Plans for overhauling America's healthcare are making the rounds in Washington. Both political parties are sending signals about a new direction. In this political season, the dialogue appears to be headed toward a government-run plan or at the very least intrusive federal oversight of healthcare.
Those trumpeting Medicare for All are pointing to models in other countries as a cure all for what ails America's healthcare system. Proponents want a national system that covers every individual in the country. Absolutely free. Run by bureaucrats in Washington rather than by doctors and patients.
By dangling the word "free" in the face of Americans, champions of the system are counting on voters signing on without any facts about the consequences for preserving quality healthcare. The clever ruse might work unless Americans are educated about the chilling experience of others.
If voters want a preview of nationalized healthcare, they need look no further than the United Kingdom. Our neighbors across the pond receive free or heavily subsidized healthcare. That care is provided by the government-run, centralized National Health Service (NHS.)
The NHS, funded by taxpayers, rules every aspect of health care. It dictates conditions of work, employment, hours, pay, drugs and authorizes treatments. The NHS bureaucracy even prescribes doctors' training. As a result, doctors are treated more like production workers than professionals.
Ironically, American proponents often cite Britain as an example of how free government provided healthcare benefits the public. These supporters are hoping no one bothers to examine the quality of care in the U.K. In a word, it is lousy. Numerous studies have documented that fact.
A Patients Association report issued in the U.K. found that from 2002 to 2008 about one million patients suffered "neglectful, demeaning, painful and sometimes downright cruel" treatment. The appalling level of care was responsible for up to 1,200 patients dying in a single year.
Democrat presidential candidate Bernie Sanders often bellows that Americans will die unless health care is overseen by the government. He cites the NHS as a model, among others, to be imitated. News Flash Mr. Sanders. People actually die from health care in the U.K.
In 2012, the British Medical Journal published the results of two studies conducted by the New York-based Commonwealth Fund, In a review of healthcare systems in 14 advanced countries, the NHS was rated the worst on several major categories.
The British system was ranked dead last for five-year survival rates on cervical, breast and colon cancers. It was the worst for 30-day mortality rates after admission to a hospital for either hemorrhagic or ischemic stroke. On the bright side, patients did not have to pay for miserable care.
Another report in 2013 cited long waits for non-emergency visits to family doctors, known as general practitioners. Many GPs are booked months in advance. Patients can see the doctors promptly if that call and report a medical emergency. But GPs are limited to the number of emergency appointments.
There is a backlog of patients waiting for surgeries, which can be postponed for lack of a piece of medical equipment. Elective surgery is rare, but in those cases patients must wait years to be seen by a specialist. Americans spoiled by surgery-on-demand would be horrified by this standard of care.
Like the ill-fated Obamacare plan, the promise of the NHS was to eliminate emergency room visits through national healthcare coverage. However, hospital emergency room visits are growing in Britain because most general practitioners do not work after hours under the NHS employment rules.
Healthcare has not improved since the 2013 review. The latest summary covering July to September of 2018 found emergency visits still rising by 1,000 per day. Waiting times have increased and more than 100,000 vacancies exist for doctors and nurses. This scenario leads to more healthcare rationing.
In Britain the result is a two-tier system. Those who can afford paying for care out of their own pockets visit private physicians, receive care in private hospitals and buy private health insurance. Their level of healthcare is far superior to that of the average Brit. Is that what Americans want?
British private care is more costly than even the United States. An appointment with a general practitioner costs $105 for 15 minutes. An hour consultation runs $350. Those in America backing national health schemes know full well the same two-tier system will be the result of their scheme.
On a personal note, your journalist has first-hand knowledge of the U.K. system, having resided in London. But mine predates that of my niece who resided in London where she birthed two children in the British healthcare system. Her cringe-worthy details should frighten any female.
She never saw an OBGYN. She was allowed only two sonograms. She never saw a doctor because she was not considered high risk. Her baby was delivered by a mid-wife. She had to insist on admission to a hospital to get an epidural because the normal birthing centers do not offer the drug.
Traveling and living outside the U.S. have opened my eyes to how fortunate Americans are to have the most modern and technologically superior healthcare system. Too bad more Americans have not lived abroad. While our system has flaws, it remains the world's best.
