Give the Derby a Chance

Give the Derby a Chance 

By Patrick F. Cannon

For the 142nd time, Thoroughbred horses will run this Saturday in the Kentucky Derby at Louisville’s Churchill Downs. Undefeated Nyquist will likely be the deserving favorite. While a good horse, no one yet believes he has the quality of last year’s Triple Crown winner, American Pharoah. I may well place a small bet on him, but my dark horse is Mohaymen, who was soundly beaten by Nyquist in last month’s Florida Derby. I believe the track that day – drying and cuppy – bothered him, so I think you can throw that race out.

But really, I’m not sure who’s going to win, but I do know that the interest in the Derby and horse racing in general is in a gradual decline, and it saddens me. The first Derby I remember was 1948s, when Citation won the Derby and the Triple Crown. He was one of the great horses of the 20th Century and everyone in America knew his name and exploits, for in that year and for many years before and after, more people attended horse races than any other sport, including baseball.

When I started attending the races in 1957, the local newspapers covered racing extensively, not only the major local tracks like Arlington and Washington Parks, but those in other major racing centers like New York, California, Florida and Maryland. The day’s entries were published, as well as the handicapper’s picks and yesterday’s results. They stopped doing this a long time ago. Why?

In 1957, when Chicago was a major center for racing, betting the horses was the only form of legalized gambling. In Illinois, first came the lottery, then the riverboats, and finally land-based casinos.  More recently, and dubiously, video poker machines were legalized and began to pop up in local taverns and other venues.

Horse racing has always had its fans, people who admired the sport for itself, who enjoyed the spectacle of animals bred for hundreds of years for one purpose: to run as fast as the can for as long as they can. They are beautiful creatures, who are happy to do their jobs for a steady diet of hay and oats and constant attention from their owners, trainers and grooms. They are never arrested for domestic battery, drug abuse, or murder. And while a cadre of fans still goes to the races for the pure sport, and to make modest bets on the outcome, there are not enough of them to keep the sport healthy.

The real gamblers, and the addicted gamblers, crave faster action. And, it must be said, thoughtless action. Feeding a slot machine hour after hour no longer even requires a strong arm, just a finger to press a button. At the track, there are at least 20 minutes between races, time for the thoughtful bettor to study the past performances of the dozen or so runners in the next race. But too much time for the person who seeks instant highs or (most often) lows.

As a result, only the tracks that have been permitted to add slots or other forms of gambling to the mix are now doing well. New York is a good example, as is Florida and, yes, even Indiana, a former minor league state whose purses are now higher than Arlington Park’s. How’s that for indignity?  Like so much in Illinois, Arlington has been left to wither – and will eventually die – because the legislature cannot even pass a budget, much less permit Arlington to add the gambling choices that would permit it to compete nationally for the best horses.

So, why not watch the Derby this Saturday, then think about spending an afternoon or two this summer at Arlington Park, or whatever race track my be near you. Have a leisurely lunch in the Million Room. Wander down to the paddock between races to have a look at the horses being saddled. Enjoy the architecture and landscaping of one of the most beautiful race tracks in the world. By all means, go down to the rail to watch a race or two, so you can see and hear these astonishing animals do what they were bred – and indeed love – to do. And hey, if you’re lucky, you might even win a buck or two.

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Copyright 2016, Patrick F. Cannon

 

Sometimes, I Just Can’t Hear It

Sometimes, I Just Can’t Hear  

By Patrick F. Cannon

When Prince died, I wasn’t in the least surprised at the outpouring of grief and shock that followed. He was, after all, one of the major popular music figures of his time. And he died relatively young, which somehow compounded the reaction. Yet, as his music was played over and over in the news reports, I realized that I simply didn’t recognize even the song that he was most identified with, Purple Rain.

I looked up the lyrics and found them banal, but in a way that’s beside the point. It was really the sound that was foreign to my ear. I’m simply not attuned to most of today’s music. I’ve often wondered about this, and now believe it has to do with two factors: the dominance of rhythm over melody, and the general lack of lyrical lyrics.

