Beware of Spies

Following the publication of Tinder, Sailor, Hooker, Pimp in the Navy Times, https://www.militarytimes.com/news/your-military/2020/06/16/tinder-sailor-hooker-pimp-the-us-navys-sex-trafficking-scandal-in-bahrain/the police cracked down on a few buildings housing foreign women and increased harassment of Asian women walking alone at night in Juffair.

This was an “arrest the usual suspects” initiative. With the Sickness about, it is simply too dangerous to have sex with strangers no matter how attractive their profile on Tinder. BTW, Tinder in Bahrain is a dating app, not a hook-up app. Asian women arriving in Bahrain and hoping to find a Navy boyfriend are increasingly desperate to return to their countries, despite the impossibility or just prohibitively high cost of doing so.

At the time of writing, there are no international flights to China from the Middle East. China is not repatriating its citizens, either. There are irregular repatriation flights for Thai nationals, but a fourteen day paid in advance quarantine on arrival is required. Nighclubs and bars in Bahrain have been closed since March 8. Thai restaurants allow only a carry-out trade. The owner of one restaurant told me that on a weekday she is lucky to fill ten orders and often fills less.

While it is easy to point a finger at a three year old “trafficking” case, the situation on the ground is much more nuanced. What they used to call “Class B dependents” in Vietnam days were not mentioned. These are the full-time local wives and girlfriends of Navy personnel in Bahrain, as opposed to “Class A dependents,” that is, official dependents back in the United States.

A feature of Thai culture, the concept of the mia noi,” literally the “small wife,” or minor wife, is common and in no way dishonorable. The fact that a Navy man has a wife Stateside is no bar. Local laws in this part of the Middle East officially permit polygamy. Though the practice is not available to non-Muslims, it is hardly condemned either. Considering how easy it is to become a Muslim—you only need to say the shahadah in front of witnesses—a married American would find few obstacles in his path were he determined to espouse two wives. Navy regulations may prohibit such conduct, but what God has allowed man may not prohibit, at least as far as Bahraini law is concerned.

Navy personnel live with, and have children with, their Thai girlfriends.

And sometimes they kill them.

A Second Act

(Congressman Alcee Hastings died this week).

Alcee Hastings, a civil rights leader in the 1970’s, was the first black federal district judge in Florida. Judge Alcee Hastings sat on the bench in federal court while the old Miami power structure conspired to get rid of him. Later he would be indicted for bribery, acquitted and impeached anyway. Even today, the truth of the allegations against him are in dispute. The impeachment trial in the Senate only removed him from judicial office; for a second time the senators found him “not guilty” of accepting bribes. After he was impeached, he returned to private practice before running for federal office in Broward County. There he was elected to the US House of Representatives, today he is the longest-serving member of the House; a stunning reversal of fortune.

While I had one case before Judge Hastings while he was still on the bench, it did not go to trial. I was in his courtroom and witnessed him sentence a woman under the federal minimum mandatory guidelines, which he felt were unfair. He gave her a reporting date five years in the future. This was unheard of: the defendant would be able to go home and live her life for five years before having to surrender to prison. Judge Hastings disagreed with those laws, which had a disproportionate effect on black defendants. I wonder if this creative sentencing was the kind of conduct that was behind the successful effort to impeach him.

After he was impeached, Judge Hastings briefly went into private practice. He was always friendly and had a smile for everyone–and a long list of clients. After he left the bench, Judge Hastings started off, like I did, as a panel attorney, appointed by the court to represent defendants who had no money for his defense. I used to see him at MCC-Miami where we both came to visit clients. Those I know who practiced with him said that he made the transition from the bench without bitterness and did a good job for his clients. Judge Hastings had the opportunity to see the best Miami lawyers practice before him and was able to see their skills displayed.

Judicial bribery accusations were in fashion and the FBI had mounted an investigation of the Dade county judiciary they called Operation Court Broom. Sitting judges and attorneys were indicted in federal court, the Date county State court bench was accused of being a racketeering enterprise. Even “Maximum Morphonious,” a newsworthy tough judge and former Florida State beauty queen, was caught up in the allegations.

The Court Broom trials resulted not only in convictions, but Bar discipline and at least one sitting judge losing an election. A half-dozen or so lawyers were indicted for bribing the judges. All were convicted. All lost their licenses to practice law. State special public defenders not indicted had their invoices audited just to be on the safe side; one of them, former judge Ted Mastos, blamed “bad bookkeeping” on the fact that he had billed the State for more than 30 hours in a single day—they really should make accounting a required course in law school.

The most astonishing result in the Court Broom cases was the acquittal of Judge Philip Davis. Despite having been caught on tape snorting cocaine and taking a one hundred thousand dollar bribe, Judge Davis was acquitted. He was represented by Alcee Hastings.

They still talk about Hastings’ closing argument in the Justice Building. This goes to prove the wisdom that you never know what is going to happen at trial. A few years later, Davis was charged by the State for stealing money from a charity he had set up. Hastings was by then a sitting congressman and could not represent him. This time Davis, no longer a judge, was convicted. The sentence of twenty years seems rather harsh unless you take into account karma for the previous acquittal.

Another one of Hastings’ infamous clients was Yahweh ben Yahweh, a religious leader whose followers wore white robes and terrorized anyone who dared to stand up against them with violence.

Eventually the justice system came around to Judge Hastings’ view that the Sentencing guidelines were unfair. The guidelines were changed to be advisory, not mandatory. Crack cocaine guidelines were made consistent with those guidelines applicable to powder. But by then, Judge Hastings had long been off the bench. I never found out what happened to the woman who was given that five-year gift of time.

I never had the opportunity to try a case with Judge Hastings. He ran for Congress from a newly created district in Broward county, was elected and held his seat for twenty years. He never sought revenge against his new colleagues though they had voted to impeach him. I never heard anyone complain about his tenure as a Congressman. Ironically, at the time of his death he was on a committee which vetted candidates for the federal bench.

His life is strong evidence against F.Scott Fitzgerald’s adage that “there are no second acts in American lives.”

Don’t Turn off the Projector

Only one type of speech is properly prohibited and that is speech which seeks to censor others. A person who advocates censoring others should himself be censored. Censorship is needed, many will argue, citing the example of the one who yells “Fire” in a crowded theater. A person who commits such an act should be punished, but his speech cannot be the subject of before the fact censorship for the simple reason that it has not yet occurred. If there is evidence that a person will yell “Fire” when he is in a crowded theater—for example, if he has done so before¹—then he can be barred from crowded theaters. The risk that someone will yell “Fire!” is no reason to pull the plug on the projector.

By all means, punish those who commit crimes and who cannot conform their conduct to the rules of society. In the 1970’s, the Progressive magazine was allowed to publish the design of a thermonuclear weapon, because prohibiting the magazine’s right to publish was considered a dangerous assault on the freedom of the press. Today the press applauds the deplatforming of a former president of the United States as well as his allies, those who believe conspiracy theories or even those who reject the approved narrative, lest those with weak minds come to believe lies.

Julian Assange sits in jail, as best as I understand, because he is a difficult personality The Legacy Media should be screaming bloody murder and demanding his release. They do not, afraid to lose their sources in the government and their privileged access as stenographers.

Embolden the censors and lose the Panama Papers. Lose the Paradise Papers.

How far the champions of the free press have fallen. How far have fallen we all.

Da’esh and the Dakotas

The report of Jeffrey Stahl Ferris’ suicide after a federal jury found him guilty of terror-related charges in North Dakota seemed strange to me. Da’esh, that is, ISIS, has but a tenuous grasp of geography outside what were traditional Muslim lands. New York they know, Florida they know (because of Disney) and they know Washington. But that’s really about it. The plot to blow up the Willis (formerly Sears) Tower in Chicago was not hatched by those accused of planning the bombing, but by a Lebanese informant who was paid handsomely for the suggestion. What would Da’esh want with North Dakota?

As it turns out, nothing. The Ferris’ case was only “terror-related” in the world of National Enquirer exaggeration and federal make-believe. Ferris lived and worked on the Chippewa Reservation and was a former EMT. After a series of incidents of vandalism, he came upon a group of teenagers he suspected of those crimes and chased them with his Jeep. They took off on motorbikes and four-wheel ATV’s. He caught one of them and held him at gunpoint while he called for police.

Holding the teen at gunpoint was the “terror-related” act. The report that he drove his automobile at high speeds closer to the teenagers sounded like another jihadi aiming a car at a group of innocent pedestrians in the big city, a scenario that has become all too common.

The jury found him guilty of the firearm in commission of a felony charge, but acquitted him on charges relating to the chase. He was convicted on one assault charge, and my guess is that is the same charge arising out of his pointing his gun at the teen while telling him he was calling the police.

At most this was an improper citizen’s arrest, committed by a man (who I guess) was tired of vandalism in his community. No one was harmed. Did he use excessive force? Let’s put it this way: if Ferris were a policeman, there would have been no charges. The AUSA would have laughed it off.

So what is going on here? What are the takeaways from this story?

Stories like this make it difficult to trust the Press. What went out on the wire around the world was a story of terrorism in North Dakota. It was nothing of the sort. Secondly, the need to prosecute, to make cases, filtered through the bunker war mentality of Washington makes even the most minor infraction a matter of federal import.

After 9/11, the FBI reassigned many of their agents to the jihadi beat without additional training. Agents that had previously monitored biker gangs were now asked to target Al Qaeda. It didn’t work.

Why the proverbial book was thrown at Ferris, I don’t know. Maybe he was just a cranky old man tired of the teenagers pissing on his lawn. But faced with an almost-certain seven years in prison, it is no small wonder that he took his own life.

Ivermectin and Balance

CNN, at least in this instance, has stopped calling Ivermectin a veterinary medicine and more accurately states,

𝙸𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚟𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚖 𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚜.

Finally.

I Over the Pole

The last time I flew on an A-380 was in business class returning to Dubai from Munich. Today I am flying economy and the aircraft is configured for maximum capacity in a 3-4-3 configuration. The flight is completely full. I am on the aisle and suffer pushes, knocks, bumps and bruises inflicted.by everyone who walks by. Though I have an aisle seat on my left there is an elderly Iranian couple who believe themselves to be on mask compliance and control, they reported me to a flight attendant when I removed my mask to blow my nose.

I thought that we would fly the northern route over the Atlantic but this is not the case. Instead, we flew north from Dubai, passing Dubai and flying over central Russia. Six hours later we cleared theRussian land mass and were heading over the North Pole. We will enter North America when we clear the polar area. I know what time it is at the destination, local time isn’t helpful because of all the time zone changes. Perhaps the time as shown on my wrist, the time aboard the aircraft.

I must have fallen asleep for take-off; next thing I recall was our nearing Azerbaijan on the map. My SAVAK seat mates were the last to board; all during the boarding process I tried not to let myself get too excited about the possibility of having two empty seats next to me all the way to Los Angeles.

The passengers are all a motley crew. The global reduction in air traffic means that few have flown much in the past two years, it is as if all of them have forgotten civility and the protocols of flight. Everyone is a special case, everyone believes that they are entitled and so seek special treatment. At least a third of the passengers of this flight are Desi; Dubai is an Indian city,Mumbai and the rest of the subcontinent is only three and a half hours away by air.

India was one of the hotspots for the Delta variant and many countries simply closed their borders to India for much of the pandemic. This group is making up for their exclusion with a vengeance. I have never heard anyone ask for an “extra” meal during a flight before; now I have.

This nightmare torture flight will be over in nine hours or so and I will be happy to have save one or two thousand dollars. I think. Actually, if I do return to the Middle East I will risk penury by upgrading to premium economy. Or business.

I have a feeling that Omicron might complicate my return. Cases are surging world-wide and there is no general consensus concerning whether or not it is as lethal as the other variants.

Treatments

Two years ago, there was no treatment for the Sickness; in that context I predicted that the pandemic would go away once an effective treatment was available. Yet here we are, two years later, with many treatments on offer and the world still frightened; going to Yellow Alert because of Omicron and speaking already of renewed lockdowns.

Here are a few treatments:

• apixaban
• budesonide
  • prednisone
• pantoprazole
• monoclonal antibodies
• loprinavir-ritronavir

Notice that none of these were recommended by Donald Trump. Such a recommendation would remove the recommended medication from the list even if it were 100% effective and worked instantly with no side effects because that is the state in which we find ourselves.

South Sudan

The separatist war that birthed South Sudan was particularly brutal. The northern part of the country is the site of the traditional capital, Khartoum; the south mostly undeveloped. The language of the north is Arabic and the religion Islam; the south speaks with many tongues and follows faiths that were once called primitive.

The north controlled industry and had an organized army, the south, petroleum resources. The north controlled perhaps the country’s most precious resource, gum arabic, a material found only in Sudan and which is an essential component of modern industrialized agriculture and industry itself. The southerners fought tenaciously, they did not trust the Arabs, as they called those from the north, those whom they believed were denying them freedom.

The forces of the north captured two officers in a fierce battle for control of the petroleum-producing region, a battle fought to establish facts on the ground. The captured officers, a man and a woman, were taken to intelligence headquarters. There the man said, “I will tell you everything. Just don’t let the woman find out. She will report back and then they will kill my family. So don’t let her know that I am talking to you. If she learns, I won’t say anything. She is strong, you will never break her.” The intelligence officers were persuaded. They transferred the woman to a prison in Khartoum, but she never arrived. “Shot while trying to escape,” is what they wrote in the report. There was no body.

The remaining officer had promised them everything they wanted: orders of battle, the number of troops on the ground, the identities of their spies in the Ministry of Defense in Khartoum. The intelligence officers were set to begin his debriefing and they told him not to worry about the woman, that she would never bother anyone again. The remaining officer smiled.

