Ilma Stone R.I.P.

I was in South Carolina on business when I got the news that Ilma Stone had passed away. For many years she was my Mom’s best friend so her loss saddened me at first. But then the idea entered my head that the two of them are reunited in heaven and I couldn’t help smiling. Like my parents, Ilma’s final years were plagued by declining health, so belief in an afterlife where she has been made whole is a comfort. Still, every time I think of Ilma I smile. I can’t help it. She always made me laugh. Let me explain.

Forty years ago, I was a cocky, wisecracking teenager. It was about this time when I was introduced to my mother’s new friend, Ilma Stone. She was a very pretty lady with an infectious laugh who could be laughing one minute and crying the next. She and Mom were always sitting at the dining room table nibbling on pound cake, sipping iced tea and talking about Jesus. That’s pretty much all I ever saw them do together. Sometimes their discussions would get pretty intense. I would bound down the stairs and pass by them on my way to the kitchen and find Ilma sitting there with tears running down her face. I would always go over and hug her and ask if she was ok. She would always smile and hug me back. Then every once in a while I couldn’t resist saying, “Hey, look Ilma…a CAT!!” She would always scream and nearly jump out of her chair and onto the table. I thought it was great fun but Mom would always fuss at me for being so mean. Ilma was more afraid of cats than anything in the universe so naturally, I always kidded her about it. Somehow she loved me anyhow.

Tomorrow, I will attend her funeral, the first such occasion I’ve been to since Dad passed away. There will be a viewing before the service. I used to hate everything about funerals. But now that I’ve been through two big ones, not so much anymore. Besides, this is Ilma. I know where she is and who she’s with.

Wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Another Dead Black Man

Eric Garner, the latest very large black man to be killed by the police, was a 43 year old father of six with a rap sheet that included 31 arrests. Therein lies the Grand Canyon-sized chasm between white and black America. I don’t know anyone 43 years old who has 6 kids, and I have never been in the presence of a single solitary person who has been arrested 31 times.

We have all seen the video a hundred times by now. There is Mr. Garner resisting an attempted arrest by several NYPD officers, one of whom slips around behind and wraps an arm around his neck wrestling him to the ground. Somewhere in the ensuing melee, Eric Garner breathes his last. Officer Daniel Pantaleo, who administered the chokehold was placed on office duty after the incident, then the case was sent to a Grand Jury for review. Yesterday that Grand Jury acquitted Pantaleo and charged him with…nothing.

What heinous crime was Mr. Garner guilty of? What horrible act was he in the midst of committing that would have justified such a violent apprehension? He was selling loose, unregistered, (un-taxed) cigarettes…loosies. Wait,…what?

You see, in New York City, politicians have declared tobacco to be worse than practically any substance on earth. It has been the goal of the powers that be to eradicate its use both inside and out. To this end they have taxed cigarettes out of reach of most New Yorkers. A pack costs $11.00, half of that price lines the bank accounts of governments from Washington to Albany to New York City. If I didn’t know better I would think that somebody set out to create a black market. “Hey everyone, I know what we should do! Let’s make cigarettes twice as expensive in New York as they are anywhere else in the country. That way, we’ll create a huge incentive for crooks in Kentucky to bring their 4 dollar-a-pack cigarettes up here where they can sell them on the street for 8 dollars a pack. That will save smokers in our city 3 bucks a pack and rob us of revenue while making illegal cigarettes a thriving black market!!”

I’m all for law and order and I generally support the police over perpetually aggrieved race pimps like Al Sharpton, but when I watch the video of Mr. Garner’s final moments on this earth, I can’t help thinking…all of this over selling illegal cigarettes? The NYPD has nothing better to do than go after some 43 year old man selling contraband smokes? Whatever happened to proportionality? How about the punishment fitting the crime?

I would imagine that in a city the size of New York there are probably hundreds of thousands of laws and ordinances on the books. No police force is equipped to enforce them all. Decisions have to be made because of budgetary restraints, prosecutorial discretion must be exercised. We see this all the time. For example, it is illegal for anyone under the age of 21 to consume alcohol in the United States and yet, every Friday and Saturday night on most college campuses, an orgy of law-breaking takes place in full view of the local police. The police decide that there are bigger fish to fry.

For the life of me I cannot understand why the cops in New York City felt compelled to take this type of aggressive approach to apprehending a cigarette salesman. Seriously? How do they actually expect someone 43 years old with 31 arrests to make a living? At least he wasn’t selling black tar heroin to school kids. As parents we pick our battles, we seldom choose to die on the hill of forgetting to make the bed. In the grand scheme of deviance in a city like New York, Eric Garner forgot to make his bed. Now he’s dead.

President Obama has pledged 75 million dollars to outfit police officers with cameras that he says will reduce confrontations. This particular crime was recorded on tape for all to see over and over again on CNN. The result was another acquittal of a police officer accused of murdering a black man. Maybe Pantaleo’s actions didn’t rise to murder. But to be cleared of any wrong doing? Excessive force?  Wrongful arrest technique? Anything?

On this one, I’m with the protesters.

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.