men’s (who said he could be a man?) Swimming Team has been full of ups and downs but he has persisted. It would make him mad but I am proud that he has persisted with his swimming, with his life dreams out there strumming a beckoning tune. With everything he has faced, injury, illness, loss of confidence, I would have already quit but that’s not the stuff he is made of. Meanwhile, he still acts as though he could, at any moment, drop out of college and move to New York to become a jazz musician. This sounds like something I would have done, which means it must be a really bad idea. Except he has the talent and passion, so whatever he chooses, his mother and I always support him, even though we miss him terribly.

Then, there is Liam, NHS, A Honor roll, all AP classes, All-State in Swimming, emerging water polo star. This is the child who at about 15 months, felt the pecking order weighted toward his older brother and from his car seat, began kicking the back of my driver seat, emphatically saying, “Me, ME, ME-ME-MEEEE!”, as a protest against being ignored. Living with Liam is like living with a psychologist, a priest, a lawyer and a comedian. He is wise beyond his years and makes us laugh. Liam and I, at this writing, are enjoying four days at Texas A&M University for the USA Swimming Sectional Championships. This time next year, we’ll know where he will attend college and be making graduation plans. So we take every opportunity to just enjoy our time together. I hold every hug a little longer, so he doesn’t get away too quickly.

Then there is Jonas, our sweet Jojo. I guess he is the inspiration for this piece. The poor kid was dragged all over the country for swim meets before he was old enough to join swim team. It just about ruined it for him. But, like all of us, he did love the water, and became a great little swimmer, even if the fire to drive himself competitively wasn’t there at a young age. He had to keep reminding me that it was okay to have fun. I knew this at my core but somehow the parent driven competition to have excellence in every aspect of our children occasionally got the better of me. While the older two swam on to dizzying heights, Jonas went to practice when he felt like it, enjoyed summer league swimming, played baseball and marched to the beat of a different drummer. I was exactly the same way, so I don’t know why it was hard to let him find his own journey.

The last few years Jonas has been more serious about everything, trumpet, swimming, school…the light seemed to go on at just the right time. Yesterday, he got his acceptance letter from the Arts Magnet High School where he will get music training in a public high school that we could never afford to give him. Last weekend, he swam in our North Texas championship swim meet and it was obvious from the beginning he was having a break out meet. After three great swims on Saturday, we were getting a bite to eat on the way home. “I never, ever, thought I could be as good as the brothers.” I am a youngest, Shannon is a youngest, we knew what he meant but were still sort of sad. Sometimes the underlying culture of a family is stronger than what you objectively know and believe. I told him I was sorry if we ever caused him to doubt, “Oh its okay Dad, I know I can be now.” “Well, it’s your turn, your time, now.” I told him. The next day he dropped an unheard of 45 seconds off his 1650 (mile) and qualified for our State Age Group Championships which is one of the fastest meets of its kind in the country. We’re so happy for him.

Good boys grow into good men, all in good time. Each is taking his own journey. I watch them grow and I know why we have these kids. I see how they are kind to others, respectful, curious, and passionate about their dreams. Shannon and I have three wonderful guys who want to help the world be a more beautiful and peaceful place. As they follow their natural course, I hope they don’t look back too closely. I wouldn’t want them to catch me crying. Hey Look! Zuzu's petals!

With Hand Over Heart

I don’t mean to understate it, but, generally, I believe the Tea Party is the most misdirected, hypocritical, cynical, manipulative, Chicken Little, sour grapes, intellectually dishonest, political body I have ever encountered. In other words, they are the same as every other political party – including mine - when it is not in power. I am talking about the Party, not the people. The individual parts in American political life far exceed the sum of the whole. The people who make up the Tea Party, just like the people who make up the Republican Party or the Democratic Party, tend to be decent, hard working, patriotic, generous, neighborly, reverent folk. Politics make no difference to me and my neighbors when one of us can’t get the car up the icy driveway or the dogs get out. We all come running to help each other.

When I am not writing, blogging, preparing to re-enter the practice of law, trying to stay healthy and being Mister Mom, I live one of my passions by coaching swimming. No one ever thinks about it, but swim coaching is a paid profession, unlike some youth sports where coaching is a volunteer, though no less noble, position. As the head site coach for a year-round club team, the Dallas Mustangs, and as head coach for 12 summers of the KC Sharks Swim Team, I take great pleasure in the many hundreds and thousands of relationships I have had with swimmers and parents.

I don’t have or play favorites, every parent is a potential volunteer and advocate for the team. But, Rachel Segal is already in my parent hall of fame. She comes from a big, Irish Catholic family in Appleton, Wisconsin and has three, umm, spirited?, children. They are semi-wild kids but with a twinkle in their eye, sweet natured and you can hear them coming before you can see them. It is clear how much love, fun, laughter and chaos there is in the Segal house. Just like my house. Rachel is one of those parents who is always helpful to me as a coach, completely supportive, and never the stereotype pushy swim parent.

Rachel Segal, is a tea party member. “I used to be liberal. The morning after Alex (her first born) was born, I woke up and I was a Conservative. My sisters and one of my brothers are liberals - communists,” she says, as if the two are synonymous. She laughs her great laugh and I laugh, too. As Rachel tells it, “I’m Tea Party. I was there at the beginning of the Tea Party.” I believe it. My mind immediately pictures Rachel throwing boxes of tea into Boston harbor and yelling, “No taxation without Mel Gibson,” or whatever it is that those Tea Partiers yell. We have known each other several years but we rarely have time or inclination to talk about politics. However, we know where the other stands politically. Rachel clearly is comfortable, as her love for her communist siblings and her Catholic-Jewish marriage reveals, in a world where opposites can happily exist. This may explain her tolerance for the liberal swimming coach to whom she has entrusted her children.

