THE MOST DANGEROUS WAY TO BOIL WATER
(Or Playing With Fire In A Ship’s Gun-Powder Magazine)
The 104 nuclear power plants operating in the USA produce electricity the old fashioned way---they simply boil water and let the steam produced expand across the blades of a turbine fan. The fan turns a dynamo –much like the generator (alternator) in your automobile—and produces electricity. The process is based on the 18th century concept of James Watt who modified earlier designs dating back to Greek experimental steam-machines of the first century AD. The engines of Watt were piston-type engines which could be hooked up to farm machinery. But late in the 19th century, Charles Parson (1884) devised the steam turbine to convert steam into more useful mechanical energy by way of a complex “fan” which rotates in the stream of expanding gas and generates electricity by turning an electromagnetic dynamo. The only thing that has changed much over time is how we boil the water to make the steam. The early Greek machines used olive-oil lamps placed under the metal “boiler”. Early 19th century designs burned wood, later ones burned coal or petroleum and even natural gas. But the most modern and most dangerous of all-- use nuclear energy (that is: nuclear, pronounced nu clee arrrr! There is no “u” after the “c” in “nuclear” as President Bush was wont to add).
To produce nuclear energy one must acquire and concentrate large, heavy, unstable atomic nuclei which naturally decay into lighter more stable nuclei (a natural process known as nuclear fission); or alternately permit nuclei of lighter elements to combine into heavier more stable ones (nuclear fusion). The former process is what is commonly used to generate electricity. By this means (nuclear fission) unstable heavy elements such as certain forms of Uranium and Plutonium (which decay naturally by releasing particles of matter such as protons or neutrons) alter into lighter elements. As they alter from one element or one state of matter into another they give off radiation (the nuclear particles noted above) and great quantities of heat. That heat can be trapped to boil water. The reactor where this process takes place must be shielded by great thicknesses of metal and concrete to protect the staff, workers and general population from dangerous radiation. The problem with nuclear fission is that the process besides producing ionizing radiation which is harmful to all living things also generates great quantities of highly radioactive waste material which must be stored and isolated from the biosphere and which requires long-term (permanent) storage deep underground (though sometimes that does not take place as it should—as in the exposed used fuel rod pools at the Fukushima incident).
The water in the reactor is heated in an enclosed vessel by long fuel rods each filled with pellets of uranium ore. The sealed rods are surrounded by water and as the eclosed uranium decays into its fusion products the pellets give off energy which heats the surrounding water to the boiling point. The steam is directed over the blades of the turbine which rotates and generates the electricity. The steam is condensed and carried back by pipes into the boiler vessel so that the process can continue. To modulate the rate of reaction, control rods (often of graphite) are used which can be introduced into the spaces between the fuel rods. The control rods absorb the radiation which would otherwise interact with other nuclei and increase heat production. To slow the reaction and shut the core reactor down, the control rods are introduced in such a way as to interpose their mass between the fuel rods and thus maximize their absorption and modulation effects. As this is going on the excess heat must be drawn away by circulating water. If it is not constantly flowing through the core within the boiler-vessel, heat will build up. Loss of water circulation or loss of water may cause the fuel rods to decay and melt. Some of the substances produced (such as Cesium 137) are gases at these high temperatures and if the containment vessel is breached, these radioactive gases can escape into the atmosphere. If the entire mass of fuel melts it can produce an extremely hot molten mass which can actually melt its way through the floor of the containment vessel. This is sometimes referred to as a “China syndrome” or “complete meltdown”. In a meltdown there is no longer any way to modulate the reaction and an uncontrolled chain reaction can ensue. The boiler vessel and the containment structure could be damaged and breached and the radioactive elements can escape into the atmosphere, seep into the groundwater, be run off into surface waters or the ocean. In each case the substances which are released are deadly to living things and will remain so sometimes for thousands of years. Cesium 137 however, has a short half-life of about 30 years. Thus half of the atoms will have altered to some other more stable element after 30 years, then after 60 years that half would have halved itself and so on.
In the Chernobyl Disaster of April 26, 1986 in what is now north-central Ukraine an accident during a routine shutdown of the plant ultimately caused the loss of water, an great explosion and exposure of the plants fuel and graphite moderator rods. The graphite rods began to burn and an explosion blew the top off the less-than-adequate containment vessel. Radioactive debris was carried across much of Eastern Europe by upper-air winds. Nearly a quarter of a century later, the plant and the near-by city are deserted as radiation exclusion zones. The radiation caused the deaths of several hundred who lived near the plant and those many valiant Russians who gave their lives to contain the disaster. Years later scientists using statistical methods estimated that in those areas affected by the fall-out nearly a million people died as a consequence of their exposure. Even today nearly a quarter-century later the incidence of thyroid cancer in affected areas is 500 times what is was prior to 1986.
The disaster at Fukushima in Japan has made it clear to all that there are no assurances that nuclear energy can be “tamed” and made safe.
Oh there will be many who will claim that this was a “unique” set of circumstances; the disaster occurred at an old, outdated plant that was going to be retired soon that was simultaneously hit by a massive earthquake and then a tsunami. “What do you expect?” they might add? You counter with…”What about the disaster in 1976 at the American nuclear plant in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania (Three Mile Island)? Their response would be: “That was the result of a simple careless mistake.” “The plant itself and the construction were flawless!”
But what about the massive nuclear disaster in the USSR (Ukraine) in 1986 at Chernobyl? They would be sure to cite the facts that the Chernobyl melt down and explosion in 1986 happened at an old plant, designed by Russians. Would you ever buy a Russian-designed and manufactured motor-vehicle? You roll your eyes, and think, “No, probably not”, remembering those cheap “Lada” vehicles that the Russians exported to Cuba and other Soviet-block countries in the 80s and 90s. While Americans can be creative and inventive, they are not the ones you would want to repair your antique watch or fiddle with the fine mechanisms in your Infinity Sedan. You know that they have little interest in fixing that auto when we know that they all want to be either top executives or wealthy entrepreneurs (that is if they have no talent for baseball or football where they can really make money). You can expect Americans to make sloppy mistakes—just compare the maintenance records and finish on a Dodge Caravan-(a great idea that Chrysler Corporation came up with) with the Honda Odyssey—a copy-cat-design but mostly manufactured by the Japanese with better finish, and better maintenance performance. The Japanese have the mindset and the cultural background for that kind of work and success. They are methodical, systematic, precise and disciplined. So if the Japanese cannot keep the nuclear “tiger” under control, how could we expect the Americans—and all the others who want to use this dangerous way to boil water—the Chinese, Indians, Brazilians and others to do so?
It’s a sure thing that the name “Fukushima” will become another metonym for nuclear disaster. “What do you want to have another Fukushima here? The answer from most citizens, faced with the possibility of constructing a nuclear power plant in “their back yard” would be: “No Fukushima for us!”
And of course we would feel the same way ourselves!
Get the picture?
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Saturday, March 5, 2011
OLIGARCHS CONFISCATE OUR NATION'S WEALTH
THE AWFUL TRUTH
You have heard the Republicans complain about confiscatory taxes. Their complaint is that their clients, the just plain wealthy, the super-wealthy, and the true oligarchs, do not want their “hard won” profits to be confiscated by the government. The awful truth is: it’s the other way around---the oligarchs are confiscating the nation’s wealth.
According to G Wiliam Domhoff ( Univ California) in “Wealth Income, and Power, (9-2009 updated 1-2011) “wealth in the US is highly concentrated in a relatively few hands”. That fact probably comes as a shock to most of you (readers). Based on a recent study, most Americans from every walk of life and political persuasion have no idea just how concentrated wealth is in this nation (Demhoff quotes a study by Norton & Ariely, 2010). Who would believe that the top 20% of the population controls more than 90% of the nation’s liquid assets?
First a few definitions. Wealth is defined by Demhoff and other sociologists as what we would call “net worth”, the value of everything a person or family owns, minus its debts. The figures that most economists use to calculate this value are “marketable assets” such as homes, land, commercial properties, stocks and bonds—all those items that are readily convertible into cash, but not cars and household items, which are valuable to people for personal use but difficult to convert into ready cash for investment. Financial wealth is defined as “non-home-wealth” or a person’s or family’s net-worth, minus the family’s “home value” (net worth-minus net-equity in owner–occupied housing). This latter term is a better measure of the “liquid” assets of a person or family which may be available for consumption or investment.
According to Demhoff, net-wealth in the USA is highly concentrated in a few hands. As of 2007, according to figures compiled by the top 1% of households owned nearly 35% of all privately held wealth, and the next 19% (managerial, professional, and small business owners) held 51%. That means that the top 20% of the nation’s families owned 85% of all the private wealth in the nation, leaving only 15% to be distributed by the bottom 80% (the wage and salary workers)! If we were to examine the financial wealth of these groups the picture becomes even more skewed toward the higher income level, since ownership of a private home is such a large portion of middle class American wealth. Thus in a measure of the financial wealth (net wealth –home value) a better measure of liquid assets--the top 1% of households held 43% of the nation’s financial wealth, the next 19% held 50%, and the workers and salaried people held only 7%. Thus in terms of financial wealth the top 20% of the population holds 93% of all liquid or disposable privately held wealth.
