The biggest problem producing an army to fight ISIS is finding an army to fight ISIS. Apparently everybody wants to provide air power that can hit prominent targets from the stratosphere, but nobody wants to be the boots on the ground. We are told you can’t win without boots on the ground. By that, it is not meant that we can get Gucci or somebody to set up a bunch of boots on the desert. These boots need real feet in them, or at least they do for now. Maybe in a few years science will give us the boot equivalent of drones, which can run around booting butts without needing an actual person in them.
The solution to this is obvious, and not without precedent. Fans of old movies are familiar with foreign legionaries who hung out in arid places, dressed for arid weather, ready to defeat whoever the movie was about. The most famous outfit, which apparently still exists today, is the French Foreign Legion (pictured above), once composed of foreign fighters who joined an elite group. They seemed to specialize in Arab stuff, at least in the movies, although they were also the hapless outfit that lost French Indochina to the Viet Minh in the 1950s.
Obviously, the French don’t want this unit to be the boots on the ground in Iraq and Syria. So why not set up a clone? Call it the Arab Legion, not to be confused with the Arab Legion that fought with Germany in World War II. This would be an elite volunteer force composed of anybody who wanted to fight the barbarians now on the prowl in the Middle East. There must be a ton of young dudes around the world who would, for religious purposes, or pure adventure (as in the French Foreign Legion), be willing to sign on for the noble purpose of saving civilization.
We are speaking here of young tigers who can’t see enough of the film “Patton” and George C. Scott’s speech about greasing the treads of our tanks with the guts of these dumb sons of bitches who want to die for their country. We would bet there are 10,000 such good men, and maybe some women, in our own armed forces who would volunteer to be such heroes. Add in the rest of the gutless world, and we would have more troops than we would ever need to be a permanent force in the Middle East. The big problem would be providing enough bars (in a place that discourages such) to keep these wonderful guys happy when not on duty.
PROVIDING: We paid them very, very well, perhaps using the money saved when all these NFL criminals are executed. And, THIS IS MORE IMPORTANT, they must have great uniforms. Here we get back to the iconic suits worn by the French Foreign Legion. They feature, even today, the kepi headgear. We all know it. It was a cut down version of the shako, invented in Hungary and worn by European armies in the early 1800s. The shako was a round, tall hat that made 5-foot-3 soldiers look 6-foot-7, often decorated with absurd plumes which made it even taller. Later, sobering up, the French cut it down and we used the HO version in our Civil War. Much later, the U.S. Army called it the “Ridgeway Cap” – a softer, olive drab version named for a Korean War general who fancied the style. It was worn by great military figures (including this author) in the 1950s and '60s. The same cap survives today on Fidel Çastro’s aging skull.
The kepi would of course have a neck cloth as in the old movies, giving it some Arab empathy. The uniform would be tropical and khaki with flourishes of crimson and blue, with a serious leather belt and of course, knee-high boots, which would thrill a Texas A&M cadet. It would be one sexy uniform, and men would love it because girls love guys in sexy uniforms.
Of course, such snappy garb is not for a fight. In combat, our Arab Legion would have the latest equipment and the soldiers would look like creatures from outer space, just as they do now. But one hopes that the mere existence of such a ready force, always camped near the next crisis, would perhaps deter that crisis, and give the lads more time to dance in their finery with beautiful ladies in gleaming palaces drinking whiskey and rye, as in the movies of old.
It has been 20 years. We were returning from a mother-in-law’s funeral in Philadelphia. As we entered Florida we made a decision to not continue on our usual route down Interstate 95, with all of the potential hazards that entails. Let’s just take our time, we thought, go on back roads and enjoy the ride through a part of the state we saw little of. This was before GPS, and our map showed that the most obvious route was U.S. 301, which meets I-95 north of the busy Jacksonville area, and heads toward the center of the state, going close to Gainesville. It looked like a relaxing route after a sad time in Philadelphia. We figured if it took too long we could always hook up with Florida’s Turnpike for the rest of the journey.
For an hour or so the decision met expectations. The road was not crowded and it was mostly through pleasant, undeveloped land. We congratulated ourselves on our choice. We had the van on cruise control at 55 mph, rolling along like a duck toward paradise.
