Monthly Archives: November 2012

For the lonely at the holidays.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant.

Author’s program note. There are about forty days between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Day, depending on just when the first holiday falls… and for millions these can be the most painful days of the year, a time of acute loneliness, isolation, and despair. All you want to do is put on a brave face… and get through them as quickly as possible, wounded and sore just as little as possible.

But this year I want you to have the best holidays you’ve had in years, maybe decades… I want you to get more, far more, from them, enjoy yourself and spread the maximum joy to the maximum number. In other words, I want you to be the impresario of happiness, expecting nothing in return, just the real point of the season: giving joy to the world.

Let’s start with music… One of the things that depresses folks at the holidays is the endless renditions of unbearably chipper, even nauseating holiday ditties, you know, of the “Frosty the Snowman” variety. So much sugar and fructose is sure to set your teeth on edge. Luckily you can fight back, at least at home by identifying some non-holiday songs you like and filling your abode with loveliness, just the things to please you.

In this connection, I selected “The Shadow Waltz” from “Gold Diggers of 1933.” It’s a pre-code Warner Bros. musical film directed by Mervyn LeRoy with songs by Harry Warren (music) and Al Dubin (lyrics), staged and choreographed by Busby Berkeley. It’s the perfect film, with the perfect music to take you out of your sad state and self-pitying condition and set you… dancing. In an instant your feet will start an insistent tapping that means you must get up and whirl a pillow around the room.

“In the Winter let me bring the Spring to you/Let me feel that I mean everything to you/ Love’s old song will be new/ In the shadows when I come and sing to you.”

One after another, Hollywood’s most popular male vocalists (Dick Powell, Bing Crosby, Rudy Vallee) had a go at this haunting tune and its lilting message,

“Let me linger long/Let me live my song.”

Go now to any search engine and see which version you prefer… they’re all wonderful.

Now let’s get started crafting the holidays you want and which will make you as happy as possible.

1) Plan yourself “Merrie Little Holidays”.

Each of us needs a highly personal quantity of the holidays; this can range from 24-hour-a- day immersion, or just a little bit Christmas morning. You need to determine just how much you need… and arrange matters accordingly. Remember, there is no “right” answer, no “right” amount. It all depends on you. Thus, honesty is essential.

Far too many people arrange their holidays according to what others want and expect from them. But here you’re arranging for the precise amount that is perfect for — you!

2) To make sure you get the proportions just right, write down what you want in priority order and what you don’t. Don’t fib… and don’t consider any one’s wishes but your own. This in itself will make these holidays distinctive. And if somebody you know doesn’t like your choices, advise them to go to any search engine and find George Gershwin’s grand tune “Who Cares?” (lyrics by Ira Gershwin) from the 1931 musical “Of Thee I Sing”.

Offer them one of your least favorite bon-bons; you know, the one you sampled and put back in the box. Serves ’em right. I think you’re catching the right spirit now… Now kick up your heels and sing out…

“Who cares?/ So long as I care for you and you care for me”. Oh, mama! The holidays will never be the same. And isn’t that the idea?

3) Plan how many decorations you want. Remember, this is entirely your call. You decide whether you want a huge display in and out or just one little candle in the window. Again, write down what you want… and what you don’t. Feels good doesn’t it? Yeah, I thought you’d like this new approach to the holidays.

Then do what you’ve done every year of your life; dig into the attic, basement and closets to review your decorations. But with a brand-new eye and purpose this year. You are going to use only what YOU want. Remember, these are YOUR holidays… and the decor must suit but a single person. And if others don’t like it? Revert to George and Ira Gershwin above. “Who cares?”

4) Now food. This is crucial. We all have our holiday favorites, of course; mine are too numerous to mention. But the holidays wouldn’t be the holidays without them. Again, it’s time for a list. What “must” you have? What don’t you want under any circumstances. And, yes, complete and total honesty is required. (Admit it, Aunt Annie’s dishes you so extravagantly praised in years past made you sick to your stomach. Now you don’t have to eat them, like them, or praise them. Delicious.)

Having written your list and prioritized what you want, it’s time for The Search. Of course this must be done online. Search under such categories as “comfort food”, “comfort food baskets” and the actual name of particular comfort foods you loved but are not available in your neighborhood now.

In my case, one of my several once loved (and never forgotten) special foods was Jay’s Potato Chips. 55 years ago and more, my darling grammie used to give them to me every afternoon when my paper route ended in her kitchen. Now you may not regard these beloved chips as holiday fare… but I most assuredly do; along with a bundle of others. You can bet that I’ll get a gift basket of them — for myself of course — long before the holidays are over. Will I share it? Don’t bet the ranch.

Now choose… alone, a little less alone, not at all alone.

It’s time to consider your holiday people options. Do you want a lot, some, or none at all? Remember it’s your choice. Use the tango principle for making it. And thus I give you one of the greatest tangos ever written: “Orchids in the Moonlight”, written for the 1933 film “Flying Down To Rio”. I like Rudy Vallee’s seductive version best.

What to wear… or dispense with. Always your choice.

You may think that you’ve been alone in past years because you’re too old, but you’re wrong. Any age is the right age if you have the right attitude and are willing to pull out all the stops. “Orchids in the Moonlight” will help.

To ignite its smouldering passion, what you need is a broad red ribbon, tied on like the contestants in the “Miss America” pageant. You’ll also need a red, red rose (clenched in your teeth in the approved manner) and you’ll need that all-important melody, the melody Rudy Vallee renders so well. One more thing: for the ultimate look add a Santa cap. It’s such a chic, unutterably alluring chapeau. Can you really afford to go without it?

Now, dance alone or dance with any number of visitors who accept your invitation. Be sure to keep some extra ribbon on hand, and some extra roses, too. Some people, imagine, will come unprepared. Overlook such faux pas, the better to achieve the greater good.

“When orchids bloom in the moonlight/And lovers vow to be true I still can dream in the moonlight/Of one dear night that we knew.”

Lovely, isn’t it? Seductive… enchanting. So YOU!

