By John Y. Brown III, on Fri Sep 14, 2012 at 12:00 PM ET
About a decade ago, a friend of mine called in a local radio station to report a tree had just fallen during a rain storm and was blocking a major traffic artery.
The call was appreciated, reported amd my friend even got to give a live update and describe the situation as it was developing. He was thanked for doing a good civic deed.
That impressed me, and I hoped to someday be able to volunteer my own civic good deed –by reporting back from about some important fact that those at home would appreciate knowing about.
Today, I feel, is my moment.
So here goes:
“Hey Louisville, I have been out driving all over our city for nearly 4 hours now and, I swear, almost every store is closed. Don’t go out unless you have to or just want to go to Thorton’s or Bed, Bath and Beyond. They are both open. And so is Panera Bread. But there isn’t a single place in our city open for a hair cut, if you are a guy. If you are a guy and want a haircut today, forget it! Ain’t happening! Wait until tomorrow. Or call a friend who cuts hair in her apartment —but even she is probably not working today because she is at some barbecue or cookout. And if Walmart is open today –and you absolutely have to get your haircut–don’t buy a Flowbee. I bought one once and it doesn’t work like on TV.”
OK, Louisville, over and out. Or whatever it is I am supposed to say.
Hey, next time I am going to do this with a cute weather girl so we can do some happy chatting about now–but since I am alone, I can’t do any vacuous chatting so I am just going to stop.
By John Y. Brown III, on Thu Sep 13, 2012 at 12:00 PM ET
Powerless power pack.
I was so excited about my new iPhone power pack which your iphone fits jnto on those days you need it for longer than an hour and 45 min.
And today was one of those days I walked, confidently tonight, strutted really, as because I knew my power pack was with me and ready for action at the critical moment my battery drained out.
Well, it happened. Out it came, and I cockily inserted my dying iphone and then punched the power packs nifty power button. But nothing. Again, I pushed and poked and pressed every button I could find. But the power pack wasn’t up for it tonight.
Maybe it was a charging issue.
Maybe it just didn’t feel like saving the day.
Because even power packs need days off.
I couldn’t get mad.
I sympathetically and discreetly slipped the pack back into my pocket.
Didn’t want to embarrass it.
And just before I tucked it away, I held it up and said, “Don’t feel bad. I have had the same thing happen to me on multiple occassions. Let’s go home, get in bds and just watch cable and get recharged. Maybe tomorrow night…”
By John Y. Brown III, on Wed Sep 12, 2012 at 12:00 PM ET
I love Asian restaurants, and I really like the taste of Fortune Cookies.
And, yes, I always read my fortune.
You never know. But lately my vision has declined and I am no longer able to make our my fortune on Fortune Cookies. I can make out a few key words and the beginning or ending clause —but no specifics. Just enough to get a general idea that it is basically good news for me (or something upbeat).
That can be reassuring –but only if you can be certain. My idea is that an especially big Fortune Cookie be created for people over 45. It’s more about the cookie for us. And instead of large print with a long quote, just have a large thumbs up or thumbs down.
That’s all we want at this age. Details aggravate and confuse us.
I don’t care If my fortune is about travel, finances, business, health, whatever. The only news I want from my Fortune Cookie is whether things are looking good for me or not.
By John Y. Brown III, on Tue Sep 11, 2012 at 12:00 PM ET
This is my third Democratic convention but my first in a parking lot.
We made it to Charlotte but without tickets to the convention. My wife, Rebecca, put her name in two raffles the last two days (I didn’t ) and won convention tickets both nights. So I drop her off and stay in a parking lot. She’ll post some great pictures soon. Can’t wait!
Exciting! Waiting for president to speak….just several parking lots from the convention parking lot!
Hold on…I see some friends from KY delegation….
I am back now. Explained I was just staying in the parking lot tonight again—but that it still felt special and historic. More special and historic than any event I have experienced alone in a parking lot. I also asked them if there was an after party—and added I may go to it or at least park nearby.
It’s not bad. Oh wait! I think I see a husband from the Georgia delegation parked in the same lot with me. Ha. Can’t help thinking to myself that he looks like a total loser sitting alone in a parking lot now. Geez! Get a life pal.
By John Y. Brown III, on Mon Sep 10, 2012 at 12:00 PM ET
Why I am a Democrat.
