Comparative States

Someone once advised me not to compare girlfriends or wives. But nobody ever told me that I couldn’t compare states where I had lived.

I have been thinking about the differences between New Mexico, where I lived for eight years after retiring in 2003, and Pennsylvania, where I lived the rest of my life and where my first ancestors arrived in 1733, giving me the bragging rights

of being a 9th-generation Pennsylvanian.

New Mexico is referred to as a third-world country, even by residents. But as I work my way back into being a Pennsylvanian, I am beginning to make comparisons that are favorable to New Mexico.

For one, the New Mexico legislature is part time. It meets for 30 days one year and 60 days the next. Pennsylvania’s legislators are fulltime and the legislature is one of the most per-capita expensive in the country. Our population declines but our legislature gets more expensive.

Then there’s the sale of alcohol. In New Mexico, you can buy booze just about anywhere. Sam’s Club was my favorite stop, but once a month I’d stock up at World Market and sometimes Whole Foods and Trader Joe’s. I had variety and diversity in my selection.

In Pennsylvania … Well, everyone knows what it’s like in Pennsylvania. It’s a closed shop.

Another benefit to living in New Mexico: No annual inspection for your automobile. I remember when you had to get your car inspected twice a year in Pennsylvania. At least it got reduced to annually in my life. I’d like to see it discontinued altogether. Some would argue that it’s a safety issue, but in all my years in New Mexico the biggest problem on the highways was DUI, which is also a problem in Pennsylvania, and not unsafe autos.

The good news is that Republicans control Pennsylvania. These are the less-government folks. Want to place a bet on how soon they act? Don’t.

Unfortunately, when it comes to making things better, Pennsylvania politicians are just like the ones in New Mexico—and probably every other state.

Naked to Mine Enemies

I’ve been thinking of Cardinal Wolsey these days in relation to the firing of Joe Paterno as Penn State’s football coach. People continue to ask why he was fired and the board of trustees has yet to answer that question. Of course, the question becomes more prominent because as the timeline in the Sandusky sex abuse scandal is laid out, Paterno did the right thing and should be honored, not fired. Or so it seems until we get more information.

The Joe Paterno I know was no Cardinal Wolsey, who apparently while serving Henry VIII was quite the political animal and served Henry rather than the church only to have Henry turn on him late in his life. Wolsey died while enroute to London where he probably would have been executed.

I read a biography of Wolsey back in the 1960s and was struck by the title: Naked to Mine Enemies. I’m not sure Wolsey ever used the line but I do know that Shakespeare did in his play Henry VIII.

Had I but served my God with half the zeal
I served my king, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies.

As I pondered the firing of Joe Paterno and the unstated reason(s) behind it, the phrase came back to me. I finally realized that there is no unstated reason for the firing, that Paterno had over the years accumulated enough enemies that in a moment of vulnerability his enemies prevailed over his supporters. Look at all of the negative stories about Joe’s past that have been published since he was fired. Few would dare to write such stories while he was the coach.

Why was Joe fired? He stayed too long. While most people, including those in Old Main and on the board of trustees, retire at 65, Paterno kept on coaching and had enough support to get away with it. Even when he was asked to step down, he had enough power to thumb his nose at the president of Penn State and to continue coaching. Even at the conclusion of the last season, his legacy intact as the winningest Division I coach in college football, he refused to step down. He wanted one more season and seemed to suggest that there would be more after that.

Leaving aside the current sex abuse scandal, I always thought that Joe had the right values for a football coach. Certainly, he was not perfect, but his stated values were worth emulating. I long said that Joe had a right to retire on his own terms—but at the same time he should have retired a while back.

By insisting on continuing to coach, Paterno left himself naked to his enemies. In the end his vulnerability was greater than his legacy. Like it or not, he was fired.

Facts and Discussion Boards

There’s a great line that we often hear in newsrooms. It’s meant as a joke, but some non-newsies might wonder.

The line goes: Don’t let the facts get in the way of a good story.

The implication is that a reporter will ignore the facts in order to create a more interesting story, a story that will attract more readers than one based on facts.

Having become addicted to Facebook and newspaper discussion boards, I’m beginning to think the line is universal rather than limited to newsrooms. As I follow, in particular, the discussion at the sex abuse scandal connected in some way to Penn State, I marvel at the number of posts that are factually wrong. I marvel more when the originator is corrected and stands by his original posts.

The standard of proof is very low, unlike in any newsroom I ever worked in. Newsrooms, especially when working on controversial stories, have a two-source rule. You need at least two independent sources saying the same thing before you’ll consider putting the information in a story. And the sources can’t just be anybody.

There was a post the other day claiming that a certain downtown State College development project included a penthouse suite for former Penn State president Graham Spanier. I asked for a source. The originator said one of the developers told him that. Nothing on paper. Just hearsay.

A couple of weeks later Penn State, which had committed to two floors of office space (not a penthouse), backed out of the project and the Spaniers coincidentally purchased their own condo in a neighboring township.

That did not stop the posts about the penthouse.

Of course, the “facts” about Joe Paterno and what he did when informed of a former assistant’s behavior are as fluid as the Mississippi River. The ones that suit a person’s disposition toward Penn State or Paterno are the ones that get posted, followed by “corrections” from others.

I have enough examples to fill a book.

Now there’s an idea. A book.

When I see misinformation repeated on a discussion board, I am reminded of a quote attributed to Mark Twain (but which I can’t verify): Rumor is halfway around the world before truth gets out of the starting gate.