Can you really imagine strolling down the street whistling the melody from Purple Rain or I Ain’t Got No Satisfaction?  And do the words to these songs – I hesitate to use the word “lyrics” – compare in any way with something like this?

It seems we sat and talked like this before

We looked at each other in the same way then

But I can’t remember where or when

The clothes you’re wearing are the clothes you wore

The smile you are smiling you were smiling then

But I can’t remember where or when

Not only do these lyrics scan, but they are supported by a melody that, once heard, is impossible to forget. The music for Where or When is by Richard Rogers and the lyrics by Lorenz Hart. Written for a Broadway musical in 1937, the song became a hit then, and has been recorded many times since, most notably by Frank Sinatra. Would it even get radio play if it came out today?

This is not to say that good songs are not being written. Musicals are still being produced on Broadway, but how many original cast albums are bought today? The possible exception is Hamilton, whose songs are based on hip hop and rap forms. I’ll be interested to see if I can understand the lyrics. Hip hop, to me, is barely music at all, and rap is decidedly not music. It’s usually just slam poetry with dirty words.

And it’s not just popular music that can’t travel pleasantly through my ears and into my brain and emotions. With some exceptions, much of today’s so-called serious music, whether classical of jazz, seems composed for other composers, just as so much poetry is written primarily for academics and like-minded poets. Neither composers nor poets now depend on their art to make a living, as Mozart and Gershwin did.  When critics decry the decline of interest in poetry and serious music, one wonders if they ever ask the obvious question: why would anyone be interested in something so clearly intended for so narrow an audience?  Something that no longer sings?

Well, anyway, Prince managed to appeal to many more ears than John Cage. I don’t begrudge him his fame. He worked hard at both writing and performing. Whether in 200 years, he’ll be considered our era’s Bach or Beethoven, as one of his lawyers was recently quoted as saying, is open to question. I hope not, as I continue to think that we can do better. Perhaps I’m living in vain hope, but my ears await the return of melody and wit to our popular music.

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Copyright 2016, Patrick F. Cannon

Random Thoughts

Random Thoughts 

By Patrick F. Cannon

Money in Politics

Complaining about how Federal elections are funded is a fruitless exercise. Unless the Supreme Court finds a way around the First Amendment by reversing itself in its decision that political contributions are a form of speech, then the only real way of reforming the system is to amend the Constitution. Good luck with that. It is interesting, though, that the average voters seems to be getting immune to all the sleeze tossed in his or her direction. Maybe the only true beneficiaries of all this PAC money are the broadcast media.

Pension Facts

I was curious, so I found that the average Chicago teacher pension after 28 years of service is $42,000. I got this number from the folks who run the retirement program. The maximum Social Security benefit at the regular retirement age of 66+ is $31,956. To receive that benefit, you would have to pay the maximum withholding tax for 35 years. While the rate of 15.3% (including Medicare) – shared equally between the employer and employee – has not changed since 1990, the maximum taxable income has risen from $51,300 to $118,500, and can be expected to continue to increase in the coming years.

I understand that Chicago teachers are paying a 2% share of the pension tax, as opposed to the 7.65% withholding that Social Security mandates. Chicago teacher retirees are also guaranteed a 3% annual cost of living increase. Since 2010, the average cost of living increase under Social Security has been 1.2 percent.

Promises, Promises

Donald Trump wants to build a humungous wall along the Mexican border. Forget for a moment that there has been a net outflow of illegal Mexican immigrants in recent years. Trump claims that his negotiating skills will force the Mexican government to pay for the wall. To accomplish this, he will stop US residents from sending money back to Mexico. If, through some miracle of bi-partisanship, he manages to get Congress to go along with this, two things will happen: Western Union and the other companies who handle these transfers will scream bloody murder as they go out of business, and a new black market will replace them. How about a rational new immigration law instead?

