Contractors

I just read the general specs for the new wall they want to build between Mexico and that part of the United States that used to be Mexico.

It sounded familiar, but it took a minute or two to sink in. I had read just about the same specs on a briefing sheet they gave us when I was stationed in what was then West Germany. Subject was the Berlin Wall. Amazing. For years, I've been hearing comparisons between our southern border and The Wall. I've even made that comparison myself, but it was pretty much a matter of hyperbole. Be careful what you joke about, some God with a warped sense of humor will make it come to pass.

So if they need contractors to build this thing, and if Bechtel or Halliburton don't want the job, we might be able to save money by just getting a copy of the Berlin Wall spec and repeating it a few times to get the right length.

Let's hope it doesn't take as long to tear down this one.

Cheers

Focus

It's 1966, I'm in the tunnels under the Greek Theater, UC Berkeley, trying to get the strings on my banjo into some semblence of tune. The echoes down there are really something (or were at the time), and I try out one of my more "impressive" licks. I look up, and there's this old guy (hey, I was 19. EVERYBODY over 30 was old) listening to me. He smiles, taps his foot, and asks if I sing the words. Showing off, I sing a verse with an even more ornate accompaniment. He listens politely, then suggests I might like to do less on the banjo so that the words can take the lead.

This one one of the few times in those days I showed common sense. I listened, tried the next verse with a basic sort of accompaniment, and was rewarded with another smile. As I was making my way to the backstage area, one of the group I was with came up and demanded to know "What did he say? Did he like the song? Did he have any suggestions?" It took me a moment to realize that the old guy who looked kind of like Pete Seeger really WAS Pete Seeger, and that I'd just gotten some advice to which I had better listen.

I doubt he'd even remember the exchange, but for me, it was a major big deal thing. For the entire time I was performing, I kept the idea in the back of my head: let the words take the lead. It applies across the board. Decide why you're doing something, and focus on that.

Atomic Waste

People are getting killed in coal mines that primarily support power plants, water sources once again are getting trashed by the outflow from diesel-fired power plants, and rapidly aging hydroelectric plants are doing what old machinery does best -- operating less efficiently every year. Since it is not likely that government will restore any reasonable level of control over the energy industry, why is it we ignore atomic power?

The sticking point to the idea seems to be fear. If the government, or any international agency, talks about research with the words "atomic" or "radioactive" attached, a significant percentage of the population gets extremely upset. Like all fears, much of the basis is ignorance. There are examples all ove the world of safe, effective, inexpensive nuclear power plants. Given the damage that "conventional" plants wreak every year, the comparative dangers aren't that bad.

Nuclear power plants need to be adequately monitored by independent agencies, people working in the plants need to be adequately trained and supervised, and the equipment needs to be maintained. The handful of disasters all point to those three necessities. None of them seem to be beyond reason. None are beyond the capability of anyone. For that matter, "convntional" power plants could benefit from the same thing.

So we come to the fear of (drum roll, crescendo on the Mighty Wurlitzer) ATOMIC WASTE. People keep talking about the danger of this terrible waste product as if there is no possible answer to the threat it poses to untold generations.

Why is it we periodically forget the lessons of the past? The difference between a waste product and a resource is research.

What can you do with radioactive materiel besides bury it or make bombs with it? I wouldn't pretend to have the answer, but getting it is not all that difficult. When the Industrial Revolution was churning out tons of poisonous coal tar, the German government offered cash prizes and exclusive licenses to anyody who could come up with uses for the stuff.

Did it work? Spectacularly. The poster child for the process was Dr. Bayer, who developed a substitute for Spirilla tea as a headache remedy. Other discoveries included a substitute for kerosene and a whole raft of cosmetic products. Most of the major chemical companies of Europe can trace their fortunes to the coal tar prizes.

Perhaps we can defeat fear by invoking greed. Make it attractive to do independent, applied research. Fund results. With current technology, vast amount of cash are not as necessary for basic research as in the past. Frankly, offering a fast-tracked international exclusive license for any product or processed judged practical would just about do the trick.

