Cameras For Cops?

President Obama has responded to the Ferguson riots by convening another White House meeting that he hopes will begin another “national conversation” about race, which by my count will be the 16^th such conversation since he's been in the White House. It seems that we have had a national conversation about little else during his Presidency. But this time he intends to do more than just talk. Yesterday he announced a 74 million dollar plan to outfit up to 50,000 cops with lapel pin-sized cameras to record their interactions with citizens. It is hoped that the knowledge that such interactions are being recorded will improve the behavior of the police and give people of color more confidence that they will be treated fairly. Ok. Fair enough.

I would like to suggest that the President take this program one step further. How about we spend a far smaller sum to equip all 535 members of Congress with cameras? Perhaps if Nancy Pelosi, Charlie Rangel, John Boehner and Mitch McConnell knew that their interactions were being recorded, it would improve their behavior. While he’s at it, how about slapping one of those babies on Eric Holder? I mean, it’s a well known fact that the American people hold a dim view of politicians in general and Washington DC in particular. The popularity of Congress is at historic lows. What better way to restore some trust than a little transparency? Lapel cameras for all politicians should do the trick.

My New Blog Template...and a shameless plug

When you run a business, everything is about momentum. The day to day pace of work is carried along by whatever you happen to be working on each day, which leads to the next thing, then the next. So when a long weekend comes along like a five day Thanksgiving break, it can be difficult to find your place again. The older I get the more difficult this is to do. Just as it is hard to turn around a battleship or to start a 30 car locomotive from a dead stop, so it is with restarting a business enterprise that has laid dormant for nearly a week. If you work for someone else, it’s the job of your boss to get you restarted. When you work for yourself and your boss is sometimes a confused jerk, well you might have problems. This morning, I’m a confused jerk.

Over the holiday weekend my son volunteered to redesign my Blog. It was his considered opinion that the Tempest layout was tired and cheap looking. So, while I was outside getting up leaves he sat about reworking everything. By the time he was done, the fake bookshelf background was gone and there was a big link imploring readers to buy my new book. Pretty cool.

Now that Thanksgiving is over, our attention will soon turn to Christmas shopping. When I say soon I actually mean at some point. When I use the word attention, a better phrase might be…deliberate procrastination. So, let me write that sentence more honestly. Now that Thanksgiving is over, our deliberate procrastination will at some point give way to the job of Christmas shopping. For me, it usually begins around the 20^th. Can’t wait. This year I’m not alone, apparently. Black Friday sales have come in down 11%, a number that nobody who cares about such things expected. Several theories have already sprung up to explain the bad numbers. The one that seems to dominate is the rise of online shopping, which makes sense. Why risk having to fight off hysterical women for that last 55 inch big screen? Why risk getting trampled by the zombie mob at Walmart? Why get in a fist fight at Best Buy at 2 o’clock in the morning, when you can just point and click on Amazon while sipping your pumpkin spice latte in your pajamas as Nat King Cole sings softly from your Bose?

Speaking of pointing and clicking, did I mention that you can buy my book simply by clicking its picture at the top right hand corner of my blog???

Just saying….

Until Next Time...

By the end of the day, my house will be empty again. Although Pam and Lucy and I will still live here, all my kids will have gone back home. I’m not sure who will miss them more, Pam and me, or Lucy?

Last night I celebrated National Small Business Saturday by taking everyone to the Hanover Tavern for dinner and a show. Neil Simon’s ‘They’re Playing Our Song” was playing and it was delightful. When we got back home, we decorated the Christmas tree while Lucy tiptoed around in skittish terror at the presence of a tree in her house and boxes of ornaments strewn everywhere. It was quite hilarious.

So, today we will eat yet another huge breakfast together, then head off to church and lunch with friends. Kaitlin and Jon will hit the road soon after, then we will take Patrick to the airport. Once he’s in the air we will begin a three day fast to lose the ten pounds we have packed on over the past four days.

The good news is that they will all be back in three weeks for Christmas. The house will be full again…and so will we.

Thanksgiving Success

Thanksgiving was great. There was enough food to feed an army and yet there were very few leftovers. There were all sixteen members of the White clan present which meant that Patrick got to try out his fancy new camera on a big family portrait in the front yard, (pictures to follow). Then it was time for football.