So, one day, Rachel says to me, “Coach, I want to ask you something.” With some parents, who want to know if their child will make the Olympic team by the time they are 12, this is a time when I normally suddenly remember I have to check the pool pump. With Rachel, however, I know her question will be legit, usually something more along the line of, “Give Max a hard workout, ok? He’s been mouthy.” or “Why is Victoria just playing around?” She says all of this with a smile and a laugh. However, this time, she was serious and concerned and I took a step back when she asked, “Why don’t you put your hand over your heart when they play the National Anthem? Is it because, you know, your politics, you’re a liberal.” Then she laughed and I laughed. There was nothing disrespectful in her tone. For my own part, I have, in the past, noted about half the people place their hand over their heart in an over-wrought display of patriotism during the National Anthem. It was irritating to me that they did not know the proper protocol.

So I explained that in the Boy Scouts I had been taught that the Pledge of Allegiance required the hand over the heart while the Star Spangled Banner was not a pledge and did not require the hand over the heart. Though, in my defense, let me say that I always stand at attention and usually sing (as long as no one is within earshot). Rachel said she had been taught hand over the heart, for the Pledge of Allegiance and the National Anthem. I agreed it had become a tradition, especially after 9/11, but I noted that at many of the swim meets we attend, perhaps half of the audience does not place the hand over the heart. I was pretty sure of myself. Rachel didn’t try to argue but she was unconvinced. After practice, it ate at me the whole way home. “I’ll show this tea partier. I was a Boy Scout.” I muttered to myself. I couldn’t wait to get to the computer.

The U.S. Flag Code, albeit seemingly out of date with its reference to a man’s “headdress” says that during the playing of the National Anthem, the right hand should be placed over the heart. Well, I thought, this must have become outdated at some point. My reference would be the Boy Scout Handbook (BSH), a book I cherished long after leaving scouting. I always thought the world would be a far better place if everyone could just follow the tenets of scouting:

The Motto: Be Prepared
The Slogan: Do a Good Turn Daily
The Oath: On my honor, I will do my best, to do my duty, to God and my Country and to obey the Scout Law; to help other people at all times; to keep myself physically strong; mentally awake and morally straight.
The Scout Law: A Scout is, “Trustworthy, Loyal, Helpful, Friendly, Courteous, Kind, Obedient, Cheerful, Thrifty, Brave, Clean, and Reverent.

Though I can still recite the above by memory, I sought out the 1967 version of the BSH to find out if I had somehow forgotten the National Anthem protocol. I found one on Amazon. It arrived as promised. This is a version with amazing illustrations, typical of good books of the early and middle part of the last century. The cover is adorned with white boy scouts camping and enjoying nature. The back cover, however, in a nod to the changing times, has a black and Asian Scout standing with some white scouts, enjoying the fellowship of scouting. There on page 67, in the section titled “Our Country’s Flag”, appear the words:

“Whenever you hear it played or sung, stand up, salute if you are in uniform, or place your right hand over your heart if you are in civilian clothes – and think of your own future under that Star Spangled Banner.”

How could I have missed this elemental rule of patriotism? How could so many Americans have missed it? I surely would have done it exactly to protocol had I known. My immediate and distant relations, and yours, who fought in wars in the name of freedom, deserve abiding respect.

I wrote Rachel Segal a thank you note and told her she was absolutely right about the proper etiquette for the National Anthem. I told her I would correct my manners in the future and assured her that my “liberal – communist” politics, as they might be seen to someone more conservative than I am, do not preclude a strong love for country, countrymen, flag, and anthem. As I have always said, I wish we were all just a bit more humble about the opinions we hold and consider the possibility that we could be wrong. There’s nothing wrong with being wrong as long as it is in the journey for truth. So, I learned something from my friend, Rachel Segal, and I appreciate her bringing it to my attention.

So Beat It

The Speaker of the House is stumbling like a drunk running up the steps of the Capitol. Every misstep, exacerbating the loss of balance and the inevitability of a face-plant, already has onlookers turning away, not wanting to witness a bad ending. Now, I cry at solemn events, even some movies, and I sob at an inspirational story of over-coming all odds, and you should know by now (patriotic music swells), Rep. John Boehner, (sniff, sniff) always (voice cracking) lands on his feet. (engaging full loss of composure, handkerchief and curtain, please.) Call me insensitive but, it matters little to me whether Boehner slams his tan visage into the concrete, or, pivots deftly to a recovery like Fred Astaire smiling all the while for the cameras. The entertainment value of the first 45 days of Boehner’s ungainly Speakership is undeniable.

Rep. Boehner, is most famous for yelling “Hell No, you won’t!”, and “Where are the Jobs?”, and crying, usually during his self-congratulatory reminiscing of his own rise from son of a barkeep to Speaker of the House. It is a remarkable story, if the teller could get through it without needing to borrow the listener’s snot rag. If only Boehner exhibited the same level of empathy for the challenges faced by the American people as he does for his own story.

