Hope is a journey, not a destination

Brian Bergson and Charlie Lawson build a cover to a drain pipe to protect neighborhood children from falling into and being injured or killed. 

What took the City of St. Paul, the State of Minnesota and Ramsey County four months not to do took less than a dozen people less than four hours to do:  Pick up garbage.

While the leaders of each government unit did nothing to remove the hazardous waste site in the midst of a residential neighborhood the rats, the drug paraphernalia and the pollution and stench grew.

The threat to children and to families was obvious.  Decaying clothes.  Diapers filled with feces.  Discarded syringes and syringes filled with chemicals.  A knife.  Rats.  Disease.

All of it and more sat and sat and sat for nearly four months while government bickered over who would pick it up and who would pay for it.

In the end, the people of Minnesota, St. Paul and Ramsey County picked it up and paid for it.

To be specific, a 20-year Army veteran with a disability, three children, a former bread baker, a Mac-Groveland Mom, a small business man and his friend, a title company owner who lives outside of the City and a former political hack picked it up and paid for it.

But the people who paid for the City of St. Paul, the State of Minnesota and Ramsey County not doing their job are those who live, work and raise families in the Lowertown area of St. Paul who saw their community decay over months of government neglect.

I’ve been asked why those of us who showed up to pick up garbage would do so given that none of us actually lived in that neighborhood.

Our response, I believe, would be the same:  Because we all live in the same world.

I know that if a garbage dump was in my backyard I would not tolerate it.  I would demand it be picked up.  Or, I would pick it up myself.

I know that St. Paul’s Mayor – the Ward 2 Councilmember who represents that area—the Governor – and the Ramsey County Commissioner who represents the region – would not tolerate a garbage dump in their backyard.

Let me be clear:  Governor Dayton did not tolerate a garbage dump in the front of his home.  He tolerated it in the front of the neighborhood that others live in who pay taxes on their homes and spent a lifetime working and raising families in that neighborhood.

But it wasn’t in their yards.  It was not in their neighborhood.  It wasn’t their children and families at risk.  So they didn’t care enough to do something about it.

Brian Bergson, the 20-year Army Veteran, former state legislator, former high-ranking state official and never-ending public servant, showed up with his truck and two children.

He cared enough to do something about it.

He wasn’t looking for credit.  He was looking to get things done.

Despite a disability, Brian spent nearly six hours of his Saturday and Sunday picking up filthy, stinky, disease-ridden trash.

At one point, this veteran of the 2011 Afghanistan surge commented, “Afghanistan had a distinct smell.  This smells just like it.”

It was Brian who coughed up the $60 to pay to haul the first batch of trash to the dump.

It was Brian who showed up Sunday morning, with his tools and his know-how and put a cover on a gaping hole of a drain pipe that a child could fall into.

A hole that any of his two children could have fallen into and been injured or killed.

The same drain pipe that I texted to St. Paul’s Mayor and my own City Councilmember and asked that they notify somebody to come cover it so that some family wouldn’t experience the tragedy of their child being injured or killed if they fell into it.

Silence.

Just like the silence that the residents of the neighborhood have experienced since homeless people were expelled from the area in December.

It is, of course, discouraging, frustrating, tragic and sad to know that people lived in this hazardous waste site.

Clearly, we all must do better to take care of those who desperately are in need of society’s generosity and commitment to provide safe housing, medical care, food and care.

Yet, the decision to simply go do what government would not do—pick up garbage – wasn’t a social commentary about homelessness.  It wasn’t even a social protest or some symbolic gesture.

It was about picking up garbage on our neighbor’s yard.  Next to a church.  At the entryway to the City of St. Paul – the capitol City of Minnesota.

Sunday morning Charlie Lawson, the owner of Global Closing and Title Services, drove up at 8:00 am with his truck, shovels and rakes and a smile on his face.

Charlie doesn’t live in St. Paul.  But, he comes from a small Minnesota town, Montgomery, where the people of that community came together to help his brother who was terribly injured in an accident.

Charlie knows something about neighbors coming together to help neighbors.  He lived it as a kid.  He’s experienced it as an adult.  He’s a Dad, a businessman and an employer and member of his community who cares deeply about those who live in it.

His smile quickly turned to a frown.  A simple comment came from his mouth, “I had no idea how horrible this was.”

