The Wolf and the Sheepdog

I'm about to attempt a very difficult thing. I'm doing it partly because of what happened to Mike Pence with regards to his "marriage rules" controversy. I'm also doing it because I think it needs to be done. When we arrive at the place where something as innocent as not having dinner alone with a woman if she's not your wife, becomes fodder for hysterical condemnation, something has gone off the rails. Here's what I think is happening...when we disagree with someone's politics, that disagreement becomes all-consuming, and allows for zero exceptions, that is if someone is our political enemy, we cannot for a second consider that he or she has any positive traits. Our disdain for anyone on the other side must be complete and unremitting. Any accommodation feels like weakness so it's full battle stations 24/7. This is the environment in which America finds itself...and it has to stop.

To that end, I will attempt this difficult thing. First, I will identify my three least favorite politicians. Then, I will do a full internet investigation of every detail of their lives, public and private, and I will attempt to find something about them that I can praise, something that is worthy of acknowledgement, something that will transform my view of them as mere political animals and replace it with a dash of humanity. It's a version of what my parents always asked me to do about people with whom I couldn't get along when I was a kid. "Find something good about them."

Here are the three candidates for my personal worst person in the world award, in no particular order,
Elizabeth Warren, Chuck Schumer, and Nancy Pelosi. I will not here list the many reasons why I hold each of these individuals in such low regard, that should be self evident to anyone who regularly reads this blog. However, after some exhaustive research, I have discovered some things about them that I didn't know, things that have managed to move the needle a little in my estimation of their
value as human beings. Let's start with Senator Warren.

She was not born rich and entitled, but rather to lower middle class, blue collar parents. She is the youngest of four, with three older brothers. When she was young, her Dad got sick and lost his job, endangering the finances of the family to the point that at age 13 she got her first job waiting tables at her Aunt's restaurant. In addition to not being afraid of real work, Ms. Warren made the decision to be a stay at home Mom for the first two years of each of her two children's lives, even to the point of practicing law from home. These two experiences of her life demonstrate fine qualities which deserve praise and acknowledgement.

Charles Schumer has raised two accomplished daughters, Jessica and Allison, and has been married to his wife Iris for 37 years. I would imagine that if much of your life has been lived in the cesspool that is Washington politics, that alone is an amazing feat. Mr. Schumer too was not born into wealth, having grown up in very working class Brooklyn where he attended public schools. At age 17  he scored a perfect score of 1600 on his SAT test, outscoring me by a whopping 240 points. Gotta give him props for that!

Nancy Pelosi was born in Maryland to an Italian family who didn't speak English, making her a second generation immigrant. It is an impressive climb from having foreign language speaking parents to being the first female Speaker of the House. Name another country where this is possible? In addition, she has somehow managed to stay married to the same man for 54 years while raising five children, and being blessed with eight grandchildren. Well done, Nancy.

Nothing that I have just written changes my view of these three people as politicians. Listening to any of them on television will still be, both now and for all eternity, like listening to screeching cats. But, learning just a little of their background, getting just a glimpse of their life stories, has changed how I think about them. They seem more human to me now, more, dare I say, like me?

One of my favorite old Warner Brothers cartoons from back in the day was the one which featured the wolf and the sheep dog. Each morning you would see them walking along together to work, each carrying a lunch box, making small talk. Soon, they would arrive at a time clock hanging on the trunk of a tree where they both would clock in. The rest of the cartoon was a series of attempts by the wolf to steal one of the sheep in the field which the sheepdog was there to protect. Each wiley attempt at subterfuge by the wolf was met with crafty violence by the stalwart sheepdog. The last attempt by the wolf was always the most daring and just about the time that the sheepdog was about to swing that fist of justice at him...the whistle would blow. The sheepdog and the wolf would freeze in place, acknowledge the end of the work day, grab their empty lunch boxes and walk home together, side by side..."How are the kids, Ralph?" the sheepdog would ask. "Growing like weeds, Sam." the wolf would answer.

