Category Archives: Unemployment

I surrender to Twitter

OK, I did it. I signed up for Twitter. After months of dismissing and abusing the very notion of it, I gave in yesterday and signed up.

The last straw was that Tim Kelly told me last week that you could arrange it so that when you post on your blog, the headline goes out on Twitter. Haven’t figured out how to do that yet, but seems like it would be pretty cool. He said there’s also something clever I could do with Facebook vis-a-vis the blog.

I need to either get serious about this blog — fix up the appearance, promote it more, and most of all post more often — or give it up. As I’ve mentioned before, I actually find it harder to blog without full-time, permanent employment. As busy as I was at the paper, I was sitting at a computer (actually, two computers, or even three if you count the Blackberry) for about 12 hours a day, and I could post any time things slowed down a bit — when I was waiting for copy, or for somebody to call me back, or for proofs, or whatever. I had to go through tons of e-mail each day, and frequently things that came over the transom that way made for quick-and-easy blog fodder.

Now, as I run hither and yon trying to earn a living, I might have ideas for blog posts, but I don’t have time to sit and write them. I need to either figure a way to do that, or the blog’s gonna die on me.

Thanks to those of you who have stuck with me thus far. And suggestions, as always, are welcome.

Blessed are the poor…

… because they give more generously than the rich, according to the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics. Did you see that story?

Indeed, the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics’ latest survey of consumer expenditure found that the poorest fifth of America’s households contributed an average of 4.3 percent of their incomes to charitable organizations in 2007. The richest fifth gave at less than half that rate, 2.1 percent.

The figures probably undercount remittances by legal and illegal immigrants to family and friends back home, a multibillion-dollar outlay to which the poor contribute disproportionally.

None of the middle fifths of America’s households, in contrast, gave away as much as 3 percent of their incomes.

Did this surprise you? It didn’t me — at least, not after I thought about it for a moment. It’s the identification thing. The more affluent one is, the more likely one is to think of the poor as the “other,” to think of poverty as “a way you’ll never be.” This can lead one to think there must be something wrong with the poor on a moral level — that they’re lazy and just don’t try or whatever.

Not that I’m a paragon of sensitivity or anything, but I’ve never had that attitude, mainly because God blessed me with a tendency toward depression. He’s given me a taste of what it’s like to feel overwhelmed and unable to meet the challenges before me. Just a taste, mind you — I always manage to cope, and have never had that crippling kind of despondency that keeps people in their beds. But I’ve seen through that door, and I can easily see how dysfunctional I’d be if I’d never been successful at anything, had no education, no home, no real prospects. In fact, it causes me to marvel that people who are down and out manage to do ANYTHING, as so very many do.

So I didn’t really need to get laid off to see into the abyss, but now that I’ve had THAT experience, and am still having that experience — no permanent, full-time job with benefits at hand yet — I’m less likely than ever to be dismissive of the plight of the poor.

That AP story raised another interesting explanation for the relative generosity of the poor:

Herbert Smith, 31, a Seventh-day Adventist who said he tithed his $1,010 monthly disability check — giving away 10 percent of it — thought that poor people give more because, in some ways, they worry less about their money.

“We’re not scared of poverty the way rich people are,” he said. “We know how to get the lights back on when we can’t pay the electric bill.”

Now there’s an instance in which I do suffer from a malady of the bourgeois: I do have that middle-class horror of not being able to pay the bills. The prospect, which gets closer each day that I don’t have a steady job, is more than a little appalling. There’s that middle-class voice in my head that goes, “The electricity turned off? OHmyGod, NO!” Whereas Herbert takes it in stride, and keeps on giving.

Which ought to teach us something.

So how should I act now?

Sunday afternoon, I dropped by a fund-raising reception for Vincent Sheheen‘s gubernatorial campaign, just to check it out the way I always do.

It was at the Hunter-Gatherer. Kevin Varner from that establishment was my fellow guest on “Whad’Ya Know?” several weeks ago, and I told him then that I’d never been to the place but intended to do so sometime. This seemed like a good chance to follow through on that.

So I did what I usually do at such events — breeze by the sign-in table and start chatting with the guests, without signing in, and without making a contribution. Because I’m press. That is, I WAS press, for my whole adult life until very recently. Now, the closest thing I am to “press” is that I’m a blogger. But it feels natural to keep going to events such as this one for various candidates so I can keep up with what’s going on. After all, over the four years since I started blogging, I’ve gone to such events primarily as a blogger, not as an editorial page editor. So what’s different now?

I don’t know, but I recognize the potential for awkwardness. For instance, the next day I saw Boyd Summers at Rotary, and he mentioned seeing me at the Sheheen thing, and said isn’t it great that now that I’m not an editor, I can “do things like that.” Obviously, he thought I was there to be involved, that I was declaring my support for Vincent by being there. Which I wasn’t, so I set him straight on that. (Incidentally, I also saw Boyd at the “tea party” protest recently, and he didn’t assume I was supporting that, so what’s the diff? I was reminded of that yesterday when someone on Facebook called my attention to this picture of me and Boyd at that event. If you follow that link you’ll see that someone mistakenly identified Boyd as Mark Quinn from ETV.)

Anyway, I had a nice time for the half hour I was there (and yes, you CAN have a nice time even if you’re actually working). Had a pleasant chat with Vincent’s wife, Amy. We talked about the pope and other Catholic stuff for awhile. Then I excused myself, explaining that I was going to see “Star Trek” with my younger son, and she totally understood, because she and Vincent went to see “Star Trek” for their anniversary.

Anyway, others who were there included James Smith, Joel Lourie, Vincent’s dad Fred and others whom you would expect to find there. Maybe 30 people. I don’t know if there were speeches, because I left so soon.