And that was before the Internet!

The Pill Girl

Nothing like open heart surgery to increase your daily intake of pills. Before I had surgery (on Halloween, no less), I was taking six pills a day, of which two were prescription drugs and the rest over the counter.

Now I take at least 15 pills a day, spread over four time slots—breakfast, lunch, dinner and bedtime. And I’m not counting the pain pill I take occasionally or the two Tylenol I took the other day to clear up a massive headache, which I now think was a cold. (It’s gone and I’m feeling much better.)

My real point in writing this is not to whine. I am grateful to be alive.
I am more grateful to my wife, Paulette, who continues to be my No. 1 nurse, although she’s been replaced (by me) as my chauffeur.

It is Paulette who oversees the pills, making sure that my pillboxes are filled correctly and reminding me to take the pills. She usually puts the appropriate pillbox next to my plate when I sit down to eat.

Frankly, I’m not sure which pill does what, but Paulette knows. In fact, when any one of my doctors asked me about pills, I point to Paulette and she answers the question. She knows the dosage and frequency much better than I.

We’ve started to give the pills names. For example, there are the P pills. I take a pill twice a day to make me pee a lot to get rid of excess fluid. When you pee, you lose potassium and so along with the pee pill, I take a potassium pill. We call those two the P bills.

We celebrated the other day when my cardiologist reduced the frequency of one of my pills. At some point, I should be back to my normal six and my pill girl can retire.

Cheers for Dr Weaver

When I was headed for 8th grade in 1957, I tried out for the football team. The first order of business was a physical. Turn your head. Cough. Turn the other way. Cough. Stethoscope on heart.


I don’t know if Dr Weaver broke the news on the spot or if I received it later, but the verdict was that I could not play football because I had an immature heart. (We won’t discuss all the other immature areas.)

The immature heart dogged me for years without resolution. In fact, whenever I got a physical, I would tell the physician about my immature heart and he would report

that he heard nothing.

One physician speculated that Dr Weaver figured I was too small to play football and the best way to ease me out of the situation was to use a medical excuse. Given my lack of athletic ability and low threshold for pain, I suspect I wouldn’t have lasted much beyond the first hit.

But in 2006 when I was getting my annual physical, my doctor said she heard something and sent me to a cardiologist. Lo and behold, the cardiologist determined that I had aortic stenosis, a fusing of the aortic valves, and that one day I would need surgery to correct the situation.

There are two ways you can get aortic stenosis. It can occur if you get rheumatic fever, which I’ve never had. Or you can be born that way. Given that my father and eldest sister had the same condition (and she died in surgery), I could say the condition ran in the family.

And so surgery looms. It’s scheduled for Oct 31 at Geisinger.

Technically, not my heart but generally it looks as though Dr Weaver was on to something. Bless him.

My Life in Print

I came up with the title for my memoirs quite awhile ago, but I put off putting anything on paper, including a simple outline. Why? To be honest, I didn’t feel like writing and I was pretty sure no one would be interested, even if I gave them a copy for free.


One day, Tom Morin, who was my typography instructor at Santa Fe Community College and who is a graphic designer, showed me how he had formatted his memoirs, and I suddenly exclaimed: I’m ripping you off! What Tom did was combine graphic elements, including photographs, with short essays to create a visually attractive book that anyone would want to read. I had a lot of material already digitized and so it was an easy step to figuring out what my topics would be.

I came up with more written material than I had originally planned on because as the book developed I realized that I had published several essays in my blog (The Spectator) and could repurpose them in my memoirs. What’s mine is mine.
***
When I was just starting out in the newspaper business, I attended the opening of a new sports activity for young people. One of the founders took over the microphone and thanked half the known universe—except the newspaper I worked for. So I cornered him and asked rather bluntly if we had not helped get this activity off the ground.

A couple of days later our publisher showed up in the newsroom and started talking about that confrontation. But he wasn’t angry; he was pleased that I had said something, even though I had confronted a local political powerhouse.

Thus, I learned something about naming names right there and so I have kept the number of names in this memoir to a minimum. It’s not because I am not grateful; it’s because I am afraid I will leave someone unmentioned—and peeved at me forever.

Trust me. If we’ve journeyed on the same trail, you were a great help to me and I appreciate it. Take your bow.

This memoir was created for my daughters and grandchildren, and I count all others who take the time to read it as great friends—or relatives.

The Land of Fees

When my wife and I were selling our house in New Mexico, the agent for the title company needed information about our mortgage so he could pay it off and close it down. But in checking on us, he discovered that we also had a home equity line of credit with the mortgage holder and he needed to close that account.

We had never drawn on the account. We paid $35 a year just to have the safety net. Fortunately, we never needed it. So imagine our surprise when we received an updated statement of closing costs hours before closing in which we were being charged $66 by Chase to end our home equity line of credit. The $66 is called the annual fee and lien release fee.

I found that unusual, given that we had paid more than $200 over the line of the line of credit just to have the line of credit and so I complained to Chase and demanded my money back. It took a couple of months, but eventually Chase turned me down and told me that it had been written into the contract we signed for the line of credit.

Who remembers what’s in a contract? Who understands them when you sign them?

Shame on me.

My new mortgage company has been after me to secure a line of credit and get one of its credit cards. Sorry, Wells Fargo, but I don’t trust you folks now that I’ve been burned by Chase.

I’m going to stick with my credit union—and this time I’m reading the fine print.