Category Archives: History

How SC gummint looks from the outside

One of the obstacles I had to overcome to get the Power Failure project done back in 1991 was persuading my managing editor and executive editor that the problems I proposed to write about were indeed particular to South Carolina. They would ask, "Is it really different from the way other states do things?" and I would say "Yes!" with supporting evidence.

A reader shares with me this item from Governing magazine, which might have helped me make my point more quickly if it had been written back then:

The Budget and Control Board is just one reason why South Carolina’s
governor arguably has less power than any other in the country. And
that has been true for more than a century. As recently as 15 years
ago, the governor didn’t even have a cabinet or submit a budget.
Legislation in 1993 changed that but, even today, the governor can’t
hire or fire the heads of many agencies without the legislature’s
permission. This is separation of powers beyond James Madison’s wildest
dreams.

That Madison reference is a bit off — the S.C. way violates the fundamentals of separation of powers by allowing the legislative branch to trample all over the executive (and the judicial, in many cases). But on the whole, it’s a very good piece. It essentially provides the point of view of the informed outsider, bemused at just how oddly we do things in the Palmetto State. There’s nothing new in it — you’ve read all this stuff in The State before — but it’s a decent step-back piece. The writer even saw through the governor’s thin pretense to be restructuring’s best hope, getting to the core of why Mark Sanford has set the cause back:

Although Sanford has been the strongest advocate of restructuring, he
has also, in a sense, been its greatest enemy. He has clashed
repeatedly with his fellow Republicans in the General Assembly over
even the smallest issues. He’s targeted legislators’ pet projects and
pushed for spending cuts that virtually no lawmakers were willing to
accept. He’s continued to press for school vouchers in the absence of
legislative support.

Anyway, the piece is a nice primer on the problem. It sort of reminds me of some of the initial pieces I wrote on the subject back in ’91.

Of course, the writer was guided by a good source. You’ll see Cindi quoted several times in the piece. In fact, before posting this I asked Cindi about this Josh Goodman (whether he was indeed the outside observer I supposed him to be), and she said,

He DID speak to me; came right here and chatted. He is NOT from around here, although I don’t recall where he’s from. I gave him a copy of the restructuring special section/reprint, not sure if I gave him Power Failure or not, as my supply is dwindling.

In other words, his message is so familiar to me because he was working from our text — just as Sanford did in his 2002 election. (So in other words, something like this likely would not have been written before Power Failure.)…

Towards the end of his piece, Mr. Goodman adopts a hopeful tone about the possibility of future reform, noting some of the same positive developments you’ve read about here, from Vincent Sheheen’s efforts to the sudden turnaround of some black Democrats (long among the most committed foes of restructuring) who were persuaded by the recent Highway Patrol scandals to change their minds.

We’ll see. As usual, we’ll keep pushing for these changes, and keep hoping…

What I wrote about SPDs in 1991

Things don’t change in South Carolina; they just don’t. If you doubt me, read this piece I wrote in 1991. It was in connection with the 13th installment of the Power Failure project that I directed that year, when I was still in The State‘s newsroom. I quoted from it in my Sunday column.

For those of you who don’t remember, I spent that whole year (except for brief stints when I pulled away to help with our national desk with coverage of the Gulf War and the Soviet coup) running this project that delved very deeply into the fundamental, structural problems with government on the state and local levels in South Carolina. Before that, I had been The State’s governmental affairs editor. After, I took on other, temporary editing assignments as I awaited my chance to join the editorial board. Power Failure had pretty much ruined me for news work.

The piece I refer you to was a little invention of mine that I called the "thread." After the first installment or so of the series (there were 17), I realized that each installment threw an awful lot at people. I wanted to make sure that there was some consistent feature, from installment to installment, that linked that day’s installment with all the previous ones, making sure readers saw the themes that ran through them all. The threads were very short columns by me — about 11 inches long — that essentially answered the questions, What do I need to get out of this installment? How is it related to the rest of the series?

Anyway, I call your attention in particular to this passage. As I noted in my Sunday column, we always have to deal with supporters of SPDs acting like we’re after them personally when we criticized the continued existence of these anachronistic little governments. One of their favorite defenses is to cite the fine work they do providing needed services — as though the same services couldn’t be provided under more sensible governing arrangements. And yet, from the very start, I had anticipated and moved past such objections on their part:

Now before we go further, let’s get one thing straight: There are no bad guys here. Or rather, there might be a few bad guys here and there, but they’re not the problem.

There’s nothing sinister about special-purpose districts per se. They were all established with good intentions. They were set up to provide essential services to people who otherwise would have had to do without. Generally, they continue to perform those services.

The problem is that many — although not all — of them have outlived their usefulness, and their very existence means that government on the local level is more fragmented and less accountable than necessary.

That ran in our paper on Oct. 10, 1991.

Come to think of it, I’ll just make this easy for you and reproduce the whole "thread" for that day here, in case you’re at all interested:

THE STATE
HOW MANY GOVERNMENTS DO WE NEED?
Published on: 10/20/1991
Section: IMPACT
Edition: FINAL
Page: 1D
By Brad Warthen
Memo: POWER FAILURE: The Government That Answers to No One Thirteenth in a series

Do we really need this much government?
    Apart from the mess at the state level — such as an executive branch split into 133 completely independent entities — South Carolina has 46 counties, 271 towns and 91 school districts.
    And about 500 special-purpose districts.
    Maybe we do need this much government. But do we need this many governments, separate and frequently competing?
    Now before we go further, let’s get one thing straight: There are no bad guys here. Or rather, there might be a few bad guys here and there, but they’re not the problem.
    There’s nothing sinister about special-purpose districts per se. They were all established with good intentions. They were set up to provide essential services to people who otherwise would have had to do without. Generally, they continue to perform those services.
    The problem is that many — although not all — of them have outlived their usefulness, and their very existence means that government on the local level is more fragmented and less accountable than necessary.
    These districts are part of the legacy of the Legislative State, and point to some key characteristics of that odd system:

  • Legislative dominance. Until "Home Rule" was passed in 1975, only legislators had the power to solve local problems, such as providing services to unincorporated areas. Rather than empower local governments, legislators did what they always did — set up separate entities that drew their power from the lawmakers, not from voters.
  • Our rural past. Once, most people lived in the country. Now, most people live in or around towns. In many areas, more conventional elected local governments can provide the services SPDs provide — if allowed to. Special- purpose districts deny the urban present and affirm the rural past, as does legislative government itself.
  • That "personal" touch. Government by personal political connection is a hallmark of the Legislative State, and it finds expression here. Individual legislators protect and support special-purpose districts, and those interested in preserving the districts support the legislators.