Yet, the 2^nd Ward City Councilmember, the Mayor, the Ramsey County Commissioner, the Governor, the Commissioner of the Department of Transportation – they all knew how horrible it was.

And, they did nothing.

Dropping off trash at City Hall wasn’t a well-thought out idea.

But, it was an idea.

If City Hall can’t pick up garbage where it is at, maybe it’s time we bring the garbage to City Hall.

And, to the State Capitol.  The Ramsey County Office Building.  Anywhere else that politicians and elected officials work so they can see the squalor of what people living in garbage have to experience.

It took City Hall less than a few hours to call up its public works department to remove the trash from City Hall.

It took them nearly four months to do nothing to pick up the trash from a neighborhood.

My neighbors are the heroes in this story.  Not just because they showed up and didn’t ask anybody permission to pick up the garbage that government would not remove.

That’s what all of us as citizens of this country, this state and this city should be prepared to do every single day.

No, they are heroes because they have been serving their community their entire lives.  Because they are the ones who have built and defended and served this country, this state and this city.

It’s called public service for a reason.

In the end, that’s all any of us should be proud to be:  public servants.

International Women’s Day was held this past week on Wednesday.

According to the website www.internationalwomensday.com “International Women’s Day (March 8) is a global day celebrating the social, economic, cultural and political achievements of women. The day also marks a call to action for accelerating gender parity.”

The day before International Women’s Day my family and I happened to be at the Adler Planetarium in Chicago.

The planetarium was founded in 1930 by a local Chicago business man by the name of Max Adler.

In reviewing its website, I came across this little nugget:

“Maude Bennot served as Director from 1937 to 1945, possibly the first woman to lead a major science museum.”

I decided to do an internet search on Maude to learn more about here.

In doing so I learned that Maude was replaced under some questionable circumstances according to a number of publications.

http://archives.chicagotribune.com/1945/01/11/page/16/article/maude-bennot-is-suspended-at-planetarium

In any number of stories about her dismissal I found a couple of points interesting.

• She was, as reported in one story, to be “…replaced by a man…”
• When becoming the first female director of a major science museum she took over from a male colleague but “Succeeded to his duties but not his title.”

I couldn’t find much more out about Maude in my short research efforts to learn about the first woman to lead a major science museum but I was struck by the story in a week when women and their role in our global life was the focus of the week.

I grew up in a family of strong women.  Three older sisters who have never been shy about their sense of place in the world in which they live.

Each of them has accomplished great things in the world in which they live.  They have had careers, raised children, given back to their community and had their voices heard in many ways throughout their lives.

My 84 and ¾ year old mother raised 9 children in large part on her own.

Anyone who knows her and has known her would never confuse her with a shrinking violet.  She has never been one to shy away from making a difference in the world.

In an era in which women were expected to defer to their husbands my Mom managed to never give up her independence and sense of identity even when it became difficult and at times physically and emotionally a danger to herself.

My son and my daughter are raised as equals in our home.

They are taught by both my wife and I that they are equal in their home, in the world around them and equal in the rights each of them have been given by God and the country in which they live.

Which is not to say that my children are equal in every way.

My son is a better runner.  My daughter hates to run.

My daughter is a better student and is intent on having good grades.  My son gets by with as little effort as he can muster.

Both of my children have opinions on the world around them.  They don’t always agree with one another’s opinions but when the two of them talk about serious issues I find it remarkable that great weight is given by each other on what the other has to say.

It gives me great pride that my son would never permit anyone to give short shrift to his sister on matters of importance “just because she is a girl.”

Nor would he permit anyone else to do so to the young women he knows.

He has been raised by strong women.  From his mother to his two grandmothers to his aunts and his mother’s own strong women cousins.

He lives in a house with a strong young woman as his sister.

In walking through the Adler Planetarium, I was struck by the three placards in the NASA section of the museum.

One has a quote from Miriam Harris, sharing a story about her mother, Miriam Mann.

The other two are reflections by Katherine Johnson.

Jackson is one of the women featured in the movie “Hidden Figures” which tells the story of “… brilliant African-American women working at NASA, who served as the brains behind one of the greatest operations in history: the launch of astronaut John Glenn into orbit, a stunning achievement that restored the nation’s confidence, turned around the Space Race, and galvanized the world. The visionary trio crossed all gender and race lines to inspire generations to dream big.”