Heading home from the Democratic National Convention I had a few minutes to kill and decided to type out why I think I’m a Democrat.
Part of it, of course, is inherited—in two senses. Your family’s politics, like your family’s business and religion, tend to have a long shelf life for future generations. It’s easier to go along than buck the family. There’s also a temperamental inheritance. Both major political parties, I believe, attract certain disposition types —characteristics that we largely inherit genetically. No, not a desire for lower taxes or building strong infrastructure—at least not directly. But an inclination to be trusting or skeptical; hopeful or protective. Or just not caring if one side of our jacket collar is flipped up.
Then there are the cultural and temporal factors that help determine our politics. More people who came of age in the 1930s became Democrats. More who came of age in the 1980s became Republicans.
But these are not the interesting or singular characteristics that cause a person like me, after all the more conventional factors are set aside, still to walk toward the democratic team when choosing sides. I think that’s a more deeply personal matter that we don’t take enough time honestly to understand.
Oh, and for the record, I don’t buy all this nonsense about Republicans and Democrats not being able to get along. If that were true, Republicans and Democrats would stop getting married to each other so frequently! Like married couples, we need each other. Each side has strengths and weaknesses and is better together than alone. But also like married couples, a little more understanding of each other (and a good counselor) can go a long way. I mean seriously, if Democrats could do a better job of “mirroring” what we believe we hear Republicans say; and if Republicans could do a better job using “I-statements,” we would be well on our way to a more functional polity. Or at least a fun weekend together. Which is why I am writing about why I am a Democrat. Like most people, it’s not really about ideology. I believe ideology is a byproduct of more core personal qualities and traits we possess. And it’s easier to accept differences if we understand these differences are more fundamental to who we are and impermeable— rather than merely malleable ideas that, like a fly, we seem merely to have randomly alighted on. And so with that intro, here goes.
For me, I am a Democrat because I am a “tinkerer”, a “wobbler,” and a “blender.” And on most days, these are positive traits, at least in my mind. And they are at my core.
Read the rest of… John Y’s Musings from the Middle: Why I Am a Democrat
By John Y. Brown III, on Fri Sep 7, 2012 at 12:00 PM ET
People who are where they are seem the happiest….
Another morning at Starbucks. Another observation about the human condition that seems to occur to me as I impatiently wait in line each morning.
As I walked in to Starbucks this morning, I passed a passel of high school students. One was wearing a Harvard t-shirt, thinking ahead to college applications, I thought.
As I passed there was an overpowering whiff of perfume from one of the other young ladies, trying to be a little older than she is. I thought to myself, they are a group of “Kids trying to be adults”
Inside I watched a 40-something gentlemen dressed in jeans and a t-shirt hanging out with a much younger man and, I suspected, trying to fit in and get the youthful man’s approval. And I thought to myself, grown-ups are often just “Adults trying to be kids.”
“Funny,” I thought to myself. One group is trying to be 10 years older; the other trying to be 10 years younger.
And as I walked out I noticed the older couple who always sit together in Starbucks every morning and read the news paper together, drink coffee, and talk.
I thought about them and asked myself, “How would you categorize them?”
I would say, “Happy.”
They are who they are, where they are. And seem to be enjoying it.
By John Y. Brown III, on Thu Sep 6, 2012 at 12:00 PM ET
The Wounded Healer
My son, at our celebratory dinner the night before he left for college last week, brought up an interesting topic. He asked who were the three historical figures I admired most.
As usual, I hemmed and hawed and asked for more clarification and kept trying to dodge answering. . But my son wouldn’t give in.
Finally, I said, “It’s funny, when I was about your age, I was having dinner with your great-grandfather (my grandfather) and it was about a year before he died and I asked him the very same question. But I think I can only remember one of the people he told me and I want to make my three choices different. “
“OK,” I said, “Here goes.” I proceeded to give two predictable names but was stuck on the third.
My son interjected, “So who was the name your grandfather gave that you still remember?”
I said, “It was an unusual choice whose name I had never heard before. It was Bill Wilson, or Bill W., as he is better known. He was the co-founder of Alcoholics Anonymous. Your great-grandfather wasn’t a recovering alcoholic but had great respect for the program and, I guess, saw Bill Wilson as something of a pioneer who brought hope to people who had no hope.”
“So, Dad,” my son intoned, “Who is your third choice?”
