Is Capitalism Dead?

Bill's Book Report

I just finished a fascinating book about the economic system in the United States and much of world and its current set of problems. I found it so compelling that I want to share my summary with you; Call it Bill’s Book Report. I hope you enjoy.

In case you want to investigate this topic for yourself, the name of the book is “CAPITALISM’S CRISIS DEEPENS,” written by the well-known economist and Professor, Richard D. Wolff.

Wolff tells the story of capitalism from its beginnings in 17^th century Great Britain coincident with the industrial revolution. Based on British success, capitalism spread around the civilized world since British merchants and manufacturers had achieved domination in many world markets. Wolff describes in detail how the system works and has a built-in, seeming inevitable consequence, of creating a class system featuring extreme differences in wealth among those who participate in the system. On top are the owners of manufacturing concerns and on the bottom are those who produce wealth for the owner by their labor. The all-powerful owner (think CEO and Boards of Directors in our current society) achieves such wealth and standing in society that he can influence government policies that might have protected workers from abuse by regulating allowable manufacturing processes.

Over time, the abuse heaped upon workers led to revolts and experimentation in alterative economic systems. Socialism and Communism were two of the best-known alternative systems that have proved to have shortcomings of their own.

One of the most significant of the shortcomings in capitalism has been its periodic, uncontrollable collapse for a variety of reasons that economists are unable to predict or prevent. The most famous and devastating across the world was the Great Depression that began on Black Friday in 1929 when the US stock market collapsed. It was not the first economic crisis in the US, just the most devastating leading to misery around world as people starved for lack of food while foodstuffs sat in abundance in warehouses. Despite intensive studies and a host of regulations intending to prevent subsequent economic downturns, none have proven effective. For example, in the United States, we have had 11 economic turndowns since the Great Depression with the most recent and second most severe being the downturn of 2007. Another is expected soon since we have one on average every five years and each lead to human suffering as folks lose their jobs, bankruptcies balloon, and poverty becomes a norm.

The downturns always lead to demands for government action to alleviate financial problems. The solutions are always the same:

1.       Major tax cuts are given to the rich and the largest corporations (think “too big to fail” and the trickle down theory).

2.       Costly global wars and ‘over-the-top’ expenditures are given as governments and rich leaders seek and find someone to blame for the most recent economic problem.

3.       Extraordinary government expenditures in the service of these fixes leads to government indebtedness prompting politicians to call for austerity programs. Austerity is always heaped on the backs of the poor; never the rich.

The government borrows huge sums to cover these expenses. Borrowing, of course adds further to the national debt. The borrowed money comes from the rich and super rich, and cash heavy corporations who just reaped unexpected millions from tax write-offs. Foreign governments and their investors love it when they can loan funds to the USA because they earn handsome rewards at low risk. These organizations purchase US Treasury bonds whose financial soundness is, of course, insured by the taxes paid by US citizens. Nowadays, the bulk of this money comes from taxes on middle class Americans. The consequences according to Wolff are the following;

“Real wages in the United States stopped growing in the 1970s and have not grown since, even as workers’ rising productivity has generated even more profits for employers. Consumer debt and overwork postponed for a few years the impact of stagnant real wages on consumption. But, by 2007, with stagnant real wages and further consumer borrowing capacity exhausted, a long and deep crisis arrived. Employers used the resulting unemployment to attack job security and benefits …” thereby reducing their costs and improving their profits.

“Auto industry capitalists took the lead and Detroit exemplified the economic decline that resulted. In the deep crisis since 2007, General Motors and Chrysler got government bailouts, but the City of Detroit did not. The auto companies got bailouts via a tiered wage system, but since the City’s income was based on workers’ wages, the loss to the City could not be made up even though the auto companies recovered. The failures of private capitalism thus drew in the complicity of the Federal Government.” Detroit became a shell of its former self with burned out buildings and poverty throughout the city.

Since both Communism and Socialism have proven to have problems, wholesale adoption of these systems instead of Capitalism is not seen as the solution to the misery created by wealth inequality and government indebtedness. Wolff proposes another economic system that can correct the ills of Capitalism without creating new problems. He calls it Workers Self Directed Enterprises or WSDE’s. In this system, workers who provide their labor for the creation of goods or services join to serve as owners, managers and directors of the enterprise. One of the features of WSDE’s is an egalitarian work environment with workers paid livable salaries and managers earning no more than five times the salaries of the lowest paid. Compare that to our capitalist model where CEO’s earn 400 times the salaries of workers.

WSDE workers will operate in the best interests of their co-workers and the communities they reside in. Gone will be the news that we just heard from General Motors where the CEO and Board of Directors make all the decisions including the recent layoff of 15,000 workers and shutdown of four plants that will devastate the communities where they are located. Does the WSDE scheme sound too utopian to possibly work? Fortunately, there exists real-life examples of such enterprises that are working today. The Basque region of Spain has responded to the 2007 crisis by implementing a sizable number of WSDE’s that compete successfully with traditional manufacturers without the negatives of Capitalism. The Basque region is doing very well while other European regions are still struggling with low wages and 25% unemployment. Will this system catch on and become the dominant system replacing Capitalism? Perhaps now is the time to experiment with alternate economic schemes since we have ample evidence of the failings of Capitalism.

The race is on

I am back home, taking drugs after my recent surgery. The drugs are the kind that make you silly. Here is what evolved from the drug-taking regimen.

“Thanks to all you listeners for attending our race today. I’m Willie Makeit and my partner providing the color commentary is Howard, better known as Hard Times. The race that we will be calling today is the Kentucky Derby of the walker set. Hard and I were told there is to be a single contestant, Speedy Bill, and he will race using Olympic rules with careful attention to elapsed time. Reportedly, Speedy will be repeating the race over the next several days trying to improve his time. Here is Hard for a close-up look.

Thanks, Willie. We had a brief parade before the race with Speedy showing off his racing colors. It looked to me like he was wearing pajamas. It was a red T-shirt on top with multi-colored bottoms that no respectable man would ever wear. Before we get too far into this description though, I should tell you that I think Speedy is getting ready to begin the race as he seems to be leaving the breakfast table with his walker in front in him.

