Americans love sports. In fact, I know many people who put more effort into assembling their fantasy football teams than investing their 401K plans. We can quote chapter and verse regarding our favorite players, yet most of us have no clue who possess our greatest scientific minds. It’s an ugly fact, but it’s part of what makes us a great nation.
Death, as they say, is the great equalizer. Although it comes in many forms its result is always the same. The funny thing is, we don’t view death the same way. Which brings me to the sad tales of Annie Le and Jasper Howard, two of three Connecticut students killed at their respective schools this year. WTNH News Channel 8 provides continuous coverage off all three.
Jasper Howard may have been a great football player, but we’ll never know. His athletic abilities vaulted him from the hard streets of Miami, Fl. to the bucolic campus of the University of Connecticut at Storrs. There, under the guidance, tutelage, and constant watch of his coaches Howard was to graduate into the National Football League. Unfortunately, Howard’s life was cut brutally short for he was stabbed to death outside the University’s Student Union. A tragic end to a promising life.
No one knows for sure if Jasper Howard would have made it to the NFL. The odds were against him. Yet the scouts were already checking him out and his jersey was a hot seller at the campus bookstore. People knew him. He was a star.
During the homicide investigation, there were not many calls from the networks. There were not rows of satellite trucks outside UConn’s Police Department. Howard’s murder was treated as a news blurb on the morning talk shows. Nothing more, nothing less.
The murder of Yale student Annie Le however, became a national story! It had all the lurid details, which the networks love. A brilliant, young Ivy League student. Her brutal murder-taking place just before her wedding. It was exactly the type of story Producers dream of and every reporter wants to cover.
In the days after Le went missing until the arraignment of her alleged killer, the networks howled like wild dogs feeding on the carcass of the dead girl. New Haven’s nice hotels were filled with network types and it was hard to get a drink at a good bar. Fights broke out on the steps of New Haven’s Police Department headquarters as teams vied to get decent backdrops. It was nothing less than the belly of television news laid bare for all who wanted to, and could bear to see.
The Assignment Desk, like Death, plays no favorites. Murders are a series of live shots and reporter packages. They are updates and court appearances. They are memorial services, funerals and then forgotten. Unless it’s someone I know or love, I couldn’t care less.
There is no fantasy league of scientists. For all we’ll ever know, Annie Le may have cured cancer while Jasper Howard may have failed in his bid to join the NFL and ended back on those hard streets of Miami.
Why does the star athlete get next to no network coverage, while the budding scientist makes national headlines? If you don’t already know the answer, then stay with me and I’ll teach you.
Quo Fata Ferunt!
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Why President Obama Can Babysit Our Boys
Meeting the President of the United States should be a big deal. At least, it's supposed to be. Yet, having met three, I can tell you they're all basically regular folk. No, I have yet to be invited to the Oval Office. Everyone knows, I wouldn't pass the Secret Service check even with my extensive and well documented record. My experiences took place outside the White House.
Meeting Bill and Hillary Clinton was no different.
The stock market had yet to experience the "Crash of '87," and politicians were lining up to see who would replace The Gipper. It was a tough act to follow and the smart money was betting that Poppy would waltz into the Oval Office under the watchful eyes of Barbara.
We were in Helena, Arkansas to go duck hunting. It was just three guys from the city going to visit a friend who lived in a different part of the country. We would dress up in different clothes, drink copious amounts of bourbon and kill innocent waterfowl. Guns, booze and barbecue are a combination few men can refuse.
Little did we know that our host's father was a political operative and special guests were coming to meet us. We were several rounds into the evening meal when Bill and Hillary Clinton walked in. He was the Attorney General and she was miserable. Sometimes you can just tell. What caught my gimlet eye, was that they spent no time together. Bill, who usually had his arm around our hostess' waist, told duck hunting stories and asked us how things were back in the city. Hillary sat with our host in a quiet discussion regarding Wal-Mart's future earnings prospects.
