Monthly Archives: January 2012

They have this dance for the rest of their lives.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author’s program note.

Remember your first crush? The heat! The intensity! The euphoric ups and despondent downs? Of course you do… because while it lasted, we all felt vital! Alive! Complete…. for all that the parents told us, over and over again, that this was nothing but “puppy love” and wouldn’t last. But it did last, didn’t it, in your mind and heart… to the point where you must find this well remembered person and see how they turned out and whether they still remember you, too, and the special song that was your signature and which even today causes reverie and the sharp, bittersweet pangs of remembrance and a bad case of the “what ifs”…

And so, for the fortieth time, you sit down at the keyboard and search the ‘net and its social networks for intelligence… intelligence that will enable you to rediscover your lost love, your youth, and the life you might have had if only… if only…

“Goodnight, sweetheart”.

To put yourself in the mood, go to any search engine and find “Goodnight, sweetheart” written by Calvin Carter and James “Pookie” Hudson in 1953. I recommend the original version by The Spaniels (1954). It was bubble-gum music, a tune that signalled you’d better snuggle up fast and close since your evening and its possibilities were about to end…. Whatever you planned to do needed to be done and done now… You know its lyrics so well… you know just how much time you’ve got left… and you’ve got something important to say and do.

“Goodnight, sweetheart, well, it’s time to go…. I hate to leave you, I really must say, Oh Goodnight, sweet heart, goodnight.”

This is a moment that determines fate… for in this moment the ultimate words of destiny pour out… hot, fast, insistent…. every word of consequence, every word packed with meaning… words of love… desire…. commitment… eternity. You cannot say where these words originate; you didn’t even know they were in you… but they are present now, urgent, eloquent, raw, powerful motivating words delivered in a powerful motivating way.

“Mother oh and your father, Might hear if I stay here too long, One kiss and we’ll part, And I’ll be going You know I hate to go.”

And so, at last, reluctantly, you did part… only to hurry home and call the object of your affections … who might be someone entirely different …thereby continuing the night, its emotions, its possibilities.

It was all a game, an enticing, exhilarating marvel… and you loved every difficult, contorted, thwarted moment of it.

No one more than Doyle Taylor.

In 1955 and for many years to come, Doyle Taylor was a recognized “catch”. Cute, funny, charismatic, Doyle played the dating game with the same manic intensity he brought to the football game. His manifest personal advantages brought him followers, an entourage particularly of the female variety. He liked girls… girls liked him… and these two facts made for exciting, explosive, entirely thrilling times.

Doyle delighted in the messy contortions of his young life; scheduling multiple dates with multiple people; testing his skills, his powers of persuasion and of escape; seeing how far he could push the envelope. Being Doyle, he could always push it just a little bit more…. then a little bit more again. Life was good! Packed with possibilities that caused him to jump up of a brilliant California morning, glad to be alive.

Then he saw Casey… and he knows in the way one does (even if one has never known it before) that this is the person who offers you more in one complete, captivating package than all the others put together, no matter how attractive. And all of a sudden you experience a flood of emotions that weren’t there yesterday: tenderness, compassion, wonder… and in an instant this confusing life becomes more confusing still, more confusing and infinitely more important. Life is no longer just about you and what you can get; life is now about what you can give. And Casey was a girl you wanted to give to… without asking for anything but her love in return.

Blocked by Dad.

But as every novel reader knows, the path of true love is never smooth. And so it was with Casey, whose father was strict and knew the insinuating ways of boys. Doyle was not welcome in his house… and so school with all its limitations became the only place they could meet. Little did they suspect that its very restrictions were precisely what their love needed to flourish; from obstruction grew determination… enhanced at the Friday sock hops they never missed… and which ended with their anthem “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

But this wouldn’t be much of a story if it ended here, two young people captivated by each other who decide to venture forever together. What makes this story a tale worth the telling is what happened next… and what happened after that. Like millions of starry-eyed couples, they split up in high school and went their very separate ways…

… ways that led them to marry others, have children and lives which would only have been dislocated had they connected too early. And so these one-time fierce lovers grew old, apart, and lonely… existing, not living, without love or its magic. And this, too, is the fate of millions. And it might have been their fate, too… but for the fact that out of loneliness they began to think of each other and what had each, so long ago, been for the other. Thus, apart, they began the process of rediscovering each other, beholden to a fate benevolent to them.