Perhaps asking our politicians to be more like Ralph and Sam is asking too much. But maybe if we all learned how to separate the political from the personal, we would get along better. Maybe if we could find it within ourselves to find the good in others, a middle ground could be found. But, suppose the other side refuses to return that good will? Doesn't matter. I'm not responsible for the other side. I'm just responsible for myself.

"Go thee therefore, and do likewise."

The Pence Marriage Rules

The Washington Post recently published an in-depth profile of Vice President Pence's wife, Karen Pence. Almost immediately the internet blew up.

I don't have much in the way of an opinion concerning Pence. He's a very conservative, mid-western evangelical. As such he has been a target of all of the beautiful people who live on the coasts, the recipient of an endless stream of derisive vitriol for his hickish qualities, his bigotry, homophobia, Islamophobia and misogyny,,,and all of the other phobias with which evangelicals are routinely associated.  But this time, the long knives came out over a small paragraph found in the long Post profile which disclosed that the Vice President doesn't dine alone with women not his wife, and he doesn't attend events where alcohol is served if his wife isn't in attendance.

The Progressive snark machine went into high drone before the ink was even dry. The Vice President thinks that all meals lead to sex...he's an affront to all working women...what a Christian weirdo!!!
My personal favorite was from The Onion, where a picture of Pence sitting at a table with a bottle of Aunt Jemima syrup, with the caption, "Pence demands that waitress remove Aunt Jemima syrup bottle from table until his wife arrives."

Ok. Although one can't help but wonder how the left would react to this sort of thing had it been written about a Muslim-American politician's marital ground rules..I rather think that not one word would have ever graced the pages of the Washington Post...lets leave that debate for another time. Lets talk about the substance, shall we?

I have been married to the beautiful and talented Mrs. Pam Dunnevant for nearly 33 years now. In all of that time, I have never had a private dinner with another woman who wasn't one of my relatives. While I have attended functions where adult beverages have been served without her, I always feel awkward and uncomfortable when I do. Does this make me a misogynistic, knuckle-dragging bigot? I certainly hope not! I like to think that it means that I am someone who highly values his most important relationship so much that he takes great care in insuring its health and safety. Let me explain.

Life is mostly the business of risk management. We all make decisions large and small, each and every day, about how much risk we are willing to take. Should we try to beat that train to the crossing? What's that you say Doc? I've got high blood pressure? Does that mean I should't enter that bacon-eating contest next month? Or, as I used to say back in college..."Here, hold my beer and watch this!!!" Part of living a long and productive life is the prudent management of life risk, putting yourself in winning opportunities, knowing your weaknesses and avoiding situations where they might be exploited. My life is centered around the one central relationship I enjoy with my wife. If that falls apart, the destructive ripple effects of that failure will be devastating to not only me but my entire family. Therefore, I have always thought it wise and prudent to protect my marriage at all cost.

Listen, I have never had any inclination to cheat on my wife. First of all...have you seen her?? She's gorgeous. But, most of the reasons why I have never strayed is because I haven't given myself much opportunity to do so. In other words, I'm a bit of a coward in this area. I never want to find out just how much of a pig I might actually be, so I never put myself in situations where I have greater odds of acting on piggish temptations. While this system, which is nearly identical to the Pence's has served me well, I don't judge anyone else who doesn't feel the need to set up these kinds of guidelines. What other married couples do is none of my business. All I know is, my system has worked well for us. That's all.

Which brings me back to the ridicule being heaped upon the Pence's. Ironic how back when Bill Clinton was in the White House, we were always being lectured by those on the left that whatever went on in someone's else's marriage was none of our business. The fact that Bubba was a serial adulterer was immaterial to his ability to run the country, and whatever failings there may have been at home with Hillary was strictly between the two of them. Now, twenty five years later, those same voices are belittling the Vice President for his excessive commitment to marital fidelity, for the odd reason that his stance is somehow harmful to working women?

I will leave it to you, the reader, to determine whether this represents progress.

