Those movers; they make me feel older than I am

Do you want to know the quickest, most sure-fire way to feel old beyond your years?

I’ll tell you how. Watch three young men heft and heave your possessions around as you move from one residence to the next one.

I had that treat today. We moved from Fairview to Princeton. These three youngsters showed up driving a pickup hauling a 32-foot trailer. They were 25, 26 and 28 years young. They work by the hour. But . . . they didn’t dawdle. Not for an instant.

Frankly, they put on an impressive display of stamina, brawn and, yes, brains as they pondered how to move furniture down the hall, through the doors, onto the trailer — and then back off the trailer and into the new digs.

I thought it was only “yesterday” that I could do all of that. I once was proud of the physical stamina I possessed. I long ago, however, conceded that, yep, I’m getting too long in the tooth to do a lot of the things I used to do.

Muscling furniture around is one of those things. Sure, I can move a couch from one end of the living room to the other, per my wife’s instruction. I can even maneuver into another room. What I witnessed today was something I no longer recognize in myself.

So, we’re ensconced in our “forever home.” We have work to do yet to make it totally comfortable. Too many boxes are laying around with things in them. We need to find their places. We’ll get it done.

I am tired tonight just watching those young men do what they do.

They wore me out.

Human rights, Mr. POTUS . . . don’t forget to mention it

When Jimmy Carter was president of the United States, he spoke a lot about human rights and the need to ensure that all human beings were guaranteed basic rights of citizenship.

We don’t hear that kind of talk these days from Donald J. Trump. So, as he prepares to meet for the second time in a year with North Korean dictator/despot/megalomaniac Kim Jong Un, I am wondering if he’s going to mention human rights. At all! In any form!

Reports suggest that North Korea’s human rights record ought to be a deal breaker between Trump and Kim. Yes, it should, given North Korea’s abysmal human rights record and Kim’s demonstrated cruelty toward his own people, not to mention members of his own family. Trump, though, has an affinity for despots — or so it appears. He’s chummy with Kim, with Vladimir Putin and any assortment of tinhorn dictators from Turkey to the Philippines.

It’s instructive, too, that the two men are meeting in Hanoi, Vietnam — the country that introduced the world to “re-education camps” after the communists won the Vietnam War by overrunning South Vietnam in April 1975. Re-education camp was a euphemism for concentration camps, where the communists sent sympathizers of the defeated South Vietnamese government. They were “re-educated,” all right.

So, will this be the moment for Donald Trump, the president of the world’s strongest nation, to hold Kim Jong Un accountable for the atrocities he commits against his own people?

I am not holding my breath.

Sailor in iconic ‘kiss’ photo passes from scene

George Mendonsa likely would never have gotten away today with what he did nearly 74 years ago.

He was a sailor who was strolling down a busy New York City street when Japan surrendered to end World War II. He grabbed a nurse and kissed her hard. On the lips. It was a moment captured for all time.

Mendonsa died the other day at age 95; he would have turned 96 in two more days. He had fallen in a Rhode Island nursing home where he lived with his wife of 70 years.

He did not know the nurse he grabbed that day in Times Square. She was Greta Zimmer Friedman. He saw her in her white nursing uniform, grabbed her and planted a wet one on her. Friedman died in 2016 at age 92.

Mendonsa was on leave when the war ended. He had served on a destroyer in the Pacific Theater, fighting the very forces that surrendered in August 1945.

The act that Mendonsa pulled off has gotten criticism in recent years as women have spoken out against sexual abuse, harassment and assault. Their concerns about what has happened to them are real, legitimate and worth hearing.

However, I just cannot equate Seaman Mendonsa’s spontaneous bit of joy at the news of the end of World War II with what we’re discussing today, in the next century.

The picture likely will remain as one of the more iconic images of the 20th century. As it should.

Time of My Life, Part 24: Some fights are worth having

My career in print journalism, while providing me with unforgettable experiences and much joy, also provided some angst, heartburn and at times a touch of dread.

Now and again I would encounter situations that compelled me to look more deeply into the affairs of public officials I respected. Such was the case about 30 years ago while I worked as editorial page editor for the Beaumont Enterprise in the Golden Triangle region of Texas.

I went to work one morning and while reading that day’s edition I came across a story about a Jefferson County Commissioners Court meeting. Near the end of the story, we reported that “In other business,” commissioners approved a contract involving the opening of a café in the courthouse that would be run by a state district judge, Larry Gist.

It caught my eye. I took it up with my boss, the executive editor, and inquired about looking further into that matter. It didn’t seem appropriate for a state official to be operating a private business inside a county courthouse.

I’ll give you the Cliff’s Notes version of what I learned.

Judge Gist had prepared a bid to operate the courthouse café with a friend and business partner of his. He communicated with the county auditor, a young man named Jerry Ware, about his interest in running the café. He used what he told me later was “facsimile” county stationery, meaning he paid for the letterhead that would go atop the documents he was submitting for the auditor to consider.

But he signed the documents, “Larry Gist, judge.”