We saw a sign with a lower speed limit and tapped the brake. There was a stop light in the distance and we glided toward it. It seemed an odd place for a light, or for a slower speed limit. There was nothing there to warrant either. That thought had barely crossed our mind when we saw the flashing light of a police car parked in the median ahead. As we stopped at the light, the police car made a U-turn behind us. We were caught speeding.
We did not even know where we were. It turned out to be the town of Lawtey, which we soon learned was a notorious speed trap, where the limit drops quickly so that anybody traveling at a normal speed does not have time to slow down. We protested that day; the wife even said we were coming from her mother’s funeral. The cop was not into sob stories. Lawtey is a town that has so little crime, the cops have to commit their own, which is how we felt about it then, and still do, 20 years later. We regard this as organized crime and it should be illegal for a hick town to support itself on traffic tickets. Especially when the victims are seeking a slower, calmer route than the busy interstates.
Our story got even more complicated. As furious as we were, we paid the ticket, which was something like $130 at the time – or at least we thought we had paid it, until we got a notice that our license had been suspended. We worked that out, but not without a lot of hassle. We called the state attorney general’s office, where we threw our press clout around. We told them we were close friends with Bob Butterworth, attorney general at the time. That wasn’t true, but we did meet him once. The chap we spoke to was most sympathetic. He knew all about Lawtey and other towns who preyed on drivers. We got the impression he wanted to do something about it. We expected to read any day that the cop who stopped us, and every other public official in the town, had been burned at the stake or suffered more severe punishment.
Nothing happened. We wrote about it and have revisited the subject over the years with the least provocation. Some time later, we called the Lawtey police, basically asking if they still had the speed trap. The lady who answered pretty much said yes, but she had to get off the phone suddenly. We heard somebody shouting in her office. It was undoubtedly the latest victim of this corruption threatening to shoot somebody.
We bring this up now because last week the Town of Waldo, a place near Lawtey with a similar speed trap, suspended its police chief after complaints from officers that they were forced to meet quotas in writing tickets. That is illegal and the Florida Department of Law Enforcement is investigating. The incident drew attention to Waldo’s (and Lawtey’s) reputation as two of the country’s worst speed traps. That reputation is so bad that Wikipedia, in its description of U.S. 301 in Florida, identifies those speed traps, in effect warning motorists to avoid those towns.
Too bad we did not have Wikipedia 20 angry years ago.
In case you missed it, Monday's Miami Herald carried another winner from the independent investigative unit Broward Bulldog. This is the operation, headed by former Herald reporter Dan Christensen, that for the last five years has been filling the void left by the cutbacks in newspaper staffs. It is the outfit that reported on the mysterious Saudi Arabians who blew out of Florida just before Sept. 11, 2001. Their disappearance disturbed former Florida Gov. and U.S. Sen. Bob Graham, who has been pushing to learn what the FBI knew about this situation, and especially why the committee investigating Sept. 11, that he co-chaired, was never advised about it. And, just as interesting, the government has been stonewalling.
Monday's story, bylined by Francisco Alvarado, deals with a lobbyist close to Gov. Rick Scott, who managed to quickly reverse the state's position on the controversial Watson Island development in downtown Miami. This is a project long opposed by environmentalists, who seemed to be winning until the developer hired a lobbyist friendly with Scott. Like most things political, it requires some reading, and a dash of thinking, so check out the report.
This is not the first time Broward Bulldoghas embarrassed Scott. It also broke the story of the governor’s “blind” trust for his investments after he took office, an operation actually being run by one of his cronies, whose eyesight is pretty good.
Coincidentally, today’s Herald also addresses the campaign ads run by Scott accusing his opponent, Charlie Crist, of selling judicial appointments in return for large contributions from Ponzi master Scott Rothstein. The Herald called it “half true,” meaning that Crist appointed Rothstein to a Judicial Nominating Commission, but the Herald, after interviewing other members of the commission, found no evidence that Crist appointed any judges because of Rothstein’s influence.
Actually, compared to Scott, Crist’s term as governor was largely free from scandal, whereas almost everything Scott does seems tainted by political influence, the Watson Island incident just being the latest example.
Crist’s problem is that he is perceived as a man who changes parties, and will say anything to anybody to get elected. If Scott were opposed by any of our past political notables, this would not be a close election. And, by the way, what happened to Florida along the way? We had the recently buried Reubin Askew (pictured above) in the 1970s, a man of impeccable integrity, eulogized as perhaps the best governor in the state’s history. And then there was Bob Graham, in the same league, and still a force for truth and sanity in American government. And there’s Lawton Chiles. We can’t recall any controversy during his terms as U.S. senator and governor. And most recently, Jeb Bush, who appears to be sorely missed, even by those who may not have voted for him.
