Just Askin’ 

By Patrick F. Cannon

In his short career as the president’s press secretary, Sean Spicer has been required to defend the indefensible. I have never seen him less than uncomfortable doing it. I suspect he knows his boss is incapable of telling the honest truth about even the simplest thing. Yet he continues his fruitless efforts to explain the unexplainable. To his credit, it must be almost unbearable to face a White House press corps that has lost all respect for both his boss and him.

In my career as a publicist, I was never asked to lie for my employers. With one exception, my job was to explain their activities to various constituencies, including members, customers and the public. That one exception was a short stint as director of public information for the City of Chicago’s Department of Public Works. My superior was the legendary Earl Bush, the first Mayor Daley’s press secretary. His City Hall office was unmarked, and looked like the lair of a chronic hoarder. On the few occasions I submitted news releases for his approval (mandatory), I never heard of them again. It took me a few weeks to figure out that his job was to prevent the press from getting stories. I then understood what all those piles of paper were.

In a long life, almost everyone is occasionally faced with a moral choice. Should I take the expedient but morally dubious choice, or simply do the right thing? In looking at his biography, I see that Spicer has spent most of his career working for political campaigns, for members of the House or Senate, and for the Republican National Committee. In that last job, he even spent some time denigrating the candidacy of none other than Donald Trump.

His turnabout reminds me of a story I’ve told many times.  Early in my career, I worked in general management and marketing for a small institutional beverage company. Although the office was located in the Chicago area when I started, they decided to move it to the plant location in Lake Mills, Iowa, a farm community of some 2,500 folks. The business was seasonal to an extent, and during the winter we hired farmer’s wives for the packing lines. The plant manager, a local man, fired one of them for reasons I can’t now recall.

The aggrieved woman consulted a local lawyer. Now, he was an older man and had been one of the last lawyers in the state to pass the bar before you had to graduate from law school. Anyway, lawyer Larry (as I’ll call him) showed up one day and asked to meet with the plant and personnel managers, who worked under me. I attended the meeting, along with the comptroller. Larry then proceeded to list all the horrible and unfair things the plant manager had done to his client, suggesting that a law suit might well be her only recourse unless we paid her a handsome sum instead.

Having heard him out, the plant manager and then the personnel manager went through long lists of her sins and omissions. It took awhile and when they were done, lawyer Larry sat in stunned silence for a moment. Then, recovering his aplomb, he said: “Well, I’ll tell you what. If you want, I’ll slap a suit on that cookie!”

Sean Spicer has spent too long working for politicians. His moral compass has been skewed by the magnet of being close to the center of power. When his boss lies, he seems able to swear to it. Will he ever reach the point when even he gags on his own words?

Just askin’

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Copyright 2017, Patrick F. Cannon

(This week finds me in Florida helping my son with some stuff. Busyness or lethargy – take your pick – has prevented me from doing something topical, so here’s a chapter from my as yet unpublished history of the world. It on the short side, so shouldn’t tax your patience too much. As always, you have the option to ignore.)

Chapter Three

Greece – Birthplace of Democracy and the Olive Burger

By Patrick F. Cannon

While the Sumerians, Hittites, Assyrians, Babbleonians and their ilk (including the pesky Israelites) were battling among themselves for supremacy in the Eastern Mediterranean, to their left (if they were facing north) the great Greek city-states that would ultimately conquer them were developing.

The blind poet Homer was describing their exploits at around 800 BC, so that we know the famous Trojan War must have occurred before then. You will recall the bard’s description of the famous Trojan horse, left outside the gates of Troy, presumably as a peace offering, but in actuality containing a group of bloodthirsty Greeks. When the unwary Trojans dragged the horse into the city, the Greeks leapt out and laid waste to the hapless populace. Here, of course, we have the reason for the famous saying “beware of Greeks bearing gifts.” This has caused endless trouble ever since, particularly for those marrying into Greek families.