John Brown Crazy

This morning. Wide awake at 5:30. High noon wide awake at 5:30. No chance of nodding back off wide awake at 5:30. So, I get up, walk downstairs and fix my coffee. While waiting for it to brew, I empty the dishwasher. Post chore, I perambulate into the library for my daily news briefing, courtesy of Mr. Gore's invention. The news isn't good. It would appear that my mother was right with her accessment that the "world is John Brown crazy." Don't ask me to define what exactly John Brown Crazy means. This was one of my mother's many odd formulations. We never questioned her on matters of language, she being a devotee of the because I said so school of parenting. We took this expression to mean...mentally unstable. There was "crazy" then there was John Brown Crazy, a far more serious affliction of mind and body which was beyond human understanding or remedy.

I'm fairly certain that if Mom were alive today she would consider the men can menstruate too crowd as exhibit A in the John Brown Crazy museum, just around the corner from the women with penises display. This latest absurdity served up by the gender fluidity idiots is one more example of John Brown Crazy which I am eternally grateful that my mother didn't live to see. I cannot imagine how difficult it would be to explain it all to her...

Mom: Douglas, I want you to explain to me what I just saw on the news, and I don't mean maybe!!

Me: Calm down Mom. What happened?

Mom: Don't you tell me to calm down! I just saw a man on Fox News saying that he was gonna sue the school system for not having a tampon machine in the boy's bathroom!! Douglas, what in the Sam Hill was he talking about??

Me: well, uh, I ...er..

Mom: I'll tell you what they should be talking about...that man is possessed by a demon if he thinks that a man can have a period. They oughta lock that man up in the loony bin. He's John Brown Crazy!

Swift was the sword of justice swung when my mother was on the case. If I had even used the term gender fluidity with her she would probably have shot back with..."You should be ashamed of yourself, talking that way. Menstruation is a natural part of life, calling it fluidity is shameful!!"

Me: No Mom, gender fluidity is the term given to the idea that a person' gender isn't as simple as male/female. It's the idea that a person's sex can change and evolve over time, that in fact, there are probably endless possibilities when it comes to gender identity...

Mom: Endless possibilities, you say.

Me: Well, that's the theory, at least.

Mom: A person's sex can change over time, you say.

Me: That's what I'm told.

Mom: Well, that's about the John Browndest thing I have ever heard.

Yes, her go-to term for mental instability came in several forms. It could be used as an epitaph, an adjective, an adverb, even a verb..."If you don't straighten up and fly right, I'm gonna John Brown you into next week!" Often she used the term in connection with threats of violence..." if you know what's good for you, you'll straighten up or I'll John Brown come over there and mop the floor up with you!" Mom never actually made good on her threats, the mere evoking of the dreaded John Brown usually had the desired effect.

I miss her in ways impossible to express, but I'm so glad that she didn't live to see gender fluidity, because explaining it to her would have been John Brown Impossible!

A Plan to Eliminate Poverty.....immediately

Contrary to what you may have heard, as a Libertarian I do not hate poor people. For one thing, I used to be one. If I harbor any broad based hatred for a particular socio-economic class it would probably be the nouveau riche, but that's another story. I don't generally blame the poor for their poverty. While some are indeed poor because of the choices they make in life, most are poor for a variety of complicated reasons, many beyond anyone's ability to control. I wish poverty upon no one. In a perfect world, there would be none. But a really great man once said that we would always have the poor with us, so I have always taken him at his word.

This doesn't mean that we should not try to help poor people stop being poor. It doesn't even mean that our government should not try to help poor people stop being poor. It's just that every time we start having a discussion about poverty fighting programs in America, the left presents the issue as the greedy vs. the needy. If only the right could find an ounce of compassion, a thimble full of empathy, a drop of charity, then all would be well. But, consider this:

According to the latest data from the House of Representatives budget committee, there are no less than 92 federal programs designed to help the poor. In total these 92 programs tip the scales with a whopping $799 billion dollar annual price tag. Now, that's a lot of compassion! On a related note, there are currently 46.7 million Americans living "in poverty." Poverty here is defined for an individual as less than $11,700 a year, meaning that a family of four is considered "poor" if their total annual income is less than $46,800. I have no idea who decides all of this, but I will not challenge any of these numbers because it would do no good. I will accept them as true and move along.