So when you hear the term confiscatory taxes, or of certain classes of people unwilling to pay their fair share--review these figures for a better understanding of what they want. The awful truth is that they want all of the pie!
Get the picture?
You have heard the Republicans complain about confiscatory taxes. Their complaint is that their clients, the just plain wealthy, the super-wealthy, and the true oligarchs, do not want their “hard won” profits to be confiscated by the government. The awful truth is: it’s the other way around---the oligarchs are confiscating the nation’s wealth.
According to G Wiliam Domhoff ( Univ California) in “Wealth Income, and Power, (9-2009 updated 1-2011) “wealth in the US is highly concentrated in a relatively few hands”. That fact probably comes as a shock to most of you (readers). Based on a recent study, most Americans from every walk of life and political persuasion have no idea just how concentrated wealth is in this nation (Demhoff quotes a study by Norton & Ariely, 2010). Who would believe that the top 20% of the population controls more than 90% of the nation’s liquid assets?
First a few definitions. Wealth is defined by Demhoff and other sociologists as what we would call “net worth”, the value of everything a person or family owns, minus its debts. The figures that most economists use to calculate this value are “marketable assets” such as homes, land, commercial properties, stocks and bonds—all those items that are readily convertible into cash, but not cars and household items, which are valuable to people for personal use but difficult to convert into ready cash for investment. Financial wealth is defined as “non-home-wealth” or a person’s or family’s net-worth, minus the family’s “home value” (net worth-minus net-equity in owner–occupied housing). This latter term is a better measure of the “liquid” assets of a person or family which may be available for consumption or investment.
According to Demhoff, net-wealth in the USA is highly concentrated in a few hands. As of 2007, according to figures compiled by the top 1% of households owned nearly 35% of all privately held wealth, and the next 19% (managerial, professional, and small business owners) held 51%. That means that the top 20% of the nation’s families owned 85% of all the private wealth in the nation, leaving only 15% to be distributed by the bottom 80% (the wage and salary workers)! If we were to examine the financial wealth of these groups the picture becomes even more skewed toward the higher income level, since ownership of a private home is such a large portion of middle class American wealth. Thus in a measure of the financial wealth (net wealth –home value) a better measure of liquid assets--the top 1% of households held 43% of the nation’s financial wealth, the next 19% held 50%, and the workers and salaried people held only 7%. Thus in terms of financial wealth the top 20% of the population holds 93% of all liquid or disposable privately held wealth.
So when you hear the term confiscatory taxes, or of certain classes of people unwilling to pay their fair share--review these figures for a better understanding of what they want. The awful truth is that they want all of the pie!
Get the picture?
Thursday, March 3, 2011
THREAT TO AFRICAN LIONS--WEALTHY AMERICAN HUNTERS
When we again take up the question of taxing Americans of the top one percent income bracket we should think of the impact on African lions! How can those two topics possibly be related? According to recent reports, the great beast of the African veldt teeters today on the edge of extinction. Their populations, once numbering in the millions are now down to a few scattered thousands in each of several economically challenged African nations. And who threatens these remnant populations? The answer is wealthy American hunters! It's hard to believe in this day and age..but apparently some Americans are still able to live in the "gilded age" of the past--when "great white hunters" killed animals for "sport" all over the world, bringing back the remains of their kills to decorate the walls of their palatial residences. These wealthy Americans not only want to return to the political and economic circumstances of the era of British imperialism of the 19th Century, but apparently desire to spend their leisure-time recreating that era and living like the phenomenally wealthy elites and nobility of the past.
According to a recent study by the International Fund for Animal Welfare, (as well as the Humane Society of the United States, Humane Society International, Born Free and Defenders of Wildlife) American hunters are emerging as a strong and growing threat to the survival of African lions. (See: Le Monde: "The Lions of Africa threatened by American hunters" (Les lions d'Afrique menacés par les chasseurs américains, Le Monde 11-3-3). But beyond dealing with the threat to the lions of Africa,the Le Monde piece inadvertently revealed one way that wealthy Americans spend their largely untaxed incomes. They apparently spend a great deal on expensive African lion hunting expeditions! The target of their hunt, Panthera leo, has now become prey rather than predator, and been reduced from more than 200,000 in the mid 20th century to a mere 40,000 at the present time. Remnant populations exist in several non-contiguous parts of the African continent. The threat by mostly American hunters (67% of the trophy kills) is compounded by the fact that they have also stimulated a market in African lion body parts. So not only do Americans kill more of the lions in the wild, but they have encouraged a demand for trophy lion parts such as skin rugs, teeth-necklaces, claws, skulls, and even dried lion penes. Ugh! Reading this account I could not help but think of the paradigm of the wealthy-hunter type--such as Dick Cheney--as a member of this class. I imagined him with his trophy string of dead-quail draped around his neck (and his shot-up hunting buddy with a patched up face standing next to him). But Cheney is only a piker when it comes to wealthy American hunters and their need for trophies.
Apparently between 1999 and 2010 (note how these dates correspond well with the Bush II Years of profligate spending, a boom income period for the oligarchs, and low taxes for the super-wealthy) more than 2/3 of the lions killed in Africa by hunters were taken by Americans. These great white hunters demand their trophy kills are of large, black-maned, mature males. This need-to kill mature males tends to disrupt the social-structure of African lion prides. The death of the alpha male in a pride results in violent conflict between surviving males, the death of other contenders and more often and more tragically the death of young lion cubs which are killed by the new alfa male of the pride. Thus the kills and trophy parts sent home are only a small fraction of lion deaths actually occurring in Africa and directly related to the taking of trophies.
So that's how some American oligarchs spend their lightly taxed incomes--not reinvestment in the US economy (as the Republican agents of this wealthy class so glibly state and restate) but many spend it away off in Africa-- and to the detriment of the African lion population.
So the next time the bill to repeal the Bush tax breaks for the super-wealthy comes up again, let us all think how a few extra percentage points on these wealthy Americans would help save the African lion (and those cute little cubs) from extinction. And if our super-wealthy can spend their excess money on destructive lion hunts, they can certainly afford to give a bit more to Uncle Sam...who needs it desperately in these trying times, to support our tattered school systems and shattered infrastructure.
Get the picture?
According to a recent study by the International Fund for Animal Welfare, (as well as the Humane Society of the United States, Humane Society International, Born Free and Defenders of Wildlife) American hunters are emerging as a strong and growing threat to the survival of African lions. (See: Le Monde: "The Lions of Africa threatened by American hunters" (Les lions d'Afrique menacés par les chasseurs américains, Le Monde 11-3-3). But beyond dealing with the threat to the lions of Africa,the Le Monde piece inadvertently revealed one way that wealthy Americans spend their largely untaxed incomes. They apparently spend a great deal on expensive African lion hunting expeditions! The target of their hunt, Panthera leo, has now become prey rather than predator, and been reduced from more than 200,000 in the mid 20th century to a mere 40,000 at the present time. Remnant populations exist in several non-contiguous parts of the African continent. The threat by mostly American hunters (67% of the trophy kills) is compounded by the fact that they have also stimulated a market in African lion body parts. So not only do Americans kill more of the lions in the wild, but they have encouraged a demand for trophy lion parts such as skin rugs, teeth-necklaces, claws, skulls, and even dried lion penes. Ugh! Reading this account I could not help but think of the paradigm of the wealthy-hunter type--such as Dick Cheney--as a member of this class. I imagined him with his trophy string of dead-quail draped around his neck (and his shot-up hunting buddy with a patched up face standing next to him). But Cheney is only a piker when it comes to wealthy American hunters and their need for trophies.
Apparently between 1999 and 2010 (note how these dates correspond well with the Bush II Years of profligate spending, a boom income period for the oligarchs, and low taxes for the super-wealthy) more than 2/3 of the lions killed in Africa by hunters were taken by Americans. These great white hunters demand their trophy kills are of large, black-maned, mature males. This need-to kill mature males tends to disrupt the social-structure of African lion prides. The death of the alpha male in a pride results in violent conflict between surviving males, the death of other contenders and more often and more tragically the death of young lion cubs which are killed by the new alfa male of the pride. Thus the kills and trophy parts sent home are only a small fraction of lion deaths actually occurring in Africa and directly related to the taking of trophies.
So that's how some American oligarchs spend their lightly taxed incomes--not reinvestment in the US economy (as the Republican agents of this wealthy class so glibly state and restate) but many spend it away off in Africa-- and to the detriment of the African lion population.
So the next time the bill to repeal the Bush tax breaks for the super-wealthy comes up again, let us all think how a few extra percentage points on these wealthy Americans would help save the African lion (and those cute little cubs) from extinction. And if our super-wealthy can spend their excess money on destructive lion hunts, they can certainly afford to give a bit more to Uncle Sam...who needs it desperately in these trying times, to support our tattered school systems and shattered infrastructure.
Get the picture?
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
1975 CHRISTMAS--DINNER FOR A RECESSION YEAR
On a cold blustery late-December morning, a few days before Christmas, my daughter arrived dressed in her chic jogging outfit.
“You go for your walk yet, Dad?” she asked.
“No, not yet---‘I was just getting ready to do it,” I said, happy with the prospect of some company.
“Wanna go together?”
“Love to!”