The worry is that voters will react only to the the seduction of "free" when they consider politicians' proposals. Cost is a legitimate concern, but improving healthcare quality should be the priority of any changes. Let's hope voters do their own due diligence rather than relying on Utopian promises.
Monday, April 29, 2019
Monday, April 22, 2019
Notre Dame: A Lesson In Shallow Resentment
The gut-wrenching sight of the centuries old Notre Dame Cathedral in flames shocked the entire world. This 12th century iconic symbol of Paris is revered for its Gothic architecture, its rich heritage and enduring testimony to faith. The tragedy spurred an outpouring of grief.
Within hours after the news of the blaze, the world became united in its determination to rebuild this this treasured masterpiece, which traces its roots to 1163 when the first stone of the cathedral was laid. French leaders announced their support for restoration to a relieved, grateful nation.
It was a rare moment in this divided world when people rallied to help without regard for their differences. French billionaires and companies, American foundations and firms such as Disney and Apple, and ordinary people from around the globe pledged financial support to restore Notre Dame.
The extraordinary largess totaled nearly $1 billion in less than a week. Buoyed by this support, the French president promised to rebuild the cathedral in five years, an ambitious goal. French citizens huddled outside the scarred cathedral to offer prayers and to express their sadness.
However, before the last simmering ember was extinguished a chorus of bitterness ignited petty passions. Some French politicians, sounding like their American cousins, criticized the "crazy amount" of financial donations for a building in the face of social misery in France.
A French union leader bemoaned the fact wealthy philanthropists gifts were a sign of the inequality in the country. French people took to social media to denounce the donations as undeserved tax breaks for the wealthy. Others griped disasters in their countries had not received the same support.
What had become a unifying issue suddenly turned into a boiling cauldron of angry dissent. So-called Yellow Vest mobs emptied into the streets of Paris, battling police in often violent clashes to protest the millions in donations to the fire-ravaged cathedral.
These protesters, who don yellow vests and black hoods to hide their identity, claim their own demands for more government funding for social causes had gone unmet. Their anger is directed at the rich who had plenty of money for a crumbling cathedral but none for the poor and homeless.
The tone, echoed in some news media in the U.S., was one of resentment and class envy. Their theme was these corporations and uber wealthy should be giving their millions to local social causes. In their minds, it is shameful to donate money to an old cathedral in some far away place.
And people ask why can't we all just get along? Seriously? The answer can be found in the burned out hulk of what was once a cherished place of worship and history. We live in an age of grievances, resentment, constant outrage and bitter acrimony. Our politics are only a symptom of these divisions.
The self-anointed priests of social antagonism want to dictate what causes the wealthy should support. They demand abandoning every issue except the ones they champion. They insist on iron control over what people believe, what they think and how they act. That is the root of our divisions.
On a personal note, when my bride and I lived in Paris we never tired of visiting the cathedral. We went to thinly-attended Sunday services. No matter what you read, Notre Dame has ceased to be a center of Catholicism. It is a secular emblem of French history stretching through the ages.
King Henry VI of England was proclaimed king there in 1431 as part of Britain's requisition of French territory. Napoleon I was crowned in the cathedral in an extravagant ceremony. Jacques de Molay, the last grand master of the Templars, was burned at the stake near the church.
During the French Revolution in the 1790's, the cathedral was ransacked by mobs who detested the Catholic Church's linkage to the monarchy. The heads of 28 statues of kings were lopped off. Lead from the roof was salvaged for bullets. The bronze bells were melted to make cannons.
Despite the savage destruction, the cathedral once again rose from the ashes. Notre Dame returned to its former glory in the mid-19th century as Paris rebuilt its image as a historically vibrant city. Today it is more tourist attraction than a place of worship. But that doesn't diminish its importance.
Will Notre Dame reclaim its regal presence in Paris? Twenty-five years ago the answer would have been an unequivocal "Yes!" However, times have changed. We are a more petulant world given to frequent bouts of shallow loathing. As a result, tragically Notre Dame may never be the same.
Within hours after the news of the blaze, the world became united in its determination to rebuild this this treasured masterpiece, which traces its roots to 1163 when the first stone of the cathedral was laid. French leaders announced their support for restoration to a relieved, grateful nation.
It was a rare moment in this divided world when people rallied to help without regard for their differences. French billionaires and companies, American foundations and firms such as Disney and Apple, and ordinary people from around the globe pledged financial support to restore Notre Dame.