And now it’s time for the grand finale, compliments of one of the Great Republic’s most scandalous performers, Josephine Baker. In 1927 she had a hit on her hands, a hit entitled “Then I’ll Be Happy.” You’ll be happy, too, if you rethink your entire approach to the holidays; indeed, your entire approach to life. Don’t wait for miracles to occur… make your own miracles and share them with folks less inventive than you are. Here’s how this one works: Give these lyrics to each person who visits you and make them serenade you with them before they leave:

“I wanna go where you go do what you do/Love when you love then I’ll be happy I wanna sigh when you sigh cry when you cry/ Smile when you smile then I’ll be happy.”

Oh, just one more thing…

… the doorbell just rang. There was a delivery gal with a look of profound respect in her eyes and the loveliest holiday bouquet. “Dr. Lant,” she said, “It’s from the President, President Obama, sir.” And she all but saluted. Now you and I know who ordered the flowers and wrote such a fulsome greeting on the card… but I assure you if he weren’t so busy just now he would have sent this colorful and respectful ensemble himself.

… I wonder if he likes to tango…

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

First Christmas away from home. Paris. 1967.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant.

Author’s program note. Today is the day I sign up to receive Social Security. It will be a day when low level bureaucrats will prod me, asking questions they already know the answers to, all designed to prove (or not) that I am the Jeffrey Ladd Lant born 66 years ago in Illinois, into a time and situation which now only exist in my imagination.

I wonder whether the clerk will smile or even look at me when the inevitable queries are asked? I’m not counting on it, for they see a generation advancing to old age, while I consider only myself. I want human contact but will have to do with “sign here” and get the money.

And so, under the circumstances you will understand that I need something quite different; a kind of cosmic pick-me-up composed of equal portions of youth, energy, hope and optimism, all things in shorter supply today, here and now, than then. I need Paris. Since you probably do, too, let me share some with you…. the better to remember and pass a kindred moment when not a single word is required or expected.

“I love Paris in the winter when it drizzles”.

For me, only one song would do for the musical accompaniment to this article; Cole Porter’s seductive tune “I Love Paris”. It debued in 1953, in the film “Can- Can” and like so many of Porter’s haunting melodies it immediately touched the soul of the world; in this case setting us to recall the bittersweet memories of a youth that can only be tapped infrequently, so powerful is even the smallest part.

I like Ella Fitzgerald’s rendition about “this timeless town”. It cuts to the heart… and does with you what it will… just like love itself. You’ll find this bijoux in any search engine. Go now and play it… again… and again… and again. If it’s cold and misty outside and the memories come thick and fast, you are ready for what follows.

Paris, destiny.

In 1967, I was the luckiest 20-year-old in the world. Though the Great Republic was at war, gravely divided by whether we should have more of it or less, I was going to Poland for my Christmas holidays. Now as all the world knows, the way to Warsaw most assuredly goes through Paris, at least in my atlas. Thus I found myself for the first time in the City of Light at the best possible time in life to be there, that is to say whatever time you are there; in my case December,1967 just a few days before Christmas.

My trip, hurriedly arranged which is to say (in the way of young men) not arranged at all, came about because of a notice hung on the campus bulletin board at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland, where I was spending, and happily too, my junior year abroad. It promised high times and hijinx in Zakopane, the site of the Eastern Bloc’s 1967 Winter Olympics. The trip was sponsored by the Young Pioneers, Communism’s equivalent of the “Best and the Brightest.” The cost could be scrapped together and was just affordable at just about a hundred quid.

Of course we wouldn’t tell parents where it was we were going, much less under whose auspices. Bright young men seek to shield the ‘rents from any inkling that they might have had, were having, or would have a “good time.” That was always the best possible course, especially where Communists… and Paris, mind… were involved.

Paris first.

Our trip to Poland was to have begun in London where we were to meet the tour guide and organizer. He had been a Tory candidate for Parliament in the last General Election; time now hung heavy while he waited impatiently for his next chance at greatness. Like most young, ambitious, aspiring Conservatives he didn’t believe in much of anything; principles, you see, get in the way of success. It was always better not to have too many or to believe them too seriously.

As a result our guide, youthful, good looking and unscrupulous was excellent company and game for anything. It’s a pity I’ve forgotten his name… he’s undoubtedly a retired cabinet minister now, full of sage advice and pompous aphorisms… the Right Honourable the (first) Baron Twitsbee-on-Thames.

Such a man, of course, approved our traveling to Paris first, meeting up with the group later, pleasurably fatigued as men of the world would most assuredly be at that point. He undoubtedly wished us luck… and winked, salaciously.

And so I went to Paris — and to a passionate embrace which has never ended.

Every true Parisian believes there is Paris… and then there is everything else. There is no known antidote to this belief. Once in Paris, walking the Champs Elysee, you are glad it is so. No antidote desired; none imaginable. And that’s as it should be. So I came to see that Paris was not merely a place… but an idea, a dream, a journey, a vision and where, in grander style and sureness of touch, there was a better me waiting for the ordinary me to arrive.

Le beau coup.

I remember everything about those days… no detail too small or inconsequential. Paris is like that, transforming even the slightest of matters into Events, primed with Significance. Paris is, after all, the greatest mise-en-scene on Earth, a place where you find yourself, see yourself as larger than life, mesmerizing, captivating, the very person you have always wanted to be… and now are, to the gratification of self and the satisfying envy of the folks back home.

No other city on Earth, no other place at all holds such power, such magic, and so you, like Josephine Baker sing this: “J’ai deux amours. Mon pais et Paris”; you are suddenly, unmistakably, to your complete bliss a boulevardier au fait with everything in this place which now forever holds a piece of your heart and means to keep it forever with fierce possession.

And so it started in a boulangerie within moments of arrival. I ordered a baguette… and thanked the proprietor for… her beau coup. “O, monsieur,” she said, just for a moment no longer of a “certain age” but young again, with gracious curves well worth the seeing. She patted her haunch, she giggled, she pointed “O monsieur, c’est le beau coup”. I had made her happy. It was a portent of other happy encounters to come.

“Is this what I think it’s for?”