One day Casey’s computer crashed; all her personal data obliterated. She called a friend to begin the recovery process and asked if this friend remembered Doyle and possibly knew how to find him. The friend did…. and within minutes Casey with excitement and trepidation had emailed Doyle… who answered her at once… and so two once kindred spirits connected… and found that the excitement they had shared so long ago existed still… this time forever.

They met, as so many long ago lovers have met, compliments of the Internet… and at once, in the very first moment, they knew their long ago destiny was at last to be fulfilled.

And so it was. Two people, now married, forever young in the eyes of their beloved, committed to just one thing: loving each other, everything else insignificant and insubstantial. No more “Goodnight, sweetheart” and separation, but “Could I have this dance for the rest of my life?” No need to ask…they know the answer only too well, and gladly.

To put this touching tune sung by Anne Murray in 1980 to work for you, go to any search engine. As you listen to what Wayland Holyfield and Bob House wrote, think… for isn’t there a very special person you’d like to dance with for the rest of your life? Go ahead… ask them now, before another day is lost forever.

Dedicated by the author to his friends Mr. and Mrs. Doyle Taylor, whose love is such a happy inspiration to the rest of us.

About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Republished with author’s permission by Daniel Fischer

‘Hey, look me over’ as two-timin’ Newt stops Romney’s coronation coach in South Carolina.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author’s program note. There can be only one song peppy enough, bouncy enough, irresistible enough, a song that is the very essence of what is best about America… that we get hit and hit again and hit again… yet get up, dust ourselves off and do what’s necessary to win, thank you very much.

That song is “Hey, look me over,” from the 1960 musical “Wildcat” (book by Richard Nash; lyrics by Caroline Leigh; music by Cy Coleman); and it fits the mood today at the headquarters of Newt Gingrich, the man who squeezed the bitter lemon of his contorted and messy relations with women into a lemonade sweet enough even the good Christian folk could drink by the gallon.

Thus, go to any search engine now. Find this tune and play it loud and proud… For, in the final analysis, we love the people Teddy Roosevelt described as “the man in the arena,” the people who have to win because losing is unthinkable. Even if we have to hold our noses when we get too close, we just can’t help admiring them, getting off our posteriors and cheering them to the echo. And the GOP citizens of South Carolina did just that.

They decided to vote for an idea… the idea that it is “we, the people” who make presidents… not pollsters, not handlers, not pundits and prognosticators… and if you don’t like it, that’s your problem. Not theirs. Thus did Romney get his gourmet, tax- deductible lunch handed to him… his contrived designer jeans ripped, torn, muddy, and a black eye to boot. This doesn’t mean he won’t be nominated, but it most assuredly means he will not be, cannot be nominated the way he’s gone about the job so far. South Carolina has dictated that if nothing more.

Prize day.

To sketch this influential event in a way that even third-graders could understand, consider this: Mitt Romney is the school kid we all hated; hated with our heart, soul and brain, for we knew — and could see evidence every single day, every day he raised his hand and knew the answer — that he was the kid the teachers idolized, the one they could with abiding pride point to and say, “That’s our boy.” Whereupon the boy would beam… and our hatred would grow… and we’d dream delicious ways of taking him down a peg or two… the faster, the sooner, the most abashing, the better.

Then one day one of the kids couldn’t take it take it anymore… and he pops, goes nuts. It’s the day school prizes are awarded; Mitt getting the lion’s share. It was the day something must be done… the time for mere rage gone; the need for action this day nigh.

Thus does this kid (call him Newt) see picture-perfect, not-a-hair-out-of-place Mitt coming to school in his chauffeur driven car and goes postal; he decides enough is enough… that Mitt (whose very name he abominates and loathes) must be taken out… but without of course implicating himself. Thus with a “sorry, man” at the ready scruffy, incorrigible Newt maneuvers Mitt into the nearest, stinkiest, festering mud, thereby rendering the apple of every teacher’s eye an unholy mess when he walks into class…

How much sympathy does ol’ Mitt get, for all that he’s the victim? None, absolutely none at all… and they elect Newt Student Body President in a landslide… because, because… Mitt makes them sick, every last one of them.

And, friends, this is what happened yesterday in South Carolina… the state oh-so- clearly indicated that they want candidates who fight for their favors, including the ultimate favor of getting to whack on their behalf, the man each and every one of them despises… Barack Obama, president of the Great Republic… for make no mistake about it, the fractured, snarling, uncooperative members of the Grand Old Party want brother Barack’s head on a platter… this is and has been since Inauguration Day 2009, their first and preeminent desire.