Boehner’s honeymoon with the American people and perhaps his own party appears waning, if not over. Boehner and the Red Tide that swept into control of the House last November, did so, in part on the promise that they now get it and planned to not repeat the mistakes of the first six years of the “W” administration, when their actions set in motion, or aggravated, the conditions that led to the financial collapse, the resulting staggering unemployment and the necessity of drastic federal spending to avoid an all out Depression. They, led by Boehner, now blame President Obama for all that and promised Jobs would be the top priority. So, as soon as the House went into session in January, the House killed a couple of days symbolically repealing health care and, then, embarked on the most extensive and concerted legislative attack since Roe v Wade, on a woman’s right to privacy in her health care choices, even in cases of rape or where the life of the woman is at risk.

Then, on Tuesday, proving Valentine’s Day was over, Boehner showed federal workers no love, promising elimination of their jobs, when he said, "Over the last two years since President Obama has taken office, the federal government has added 200,000 new federal jobs…And if some of those jobs are lost in this, so be it…” Boehner did not cite any source for his claim of 200,000 federal jobs. Assuming 200,000 or more, stimulus-funded jobs, which are different from federal jobs, except in the new, nuance-starved America, Boehner’s “…so be it…” comment seemed particularly mean spirited. But I’ll, “take him at his word.”

Once again, the confused, blaming, "I got mine, you get yours" right-wing in this country vents frustration toward the victims of societal problems, instead of at the perpetrators. The logic is Kafkaesque – “If those people hadn’t had jobs, they wouldn’t have lost their jobs.” This is similar to, “If those illegal immigrants hadn’t come over here and taken over the chicken plants, Mr. Pilgrim would have just processed those chickens himself.”

Boehner also had one of those, “I really need a cigarette” moments this past weekend on Meet the Press. The Representative insists he has no role in telling the birthers and those who believe the President is a secret Muslim, to shut the hell up, grow up and get a life. Boehner says, “It’s not my responsibility to tell the American people what to think.”

No one wants to be told what to think but people probably object more to being told what to do, as in, “don’t have an abortion even if you’re going to die” and “go get in that unemployment line, you lazy, undeserving person whose job I just cancelled”. Telling people what to do, Boehner has no problem with. He just doesn’t want to be a national guiding influence to correct misinformation. Boehner’s disclaimer of responsibility is cynical and disingenuous in the extreme. He acts like he is some first term congressman from rural Iowa. Please. The man wields a big gavel. He is third in line to the Presidency. He has not had any problem telling the American people or members of the House what he thinks about health care, “Hell, no you won’t!” and the stimulus, “Where are the jobs?” (But John, you said he created 200,000 jobs…but I digress.)
Boehner sounds like the late Freddie “Ees not my Yob” Prinze when he claims its just not his place to take a stand and quiet the clamor from the far right hand corner of the room.

These are not just misinformed citizens who question the President’s religion and birthplace. Seventeen members of Congress have a strange affliction that prevents them from seeing President Obama’s birth certificate and many of the same ‘representatives’ have questioned his religion. Boehner tries to play it both ways, claiming he will “take the President at his word” that he is a Christian (not required to be President) in his sly, eye-rolling, wink-wink, arrogant approval of the President. Okay, Johnnie-boy, I’ll take you “at your word” that your tears are real and I’ll take you “at your word” that you have not had an affair with a lobbyist recently and a Congressional staffer, formerly, as recently reported. Oh wait, I can’t take you at your word on that one, because you have yet to deny those claims. If you do deny them, I’ll “take you at your word”. See how demeaning the qualifying ‘at his word’ language is? It’s a way of saying, of course, if you don’t believe anything the President says, then his word means nothing to you, and we just reinforced the lie by repeating the rebuttal of the lie.

Despite the presence of the President’s birth certificate, Boehner says he believes the President is “a citizen.” Note Boehner’s lack of use of the “natural born” requirement of the Constitution. Henry Kissinger was a citizen but he couldn’t be President. By leaving out the “natural born” language, that frequent twitch of Boehner’s eye looks like a wink to the nut cases. Use that gavel, John! Use it on yourself, the seventeen members of Congress who are full fledged birthers, and use it to lead the country away from this slander. It is insulting to the Presidency, and the President, that our Speaker of the House, refuses to show the utmost decency and respect because it will cost his party votes. This tolerance of ignorance and hatred de-legitimizes the entire Republican majority in the House. So be it.

And what of Ted Williams?

If I say the great Ted Williams, you think baseball player, right? Okay, I skewed your reaction by throwing “the great” in front of his name, so if I just say, Ted Williams, it is just as likely that you will think about the roller coaster story that began a couple of weeks ago. Ted “The Voice” Williams, discovered on the streets of Columbus, Ohio, looking worse for the wear, got another shot at life, because a videographer stopped at a light to give a dollar to a homeless guy. I say another shot, because as the story has unfolded Ted has had many chances with the help of family and friends, to fight off his demons, though one can’t be certain he has ever been properly treated.

The story of Ted Williams was really the first story of the new year concerning mental health, not that anyone paid any further attention after the second story, the Tucson shooting, overwhelmed Williams’ story. Ted Williams had trained in radio and, at 71, still possesses the holy grail of broadcasting, the great voice. Ted, according to his story, had been in radio but fallen on hard times through addiction and “other things”, which turned out to be a criminal record. Ted’s is another of those moments that speak to the best and the worst of us. Worse than that, it speaks to our indifference. Andy Warhol’s promise of 15 minutes of fame for everyone did not exclude the promise of the nightmare of fame.