In a few minutes we were walking briskly toward the harbor. The Christmas season seemed to intensify interest in the economy and we began chatting about the Great Recession, the 2010-11 economy, our unemployment rate, and Obama‘s tax deal with the Republicans which was to give away $600 billion dollars to the super-wealthy, increase our national debt, but add little to help the plight of the poor or 10% of the population which were unemployed.
Near the end of Pipe Stave Hollow Road, we glimpsed the lovely expanse of the harbor through the bare trees. Out on the edark gray mud flats the forms of several clammers could be seen hunched over their digs. The low, winter sun glistened off the wind-riffled water and brightened wide expanses of drab-brown cordgrass marsh. We turned north at Hopkin's Landing and continued on toward Harbor Beach Road, walking briskly along the harbor edge, bordered here with a stand of wind-rattled Phragmites. The wind pushed up small waves, which rolled in over winter-sheared cord grass stems and foamed through the reed stems at the marsh edge, where patches of last-night’s snow still lay like torn, bed sheet. The wind bent the ten foot tall reed stems into a fishing-pole-arch. Their fluffy seed-heads dipped and bobbed in the breeze like a prizefighter dodging blows. We passed on still chatting, the wind and cold acting as a stimulus to our conversation.
“Boom!, Boom! Ba..boom! Several loud concussions shattered the stillness and silenced us. The sound waves rolled across the open water and reverberated off the low hills that nearly enclose the harbor.
“What was that?” she asked.
I knew that sound well. “Hunters,” I said, looking across to the far side of the harbor out through the reeds. “They’re duck shooting there on the south side of the Harbor,“ I added, my breath made little vapor puffs which were quickly torn down wind.
We walked on silently for a while, each with our own thoughts. The season, the faltering economy, the duck hunters, and walking close to the snow-dappled reeds jogged my memory. My mind drifted back forty-years in time, and twenty miles across the Island to a very similar day just before Christmas.
“What are you thinking’ Dad,” she asked, as a quirky smile worked across her wind-chilled face.
“Oh just thinking back to a time--in 1975, you were only a little tot then, but it was this same time of year--a few days before Christmas, and like now the economy had gone sour, and my job prospects were shaky. We did’t have much to make a Christmas dinner for all you kids.“
“It wasn’t as bad as this recession!”
“Well not the same, but when you are down on the bottom economic rungs, you live on a kind of economic knife edge--so even a little change in the numbers hurts a lot.”
“So tell me about it.
“Well if you walk a little slower, I’ll tell you the story of our Christmas dinner for 1975 a recession year.”
The wind died down and we slowed down to a stroll as I began to reminisce.
I remember, my alarm clock went off about 5:30 AM, and I slammed my hand down over the brass bell on the top. You know the kind, it was one of those old-time wind up clocks. .
I didn’t want to wake Mom up. But she heard me rustling around and got up anyway.
She made breakfast and nagged me--but only a tiny bit.
“I hate to see you go out in the dark…wandrin’ about on them marshes. Alone too. It’s crazy.” she complained, as she poured dark, steaming coffee into a big mug.
I said nothing as I sipped at the hot brew. I puffed gently across the thick, scratched-up ceramic rim at the dark-brown surface, driving a little bubble of foam to the far side.
I put the warm mug down heavily on the oilcloth-covered kitchen table. The pink and green pattern was pretty much worn off.
“I figured if I got out early, I could get us a nice brace of mallards for Christmas Dinner--it‘s only a few days away now.”
“Oh please!”…she complained.
“Remember, last week we stopped at Milowski’s and all we could afford to do was rub our noses on his frosted display window. You’ve seen his prices! He wants twenty bucks for his smallest bird.”
“He’s always more expensive,” she agreed. "But we'll find something....no need to go caveman on us."
"I'm not. It's the economics of it. The game is there just for the taking. and its only a few miles to the Point. And think of those crisply-browned birds with their little foil booties coming out of the oven over there on Christmas day."
"Yes, you know how I love duck," she smiled.
“So what were you planning for our Christmas dinner?” I asked.
“That’s…well….it..ah …it’s still in the planning stages…”
“Well, if I could bag a couple of “greenies” or even a brace of black ducks…” I trailed off.
She looked up from the sink, “But with no dog. How are you going to retrieve them even if you do make a lucky shot.”. I winced at the "lucky shot" quip.
“ Old Kim there, can’t go with you“…she raised her gloved hand from dirty dishes in the sink to point across over to Kim our big yellow Lab, lying on a worn, old bathroom rug in the corner, near the hot-air register.
Kim looked up at us whimsically. His big brown eyes looked sad. He knew we were talking about him. I would swear on a stack of bibles that Kim could think like a human --and had emotions just like us too. I often imagined that if he had a human mouth with lips he’d be able to hold a real conversation.
“Sorry old boy…Doc Goode says you need some rest for a few weeks.” I scratched the old dog’s great wide head between his ears where the yellowish tan fur was turning white.
He settled his big head back down on his great big paws. But his brown eyes continued to follow me as I quickly threw my hunting jacket over my shoulder and walked to the back door.
“See you honey.” I called to my wife.
“Be careful!” she called back, adding, "Don’t worry we’ll think of something fine for dinner!”.
“Don’t worry…be back soon.”
I looked over my shoulder, as I reached the door.
“See you old boy!” I called out to Kim, as I slipped out through the open door and into the dark, cold morning air.
The loose and rusty hinges on the rear-gate of our ’54 Ford pickup complained as I dropped the gate to slide a gunny sack full of well-used wood decoys into the truck bed. I unhooked my my patched up waders from their place on the side of the barn door and piled them on top of the decoys. I opened the action of my beat-up old Mossberg 12-gauge, and slid that behind the bench seat in the cab, with a box of #4 high-brass shells. Then I started up the straight-six engine. As always it roared to life--as dependable as death and taxes. The sound always reassured me that even in bad times--on the simplest of levels, all was right with the world or could be fixed with some effort. With the half-full (now only warm) mug of coffee balancing between my legs, I drove carefully out of the long, dark, potholed driveway and onto Half Moon Pond Road, in Ridge.
In a half hour, I was out on what we called “Duck Point”—a narrow spit of reed-choked marsh that poked out into the western end of Great South Bay. Here one could breath in the wind off the Atlantic and absorb the great vista of the bay and salt mashes of the south shore. That morning a winter breeze off Great South Bay rattled the reeds. The night before, a cold-front rolled over us and left a light dusting of snow. The wind had backed into the northwest and the bay was ruffled with small waves that made the reeds creak and crackle, I had a good view of the bay from my “blind” (it was just an old wood and metal milk bottle container I sat on). I shivered as I watched, through the rattling reeds, the sun rise into a clear sky in the southeast close to the winter solstice. The bay sparkled in the clear light of a cold blue-bird day. These few minutes were the ones when birds seem to fly best in to a “set”. I scanned the sky above the reed tops. I missed Kim who would sit at my feet and stare up into the sky, looking for birds, every bit like any hunter. When he saw a flight he would crouch and get ready. If I missed an easy shot, he would look back at me over his shoulder with great disdain and disappointment. That day--all alone-- I saw a few birds fly past my set, but they didn’t come in even with me calling my well-practiced “hey come on in and visit” chuckle call. Others flew warily over the point but were too far out for my old Mossberg 12 gauge bolt action--or any twelve. Even with the variable choke screwed down tight to “full“, the number four lead shot in the new plastic cartridges with the “shot-carrier” was good at maybe fifty yards out, but beyond that you were just winging game. Any kills would be too far out in deep water to get without Kim. So I didn’t even bust one cap.
The bright sun warmed my face as I stared out into the sparkling bay where I could see ducks on the water, way off and hear the tinkling calls of Old Squaws. I saw a few white wing scaup, and even a small flock of rare Canvas Backs, but nothing came my way. The sun rose higher in a clear cloudless sky-what the hunters call a “blue-bird day”. Disappointed, I finally decided to “pack it in”. I waded out and pulled my decoys from the cold water, wrapped the dripping anchor-lines around each one and placed them in the damp gunnysack. My hunt was over and there was still nothing for Christmas Dinner.
I pulled off my waders, and slipped into an old worn pair of LL Bean shoe-pacs I carry for the long walk through the reeds to where I parked the truck. I slung the waders over my shoulder and tossed the soggy bag of decoys on top, and with my gun in my other hand, I began to follow the narrow foot-trail that wended its way through the ten foot high reeds. I hadn’t gone more than fifty feet from the blind, when I caught the glimpse of something darting through the reeds ahead of me. It dashed across the path. A big cock pheasant was on the run! I could see the iridescent colors on its neck and the white neck-ring. I dropped my waders and bag of decoys and raced after it. As I ran I chambered a shell, hoping it would jump up, and perhaps I would get a shot off at a piece of game ---after all. But not this wise old pheasant. He stayed on the ground dodging one way and another and out of range way ahead of me.
Finally, after chasing him for about fifty yards, we approached a place where the reeds narrowed to a thin wedge, following along a sea-bulkhead that ran on the side of an old inlet of the Bay. Here the bird dashed across the foot-trail again and entered into a small patch of reeds about the size of a back yard shed--and disappeared!. On one side, the reed-patch bordered the bulkhead and the old boat channel with deep water, and on the other was a wide-open sea-side meadow with patches of snow covered sand and brown bunch grass. I approached the reed patch breathlessly. I realized my dilemma. If I flushed the bird, it was likely to fly over the old boat channel where I could not retrieve it. Gritting my teeth in frustration, I only now closed the bolt on the action which slid the cartridge into the chamber. I thought of another problem. It was those number "4s" --all I carried that day. Even if I could flush the cock, I couldn’t take a fast shot, but would have to let the bird fly off a good way before those the closed choke and #4 shot would develop a wide enough pattern. My plan had to be that if it flushed left over the water…I would just watch it fly off. My only chance to bag it was if it went right---over the sandy meadow.