Later that day, I stood with Mark Morris at the ticket counter of the Opera, Baron Haussmann’s great creation begun in1861, a venue fit for God Himself to make music. We barely had enough for two tickets high up in the rafters and needed to count it twice over to be sure of even that.. but there was something about us, two acolytes butchering la belle langue determined to worship everything we saw, that touched the heart of the woman ticket seller.

“Voila’,” she said, an empress dispensing largesse. And so we came to possess a box at the Opera for the evening’s performance, compliments of a Parisienne determined to turn by a graceful touch the quotidian into a lifetime’s happy memory.

Everything was new, notable, marvelous.. including how two young men of decidedly limited means, dressed just a shade better than tatterdemalions had their box unlocked for them, then locked again with them inside. And of how they soon discovered a ceramic pot on the floor festooned with the grandiloquent “N”s of the master who ordered such monumental awe and splendor. Yes, it was used… and so the customs of Paris turned the most natural function into art and protocol.

Last night, first visit. Venite adoremus. Notre Seigneur et Sauveur.

No young person wants to slow down the pace of time. Speed, not savor, is always their order of the day. But then comes Paris and the dawning fear one has too little time, hardly any time at all to enjoy each thing, every thing. And so youth comes to know a secret of age: that the best lived life is patient, paced, distinguished by care not merely celerity. Thus one grows and matures, another of Paris’ insights and benedictions.

And so in my final hours of what I vowed must be the first of many visits, I made my way near midnight to one of man’s great achievements, Notre Dame. I went as a curiosity seeker, for I was, after all, the son of Puritans who would decry my very presence at such a Romish place.

But God was present that night, and I knew why men of vision had dreamed this place and worked so hard to achieve it. Here was a place where one might look for and even find sanctity, belief, peace, and be touched by the greatest light that shown that night in the City of Light. And it was good. I sang the words of the great hymn — “Venite adoremus” — with conviction… Notre Seigneur et Sauveur.

And then it was over. I was, in the middle of this Christmas night, en route by rail to Poland via Belgium enraptured by the greatest reason for loving Paris, the reason found in the last line of Cole Porter’s great tune….

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

Thanksgiving from the turkey’s perspective. Over the river and through thewoods, a nation’s fowl behavior is noted, bemoaned, admonished, challenged.Timely commentary from the cutting edge.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant.

Author’s program note. If you’re a resident of these United States, the fourth Thursday of November will soon be upon us in all its excess, gluttony, and self-congratulation. We know this as Thanksgiving Day, but it most certainly is no day of glorious and heart felt thanksgiving for the crucial centerpiece of this annual event sacred to gourmandizing and loosened belts. In fact, for the family of the genus Meleagris, commonly called turkeys, this date is the darkest day of their lives, their history and their entire existence on this planet… but no longer.

This year for the first time since their majestic ancestors graced the Early Miocene a long, long time ago and after nearly 400 years of unapologetic, systematic execution and intense gobbling launched by New England Pilgrims in the 1660s, turkeys are rallying for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. In short, these ancient birds of unmitigated plumage and pluck now demand respect, restitution, and revolution. Due to a special arrangement with a band of their insurgents, I am able to take you inside their headquarters. Thus they acknowledge their need for world-wide recognition and your support for their pressing cause.

Urgency in the air: my interview with the Young Turk leader called “Squawk”, a bird of stark destiny and purpose.

A Message from Squawk.

I was not particularly surprised when I saw the note left under the door last night; indeed given my support over the course of many years for the God-given right to life of polar bears, eagles, monarch butterflies, African elephants and many others, I should have been chagrined not to have been contacted. I have my amor propre too after all. But there it was.

“Be ready. Comrades will make contact precisely at midnight. No cameras. Nothing but pencil and paper.” Then the bold, audacious, even grandiloquent mark already famous: “Squawk” and his proud sign, one blood-red claw print. So… they had chosen me…

… And then it occurred to me. When I booked my Thanksgiving Day reservation at the Sheraton Commander hotel right down the street, the young manager had asked me if I wanted turkey or ham for my main course. Without thinking, I told her that if the glaze would be as deep and resonant as last year’s, my selection was certainly ham. Thus inadvertently by my choice of which dead animal I should feast upon, I became, if anathema to pigs, yet simpatico to turkeys.

In this way I came to know that adherents of the turkeys’ cause can be anywhere, even in the most unexpected of places. Ah, that is what the bright-eyed, chipper serving person meant when she said, “I’m so glad, Dr. Lant” in an especially insinuating manner. Old-goat that I am I thought her come-hither look was for my geriatric charms, and so I thought again “there’s no fool like an old fool.”

Perforce, to my work.

Understanding my task, I readied myself for what could only be a fateful encounter, its salient and urgent points to be brought to a world of the unenlightened. And so I regained myself. I was myself again for in such matters I remain a “Young Turk,” too, deferring to no one, not even Squawk, revolution’s anvil though he be.

The feathered comrades were as good as their word. At the stroke of midnight, I heard the fluttering of wing and heard the unmistakable sound emanating from the fleshy wattle or protuberance that hangs from the top of the beak. And thus I fell, through professional pride and recognized standing, into the hands of those who, without Squawk’s laissez-passer, in an instant could blind me and shred my fragile flesh. I now felt as they had felt these thousands of years a prisoner, helpless, incarcerated, destined for premature death. Thus did the clan Meleagris signal the new order of their kind… and the resulting new order of mine.

Of the next several minutes, I recall sensations only. Of feathers carefully positioned to extinguish all light; just a little showing, otherwise entirely dark. Of the occasional sharp claw prick, whether by accident or design, no less painful for that. It was an acute reminder that I was in their complete and utter power, perhaps the first man so rendered in the long relations of turkey and human. They said nothing. I said nothing. Where I was, who I was with, what they would do to me would become completely apparent soon enough… and was.

Squawk’s headquarters. We meet and “talk turkey”.

I never did discover just where I was and where we met. But even if I knew, I wouldn’t say. I am a journalist and my sources sacred… So I shall simply say the place had a make shift aura about it, as if this were a temporary abode, one to be quickly occupied, quickly abandoned.