As the city states developed, they began inter-city sporting competitions called the Olympic Games, named after Mount Olympus, which was the nearby birthplace of the Gods, who got in free. Many of the events are still contested today, including foot races, discuss throwing, wrestling, the javelin toss and the rock (now shot) put. Contestants, all men, wore no clothes because they were so proud of their muscles. This unashamed nudity eventually became the downfall of the Olympiad, not because of public prudery (which was in any case strictly a Judeo-Christian concept) but because there was no place to put a sponsor’s logo. When the Olympics were revived in the later 19^th Century, the organizers made sure that everyone was fully clothed and fully sponsored.

Athens and Sparta soon became the dominant cities. The Athenians invented democracy, philosophy, art and the corner restaurant. Sparta invented only militarism, but it was generally enough to sway the balance in their favor

It is Athens we think of when we think of Greece. Its Golden Age is typified by the great orator, Pericles, whose wisdom brought forth the first flowering of democracy. Great architecture and sculpture appeared, not to be surpassed for the next 2,000 years, when the fig leaf was once again discarded. Drama, as we know it today, was perfected. To playwrights like Aeschylus and Sophocles we owe the basic tragic plot (hero makes love to mother, loses eyesight); to Aristophanes the essentials of comedy (hero makes love to mother, who thinks it’s a hoot).

The Greeks also invented mathematics, philosophy and the oliveburger. Socrates came up with the revolutionary idea that truth actually existed, or as he put it: “I walked into a tree and broke my nose; therefore I must concede the truth of the tree.” He was so busy declaiming his ideas, he didn’t have time to write them down. This chore was handled by his graduate teaching assistant, Plato, who later came into his own as the author of The Republic and teacher of Aristotle. Aristotle was a true Renaissance man, although no one was aware of it at that time. He made advances in biology and mathematics and was the inventor of logic. (Who can forget his apt example: if A hits B and B hits A, then A better hit B again or run away.)

Aristotle in his turn was the teacher of the greatest Greek of them all, Alexander III, conqueror of the known world. To the Greeks, of course, the “known” world included only Spain on the west and Persia on the east. Alexander didn’t know about India, so he declined to conquer it. He also didn’t know about China, although the Chinese knew about themselves, but not about the Greeks. To the Chinese, the known world was China, an attitude they retain to this day.

Alexander was the son of Phillip II of Macedon, who had united all Greece under his sway. Not everyone was willing to swing to his tune, so he was assassinated in 336 BC. Alexander inherited the throne and soon had all Greece swinging and swaying in perfect harmony. But like many young Greeks, he decided to emigrate in 334 BC and took his army along for company.

Persia was Greece’s ancient enemy and Alexander set about conquering their extensive empire. Even though the Persian forces under Darius were far more numerous, Alexander’s brilliant generalship always seemed to catch them napping, or eating lunch. The campaign took 10 years, mainly because the Greeks expected regular time outs to rape, loot and pillage. Nevertheless, they got as far as modern Kashmir before Alexander’s soldiers had had enough. They had been away from their wives and families for 10 years and were understandably concerned about their constancy. They had also reached the frontier of the known world and were a little edgy. Even though Alexander wept that he had no more worlds to conquer, he wasn’t silly enough to go it alone, so he turned back.

Alexander died in 323 BC. It was believed he was poisoned, but without DNA testing, we’ll never know. What we do know is that his generals were soon squabbling among themselves with predictable results. While the empire soon broke up, they did leave behind many interesting ruins, a boon to tourism to this day.

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Copyright 2017, Patrick F. Cannon

Keep Your Pants On! 

By Patrick F. Cannon

If you’re as fascinated by history as I am, you will have no doubt been puzzled by the undoubted fact that belts appear to have existed before pants were invented in the 15^th Century by the Chevalier de Pantaloon. I have therefore taken it upon myself to remedy this shameful lapse in the historical record.

First of all, it would be well to define just what is meant by the word belt. As with so many English words, multiple meanings are available. As you know, one can belt out a song, or belt a fellow in the snout, or even belt a home run into the bleachers at Wrigley Field. These uses do not interest us. What we are after is a length of some material long enough to span ones waist.

Astonishingly, little was available in the historical record until Cicero, in his famous Commentaries Upon the Domestic Habits of the Noblest Romans, mentioned in what should have been a more noted aside, that aristocratic Romans had taken to putting golden cords around their waists on windy days to prevent their skirts from flying up and exposing their less noble parts. You see, underwear had yet to be invented.