“Actually I was concerned about her. I know that at some point you would break her, you would indeed. I couldn’t trust her. She would tell you everything. But you Arabs are all too trusting. You took care of that problem for me. You cannot break me, you will not break me.”

He was right. Even as they cut off his ears; his fingers. A single hand, the Islamic punishment for the thievery of the South Sudanese, for trying to steal the patrimony of the country. They crippled him. None of the pain they inflicted opened his mouth. Finally they ran out of ideas and just shot him.

Eventually a peace treaty was signed between Sudan and the new country that chose “South Sudan” as its official name.

I Don’t Care What You Say, There is No Such Thing as a Mainstream Media ‘Narrative’

I Couldn’t Resist This

Those who say that acquittal was a foregone conclusion? Nope. Not when the jury is out for four days. This case could have gone either way.

I wonder if the jury struggled with the narrative, with the accepted wisdom. Interesting to see how many people still believe that the gun was carried across State lines, that Rittenhouse had no ties to Kenosha (his father lived there; he had a job there), that those he shot were black; that two of them had used weapons against him.

Indeed (from the NY Post)

“𝙽𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚊 𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚎: 𝙷𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚞𝚗 𝚊𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜; 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚓𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝙺𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚜𝚑𝚊 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚓𝚘𝚋 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢. 𝙷𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚊-𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚊𝚋𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚘𝚙/𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛/𝙴𝙼𝚃.

𝙰𝚋𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 “𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚜𝚝,” 𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚘 𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝙹𝚘𝚎 𝙱𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛’𝚜 𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛; 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎.”

How to Fire an Employee

It is important to recognize that no employee ever gets fired because of financial reasons. Management will pretend that the reason for termination is costs, but this is never the case. If costs are truly an issue, a whole division or multiple employees are let go or their work is outsourced. Management consultants are famous for finding places where work can be outsourced and whole sections of workers can be let go. But that is not the subject of this memorandum. The important point to remember is that a single employee is never fired for financial reasons.

The reasons why a single employee gets the axe is always to please upper management. Someone’s brother in law needs a job. The employee isn’t getting along with others. S/he presents a threat to his immediate supervisor. No one is indispensable–that’s the idea. But after a few confabs permission is eventually given. Whatever the problem is, getting rid of the person perceived to be the problem is usually seen as the solution.

Despite the fact that Human Relations departments study management theory and should know the proper way to fire an employee, they rarely know how to do so.

Transfer Instead of Dismissal

One popular technique for removing employees is not to remove them at all but simply to make their lives so insufferable they resign. This does not mean taking away silly privileges–parking spaces, office with a view–which ultimately cost nothing and mean little. Remember–no single employee is ever let go for financial reasons. The goal is to remove the problem.

One quick way of getting rid of an employee is simply to transfer him to another office in another city. This is a tempting option but in the long run, inadequate. The sending office may retain residual responsibility for the transferring employee. The goal, after all, was to never hear from him again. If the company is big enough, this might be an option.

The downside is that the transferee remains within the organization where he can cause problems. He will soon come to learn who caused his transfer, whether a manager or a colleague, and that person will be marked for trouble, for revenge. Having a troublemaker within the organization can come back and do great damage.

TDY

Temporary transfers, otherwise known as TDY, is the key solution to getting rid of an employee. The process usually takes a few months before the employee resigns on his own accord. Some contracts make it impossible to transfer employees permanently without the employee’s consent. Other restrictions may limit the time an employee may be sent away on temporary duty–these are usually limited to thirty day periods. But there is no limit on thirty day periods interrupted by a week or two.

The soon-to-be-ex-employee should be sent to an inconvenient place with as few creature comforts nearby as possible. Resort cities are out of the question. The fact that the company has no establishment in the city the STBEE is sent to doesn’t matter. There’s really no reason for him to be there anyway. Make the employee pay for his own room and lodging with a promise to reimburse–on your own sweet time. After a few months, the STBEE will be suffering due to all the cash he has laid out–money that won’t be reimbursed in the immediate future.

Rotating the transferee among an ever-changing list of cities is a good idea so he doesn’t get too comfortable during his travels. Cities that are considered hardship posts are a good choice. Consider foreign travel to occasional war zones. After a few months of this treatment, the STBEE will get the message the resign.

Letting rumors about a possible cash bonus for resigning may be just the incentive the employee needs to resign.

How to Fire

There is no guarantee that a technique that has worked in the past will always work in the future. Sometimes a more traditional approach is called for. Still, there is a right way and a wrong way to go about the termination.

Day of the Week

This is a small point, but an important one. Too many employers fire employees on a Friday. This is never a good idea. Even though the employee may have read the signs to see the planets aligning against him, his firing will always come as a shock.

Such a person has the whole weekend to mope and be morose and get drunk and maybe get a gun to plot a return to the office to share his pain. Don’t let this happen. Instead, fire an employee first thing Monday morning. He can start looking for a new job the next business day. His work contacts at other companies will be in the office–he can reach them immediately. One of them might even offer him a job. He won’t have a whole weekend to stew in his pity party juices. He won’t even begin to start thinking of getting a gun and sharing his pain.

Never fire an employee on a Friday.

Companies that have a working-class workforce often pay their employees on Monday for roughly the same reasons. The families complain when their workers drink large portions of their paycheck over the weekend. This won’t happen when employees are paid on a Monday.

Outplacement

Outplacement was an HR fad during the 1980’s but these days has fallen out of favor. There used to be agencies that specialized in employee outplacement, but no longer. Making a few calls on behalf of the terminated employee will nevertheless soften the blow and deflect responsibility for the firing.

If the employee truly is a troublemaker, a smart move is to place him with a competitor. Where but with a competitor is a better destination for a troublesome employee?

Москва

(The foul-mouthed, softball-playing, draft-dodging eighth graders from St. Priscilla’s are at it again.)

A sixth grade patrol boy wearing the orange belt of authority appeared at the door of the classroom accompanied by two men in black suits. Joe LaBenda, our teacher, came to the door to see what the commotion was about. The patrol boy pointed to Penis and left. The three men had a brief discussion. Mr. LaBenda told Penis to stand up. “Richard, would you please?” he said.

“That won’t be necessary,” the taller of the two men in black suits said. “I think we should still talk to him,” the other one said. The two men looked alike in their black suits, white shirts and ties that might have been black. Or blue. Or even dark green.

“An eighth grader?” the taller one said. ”Let’s go.”

The general consensus was that Penis was in trouble. Either that or he had been selected for some award. No one really knew for sure. The men had certainly not come to talk to Penis about an award. The minute they saw Penis he was no longer in trouble.

It all began with a school project.

Mr. LaBenda was a hands-off teacher. He liked to announce class assignments just to see what we would do with them. This time, he said, it’s cities of the world. Pick an international city, somewhere overseas and tell us about it. That was it. No further direction. We didn’t coordinate with each other, so there was a lot of duplication. This is stupid, Penis announced. He retreated to his 1911 Britannica with the fold-out maps and deliberately looked for a city that no longer existed. He soon realized that a project about a city that no longer existed would mean a trip to the public library, for him a clear impossibility.

Penis had been banned from the library for misbehavior. It goes without saying that he routinely failed to return books that he checked out, many of which were completely inappropriate for an 8th grader. Penis had somehow availed himself of a list of banned books and was reading them one by one. “You wouldn’t believe what’s in these things,” Penis told us. It was only when a watchful librarian refused Penis’ efforts to borrow a copy of The Sensuous Woman. She wrote a note to Penis’ parents and ordered him to take it to his parents. The note didn’t make it past the iron-grated garbage can in front of the Memorial Library.

Penis planned his revenge carefully; requesting books on reserve using false names that appeared innocent but when announced on the library’s speaker system caused much hilarity. At first the librarians wondered who Mike Hunt was and why he never came to the front desk for the books he requested. They figured it out though, and after that reserve book requests were no longer announced on the library’s PA system. To make things worse, one of the librarians saw Penis put in a reserve request slip and after that he was banned from the library.

With the customary research path cut off, Penis had to come up with an alternative. But first he needed to choose a city. “How about Saigon?” he asked. “That would work,” I told him. “Too much work,” he said. “It’s too far away.” Saigon was in the news every day; it just wasn’t exotic enough. South Vietnam wasn’t admitted to the UN and Penis had no idea how to get addresses for the South Vietnamese consulates, if there were even any in the country.

“I know,” Penis said. “Moscow.”

It was an inspired choice. Penis knew nothing about Moscow, except that it was the home of the Communists, our sworn enemy. He decided to write to the Russian delegation at the United Nations.

Penis went downtown to pick up a copy of the Chicago Seed and do research at the Chicago Public Library, one library that hadn’t banned him. All he needed was the address of the United Nations, but looking this up was too much work. He knew that the United Nations was in New York. There was a post office there. The mailmen in New York would know where to deliver the letter. The new Zip Codes are a pain, Penis said. No reason I can think of to use them.

None of us knew how to type. This was no impediment. Penis scrawled a letter and, feeling important, addressed it to Khrushchev himself c/o the Russian delegation to the United Nations. He put the letter in a blue letter box on a concrete pole near his house so he wouldn’t have to answer any annoying questions at the post office.

In those Spy vs. Spy days, mail to Russian missions in the United States was closely monitored; opened, photographed and sent on. This was a letter to the Soviet Premier himself. Reading through the lines, the agents judged that a personal letter to Khrushchev could only have been sent by a local agitator with an interest in emigrating. Even another Oswald, perhaps. The childish penmanship was further proof of a possibly deranged mind. That the penman had carelessly left his home address was further evidence of unbalance and ignorance of tradecraft.

Orders went out to the Chicago field office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Counter-Espionage Desk. The Desk was happy to get the assignment. There wasn’t much anti-commie work going on in the Midwest. Anti-war, sure, but that was boring. Surveillance of a possible Soviet reverse-defector was the big leagues. That the Counter-Espionage Desk lacked an incumbent wasn’t a particular concern. A tall agent who had little else to do was quickly assigned. The house of Penis was put under surveillance by the FBI.

The package from New York arrived a week later. The correspondent who answered Penis’ letter was deemed to be a a Soviet Political Officer (Contact #1), the tall agent wrote on the FBI Form 302.

Khrushchev could not answer the inquiry personally, the political officer apologized. He also pointed out that it had been a long time since Comrade Nikita had held that high office. But Comrade Kosygin had ordered that all requests for information were to be taken seriously and where possible, fulfilled by the relevant department concerned.

Included in the package were copies of Soviet Life with black and white pictures of smiling women wearing white turbans working the fields and driving tractors. There was even an article about chess, said to be the national sport, with pictures of skilled grandmasters alongside reports of annotated games in chess notation. Penis couldn’t understand why these skilled grandmasters didn’t all begin their games with rook lifts and why the Russians were so interested in a boring game. “They make it so complicated,” he told me.

There were articles about the triumphs of the Soviet Union in World War II, the iconic picture of the taking of Berlin and an article on the Russian language. That article explained that Moscow’s name, written in Cyrillic, was MOCKBA. Assuming that Cyrillic letters only disguised the same sounds in the Roman alphabet, Penis concluded that we were all incorrectly pronouncing the name of Soviet capital. “It’s mock-ba,” he said. “Mock as in mock, ba as in ba ba black sheep.” From that moment on, Moscow became Mockba.

FBI surveillance of Penis’ home revealed little. From time to time, a peculiar crew of twelve and thirteen year-olds showed up with putters and played miniature golf on an imaginary course set up around the house. They swore at each other and were poor miniature golfers. One of them wore apparently stolen bowling shoes, size 8. A suspected dead drop made from a tin can turned out to be the third hole. Besides that evidence of criminality, there was little evidence of contact with local Soviet sleeping agents. “Keep an eye out,” the tall agent’s partner counseled, “the contact will show up sooner or later.”

A federal magistrate judge signed off on the warrant to intercept telecommunications. The facts were sufficient to meet the low probable cause standard. A Communist sympathizer contacted the Soviet Premier in an effort to emigrate. His home, not far from the Nike missile base with its warheads aimed at Soviet territory, was under surveillance. A package containing subversive matter had been delivered to the address, a likely nest of communist agitation. It was no coincidence that the provocateur lived near the missile base. Sabotage or even a nuclear incident was not out of the question. Interception of all communications was urgently required in the interests of national security.

When the lines were tapped with the cooperation of the mysterious AT&T office on Vail Avenue, a bricked-up building with only one entrance and a door delineated by strangely opaque glass bricks. The agents noted that Lenny’s, a one-story candy store, was where members of the gang purchased, or claimed to purchase, cigarets. The surveilling agents noted that there never seemed to be any adults on the calls. The children who lived in the house mostly spoke nonsense on the phone, something about banned books, being thrown out of libraries and someone named Hunt. The teenage female at the residence mostly discussed cute boys, fights with her girlfriends, shoes she could not afford and make-up her mother did not allow her to apply.

Federal regulations required that personal conversations were to be “minimized,” which meant that the agents were on their honor not to listen, but they only turned off the tape recorders and listened anyway. The logs referred to these partial summaries which made little sense in the context of the investigation. Initially, the agents thought that “shoes” might be a code for explosives or narcotics, but the wide variation in footwear styles and designers put paid to this theory.

“Nothing about Contact #1?” the tall agent asked. “Not a thing,” the shorter agent answered after reviewing the logs. “There’s a lot of talk about someone named ‘Penis’ but we haven’t been able to identify him. Contact #1 never appeared on the tapes.” “Let’s put this “Penis” as “Contact #2” the tall agent ordered. Contact #1 worked at the United Nations under diplomatic cover and was already known to counterespionage. Contact #2, code-named “Penis” enjoyed no similar immunity.