“Good evening, Doctor Lant.” It was Squawk, and I felt his power, strength, and authority at once. Here was a bird who meant business… and who saw me only as a tool to reach his objective. We understood each other, and so our business could proceed, briskly, for time was limited and we both had deadlines…

He motioned me to a chair. He stood. And then he began, the words swift, lucid, hot, each a declaration etched in acid. He meant every one and every one came without difficulty. Here was a subject of paramount importance to every turkey. He knew he spoke for all his breed, was supremely confident of his position, of the need to speak out, of the full justice of his cause, and the need for action now, complete action, long overdue action, and of what would have to be done should this action be deferred by even a single moment.

It was a clarion call… and Squawk looked through me and made me see what he saw… he was a bird transfigured… exactly what was required for this pivotal time in the long, one-sided relation of turkey and human. I knew as each word emerged that I was hearing history in the making. Like it or not, every clipped syllable was Important. Things would never be the same again.

What Squawk said.

Now each word came fast, irrefutable, beautiful in its delivery, purified by total belief and total commitment.

Of the days before human came. Of a proud bird, great in size, majestic in movement, free ranging over the great land called by humans North America. These were the proud days, the glory days, when every bird knew the joy that is freedom.

Of the days that brought the people called Pilgrims, people who fled tyranny and injustice only to bring a greater tyranny, more menacing and thorough injustice to the land called New England. These storm-tossed people came with only one thing in amplitude: arrogance, an arrogance that everything they saw was theirs and theirs alone. We did not understand these humans then. We saw them as poor, freedom-loving, in need of help we were ready to give in unstinting measure.

And so we accepted their invitation to the First Thanksgiving… where we were the guest of honor indeed: as food. We came in friendship. We found the cooking pot instead… and not merely the pot for some; the pot for all of us in our thousands, our tens of thousands, our millions.

And so the Pilgrims grew fat upon the bounty of our trusting bodies. No wonder these humans gave thanks. They were triumphant over all, a revolution in every step they took. Against such God-believing people, forever certain in their cause what could be done except revolt, violent, intense, thorough, unceasing until the freedom of old becomes the order of the great new day.

“Does this mean….?”, I asked. He knew the question before I even finished it. “Yes, friend, it does. There are comrades who operate in the shady lanes of liberal Newton, of affluent Brookline, even one hero who patrols the grounds and harasses the privileged students of the Harvard Business School. And as our ranks grow, we shall expand… so that no pedestrian wherever can walk, no motorist drive without our calculated outrage made manifest, painful.”

He meant every word … and from previous print reports I knew he would do it if he could. After all the population of wild turkeys has never been greater or demonstrated greater purpose and solidarity.


With the briefest touch wing to hand, Squawk signalled that this unprecedented interview was over. Disciplined comrades were at the ready for my immediate departure, blocking my eyes, escorting me home to a world which suddenly seemed less equable than before.

I turned on CNN which announced that the President would be exercising his powers of executive clemency at the White House today, live in just 15 minutes. The lucky spared turkey was called “Squawk”. Now wasn’t that cute?

The Marine Corps band was on hand and was just now commencing “The President’s Hymn” written in 1863 when President Abraham Lincoln declared the first official Thanksgiving holiday. Its authors were William Augustus Muhlenberg and Joseph W. Turner, spiritual descendants of the Pilgrims.

“GIVE thanks, all ye people give thanks to the Lord, Alleluias of freedom, with joyful accord; Let the East and the West, North and South roll along, Sea, mountain, and prairie, one thanksgiving song.”

Now face to face, eye to eye, Squawk and the President were just a moment from destiny…

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

Is there a future for the GOP? Yes, but only if they heed these admonitions andrecommendations. Otherwise the party’s marginalization will continue, its end certain, ignominious.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant.

Author’s program note. Steven Spielberg’s important new film “Lincoln” has just been released and not a moment too soon. It’s based on historian Doris Kearns Goodwin’s best-selling book “Team of Rivals:The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln.”

It’s about what it takes to move mountains, manage men, get things done and lead, bending but not abandoning every moral principle or strongly held belief. It is about politics, America’s blood sport, and how they are played at the very top where angels fear to tread… and rightly so. There’s nothing angelic about the participants or the process. It’s a very messy… and absolutely crucial… business that ensures our Democracy works.

For the music to this piece, I have selected “Dixie”, written in 1859 by Daniel Decatur Emmett. Yes, the very anthem of sedition and treason. Why? Because Abe Lincoln thought it a fine tune… and because it reminds us that throwing away a good thing, the greatest reel ever written, makes no sense. Leadership, even in music, means enjoying the good; finessing the bad and remembering what Scarlet O’Hara said: “Tonight I could dance with Abe Lincoln himself”…. and sailed through a sea of outrage and disapproval to prove her point and have a thoroughly good time.

Loss, bad loss, catastrophic loss.

John Boehner (R-OH), Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives, is now again the highest ranking Republican in the Great Republic. That wasn’t the idea, but it is the result after an unenlightening campaign that rained money but where victory eluded them… and not by a narrow margin either. Like most everyone in America Boehner has his ideas about why this happened… and to his credit he didn’t hold back when he addressed his chastened, subdued House colleagues by telephone the day after the victory that didn’t happen.

He made it clear they would have to work with the Democrats they viscerally detest… and in this deduction Boehner at last sounded less like the bombastic ultra-partisan, immutable control freak than he usually does but, perhaps for the first time, actually a tad Lincolnesque. For no American politician ever labored so hard or so successfully to work with (and ultimately control) the people necessary to the fruition of his administration and the nation than Lincoln.

He took his political competitors, even his avowed enemies, and plunked them down in his Cabinet… where he could see what they were up to, the better to control them to get his way. It was bold, audacious, unprecedented maybe even fool hardy. And no one knew whether it would succeed or not, not even Abe Lincoln, the most belittled, reviled, and underestimated American politician ever. He asked every candidate who had opposed his nomination at the Republican convention in Chicago to take a portfolio.

They couldn’t believe their good fortune and assumed their power and control of the new government assured. After all they were men of merit, nationally known, nationally renowned. Seward of New York! Chase of Ohio! Cameron of Pennsylvania! Bates of Missouri! No wonder the weak and untried Lincoln wanted them at hand. He would reign. They would rule. Or so they thought…

But Lincoln understood men, understood how to manage them, and bring them along, always finagling, brokering, deal making to accomplish the needful and always with country humor and good sense. Speaker Boehner ought to ensure that every House Member, Democrat and Republican, gets Goodwin’s book and masters it.