Here is where it got real sticky. Ware was appointed to his office as auditor by the district judges. So he considered a bid by one of his employers, one of the individuals to whom he answered. State law, interestingly, does not require a county to accept the lowest bid on projects such as this; it gives the county discretion to determine the “best bid” offered.

So, Ware — who works for Larry Gist (among other judges) — selected Gist’s bid to operate the café on the ground floor of the Jefferson County Courthouse.

That seemed strange. I thought it smacked of conflict of interest. I talked with Judge Gist, asked him about the stationery and quizzed him about whether he put any undue pressure on the county auditor to look favorably on his bid. I talked to Jerry Ware, and asked him whether he might have been influenced by the facsimile letterhead and the signature that contained the word “judge” alongside the name of the individual who was bidding on the courthouse business.

We published an editorial that questioned whether the county was adhering to all the proper ethical standards by allowing the judge to bid on a project to be housed inside a courthouse where he worked and whether the auditor was applying objective standards to all the bidders who had sought the contract.

Quite obviously, Judge Gist and Jerry Ware were unhappy with the newspaper and with me. Ware hated my guts for the rest of his life. He died of cancer not too many years later.

As for Gist, I learned through other channels that he sought to sue me and the paper for libel. The only sticking point for Gist in his pursuit of a legal challenge was that nothing we published was untrue. As you might know, truth is the first and last line of defense in any libel lawsuit.

Judge Gist and I endured a frosty relationship for the rest of my time on the Gulf Coast. I am happy to say, though, that it thawed over time. I had occasion to talk to Judge Gist on another matter once I made the move from Beaumont to the Texas Panhandle.

I don’t know the status of the courthouse café. That was then. The here and now allows me to look back on that episode with just a touch of relief that it never got past the threat of a lawsuit.

By all means, do what it takes, Chairman Schiff

U.S. House Intelligence Committee Chairman Adam Schiff has laid it on the line for Attorney General William Barr.

Release the findings put together by special counsel Robert Mueller . . . or else.

The “or else” involves forcing Mueller to testify before the House panel — presumably in public — about what he learned after investigating whether Donald Trump’s campaign for president in 2016 colluded with Russians who interfered in our election.

Schiff said he will subpoena Mueller, make him take an oath and then grill him in search of answers.

Make it public.

Of course, Barr has sent no obvious signal that he intends to keep the Mueller report secret when the special counsel presents it to him, presumably in short order. However, Schiff is taking no chances.

Nor should he. I’ve said all along that the Mueller report needs to be made public. He needs to release all that he can without revealing national secrets to the public that has paid good money — several million dollars, in fact — for him to look for the truth behind the alleged “collusion” with Russian operatives.

It’ s our money that paid for this probe. Thus, the results of the investigation are ours as well.

I am totally on board with Chairman Schiff tossing the “or else” threat to AG Barr.

Make the Mueller report public, Mr. Attorney General.

Or else.

Happy Trails, Part 147: Forever has just arrived

No . . . I’m not dead!

I’m still very much alive and kicking. “Forever” in this context means we are taking up residence in the last home we intend to purchase. This is the “forever home.” We’re in it for the duration.

Actually, the move won’t occur officially until sometime tomorrow. I hope it’s early in the day. I don’t want to wait a single minute longer than is required.

The forever home is in Princeton, Texas. It’s in Collin County, which comprises about 1 million residents just north of Dallas.

I enjoy keeping you apprised of this fascinating retirement journey my wife and I have taken. Our full-time working lives ended the same year, 2012. Mine came to a close first, in August of that year; she followed suit in October.

It’s been a great ride. It is far from over.

We’ve still got our fifth wheel. We will hitch it to our pickup again quite soon to hit the road for points south and east.

First things first. We’ll welcome the movers on Monday. They’ll toss a few pieces of furniture onto their truck. Then they will transport our possessions to Princeton. We hope to have it completed in two, maybe three, hours.

Then we get to assemble this forever home of ours.

My wife is what I call the “inside boss.” She manages the interior of our home, whether it’s the one planted on the slab or it is the one we haul around behind our pickup.

Her task is to set up the house to her liking. My task is to hang around and do what I’m told to do. Move this here. Put that there. Got it?

Hey, it’s worked well for me for 47 years. Why change it up now?

This move, though, is it. We are finished packing boxes.

Thus, forever, has arrived. It feels so good!

Will he or won’t he run for POTUS?

I am on pins and needles waiting for Beto O’Rourke to tell us whether he is running for president of the United States in 2020.

Well, actually, I’m not. I am amazed, though, at the excitement that a potential Beto candidacy is ginning up among Democratic partisans as the field for the presidential election keeps growing.

O’Rourke seems like a fine young family man. He represented El Paso, Texas, in Congress for three terms. Then he ran for the Senate in 2018 and came within a couple of percentage points of defeating Sen. Ted Cruz, the sometimes-fiery Republican incumbent.

That a Democrat could come as close as O’Rourke did in 2018 to upsetting a GOP incumbent still has politicos’ attention. Thus, they are waiting Beto’s decision.

He says he’ll let us know by the end of the month whether he intends to seek the presidency, which is just a few days down the road.