Where are our men of honor today? Has Florida become suddenly a dumb place, or do our people just not give a damn?
She was trying to find a Dunkin’ Donuts all along the Jersey Turnpike, for that is the only coffee she drinks, at least on the road. Fortunately, we had our favorite snack aboard – a package of pistachios in the glove compartment. Nobody keeps gloves in a glove compartment, but we keep there almost everything else that alters and illuminates our times.
The idiot girl on the GPS had specific instructions to take us the fast route in midday through New York City, en route to the eastern tip of Long Island, specifically Shelter Island. We thought idiot girl would choose either the Verrazano Narrows Bridge or the George Washington, and because she had gained our trust over 1,000 miles, we accepted her route – until suddenly we found ourselves inexorably driven into the Lincoln Tunnel and downtown Manhattan. The tunnel was jammed.
“This is crazy,” we said. “Idiot girl has done exactly what we didn’t want. Now we have to cross Manhattan.”
The only sensible way to cross Manhattan is on foot. It is about three times faster than any vehicle except a bike or skateboard at midday. For the occasion, George Washington chose a horse. Alas, we were stuck in a SUV, and we were stuck behind 3 million crazy vehicles practically stacked on top of each other on 34th Street. The miracle on 34th Street is that anyone crosses between the two rivers and lives to tell about it.
“Watch out,” she screamed. “That truck is not stopping! Look out for that kid! You almost hit that cop. Watch out for that woman with the baby! You’re driving crazy!”
“I’m not driving crazy. Everybody else is driving crazy. Damn, they keep closing lanes. Get me a pistachio. They’re in the glove compartment.”
“You can’t eat a pistachio driving like this. Are you crazy?”
“No, I’m trying to avoid a heart attack. Pistachios are good for heart health. Studies show that volunteers in a double-blind study saw their LDL bad cholesterol drop by about 14 percent. HDL for good cholesterol rose by 26 percent with a 12 percent decrease in total cholesterol. Give me a pistachio quick. I’m having chest pains.”
“You can’t break these open while driving. You’re in the bus lane! Move out. Watch out. That guy’s not letting you in. Watch out for those kids! You have a red light!”
“The cop is telling me to go through. Open the pistachio for me.”
“I can’t.”
“Try another one. Some of them are easier than others.”
“You can’t eat and drive. Watch out for that guy on the bike! You’re gonna kill us!”
“Get me another pistachio. You’re screaming is making me nervous. The vitamin B6 in pistachios has wide-ranging effects on the nervous system. Messaging molecules called amines require amino acids to develop. B6 plays a crucial role in the formation of myelin, the insulating sheath around nerve fibers that allows optimal messaging between nerves.”
“Damn it, I broke a fingernail on your freakin’ pistachios! What are you doing? You’re stopped in the middle of the intersection. You’re blocking traffic! Back up.”
“I can’t. That cop is waving me through. Hey, there’s a Dunkin’ Donuts. You can get your coffee.”
“I can’t get out now. I’ll never find you.”
“We aren’t moving. I’ll only be a few cars away in a half hour.”
“Watch out for that taxi! You nearly hit him. Are you blind?”
“Pistachios contain carotenoids, called lutein and zeaxanthin, which function as protective antioxidants, defending tissues from damage from free radicals. They have been linked with a decrease in the risk of developing age-related macular degeneration, a leading cause of visual impairments in the United States.”
The ordeal probably lasted 40 minutes, but it seemed like a month before we finally reached the Long Island Expressway, where we were rewarded with bumper-to-bumper traffic for the next 20 miles.
For the record, our GPS system advises that we blew more than an hour getting on and off interstates looking for Dunkin’ Donuts, which were not where they were supposed to be. But that was in North Carolina and a good many pistachios later. By then, we were immune to traffic travails. B6, which pistachios abound in, helps the body make healthy red blood cells, and maintain the health of the thymus, spleen and lymph nodes, ensuring the production of white blood cells that defend the body from infections.
