Category Archives: Current Events

‘And the Cabots talk only to God.’ My dismaying encounter with Henry Cabot Lodge, Ambassador to everywhere. Luncheon, Harvard, 1974.

Author’s program note. This is the story of how a lifetime’s respect and admiration was destroyed in minutes by a man of power and influence who was thoroughly obtuse when it came to the crucial business of human existence, the business Dale Carnegie called “how to win friends and influence people” (1936).

Here is where this most patrician of Americans, who made the supposedly majestic Kennedys look like crofters, the man who most resembled Shakespeare’s most disdainful aristocrat, Coriolanus, stumbled and fell, polished off by his own condescension and arrogance… and the coup de grace of just one withering phrase, that outside the Somerset Club (and perhaps even there) he never met a man he ever liked.

I suspect Ambassador Lodge (as we must with both accuracy and respect call him) did not know incorrigible wag (and my near Cambridge neighbor) Tom Lehrer, whose day job was mathematics professor at MIT; happily crooning the evenings away composing peppy music and lyrics guaranteed to affront anyone with manifold pomposities. Young people loved him for he expressed, and cleverly too, their own exasperation with all the tyrants who held them in restless thrall, especially respectable parents and gym teachers.

Lehrer wrote about the important things of life, like poisoning those obnoxious pigeons in the park… and learning the Vatican Rag (1965). Since Lodge was Richard Nixon’s special envoy to the Holy See (1970-1977), when I held a lunch party for him at Harvard in 1974, it seemed to me most appropriate to link His Excellency to Lehrer’s immortal lyrics. After all, now Lodge is buried in Cambridge’s Mount Auburn Cemetery, a comfortable walk to Lehrer’s residence, a place of irreverence and pratfalls, where one could sing with gusto (and impunity) daring words like these:

“So get down on your knees/ Fiddle with your rosaries Bow your head with great respect/ And genuflect, genuflect, genuflect!

Most assuredly, His Excellency and his ilk would not have approved. And so we pampered poindexters, distressingly bright, oozing adolescent hubris and reeking of Clearasil embraced it and all Lehrer’s offensive repertoire with profound avidity and glee.

A true knight.

You need to know something about Massachusetts, thought to be the most liberal state in the Union, one ecstatic and grateful to be graced by a multitude of fecund Kennedys. That family perpetrated the greatest hoax in the history of the Great Republic, namely that they were the princes of Camelot.

Nothing could be more false, a fact which has irritated the Great Families of the Commonwealth, wafted here on the God-directed Mayflower, since the first Kennedy made his unwelcome and bumptious appearance. Such families would like it known (but will not of course say so themselves) that Camelot is theirs and that should any Kennedys be allowed in it would only be by the tradesman’s entrance.

Behind their delicate fans, white gloves and gold lorgnettes they’ll confide (but only sotto voce) that Jack Kennedy’s father was a bootlegger and Nazi sympathizer, with a porcine appetite for floozies of every kind and a papal title grandiloquent enough to cover a legion of sins. The matriarchs are right as rain.

Ambassador Joseph P. Kennedy was by no stretch of the imagination a “gentleman”; resembling nothing so much as an unsavory and robust smell often emanating at even the most genteel events. One wrinkled one’s nose, fluttered a handkerchief drenched in lavender, saying nothing.

Whilst the air clears, the subject of Senator Henry Cabot Lodge, Jr. (1902-1985) emerges. And there is, not to put too fine a point on the matter, consternation, which clearly discomfits each and every lady who would rather tell you this doggerel, admittedly not quite up to dear Lord Tennyson’s high lyric standard:

“And this is good old Boston/The home of the bean and the cod/ Where the Lowells talk only to Cabots/ And the Cabots talk only to God.”

The aristocrats’ paladin.

Every now and again the reigning dynasty produces a man who has every virtue all aristocrats pride — the fine chiseled looks it takes16 quarterings to produce; a noble carriage, sufficient intellect (but not too much intellectuals being so erratic)… with the ability to secure his class and all who inhabit it for generations yet to come. The young Henry VIII was such a paragon… as was young Louis XIV… and, in his time, Henry Cabot Lodge, Jr., man of auspicious augury.

As such young Lodge became the eighth of his family to grace the Senate (1936)… becoming in 1944 the only member of either party to resign to fight the good fight. It was good politics; supreme patriotism. Needless to say every knowledgeable source in Bean Town expected a historic victory in 1952 for their bona fide hero. He was, after all, a dream candidate. There was only the small matter of puny John Fitzgerald Kennedy, to deal with. It was Hyperion to the Satyr.

It is at such moments, even if one would like to believe otherwise, that portentous words like “fate” and “kismet” arise to confound. It went like this:

The White House starved Republicans wanted victory, and would sell their soul to get it. The most popular man in the nation — Dwight David Eisenhower — was the bait, advanced by Satan or not no GOP solon cared. And so Lodge dogged “Ike” until he caved in and somehow convinced himself he was of the GOP persuasion and ready to run.

Senator Lodge then became his duenna, forgetting in the process his own crucial re-election. Lodge, in true Brahmin fashion, thought all the “good people” would give him victory (on a sterling silver plate by Paul Storr) without the tiresome necessity of asking for it. It was not the last time he made this little miscalculation which is why, many years later, I was lunching with a useful diplomat, and not a venerated president.

However, you see, Jack Kennedy walloped the ancient Republican establishment, people who had been figures of probity and veritas long before all the Bay State worthies had even emerged. And so, by loyalty to President Eisenhower (who needed no assistance with the voters who loved and admired him), Lodge let the Kennedy genie out of the bottle, thereby helping the man he should have crushed into the Oval Office. It was a gigantic favor Kennedy somehow neglected to repay.

Eisenhower gave Lodge the Embassy to the United Nations; that was rich given the fact Lodge’s grandfather and namesake almost single handedly destroyed its precursor, The League of Nations. Lodge amused America by constant jeremiads to the world about the Red Menace and its shenanigans. As for the Communists, they probably never listened. Lodge bored them; and the Reds wanted the red meat Lodge, all Harvard and gentle manners was incapable of delivering.

The incantatory name.

One thing he was capable of giving was a name of historic panache and resonant integrity. Every president from Eisenhower on picked Lodge for diplomatic posts at the highest level; it was his historic name which always closed the deal; unsuccessful nominee for vice president on the 1960 Nixon ticket; Ambassador to the Republic of Vietnam 1963-1964; again appointed Ambassador to Vietnam 1967-1968; Ambassador to Germany 1968-1969; appointed by President Nixon to serve as head of the American delegation to the Vietnam peace negotiations in Paris, serving until December 1969. Then in 1970 he went to Rome for a last tour amongst the soft footed princes of the church. It was during this time we met.

Acrid smoke, wicked witch, the look that freezes.

It was a grim February day, but I was ecstatic. For on this red-letter day I was hosting at Dudley House two bona fide celebrities, Margaret Hamilton, the Wicked Witch of the West from “The Wizard of Oz”, and Lodge. Miss Hamilton was peaches and cream, kisses and hugs. And then there was Lodge…

It didn’t help, of course, that the fire place began to smoke just minutes before he arrived, filling the lunch room with black, acrid smoke. As Margaret Hamilton and entourage were leaving, Lodge arrived, tall, literally looking down his aquiline nose. He looked every inch the aristocrat he was. Just for a moment ambassador and lady coincided in the door way. MasterJean Mayer, a notorious snob, came to greet Lodge’s arrival (though he had not done as much for the frilly Miss Hamilton).