Well, as you may have already guessed, what started as necessity soon became fashion.  When Plebeians began emulating their betters, the Roman Senate passed a law specifying from which materials these cords could be made. Only Senators were permitted to don golden cords, while the Plebs had to make due with hemp. The ladies, for obvious reasons, were forbidden to cinch their skirts.

As usual, there’s a dark side to the story. It seems to have occurred to a few aristocrats that the cord could be adapted to hold a knife. Thus, on those fateful Ides of March, Brutus, Cassius and their pals had their knives ready to hand when Julius Caesar unwittingly paused to greet his soon to be former friends.

It is to the Romans that we also owe the transition of the waist cord into what we now call a belt. It seems that the first Roman to spot the trend and cash in by making and selling ever more elaborate cords was Flavius Beltus. As happened later with products like Kodak and Xerox, the company name became synonymous with the product, and so the waist cord became the belt.

Taking a leaf from Brutus and his crowd, the Roman Legions decided that the new belt could be adapted to hold any number of weapons in addition to knives. Hanging from their sturdy belts were not only knives, but swords, axes, maces, finger snips, eye gougers and even a flagon of Chiantus. The barbarians initially had no answer to this, but soon were emulating the Romans with weapons belts of their own, except their flagons contained Burgandus or Rhinelandus.

Belts changed little over the centuries. But when the Dark Ages subsided, newly wealthy nobles and merchants began to adorn their belts with rare fabrics and jewels. Women, for the first time, were permitted to belt themselves. They soon abandoned its practical uses, and the belt became purely a fashion statement, which it has remained to this day.

(I see I’ve neglected to mention the infamous chastity belt, designed to prevent wives from straying when hubby was away at the Crusades. I have often wondered how the poor women were able to go to the bathroom if the key was in far off Jerusalem, but decided there were some things one is better off not knowing.)

One suspects that belts were common during the Renaissance, but men’s waists were typically covered by short jackets, so visual evidence is lacking. It was only when the cutaway coat became fashionable in the 17^th Century that the belt reappears in all its glory. As a man, I’m rather ashamed to say that the men of the period wore even fancier clothes than the women. In addition to belts, paintings by Van Dyke and others even show that the upper classes took to wearing garters. A Knighthood of the Garter was even created, still bestowed by the British monarch. Strangely, Winston Churchill refused a peerage, but did become a Knight of the Garter. When I saw a photograph of Sir Winston with his Garter regalia, I couldn’t help asking myself if he’d taken leave of his senses.

As to the present, I’ll leave it up to you to observe the current state of this once practical accessory. You’ll find that some people even persist in using one to hold up their pants.

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Copyright 2017, Patrick F. Cannon

Boring, Boring, Boring 

By Patrick F. Cannon

Here’s a nightmare scenario worth considering: Donald Trump leaves office in 2021 only to be replaced by Elizabeth Warren. Talk about pillar to post or frying pan to fire, or perhaps the devil and the deep blue sea.

I have to confess that I’m becoming almost immune to Trump’s constant blather. But Elizabeth Warren? She simply tires you out with her relentless message of how the rich, the corporations and the bankers are screwing the middle class. I saw her interviewed recently. The poor interviewer tried valiantly to interject a question or two into her tornado of anti-corporate dogma, but finally just gave up. At one point, she got to talking so fast that I was afraid that she would begin spinning out of the studio and end up in OZ.

Now, I have to confess that I think some corporations pay their top executives too much. I also think that it’s their money, not mine or yours. I also think that the top tax rate of 39.6 percent could stand a modest increase, say to about 42 percent. For perspective, in 1986 it was 50 percent; in 1980, 70 percent; and as high as 94 percent during World War II.

With the current top rate, the richest 0.1 percent (yes, that’s the actual number) of taxpayers pay 39.2 percent of the total. The bottom 20 percent of taxpayers not only pay no taxes, but receive cash payments to supplement their incomes. In addition, everyone has to pay the 6.2 percent payroll tax for Social Security and 1.45 percent for Medicare. The Medicare tax has no income limit, but the Social Security tax is capped currently at an income of $118,500 per year.  I say, what the hell, remove the cap.