Even I could see the marriage was less than happy. Bill was a rising star with an appetite for just about everything. He asked Hillary if he could join the hunting party and received an icy stare in return. She knew it would be another excuse for Bill to be out of the Governor's Mansion and nothing good ever came of that. It was evident, even back then, that Bill was not scared of his bride.
Which Brings me to President Obama. Although I'll probably never meet the man, we share one important quality. We love our families.
Like me, The President has grown up. He may sneak a cigarette every now and then, but he does not drink to excess, do drugs or chase women. He genuinely loves his girls and fears his wife. Oh yes, I said fears. Every smart man fears his wife. It makes us straighten up and fly right.
Although our belief systems are different, our love of family and respect for our wives is virtually the same.
So, I wouldn't let Bill Clinton babysit the boys. They'd be burning down the house, while Bill would be ordering pizza, raiding my beer fridge and watching pay per view movies. I'd trust Barack Obama with the boys. I know he'd feed them, give them a bath and read a story before bed.
Barack Obama is just like me. He's a husband and father trying to make the world a better place for his family. We may share little else, but I am happy to share this common ground.
Quo fata ferunt!
Meeting Bill and Hillary Clinton was no different.
The stock market had yet to experience the "Crash of '87," and politicians were lining up to see who would replace The Gipper. It was a tough act to follow and the smart money was betting that Poppy would waltz into the Oval Office under the watchful eyes of Barbara.
We were in Helena, Arkansas to go duck hunting. It was just three guys from the city going to visit a friend who lived in a different part of the country. We would dress up in different clothes, drink copious amounts of bourbon and kill innocent waterfowl. Guns, booze and barbecue are a combination few men can refuse.
Little did we know that our host's father was a political operative and special guests were coming to meet us. We were several rounds into the evening meal when Bill and Hillary Clinton walked in. He was the Attorney General and she was miserable. Sometimes you can just tell. What caught my gimlet eye, was that they spent no time together. Bill, who usually had his arm around our hostess' waist, told duck hunting stories and asked us how things were back in the city. Hillary sat with our host in a quiet discussion regarding Wal-Mart's future earnings prospects.
Even I could see the marriage was less than happy. Bill was a rising star with an appetite for just about everything. He asked Hillary if he could join the hunting party and received an icy stare in return. She knew it would be another excuse for Bill to be out of the Governor's Mansion and nothing good ever came of that. It was evident, even back then, that Bill was not scared of his bride.
Which Brings me to President Obama. Although I'll probably never meet the man, we share one important quality. We love our families.
Like me, The President has grown up. He may sneak a cigarette every now and then, but he does not drink to excess, do drugs or chase women. He genuinely loves his girls and fears his wife. Oh yes, I said fears. Every smart man fears his wife. It makes us straighten up and fly right.
Although our belief systems are different, our love of family and respect for our wives is virtually the same.
So, I wouldn't let Bill Clinton babysit the boys. They'd be burning down the house, while Bill would be ordering pizza, raiding my beer fridge and watching pay per view movies. I'd trust Barack Obama with the boys. I know he'd feed them, give them a bath and read a story before bed.
Barack Obama is just like me. He's a husband and father trying to make the world a better place for his family. We may share little else, but I am happy to share this common ground.
Quo fata ferunt!
Sunday, October 18, 2009
I'm OK. You're OK. Now Move On!
Anyone who knows me, knows I grew up in the city. It wasn't a pretty place back then. Mayor Beame had nearly run the place into the dirt and Mayor Koch wasn't doing much better. Graffiti was called art and thieves ran wild in the streets.
The nation was just starting to move past the specter of Viet Nam, and we were learning to live with our collective selves. Time, as usual, had healed some wounds, but others were left open and festering, especially in New York.
As the city moved into the 1980s, the Dinkins administration was swept away by Rudy Giuliani, and President Carter was banished to Plains by Ronald Reagan. Wall Street was growing and even the kids shining shoes were getting rich.