    The bottom line is that, on the local level as well as on the state, policymaking and service delivery are fragmented, and we’re paying for more administration than we need. No one is in charge.
    Only the Legislature can solve this problem. It can start by setting up a procedure for dissolving SPDs, when and where warranted.
    Then, if it can stop listening to the interests who profit from fragmentation, it can do what voters said 19 years they wanted it to do — allow local government to be consolidated and simplified.
    According to the main lobbyist for the SPDs, "It appears that proponents of consolidation just want power." He’s right; they do. And so do the opponents.
    And so do the people, who have waited for it long enough.
All content © THE STATE and may not be republished without permission.
All archives are stored on a SAVE™ newspaper library system from NewsBank, inc.

Oh, one thing that has changed, slightly. The Legislature did, after this series, finally pass enabling legislation to allow for consolidation of governments. Not that we’ve seen that happen much since.

And we still have more than 500 SPDs. And still, no one knows the exact number.

What is it about the Russians and the Olympics?

Tanks

I
n a recent post, I mentioned the fact that the Russians hit Georgia while we were distracted by the Olympics.

But there’s nothing special about that; this is part of a pattern. It really hit me when I saw Robert’s cartoon this morning (or rather, when I saw it yesterday). Take a look at these dates:

1956 — Hungary
1968 — Czechoslovakia
1980 — Afghanistan (one that Robert left out)
2008 — Georgia

Now, what do those dates have in common? Yep, they’re all years in which the Summer Olympics were held.

They have another thing in common, of course. They’re all U.S. presidential election years. What do you make of the fact that they choose such moments to test the resolve of the West to stop them?

Something else I just realized — those first three are all years in which Republicans were elected. Is there a connection here?

60 years of an integrated military

Today is the 60th anniversary of the integration of the U.S. Armed Forces, a commemoration I would have missed without this release from the Pentagon:

    Secretary of Defense Robert Gates today celebrated the 60th anniversary of the desegregation of the armed forces and the federal civil service in a ceremony at the Pentagon.
    Executive Order 9980, which President Truman signed on July 26, 1948, created a Fair Employment Board to eliminate racial discrimination in federal employment. Executive Order 9981, signed the same day, began the process of eliminating segregated units and occupational specialties from the post-World War II military.   

Having grown up in the military (making it sort of like my real hometown), I’ve always taken pride in the fact that it was the first major institution in our country to integrate, far ahead of the schools and the rest of our society.

Perhaps that experience of being surrounded by a meritocracy that made a point of erasing unimportant divisions — everyone was alike, once they put on the uniform — had a lot to do with my having the attitude as an adult that the differences civilians still make so much of really don’t matter. Consequently, the way Democrats and Republicans — and all too many black people and white people — look at each other as alien seems unAmerican to me.

Civilian golf

Shield1

W
hen I was very young, I spent large chunks of my summer days playing golf at Myrtle Beach Air Force Base. That’s one of the nice things about being a military brat during the Cold War, back when this country went to any and all lengths to provide for servicemen and their families — you could play a LOT of golf for practically no money at all. As I recall, at some base courses all I had to do was sign my name, provided my Dad had paid a nominal monthly fee, which he always did. Some people grew up on farms, or in suburbs. I grew up playing golf on military courses from Florida to Hawaii, or playing basketball with sailors at the base gym, or bowling in a high school league at the base lanes, etc.

Now, with bases closing, and bases that aren’t closing cutting back on amenities or opening them to the public to help pay for them, things are different.

In some ways, this is good, from my perspective. I figured out several years back that I can play at the course at the former Naval Air Station in Millington, Tenn. — where I spent even more hours back when I was still a dependent — even though I no longer have a military ID. That course is almost exactly as it was in the early 70s. It’s still run by the Navy, but it now bears the civvy sobriquet "Glen Eagle."

But last week, I had occasion to play the MB course (civilian name: "Whispering Pines") for the first timeCup since the base closed, and the experience was for me sadly different. Part of that was that I played it back in the days when there were only nine holes — the "back 9" consisted of playing the same holes from different tee boxes. There were days in my youth when I played — walking, and carrying my clubs on my back — 27 or 36 holes, and was none the worse for wear. Can’t do that any more.

There are 18 holes now (and I think there were before the base closed). So this time, I went to play the front nine and found only two holes to be as I remembered. I still had a nice time, but … I hate to see anything that was once military turn civilian (correct me if I’m wrong here, but I think this course is now run by local government). You may think that’s weird, but it’s what I grew up with. ForPad
instance, there were the concrete pads in little hidden cul de sacs in the woods on the drive into the course, which were once there to hide warplanes from the Russkies in case we ever went toe-to-toe with them in nuclear combat. Those are now overgrown (right). To folks who grew up in the civilian world, particularly those of a pacifist stripe, this change might be seen as a positive development. To me, it’s a piece of ground that is somehow less purposeful, even less noble, than it was.

I did find the old Tactical Air Command shield etched into the glass of the door to the pro shop. But it’s companion shield, emblazoned with "Valor in Combat" had a paper sign taped over it urging visitors to "ASK US ABOUT 10% OFF MDSE…" This seemed just a bit tawdry to me.

But that’s just me.
Shield2

Obama as Mr. Darcy

Darcy

F
or tomorrow’s op-ed page I chose a Maureen Dowd column because I appreciated her insight that Barack Obama, in terms of his relationship with many American voters (particularly diehard female supporters of Hillary) is very much like Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice.

This is dead-on, and it speaks to a truth that certainly should be universally acknowledged: Despite all the chatter about the deep meaning of Obama as the "first black candidate," there is nothing black about his image or persona. Can you think of a black man in literature or popular culture of whom Obama reminds you? Maybe Sidney Poitier in "To Sir With Love," if you stretch the point.