And they aren’t convinced Mitt can bring home the bacon… stinging the incumbent, slashing the incumbent, wounding the incumbent, humiliating the incumbent, for that’s what they insist their candidate deliver… like Salome with the head of John the Baptist, a reference every Evangelical knows and savors.

So, what has the great Palmetto State, home of nullifier John C. Calhoun and war profiteer Rhett Butler, the state that lobbed the first treasonable shot, thereby launching a war anything but civil, what has this state said?

First, that the Romney Coronation is off. That the carefully contrived, minutely controlled candidacy of Massachusetts’ least popular governor has ended. Mitt is going to have to do what Mitt hates: engaging in a bare-knuckles brawl that must show the GOP he is their boy; a man who can deliver the red-meat the much challenged and riven party craves. For these folks, rabid revolutionaries all and Constitution-hugging patriots as they are, are not about to go gentle into this good-night; they insist upon a candidate who can turn their white hot rage about the wrongful direction of the Great Republic into a lifetime lock on 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue and the nation’s agenda.

They look at Mitt and want to puke… What kind of American is he, they wonder, who wants the most precious of their gifts, their vote for president; but who, they feel in their gut, not only does not like or understand them, but faces them with incomprehension and even disdain? They know that a dinner-party with Mitt and his dutiful, adoring wife (a role model impossible for today’s woman) would be proper, dull, an unhappy memory for all… for all that Mitt might say just the right things with gestures approved by his stable of handlers.

And so while Republican hosts may yet dine with this stiff, control freak and paragon, they are afraid, and rightly so, that there won’t be any pleasure in it, no fun, no grandiose joys and memories; worst of all, no White House.

And this is why the GOP has gone through the long, exhaustive, often abjectly humiliating process of vetting one potential presidential nominee after another, all ardently desired and even adored at the outset; all found wanting and disquieting in so very many ways.

Will these folks be happy with Newt, his many wives, his inexplicable financial arrangements, his blatant self-service and prevarications? Maybe not. But he is serving their purposes right now — forcing Mitt out of his bubble, demanding he get real on why his association with Bain Capital unnerves so many at a time when he has so egregiously mishandled the matter of his tax returns. We all know, and Romney knows we know, that what we will find when he at last makes them public — no evidence of illegality but a text-book case of how the super-wealthy gain and use loop-holes on which they build their empires.

Newt has all of Romney’s many inadequacies going for him… and he has, mirabile dictu, brigades of Southern women for him, too. They already knew that men are lyin’, cheatin’, low-down scoundrels. But now it’s official. Messin’ around with women is no big deal, no sin at all, whatever the Good Book says… just keep our taxes low, hold our Founding Fathers high, make us as special as we see ourselves, and above all love us… something Mitt Romney just cannot do…

About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Republished with author’s permission by Daniel Fischer Check out Info Cash ->

New biography of Mitt Romney claims to deliver ‘The Real Romney’… but will anyone really care?

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Last night, January 19, 2012, The Boston Globe, the biggest and most influential newspaper in New England, pulled out all the stops for two of their best and brightest reporters; Michael Kranish, deputy chief of the Washington bureau of The Boston Globe and Scott Helman, staff writer at The Boston Globe. The occasion was the release of their new biography of former Massachusetts governor Mitt Romney, the likely Republican presidential nominee.

First, my compliments to The Boston Globe. The special reception before a panel on der Mittster was nicely done and gave us all the opportunity to meet the authors and chat with them. The helpers were all efficient, polite, unobtrusive. Perfect.

It looked like a long evening until….

I sought out Michael Kranish first; he seemed like the senior member of the team and I try to get what I need for my article out of the way as soon as possible, so that I can sit back and enjoy the event. I told Kranish I had three brief questions for him.

First, would Romney ever be president? His unpromising answer: “It’s possible. It could happen.” This was not the incisive, insightful comment I was looking for… and suggested the possibility of a very long evening in the making, one to be ditched as soon as I’d eaten more of their fine brie.

Question 2: will Mormonism be an issue in the campaign? “In some places it could be,” he answered. OMG! It was indeed going to be a very long evening.

But I said I wanted to ask him three questions… and it wasn’t over until it was over. I ventured my third query. “What was the most unexpected thing about Romney you discovered in your research”? Then the intriguing answer, “What happened at Stanford University” when he was a student there during the Vietnam War, the war that derailed his father’s presidential campaign. Ok, this was something promising… at last.