One of Bernie Sanders’ more appealing ideas is free tuition at public colleges and universities. The cost to the taxpayers (that’s you) has been estimated at $75 billion per year. Frankly, I think it would end up being much more. While the Federal government already provides some funding to most colleges and universities, I wonder if people are aware of the sheer number of schools involved. For example, each state has a primary university, usually the one established by the land grant program of the 19th Century. Illinois has its main campus in Urbana-Champaign and satellite campuses in Chicago and Springfield. It also has a second system that includes Northern and Southern Illinois universities, among others. There is also an extensive system of community junior colleges. All are already supported by Illinois and local taxpayers.

The countries that do provide free tuition limit the numbers who get this benefit by a rigorous competitive examination system. This is one reason, I think, for the high number of foreign students in American colleges and universities. If you graduate from high school in this country, you are almost certain to find a place in at least a community college. A better answer, in my view, would be an increase in outright grants to the poorest students and an overhaul of the student loan program.

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Copyright 2016, Patrick F. Cannon

We Really Miss You, Fred

We Really Miss You, Fred

By Patrick F. Cannon

My contention that Fred Astaire was one of greatest singers of popular song of his era – hell, of any era – is often met with incomprehension or bemusement. Surely, people think, you mean one of the great dancers? That’s, of course, if they have any real idea of who he was in the first place. Like so many artists of even the day before yesterday, he has faded into the mists of entertainment history.

A case in point: I give tours at Frank Lloyd Wright’s Home & Studio in Oak Park, and mention that the actress Anne Baxter was his grand daughter. Most of the 15 or so people on the tour don’t have a clue who she was, since her heyday was in the 40s, 50s and 60s. The exceptions would be people older than 70 and cinema nuts. While Fred Astaire had a much higher status and fame than she, he is just as dead for most young people.

Yet, he deserves their attention. In an age of increasing and unceasing vulgarity, he might offer an oasis of grace and elegance. Even his walk was worth watching. In one of his best musicals – and one of the best of all movie musicals – The Band Wagon, he has arrived in New York on the 20th Century Limited. He is a Hollywood star whose career in is decline, and he has taken a role in a new Broadway musical. On the train, he meets Ava Gardener, playing herself. They chat a bit, but when they get off the train at Grand Central Station, she is mobbed by reporters and photographers, while poor Fred is ignored.

Alone, he begins walking to the terminal, while singing “I’ll go my way, by myself…”  I urge you go Google these opening lyrics, which should lead you to an outtake from the movie. Notice how Fred’s walk is gracefully attuned to the music, how this simple act becomes imbued with meaning and emotion. Notice also how beautifully the song is sung, how each word is presented clearly for your consideration.

Two of the greatest composers of American song of the 20th Century – really of all time – Irving Berlin and George Gershwin both were quoted as saying that they preferred Fred above all others to sing their songs. Why? Because they could count on him to sing the song as written, to annunciate the words clearly, and to be in tune and on pitch. I should also mention that the great Tony Bennett, now 90, many years ago mentioned Fred as one of his inspirations.

I have a CD of some of his greatest songs. I keep it in my car and play it often. Like Bach’s Goldberg Variations, I never tire of listening to it. If you don’t know Fred as a great singer, I’m sure you would be able to find albums on Amazon or any of a number of music sites that would convince you. While we all should keep up with contemporary music (selectively!), we should also find time to honor the great art of the past.

Finally, if you get a chance to watch any of his movies, you’ll discover that he could dance a little, too.

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Copyright 2016, Patrick F. Cannon

 

 

It’a Bird, it’s a Plane, or Maybe Just Stupid

It’s a Bird, it’s a Plane, or Maybe Just Stupid! 

By Patrick F. Cannon

As a kid, I read my share of comic books. Early on, they tended to be about Disney characters, or Bugs Bunny (a particular favorite), or any of a number of cartoon characters. Increased age and sophistication led me to Superman, Batman, Rubber Man (or was it Plastic Man?), and characters like Terry and his pirates and the Lone Ranger. Finally, my literary bent was satisfied with something called Classic Comics. One of them, Ivanhoe, painlessly introduced me to Sir Walter Scott.