In typical fashion, the Soviets learned that the FBI was conducting a counterespionage investigation whose goal was identifying a possible Soviet agent, code-named “Penis.” Afraid of a defector in their midst, the KGB initiated their own investigation, titled “Codename Пенис.”

Surveillance showed that other than going out to the grocery store, the adult resident of the monitored residence rarely went out. The two adolescent residents walked to the nearby middle school every day. One day, the young boy who lived at the residence took the commuter train downtown. The agent who tailed him noted that the young boy had purchased a copy of the Chicago Seed from an individual who was a known to the Bureau as a marihuana user.

Penis had more than enough information to put together his report for Mr. LaBenda. What he didn’t know, he simply made up. His report, titled Москва was a hit with our classmates, but Mr. LaBenda was skeptical, saying he doubted that chess was “big business” in Russia. He also did not believe that Hunt was a Russian surname, but Penis insisted. Mr. LaBenda gave Penis a “B” anyway for his report. He was a generous teacher.

Washington shut down the surveillance as unproductive. The agents decided to make a field visit to St. Priscilla’s. When they asked the patrol boy about someone named Penis, he offered to take them to his classroom. “I knew it,” the shorter agent said. It’s a teacher. Probably a perv too, with that name.”

That Penis was not a teacher was immediately obvious. Mr. LaBenda explained about the report project. To clear the matter up, they asked to see a sample of Penis’ handwriting. Mr. LaBenda accommodated their request, giving them a single sheet of scrawled notebook paper containing the phrase, “I will be quiet in class,” written twenty-five times. Penis’ scrawl matched the missive to the Soviet Premier.

The sheet of paper, now evidence, was bagged and attached to the 302’s, filed and forgotten by all. The investigation was marked “Closed.”

A decade and a half later, Richard applied to become a member of the Bar of the State of Virginia. In addition to possessing required academic credentials and a degree from a law school approved by the American Bar Association, applicants to the bar must undergo a character and fitness examination. As part of this examination, State Bar authorities conduct a background check to determine if applicants have a criminal record. A routine records check showed a hit from the FBI. Richard’s name had come up in a counterespionage investigation. The Bar adjudged that the matter merited further inquiry.

An investigator from the unified bar of the State of Virginia summoned Richard to bar headquarters in Richmond. Richard had passed the bar and wondered what all this was about. The Bar had made a further records request to the FBI which produced the 302’s.

“Who’s Penis?” the investigator asked.

School for Seniors

Do you remember my scheme for spending my retirement in a college town? Many of you thought that I was joking. Some, however, got the message.

There is outrage when XY chromosomed-individuals join the women’s team because they now identify as women. No one can complain on those grounds when this gal grabs a 9-iron.

My only advice: please don’t spoil it for the rest of us.

Waiting for the Announcement

How will we know the pandemic is over? Just as there was no formal announcement of the pandemic’s start, it is unlikely that there will be an announcement of the pandemic’s end.

At first, the Sickness was completely local: trouble in far-off China in a B-List city; an Elvis sighting not to be concerned about. Then the virus was in the State of Washington, a local concern, nothing to be concerned about. Then a wild break-out in rural Italy in towns whose name no one longer remembers; still nothing to be too worried about. Then an Iranian health minister collapsed at a press conference.

Then the Sickness was everywhere; the response no longer local. National governments sounded their strategies in cacophony; some calming, reassuring; others welding doors to keep people at home. Scientists contradicted each other. Physicians contradicted each other. With no trust in the government, amateur epidemiologists conducted their own research, their findings amplified by the Internet, while the real scientists continued to contradict each other. There was no time to conduct the years’ long studies they demanded.

The closing of schools started slowly but soon all doors were shut. Parents who didn’t know a numerator from a carburetor were assigned the task of home schooling their children. At best, also these unqualified new teachers could do was point to the television, the Internet and their children’s unread schoolbooks before giving up.

Flying an airplane was dangerous, the recirculated air could carry the Sickness. Business trips were canceled, hotels closed, vacations were impossible. AirBnB built its business on home sharing, but to take a possibly infected stranger into your home was unthinkable. Before the first half was over, the number of the new dead rivaled the number lost in horrible wars.

There were no vaccines. There were no treatments. Ventilators were desperately needed and in short supply. People could only hope that the virus would burn itself out. TV scientists had no answer and people amused themselves blaming China. Others, egged on by their new like-minded Internet friends, denied that the Sickness even existed, or if it did exist it was just the flu. And the mortality factor was low. And the R Number, a term in fashion, like 2000’s “hanging chad” was such that soon we would have “herd immunity,” another fashionable term soon to return to disuse.

The only subject the world’s governments could agree on dealt with popular nomenclature. Calling the virus the Wuhan virus invited acts of violence against Chinese citizens. A new variant that arose in India could incite violence and prejudice, not to mention cautionary distancing from the Desi. Before HIV was isolated, Haitians were thought to be a vector of that disease in official announcements which did the Haitians no favors. Greek letters were chosen instead. The Wuhan flu became Alpha, the Desi variant Delta. Only the Greeks complained, pointing out that there were other alphabets that could have been chosen.

Delta is more contagious and affected younger people more than Alpha. Before long, talk of herd immunity started to fade. In August, 2020, the first international tests of a Chinese vaccine were conducted. By the end of the year, there were more vaccines coming on-line and squabbling about the merits of each. Alpha was no longer the problem. The old rushed to be vaccinated ignoring the pseudo-scientists who warned against inoculation without FDA approval. The same people who when young had no trouble swallowing an unknown white pill to dance the night away warned against new vaccine technologies.

By March, 2021 the end was in sight. Alpha was in decline, vaccinations were increasing, ventilators were sitting unused, and president who was all but personally responsible for the spread of the virus—so they said—was out of office. The airlines announced a return to summer travel. Lockdowns and restrictions eased. Soon things would be back to normal.

Delta didn’t cooperate. Numbers were quickly back up to where they had been a year before. Lockdowns were re-imposed. Once again, there was no uniform response. Fourteen hundred school boards issued contradictory decisions about masking, social distancing and school openings. If local officials made an unpopular decision it was easy to point to a different approach taken somewhere else and accuse the local official of being a terrorist, communist, anarchist or other ‘ist’ de jour.

The new American president begged the country to get vaccinated, claiming that the continued restrictions were due to the stubbornness of those who refused to get vaccinated, with the MSM helpfully pointing out that these belonged to the president’s opposing political party.

What the government could not do, the private sector is doing. Companies began to require vaccinations as a condition of continued employment. School boards will add Covid-19 vaccinations to the list of required vaccinations as soon as the FDA approves, on a temporary basis, the vaccination of children and adolescents.

Some State governments resist this tide. No matter. Vaccination will be the norm. Unless a variant worse than Delta comes along, the world will slowly crawl out of this pandemic hole.

There will be no formal announcement. No “Mission Accomplished” photo opportunity. No newspaper printing a photograph of a sailor kissing a nurse in Times Square. Instead, fewer people will wear masks, except those coughing or sneezing and no one will be surprised that they didn’t stay home. The number of remote workers will decline but will not disappear. Fewer days in the office may become the norm. Working from home will no longer be the anomaly it once was.

Finally realizing that publicity turns science into politics, physicians and epidemiologists will try to keep treatments between themselves and their patients. As the number of the ill goes down, the Sickness will be just another condition of human existence. Annual Covid-19 shots will become the norm. The vaccines will get better. The treatments will become more effective. In time, the pandemic will only become a feint memory before being entirely forgotten.

But expect no announcement.

Test

Test after crash.

Truth and Evidence

It’s interesting (at least to me) how different systems or professions address the issue of truth. How do we know if an assertion is true?

• Anecdotal: True if there’s some comment about it somewhere
• Arabic: If no one saw it, it didn’t happen
• Cruentation: The victim’s body will bleed in the presence of the murderer
• Islam: Two male Muslim witnesses are needed, except for adultery, when four eyewitnesses are required.
• Journalism: True if two independent sources say the same thing
• Journalism 2: Any sound reverberating in the MSM’s echo chamber
• Kavanaugh: Any assertion must be corroborated by more than one witness
• Law: Whatever 12 strangers agree on after being presented with partial information at a performance
• Literary Criticism: Whatever you can publish with a lot of footnotes.
• Medicine: Any treatment based on any kind of evidence (this is actually a step up from the previous standard, set forth below)
• Ordeal: God will perform a miracle to save the accused if innocent
• Religion: If you believe it or were told to believe it
• Science: Whatever a paid journal publishes on the advice of two or more reviewers, until superseded by another article published and reviewed by two other reviewers.
  • Witchcraft: Whatever works even if it didn’t work before
• Zerolis: Greenland may not exist, I haven’t been there.

What can be added to this list?

Vietnam

In a very real sense, I grew up with Vietnam. The war the Vietnamese call the “American War” was on television every night. The movie The Green Berets instilled us with the righteousness of the American cause. It was America’s duty to fight godless Communism, though the fact that the Vietnamese were far from godless—we saw the monks immolating themselves on the news—was somehow glossed over.

We were too young for the draft but watched the growing protests with interest. The underground newspaper, the Chicago Seed was not easily accessible to white boys from the suburbs, but we rode the train downtown and got copies there. The war wasn’t going anywhere. There was no talk of winning and no one even knew how to win. In a few years we would be facing the draft ourselves. We wanted no part of it. Saigon was not an option. From Chicago, Canada wasn’t far away. It was a four or five hour drive to Detroit and from there we could cross to Windsor.

As usual, my friend Penis, the third baseman on our church softball team, had a solution. He had an old Encyclopedia Britannica, the 1911 edition. Even though we were only in the 8th grade we had to prepare. We looked up the maps of Vietnam and they looked nothing like what they showed on the news. Of course, there was nothing about the draft and nothing about the draft dodgers who had escaped to Canada. Further research was required.

Somehow Penis got a hold of the Canadian immigration rules. To become a landed immigrant, in other words, to get to stay in Canada and not get turned back, you needed thirty points. Penis explained that you got one point for each year of education you possessed. As we were in the 8th grade, this led to arguments about whether we would be given credit for kindergarten. George had to repeat kindergarten anyway. “I was red-shirted!” he protested. This was because his parents had moved in the middle of the year. None of us really knew what it meant to be red-shirted, but it sounded very sophisticated so we accepted George’s explanation.

”What is kindergarten,” George asked, “if not education?”

We decided to calculate without counting kindergarten. No one was drafted before age 18, so we would—hopefully—finish high school before we had to head east. By then we would have twelve years of education and twelve points. Canada granted five points for the ability to speak English. Most of us, we figured, would get the full five points, but Tommy would probably only get four since he slurred his words and hardly spoke much at all. But for the rest of us, we would be at 17 points. Penis would study French in high school and claimed that his partial fluency would give him at least three points. I had some doubts about that because Penis hadn’t done all that well in Mr. Pantellis’ 7th-grade French class, which met only once per week and didn’t teach us all that much because Mr. Pantellis couldn’t speak French himself. The little we knew started Penis on the path to his final nickname because we knew that if we put the word “le” before any word, it sounded French; hence “Le Richard.” I figured I might get a point for knowing how to say “hello.” You didn’t get any credit from the Canadians for Spanish, unfortunately.

You could get up to ten points if you had a job in Canada, but we had no illusions about that. None of us had experience and except for George, none of us had ever held down jobs. I had been fired from the one job I had, working in the pro shop at the golf course due to an accident with a golf cart. They didn’t have mirrors so how was I supposed to see what was behind me? And yes, so what if it was a building, that doesn’t mean there were mirrors on golf carts. “Could happen to anyone,” I explained, but unfortunately it had happened to me.

You would think that we would work harder on our French in school to get more points, but we knew that wasn’t going to happen. None of us even knew anyone who could speak French. They wouldn’t draft you, even if you were 18, if you were still in high school, so getting held back a year would help and leave you with 19 points. The danger was that by playing dumb you would get expelled and then it was Saigon here I come.

So we needed to at least fake enough French to get two points. Maybe there was an exam, we could cram for that, wouldn’t they give us one or two points for our earnestness? We assumed therefore, that despite our linguistic ignorance, we could do well enough on the test to score at least two points. If we crossed at Windsor we probably wouldn’t get a French-speaking immigration officer and we might just be able to fake it. That would give us twenty.

But we were still ten points away from safety and a life in Canada. Then Penis found out that the immigration officer could award “discretionary” points, up to ten of them.

All we had to do was look, act and sound like we belonged. Fortunately, Chicago had one of the original National Hockey league teams. Becoming hockey fans wasn’t enough, we had to learn how to skate and be fans of a Canadian team and for some reason we picked the Montreal Canadiens. Whenever the Blackhawks played a Canadian team, both national anthems were sung. We listened to the anthem that didn’t sound familiar and figured out that this one was the Canadian anthem. The lyrics were in the Britannica. We figured one verse was enough—after all, it was an anthem and who knows more than one verse of an anthem? Penis learned to play it on the piano so we belted it out as if our lives depended on it, and in a way they did.

They play enough hockey in the Northern suburbs of Chicago so that part was easy. We learned how to skate on hockey skates; that was all they had—for boys at least. I didn’t know how to skate with figure skates, the steps at the beginning of the blade were confusing. I almost ended up being held in contempt of court years later because I had rented figure skates, fallen and broken my arm. But that was much, much later.