Mann is one of the many women who remain in the “shadows” of others who got the credit for the success of the NASA launch while she and others did much of the hard and necessary work to make it happen at all.

I found one placard to be the best of all during our tour of the Adler.

The title reads: “Get the Girl to Check it.”

And the rest reads:

“In 1962, NASA used electronic computers for the first time to calculate the trajectory and orbit for John Glenn’s first orbital flight.  Not trusting the new technology entirely, Glenn personally requested that (Katherine) Johnson check the numbers.  “John Glenn said, “Tell her. If she comes up with the same answer they have, then the computer’s right.”

We live in a day and time when we feel, all too often, that we need to make judgements on what is or isn’t of value in our society and our world.

There has to be some day or action or movement created to call out a perceived societal ill or unfairness or inequity.  To the point, I fear, that we will not only run out of days but society will run out of attention span and patience to listen to much of any of it after a while.

Those hoping to learn whether I agree with the intentions of International Women’s Day or not will be disappointed to know that I don’t have an opinion on the matter.

Or, for that matter, on the day.

As the father of a daughter, however, and the father of a son, I do have an opinion on what I want both of their worlds to look like after I am gone.

I do hope for a day in which there is no longer the need to recognize days as a way to reflect on what it is we have done or continue to do to hold human beings back from being the human beings that God intended us all to be.

God didn’t create any single one of us to be less than or greater than the other.

Upon our creation, the evolution of our life inside the womb didn’t come with an identifying marker that determined our worth based upon any physical, emotional or intellectual feature we possessed in the world outside of the womb.

All that happens the minute we take our first breath.  When those of us outside the womb for a while choose to decide how the next ones who arrive after us should be treated and valued and respected – or not.

My hope for my daughter – and my son – and their world is one where we celebrate every day for every single person simply because they are worth celebrating as a fellow human being.

I know it is naïve and simple and probably unrealistic.

But, I think people said the same thing back in the day when Maude Bennot became the first woman to lead a major science museum.

As well as the day that Katherine Johnson was told, when asked if she could attend a meeting, that “Well, the girls don’t usually go.”

And she responded,

“Is there a law.?”

Nope.  There wasn’t and she started attending the meetings.

So, as long as there isn’t a law, I intend to continue to be naïve and simple and probably unrealistic and believe that there will come a day when everyone gets to go to the meeting.

Everyone.

 

 

There is an old lady who lives next door to me.

For how long I can’t recall but for the past 53 years she has been a constant reminder of the amazing life I have had the honor of living.

She is 84 and ¾ years old.  That ¾ years is important to her.  She’s not 84.  And, when she was 84 ½ years old she wasn’t 84.

She was 84 ½ years old.

Now she is 84 and ¾ years old.

She has nine kids of her own.  Six boys and three girls.

Along the way those 9 children have given her 18 grandchildren.

Who, in turn, have given her 7 great grandchildren.

She reminds one of those grandchildren that there will soon be 8 great grandchildren.

Each one of my 53 years has not come and gone without some significant event in my life.

Nor have I ever forgotten in those 53 years on my birthday to silently thank two people and one God.

The one God is obvious.

The one person is myself for remembering to avoid simple causes of death such as walking in front of a fast-moving train, getting caught in a broken escalator and, up until a recent episode last year involving a pistachio, avoiding an embarrassing death that will cause those that know me to say, “Yeah, it was freaky.  Who dies that way?”

The other person is my Mom.

The old lady that lives next door to me.

My Mom goes by a lot of names to those that know here.

There is Bep to her brothers and sisters.  There is Betty to her friends.

There is Mother to her children when she annoys or shocks them.

To my own children, who can’t really seem to remember her name, she is “Grandma from Next Door.”

To my children’s great joy they also have another Grandma who lives in Green Bay, Wisconsin.

You guessed it.

Her name is “Grandma from Green Bay.”

My Mom and I have had a lot of adventures in my 53 years and her 84 and ¾ years.

We’ve worked in the same company.

We’ve been on political campaigns together.  We’ve gone to a President’s Inauguration.

We’ve gotten stuck in snowstorms in a car so small and packed with children that it would make Clowns cry.