I pushed on, slowly looking ahead of me, searching through the reed stems and the brown patches of soil and dry grass between the snow-covered patches. I pressed into the dense reeds, pushing them aside with the barrel of my gun and slipping along as quiet as I could be, expecting to hear any minute the loud cackle of the cock as he jumped for the sky. The reeds crinkled and creaked loudly in the cold. My feet crunched on the stiff broken stems. I could feel the hard, reedy ground through the thin worn bottom of my shoe pacs.
Then, just about five yards ahead of me, I saw through the vertical pattern of reeds, a dark-brown object, which to me, looked like a piece of old drift wood. It appeared tapered at both ends—it was a big brown bird lying prostrate. That old cock pheasant was smart! He literally went to ground! There he was--- in the dense patch of reeds with his body stretched out flat on the ground. I could have easily walked by without seeing him.
I made a quick field decision. I could be a sportsman and charge up on it to make him flush. But, it was more than likely he would fly to safety over water on the left. But at that point, I could see that bird, all crispy-brown coming out of our oven with two crisp bacon strips over his big chest. Then I saw him on the table, his legs trussed up neatly with little red booties Frances always made for our Christmas turkeys. I could just imagine the aroma, of the kitchen and the happy hungry looks of the kids and my wife, as I raised the old Mossberg and took aim. At that range, I estimated the shot pattern to be at most four inches across. I didn’t want to waste any meat. So I aimed carefully, focusing at a point where I would have enough of the shot pattern just to take off the head neatly and leave the rest of the bird intact. I lined up the elongate red-bead on the barrel-end so all I could see was a small red cross-section and slowly squeezed the trigger.
The gun kicked back sharply. When you are firing at moving game, you hardly ever notice the recoil on a shotgun, but with an aimed shot…a 12 punches back like a “30 30“. Recovering from the recoil and back on aim, I was mightily surprised to hear the sound of the cock cackling angrily and loudly as he rose up to the top of the reeds. I could see his red and green neck stretched out, his big powerful wings beating air downward as they drove him up…up and away. I did notice, as he topped the the reeds he had a very short tail for a big cock bird!
I stared open-mouth over the barrel as the cock flew straight over the boat channel. About 100 yards out he set his wings into two curved arches—then with a few strong beats of his wings he glided off to disappear into the marsh on the far side of the boat channel.
I walked up to the spot where the wily cock had hid. A few reeds lay there, cut in half by the shot charge. Next to them I picked up the six-inch long graceful end of his tail. It was just the very end of a good cock’s tail.
I stuffed it into my game bag to bring home.
I kept it on my desk in a pretty ceramic cup one of my students made for me from Long Island clay. It always reminded me of how easy it was to make a mistake.
Oh yes…I remember now—the Christmas dinner for the recession year of 1975 was an “on-sale” frozen chicken from the Patchogue A&P.
“You go for your walk yet, Dad?” she asked.
“No, not yet---‘I was just getting ready to do it,” I said, happy with the prospect of some company.
“Wanna go together?”
“Love to!”
In a few minutes we were walking briskly toward the harbor. The Christmas season seemed to intensify interest in the economy and we began chatting about the Great Recession, the 2010-11 economy, our unemployment rate, and Obama‘s tax deal with the Republicans which was to give away $600 billion dollars to the super-wealthy, increase our national debt, but add little to help the plight of the poor or 10% of the population which were unemployed.
Near the end of Pipe Stave Hollow Road, we glimpsed the lovely expanse of the harbor through the bare trees. Out on the edark gray mud flats the forms of several clammers could be seen hunched over their digs. The low, winter sun glistened off the wind-riffled water and brightened wide expanses of drab-brown cordgrass marsh. We turned north at Hopkin's Landing and continued on toward Harbor Beach Road, walking briskly along the harbor edge, bordered here with a stand of wind-rattled Phragmites. The wind pushed up small waves, which rolled in over winter-sheared cord grass stems and foamed through the reed stems at the marsh edge, where patches of last-night’s snow still lay like torn, bed sheet. The wind bent the ten foot tall reed stems into a fishing-pole-arch. Their fluffy seed-heads dipped and bobbed in the breeze like a prizefighter dodging blows. We passed on still chatting, the wind and cold acting as a stimulus to our conversation.
“Boom!, Boom! Ba..boom! Several loud concussions shattered the stillness and silenced us. The sound waves rolled across the open water and reverberated off the low hills that nearly enclose the harbor.
“What was that?” she asked.
I knew that sound well. “Hunters,” I said, looking across to the far side of the harbor out through the reeds. “They’re duck shooting there on the south side of the Harbor,“ I added, my breath made little vapor puffs which were quickly torn down wind.
We walked on silently for a while, each with our own thoughts. The season, the faltering economy, the duck hunters, and walking close to the snow-dappled reeds jogged my memory. My mind drifted back forty-years in time, and twenty miles across the Island to a very similar day just before Christmas.
“What are you thinking’ Dad,” she asked, as a quirky smile worked across her wind-chilled face.
“Oh just thinking back to a time--in 1975, you were only a little tot then, but it was this same time of year--a few days before Christmas, and like now the economy had gone sour, and my job prospects were shaky. We did’t have much to make a Christmas dinner for all you kids.“
“It wasn’t as bad as this recession!”
“Well not the same, but when you are down on the bottom economic rungs, you live on a kind of economic knife edge--so even a little change in the numbers hurts a lot.”
“So tell me about it.
“Well if you walk a little slower, I’ll tell you the story of our Christmas dinner for 1975 a recession year.”
The wind died down and we slowed down to a stroll as I began to reminisce.
I remember, my alarm clock went off about 5:30 AM, and I slammed my hand down over the brass bell on the top. You know the kind, it was one of those old-time wind up clocks. .
I didn’t want to wake Mom up. But she heard me rustling around and got up anyway.
She made breakfast and nagged me--but only a tiny bit.
“I hate to see you go out in the dark…wandrin’ about on them marshes. Alone too. It’s crazy.” she complained, as she poured dark, steaming coffee into a big mug.
I said nothing as I sipped at the hot brew. I puffed gently across the thick, scratched-up ceramic rim at the dark-brown surface, driving a little bubble of foam to the far side.
I put the warm mug down heavily on the oilcloth-covered kitchen table. The pink and green pattern was pretty much worn off.
“I figured if I got out early, I could get us a nice brace of mallards for Christmas Dinner--it‘s only a few days away now.”
“Oh please!”…she complained.
“Remember, last week we stopped at Milowski’s and all we could afford to do was rub our noses on his frosted display window. You’ve seen his prices! He wants twenty bucks for his smallest bird.”
“He’s always more expensive,” she agreed. "But we'll find something....no need to go caveman on us."
"I'm not. It's the economics of it. The game is there just for the taking. and its only a few miles to the Point. And think of those crisply-browned birds with their little foil booties coming out of the oven over there on Christmas day."
"Yes, you know how I love duck," she smiled.
“So what were you planning for our Christmas dinner?” I asked.
“That’s…well….it..ah …it’s still in the planning stages…”
“Well, if I could bag a couple of “greenies” or even a brace of black ducks…” I trailed off.
She looked up from the sink, “But with no dog. How are you going to retrieve them even if you do make a lucky shot.”. I winced at the "lucky shot" quip.
“ Old Kim there, can’t go with you“…she raised her gloved hand from dirty dishes in the sink to point across over to Kim our big yellow Lab, lying on a worn, old bathroom rug in the corner, near the hot-air register.
Kim looked up at us whimsically. His big brown eyes looked sad. He knew we were talking about him. I would swear on a stack of bibles that Kim could think like a human --and had emotions just like us too. I often imagined that if he had a human mouth with lips he’d be able to hold a real conversation.
“Sorry old boy…Doc Goode says you need some rest for a few weeks.” I scratched the old dog’s great wide head between his ears where the yellowish tan fur was turning white.
He settled his big head back down on his great big paws. But his brown eyes continued to follow me as I quickly threw my hunting jacket over my shoulder and walked to the back door.
“See you honey.” I called to my wife.
“Be careful!” she called back, adding, "Don’t worry we’ll think of something fine for dinner!”.
“Don’t worry…be back soon.”
I looked over my shoulder, as I reached the door.
“See you old boy!” I called out to Kim, as I slipped out through the open door and into the dark, cold morning air.
The loose and rusty hinges on the rear-gate of our ’54 Ford pickup complained as I dropped the gate to slide a gunny sack full of well-used wood decoys into the truck bed. I unhooked my my patched up waders from their place on the side of the barn door and piled them on top of the decoys. I opened the action of my beat-up old Mossberg 12-gauge, and slid that behind the bench seat in the cab, with a box of #4 high-brass shells. Then I started up the straight-six engine. As always it roared to life--as dependable as death and taxes. The sound always reassured me that even in bad times--on the simplest of levels, all was right with the world or could be fixed with some effort. With the half-full (now only warm) mug of coffee balancing between my legs, I drove carefully out of the long, dark, potholed driveway and onto Half Moon Pond Road, in Ridge.