Although it’s not widely understood, the Income Tax generates less than 50 percent of Federal income. The balance comes from the above-mentioned payroll taxes, corporate income taxes (among the worlds highest), fuel taxes (not raised for about 30 years), estate taxes, excise taxes and customs duties, among others.

Add in local and state taxes, and I would say we’re taxed up to our eyeballs, and the rich are paying their fair share and more. Still, our elected leaders (or is that word really accurate?) have chosen in most years since 1930 to run a healthy deficit. Last year, it was $587 billion, a substantial amount, but down from $1.413 trillion in 2009. As of 8:50 am, central daylight time on April 26, the total national debt stood at $19.890 trillion, which was roughly 105 percent of our yearly gross domestic product.

Economists of what I would call the deluded class think this is just fine. Indeed, because interest rates are (artificially) low, they think we should be borrowing even more money to fund, for example, a massive public works program. The government is currently paying an average of about 2 percent interest on its debt. In the most recent fiscal year, it amounted to $223 billion. If interest was permitted to rise to actual market rates, what would those payments be?  What if the government had to pay 6 percent interest, not an unreasonable number?

As long as the Federal government is held hostage by ideologues from both the left and right, reasonable legislators will not be permitted to address our fiscal and other problems. I pray that the centrists of both parties will buck up their courage and put the country first. One lives in hope, even as it seems increasingly foolish at a time when we’re governed by fools, with more fools anxiously waiting in the wings.

(Since I wrote this, President Trump has announced his new tax reform plan. While it proposes to simplify many aspects of the code and reduce the corporate rate, the devil is in the details, of which there were few. Let’s see how much of it survives the legislative process, which loves to reward a donation with a tax break.)

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Copyright 2017, Patrick F. Cannon

Marry Up! 

By Patrick F. Cannon

When considering marriage, it is wise to find a potential partner who is somewhat higher on the scale than yourself. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean the richer scale, although there’s nothing necessarily wrong with marrying someone who has big bucks. Although it’s fashionable to denigrate the rich, envy is unbecoming.

What I really mean is that you should strive to find a spouse who is kinder, more generous, more forgiving and more empathetic than you.  People will then assume that if this person loves you, you can’t be all bad. I find myself in this happy situation.            Many of you who are reading this know my wife Jeanette. If you are a relative or friend, you’ll know that your birthday will be remembered. If you’re sick, you will be visited and, if required, fed. Let me give you an example.

We moved into our condo last August. There are 60 units in the building, and when I meet a neighbor in the lobby or the elevator, I give them a cordial “hello” and might even comment upon the weather or the state of our eccentric elevators. In a very few cases, I might even remember their names. Now, I don’t believe Jeanette has met everyone in the building, but if she has, she knows at least their name, and much more in some cases.

One of our neighbors had shoulder surgery and couldn’t drive. Jeanette barely knew her, but immediately offered to drive her to her therapy appointments. Not only that, but she cooked several meals for her as well. Now, if a friend asked me to do the same, I would likely agree. But you don’t have to ask Jeanette – she will beat you to the punch and offer.

Once you’re her friend, you’re her friend for life. Although it’s been more than 30 years since she taught there, she still has her fellow teachers from St. Francis Borgia School over for lunch every year. Ditto with her stint at the Art Institute. She has dinner several times a year with two of her former co-workers, and belongs to a book group composed of former employees of Lions Clubs International (where, by the way, we met).

Relatives get their due. On her father’s side of the family, she has something like a thousand relatives, including elderly aunts and uncles who have survived into their 90s. Most of them are in Wisconsin, and most years we dutifully drive north with her sisters and brothers-in-laws to Two Rivers to see them. (We also come home with many pounds of wieners, a local specialty.)

Although not as numerous, my family is not forgotten. I have two nieces in the Chicago area, and on Sunday last they were here for Easter dinner, along with husband, man friend, great nephew (with wife and baby), and my daughter, son-in law and his niece, down from Madison for the occasion. Most of my surviving cousins are in the Pittsburgh area or Ohio, and every other year Jeanette dutifully treks to western Pennsylvania for a family reunion. We are particularly close with my brother Pete and his wife Mary Beth, and throw in a visit with them every year in Florida.