There are, of course, many reasons for homelessness. Loss of employment, victim of domestic violence, home fire, mental illness and addiction are just a few of the problems that precede homelessness. In my years as a legal aid housing lawyer I came into contact with hundreds, if not thousands of homeless and at-risk people, each one with a unique set of facts that resulted in losing a home. Some folks were just unfortunate, others were reckless, self-destructive or non-compliant with a treatment program.

One of my clients lost not only a home, but an infant child, in a fire in their mobile home. The fire also destroyed the family’s only car, which eventually resulted in the dad losing his job and all of the bad credit that followed. Depression and substance abuse followed. They were young and torn apart by the loss. They felt guilty when they were offered housing when all they really wanted was their baby. It took over two years to start to put their lives back together.

Another client, an obsessive-compulsive, fixated on junk piles waiting for bulk trash pickup in front of houses in his neighborhood. He could not resist the urge to pick up items he considered useful and bringing them to his rented house in old East Dallas. He filled the 2200 square feet to the ceilings in almost every room. Lamps, tables, chairs, books, appliances, clothing, desks, cookware, toys – it was unending. Small pathways wound through the house, leading to a dead end of refuse, 8 feet high. I kept him from getting evicted with his agreement to get some help – three times. Three times he was non-compliant. His family had money and he had support, though their patience had worn out over the years. Finally, I had to deny him services due to his failure to live up to past agreements. I still occasionally see him on the streets. I stop and talk to him and sometimes he has home, more often he is homeless.

The real face of homelessness, however, for most of us, is the face of a man like Ted Williams, downtrodden, holding a cardboard sign or pushing a shopping cart living in squalor just off a highway, under a bridge, behind a building, or in a homeless village in an urban forest, a park or undeveloped area. The cardboard sign asks for any help or a job, or food but often the real motive is money to buy liquor or drugs.

When I first saw the viral video of Ted Williams, I said to myself, “Wow. There is a man with a big talent and an ugly story.” When I heard him say in that first video that he had been sober two years, I had my doubts. No one “two years sober” as Ted claimed, could possible continue living in a tent by the highway, as revealed in the video. When I heard that job offers were flooding in from the Cleveland Cavaliers and Kraft, etc., I hoped for the best. Even with my experience, there was a moment, when I said to myself, oh look, it’s going to work out for this guy. It may still but certainly not like the fairy tale beginning to Ted’s saga had suggested.

Ted, had been asking for “any help”. He got way more than he bargained for. He appeared on the “Today” show and received offers from Kraft, the Cleveland Cavaliers, and others, before heading west for a round of talk shows and radio spots. I am sure there was a part of Ted that just wanted to remain a median strip carnival act, entertaining people at the stop light in exchange for a enough money to buy a little food, a lot to drink, and to be left alone. But something in Ted decided to try to go a different way. Maybe he thought it would just be some quick cash and he could return to his tent on the highway. I think, however, he saw people wondering at and appreciating his talent and he had the fire to live again. The internet video exploded and brought a flood of attention. Suddenly, millions of people cared and wanted to know his story and help. People who had driven past Ted, and all of the other Ted’s of the world a thousand times, suddenly cared. Ted cared, too. It had been a long time since he had been responsible and the low self-esteem of the addict was whispering in his hear that he did not deserve this.

A couple of days into his west coast stay, there was a loud altercation at the hotel where Ted was staying with family members. His mother, a wife and grown children - who he reunited with after his rediscovery in Columbus, have mustered the emotional energy to support Ted’s next attempt at sobriety. It may be his best and last chance. Dr. Phil is on the scene and has Ted in rehab. Ted has not had, despite his original claims, any significant period of sobriety and he has admitted as much. He apparently has a girlfriend who was arrested sometime back for drugs while Ted was riding with her in her car. Ted’s family worries he will fall back in with his old life and friends and blow this amazing opportunity. Ted may not even be his own worst enemy in this. Where there is money there is an opportunity for exploitation.

So, if we never hear of Ted Williams again, we’ll know why. The rehab just didn’t work out and Dr. Phil, the Cavaliers, Kraft, all, rightfully, dropped him like a hot potato. If that happens we’ll know where we can find him. There’s a little tent off I-71 in Columbus. Hopefully, though, this is the rare story of grace and salvation. We all want to get those chills and shed a tear from seeing a man pick himself up, when almost everyone else has given up on him, and lean on his angels to deliver him the peace in his life where he can use his beautiful talent. Godspeed, Ted Williams.

Why liberals feel trepidation (and you should, too.)

Sometime shortly after an apple came up missing in a very special garden, Democrat and Republican politicians started pointing fingers at each other. Since the original vitriol, the great unwashed, as Blackie Sherrod referred to us, have had rules of civility that included the axiom that if you have a friend and want to keep them, don’t discuss politics. Another truth of early history (at least when I was growing up in the latter half of the last century) was that only two things are certain, death and taxes. Our present politics long ago exploded the first rule and, urban myths aside, both parties have struggled mightily to produce the most entertaining tax shell game on the midway for their constituencies. That leaves only death, which hardly seems fair. But as we say in Texas, there is only one fair - and that’s the State Fair - and it only comes around once a year.