“And there he goes. Someone tripped the alarm and the stopwatch is now running. The race is on. Wait a minute, wait. There is a problem with the start. Speedy’s walker seems to be tied up with a chair at the table. He can’t afford a mistake here as the clock is still running. There! He is free from the entanglement. Take it away Willie.”

“Hard and I were told that Speedy will be defining the layout of the race course as he makes his inaugural run. If its true, he has picked a difficult course as he heads into the kitchen with his bulky walker that seems to be giving him problems right here in the beginning of the race. He has reached the end of the kitchen and he is faced with two right angle turns to the left. There he goes. He got  thru the first turn by lifting his walker airborne and rotating the metal contraption. Speedy doesn’t seem to be familiar with his walker and he had difficulty getting into the second turn.”

“I think that’s right Hard. I was told that Speedy’s only preparation for this race was a two-day stay at the hospital in Midland where a surgeon advised him on the finer points walker racing.”

“And now Speedy is making a right-hand turn toward the open stairway leading to the basement. I don’t think he’ll be heading down there for some days or weeks. He seems to be making much faster progress as the race unfolds. My unofficial time has him at just two minutes as he heads into the foyer. Now he’s leaving the foyer into the main room. He has a long straightaway in front of him and so maybe he can make up some time. How do you see it Hard?

“That’s right Willie. He is just now passing the wood stove near the end of the run. Two more left turns and he’ll be heading back to the breakfast table. I’ll be watching the official clock as he comes home. There it is. I timed it at four minutes and twenty-two seconds. It was a memorable run and I can see that Speedy is breathing heavily. On the other hand, I’d say he has a way to go.”

That’s what I think too, Hard. I’ve seen faster walkers than Speedy in the Sloth races in Australia. And there you have it folks.

Confidential

Bill’s _Ʌ Blog

Don’t tell anyone about this blog. It’s because I’m trying to keep this information from my wife Marjorie. You will see why if you read further.

You may know that I am scheduled for hip replacement surgery soon. If you didn’t know, I am surprised since I’ve been telling everyone I know over the last six months about my upcoming, life threatening, Major Surgery (if you don’t understand, just know that this surgery is a major event for most men, but minor for women). It has something to do with the extra rib that women have, or, more simply, it’s just a man thing).

As the date for surgery approached, I was required to take a class at the hospital about the upcoming event. Marjorie and I went together, and we learned from the nurses about my convalescence. I’m supposed to use a walker for some while and have help for any movement that has the risk of falling. “Take it easy,” they said. “And your driving is out of the question, since your right hip is being replaced.” I tried to look glum upon their announcement to the wife and me. For several days, they said, I’m to do little beyond the few exercises they gave me to perform. “And you’ll need a walker, a high-rise seat for the toilet and a chair for the shower.” This sounded exactly like the kind of advice I was secretly hoping for. The advice about the need for help during convalescence and the extra precautions concerning my safety provoked my plan to milk this thing as far as I can. I decided this is my chance to demand ‘breakfast in bed’ kind of take it easy during my recovery. Of course, my poor wife Marjorie will be the recipient of my demands since I have decided I will be in nearly inconsolable pain, requiring extraordinary care and attention.

Lest you think this was a last-minute plan, you should know that I have actually given this a lot of forethought. For example, I decided some while ago to stack the firewood no higher than the wife can reach since my toting wood to the stove will be too taxing for my feeble condition. Likewise, I filled the snowblower with gas some weeks ago and, just as a precaution, I ran the machine for several minutes to assure that she wouldn’t need to call me for help in the cold weather that would, no doubt, provoke unnecessary safety risks.

Of course, I won’t be able to help much inside the house either. There is no chance that I’ll be able to stand long enough to handle a frying pan much less deal with dirty dishes. Furthermore, I’ll definitely need help in ambling to the living room to watch television or read a favorite book. I’m thinking that the living room sofa will be my center of operations for an extended period. I also expect my debilitated condition will require regular infusions of bourbon to ameliorate the pain and so I assured the liquor cabinet was adequately supplied and I’ll remind her where I store the tumblers and shot glasses. I hope I haven’t missed anything that I will require during my convalescence, but if I have, I’ll just ask for help. If it doesn’t seem too taxing, I may be able to squeeze in a report to you about my recovery. Look for it.

Getting Older

Getting Older

On the eve of yet another November birthday, my thoughts have turned to getting older. On this day I haven’t calculated my precise age, but I know for certain that I am not old. I have decided that no matter which birthday I face, I will not be old. At most, I’ll accept getting older, but not old. In our modern culture, being old is thought to mean being forgetful, losing some of one’s capabilities both mental and physical, expecting daily pain, and, did I mention about being forgetful? None of that for me, or so I’d like to believe. How can I be old when I think like I’m a teen-ager worrying about pimples?

I wasn’t even sure that I was getting older until I realized that I could correctly answer every Facebook question “What is this antique?” Ha. I knew them all. It seemed like only yesterday I was using that very thing in the garage, even though those younger Facebookers didn’t know what it was or what it was used for. It is easy to be callous about younger folks when you realize how little they know and what lies ahead for them.

The problem in our society is that the younger set doesn’t understand about aging. They haven’t experienced stiff joints, wrinkles, losing hair, poor eyesight, and a few of the other surprises that come with aging. Hell, they don’t even know about being hard of hearing. And did I mention being forgetful?

Aging has been problematic for me since I have lied about my age most of my life. It started when I was about three fingers. Whenever I was asked, “how old are you?” I always stuck four fingers in the air ‘cause it was easier, and it always provoked a laugh from those who knew better. That was the beginning of my life-long affair of shading the truth about aging.

I was still four fingers when I learned that my classmates in First Grade were all older than me. I was the youngest because my parents had sent me to Kindergarten at age four. (They must have been tired of my shenanigans and willing to foist me off on some unsuspecting teacher). Most of my classmates were already whole hand but my November birthday put me in both Kindergarten and the first several months of First Grade while I was just four fingers.

I remember my first experience with aging in First Grade when we studied the clock with its big hand and little hand chugging around and ticking off each passing moment. It took a long time, but I finally grasped the idea that age is a measure of time just like a clock measures time. I didn’t like learning about age and time from the clock. I preferred to measure time by the drip, drip, drip of passing days that ultimately led to Saturday and an entire day of playing with friends until the street lights came on. That was my world then and it hasn’t changed all that much even now since I’m still addicted to playing.