We first met back in the 1970s or early ‘80s. Rosemary Jones, who had freelanced for Gold
Coast magazine, introduced us to Fred Ruffner, for whom she did some work. He was a low-key, gracious reference book publisher who had a lot of money. He soon would have a lot more, when he sold his company, Gale Research, for $66 million.
Coast magazine, introduced us to Fred Ruffner, for whom she did some work. He was a low-key, gracious reference book publisher who had a lot of money. He soon would have a lot more, when he sold his company, Gale Research, for $66 million.Thus, it happened that in 1992, when we won a long lawsuit and were seeking investors to return Gold Coast magazine to its former glory, Rosemary Jones suggested we talk to Fred Ruffner. He had started another reference book company, Omnigrahics, but wasn't nearly as busy as in the past. We were looking for small investors, but Ruffner, it turned out, had always wanted to own a magazine. He wanted to buy the whole magazine. He did.
Coast magazine to its former glory, Rosemary Jones suggested we talk to Fred Ruffner. He had started another reference book company, Omnigrahics, but wasn't nearly as busy as in the past. We were looking for small investors, but Ruffner, it turned out, had always wanted to own a magazine. He wanted to buy the whole magazine. He did.Fred Ruffner, we quickly discovered, was a first-class guy who did everything first class. We had one of the fanciest offices in town on Las Olas Boulevard, with a boardroom that could host a basketball game. He owned one of Fort Lauderdale's most spectacular Intracoastal homes, and opened it up for lavish parties. He used only the best paper and photographers. He tied the magazine into his various philanthropies, including the Gold Coast Jazz Society and anything to do with libraries. His business was built on libraries – every reference book had a built-in market of thousands of libraries – and he never forgot it.
Coast Jazz Society and anything to do with libraries. His business was built on libraries – every reference book had a built-in market of thousands of libraries – and he never forgot it.He spent way too much money on the magazine. He paid people, including us, too much. He had an expensive consultant who knew nothing about the magazine business. He insisted on using a printer in Detroit where he had built his company. The result of his lavish spending was that within months of his first issue the quality he achieved made people forget that the magazine's reputation had been tarnished during the 10-year legal fight. The other result was that Fred Ruffner lost more money quickly than he had ever lost. After always wanting to be in the magazine business, after only three issues he wanted to get out.
than he had ever lost. After always wanting to be in the magazine business, after only three issues he wanted to get out.We tried to convince him it was only a matter of time before success came. He had done the hard part. He was not interested. We had joked that the worst thing that could happen to him was that we would buy the book back. In late 1993 he asked us to do exactly that. Thanks to the excellent product he had produced, we were able to put an investment group together in months.
We knew his health was slipping, but we had hoped he would be around next spring when the magazine he helped save celebrates its 50th anniversary. That did not quite happen. He died last week at 88. The good he has done lives after him.
One of the sillier aspects of political correctamania is the recurring dispute over showing the Confederate flag. The Sunday Miami Herald wrote about a Fredericksburg, Va., man who has upset some people by flying a large Confederate flag on his property, visible to all on Interstate 95. Not a bad place for a flag. Fredericksburg was the scene of the slaughter of the Irish Brigade, Union troops. Those who object consider the Stars and Bars an odious symbol of racism, an endorsement of slavery. Those increasing few who dare to fly it say it honors their family or community history.
It all boils down to arguing the cause of that great fight. Some say it was about slavery; others say it was states' rights. The fact is both are right. Slavery was the economic cause of the disunion among the states. But the men who fought and died, on either side, were for the most part not fighting for, or against, slavery. They fought for their neighborhoods. In the case of the South, it was the belief that the states had rights superior to a federal government. That had been an argument since the beginning of the country, and the Civil War settled it. As Shelby Foote wrote, before the Civil War it was “the United States are.” After the Civil War, it became “the United States is.”
Just because a Southern man picked up a gun did not mean he subscribed to slavery. His state may have seceded because business interests, as today, often controlled state governments, and in the South much of business used slave labor. But the average soldier, even the average general, did not own slaves. Robert E. Lee did, but he was in the process of setting them free. Lee stated that he went to war for his native state, Virginia. That was his higher loyalty, although he revised that view later.