But when Ms. Dowd invokes the archetypically white, Anglo, rich, Establishment Fitzwilliam Darcy, I think, "Exactly."

Mind you, I like Mr. Darcy. When I saw the series that Bridget Jones went gaga over, I identified with him — with his negative aspects that is: his social awkwardness, his aversion to dancing, his refusal to be pleased, etc. (I am, I assure you, no Mr. Bingley.) My daughters identify me — far more accurately, in terms of the way they see me — with a different character altogether: Mr. Bennet. Perhaps if, like that gentleman, I had a study to retreat to, I would be unaware of both Mr. Darcy and Miss Jones. As it is, with so many daughters (and now, granddaughters) in the house, my life is richer. My DVD shelf includes both the definitive 1995 "Pride" and the inimitable 1968 "Where Eagles Dare," with the entire canon of "Firefly" thrown in to bridge the gap. How more well-rounded can a gentleman be, indeed?

But when Maureen tried to stretch the point and cast John McCain in "Pride" terms, her analogy broke down. She compared him to Mr. Wickham, which is not only a gross insult but has no ring of truth whatsoever. Mr. Wickham was what military men of his day would have called a "scrub." He would have garnered no respect in the gunroom of any ship in the Royal Navy in those days, for instance — yet that is precisely the sort of place where Mr. McCain would be most at home back then.

Basically, I don’t think you can find a McCain analogy in Jane Austen. The closest you could come would be the main male character in "Persuasion." At least he was a naval officer.

For that reason among others, I predict Obama will win the Chick Lit vote, hands-down.

Obamaweb

The vanity of John Adams

Adamsjohn

As I’ve mentioned before, my favorite Founder was John Adams. This attachment on my part dates from my college days in the early 70s, when I more or less inadvertently earned a second major in history (I had not planned it thus; I suddenly realized, with one semester to go, that I was within six credit hours of such a major, so I took two more courses. Up until then, I had merely taken as many history courses as I could as electives.)

The last week or two, I’ve been watching — gradually — the HBO series based on the Pulitzer-winning McCullough book. I was reminded by the book, and am reminded again by the excellent series, that one of the things that endeared Mr. Adams to me was his all-too-human frailty. It brings him down to a level where I am able to identify with him. The airy aloofness of Jefferson is not my way; nor is the lofty unattainability of Washington, with his natural leadership ability.

But almost every time I read of, or see portrayed so well by Paul Giamatti, the crabby vanity of Adams, I have to laugh, because I see myself. Tonight, my wife and eldest daughter joined me in recognizing his touchiness as he complained mightily of having come in second to Washington in the first presidential election.

Adams was of course right to feel that he had done much — perhaps more than any man — to earn the affection and electoral support of his countrymen. After all, HE had put Washington’s name forward to become commander of the Continental Army so that he could rise to greatness, and HE was the one who insisted that Jefferson write the Declaration, after HE, Adams, had nagged and argued and fought independence into being adopted by Congress. And then there was the matter of being the first ambassador to the Court of St. James’s, etc….

But even the lamest modern political consultant could have explained how much more attractive as a candidate Washington was. And Adams’ protests that he should have done better in the election, when you see them portrayed by the brilliant Mr. Giamatti, are comically unbecoming. He was SO vain, so quick to be affronted. And when I noted I would have been the same, my wife and daughter nodded. (You know, they COULD have argued with me just a little, but they didn’t.)

As explained in the series (by way of Abigail reading a letter aloud), Washington got 69 electoral votes, and Mr. Adams only 34, which wounded him deeply. But the guy who came in third (John Jay, no slouch himself) received only nine. Adams received as many as all the rest put together (a field of 8 or 10), and yet he is so put out at getting fewer than half as many as Washington that he pouts to Abigail, "I consider such a showing a stain upon my character!"

This is why I could never offer for public office — I’d be just as petulant, were I to lose, which I probably would, being the way I am.

Far better to suffer such mortification vicariously, through studying (and seeing portrayals of) the life of Adams — and joining Laura Linney’s Abigail in being affectionately amused at his humanity. Far less painful than living it.

Of course, Abigail gets him over his tantrum by calling him "Mr. Vice President," thereby puffing him up a bit. The office had not yet been compared unfavorably to "A warm bucket of spit."

And yes, I realize that seeing myself in John Adams, a great man, is also very vain. See what I mean?

Last of the Cosmic Ha-Has

Just got a note from Bill Robinson about the post featuring his farewell message:

Your post about me was truly "Cosmic." …. Ha-Ha!

Get it?

Indeed I do. At the going-away gathering for Bill and the other 10 on Thursday, it suddenly occurred to me that he was (by my reckoning, and I stand ready to be corrected) the last of the Cosmic Ha-Has in the newsroom.*

Bill thought for a moment, and realized I was probably right. He was impressed: "That’s sort of like being the last of the ’27 Yankees."

Sort of — if you really stretch the point.

The Ha-Has were a slow-pitch softball team that consisted mostly of guys who worked in The State‘s newsroom in the 1980s. It was a team that, had you seen it play, would have convinced you that here was a team totally focused on the pitcher of beer after the game.

Not that we didn’t have some serious players. I remember this one kid who worked in sports (guys who work in sports, being frustrated spectators, can be some of your most intense players of slow-pitch softball) who hit hard and was a super-fast base runner, something he was not modest about: "I’ll teach ’em to throw behind me," he fumed after the opposing team had tried, late, to throw him out on second, and he zoomed around for an inside-the-park homer.

But most players — while having a love of the game, and preferring winning to losing, so long as it did not involve violating the laws of physics — had a certain ironic detachment about the team and its chances. Hence the name.

I joined in the late 80s, which — if the original Ha-Has were the ’27 Yankees, and I ask you to indulge me for the sake of making a point — would have been more like the late Mickey Mantle era. My best hitting days (when I played for the Knights of Columbus team in Jackson, Tenn., in the 70s, it was a bad night that I didn’t go at least 2 for 4) were behind me. Even in slow-pitch, which is a small step up from T-Ball, I no longer had confidence in my ability to hit line drives wherever I wanted. I was an undistinguished member of the pitching line-up, who was happier playing catcher. The qualifications for pitcher in slow-pitch are to be willing to a) have guys hit the ball back at you really hard from alarmingly close range, and b) suffer the humiliation of streaks in which you cannot get the ball to fall through the strike zone from the approved trajectory, thereby walking several batters in a row.