It didn’t feel right that I was the youngest kid in my class. I solved the problem when I learned to round up and advance my age. I equivocated the moral ambiguity of giving an inflated age by arguing that nobody wanted to hear I was seven years, eight months, one week and two days old. Much easier to simply round up and say that I was eight. I used that strategy for several years to gain equal status with my older pals and classmates.

This rounding up lie worked pretty well until I finished high school at age 17. All my friends were 18 and some had already begun doing things like getting married and taking on full-time, lifetime type jobs. Most of these things required completion of legal documents and honest data about age and therefore, for a brief period I was careful about stating my correct age. I got back into age-lying around age twenty. Actually, I don’t ever remember being twenty. I think I jumped from age 19 to 21, equivocating once again by using the round-up method to extreme given the obvious benefits of being 21.

By the time of college graduation and reaching the actual age of 21, I changed to using only my actual age, in other words, no rounding up since I became burdened with responsibilities that seemed to require honest age. That lasted for the next 20 years or so. Rounding up had lost its allure and I had no logical reason for inflating or deflating my age. It was only after I had become a gray beard that I once again fell into the habit of being flexible about my age if it seemed appropriate. The difference this time was that being younger offered more than being older. Some may consider my revised behavior duplicitous, but it seemed only fair to me. After all, had I not been adjudged to have been older than my actual years for the first 20? It seemed only fair to even the score a bit and lower my age to make everything come out about even. Although I might have been 49 years, eleven months and three weeks old, if the occasion seemed appropriate, I reported my age as 49, not 50. This was especially useful when I was the most senior person in my work group of engineers. Sometimes, I may have even reported that I was in my ‘late forties,’ not 49 and certainly not ‘almost 50.’

Now, here I am on the eve of a 75^th birthday. Inflation or deflation of my age is a distant memory. Instead, I am more likely to yield an incorrect answer to the age question, not because I want to be either younger or older, but because I have forgotten –did I mention this seems to be one of the common foibles of aging. I am now more careful about my age since I certainly don’t want to lose a year.

I choose to think of my birthdays not as a penalty but as an award for having ACHIEVED an advanced age; having avoided the troublesome hand of fate that sometimes hits you in the face for no apparent reason. Sure, I’ve lost a step or two in the life’s race as indicated by a notable lack of hair, the recent acquisition of hearing aids, and other changes not worth mentioning. And next month, just as my birthday rolls around, I expect to be the proud owner of a new hip, this one made from metal and hopefully the source of a smoother jaunt across the pickleball court and down the road on foot or on skis. I also expect it to alleviate a little discomfort that has followed me around for the last two or three years.

Regular discomfort seems to be a common feature of aging. My similar-aged friends and I routinely discuss our aches and pains at our morning coffee. Each of the old coffee drinkers has one or more issues that he can discuss at length. One of my friends complains regularly about his periodic gastric issues. He summed it up yesterday with a pithy announcement following a detailed dissertation about his bowel problems. “Everything I eat turns to shit,” he said.

I expect he and my other older buddies are not much different than me and other oldsters around the North Woods. We take our aging seriously, and we try to make each day count, although sometimes we can’t remember just which birthday we are celebrating and when the next sock hop will be announced. They still have those, don’t they? 

Climate Change Initiatives

Many believe that climate change is the single largest peril facing humans. The yearly increase in ambient temperatures signals changes in our world-wide weather system that cause melting of our polar ice caps and flooding of coastal areas as well as increases in number and severity of hurricanes and tornadoes. Fortunately, most political leaders around the world recognize the inevitable consequence in lives lost of doing nothing to stem pollution of our atmosphere with carbon dioxide. The problem of using fossil fuels like oil, gas and coal and the resultant mix of carbon-rich gases fouling our atmosphere, are the known cause of climate change. Fortunately, the world’s enlightened political leaders came together in 2015 to create the Paris Accords and set objectives for reducing the amount of carbon spewing from our smokestacks.

The question is, ‘how can nations around the world induce their people to reduce burning fossil fuels to get the energy they want?’ The answer to that question seems increasingly to be the application of a carbon tax that will cause users to change from fossil fuels to lower cost alternatives such as wind, solar and other non-taxed energy sources. Many nations around the world are already implementing carbon taxes to reduce the use of fossil fuels.

In the United States, this suggestion has taken the form of a proposed tax on fossil fuels at the well-head for all those fuels that produce carbon dioxide upon burning. The tax is to be adjusted depending upon the amount of carbon that is produced; for example, low carbon producing natural gas will be taxed at a lower rate that high carbon producing coal. The tax is intended to be adjusted each year with increases over time. And here is the best part of the proposal that is now circulating in Washington; the carbon tax that is collected by the government will be returned in full to all US citizens. If you are a citizen, you will get a yearly check from the government that equals 100% of the fee collected divided by the number of US citizens. The proposal is gaining more and more support on a bipartisan basis among US politicians, despite a few high-profile nay-sayers.

A bevy of experts including the US Treasury Dept. has studied the US carbon tax proposal. The following comes from Jonathan Marshall who has published articles about carbon taxes in the New York Times, Reason magazine, Huffington Post.com, and San Francisco Chronicle, where he was Economics Editor. Here is a summary of his most recent publication on the issue.

The most sophisticated economic models available today tell a consistent story about the likely impact of levying a national fee on fossil fuels: such fees would dramatically reduce emissions of carbon dioxide as well as other pollutants that cause major health problems. The other good news is that these benefits would come with virtually no impact on US economic growth. Furthermore, returning revenues to the general population through rebates (“dividends”) would ensure that such fees remain affordable to people of all incomes, while still changing their behavior. Indeed, a 2017 Treasury Department analysis found that roughly two-thirds of households would see their incomes grow from carbon dividends, while the remaining wealthy households could easily handle the higher cost.

All of the eleven different economic models that have been used to study the effect of the carbon tax show that the move will significantly lower carbon dioxide emissions. Further, the studies predict that carbon fees will provide an incentive for developing new technologies to avoid further climate change at lower cost than these models predict. The studies also predict large health benefits to Americans such as avoiding 3,500–8,000 premature deaths and 90,000 cases of exacerbated asthma.