The extraordinary largess totaled nearly $1 billion in less than a week. Buoyed by this support, the French president promised to rebuild the cathedral in five years, an ambitious goal. French citizens huddled outside the scarred cathedral to offer prayers and to express their sadness.
However, before the last simmering ember was extinguished a chorus of bitterness ignited petty passions. Some French politicians, sounding like their American cousins, criticized the "crazy amount" of financial donations for a building in the face of social misery in France.
A French union leader bemoaned the fact wealthy philanthropists gifts were a sign of the inequality in the country. French people took to social media to denounce the donations as undeserved tax breaks for the wealthy. Others griped disasters in their countries had not received the same support.
What had become a unifying issue suddenly turned into a boiling cauldron of angry dissent. So-called Yellow Vest mobs emptied into the streets of Paris, battling police in often violent clashes to protest the millions in donations to the fire-ravaged cathedral.
These protesters, who don yellow vests and black hoods to hide their identity, claim their own demands for more government funding for social causes had gone unmet. Their anger is directed at the rich who had plenty of money for a crumbling cathedral but none for the poor and homeless.
The tone, echoed in some news media in the U.S., was one of resentment and class envy. Their theme was these corporations and uber wealthy should be giving their millions to local social causes. In their minds, it is shameful to donate money to an old cathedral in some far away place.
And people ask why can't we all just get along? Seriously? The answer can be found in the burned out hulk of what was once a cherished place of worship and history. We live in an age of grievances, resentment, constant outrage and bitter acrimony. Our politics are only a symptom of these divisions.
The self-anointed priests of social antagonism want to dictate what causes the wealthy should support. They demand abandoning every issue except the ones they champion. They insist on iron control over what people believe, what they think and how they act. That is the root of our divisions.
On a personal note, when my bride and I lived in Paris we never tired of visiting the cathedral. We went to thinly-attended Sunday services. No matter what you read, Notre Dame has ceased to be a center of Catholicism. It is a secular emblem of French history stretching through the ages.
King Henry VI of England was proclaimed king there in 1431 as part of Britain's requisition of French territory. Napoleon I was crowned in the cathedral in an extravagant ceremony. Jacques de Molay, the last grand master of the Templars, was burned at the stake near the church.
During the French Revolution in the 1790's, the cathedral was ransacked by mobs who detested the Catholic Church's linkage to the monarchy. The heads of 28 statues of kings were lopped off. Lead from the roof was salvaged for bullets. The bronze bells were melted to make cannons.
Despite the savage destruction, the cathedral once again rose from the ashes. Notre Dame returned to its former glory in the mid-19th century as Paris rebuilt its image as a historically vibrant city. Today it is more tourist attraction than a place of worship. But that doesn't diminish its importance.
Will Notre Dame reclaim its regal presence in Paris? Twenty-five years ago the answer would have been an unequivocal "Yes!" However, times have changed. We are a more petulant world given to frequent bouts of shallow loathing. As a result, tragically Notre Dame may never be the same.
Monday, April 15, 2019
Tips on Tipping In the Modern American Era
Some politicians are serving up plans to abolish tipping for restaurant workers. The loony idea is to raise the industry's minimum wage to $15 and in return tell customers to keep their change. However, waiters, servers and bartenders have a tip for the misguided pols: stay out of our business.
Elected officials in several cities and states, for instance Washington, D.C. and New York, have placed the no-tipping idea on the political menu, sparking an uproar from restaurant staff. Research from a California-Irvine economist found waiters agreed eliminating tips would lower service quality.
In addition, servers and others in large urban cities often earn more than $15 an hour with tips included, according to wage studies. That made me wonder: If tipping raises the quality of service and increases living standards, then why limit the custom to restaurant wait staff only?
Imagine you have an early morning appointment with your urologist for a prostate exam. He has unusually large hands. Meat hooks. You show up at his office and slide an envelope stuffed with money to the receptionist. "Here's a little something extra for Doc," you smile and wink.
Don't you think Mr. Hands of Stone might go a little easier on you? This also would likely work with dentists, those purveyors of pain. Just before the root canal begins, you reach in your pocket and fetch a $100 bill. "Be gentle," you whisper. "I'm having a 16-ounce steak for dinner."