Jeanette tends to go overboard in the family dinner line. I always tell her that she’s making too many hors de oeuvres, and ask “do we really need a salad and two vegetables?”  She looks at me like I’ve taken leave of my senses (I was brought up on overcooked roasts, mashed potatoes and canned green beans.) Then she goes right ahead and overdoes things. Later, while cleaning up the mess that 12 people and several courses can produce, she might mutter “never again.” But I don’t believe her. By the time Thanksgiving draws nigh, all the struggles of the past will be forgotten as she begins to wonder why we can’t have three vegetables!

As it happens, I will often say to myself “you should call so and so,” which I mostly fail to do, perhaps thinking that the intention alone does me credit. Jeanette will, however, remind me to actually do it, just as she herself checks in regularly with friends and relatives. Like I say, she makes me look good.

Today happens to be her birthday. She will get quite a few birthday cards, but not nearly as many as she sends. Her sisters and other relatives and friends will call. On Saturday, we’ll celebrate her birthday by going out to dinner with daughter Beth and son-in-law Boyd. Knowing Beth, there will be silly gifts, a comic card and a lot of laughter.

From me, there’s this:  Happy Birthday, Jeanette. Glad I married up!

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Copyright 2017, Patrick F. Cannon

One Leg at a Time 

By Patrick F. Cannon

Onward and upward, as the saying goes. When last I explored the history of apparel, I started at the bottom with the lowly shoe. Let us now move to a consideration of the pant; or, for the more fortunate, pants.

As you should know, these coverings of the legs and that part of the body they are attached to, is a fairly recent development in the long history of unnakedness. The Assyrians, Babylonians, Egyptians, Israelites, Greeks and Romans all failed in their efforts to do more than wear the same dress-like garments as their wives, daughters and concubines. From my deep study of the visual historical record on the walls, ceilings and floors of surviving structures, I have concluded that pants as we know them are a fairly recent arrival in the long panorama of history. Methuselah might have lived for 1,000 years, but he did so pantsless.

As we know, people in the Middle Ages mostly wandered about in sackcloth and ashes, but at long last something like pants began to appear during the Renaissance, largely after silk was discovered by Confucius and brought to Europe by Marco Polo. This fine fabric was flexible and was first used for stockings. Then Lorenzo de Medici (Il Magnifico to his friends) posited that if the ladies of the court kept weaving, their efforts might result in something that we would later call panty hose

All well and good, except when worn the male member and its accoutrements (one strives for delicacy) became perhaps more obvious than even Italians thought proper. But this was the Renaissance after all, and Leonardo da Vinci soon invented the cod piece. This shame saving device came in various sizes, of which “extra large” became the favorite. Like Starbucks coffee, “small” had no place in the cod bins of Florence.

By the late 17^th Century, pants as we know them had almost arrived. Perhaps you are familiar with knickers, once favored by golfers and small boys. Something like them, although a bit tighter, began to appear. Stopping at the knee, they still required stockings to hide one’s hairy calf. Another century passed before Beau Brummell extended the pants leg down to the top of the shoe when he tired of washing his socks every night.

Fast forward to today, when pants are available in a truly amazing variety of styles and colors. Men may wear short shorts, Bermuda shorts, cargo pants, pedal pushers, and even jammie bottoms. One may have fat pants, regular pants and even tight pants that expose one’s brightly colored socks. I must add that only in a decadent age such as ours will men wear – as the height of fashion – clothes that don’t appear to fit.

Now, alas, even women have taken to wearing pants. This curiosity began in the 1930s when progressive women began wearing pants and even smoking cigarettes in public. Had we only known where all of this might lead!

With the exception of stubborn Scots and Saudi princes, attempts by men at the cutting edge of fashion to reestablish the skirt have thus far failed, save only for the occasional fellow who dons a wig and a stylish dress and pretends he’s Elizabeth  Taylor or Marilyn Monroe.  Harmless fun to be sure, but not Brummell-like in its lasting impact.

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Copyright 2017, Patrick F. Cannon

If Sherman Could See Us Now 

By Patrick F. Cannon

“I am sick and tired of war. Its glory is all moonshine. It is only those

who have neither fired a shot nor heard the shrieks and groans of the

wounded who cry out for blood, for vengeance, for desolation. War is

hell.”