Carbon fees have political support. A 2018 public opinion survey by the Yale Program on Climate Change Communications finds that 71 percent of all registered voters, including 56 percent of Republicans, favor requiring fossil fuel companies to pay carbon taxes. The US is not the leader in this field. The World Bank reports that “carbon tax has been in practice for over the last 28 years in some countries.” The Paris Accords provided a shot in the arm for a carbon tax. Many politicians who were afraid that consumers might object to a carbon tax, now recognize that the tax is the least painful and most efficient means in fixing the climate problem. The signatories to the Paris Accord now includes at least 80 countries who are investigating a carbon tax for their nations.

The time to take action in the US on fixing the climate change problem is now. Each year that we delay makes the problem worse and more difficult to correct. Since we are by far the world’s largest carbon polluter, it is our responsibility to take effective action now. Climate experts say that there is a point of no return; that our atmosphere will someday reach the point of carbon saturation such that remedial action will be of little consequence. If our political leaders are unable or unwilling to lead us to a solution to this problem, we must point the way for them. I suggest that you send a note to your Congressman and Senator to let them know your opinions on this issue. And vote. Urge everyone you know to make their opinions known by voting in the forthcoming elections. Ict comes with being a responsible citizen.

Bill

The Last Americans

I just finished reading an article written in 2004 and published in Harper’s Magazine. The author was Jared Diamond, Professor of Geography at University of California at Los Angeles, and author of more than 600 articles including his book that won the Pulitzer Prize “Guns, Germs and Steel”.

The article with the provocative title. “The Last Americans” is especially relevant to Americans today, given the current political leadership that seems intent on removing all our hard-won regulations governing environmental abuses of the soil, air, and waters that constitute the glorious environment that we call home. I was so taken with the article that I wanted to share it with you. Here is my ‘Readers Digest’ version of Mr. Diamond’s noteworthy essay.

One of the disturbing facts of history is that many previous civilizations collapsed soon after reaching the peak of their development. Some collapsed only a few decades after reaching a peak in their population, wealth and power while others held on for a century or more. Studies of these civilizations from the ancient Mesopotamians, Romans, Mayans, and several American civilizations, have revealed a common contributor to their downfall: these civilizations succumbed to various combinations of environmental degradation and climate change, followed by aggression from their enemies who took advantage of their resulting weakness and loss of wealth. Most lost much of their land and became a tiny shadow of their former glory.

The role of environmental degradation preceding a society’s collapse has been proven by scientists who have studied the evidence in human bones, soil and water chemistries, and numerous artifacts at archeological sites where the ancients lived. Upon reflection, the explanation for a collapsing society seems obvious; as societies become more prosperous their populations grow, wealth increases, and the rate of resource consumption increases as does their production of waste. Soon, their consumption of resources outstrips the ability of the environment to produce what they want and need. Often, the leaders of these societies fail or refuse to recognize the circumstance of dwindling resources and the society faces a rapid decline.

Those who recognize the fragility of their resources often use the faulty logic that human needs must be balanced against the environmental resources. That is faulty logic. Human needs and a healthy environment are not opposing factors that must be balanced. The reverse is true. Humans need a healthy environment because we need clean air to breathe, unpolluted water to drink, healthy soils to grow our crops, abundant forests for wood to build our homes, and so on. Our strongest argument for a healthy environment is that we need it to survive and thrive.

Many who ignore this logic and the problems of environmental damage, do so in the ignorant belief that the problems are overstated. After all, our grass is still green, our forests still grow, and most of our waters can be used for bathing (much of the time anyway, if you want to ignore the warnings of coliform hazards.) So, what is the concern in America? The short-sighted view that all is still right with the world fails to examine global problems. Today, billions of our world’s citizens live in places where environmental damage has rendered their homelands all but unlivable.

Environmentalists can name numerous countries and entire regions of the world where water is undrinkable, soils are depleted, droughts and fires are regular occurrences and the populations are starving due to a history of environmental damage. Comparing such a list of nations with another list, those nations that are the trouble spots with civil war, terror, and warfare between nations, and you’ll find several nations that are on both lists. When people are unable to care for themselves and their families because they lack clean water, clean air and other basics of life, they will revolt. The resulting wars often engage other nations.

So, what has this to do with us in America? Critics argue that we have a seemingly stable environment and a technology that puts us at the peak of our power with wealth that can only be imagined by those in the third world countries. Surely, we can apply new technology to whatever environmental problems arise. Or so the arguments go. Some think that we are fundamentally different from those societies that collapsed in the past. We understand so much more than the ancients and we can now apply new technology to our problems only when we need. The issue, they contend, is that data is needed to prove a problem exists.

Let’s look at one of the historical societies in America that collapsed due to environmental damage to see if their experience offers us any guidance. Mayan civilizations in the Yucatan Peninsula offers an excellent opportunity for study since their former cities and temples still exist in the midst of forests, unattended and unmaimed by the building of later cities on top of the historical ruins. Their great cities of the past are now unused; the great population centers of this region have become entirely de-populated as people left when the necessities of life were no longer available to them.

The Yucatan region where the great civilizations of the Maya evolved and grew for hundreds of years was a region of limited resources and unusual environmental challenges. (These challenges may have been one of the reasons for their success as competing civilizations left them alone.)

The Yucatan region has a water problem. The rainy season is from May to December while the dry season lasts from January through April. Rains are unpredictable during the rainy season while the dry season is predictable with virtually no rain at all. The lack of moisture is further exacerbated by the rocky soil that consists mainly of karsts, a sponge-like soil made up of limestone, that allows water to run straight into the earth leaving little moisture on the surface to nurture plants. Much of the Yucatan region is a desert with occasional sink holes that are filled with water. These sites provided the Maya with a toehold on this otherwise arid region.

So what accounts for the spectacular success of the Maya? In a word, it was the technology they developed that effectively dealt with the water problems. The Maya became adept at plugging natural depressions to create reservoirs for water storage. They developed wells, established water systems for distributing water, and were prudent in its use and handling. Maya farmers grew corn and established the practice of using fields for several years and then allowing the fields to lie fallow for 15 – 20 years before re-establishing a crop.