Of father brainwashed and campaign imploded.

Mitt Romney (born 1947) had as his dad a human dynamo called George Romney, celebrated as the rescuer of American Motors (which gave me my push button Rambler in high school), governor of Michigan, member of the Nixon cabinet; a man who rightly thought he had a superb shot at being president of the Great Republic… until…

… he went to Vietnam, where he got star treatment and massive misinformation about how the war was going, how we’d win, how the people loved us, and enough manure to fertilize Connecticut. He came back to America feeling like a fool; then shot himself through the head when he claimed the military had “brainwashed” him. His presidential campaign ended the minute the words were out of his mouth. Nobody wanted as president a man who could be controlled by the military or anyone else. And so George Romney’s career ended… providing his son with a lifetime of lessons about what not to do… including the vital necessity to avoid the media whenever possible.

On his way back from Vietnam, Pere Romney stopped to visit Mitt at Stanford… where this devoted son got the opportunity to talk to his father about Life, War, God… of winning, losing, what’s important and what isn’t. It’s the kind of conversation one has with a parent once in a lifetime… and Mitt took it all in and to heart. He would, he vowed, revenge what had happened to his father… being sure to derive all the proper lessons from this seminal event, including the absolute need in his life for God, the God of the Mormons…


To understand Mitt Romney, you must appreciate the importance and influence of his Mormon faith. It has provided the sinews of his life while isolating him from other people; people who often disdained his religion, calling it a “cult” and worse. Mitt learned to be private, very private, about his religion…letting very few people into that side of himself. Privacy, particularly privacy about his faith, became an obsession… something that may have connected him with God… but most assuredly estranged him from his fellow men, the people he’d need if he was ever to run for president.


What further separated him from the run of mankind was money… he made awesome amounts of it, largely through what are called leveraged buy-outs. This is a practice whereby investors buy a company, with the intention of doing everything they can to make it as profitable as possible, as quickly as possible; so they can sell the whole or its parts, often for staggering return on investment. This almost always involves the firing of employees in an attempt to decrease expenses and increase efficiency. Here Mitt Romney was king; a paragon who knew the delights that come when making only millions in a day was “bad” compared to the brilliant days, and plenty of them, when you made tens, even hundreds of millions lickety-split. Such days did absolutely nothing to connect him with mere mortals… and presented a problem he has still not been able to solve. Every time he got richer, Mitt got more disconnected… and less electable.

So, here we’ve got a candidate with a perfect marriage, 5 sons made by Disney, nary a scandal to be had… richer that God Himself… super bright… the hardest worker on the planet… but a loser for all that, because he just cannot connect with people and their everyday concerns to save his life.

Thus as I roamed the thin crowd talking with people, who were very keen to be asked their opinion about Mitt and his prospects, the temperature never rose above “tepid.” Yes, right smack dab in the middle of Boston, capital of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts that Mitt had reigned over as governor (2003-2007), he couldn’t have thrown off less heat. And so, the people whom he needed so desperately to make him president evinced absolutely no excitement at all, much less any abiding glow.

And you could see this puzzled authors Kranish and Helman because their unauthorized biography (without a single interview with Mitt), into which they had poured time, life and commitment could only go as far as its subject, and not an inch more. If he sailed into the White House, their book (which I made sure they both autographed) would have the legs most political books never do, but if the world was as lukewarm as the folks in their audience, their $30 book (praised though it was by the usual East Coast media suspects) was DOA…

That’s why they came back to this point several times: awkward and disconnected as Mitt was in public, he was in private something of a cut-up (of the wonk variety), a man who could tell a story, give a hug, engage… even (and this arrested my attention for sure) moon walk while singing tunes from the Grateful Dead, tunes like “There’s Whiskey In The Jug”, an odd favorite for a tea-totalling Mormon:

“Mush-a ring dum-a do dum-a da Whack for my daddy-o. Whack for my daddy-o There’s whiskey in the jar.”

But this, though it made me smile and nod my head in wonderment was not the highlight of the evening. That was the rapt attention and joy in Aime Joseph. You see Mr. Joseph is my driver, a Haitian by birth, obsessed with American politics, always quizzing me about political people and their measures. He dressed up for this event, and imbibed every word with the utmost focus and concentration. “We have nothing like this in Haiti,” he said as I gave him the present of a lifetime, an autographed copy of the book. And when he saw me about to drop it, he grabbed it from my hand, the better to ensure it did not fall; chiding me for lack of care with this valuable artifact.