But I had to wonder — did anyone else there make the mistake Boyd made? And how can I prevent that? Should I wear a sign that says, “I’m Just Blogging,” in letters big enough to be seen across the room? Or should I simply not go to political events? If so, how do I write about them? How do I have those critical casual conversations with people, the kind where you find out what’s really going on (as opposed to those stiff, “I’m calling you up to interview you” conversations)? Do I have to rely entirely on running into them by chance at Starbucks? I don’t mind, but as a strategy, that seem iffy.

Anyway, I’m still figuring out this “I used to be a newspaperman, but not any more” thing.

“Star Trek” was really good, by the way.

Should I make my move now?

Did you see the news? Ted Pitts is going to run for Gov Lite.

Ted Pitts is my representative (and a pretty good one). I live in his district. Legal resident and everything.

So what do you think? Should I take advantage of this pending vacancy to make my move? Is it put up or shut up time for the Unparty?

I could never run for office before, as it’s strictly against the rules for newspapermen. But now? Who knows? When election year rolls around, I could be working at something else that would present a conflict — either in my mind, or that of my future employer.

But it is an intriguing thought, nonetheless. As much as I’ve written over the years about what legislators should do…

Apt words from the prophet Nathan

Speaking of Nikki reminds me of her fellow Lexington County rebel Nathan Ballentine, and the nice thing he sent to me when I got laid off.

I should mention, of course, that Nikki was quite kind and thoughtful to me as well — in fact, both Nikkis were. Rep. Haley and Sen. Setzler both called me and said the nicest things (along with a lot of other politicos I’ve written about over the years, ranging from Lindsey Graham on the federal level to former Columbia city councilwoman Ann Sinclair, and lots of nice folks in between — including the gov).

Anyway, my point is to share what Nathan sent me. He e-mailed me to say I should consult Jeremiah 29:11. Which I did:

For I know well the plans I have in mind for you, says the LORD, plans for your welfare, not for woe! plans to give you a future full of hope.

Just the right words, the ones I needed to hear. In this context I also love to read Matthew 7:7-11. (Look it up.) But I already knew that one. Nathan pointed me to a source of inspiration I had missed, and for that I am very grateful. I bookmarked it on my Blackberry, and take heart from it each day.

My caricature (an Ariail original, I’ll have you know)

My colleagues from the editorial department (both past and present) had a going-away party for Robert and me Sunday night, which was really, really nice. (Why so long after we left? It was the first time that Cindi, who hosted the shindig at her place, could round up enough of us.) Aside from the present crowd, the blasts from the past included Kent Krell, Nina Brook, Mike Fitts, Claudia Brinson and John Monk — plus former publisher Ann Caulkins, who came all the way down from Charlotte just for the party, which really touched me. And a special appearance by Lee Bandy.

Actually, I’m deeply touched by everyone who played a role in the event (some would say, of course, that I am just “touched,” period). It was really great. You know, an awful lot of people just keep doing things to prevent me from feeling bad about getting laid off, so I don’t know when the shock sets in.

Anyway, a highlight of such events is always the reading of the mock page, which I won’t go into, except to say that it was full of relatively inside jokes. Some of it was a little more mainstream, such as this excerpt from a column in which I am announcing my plan to run for governor on the Unparty ticket:

Thus validated, I concluded that
there’s no way South Carolina can
get anywhere without the leadership
of my Un-Party, which we’ll
begin to demonstrate just as soon
as we can settle on what
we believe in.
We’re for a strong,
energy-independent
America, respected
worldwide. As is everybody.
We’re for a South Carolina
that pays workers
the same wages that people
expect in the rest of
America. As is everybody.
We’re for a South
Carolina that takes care
of its citizens, and makes
sure that all its children
have a good education.
As is everybody, except
Gov. Sanford.
I talked about my idea with the
governor, who listened to indulge
his self-image as political scholar.
“At the end of the day, Brad,
you’ve got to decide if South Carolina
now has the right soil conditions
for you to grow your political
endeavor,” he said.
“Well, you’ve certainly added
fertilizer to our soil,” I replied.
“You’ll have a problem convincing
voters that your Un-Party
will be as good at un-governing the
state as I have been. After all, I’ve
given the state a new definition of
un-leadership,” he said.
I then took the opportunity to
take a few quick photos and a
video for the Web. Quality wasn’t
so good, as it turned out, since this
was a phone conversation.
“The question, to me, at the end
of the day, is whether you hate
government enough to want to run
it. I don’t think you do, Brad, but
so it goes. To be continued.”
As I disconnected my telephone
headset, I looked up to see Robert
Ariail waiting for me, sketches in
hand. He might well have been
standing there for 15 minutes, just
waiting. Cartooning is not a profession
for the sane.

I should stop there, because I know most of the stuff my colleagues never intended to see published. Oh, all right, one more sample, and then I’m going away. Here, the wiseguys were making fun of my weakness for pop culture allusions (particularly The Godfather) and my propensity to digress, parenthetically, to an absurd degree:

But just as useful for the purpose of creating thinly connected
film-derivative metaphors about politics, government, society or
whatever we might be struggling to make a coherent point about
is the warning that “When they come, they come at what you
love,” with its implicit imperative to preserve and protect the
family. It is an imperative that is made unmistakably explicit in
the words of Don Vito Corleone in the initial 1972 film, The Godfather,
by far the finest movie ever produced (South Carolina, of
course, does not have a don. The governor should be the don,
and others in the organization should tremble at his approach.
But because he does not have the power to rub out discordant
rivals on a whim, instead we must endure the endless gang warfare
we see at the State House.), when he asks apostle Luca
Brasi, who was very handy with a garrote: “Do you spend time
with your family? Good. Because a man that doesn’t spend time
with his family can never be a real man.” (Of course, if Luca
Brasi had spent all the time that he should have with his family,
the core unit and strength of our society, then maybe he wouldn’t
have ended up sleeping with the fishes.)

