Memorial Day Monday
ALEX AND I ARE AT OUR HOUSE IN MALIBU. You simply cannot imagine
how beautiful the weather is here today. Cloudless blue skies. No
humidity at all. Slight breeze. Temps in mid-70s. Birds of all
kinds, especially some kind of blue birds (maybe blue jays), flying
all around, singing perfectly.
Immense hawks with forked tails also cruise by all day long
looking for prey. Actually, we were supposed to be in D.C.
attending memorial services at Arlington. But gnarled McFate (a
Nabokov reference) stepped in. Two nights ago, I got a call from
someone very close to me, a woman I am fond of, to put it mildly.
She told me that her 24-year-old son, of whom I am also extremely
fond, was having a nervous breakdown. The poor kid has been having
one problem after another, so I ran right over.
He was standing in his undershorts (boxers, probably a gift from
my wife and me) covered in blue food dye. He had several bowls of
blue water on the counter in front of him. In the bowls, immersed
in the water, were various bits of takeout Japanese food.
To make a horrendously long story short, the young fellow
believed that there were microchips embedded in his rice, that some
of the fish skin from his sushi was attacking some other skin in a
bowl, and that persons unknown were attacking him with fishing line
and fishhooks. He also thought that I was audio recording him and
that my friend (his mom) was videotaping him.
It took until four in the morning to get him even a bit calmed
down. By then, my wife and I were so tired from helping the young
man and his family that we were in no shape at all to travel in the
morning. I am bitterly sorry about missing that super special
event.
At all events, here we are in Malibu. The young man is really a
smart, lovely person, but he is going through a horrible time. If
he took his meds on a regular schedule, he would be a lot better
off.
His mother and my wife and I thank God every single day for the
pharmaceutical companies that at least keep some small semblance of
a lid on this kid’s soul. Where would we be without those
scientists and their companies? The progress that has been made in
antipsychosis, anti-schizophrenia drugs is simply fantastic. These
are lifesaving creations of the human mind.
I do not believe this kid would be alive without these
prescriptions. But he will take them, and he will get better and
make a real contribution to society someday. Thanks to the
pharmaceutical companies, from the bottom of my heart. They make
life possible for so many millions of people every day.
HERE IN MALIBU, I slept late along with my Julie Good Girl, my
perfect German shorthaired pointer, and then I got up and prayed a
lot for that young man and for the hero soldiers, Marines, airmen,
sailors, Merchant Marine, war workers, OSS, CIA, FBI, Coast Guard,
police, and prison guards who keep us safe. What can we do or say
that is enough for these spectacular men and women? There will
never be enough roses to throw in their paths.
In a related vein, if I had my way about education, I would
require that The World at War, the marvelous 30-hour
series about World War II from the UK, be shown to every
grade-school boy and girl in this country starting right now. This
would be a much better country with more gratitude for the people
who keep us free and safe. What happened to teaching gratitude?
Back at Parkside Elementary, long ago and far away, on its green
and leafy campus in Silver Spring, Maryland, we were taught to love
and praise the USA endlessly. Many of us were the grandchildren of
immigrants. We had seen the miracle of America in our lives, our
families going from poverty to solid middle-class status in a
matter of decades. Every father of every boy and girl had been in
the war as a military man or a war worker. It showed. We really
loved this country.
The few kids who complained about America—usually children of
Party members—did so about racism and did so with affection. I just
cannot recall anyone who seriously doubted that we were the most
fortunate kids who ever lived to be growing up in America in the
’40s, ’50s, and ’60s. There simply was no ingratitude, just as
there were no overweight kids except maybe one or two.
This was a different America. In some ways, it was worse than
today, because there was explicit, legally sanctioned racism and
vile sexism, but in some ways it was a far more confident, happier
world. It was a club…the best club in the world, and we all
belonged.
If someone told us we would have a First Lady who had been given
every possible opportunity America had to offer and then had said
that she never felt proud to be an American until her husband was
named his party’s nominee for president, it would not have been
conceivable.
As I say, a different world. I can remember reading a book in
the mid-1950s about a Soviet takeover of the United States. The
first thing the Russians did was round up all of the CPUSA members
and shoot them. The Russians reasoned that if these people were
dissatisfied with the best country on earth, they would be really,
really dissatisfied with Red Amerika, and would make trouble. Why
not do the sensible thing and shoot them all right away?