And I saw so clearly what was the best part of all: the fact that this kind of forum, this kind of book, this kind of open dialogue and honest conversation still was foreign to most of the world… and the thing we should be most proud of, our gift to the world and our collective future.

Now, go to any search engine and find “Whiskey in the jug,” and imagine Mitt moon walking to it… If there’s enough whiskey in the jug, that should be no problem.

*** What do you think? We invite you to post your comments below.

About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Republished with author’s permission by Daniel Fischer

Jobless rate drops to 8.5%… Obama winks at Michelle and does his happydance… O! Mamma!

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

It is Saturday, January 7, 2012 as I write. The nation’s air waves and print publications are filled with stories about Republicans. About today’s flash-in-the-pan former Pennsylvania senator Rick Santorum… about the Boston Globe endorsing former Utah governor and U.S. Ambassador to China Jon Huntsman over Boston’s not-so-favorite son former Massachusetts governor Mitt Romney. Bummer, but what can you expect from that crowd anyway?

Despite that little drawback, it’s the Romney people who are cock-a-hoop this morning not only because they are ecstatic to be running against a pigmy like Santorum, whose friends and neighbors in Pennsylvania refused him — and by a huge number — a third U.S. senate term. Even better today’s latest poll results show Romney still romping to an avalanche in the crucial New Hampshire primary, and, lordy, lordy, way out in front in what could be the make-or-break primary in South Carolina. I hear Mitt’s got all those toothsome boys of his learning to deliver a winsome a cappella version of “Hail to the Chief.” Cute.

If all this is so — and I assure you it is — why did one Barrack Obama, after seeing a certain news item on the front page of all the newspapers he reads with voracity, take Michelle in his arms and whirl her about the breakfast room letting those delicious blueberry scones he loves get cold?

It’s because of this single number: 8.5%. And you don’t have to be a political junkie to know what it means: It’s the latest piece of welcome news… in what is getting to be a lengthening string of such news… because every time the jobless rate drops the political fortunes of Barrack Obama go up. Let’s review the facts that make the First Mom and Dad so awfully cheerful, even giddy.

8.5% unemployment means the lowest rate in almost 3 years.

Barrack Obama is a very fortunate man, a man who can say to America, with complete factual accuracy, too, that “You’ve never — at least in my Administration — had it so good.”

The nation added a tidy 200,000 jobs in December, 2011, a burst of hiring that drove the unemployment rate down to its lowest point in just under 3 years. Tra la!

Moreover, December was the sixth straight month that the economy added at least 100,000 jobs, the longest such streak since 2006. As a result of this happy-making data, more and more practitioners of the dismal science have resoundingly concluded there’s a dance in the old dame America yet.

What makes a weak and vulnerable president purr with contentment?

Just this. The unemployment rate declined to 8.5% from 8.7% in November, and 9.1 percent at the start of 2011. The jobless rate peaked at 10.1 percent in October 2009.

These numbers made Sung Won Sohn, an economics professor at California State University, Channel Islands, positively rapturous. “There is more horsepower to this economy than most believe. The stars are aligned right for a meaningful economic recovery.” Obama when he read this was heard to mutter “From your lips to God’s ear” and beamed a mega-watt smile that had been little seen throughout the early days of his watch.

More good news.

But heart-warming though all these data were to the residents of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, they were only a portion of the good news arising from grass roots America. For instance, the nation added 1.6 million jobs in 2011, on top of 940,000 added in 2010. Mind you, more than 8,000,000 jobs were lost in the Great Recession that began in December, 2007… but this figure was History (and therefore of no interest) whereas the jobs added were very much about the present and give the President credibility when he launches into a rousing rendition of Franklin Roosevelt’s iconic ditty, “Happy Days Are Here Again,” the tune that always means we have something good to smile about, wide and broad, and which you can find in any search engine, to play along with this article.

The pretzeling of presidents; their dexterity with astonishing contortions.

Now President Obama knows… every Republican presidential candidate knows… every member of the Congress knows, whatever party they adhere to, that the good news is only part of the report, but what’s a politician for if he can’t take a crumb and turn it into a bakery?

Take this bothersome conclusion, for instance, the considered opinion of Eric Rosengren, president of the Federal Reserve Bank of Boston. He said just a couple of days ago that he expects the economy to grow modestly this year — 2 to 3 percent — despite signs of building momentum.