I remember being jealous of a classmate who lived in a vast apartment on South Lake Shore Drive in Chicago. His room included a closet devoted to his comic book collection, each title neatly stacked on floor to ceiling shelves. This, I thought, was what it meant to be truly rich! (I wonder if he kept them and eventually sold them at auction, becoming even richer.)

Whatever meager collection I might have had probably didn’t survive my family’s move back to the Pittsburgh area in the early 1950s. We lived in McKeesport, which had a Carnegie Library. Once I had a library card, I don’t think I ever read another comic book. Compared to books like Dick Stover at Yale (and the like), they seemed like pretty childish stuff.

Eventually, I graduated to more serious literature. Even in high school, we were required to read Shakespeare, Dickens, Longfellow, Whitman, and Twain, among others.  A university education added more modern writers, like Hemingway, Faulkner, Fitzgerald, Elliot, Cummings, O’Neil, Wilder, and many, many more, from both sides of the Atlantic. As an aside, I took a course in the British Victorian novel, where we were required to read 10 novels. When the course began, the professor informed us that the final exam would have questions on only six of the ten. Feel free, he told us, to try to decide which six! If only there had been a Classic Comic of Vanity Fair!

At any rate, imagine my surprise when it occurred to me a few years ago that actual adults seemed to be buying, reading and collecting comic books. And were being aided and abetted by a film industry that spews forth an endless stream of “super hero” movies that pile up immense sums of money at the box office. They are typically full of violence and are clearly not meant for the little kids that read comics in my day.

Instead of the simple good guys verses bad guys stories of the old comic books, our heroes are now full of angst and demons. Bruce Wayne (Batman for the uninitiated) dwells endlessly on the death of his parents, while spending their hard-earned money on fancy cars, caves and English butlers (once the redoubtable Michael Caine, and most recently Jeremy Irons, out for some of that cash).  Most recently, the comics moguls have doubled down and released something called Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice. The implications of this for the future of civilization are frightening to contemplate.

To make even more dough out of this phenomenon, a series of conventions are now held around the country to feed the frenzy. The largest is held in San Diego, but Chicago has its version called “The Wizard World Comic Con.” I know this because a few years ago I was driving past the Stevens Convention Center in suburban Rosemont and thought I had entered some kind of parallel universe. All around me were strange creatures dressed like the usual super heroes, but also others impersonating characters from Harry Potter and the like. These were not children, I hasten to say, buy young (and not so young) adults.

I don’t want to make too much of this, but I do see this preference for a fantasy world as part of a general vulgarization of American taste, and a turning away from the sometimes difficult realities of every day life. But when faced with a race for president that includes candidates like Batsman (Donald Trump), Elastic Woman (Hillary Clinton), Iron Head (Ted Cruz), and Marxman (Bernie Sanders),  I’m not sure I can blame them for fleeing from reality.

 

 

 

 

How it’s Made

How it’s Made 

By Patrick F. Cannon

I’m fascinated by a program on the Science Channel called “How it’s Made.” Each program includes three or four products and shows their production process from raw materials to finished product.

I now know how breakfast cereal is made, along with numerous other food products. We’ve all probably seen brief scenes showing car assembly on the evening news, but I’ve seen the complete process for both regular passenger cars and exotics that can exceed 200 miles per hour. Have you wondered how those golf balls you regularly hit into the water come to be on your tee? Or how crayons are made? Or circuit boards? Or cricket bats?

It’s fascinating stuff. It’s also instructive, because what you’re actually watching most of the time is the miracle of computer controlled machine tools that are efficiently doing the work that was once done by people. There are still men and women on the automobile assembly line to be sure, but in greatly reduced numbers. So-called robots are now doing most of the welding, stamping and boring. And they don’t belong to unions.

These are the jobs that once went to high school graduates who didn’t go on the college, either because they couldn’t or didn’t want to. Starting after World War II, a willing worker could get a good job at the steel mill, the auto plant, the appliance manufacturer – indeed, any number of companies that were satisfying a pent up demand stifled by depression and war. Now, as some politicians are fond of reminding us, many of these jobs have gone to foreign shores, because enlightened (to me) trade policies have leveled the labor playing field, with the result that the worldwide standard of living has steadily risen.