Local Control

Local control is one of those ideas that sound so good.

"Parents know what their children need to learn."

"Community standards can only be upheld by community-based education."

You get the idea. Here in the American West, where I live, the whole thing approaches a religion. The very idea that some faceless bureaucrat in the far-away state capitol (or worse, God wot, in the Federal Government) should decide what our local kids need to learn can drive otherwise reasonable people into an absolute tiz.

Like so many things these days, the concept is based in a vain attempt to return to a world that never was. A tiny portion of the population under the age of 50 will die in the town in which they were born. A slightly larger portion of the over-50's will, but the rate (it differs, based on your source) still doesn't approach significance. Our children and grand children will have to be part of the world marketplace.

Despite the best efforts of the neo-Luddites who want the United States to retain the economic structure that served well a century ago, things have changed. Eventually, probably when we lead the world in nothing positive, we will be forced to allow workers to follow jobs, both leaving and entering the country with minimal formality and without the various penalties that now apply.

We need, as a nation, to take education seriously. The "make up your own test" folderol at the heart of No Child Gets Ahead will not do it. Neither will starving the schools of resources while chanting the mantra: "You can't get a good education by throwing money at the problem."

So why is it, if money can't buy a decent education, that the average child of the ruling class will complete college with a bill for private, quality education right around a million dollars?

And to totally change the subject, why is it that a recipient of such a privilege, in order to gain and hold the highest elected office in the United States feels it necessary to speak as if the fifth grade had been the pinnacle of his educational career?

The paths we take, Part one

"The paths we take in this life are illuminated by the people with whom we walk."

In 1966, I was at the Berkeley Folk Festival. Just one of a whole bunch of instrument-carrying folkies hoping to steal some licks off somebody better that I was (that included a LOT of people, so I pretty much fancied my chances).

On the first day, I got drawn into the middle of a group of dancing, singing, thoroughly joyful people. At the center were an obvious Rabbi with a nylon strung guitar and a tall, thin guy with a 12-string guitar. I joined in with the instruments, and the whole thing kept going - one long dancing expression of joy - for what seemed like either moments or hours.

For the next three days, I hung around with the Rabbi (Shlomo Carlebach), the guy (David, whose last name I didn't get), and a couple of dozen other teenagers and twenty-somethings. On the last day of the festival, I got to stand on the stage of the Greek Theater backing Shlomo. I spent the next week pretty much doing the same thing, following Shlomo, playing my zither-top six-string banjo, and being there. I played for him for two Sabbaths, and went from one appearance and event to another while he brought his message to schools, synagogues, and all kinds of gatherings of young people.

All things end, of course. Shlomo got on a plane and went back to New York. I got selected by my fellow citizens to participate in the Army (an offer I semi-declined by joining the Air Force for what was supposed to be a four-year tour).

I left California for training, and then for an assignment to Germany (with a short return trip so my finacee could tell me she was going to marry a friend of mine who didn't mind lying to get out of service). The four year tour turned into a 26-year association with the Air Force. I got a couple of letters from Shlomo, answered them, and eventually lost touch.

It was years later that I found out about the impact Shlomo had on the lives of so many people. I was living in Eugene, Oregon at the time. On a bulletin board, I saw a flyer advertising a concert (that had already happened) by a gentleman whose major claim to fame was his association with Shlomo.

I must have subvocalized "Shlomo Carlebach???" at some volume, because one of the people there was eager to tell me about Shlomo's work in San Francisco, and the styles of worship, fellowship, and even healing that had been named after him. So off I went to the Internet, and found that this gentle, thoroughly joyful man had become quite a figure.

It even turns out that the first Sabbath where I (and others) accompanied Shlomo was a major turning point in his life.

Oh, and the guy with the 12-string (11, actually, he left off one of the top strings) is now a famous Rabbi in his own right. His web site is http://www.davidzeller.org/. Extremely impressive gentleman.

I wonder how many of that group did important things? Probably no way to find out, but it would be an interesting project.