The reason for this deflating opinion is that households and small businesses were especially hard hit during the recent economic turbulence now widely called the Great Recession. Until these sectors improve and get distance from their particular issues of foreclosure and falling house prices, the recovery won’t be as glittering as you can be sure Obama and the Democrats will paint it. You can be equally sure Mitt Romney will be assiduous, morning and eve, about pointing out this and every lapse from the strict Truth.

Keep in mind that Mitt, too, is a close reader of these data and learned predictions. And more to the point, as a business wunderkind, practiced in high level (and very lucrative) leggerdomaine, he is the more likely to glean helpful suggestions and ideas from what he sees than Obama, who was a mere lawyer (albeit, like Mitt, Harvard trained.)

Thus, whatever Rosengren and his ilk recommend, Mitt will (with alacrity) recommend… while strongly censoring Obama and his minions for not having acted. Rosengren wants the Obama Administration to do more to stimulate the economy…. Mitt does, too, whilst Obama (whatever he has done) has done it too little, too late. Rosengren says the housing market and small business should be a particular focus, because these two sectors have traditionally lead the nation out of recession and unemployment… but not this time round. Mitt says ominously that is because of Obama’s ineptitude and lack of vision. Obama will point to what he has done for those folks… who were always in his mind,his heart, and his political calculus. He well knows he needs these people, especially with the acute disappointment and chagrin of Blacks, Liberals, and young voters (with high unemployment rates) who were once wild for Barrack but now mutter darkly about how they were hoodwinked and deceived by their hero and his mastery of high sounding, flatulent rhetoric.

And so it will go, ad nauseam, until our can’t-come-quickly-enough-for-me November Election Day confirms what most of us already feel in our bones…

… that the President will defeat Mitt in a solid but not overwhelming victory.

… that both houses of the Congress will be comfortably Republican.

… that Obama’s second term will be in such slow motion and so undistinguished you’ll think the White House Sleeping Beauty’s castle, all asleep.

What then should der Mittster do, when he’s handed the worthless presidential nomination of his splintered party? Easy. He should tell the truth, the straight-forward, unvarnished truth about where this country is going and offer SPECIFIC proposals of the type congenial to policy wonks like him. In this role the Romney too few like to make him President will become respected and even admired, his considerable merits at last put to proper and significant work, saving America as he once saved the Olympics; greatly honored by all who love the Great Republic and wish her Godspeed.

*** What do you think? Your comments are invited below.

About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Republished with author’s permission by Daniel Fischer

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Heir Presumptive… Joseph P. Kennedy III, we have been impatiently awaiting you.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author’s program note. When the White Hope of a great dynasty reveals himself and his intentions, it is only fitting that this moment of significance be marked and marked well. Thus, gentles all, I give you Sir William Walton’s stirring prelude to the 1944 film of Shakespeare’s Henry V. It is everything such music about such a king and his great deeds should be: audacious to a degree, soaring, stirring to the depth of your soul.. It’s the kind of music that great sovereigns must have…. but cannot always summon; the necessary genius of such music not at hand.

But that genius and his talents are here now… go now to any search engine to find this music. It delivers just the right mood of challenge, courage, grandiloquence, and awe that this tale and its subject deserve — and which I aim to tell in this way:

“O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention A kingdom for a stage, princes to act And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!”

(Prologue to Henry V).

I am that Muse of fire…

A state that grew too slow, a House seat lost, a petulant miscalculation, an opening seized.

Every ten years, by law and custom, we the people must be counted and counted carefully, for the great things of the Great Republic, including who will get and who will lose seats in the House of Representatives, are fully determined by this census. And once the census is taken its immutable dictates go out to the several states which have either lost population, seats, and influence, or gained them. And this census stripped Massachusetts of yet another seat… and inaugurated a deadly game of musical chairs amongst the current Congressmen as to who would stay and who would go. And the legislature (which controls the size and contortions of each district) degreed that Rep. Barney Frank (D-Massachusetts) would be handed the fight of his political life; that he would have to fight and fight hard, with absolutely no guarantee of victory, to retain his place amongst the Solons of the nation.

And so this 16-term Congressman, grown puissant and corpulent in office, a man whose every lightning-fast quip offended someone of consequence who awaited the opportunity to revenge, this man, the man who thought himself too good, too powerful, too venerable to suffer the indignity of campaigning and meeting the people, disdained his high office, thereby opening the way for the Heir Presumptive of The Legacy and a lifetime of regret for himself.