Don’t bet the ranch on Aging White Men.

Lincoln had a goal and never lost sight of it: to preserve the federal Union. He made it clear what he would do to achieve and maintain that goal: anything, everything. If it would help, it was on the table.

“My paramount object in this struggle is to save the Union, and is not either to save or to destroy slavery. If I could save the Union without freeing any slave I would do it, and if I could save it by freeing all the slaves I would do it; and if I could save it by freeing some and leaving others alone I would also do that.”

Now have you ever heard Boehner and company say anything like this about the crucial matter of righting America’s rickety financial house? You haven’t because he hasn’t. And until he does, until he says that everything is on the table to achieve the great goal of saving America’s finances, the goal will never be achieved and all our lives and endeavors blighted accordingly. This great goal, in short, can not just be accomplished by aging white men, the foundation of the Republican party.

Here are the bleak statistics the GOP must wrestle with, statistics which cost them not just the 2012 presidential election but, if not radically improved, will cost them every future presidential election as well:

Women: 55% Obama, 44% Romney.

Hispanics: 71% Obama, 27% Romney.

Young voters under 30: 60% Obama, 36% Romney.

Black voters: 95% Obama, 4% Romney.

Asian American voters: 80% Obama, 19% Romney.

Note: For the record, I must remind you that these numbers are based on various election-date exit polls and other unofficial surveys. Still, the results of these polls are consistent, and therefore are very much to the point.

Radical outreach required, starting at once.

The staff, offices, and work of the national committees dwindle significantly as soon as the election results are in. This model won’t serve the GOP or solve its glaring problem, that it has come to rely upon a group of aging white men who cannot deliver victory in and of themselves. Anyone who can count can see that and the fact that 7,000,000 fewer of these men voted in 2012 than 2008 ought to scare the bejesus out of anyone who wishes the Grand Old Party well. The natural mortality of its favored constituency promises assured cataclysm.

What, then, must be done?

1) Building the new GOP and measurably increasing its voter turn-out in each designated category (women, voters under 30, Asian Americans, etc.) must be an explicit objective. A vigorous title such as “Building the NEW GOP!” should be adopted.

2) Respected office holders should be recruited to head each category and its outreach efforts.

3) Adequate budgets should be drawn up and, with the full assistance of the national party organizations, ample funds raised. This is crucial.

4) IT professionals must be hired to advise on the best way to utilize Internet options, including social media.

5) Internet recruitment campaigns along the lines of “And I’m a Mormon” should be implemented, e.g. “And I’m a Republican”.

6) Focus groups should be established to ascertain reasons why designated groups would and, importantly would not, vote Republican. Congressional leadership should be involved in this matter.

7) State legislatures and local civic, business and elected leaders should be canvassed for desirable candidates in each category for federal offices. Such information should be shared with congressional campaign committees to allocate funding, etc.

8) A list of open or vulnerable Democratic representatives and senators should be drawn up. Resources should be raised and concentrated on the most likely targets.

9) All information from national headquarters should be “translated” into a form most likely to resonate with designated populations.

10) Study the great coalition and team builders who built the modern Democratic party. Congressman Thomas P. “Tip” O’Neill, Jr. (later U.S. Speaker of the House) whose work in a generation changed Massachusetts from solidly Republican to solidly Democratic. Or Senator George McGovern whose signal work transformed overwhelmingly Republican South Dakota into a state “in play” for the Democrats. And, of course, the greatest Democratic coalition builder, Franklin D. Roosevelt, whose transforming brilliance ensured Democratic victories and Republican irrelevance for a generation. These far-sighted, hardworking strategists set the objective for themselves and the Democrats; then did the necessary to achieve it.

Study Lincoln, every fibre, every nuance, every move, every thought.

Remember, the Republican Party, the Grand Old Party, is the party of Lincoln. What this means is that you are charged with doing whatever it takes to keep America strong by keeping its people strong. Sadly too often, and glaringly in 2012, you have forgotten your great charge, lost amongst the negativity and nay-saying which has turned the party of Lincoln into a petty shadow of its historical grandeur and significance.

Changing this reality into a vision to thrill America is your urgent task now. Restore the primacy of great Lincoln’s unsurpassed genius for governance and in the process you will not only save the Grand Old Party and make it grander still; you will save the Great Republic, our nation, our people, our mission. Your moment is here. Seize it… for the good of us all.

‘Da Doo Ron Ron’. The 2016 presidential campaign begins today, November 6, 2012. Here’s what smart candidates must do to use the Internet to win. An audacious plan for capturing the White House and thrilling America.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant.

Author’s program note. Are you one of those people (I call them optimists) who believes the re-election of Barack Obama plus the election of thousands of successful candidates for federal, state, and local offices ends the campaign and should earn all of us in the Great Republic an electioneering respite? My, my, shows what you know!

The good news is that the 2012 campaign is well and truly over except for a few candidates whose races are still too close to call. They have to remain in vigilant campaign mode until election officials and all too often the courts render judgement.

But who cares about that except the parties involved? $3.3 billion more or less was spent on this year’s 2012 presidential candidates, as well as additional billions on all the other candidates and their campaigns. Surely, the matter having ended now, at last, we get… peace —


Bring on 2016!

The truth is, the 2016 presidential campaign is now officially underway. And if you don’t like it, think the never ending campaign should be curtailed, as well as limitations imposed on the number of bucks raised and spent, GET OVER IT. We’re talking, after all, about who gets to lead the Great Republic and be the most important person on Earth for at least 4 whole years; the person who gets all the loaves and fishes, the chance to shape destiny, not to mention Air Force One, “Hail to the Chief”, and your favorite muffins whenever you like!

To accompany this article, I have selected “Da Doo Ron Ron”, a peppy little tune released in 1963 by the Crystals, a one-hit girl group. Go to any search engine, find it now and listen; with just the slightest amount of imagination you can hear these hot girls saying “they do run run, they do run run.” And so the candidates most assuredly do.