In a half hour, I was out on what we called “Duck Point”—a narrow spit of reed-choked marsh that poked out into the western end of Great South Bay. Here one could breath in the wind off the Atlantic and absorb the great vista of the bay and salt mashes of the south shore. That morning a winter breeze off Great South Bay rattled the reeds. The night before, a cold-front rolled over us and left a light dusting of snow. The wind had backed into the northwest and the bay was ruffled with small waves that made the reeds creak and crackle, I had a good view of the bay from my “blind” (it was just an old wood and metal milk bottle container I sat on). I shivered as I watched, through the rattling reeds, the sun rise into a clear sky in the southeast close to the winter solstice. The bay sparkled in the clear light of a cold blue-bird day. These few minutes were the ones when birds seem to fly best in to a “set”. I scanned the sky above the reed tops. I missed Kim who would sit at my feet and stare up into the sky, looking for birds, every bit like any hunter. When he saw a flight he would crouch and get ready. If I missed an easy shot, he would look back at me over his shoulder with great disdain and disappointment. That day--all alone-- I saw a few birds fly past my set, but they didn’t come in even with me calling my well-practiced “hey come on in and visit” chuckle call. Others flew warily over the point but were too far out for my old Mossberg 12 gauge bolt action--or any twelve. Even with the variable choke screwed down tight to “full“, the number four lead shot in the new plastic cartridges with the “shot-carrier” was good at maybe fifty yards out, but beyond that you were just winging game. Any kills would be too far out in deep water to get without Kim. So I didn’t even bust one cap.
The bright sun warmed my face as I stared out into the sparkling bay where I could see ducks on the water, way off and hear the tinkling calls of Old Squaws. I saw a few white wing scaup, and even a small flock of rare Canvas Backs, but nothing came my way. The sun rose higher in a clear cloudless sky-what the hunters call a “blue-bird day”. Disappointed, I finally decided to “pack it in”. I waded out and pulled my decoys from the cold water, wrapped the dripping anchor-lines around each one and placed them in the damp gunnysack. My hunt was over and there was still nothing for Christmas Dinner.
I pulled off my waders, and slipped into an old worn pair of LL Bean shoe-pacs I carry for the long walk through the reeds to where I parked the truck. I slung the waders over my shoulder and tossed the soggy bag of decoys on top, and with my gun in my other hand, I began to follow the narrow foot-trail that wended its way through the ten foot high reeds. I hadn’t gone more than fifty feet from the blind, when I caught the glimpse of something darting through the reeds ahead of me. It dashed across the path. A big cock pheasant was on the run! I could see the iridescent colors on its neck and the white neck-ring. I dropped my waders and bag of decoys and raced after it. As I ran I chambered a shell, hoping it would jump up, and perhaps I would get a shot off at a piece of game ---after all. But not this wise old pheasant. He stayed on the ground dodging one way and another and out of range way ahead of me.
Finally, after chasing him for about fifty yards, we approached a place where the reeds narrowed to a thin wedge, following along a sea-bulkhead that ran on the side of an old inlet of the Bay. Here the bird dashed across the foot-trail again and entered into a small patch of reeds about the size of a back yard shed--and disappeared!. On one side, the reed-patch bordered the bulkhead and the old boat channel with deep water, and on the other was a wide-open sea-side meadow with patches of snow covered sand and brown bunch grass. I approached the reed patch breathlessly. I realized my dilemma. If I flushed the bird, it was likely to fly over the old boat channel where I could not retrieve it. Gritting my teeth in frustration, I only now closed the bolt on the action which slid the cartridge into the chamber. I thought of another problem. It was those number "4s" --all I carried that day. Even if I could flush the cock, I couldn’t take a fast shot, but would have to let the bird fly off a good way before those the closed choke and #4 shot would develop a wide enough pattern. My plan had to be that if it flushed left over the water…I would just watch it fly off. My only chance to bag it was if it went right---over the sandy meadow.
I pushed on, slowly looking ahead of me, searching through the reed stems and the brown patches of soil and dry grass between the snow-covered patches. I pressed into the dense reeds, pushing them aside with the barrel of my gun and slipping along as quiet as I could be, expecting to hear any minute the loud cackle of the cock as he jumped for the sky. The reeds crinkled and creaked loudly in the cold. My feet crunched on the stiff broken stems. I could feel the hard, reedy ground through the thin worn bottom of my shoe pacs.
Then, just about five yards ahead of me, I saw through the vertical pattern of reeds, a dark-brown object, which to me, looked like a piece of old drift wood. It appeared tapered at both ends—it was a big brown bird lying prostrate. That old cock pheasant was smart! He literally went to ground! There he was--- in the dense patch of reeds with his body stretched out flat on the ground. I could have easily walked by without seeing him.
I made a quick field decision. I could be a sportsman and charge up on it to make him flush. But, it was more than likely he would fly to safety over water on the left. But at that point, I could see that bird, all crispy-brown coming out of our oven with two crisp bacon strips over his big chest. Then I saw him on the table, his legs trussed up neatly with little red booties Frances always made for our Christmas turkeys. I could just imagine the aroma, of the kitchen and the happy hungry looks of the kids and my wife, as I raised the old Mossberg and took aim. At that range, I estimated the shot pattern to be at most four inches across. I didn’t want to waste any meat. So I aimed carefully, focusing at a point where I would have enough of the shot pattern just to take off the head neatly and leave the rest of the bird intact. I lined up the elongate red-bead on the barrel-end so all I could see was a small red cross-section and slowly squeezed the trigger.
The gun kicked back sharply. When you are firing at moving game, you hardly ever notice the recoil on a shotgun, but with an aimed shot…a 12 punches back like a “30 30“. Recovering from the recoil and back on aim, I was mightily surprised to hear the sound of the cock cackling angrily and loudly as he rose up to the top of the reeds. I could see his red and green neck stretched out, his big powerful wings beating air downward as they drove him up…up and away. I did notice, as he topped the the reeds he had a very short tail for a big cock bird!
I stared open-mouth over the barrel as the cock flew straight over the boat channel. About 100 yards out he set his wings into two curved arches—then with a few strong beats of his wings he glided off to disappear into the marsh on the far side of the boat channel.
I walked up to the spot where the wily cock had hid. A few reeds lay there, cut in half by the shot charge. Next to them I picked up the six-inch long graceful end of his tail. It was just the very end of a good cock’s tail.
I stuffed it into my game bag to bring home.
I kept it on my desk in a pretty ceramic cup one of my students made for me from Long Island clay. It always reminded me of how easy it was to make a mistake.
Oh yes…I remember now—the Christmas dinner for the recession year of 1975 was an “on-sale” frozen chicken from the Patchogue A&P.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
ON SNOWSTORMS, EMPATHY AND FINANCIAL INEQUALITY
We had a big snowstorm this last week (January 11th and 12th, 2011) and so I had to suit-up and dig out the driveway again. I found my neighbor Jim out there and we dug our driveways side by side separated by a long pile of snow from previous storms. When the first rush of enthusiasm weakened in the face of the daunting job, we slowed down and began to “shoot the breeze” between our efforts to toss the snow up onto the growing pile. The topic on all our minds in early January was the awful tragedy in Arizona, just a few days earlier (Jan. 8), where nineteen people were shot including US Rpresentative Gabrielle Giffords who was greviously wounded in the head, and six shot fatally, among them US District Chief Judge John Roll. At one juncture, when were were half-way down the driveway, Jim broached the subject.
“Waren’t that a terrible tragedy”, he said, puffing, as he tossed a big shovel full of the white stuff up onto the massive pile between our drives. The tossed snow-remained coherent and broke away to roll down a little way, then hung up in a little snow-gully between our two piles.
“Yeah….terrible!” I said, pausing to watch the unstable ball of snow. The snow clump shuddered then rolled over the top, then picked up speed to cascade down the opposite side of the long pile making a minor avalanche that spread out over my partly dug-out driveway.
“That state has gone too far in a lot of ways,” I said, turning away from the avalanche and continuing to dig. “Too many guns allowed, too few regulations, too little of a safety-net to help those in need....” I trailed off and went back to the digging.
“But, hey the Constitution says”…began Jim, then he paused as he focused on pushing his shovel-blade deep into a big drift, “they have the right to carry a gun,”he grunted, as he sailed another over-loaded shovel-full up to the top.
I paused to watch the snow land and stay in place. Then I replied, “But, had there been some better social outreach --and fewer guns available in that state, maybe that tragedy might not have happened.” I said firmly, as I finally reached the apron of thick snow that Jim caused to toppled over to my side.
Jim reacted to my comment rapidly...his words were carried on his breath which condensed in the cold air and drifted down the driveway. “We can’t afford all those social programs. Most of them kind o’ people are just lazy. They take them benefits—like--like free healthcare, free college, and, and food-handouts, then they take off and head back home to God knows where. Leavin’ us to pay the tab.”
I was preparing a response, when Jim’s wife Doris called from the opened garage door. “Jim---your brother Marty’s on the ’phone. It’s somthin’ about yer mom!”