Attempting to introduce his guests, he forgot her name and so improvised, “Mr. Ambassador, this is… the Wicked Witch of the West!” Lodge offered her a cold finger or two in greeting, but said nothing. Witches, don’t you know, were not in the Social Register. I invited Miss Hamilton to lunch with Lodge. She saw the lay of the land, and sensibly declined. It was an omen.

The lunch area was, by now, packed with undergrads, grad students, teaching fellows, and senior faculty. They all wanted to meet the man who was, while in Saigon, the Great Republic’s most powerful diplomat and emblem of the war every single person in that room not only opposed but bitterly. Lodge could have defused some of the tensions but he was unremittingly opaque, looking like he had just eaten something that disagreed.

To my gratitude and relief, however, the civility which the Academy must maintain held, though tenuously. The volley went like this: questions were asked, the probing questions which are the essence of Harvard; Lodge responded in monosyllables, no attempt to touch the questioner, must less the room beyond. I was angry… but at least the necessary civility did not collapse, as it might so easily have done. Then in my mind’s eye, I saw the headline in “The Boston Globe”: “Riot at Lodge Harvard appearance.” What would my father have said?

Lodge, however, stayed the course, 90 minutes from first to last. Then said, “Get me a taxi to North Station,” the word “boy” being implied. I was I thought beyond caring, but I wasn’t. I had provided him a pukka platform to win friends and influence people. As was so obvious now, that was never a factor in his (mis) calculations.

I walked him the few steps needed to reach Harvard Square. He had never said a personal word to me, his host, since arrival, not even at luncheon when I sat on his right at the head table, per protocol. I wanted to change that and so told him how, in 1960, my 8 year-old brother and I (13) organized the neighborhood kids in Downers Grove, Illinois, for Nixon-Lodge. It was that year’s “must have” state, and we proudly marched through the mud of inclement November with home-made posters to urge their election.

I expected in response what any politician, any genial senior statesman might give: a firm look in my eyes, a firm handshake and a comfortable, perhaps even, heartfelt platitude, “If only there’d been more like you, Jeffrey, and Kevin”; something to treasure for life. Lodge simply said, “Can you get that cab?” I did not exist and a precious moment of my boyhood was tainted, all respect and admiration gone for the man who had nothing but options and wasted them with careless unconcern, while members of my rambunctious generation died a world away, their precious blood wasted not just for naught but calumniated by their citizens who spat upon the living and promptly forgot the dead. By contrast, when at my mother’s urging I wrote Vice President Nixon just after the election, he returned a bumper crop of memorabilia, including a photo signed by all four Nixons which was published as part of a story in the “Chicago Tribune.” Similarly my mother’s hand-written “woman to woman” letter to Nixon’s mother Mrs. Hannah Nixon in Whittier, California received the most gracious response. The day we wrote our letters, sitting together at the kitchen table is one of my happiest memories.

And then, I was choleric with rage and indignation not least at a country which selects people for high offices, the very highest, for their honored surnames and impeccable pedigrees instead of for their ability to touch lives and build bridges, something Ambassador Lodge for all his fine breeding was incapable of doing.

Then I thought of all the thousands of men of my generation, the pulsating, wise cracking heart of the nation, all dead because of the likes of calculating men with magnificent resumes and social entree’ who mandated wars they did not fight and would survive comfortably whatever the outcome.

What they needed was a zealous advocate and friend, a true American hero who never lost sight of the soldier in the statistic. What they got instead was Henry Cabot Lodge, Jr.

And it wasn’t remotely good enough.

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 http://SuccessClicks.com. Check out List Building Automation -> http://www.SuccessClicks.com/?rd=ye4EQCtk

‘This eager heart of mine was singing. Lover, where can you be?’ Hostess Brandsbites the dust… Twinkies on the block.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant.

Author’s program note. It’s my fault… I loved Twinkies once upon a time. Yes, when I was young and innocent, so long ago I can hardly imagine, Twinkies and I were an item, a couple, just the two of us, no need for anyone else. We had everything we needed in one neat little package. I was complete, satisfied, blissful.

However the road of love is a rocky road. My mother disapproved of you, Twink… and there was that fateful day she found you in my Howdy Doody lunch box, dumped you unceremoniously on the ground and crushed you beneath her adamant shoe. I wanted to rescue you, hold you, bring you to my ardent lips and tell you how much I still cared… but the woman was obstinate, stubborn, determined to have her way, as I have long since discovered women can be. Something changed in our perfect relationship that day… I loved you… but she was the one who must be obeyed…

But there’s something else, something I must tell you now; something that’s been on my conscience for over 50 years. I was unfaithful to you, Twink. There was the delectable affair I had with… and the delicious one with… and of course that wild and crazy thing, that fabulous fling in chocolate with… but why humiliate myself further? I loved you in my way; gave myself to you; you were always there for me… and I cheated. You would have forgiven me, I know… you always forgave me… but I couldn’t forgive myself.

And so guilt entered and tainted our perfect relationship. When we met in ways secret and clandestine I felt ashamed about the lies and deceptions… and I couldn’t, just couldn’t, meet you in the open, anywhere. What would have happened if she had found out causes me to quake and tremble to this very day. I was a lover, not a fighter.

Besides, Twink, and I must be severely honest and candid here, as we said we’d always be with each other; by then your pristine reputation was tainted. People were saying terrible things about you, awful, horrid, things I couldn’t bear. And it hurt, Twink, and made me doubt you and whether our love was pure and healthy, not stale with a passed shelf life.

Detectives, gum shoes, sleuths.

With so much negativity, with so many doubts now circulating, I was frantic. I loved you, despite my infidelities, how I loved you. But how could I not doubt you with so much said against you? It was driving me crazy… and so I went undercover with the hope that nothing I was hearing, nothing that was eating at me was true… and profoundly fearful that it was. My work was long, arduous, exhaustive. This is what my agile search assistants and I discovered…

The truth, the whole truth.

First of all, you were a lot older than you let me believe. You came from Schiller Park, Illinois, not so far from where we met, in Downers Grove. You were born in 1930 and given your peppy name by James Alexander Dewar, a baker for the Continental Baking Company. He named you after “Twinkle Toe Shoes”.

I wanted to believe your age didn’t matter, but it did. You treated me like Norma Desmond did her boy toys; like Blanche DuBois treated hers. You said you’d last forever; love me forever; feed and comfort me forever. You were a panther like Circe, Morgan le Fay, Omphale combined … ageless you said, cleverer than me, that was certain, for you had never said more than necessary, whilst never disclosing a single extra word or fact. Bravissisma!

These reports, so detailed, made it clear that you were always the “hostess with the mostest,” a crowd pleaser, making millions smile from your protected formula of wheat flour, sugar, corn syrup, niacin, water, high fructose corn syrup, vegetable and/or animal shortening, and…

partially hydrogenated soybean, cottonseed and canola oil, and beef fat, dextrose, whole eggs, cellulose gum, whey, leavenings (sodium acid pyrophosphate, baking soda, monocalcium phosphate), salt, corn flour, solids, mono diglycerides, soy lecithin, polysorbate 60, dextrin, calcium caseinate, sodium stearoyl lactylate, wheat gluten, calcium sulphate, natural and artificial flavors, caramel color, yellow No. 5, red No. 40, and…

one or two secret ingredients even my highly capable spies could not discern, plus la piece de resistance, vanilla cream filling, literally la creme de la creme. But you liked being unpredictable, experimenting with other cream flavors, particularly banana. I always thought we had chemistry, Twink… but it was you.