It is well to remember that the United States is still a manufacturing power. While China, with four times the population, leads the world in total manufacturing value, the per capita value of those goods was $1,856 in a recent year, as compared to the United States’ $6,280. Keep in mind also that, even though the brand names might sometimes be foreign, most of the automobiles sold in this country are made here.

The American worker is also highly productive. Only Switzerland, Luxembourg and Norway have more productive workers, and they are obviously very small economies. What this means, and “How it’s Made” confirms it, is that fewer workers can get the same work done. And these workers are more likely to be people who know how to operate computers and complicated machinery. It isn’t enough, now, to just have a high school diploma.

Despite what politicians tell you to the contrary, the decline in the numbers of high paying manufacturing jobs was and is unavoidable. For many years, we have been in a transition to an information-based economy, where education is king. The most recent figures show an unemployment rate for college graduates of 2.8 percent; for high school graduates it’s 5.4 percent. Average weekly income is $1,137 and $678 respectively.

In January, the number of job openings in this country rose above 5 million for the first time. That strongly suggests that employers are finding it difficult to find qualified applicants for some jobs. Only education tailored to the new realities can reduce that number. Finally, we should recognize that it’s too late for some people. If they’re willing to work at a lower paying job, we should continue the earned-income tax credits and other programs that permit them to maintain a decent standard of living, while giving their children the kind of education they’ll need in an inevitably changing economy.

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Copyright 2016, Patrick F. Cannon

 

A History of the World

(Just last night, I finished reading A History of Turtle Soup. Most edifying and instructive. Last week found me completing Embalming Around the World. Exciting stuff as you can well imagine. It occurred to me that one could spend a great deal of time reading these fascinating books, but wouldn’t it be much better to put all of these histories together in a fresh history of the world?  Many years ago, Will and Ariel Durant published their 11-volume Story of Civilization. Since then, much new stuff has been uncovered, so I decided I would take on the task of bringing the world’s story up to date. So,  here is a sample chapter for your edification. As you can imagine, much work needs still to be done, but fortunately all the required information is already stored in my brain, so completion of this vital  project should take months rather than years.)

Chapter Two

The Dawn of Civilization and the Rise of the Ians

It’s unclear when people began to speak to one another. Perhaps the first communications consisted merely of grunts and screams. Imagine a cave dweller cooking a hare over an early fire, then chewing on the result. He grunts with pleasure. His mate hears the grunt and it sounds just slightly different than the grunt when he uses the facilities. She tries the hare herself and grunts similarly.

She has also noticed – even then, women paid more attention to subtleties – that when he stubs his toe, he gives out a shriek. When he comes upon a large and toothy cat, he also gives out a kind of shriek, but it’s louder and more prolonged. Soon, people began to understand the differing sounds of annoyance and fear. They also noticed that in the former the sound almost always comes out sounding like “ouch.” In much the same way, the grunt of satisfaction is soon regularized into “good.”

While people were soon chattering away at breakneck speed, it didn’t yet occur to them to write the new words down. Actually, the use of pictographs came before the Palmer Method. The Sumerians (the first of the Ian civilizations) often traded goods among themselves. When one group had a surplus of alfalfa sprouts but a shortage of malt beverage, they would often do a trade. We know their level of sophistication because, to prevent pilfering enroute, they would fill a jar with pebbles coinciding with the number of baskets of sprouts, and then seal it with clay cylinders. At the other end, the recipient would break the jar and count the pebbles. If the pebbles and baskets matched, all was well. If not, woe betide the shipping company. In fact, this is where Summery executions began.

Eventually, a thrifty shipper noticed that you could actually make marks on the clay stopper before it dried, using dots for each basket instead of putting pebbles in a jar. This eliminated the need for pebbles and jars; thus, the first recorded instance of improving the bottom line.