A better example is Patrick Cleburne, an Irish-born general from Arkansas. He fought for that state because he had been accepted and prospered there after the hardships and discrimination of Ireland. He went so far as to advocate freeing slaves and making them Confederate soldiers. His idea was repugnant to some, but he continued to show his Southern loyalty to the point of being killed at the battle of Franklin. There are innumerable stories of men who gave all for a cause that had nothing to do with race. Wesley Culp grew up in Gettysburg (his uncle owned Culp’s Hill, scene of a bloody battle) but moved to Virginia just before the war. He came back with the Southern army and was killed on his uncle’s property.
What seems most unfair is comparing the Confederate flag to the swastika, the symbol of the Nazis. To begin with, that was a political party’s emblem, not a national one. German insignia during World War II was the black cross, same as today, although it is now the more artsy cross of Malta. Nobody condemns it. Same as the Japanese hinomaru, symbolizing the sun, which we mocked as a meatball. Considering the brutality of the Japanese in the war, that emblem might have been discouraged. In fact, it was for three years, but today the Japanese flag is unchanged from 1941. Nobody seems to be upset.
So, perhaps we should ban the Confederate flag from 1865 to 1868, but in 2014 don’t get upset about it, except when flown, as it sometimes is, by gun nuts. Ban the nuts, not the flag.
There has been some chatter recently about changing the names of things named after people nobody has heard of, such as Arthur Godfrey Road in Miami Beach. Now, for those who have never heard of him, Arthur Godfrey was once a dominant radio and television personality who was strongly identified with South Florida, especially Miami Beach. Some credit him with creating the buzz that brought Jackie Gleason and a lot of collateral publicity to South Florida.
We credit Godfrey with giving Miami Magazinesome plugs back in the early 1970s when we owned it. It seems he liked girls, and one of the girls he liked happened to be selling advertising for us. Godfrey mentioned our magazine and his foxy friend on the air. Alas, it did not do us much good, as we were forced to sell the struggling magazine to a fellow who eventually made some money on it. Arthur Godfrey died in 1983. To preserve his memory, they named a prominent artery after him. It preserved his memory so well, that today nobody remembers him. At least one public official said he isn’t “relevant” these days. That means nobody makes any money on him today.
There’s a little more to this story. Godfrey ran his operation from a restricted hotel, and even when they named something after him, some people thought it questionable, suspecting him of anti-Semitism. Hence, an effort to undo what should not have been done in the first place.
In principle, we object to changing names of places, such as the former Joe Robbie Stadium, which has been changed so often that people say they’re going to a game at “whatever they call it today.” There is, however, considerable precedent for changing names. The Jackie Gleason Inverrary Classic is now the Honda; people once called Miami Lemon City, presumably named after a lemon; Delray Beach was originally Linton, named after an early settler; Stuart was at one time Potsdam, named after the German town where some settlers were born; Dania used to be Modello. Whatever happened to New Amsterdam or New Sweden? Those places were renamed after whoever won the latest battle. Just up river from Fort Christina, Pennsylvania Military College became Widener University. Well, that beats the original 1821 name of the Bullock School For Boys. After all, it’s co-ed today. Not far away, there is now Arcadia University, which for years went by the name Beaver College.
Still, it seems a shame, except to sign painters, to change a name just because the name doesn’t mean much these days. Carried to extreme, a lot of revered institutions could go by something else. Washington and Lee University might consider a change because Cliff Lee may be out for the season.
Well, you can’t fight change. But, at least we can forget the idea of renaming American Airlines Arena to The House That LeBron Built.
We would have thrown out this idea long ago, except we did not know it existed anymore. That is until recently in Philadelphia we saw new trolley buses, which we always called trackless trolleys, making their rounds. We thought those interesting vehicles had expired years ago, about the same time that trolleys on tracks left most cities. In fact, in Philadelphia they had left. The old vehicles wore out and Philadelphia did not replace them for five years. But the city sensibly never took down the electric wires, and recently decided to bring back some new trackless trolleys.
These are an improvement over the ones that served the city for 80 years, in that they have generators which enable them to run "off wire" in special situations where their power poles are too short to do the job. They combine the virtues of tracked trolleys, in that they run on electricity, with the flexibility to maneuver in traffic. Plus, and this is the big advantage, they are quiet and emit no noxious fumes. Running on rubber tires, they don't clank like steel-wheeled trolleys. Although more expensive than traditional diesel buses, they are cheaper to run, last longer and are popular with riders for the above reasons.