When I was still in high school my father asked me what I was going to do about Vietnam. “I think I’m up to 30 points,” I told him. “So it’s Canada.” For this insolence he punched me in the face. I was confident of Penis’ calculations. George had even half-convinced me that I could get kindergarten credit. “Where is kindergarten?” George asked, “in a school right? So if it’s in a school, it’s education.” He had a point, but would the Canadian immigration officer give us that point?

El hombre propone, pero Dios dispone. We were prepared for emigration but God had other plans. The year I turned 18 was the last year anyone was drafted. A few years earlier, to quell student protests, Selective Service had instituted a lottery based on the date of your birth. If your number was higher than 100, you had little to worry about; if your number was higher than 200 you had nothing to worry about. My number was in the mid-200’s. I put my draft card to use for other purposes.

Two years after that, Saigon fell and Vietnam was reunified. Penis went to law school, became a personal injury lawyer and married a woman from Vietnam. I wonder if she taught him any French. He died at age 45 of a heart attack.

Throughout the years, the Canadian national anthem stuck with me, never to be forgotten, as did the immigration rules of Canada, as interpreted by Penis when we were all in the 8th grade. Years later, I went to work for a Canadian law firm. At an Irish saloon on Yonge Street in Toronto, a television showed hockey pregame warmups. The patrons started singing the Canadian national anthem. The boozers stopped their drinking to show respect.

Of course, I joined in.

How an Apostrophe Almost Landed Me in Jail

John Delorean

I feel for those whose surnames include a ‘de, di, la’, an ‘al-’, ‘el’, ‘ben’ or ‘ibn.’ Or ‘von’. And of course, anyone who has the misfortune to have an apostrophe in their name. I feel for you.

John DeLorean (not De Lorean, which would put him in this select group) was on trial in federal court in the Eastern District of Michigan during a time when I had several cases in the same building. Every now and then I’d stick my head in–you didn’t get a sense of how tall DeLorean was when you saw him on television, but in the courtroom with his height and shock of prematurely white hair he was perhaps the most distinguished looking defendant I had ever seen. He had a car company in Ireland–no stranger to the apostrophe, he–and I couldn’t help that the Michigan venue was chosen to punish Mr. Delorean as much for having the gall to compete with American car companies as anything else.

Delorean was acquitted, an extremely rare occurrence during the past half-century. The criminal rules of procedure are slanted heavily towards the prosecution in federal court, but this is not the time to write about that unfairness. This is about an apostrophe.

BCCI

Few know that the many-tentacled criminal case against the Bank of Credit and Commerce International first went to trial in Detroit. I represented one of the defendants. BCCI was a bank founded by a Pakistani mystic and had branches in America, Europe and Asia. The bank did not have a license to do business in Saudi Arabia, but an expert witness later noted the fact that many members of the Saudi royal family had accounts at the branch in Riyadh and reported that the banking laws were mostly cosmetic.

The main allegation in the American criminal prosecution of BCCI was that they laundered drug money. My case involved the owner of a truck that allegedly was the vehicle used to deliver ten kilos of cocaine to a group of Chaldeans (the term then used for Iraqi Christians in Detroit) who sold it from their bodegas.

Most people don’t realize how local the practice of law is. Lawyers in every state, and sometimes even within the same state, raise barriers to lawyers from out of state. I was coming from Miami, a snowless city three hours away by airplane. I was suspect. These not-so-warm feelings extended to the local judges, who were promoted from the same pool of suspicious lawyers. It is only when judges join the multistate federal courts of appeal that these ill feelings start, only start, to dissipate. They never disappear entirely.

Thus, if I can be admitted to practice locally, I’ll always fill out the paperwork and pay the fee in an attempt to avoid the local prejudice. Sometimes this works, but more often than not, it doesn’t. The Clerk’s office in Detroit would admit me to practice for a ten dollar bill and I would get a pretty engraved certificate that I could put up on the wall in my office, the one with the picture of the red jeep I brought from Panama, the one with the DoT safety exemption, though they did make me get rid of the split rim tires.

When I returned to Miami, I put the beautiful new certificate of my eligibility to practice law before the judges of the Eastern District of Michigan in a glass frame and hung the frame on the wall. Were most of my clients not already in jail, they surely would have been impressed by this official document. Every now and then I would clean the dust off the glass if the accumulation made it hard to read.

The Broken Frame

The criminal justice system is a process. Arrests are the intake, then the poor accused journey through the federal system until they are convicted and sent to federal prison. The system waits for no one. A client, arrested in Detroit on another case, asked me to represent him. I prepared a document of representation, called a “Notice of Appearance” and sent it by Federal Express to the Detroit courthouse on West Lafayette Boulevard, to the attention of the same Clerk’s office that a few months before had been happy to receive my ten dollars.

A few days later, I received a call from the judge’s clerk. He told me that the judge had prepared an Order and wanted it read to me personally, so that I could not claim that I had not received it. The Order said, “This Cause having come before the Court sua sponte (that is, at its own initiative) in the matter of Michael O’Kane’s filing of a Notice of Appearance in this matter, a rule to show cause is hereby issued why he should not be held in contempt of court for attempting to file a Notice of Appearance while not a member of the bar of this court, *a full inquiry into the books and records of the Office of Clerk of Court having been conducted which show that he has never been admitted to practice in this court. Done and ordered in chambers, in Detroit, Michigan, this 10th day of September, 19XX.”

I tried to tell the judge’s clerk that I was admitted but he cut me off. “There’s not point in arguing,” he said, “you will have” to make a formal application to the court. Federal judges can put you in jail and in a criminal case–which this technically was–they can send the Marshals to pick you up anywhere in the country, even in Guam. I imagined the 30 hour bus ride to Michigan, sitting with shackles around my ankles behind an iron grate behind the driver and two men with shotguns. Prosecutors call this “diesel therapy.” I had made no more enemies in Detroit than I had in other new cities, so I had no illusions: the judge would be happy to send me to jail as a warning to others.

What stood between me and stint in federal prison–there’s one near the University of Michigan at Ann Arbor–was a pretty certificate behind a glass frame on the wall. I had no other proof.

The Burden of Proof

The certificate eventually came out from behind the glass only partially defaced, because a corner had fused to the glass. The solution was to break the glass, like you might do to get an axe in case of a fire. I have always wondered what you would do with an axe, standing in the middle of a burning building. Start vandalizing burning walls? What good would that do? What good is an axe against metal doors, anyway? But break the glass I did, in an effort to put out this judicial fire. I had to make a photocopy of the certificate; bits of glass reflected the light while on the glass platen giving the effect of glitter. I tried to send a fax to the clerk’s office but they informed me they did not take faxes from out-of-state attorneys. I explained that I was a locally-admitted attorney who was out of state and they simply repeated that out of state attorneys were not allowed to send faxes. They did offer the helpful suggestion that I call the judge’s chambers; but the helpful suggestion turned out to be less than useful when I reached an answering machine.

I thought that all I needed to do was send a copy of the certificate to the judge, but I was not to get off so easy. The clerk might misfile the certificate or not know what to do with it. After all, the Office of the Clerk had already reported, after thorough search no less, that the pretty certificate did not exist. Given that there was an official finding that the certificate did not exist, the fact that I held it in my hand was irrelevant. The judicial finding controls.

Pleading

To file the a copy of the certificate, with its glitter and all, I had to prepare a pleading describing what had happened. As I didn’t know what happened except that the certificate in my hand was deemed not to exist, I had to argue that it did exist after all. But I had to do so in a polite way, apologize for any inconvenience that I had caused the court and opposing counsel–the fact that I had made no mistake did not excuse me from the need for an apology for the lack of an apology would weigh heavily on appeal given the presumption of correctness of a lower court’s findings, especially after thorough inquiry. I made five copies, included a self-addressed stamped envelope to receive a stamped copy of the pleading and went to the Federal Express office at the kiosque on 27th Avenue and US 1, just across the street from the Shell gas station.

We Don’t Make Mistakes

Officially, I never heard the end of it. There was no ruling from the judge finding that the pretty certificate in fact existed, no order quashing the rule to show cause. I wasn’t satisfied. I asked a friend to visit the Clerk’s office on my behalf in an effort to try to figure out what had happened. A few days later, he called. “It’s the apostrophe in your name,” he said. They alphabetized it as if it were a letter, so that O’K comes before OK. But the clerk that searched went right to the K’s and didn’t look at the apostrophes. Your name didn’t come up, so they told the judge who had asked if a certain Miami lawyer was admitted. They couldn’t admit their mistake because if they did; then every time the Clerk’s office made thorough inquiry lawyers could claim that a mistake had been made, “just like in the O’Kane apostrophe case.” So the best course was to say nothing more, do nothing more and hope that the matter would be forgotten. Yes, I was out of pocket the cost of Fedex and long distance calls and I had spent a worried afternoon drafting the pleading, but so what? I should be happy I wasn’t dragged to Michigan by the U.S. Marshal and forced to sit shackled behind the two marshals with shotguns. There was no order, so there was nothing to appeal. And no, I shouldn’t expect an apology. “We don’t make mistakes.“

Equus

“Is Ivermectin safe?

When used for the current indications, at the currently approved doses, Ivermectin is a very safe drug. To date, more than three billion treatments have been distributed in the context of the Mectizan Donation Program alone with an excellent safety profile. Most adverse reactions are mild, transitory and associated with parasite death rather than with the drug itself.

Does ivermectin have anti-viral properties?

Yes. Ivermectin has been proven to inhibit the replication of several RNA viruses such as:

Dengue—Zika—Yellow fever—West Nile—Chikungunya—Venezuelan equine encephalitis—Semliki Forest virus—Sindbis virus—Porcine reproductive and respiratory syndrome virus , and recently SARS-CoV-2.

Unfortunately, ‘there is very limited evidence about the safety of ivermectin at higher doses.’ ” Read more: https://www.isglobal.org/en/healthisglobal/-/custom-blog-portlet/questions-and-answers-about-ivermectin-and-covid-19/2877257/0

According to the National Institutes of Health, “it is generally acknowledged that praziquantel is highly effective and safe with no serious adverse reactions.” Source: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3780935/

In the US, Ivermectin is not available except by prescription and doctors are generally prohibited from or reluctant to write prescriptions for the medicine. Anyone can bypass the system by buying veterinary formulations. The above Ivermectin product is popular among horsemen in Texas and has been used by many Covid-19 patients. The dosages are low compared to the study reported on the Isglobal website, but the presence of praziquantel is a wild card, though it too has been found to be safe. I do not know if there is a veterinary formulation that only consists of Ivermectin.

Note that the FDA’s warnings relate to “Ivermectin *products*” and not Ivermectin itself. Ivermectin itself at prescribed dosages is very safe in humans.

With Fauci having lost credibility and vaccines politicized, it is unfortunate that there are no trustworthy organizations which can provide timely advice on treatment. Physicians argue among themselves and laymen have no way to judge beyond a guess.

Schooling for Seniors Update

As it turns out, university tuition is tax-deductible for seniors who return to school to obtain additional credentials which will make them more marketable despite their advanced age. Let’s not kid ourselves: there’s no way you are going to find a job at age 70, but that shouldn’t stop you from lifelong, tax-advantaged learning. This is yet another vote in favor of the “School for Seniors” plan.

Consider the Dutch city of Groningen, a university town voted the most livable city center in Europe. English is widely spoken in Holland. Tuition is cheap. Marijuana is legal and available to soothe the aches and pains of old age.

In Ireland there is a ballyhoo over plans to build student housing, which at €1000/month is considered too expensive. Several operators are already in business and have had difficulty finding tenants. I don’t know if you’ve checked Dublin real estate prices lately, but a thousand per month rental is a steal. Americans will have only minor language difficulties in Ireland. The locals speak English and even Americans can make themselves understood.

Sign me up. Sure beats Century City.

Federal Mask Mandate

The US Department of Transportation has extended the federal mask mandate to January, 2022, requiring passengers to wear masks aboard civilian aircraft and so insuring that American bad behavior will be on display for all throughout the holiday season.

R.Kelly Trial: Where’s the Jury?

The trial of R. Kelly on federal racketeering charges is being held on a semi-virtual basis: the jurors are not in the courtroom. Supposedly this is for health reasons; but if everyone else is in the courtroom safely, what is the justification for the novel approach of excluding the jury?

For the past thousand years, common law criminal trials took place “in the presence of the jury,” a requirement that was mandatory, the language almost incantantory, ritualistic and somewhat supernatural in nature.

The ability of the jury to observe and make credibility determinations was based, in part, on that language and that ritual. Removing the requirement without statutory–perhaps Constitutional authority—in the interests of expediency is a denial of due process. The Constitution mandates a “trial by jury,” not a television show of a trial.

Nevertheless, R. Kelly will be convicted and this precise point will be raised on appeal. The appeal will be rejected because “pandemic, you know” and “R.Kelly’’s a bad guy, you know.” The precedent will be used to open the path to simultaneous, mass trials, another consequence of the Sickness, and one that will not go away even if a cheap, effective cure is found.

Mask or No Mask

I’ll go out on a limb and say that much of the civil strife in the United States is between Republicans and those who do not identify themselves as such. Since all you can really do is moan and complain about those who do not agree with you, the only way to publicly express your affiliation (other than wearing a MAGA hat and sporting an AR-15) is to wear, or not wear, a mask.

At the beginning of the pandemic, Dr. Fauci complicated matters by proclaiming that masks were not required. He later said that he was not truthful—no one likes the word lie—because he was afraid that supplies for medical personnel would run out. I have a different view—he said that they were not required because that is the message the Trump White House wanted to get out. Fauci knew that if he did not go along, he would lose his job. As an experienced bureaucratic in-fighter, Fauci knew how to play along.