Every system has its faults, of course. It wasn’t long before the shipping companies discovered that they could make their own clay disks with fewer marks and enjoy a few sprouts on the trip without being discovered. Soon, however, the shippers began to do elaborate drawings of the goods instead of simple marks. The shipping companies soon countered this by hiring talented artists to duplicate even the most sophisticated symbols. Not surprisingly, they were called “counter” fitters.

An interesting footnote: J. Pierpont Morgan, the celebrated American financier, began to collect these disks when their meaning became clear. Not only did the disks look nice in glass cases, but he was in a position to appreciate their relevance to his own business practices.

The Sumerians lived in what is now the Middle East. It was either merely hot or really hot all the year. Nearby, in a mountainous region where snow was not unknown lived a tribe called the Friesians, who lived in cedar forests (now part of Lebanon). They often traded their timber with the Sumerians, usually during the colder months in the mountains. They began to equate Sumeria with warm weather and soon began to refer to the warmer months in their own country as summer.

Another early civilization of note was the Assyrian, the so-called “donkey people.” Much later, after a particularly virulent outbreak of hoof and mouth disease wiped out the donkey population, they transferred their allegiance to the hardier camel and became simply the Syrians.

The Assyrians thought big. One only has to peruse the massive statuary and tablets displayed at the British Museum to be convinced of this. Indeed, the museum would be a much smaller place without them and the famous Elgin Marbles (see discussion of cultural piracy later in the book).

In case you get lost at the museum, the Assyrians are the ones with the wide beards. It’s the Egyptians who have the narrow ones. Also, the typical Assyrian beard seems braided, much like today’s dreadlocks. It would appear that they did not perhaps have razors quite so good as the Egyptians, but a much higher order of beard dressing.

They were also prodigious warriors (“the Assyrians came down like a wolf on the fold”). It must have been a daunting experience to see them charging their enemies on their famous war donkeys. Even the women participated in these battles, although they demurely rode sidesaddle, hence the word “asside.”

Now that their hieroglyphics have been deciphered, we know that the Assyrians had all the hallmarks of a developed civilization: language, art, trade, politics, and cities, subjugation of weaker neighbors, marriage and divorce.

In this, they resembled their rivals, the Hittites, who appear to have emigrated to Anatolia from the Balkans, and who can blame them? Before they disappeared, they conquered the Babylonians and fought the Egyptians to a draw, mainly because they discovered iron, which held an edge better than sticks and, heated up, could put a snappy crease in their uniforms. Ultimately, of course, the formula for iron was discovered by their enemies, who soon were hitting back with a will. We hear nothing about them after 1200 BC; maybe they went back to the Balkans, which might explain a lot.

While peoples in other parts of the world struggled along at the same time, we know little about them because they left no written record. In great part, what they left behind were big rocks. Later to become notably articulate (after the Roman conquest), the early Britains seemed capable only of constructing massive henges, the most notable of which is near the modern village of Stone on Stoke. What these circles of shaped stone actually signified is mere conjecture. The most plausible theory holds that they are a kind of astrological timepiece. This was all well and good for those at the henge. It appears, however, that if you were in Scotland, you couldn’t get the time of day.

The Assyrians were eventually conquered by the notably talkative Babblelonians, who also gave their name to the storied city. While they gave fits to the nearby tribes (the Israelites for example), they were also really keen gardeners. The famous Hanging Gardens of Babylon were justly famous. It was while reclining in the gardens that the Great Hammurabi (in Babylonian, this means “the big hammer”) drafted his famous laws, the first fully codified system of government we know of. While he made sure the codes put him in full charge, they at least permitted one to appeal for mercy before being dragged six times around the city gates.

Before leaving the Dawn of Civilization, we must pay some attention to that other great Ian people, the Egyptians. During their heyday, they were called the “Profile People,” since the court painters didn’t seem able to draw faces straight on. Like other ancient peoples, the Egyptians worshiped nature and animals, thus the term animus. Their major deity was the Sun God, Rah. When his likeness was paraded in the temples, the worshipers were often heard to chant in unison “Rah, Rah, Rah.”