More that I learned about the Twink of my life.

I was obsessed with you, Twink. And the fact that she kept me from you, only made me want you more. I had to know about you; everything about you. Nothing was too small or insignificant. Like I said, I had to learn everything… and so much truly shocked me. Like this… just one Twinkie, a single one, contains 2.5 grams of saturated fat, representing 13% of the recommended daily intake of saturated fat based on a 2,000 calorie diet. It is 42% sugar, 21% complex carbohydrates and 11% fat by weight. No wonder every time I nibbled on your delectable ear I felt like flying. And I thought it was love…

Rumors, misinformation, lies, humbug, distortions… oh, Twink!!!

I am at the tail end of the last generation to believe a lady only appears in the newspapers 3 times… when she is born, when she marries, and when she dies. But Twink I found page after page of the most lurid information about you…

About how cute young gay boys, boys noted for living on the edge, are called Twinks… after you,Twink, you.

And how good people worldwide have been duped into believing that you are infinite, immortal, as eternal as the Eternal City itself; that you don’t age, can be eaten with confidence and joy dozens, even hundreds of years after creation; the common and widespread belief that Twinkies are forever, a belief put to the test by the 1988 film, “Die Hard”, where John McClane gets sick after eating a “thousand year old Twinkie” found in an under-construction floor of the Nakatomi Plaza building.

Twink, my once honored and profoundly cherished, revered partner, where were you when these hideous charges, falsehoods, these deceits, deceptions and lies were disseminated? Have you no shame, no desire to stand tall as a truth teller. Is filthy lucre your only objective? Where did you go so very wrong? When did your very name conjure the shameful and disreputable… as in…

The Twinkie Defense.

The expression derives from the 1979 trial of Dan White, a former San Francisco, California police officer, fire fighter and city district Supervisor. On November 27, 1978, White assassinated Mayor George Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk. A significant element raised by the defense was White’s consumption before the incident of junk food and sugar- laden soft drinks. So low had your reputation sunk by then,Twink, that when this was dubbed “The Twinkie Defense”, the name stuck and your stock fell further still. Many people, former advocates for Twinkies now believed you could and should be held responsible for most any social problem or outrage. Sales, of course, took a beating… I was one of the disenchanted who left, walking out on you, loving elsewhere.

Crisis at Hostess Brands.

Thus matters rested for a long chain of years. Though I had loved you once with fervid adolescent passion, I loved you no longer and scarcely ever thought of you and your sorcery and taste. Then just the other day, I heard that Hostess Brands, your home, was in bankruptcy, its assets including you to be sold to the highest bidder. Every kind of “reason” was advanced for this sad state of affairs, changing taste, a more heath conscious society and consumer, greedy employees whose recent strike crippled the company, clueless but egregiously overpaid executives. Perhaps.

Now, Twink, I give you my explanation, and it’s simply this: you didn’t love me as deeply and profoundly as I loved you… and so you broke my heart.

But, Twink, here’s the punch line: I miss you; have missed you for years and want you back. Wherever you end up, Twink, I’ll be the first in line. In the meantime, let me sing this tune for you: “Lover, Come Back to Me”, music written by Sigmund Romberg with lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein II for the 1928 Broadway show “The New Moon”. I like the versions by Billie Holiday and Barbra Streisand you can find in any search engine.

“The moon was new/ And so was love/ This eager heart of mine was singing/ Lover where can you be/ You came at last/ Love had its day/ That day is past/ You’ve gone away/ This aching heart of mine is singing/ Lover come back to me

Forgive me, Twink! Come into my home and heart again! Don’t leave me when I love you so!

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 http://SuccessClicks.com. Check out Total Traffic Annihilation -> http://khdfshops.totaltra.hop.clickbank.net

‘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 http://SuccessClicks.com. Check out Google Cash Monster -> http://www.SuccessClicks.com/?rd=tn1llIa4

School bullying. Always with us, not acknowledged as a pressingproblem needing attention — until now.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author’s program note. If you’re like me, the first time you heard this bouncy tune, you laughed… then laughed some more. It’s called the “Too fat polka”, with its immediately recognizable opening, “You can have her, I don’t want her, she’s too fat for me.”

It came from the mind of Arthur Godfrey, a nationally known personality from television’s earliest days. Go now to any search engine to find and play it. You will probably laugh, too… until, that is, you really perceive the meaning of the words. Then if you have brain and heart, you’ll have the necessary pause that precedes recognition of what you have been doing… and why you can do it no longer.

Godfrey, you see, was a bully; he evinced his tendencies openly and on national television, most famously the day he canned singer Julius La Rosa on air… not merely removing La Rosa but humiliating him… something that’s cat nip to a bully who lives to torment others, in ways both vulgar and exquisite.

And thus we came to see this not as a cute little ditty, but a tune designed to hurt good people and kind struggling with fat and needing support not insult. And so as Godfrey’s hurtful tendencies and disposition became known, as we grew appalled, not amused; his fame was tarnished and his high star waned. In such ways do we make progress, one person at a time. But this is often too little too late, especially in our wired age where in an instant a vicious sentiment and attack will be universal, thereby magnifying its impact and pain.

The Internet changes everything.

In the first days of the Internet, it was said with pride by the early netizens that “the Internet changes everything.” We had little idea of just how right we were… and how the instant availability of information, easily accessed, easily transmitted, would radically alter the world and human interaction. Nowhere was this more true than in the matter of bullying… both for those doing the bullying and for the people being bullied. The Internet fostered a climate of anonymous insult and malice, a place where, so it was thought, one could with impunity say anything about anyone… garden-variety bullies morphing (with a few keystrokes) into super-bullies, pain, retribution, cosmic comeuppance theirs to summon and command — without care, concern, accountability, responsibility. And so the greatest age in the history of bullying began and prospered.

Understanding bullies.

This is an article with the particular object of understanding school yard bullies, the better to take effective action for their diminishment and eradication. Bullies have existed in every culture and society since the beginning of human history. Bullies have been tolerated, condoned, even encouraged because they represent the prevailing power structure and elites and mirror their attitudes.

Bullies rarely are the representatives of the poor, the dispossessed, the politically isolated, the misunderstood and “different”… although bullies’ usual victims ordinarily are found in these categories. In other words, bullies get away with their anti-social behaviors because they are representatives of prevailing prejudices, hatreds, fears, and anxieties. Scratch a bully, and you will find an entire network of people (often including his parents) who not only do not condemn such activities, but consciously or unconsciously assist in their realization and defense. As such bullying goes well beyond one bully and one victim to being instead one cultural tradition attempting to contain, control, intimidate and even destroy another culture and its “unacceptable” views.

As such the problem of bullies quickly becomes a problem about the cultural wars which so distinguish our times. These wars, like all wars, are brutal, inhumane, boundless in their cruelties and, worst of all, in their point of view which is that they epitomize good; their opponents the very principle of evil amongst us. It is with this background in mind that we take up the labor of understanding, identifying, curtailing, controlling and (for we must keep this high goal before us) eliminating bullying. And so we go to Ground Zero, the schools of the Great Republic, where the internecine cultural wars are fought every day, every single day.