(I will add that there is nothing more infuriating than pitching in slow pitch and being up against a strategic-thinking team that would just as soon walk in runs as get hits. The entire point of slow pitch is that anybody can hit. You’re supposed to put the ball in play. If you want to walk, you can, because the truth is that it’s a lot harder to loft a ball up in the air and have it drop through a strike zone than it is to throw it overhand. In fact, it’s easier to throw strikes underhand in fast pitch than it is to throw slow-pitch strikes. Having guys stand there and take balls was enough to make me want to bean the batter, but in slow-pitch, who’d notice?)

The greatest humiliation that the Ha-Has suffered during my tenure had nothing to do with my pitching ability, though. One year, we were in a commercial-industrial sort of league. You have not seen lopsided until you’ve seen a bunch of scribes, some of whom were possibly passable athletes in high school (and that’s the best you can say), up against a bunch of hairy mesomorphs who spend their days tossing anvils to each other or something. If you play, say, church-league, you might see one guy in a season hit the ball over the fence, and that guy will be legendary — at least, in the church leagues I’ve played in. Different story in commercial-industrial.

You may think I’m making this up, but it’s true. In one game that year, every single member of the opposing team hit at least one home run, and some more than one, before the game was over. I think the "mercy rule" — if you’re more than a certain number of runs ahead after a certain number of innings, the game is called — was eventually invoked. Either that, or the "mercy rule" was invented because of this game; I forget. Something had to stop it, because we couldn’t, and if things had kept going at that rate, one of those huge specimens would have keeled over from the sheer exhaustion caused by running around the bases.

Some Ha-Has who played with Bill back in the Golden Age:

  • Charlie Pope — Who now works in the Washington bureau of a paper from the Pacific Northwest. Charlie was The State‘s environment reporter back when I was his editor. In those days, Charlie’s favorite movie was "A Flash of Green," in which Ed Harris plays a reporter who writes about environmental issues, and at a climactic moment in the movie stuffs his editor into the trunk of a car. I don’t have a current picture of Charlie, even though he dropped by recently because his son was thinking of going to USC. But to me, Charlie always looked vaguely like Tommy Smothers. You know, the funny Smothers Brother, not the straight man. I don’t think I ever told him that, come to think of it…
  • Dave Moniz — A player with his own personal language. Once, as I ran out to start warming up in the outfield before a game, Dave greeted me with a chipper, "Key lid!" It took me a couple ofMoniz_2 minutes to realize he meant that he liked my hat. Dave is now a civilian PR guy for the United States Air Force, with a civilian rate that is the equivalent of a brigadier general. The picture here shows him from a recent visit to our editorial board, at which he was joined by two guys wearing Air Force "yoonies" which was the way Dave used to say "uniforms." (Teams that had nice uniforms had "key yoonies," and so forth.) Dave was our military reporter before leaving to do the same for USA Today.
  • Jeff Miller — Also went to Washington to work in another paper’s bureau, but now does something else, also out of Washington. Miller Which reminds me — I owe him a call back. Anyway, Jeff’s first job for me was covering the 1988 Republican presidential primary, for which we brought him up from the Newberry County bureau (the journalistic equivalent of AAA ball at the time). He was still covering politics last time I saw him. One of his colleagues took the picture at right, of Jeff and me on a New York street on the last night of the 2004 GOP convention. This picture reminds me, for some reason, of the opening credits of "Saturday Night Live."

And now Bill moves on. But the legend continues.

* Note that I said "in the newsroom." For those of you who are still confused about the difference between news and editorial, I haven’t worked in the newsroom since 1993, so I don’t count.

Robert’s great Energy Party cartoon

July_4_cartoon

O
ver the weekend I neglected to mention (in connection with my Sunday column on the subject) Robert Ariail’s wonderful cartoon of July 4, which states the Energy Party position with the same incisive relevance as the original Ben Franklin cartoon that inspired him did the cause of the Revolution.

And I didn’t even put him up to it…

A colleague’s goodbye note

My longtime colleague Bill Robinson (I was his editor about 20 years ago) was one of the 11 journalists who stepped forward to accept a buyout offer to leave the newspaper as a cost-cutting measure. Even though he had been looking at relocating anyway, I know it wasn’t an easy decision.

His — and their — last day was Thursday, July 3. After he had left for the day, Bill sent the following message to all the news and editorial employees at The State. While Bill is a little younger than I am (he was in high school during Watergate; I was in college and already working as a copy boy at The Commercial Appeal), the values he expresses are those that have inspired a generation of journalists in this country. It is in that spirit that I share Bill’s message:

Dear colleagues:
     Thank you for laughing at the silly story about my first two days as a reporter at old The Columbia Record 23 years ago. As Mark Lett knew, I wouldn’t pass on an opportunity to have a final word.
    However, after attending the past several Hampton-Gonzalez award events, I knew I would be unable to compete with the oratorical eloquence of Sammy Fretwell, Carol Ward, Allison Askins and Rick Brundrett.
    But I wanted to leave you with a final thought or two …
    Richard Milhous Nixon was the POTUS when I was in high school and as history books note, he had a little problem called Watergate.
    Actually, his problem was with Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, or as my J-school law class professor used to call them, collectively: "Woodstein."
    They are the reason a lot of journalists of my generation entered the profession. Being a reporter, as Sammy noted in his acceptance speech, was an opportunity to "afflict the comfortable and comfort the afflicted" — and get paid for it.
    I remember vividly reading that whenever Nixon had to give a speech about Vietnam, he would order the White House theater to provide him a private showing of the film "Patton." Nixon apparently was enamored with the George C. Scott’s opening sequence speech to get him fired up.
    I say this for a reason. Over the years, when I felt like the job was getting me down, I would pop into my VCR a now well-worn tape of "All The Presidents’ Men." Not because I was emulating Nixon; I did it to remind me why I got into the business.
    It always provided me a pick-me-up.
    Over the next few days or weeks, as you contemplate the future of print journalism, I strongly recommend that you go rent a copy of All The Presidents’ Men.
    Newspapers have value in this country and you all are on the front line. I wish I knew a way to wake people up and remind them about the important work The Washington Post and New York Times did reinforcing democracy in the mid-1970s. But I don’t.
    The Fox News Channel or any of the other TV broadcasters are not going to do what you are capable of delivering. I will be watching from afar.
    Best wishes and thank you again for all the kind words of support and praise over the past several days.