The fundamental philosophical debate about what government should be and do is a sign of the health of our democracy. There are some elemental rules: reasoned discussion, democratic process, majority rule with benevolence toward all, and the loyal opposition. But the Jerry Springer-ization of our political discourse is a result of a number of forces mostly related to money. Jon Stewart pointed to the terror wrought by the 24/7, post-9/11 news cycle. Unofficial fundraising arms of the Republican and Democratic Party whip the base into a frenzy in order to win elections, money drives the message and the message drives the money. While there are fractures in our politics gushing from politicians, the news media and in our debates in cyber-space, my neighborhood remains a place where we wave and chat and help our neighbors, despite the fact some are more conservative than others. We seem to be beginning the process of restoring respect and remembering that the phrase, “Our way, or the Highway!” does not appear in the Constitution.

While a zealous advocate for my beliefs, I have never been one to shy from listening and self-examination. I always know that no matter how much I believe something is true, I could be wrong. This week especially, but for some time previously, I have spent considerable time reflecting on how we got to this ugly place and what I can do to help bring discourse back to the point where we are focused on issue debate and not yelling, “Hell No, you won’t” or “Liar” from the floor of the Congress. There is the risk in determining to take a calm and thoughtful approach from this point forward. As Will Rogers said, “A lie can get half way around the world before the truth gets out of bed.” The road to civil discourse will not be easy for either side.

Because I am prone to healthy introspection, I woke this morning ready to indulge in the usual liberal guilt that I may have been unfair and asking questions. Are we liberals reading too much into the use of similes, metaphors and hyperbole by the conservatives and the right wing? Possibly. Have leftists been guilty of the same kinds of violent rhetoric, if not outright violence? Absolutely. So what is it we liberals are so afraid of?

We are afraid that the incorrigibles of democracy, the ones freely exercise their rights while advocating an America that it is not a Great Experiment but a Great Absolute One group known as Reconstructionists and Dominionists pose a threat to this country of tolerance, immigrants and diversity. Groups like Coral Ministries and other Mega-Churches around the country stand in the forefront of this relatively new “Christianity”. These are not mainstream conservative evangelicals, even Jerry Falwell has backed as far away as possible from these groups. In a recent piece in Mother Jones, “Does Bachmann Believe Congress should be run by Christians,” Stephanie Mencimer, exposes yet another right wing extremist hate group parading as Christians. They speak for God and God has told them that Jesus will only return when they have taken over all aspects of the government. I am not kidding, this is their doctrine. They claim to be the Vice-Regents of God, a term I don’t remember from Presbyterian Sunday school. You can pass this off as liberal hysteria but in this “church”, the leaders have been holocaust deniers, defenders of segregation and slavery, because, you know, slavery was in the bible.

Gary North, a “Christian Economist”, is a disciple of Rousas John Rushdooney, his late father in law, and is one of the leaders of Coral Ministries. He believes women who have had an abortion and all gays should be stoned to death, but of course he knows this is all against the law. However, he has a plan for that:

"We must use the doctrine of religious liberty…until we train up a generation of people who know that there is no religious neutrality, no neutral law, no neutral education, and no neutral civil government. Then they will get busy constructing a Bible-based social, political, and religious order which finally denies the religious liberty of the enemies of God."

Now, not even these guys really scare us liberals. But when far right Republicans like Michelle Bachmann or Mike Pence go courting these folks down in Florida for votes, we do start to get a little nervous. Add in the many Rushdooney church off-shoots around the country and you have a formidable group working to, “take back America”. Hmmm, seems I have heard that expression before. Was it the Tea Party? Okay, now we are scared. America has never been like them and, hopefully, never will. What they want is to take America backward to a place where intolerance is punitive and they can make people live their way, under their God. North wrote:

"The long-term goal of Christians in politics should be to gain exclusive control over the franchise… Those who refuse to submit publicly…must be denied citizenship."

Another leader in the Reconstructionist Movement, is Gary DeMar who wrote, in “American Heritage” that the goal of the movement is to create:

"…an America that recognizes the sovereignty of God over all of life, where Christians apply a Biblical worldview to every facet of society. This future America will be again a 'city on a hill' drawing all nations to the Lord Jesus Christ and teaching them to subdue the earth for the advancement of His Kingdom."

I hate founding father arguments but allow me this one. The founding fathers did not have the views of Coral Ministries and others like them in mind when the concept of one nation under God was propounded. I am done getting over-wrought about budget fights and political campaign cross-hairs. But these people who are so consumed with these ‘end times” scenarios, that they feel compelled to live outside everything that America and the Constitution and the Bill of Rights and the history of our wars stand for, namely, freedom, scare the bejeezus out of me. All of ya’ll on the right keep your eyes on Earth First, the ACLU, MSNBC and all of the limp wristed left-wing extremists that you perceive as a threat. I’m watching the Reconstructionists.

Dialing for Reasons

Before embarking on this blog entry, I want to reiterate that I believe the Arizona shooting highlights our mental health crisis, more than a political speech crisis, or a gun control crisis.