OK, so you had to be there (like, in the office for the last 22 years). I thought it was a hoot.

And of course, the don didn’t say that to Luca; he said it to Johnny Fontane. But you knew that.

Finally, there was the cartoon — the original of which Robert gave me, framed. Which is very cool (no one on my block has an original Ariail caricature of them, ha-ha). Yet another thing that makes getting laid off worthwhile.

Check out Jeffrey Day’s ‘Carolina Culture’ blog

Lots of folks have said very kind things in expressing their dismay at my having been laid off from the paper. But I don’t think the outpouring I’ve received has been quite as intense as the feeling in the arts community over the loss of my colleague Jeffrey Day. I saw an e-mail calling for a letter-writing campaign to protest his departure within 24 hours of the news breaking — and unlike me, Jeffrey wasn’t even mentioned in the news story. The arts grapevine just moved that fast. The gist of the message I saw was, we may have hated what he said in some of his reviews, but we’re going to miss the serious attention he gave the arts. Or something along those lines.

Well, Jeffrey’s back — with a blog he unveiled today. I urge you to go check it out. There’s something to be said for taking a little time before launching your blog. Jeffrey’s is certainly more esthetically pleasing than mine. But you’d expect that.

You know, once Robert gets the bugs worked out of his new blog (he actually has a Web guru going to his house to cast spells over it tomorrow, I hear), between that and mine and Jeffrey’s, you’re practically going to have a reconstituted Stet Pepper online. Just add water.

Get your new Robert Ariail cartoons right here!

With great pleasure, I note that my great friend and colleague finally has his blog, robertariail.com, up and running, with the new cartoons he’s done in the last couple of weeks.

This is a relief. Over the weekend, I tried to give him some remote technical aid — he was having a lot of trouble getting the cartoons up on the site — but it was beyond my poor, humble talents.

Great to see that someone has come to his rescue (or, he figured it out himself).

Obama looking appalled in the Corridor of Shame

Bud Ferillo and I had lunch today for about two hours and 40 minutes, which is something we unemployed people can get away with (although it doesn’t touch my all-time personal best, a three-hour lunch with the late Gov. John C. West at the Summit Club, sometime around the year 2000, when I actually had a job).

Anyway, we spoke of many things, and one of them was this photograph he shared with me of Barack Obama last year when he first beheld J.V. Martin Junior High in Dillon. Bud urged me to note the president-to-be’s look of disgust that children were still attending class in a structure so old. (Or is he just squinting in the sunlight? You be the judge.)

Bud is the director of the acclaimed “Corridor of Shame,” by the way.

Higher education funding in S.C., by the numbers

xxx
By BRAD WARTHEN
brad@bradwarthen.com

For once, let’s start off with some numbers and dates:

· 17 percent – the amount of the University of South Carolina’s funding that now comes from state appropriations. Our state’s major research universities now get less than a fifth of their funding from state appropriations. In recent years, those in the know have stopped calling them “state institutions” and started calling them “state-assisted.” We’ve now reached the point at which even that seems like an overstatement.

· 1^st – South Carolina’s ranking in percentage of higher education funding cut last year. South Carolina, before the December and March reductions, had cut 17.7 percent from higher education budgets. (After those cuts, it has slashed higher ed budgets 24 percent.) The second worst state was Alabama, at 10.5 percent.

· 38^th – Our state’s ranking for higher ed funding before the past year’s nation-leading cuts.

· 1995 – The last year that state appropriations, as a dollar amount, equaled the current level, before adjusting for inflation.

· 1973 – The year that matches the current level of funding, once you adjust for inflation. (Think for a moment what North Carolina and Georgia have done in higher education since 1973, pulling light years ahead of South Carolina.)

· $29 million – The value of one grant (from the National Institutes of Health) brought in by a single one of the 13 endowed chair holders at the Medical University of South Carolina.

· 25 – New technology companies started by USC faculty in the years since the endowed chairs program started, which places the university 19^th among public institutions in the nation in number of start-ups.

· 50,000 – S.C. jobs provided directly or indirectly by USC.

· 11 percent – South Carolina unemployment rate in February.

· 43^rd – South Carolina’s national ranking for percentage of adult population with college educations.

Those are a few of the figures I picked up from the presentations that Clemson President James Barker, Medical University of South Carolina President Ray Greenberg and USC President Harris Pastides (joined by Garrison Walters, executive director of the state Commission on Higher Education) made to a joint meeting Wednesday of two Senate panels that deal with higher education funding, such as it is.

They were there to try to stop the bleeding, and to send the message that dealing a further blow to these institutions’ already last-in-the-nation funding by not accepting federal stimulus funds would be beyond insane (my wording, I hope you’ll note, not theirs).

In some cases, they had requests that bore specifically upon their respective institutions. For instance, Dr. Greenberg’s wish listed included a request that if tuition is capped, graduate and professional programs will be exempted. But in keeping with the extraordinary collaboration that has marked the interaction of the three presidents in recent years (which is no less than miraculous, given the petty, wasteful, tit-for-tat competition that characterized the decades that went before), he also cited priorities shared by all: Regulatory relief (which President Barker has explained as minimizing cost by requiring the schools to jump through two or three hoops instead of six every time they make a move); a state bond bill for capital needs; and passing the cigarette tax increase, with a major portion of the revenue going to Medicaid. OK, so maybe that last one has the most immediate effect on the medical university, but its benefits to the entire state are so obvious as to absolve it of parochialism.

And they had a sympathetic audience. “You’re number one in the country,” in budget cuts, Sen. Nikki Setzler noted. “If that isn’t a challenge to this committee to carry forward to the full General Assembly, then shame on us.”