The dentist nods and discreetly glides the bill into her smock. Suddenly the lights are dimmed. A soothing Mozart orchestral arrangement plays on the sound system. A needle pricks your gum. Next thing you know you are awake, sipping a Margarita in the waiting room. You feel no pain.
Think beyond the medical profession. You drop off your gas guzzling clunker of a car at the dealership. Your anxiety level revs up like your car's pistons because you fear a a repair bill larger than your monthly pension. That's when you sidle up to the mechanic waiting to check your auto.
"Hey buddy," you call nonchalantly. "How would you like some green paper with pictures of dead presidents?" Your mechanic, a graduate of the Harvard School of Engine Knocks, knows exactly what you are offering. "No problem," he answers over his shoulder. "I'll put in used parts."
Another tipping opportunity is with notoriously crabby employees at the Department of Motor Vehicles. You are stuck in a long line waiting to renew your driver's license. Without hesitating, you elbow your way to the front of the line and nod at the government employee.
"I was thinking you could use a raise with all these impatient people to serve," you say in a hushed tone. An unmarked envelope glides from your hand to the public servant's. "It must be hard doing your job. Hopefully, this will make it a little more tolerable."
The clerk waves you forward as an angry mob forms behind you. People start shoving and shouting at your chutzpa. The aggrieved employee ignores their complains and pouts: "If you people were a little more generous, I wouldn't go home every evening with a migraine."
Try spreading the tipping wealth with utility workers, especially meter readers. Someone skulks into your backyard searching for the gas meter. You sprint from the house and strike up a conversation. "Those numbers must be confusing," you say glibly. "Probably difficult not to get them mixed up."
The utility employee looks puzzled. You reach in your back pocket and pull out your wallet. "Consider this a lesson in math," you coo as you hand the worker a $20 bill. Next month you open your gas bill and discover it is substantially less than the previous one. Math lesson learned.
Bank tellers are notoriously underpaid, particularly compared to other financial employees. Try this next time you are at your local branch. Waltz in with a deposit slip and $100. As the teller prepares the transaction, slip a $10 bill across the marble counter. "Buy a snack on your break," you propose.
The startled teller looks up and grins. After the transaction is complete, the employee hands you a deposit ticket. When you get to the car, you glance at the paper slip. It reads "$1,000." A handwritten note scribbled at the bottom with a Smiley Face says: "Enjoy your extra zero!"
This tipping practice will nearly always be rewarded. One exception may be the patrolman who stops you for speeding in a school zone. If you make a move for your pocket, you could end up handcuffed face down on the ground. Just beam and tell the officer: "I have a great tip for you."
When he gives you that steely law enforcement stare, plaster an amused look on your face. "Hey, I was talking about a bio-tech stock that will likely skyrocket from $12 to $2,000 today." Chances even an officer of the law will be unable to turn down a tip like that. Speed on my friend.
Elected officials in several cities and states, for instance Washington, D.C. and New York, have placed the no-tipping idea on the political menu, sparking an uproar from restaurant staff. Research from a California-Irvine economist found waiters agreed eliminating tips would lower service quality.
In addition, servers and others in large urban cities often earn more than $15 an hour with tips included, according to wage studies. That made me wonder: If tipping raises the quality of service and increases living standards, then why limit the custom to restaurant wait staff only?
Imagine you have an early morning appointment with your urologist for a prostate exam. He has unusually large hands. Meat hooks. You show up at his office and slide an envelope stuffed with money to the receptionist. "Here's a little something extra for Doc," you smile and wink.
Don't you think Mr. Hands of Stone might go a little easier on you? This also would likely work with dentists, those purveyors of pain. Just before the root canal begins, you reach in your pocket and fetch a $100 bill. "Be gentle," you whisper. "I'm having a 16-ounce steak for dinner."
The dentist nods and discreetly glides the bill into her smock. Suddenly the lights are dimmed. A soothing Mozart orchestral arrangement plays on the sound system. A needle pricks your gum. Next thing you know you are awake, sipping a Margarita in the waiting room. You feel no pain.
Think beyond the medical profession. You drop off your gas guzzling clunker of a car at the dealership. Your anxiety level revs up like your car's pistons because you fear a a repair bill larger than your monthly pension. That's when you sidle up to the mechanic waiting to check your auto.