They believed strongly in the afterlife, so modern Egypt is dotted with tombs of various kinds, the most famous being the pyramids. These vast edifices contained the mummified bodies of notable Pharaohs, along with their treasures and all the food and comforts they might need in the afterlife. It wasn’t long before these tombs were looted, so many of these kings now reside in museums, which at least have climate control systems and functioning cafeterias (although one can’t, in conscience, recommend the food).

It should be mentioned that many of the later Pharaohs were actually Greeks, Cleopatra being of course the best known. By the time of her reign, Egypt was in decline and would soon become part of the great Roman Empire and thus related to the next great historical period: the Classical World.

 

 

Sacre Doo!

Sacre Doo! 

By Patrick F. Cannon

Have you noticed the paucity of French names among your fellow citizens? We have numerous examples from Germany, Great Britain, Poland, Mexico, China, India – well, you name it, we have it.

But why no DeGaulles, Rollands, Petains, Chiracs, Foches, or de Lattre de Tassignys, for that matter? I have long puzzled over this, but in a flash of enlightenment (just in time for this article), the answer became clear. It’s simply this: the typical French person would chafe (is that a French word?) under the reasonable restrictions we place upon ourselves.

Of course, on our own continent we have the French speakers in Quebec. Notice that many of them refuse to speak English to their fellow Canadians (or is it Canadiens?), and have on several occasions tried to secede from Canada itself. Although you may catch sight of a Quebecer wintering in Florida, one suspects it’s only because they can’t afford Martinique.

I have been to France several times; indeed, I once spent a year there, courtesy of the United States Army. One thing I noticed almost immediately is that the average French person walks along with his or her head down, while tourists are looking up to gawk at the Eifel Tower or the Arc de Triomphe. One reason, of course, is that they’ve seen this famous landmarks many times. But the main reason they look down is to avoid stepping on doggy doo, whose volume increases as the day goes on.

Now, to their credit the French are dog lovers, but the thought of bending over and picking up their poop would be anathema to them. This is the job for the municipal authorities, who hose down the streets and sidewalks early every morning, thus providing a clean canvas for little Fifi and her friends. No doubt also that there is the inevitable French union to make sure no one takes jobs away from the Pooperintendants.

As to smoking (who can forget film actor Jean Paul Belmondo with a fag dangling from his lip) the French have among the toughest smoking bans in the world, which apparently is routinely and increasingly flouted.

Here’s an example closer to home. Several years ago, my friend Jerry McManus was giving an architectural walking tour in Oak Park to a group from France. Not everyone spoke English, so they had an interpreter with them. As was customary, Jerry began with a list of simple rules (don’t walk on the grass, don’t look in people’s windows, etc,) before he started the tour. He noticed that the interpreter wasn’t passing these simple and sensible rules along to the group. When he asked why, he was told: “You don’t tell adults what to do!”

Now, we pride ourselves on our individual freedoms, but the French tend toward anarchy. They also tend to believe themselves far superior to other beings, although they don’t mind us as much as the English. They are willing to be among the barbarians for short visits, but the thought of actually immigrating to the outer world must fill them with dread. So, we can continue to stride confidently along our own sidewalks without fear (except perhaps near the French consulate or the Alliance Francais).

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Copyright 2016, Patrick F. Cannon

 

Help! The World is Shrinking!

Help! The World is Shrinking! 

By Patrick F. Cannon 

I write this from Florida, where I’m spending time with my son, Patrick and staying for a a few days with my brother Pete and his charming wife, Mary Beth. To get to this earthly paradise, I had to fly from Chicago. I chose United Airlines, which had a decent fare and a reasonable departure time. It was only a short flight – a bit over two hours – so the potential for discomfort was minimal.

But, nevertheless, they did their best to torture me. Over the past few years, seats have become increasingly smaller. While a couple of inches of decreased width and leg room may not seem much, they were deducted from already tortuously tiny seats. If you’re a petite little thing, it may hardly matter. But if you’re six feet two inches tall and weigh close to 250 pounds, every inch counts. While it’s possible to survive being cramped for a two hour flight, try the same seat on an eight-hour flight to Europe.