As people realized not to take medical advice from someone whose last science course was high school biology, even though he held the nation’s highest office, Fauci backed away from his original dissembling and now advocated mask use, even going so far as to appear before Congress wearing two masks. Presumably the supply chain issues had all been resolved to the point that were the entire nation to double its mask usage, there would be enough to go around.

Those who stand with Trump, at least prior to falling to the illness, display their maskless faces as a sign of political will. The CDC conveniently flip-flopped, announcing that wearing masks was basically optional, though there are occasions when you should mask. Once Biden was installed as commander in chief, the military issued guidance that masks were not necessary. Not even Trump had dared to give such an order.

Elbowing your airplane seat mate in the ribs, not as a conversation starter but as a prelude to demanding mask donning became widespread, to the point that even the FAA realizes that this situation is out of control. The Red vs. Blue battlefield is on either side of the airplane aisle, where true believers duke it out with the socialist enemies of the Constitution.

The Delta variant is grounds for masking. The socialist enemies of the Constitution—so called—claim that the rise in the number of cases is a “pandemic of the unvaccinated” and beseech everyone to get the jab.

The virus ignores all of this political blather, obeying laws that are not fully understood. The only way to conquer the Sickness is by joint action. Personal choice has no place here. This is not about politics. Sickness and Death do not care about politics.

Library Blues

There really was a Pierre Menard.

But he did not write the Quijote, contrary to Mr. Borges’ assertions.

Menard was the first lieutenant governor of Illinois.

Selling your Condo?

Selling a condo isn’t easy these days. Real estate agents have to do due diligence on condo board finances and do not have the necessary skills to read and analyze financial statements.

Murder in West Cork

If depicted accurately in the documentary Murder in West Cork, the evidence:

• changed stories
• witness identification
• multiple “confessions” to friends (not even hearsay because a declaration against penal interest)

is enough to convict Ian Bailey of the murder of Sophie du Plantier in an American court.

sophieduplantier #ianbailey #westcork #sophieduplantier

Explosive Flatulency as a Risk Factor for Covid-19

While often a matter of juvenile humor, it has become increasingly obvious to the peer-reviewed scientific community that explosive flatulency (commonly known as “power farting”) is a serious, substantial vector of Covid-19. At first, it was thought that Covid-19 remained upon surfaces where it could be transmitted to a non-infected individual. This led to an orgy of wiping down surfaces. As the science progressed, it became accepted wisdom that surfaces were not to blame, but viral particles passed in CO2 through respiration. Further research showed that toilet plumes, where water mixed with air, were another potential source of infection. This led to a promising area of research, since after all, flatulence consists of a dangerous, flammable mixture of nitrogen, oxygen, hydrogen and methane gas. It is clear that the wearing of an N-95 mask by the infected will do little good if the patient is suffering explosive flatulence.

Escalante Gave Up

Gloria Escalante, a condo board member unit owner in the collapsed Champlain Towers South building, urged unit owners in 2019 to approve the hiring of Frank Morabito, the structural engineer who examined the building in 2018 and so could “hit the ground running.” The squabbling continued at Champlain, the unit owners balked at a special assessment of anywhere from $80,000 to $300,000 per unit and no work was even started.

Escalante solved the problem by selling her condo in 2020. With the condo sold, she avoided the squabbling, the special assessment, taking out a loan to pay for it, the loss of the unit due to collapse or demolition and possible death. In retrospect, it was a smart move.

Don’t you think that other condo owners in Miami Beach are looking for the exits? Just as in the children’s game of musical chairs, there won’t always be a buyer ready to take a seat.

South Florida realtors are putting a happy face spin on things, pointing out that Miami is the new tech center and people are getting out of New York (so they can get the listing) and once the unit owner is signed up, hoping for the best. They can’t hide 40 year inspections and longer and on-their-way regulations will soon turn 40 year inspections into 30 year reviews.

Miami Beach just became a very unattractive and uneconomical place to live.

Another Accurate Prediction

Potential buyers (erroneously referred to by real estate agents as “clients”¹) are now asking for deep discounts and information about the building’s 40-year recertification process, leading one agent to complain that “no one asked about this before.”

Prior to the Champlain Towers South collapse, it was the rare agent who even mentioned this potential and enormous liability to a potential buyer. Now they will have to bone up on the building’s structural status and drop prices. Only a reckless buyer would acquire a unit in a building with less than a decade to go before recertification. There is no limit on the upside cost. I predict that some owners, unable to get loans, insurance for or afford the onerous reconstruction assessments on their units, will simply walk away. The value of South Florida real estate will crash.

To those who wish to sell: good luck finding a buyer.

Bolivian Admiral Arrested

A Bolivian admiral was arrested for his role in the military coup that overthrew Evo Morales.

Bolivia is landlocked. Bolivia lost its outlet to the sea in the 19th century War of the Pacific to Chile and since then has been trying to recover access to the ocean. A few years ago Bolivia lost yet another case in the World Court. It shares Lake Titicaca with Peru, but the lake, shared with Peru, is landlocked as well.

Other than patrol boats on Lake Titicaca, Bolivia has no ships. Nonetheless, Bolivia has a navy, led by admirals who have nothing better to do than interfere in the country’s democracy.

When There’s Nothing to Report

“In a small moment of hope, a cat was seen wandering a lower floor of the remaining flank of the 12-story condominium complex. Crews hoped to place a trap on the balcony so the cat could be rescued. It could not be immediately determined whether the animal belonged to any resident.”

That a stray tabby showed up looking for food is hardly “a small moment of hope.” The world press is surrounding the collapse site and their editors are paying beaucoup to keep them there while demanding they file something, anything—any kind of story at all.

So we get stories like these on the wire. They don’t even know if the cat just wandered in from across the street. “Look! A cat! A glimmer of hope!” Let’s wait for the mandatory interview with a county commissioner who claims he knows the cat.

Lockdown Suspended

The number of cases in Bahrain during the last month has dropped from a high of 28,798 active cases to a low of 2882 on the last day of the lockdown, July 2. The lockdown is only suspended; if the number of cases starts to rise again, it will be re-imposed.

2021 Scorecard

• Storming of the US Capitol
• Trump Impeachment
• B737 Crash in Indonesia
• Outbreak of UK, So.African and Brazilian Virus Variants
• Myanmar Coup
• Texas Freeze (“Cancun Cruz”)
• Suez Canal grounding
• Murder Hornets Return
• US, Canada, Siberia Heatwave
• Champlain Towers South Collapse

Schooling for Seniors

I was sitting around with my roommates a few years ago and the subject of retirement came up, as did the subject of finding low rent accommodation. I recounted an experience I had trying to find low-cost housing in Los Angeles in the summer. College dorms and fraternity houses were desperate to rent to those who would only stay for the summer, but you needed an .edu email address. This is not impossible, but neither is it trivial. Inspired by thoughts of Rodney Dangerfield’s Back to School, I tried to get in touch with frat houses at UCLA and USC. Despite my best efforts, I was unable to reach any of them (a Vonage line would have helped).

Before the days of the Internet, I used to have a “how to” manual with listings of universities that rented out college dorms in the summer. I used the book to secure housing while studying for and taking the Louisiana Bar Exam. I no longer remember the name of the book. Pity. It was a good idea.

Somehow the two ideas merged: back to school and free or near-free rent. The dark clouds parted and rays from the heavens illuminated my surroundings. I heard the choir of angels sing.

For years my aunt lived in Champaign, Illinois, the home of the University of Illinois, a mere three hours by car south of Chicago. State money flows into the crown jewel of the Illinois educational system. The University has world class, well-funded medical and recreational facilities. The former are underused by the student body. If you take hangovers and sexually transmitted diseases out of the equation, young people are generally healthy. At the medical school, those seeking to specialize in gerontology would be happy to have me as there are slim pickings in the potential patient pool amongst the undergraduate student body.

There’s a world class library and regular speakers and classes on every conceivable subject. There’s a music school and regular concerts. Why not enroll and get access to all those delightful benefits and student housing too? OK, so they’d put you in graduate student housing—so what? Staying at a fraternity is probably out of the question, though you never know. They might rush a sixty-year old just for the novelty of it. Free of worries about grades, my main concern would be the menus at the student cafeteria and the location of the next wine and cheese event.

There’s no reason to be lonely at a university: due to your age your fellow students will initially see you as an oddity before the crafty ones figure out that having an older friend may sometimes open doors that would otherwise be shut, especially in a country where age is a requirement to purchase alcohol. Every new class means new friends and contacts.

Don’t be afraid of showing up at any university event; by law and policy, they are open to all. There are three classes of older people commonly found on a university campus: professors, parents and boosters. People will automatically assume that you fall into one of these categories; no one will risk offense by turning you away.

Taken by the idea, my friend Roberto found that there are countries in Western Europe where tuition is free, housing is cheap, medical care is free and class instruction is given in English. Maybe Slovakia is not at the top of your education list, but it should be. “But I already have a degree,” you whine. Don’t you get it? Who cares? You can spend the next two decades sampling the educational wares of Western Europe and you won’t live long enough to finish.

But having been away from the United States for so long, the idea of my home country—not the reality of it, the idea of it—was becoming attractive so I looked close to what for many years had been home.

I semi-seriously looked at real estate in Champaign; if I could find a two story building I could set up a law office on the first floor while living on the second, a nearly rent-free, or at least subsidized rental environment (it is not easy for me to hide my obsessions). I could give new meaning to the phrase “student lawyer.” For this to be successful, I would need a federal courthouse and preferably, a state appellate courthouse nearby. With an ABA-approved law library and free Lexis available to students, a genteel appellate practice writing briefs with the occasional court appearance would be one possible pastime.

With a gut growing from all-too-frequent attendance at wine and cheese gatherings, I would discreetly encourage my classmates to take advantage of all educational opportunities open to them—especially those that offered free food. In exchange, all I would want is a heads-up on any event with a free buffet. Why be one of those seniors lining up for the early bird special, stuffing sachets of Sweet ’n Low into your purse when you can feed in style in the halls of academe—and with little or no cash outlay? Once the faculty realized that I posed no threat and was merely along for the ride of free booze and victuals they would leave me alone and treat me as just an eccentric old crank, which is fine with me.

If forced to declare a major, I would choose an impossibly difficult dead language, one that would take me years to master. I might not live so long. Nevertheless, each year I would dutifully sign up for Akkadian 101 and not let my repeated failures get me down. I would stay away from those classes where a professor might try to pass me to get rid of me. The university administration might try to discourage me by scheduling Akkadian at the ungodly hour of 8:30 in the morning, not realizing that I had no intention of attending at any hour. Class is not a realistic option so early in the morning. At 8:30 I’m dressed in a bathrobe—if expecting guests—and working on my morning coffee, sweetened with a tablespoon or two of Kentucky bourbon.

“Failure” would be my mantra, my shield against old age. If after repeated failures, I would simply switch to another impossibly-difficult language. My prior failures would constitute eloquent proof that a change of major was needed. If, God forbid, I were to come close to meeting the requirements for graduation and thus expulsion from this Garden of Eden, I’d quickly find a new course of study where none of my classes would qualify. Fine with me. Though realistically, studying and sitting for examinations is not on my agenda so I do not see how this could possibly happen.

Once a quarter I’d take my Social Security check and throw a boozy “homecoming” party for older students, inviting everyone to the law office backyard where I’d set up a bbq smoker and enlist the interns who worked for me as waiters and waitresses—no empty plates allowed. I would make it known that anyone could attend, older student or not. The first few events would be sparsely attended until word got out about the free beer and bbq.

I’d hire an undergraduate band to play at the event—they’d be happy for the gig. I’d schedule around major sporting events lest parents attend, see what a cushy life I’d got going and decide to enroll themselves.

All of this sounds a lot better than a retirement home, Century City or Boynton Beach. Almost all American States have a university town and many charge little tuition to non-degree-seeking seniors. Some States have more than one. Besides Champaign, there’s Tallahassee, Florida (Go Seminoles!); Austin, Texas; Oxford, Mississippi and Baton Rouge, Louisiana. All have been on my radar. Slovakia remains an option.

Boulder, Colorado and the home of Southern Illinois University at Carbondale are also of interest. Carbondale has the reputation of being a “party” school. For some this would be a negative but not me. The town has the added benefit of being the seat of the federal district court for the Southern District of Illinois. It’s so far south that winters are rarely harsh, almost tropical compared to Chicago.

I’ll have to investigate it more thoroughly.

Biden's Photo Op in Miami Beach

Biden has nothing to do with the Champlain Towers South building collapse.

Nothing.

The feds have no involvement at all.

Hell, the City of Miami Beach, just yards away, doesn’t even have responsibility: they pass the buck to Surfside, a separate municipality.

Miami-Dade county has jurisdiction and is auditing buildings but there is more to be done.

Thanks FEMA, but this catastrophe is limited and scope and has affected less than 300 people: not a federal disaster.

Your involvement makes our goal more difficult.

We’re trying to protect our property values, thank you very much.

Hanging Spalls

Florida’s vocabulary gifts:

chad, as in “hanging chad” spall (v.)

Any others?

#English #Florida #spalling

Champlain Towers Analysis

There’s a lot being written about the Champlain Towers collapse, but perhaps, as a former owner of a beach-side unit just twenty blocks south and as a lawyer with some experience as both an owner and with Florida law, my thoughts might be a little more than just informed speculation. Or not.

Bankruptcy

The developer died seven years ago and his company was dissolved shortly thereafter. Because of the age of the building, decennial liability is no longer an issue. There has already been one lawsuit filed and many more are rumored to be on the way. What do you call a lawsuit against someone with no assets? A waste of time.