Of course, Sen. Setzler is a Democrat, but that doesn’t count for as much of a difference in the S.C. Senate as it does in some venues. And when it comes to the federal stimulus upon which the GOP leadership is completely dependent for keeping essential state services running, there are only two sides – on one is Gov. Mark Sanford and a few allies to whom ideology is the only reality; on the other the vast majority of lawmakers.

Republicans don’t come more conventionally conservative than Senate Education Chairman John Courson, to whom Ronald Reagan was a demigod. And here’s what he had to say about the stimulus: “If we don’t accept that money, it does not go back to the Treasury; it goes to other states.” Which is just common sense, of course – nothing ideological about it. But this is a moment in South Carolina history when commonsense statements are in pathetically short supply, so every one uttered takes on added value. In an interview later, Sen. Courson explained the rationale adopted by most Republicans whose top priority is not posturing for national media: He opposed the stimulus bill when it was being debated in Washington. There’s a lot in it he doesn’t like; if he had been a member of Congress he would have voted against it. But that’s all over now. It’s a fact, and South Carolinians are going to be paying for it along with everyone else. Therefore, not taking the money makes no sense at all.

Tuition cost was on the senators’ minds, and well it should be, now that the bulk of higher education costs is on students and their families rather than state taxpayers. “I am pledging to keep any tuition increase for next year to a minimum,” said Dr. Pastides. “I’m keenly aware of the burden that a tuition increase would put on students and their families.”

But what happens with tuition depends upon the General Assembly’s actions – and the governor’s. “Will tuition and fees increase next year?” President Barker asked rhetorically. “The answer is: Almost certainly, but the level of increase is very dependent on what happens with state funding. Tuition is Clemson’s last-resort response….”

Mr. Barker pointed out that the effect of stimulus money on tuition is not direct, since he, like the other presidents, would use stimulus money for one-time, not recurring, expenses. But when asked by Sen. Harvey Peeler the expected effect upon the institutions of not accepting the stimulus money, the Clemson president said it “would be devastating.”

Other senators, seizing upon that word, asked other witnesses whether they agreed with it, prompting Dr. Pastides to oblige them by saying for the record, “It will be devastating, and it will have an effect on tuition” if the stimulus is blocked.

Normally, I’m not what you’d call a numbers guy; words are my thing. So I appreciate that the senators were groping for just the right word to describe the situation. But in this case, for once, the numbers impress me more. We are so far behind in our state. And if our governor has his way, we’ll take an additional giant leap backward.

This is my first weekly online-only column after leaving The State. Watch for more here on bradwarthen.com.

Background materials for tomorrow’s column

Being a creature of habit, I’ve written a column for tomorrow. It won’t be in The State, but it will appear here at bradwarthen.com (I hope that makes y’all feel special).

It’s based on the joint meeting of the S.C. Senate Education Committee and the Senate Finance Committee Higher Education Subcommittee on Wednesday morning at 10 a.m. The heads of the state’s three research universities and of the CHE testified regarding budget matters.

One of the cool things about being unemployed is that I actually have time to go out and do legwork, which I haven’t been able to do for years. I hadn’t even set foot in the Statehouse complex this year before Wednesday. And it’s been many years (perhaps going back to my reporting days in the late 70s) since I was able to sit all the way through a two-hour public hearing.

It was nice to be able to get that sort of perspective for a change. Anyway, I thought I’d provide y’all with some background material for the column. I don’t have electronic copies of CHE head Garrison Walters’ presentation, because it didn’t occur to me to request it, since I had a hard copy from the meeting. Likewise with MUSC President Ray Greenberg’s remarks, since he gave me his personal copy afterwards. But I did ask for USC President Harris Pastides’ and Clemson President James Barkers’ via e-mail, and here they are:

Here are Dr. Pastides’ prepared remarks.
And here are President Barker’s.

Let me know if you have any trouble opening those.

Is anyone looking into impeaching Sanford?

At the Verizon Wireless career fair. (credit: caberry@thestate.com)

Just wondering. It’s not that I’m advocating it or anything. Yet.

It just occurs to me to ask whether, once lawmakers have asked him to reconsider and he’s brushed that off (as you know he will), they have a backup plan for making sure South Carolina gets the stimulus that we’re going to be paying for anyway.

The stakes are huge, and they’re way more important than Sanford or whether he continues to hold office. For years, we’ve held our breath at the notion of Andre Bauer becoming governor, but at least he would accept the funding that is essential to continuing such critical services as, say, keeping prisoners locked up or teachers in the classroom.

Did you see the piece in today’s paper about our 11 percent unemployment rate in February, and the projection that it’s going to be a long time before things get better? (By the way, I borrowed the above image from thestate.com. If that’s not OK, somebody tell me.) An excerpt:

More than 900 people showed up this week at a Verizon Wireless career fair in Forest Acres for 120 call-center jobs with $27,000-a-year starting salaries and full benefits.

Though not required, many applicants had college degrees —desperate for work in a state with an unemployment rate that rose to 11 percent in February.

South Carolina continues to have the nation’s second-highest jobless rate, as 241,000 people last month hunted for work, the S.C. Employment Security Commission reported Friday.

Yep, we have the second-highest unemployment rate, and a couldn’t-give-less-of-a-damn governor.

The problem with the Clyburn bypass on stimulus funds is that it might involve a 10th amendment violation, what with the federal government telling a state what it has to do. But the bizarre situation we find ourselves in is that we have a governor who couldn’t care less about our actual state or its needs, but whose every decision is guided by his own desire to strut upon the national stage.

So, this raises the question: Is anyone at the State House looking into what it would take for South Carolinians to seize control of their own fate, which could involve taking control back from this ideological dilettante?