I don’t know if I am up to the full blown mental health discussion. My experience in this area as a poverty lawyer was extensive and not very successful. During that time and since, I have made a few observations that seem to have held up over the years. Since the 80’s, we have embarked down a very bi-partisan road of respecting individual rights with out-patient programs, as opposed to institutions, and then, defunding the out-patient programs, resulting in mentally ill people under bridges and pushing baskets, living in tent camps in urban parks and a safety net with huge holes. One problem is that mentally ill people rarely know they are mentally ill, or at least how mentally ill they are, and avoid treatment. In an environment where the scarce resources are not mandatory, the mentally ill are not free, they are simply uncared for. Post-Tucson, we are already hearing compelling stories and thoughtful discussion about our neglect of mental health as it affects the small percentage of people with mental health issues who are prone toward violence. If there are any silver linings, perhaps this will be one. It will be interesting to see how the upcoming Congress deals with funding for mental health.

As to gun control, I would in no way infringe on the right of sane, responsible people to own guns. I have owned guns, though not recently, hunted ducks, was a member of the Texins Rod and Gun Club where my grandfather taught me gun safety and respect, and a junior member of the NRA.

Certainly, the sane and responsible among us, would deny firearms to people who would apparently commit some heinous act. I simply ask a few questions about how we determine responsibility and sanity. A teaching credential requires education, testing and a background check. A driver’s license requires education and testing. I can, rightfully, be denied a seat on a plane if there are suspicions about me. We require seat belts, helmets, and safety regulations in dangerous workplaces and there is no doubt that far fewer have been killed or maimed. But I can be a walking, talking fruit cake and buy a gun in short order? I have seen the enormous NRA building in Washington, not far from the Capitol, and am amazed that any gun control legislation ever sees the light of day, much less passes. I can’t see a lot of good coming from any of it, but I have not heard of anyone being killed because of gun control legislation.

The consideration of political speech and the recent fever pitch of vitriol suddenly is being seriously discussed. Everyone is talking about “dialing down”. Except that today, Rush Limbaugh says that Democrats wanted this shooting to happen to save the Obama presidency. I have been as pitched in the arguments as anyone. I have been de-friended on Facebook. Close friends have, rightfully, called me out from time to time. Sometimes we think we can change minds, win arguments, or appear smart, and I have learned we can do nothing of the kind. But through considerate discourse we can respect our differences, and Senate filibuster rules notwithstanding, the majority rules. Roger Ailes, the President of Fox News has instructed his broadcasters (see? I didn’t say henchmen, or pit bulls or hired guns) to be professional and intellectual. I don’t believe him for a second and have watched more Fox in the last 24 hours than recommended by the Surgeon General, perhaps this can be the beginning of a second silver lining of the tragedy in Arizona.

As Rep. Gifford’s astronaut brother-in-law, Commander Scott Kelly said from space yesterday, “We are better than this. We must do better.” The old hymn says, “Let there Peace on Earth and let it begin with me.” Heightened verbal inappropriateness, forgetting our commonality, and loss of civility have brought us as low as we have been since 9/11. Unlike 9/11, we have lacked a common enemy. We were turning on each other. The gunman may not have been inspired by a politician or talk radio but he is a metaphor for the entire country. As Pogo said, “We have seen the enemy and he is us.” Now, we have had the galvanizing event that has caused us to remember that civility and respect allow the heart of our patriotism to be big enough to include everyone. Let there be peace in the way we talk to each other and let it begin with all of us.

Forgive My Grief

There already have been millions of words written and spoken about the shooting in Tuscon. Mostly, the words will be the same words as those used to try to explain Ft. Hood, or after the 1991 Luby’s rampage in Killeen, Texas, or, following a massacre at a McDonalds in San Diego in 1984, and after assassinations in Dallas, Memphis and Los Angeles in the 1960’s. The same words tried to put into context the shooting of President Ronald Reagan, who thankfully survived, by the son of weathy Republican parents, and of John Lennon, by a disturbed man, who had worshiped him as a Beatle. We have grasped and groped for language to understand and explain the incomprehensible. So often, we have lost track, or tried to forget, the times, places and number of dead – the 20 places of worship in the last decade or the 105 schools and colleges since 1969, from Columbine to Virginia Tech. These are just the shootings that shock our sensibilities because of the fame, or number, of the victims or their vulnerability. Having already been sufficiently numbed to the daily grind of death occurring in gang violence and domestic disputes, we save our words of penance and prayers for the end of violence, for the most overt and less common place acts. This is not to demean or trivialize the words that attempt to uplift the spirits of the bereaved or a mourning nation. They are the mantra and liturgy of our grief. They are necessary, insufficient, and heart wrenching. In their continuing repetition there is both comfort and conundrum. The words comfort us now, the conundrum promises we will be here again. Blame and more gun laws will not cure unspeakable loss. Perhaps it is valid to say that this is a cost of freedom that crazy people get to have guns. That view is hard to share as the destruction, loss and pain brought on by the freedom of the crazed, would not seem to outweigh the freedom formerly enjoyed by the deceased, the wounded or the traumatized. The answers are not so easy. Derangement takes many forms and as long as random gun violence has been an epidemic in this country, there is almost nothing about it that we understand. Not every shooter is obviously deranged. There may be no sure way to effectively screen out the mentally ill, criminally impulsive, and just plain mean people, from owning a gun. All we are left with is our freedom (such as it is when it appears that we are required to own a gun to protect our freedoms, even if we don't want a gun) and countless words of sorrow. The national moment of silence just led by the President and First Lady, and shared by millions of Americans, was solemn and poignant, a moment to think and pray without the necessity of words. As Rep. Gabrielle Gifford’s brother in law, astronaut Scott Kelly, said succinctly from space this morning, “We are better than this.”