The homeowners’ association owns the common areas of the building; the unit owners hold their individual units. The value of all the remaining condominiums just went to zero. The destroyed condominiums don’t exist any more. The sister buildings are not part of the HOA; except for safety issues, they might as well not exist. The HOA thus has no assets; their only reasonable move is to file for bankruptcy. This halts all litigation; the bankruptcy court appoints a trustee, just like with Eastern Airlines or Bernard Madoff Investments, and looks for any assets to cover debts. But he won’t find much, because…

Demolition

The remaining portion of the Champlain Towers will be condemned and torn down. There probably is a way to rebuild the building and make it safe as long as the collapse was not due to saltwater intrusion or shifting soil. We already know that the building was sinking at the rate of 2 mm per year. The repairs to the building to make it safe before the collapse came in at 9 million; now the bill will be much, much higher.

It will be months before a building permit is issued if that is the direction the HOA wants to go but more importantly, who will pay? The HOA just lost at least half of its “taxpayers,” there are fewer owners remaining on whom to place an assessment. I would also guess that at least some members of the board are dead; there will have to be a new election; there is probably nothing in the condo association agreement to cover a situation like this.

That is another reason why it bankruptcy is important; the trustee can decide whether it is commercially viable to restore or demolish the remaining structure. The risk of certifying the existing building and the land on which it sits as safe is so great that I doubt the city/county would do it and even if they did, no one will insure the building now. The remaining residents–all of whom who will have to move out–will try to get State of Florida assistance but that will take months and there is little legal basis to help them unless the State decides to underwrite building collapses generally.

Insurance

My instincts tell me that there was no insurance for this kind of event, but I have reached out to an insurance professional for confirmation.

AirBnB

Officially, the building had a rule against AirBnB’s. My first thought was how many AirBnB’s were being rented out at this location? AirBnB’s are against Miami/Miami Beach ordinances but the South Florida market remains AirBnB’s fifth largest market globally. So someone is finding AirBnB rentals.

Even if the HOA had prohibited AirBnB’s, this is very difficult to police. I read article after article discussing the unaccounted for people, how they were “visiting a friend,” how they were “vacationing,” even how they had come to Miami to get vaccinated.

“Staying with a friend” is what AirBnB hosts tell their guests to say to avoid these rules. Other than the usual complaints against AirBnB, it is significant here because the last thing absentee owners running irregular mini-hotel businesses want is added expense. Having to replace towels is bad enough, but a special assessment can kill profits. Owners can and will do anything to postpone such assessments; it gives them a chance to avoid those fees by selling the unit and buying somewhere else. It also means that that you will have a group of owners who will vote against any and all improvements. Even though AirBnB’s are prohibited now, it is not clear at all whether they were prohibited in 2018, the year that significant structural damage was uncovered.

The 2018 Inspection

In 2018, structural engineers inspected the Champlain Towers and wrote a report which contained a word that, like “hanging chad,” Florida has now given to the world. The word is of course, “spalling” which refers to chunks of concrete not just cracking, but falling off the building. They found a good deal of spalling, rusting rebar and recommended urgent repairs to the tune of 9 million dollars. The City of Surfside’s inspectors praised the HOA for starting the 40-year building recertification process three years early.

Except for three years nothing happened. Maybe because the Board voted against it, or the AirBnB owners voted against it: at this point we don’t know. At some point this year, however, the HOA proposed making structural repairs but added 6 million dollars’ worth of non-essential, aesthetic improvements–condo boards in Florida tend to do that. There were probably more arguments about those non-essential improvements than the rusting rebar. A special assessment was voted and was based on the size of individual units. The special assessment ranged from a low of $80,000 to a high of $300,000. We know that the funds had not been collected since one of the surviving unit owners said that he had canceled his loan application.

The 2018 Inspection: Secret?

The Becker Law Firm (formerly Becker & Poliakoff) has a large condominium practice in South Florida and represents many homeowners’ associations. The 2018 report was delivered not to individual unit holders, but was prepared for the HOA itself. The HOA is a separate legal entity apart from the homeowners. At least some of the homeowners had from time to time sued the HOA, though none had sued to force the HOA to implement the critically needed repairs. Why didn’t anyone in this litigation-happy building sue? There can only be one reason: they didn’t know.

Why do I think that the HOA’s lawyers told the HOA that they had no obligation to disclose the report to the individual owners? At some point, we may find out, but I think it is likely the Becker Law Firm has already given notice to its own malpractice carrier. I think it is likely that no unit owner sued the HOA because they didn’t know about the inspection.

The Three Year Wait

Why the three year wait? With unit holders, whether absentee AirBnB owners or not, voting against special assessments, maybe condo management realized that they would never get a 9 million dollar special assessment approved. But with the 40=year recertification just around the corner, it would be relatively easy to style the required repairs as part of the 40-year process and win approval that way. I admit that this is speculation on my part, but otherwise, why the wait?

Mortgage Liability

While some unit owners may have paid cash for their units, most took out mortgages. If they did not have mortgage insurance, the mortgage debt persists despite the destruction of the underlying property. This may send a few owners into bankruptcy court as well.

Political Pressure

There are high rises on both sides of Collins Avenue stretching from the county line all the way to South Beach. My condo was twenty blocks south at 6767 Collins. There will be enormous political pressure on the investigators to find that the cause of the collapse was peculiar to that particular piece of land and not general in nature. If general in nature, like rising water levels, the property values of those buildings on the east side of Collins Avenue have just dropped precipitously. Those who have renewable umbrella insurance policies will be happy, but my guess is that not everyone does. I know I didn’t.

The Future

How this will all play out is anyone’s guess. What was prime South Florida real estate all of a sudden became much less attractive. Lots of owners will be unable to pay new special assessments and will seek to sell their units, creating a glut on the market and a drop in property values. But it’s South Florida: there are always a few who believe that even when undercapitalized they can fix things “for now” and squeak by. The bankruptcy trustee will probably find a developer who is willing to wait a few years, figuring that when all the excitement quiets down a few strategic political campaign donations will make pulling a new construction permit a possibility. People will forget about these victims because there will be new catastrophes and new victims. Nothing in South Florida is permanent. Even apartment buildings collapse.

Trapped?

Trapped in debris? Earthquake? Avalanche? Collapsed building?

Or just visiting an Associated Press or Al Jazeera office?

If so, keep these tips in mind:

Criminal Justice System is Arbitrary and Capricious

The US criminal justice system is arbitrary and capricious.

Sammy got 5 years for 19 murders.

How many are on death row for less?

#warondrugs #criminaljustice

Schooling for Seniors

I was sitting around with my roommates a few years ago and the subject of retirement came up, as did the subject of finding low rent accommodation. I recounted an experience I had trying to find low-cost housing in Los Angeles in the summer. College dorms and fraternity houses were desperate to rent to those who would only stay for the summer, but you needed an .edu email address. This is not impossible, but neither is it trivial. Inspired by thoughts of Rodney Dangerfield’s Back to School, I tried to get in touch with frat houses at UCLA and USC. Despite my best efforts, I was unable to reach any of them (a Vonage line would have helped).

Before the days of the Internet, I used to have a “how to” manual with listings of universities that rented out college dorms in the summer. I used the book to secure housing while studying and taking the Louisiana Bar Exam. I no longer remember the name of the book. Pity. It was a good idea.

Somehow the two ideas merged: back to school and free or near-free rent. The dark clouds parted and rays from the heavens illuminated my surroundings. I heard the choir of angels sing.

For years my aunt lived in Champaign, Illinois, the home of the University of Illinois, a mere three hours by car south of Chicago. State money flows into the crown jewel of the Illinois educational system. The University has world class, well-funded medical and recreational facilities. The former are underused by the student body. If you take hangovers and sexually transmitted diseases out of the equation, young people are generally healthy. At the medical school, those seeking to specialize in gerontology would be happy to have me as there are slim pickings in the potential patient pool amongst the undergraduate student body.

There’s a world class library and regular speakers and classes on every conceivable subject. There’s a music school and regular concerts. Why not enroll and get access to all those delightful benefits and student housing too? OK, so they’d put you in graduate student housing—so what? Staying at a fraternity is probably out of the question, though you never know. They might rush a sixty-year old just for the novelty of it. Free of worries about grades, my main concern would be the menus at the student cafeteria and the location of the next wine and cheese event.

There’s no reason to be lonely at a university: due to your age your fellow students will initially see you as an oddity before the crafty ones figure out that having an older friend may sometimes open doors that would otherwise be shut, especially in a country where age is a requirement to purchase alcohol. Every new class means new friends and contacts.

Don’t be afraid of showing up at any university event; by law and policy, they are open to all. There are three classes of older people commonly found on a university campus: professors, parents and boosters. People will automatically assume that you fall into one of these categories; no one will risk offense by turning you away.

Taken by the idea, my friend Roberto found that there are countries in Western Europe where tuition is free, housing is cheap, medical care is free and class instruction is given in English. Maybe Slovakia is not at the top of your education list, but it should be. “But I already have a degree,” you whine. Don’t you get it? Who cares? You can spend the next two decades sampling the educational wares of Western Europe and you won’t finish.

But having been away from it for so long, the idea of my home country—not the reality of it, the idea of it—was attractive so I looked close to what had been for many years, home.

I semi-seriously looked at real estate in Champaign; if I could find a two story building I could set up a law office on the first floor while living on the second, a nearly rent-free, or at least subsidized rental environment (it is not easy for me to hide my obsessions). I could give new meaning to the phrase “student lawyer.” For this to be successful, I would need a federal courthouse and preferably, a state appellate courthouse. With an ABA-approved law library and free Lexis available to students, a genteel appellate practice writing briefs with the occasional court appearance would be one possible pastime.

With a gut growing from all-too-frequent attendance at wine and cheese gatherings, I would discreetly encourage my classmates to take advantage of all educational opportunities open to them—especially those that offered free food. In exchange, all I would want is a heads-up on any event with a free buffet. Why be one of those seniors lining up for the early bird special, stuffing sachets of Sweet ’n Low into your purse when you can feed in style in the halls of academe—and with little or no cash outlay? Once the faculty realized that I posed no threat and was merely along for the ride of free booze and victuals they would leave me alone and treat me as just an eccentric old crank, which is fine with me.

If forced to declare a major, I would choose an impossibly difficult dead language, one that would take me years to master. I might not live so long. Nevertheless, each year I would dutifully sign up for Akkadian 101 and not let my repeated failures get me down. I would stay away from those classes where a professor might try to pass me to get rid of me. The university administration might try to discourage me by scheduling Akkadian at the ungodly hour of 8:30 in the morning, not realizing that I had no intention of attending at any hour. Class is not a realistic option so early in the morning. At 8:30 I’m dressed in a bathrobe—if expecting guests—and working on my morning coffee, sweetened with a tablespoon of Kentucky bourbon.

“Failure” would be my mantra, my shield against old age. If after repeated failures, I would simply switch to another impossibly-difficult language. My prior failures would constitute eloquent proof that a change of major was needed. If, God forbid, I were to come close to meeting the requirements for graduation and thus expulsion from this Garden of Eden, I’d quickly find a new course of study where none of my classes would qualify. Fine with me. Though realistically, studying and sitting for examinations is not on my agenda so I do not see how this could happen.

Once a quarter I’d take my Social Security check and throw a boozy “homecoming” party for older students, inviting everyone to the law office backyard where I’d set up a bbq smoker and enlist the interns who worked for me as waiters and waitresses—no empty plates allowed. I would make it known that anyone could attend, older student or not. The first few events would be sparsely attended until word got out about the free beer and bbq.

I’d hire an undergraduate band to play at the event—they’d be happy for the gig. I’d schedule around major sporting events lest parents attend, see what a cushy life I’d got going and decide to enroll themselves.

Sounds a lot better than a retirement home, Century City or Boynton Beach. Almost all American States have a university town and many charge little tuition to non-degree-seeking seniors. Some States have more than one. Slovakia remains an option. Besides Champaign, there’s Tallahassee, Florida (Go Seminoles!); Austin, Texas; Oxford, Mississippi and Baton Rouge, Louisiana. All have been on my radar.

Boulder, Colorado and the home of Southern Illinois University at Carbondale are also of interest. Carbondale has the reputation of being a “party” school. For some this would be a negative but not me. The town has the added benefit of being the seat of the federal district court for the Southern District of Illinois. It’s so far south that winters are rarely harsh, almost tropical compared to Chicago.

I’ll have to investigate it more thoroughly.

Why Don’t Jurors Get Ballots?

It occurs to me that jurors are left to their own devices when it comes to voting ballots on an indictment. Don’t think that it is merely a question of voting “guilty/not guilty” either; modern indictments contain multiple counts and multiple defendants. There is a verdict form on which the results of the balloting can be recorded, but uniform, anonymous ballots to record individual votes are not provided.

Let’s take a somewhat typical federal case involving three defendants and three counts each. That’s one hundred and eight decisions to be expressed on 54 ballots, assuming twelve jurors and a guilty/not guilty ballot for each of the three counts.

Jurors are not told how to accomplish their voting and have no special skills. With so many decisions to make, the temptation to call for a mere “show of hands” and the peer pressure that obtains, great. Balloting should be personal and anonymous.

Maybe they should be given voting machines.

Bahrain on UK’s Redlist

With all the discussion about the removal of Portugal from the UK travel bubble, few saw that Bahrain was added to the UK redlist. This means that travelers to the UK from Bahrain will have to spend ten days in government approved quarantine.

So much for transit business.

Assange

If the NY Times and the rest of the Western MSM got behind Assange, that would be the end of it. They haven’t, forgetting that Assange’s fate is theirs.