General William Tecumseh Sherman wrote those words about the Civil War, and he wrote from experience. He was the first military leader who dared to admit that he intended to take the war to the civilians who supported his enemies, in this case the plantation owners and slaveholders of Georgia who supported the Confederate rebellion. While he was careful not to order his soldiers to murder civilians, he did encourage them to burn the crops and houses of those who opposed them. His famous “March” through Georgia did much to bring the war to an end by the following spring.

Civilians have always been victims of war. At the least, they have been a target of foraging armies; at worst, the victims of murder and rape. With the exception of sieges, land battles were fought outside of cities, on ground appropriate for the deployment of armies. Most of the civilians in these areas would have fled to safety before the battle was fought. Sieges were an exception. If the besieged city did not surrender, but forced the besieging army to take it by storm, civilians were considered fair game for slaughter, as having participated in defending the city or town.

Compared to later wars, World War I saw relatively few civilian casualties. While the Germans were inclined to execute suspected civilian “fifth columnists” in their march through Belgium and Northern France during the war’s initial battles, once the opponents settled into prolonged trench warfare, most civilians had long since been evacuated. Later in the war came ominous portents. Germany used Zeppelin air ships and later airplanes to bomb London, causing 1,413 deaths in London by the end of the war. During the Second World War, more than 60,000 Londoners were killed by German bombs. Although the numbers are open to question, approximately 600,000 Germans were killed by British bombs alone. In one raid, 45,000 Germans were killed when bombs caused a fire storm in Hamburg.

The British and then the Americans bombed Germany continuously from the fall of 1940 to nearly the end of the war in May, 1945. In the year or so that the Americans bombed the Japanese home islands, 333,000 civilians were killed, including the victims of the atomic bombs at Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

While these numbers pale in relation to the 70 million people who died during the war – of whom 60 percent were civilians – they do suggest the increasing ability of aerial bombardment to bring the war to non-combatants. Air power theorists had originally believed that bombing would be accurate enough to limit damage largely to industrial and military targets, In practice, they soon discovered that true accuracy was a pipedream.

The relentless bombing of German cities by the British was retaliatory. Early German raids on London targeted the docklands and other presumed military targets. Predictably, many of the bombs missed and hit residential areas. The British then sent bombers to Berlin to retaliate, whereupon the Germans decided to bomb London indiscriminately. Whereupon…well, you get the idea.

Fast forward to today. With current technology, largely developed by the United States, it is now possible to place bombs and other airborne munitions with great accuracy.  In Syria, for example, care has been taken by US and coalition air forces to avoid civilian casualties. As in all wars, however, mistakes in targeting take place. Such a case came to light recently, for which the US apologized. It also came to light that ISIS has forced civilians, including women and children, at gunpoint into areas from which they then launch attacks. When these areas are then attacked by coalition forces in turn, civilians once again become the cynical victims.

By the way, the Syrian government and its Russian allies have no qualms about killing civilians. In the last few days alone, they have dropped more of the infamous barrel bombs on civilian areas, and have apparently resumed the use of chemical weapons, once again crossing the red line famously drawn by the former United States administration.

Unlike Sherman, it’s clear that not everyone is “sick and tired of war.”

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Copyright 2017, Patrick F. Cannon

The Bogeyman is Coming 

By Patrick F. Cannon

People who know me are familiar with one of my favorite sayings: “It’s an ill wind that blows no good.” While I think Donald Trump’s election was regrettable, the fear it engendered has at least had some positive effect on some sectors of the economy.

When I visited my son in Florida recently, he told me a very sad story. A daughter of a friend of his is an actress, married to an actor who is having a run of good luck, i.e., he has a recurring role in a successful television series. Since acting is a precarious profession at best, this run of good fortune should have had them over the moon. But no, she was so horrified by Trump’s victory that she has had to double her weekly visits to the therapist to four. Only by seeking these hours of expensive bucking up is she able to face the day.

I should have thought that Los Angeles area therapists of all kinds were already at full stretch caring for the tender egos of the entertainment industry. Perhaps you watched the Academy Awards – almost every presenter and recipient seemed obsessed with the election. Their therapists no doubt clapped their hands in glee as they saw the palpable fear emanating from the stage.