I have no idea what the legal possibilities are. But surely someone does. And surely someone is considering this contingency.

Blogging is harder when you’re unemployed

You know, I thought I’d be posting more than ever once I wasn’t working. I was really wrong.

When I was working, I was at a computer all day, and could post while I was doing other things. Run across something interesting in e-mail? Post it. Waiting for somebody’s column to come in? Write that post you’ve had at the back of your mind all day.

By contrast, this week I’ve found myself running around town meeting with various people — working on getting employed again — and once I stop for a minute and find myself at a machine, I’m too tired to blog.

I seem to hit a wall about 4 p.m. each day — total exhaustion. Maybe it’s psychosomatic, but I don’t know. I mean, I was just as stressed those last two weeks of work, but I never felt tired. I’d work until 8 or so without batting an eye. Remember, I wrote three columns in three days, there at the end, and energy was never in short supply.

Now, suddenly, when I don’t have to put in the long hours at the office — I’m worn out at the time that I normally think of as midafternoon. I’m fine in the morning — full of pep, ideas and so forth. But by 4, I want to lie down.

Presumably I’ll adjust and stop doing that, I guess, but in the meantime I’m getting up earlier to make my productive time a little longer — which makes me even more tired when I hit the wall, but whatever.

Anyway, I was going to write a “column” — a column-length post that would go up on Sunday — about the Senate hearing I attended Wednesday at which the presidents of USC, Clemson and MUSC made their budget pitches. That is, I was going to write it today. But I’ve spent the afternoon babysitting the twins instead (which is more fun). Looks like I’ll have to write that tomorrow.

Why didn’t I think of this?

Did you hear about the French 3M employees who took their boss hostage to try to get a better severance deal? (Apparently, they let him go last night.)

Now, why didn’t I think of that?

I’ll tell you why — I’m civilized, that’s why. Sure, I just got laid off, but I just can’t begin to identify with the kind of proletarian rage — or Gallic sense of entitlement, or whatever is being expressed here — that leads to this kind of lawlessness.

It wouldn’t even occur to me to resort to harsh words, much less violence. Not that this is violence, we’re told. Here’s an excerpt from a story during the standoff:

The stand-off, which isn’t violent, started on Tuesday when workers refused to allow plant director Luc Rousselet leave his office unless 3M sweetened severance packages being negotiated for the fired workers. Negotiations between the two sides are supposed to re-start late on Wednesday to try to find a solution.

Right. Maybe holding another person, physically, against his will isn’t technically violence, but it seems a prosecutor could make a good case for kidnapping, which in this country (to use a great Jack Nicholson line) is considered a more serious offense (I think; you lawyers correct me if I’m wrong) than simple assault. In fact, in some jurisdictions, doesn’t holding someone against his will constitute grounds for a lynching charge?

Apparently, after the workers let the boss go, negotiations on the severance were to continue. Seriously. Instead of everyone involved being hauled in and put under the jail, negotiations are to resume. What a country.

Meanwhile, workers are busting windows in Edinburgh to express their rage at a bank exec’s sweet retirement deal, so worker lawlessness is not restricted to France.

Of course, I will say that civil behavior cuts both ways. I’m parting with my newspaper amicably, and the paper is as responsible for that as I am. Robert and I received some nice tributes in the paper, and we were able to clean out our offices without armed guards standing over us. Robert tells me that another cartoonist laid off last week was told one day that he would lose his job the next, then when he came in the next morning to clean out his office, he was locked out.

As David Brent says, “Professionalism is… and that’s what I want.” Either you understand how to behave in a professional, civilized manner, or you don’t. Some companies, and some workers, don’t. Some do.

Finally, they took my red cells

The last couple of times I’ve tried to do the Alyx system at the Red Cross — it’s this deal where they take out a couple of pints of your blood, remove the red cells, then pump it back into you with a little saline — it didn’t work out. Once my iron was too low, the next time it was too late in the day or something. I gave whole blood instead both times, but it was a letdown, because Alyx is pretty cool (literally, since the stuff they pump back into you isn’t quite as warm as what they took out, which might be more than you want to know).

But today, I scored a 13.6 on the iron measurement, which requires a 13.3 before you can do this (the standard for giving whole blood is lower). So I feel a sense of accomplishment.

For months, I had been putting them off, because I just didn’t feel well, starting with that crud I got before Christmas. But I’m pretty healthy now, and I certainly have time on my hands. So I finally got it done.

You should, too. We need the blood here in the Midlands, where we almost never have enough for the community’s needs, and have to import from elsewhere. I mean, you don’t want me lording it over you with how good and fine and generous I am, and you not giving — do you? Because you know, I will do that — unless you stop me by donating.

I’ve given two-and-a-half gallons over the years, by the way.

By the book: Apparently, I’m doing everything right

You will not be surprised to learn that I took a particular interest in a book review, in the opinion pages of The Wall Street Journal this morning, of Martha I. Finney’s Rebound: A Proven Plan for Starting Over After Job Loss.

And I was reassured that I seem to be doing the right things, just by instinct:

I didn’t blow my stack over losing my job. In fact, beyond some peevish moments while dealing with paperwork — y’all know how I hate forms and such — I haven’t actually felt anything like anger, much less acted out. That’s good, because according to the review, the book says “Throwing a tantrum is out. Not only can it get you an unwelcome reputation as a hothead, it could lose you what little you can hope to take away in benefits.”
I still get up at the usual time, shave, get dressed and go to the usual place for breakfast, thereby staying in sync with this advice: “Ms. Finney presents some basic strategies for depression- avoidance, including such simple tactics as getting out of bed and getting dressed as if for work.”
The reviewer disagrees with the book one on point, and so do I: “And downright unhelpful is Ms. Finney’s suggestion that one abjure such ‘stress hormone-inducing substances’ as coffee. The last thing an unemployed java junkie needs is to go job-hunting sluggish and glassy-eyed from caffeine deprivation.” Amen to that. I’m trying not to overdo the coffee, because it can cause anxiety (even in the best of times) — but I’m not about to go cold-turkey.
The reviewer also objects to the author’s advice that the job-seeker call attention to himself by starting a blog. “Exactly how many employers will be eager to grant you an interview if they think that it might become material for your blog?” wonders the reviewer. That might be a good point for someone who wants a job in banking. But this is what I do, folks. This is my way of staying in shape for work.