“You know, Johnny, Bill Wilson was someone I was considering putting on the list but was trying not to because his contribution to the world is hard to explain–and he never sought the kind of public accolade we are talking about. He is a man who was faced with a life-threatening malady suffered by millions that science and logic could only grasp at impacting. He used pragmatic spiritual, psychological and common sense tools cobbled together with great humility to create something that on paper should never work. But did. And continues to. He didn’t have the luxury of caring how it looked on paper — only whether or not it worked. And he helped create a framework that has saved the lives of millions alcoholics and helped restore their families and spawned many related programs and therapies helping others with different but equally insidious diseases and disorders. And he did so as anonymously as he could to keep the focus on helping others rather than promoting himself.”
There was a pause.
And then I added, “So I guess that ought to be enough to make my top three list, huh? Bill Wilson.”
Check out the movie Bill W, the story of Bill Wilson’s life. Here’s the trailer:
By John Y. Brown III, on Wed Sep 5, 2012 at 12:00 PM ET
Troop Rallying or Pluribus Unuming?
(A long winded spiel–so long and windy that you may just forget what you were mad about at half-time during the DNC and RNC conventions)
It’s political party convention time– it’s a party for the parties, so to speak–where partisan cheerleading becomes the order of the day. The goal of both the Democratic and Republican parties is to “rally the troops.” Both major political parties strive, as they should, to make the case most dramatically for their side to win in November. It’s a time honored tradition–and an important one. And hyperbole and histrionics are not only expected—they are featured front and center.
But with every rhetorical flourish, left or right, that hits it mark at the conventions, something else is jarred too. The opposite of rallying the troops, I suppose, is trying to find common ground in our already very divided nation. Political conventions are constructs that are a bit like Midnight Madness if you are a UK basketball fan. You leave such events not only feeling a stronger than ever allegiance to your team but stronger than ever animosity toward any team that threatens them.
If political conventions are successful, when they are over, those who identify with each party should feel stronger than ever about their party being right —and stronger than ever about the other party being wrong. We don’t put on war make up. But we do, say and wear some awfully silly things at these conventions. In more primitive cultures, they had these sorts of partisan conventions but they called them tribal war dances. Seriously. (See clip below.) Note that neither Clint Eastwood nor Betty White were given prominent roles in the pre-convention warrior dances. Our political pros today could learn a thing or two from these ancient tribal rituals. Stay on message; whip up feelings of righteousness to a fever pitch; and dance like the dickens. No need to use chairs as a dialectical prop by a tribal elder (republicans) or matriarchal elder (democrats). Ever. Just keep dancing.
Oh sure, we should have fun celebrating and rallying with our political brothers and sisters during our side’s convention. I certainly intend to! And hope my republican friends did so last week.
But I suspect it would be good to note, too, that “rallying the troops” theater, while good for cheerleading, isn’t terribly useful once the political parties’ parties are over. That’s important to remember –as it is to recall that we have many more brothers and sisters than just those sharing our political opinions. Our Founding Fathers certainly realized this and memorialized it in our new nation’s motto that they selected– a simple Latin phrase: E Pluribus Unum. I’m really glad a few weeks before our Constitution was signed we didn’t have competing conventions represented by the political factions of the day. We may not have a constitution. We may have instead had some funny stories about Benjamin Franklin getting his lights punched out by a lesser signer because of his acerbic speech a few weeks earlier. But we didn’t have political parties back then. In fact, the Founders warned against the dangers of divisive factionalism—or extreme troop rallying.
E Pluribus Unum means essentially that within our diverse differences we are committed to an unassailable unity. Not “My country, right or wrong” blind allegiance, but more like “our country no matter how right or wrong we believe ourselves or our political opponents to be.”
In many ways E Pluribus Unum is nearly the opposite of the raw partisan blood sport we see played out regularly today masquerading as serious debate . Is it the worst it’s ever been? Hardly. It’s easy to pull up some old allegations about Abe Lincoln looking like a baboon, or Thomas Jefferson being an heathen atheist. But it’s pretty bad. And it’s not the end game our Founding Fathers had in mind. I suspect our Founders wanted more of legacy for their efforts than Glenn Beck lecturing about left wing conspiracy theories or The Daily Kos flaming the Internet about right wing conspiracies. If this is the apex of 236 years of a great republic’s maturation, the Founders probably would have stayed home and played cribbage instead.