The other industry seeing a bump is a bit less obvious. Most folks are unaware that there is an industry dedicated to survival. They provide products and services for those who might be or feel threatened by natural disasters – a legitimate concern in some areas – and those who fear that the government is somehow out to get them. The industry gained some momentum when President Obama was elected. As you may recall, there was widespread fear that he was going to send his minions around the county to confiscate the fire arms of law abiding citizens. It didn’t happen, of course, and Obama is safely gone.

As it happens, one of the companies in this business, Day One Gear, is located in Forest Park, IL, where I live; indeed, the owners live just down the block. They drive (of course) three off road vehicles. Among their license plates are those that read “Day One” and “Bug Out.” No doubt they were among the exhibitors at a recent trade show for survivalists held at a Chicago area fair grounds. A few were interviewed for a story in the Chicago Tribune and commented that they were starting to see liberals appearing at the show for the first time. As fear of Obama recedes, the tides have rolled in with Trump. As I said, it’s an ill wind.

Let’s see how President Trump has succeeded in imposing his totalitarian will upon the country. His ban on immigration from certain countries has been tied up in the courts for weeks. His second executive order may in fact be upheld eventually because he seems to have the authority under existing law. (The “Rule of Law” apparently only applies when you agree with it, an attitude that both the former and current presidents share.). Just a few days ago, the new health care law meant to replace the hated Obama Care failed in the House of Representatives. To his credit, President Trump spread the blame for this – first blaming the Democrats and then the Republicans.

Although he rails against “fake news,” he has yet to shut down the New York Times, or jail any of its reporters, much less have them murdered as his buddy Vladimir Putin is so fond of doing. He is, of course, rolling back regulations on the environment and other areas, but his should come as no surprise, since the Republican Party has been advocating this for years. Since voters around the country have given them the presidency and control of both houses of Congress, you can expect more of the same.

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Copyright 2017, Patrick F. Cannon

Go Cats! 

By Patrick F. Cannon

My alma mater, Northwestern University, was chosen this year to participate in the NCAA basketball tournament for the first time in its history. Then, to add icing to the cake, they won their first game. They gamely lost their second game to the number one seed, Gonzaga, whose only prior claim to fame was its most famous attendee, Bing Crosby. This came just after an even more momentous event: the first World Series victory by the Chicago Cubs since 1908.

As any sports fan knows, these highs are to be cherished because, alas, history tells us that they will not last. For the young men who played for Northwestern, the education they receive in return for their hard work, will last.  Although the numbers can fluctuate from year to year, nearly 100 percent of Northwestern’s basketball and football players will graduate.

I saw another statistic about Northwestern recently. Someone went to the trouble to look at all the Illinois high school athletes who had received football scholarships, and determined that only 12 percent could have been admitted to Northwestern.

I don’t mean to suggest that Northwestern is unique in graduating its athletes. Duke University, for example, graduates a high percentage of its athletes, but it also indulges in a practice for its basketball team that has become known as “one and done.” It does this to take advantage of the National Basketball Association’s (NBA) policy of not drafting or employing players unless they have attended college for one year or simply sat out for a year after graduating from high school. To take advantage of this absurd policy, Duke and other “basketball schools” (Kentucky comes to mind) knowingly recruit players who they know in advance will stay only for the mandatory year, then opt for the draft.

Most of these young men are African-Americans. The most talented among them have been groomed since their skills first became apparent by coaches, family, street agents and other assorted hangers on, who all hope to get their share when their protégé signs that big contract. They all conspire to keep their charges just eligible enough academically to get accepted to a major college, which in turn strives in turn to keep the young man eligible for that one year. Courses designed to do just that are readily available.

Chicagoans will be familiar with the case of Derrick Rose. He was a “one and done” with the University of Memphis. In 2007-08, he led the team to the NCAA championship game, which they lost to Kansas. It was later discovered that someone else had taken Rose’s SAT test, and Memphis was required to vacate the entire season by the NCAA. By then, Rose had signed a lucrative contract with the Chicago Bulls, unconcerned that his cheating had cost Memphis so dearly (an unconcern that seemed to extend to almost everything in his career).