The extent of the problem. Thanks to the sustained work of organizations like how-to-stop-bullying.com we now have, for the first time, hard statistics on such matters as who bullies, who is bullied, why, how, how often, etc. The advent of such data indicates that progress is being made in understanding and effectively confronting and handling this matter. Remember, bullying has always existed… but because it was not regarded as a “problem”, much less a problem that school personnel must deal with, no progress towards the ultimate goal of eradication was made or could be made. These are the early days of a reversal of this invidious, ostrich-head-in-the-sand “policy” which has endured for centuries, where bullying was anecdotal, insignificant, never regarded, never mattered, never solved.

Thankfully our way, indeed our entire approach to this subject, is increasingly different from what has unacceptably gone before. Pro-active, we see the seeds not merely of significant but of pervasive, fundamental, beneficial change. Yes, things are changing, though these are but its early days.

What you can do.

Obviously, this is a problem of most immediate relevance to affected students, their parents, and their schools. This is where the bullying war, in all its aspects, is fought daily.

Parents must be aware that bullying is a daily feature in most schools.

They must therefore maintain open and productive conversations with children to discern what may be happening… and with school authorities who should be glad for your active concern and willingness to help.

Parents should ask school committees and other responsible educational officers just what they are doing both to preclude the problem and handle individual instances once they arise.

In this way, school by school, principal by principal, teacher by teacher, parent by parent, student by student progress must, can and will be made, for one thing is certain: if we as a people, with our full panoply of resources intellectual and organizational, confront this problem with a will, progress will be made and the schools of the Great Republic cleansed of an outrage swept under the rug by nations and peoples before us who were less committed to students and schools than we are. This will not, cannot, be the work of a single school or single term, and we must be so prepared. But it is important work, empowering legions of afflicted students who can now grow to full potential, enriching and enhancing the Great Republic which is sore in need of their skills and services, many and timely.

**** We invite you to post your comments to this article 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 http://SuccessClicks.com. Check out Info Cash -> http://khdfshops.cpc100.hop.clickbank.net

The fish that ate Chicago. A true story of the invasive carp that won’t quit.

By Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author’s program note. This is a fish story… a big fish story… the story of two different Asian carp species who have already wiped out the competition down river from the Windy City and now mean to seize Chicago and swim north to capture the Great Lakes. It’s the story of what happens when man changes his environment without understanding the consequences (or, worse, knowing the consequences but going ahead anyway). And it is a story of our sneaking admiration for the… fish… who can outsmart us, the great poobahs of the planet.

For this story, then, I selected the song called “High Hopes”, recorded by Frank Sinatra in 1959. With music written by Jimmy Van Heusen and lyrics by Sammy Cahn, it was introduced in the 1959 film “A Hole in the Head”. It was nominated for a Grammy and won an Oscar for Best Original Song at the 32nd Academy Awards.

It’s a tune about tenacity, persistence, grit and unbeatability… all things the carp have got to spare…. but which we humans often lack, too often taking the easy path… dozing through the crises around us. You can find this number in any search engine. Go now, listen up and get in the “can do” mood. And if you find the version Sinatra recorded for John F. Kennedy’s campaign in 1960, give a listen. It’s a classic piece of Americana.

How the carp got here.

The first thing you need to know about this story is that we did it to ourselves. Yep. Imagine you are a friendly, law-abiding carp. You’re living somewhere in Asia and life is good. You’ve got all the plankton you want… and you’ve got the respect of all the other denizens in the water ways you have populated and control. You’re the boss.

Then one day in the 1980s you find yourself captured by some hoodlum who’s sold you and your captured buddies to a bunch of Southern U.S. municipal wastewater treatment facilities. Your job: to control algae growth in aquaculture. Disgusting. You’re forced to do this job, this really dirty job, and you do… biding your time until you can escape to freedom and cleaner water. Then one day when the humans who are supposed to keep you in captivity aren’t looking you… break out… and start swimming north! And along the way you reproduce like crazy. By the time the schleppers at the wastewater plant have figured out what you’re doing, you are already a significant river presence, a fact to be reckoned with… and you’re having the time of your life, reproducing faster than ever.

Facts about silver carp.

The silver carp is a species of freshwater cyprinid fish, a variety of Asian carp native to north and northeast Asia. It is cultivated in China. Pound for pound, more silver carp are produced worldwide in aquaculture than any other species. It has been introduced to, or spread into via connected waterways, at least 88 countries worldwide. The most common reason for importation was for use in aquaculture, but enhancement of wild fisheries and water quality control were also important reasons for importation.

These facts are important, of course, but what’s really important is this:

1) These carp are BIG, whoppers. Their average weight is 30-40 pounds, but it is not uncommon to find some weighing up to 110 pounds.

2) They can leap 10 feet in the air, thereby presenting substantial hazards for people fishing from boats. And you must never water ski in areas known to be inhabited by silver carp and bighead carp. That would be most foolhardy.

3) These carp are voracious eaters and in short order deprive native fishes of the nutrients they require while eating up to 20% of their body weight each day.

4) They are difficult to catch. Silver carp are filter feeders; this is what makes them difficult to catch on a typical hook and line gear. Special methods have been developed to catch these fish, the most important being the “suspension method” usually consisting of a large dough ball that disintegrates slowly, surrounded by a nest of tiny hooks that are embedded in the bait.

5) Silver carp feeding on certain species of blue-green algae, notably the often toxic Microcystis, can pass through the gut of silver carp unharmed, and pick up nutrients while in the gut. Thus, in some cases blue-green algae blooms have been exacerbated by silver carp… and the carp are therefore hazardous to eat.

Now this resourceful adversary, so far successful in all its endeavors, wants to seize Chicago and move into the greatest hunting area on earth, the Great Lakes, where, by the shores of Gitche Gumee, By the shining Big-Sea-Water, Stood the wigwam of Nokomis, Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis.

Thus did America’s great Victorian poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow in “The Song of Hiawatha” (1855) write of Lake Superior, now a target for the silver carp and a prime reason why at this very moment in August 2011 deeply concerned humans are racing to raise defences which must hold, or the fish will triumph.

The carp must take the Chicago Waterway System to reach their goal… and we must make sure they cannot seize it.

The manmade Chicago Waterway System connects the Great Lakes to the Illinois River, which then connects to the Mississippi River. Both sides know the pivotal battle will be fought here. Each side controls a major part of the puzzle. The silver and bighead carp have overwhelmed the Mississippi River network; humans still own the Great Lakes.

The carp have numbers and time on their side. They also know that they can sacrifice as many of their species as necessary to win; they will produce as many as required. Above all, they know this: that their human adversaries must keep EVERY invasive carp out of the Great Lakes… while the carp have only to get ONE carp into the Great Lakes to seize the first lake, then all the lakes, and change the environment forever, turning it to their exclusive advantage and wrecking havoc on the ecology existing now. The stakes could hardly be higher.

That is why today, on a perfect summer’s day for fishing, crews will instead be straining muscle and mind to stop these brazen invaders, already too close for comfort. They will be using electric jolts to stun fish, sweeping the waterway with half-mile-long nets, and sampling and resampling Lake Calumet and the Calumet River.