Thus, it seemed strange that they would disappear from the urban scene. In fact, they hadn't. Research reveals that a number of cities still run them. Seattle and Boston have major fleets. Philadelphia is just the latest to revive a good idea.
Which, of course, makes one wonder why Fort Lauderdale is making such a big deal of its Wave, a traditional trolley in the planning stage. From what we hear, most people think it is a regressive step. Officials tout the trolley as a traffic reducer, but most people think whatever motorists they take off the road will be negated by their need to stop every block and back up traffic as they take people off and on. And a tracked vehicle can’t swing around traffic when necessary. Does it make sense to go to the expense of laying down track, with the disruption it will cause, when a vehicle exists which can provide better service on existing roadways?
Light rail works when the electric cars have a dedicated lane, so they don’t become part of a traffic jam. Denver provides an excellent example. The rail cars have their own lane on city streets, so they move faster than automobile traffic. They serve high traffic locations in the city, and then they connect to existing railroads for fairly high-speed trips to suburbs 15 or 20 miles away.
If Fort Lauderdale’s Wave were to connect to the FEC tracks, and become effectively a commuter train as well as a streetcar, it would be a different story. But that is not the plan. Maybe smokeless and trackless should be.
Sunday in The Palm Beach Post. Today in the Sun-Sentinel. We are being bombarded with stories about rail transportation. Most of it relates to the Florida East Coast Railway (hereafter know as the FEC) and the tracks Henry Flagler built to open up Florida’s East Coast more than a century ago.
If readers are confused, it is intentional. On its editorial pages the papers generally applaud the idea of passenger service returning to the FEC, which abandoned it in the 1960s. They show pictures of the futuristic stations planned for Miami, Fort Lauderdale and West Palm Beach, as part of the FEC’s plan for a fast train between Miami and Orlando. They praise the potential redevelopment of seedy neighborhoods near the station locations.
Then, sometimes in the same issue, they carry news stories on the opposition to expanding rail travel, quoting public figures and citizens groups who have concerns about damage to the marine industry and the general nuisance that passenger trains will cause residents. Bridges popping up and down like jumping jacks where the tracks meet waterways. Horns blaring at numerous crossings. Delays for emergency vehicles. The disconcerting shriek of a train flying by when somebody is trying to line up a putt on a golf course near the tracks.
There’s nothing wrong with honest coverage, and the concerns voiced are legitimate (if shortsighted) but it gets annoying when influential columnists tend to side with people against progress. Their opinions have earned respect, which is the problem when they take a narrow view of what could be of enormous long-term benefit to Florida. Mike Mayo in the Sun-Sentinel, Frank Cerabino in The Palm Beach Post and, just Sunday, Carl Hiaasen in The Miami Herald, have all expressed cynicism about All Aboard Florida’s ambitious project, and indeed to the idea of running passenger trains at all on the FEC.
These are good writers, but one wonders if they can read. If they can, they should know that All Aboard Florida is just part of what is envisioned as very heavy use of the FEC tracks for both long distance and commuter service. We pulled from our files a 2009 front page of The Palm Beach Post that details, with maps, long-range visions of stations from Jupiter all the way to downtown Miami along the FEC. It includes the concept of switching Amtrak’s long distance trains from the roundabout CSX route through the center of the state to the FEC, which cuts through the heart of coastal population centers from Jacksonville south. More recently the other papers have run similar pieces.
Now, again much publicized, Tri-Rail has entered the picture, with hopes of moving some of its trains to the FEC, adding new stations every three or four miles in Palm Beach County and serving downtowns in Fort Lauderdale and Miami. All Aboard Florida, with its new stations in the highest density markets, will only speed that event. Actually, the FEC will become far busier than what most of those opposed to All Aboard Florida seem to realize. What they also don’t realize is that this should be the beginning of a major reconstruction of the railroad, eliminating many grade crossings that the FEC never should have allowed in the first place, building bridges at some major intersections and perhaps, as we romantically suggested a few weeks ago, even a tunnel under the New River and Broward Boulevard in Fort Lauderdale. In the long run, and it could be a very long run, the benefits to communities now skeptical of the rail improvements will far outweigh the inconveniences. People in Stuart are bitching today, but that tone would change if that city had a station where people could move quickly north or south.
It has also been reported that former rival transportation interests are now on the same track, with plans to switch some of the FEC’s slow moving freights to the western CSX, which has far fewer grade crossings. People should consider it a fair trade-off. More trains crossing their paths quickly as opposed to slow, mile-long freights taking forever to clear the gates.