When I was 13 years old and running a Mobil Gas Station in Fairmount, North Dakota it was my Mom who would come up every lunch hour during the school year and turn on the crockpot.

She would stay there and sell hot dogs and bbq sandwiches to school kids who would walk the block from school to eat them, along with chips and a Pic-a-Pop or Pop Shoppe soda.

That we would all stand around and smoke cigarettes in front of her seems totally politically incorrect today.

It wasn’t 40 years ago.  It just was what it was.

My Mom was the Mom who would slog outside to pick up wood to put into the furnace to try to heat the house where my Dad removed the oil furnace.

To this day I don’t understand why he did that.  For the entire time we lived in Fairmount, North Dakota the house was never warm in the winter and never cool in the summer.

She was the one who would be greeted by the Dog in the morning who had collected some dead animal as a gift for her.  Only to shoo him away with a broom or some other wave of her hands and arms.

My Mom and I once, many years ago, had a chance to go to a fancy fundraiser for then Congressman Gerry Sikorski at a fancy house in the Western Suburbs.  I remember pulling into the driveway of the huge house that was filled with expensive cars while our barely running, dented and exhaust spewing vehicle meekly found a place to park.

She didn’t flinch.  She got out and proceeded to charm everyone she met.

First, by introducing herself.

Second, by asking the person who they were and what they did.

Third, by letting everyone know, whether they asked or not, that she had nine children.

This past weekend at the Spare Key Groove Gala I was reminded of all of those life journeys I have had with the old lady who lives next door to me as I watched her greet untold numbers of our guests who arrived to register.

First, by introducing herself.

Second, by asking the person who they were and what they did.

Third, by letting everyone know, whether they asked or not, that she had nine children.

A running joke among my brothers and sisters is that each of us are the favorite of those nine children.

While it is a settled matter that the favorite is, of course, me – there remains some difference of opinion.

Which is always settled by my Mom saying she loves each of us equally.

That’s not true but who am I to call my Mom a liar?

As I said, I can’t remember how long the old lady has lived next door to me.

I remember that it has been as least as long ago as when my children used to climb the fence to talk to her when she was in her backyard and they would come scurrying back saying, “Grandma says you should make a door in the fence so she can come over and talk to us.”

I never made a door in the fence.  She always figures out a way to get into my yard and my house anyhow.

Many mornings in my life next door to the old lady begin with a phone call where the first words out of her mouth are usually something like this when I answer:

“Oh, you’re home?”

“Say, do you know (fill in the blank with the name of someone she met at Lunds)?”

“Erich, I have a favor.”

Or, there is an email that arrives that starts with:

“….good morning….do you know (fill in the blank with a question)…I am going to a play with a friend today….your (insert brother or sister’s name) is coming over to have lunch with me….I have had a great and amazing life…xoxoxox”

I went over and chatted with the old lady next door yesterday.  She is 84 and ¾ years old.

She might as well be 31 and ¾ years old.  As young as she was the day I came into this world.

She’s gotten a little shorter.  Her knees a little crankier.  And, there’s an extra wrinkle here and there that ultimately comes with age.

But, she’s as sharp as a tack.  As sneaky as she has ever been.  And, there’s no lack of a zest for life that has been at the core of every single day of her 84 and ¾ years on this planet.

As I was leaving she said something along the lines of “Well, any day now I am going to be 85 years old.  I hope I make it.”

I have no doubt that the old lady next door will make it and make it a lot more years after that.

Maybe long enough for me to finally to put that door in the fence for her.

I’ll let her know next year when she turns 85 and ¾ years old.

This time Sunday morning I will wake up after what, by all accounts, is expected to be a successful Spare Key Groove Gala attended by nearly 900 guests.

For comparison sake, we had 220 guests in 2012.

The power of good.

I am somebody who believes in metrics.  It’s important for me to see where I have been and where I am at.

More importantly, it’s important for me to see where I want to go and where I want to be.

I would be lying if I told you that, in 2012, I saw exactly where Spare Key has come to at this point as the organization celebrates its 20^th Anniversary.

It would be even more untruthful if I suggested that where it is today being the result of the efforts of one person.

Most success one has in life is not derived from the efforts of one person.

It is the sum total of the contributions of many.