This morning my elbow is enflamed, my back is tight and my hamstrings have risen up in outraged protest. I imagine that when I struggled to get out of bed this morning, I was in good company. Millions of my mid-fifties countrymen struggled along with me, no doubt. The reason for this is unfathomable to millions of wives out there who watch their husbands diving on the ground attempting a miraculous catch. They are unimpressed with our tales of touchdowns and interceptions. They just stare at us, mouths agape, wondering what we possibly could have been thinking throwing ourselves onto the ground wearing a perfectly clean wool sweater. Just for the record, the three man team of Patrick, Jon and yours truly triumphed over the four man team of Mike, Mick, Isaac, and Randy…28-21.

We are quickly approaching the two month anniversary of the arrival of Lucy. In all that time she had only whined when we put her to bed one time and that was the first night she was here….until last night. Lucy has been in doggy heaven ever since meeting her new siblings. They have spent most of their time snuggling or playing in a pile on the floor. The kids are in love. Then, last night when it was finally bedtime, Lucy started to whine as if to say, “I can’t go to bed now, there are people upstairs to play with!!” I’m a little concerned that she will be bored with the two of us once the kids head back on Sunday.

Once again proud to report that none of my family has fallen prey to the hideous orgy of conspicuous consumption that is Black Friday. Today we will busy ourselves with getting up leaves and other traditional Thanksgiving activities. Actually, in the interest of full disclosure, Patrick did slip out last night at midnight to pick up a killer deal on a PS4 at Gamestop. But, he was first in line and nobody got trampled when the doors were opened, so I suppose that was a victory of sorts.

The Ferguson Verdict

A friend of mine asked me what I thought of the verdict in the Ferguson case yesterday and I hesitated for a minute before answering, “It doesn’t matter what I think.” That was the best I could do. But it also happens to be true. What a mess.

Anytime a police officer pulls the trigger and a teenager ends up dead it’s a tragedy. No matter the mitigating circumstances, parents are not meant to bury their children. Therefore, I can and do have sympathy for any parent suffering so tragic a loss. I find myself giving them a lot of room for error, allowing them to say hurtful even stupid things in the pain of the moment. I try to imagine how coherent and sensible I would sound with a thousand microphones stuck in my face after losing a son. In this case Michael Brown’s parents get a pass.

As far as the police are concerned, there isn’t enough money in the world that would entice me to become a police officer. It is the worst job in America. Every day, you put your life on the line trying to protect law-abiding citizens from criminals, and most of the time it’s devilishly hard to tell the difference. On the rare occasion where you actually have to fire a weapon, you place yourself under a microscope and the glare of that spotlight can destroy you. No thanks.

So, 12 men and women just completed their three month long grand jury duty. They listened to more than 70 hours of testimony, read reports, listened to more evidence, re-read reports, all the while knowing that whatever their decision happened to be would set off a firestorm of criticism. They were screwed from the beginning. I’ve read just a fraction of the testimony, but enough to know that whatever the per diem is for jury duty in Missouri, it ain’t enough.

My opinion of the verdict doesn’t matter because whatever it happens to be will be wrong. If I believe that Officer Wilson acted in self-defense then I will be judged to be in support of a trigger happy bigot who epitomizes the excesses of the militarized police force in America. If I support the not-guilty verdict, then I will be judged as someone who doesn’t value black lives.

If I believe that Officer Wilson was guilty of murder and got away with it because of systemic racism in our judicial system, then I will be judged to be in support of lawlessness, rioting, looting and mayhem. Worse, I will be lumped in with the Al Sharpton’s of the world, soft on crime and in cahoots with the coddlers and excuse-makers of the left, more concerned with perpetuating grievance than with justice.

So, I’ll just watch the bonfires in the streets of Ferguson. I’ll listen to the protesters chant their slogans…you didn’t indict, we shall fight…f**k the police. I’ll watch them burn down their own town in a rage. Then I’ll wait for some politician to introduce legislation to finance the rebuilding of Ferguson with a new urban renewal plan funded by taxes on the law-abiding citizens of St. Louis.

But I won’t comment on the verdict. It doesn’t matter what I think. I’m wrong anyway.