But we are better than our partisan extremes. A whole lot better. We are not at our best divided and petty. Granted, it’s difficult to be united and idealistic for very long when there are over 300 million of us. But we don’t have to be that way all the time. I’d settle for opinionated but respectful –and a little more curious. Maybe a little more open-minded about where we might find common ground rather than determined to more deeply draw the boundaries that divide us.
But last week in Tampa and this week in Charlotte, is not the landscape for such things. Our country’s simple yet complex motto won’t be on prominent display in either city. That’s not the point of political party conventions. Or tribal war dances.
But unity among diversity is what makes for a great nation. And I hope that as we inch toward—and then beyond—the November election we don’t forget the motto our Founders hoped we’d live up to. To be a more unified nation. A time when political warrior dances are replaced again by Dancing with the Stars.
Even if it means I have to cheer again for Tom Delay.
By John Y. Brown III, on Tue Sep 4, 2012 at 12:00 PM ET
The importance of grandfathers—on Labor Day.
The most important thing my very wise and learned paternal grandfather ever told me was when I was 20 years old. We were having a philosophical discuasion about the ends never justifying the means being illustrated in a criminal law case he was involved with –and I took a personal turn with my next question.
“Papaw, how old was dad when you realized he was going to be really successful?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t out of time yet myself.
There was an uncharacteriatic pause and I looked at my grandfather’s winced face. It was the first time I had ever stumped him. Or at least the first time one of my questions had left him temporarily speechless. Recovering, he said in a stern tone raising one eyebrow, “Well, to tell you the truth, I never thought your dad would amount to much of anything.” And as he realized that even though my father was now 51 was helping support both of us, he couldn’t remember ever amending that opinion, he broke into a broad smile and a hearty laugh.
That’s it. The most important thing grandfathers usually pass down to grandchildren is the truth about their parents.
The wisest thing my maternal grandfather ever said to me.
I was in my final year of law school and into my late 20s. My grandfather Durall, who possibly had the finest mind of any of my family members, had to drop out of school at age 14 to go to work in the coal mines–for $2 a day pay.
We were about to sit down to chat and his first question to me was, “Reckon you are going to stay in college until you can draw Social Security?” he asked, chuckling to himself. It made me laugh hard–and was probably the harshest thing I ever recall my grandfather Durall saying to me.
The reason I thought of that conversation this morning is that whatever I can think or say about Labor Day, I’ll never quite be able to give the term “work” the kind of meaning that he did. Of all my family members, none worked harder, endured more, and received less than my grandfather Durall. And he almost never missed a day of work or took a vacation time. Or complained. It was just his way. He honored the term “labor” in a way his grandchildren can salute but will never replicate.
By John Y. Brown III, on Thu Aug 30, 2012 at 12:00 PM ET
The problem with third base births and CCR
I have loved the song (and video) Fortunate Son for some time. I first saw it as a rendition by Eddie Vedder of Pearl Jam (see below) and put it in my iTunes collection. Recently I discovered the original was done by CCR (Creedence Clearwater Revival) and that the song was actually a lament of how most young Americans during the Vietnam War didn’t have the advantages of some privileged sons (“I ain’t no senator’s son” is one lyric line) to avoid serving in the war. In other words, the song was not about being a Fortunate Son of our great country, as I first imagined, and sang along without really understanding the words.
And that made me feel like maybe I don’t deserve to enjoy this song since I am someone who would be considered by CCR and Eddie Vedder, a “fortunate son” in a negative or unfair sense.
I’m not a “senator’s son.” But I am the grandson of a US senate candidate who lost that race 5 times, and the son of a father who was a governor and briefly a US senate candidate before dropping out of the race. And I’ll be the first to tell you, yes, there are tremendous and very unfair advantages to being a privileged son.
I have never tried to pretend otherwise. A few years ago I spoke to a group of entrepreneurs at Louisville’s Venture Club and was asked about these advantages. I responded, “Yes, I was born on third base (referencing Anne Richard’s political zinger aimed at George Bush Sr a few years back that he was “Born on third base and thought he hit a triple”). But that I was well aware that I didn’t hit a triple. In fact, I added, “I’m still not quite sure how I got on third base. I just know I have no recollection of ever being at bat.