Now, here's where my dander gets up. I am a simple man. I hold no ill will against my fellow man, with the exception of Yankee fans, so before you go flying off the handle excoriating me for my lack of compassion, empathy and charity, consider this. If the federal government wrote an $11,700 check and simply presented it to each and every one of the 46.7 million poor people in these United States, they could effectively wipe out poverty. Give every family of four a check every year for $46,800. Wipe out poverty. As a bonus, the cost of this wealth transfer would come to $547 billion dollars....saving the American taxpayer a cool 252 billion dollars every year. 

See, the problem with poverty isn't compassion, empathy or charity. The problem isn't that we are too greedy, that we lack the will to do what it takes to help people overcome it. The problem is that the left has convinced the world that it takes 92 federal programs run with zero accountability to get the job done. Those 92 programs then get to be administered by compassionate, empathetic and charitable leftists until the end of time. The trouble is, since LBJ's Great Society and its war on poverty began, we haven't been able to move the needle much. Back in 1966, the US poverty rate was 15% and 28 million Americans lived in it. Today the poverty rate is 15% and 46 million Americans live in it...our Lord and Savior's observation seeming to have been vindicated.

My point in all of this is this...do we really need all 92 of these poverty fighting programs? Are there some among them that do great work and deliver measurable benefits? I'm absolutely sure that there are. But are many of them nothing more than full employment programs for democrats? Wouldn't it be wise to actually do an audit of each of them to weed out the fluff and identify the truly beneficial programs? Then, after we're done there, we can turn our attention to the crony capitalist, bribery infested, money wasting juggernaut that is the defense budget! 

An Immigrant Story

I just returned from a five day trip to Florida, two and a half days of business, two and a half days of resort living. I had an encounter while I was there that I want to write about while everything is fresh in my mind. If I delay even a few days, I will end up forgetting details.

The Hyatt Regency in Bonita Springs, Florida is not unlike any other high end resort hotel. The grounds are beautiful, the facility impeccably turned out, and the food superb. The only thing I found cause to complain about was the mattress. It wasn't as firm as I like and the hotel pillows were so soft they could hardly support the chocolates. So, after several nights, my balky back began tightening up. I thought it might be wise to avail myself of the tender mercies of the spa, which featured a 50 minute, hot oil, deep tissue massage for the low low price of $145 plus gratuity. When in Rome...

I was introduced to Jackie, a woman who looked to be in her late thirties, early forties and of Latin descent. Her accent was strongly Carribean but I couldn't place it. Her English was choppy and all over the place, but understandable. She had that brawling exuberance of someone from someplace else, someone who had left something bad behind and was desperate to put it behind her. As she instructed me to lay on the table face up, I asked her where she was from. "Cooba"

I am fond of massages. Pam gave me a membership to Hand and Stone for Christmas one year and I've gotten at least one of them a month ever since. This was different. Jackie was different. For one thing, although I've probably gotten massages from over twenty different people, no one has ever asked me about the gigantic eight inch scar running down the front of my chest...

Jackie: You have heart surgery?

Me: Yes. Fourteen years ago next month.

Jackie: Ok now?

Me: Yes.

Jackie: God bless...

She then began going about her work with unbridled enthusiasm. I had earlier made the mistake of mentioning my recent trouble with plantar fasciitis. She then began a rapid fire explanation of exactly what I should be doing about it, complete with pictures of every muscle and tendon found on the human calf and foot courtesy of her smart phone. This woman had medical skills far beyond the entry level familiarity of human anatomy typical of your average masseur. I was intrigued...

Me: How long have you been in America?

Jackie: Eight years. I am here with my husband, daughter, and two brothers. My mother, father and sisters still in Havana.