Fortunately, the graduation rate for African-American athletes is increasing, if still below that of other ethnicities. But the reality is that the very best of them will always be under pressure to take the money and forget the education. I happen to think it’s a bad bargain, since so few actually make it or have long careers. In the end, though, it’s their decision.

To me, the true hypocrisy is dual: the NBA for its senseless policy of not permitting high school graduates from going directly to the NBA; and our universities for hiring athletes rather than educating students.

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Copyright 2017, Patrick F. Cannon

Starting At the Bottom 

By Patrick F. Cannon

Unlike President Trump, most of us had to start at the bottom and work our way up. Therefore, I must most sincerely apologize for last week’s history of hats. I certainly should have begun my history of apparel at the bottom with the lowly shoe, and only then worked my way upwards. Since you have had to forgive me for much of what I write in this space, I hope you will indulge me once again.

There is no convincing evidence to suggest that the cave dwellers wore shoes (or didn’t for that matter). As you know, they covered the walls of their caves with quite convincing drawings of cows and other ruminants. No self portraits, alas. It makes one wonder how later artists knew what they looked like, but that’s a mystery for another day. Anyway, as they were hunters and gatherers, their feet no doubt developed sufficient calluses to obviate the need for additional protection. Which makes me to wonder how they cut their nails, since all they had were those flinty things? Hmmm.

The first actual evidence of shoes in northern climes came with the discovery of a well preserved pre-historic body in the Alps. I have written of this before, but when an ancient glacier melted, it uncovered the body of a poor fellow who had been waylaid by a band of ruffians, bopped on the head unto death, and left to become one with the glacier. When discovered recently by Swiss mountaineers, he was wearing what were obviously primitive shoes, as well as a jaunty hat. The shoes consisted of a piece of leather gathered about the poor fellows ankles and held in place by what we might now call a shoelace; simple, surely, but presumably adequate enough for trekking up and down the Alps.

In last week’s article, I outed the Assyrians, Egyptians and Babylonians as early hat wearers. Ancient carvings also reveal that they invented the sandal. I’m sure most of us have had the experience of stepping barefooted on a sun-roasted sand beach. Just imagine living on such a surface! Early carvings show stick figures hopping about wildly. Researchers originally thought they were performing a ritual dance, but later concluded they were trying to traverse the hot desert sands. Later carvings showed similar figures strolling jaunty jolly on those same sands, but now with what we now know as sandals upon their feet.  Hieroglyphs give credit for this foot saving innovation to Ibn El Beer Kun Schtok.

Shoes gained a separate sole upon the rise of Christianity. As time passed, they became ever more sophisticated. By the time of King Henry VIII, they were made of the finest leathers, often adorned with rare jewels. Alas, poor Henry was too fat to see his feet, but they were the envy of his courtiers. About this time, the sock was invented. To be blunt, even Kings rarely washed and shoes began to exude rare odors. Putting a bit of fabric between the foot and the shoe helped somewhat; it also obscured the related fact that feet and ankles were not only gamey but grimy.

Just when women became obsessed with shoes is unclear. Shoes that survive from the reign of the self same Henry show the high heel for the first time. In addition to adding a bit of height to aristocratic ladies, it made their legs a bit more fetching. Not in public, of course, but perhaps in the privacy of the bed chamber? It is reported in court chronicles that Ann Boleyn owned no fewer than 300 pairs of shoes, the highest number recorded until eclipsed in our own time by the legendary Imelda Marcos.

Due to the efforts of our forbearers, we now have a bewildering variety of foot wear to choose from. I myself still own two pairs of fine business shoes, now dusted off only when a rare formal occasion demands. For daily wear, I favor a pair of sturdy walking shoes; when they wear out, I spring for a new pair. A couple of years ago, giving in to pressure from loved ones, I bought a pair of blue suede loafers for summer wear. I wear them only when I visit my son and brother in Florida every year, and for the odd garden soiree. I do not own a single pair of sneakers, which should only be worn by tennis players and children.

In closing, I should mention that modish young men seem to have abandoned the sock when wearing sneakers, loafers and boat shoes. On the other hand, I have noticed that some elderly men wear black socks with their sandals. What next, I wonder?

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Copyright 2017, Patrick F. Cannon