The political world awaits.

I remain decidedly mixed about Beto’s possible candidacy. I wanted him to win his race against Cruz. I think he would be a fine U.S. senator.

And, maybe, one day he will make an equally fine president of the United States. Still, there’s just something a bit too green about Beto.

Do his policies bother me? No. I consider myself a center-left kind of fellow. Thus, I don’t see Beto as a flame-throwing progressive bad-ass. He’s not a socialist — closeted or otherwise.

However, he seems to be trading on the excitement he built with his Senate run, believing possibly that he can parlay that into a national campaign.

I just don’t know

That all said, I’ll repeat what I’ve stated already: If he were to win the Democratic Party’s presidential nomination and then face off in the fall of 2020 against Donald John Trump, he would have my support all the way to the finish line.

He just isn’t the perfect candidate to take on Donald Trump.

I’m still waiting for Mr. or Ms. Political Perfection — or a reasonable facsimile — to jump out of the tall grass.

Don’t monkey around with Electoral College

Democrats in New Mexico and Colorado are trying to tinker with the Electoral College in a way that makes me nervous.

They want to pledge their states’ 14 electoral votes to whoever wins the most votes in presidential election. They are upset that in the past five presidential election cycles, the Democratic nominee has won more votes than the Republican nominee, but lost the election because the GOP candidate got more Electoral College votes than the Democrat.

See George W. Bush-Al Gore in 2000 and Donald Trump-Hillary Clinton in 2016.

Look, I remain a supporter of the Electoral College. It was designed by the nation’s founders to spread the political power around to more states and to ensure that smaller states had sufficient voice in electing presidents as the larger states.

Indeed, this push is coming almost entirely from Democratic politicians who feel aggrieved over the outcome of those two aforementioned elections.

If we’re going to change the way we elect our presidents, I prefer a wholesale change. Ditch the Electoral College and go to a system that elects presidents solely on the basis of who gets more votes on Election Day.

I get that Hillary Clinton got nearly 3 million more votes than Donald Trump in 2016. But the GOP candidate, Trump, managed to squeak out a win by visiting key Rust Belt states that Clinton seemingly took for granted; she thought she had them in the bag, but it turned out they were placed in Trump’s bag.

This monkeying around with an electoral system that has worked by and large quite well over the span of the Republic is just — as the saying goes — a bit too cute by half.

 

Michael Cohen: the new John Dean?

I had to chuckle when I heard a commentator compare Donald Trump’s former lawyer/fixer/friend to Watergate conspirator John Dean.

Michael Cohen is set to testify this week before the House Oversight Committee about what he knows regarding his former friend’s dealings with, oh, Russian government officials and an adult film actress with whom he allegedly had a fling some years ago.

Cohen already has pleaded guilty to lying to Congress about the president’s conduct. He’s facing a three year prison term once he finishes his testimony.

Many of us are waiting with bated breath at what Cohen will tell the committee. Many of us waited also with bated breath back in 1973 when John Dean, the former White House counsel, told a House committee that the Watergate scandal had produced a “cancer on the presidency.” We gasped. Dean spilled a lot of the beans about President Nixon knew and when he knew it.

Dean then would spend some time in the slammer. He’s now a contributor to MSNBC, CNN and a few other organizations that call on him to talk about the current crisis that threatens another presidency.

Cohen is not a good guy. He is a liar and a cheat. Dean wasn’t a good guy either back in the day, as he, too, lied and cheated to protect an earlier president.

Will this guy, Cohen, emerge as the next John Dean? I am afraid he already has done so.

Why not a maximum age for POTUS?

Garland, Texas, resident Cynthia Stock poses an interesting question today in a letter to the editor of the Dallas Morning News.

She notes that we have a minimum age for U.S. senators (30 years); she doesn’t mention that you have to be at least 25 years of age to run for the U.S. House and 35 to run for president.

Stock wants to know why we don’t impose a maximum age for presidential candidates. Hmm. Let me think. Does she have a couple of senior citizens in mind, such as 77-year-old Sen. Bernie Sanders (who’s running for the Democratic nomination) and former VP Joe Biden (who might run for POTUS in 2020)?

The nation needs fresh ideas, fresh vision, fresh leadership, she writes. I wonder if “fresh” is code for “young.”

That’s not a half-bad notion, the more I think about it.

I oppose term limits for members of Congress. I suppose you could take that argument even farther by repealing the 22nd Amendment to the U.S. Constitution that limits presidents to two elected terms; perhaps we could replace it with another amendment that places upper-end age limits on presidential candidates. Or would that amount to “age discrimination”? I’ll have to think about that.

Stock, though, makes another good point. She notes how the presidency has aged so many of its officeholders. President Franklin Roosevelt was not even 65 years of age when he died in April 1945 of a cerebral hemorrhage; same for President Johnson when he died in January 1973. The presidency took savage tolls on both those wartime presidents.

They were not old men when they died. The office made them much older than their years on Earth.

I’m not endorsing what Ms. Stock has proposed. I just thought it to be worth noting.