Mayans had no beasts of burden. Human power was required for all tasks. Perhaps for this reason, Mayan kingdoms were small, containing no more than 50,000 persons in an area with a radius of two or three day’s walk from the King’s temple. Most people in a kingdom were peasant/farmers, as each farmer had little more than enough food to support his family and pay the king for his services that included the all-important prayers for rain and good crops. When needed, of course, the King also had the prerogative to command the farmers to work on the spectacular building projects and rain-saving reservoirs that are still evident today.

The city of Copan in the former Mayan area has been carefully studied for clues concerning the loss of its population. The city was founded along the Copan River in a valley surrounded by steep hills. The city area was small; there were just five pockets of flat land totaling about one square mile of fertile soil. Beyond were steep hills of poor soil. Studies show that the city grew from a tiny beginning around the fifth century to its peak population of 27,000 between 750 and 900 AD. An especially massive King’s Temple was erected in 650 AD. After 700 AD other notables got into the act and began erecting smaller temples short distances from the King’s place. Peasants were required not only to build the massive structures but also to feed and see to every need of the royal families. During the initial founding of Copan, farming was restricted to the largest of the flat bottom land. As the city grew farming was extended to all five of the fertile pockets of soil and then to the less fertile soils on the hillsides. As demands for building materials and more land grew, the trees on the hillsides were systematically cut down. Soil analyses now reveal what the ancients were unable to learn; the erosion of the hillsides sent acidic materials into the bottomland. The pockets began to lose their fertility. The deforestation also likely caused a man-made drought as the loss of trees reduced the area’s natural water recycling.

As time wore on, the area was becoming unable to produce enough food to meet the demands of the growing population. Studies of hundreds of skeletons show porosity in the bones and stress lines in the teeth of those who lived during this era. Fighting broke out among farmers as they competed for the remaining fertile farmland. The King was held accountable for the lack of rain; no new temple buildings were constructed after 822 AD and the largest temple was burned in 850. In the next 50 years the population of Copan declined precipitously, reaching 50% of its peak, and then slowly falling to near zero by 1250. This from the people who had developed and used new technology for conserving skimpy water supplies to produce huge stockpiles of corn that was available for use and trade. It was all for naught when the use of resources outstripped the area’s capability to produce more. The King and his nobles failed to apply the resources of their people to the slow depletion of their natural resources, ending the dominance of the nation.

The relevance of this history lesson to the United States is easy to grasp. Our leaders’ refusal to recognize and act on environmental problems is staggering. While we dither, the oceans continue to serve as a sewage dump for trash and our air continues to be a giant sponge for carbon dioxide. We have allowed the loss of American Chestnut trees throughout the Appalachian Mountains, elm trees across much of the country, sardines along the West Coast, and oysters from Chesapeake Bay. These are only a few examples of the many environmental problems that we have created. Knowing about them is sadder because we have solutions to most, but the lack of will to address them. Climate change is a particularly egregious problem for which the solution is already known – eliminating and or controlling the use of coal and other fossil fuels by using non-polluting wind and solar power, yet we are unable to make inroads to their solution while we have leaders who fail to even recognize the problem.

The question before us is whether we will learn the lesson of the Mayans. Will we become the Last Americans?

Living in the Woods

Somewhere along the timeline of my life, I got the idea of living in the North Woods. I don’t know how or why the idea came to me. Perhaps it was some hidden influence from a literature class about Henry David Thoreau and his eloquence in describing his 2-year stint of living in the woods along Walden Pond. 

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion.” – Henry D. Thoreau

Maybe it was not Thoreau, but someone much closer to Roscommon like Marguerite Gahagan, a local scribe who ran a newspaper, The North Woods Call. She earned a fair living writing about the woods and environmental issues. She spent her last years in Roscommon living in the woods, writing about her favorite things; little critters from the woods who came to her door in search of handouts that she happily furnished.

Marguerite Mary Gahagan (June 22, 1907 – January 4, 1997) was an award-winning journalist, author, and conservationist. She wrote, edited and published The Northwoods Call, a weekly newspaper that became an influential conservation publication across Michigan. Marguerite took the approach of an investigative journalist, reporting on environmental issues in Michigan. She operated the paper by herself for nearly 16 years, being recognized by Time Magazine, the National Wildlife Federation, and the Association for Women in Communications. This legacy continues in the form of Marguerite Gahagan Nature Preserve, located at Marguerite's former estate in Roscommon, Michigan.

Whatever the reason, I ended up in the woods in Roscommon, drawn to its beauty as typified by its colorful lakes, rivers and woods that dot the county like spots on a leopard. Everywhere in the county we are no more than five miles from a body of water, so says our tourist information.

When I first moved here, I didn’t know too much about living in the woods. I didn’t know about black flies and how these tiny critters make a living out of bedeviling humans. These are the ones who sneak under your socks to suck your blood, leaving behind a poison that causes swelling and terrific itching. After moving to Roscommon, I quickly learned that black flies are just the prelude to the real punishment that begins with the maturation of their friends and neighbors, mosquitoes. Big, black ones who specialize in attacking us unwitting humans who dare set foot in THEIR woods. They are so big that, if you could catch ‘em alive, you could saddle ‘em and charge money for rides. I bet that neither Thoreau nor Marguerite wrote about these flying devils. 

Shortly after bug season gets in full flower, pollen season starts. In my area of the woods, you wake up one morning to find a layer of fine yellow dust on everything you own that sits outdoors. Your beloved outdoor hammock or lounge chair is suddenly coated with dust that becomes slimy when wet and crusty when dry. The porch, window frames, and all other horizontal surfaces become similarly coated. There is not much point in cleaning it up, because you’ll have the same thing again tomorrow. The amount of the yellow dust slowly begins to diminish after a few weeks and becomes only a distant memory providing that the wife cleans everything before company arrives in late spring.

One of the good things about this time of year is the spring equinox – the date that the sun provides the most hours of sunlight during the entire year. Even though the bugs are bad in the spring, on June 21 we get nearly 16 hours of sunlight as the sun rises around 6 AM and sets after 9:30 PM. ‘Course, you can’t go outdoors to see either event cause the bugs are too bad at those times.

