FRIDAY
I awakened about noon at the
fabulous Broadmoor Hotel in Colorado Springs, Colorado. Last night
I gave a short talk and then a longer speech to investors and
depositors at a bank with the great name of Integrity. My speech
was about the economy and how screwed up both GOP and Democratic
politicians have left it. I also talked about how well-chosen
investments in public but small capitalization stocks (not penny
stocks; well run companies) had done over long years.
The audience was intelligent and friendly. Afterward, I had
dinner with my pal JW his wife and my pal Dave and their colleague
Gary. It was a delicious meal on a veranda overlooking the lake at
the Broadmoor. My wife was too tired to join us, but we had a good
time anyway.
I stayed up far too late, which has become a real problem for
me. So, this morning, even with sleeping late, I am tired. I
dragged myself out of bed, dragged my wife out of bed, and we had a
fine lunch at the Broadmoor. It was some kind of cheeseburger that
just tasted amazingly good.
Then, into our car for a ride to the Denver airport. I like
taking cars for trips of less than four hours instead of short hop
flights. I sleep in the car and it’s relaxing to not have to go
through security. This time, I also wanted to stop at the
Chik-fil-A in Castle Rock. The owner is a pal and the chicken
sandwich is heavenly.
Our driver, a severe-looking woman, had other plans. She did not
know how to find the Chik-fil-A (which is well marked on the exit
sign). She also “never eat[s] processed food or foods at
restaurants…” Finally, her tight work schedule that day would not
allow a 10-minute stop for food for me.
I was angry. I had allowed four hours for a two-hour trip
exactly so I could stop. I am a super good customer of their
company. And I dislike being condescended to about food.
However, I just went back to sleep. I am trying not to make
mountains out of molehills because a woman in D.C. told me that was
something Jews did that really annoyed her. (She’s a transgender,
by the way. It takes all kinds. I dislike having her judge me…on
the other hand, she’s probably right. The fact that she is
transgender does not disqualify her opinions.)
Anyway, we got to the airport and got our Southwest tickets to
Spokane. I was stunned at how much they cost. I guess SW was once
the low cost carrier but isn’t any longer. What happened?
We got some McDonald’s food at the C concourse. Meat. Processed.
At a restaurant. Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa. Many people
came by for photos. A staggeringly beautiful young Ethiopian woman
waited on me at Mickey D’s. As far as I could tell, almost everyone
working there was Ethiopian.
Query: How come they can get jobs and Americans can’t? Is it
because maybe they are better motivated than some Americans? Come
to think of it, a great many of the staff at the Broadmoor were
from Mexico or the Caribbean or Africa. Are there no Americans who
will take these jobs? If not, why do we pay them unemployment
insurance? If there is so much unemployment, why do we have to go
to Nigeria and Jamaica to find willing workers? I am obviously
missing something here.
At the gate, we met a group of Army Reservists just back from 10
months in Afghanistan. They were young and charming and amazingly
hung over. They were all from the Spokane area. I asked one of
them, a medic with a bomb disposal unit, what the Afghans were
like.
“They like to squat and stare at you all day,” he said. “I used
to pick out the ones who were going to try to kill me. But I didn’t
do anything to them. Not until they started shooting at me.”
The flight was delayed, which I foolishly had thought never
happened on SW. But when we got to Spokane, at almost midnight, the
scene was magnificent, like a glorious World War II movie. The six
soldiers on the flight came out in a group, and a column of
veterans with many flags stood forming a guard around them. A large
crowd erupted in cheers and applause and—this part brings me to
tears—a wife ran so fast into the arms of the first returning
soldier that she almost knocked him down and then his tiny daughter
leapt into his arms and the crowd cheered and cheered.
A Baptist minister and I joined in a prayer of thanksgiving to
God for bringing these men back alive and well.
There is a lot of patriotism still in this country. A helluva
lot. Plenty of gratitude, too.
By the way, a soldier who sat next to us on SW said the food in
Afghanistan on his base is superb. On Sundays they get steak and
lobster. Pretty good. They deserve it.
My wife and I were all teary until we got into our rented Caddy
and headed out of the airport. Ooops. The government is doing work
on the highway and many lanes were constricted to one. It was one
of the worst traffic jams I have ever seen in Spokane—after
midnight. I was really furious, especially because I did not see
one single solitary workman.
Long ago, Joan Didion wrote a piece on Caltrans, the road repair
entity in California. She wanted to find out why they scheduled
work so as to cause such terrible traffic jams. She went down to
the headquarters of Caltrans and asked about it, and what they
basically answered was, “We don’t give a damn about what happens to
the motorists. We do what’s easiest for us as bureaucrats.”
So there you have it. The best of the government — the soldiers
doing their brave duty. The worst of government — the bureaucrats
screwing up our lives by just doing what’s easiest for them.