The power of good.

Spare Key has a small staff.  In the terminology of my payroll company we have 4 ½ FTEs.

In the terminology of humans, we have 5 people who come to work each day determined to help families with sick and injured children in the hospital. 

It is impossible to do the amount of work that my staff does – not just for the Groove Gala – but throughout the year with only 5 of us.

They make the impossible – possible.

In between their full-time jobs, they have full-time lives.  They are planning their own weddings, taking care of children, worrying about the bills they have to pay and living their lives.

They don’t complain about the amount of work that should be done by three times as many people as we have on staff.

They just expect it has to be done and they do it.

The power of good.

We have a Board of Directors and Advisory Council that is as diverse in how they look, as they are in what they do for a living.

From CEOs and Owners of companies, to folks working for big corporations and small and medium sized family owned and “mainstreet” businesses.

They, too, have lives beyond being members of our Board and Advisory Council.

Children to raise, new children to welcome into the world, children to help survive their entry into the world, businesses to run, sick loved ones to attend to and mourning for family members who have earned their Angel Wings.

The Groove Gala isn’t the only commitment they are asked to support.  They are my sounding board.  My guiding principle.  They contribute more than bottles of wine, or money or their time at events.

They donate themselves.

The power of good.

From our vendors, such as Livewire and edgPRODUCTIONS and their staff, to the staff at The Depot Hotel, to our many sponsors and donors, each plays an integral and influential role in the success of the Spare Key Groove Gala.

The vast majority of them never seek, nor ask for, recognition for what they contribute to Spare Key. 

From donations of large gifts, such as a Ranger 570 vehicle by Polaris to 750 Dilly Bars by Dairy Queen to 1,000 bags of M & Ms with our logo on them given to us by TitleSmart, we can barely keep it all within the four walls of our offices.

The power of good.

I tend to get sappy at times.  I bawled at My Dog Skip so much that it has been banned from our home.

When my Son and Daughter get choked up – whether it is because they are happy or sad – I generally have to look away so they don’t see my own tears.

So, when I get to this point of the year, days before our Groove Gala, my inclination to get sappy magnifies itself.

But, it’s because the love and kindness and generosity of so many people, companies and organizations magnifies itself to Spare Key.

I promise I haven’t been crying as I have written this piece, but I can tell you that my heart is full with the immense amount of support so many people have given Spare Key to get us to where we are at before this Saturday’s Groove Gala.

But, more importantly, the support so many have given this organization in the 20 years it has been helping families “Bounce and not Break.”

Before the night is out on Saturday we will have raised a lot of money to help a lot of families and celebrated the hard work and commitment of countless numbers of people.

I will cry at some point.

The power of good, indeed. 

 

 

A few months ago, after years of refusing to do so we brought a Dog into our home.

Her name is Sailor.

We’re still not quite sure what kind of Dog Sailor is exactly.

She seems to have the mix of at least three, possibly four, different types of Dogs in her DNA.

When my Daughter and I met her for the first time she promptly pooped on the floor in the little glass room we were in and we were evacuated by the staff to another room.

There she refused to look at us and instead cried and looked longingly out the door for someone to come save her from us.

Maisie and I were convinced as soon as we met her that she was our Dog.

So, with the power of technology we did a Facetime home so that my wife and son could see the Dog and decide if they agreed with our assessment.

Owen immediately indicated that she looked like a good Dog.

We dutifully went about getting the paperwork done and brought Sailor home with us.

And, for the next several hours she refused to look at any of us.

Sailor was, and remains, a shy Dog.  For the four of us in the house we live in she has mostly taken to us. 

Her relationship with my son is complicated.  He likes to pet her.  Sometimes she likes to have him pet her.  Other times she nips at him.

He doesn’t care much for that and will go lengths of time ignoring her.  She, too, will ignore him. 

That is until there is a treat to be had.  Then she loves him. 

Until the treat is gone.  Then she ignores him.

Until she wants to play.  She loves to have him chase her.  He loves to chase her. 

But, when the chasing is done the relationship turns back to complicated.

Maisie, of course, adores Sailor.  Sailor, in turns, worships the ground that Maisie walks upon.

There are few long walks that can be taken outside unless Maisie accompanies Sailor.  If she is absent on walks Sailor will go a couple blocks, realize his friend is missing, and will stop her in her tracks until you go back home.