Bill Robinson

I have my own copy of "All The President’s Men" on DVD. But that’s no compensation for the loss to this trade of a guy who knows what it means.

What stuff is really worth

This is a test of age as much as anything, but I’m curious as to what y’all think stuff is actually worth.

I got to thinking about this looking at the receipt pictured back on this post, which showed that a diet Pepsi I bought for my daughter cost me $1.39. But that wasn’t the outrageous part. The outrageous part was that a bottle of water — and we’re talking tap water here, folks, not mineral water or holy water or something that the bottler claims was gleaned from an Icelandic glacier — cost the same amount.

Set aside the fact that we’re poisoning ourselves drinking from plastic. My beef is with the price. And my sense of injustice flows from an internal meter I have that says things are worth a certain amount, and no more. I arrived at most of these prices as a kid, when buying a PopSicle and a Mad magazine required a couple of hot summer hours spent combing the weeds along the side of the road looking for pop bottles, which back then were worth money when you returned them to the store (AND better for the planet).

However long I live, in my mind, every penny I spend on such items above these prices is a penny I’ve been cheated out of. For that and other reasons, I seldom buy these items any more. Here is a partial list, just to get the discussion started:

  • Soft drink — 10 cents. That’s 10 wheat pennies, or a dime if you get it from a machine. This is in 12 oz., returnable bottles, so you get two or three cents of that back. Preferably a real Co-Cola of the kind they don’t make in this country any more (did they really think they’d fool us with that "New Coke" scam, followed by the "return" of "Coca-Cola Classic" in which corn syrup substituted for cane sugar? we know only the Cokes from Mexico taste right any more) or a Nehi grape. Or maybe a Teem, or an Upper 10.
  • Comic book — 12 cents. Mind you, that’s the inflated price, from a dime. I am not opposed to theSgtrock_2
    folks at DC Comics making a couple of pennies, and even though I thought the two-cent increase a great injustice at the time, I made the adjustment at a young age, and now accept the higher price. Of course, the "specials" — the ones with "imaginary" stories in which Perry White gets super powers, or an all-red kryptonite edition or some such, which had the content of about three regular comics — were well worth a quarter. Mad magazine was also worth a quarter. Anyway, this price consciousness has prevented me over the years from buying my son who still collects comics as many as a good Dad probably should on special occasions.
  • A computer — gazillions of dollars, especially if it had the computing power of the one the Man of Steel kept at the Fortress of Solitude, which had a voice recognition program and could tell you anything about anything. As for real-life computers, only a big gummint agency like NASA could afford one, and then only if it was a supreme national priority to go to the moon or something. So this is one area where we’ve come out ahead, even if we don’t get to go to the moon any more.
  • Water — free. Oh, sure, Mamanem might have paid a monthly bill or something, but what concern was that of mine? Even when I lived in South America, and we never drank straight from a tap, and every drop we drank had to be boiled and put into a gin bottle first (the bottles were hand-me-downs from the guy my Dad replaced; I don’t know what they cost originally), I don’t remember having shelled out any of my money for it. I did spend money there on Cokes, which in Ecuador at the time cost 40 centavos, which was the equivalent of two cents back in the day when a sucre was worth a nickel. (Which is way back before the sucre went all Zimbabwe and the country switched to the U.S. dollar.)

You get the idea. And as for you wise guys who are going to tell me that a newspaper’s never been worth more than a nickel, I beg to differ. My sense of what a newspaper is worth formed as an adult, and as an adult I’ve always been aware that the person who buys the paper is paying a small percentage of what it cost to produce it. I will say, though, that 5 bucks for a Sunday New York Times is too much, even if they put gold, or even Mexican Coca-Cola, in the ink.

Why we went to war in Iraq

We all read all sorts of back-and-forth about Iraq. There are the coulda-woulda-shouldas of whether we should have gone in or not, how we could have managed things better after we got there (which we sure as anything coulda and shoulda, long before we finally implemented the Surge), and whether we should stay or not now (which, of course, we should).

But few couch the situation preceding the Iraq decision the way I remember it as clearly as Doug Feith's piece in The Wall Street Journal today.

What I remember is that we had an unsolved problem that needed solving. For 12 years Saddam had violated the terms under which we had stopped shooting in 1991. This was not a mere abstract problem, not a question of tidying up loose ends. As Feith writes, Iraq was shooting at U.S. and British pilots enforcing the No-Fly zone almost daily. Regime change had been, for good reason, the policy of this country since 1998 — but we hadn't figured out how to get it done.

Totally apart from the need to "drain swamps" in the Mideast, apart from whether Saddam still had the WMD we had already seen him use on his own people, this was the situation (and had been the situation ever since the first Bush administration):

    In the months before the 9/11 attack, Secretary of
State Colin Powell advocated diluting the multinational economic
sanctions, in the hope that a weaker set of sanctions could win
stronger and more sustained international support. Central Intelligence
Agency officials floated the possibility of a coup, though the 1990s
showed that Saddam was far better at undoing coup plots than the CIA
was at engineering them. Deputy Secretary of Defense Paul Wolfowitz
asked if the U.S. might create an autonomous area in southern Iraq
similar to the autonomous Kurdish region in the north, with the goal of
making Saddam little more than the "mayor of Baghdad." U.S. officials
also discussed whether a popular uprising in Iraq should be encouraged,
and how we could best work with free Iraqi groups that opposed the
Saddam regime.

    Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld worried
particularly about the U.S. and British pilots enforcing the no-fly
zones over northern and southern Iraq. Iraqi forces were shooting at
the U.S. and British aircraft virtually every day; if a plane went
down, the pilot would likely be killed or captured. What then? Mr.
Rumsfeld asked. Were the missions worth the risk? How might U.S. and
British responses be intensified to deter Saddam from shooting at our
planes? Would the intensification trigger a war? What would be the
consequences of cutting back on the missions, or ending them?