Shared prosperity, even in it's usual disproportionate form, sat well in the city. By 1986, even the lowly Mets were riding the wave. Yet, below the surface, things were not all that they seemed. And it all came to a head in the town of Wappingers Falls, New York. It was the tale of a child who was allegedly kidnapped, sexually abused and left covered in fecal matter. Those of you who are not familiar with the Tawana Brawley episode need to study up. For this is not about Tawana Brawley, but the rise of her spokesperson, The Rev. Al Sharpton.
Sharpton moved quickly, blaming local law enforcement and prosecutors for what had happened. Protest marches and media events were staged. Charges of cover-ups and corruption came forth daily.
None of it, however, was ever proven.
Flash forward to today. The Rev. Sharpton is a major player on the American political landscape. He has a strong following. His words are given credence and respect. He can be seen on national, political talk shows and can be heard on the radio. Some may say he is divisive in word and deed. Others may say he is something worse, while others may say he is something better. Who is to say?
You, me, anybody! That's who! For the Rev. Sharpton, like you or me or anybody is protected by the Constitution to say whatever he likes.
We're getting to quick to condemn words these days. I am not sure why, but I believe it has to do with the way we ingest information, opinion and (occasionally) news.
Who cares! You, me, everybody should!
The only person truly forced to listen to me is Kathy and most of the time she tunes me out. Others choose to listen to me. Usually, it's because I promise to buy the next round of drinks or have taken their shoes. That, my friends, is what the Constitution provides for.
You see, my friends, we are all guaranteed the right to free speech. None of us has the right to be heard. That must be earned.
So, I'm OK. You're OK. Sharpton, Limbaugh, Olberman and O'Reilly are OK. If you like them, listen. If you don't turn them off. It's time to move on!
Quo fata ferunt!
The nation was just starting to move past the specter of Viet Nam, and we were learning to live with our collective selves. Time, as usual, had healed some wounds, but others were left open and festering, especially in New York.
As the city moved into the 1980s, the Dinkins administration was swept away by Rudy Giuliani, and President Carter was banished to Plains by Ronald Reagan. Wall Street was growing and even the kids shining shoes were getting rich.
Shared prosperity, even in it's usual disproportionate form, sat well in the city. By 1986, even the lowly Mets were riding the wave. Yet, below the surface, things were not all that they seemed. And it all came to a head in the town of Wappingers Falls, New York. It was the tale of a child who was allegedly kidnapped, sexually abused and left covered in fecal matter. Those of you who are not familiar with the Tawana Brawley episode need to study up. For this is not about Tawana Brawley, but the rise of her spokesperson, The Rev. Al Sharpton.
Sharpton moved quickly, blaming local law enforcement and prosecutors for what had happened. Protest marches and media events were staged. Charges of cover-ups and corruption came forth daily.
None of it, however, was ever proven.
Flash forward to today. The Rev. Sharpton is a major player on the American political landscape. He has a strong following. His words are given credence and respect. He can be seen on national, political talk shows and can be heard on the radio. Some may say he is divisive in word and deed. Others may say he is something worse, while others may say he is something better. Who is to say?
You, me, anybody! That's who! For the Rev. Sharpton, like you or me or anybody is protected by the Constitution to say whatever he likes.
We're getting to quick to condemn words these days. I am not sure why, but I believe it has to do with the way we ingest information, opinion and (occasionally) news.
Who cares! You, me, everybody should!
The only person truly forced to listen to me is Kathy and most of the time she tunes me out. Others choose to listen to me. Usually, it's because I promise to buy the next round of drinks or have taken their shoes. That, my friends, is what the Constitution provides for.
You see, my friends, we are all guaranteed the right to free speech. None of us has the right to be heard. That must be earned.
So, I'm OK. You're OK. Sharpton, Limbaugh, Olberman and O'Reilly are OK. If you like them, listen. If you don't turn them off. It's time to move on!
Quo fata ferunt!
Sunday, April 5, 2009
On Money & Markets
An awful dawn broke over the Manhattan skyline on December 4, 1984. Ronald Reagan was deep into what would become his first term and the markets had yet to respond to The Gipper’s cheery tone.