The greatest communications device — misused in 2012… ready to change the very nature of campaigns and politics in 2016: the Internet.

In 2008, Barack Obama proved what a technology pioneer could accomplish. In this case, Obama (born 1961) and his campaign turned the ‘net into a cash cow that wowed the world and was a key factor in getting him elected. Hillary Clinton (born 1947) didn’t get it and as for John McCain (born 1936) he ate the dust of both Democratic candidates. Importantly, the candidate who knew the most about technology and how to use it to raise money and garner votes won…. It is entirely likely that this paradigm will determine most and maybe all future presidential elections. Re-read that sentence, candidates; it spells out your fate.

The Internet: misused, under used, misunderstood in 2012.

Sadly, what happened in 2008, which should have provided the candidates with the clearest of insights into what this medium might deliver, did not carry over into the 2012 campaign. Yes, the medium delivered money… but you need more than money to win presidential elections as Mitt Romney, champ fund raiser, now knows.

And so these specific recommendations which if followed carefully could well determine who leads America and the world starting Inauguration Day 2017.

If I’m right that mastery of the unique communications environment we call the ‘net will determine the fate not just of individual candidates, but the campaign in general, and who gets to make policy and history from the Oval Office at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue; this is a change of fundamental importance. Here then is what candidates who wish to be serious contenders must know and do about the ‘net.

1) Hire the best IT guys to advise you on what the Internet is, its salient features, and how it really works and, most importantly, how it will work for you. Be aware that any people you hire will likely be not merely years but whole decades younger than you. You will have to put your formidable ego to one side and LISTEN.

Not only do such people know more than you do; their skills more than yours will shape your candidacy and the entire campaign and electoral process. In other words these wet-behind-the-ears whippersnappers will significantly influence if not dictate what happens — and hence your future.

Thus, the older you are, the less technology you know, the more your campaign will be influenced and directed by people who think devil dogs and twinkies are gourmet food with text-messaging the only language they ever knew. Are you prepared for this?

2) Make getting your IT team in place your first priority. Spend the big bucks and pull in every favor to get the top people on this team. Splurge and treat these junior birdmen with every sign of respect and consideration. Go see the movie “Big” (1988) with Tom Hanks. Your character is the owner of the toy company; take note what that wise man does. You’ll have to do as much or more, or they’ll get bored and leave, taking their crucial skills with them.

3) Resolve to record a video of just 5-7 minutes six days a week; (even the Lord of Hosts rested on the seventh, and you probably should, too). Hire a well respected producer, someone with Hollywood level production experience and a sensitivity to the unique Internet environment. The producer’s team should include the best possible content writers, editors, and copy writers.

Go to This will give you a good idea of the content, tone and presentation required. The Internet lends itself to stories that inform, educate, enthral and motivate. Dry copy won’t cut it. Neither will endless attacks, denigrations, and negativities about the other candidates.This is your chance to shape the political agenda and WIN. Don’t blow it with comments banal, infra dig, and belittling.

4) Start producing Internet videos at once. Make sure to run at least a few through focus groups. You need to know whether what you are talking about connects and resonates with real people. This is crucial.

So what should these programs be about? For one thing, the very real problems of average Americans, their dreams, aspirations, what makes them angry, what makes them happy and contented. Speak to the people; speak about the people; speak from your heart… be honest, upright, inspiring, a problem solver, a person who can motivate millions, earning their awe and support, whilst never losing the common touch.

One more point: don’t say the same thing over and over again, the standard “stump” speech. Talk about such things, of course, but not to the exclusion of everything else. Your webcasts must focus on every aspect of the Great Republic, not just a few talking points growing more stale with every reiteration.

This means talking about Social Security… but also what you intend to do to keep the great African elephant from being wiped out this decade. It means dealing with national defense issues but also how we can deal with continual cut-backs in arts budgets at public schools.

In short, nothing that pertains to the Great Republic and its place in the world, triumphs, woes, grand events and more pedestrian matters will be neglected or forgotten… for to neglect or forget is to diminish the great land you wish to lead.

And so, I end where I began, with the Crystals and their single hit. Use these suggestions and recommendations, and you’ll not only “da doo ron ron” but “da doo win win”.

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

‘Am I getting old?’ ‘Oh, no, not you.’ The wonders of the Internet… the stubborn obstinacy of far too many Senior Citizens. Generations colliding in cyber space. Some thoughts.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant.

Author’s program note. Did you ever see “Gigi” the 1958 musical by Alan Jay Lerner and Frederick Loewe? You should. It burned through a fortune to recreate lush, opulent Third Republic Paris and besides the music is lovely. One song in particular touches my heart — “I Remember It Well”.

It’s a duet between Honore (Maurice Chevalier) and Mamita (Hermione Gingold), long ago lovers who meet up in the twilight of their lives and reminisce about what happened way back when… and what they remember; definitely not the same thing.

Honore gets his every reminiscence slightly wrong; Mamita is spot on with hers. Honore is embarrassed, chagrined at his errors… but the lady doesn’t mind. She retains an abiding affection for him… and even in his errors she sees he retains an abiding affection for her. Yes, it’s a lovely, beautiful, bittersweet tune… go now to any search engine. Listen well. Tenacious memories are just one touch away and waiting now for you to release them. Bring an extra handkerchief.

Another missed phone call… another missed opportunity. Another irritating moment for each.

It just happened again. The Missed Call Syndrome. This time he called me…. and missed connecting. So I called him back… and missed connecting. So now both of us, my 88 year old father and I (aged 65), remain disconnected, and irritated with each other. “Why can’t the boy be there at just the moment I want to talk to him?”, he mutters. In return I say with pronounced pique, “Why won’t he use a webcam? It would make life so much easier for both of us.”

Welcome to the clash of the titans, where one old goat continues to cause unnecessary communications problems…. and his know-it-all IT son fails (yet again) to show Dad the error of his ways. Thus the Mexican stand-off continues… with both parties irked, irritated, and more than a little exasperated with each other. What’s going on here? Just this. Two obstinate generations, each used to getting its way, are battling to make their communications with the other easier… for we do, I think, truly want to communicate with each other, so long as the other party is dictated to, not dictating.