"Hey buddy," you call nonchalantly. "How would you like some green paper with pictures of dead presidents?" Your mechanic, a graduate of the Harvard School of Engine Knocks, knows exactly what you are offering. "No problem," he answers over his shoulder. "I'll put in used parts."
Another tipping opportunity is with notoriously crabby employees at the Department of Motor Vehicles. You are stuck in a long line waiting to renew your driver's license. Without hesitating, you elbow your way to the front of the line and nod at the government employee.
"I was thinking you could use a raise with all these impatient people to serve," you say in a hushed tone. An unmarked envelope glides from your hand to the public servant's. "It must be hard doing your job. Hopefully, this will make it a little more tolerable."
The clerk waves you forward as an angry mob forms behind you. People start shoving and shouting at your chutzpa. The aggrieved employee ignores their complains and pouts: "If you people were a little more generous, I wouldn't go home every evening with a migraine."
Try spreading the tipping wealth with utility workers, especially meter readers. Someone skulks into your backyard searching for the gas meter. You sprint from the house and strike up a conversation. "Those numbers must be confusing," you say glibly. "Probably difficult not to get them mixed up."
The utility employee looks puzzled. You reach in your back pocket and pull out your wallet. "Consider this a lesson in math," you coo as you hand the worker a $20 bill. Next month you open your gas bill and discover it is substantially less than the previous one. Math lesson learned.
Bank tellers are notoriously underpaid, particularly compared to other financial employees. Try this next time you are at your local branch. Waltz in with a deposit slip and $100. As the teller prepares the transaction, slip a $10 bill across the marble counter. "Buy a snack on your break," you propose.
The startled teller looks up and grins. After the transaction is complete, the employee hands you a deposit ticket. When you get to the car, you glance at the paper slip. It reads "$1,000." A handwritten note scribbled at the bottom with a Smiley Face says: "Enjoy your extra zero!"
This tipping practice will nearly always be rewarded. One exception may be the patrolman who stops you for speeding in a school zone. If you make a move for your pocket, you could end up handcuffed face down on the ground. Just beam and tell the officer: "I have a great tip for you."
When he gives you that steely law enforcement stare, plaster an amused look on your face. "Hey, I was talking about a bio-tech stock that will likely skyrocket from $12 to $2,000 today." Chances even an officer of the law will be unable to turn down a tip like that. Speed on my friend.
Monday, April 8, 2019
No Admissions Scandal At My Alma Mater
Reading the sleazy news about Hollywood elites and wealthy moguls ensnared in the recent college admissions scandal left me chuckling. Uber rich parents are accused of doling out fat checks to a swindler who arranged for their entitled children to weasel their way into a fancy universities.
It was amusing because not one of those spoiled brats attempted to connive their way into my alma mater Wharton County Junior College in Wharton, Texas, located halfway between Houston and Victoria. I am certain the WCJC president would have loved to have his palms greased.
In 1964 when I enrolled at WCJC, a pulse and a high school degree were your ticket to admission. Of course, you had to plunk down $500 tuition per semester. With inflation, out-of-state residents now must come up with $4,214 for each semester. Chump change for an actress, even a lousy one.
No one at WCJC cared about your SAT score. Thus there was no reason to conspire to have someone to take the exam for you. I don't remember my SAT number after all these years. But it was probably about the same as my height. Not very impressive. SAT scores count for zero in life.
A two-year associate degree from WCJC does not have the same cache as say a Harvard diploma. But I bet there are a few Ivy Leaguers with philosophy degrees checking groceries at HEB. WCJC graduates are armed with an education that allows a person to actually build a career.
When I was on the Wharton campus, I recall feeling sorry for high school classmates whose parents' bulging bank accounts allowed them to waltz into Princeton, Yale, USC or Penn. These unlucky schmucks had to dress up for class. At WCJC, creased blue jeans were considered formal attire.
Imagine the grade competition at those toady universities. Pushy parents nagging their kids to graduate in the top ten percent of their class to land a Wall Street job. At WCJC, for many the goal was to escape with a diploma. Graduation was my ONLY goal. Well, outside of dating a cool girl.
Privileged young people might be concerned about the nightlife in Wharton, population 8,769, compared to Boston, hometown of Harvard. Wharton had a vibe Boston would envy. The Dairy Queen was less than a mile from campus. Mexican restaurants outnumbered WCJC professors.