The very best thing about this review is that I don’t feel compelled to read the book itself. That’s good, because being unemployed is hard, tiring work, and it takes all your energy and time. I say that based on one day. But at least I can say that every day I’ve been unemployed so far, I’ve received a standing ovation. Here’s hoping the second day is that good.

Those nice letters in today’s paper

I’m loving me some letters to the editor today. I thank my (ex-)colleagues for running them. The thing I like about them aside from the nice things they say about me, is that they represent a nice cross-section of readers — or as good a sample as you can get with just one day’s letters. A brief overview:

Harriet Hutto remembers our friendship starting differently from the way I do. She says it started with an e-mail response she wrote to me. She’s probably right. But I particularly remember getting to know her when she became the most persistently loyal reader I know. She lives on a rural route in the Holly Hill area, and it was one of those routes that was so rural, and had so few subscribers on it, that the paper dropped it. She refused to do without her paper, and she began a quest that involved me, Kathy Moreland in the publisher’s department, and Eddie Roof in circulation, trying to find a creative way to get her paper to her. Here’s what we came up with at one point: A friend who lived several miles away was on a route we were keeping. Harriet got the friend to put up a second box, and Harriet’s paper was delivered there — and she drove over and got it every morning. Anyway, Harriet has over the years written some of the most fascinating e-mails chronicling life in rural South Carolina. She is a talented, and prolific, writer, and a dear lady. Oh, and FYI, she’s Sen. Brad Hutto’s mother.
The night of the first presidential debate, I hung around to meet the panel that the newsroom had put together to react. It had been another long day, and I was tired. Since it was a newsroom deal, I felt sort of like a fifth wheel. I sort of justified my being there by passing out a bunch of “State in ’08” coffee mugs. And now, I see this nice letter from James Frost, saying he was glad to meet me that night — that it was, in fact, an honor. Likewise, Mr. Frost. I’m glad I showed up.
Jim Stiver was an honors college adviser over at USC in the mid-90s when my oldest daughter started there. As I recall, he interviewed her for a scholarship. I learned that he was an ardent libertarian, and that he had mentioned to my daughter that he was familiar with my work. (She said he asked her a question — “What is the difference between anarchy and chaos?” I forget what my daughter said, but I remember what I told her I would have said: “About five seconds.”) Uh-oh, I thought. My poor child will never get that scholarship. But she did. And that testifies to what a fair-minded man Prof. Stiver is.
Milly Hough is the communications director at the SC Arts Commission. I don’t know what to say to someone who says I was the “conscience” of the paper. Feels like a heavy burden I’ve just put down. I do truly appreciate it, though.
When I read this proof on Friday, my red pen struck at Nancy Padgett saying, “I always knew that he was going to end up voting Republican.” But I let it go. Nancy meant it kindly. It’s SO demonstrably untrue (my count shows that we endorsed slightly more Democrats than Republicans in the years I headed the editorial board), and to me insulting (the idea that I would identify with either of those execrable factions appals me), that I was going to protest it to me colleagues. (Of course, they would have told me that I had no say, that I had to recuse myself, but I was going to protest it all the same.) But the thing is that I knew from years of correspondence with her that this was what she truly believed — she’s one of those Democrats who, if you endorse a Republican once at any point in time, you are a Republican, and incontrovertible evidence to the contrary has no effect — and that she was only saying it to dramatize her kind intentions toward me. And besides, the following letter was a nice counterpoint to it…
Once, early in my friendship with Bud Ferillo, I was a guest for dinner at his home, and I was pretty impressed by his study. Wall-to-wall, floor to ceiling, nothing but pictures of prominent Democrats, national and state, and remembrances of past Democratic campaigns. It was a shrine to his party. So I figured, if readers see that Bud Ferillo of all people, expresses his “deepest appreciation for the causes and hopes we have shared,” readers will probably take Nancy’s kindly-intended error with a grain of salt. So I left it alone, and did not protest.
I’m particularly pleased by Carole Holloway’s anecdote about my playing phone tag with her until I reached her at 8 p.m. on a Friday when she had a complaint. It pleased me because I know that in recent years — as my staff shrank, and it became harder and harder to get the simplest things done in the course of the day — there have been too many people I failed to get back to. At least, that’s how I remember it. We tend to remember our failings; or I do. I don’t remember everything about my conversation with her, but what I probably said is this: I appreciate that you care so much about what I do for a living that you don’t want less of it. But I ask you to consider, if you don’t like having fewer editorial pages being put out by fewer people, how do you think I like it? Do you think I would give you less if it were in my power to give you more? Just to be clear, I would not. My whole career has been about doing more, doing a better job than I did the day before. And now I can’t. I’m sorry, and touched, that you don’t like it. But I like it far less. Or something like that. I’ve said things like that a lot in recent years. I felt every cutback like it was coming out of my hide, but I also fully understood the horrific bind that my industry was in, with the advertising revenue base melting under our feet. And I understand it now that I’ve lost my job. Of course, understanding doesn’t make it any better. The awful thing is, there’s no one to blame — and no one who might put it to rights if only you complain passionately enough. It’s just the world changing.