Carmen - not the opera.

I don’t really know anything about Carmen Electra. Oh, I remembered there was a connection to Prince, that she was married to Dennis Rodman without getting all tatted up, and she sort of lurks in the C level of the entertainment world, nothing too specific. If you had shown me a picture of her and asked who it was, I might as well have answered, “Apollonia Kotero”? But, there is something about that name, Carmen Electra, that you just don’t forget. So I was pleased to see her recently, turning up in a barrage of ads from Lectric Shave which are the hottest things since the Aqua Velva and Noxema ads of the 60’s and 70’s. However, Carmen’s persuasive powers being what they are, I am inclined to comply with her desire that I begin using an electric razor and Lectric Shave.

I had assumed she merely had my shaving interests at heart. The fact she is a well-maintained, somewhat sophisticated entertainment mogul, not to mention a snappy dresser, is all the more reason that she be taken seriously. We snobs who require quality in our art may not find Carmen’s work particularly compelling, but commercials are completely different for me. Commercials are these Freudian moments when we reveal things about our culture that we normally don’t like to discuss. Carmen stroking a man’s cheek simply because he has shaved reveals the suppressed male desire that women not expect too much from us. I love that it’s kind of a throwback ad summoning a day gone by when a smooth shave was cause for a bump and grind song and dance.

You may have scoffed when I called her a mogul. Did you know that Carmen has been in at least 37 movies? Five of those - making sure not to assume too much about the audience’s intelligence - end in the word “Movie”? To be sure, there were some bombs along the way but who could forget her work in: “Oy Vey! My Son is Gay!!” or, the 1999 epic, “Mating Habits of the Earthbound Human.” She produced an exercise video series called “Carmen Electra Aerobic Striptease.” In 2005, proving her business acumen, she was named commissioner of the Naked Women’s Wrestling League and made commercials for Taco Bell. People who would call her “easy” for her four appearances in Playboy, don’t understand that we buy it for the articles.

I really miss the class and dignity of a Sophia Loren or Raquel Welch and I guess girls like Carmen are the modern version of those icons. Just because someone is sexy does not mean we have to start ripping their clothes off, which if you have seen Carmen’s wardrobe, that’s exactly what it looks like. It is hard to imagine someone who appears to have been less concerned with her career choices and, yet, has survived and flourished. This should give hope to the Lindsey Lohan’s and Paris Hilton’s of the world. Carmen Electra becoming the Lectric Shave girl is a testament to the axiom, “In America anything is possible and, unfortunately, probable.”

Cowboy Mecca

Much of what we call the Metro-Pasture here in North Texas, lies basically in the Trinity River basin. It may be a flood prone delta but it’s our flood prone delta. It is a flat to slightly rolling terrain where the rain soaks the thick black gumbo clay soil and drains toward the rivulets and gullies that form the creeks and streams that empty into the forks of the Trinity River. The Trinity is a modest, muddy tributary, which then fills and floods any place that is not built on relatively high ground or fortified by levies. It is not a place prone to grand vistas.

However, there is the occasional chalk escarpment buckling from the post oak savannah and grassland prairie, which produces the highest point in Dallas County at 841 feet above sea level. One of these runs north and south along the western edge of the county and through places known as Cockrell Hill and Cedar Hill. Driving west along the Tom Landry Highway out of Dallas, I-30 crests this geological bump and offers the closest thing to a “view” as one living in these parts can imagine.

There, 9.3 miles to the west something totally new - disc like and enormous - protrudes from the otherwise flat line of the horizon. It catches the eye and conjures images of a giant observatory or the Death Star itself – crashed into the earth and half buried, something from the next century or the one after. By the time you reach the bottom of the lonely hill, the landscape has swallowed the semi-sphere and for the next 8.5 miles, the uninitiated driver wonders, “What the hell was that?” and, moreover, “Where the hell did it go?”

There on a landscape that only a civil engineer could love and make habitable, the first American Mecca of the new century has been erected. Architecturally, culturally, and in the history of sports, Cowboy Stadium, in form and function, succeeds far beyond the limits of the moniker, “football stadium”. Calling it a football stadium is akin to calling a stealth bomber an airplane or Raquel Welch, a girl. Welcome to “Jerry World”: the building that is as audacious as the seed, sower and seller of the idea, Dallas Cowboy owner, Mr. Jerral Wayne “Jerry” Jones.

What the Burj Khalifi is to the Dubai skyline, Cowboy Stadium is to football, perhaps America. It’s going to be a visible player whether you want it to be or not. It rises from the sedate suburban sprawl of Arlington, Texas, between Dallas and Ft. Worth and dwarfs next door neighbor, the 50,000 seat stadium, Rangers Ballpark in Arlington, a place locally known as The Temple. Although I am a fan, my general feeling about the business side of sport, is to just ignore it. It ruins the fun. At some point, football fan or not, you are likely to find yourself lost in Jerry’s realm, in a pilgrimage to the largest domed sports stadium in the world. Covering 3 million square feet, or 73 acres, it is anchored by two giant arches that rise to 292 feet in height and are a quarter of a mile in length. The reason you may find yourself there even if you never attend a sporting event is that the darned thing cost $1.6 billion. Jerry’s got a mortgage.