The Worth Avenue Gang

Jennifer’s downfall was her fine taste in clothes. Not satisfied with shopping at Target or Marshal’s—two places she wouldn’t be caught dead in—she preferred haute couture boutiques on Worth Avenue in Palm Beach. Shopping in West Palm was out of the question. Unfortunately, she did not have the cash to support her taste in fine clothes. She organized a gang consisting of similarly-situated women who decided that the best way to obtain the objects of their desire was simply to steal them.

Jennifer’s gang was short on subtlety. Smash and grab was noisy, but effective. To be successful, the gang had to scout out the stores to make sure that they not only had the latest fall season fashions, but that they had them in the right sizes. Jennifer and her gang had no interest in fencing the stolen merchandise, they intended to wear them. Jennifer visited the targeted stores with a list of the gang member sizes in her head. Matching shoes were always a problem for these women liked and knew how to accessorize.

Jennifer’s long, dirty-blonde hair was easy to spot on the surveillance tapes. Jennifer had assumed that no one would notice her. When you buy an expensive designer dress, you want to be seen. Jennifer assumed that people would remember the dress she stole when she somehow conned her way into a Palm Beach charity event. She was happy to pose for the photographers, and the bouncers assumed that a woman wearing an expensive dress had to be someone’s wife, girlfriend or mistress. Too-deep inquiries might spoil the chances of a substantial donation. But when the photographs were published the next day in the Shiny Sheet, that is, the Palm Beach Post, the only newspaper in the country printed using special ink and white paper formulated not to smear even if you were wearing white gloves, the shop owner who had already filed the insurance claim and had the windows replaced recognized not so much Jennifer, but the stolen dress. The shop’s broken glass had already been replaced by the time the Post published, for the idea of a boarded-up shop on Worth Avenue during the Season was simply inconceivable.

The shop owner’s call to the police was law enforcement’s big break—they had been chasing Jennifer’s gang for some time. Jennifer had been casing a store when she decided to make a purchase using a stolen credit card. Jennifer ran out of the store grabbing the colorful bag containing the carefully packed dress; shouting on her way out that there must be some problem with the bank. She was last seen heading down Worth Avenue towards the Everglades Club.

The Palm Beach rich are known for being eccentric and money can make problems disappear. The shop clerk had assumed that Jennifer was the wife, mistress or girlfriend of someone on the island, perhaps someone powerful; Jennifer had left a credit card after all. The fact that the card was in someone else’s name was insignificant; the mistresses, girlfriends and wives of the wealthy often preferred this form of payment. If the card was declined—usually the partner’s own way of seeking attention—he would later discreetly visit the store and satisfy any outstanding obligation. But no one came later, and the store’s owner filed a claim with the police.

Unfortunately for Jennifer, the dress had a retail value of five thousand dollars and since she had used, or tried to use, a credit card for the purchase, this put the fraud—a word not often heard on the island— within the jurisdiction of the United States Secret Service, who in addition to protecting presidents and foreign leaders and investigating counterfeiters, also had primary federal jurisdiction over the misuse of “access devices”—in the language of the law, credit cards—making Jennifer’s crime a federal one.

Jennifer’s picture in the Post matched her picture taken by the security cameras. They only had to start surveilling charity events on the island and in a short time Jennifer was picked up by agents who stood out so much from the real party-goers that they were asked to remain outside, special agent credentials or not. Wearing the same dress twice in a row is a Palm Beach faux pas, but as Jennifer scanned her closet the night of her arrest, she was faced with that dilemma that kept the Worth Avenue shops open in the first place: she had nothing to wear.

As they put the handcuffs on her already-braceleted wrists, Jennifer loudly proclaimed that there had been a mistake, that her boyfriend had purchased the dress, that she was a regular customer of the store, that this was a mistake, an outrage, really. In the car on the ride to the Palm Beach county jail, Jennifer stopped her protests. At the jail two female officers took Jennifer into custody on the federal warrant that the Service had previously prepared. Stopping for a coffee in the waiting room on their way out, the agents were prevented from leaving by the duty officer who said that there was a problem with their prisoner, that Palm Beach sheriff’s couldn’t receive the arrestee in the jail. The agents had to wait.

A loud buzzer signaled the opening of the thick metal door that separated the free from the restrained. Jennifer was marched through the door, still in handcuffs and accompanied by the same two female Palm Beach sheriff’s deputies, who informed the federal special agents that they couldn’t take Jennifer.

“Why not?” one of the federal special agents asked. “We only take female federal prisoners,” one of the deputies answered.

The federal special agents looked at Jennifer, realizing finally that she had been born a man.

On the long drive to MCC-Miami, the federal special agents read Jennifer the Miranda warnings. “Cooperating with us will go a long way with the judge,” they told her. Jennifer was frightened and responded in haste, hoping that this would somehow convince the agents to let her go. Just after passing through the Golden Glades interchange, Jennifer gave up the other members of her crew—why should she get in trouble for couture worn by others?

\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ ❉ ❉ ❉

I represented a member of Jennifer’s crew who predictably claimed his innocence and blamed everything on Jennifer. “She never even got me the right size,” he moaned, ignoring for the moment that this complaint was inconsistent with protests of innocence. He was also jealous of Jennifer, who had made many new friends in the institution and despite the vulgarity of the standard-issue brown prison uniform, had made it somewhat fashionable by tying shirttails into a bow in order to show off a bare midriff. The guards didn’t know what to do with her. The prosecutors didn’t know what to do with Jennifer and her crew either. It was difficult to predict how a district judge would rule in such an out of the ordinary case; a case that at its heart was merely aggravated shoplifting and an effort to get attention. A trial, they realized, would only give Jennifer what she wanted: a chance to glam up and even more attention.

The Shiny Sheet was following the case closely and the Ft. Lauderdale Sun-Sentinel was devoting its cheaper newsprint to the story. Roxanne Pulitzer’s sensational divorce trial had turned the Palm Beach county courthouse into a media circus; no one wanted a repeat. Turning Jennifer into a public figure was not the goal of a federal criminal trial; complicating the case, despite the obvious lack of a defense, were the rumors about the identity of Jennifer’s boyfriend, who, it was claimed, had the bad taste to dump her just as the Palm Beach Season was starting. No one knew how the rumors started or even if there was a boyfriend, but the rumors grew anyway in the retelling with detail upon detail. Jennifer’s boyfriend had supposedly thrown her out with just the clothes on her back; he was cheating on her and wanted a new girlfriend; he was already living with another woman. Sure, the boutiques had been harmed but the real victim was Jennifer.

Jennifer might well find jurors sympathetic to her cause. Shoplifting is not uncommon among even the finest families on the island which, truth be told, had seen much worse. Since the trial was to be held in the division of the federal court in Palm Beach county, there would be jurors who understood the horror of being snubbed and not having appropriate clothing for an event. Acquittal was unlikely but nevertheless a real possibility.

The prosecutors solved this stubborn problem with a group plea. Jennifer and her crew would plead guilty; there would be a small fine and restitution would be ordered. Since Jennifer did not have any cash to pay a fine, the return of the lightly-worn outfits would satisfy that requirement. There would be a two year period of supervised release during which Jennifer was prohibited from returning to any of the stores she robbed.

This latter requirement proved to be a problem, for Palm Beach is forgiving and loves nothing more than the smoke of scandal and especially where no one is hurt. A year later, after getting the Probation Office’s permission to travel to Aspen for the winter, Jennifer was back on the island. One of the stores wanted to hire her to promote their fall line and technically this would be a probation violation. At least until her notoriety started to fade, Jennifer even started to receive legitimate invitations from charity pre-events once the sponsors realized her presence attracted donors who wanted to see what all the commotion was about. 

My client was happy to get probation and the opportunity to get out of town. For him that was enough.

Vaccination Passport *Fauda*

My vaccination is linked to my Bahraini resident’s permit number (CPR). Unfortunately, that permit has expired, though I am still in the country under another visa. A residency permit has nothing to do with the state of my health. Indeed, I could be an illegal alien and healthy, or a native-born subject of the King, suffering from the disease.

Because my residency permit has expired, I cannot prove my health status. Because I cannot prove my health status, I am barred from entering commercial establishments easily. Since my case is an edge case (like someone without a last name, everyone has a last name, right?) I have to pull out the paper vaccination passport and then explain to the guard—who is usually from Nepal—why the App is not working in my case. Hopefully he will let me in.

The Kingdom of Bahrain is itself an edge case. The country has no postal codes. Think this doesn’t matter? Try ordering something online, say from Amazon. No one ever explained to Jeff Bezos that it is possible to have a country without postal codes.

I won’t bore you with the bureaucratic fauda (the word means “mess” or “chaos” in both Hebrew and Arabic) I went through in an effort to fix the problem. Suffice it to say that it is precisely that fauda, which will become ubiquitous, that people are afraid of. That is the real fear of vaccination passports.

My take: let’s stick to paper. It’s a lot easier to fix.

US Shows Belarus the Way

Interesting how Western governments and the Media™ have attacked Belarus for diverting and grounding an airliner. Childish minds have forgotten when the US did the same thing, grounding Evo Morales’ presidential jet and diverting it to Switzerland because they thought Edward Snowden was aboard. Thank you, USA for showing Belarus the way!

Truth Behind the Icon

The iconic photo of Che Guevara was cropped.

#photography #Original #PhotographyRedefined

Book Sales

The average U.S. book is now selling less than 200 copies per year and less than 1,000 copies over its lifetime.

Zoom Issues

Has anyone been on a Teams/Zoom call (not w/in CONUS) where at least someone had a technical issue?

Da’esh and the Dakotas

The report of Jeffrey Stahl Ferris’ suicide after a federal jury found him guilty of terror-related charges in North Dakota seemed strange to me. Da’esh, that is, ISIS, has but a tenuous grasp of geography outside what were traditional Muslim lands. New York they know, Florida they know (because of Disney) and they know Washington. But that’s really about it. The plot to blow up the Willis (formerly Sears) Tower in Chicago was not hatched by those accused of planning the bombing, but by a Lebanese informant who was paid handsomely for the suggestion. What would Da’esh want with North Dakota?

As it turns out, nothing. The Ferris’ case was only “terror-related” in the world of National Enquirer exaggeration and federal make-believe. Ferris lived and worked on the Chippewa Reservation and was a former EMT. After a series of incidents of vandalism, he came upon a group of teenagers he suspected of those crimes and chased them with his Jeep. They took off on motorbikes and four-wheel ATV’s. He caught one of them and held him at gunpoint while he called for police.

Holding the teen at gunpoint was the “terror-related” act. The report that he drove his automobile at high speeds closer to the teenagers sounded like another jihadi aiming a car at a group of innocent pedestrians in the big city, a scenario that has become all too common.

The jury found him guilty of the firearm in commission of a felony charge, but acquitted him on charges relating to the chase. He was convicted on one assault charge, and my guess is that is the same charge arising out of his pointing his gun at the teen while telling him he was calling the police.

At most this was an improper citizen’s arrest, committed by a man (who I guess) was tired of vandalism in his community. No one was harmed. Did he use excessive force? Let’s put it this way: if Ferris were a policeman, there would have been no charges. The AUSA would have laughed it off.

So what is going on here? What are the takeaways from this story?

Stories like this make it difficult to trust the Press. What went out on the wire around the world was a story of terrorism in North Dakota. It was nothing of the sort. Secondly, the need to prosecute, to make cases, filtered through the bunker war mentality of Washington makes even the most minor infraction a matter of federal import.

After 9/11, the FBI reassigned many of their agents to the jihadi beat without additional training. Agents that had previously monitored biker gangs were now asked to target Al Qaeda. It didn’t work.

Why the proverbial book was thrown at Ferris, I don’t know. Maybe he was just a cranky old man tired of the teenagers pissing on his lawn. But faced with an almost-certain seven years in prison, it is no small wonder that he took his own life.

Maybe It's not Within the President's Power to Fix

Who Needs Vaccines?

Land of the Free--with Censorship

Deplatforming is Censorship

Don’t Pull the Plug

The risk that someone will yell “Fire!” is no reason to pull the plug on the projector.

Girl, Taken

Arlington Heights is a tranquil place. World events seldom disturb the peace of the Northwest suburbs of Chicago until they do. On September 11, 1973, General Pinochet staged a coup against the president of Chile. Supporters loyal to the regime were rounded up and executed. One of these supporters was an American aide worker from Des Plaines named Frank Teruggi. After the coup, The Arlington Herald newspaper published a picture of his father on the front page, sitting in the kitchen, newspapers spread out before him wondering about the fate of his son.

The U.S. Government didn’t help the Teruggi family; nor did they help the family of Frank’s friend, Charles Horman. The film Hollywood made about their murder was called Missing, starring Jack Lemon. The film told the story of a family betrayed by U.S. political concerns. Both men were among Pinochet’s victims, collateral damage in a coup supported by Nixon and Kissinger.

Almost half a century later nothing has changed. This month, ABC’s 20/20 told the story of ISIS’ kidnapping and execution of Kayla Mueller, an aid worker from Arizona, whose grandfather, Joe Lyon, lives in Arlington Heights.¹

Kayla was helping Syrian refugees in Turkey and one day made the mistake of accompanying a friend, who had been hired by Doctors Without Borders, to work on hospital computer systems inside Syria. They crossed the border using transportation and help provided by Doctors without Borders. After completing the work for the Doctors, they were on their way back to Turkey when they were ambushed and kidnapped by the Islamic State. 

Doctors Without Borders abandoned her

Despite being a humanitarian organization, Doctors Without Borders abandoned them. Even though Doctors without Borders had helped Kayla and her contractor friend enter Syria, they washed their hands. Their excuse was that Kayla was not an employee so Kayla wasn’t their problem. Shame on them. This is not the first time that an organization working in the Middle East has hid behind “independent contractor” label in order to evade responsibility. Their abdication of responsibility directly led to Kayla’s death. 