Jim stuck his shovel deep into the snow-bank, waved to me, and turned on his booted heel to disappear into the cavernous garage. He said nothing, but when he waved he had a “Well, I-won-that-one!” smirk on his face.
I continued shoveling… and thinking.
I first wondered where he got the patently erroneous idea that someone in Arizona was getting free health care and a cheap college education?
But what irritated me more was: why couldn’t Jim see into the lives of others…and perhaps have a little empathy for those that were less well-off, not so smart, or didn’t have a well-to-do developer for a dad, like Jim had.
The rhythmic scrapes of the shovel on the finally exposed asphalt and the deep breathing must have helped engorge my tired brain cells with plenty of oxygenated blood--for as I dug an idea came to me.
Perhaps the cause of Jim lack of empathy for others, is rooted in the fact that he himself is working hard each day, competing avidly for a smaller and smaller part of the economic pie! Jim’s thinking is, why should some Hispanic or foreign kid get “benefits” when he (Jim) was "bustin' his butt" to make his life a little better, and finding that it was a distinctly uphill battle.
It’s true, Jim and Doris do have a nice house, two new cars and two kids in high school. But to support that life style, both have full-time jobs and take overtime when they can get it. I also know that Jim’s house is mortgaged to the hilt, and he has thick payment books for those two new cars. Jim and Doris did work hard to keep up their lifestyle--that was true.
They had to struggle, because it has become more and more difficult to attain a “middle class” life style in America. Over the last several decades the middle class has been competing for a smaller and smaller piece of the economic pie. Since the 1970s the situation of those in the middle of the economic scale has deteriorated. In order to maintain their lifestyles these folks have had to resort to working a second job, remortgaging their homes to raise cash, and encouraging their wives into the market place too.
What went wrong with the American dream? A good part of the discontent in America is related to our present unequal distribution of wealth. You (reader) may not realize it, since the super-wealthy represent only one in a hundred of us, but they are sequestering a larger and larger part of the economic pie every year. As Americans, we believe in free-enterprise and a fair chance for everyone. We envision ourselves (and our kids) with a fair chance to grab the brass ring on our only go-around on the economic Ferris wheel. We imagine each of us having the same chance to climb up the economic ladder. But that view is outdated and is not the reality of the game we are playing now. How can it be, when the part of the pie middle class Americans are all competing for gets smaller and smaller each year? When the kids of the rich start their ball game from third base and our kids still must begin their run on first—and the distance to first base is getting longer and longer each year.
I read not so long a go an interesting piece by Steven Pearlstein “The Costs of Rising Economic Inequality”. (Wednesday, October 6, 2010, The costs of rising economic inequality, in: www.washingtonpost.com). Pearlstein pointed out the disturbing fact that the top one percent (1%) of families in economic ranking took home more that 23% of the nation’s wealth. That is right! One percent of the population has sequestered nearly one fourth of the Nation’s wealth, leaving the remainder--the other 99% left only with 77% of the total. (In another analysis of the data we learn that the top ten percent (10%) command more than two-thirds of the nation’s wealth. Thus if the top ten percent takes home 66 2/3 %, that means the bottom 80% must be scrambling for the remaining one third of the nation’s wealth.) These figures are the type of monetary wealth distribution you would not expect to find not in the USA--the largest economy in the western world, a nations which spends more on their miliatary than all the other nations in the world combined, but in a mid 20th century banana republic like Honduras or Guatemala (sorry to remind you Hondurans and Guatemalans!). How can that have happened to the USA--the oldest democracy in the world and the world’s wealthiest market economy!
Not so very long ago…in good economic times too…in the 1970s, the top one-percent earners garnered only nine (9%) percent of the total wealth (not 23%). It is important to note that that level of inequality (about 9%) is about where most modern industrialized countries in the western world are at now. Life is not so bad for their "economic royalty". Yet their middle class can live a reasonably full and healthful life. And the comparative figures on longevity, health, and childhood mortality support the fact—that the US with its high wealth inequality lags far behind in these measures of a nation's well-being. So in the last four decades (the period of Republican ascendancy and the Reagan, Bush I, Clinton, and Bush II regimes) the “take” of the oligarchs more than doubled. Is there any question what the Republicans have been attempting to do? Or that they are mostly responsible for these changes?
Today the USA stands out as a great place to be wealthy----if you are! But a bad place for the middle class, and for workers in general. Is that the way we want it to be? Would you want to see your children and grand-children grow up in such a place? I think not.
As Perlstein and others have pointed out, there are some very undesirable results of such inequity. For America which prided herself on her “freedom and equality for all” there can be no equality when we are creating an economic overlord-ship, or an economic “royalty” who live, think, act, and spend their money very differently than the rest of us. The establishment of a class of “economic royals” skews “opportunity, social standing and political power” (as Perlstein states so well). In the face of these facts, can we still honestly proclaim and actually believe our most deeply cherished tenets about “equality for all“? (And that “equality” was always interpreted and understood only as--an equal chance at success. But that equal chance we all hope for may not be there today.)
There are moral and political reasons for caring about this dramatic skewing of wealth, which in the real world leads to a similar skewing of opportunity, social standing, and political power. But according to Perlstein there is also an important economic reason: Too much inequality, he concludes, just like too little, appears to reduce global competitiveness and long-term growth, at least in developed countries like ours.
It’s important for our future and our children’s future that we recognize the pitfalls of economic inequality. Perhaps when we do we will have more empathy for the “other guy” who is struggling too. We must be aware of the economic and political costs of putting too much money in the hands of a few. Perhaps some of these horrible tragedies –often the result of despair and hopelessness-- would fade away too.
Get the picture?
“Waren’t that a terrible tragedy”, he said, puffing, as he tossed a big shovel full of the white stuff up onto the massive pile between our drives. The tossed snow-remained coherent and broke away to roll down a little way, then hung up in a little snow-gully between our two piles.
“Yeah….terrible!” I said, pausing to watch the unstable ball of snow. The snow clump shuddered then rolled over the top, then picked up speed to cascade down the opposite side of the long pile making a minor avalanche that spread out over my partly dug-out driveway.
“That state has gone too far in a lot of ways,” I said, turning away from the avalanche and continuing to dig. “Too many guns allowed, too few regulations, too little of a safety-net to help those in need....” I trailed off and went back to the digging.
“But, hey the Constitution says”…began Jim, then he paused as he focused on pushing his shovel-blade deep into a big drift, “they have the right to carry a gun,”he grunted, as he sailed another over-loaded shovel-full up to the top.
I paused to watch the snow land and stay in place. Then I replied, “But, had there been some better social outreach --and fewer guns available in that state, maybe that tragedy might not have happened.” I said firmly, as I finally reached the apron of thick snow that Jim caused to toppled over to my side.
Jim reacted to my comment rapidly...his words were carried on his breath which condensed in the cold air and drifted down the driveway. “We can’t afford all those social programs. Most of them kind o’ people are just lazy. They take them benefits—like--like free healthcare, free college, and, and food-handouts, then they take off and head back home to God knows where. Leavin’ us to pay the tab.”
I was preparing a response, when Jim’s wife Doris called from the opened garage door. “Jim---your brother Marty’s on the ’phone. It’s somthin’ about yer mom!”
Jim stuck his shovel deep into the snow-bank, waved to me, and turned on his booted heel to disappear into the cavernous garage. He said nothing, but when he waved he had a “Well, I-won-that-one!” smirk on his face.
I continued shoveling… and thinking.
I first wondered where he got the patently erroneous idea that someone in Arizona was getting free health care and a cheap college education?
But what irritated me more was: why couldn’t Jim see into the lives of others…and perhaps have a little empathy for those that were less well-off, not so smart, or didn’t have a well-to-do developer for a dad, like Jim had.
The rhythmic scrapes of the shovel on the finally exposed asphalt and the deep breathing must have helped engorge my tired brain cells with plenty of oxygenated blood--for as I dug an idea came to me.
Perhaps the cause of Jim lack of empathy for others, is rooted in the fact that he himself is working hard each day, competing avidly for a smaller and smaller part of the economic pie! Jim’s thinking is, why should some Hispanic or foreign kid get “benefits” when he (Jim) was "bustin' his butt" to make his life a little better, and finding that it was a distinctly uphill battle.
It’s true, Jim and Doris do have a nice house, two new cars and two kids in high school. But to support that life style, both have full-time jobs and take overtime when they can get it. I also know that Jim’s house is mortgaged to the hilt, and he has thick payment books for those two new cars. Jim and Doris did work hard to keep up their lifestyle--that was true.
They had to struggle, because it has become more and more difficult to attain a “middle class” life style in America. Over the last several decades the middle class has been competing for a smaller and smaller piece of the economic pie. Since the 1970s the situation of those in the middle of the economic scale has deteriorated. In order to maintain their lifestyles these folks have had to resort to working a second job, remortgaging their homes to raise cash, and encouraging their wives into the market place too.
What went wrong with the American dream? A good part of the discontent in America is related to our present unequal distribution of wealth. You (reader) may not realize it, since the super-wealthy represent only one in a hundred of us, but they are sequestering a larger and larger part of the economic pie every year. As Americans, we believe in free-enterprise and a fair chance for everyone. We envision ourselves (and our kids) with a fair chance to grab the brass ring on our only go-around on the economic Ferris wheel. We imagine each of us having the same chance to climb up the economic ladder. But that view is outdated and is not the reality of the game we are playing now. How can it be, when the part of the pie middle class Americans are all competing for gets smaller and smaller each year? When the kids of the rich start their ball game from third base and our kids still must begin their run on first—and the distance to first base is getting longer and longer each year.