What the folks at the Asian Carp Regional Coordinating Council (which keeps a detailed daily blog on the subject) find so troubling is this: DNA from silver carp has already been found in 11 samples in the lake and river in July. The US Army Corps of Engineers announced July 22 that it had found additional samples containing DNA from silver carp. Experts cannot say from the sampling whether live fish are already in the lake or if genetic material came from dead fish or was carried into the lake from bilge water. The sampling, of course, continues… and chary professionals remind us no final verdict on the matter is yet possible.

But for me, my money’s on the fish. They have outsmarted us at every turn, with every current in the great river system they now control. They have destroyed an immemorial eco-system, snuffing out every native variety of fish, destroying, too, boating, fishing, and travel businesses along the way, replacing lucrative native fisheries with their own flesh, worth so much less on the open market.

They insist that nothing, absolutely nothing, will pause their onrushing vehemence. Against such a determined adversary, have we the grit and commitment necessary to win… or are we just going through the paces, already defeated? These dog days of August will determine all. Like I said, I’m betting on the fish. They’ve got the high hopes.

About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc. at
www.worldprofit.com, providing a wide range of online services for
small and-home based businesses. Republished with author’s permission by Daniel Fischer http://SuccessClicks.com. Check out Truth About Abs -> http://www.SuccessClicks.com/?rd=ya4r53ke

Atlanta, Georgia school cheating scandal. How a pencil eraser and mendaciouseducators shamed a great city and robbed its students.

By Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author’s program note. The great city of Atlanta and many other Georgia towns are, at this very moment, in the throws of the latest installment of their ongoing school cheating scandal. It’s a scandal that could take place in most any school district, but which is worst in Atlanta, a city that has well and truly lost its moral compass . Here no one, whatever their high titles and educational degrees and licenses, is responsible for anything.

And so I have selected for the music to accompany this article, Chaka Khan’s tune “Ain’t Nobody” (released 1983)… because in Atlanta ain’t nobody educatin’, ain’t nobody learnin’, ain’t nobody leadin’, ain’t nobody truth tellin’… and ain’t nobody cleanin’ up the mess and galvanizing the folks so that Atlanta can hold up its head again… proud of its achievements, not abashed by its lies, deceptions and deceits. You can find Chaka Khan’s tune in any search engine. Get it now… and let its pulse get you in the mood not just for disgust, outrage and indignation but for the hard work of school and municipal reform which must start at once, this very day… And don’t read this article with any smugness at all… for you cannot be sure the “educators” in your town aren’t doing the same things but just haven’t been caught yet.

Who’s bright idea was this anyway?

Investigators and the public may never know the name of the first educator who erased the wrong test answer and entered the correct one, and if there were only one such infraction, or even just a few more, we could simply say, “There are always some bad apples in any barrel.” But this is not what happened in Atlanta… where, at least 178 Public School employees in 44 schools, including 38 principals, all decided, some independently, some working together, to alter standardized test results.

Now think about this for a moment.

Each of these educators has gone through years of (we hope) rigorous training, with degrees and licenses to prove their hard work and diligence.

Each will swear on a stack of Bibles that they believe in education and that they are well and truly dedicated to helping students achieve success through the application of high standards of learning and instruction.

Each would take the most sacred oath that cheating, altering test results, passing off another’s work as your own, and all the other egregious forms of educational mendacity are wrong… and can never be tolerated at any time…. and that educators who perform these deeds should and must be punished and driven out of the Academy forthwith fueled by the indignation of the worthy.

Every teacher, every administrator would, I know, signify in any way requested their adamant belief in these propositions… and yet an astounding, astonishing number of these same teachers and administrators altered test results with their own hands… risking their careers and sacrificing their self-respect and honor to do deeds which all knew were wrong and which each abominates and deplores.

How had so many gone so wrong?

While there is finger-pointing all around, the most digits are pointed at former Superintendent Beverly Hall (1999-2011). Her mantra was “performance, performance, performance” which was what the people wanted…. but which morphed over time to “performance at any cost” with the emphasis on the “any”. In the Hall Administration you got the Superintendent’s eye (and extra bennies and emoluments) by demonstrating improved, increasing, dazzling performance. She, once so voluble, now has “no comment”.

The problem is, education doesn’t work like a machine process, a conveyor belt delivering better product for less. Oh, no, education is not remotely like that. Education is a slow, incremental process, where results today, with today’s students, are determined by what each previous teacher in each grade was able to achieve with each student. There is no activity slower than education… nor one in which so many each have a part to play.

Each and every teacher and administrator knows this… but each one decided that pleasing the powers that be was more important than doing the hard work of focusing on each student, with painstaking dedication, effort, and patience. And thus with a simple pencil eraser did each erase everything each knew to be true, good and necessary about their vocation… thereby shaming themselves, their city, their honorable colleagues, and, of course, the students who were, with each erasure and substitution, bereft of what they needed so desperately, a real education, an education of merit, of high standards set and high standards achieved, and above all of honest endeavor and honest testing and review.

As I said, finger pointing is rampant as everyone scurries to save themselves in an environment where there is now intense scrutiny and a desire to see heads roll and so demonstrate that there is a new broom sweeping clean. Interim Superintendent Erroll B. Davis, Jr. says that the prevailing “culture of fear and intimidation” in his predecessor Hall’s regime must be changed. “People,” he says, “felt that it was easier to cheat than to miss their goals and objectives.”

Not just one incident, but a series of incidents.

Americans, of course, want fast answers to endemic problems. And here is no exception. The people don’t want to believe they were thoroughly betrayed by the very people they must rely upon the most: the teachers, educators, and administrators charged with the sacred objective of lifting their children, one step at a time,to a higher, better place.

But the current scandal is just that — “current”, for the good citizens of Atlanta have been cheated by the cheaters since 2001 at least, and quite possibly longer.

Over the course of the last decade, one cheating scandal after another has punctuated the Atlanta school calendar. All bear a dreary resemblance to each other. High standards are set which cannot be met, though those setting them reap a torrent of praise for such daring and boldness.

In due course, though, the high standards are shown to be too high, unrealistic, overly ambitious. Cheaters enter to bridge the difference between what is… and what could never be. And, in due course, these cheaters, or at least some of them, are caught… to the outrage of citizens and short-changed students.

And so new leaders are brought in, who set unrealistic goals and tell you they have the necessary skills, you betcha, to achieve the objective and make Atlanta proud… yet in due course they, too, fail — but only after reaping educational awards and honors for proclaiming goals too steep to achieve. Thus they, too, are discarded and villified.

And all the while the students of Atlanta are bereft of the education they must have and have every right to expect. They do not get it because their parents, their teachers, their elected officials and bureaucrats at every level will pontificate about education… but will not engage in the slow painstaking business of educating one student at a time… for they want an education to be what no education has ever been: a machine process, an assembly-line activity… and until the citizens of Atlanta know this and demand this these humiliating, demeaning, abashing scandals must and will continue.

About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc. at www.worldprofit.com, providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Republished with author’s permission by Daniel Fischer http://SuccessClicks.com. Check out Cash Siphon -> http://www.SuccessClicks.com/?rd=bg2fWWL9

‘For misery, oh, oh, Cherchez la femme’. That’s what Dominique Strauss-Kahn,France’s prospective next president, did. See what happened next… ou la la!