My first encounter with the futuristic works of the new urban auditorium was to see U2. I think it was U2. It could have been Kenny and the Casuals. We were so far away, I’m not sure. Though I was disappointed in my first encounter – they didn’t even turn the big screen on – I didn’t fail to appreciate the gravitas of the structure.

One can imagine the big house hosting cross-sections of humanity previously unimagined: the first simultaneously held Republican and Democratic Convention; or the world’s largest gathering of trans-gendered evangelicals. Moto-Cross and Tractor-Pulls can’t be far behind. Whatever happens at Cowboy Stadium, or whatever the name is once the naming rights are sold to a suitably high profile partner, one can rest assured it will be the biggest, the largest, or the most puffed-up ego-maniacally motivated event ever held, just like it’s owner.

It is hard to think of another character whose actual importance on the American cultural landscape is matched only by his own self-importance. Like a cross between Elvis, Walt Disney, and P.T Barnum, Jerry is as enigmatic as he is successful. Jerry has had a facelift and his net worth is listed at $2B. At one point he was voted least popular sports personality by Sports Illustrated. Jerry has played himself on television shows, like Entourage and Dallas: War of the Ewings and in commercials for Papa John’s and Pepsi.

Underestimating the vision and utter gall of the chief proponent of All Things Cowboy, has proven folly for many of us. Almost a quarter of a century ago, I was not alone in thinking of Jerry as some hick from Arkansas, a guy who got lucky in the oil “bid-ness” and then got lucky again buying America’s team from a distressed seller for $140 million, now worth $1.6 billion. He instantly became a walking firestorm when he named himself general manager, a position formerly held by the legend, Tex Schramm and then fired the Sainted, Tom Landry. Jerry and new Coach Jimmy Johnson built a team quickly and the “luck” continued when the Cowboys won two Super Bowls in a row, 92 and 93. Jerry fired Johnson after 93 but the Cowboys went on to win one more in 95 under his Barney Fife Coach, Barry Switzer. Only a fool believes in that much luck. Only a bigger fool denies there is no luck involved at all.

The only person to over-estimate Jerry was Jerry himself. It is widely assumed, and Jones has admitted to a certain extent, that he drove Johnson away with his “whiskey talking” that any of 500 coaches could have won the Super Bowl with the talent that he had assembled. Jerry had made a trade with some crazy people in Minnesota for Herschel Walker. The Cowboys got 5 players and 8 draft choices. It was easy for Jerry to see himself as a genius as he used the plethora of picks to build the teams talent pool for Johnson. Once Johnson was fired, the wheels started falling off and we have been searching the roadside for them ever since.

As an owner in the NFL, Jones has done as much to market the league as a brand as well as his own team as anyone. The Cowboys gross over a quarter of a billion dollars each year just in merchandise. Jones is powerful - serving on NFL committees, involved in NFL charities, and a player in collective bargaining. While there is plenty of room to argue that while he has far more football experience than almost all NFL owners, his record as General Manager has been more like a broken theme park ride with people hanging upside down for hours than it has been a thrilling roller coaster ride. But nothing Jerry has done so far in the NFL, not even the three long-ago Super Bowls that he is so fond of mentioning anytime someone suggests he hire a “football man”, compares to conceiving and building Cowboy Stadium.

Not long after buying the team in 1989, Jerry began to dream of a place grander and more ostentatious than anything the National Football League had ever seen before. The statistics are somewhat dry, yet, overwhelming when you think about it. The total cost of the building stands somewhere near $1.5 billion, mostly financed and built during difficult economic times. To walk all of the way around the perimeter of the building is well over a mile. The Stadium seats 80,000 people, with an additional 30,000 more available for standing room only and high-dollar suites. As you walk the carpeted hallway that arcs around the field level suites, the walls are adorned by 4’ x 4’ enlarged photos from the Cowboy photo archives. Each level of the three million square feet facility is a tribute to the franchise, the entire building a museum to 50 years of one of the most successful sports franchises of all time. The Jerry-Mahal, the Boss Hog Bowl -- whatever you call it -- the hand of the owner is everywhere. Of all of the crazy stats, one that illustrates the size of the venue and the depth of Jerry’s will to make it pay, is the standing room only seats, many whose only view of the game is on big screen televisions that are scattered around the stadium like trash cans. These SRO tickets and the food and merchandise revenue that they produce top $3 million dollars for most events.

Now, the Super Bowl juggernaut is about to sweep through North Texas. In one month, Jerry will play host to a 120,000 NFL elites, media and a few fans in what is still the single biggest annual circus worldwide. One of the biggest stars of this Super Bowl will be Jerry World. They won’t be able to stop talking about it and Jerry will be wistfully grinning throughout the entire two weeks.

Wistful because for all his dreaming and scheming and macro-thinking and micro-managing, what Jerry wanted, Jerry didn’t get. His beloved Cowboys are not playing. Jerry’s plan was not just to host the Super Bowl but to have the home team in the Super Bowl. For all of the success of Jerry the owner, Jerry the General Manager has failed miserably to put a consistent competitive product on the field since the end of the Super Bowl runs in the early 90’s. Money and people will be pouring into the area for a massive party but the heart is gone from the event. North Texas football fans after seeing their team stumble out of contention early in the season seem lock-jawed into a January yawn. But for an event like the Super Bowl, the common folk don’t matter anyway. We never had a chance to get tickets. We’ll just sit at home and watch the well heeled football fans gawk at the spectacle of Jerry’s World.