I never asked her how she got here or even why she left Cuba. Partly because it seemed like too personal a question, but also because when someone has their highly skilled fingers buried knuckle-deep into your latissimus dorsi, it's generally not wise to bring up sore subjects. But, it soon became obvious when I asked her how she liked living in America.

Jackie: It not perfect, but it wonderful. I go anywhere I want, say anything I want. If I want to buy somesing, I go out and buy it, if I have money. Then I have to choose what type, what color, what price...so many choices!! Once, I visit relative in Dalliss. I buy ticket and go. When I finish, I come back to Florida. I ask nobody!! Wonderful.

Me: What's the worst thing about living in America?

I have found over the years that when you ask an immigrant this sort of question, they don't answer very honestly, fearing that they will be misunderstood, and not wanting to criticize America in front of an American. Not Jackie!

Jackie: Medical cost ridicurous! Doctors stupid! They never want to fix anything, they only want to send you to specialist. In Cooba, every doctor free. Only good thing. Also, streets here dangerous. In Cooba, no one carry guns, knives. If you get caught with them, you go to jail and nobody ever see you again. You ever heard of Hunger Game? That is Cooba. Everyone must play governments game. Two television channel, both government. You only watch what they want you to watch. Even internet only what government let you see. You say anything bad about the government, you go to jail and no one ever see you again. In America, anyone say anything they want. In America you do anything you want. But too many guns bad, and stupid doctors.

As I laid there listening to her melodic voice, my mind began wandering. I had been in Florida for four days and had encounters with people from all over the world. I had met a Colombian Uber driver, in America for over twenty years, in between jobs, having recently lost his as a technical producer for The Discovery Channel. There was an Australian man who drove us to the airport. The ladies who served us drinks poolside were either bronzed by a Central American heritage or almond-eyed Asians with silky black hair. The men who emptied the rapidly filling trash cans were from somewhere else, somewhere mostly south of the equator. The mostly invisible ladies who made our beds and cleaned up our rooms every day spoke little English, but offered up broad, defensive smiles whenever eye contact was made.

Jackie: I saving money for citizen test! I have books to study American history...George Washington...haha!

I don't know Jackie's immigration status. I didn't ask her if she came here legally. I believe that any country should have the right to control the traffic at it's borders. There is a right way, a legal way to come here and I have two members of my family who did just that. There is also a wrong way, an illegal way to come here. I want more of the former and none of the latter. But as I lay there listening to Jackie it became clear that she left something bad, something so bad that she was willing to leave her parents behind.

Jackie: My daughter 4 years old when we come to America. She now almost 13. Her English is perfect! But I don't want her to forget Spanish because she has to write letters to my parents every month. She already forgetting how to write, she write four words in Spanish, then two word in English. Makes me sad, but her English is so good which makes me proud. It strange thing...

Yes, it sure is.

When the massage was over I found myself looking at Jackie more carefully. The light came up and I could finally see her clearly. Then I heard myself say...."Jackie, in America today you hear lots of talk about immigration, but I want you to know something. I'm glad that you made it to America. I'm glad you're here. I was born here, as were my parents, their parents and their parents before them. But when you pass that citizenship test, you're gonna be one of us, every bit as American as me. Something tells me that maybe you already are one of us."

As I spoke, this loud, proud woman's eyes began filling with tears. As the tears washed down her face she said, "Thank you, thank you, thank you, gracias, God bless...."

My views bout illegal immigration remain the same. What has changed is that we have got to find a way to talk about this issue in ways that don't make the Jackie's of this  world feel like the enemy, because they aren't. Everyone has a story. Everyone wants something better, a better life, more freedom to live it in peace. Jackie was willing to leave her Homeland and much of her family behind to pursue a life of liberty.

I'm glad she made it.

I had to write this down because even though I will never see her again, I don't want to forget.