Kayla’s parents in Prescott, Arizona were not told immediately of Kayla’s capture. Like good Americans, they turned to their government for help. Presumably they had not seen the movie, Missing. Long-term American expats know that in case of trouble, the last place you want to go is the American Embassy. In 2001, when a group of British hospital workers was accused of terrorist bombings inside Saudi Arabia, an American Embassy official told me, “if they were our guys we wouldn’t lift a finger.“ 

The U.S. government did lift a finger, but not much more. They organized a SWAT-team like raid which failed. They wrote messages to send to Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, the leader of ISIS. Their pleas to a religious leader were devoid of Islamic religious content. This is like writing to the Catholic pope and avoiding any mention of Christianity. 

I have no doubt that the FBI hostage negotiators are experts. I doubt very much if they know the difference between shari’a and Shakira. Tactics which might be wholly appropriate for dealing with an American hostage-taker are of little use in dealing with an Islamic warlord, especially a warlord who is a graduate of our torture chamber in post-invasion Iraq’s Abu Ghraib prison. Al-Baghdadi reasoned that such messages were merely an effort to stall for time while the U.S. planned another SWAT team raid. 

When these good American parents visited the State Department they had their hands held as American officials threatened them with prosecution were they to pay ISIS the ransom it wanted for Kayla. Meanwhile, Doctors without Borders ransomed its own “employees,” leaving the fate of the “independent contractors” to others. While officially condemning negotiations with the Taliban, the United State turned a blind eye to Qatar’s successful efforts to ransom an American serviceman held by the Taliban Afghanistan. These good American parents even went to Qatar to seek similar mercy, and, if 20/20 is accurate, were threatened by our government again. 

No one at the State Department bothered to direct Kayla’s parents to our allies in the region, allies who in the past have used their good offices to free prisoners being held in other countries.

I cannot understand why the Saudis were never asked. The Saudis have a religious tradition of intervening to mediate payments made to victim’s family. They are no strangers to the labyrinthine web of Middle East connections. Like both the United States and ISIS, they view Iran as an enemy. Even if the Saudi government were to officially decline help, individual Saudis might have been asked on a confidential basis. This was never done. 

Even as Doctors without Borders officially refused Kayla’s parents help, could they have informally helped? Of course they could have, but they were never asked.  

Tired of the stalling, ISIS executed Kayla. After her death, there were crocodile tears at the State Department and Doctors without Borders hypocritically sent their condolences. President Obama even met with the family for another meaningless session of hand-holding. Kayla died, we are told, so that Americans overseas do not become targets.

News flash: Americans overseas are targets. We were targets before Iraq and we most certainly are targets of the alumni of Abu Ghraib. Ask the Israelis what they do when their citizens are captured. They negotiate. They do not leave their people behind. 

The American government’s policy of failing to help American families hasn’t changed since 1973. Our refusal to negotiate is naive. This policy must be changed.

Invitation to a Book-burning

In today’s topsy-turvy world the liberals are in favor of censorship and the conservatives are the ones being censored. The High Ayatollah of Iran can post whatever he likes on Twitter–unless he mentions QAnon, claims that the election was stolen from Trump or that hydroxychloroquine is an effective treatment for Covid-19. Meanwhile, the former president, having mentioned all three, is banned from the platform. For life.

In this world, giving the High Ayatollah a platform that reaches millions is permissible. Denying that platform to a former president is permissible as well. As far as I am concerned, they both should be allowed to post, as should their political opponents. The High Ayatollah jails his opponents for speaking out, but he has no problem posting his own political commentary, thanks to his access to Twitter. There is something seriously wrong with this picture.

The latest book to be added to the pyre–Blake Bailey’s biography of Philip Roth–was consigned because Bailey groomed middle and high school girls, then waited for them to turn 18 and them tried to have sex with them, assaulting at least one. In at least one case, Bailey gave a fourteen year-old a copy of Nabokov’s Lolita. R.M. Koster’s comment was prescient: “If Nabokov submitted the manuscript of Lolita today, someone in the mail room would call 911.”

Still, I read more than one review–one in the Atlantic stands out–where the reviewer counted herself lucky to have had a chance to have read Bailey’s book before it was censored. Because the reviewer’s own moral character is so high that she can withstand the evil of the text? No, she was happy to read the book before it was thrown on the pyre, as Bailey’s—and Roth’s—punishment. The prelates of the Catholic church have, it is said, the world’s most comprehensive collection of pornography in the Vatican library. How could the List of Condemned Books be compiled, after all, unless someone wiser than thou had access to read them?

Meanwhile, the original manuscript of the One Hundred Days of Sodom sold most recently for over six million dollars; was then declared a French national treasure and enshrined at the French National Library. No one would dare suggest that the work of le divin Marquis be consigned to the flames: it is a national treasure. This, despite the fact that the good Marquis was, in his lifetime, condemned for this and his other books. And why not? De Sade wrote approvingly of pederasty, cannibalism, murder and of course, sodomy, a once condemned practice. The Marquis was freed from prison in the tumult of the Revolution. Today, he is viewed as one of the giants of French and dare I say world, literature.

I have so far read about half of Blailey’s condemned biography of Roth and have found nothing as bad as is found on almost every page of De Sade, not to mention Bukowski¹ The closest Bailey comes to an objectionable statement is when he quotes Roth praising the bliss obtained from the transgressive sin of incest. Strong stuff certainly, but trivial compared to DeSade. Have we not learned that burning books is not the best way to show our disapproval of them? And why should we blame Roth for the sins of Bailey? Is there proof that Roth knew of Bailey’s sins? Roth may not be a sympathetic character, but millions bought Portnoy’s Complaint. Should that book be consigned to the flames as well? Should we similarly condemn those who read the now-condemned text?

You can drop by your local Barnes & Noble and pick up a Bukowski or a copy of Sodom but Blake’s bio? Unavailable.

What books would you like to add to the pyre?

Two Houthi Drones

They’ve been throwing these at Riyadh lately.

Don’t Pull the Plug

The risk that someone will yell “Fire!” is no reason to pull the plug on the projector.

10 x 1/2

Saudi Arabia has roughly half the number of Active Covid-19 cases as Bahrain, but it has at least ten times the population of the island kingdom. Bahrain shut its borders quickly and isolated itself from March, 2020.

How is it possible that Bahrain has so many more Covid-19 cases?

Lined Up

Karen National Union.

Shan State Army.

Now Kachin Independence Army.

all lined up against the rebel Tatmadaw

No Press, Please

Perhaps they want to hide the efficient way the Suez Canal Authority is managing the crisis.

Civil War in Myanmar

The Shan State Army, along with the Karen National Union, lines up against the rebel Tatmadaw.

The Dangers of Word for Word Translation

The Satisfaction of Typing a Letter

Trump on Trump

Push Harder

Coward Cops Back on the Beat

Get Your CV Read

Biden's Promises

(From the Chicago Reader)

Did you Cash your $2000 Check Yet?

Censorship

Biden Says

Twitter’s Algos/AI

Twitter has banned discussions of committing the ultimate harm to oneself, so the usual words for the act in the English language trigger a spanking, that is, a temporary ban.

As it turns out, ancient legal language hasn’t yet been added to Twitter’s algorithms, hence a discussion of felo de se is perfectly acceptable.

As American lawyers say, res ipsa loquitur (the thing speaks for itself).

Ivermectin Joins Hydroxy

Ivermectin joins Hydroxychloroquine as a once highly-touted drug for the treatment of the Sickness now found to be ineffective.

While there has been much news on the vaccination front, there has been little news about possible treatments for the disease. The shortage of ventilators crisis is no longer an issue, though it is not exactly clear why.

Have treatments gotten that better over the past year? At the beginning, patients seemed to be dropping like flies, inspiring much fear. Have we become now simply blasé about the deaths? Has the virus become attenuated and less deadly?

No one knows.

Cost Cutting Can Kill

Colby Chandler, Kodak’s former CEO from 1983-1990 was proud of his cost cutting. He once took a machete to a wood pallet to make the point to his managers. Instead of pouring money into R & D, his cuts created the shareholder value which killed the company.

Caveat from ODNI Assessment

Here’s a caveat to a recent US ODNI (Office of the Director of National Intelligence) assessment:

“Judgements are not intended to imply that we have proof that shows something to be a fact.”

In other words, “our conclusions are not based on facts.”

Publish the “judgement” in the newspaper and you get fake news.

Spanked by Twitter

My account was suspended by Twitter for suggesting that, in view of the evidence of the Astra Zeneca vaccine causing blood clots, taking that vaccine did not seem to be an effective way of committing suicide.

Twitter views this as “encouraging suicide.” Its AI algorithms don’t understand sarcasm.

LLavero

A young woman takes over her father’s drug business.

By the time she points a gun at you, it’s too late.

Everyone betrays everyone else.

Loyalty is a lie.

Honor is a delusion.

Trust is for sale.

President Biden's New Grandchild

Hunter Biden is guaranteed to provide political comic relief for the next four years. Hunter persuaded a young woman from Arkansas who was working at a gentleman’s club in Washington D.C. to have a fling. The baby’s grandfather now lives at the White House. It isn’t clear whether President Biden has asked to spend any time with his new grandchild.

Meanwhile, Hunter’s wife is to (or has) give(n) birth to President Biden’s latest grandchild, whose father is also: Hunter Biden.

Hunter’s babymomma went home to Arkansas to have the child. Hunter denied that the Arkansas child was his and was slapped with a paternity suit: DNA don’t lie. The judge chastised Hunter for failing to appear for a deposition.

It is not surprising that Hunter evaded the Arkansas deposition. The evasion had little to do with the Sickness but a lot to do with his $80/k month no-show job as a board member for a Ukrainian oil company, a position that Hunter won strictly based on merit.

Thankfully for President Biden, the investigation was halted after the parties settled. President Biden’s own role in his son’s sweetheart deal would have distracted from the important work he is undertaking to fight the virus.

There are now three (four?) recognized dangerous Covid-19 variants:

• B.1.1.7 (United Kingdom)
• P1 Brazil
• B.1.351 (South Africa)
• 501.v.2 (South Africa)

It is not clear whether the reports about the new, 30% more contagious South Africa refers to B.351 or (B?)501, or both of them. The nomenclature will settle down eventually.

4578 active cases of Covid-19 in Bahrain. The last time there were these many cases was early October, 2020.

Every day there is a change in the rules, in the procedures; B.1.1.7 will no more be contained than Covid-19 has; unless the previously ill have immunity, it will spread across the globe. It is starting to look like it will be two years of Covid; another lost year.

2021 Scorecard

2021 Scorecard:

• Storming of the US Capitol
• Trump Impeachment
• B737 Crash in Indonesia
• Outbreak of UK, So.African and Brazilian Virus Variants
• Myanmar Coup

No locusts yet. The Lord of the East Wind Demons must be sleeping.

The Coup in Myanmar

Imagine if the generals of the Tatmadaw were advising Trump. After arresting Myanmar legislators and closing the parliament, they stated that their reason for invoking the emergency provisions of the Myanmar constitution as justification for the intervention was the pandemic and election fraud.

Trump would have difficulty maintaining that the pandemic was an emergency after denying it for so long. Not even his own infection with the disease changed his mind. But he could have claimed that election fraud required the arrest of Democratic leaders and the imposition of martial law. Who in the military would have stood up against the CinC? A few, of course, but their colleagues would put them in cells alongside other protestors.

It turns out that the greatest defense against a coup in the United States was Trump’s own mediocrity.

No More Conspiracy Theories

No More Conspiracy Theories

I’m sick and tired of QAnon, Pizzagate and other conspiracy theories. When can we get back to hard news?

Government Depository Libraries

Government Depository Libraries

Every major university’s library, public and private, is a government depository library. This means they have to give you access if you say you’re going to consult the government collection. Usually I just ask what floor it’s on and then don’t bother to go there. Instead I head for periodicals, grab what I can carry and find a comfortable chair to read in.

Unfortunately, there is not always an accessible government depository library nearby and sometimes you have to make do with a county or even a municipal library. Finding a comfortable chair in a municipal library, whether in Miami or Santa Monica, has always been a challenge.

A few years ago, I found myself walking down Wilshire Boulevard and there it was: the Santa Monica library, conveniently located across the street from a Goodwill Industries outlet. With a few hours to kill, how could I not go in?

The homeless had taken over all the comfortable chairs in the Santa Monica library and most of them were simply sleeping. Libraries are popular with recent parolees and those on probation and this one is no exception. Probation officers do not object to their supervisees spending time in a library and those who have released from prison enjoy reading books that are not censored by the prison authorities. Censorship in the library is exercised only in the section where a terminal and an Internet connection are on offer. These are extremely popular; people have to line up to get access.

Finding a place to read in the library is a challenge. I found a few comfortable chairs in a separate, empty section of the library and couldn’t understand why the homeless hadn’t commandeered it. Turned out there was a “Teens Only” sign that I had overlooked. I wondered why the staff looked strangely at me when I sat down to read my periodicals. My guess is that they were told not to engage with non-patrons and I must have looked homeless myself.

At least no one called the police on me for being a predator, but then again, the teen patrons were nowhere to be seen. Back in the adult section, someone had vomited near the book checkout. “I didn’t study library science for this,” I heard one of the staff say as she maneuvered a mop. I dunno: LA, Bukowski–maybe this was some kind of a twisted tribute. Vomiting can be contagious but fortunately no one else joined in.