Secretly, I suspect I was hit by the pitcher—maybe on purpose—and it was pitch was so hard they let me take three bases instead of just one. But that’s probably not the truth and just a story I tell myself so I feel like I earned third base on some level in some technical way. But I know deep down it was mostly a privilege thing. But there I was on third base.
“But I felt guilty about it,” I told the audience. So “I stole second base. And then I stole first base. So I could get back to where everyone else has to start on base.” I continued, “That relieved some of my guilt but I’m not sure it was the best play. At any rate, right now I think I may have found a way to get back to second base…and for the remainder of my life, I’m going to be trying to just get back to third base again—which is where I started. So, please don’t be mad at me for any advantages I had—and I had a lot—because, at this point any way, I’m just hoping to ‘break even’ in life by getting back to where I started from.”
That whole part of the speech was largely improvised but I liked the analogy and am sticking with it—and it summarizes pretty well the way I feel about all that. I hate it when people who have had great advantages in life try to make it sound like they pulled themselves up by their bootstraps and are self-made men or women.
I recall Al Gore starting his presidential campaign in 1992 with a story about how he grew up in Carthage, TN and chopped wood or some such story. Yuck! And, of course, there really are no self-made men or women. But some are less self-made than others. I put myself in that category.
I am grateful for the advantages I have had. As I said at another time to someone who brought up this topic, “I have had doors opened to me others don’t. But what I do and what happens after I step through that door is on me and up to me. But getting that first foot in the door matters a lot and is a big life advantage.”
The key in life, I guess, is to take whatever advantages we are given and try to make the most of them— do something useful for others with them (as well as useful to ourselves and our families). To whom much is given, much is expected, and all that. But at the end of the day , when we are quiet and alone, only we know in our hearts if we are living up to ourselves and our potential. And we never stop trying to….and, of course, seem always to feel we are falling a little short. But we do keep trying. And that is the main thing –and probably our saving grace.
But back to the song Fortunate Son. I have tried to make peace with all this privileged son business. As for any help with not serving in the military, that was never the case for me. I recall a few days before my 18th birthday being in a hotel room with my father and telling him I was going to register to vote in a few weeks and there was talk at that time about reinstating the draft (as there often was from time to time back then). I was afraid and asked my father what I should do if the draft was reinstated and I got drafted.
He responded, “Well, you have to go. That’s all.”
I responded, “But what if I die? Are you saying you want me to go to war and die?”
“Of course not, but you have to go in the military if drafted?”
“Were you drafted?” I asked.
“No, but I served in the reserves.”
I told my father I had a friend who told me about consciencious objectors but my father, in his inimitable over-simplified but correct and persuasive way, said, “You don’t want to do that. You couldn’t live with yourself afterwards. You just go if you are drafted. That’s all. Just one of those things you have to do. And it probably won’t happen anyway.”
So, there you have it. I was ready and willing to serve if called on. But, like the band members of CCR and Eddie Vedder, I did not volunteer. What does that mean now? It means if I met the members of CCR today and they called me a “fortunate son,” I’d tell them to “Suck it,” and add I work 14+ hours a day, was willing to serve in the military if called to duty and am proud of the life I have built for myself and my family and grateful for privileges I had and hope I have used them well—and am proud of my country and support our military.
But if I met Eddie Vedder that same day and he called me a “fortunate son,” I would probably be more apologetic and say something like, “You know, Eddie, you are right. I have had a lot of privileges I don’t deserve and do feel guilt about them. It is unfair. And it stinks for others not as fortunate.” I would not tell Eddie Vedder to suck anything. I like him more than CCR.
And that sums up about how I feel about it all. Sometimes with some people on some days, I am at peace with it. Other days with other people under other circumstances, I feel that piercing shot of guilt—the same one I felt when I heard Anne Richards that same night tell George Bush Sr he was born with a silver foot in his mouth. I laughed at first. But a few minutes later realized she was also talking about people like me. And stopped laughing as hard…. and hoped nobody noticed.
And I still love the song Fortunate Son (both versions—CCR’s and Eddie Vedder’s), whatever it means. And don’t apologize for that. It’s a good song. And I’m proud to post it. As a Fortunate Son myself.
About a decade ago, a friend of mine called in a local radio station to report a tree had just fallen during a rain storm and was blocking a major traffic artery.
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