To make matters worse, a cloud of noxious fumes had descended over the squalid town of Bhopal, India. The toxic mist had come from the nearby Union Carbide plant. And, as the death toll passed three thousand (with just as many injured) the news sent the Dow Jones Industrials into a tailspin.
I was on the exchange floor, having turned a series of summer jobs into a vocation. My natural inclination with numbers combined with a proclivity for gambling made Wall St. a natural destination.
Just then, a grizzled, somewhat shabby trader nearby cast his eyes towards the Big Board and with outstretched arms exclaimed, “How low can it possibly go?” It was at that precise moment that I learned what a market low looked like.
Of course I learned at the foot of one the true masters of the game. A man whose wisdom was, and is, only surpassed by generosity and kindness. As a young pup he had told me, “Look for the herd. When you find out which way it’s moving, get out of the way and do the opposite.”
Easier said than done, but truer words were never spoken.
Let’s face facts. The markets went into the potty last summer and have yet to recover. Opinions are still mixed, and most people don’t know what to do. That in itself should tell you there still room on the downside.
When will it all end? Understand this, no one, not even The President, has a clue. What should you look for? How will you know?
I suppose we’ll all know the market’s have hit bottom when the great minds in newsrooms across this land tell us that the stock market is finished and that shares of corporate America no longer represent the greatest path to shared prosperity.
When Brian Williams, and the editorial staff of The New York Times tell us the stock market is dead; when your friends and neighbors darkly confess that they’ve sold their last shares; then, and only then, will you know that the markets have hit bottom.
By the way…. They won’t ring a bell and I’ll already be long.
To make matters worse, a cloud of noxious fumes had descended over the squalid town of Bhopal, India. The toxic mist had come from the nearby Union Carbide plant. And, as the death toll passed three thousand (with just as many injured) the news sent the Dow Jones Industrials into a tailspin.
I was on the exchange floor, having turned a series of summer jobs into a vocation. My natural inclination with numbers combined with a proclivity for gambling made Wall St. a natural destination.
Just then, a grizzled, somewhat shabby trader nearby cast his eyes towards the Big Board and with outstretched arms exclaimed, “How low can it possibly go?” It was at that precise moment that I learned what a market low looked like.
Of course I learned at the foot of one the true masters of the game. A man whose wisdom was, and is, only surpassed by generosity and kindness. As a young pup he had told me, “Look for the herd. When you find out which way it’s moving, get out of the way and do the opposite.”
Easier said than done, but truer words were never spoken.
Let’s face facts. The markets went into the potty last summer and have yet to recover. Opinions are still mixed, and most people don’t know what to do. That in itself should tell you there still room on the downside.
When will it all end? Understand this, no one, not even The President, has a clue. What should you look for? How will you know?
I suppose we’ll all know the market’s have hit bottom when the great minds in newsrooms across this land tell us that the stock market is finished and that shares of corporate America no longer represent the greatest path to shared prosperity.
When Brian Williams, and the editorial staff of The New York Times tell us the stock market is dead; when your friends and neighbors darkly confess that they’ve sold their last shares; then, and only then, will you know that the markets have hit bottom.
By the way…. They won’t ring a bell and I’ll already be long.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Back to WTNH
My associate, Jeff Bailey (webguy@wtnh.com) is right.
It is time for me to emphasize to all my readers, followers and supporters that WNTH-TV should be one of your primary sources of information. In addition, you go to www.wtnh.com 24/7/365.
As always, I look forward to bringing all of you the very best in with and wisdom.
"Quo fata freunt!"
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Tea Party Update
Lots going on with the good people at the Tax Day Tea Party. First off was a great article regarding the group's leader and principal motivator, Pam Fowler.
Knowing a little about the news business allows me to give a minor assist to this cause.
Look for a bigger turnout than people expect on April 15th and beyond.
Look here for updates and be sure to leave your constructive comments and ideas.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Connecticut Tea Party 4/15/09
Getting ready to lend a hand to the folks working on the Connecticut Tea Party. This is a statewide event scheduled for April 15th (Tax Day). We're looking to broaden media exposure in conjunction with similar events taking place across the country. Feel free to share any constructive ideas.
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