It took an hour to get through the traffic and zip along to
Coeur d’Alene, and thence up Highway 95 to glorious Sandpoint. By
the time we got to town, it was two a.m. Alex was suffering from
sore throat pain so we went to the Dairy Depot and bought her three
huckleberry milkshakes. It was amazing to behold the parade of beer
buyers trying to beat the two a.m. cut-off point. Back at our
little condo, Mr. Buffett’s trains went roaring by. The news on TV
was all about a hurricane approaching D.C. and New York. I am
worried about Wlady, Bob, Russ, Chris DeMuth, Bob Noah, my niece,
her family, my super great sister and her family. Worried about
them all. I lay in bed for a long time listening to the
trains. I love it here in Idaho. But then I love everywhere
in America. Not equally, though.
SATURDAY
I slept very late, again. This is
getting to be a curse—staying up late and sleeping late.
I kept thinking about something terribly upsetting that I had
seen on C-Span a couple of days ago. The Congressional Black Caucus
was having a meeting to discuss the recession and black people. The
moderator of the panel of black legislators in Congress asked my
neighbor, Rep. Maxine Waters, what she would tell black poor people
to do in the recession.
Now, let me tell you first of all that I have a complex relation
with Rep. Waters. She and I argued vigorously long years ago about
mandatory cross-town busing in Los Angeles. She was for it. I was
against it. I said it would wreck the schools. Despite the wishes
of the voters, judges forced busing down the city’s throat. The
schools are a shadow of their former selves. Was it because of
busing? I would say “partly” but not entirely. So I have been
unhappy about Ms. Waters for some years.
On the other hand, she stood up to Goldman Sachs at many
hearings and would often be the only one in the room to take them
to task and I admire her for that.
However, at this C-Span event, as noted, she was asked what she
would tell poor black people in the recession (or the slow
recovery) to do to help themselves. Her suggestion was to organize
themselves and demand that government save them and give them money
and jobs. (I am paraphrasing here…this was the gist of Rep. Waters’
suggestions, not her exact words.)
I found her disturbing. My idea of a good answer would be, (1)
Acquire useful skills like math or languages or plumbing or
anything people need, (2) Learn and execute great work habits so
that when employers are hiring, they will want you, (3) Save your
money and spend carefully so you will have a reserve, (4) Limit
your number of dependents to what you can actually afford to
support without handouts.
But Mrs. Waters basically said, “Use your votes to make the
other guy pay for your life.” At least that’s how I heard it and
maybe I am wrong. But her suggestions to me were just more welfare
dependence, less self-respect, less self-support. Just for me, I
think many Americans are not comfortable with Ms. Waters. We want
an America at work—not an America on the dole.
However, maybe I am wrong about all of this. In any event, I
have control only over me. And little
enough of that.
After a restless night, I dragged my old self out of bed, ate my
breakfast, shaved, got dressed, went out for a bike ride. It is too
damned hot here. Way, way too hot. This is Idaho and we are at
about 2500 feet, but it is too hot today. I am really hot. Plus,
there seems to be a convention of Samoan martial arts people on the
beach here. Their children keep running in front of my bike and
it’s making me nervous. Why are we having a convention of
Samoans here anyway? I like Samoans. They are incredibly brave. But
this park is too small for so many of them and I don’t want to
collide with their kids.
Today is my father’s birthday. I think about him constantly.
What would he think of my life and my fantastic wastefulness?
Actually, he would have some criticism and some praise and then he
would want to talk about himself. Just the same as anyone else. My
sister said I should act sensibly in honor of him. I am not sure I
have any good sense left. My sister got all of the good sense. I
got the anarchy. Just kidding. I miss my Pop something fierce,
though. If yours is alive, be grateful every instant.
SUNDAY
Again, I stayed up way too late,
and went out for a bike ride.
Again, too damned hot. I gave up and went to the Safeway. I now
feel as if I am bidding against the entire People’s Republic of
China for everything I want to eat. The government says there is no
inflation. Have they been shopping recently? Grocery prices are
insane.
Back to our condo. I am having a great time reading a book about
oil in Alaska,
Crude Awakening by Amanda Coyne and Tony Hopfinger. It is
beautifully written and meticulously researched. It’s scary how
much sudden wealth changes things.
Then, time to meet up with our pals Tim and Penny Farmin for a
ride across the lake to Ivano’s Del Lago at Hope, Idaho, for
supper. It is still too hot. But the Cobalt did its job perfectly,
and I parked it without crashing, so I am happy.
At the restaurant, I noticed that almost every diner had gray or
white hair. They also all looked amazingly happy and cheerful. They
were making conversation, listening to 1940s and 1930s classics
played by a local trio, and looking at the stupefyingly glorious
reddish orange sunset. These are men and women who have paid their
dues—retired teachers, retired cops, retired small businessmen.
Now, they are savoring the sunset in many ways.
My wife had rigatoni. I had some processed food. There I
was—gray-haired with other gray-haired people. And the people
looked so happy it brought tears to my old, processed food eyes.
These people have known work and struggle—and now they know
gratitude. That is something no government handout can give you.
You cannot organize to make government give you self-respect.
I had a processed chocolate brownie for dessert, and then we got
into the Cobalt and headed home in the twilight. What a glorious,
magical evening with the fading evening light on the glassy water.
Thank you, thank you, thank you, dear God. Thank you for the men
and women whose suffering makes this possible. Thank you, God, for
your servants who help this man and his family be so happy. And
please tell my Pop I said hello.