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author’s note: Back in 1977 a group lavishly named Dr. Buzzard’s Original Savannah Band, recorded a peppy little number called “Cherchez la femme”. Its lilt and lyrics are perfect accompaniment to this article. You can find it in any search engine. Then sit back and enjoy a story you’ll find yourself shaking your head about… as you tap your toes to the music, ready to jump up and dance…

Dans la nuit…

As a acute student of French history and politics, no doubt Dominique Strauss- Kahn (universally known in France as “DSK” for his initials knows the anecdote about Philippe, Duc d’Orleans, Regent of France (1715-1723). His mother, the dowager duchess, exasperated by his mind-blowing promiscuity (prodigious even by ancien regime standards) asked him why…. His shoulder-shrugging response? “Dans la nuit touts les chats son gris.” (“In the night, all cats are gray”).

Now DSK has given the French such a rollicking sexual scandal it’s outraged even the most insouciant Parisian boulevadier… affronted by the crudity of the alleged event and the charges, appalling to the most style-conscious people on earth. After all, as Professor Henry Higgins noted in “My Fair Lady” “The French don’t care what you do, as long as you pronounce it correctly.” It seems, judging from the outrage throughout France this week, that in fact there are limits and enough is enough even in the land of ou la la. Here are the facts…

May 14, 2011 Dominique Strauss-Kahn, leader of the International Monetary Fund, was just inches away from becoming president of France, with every public opinion poll showing him trouncing little loved incumbent Nicolas Sarkozy and taking up residence in the Elysee Palace. What happened that night has changed everything — for himself, for France, and for Europe.

Since the event in question took place in Manhattan (doesn’t everything?) it seems appropriate to quote some lyrics from local lad Stephen Sondheim written for “A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum” .(1966).

“Everybody ought to have a maid. Everybody ought to have a working girl. Everybody ought to have a lurking girl… Everybody ought to have a menial consistently congenial.”

DSK took the suggestion literally… though Sondheim no doubt meant “a” maid, not “the” maid, a nuance perhaps lost in translation. And Sondheim most assuredly did not mean the 32 year-old chamber maid (from Senegal) who was fluffing DSK’s pillows in the luxury Sofitel hotel. Close to Times Square (always the epicenter of sexual squalor and never-tell-your-wife adventures), the cost of this eye-popping suite was either $1300 per night or $3000 per night, both figures reported by Associated Press. What matter? It had more amenities than Hotel 6 and perhaps the pampered and deferred to DSK thought the maid merely one of them… Moreover, when she declined his advances, he may have thought that was part of the service for stimulating a tired 62-year-old to improved performance. He lunged… she resisted… he lunged again. Kinky.

What happened in that luxury suite is (for the moment) only surely known to just the 2 people who were there. However, the maid (who had worked to the hotel’s satisfaction for three years), immediately went to the management to report the incident. She may have told DSK as much… and there was perhaps something in her eyes and manner that suggested she would do so indeed.

In any event, DSK decamped (without even stuffing his travel bag with either the high class toilette amenities beloved of hotel guests or his cell phone, which helped track him down) … racing to the airport for a flight to Paris… and the usual limelight and deference. The doors were being closed when…

… New York law enforcement officials entered the plane, arresting DSK, and charging him (just 4 hours after the incident was reported) with a criminal sex act, attempted rape, and unlawful imprisonment. Then they returned him to the city where, in the police lineup (so unchic) the maid selected him as her attacker, the man from whom she had to break free and escape. It was sordid… it was outrageous… and it broke the code of “do it if you must, but never, ever get caught”, something every successful politician with a roving eye needs to remember…. particularly Dominique Strauss-Kahn, whose relations with women were frequent, flagrant, and always feckless.

In 2007, for instance, Tristane Banon, a French journalist and writer, accused DSK of attempting to rape her in 2002, but she did not press charges. In 2008, an independent investigator was appointed following allegations he had had an affair with a married subordinate, Piroska Nagy. She was later made redundant and DSK helped her get another job. DSK issued a public apology for the affair. Le Journal du Dimanche dubbed him “le grand seducteur” (the Great Seducer). It was a sobriquet of distinction, not obloquy, perhaps more useful with voters than his Legion d’Honneur.

Perhaps more importantly, DSK’s employer, the International Monetary Fund’s board found that his relationship with Nagy was “consensual”, doing nothing more than calling his actions “regrettable” and saying they “reflected a serious error of judgement.” DSK (this mere hand slapping suggested) was too intelligent, too well connected, too valuable to lose for mere sexual peccadillos.

However, when the current allegations surfaced, the IMF acted at once and decisively, appointing an acting leader, distancing themselves from their man-of-the-hour only hours before. They knew the charges were serious… and high speed exoneration wasn’t going to happen. After all, DSK stood accused of jumping out of the bathroom, naked, jarring but hugely appreciated (I’m told) from an aging lothario. The alleged victim, unimpressed, had tried to fight him off as he dragged her into the salle de bain and humiliation.

All this, and the rest, outraged his IMF colleagues… as it outraged the French nation, used to sexual scandals in the highest places, but drawing the line at such behavior with servants.

As the news reached Paris, the talk was wild, often bawdy, and, given the national character, conspiratorial. What’s more, given the fact he’s Jewish, there were echoes of the nation’s most corrosive scandal, the 19th century Dreyfus Affair when the right-wing went out of its way to cover themselves for incompetence by destroying an innocent (Jewish) army officer. Why had two right-wing media sources been the first to release the news; how had they known so fast? DSK, his loyal adherents asserted, was framed. Maybe so. It will all come out in the wash in what promises to be one of the most lurid of trials, one every exultant conservative and every disgruntled,chagrined French socialist will scrutinize with care, the nation having lost a president but gained a steamy reality show.

Whilst he’s being held at Rikers Island prison in protective custody (being deemed a flight risk), DSK has time to work on his very expensive defence and connive at his release. Maybe the music and words of “Cherchez La Femme” will cheer him…. but I doubt it:

“This man has learned his lesson, oh hey Now he’s alone He’s got no woman and no home. For misery, oh, oh Cherchez la femme.”

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. He is also a historian and author of 18 best-selling business books. Republished with author’s permission by Daniel Fischer http://SuccessClicks.com. Check out Commission Commando -> http://www.SuccessClicks.com/?rd=jv9CyjaQ

‘I wonder who’s kissing him now.’ Marine Commandant General James Amos’ inconvenient jeremiads on ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell.’

The winds of change are blowing through the military establishment. It is clear that openly gay service personnel are an inevitability and that “Don’t ask, don’t tell” is on its way out.

These days Defense Secretary Robert Gates, a man trusted by both political parties and the service chiefs, has a message for them all: if we are to manage the end of “Don’t Ask, don’t tell” the way we want it… we had best act quickly before the civilian courts step in and tell us what to do. Change is inevitable, he says, but handling it our way is not.

Right now, various judges, their itchy fingers and intrusive court orders at the ready, are giving the military time to sort out their own house. But the clock is ticking… ticking.

Secretary Gates reminds all that “Don’t ask, don’t tell”, that invidious, unconstitutional, discriminatory policy that has kept military gays locked firmly in the closet since the Clinton Administration is moving inexorably into the scrap heap of history’s lousy ideas. He aims to be on the right side as inevitability unfolds.

Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Admiral Mike Mullen knows it, too. He’s on board with the new political realities as are all savvy officers who can see the way the wind blows.