I read not so long a go an interesting piece by Steven Pearlstein “The Costs of Rising Economic Inequality”. (Wednesday, October 6, 2010, The costs of rising economic inequality, in: www.washingtonpost.com). Pearlstein pointed out the disturbing fact that the top one percent (1%) of families in economic ranking took home more that 23% of the nation’s wealth. That is right! One percent of the population has sequestered nearly one fourth of the Nation’s wealth, leaving the remainder--the other 99% left only with 77% of the total. (In another analysis of the data we learn that the top ten percent (10%) command more than two-thirds of the nation’s wealth. Thus if the top ten percent takes home 66 2/3 %, that means the bottom 80% must be scrambling for the remaining one third of the nation’s wealth.) These figures are the type of monetary wealth distribution you would not expect to find not in the USA--the largest economy in the western world, a nations which spends more on their miliatary than all the other nations in the world combined, but in a mid 20th century banana republic like Honduras or Guatemala (sorry to remind you Hondurans and Guatemalans!). How can that have happened to the USA--the oldest democracy in the world and the world’s wealthiest market economy!
Not so very long ago…in good economic times too…in the 1970s, the top one-percent earners garnered only nine (9%) percent of the total wealth (not 23%). It is important to note that that level of inequality (about 9%) is about where most modern industrialized countries in the western world are at now. Life is not so bad for their "economic royalty". Yet their middle class can live a reasonably full and healthful life. And the comparative figures on longevity, health, and childhood mortality support the fact—that the US with its high wealth inequality lags far behind in these measures of a nation's well-being. So in the last four decades (the period of Republican ascendancy and the Reagan, Bush I, Clinton, and Bush II regimes) the “take” of the oligarchs more than doubled. Is there any question what the Republicans have been attempting to do? Or that they are mostly responsible for these changes?
Today the USA stands out as a great place to be wealthy----if you are! But a bad place for the middle class, and for workers in general. Is that the way we want it to be? Would you want to see your children and grand-children grow up in such a place? I think not.
As Perlstein and others have pointed out, there are some very undesirable results of such inequity. For America which prided herself on her “freedom and equality for all” there can be no equality when we are creating an economic overlord-ship, or an economic “royalty” who live, think, act, and spend their money very differently than the rest of us. The establishment of a class of “economic royals” skews “opportunity, social standing and political power” (as Perlstein states so well). In the face of these facts, can we still honestly proclaim and actually believe our most deeply cherished tenets about “equality for all“? (And that “equality” was always interpreted and understood only as--an equal chance at success. But that equal chance we all hope for may not be there today.)
There are moral and political reasons for caring about this dramatic skewing of wealth, which in the real world leads to a similar skewing of opportunity, social standing, and political power. But according to Perlstein there is also an important economic reason: Too much inequality, he concludes, just like too little, appears to reduce global competitiveness and long-term growth, at least in developed countries like ours.
It’s important for our future and our children’s future that we recognize the pitfalls of economic inequality. Perhaps when we do we will have more empathy for the “other guy” who is struggling too. We must be aware of the economic and political costs of putting too much money in the hands of a few. Perhaps some of these horrible tragedies –often the result of despair and hopelessness-- would fade away too.
Get the picture?
OF SOAPS, CHEESE, AND MAKING MONEY EX NIHILO
RJ Kalin
January 2011
On a recent tour of our local stores Mrs. K. was annoyed to discover that one of her favorite house-hold products, normally stocked on the "soap and cleaner’ shelves of several local emporia is no longer available. The product--a stovetop cleaning agent-- was before the Great Recession expensive, but easily procured and widely available,but not so now.
“Why can’t I find this item any longer?” she asked in annoyance.
I tried to explain the underlying causes. “Well that product may not have a lot of demand, so Green’s, Walmarts, CVS, True Value, etc. do not wish to replace the stock so quickly, when they are gone. They are simply cutting expenses, by reducing the stock of a product that they must pay for, but may not be able to sell so easily….”
“So then this is just a response to the bad economy?”
“Exactly! It’s a sign of low demand.”
We walked on down the less than fully stocked aisles. I took this rare opportunity to add, "Yes, the low demand is surely the result of the fact that a good portion of the population is under employed or unemployed. Less money out there…less demand for stove-top cleaners and other stuff.”
Right now it is jobs, jobs, jobs that are on everyone’s mind. Today, I read in Portfolio.com, with some alarm that there are five applicants for every job that opens. Also, that there are some 15 million Americans out of work right now, and that nearly half a million have quit trying to find work. The formal joblessness rate is recorded as 9.6%, but that would be much worse were it not for the, nearly 500,000 who simply just quit looking.
Also the inflation rate has dropped down to 1.1% and has been holding steady at this rate for some months. That is well below the 2% rate that is considered desirable.
“That doesn’t sound too threatening. Why should I be concerned with the fact that prices are not rising much?”
“Well the problem is that such a low rate of inflation is and indicator of low consumer demand for goods and services.
“So that’s why I can’t find that “cook-top spray-cleaner, I like to use”?
“Exactly!“
“Some products which are not your big sellers are in lower demand anyway…are simply eliminated off the shelves, as a way to reduce costs and raise profits by the stores.“
“That’s one way to control expenses, but it makes me mad!“
“But more importantly, these circumstances of low demand may develop into what the economists call a “vicious deflationary cycle” in which low consumer demand causes product prices to fall, (or they may be simply eliminated as your cook top cleaner), this causes shoppers (like you and me) to retard purchases since they anticipate the continuing fall in prices (Why should you pay more for some product today when you can get some product cheaper tomorrow?). Then the store-owner, responding to low demand, may decrease prices further, while the products manufacturer or producer who is faced with less orders for his product, sells his stock at lower prices since he has too much of it, and, as well, may decide to slow production. These results exacerbate the problem and result in lower demand for labor in both the production end and in the sales end of the economy, resulting in lay offs, and firings. But job losses and reduced employment only tend to decrease money in circulation, and thus depress demand even further. The end result is a continual spiral downward of demand, as prices fall and employees are laid off. This deflationary spiral can be described as a classic “vicious cycle” or a process, which tends to exacerbate the cause or causes that generate it.
What can the Fed do? I read recently that Ben Bernanke is planning to decrease long-term interest rates (again) and stimulate growth by having the Fed purchase (“soak up”) Treasury Bonds. Treasury Bonds are safe, but they generally do not provide much interest on investment at maturity. So to encourage buyers, the government has to keep interest rates at a level high enough to encourage sales. But that impacts us down the line. So if the Fed were to buy up Treasury Bonds, that would put a cash-infusion into government coffers. It would save some dough too, by keeping interest rates lower. Since the government would have less urgency to sell bonds, they need not encourage buyers by raising interest rates. The down side is that this action would tend to decrease the value of the dollar. So we all have less buying power, particularly those on fixed incomes--like the elderly. That’s why the price of English Stilton cheese and Italian Parmigiana Reggiano have gone through the roof and the markets don’t stock them anymore.
There are times when just dropping the interest rate to zero, doesn’t help. Perhaps that might occur in those times when there is so little demand for stovetop cleaners and expensive cheese. Then there is the option of just printing more money. The government bankers don’t like to use those terms. They are too explicit and revealing. No matter that is what they are really doing. So they have developed the term “quatitative easing”, (QE). QE is a monetary policy used by central bankers to increase the supply of money. (they don’t simply dump the money on some corner on Main Street and let everyone come get it. Though that would be about what is happening. They simply write a check to themselves and drop that into their reserve account and voila! They have more money available created literally out of nothing (ex nihilo). They then use that account to buy government bonds, those awful mortgage-backed securities that no one really knows what they are getting or what they are worth, and corporate bonds or other financial instruments. That puts money into circulation, and hopefully stimulates the economy.
That takes care of the big shots and the bankers on Wall Street. Now if they could only find some way to get the unemployed back to work!
Get the picture?
January 2011
On a recent tour of our local stores Mrs. K. was annoyed to discover that one of her favorite house-hold products, normally stocked on the "soap and cleaner’ shelves of several local emporia is no longer available. The product--a stovetop cleaning agent-- was before the Great Recession expensive, but easily procured and widely available,but not so now.
“Why can’t I find this item any longer?” she asked in annoyance.
I tried to explain the underlying causes. “Well that product may not have a lot of demand, so Green’s, Walmarts, CVS, True Value, etc. do not wish to replace the stock so quickly, when they are gone. They are simply cutting expenses, by reducing the stock of a product that they must pay for, but may not be able to sell so easily….”
“So then this is just a response to the bad economy?”
“Exactly! It’s a sign of low demand.”
We walked on down the less than fully stocked aisles. I took this rare opportunity to add, "Yes, the low demand is surely the result of the fact that a good portion of the population is under employed or unemployed. Less money out there…less demand for stove-top cleaners and other stuff.”