Hard upon the last gasps of the yellow pollen snowfall is the coming of late spring snowfall. Not the winter kind – the spring kind where our many cotton-wood trees drop their seeds that float through the air in their cocoons of cotton, landing on every surface that the wife just cleaned of the nasty yellow pollen. Even the tall weeds and recalcitrant flowers in your gardens that have been unattended because of your seasonal allergies get coated with cotton. This year, the cotton was so pervasive that I found myself suddenly wishing for pollen instead of cottonwood snow on everything. A shudder of revulsion is the appropriate response here. One would begin to question my choice of the woods were it not for the birds.

Ahh the birds. All the nastiness of spring is forgiven with the arrival of our migrant birds beginning in early spring and extending until summer begins. In earliest spring we begin to hear the colorful notes of Trumpeter Swans at the river along with the unmistakable gurgle of Sandhill Cranes flying low overhead as they search for a resting place during their migration or settle in one of the close by fields making it a summer habitat for long-legged birds.

Medium-sized and smaller birds also add their color and songs to our neighborhood. My personal favorites are the barred owls who inhabit our swampy woods and place their telephone calls at any time day or night asking the same question over and over, “Who cooks for you?” If you listen carefully, most times you will be rewarded with an answering call from a distant owl. The answer is haunting especially at night as the eerie melodic answer comes floating back on the cool night air. ‘I don’t know,’ “Who cooks for you?” These birds are easy to fool. Many times, they will answer me as I add my shouted rendition about cooking to their monotonous conversations.

Just now our bird feeders are featuring the daily display of an especially colorful neighborhood resident, an Evening Grosbeak and his family. He is large enough to match wits with our equally colorful but more common blue jays who often spar with the grosbeaks for an available spot at the feeders.

And so it is. The hardships of life in the North Woods are balanced against its pleasures. I now realize that neither Thoreau nor Gahagan were influential in my decision in moving here since I am neither able nor willing to construct 100 word sentences as Thoreau did, nor earn a salary of any measurable sort by provocative writing as did our resident and well-known naturalist Marguerite Gagahan. But I can watch the birds and enjoy our magnificent surroundings.  It is quite enough. 

 

What sort of tyrants are these?

What manner of tyrants have we put in charge of our federal government who can rip apart families that are convicted of being illegal aliens? Border agents are separating children from their terrorized parents including those who are seeking asylum from violence at home. Most of these parents come to us as a last resort for their own survival and to improve the lives of their children. If they are captured at the border or found by ICE and convicted of being an illegal alien, their children are incarcerated, and the parents are deported; most expecting that they will never again see their children.

The tape recordings from the prisons that our border patrol agents use to incarcerate alien children give proof of the Gestapo-like practices that are being thrust on those who come to the United States illegally. Most come in the mistaken belief that we still live up to the promise inscribed on our statue of liberty. 

“Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

Our current government leaders have no intention of welcoming immigrants nor of following past practices regards immigration unless the immigrants are wealthy, white, Anglo-Saxon Protestants. Our President and Attorney General have created a policy they call Zero Tolerance. It is directed at those who look different than them and/or believe in a different religion. Crossing our border illegally is a misdemeanor. Under Zero Tolerance the penalty for this misdemeanor offense is to take their children away from them and then separately deport the parents without providing any information about their children. This penalty may impose a life sentence of suffering on innocent children according to physicians who are familiar with the effects of the psychological stress of separation. Can we stand by as innocent children are put in cages in America? It is a draconian punishment for something they have no control over.

The leaders who have directed this practice at our borders and those who implement this harshest of all penalties, should be ashamed. This practice cannot stand. If our current leaders cannot change this policy, we must change our leaders.  

Some Surprising Things About Electronic Gadgets

Some Surprising Things About Electronic Gadgets . . . (that you should probably learn)

Some of us spend a surprising amount of time using electronic gadgets. Inevitably, after a few years use, we find that the old things just don’t satisfy our needs and we feel obligated to buy new ones. Then comes a decision – figuring out how to dispose of the outdated gadgets. For some – it’s simple, toss it in the garbage bin. For others like me, it’s a big problem. The size of the problem was driven home after I spent the largest part of today helping to recycle the darned things. The occasion of my labor was our county’s twice-yearly Household Hazardous Waste collection program where two other volunteers and I had the job of carrying unwanted electronic gadgets from resident’s cars to a series of collection boxes and pallets for ultimate recycling. We sorted, carried, and then stacked the unwanted things on one of the two dozen pallets and an equal number of large cardboard boxes that had been designated for the collection. The county’s organizers of the event provided the boxes and pallets for stacking the televisions, telephones, computers, printers and a wide assortment of other electronics. They provided space for the things based on the number of devices collected last fall. This year, the number of boxes and pallets provided were too few by half as the number of thrown-away gadgets vastly exceeded last year’s take.

Although the program was slated to begin at 9:00 AM this morning, I found two vehicles waiting in line as I arrived around 8:30 AM. Those first two dropped off a dozen televisions along with several old computers. That was the beginning and it continued most of the day. It seems that we love our electronic gadgets, but only for a limited time as the size of this year’s collection included at least one old radio console, dozens and dozens of vacuum tube televisions, and scores of the more modern flat screen TV’s, computer monitors, and laptops not to mention DVD’s and a wide assortment of printers, modems and other electronics. By day’s end our drive-through garage was full to overflowing.

Our county recycling program collects resident’s unwanted electronic devices for recycling in an ongoing effort to avoid having the unwanted devices end up in our dwindling landfill space. E-waste, as it is sometimes called, is a growing problem across the nation as the electronics industry continues to pack their products with hazardous materials that none of us want in the ground anywhere near where we live. Toxic heavy metals, such as lead, mercury, cadmium and beryllium are common to electronic devices with smaller amounts of copper, silver and even gold found in some devices. The gadgets are a nightmare to recycle. Containing hundreds and sometimes thousands of parts, the materials can be recycled but they are a bugger to get at as they are small and accessible only after complete disassembly with their myriad fastening systems keeping them in place.