Getting paid to have a blast: Working with Robert

By BRAD WARTHEN
Editorial Page Editor
REMEMBER “The Dick Van Dyke Show”? For you younger folks, it was about a guy named Rob Petrie, the head writer for a fictional variety show (and if you’re too young to know what a “variety show” is, go look it up) called “The Alan Brady Show.”

There were these wonderful scenes of Rob and his colleagues at work, writing comedy sketches — a process that involved a lot of bouncing around the office, acting out and collaborative improvisation. Morey Amsterdam’s frenetic character would jump up and say something like, “OK, so Alan walks into the room…” and the other two would throw in various wild things until they made each other laugh, and the skit would take shape. It looked like the most fun a person could possibly get paid for having.

That’s what it’s been like working with my friend Robert Ariail over the past 15 years. Just like that.

Robert would come into my office after the other editors and I were done with our morning meeting (Robert doesn’t do meetings), usually with several sketches. Sometimes he’d come with nothing, but that was unusual. I’d react to the sketches, maybe suggesting dialogue changes, maybe an entirely different approach. Robert pays me the compliment of saying I think like a cartoonist. And I do. I have everything it takes — except the talent.

Robert has truckloads of that. He can sketch an idea as quickly as you can describe it, and many of those initial sketches could be published as they are. But was he satisfied? No way. He might go through 10 versions in the course of the day, coming back to my office several times to seek further feedback. This was fine, although more often than not, his first instincts were the best. He would refine, and it would get better and better, but he usually had it nailed from the start.

As you know, Robert and I are both leaving the paper. Today is our last day. Such is the state of our industry. So much for getting paid to have fun, for a collaboration that almost daily, for years on end, had both of us laughing like a couple of hyenas on nitrous oxide. How many people get to do that for even one day? We’ve had 15 years, and for that I feel blessed.

But it hasn’t been just about fun. What Robert has done has mattered, to South Carolina and the nation (which is why he’s won every national award except the Pulitzer, and he’s been a finalist for that twice). Robert can pack more punch into a cartoon than I can get into a hundred columns. There’s just something about a funny picture with a point.

That’s why the prestigious Calhoun Lecture Series at the Strom Thurmond Institute at Clemson University had Robert deliver the last talk of the term, just last week. He spoke of the history of cartooning in general, and at The State in particular. Among other things, he told this story:

Robert is the second cartoonist actually to be employed (rather than contributing on a freelance basis) by the paper. During the 1910 gubernatorial campaign, the first one did a cartoon on the race-baiting populist Cole Blease. It was hard-hitting. The surviving Gonzales brothers (original editor N.G. Gonzales had been gunned down five years earlier) didn’t see the cartoon before it appeared in the paper. The cartoon was seen as so harsh that it was widely believed to have helped Mr. Blease win the election, by causing voters to feel sorry for him. The Gonzales brothers apparently decided that having a cartoonist was a risky thing, because they never hired another one.

In fact, the position remained vacant until Robert filled it in 1984. Before he started, he was interviewed by the late Ben Morris, then the publisher, who just had one thing to tell Robert: “Don’t surprise me.” It wasn’t until Robert read the history later that he understood the reference.

Here’s hoping cartoonists aren’t like comets. Here’s hoping it doesn’t take another 74 years for another one to streak across the sky.

Perhaps I’m being overly dramatic. After all, Robert will still be around. He has a new Web site, robertariail.com — just being set up as I write this — where he will post new cartoons, and where you can find links to his old ones. And he will still be syndicated nationally, which provides him with a monetary incentive to keep ’em coming.

Beyond that, I’m happy to have reason to believe Robert will be just fine.

You see, Robert is not my first close cartoonist friend. Richard Crowson and I were at Memphis State University together in the early ’70s. The first column I wrote for the editorial page of the journalism department lab paper was illustrated by a Crowson cartoon. After college, he and I worked together for a decade at The Jackson (Tenn.) Sun. After I became news editor at the much-larger paper in Wichita, Kansas, in 1985, I persuaded Richard to pull up roots and join me out West.

So imagine how I felt when The Wichita Eagle laid Richard off six months ago — for the same reasons Robert and I are leaving The State. I was so torn up about it that I didn’t call Richard to talk about it until two days ago. And guess what? He’s happy as a clam. “For me personally, the layoff has just been great,” he said as he was driving to a recording session (he’s the finest bluegrass musician I’ve ever known). “I don’t have any money, but… how do you put a value on peace of mind?” He doesn’t miss the daily pressure one bit.

And after all my worrying. Robert’s, too. We knew he was not long for this newspaper. Sadly (for me), it has cast a pall over our daily brainstorming sessions, sometimes making me impatient and crabby — although Robert kept cranking out wonderful cartoons anyway.

But the past few days, since the news broke, have been great. With the pressure off, the old fun has returned. That may sound odd, but it’s true.

And this is the way I’m going to remember it.

Robert and I will still collaborate at every opportunity. Find his future work at robertariail.com. My new address is bradwarthen.com.

‘I killed the president of Paraguay with a fork. How’ve you been?’

Just had to smile when I saw a release a few minutes ago from a company that does “pet health insurance.” Smiling not at the company, but at the association it brought to mind.

It made me think of Martin Blank, the professional assassin, rehearsing what he would say to people at his 10th high school reunion: “Hi… I’m a pet psychiatrist. Yeah, yeah. I sell couch insurance…” He goes on to say (if this guy I’m linking to quoted it right; I don’t have the DVD on me at the moment:

“… Mm-hmm. And I — and I test-market positive thinking. I lead a weekend men’s group, we specialize in ritual killings. Yeah, you look great! God, yeah! Hi, how are you? Hi, how are you? Hi, I’m Martin Blank, you remember me? I’m not married, I don’t have any kids, and I’d blow your head off if someone paid me enough.”