Right now it is jobs, jobs, jobs that are on everyone’s mind. Today, I read in Portfolio.com, with some alarm that there are five applicants for every job that opens. Also, that there are some 15 million Americans out of work right now, and that nearly half a million have quit trying to find work. The formal joblessness rate is recorded as 9.6%, but that would be much worse were it not for the, nearly 500,000 who simply just quit looking.
Also the inflation rate has dropped down to 1.1% and has been holding steady at this rate for some months. That is well below the 2% rate that is considered desirable.
“That doesn’t sound too threatening. Why should I be concerned with the fact that prices are not rising much?”
“Well the problem is that such a low rate of inflation is and indicator of low consumer demand for goods and services.
“So that’s why I can’t find that “cook-top spray-cleaner, I like to use”?
“Exactly!“
“Some products which are not your big sellers are in lower demand anyway…are simply eliminated off the shelves, as a way to reduce costs and raise profits by the stores.“
“That’s one way to control expenses, but it makes me mad!“
“But more importantly, these circumstances of low demand may develop into what the economists call a “vicious deflationary cycle” in which low consumer demand causes product prices to fall, (or they may be simply eliminated as your cook top cleaner), this causes shoppers (like you and me) to retard purchases since they anticipate the continuing fall in prices (Why should you pay more for some product today when you can get some product cheaper tomorrow?). Then the store-owner, responding to low demand, may decrease prices further, while the products manufacturer or producer who is faced with less orders for his product, sells his stock at lower prices since he has too much of it, and, as well, may decide to slow production. These results exacerbate the problem and result in lower demand for labor in both the production end and in the sales end of the economy, resulting in lay offs, and firings. But job losses and reduced employment only tend to decrease money in circulation, and thus depress demand even further. The end result is a continual spiral downward of demand, as prices fall and employees are laid off. This deflationary spiral can be described as a classic “vicious cycle” or a process, which tends to exacerbate the cause or causes that generate it.
What can the Fed do? I read recently that Ben Bernanke is planning to decrease long-term interest rates (again) and stimulate growth by having the Fed purchase (“soak up”) Treasury Bonds. Treasury Bonds are safe, but they generally do not provide much interest on investment at maturity. So to encourage buyers, the government has to keep interest rates at a level high enough to encourage sales. But that impacts us down the line. So if the Fed were to buy up Treasury Bonds, that would put a cash-infusion into government coffers. It would save some dough too, by keeping interest rates lower. Since the government would have less urgency to sell bonds, they need not encourage buyers by raising interest rates. The down side is that this action would tend to decrease the value of the dollar. So we all have less buying power, particularly those on fixed incomes--like the elderly. That’s why the price of English Stilton cheese and Italian Parmigiana Reggiano have gone through the roof and the markets don’t stock them anymore.
There are times when just dropping the interest rate to zero, doesn’t help. Perhaps that might occur in those times when there is so little demand for stovetop cleaners and expensive cheese. Then there is the option of just printing more money. The government bankers don’t like to use those terms. They are too explicit and revealing. No matter that is what they are really doing. So they have developed the term “quatitative easing”, (QE). QE is a monetary policy used by central bankers to increase the supply of money. (they don’t simply dump the money on some corner on Main Street and let everyone come get it. Though that would be about what is happening. They simply write a check to themselves and drop that into their reserve account and voila! They have more money available created literally out of nothing (ex nihilo). They then use that account to buy government bonds, those awful mortgage-backed securities that no one really knows what they are getting or what they are worth, and corporate bonds or other financial instruments. That puts money into circulation, and hopefully stimulates the economy.
That takes care of the big shots and the bankers on Wall Street. Now if they could only find some way to get the unemployed back to work!
Get the picture?
Saturday, February 26, 2011
THE NATION'S DISCONTENT
February 25, 2011
Today our TV screens are full of the unrest in Wisonsin and elsewhere across the nation. One does not need to be a seer to understand the connection between these events and the causes of the Great Recession of 2008--unfettered greed, unregulated financial institutions, lack of government oversight, and Congressionalcomplicty. But today the perpetrators and guilty parties on Wall Street—and the super-wealthy elites--are still functioning in the same way and are doing fine--the market was up on Friday.
As Noam Chomsky puts it: "The population in the United States is angry, frustrated and full of fear and irrational hatreds. And the folks not far from you on Wall Street are just doing fine. They're the ones who created the current crisis. They're the ones who were called upon to deal with it. They're coming out stronger and richer than ever. But everything's fine - as long as the population is passive."
Yes the populance is apathetic and passive. The poor average "Joe and Jane" somehow continue to identify with this shadowy group of oligarchs. Perhaps they simply do not know who the perpetrators are. These passive citizens must be accosted thus. "No you fool. You are not one of the superwealthy! Why do you think that you are an elite? Because you and your wife both have full time jobs and perhaps both scramble (slave)at a second job and take regular overtime when you can get it--just to maintain the status quo? So perhaps you pull down enough income to buy a big car and a wide-screen TV (on time)and maybe send your eldest off to college? That does not put you in a class with these elite folks. They don't live here. You don’t see them in our town. They don’t buy food in our supermarkets, or appliances, or products in the local Sears, Walmarts or Targets. They are not part of our local economy. They do not spend money like we do. Wise up dummy!"
There is much discontent and too much passivity, alas caused by ignorance. The elites and superwealthy—the oligarchs—who caused our pain, they live on untouched by it. With their excessive wealth they control the story-line the media and the Congress---and with their wealth continue to garner more political power. They pursue their greedy, short-term goals with their wealth. But these self-serving motives do not serve the nation well and are not coincident with the aims of those who would make try to make this nation a better place to live a full life, to raise our children to aspire to the American dream.
But the brutal “solutions” the oligarchs and their paid minions propose do have an ulterior motive.
It’s clear what the Republicans are doing in Wisconsin and elsewhere. They are attempting to break the back of the unions, undermine laws which might restrain their efforts to maximize profits and, of course, to decrease their taxes. Their actions and motives are regressive. They attempt to move us backward--into the 19th century. They dig us deeper into the financial and political hole we find our selves in today.
In regard to the events in Wisconis: Just when we desperately need a better-educated workforce to compete globally—the Republicans want to fire teachers, crowd school classes, eliminate essential educational programs and literally gut the nation’s school systems. Their actions will not make us a stronger, wiser, more prosperous nation. But it is very likely to make the top 10% of wage earner the ones that now garner nearly two thirds of the wealth of this nation, richer and even more powerful leaving the bottom 90% of the population with only one-third of the nation’s output in wages to scramble over.
Get the picture?
Think about it!
.
Today our TV screens are full of the unrest in Wisonsin and elsewhere across the nation. One does not need to be a seer to understand the connection between these events and the causes of the Great Recession of 2008--unfettered greed, unregulated financial institutions, lack of government oversight, and Congressionalcomplicty. But today the perpetrators and guilty parties on Wall Street—and the super-wealthy elites--are still functioning in the same way and are doing fine--the market was up on Friday.
As Noam Chomsky puts it: "The population in the United States is angry, frustrated and full of fear and irrational hatreds. And the folks not far from you on Wall Street are just doing fine. They're the ones who created the current crisis. They're the ones who were called upon to deal with it. They're coming out stronger and richer than ever. But everything's fine - as long as the population is passive."
Yes the populance is apathetic and passive. The poor average "Joe and Jane" somehow continue to identify with this shadowy group of oligarchs. Perhaps they simply do not know who the perpetrators are. These passive citizens must be accosted thus. "No you fool. You are not one of the superwealthy! Why do you think that you are an elite? Because you and your wife both have full time jobs and perhaps both scramble (slave)at a second job and take regular overtime when you can get it--just to maintain the status quo? So perhaps you pull down enough income to buy a big car and a wide-screen TV (on time)and maybe send your eldest off to college? That does not put you in a class with these elite folks. They don't live here. You don’t see them in our town. They don’t buy food in our supermarkets, or appliances, or products in the local Sears, Walmarts or Targets. They are not part of our local economy. They do not spend money like we do. Wise up dummy!"
There is much discontent and too much passivity, alas caused by ignorance. The elites and superwealthy—the oligarchs—who caused our pain, they live on untouched by it. With their excessive wealth they control the story-line the media and the Congress---and with their wealth continue to garner more political power. They pursue their greedy, short-term goals with their wealth. But these self-serving motives do not serve the nation well and are not coincident with the aims of those who would make try to make this nation a better place to live a full life, to raise our children to aspire to the American dream.
But the brutal “solutions” the oligarchs and their paid minions propose do have an ulterior motive.
It’s clear what the Republicans are doing in Wisconsin and elsewhere. They are attempting to break the back of the unions, undermine laws which might restrain their efforts to maximize profits and, of course, to decrease their taxes. Their actions and motives are regressive. They attempt to move us backward--into the 19th century. They dig us deeper into the financial and political hole we find our selves in today.
In regard to the events in Wisconis: Just when we desperately need a better-educated workforce to compete globally—the Republicans want to fire teachers, crowd school classes, eliminate essential educational programs and literally gut the nation’s school systems. Their actions will not make us a stronger, wiser, more prosperous nation. But it is very likely to make the top 10% of wage earner the ones that now garner nearly two thirds of the wealth of this nation, richer and even more powerful leaving the bottom 90% of the population with only one-third of the nation’s output in wages to scramble over.
Get the picture?
Think about it!
.
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