But, conspicuously brand-new Marine Commandant James Amos is not. To the increasing embarrassment of the military establishment, General Amos has become a fountainhead of notoriously unpersuasive insipidities on the subject:

One by one, the panjandrums of the military have thrown in the towel and taken up the new party line, admitting that gays (imagine!) have been serving, are serving and will serve in every service with distinction… what is the big deal, after all?

General Amos, new kid on the block, Bourbon-like, has learned nothing and forgotten nothing. Bourbon-like he has now become the problem… and you know what happened to these clueless French monarchs.

If his military brethren have weakened and strayed, he most assuredly has not. Why just the other day he uncorked this sour vintage, designed to frighten Marine parents everywhere:

“I don’t want to have any Marines that I’m visiting at Bethesda (Naval Medical Center) with no legs be the result of any kind of distraction.”

This, of course, is demagoguery of the worst kind… seeking to support an outmoded policy through fear mongering. It defines the man’s approach to this issue. If he cannot have victory, he can at least have the last word. (But there is that in him which feels that even now, against all odds, he can still have victory. After all he is a Marine… and that is enough.)

Should we abolish “Don’t ask, don’t tell,” he emphasizes, your Marine son, who needs to focus on winning the engagement and staying alive, could well face and would have to respond immediately to unwanted sexual advances from deviate members of the corps who could use war to get sex. Thus, instead of moving against the enemy, your comely lad would be distracted… even unto the ultimate sacrifice.

“I wonder who’s kissing him now.”

In 1909 America danced to and hummed along with a catchy Gilded Age pop tune, “I wonder who’s kissing her now.” This lilting waltz, with changed gender, now appears to be running through General Amos’ fetid mind:

“I wonder who’s kissing him now, I wonder who’s teaching him how? Wonder who’s looking into his eyes? Breathing sighs! Telling lies! I wonder if he’s got a boy? The boy who once filled me with joy, Wonder if he ever tells him of me? I wonder who’s kissing him now.”

Fascinated, revolted, the licentious scene is painfully clear to the general. As the enemy’s attacks intensify, as the enemy moves in, as your son’s full concentration is earnestly required… he has to fend off an amorous corpsman intent on nookie instead of self-protection… and victory. Oh, my.

Imagine, they sleep together. The general cannot forget.

The Marine Corps, unlike other services, houses a pair of people in a room, collegiate style. This, they say, promotes “unity.” Perhaps, as the general worries, too much so. Here’s what he said in November, 2010 in a statement that alerted the politically sensitive to the problem they faced in General Amos:

“There is nothing more intimate than young men and young women ­ and when you talk of infantry we’re talking of our young men ­ laying out, sleeping along side of one another and sharing death, fear and loss of brothers,” General Amos said. “I don’t know what the effect of that will be on cohesion. I mean, that’s what we’re looking at. It’s unit cohesion, it’s combat effectiveness.”

It’s buncombe.

The general says, and no doubt believes with all the power of the last pterodactyl, that men of a certain sexual orientation will during combat do things other than everything they can to stay alive. Does anyone else concur with this lapse of insight and intellect?

Let’s be clear: men, women, gay, straight during combat they will all focus on staying alive, then on achieving the objective. Sexual orientation does not change this truth one iota.

As a result, basing his case on a rancid fallacy, this general of antiquated views and big mouth lumbers on, embarrassing the president, the military establishment, and every thinking Marine; all of them with gay friends and colleagues and absolutely no problem serving with them worldwide.

Then what of General Amos? So newly installed, he has already committed political hara kiri, still walking and too much talking, but of no earthly consequence. The Marine Corps deserves better. Fortunately, in due course, as General Amos keeps talking, they will get it. For such a man with such views has besmirched Semper Fi. And that will never do.

About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., where small and home-based businesses learn how to profit online. Attend Dr. Lant’s live webcast TODAY and receive 50,000 free guaranteed visitors to the website of your choice! Republished with author’s permission by Daniel Fischer http://SuccessClicks.com. Check out Ultimate Income Booster -> http://www.SuccessClicks.com/?rd=qc32jHQO

Thoughts on the Royal Wedding of Prince William and his beautiful commoner Kate Middleton

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

After 8 years of dating, canoodling, breaking up, making up, breaking up the on-again-off-again relationship of Prince William of Wales and long tressed Kate is officially on.

The airwaves of the planet dutiful report the expected congratulations. Her Majesty and Prince Philip are “absolutely delighted for them both”. Prince Charles is “thrilled”. And no doubt they are, for it’s time for the next generation of royals to get on with their important work. There is much to do.

Amongst the royals monarchy is referred to as “the firm”; they say they “live above the shop.” Exactly so. It’s time for the next proprietor and his spouse to start doing what they’re supposed to do:

bring Britain together.

help the tribe of those battening on the monarchy sell their trinkets and reap their profits.

provide us promptly with an equally photogenic man child … and then promptly, another. “The heir… and the spare.”

And above all else do what’s necessary for an endless stream of gossip, titillation and, best of all, scandal.

Yes, this handsome couple has much to do… and has already begun to do it.

Hidden Winners and Losers

The game of monarchy is a game of musical chairs, or more accurately, chair. For there is just one chair, the throne of England; one’s place in the pecking order is determined by one’s relationship to this throne.

As all perspicacious royal watchers have known for years, the fate of a thousand year old institution was planted squarely at the feet of just one person, Prince William Arthur Philip Louis of Wales. He was, almost from the moment of conception, the white hope of a family which had lost its glamour, its allure… and it’s way.

Father Prince Charles… a not so gay divorcee with the tendency for odd, awkward remarks and organic vegetables. His cynical marriage to a woman he didn’t love whilst carrying on with the woman he did set the stage for the long, painful , glaringly public fall from grace.

Uncle Prince Andrew of York, a once beguiling, handsome tease of a younger brother who married a trollop and lived to pay the price, now disillusioned and fat to boot.

Aunt Princess Ann, Princess Royal who chose the handsomest man on the block to marry… only to discover, in the divorce courts, that a marriage needs more than a shared interest in making quadrupeds jump a fence.

This supremely privileged crew despite every advantage managed to accrue between them not one notable achievement, although they have (it’s true) kept the scurrilous tabloids of England over busy with talk of their high and (abysmally) low jinks.

These shop worn royals, their sometime lovers and spouses, have all had their day. Now they will all be regally pushed off the stage by the handsomest couple on earth. That is Job 1, and that couple is at it now.

Managing the Ghost

In the best tradition of royal tales, there is a ghost at this feast, an insistent ghost, the groom’s turbulent mother, Princess Diana. Now her unsettled spirit can be well and truly laid to rest, with love and honor, her sons will see to it.

Diana alive was a nightmare for the Windsors. What would she do? What inappropriate man would gain her heart… then sell it to the tabloids in the shabbiest most cynical way? They cringed daily wondering when the other slipper would drop for this out-of-control Cinderella.

Her death, of course, too soon, was tragic. But it was also a huge relief. Now they can safety lay this ghost to honored rest. This healing process began when Wills gave and Kate displayed Diana’s engagement ring on her finger.