Handling unwanted waste is not a new problem. The most egregious example of the problem occurred some years ago as the City of Philadelphia tried to deal with 14,000 tons of ash that was generated after the city incinerated its waste.  They contracted with a shipper who planned to transport the ash by ship and then dump it in the Bahamas. The Bahamian Government refused to allow the ship to enter their port. The ship then tried the Dominican Republic, Honduras, and Panama, finally getting permission to dump 4,000 pounds of ‘topsoil fertilizer’ in Haiti. The Haitians got wise to the scheme, but the ship slipped out of the harbor before that part of the ash could be reloaded. The ship next went to Europe to find some other place to dump the remaining 10,000 pounds of ash, changing the ship’s name several times in an effort to hide the cargo identity. Finally, the ship left Europe to return to the United States, illegally dumping the ash into the Indian Ocean while enroute. Ahh, the rigors of handling unwanted waste.

The US followed by China are the world’s largest generators of E-waste. It has been reported that 40 million tons of E-waste was generated in the US in 2011 but something over 90 million tons was generated a mere five years later. Where is all that waste going? Sadly, many consumers pitch old TV’s and computers into the garbage where it ends up in a landfill, silently waiting for our children and grandchildren to deal with it. Estimates vary, but some say 70% of E-waste currently ends up in landfills.

The EPA seems unable to deal effectively with the issue especially with the current administration and its bent towards de-regulation. Individual states have taken up the issue instead. Some 25 state legislatures, including Michigan, have adopted legislation covering E-waste, but even those that have rules seem to have little effect as I see many of my neighbors leaving old TV’s at the curbside for the garbage man to pick up. The obvious solution to today’s E-waste problem is to recycle and I urge everyone to participate. I plan to volunteer again this fall in helping collect the old stuff so that I can enjoy my electronic gadgets without feeling guilty about disposing of them. Maybe I’ll see you there.  

The US followed by China are the world’s largest generators of E-waste. It has been reported that 40 million tons of E-waste was generated in the US in 2011 but something over 90 million tons was generated a mere five years later. Where is all that waste going? Sadly, many consumers pitch old TV’s and computers into the garbage where it ends up in a landfill, silently waiting for our children and grandchildren to deal with it. Estimates vary, but some say 70% of E-waste currently ends up in landfills.

The EPA seems unable to deal effectively with the issue especially with the current administration and its bent towards de-regulation. Individual states have taken up the issue instead. Some 25 state legislatures, including Michigan, have adopted legislation covering E-waste, but even those that have rules seem to have little effect as I see many of my neighbors leaving old TV’s at the curbside for the garbage man to pick up. The obvious solution to today’s E-waste problem is to recycle and I urge everyone to participate. I plan to volunteer again this fall in helping collect the old stuff so that I can enjoy my electronic gadgets without feeling guilty about disposing of them. Maybe I’ll see you there.  

A New Read

A New Read

Just in time for your summer read – a new book from  . . . Me. Available at Roscommon library, me, or Amazon.com.

The book is “Uncle Charley,” the story of a notorious relative from the Tudor clan who sampled life at both ends of the legal spectrum during Prohibition and the Roaring Twenties.

Here is a sampling from the opening chapter.

Uncle Charley

William Tudor

A biographical novel detailing the remarkable story of a man’s struggle to overcome obstacles thrown his way in the first half of the 20^th century. Despite hard times, racist attitudes, and the problems of Prohibition, he persevered and thrived beyond the expectations of his entire family, including those he loved and those who loved him.

Part 1

“Sometimes you’ve got to run away from home to get there”

Stephanie Zacharek, journalist

1

Billy

Thanksgiving at Grandma’s house was a big deal for a kid like me growing up in the small town of Bluffton, Indiana. This year it was especially big – Uncle Charley was visiting, probably the first time in several years. Grandma said a large part of the family would be gathering for this year’s big dinner at her farmhouse. Because of Uncle Charley, I wanted to be at Grandma’s early in the morning, but Mom said no, that I’d just be in the way. “Grandma is working hard in preparing our dinner,” she said, “and besides, Grandma’s sister Goldie and her husband Willard is at Grandma’s house and that is enough what with Charley there.”

I moped around until she finally relented, about 10 AM Thanksgiving morning. But, the bad news was, Mom said I had to take Linda with me. I wasn’t too happy about taking my little snot-nosed sister anywhere, especially since I wanted to spy on Uncle Charley. Alone.

My sister and I walked down the alley and across the street to Grandma’s farmhouse at the edge of town. When we opened the door to the back porch, Grandma was just inside the door wearing her ever-present apron, leaning over her big black-iron fry pan.

“Billy,” she said. “I was hoping you’d come soon.”

It was warm in her back porch even though it was unheated. Her iron skillet was hot and steam was clouding the air from another pan as well. The entire porch smelled like bacon, courtesy of hot lard that sizzled as it escaped the heat of the pan. I could barely make out Grandma’s words over the noise. Aunt Goldie was also in the porch, layering pieces of chicken with a flour and egg mixture that was transformed into a golden-brown crust as my Grandma Nellie turned the meat from side to side in the hot grease.

Grandma Nellie was nothing if not careful about having enough food. She had a pile of chicken beside her but there was still another, even larger pile yet to be fried. She had pulled out all the stops on this important day with green beans, mashed potatoes, home-made noodles, pickled beets, salads, homemade bread and desserts that I hadn’t yet seen. My Grandma liked fried chicken. I thought it was awful how she had to kill one or two of her chickens at every holiday.

“I was hoping you’d be here ‘cause I could use your help.” Grandma said. I puffed up as I knew my sister had heard. “I need you to feed my chickens,” she said. I deflated. She handed me a galvanized bucket of potato peels and other food scraps from her morning’s work. I retraced my steps out the back door and headed toward the large chicken coop and the adjacent pen as my sister disappeared, as usual, leaving the work to me.

Feed the chickens. Double darn. Those nasty birds would be attacking me as soon as I entered their pen. Maybe they would leave me alone this time, I thought. No such luck. The ugly white leghorns must have known I was coming as six or seven attacked my ankles as soon as I let myself in the gate. I hurried, hoping to outrace them. As soon as I could, I lifted the bucket to shoulder height, tipped it forward and then spun in a circle, tossing the scraps in a large arc. With a smug grin, I noticed that I had smacked two or three of the running hens with several flying potato peels. It made the job almost enjoyable. I snuck out as the birds attacked the food bonanza.