However wrong he'd later prove to be about how to conduct our operation in Iraq — and he was WAY wrong — Rumsfeld was at that time raising the right questions.

After 9/11, things changed — among them our willingness to let a problem such as this one fester. As Mr. Feith notes:

To contain the threat from Saddam, all reasonable means short of war had been tried unsuccessfully for a dozen years.
The U.S. did not rush to war. Working mainly through the U.N., we tried
a series of measures to contain the Iraqi threat: formal diplomatic
censure, weapons inspections, economic sanctions, no-fly zones,
no-drive zones and limited military strikes. A defiant Saddam, however,
dismantled the containment strategy and the U.N. Security Council had
no stomach to sustain its own resolutions, let alone compel Saddam's
compliance.

You may remember it differently. But that's pretty much the way I remember it.

Happy REAL Independence Day!

Adamsjohn

When I returned from Memphis, the first episodes of the HBO miniseries "John Adams" had arrived from Netflix. I’m saving them for the weekend, but in anticipation, I felt it proper to honor my favorite Founder by noting that, as he said at the time, July 2nd is the day we should mark as the date upon which our independence was declared. That’s the day the vote took place in Congress.

As he wrote to Abigail on July 3, 1776:

    But the Day is past. The Second Day of July 1776, will be the most memorable Epocha, in the History of America.
    I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated, by succeeding Generations, as the great anniversary Festival. It ought to be commemorated, as the Day of Deliverance by solemn Acts of Devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shews, Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and Illuminations from one End of this Continent to the other from this Time forward forever more.
    You will think me transported with Enthusiasm but I am not. — I am well aware of the Toil and Blood and Treasure, that it will cost Us to maintain this Declaration, and support and defend these States. — Yet through all the Gloom I can see the Rays of ravishing Light and Glory. I can see that the End is more than worth all the Means. And that Posterity will tryumph in that Days Transaction, even altho We should rue it, which I trust in God We shall not.

Declaration_committeeAdams did the heavy lifting that led to our declaration, fighting for independence before the Continental Congress. When the matter was sent to a committee (shown at right) that included him and Ben
Franklin, Adams urged that Jefferson should do the writing of the version for posterity — not because he had done anything to bring it about (Jefferson had sat like a lump through the debates), but because had had style as a writer.

Adams would live to see the wrong day celebrated with "bonfires and illuminations," and Jefferson lionized as the Author of Liberty. Which wasn’t fair then, and isn’t fair now. Short, chunky, irritating, brilliant Adams always deserved infinitely more credit.

Declaration_draft
We people who can occasionally turn a phrase get way too much credit in this life. My moderate skill in that regard enabled me to B.S. my way through school whenever an essay test was given (I dreaded a well-crafted multiple-choice, which measured factual knowledge rather than mere verbal razzle-dazzle), and Jefferson’s has made him way more of a hero than he deserves to be.

So let’s pause today to honor John Adams, who did far more to lead us into nationhood.

‘Boogie Man: The Lee Atwater Story’


K
evin Alexander Gray just brought something to my attention, along with the following note:

Tom Turnipseed is mentioned in promo.  Point of contention – It’s only because many outside the region don’t know Southern history that they place Atwater above Dent.   Atwater was the 1st "master practicioner" of the modern Southern Strategy – Dent was the "architect."kg

The link is to a blog item about a film that debuted Sunday night at the L.A. Film Festival, entitled, "Boogie Man: The Lee Atwater Story."

It’s about the South Carolinian who, in the assertion of the writer, "did more than any political strategist of his generation to help the GOP gain a decades-long stranglehold on the South."

In case you wonder where the blogger is coming from on this, the headline on the post is, "The real Darth Vader of American politics."

I only met Atwater once. Lee Bandy and I dropped by his office to chat when he was chairman of the RNC. When we got back to the now-defunct Knight Ridder Washington bureau, Lee’s colleagues were all over him wanting to know what Atwater thought about this or that (something in the news that day). Nobody else in Washington had the access to Atwater that Bandy had, right up to the end.

I don’t remember much about meeting Atwater except that he was pretty much as I expected, and he kept a guitar in the corner of his office. I want to say it was a Stratocaster.

‘Now away the walking blood bank!’

Ap510126016

B
ack on this post, David shared this blood-donation experience:

Props to you for donating blood Brad! When I was abord Navy ships
and we would do battle training, one of the things that would be called
away during battle exercises would be:

"Now away the walking blood bank!"

This meant that all able-bodiedAp070525015049
seamen not otherwise directly
engaged in combat operations were to muster at sickbay to donate blood
so that it was on hand and ready for use as casualties were taken. I
always thought this was a pretty cool thing.

Blood is a life-saver, combat or not.

David

And so it was that when I was searching for something in the AP archives and ran across the above photo, I had to share it. Here’s the caption:

Some of the 750 crewmen of the aircraft carrier Boxer fill beds and line up in the wardroom of the ship to give blood for the wounded in Korea in San Francisco on Jan. 26, 1951. The 27,000-ton Essex class carrier has seen considerable action in the Korean War and is presently being overhauled in the navy yard in San Francisco. (AP Photo/FX)

We should all take a moment and write a note to thank Al Gore for inventing the Internet. It’s way cool. You can find almost anything on it.

For instance, below we have Elvis signing up to donate in Germany in 1959…

Ap590116010

More about the ‘good old boy’ system

My column today may appear to be about our endorsement of a candidate for the state Senate. But that was just an excuse for writing about something I’d been thinking about for 20 years — the meaning of the phrase "good old boy," as used in S.C. politics.

This post is to include some additional stuff that I didn’t have room for in the column, in addition to what I already wrote about the movie I referred to.

First, there was my reference to Billy Carter. Remember that he was the one who tried to define the difference between a "good old boy" and a "redneck." He said a good old boy drives down the road in his pickup truck drinking beer and throwing the empty cans back into the bed of the truck (or into a recycling bag, in another version). A "redneck" throws them out onto the road.

In any case, his point was to make a "good old boy" out to be something not so bad. And indeed, through the 70s and into the 80s, while a Northerner or even a snobbish Southerner might look down on a "good old boy," it wasn’t necessarily a pejorative. It was an OK thing to be.

