 |
|||
|
|
Commentaries for the Week of April 1, 2002 |
 |
Week of 08/05/2002
Week of 05/20/2002
Week of 05/13/2002
Week of 04/22/2002
Week of 04/08/2002
Week of 04/01/2002
Week of 03/25/2002
Week of 03/18/2002
Week of 03/04/2002
Let Doyle be Doyle
Week of 02/25/2002
Put Rhinos in Rochester
More
|
     |
|
It begins with a simple act -- walking hand in hand -- a parent and child. It’s a rite of passage that few forget -- like Dorothy spying Oz. Frozen in memory are the white bases, brown dirt, and emerald grass -- your first baseball game. Opening Day occurs this week in America’s greatest and oldest sport.
Last night the season began with an ESPN telecast. Today traditional first games occur in Baltimore and Cincinnati. Wednesday the Red Wings start their 2002. Fathers and mothers with kids will recall how their parents took them to Silver Stadium, Fenway Park, or other Xanadus of personality.
Many liken football and baseball -- but the differences more intrigue. Football is a greyhound you thrill to. Baseball is a cocker spaniel who steals your loyalty and love. One is show-biz -- TV’s Simpsons. The other is the Waltons -- religion passed from one generation to the next.
When Frank Sinatra sang, “There used to be a ballpark,” he bespoke the joy of rooting for the old towne team. So enjoy this week. Savor baseball’s alchemy of sound, look, and feel. Wait till next year? Not today. On Opening Day, next year arrives.
Uncle Miltie died last week. If you are a certain age, you know what this means, and why. Uncle Miltie was Milton Berle k.a. Mr. Television. He dressed in drag, would take any fall for a laugh, and put television on the map.
It is hard to imagine how primitive TV seemed at mid-century America. Radio was king. Many stars refused to leave it for the kinetic web. Few thought the new medium last. Milton Berle was among those few.
In 1948, he debuted on the infant DuMont network. Soon, on NBC, he was TV’s highest-paid performed. “Good evening, ladies and germs,” he began. He would walk out in high heels, throw and take pies, and flaunt more makeup than Tammy Faye.
By his first year, Uncle Miltie owned Tuesday nights. Store owners put up signs: “Closed tonight to watch Milton Berle.” In 1983, Berle was among the first seven inductees to the TV Hall of Fame. His fame endures, two decades later. Tonight, you’ll probably watch the medium we take for granted. Remember how Uncle Miltie made it ours.
Remember the Angry White Male? He helped the Republicans win the Congress in 1994. Recall ‘96’s Soccer Mom? She helped Bill Clinton beat Bob Dole. Welcome Lunchbucket Joe -- blue collar, married, and living in, say, Pennsylvania. Political seers call him the swing voter of 2002.
Lunchbucket Joe is said to like “Monday Night Football.” He likes to hunt, respects strength, and despises welfare leaches. Tell me who he’ll back, and I’ll tell you who’ll enjoy this Election.
In 2002, George W. Bush carried white males by 24 percent. Lunchbucket Joe threatens to increase that lead. He opposes gun control. Democrats back it. He hates racial quotas. Democrats adore them. Joe dislikes bilingualism, is tough on crime, and backs voluntary prayer in school. To him, liberals rival a dialogue of the deaf.
Can Joe be persuaded to vote Democratic? Sure, if gutless Republicans ignore values issues. For now, it’s Democrats who worry. For 30 years they’ve ignore white males. This year white males seem poised to return the favor.
Last week Margaret Thatcher announced her retirement from public life. The reason? A series of small strokes that threaten her health -- and life. A Conservative Party spokesman said: “No matter how magnificent the achievement, there comes a time to let go.” Of public speaking, maybe -- but never how the Iron Lady shaped a Nation to her will.
Some leaders reflect their time. Thatcher transformed her time. Think, first, how she changed Britain from “sick man of Europe” to leader of the New World Order. Think, next, how she forged a coalition against aggression which brutalized the Persian Gulf. Finally, think how Thatcher brought the Cold War to an end. This heroic woman made history move her way.
There have been millions of words written about the greengrocer’s daughter. But I like best a passage from Thatcher herself. Resigning as prime minister, she gave a 1990 farewell speech in Parliament about changes “achieved by ... a refusal to be intimidated.”
It was a remarkable moment -- you were caught between applause and tears. Listening, you thought:There will always be an England. God willing, she will always be our friend. There will never be another Margaret Thatcher.
Last weekend a 35-year-old man purchased a ticket at New York’s Penn Station, boarded Amtrak, and headed to Florida by train. In Washington, D.C., another man boarded. He noted that the first man occupied two seats and refused to budge when passengers asked him to move. There was a reason. The man had died of a heart attack somewhere between New York and the Nation’s capital. The fatality seems a metaphor for Amtrak.
Amtrak is America’s government-funded passenger rail service. Yearly it has this problem: in our warpspeed society, few take time to travel long distance by train. Only the New York to D.C. trek makes money. Most legs lose a bundle, hurt by poor roadbed, slow speed, and trains rarely on time.
The system says it needs more government money. Only then can bed improve, speed increase, and trains rival planes. I don’t often back Federal funding. Here I do. We need high-speed service to link U.S. cities. It works in Europe. It is absurd that trains don’t here.
Highway funding helps buses. Airline bailouts help, say, United in the air. Like the man with the heart attack, Amtrak needs aid before meeting death itself.
Want to express your opinion on these topics to Curt? Click here.
All content copyright Curt Smith.
Problems with this site? E-mail the webmaster.
Privacy Policy.