Grandma replaced the empty galvanized bucket in its place against the wall in the back porch.

 “Is Uncle Charley about?” I asked.

“No, he and the other men took the truck. They went to see the old farmhouse where Uncle Charley lived when the family first came to Bluffton. I reckon they’ll be back soon enough.”

Grandma must have sensed I didn’t know what to do since there was no one for me to play with or talk to. “Why don’t you go give the calf a handful of corn and then open the gate to the pasture field. You can curry her also, if you want to,” she said, knowing that I liked the latest of their young cows. I nodded my head and left the house for the barn.

By the time I finished with the calf and came back to the farmhouse, Uncle Charley and the other men had returned. The rest of the family were arriving and slowly migrating toward the dining table that was now laden with covered bowls and Grandma’s best plates and stemmed glasses.

The dining room was crowded. Grandma had managed to seat all of us in the dining room around two tables that had been pushed together. I barely got seated before Grandma took charge and announced that Willard would begin the dinner by offering prayer. Willard deserved the honor since he was Grandma’s brother-in-law and the ranking religious man in the family, a Wesleyan Methodist preacher.

Willard stood erect with his long wavy hair carefully combed and spoke with authority for several minutes. We all knew he was running out of steam when he reached the telltale ending that I had heard maybe a thousand times before, “. . . and thank you for this food for the strength of our bodies.” He paused for one moment before his ‘Amen’ came tumbling out. Grandma must have been watching Willard carefully. Unexpectedly, she launched into a second prayer before anyone had a chance to pick up his fork. I put the dish back that I had grabbed for. We all bowed our heads a second time.

Grandma Nellie made a good show of her prayer, even though she prayed aloud rarely and only for important occasions like this one. When I couldn’t detect any sign that Grandma was wearing down, I quietly lifted my head and stole a look at the people sitting opposite me. I was surprised to see Uncle Charley doing the same. He caught my eye and winked. I tried to respond, but all I could manage was to scrunch one side of my face up with both eyes becoming mere slits. Uncle Charley smiled and we both bowed our heads before we were caught. I knew Grandma sometimes watched for slackers during prayer time.

It must have taken an hour or more to make a dent in the food that had been laid out for us. I stole several glances at Uncle Charley, hoping to remember everything about him so I could I repeat it all to my friends. The reason for the intense interest in Uncle Charley was because he was so different than we all were, even though he was family and he had grown up in the area. The main thing was the rumors that Charley had been a member of a criminal gang, that he had earned a lot of money in the formerly illegal trade in alcohol, and that he now called a big city in Michigan his home.

The rumors seemed incredible because of the way Charley looked. He was a normal-looking man with clear skin and he didn’t have that perpetual flushed look from too many hours in the sun that seemed common among the men in my family. Some might have said Charley was handsome. He was certainly different with his pencil thin mustache and he seemed younger than my Grandfather Ora and better dressed than any of the other men around the table. And maybe most important, he had a big, expensive Buick parked in Grandma’s driveway. If he was indeed a gangster, he didn’t fit what I had seen in the movies. He seemed to be quiet, perhaps even shy, and his speech was occasionally peppered with a bit of a stutter. Besides, Charley had winked at me between his smiles.

After dinner the men retired to the adjacent living room while the women moved to the kitchen and began cleaning up. My sister and brothers and I put our coats on and moved to the front porch. There was an argument about who could sit on the swing but I avoided that and sat where I could look in the window to watch what was going on inside. It seemed only minutes before Uncle Charley came to the window and beckoned to me. I jumped up and ran inside.

“Wanna help me pack up, Billy Boy?”

“Yessir,” I yammered. Charley turned on his heel and made for the stairway leading to the upstairs bedrooms. I followed him up the narrow stairway where he turned into the smallest bedroom that overlooked the driveway down below. I followed him in and saw something in the room I had never before seen. A bedroom used by a man for two nights with the bed carefully made up; no clothes thrown about, no papers left lying on a table, nothing out of place. A suitcase was lying in the precise center of the bed. Next to the suitcase was a small leather valise, also zipped closed. Uncle Charley went to the closet and disappeared for an instant only to return wearing a fashionable grey overcoat with a matching fedora.

“Time for me to go,” he said. “You take the valise.” He looked at me as he reached in his pocket and then positioned something on his thumb and forefinger. As I watched, he flipped a shiny coin in the air toward me. I reached out and snatched the coin as he had intended. It was a shiny silver dollar, a rare treat in those days. “For me? I asked. Charley shook his head and smiled as I stuffed it in my pocket. Something to show my friends.

As he bent over to reach for his suitcase, something tumbled from his pocket. It made a loud thump as it hit the floor. He and I looked at the same time, although he must have known what it was. A shiny black pistol was lying on the floor beside him. Charley quickly retrieved it.

“Pretend you didn’t see that,” he said, as he shoved the pistol back in his overcoat pocket. I was too surprised to answer aloud so I nodded my head. Charley gave me another wink and started down the stairway with his suitcase while I grabbed the valise.

I stood in the knot of people who gathered at the driveway to wave goodbye as Charley steered his Buick from the driveway and onto Wayne Street. The car had barely reached the corner before my Grandmother offered her opinion. “I don’t think that boy will come to a good end,” she said, ignoring the fact that he was about the same age as she.

Willard was a little more philosophical, “Maybe the good Lord will make him see the error of his ways.” As we turned back toward the house, my father offered his assessment, “He sure has a nice car, though. I’ll bet he paid a pretty penny for that machine.”

As the party ended, my family gathered for the short walk from Grandma’s to our house just two blocks distant. As we began walking I decided this was my chance to learn more about Uncle Charley. I was full of questions for my father. I decided on trying some innocent questions first and reserving the more important questions about Charley’s gangster background until later. I was going to be careful not to ask anything that might hint that I had seen his gun.

“Where is Uncle Charley living in Michigan? I began, when I really wanted to ask if Charley had ever been found guilty of some really big crime. Linda decided to ask something else at that exact same moment. The result was that my question went unanswered. It was a typical lapse. As usual, nobody told me nothing. They never did. I didn’t even learn that Charley wasn’t my uncle at all until much later.