Don’t hold me to it, but I read somewhere recently that Americans on average are three or more inches taller than they were 100 years ago. And surely you’ve read that an increasing percentage is obese or at least pleasantly plump. So, of course, everyone recognizes this by making everything smaller.

Airplane seats are only the most notorious example of the world getting smaller while we get bigger. Automobiles are also getting smaller. I own what is now considered a full-size sedan. It’s just fine for the front seat passengers. If, however, you have to carry some folks in the back, you have to adjust the front seats far forward, thus scrunching yourself so close to the steering wheel that your head almost touches the windshield.

In 1948, I think it was, my father was able to finally buy a postwar car. He wanted to buy a Buick, but he would have had to pay a high premium above list because new cars were still scarce and Buicks were then the Cadillac of the middle class. He settled for a Mercury. Even so, the back seat was so capacious that I could not reach the back of the front seat with my legs fully extended, and I was tall for my age. To get the same kind of room nowadays, you would have to spend big bucks on the largest Mercedes, or even bigger bucks on a Rolls or Bentley.

While most of them are hideous architecturally, I can almost understand why people are moving to the far reaches of civilization so they can afford a bigger house or “McMansion” as they are derisively called by the urban sophisticates. An affordable house in Chicago is likely to be a bit on the small side. I remember years ago looking at a townhouse development and thinking the interior looked reasonably spacious. Then I noticed that the furniture in the model was actually about two-thirds normal size. I hadn’t realized that such stuff existed; perhaps it was manufactured by the Lilliputian Furniture Company.

Back to the airlines. At present, they’re making a pile of money, what with the current decline in the cost of fuel. But apparently, they want to pile it up for future eventualities, so they have decided that if you want a real seat, you’ll have to pay extra. The “one percent” still gets to cavort with Champagne in their giant seats up front, while the 99 gets squeezed in the back, although you can pay extra to get back the two inches the poor slobs in the far back have lost. Why hasn’t Bernie Sanders taken up this cause? Maybe he’s flying first class?

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Copyright 2016, Patrick F. Cannon

Pesky Facts

Pesky Facts 

By Patrick F. Cannon 

One of the hallmarks of our recent political discourse is that many people prefer not to let actual facts sway them from their cherished opinions. I am indebted to David Brooks of the New York Times, our most rational conservative voice, for pointing out some of the following.

While most Americans accept that there are probably something like 10 million illegal immigrants currently in the country, they also seem under the impression that the thieving and raping hordes continue to pour across our border (you know, the one that Mr. Trump wishes to beautify with a wallier wall). In fact, according to the Pew Research Center, more Mexicans left the country from 2009 to 2014 than arrived, to the tune of 140,000. As Brooks points out, maybe Trump wants the wall to keep them from leaving? You know, he does own quite a few golf courses. Would you care to guess the nationality of the folks who maintain them?

Then, there is the question of the criminals and rapists. Here are some more facts to ponder:

  • Approximately 1.6 percent of immigrant men between the ages of 18 and 39 end up in jail.
  • Three percent of their native born neighbors are in there with them.
  • If you’re born in this country and lack a high school education, you have an 11 percent chance of ending up in jail.
  • If you’re from Mexico or Central America, with similar educational attainment, you have less than a 3 percent chance of being a burden on the taxpayer.

It seems hardly necessary to point out that this is a country of immigrants. My own father was born in Ireland. The people who came over on the Mayflower were themselves immigrants, after all. And legal immigrants, many from Asia, tend to be highly educated and able to make immediate contributions to our growth and prosperity.

That’s why it’s so sad for me, an independent conservative, to see the great Republican Party turn itself into a contemporary version of the 19th Century “No Nothing” nativist party. If it survives that long, how will it appeal to a country that will be minority Caucasian by 2044?  It should remember that its first president was Abraham Lincoln, who had been a Whig, a once thriving party both in this country and Great Britain. The Whigs died because they were no longer relevant. It is well to remember that history can repeat itself.

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Copyright 2016, Patrick F. Cannon