Maisie has wanted a Dog since before she was born.  Owen was ambivalent.

My wife was opposed for reasons related to allergies.  And, I didn’t feel all that compelled to press the case one way or another.

It was through a combination of factors that we ultimately decided to bring a Dog into our home. 

We felt that both of our kids would benefit from having a Dog in their lives. 

Despite Owen’s complicated relationship with Sailor there has been a genuine sense of interest in the Dog.  He is alternately amused and annoyed by her.  He laughs at her.  When there are the moments of tenderness you can see serenity in his face. 

He also gets mad at Sailor when she nips at him.  It annoys him.  I think it also makes him sad. 

But he doesn’t completely walk away.  He keeps trying.  A little bit.  Not a lot.  After all, he is a sixteen year old boy. 

Sailor is a stubborn Dog. 

Owen is a stubborn boy.

There’s a learning opportunity in that relationship.

Dogs do something to and for people that I don’t know we really understand until they are in the middle of one’s life.

Yes, I know people who love cats think they do the same thing as Dogs do in people’s life.

They don’t.  Get over it.  It’s a cat.  Cats aren’t Dogs.

My wife talks to the Dog.  She pets the Dog.  She laughs at the Dog. 

This is the same lady who assured us that she would be sneezing so badly that she would need to live in another house. 

As for me, the Dog changes me.  I can tell the minute I find myself in a bad mood and Sailor flips herself on her back for a belly rub. 

Ten seconds into it I find myself talking to the Dog and ten seconds later I forgot the mood I was in.

Maisie lights up when she walks into Sailor’s room.  Sailor melts when Maisie walks into hers.

We live in a place and time when all of us need a Dog.  Maybe not an actual Dog.  But, the feeling and the emotion that comes with having a Dog.

I find no real motivation or comfort or joy in the internet of things pounding me with “Memes” containing inspirational quotes about how to wake up in the morning or what people to get in or out of my life or that something wrapped around my belly will give me a skinny waist.

Words are important.  They do matter.  But, they don’t let you hug them.  They don’t hug back.  They don’t make you concerned about their feelings.  They don’t concern themselves with your feelings.

They don’t feel.  They don’t experience hurt, pain, frustration, joy or require patience and understanding and tolerance.

People do.  So do Dogs.

Dogs poop on the floor. 

I suppose people can, too.

Somehow if a Dog does it we find it in ourselves to excuse it as an accident and we forgive them.

Where if a person did it we assume it was done because of ill will.

Maybe that’s what else Dogs can do for us. 

Teach us that sometimes people make accidents and we find it in ourselves to forgive them.

Another teachable moment brought to you by a Dog named Sailor.

In what seems like yesterday but was longer ago than I wish I was tucking my Daughter into bed for the night.  As we ended our Goodnight routine I casually made the comment, “I’m glad I’m your friend.”

She looked at me very seriously and said, “You’re not my friend, you’re my Dad.”

She was right.  I was, and am, Dad.  Not her friend. 

Today, with both of my children, that line is clear and concise.  My job in their life is to be their Dad, not their friend.  It is a role and responsibility quite distinct from being one’s friend.  There is no space between the title and responsibility.  There is no wavering loyalty or spat that discontinues that responsibility and obligation.  No competition about who is or isn’t the better Dad or favorite Dad.

I am Dad.  Pure and simple.

Considering Donald Trump’s exhortation that the American media is the enemy of the American people I found this memory to be a cogent reminder of the role of the American media.

Particularly in this so-called “Age of Trump.”

It is not true that the press is the enemy of the American people. 

Nor should it be true that the press is the friend of the American people.

The job of the American media is to be the 4^th estate.  The independent storyteller of the nature of our nation.  The clear line between what our government wants to tell us and what we need to know.  An articulate arbiter of truth versus fiction in a world where it is all too often difficult to tell one from the other.

I have spent much of my adult life dealing with the media.  On a local, state and national level I have engaged with smart journalists committed to their craft.

My job and their job was and is very different. 

My job at one point in my career was to paint a picture of those I worked for pursuing policies and actions that we deemed to be in the best interests of the people.

More importantly, my job was to always tell the story from the best possible perspective even if sometimes that perspective may have not always be as obvious to others as it was to us.