Campus life was understated indulgence. WCJC had Western Week, the social event of the year. The school arranged for free yellow buses to take students to WCJC sporting events out of town. Often students were dismissed from classes to attend a pep rally in the cramped gymnasium.
You don't get pampered like that at Brown or Columbia. For an average semester tuition of $45,200, you are required to attend class, eat gourmet meals in the posh student dining facility, shell out fees for every imaginable item and join a snooty fraternity or sorority. Sounds really boring.
I would wager the sons and daughters of those snobbish parents never worked a day during college. Many WCJC students, yours truly included, had jobs to pay for their education. The discipline to attend classes, study and work was a life lesson they don't teach at those uppity colleges up North.
Since there was only limited dormitory space on campus, virtually every WCJC student commuted to Wharton. The parking lot was filled by 9 a.m., not a BMW, Mercedes or Cadillac in sight. Students were lucky to have transportation and their cars often were missing a taillight or side mirror.
Another benefit of WCJC was the size of the student body. There was a smidge over 1,600 students on campus in 1966, the year I graduated. It is not an exaggeration to claim I knew most of them. You can't made that boast if you are but a grain of student body sand at a large upper crust university.
It was this coziness that helped me find the girl of my dreams at the community college. She was a freshman and I was a mature sophomore. Three years later, we were married. Fifty years have passed since that day on June 1, 1968, and I thank God everyday for WCJC bringing us together.
So you see, it is not necessary to spend a gazillion dollars, cheat, and commit fraud to get your precious offspring into a quality community college. The institution may not impress your friends, but it is not where you begin life that counts. It is where your journey ends that matters most.
It was amusing because not one of those spoiled brats attempted to connive their way into my alma mater Wharton County Junior College in Wharton, Texas, located halfway between Houston and Victoria. I am certain the WCJC president would have loved to have his palms greased.
In 1964 when I enrolled at WCJC, a pulse and a high school degree were your ticket to admission. Of course, you had to plunk down $500 tuition per semester. With inflation, out-of-state residents now must come up with $4,214 for each semester. Chump change for an actress, even a lousy one.
No one at WCJC cared about your SAT score. Thus there was no reason to conspire to have someone to take the exam for you. I don't remember my SAT number after all these years. But it was probably about the same as my height. Not very impressive. SAT scores count for zero in life.
A two-year associate degree from WCJC does not have the same cache as say a Harvard diploma. But I bet there are a few Ivy Leaguers with philosophy degrees checking groceries at HEB. WCJC graduates are armed with an education that allows a person to actually build a career.
When I was on the Wharton campus, I recall feeling sorry for high school classmates whose parents' bulging bank accounts allowed them to waltz into Princeton, Yale, USC or Penn. These unlucky schmucks had to dress up for class. At WCJC, creased blue jeans were considered formal attire.
Imagine the grade competition at those toady universities. Pushy parents nagging their kids to graduate in the top ten percent of their class to land a Wall Street job. At WCJC, for many the goal was to escape with a diploma. Graduation was my ONLY goal. Well, outside of dating a cool girl.
Privileged young people might be concerned about the nightlife in Wharton, population 8,769, compared to Boston, hometown of Harvard. Wharton had a vibe Boston would envy. The Dairy Queen was less than a mile from campus. Mexican restaurants outnumbered WCJC professors.
Campus life was understated indulgence. WCJC had Western Week, the social event of the year. The school arranged for free yellow buses to take students to WCJC sporting events out of town. Often students were dismissed from classes to attend a pep rally in the cramped gymnasium.
You don't get pampered like that at Brown or Columbia. For an average semester tuition of $45,200, you are required to attend class, eat gourmet meals in the posh student dining facility, shell out fees for every imaginable item and join a snooty fraternity or sorority. Sounds really boring.
I would wager the sons and daughters of those snobbish parents never worked a day during college. Many WCJC students, yours truly included, had jobs to pay for their education. The discipline to attend classes, study and work was a life lesson they don't teach at those uppity colleges up North.
Since there was only limited dormitory space on campus, virtually every WCJC student commuted to Wharton. The parking lot was filled by 9 a.m., not a BMW, Mercedes or Cadillac in sight. Students were lucky to have transportation and their cars often were missing a taillight or side mirror.
Another benefit of WCJC was the size of the student body. There was a smidge over 1,600 students on campus in 1966, the year I graduated. It is not an exaggeration to claim I knew most of them. You can't made that boast if you are but a grain of student body sand at a large upper crust university.