As I said in the column, my first memory of hearing the phrase used politically by a Southerner as a bad thing was after I returned home to South Carolina in 1987. I kept hearing of the way that Carroll Campbell had used it in the 1986 campaign.

As I noted also in the column, when used as Campbell used it ("good old boy system), the phrase seemed a bastardized hybrid of two very different concepts — an uncultured, generally rural, working-class white Southern male on the one hand, and a member of the very upper crust (Old Boy Network) in Britain or the American Northeast, referring to alumni of the poshest schools.

A footnote: Not until after I had written the column, and was looking for links for the blog version, did I learn that someone else had drawn the same contrast, in a letter to the editor in The New York Times in 1991. That writer, a William M. Ringle of McLean, Va., also used Billy Carter in defining one of the phrases, by the way. Finding that made me feel slightly less original, but then also slightly less crazy. The main point is that Mr. Ringle saw the two phrases as just as jarringly incompatible as I did:

According to your report that Yale University’s Skull and Bones club has voted to accept women into its ranks (news article, Oct. 26), the secret society "can no longer rightly be considered just a ‘good old boy,’ network." You make the common mistake of splicing "good ol’ boy" onto "old boy."

An old boy is an alumnus, originally of a British public school, which is of course a private school. Such old grads have been credited with creating the kind of network that Skull and Bones supposedly fosters. Old school ties maintain the bond.

Good ol’ boys, however, are Southern Americans not known for a burning desire to go to Yale. Even if they got there, they wouldn’t be tapped for Skull and Bones. Gregarious, charming and politically wise though they can be, they can’t be imagined swapping stories, between bites of Moon Pie and gulps of R. C. Cola, with the likes of William F. Buckley Jr. or President Bush. Billy Carter might epitomize the good ol’ boy.

Despite strained similarities, old boys are old boys, and good ol’ boys are good ol’ boys, and never the twain shall meet.

Anyway, back to Carroll Campbell, who had hit upon this odd usage. It was really rather brilliant for a man who would be the first Republican governor since Reconstruction who was not elected by a fluke (the Establishment’s — or shall we say "Old Boy Network’s" successful scuttling of the Pug Ravenel candidacy). Since everyone in power in the state was a Democrat, it was appropriate to evoke the concept of the Old Boy Network in opposing that entrenched power. And "good old boy" was a familiar Southern term by then, giving the concept a particularly South Carolina flavor — one that conveniently evoked the notion that by voting Republican for a change, you would be raising yourself above those rednecks who are running things. This played subtly to the traditional notion that Republicans were in a higher social class than Democrats.

The brilliance of this combination of ideas was that it gave voters an opportunity both to identify subliminally with a higher social class (if you voted for Campbell, you were not a "good old boy"), while at the same time satisfying a populist urge to strike a blow at the Establishment (the "Old Boy Network"). One could hardly find a better psychological formula for encouraging people who weren’t used to doing so to vote Republican.

The phrase worked so well that over the years, people across the political spectrum took it up. You found women and blacks — generally Democratic constituencies — using it to describe the white men who kept them from power. The meaning in those contexts was simpler, because it directly replaced "Old Boy Network."

Cindi Scoppe, in editing my column, said I was full of it. She said there was nothing new or original about Campbell’s use of the phrase "good old boy system." But I believe she thinks that because she doesn’t remember the time before that. Cindi came to work at The State in 1986, fresh out of college (UNC). She didn’t start covering state politics until I recruited her from the metro staff in 1987 or 1988. I, on the other hand, had dealt with politics professionally since 1975, mostly in Tennessee (as likely a place to find good old boys as anywhere).

Nevertheless, she did plant a small seed of doubt. Fortunately, Bob McAlister was able to clear it up for me. I called Bob late Friday just to give him a heads-up that indeed I was about to use the quotes I had dragged out of him a couple of weeks earlier. And Bob insisted that the "good old boy system" WAS original to the 1986 Campbell campaign.

In fact, he believes (immodestly) that a TV commercial he produced, entitled "Good Old Boys," was what won the election for Campbell. The thrust of it was to drive home the cozy relationship between the developers of what then was called the AT&T building on the site of the old Wade Hampton Hotel (neither Bob nor I could remember what it’s called now; it’s had several aliases). The clincher was a picture he had taken of a banner in front of the building itself supporting Democratic nominee Mike Daniel.

But while Bob took credit for the spot, and therefore for the victory, when I asked whether the "good old boy" rhetorical strategy was his, he said no: Carroll Campbell had been using it in the campaign all along, and it was original to him.

The tension between "good old boy" and "Old Boy Network" inherent in "good old boy system" had never consciously occurred to Bob, he said.

What’s a ‘Good Old Boy’ to you?