Is such a grand plan feasible? Actually, it’s necessary. If we can build, and rebuild Interstate 95, and rebuild Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood International Airport twice in the last 40 years, we can rebuild a railroad so that its immense potential, realized a century ago and neglected for the last 50 years, can again be realized.
Our position on entitlements has always been consistent. We are totally against them, unless we happen to be the entitlee. Thus, we opposed some of the outrageous perks Congressional staffers enjoy, until our daughter worked in Congress and got to enjoy them. Then, after she left that job, we opposed them again.We are similarly conflicted on the new government affordable care program. We wonder why Republicans seem to despise what they call Obamacare, as if the president alone is responsible for a program that developed over seven administrations. Sen. Ted Kennedy, who made a career of advocating for national health care, was buried as something of a hero to the cause, even though he never managed to get it passed.
In general, we had no opinion on the subject, until we noticed that one of our entitlements, known as Social Security, took a noticeable hit this year. We are told it relates to paying for health care. And it bothers us that after working out regularly for 40 years, keeping to a generally healthy diet, unless you count gin, getting regular checkups, etc., we find we are paying for some fat slob who never did anything healthy and gets sick because of it. Or, in the immortal words of former Fort Lauderdale Mayor Jim Naugle, "some schlock lying on a couch drinking beer all day." He probably meant "schmuck," but you get the point.
On the other hand, who can object to some public help for people who can't afford even the basic screening for easily diagnosed conditions such as high blood pressure, low blood pressure and no blood pressure?
At this point, we must interrupt this rant to admit that the sun just came up, observed from this porch in a rented place in Tavernier. We look beyond the free form pool, with a bubbling hot tub, richly landscaped and surrounded by lush vegetation, including palms and sea grapes which are utterly motionless, toward Florida Bay. The bay is a soft Virgin Mary blue, with streaks of silver glinting with the wonder of a new day. And far out, just visible on the skyline, the rising sun has lent an olive ridge to the islands in the distance. It is beautiful, but a different beauty from last night when we watched the sun set on the same water, then a fading rose, with the islands a smudge of dusky gray. Last night there were kids all over the place, in the pool and gathering near small boats, which brought neighbors to the event. Some were even fishing, and the water is so clear you can see the fish. The water this morning is utterly empty and so flat you could almost think of walking on it. In fact, most of the bay is so shallow you can walk safely across it.
It was not always this way. In 1935 a terrible storm swept over this place, which at the time only the railroad could reach. It was Henry Flagler's masterpiece, extending his Florida East Coast rails all the way to Key West. The special cement for the railroad's abutments came from Germany, a country known for its excellence in things scientific, which it showed again yesterday in winning the World Cup. For 20 years, the railroad crossing miles of sea was considered a wonder of the world. But in a few hours the storm took out 40 miles of track, which has never been rebuilt. A train filled with workers trying to flee was knocked off the track as a tidal wave submerged this place. The bodies of more than 400 people, and some people still alive, were found as far away as those islands across the bay. Those people had no health insurance; didn't even know what it was. They were workers, who otherwise might have been homeless, enjoying the entitlement of one of Franklin Roosevelt's depression era make-work projects. Amazingly some lived to tell about it, and Ernest Hemingway, living in Key West at the time, wrote bitterly about the tragedy.
Thinking about that awful history, contrasted with the pleasure of this day, could affect one's health, which brings us vaguely back on topic. Why should we have to pay, from our hard-earned entitlement of Social Security, for people who make consensual sex a health issue, but give nothing to those of us who despite years of healthy living, and countless miles of jogging in Holiday Park, and occasionally get the gout and other ailments for which nobody pays us a dime, not even for the three million cherries we eat this time of year to prevent such distractions, or the workout clothes we buy every 10 years to make sure we look pretty while preserving our health. For that effort, we get charged.
Contemplating such unfair socially engineered absurdities of our time, when contraception is a women’s health issue, becomes a separate health issue. Men ruin their health worrying about Social Security checks, requiring the universal medication known as martinis. It is an awful burden to bear, even as small early birds flit among the palms, now starting a slow dance in the wind, and ripples appear in the bay, assuring there is peace in our times.
At least until the morning paper returns us to reality.