Royal hustlers

What do royals do? They put a regal face on the real business of Britain: selling. Britain grants these folks an anachronistic lifestyle of unparalleled munificence; the catch is they must earn it by hustling things British. In Kate, they have found the perfect corporate wife. She is stunningly attractive, bright, educated, savvy, and (above all else) agreeable to being shaped into the winning marketer the dynasty requires. The cost for maintaining her in the style to which she’ll soon be accustomed is frankly a pittance compared to the tangible financial benefits to be reaped.

Her marriage alone will pump an extra billion or two into the fragile British economy. Well might the Cabinet shout “hear, hear” upon learning the news. The combination of Wills and Kate is a fantastic money machine that no mere president can ever rival.

Intrusive questions we will soon have answered

So far the questions the newly affianced royal couple have been asked have been polite, cordial, asking for little, eliciting less. But all this is about to change. Both Wills and Kate have a price on their heads, and this price (with the showing of the haunted engagement ring) has escalated radically.

This is now the situation. This regal couple have friends, pals, classmates, acquaintances, servants and retainers, any one of whom might know the answers to questions the world is impatient to know:

when how how often where in what way.

These folks are only human. They have bills. They need money. And so, soon, the betrayals will begin, media mogul Rupert Murdoch, fueled by his persistent dynastic hatred and disdain, will see to that.

These people even now, Judas-like, are mulling over their options: should they betray and prosper? Or let the opportunity of a lifetime pass them by. It’s drama in the grand tradition. And it is sure to come.

Thus, with the brilliant ring given, the opening phase of this deeply fascinating story begins. We shall not have to wait very long for the next chapter to develop, even so we are acutely impatient to have it.

About The Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., where small and home-based businesses learn how to profit online. Dr. Lant is the author of 18 books and the book, ‘Insubstantial Pageant: Ceremony and Confusion at Queen Victoria’s Court’ was the result of being the first American to gain access to the Royal Archives at Windsor Castle. Republished with author’s permission by Daniel Fischer http://SuccessClicks.com. Check out Traffic Blog Empire -> http://www.SuccessClicks.com/?rd=ml7IUrVl

Abdicate? Not a chance. Here’s why Charles will reign when his time comes.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

The engagement of Prince William of Wales and the comely commoner Kate Middleton has caused a long simmering question to flare up again. Will Prince Charles, Prince of Wales, stand down in favor of the lovely couple?

Those who advocate such an unprecedented event base their case on the following points:

* Charles is uninspiring, eccentric, even odd.

* Charles will be “too old” at his accession to have a meaningful, effective reign.

* By his caddish treatment of his wife, Diana, Princess of Wales, he forfeited the affection and respect of the nation… and should therefore lose the throne.

* His son William and his winsome Kate are young, popular, already national icons. As a result, it makes more sense for them to reign… than the shop-worn Charles and his frumpish Duchess Camilla.

What do the people think?

An October, 2010 poll of 2,012 adults by ComRes shows support for changing the order of succession. 25 percent of those polled say that Charles should make way for Wills and Kate. The younger the respondent, the more that person is likely to support such a change.

Let’s take a look at all the “reasons” advanced for altering the line of succession for the world’s most prestigious monarchy.

* Charles in uninspiring. True. Mention the Prince of Wales’ name and the likely response will be tepid, at best. But this is hardly reason for revoking his right to reign. In World War I, Charles great grand father King George V was pilloried by H.G. Wells as “alien and uninspiring.” George when he heard the comment was outaged: “I may be uninspiring,” he said. “But I’m damned if I’m alien.” His reign was successful (unlike those of the principal dynasties of Europe), and he lived long enough to see himself as respected, admired, even loved. Britain will never pull the rug on Charles because he lacks charisma.

* Too old. This, too, won’t fly. Right now the queen is 84 years old. Her mother, Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Mother, lived to 101. She could live as long, or longer. Each second reduces the reign of Charles III.. But that is irrelevant.

He’s prepared his entire life to be king and if he rules for just 5 minutes or less… he’ll reign for those. There is no provision in the Constitution to remove the sovereign merely because of his age… and the righteous uproar from senior citizens would be mind boggling if a man were removed from his job because of age alone. Remember, centenarians are the fastest growing segment of the population… and they know how to make themselves heard. Charles will NEVER lose the throne because of his age alone, never.

Charles the cad doesn’t deserve to reign. Here the ghost of Diana, Princess of Wales appears, accusing Charles of every crime in the calendar. For betraying his young wife, and for a frump at that, he deserves to pay the ultimate price, losing the throne. More rubbish.

Sovereigns are not chosen because they have (or have not) remained faithful to their marriage vows. If this were the case, there would be precious few sovereigns…. or presidents of republics either. Bedroom morality has no place in the succession of kings, randy or otherwise. And it should have no place here either, whatever fanatical partizans of Diana, Princess of Wales may say. They have it in for the hapless Charles… and always will have. By his duplicitous treatment of Diana, he certainly forfeited the affection and respect of a great nation… but he did not forfeit his long-recognized right to the throne. His right to that is secure.

Charles is not as popular as the winsome two-some. True… but, again, beside the point.. Advancing princes is not determined “American-Idol” like by the voting masses. It is a matter of established custom, rights, and the little matter of the Constitution. Charles has done nothing to forfeit his rights. Unimaginative, odd, eccentric, true… but hard-wording, dutiful, loyal… and patient.

Why abdication is unthinkable

Now hear this:

The queen will NEVER abdicate. The most conservative of all the Windsors, her majesty will fight tooth and nail for Charles to be king. She is a woman who has lived for the dynasty… and fought for its ever dwindling rights and privileges. Support for another over Charles is unthinkable, not merely because he is her first-born son… but because he is Prince of Wales, the recognized and acknowledged heir.

So, it comes down to this:

Charles will NEVER be removed from the succession; there is no reason or party sufficient to urge or persuade. He will never willingly give up his right to the throne, even for a reign of months, or even weeks. He cannot, for such an act diminishes the monarchy to which he had dedicated his life.

What’s more can anyone, anyone at all, imagine Prince Wills and his newly minted princess broaching the topic with his father, the long-patient prince? Unthinkable. For Prince Wills to ascend the whole royal establishment would have to concur… starting with a father who never could or would agree.

Like it or not… in the fullness of time Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, that high and mighty princess, will by her passing transfer the throne to his gracious majesty King Charles III…. and he, in his time, will do the same to King William V.

Now for a radical prediction: Charles will reign. Camilla will become, in due course, queen consort. Their reign, very likely short, will be diligent, respectable, even popular. For you see, it is in the interest of all to have it so. Charles and Camilla cannot want it otherwise; they will work hard for this result.. The nation he has served responsibly owes it to him, if not to her, to deliver this result. What’s more it will be better for their royal highnesses Wills and Kate to succeed to a well- run, respected institution than one marred by controversy and in tatters.

God save the Queen! God save them all! And may they all reign happy if not glorious.

About The Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., where small and home-based businesses learn how to profit online. Attend Dr. Lant’s live webcast TODAY and receive 50,000 free guaranteed visitors to the website of your choice! Dr. Lant’s is the author of 18 best-selling business books, including ‘Insubstantial Pageant: Ceremony and Confusion at Queen Victoria’s Court.’ This book was the result of Dr. Lant being the first American to gain access to the Royal Archives at Windsor Castle.

Republished with author’s permission by Daniel Fischer http://SuccessClicks.com. Check out e Master Classes -> http://www.SuccessClicks.com/?rd=fz0SziPp