By BRAD WARTHEN
EDITORIAL PAGE EDITOR
MORE THAN THREE decades ago, I saw a “B” movie that was a sort of poor cousin to “In the Heat of the Night.” It was about a newly elected black sheriff in a racially divided Southern town, and the white former sheriff, played by George Kennedy, who reluctantly helps him.
    At a climactic moment when the two men seem to stand alone, a group of white toughs who had earlier given the sheriff a hard time show up to help. Their leader gruffly says that they’re doing it for the sake of the old white sheriff, explaining that, “You always was a good old boy.”
    Or something like that. Anyway, I recall it as the first time I heard the term “good old boy.”
    It got a good workout later, with the election of Billy Carter’s brother to the White House. But the first time I recall hearing it used prominently as a pejorative by a Southerner was when Carroll Campbell ran against the “good old boy system” in the 1980s.
    The usage was odd, a fusion of the amiable “good old boy” in the George Kennedy/Billy Carter sense on the one hand, and “Old Boy Network” on the other. The former suggests an uncultured, blue-collar, white Southerner, and the latter describes moneyed elites from Britain or the Northeast, alumni of such posh schools as Cambridge or Harvard. Despite that vagueness, or perhaps because of it, the term remains popular in S.C. politics.
    Which brings us to Jake Knotts, who represents District 23 in the S.C. Senate.
    Jake — pronounced “Jakie” by familiars — could have been the prototype for that George Kennedy character, had Hollywood been ready for something with a harder edge. He is a former Columbia city cop who by his own account sometimes got “rough.” He offers no details, but a glance at his hamlike hands provides sufficient grist for the imagination. According to a story said to be apocryphal, he once beat up Dick Harpootlian for mouthing off to him. (The mouthing-off part gives the tale credibility, and longevity.)
    After Jake was elected to public office, he further burnished his “rough” reputation with a legislating style seen as bullying by detractors, and tenacious by allies.
    This newspaper’s editorial board has always been a detractor. You see, we are high-minded adherents of the finest good-government ideals. Jake’s a populist, and populism is common, to use a Southern expression from way back. In our movie, we’re Atticus Finch to his Willie Stark. (See To Kill A Mockingbird and All the King’s Men.)
    We were against video poker; Jake was for it. We were against the state lottery; Jake was for it. We were for taking the Confederate flag off the State House dome; Jake was against it.
    We were for giving the governor more power over the executive branch; Jake was against it.
    In 2002, we endorsed a candidate for governor who agreed with us on restructuring, and didn’t seem like anybody’s notion of a good old boy. He styles himself as the antithesis of back-slapping, go-along-to-get-along pols, to the extent that he doesn’t go along or get along with anybody.
    That’s fine by the governor, because his style is to set forth an ideological principle, see it utterly rejected by his own party, and then run for re-election as the guy who took on the good old boys.
    Jake’s notion of the proper role of a lawmaker isn’t even legislative; it’s helping — he might say “hepping” — constituents on a personal level. This can range from the unsavory, such as helping out a voter charged with a crime, to the noble, such as paying out of his pocket for an annual skating party for kids who’ve gotten good grades.
    Jake’s slogan is “for the people,” as simple an evocation of populism as you will find. To him, theJake_sign
proper role of the elected representative is to make sure government “heps” regular folks rather than working against them.
    That means he will take a bull-headed stand against the concerted effort to undermine the one aspect of government that does the most to help regular folks — public schools.
    This brings us to what caused us to do something we thought we’d never do — endorse Jake Knotts, the sentinel of the common man who doesn’t give two figs for what we think the proper structure of government should be.
    We’re endorsing him because he stands against the Old Boy Network (see how different these terms are?) of wealthy out-of-state dilettantes who don’t believe in government hepping folks at all, and want to make our state a lab rabbit for their abstract ideology.
    We are not comfortable with this. We’ve had some terrific arguments about it on our editorial board. It was not one of your quick decisions, shall we say.
    Occasionally, when we have a really tough endorsement in front of us, I quietly call a knowledgeable source or two outside the board, people whose judgment I trust, to hear their arguments.
    On this one, I talked to three very different sources (one Democrat, two Republicans) who shared values that had in the past caused us to oppose Jake. All three said he had won their respect over time. All said he was a man you were glad to have on your side, and sorry to go up against. All three said that between Jake and his opponent who is backed by the governor and the Club for Growth and the rest of that crowd, they’d go with Jake.
    Not that they were proud of it. All three spoke off the record — one got me to say “off the record” three times. I complained about this with the last one, saying it was all very well for him to urge us off-the-record to endorse somebody on-the-record, and he said all right, he’d go public.
    It was Bob McAlister, Carroll Campbell’s chief of staff back in the late governor’s glory days of fighting “good old boys.”
    “I don’t agree with Jake on a lot of issues,” Mr. McAlister said, but “at least you don’t have to wonder where he stands on anything, because he’ll tell you.” In the end, “There’s a place in politics for his kind of independent thought…. I think Jake Knotts has served his constituents well.”
    In his own staid, doctrinaire-Republican kind of way, I think Bob was saying he thinks Jake is a good old boy.

Knottsjake_001

History to be made tonight

Leave it to Samuel T., who gets really pumped about politics (and life in general), to put things in perspective, just when we’re on the brink of getting jaded:

    Tonight the western world , the white world is nominating an African-American for President of the United States of America !!!!!!!!!!!. Remember 1964 and how far have we come and how far we have to go ! Look how far Senator Obama had to go to get here from 5 months ago in Iowa. He was behind by 20 plus points ! Senator Obama’s victory tonight is a huge victory for all those who made the ultimate sacrifice for America to get here !
Mazel Tov America! Samuel 

That was a broadcast e-mail that Mr. Tenenbaum sent out to his list at 5:13 p.m. Seven minutes later, Luther Battiste III responded thusly:

    Well said. Using a NBA analogy, we have qualified for the finals. Now we have to win the ring. Yes, we can. Luther Battiste

Hillary on Obama, RFK: I’m just sayin’…

I ran into Neal Dolan before Mass on Sunday at St. Peter’s, and it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen him since Martin Luther King Day. That was the day the Secret Service descended in force upon our building here at The State while Sen. Barack Obama was talking to the editorial board. Neal was the Secret Service agent in charge here in Columbia until his retirement recently. He’s now working with SLED.

Obama has had (for good reasons, apparently) the heaviest security detail of any candidate who’s ever come to see us. So it seemed a bit of coincidence that I would be reminded of that by running into Neal the very weekend that Hillary Clinton explained why hers is the Campaign That Won’t Leave as follows:

"We all remember Bobby Kennedy was assassinated in June in California."

So, you know, anything could happen, so why quit now? She later explained that far from being coldbloodedly calculating, she was just in a particularly sensitive frame of mind regarding Kennedys in general, what with the terrible news about Teddy.

And now that we’ve all exclaimed, "That’s awful!" let’s think about this a minute. This is the most logical explanation for the Never-Ending Campaign I’ve heard yet. I’m not saying it’s a good explanation, but it has a certain morbid logic.

But it still doesn’t strike me as the sort of thing you hear from a presidential candidate. Hollywood would never have a presidential candidate say such a thing, unless the candidate were played by Robert DeNiro:

Not that I got nothin’ against this guy, you unnerstand… It’s just that somethin’ could happen to him — like he could get whacked or somethin’, God forbid (hands form prayer position). Nobody’d want nothin’ to happen to him or anyt’ing like that; I’m just sayin’…

Isn’t that, after all, what she said? It’s not that she’d WANT such a terrible thing to happen; she’s just saying…. Until now, who knew that when she spoke of getting that 3 a.m. phone call, she was thinking about before the election?