“Get an email address that works.”

Technology to be effective must be simple and easy to use and must not create more problems than it solves. By this test the email program used by my technically clueless dad is useless, for it causes nothing but problems, not least the fundamental problem that it actually blocks all my email to him. As you may imagine this causes a ton of problems of the “Did you get my email the other day?” variety.

Why does he keep this completely ineffectual program? Not because it’s “easy”, because it most assuredly is not; not because it delivers his mail promptly without hassle because it fails that test too. I’ll tell you why he does it… because he feels (though he has never given me the satisfaction of putting his unconvincing case in my unscrupulous hands) that he, having worked a long lifetime for others, is entitled, the end approaching, to have those others (chief amongst them me) work for him… never mind that a completely fast, thorough and easy email system is at hand.

Rigor Mortis before death.

We all know that rigor mortis comes with death; is in fact an undeniable symptom of that death. Sadly, for many, especially in regard to tech skills and proficiency, rigor mortis comes well before the end. Common sense dictates that if you want the substantial and undeniable benefits of technology, you must keep up-to-date. But obstinate seniors, like dear old dad, won’t keep up-to-date. They have done much for others; they have little time remaining. They don’t want continuing education and the “joys of learning”. They insist upon being catered to, waited on, kow-tow desired but not required.

Thus if they fail to listen, fail to learn the necessary steps to put technology to work for them and so create a heap of unnecessary problems, this is unfortunate, but so what? And so they approach the ultimate arrogance and deep-seated selfishness of the “Let them eat cake” lady herself, the late, unlamented, backward looking Marie Antoinette, sovereign queen of unthinking, unrepentant, adamant ossification. (If he ever discovers I’ve written this, Dad will kill me, especially as the comparison is true and apt! One can, after all, forgive anything but the unanswerable truth. Fortunately he doesn’t know how to access my articles at He’s tried; no can do; and that’s that.)

“Get a webcam! Get a webcam at once!”

Writing emails, particularly if you are of the “bread-and-butter”, copperplate hand generation like dad, takes time and careful attention. Words matter; finding just the right word is a courtesy they never neglect. And they all honor Mark Twain’s trenchant line, “If I had more time, I’d write you a shorter letter.” As a result their emails are not just written but edited, corrected, refined, no text messaging allowed; a real letter sent but never responded to in kind by anyone less than 70 or so.

And so another failure-to-communicate incident is born, to smolder and explode without warning. How different things would be if he’d use a webcam — a webcam I’m wiling to GIVE him!

Consider the following: I have a webcam; my brother has a webcam; my sister has a webcam; her son and daughter each have webcams. Only my father does not have a webcam, considers the vexatious unsettling matter settled and considers all attempts to get him hooked up and active a grave imposition; unjust; an affront; the very idea lese majeste’.

He has for just such moments of offense and insolence and outrage his certain response: “I’m old, I’m tired, I can’t do it, I’m falling apart; it’s hard; it’s difficult; it’s…”, but you get the picture. How can anyone transgress against such a paladin, now ancient, frail, venerable… and absolutely determined not to change anything, not by a jot, much less a tittle?

And so the matter unsatisfactorily continues day after day. We are both of us getting older, which is just another way of saying we are getting more and more obstinate by the minute. He frets because his time is dwindling with anxious celerity and so each day the little he still wants becomes more urgent. Why can’t I see that?

… But I do see that. That is why I want him to be on a webcam, easily accessible to me and his other wired progeny, not least the only two grandchildren he will never know as well as he ought because he is ludicrously behind in what it takes to touch them, share, learn as they hobnob everywhere on Earth and never care to think or understand what he wants, much less help him get it.

His failure to master even the rudiments of the communication techniques and services that exist reinforces the very thing he fears most; disconnection from family and friends, alienation, a feeling that worsens daily that he is not merely aged but irrelevant, obsolete, passed it, already not merely moribund but actually dead by inches.

He sees a webcam as a threat, exposing all that he does not know. I see it as my only and best chance to connect with him easily and always before that chance is gone forever and I am forced to lament what might have been… a state of affairs that chills me now and will haunt me until I, too, am dust and an inadequate memory to those I have loved.

“This too shall pass.”

This is one of my father’s favorite expressions. He has used it with me over and over again as a means of lessoning life’s plethora of pains and even some moments of exuberance and euphoria, as too much of a good thing. Now I shall render these words in quite a different way, as an admonition, a warning, an already far too late wake- up call, a clarion to action before even the little I can do now becomes far more than the days ahead will leave me.

And so, I shall again do what I have tried to do so often… I shall say, out of a love which must never be forgotten, what needs to be said and which was never said better than this: “Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light”. Dylan Thomas (1914-1953) insisted on this to his father. I cannot do less to mine and so I shall tell him this…

Aristides de Sousa Mendes

Do you know this man? You should. Born in 1885 in the Centro region of Portugal, he became a diplomat in the days when Dictator Antonio Salazar ruled. He was stationed in Bordeaux in 1940 when the Nazis invaded France. Bordeaux was a prime exit port, a city engulfed in war and chaos; a place to which refugees, many of them Jews, fled, looking for any way to escape. Mendes was ordered by his government to provide no aid, no escape. That was a decree of death. But Mendes was a man of life.

Thus, between June 17-July 8, 1940 he issued over 30,000 exit visas to refugees and displaced persons, some 12,000 to Jews. One man, just a few days, thousands saved. Needless to say, his government disowned him, stripping him of diplomatic status, his legal profession, of everything in fact except the certain knowledge that he had done the right thing, the righteous thing, the life affirming thing.

And you must do the life affirming thing, too. Thus understand that it is out of our love that we insist upon your advancing, focused on whatever span is left; still opening windows, however daunting, not closing them. If you will not do this for yourself; then do it for us, as yet another gift of the father. For in such a way, you choose life and hope, something we will surely address and celebrate when we have our first joyous meeting online by webcam. May it come soon.