AFTER MY PRAYERS, I made a lavish brunch for Alex and me. Eggs,
sausage, Thomas’ English muffins (the world’s single best food),
O.J., and Tazo Refresh Tea with honey. I made it and cleaned up
from it. My father earned his way through Williams College—where my
genius colleague Susan Reifer also went—partly washing dishes. I
feel in touch with him when I do it.
Then I looked around my very tiny home and saw that some
horrible little rodents had been nesting in the bed in the
downstairs guest bedroom. I had to totally strip the bed and wash
everything in scalding water in my great Kenmore washer and dryer.
I bought those at the Sears in Oxnard about 15 years ago, maybe
more. They still work perfectly. It is amazing to me how well made
most appliances are. They work their little souls Out and then they
can be fixed and made to work some more. They never get tired and
rarely complain.
Then, after dishwashing, much, much, much filing of statements
from Merrill Lynch and Fidelity. How I hate doing that. I really
cannot stand to look at any statements about losing money, and
that’s what has been my portion lately. I get totally terrified
when I am losing my stash. When I was a younger man, I had a father
and mother to protect me. Now I don’t have anyone to protect me.
Not a soul. I just have me and my savings, laid up against times
such as these. And I still get scared. How must a husband or
housewife feel who is living from paycheck to paycheck and then
loses his or her job? How must people feel who are about to be
foreclosed upon and don’t know where they will live?
Fear is a real, cruel, angry entity. It is a virus that robs
life of joy. I don’t like seeing it in the eyes of my friend’s son.
That’s real fear. That’s nameless, unreasoning fear. I’m not really
talking about that kind of mentalillness fear. I’m talking about
economic fear—the horrifying fear of literally running out of
money. This is perhaps the worst fear there is. I’m reading a
magnificent short biography of Hitler by someone named A.N. Wilson.
He very correctly says that the specter that has been haunting all
of the industrial earth for the last several centuries is the fear
of running out of money, of having your home sold, of having your
furniture seized, of being on the street. Of such fears are
National Socialist German Workers’ Parties formed.
There is way too much of that sort of fear in this great nation
now. Men and women are terrified, and with good reason. The
downswing has been going on for almost four years. I know there has
been recovery in some areas. But the fear is real. It hangs over
everything we do, keeps us up at night, wakes us early. Millions
have lost their homes. Millions have lost their jobs and their
retirements. This is real damage. And we did it to ourselves. The
Chinese didn’t do it. The Moslems didn’t do it. We did it to
ourselves by trusting too much in the Fat Years and not looking out
enough for the Lean Years.
Now we are suffering.
WHAT TO DO? Motivation is everything. We have to feel more
optimistic. Then the corporations will spend their huge cash hoards
building plants and stores, and we will have more people employed.
If we had leadership in this country that our business leaders and
home buyers believed in, we would revive in a year.
Alas, we have a political leadership class that believes in
taxing the successful. I cannot say I blame them. I know envy, too.
And I know we need the tax revenue. I hate deficit spending, but
now is not the time to raise taxes on anyone but the very, very
richest… and they’ll find a way of getting out of it anyway.
What else can we do? There is an aura of negativity that hangs
over Mr. Obama and his pals that frightens Americans in a position
to buy homes or build factories. There is just something so
dismally downbeat about him that the rest of us get downbeat
too.
Let me put it otherwise: One of the great “laws” of economics is
Fisher’s Law, for Irving Fisher of Yale. The “law” says Money times
Velocity of money (how fast it gets spent) equals Prices times
Transactions. MV=PT. We are getting a staggering rise in the stock
of Money, almost a terrifying rise. It just went vertical after the
crashes in 2007, 2008, and 2009. But we are also getting virtually
nil Velocity, as businesses and families live in fear. This keeps
Transactions low. (We also have a maddening rise in Prices that the
government simply pretends is not happening. I wish I could take
Dr. Bernanke shopping at Pavilions, a remodeled Safeway brand that
is expensive on a breathtaking scale, with prices rising literally
day by day. Maybe then he would not keep up the bromides about
inflation being “well controlled.”)
We are a nation in the motivation doldrums. A Reagan would snap
us out of it. He would cheer us up and make us go out and spend.
Not Mr. Obama. He keeps us in fear. Not good.
Enough thinking about this. Enough thinking altogether. Time to
start marinating the delicious salmon I am going to grill for Alex
and me tonight.
I have to lie out on the deck and watch the hawks, too. Life is
short, and I dare not think of how late it is. For now, I am just
watching the hawks and the ocean and stroking the head of my Julie
Good Girl. And thanking God for the people who make it all
possible, who sleep in glory. I have done enough for now.