Finally Finished, Finishing Well!

I’m extraordinarily jacked up about finally having completed and published Finishing Well. It was a labor of love but also an enormous amount of good, old-fashioned regular labor. I was aided immeasurably by both Denise Roy and my sister Paula Roop, who both scanned through the manuscript looking for errors and found many.  I’m sure there are still a few that escaped their scrutiny, but it’s done.

I hope that the book is enjoyable inasmuch as a book about death and dying can be. My sincere wish is that it will provide comfort to those who may be going through similar struggles and a bit of wisdom to those who might be facing the same experience down the road. The knowledge that you are not alone and that what you are suffering is not unique can be a powerful encouragement.

The book has not had pain, disappointment and anger sanitized out because I determined from the very beginning that if I was going to write a book about my parent’s final years, it would be an honest one. Besides, if I made a bunch of stuff up, my mother would come back from the grave and haunt me forever.

But for those of you who loved my parents, you will not be disappointed in this behind the curtains glimpse into their lives. They were consistent to the end. They never betrayed their faith. They indeed finished well.

Just a note to members of my family…Christmas is coming so give Santa a chance to do his thing!

The Rolling Stone and UVA

When I saw that Rolling Stone magazine had written a story about UVA I didn’t know what to think. There was a time when I read Rolling Stone, mostly back when P.J. O’Rourke wrote travel articles for them. But ever since I and Rolling Stone stopped caring about Rock and Roll, I stopped caring about Rolling Stone.

I saw it first on my nephew’s Facebook wall and then discovered that it was everywhere. It was a long and well written piece about a freshman who goes to a frat party, gets gang raped and then literally nothing happens. I won’t repeat all of the article here. I’ll just assume that you’ve read it. But if you haven’t, do yourself a favor and take the time to read the piece…now.

First of all, as someone who has attended a few frat parties back in the day, I should point out that UVA is certainly not unique when it comes to frat-boy debauchery. Although I never witnessed, let alone participated in, anything approaching the happenings at Phi Kappa Psi, there were stories. On one occasion there were photographs. Back then even as a fun-loving, thrill-seeking 20 year old, they were sickening. Today, as a father, I am enraged.

The part of the article that has done the enraging isn’t the actual crime as much as the reaction to the crime by the victims' three “friends.” After finding their friend, who had just been repeatedly raped for over 3 hours by a cowardly band of eight attackers, their biggest concern isn’t for her safety and protection. No, no. They stand there beside their shaking traumatized friend and contemplate what this might mean for future invitations to frat parties for them if they actually take her to the hospital and report this attack to the authorities! Later in the story, after our victim has spent weeks isolating herself from everyone in her dorm, a girl is quoted offering this terrifying opinion, “You’re still upset about that? Why didn’t you just have fun with it…all those hot Phi Kappa Psi guys?”

Civilization, culture, polite society, are words we use to describe what we like to think is a more enlightened existence than our forbearers in less advanced times had to endure. In truth, these words serve as a thin veneer with which we paint over the ugliness of our hearts. We flatter ourselves by thinking that human beings have evolved beyond paganism. What I read in that article was essentially describing the lawless, hedonistic pursuit of pleasure fancied up in pearls.

There exists nowhere in the mind of any rational person an excuse for this type of behavior. If I hear one more dissertation about how the girl should have known what she was getting herself into, or those boys were just acting out what they see in pornography, I’m going to throw up. Oh, the poor, confused young things! Bullshit. No one in that dark room at the Phi Kappa Psi frat house was confused about anything. They knew exactly what they were doing and also that they would get away with it. Virginia’s finest.

People today roll their eyes whenever anyone starts talking about morality and virtue, as if these things no longer have a place in our newly liberated, values-free culture whose only surviving virtue seems to be tolerance. But perhaps it might be time to revisit centuries old virtues like honor and respect. Maybe it’s a mistake to cast the word judgmental on the scrap heap of history. I make no apologies for being judgmental. I have looked at the behavior of these frat boys and I am ready to declare my judgment that they are worthless pagans who should all be sentenced to life in prison for what used to be called “rape” in this country.

We need to stop kidding ourselves. Our advanced civilization…is neither advanced, nor civil.