How I Survive a Meeting

Ok, for most people this picture would seem an entirely benign image. For some, it might be oddly comforting, with its symmetric layout...glasses placed in even numbers on either side of the sweating water pitcher, pens laid evenly on both sides of the complimentary Hyatt notepads, the tray of candy, inviting. For me and many souls like me, the picture is a dire warning of something horrible to come. Whenever I see this image or any like it, my bowels begin to constrict, beers of sweat start to form around the hairline, then my heart sinks. I know what this picture means. I know what I will be doing for the next however many hours....sitting and trying desperately to listen, trying desperately not to bolt from the room.

I have been attending meetings of this sort for nearly 35 years now. They are necessary. There is information that I must know and apparently, mankind hasn't figured out a more efficient way to disseminate this information since the Council of Trent. So, here I am.

I am not without recourse. I always pick a table in the back of the room, so on the many occasions when I find standing up utterly irresistible I can do so without being too much of a distraction to 99% of the other perfectly normal men and women in the room who seemingly could sit through a three hour tort lecture without even shifting their weight from one butt-cheek to the other. I watch them and marvel at their...stillness. Who are these people? More importantly, what is wrong with me??

Maybe all of them are on some sort of medication which renders even the most sand-poundingly boring material absolutely fascinating. Or maybe they all are grown ups and have acquired the adult skill of sitting and listening. Regardless, I sat through 6 hours and listened to 8 different speakers, all of whom were highly skilled and professional. I'm thinking I might have heard and processed roughly 2 hours of information. The rest of the time I was busy A. Pondering how anyone could possibly have come up with the design of this carpet and B. How anyone else could possibly have purchased it. And, don't get me started on this chandelier... an explosion in a plastics factory that claimed the lives of fifty people. I'm telling you, it is seriously hideous. The rest of the time I ..wait...SQUIRREL!!!!

Sigh....

Living With Regulations

This week, I will be attending a business meeting in Bonita Springs, Florida. Ever notice how business meetings are almost never held in Des Moines or Grand Rapids? Anyway...it's a two day affair where the main topic will be the impending Federal regulation known as the Department of Labor's Fiduciary Rule, its cost and implementation requirements. I'm stoked...

Once I survive,(and I'm making no assumptions here) the rest of my stay will involve rest and relaxation with my beautiful wife in the Florida sunshine. I could sure use it, but my wife deserves it, a clear distinction I should make up front.

Now, if you are of a certain age and political persuasion, you may be thinking, "Great! Another fat cat soirée at some fancy resort, fully comped by some Wall Street cartel bent on screwing the little guy!!" Sorry to disappoint, but the cost of this soirée is being borne by yours truly. I bought the plane tickets, I'm paying for my hotel rooms, the tickets to the Red Sox spring training game were bought and paid for by...me. I am being fed for two days, but, I have to pay for Pam if she decides to join me. So much for my Wall Street benefactors!

However, in fairness I should probably point out that the entire purpose of the dreaded DOL's Fiducairy Rule is to correct abuses in the financial planning/investment business brought on by the fact that some of the folks who do what I do for a living...are crooks. It turns out that if you are a self serving scumbag who doesn't care about anyone but yourself, this is a good business to be in because it is relatively easy to take advantage of people who have placed their trust in you. Of course, to solve the problem of a minority of bad actors, the federal government regulatory regime has chosen a sledge hammer to drive a thumbtack into the wall. The cost of compliance is high and will force me to jettison small clients from my book, the relentless power of unintended consequences once again rearing its ugly head! But, the law is the law. So, comply I must! Unlike the pundits who are constantly extolling the virtues of the regulatory state, for me...the regulatory burden isn't theoretical. I have to write checks.

Sure, I would rather live with bad regulations than no regulations. But that doesn't mean that every or even most regulations that are mandated onto businesses are fair or just. I believe that most were well intentioned but naive, designed to solve legitimate problems but wind up creating more problems than they solve. Make no mistake though...I will comply. I don't get to pick and choose which laws I will obey. I live in a democratic republic and if this is law of the land, then I will fly to Florida on my own dime to find out exactly what I must do to follow that law.

And to make the trip worth while, I'm staying two extra days with the love of my life at a fabulous resort which I am very grateful isn't in Grand Rapids.