It was this coziness that helped me find the girl of my dreams at the community college. She was a freshman and I was a mature sophomore. Three years later, we were married. Fifty years have passed since that day on June 1, 1968, and I thank God everyday for WCJC bringing us together.
So you see, it is not necessary to spend a gazillion dollars, cheat, and commit fraud to get your precious offspring into a quality community college. The institution may not impress your friends, but it is not where you begin life that counts. It is where your journey ends that matters most.
Monday, April 1, 2019
Mueller: No Collusion. No Obstruction. No End.
After issuing 2,800 subpoenas, executing 500 search warrants and interviewing 500 witnesses Special Prosecutor Robert Mueller finally pulled the plug on his global investigation into allegations the Trump campaign colluded with the Russians in the 2016 election.
Mueller submitted his 300-page-plus report to end 22 months of an exhaustive probe conducted by 19 hand-picked attorneys assisted by 40 FBI agents, intelligence analysts, forensic accountants, professional staff and even foreign governments. The cost to taxpayers: about $35 million.
After nearly two years of unsubstantiated media speculation, Mueller dealt a crushing blow to Trump-haters by admitting there is no evidence of collusion. The media bawled in protest. They had published unverified accounts suggesting Mueller was going shatter the Trump presidency.
In his report, Mueller tossed a liferaft to the media and Democrats declaring his probe "did not exonerate President Trump nor conclude" he obstructed justice. Former Harvard law professor Alan Dershowitz called the wording a "cop out" and scolded Mueller for the obfuscation.
While the Mueller report did not charge Mr. Trump with a crime, it's verdict provides an indictment of the nation's media which lied to the public. That is what happens when the media is invested in destroying a president rather than fulfilling its obligation for fairness and unvarnished truth.
Take a stroll down Media Memory Lane with some choice salacious charges from alleged journalists.
A New Yorker Magazine article reported Mr. Trump had been a Russian asset since 1987. A Washington Post columnist wrote "there is copious evidence" of collusion. New York Times' venerable columnist Paul Krugman opined "there is really no question of Trump/Putin collusion."
If you are expecting mea culpas from a discredited press, you are one of the few who cling to the notion the media is unbiased and ethical. It cannot be refuted that many in the media deliberately fabricated "anonymous" sources to convict Mr. Trump in advance of the Mueller document.
Even with its reputation in tatters, the media linked hands with Democrats in calling for public release of the report, which has been granted. The conspirators still believe there is some kernel of treason buried in a footnote that escaped Attorney General Anthony Barr's terse summary.
Meanwhile, the real story behind the report has been stashed in a skeleton closet in Washington. Now it is abundantly clear this investigation hinged on a single 35-page document produced by a former English spook on the payroll of the Democratic National Committee and Hillary Clinton.
Apologists claim this dossier was opposition research. That may be true but it was peddled to the media and leaked without any caveats about its authenticity or lack of proof for the incriminating assertions. To this day, there is not one scintilla of evidence to support the insinuations.
Christopher Steele, an ex-employee of the British intelligence agency MI6, wrote the infamous, unsubstantiated dossier that was used by the FBI, the Justice Department and their collaborators to justify a probe of a sitting president who vanquished their presumptive winner.
Having read the Steele dossier, it is unfathomable that intelligent people would take at face value the claims without verifiable proof. Steele's document is the stuff of fiction, claiming Mr. Trump's "perverted sexual acts" in Moscow were secretly filmed by the Russians to be used to blackmail him.
Steele wrote that top Russian intelligence officers directed by President Putin had compromised Mr. Trump and had virtually owned him for "five years." The former spy peppered his report with unsourced accusations supposedly given to him by a "confidential/sensitive source." Baloney.
Based on Steele's thin report, the media, Democrats and Obama officials seized the contents without independent verification and weaponized it in a coup attempt to negate the 2016 presidential election. Without the muckraking Steele document, there would have been no basis for a special prosecutor.
The unscrupulous Steele invention was the cornerstone of the FBI investigation, directed by James Comey, to dupe a secret court into ordering federal wiretapping to spy on Trump associates. To this day, even the vaunted FBI cannot corroborate a single allegation in the Steele fabrication.