The Plantagenets at 83 Beals Street, Brookline, Massachusetts.

You will never understand the Kennedys (who neither disclaim nor deprecate their designation as America’s dynasty), until you see them at 83 Beals Street, where John Fitzgerald Kennedy was born in 1917; for it was here that Patriarch Joseph P. Kennedy and his adamant wife transformed a mere family, Irish at that, into a gifted and determined cadre trained to seize a great nation and rearrange its history to their eternal benefit.

… Just as another ambitious family planned, plotted and persevered. These were the Plantagenets of the 12th century and of England; they are the truest dynastic comparison for the Kennedys; not the timid souls of the House of Windsor who can only imagine the glamor and significance of these royal princes, for they will never have either.

The Plantangents had everything great dynasts and their dynasties must have to rise and prosper. They had grit, personal magnetism and charisma, great ideas, a deft hand at murder and chastisement, and a fortitude and grace that are the very definition of royalty.

These Plantagents, from Geoffrey of Anjou (d. 1151), used their undeniable talents and insistence, catapulted themselves to power and glory, using every stratagem, every while, every expedient, cruel and refined. And so unwittingly not only defined themselves but the Kennedys, too; for every Kennedy knows the power of History… and gladly does what it takes therein to cement their unassailable position… whatever the cost, the inconvenience, or laborious tergiversations.

And now, thanks to the petulance of soon-to-be-ex-Congressman Frank, and the practised and exquisite timing of the Family Kennedy and their now hopeful and expectant again adherents, Beals Street and its environs will again be part of their patrimony, thanks to young Joseph P. Kennedy III, for with such a name as his calling card, can there be anything other than invigoration, restoration, renaissance at hand?

Meet Joseph P. Kennedy III, Heir Presumptive.

To understand the optimism and even joy with which this hitherto virtually unknown man has been lately received you must know this: for 64 years, until the somewhat clouded retirement of U.S. Representative Patrick J. Kennedy (D-Rhode Island), son of Senator Edward M. Kennedy (D-Massachusetts), there had always been a Kennedy in the federal legislature; each one a household name.

When that ended in 2010, there was a sense that this storied family had reached its conclusion, not with a bang but a whimper. But this conclusion, it appears, was premature. For developing in the wings was… the next chapter of this family and its tale that has never ceased to rivet the nation…

But now this tale has every sense of continuing, yea verily even unto the fourth generation. For now young Kennedy (31 years old) is “exploring”, letting the people know he is inclined to run, but not yet quite ready to say so. However the Kennedys are expert at the business of enticement, inciting expectations and anticipations; they want the people to embrace this lad, who constitutes their next best chance to regain federal office and re-ignite the flame of destiny…

Some facts.

Joseph P. Kennedy III was born July 3, 1980 and was handed his destiny along with his name, The Name that firmly marked him as a consequential Personage; a prince in readiness for the good of Family and the Great Republic. Implicit in The Name is this: great grandson of The Patriarch himself, Ambassador Joseph P. Kennedy; grandson of Robert Kennedy; son of ex-Congressman Joseph Kennedy. And that’s just the direct line. There are cousins, aunts, uncles of renown… Names themselves, ensconced in History, each desiring restoration; for only with restoration will they fulfill their own destinies, enhance their names, burnish their futures and ensure their immortality.

Thus you can be sure the reshaped Fourth Congressional District will see, as soon as the all-important announcement is made, an infusion of energetic, toothsome, photogenic Kennedys, certain to enchant, delight and capture hearts…. for these Kennedys are past masters at such seductive, vote-snagging techniques and are now refreshing them in honor of the Heir Presumptive on whom perforce their own futures rest.

All that stands between this man and radiant future are the people of Newton, Brookline, Fall River and all the other towns and cities of the reshaped Fourth Congressional District. The man, the Kennedys, the dynasty itself are in their hands, to do with as they wish. But they, too, have been awaiting the next installment of this great story, and to get it must welcome the man, who with his celebrated name, can provide it. So far these people are curious about what’s happening, ready in their dull purlieus to be touched by the Kennedy magic. And this is enough for today, for after all just a few hours ago not one of these people knew of Joseph P. Kennedy III or could point him out in a police line-up. Now, already, things are different, primed for success, as they always are when Kennedys stride the stage…

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About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Republished with author’s permission by Daniel Fischer