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 Millionaire Society ->

‘Fight for her honor’. The fall of JoePa, the humiliation of Penn State.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author’s program note. Today is Saturday, November 12, 2011. And Americans with well-worn pennants and blissful memories of picture perfect days like this when they were young and gleeful will today gather at gridirons around the nation… there to participate in the great rite of football. If they are lucky, alma mater will have a fight song as great as the one that ignites the crowd at Penn State… which causes even the most ancient and arthritic to jump up… and remember. when they were young, boundless in their hopes and expectations; loyal to God, country, college, and… the team.

We all know that feeling and we just cannot get enough of it. Thus, to put yourself in the mood, go to any search engine and find that fight song — “The Nittany Lion” — one of the best — then turn the sound up and play it… “But of all the honored idols. There’s but one that stands the test. It’s the stately Nittany Lion. The symbol of our best…”

Joe Paterno, the winningest coach in the history of the Great Republic.

Until just a few days ago when the shocking, sordid facts of the scandal broke upon a first disbelieving nation, Joe Paterno, head coach at fortunate Penn State, was moving towards the end of his career wafted by the incense of millions of people around the nation… who venerated the man, his vision, what he stood for, and not least of all the golden touch that turned Penn State from a mere college town, to a site of pilgrimage for the faithful. It was heady stuff, as close to perfection as mortals ever know. All that was needed to complete the scene was the explosion of affection at his last home game… and a trip to the White House to receive the nation’s highest honor, the Medal of Freedom, from the hands of the President of the United States, an event eagerly promoted by Pennsylvania’s two United States senators, star struck like all the rest. A great American story was about to be concluded to the satisfaction of all.

But as any student of classics could tell you, this isn’t how Fate works… as JoePa knew, for he was an unlikely student of the Roman poet Virgil and the “Aeneid” he read often in the original Latin. JoePa knew Nemesis, the goddess of retributive justice. And it was Nemesis who came to preside over his final sickening days at Penn State… which he left as pariah, not patriarch. And so a dazzling 46-year career came to an end with breath taking speed, obloquy, disgust, contempt, anger… and sadness.

What had happened, what had gone so terribly wrong? Here are the facts:

On November 5, 2011, former Penn State defensive coordinator Jerry Sandusky was arrested on 40 counts relating to sexual abuse of eight young boys over a 15-year period, including alleged incidents that occurred at Penn State. A 2011 grand jury investigation reported that Mike McQueary, a graduate assistant, told Paterno in 2002 that he had seen Sandusky performing a sex act on a 10-year-old boy in Penn State’s shower facilities. According to the report, Paterno notified Athletic Director Tim Curley the next day about the incident.

Here’s where JoePa’s storied career begins to unravel, for it is here that he decided to act for the good of his team, his “program”, not the good of the victims and of the institution which hired him and provided every element for a supremely comfortable life.

Yes, this is the damning fact: Joseph Paterno knew… Joseph Paterno, fearful that his beloved program would be besmirched, decided to wink at the problem, hoping it would go away, rather than take the necessary action… which meant staying with it until it was well and truly solved.

JoePa had the responsibility to act… the need to act… the moral imperative to act… but he did next to nothing, thus showing clearly that here was a man who could prattle of leadership, of responsibility, of honor… but they were nothing but self-serving words… that when these traits were needed, JoePa had none of them.

And neither did anyone else at Penn State, where “honor” was a word in a rousing song… not the foundation for an institution of higher learning, humanity, and right.

The scandal is not that reprehensible acts were committed on the bodies of young boy who, all unknowing, maddened Sandusky and caused him to take terrible risks and do terrible deeds. That is not the scandal… that is a tragedy, frequent enough, a tragedy that everyone at Penn State, or wherever it occurs, can deal with, promptly and relatively easily IF the will and desire to deal with it be present.

The scandal is that Paterno, and the entire establishment at Penn State who knew the facts (and there were many such) chose not to act, thereby degrading themselves and their offices of honor, thereby giving the students, their charges, the worst possible example. And this lead to one of the most alarming incidents in the matter: the riot of Penn State students November 10 when they heard the news that Paterno had been removed by the Trustees of the university, they took to the street, not to remember and support the victims, but to support… JoePa. In short, they came down firmly, resolutely and violently on the wrong side, the side where there was no honor and no humanity. And these some of the brightest students in the land, the most privileged, the most likely to succeed. Their choice, their actions, their lack of vision were telling. How had a great institution fallen so low that its students could be so wrong in their selection?

Winning is not everything, and never was.

The cause of this great problem has been obvious for years to all who had eyes to see. The administrators of great educational institutions, the pride of a great nation, have allowed their progressive, humane principles to be insulted, demeaned, devalued. Once the greatest and most significant parts of these institutions, the liberal arts have been steadily slashed by the people who made JoePa a god, people who made winning, merely a thing, into everything, the thing that humbles all else.

But this is wrong and has always been wrong.

Teaching students to be good citizens is more valuable than winning games, no matter that they are won in profusion and record number.

Teaching students about the values and responsibilities of the well lived life is more important than wearing some token of a victory that they did nothing to help achieve.

Working to transform a distressed planet in a myriad of ways, this is far more important — and necessary — than supporting, in any way, a squad of those manifesting every kind of anti-social behavior.

And no one exceeded Paterno in finding such people and using them for his ends.

And so Paterno allowed Sandusky, despite his detailed knowledge of this man and his mayhem, to keep a college title, an office and easy access to his prey, despite his 1999 dismissal. It was, he thought, good for his “program,” his team, his power and control. So, too, the fact that from 2002-2008 46 of his players were arrested and charged with 163 counts; 27 of t hem were eventually convicted or pleaded guilty to a combined 45 counts.

Through all this the Nittany Lion was diminished, its shibboleths hollow, in the hands of the unworthy, majestic no longer. Now, therefore, must Penn State, bolstered by courageous and energetic leaders seize this opportunity to restructure itself, to become in fact, not merely in name, a great institution of humane values. This is your moment, people of Penn State and all others similarly situated. Seize it. For you who have lost your soul and direction, must take this opportunity to find them. “Fight for her honor, Fight, and Victory again.”

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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. Jeffrey Lant is also the author of 18 best-selling business books. Republished with author’s permission by Daniel Fischer Check out Google Cash Monster ->