South Carolina Sen. Lindsey Graham has vowed to get answers on the origins of the Steele file. The man behind the portfolio on Mr. Trump needs to be investigated by the Department of Justice and hauled before the Senate Judiciary Committee. Someone must be held accountable for this charade.
But don't expect the rancor over Russian collusion to end. Desperate people will latch on to counterfeit propositions and bogus claims to continue to justify their conspiracy theory. Mueller has spoken. Time to accept the facts and cease impeachment fantasies.
Mueller submitted his 300-page-plus report to end 22 months of an exhaustive probe conducted by 19 hand-picked attorneys assisted by 40 FBI agents, intelligence analysts, forensic accountants, professional staff and even foreign governments. The cost to taxpayers: about $35 million.
After nearly two years of unsubstantiated media speculation, Mueller dealt a crushing blow to Trump-haters by admitting there is no evidence of collusion. The media bawled in protest. They had published unverified accounts suggesting Mueller was going shatter the Trump presidency.
In his report, Mueller tossed a liferaft to the media and Democrats declaring his probe "did not exonerate President Trump nor conclude" he obstructed justice. Former Harvard law professor Alan Dershowitz called the wording a "cop out" and scolded Mueller for the obfuscation.
While the Mueller report did not charge Mr. Trump with a crime, it's verdict provides an indictment of the nation's media which lied to the public. That is what happens when the media is invested in destroying a president rather than fulfilling its obligation for fairness and unvarnished truth.
Take a stroll down Media Memory Lane with some choice salacious charges from alleged journalists.
A New Yorker Magazine article reported Mr. Trump had been a Russian asset since 1987. A Washington Post columnist wrote "there is copious evidence" of collusion. New York Times' venerable columnist Paul Krugman opined "there is really no question of Trump/Putin collusion."
If you are expecting mea culpas from a discredited press, you are one of the few who cling to the notion the media is unbiased and ethical. It cannot be refuted that many in the media deliberately fabricated "anonymous" sources to convict Mr. Trump in advance of the Mueller document.
Even with its reputation in tatters, the media linked hands with Democrats in calling for public release of the report, which has been granted. The conspirators still believe there is some kernel of treason buried in a footnote that escaped Attorney General Anthony Barr's terse summary.
Meanwhile, the real story behind the report has been stashed in a skeleton closet in Washington. Now it is abundantly clear this investigation hinged on a single 35-page document produced by a former English spook on the payroll of the Democratic National Committee and Hillary Clinton.
Apologists claim this dossier was opposition research. That may be true but it was peddled to the media and leaked without any caveats about its authenticity or lack of proof for the incriminating assertions. To this day, there is not one scintilla of evidence to support the insinuations.
Christopher Steele, an ex-employee of the British intelligence agency MI6, wrote the infamous, unsubstantiated dossier that was used by the FBI, the Justice Department and their collaborators to justify a probe of a sitting president who vanquished their presumptive winner.
Having read the Steele dossier, it is unfathomable that intelligent people would take at face value the claims without verifiable proof. Steele's document is the stuff of fiction, claiming Mr. Trump's "perverted sexual acts" in Moscow were secretly filmed by the Russians to be used to blackmail him.
Steele wrote that top Russian intelligence officers directed by President Putin had compromised Mr. Trump and had virtually owned him for "five years." The former spy peppered his report with unsourced accusations supposedly given to him by a "confidential/sensitive source." Baloney.
Based on Steele's thin report, the media, Democrats and Obama officials seized the contents without independent verification and weaponized it in a coup attempt to negate the 2016 presidential election. Without the muckraking Steele document, there would have been no basis for a special prosecutor.
The unscrupulous Steele invention was the cornerstone of the FBI investigation, directed by James Comey, to dupe a secret court into ordering federal wiretapping to spy on Trump associates. To this day, even the vaunted FBI cannot corroborate a single allegation in the Steele fabrication.
South Carolina Sen. Lindsey Graham has vowed to get answers on the origins of the Steele file. The man behind the portfolio on Mr. Trump needs to be investigated by the Department of Justice and hauled before the Senate Judiciary Committee. Someone must be held accountable for this charade.
But don't expect the rancor over Russian collusion to end. Desperate people will latch on to counterfeit propositions and bogus claims to continue to justify their conspiracy theory. Mueller has spoken. Time to accept the facts and cease impeachment fantasies.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)