Not that I’m being the least bit critical; at least these people have jobs. In fact, speaking of John Cusack, I started quoting him completely unintentionally the other night when I was telling one of my kids in all seriousness the things that I would probably not do in my future pursuit. I said something like, “You don’t want to ask me to sell anything…” and my daughter, having my genes, immediately started laughing and quoting,

“I don’t want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don’t want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don’t want to do that.”

Well, I had to laugh, too, because I guess what I said did sound sort of like that. Maybe I should be a little less picky than Lloyd Dobler, though, under the circumstances. What do you think.

A previous column about Robert Ariail

At the moment, I’m supposed to be writing a column for tomorrow’s paper about the departure from the paper of my dear friend Robert Ariail. I haven’t started that column yet. (Don’t tell Cindi; she’ll be in here beating me about the head and shoulders with a pica pole.)

Anyway, in the process of fixin’ to write that column, I looked back at this old one I wrote about him, back when he had a show of his work going on over at the State Museum, in 1998.

I share it with you while I set to work on the new one:

DO ME (AND YOURSELF) A FAVOR: INSULT ROBERT ARIAIL
State, The (Columbia, SC) – Sunday, March 15, 1998
Author: BRAD WARTHEN , Editorial Page Editor
The top five editorial cartoonists working today are Pat Oliphant, Robert Ariail . . . and I forget the other three. Based on the reams of syndicated cartoons we get, Robert Ariail throws away more good ideas in a day than other cartoonists publish in a week.

The State is lucky to have him. So is South Carolina.

And so am I. I get to supervise Robert , and that’s one of the best parts of my job. Actually, “supervise” isn’t exactly the word, since Robert is a guy who very much does his own thing. Instead, call what I do “vicarious participation in the creative process.” I get to be a close observer of the creation of really wonderful cartoons, at least five days a week. It’s the next best thing to having talent of your own.

But please, please don’t tell him I said any of that. Robert doesn’t need building up right now. What he needs is a good swift kick to the ego. Not that he has a swollen head yet. Robert ‘s still as unassuming as ever. But that can’t last, not at this rate.

To start with, you’re going to see his face on billboards around town. That’s not too bad; several of his colleagues will have the same experience. But with Robert , billboards are just the beginning.

Starting last week, Robert has been syndicated by United Media, which means cartoons that first appear in The State now go to more than 600 newspapers around the country.

Later this month, Robert will be the guest of honor for a do at the State Museum. This fete will have several purposes – celebrating his syndication, benefiting the museum (at $25 a pop) and kicking off a show of his cartoons.

And then there’s the national award – strike that, international award – that Robert just learned he has won. But I can’t tell you about that because it hasn’t been announced.

I can tell you that it isn’t a Pulitzer. A Pulitzer is about all he hasn’t won. The cardboard box in his office in which he keeps such things already contains a National Headliner Award, a national Sigma Delta Chi Award and two Green Eyeshade Awards (a mere regional prize). But still no Pulitzer. That’s about all I’ve got to cling to, my one hope for keeping the boy down on the farm.

And even with the Pulitzer, he’s come frighteningly close recently. In 1995, he was one of the three announced finalists. In 1996, according to a source on the jury, he was in the top six – which is closer than it sounds, since in the final stage the judges rejected the three finalists and went to the next three for their winner.

In 1997, I took desperate action to reverse this trend. Here’s the approach I took in the cover letter for his entry:

OK, folks, I’m beginning to lose patience with this process. Every year, Robert Ariail , arguably the best editorial cartoonist working in America today, submits a stellar Pulitzer entry. Every year, I write him a nice, respectful cover letter listing his virtues.

And every year, he ALMOST makes it. (But) every year, he ends up a bridesmaid. And if you think your cousin Ethel looked bad in a bridesmaid’s dress, you should see Robert .

I told Robert that being obnoxious and making stupid jokes would get the judges’ attention. He bought it. And my plan worked. In 1997, he didn’t get so much as a nod from the Pulitzer folks.

Why do I have to do all of this myself? You people could help. But no – everywhere I go, people have to go on about how they love that Robert Ariail . Even people who hate everything else on the pages have to throw him bouquets: “All of you scum-sucking Yankee Northern ‘Knight-Rider’ carpetbagger pinkos should go back where you came from (which in my case would be Marlboro County, but never mind). However, I find Ariail ‘s cartoons delightful.”

What are you people trying to do – run him off? How much more of this can one poor boy take without getting the idea that he’s too big to hang with us local yokels? Sure, he was born here, and his family’s here, but what’s all that in the glare of the bright lights?

People are always asking what it’s like to work with Robert Ariail . I’ll tell you: It’s a lot of fun, and I want to keep on doing it.

Every morning when he comes into my office to pitch cartoon ideas, we end up laughing like a couple of hyenas on nitrous oxide. People outside my office think we’re not working. Come to think of it, maybe I’m not. But Robert is. And is that fair?

Once, a colleague of mine at another paper, who fancied himself a great wit, asked Dave Barry why he got to write a fun, syndicated column and be the toast of the nation while the rest of us have to stay in the trenches putting out the paper every day. Dave just said, “Talent,” then jetted off to meet his next batch of admiring peasants.

Is this what you want to see happen with Robert Ariail ? I should hope not. So do something about it. What? I don’t know. Go to his show at the State Museum next month and make cutting remarks. It’s not much, maybe, but every little bit helps the cause.

You can write to Mr. Warthen at warthen @thestate.infi.net or at P.O. Box 1333, Columbia, S.C. 29202.

And no, that infi.net address doesn’t work any more. Once I get it up and running, my new e-mail address will be brad@bradwarthen.com, by the way.