At least, of course, from our perspective.

The job of the press wasn’t to simply regurgitate my talking points.  On the contrary, it was to avoid doing so at all costs.

I was one source. They had others.  My perspective was one.  There were those who had others.

The resulting effect was that stories rarely ever turned out 100% the way I wanted, hoped and expected them to be reported.

Any reporter who ever worked with me doing those years would never accuse me of being a shrinking violet. 

There were times I vociferously disagreed with the outcome of a storyline.  Angry words and frustration often followed the publication or airing of a story that I felt was off-base and failed to grasp the genius of what I had told a reporter.

But, I never once thought that the reporter was the enemy of the people of the community.

But, I never once considered reporters my friends.

Neither role was or is the responsibility of the press in this country.

Donald Trump isn’t the first, nor will he be the last, President to treat the press as either his friend or his enemy when it comes covering his Administration.

The short memory times in which we live failed to recall that Barack Obama implemented some of the most chilling restrictions and actions upon the American media we’ve seen in decades. 

The difference, as my son pointed out to me at dinner last night, is that the most powerful person on Earth called the most important entity we have to protect us from the most powerful person on Earth our enemy.

In a previous post, I pointed out that I long ago gave up on the canard that the job of the press is to be objective. 

I also don’t believe the press lacks an ideological slant.  The press itself is dishonest when it continues to reject the fact that by and large it holds and presents a perspective from a left of center point of view.

Which is not to say there is not a robust right of center press perspective in America.  There is and there should be just as there is a left of center point of view.

That the media has a bias is nothing new.  As long as there has been a press there has been a bias.

In America, as long as there has been a free press there has been a bias. 

To which I say, “So what.”

That liberal bias, whether my friends on the right wish to agree, has largely been responsible for some of the most sweeping and positive changes in American life since the founding of our country.

Before my liberal friends start cheering my advocacy for their left-of-center perspective I want to point out that it was that right-of-center media that ended the left’s monopoly on government power in America at a time when it was desperately needed.

One’s ideological bearing, however, is not the great threat to the legitimacy of the America media in the Age of Trump.

The greatest threat to its legitimacy is taking the bait from a man who deliberately goads it.  The larger threat is taking that bait so often that legitimate and important stories are being given short-shrift because there are only so many hours in a day to cover and report on everything Donald Trump does, says or tweets.

The first month of Donald Trump’s Presidency has been an orgy of news that energizes him and has begun to numb the rest of us. 

He tweets that the press is the enemy of the American people and the press continues to broadcast his accusation against a drumbeat of a hundred other stories they have chosen to present to the American public as newsworthy.

Which, I believe, is a greater threat to the American people.  The cheapening and simplification of the news.

Being informed Americans is the hardest work of democracy.  Voting, for the vast majority of Americans, is the easiest aspect of democracy.

There was a time when far too many Americans very lives were at stake when it came time to vote.

Today, all Americans put their life at stake by not doing the hard work of democracy by being the most informed people we can, and should be, living in the freest nation on Earth.

We do so because being the freest nation on Earth doesn’t just happen or stay that way.

It happened because millions of men and women sacrificed their life, liberty and pursuit of happiness to make it so – and many continue to do so – every day.

It will not stay that way if we believe that our job as Americans is to simply digest that which is fed to us – by our President – or the press – without reading the ingredient list on what it is that we are consuming.

In subsequent posts I hope to expound further on my perspective on what I believe the media must do to regain its effectiveness as the 4^th Estate.

This much I will say for now, though.  The greatest threat to America is not its free press.  Far from it.

The greatest threat to America isn’t even believing the President telling us the press is our enemy. 

The greatest threat to America is our failure, as the American people, to demand from both our President, and our press, to stop trying to prove to us that they are a better friend to us than the other.

Because the greatest irony of all is that by trying so hard to prove to us that they are our friend they are actually becoming our enemy.

 

 

 

 

 

She was born on a day when I least expected to learn that a Daughter would come into my life.

Ever since then she has reminded me of the depth of goodness there is on this planet.

I have called her by many names in her life.

Baby, May-May, Thumper, Pooch, Girl, Ladybug, Daughter.

Most of all, I call her Maisie.

Her given legal name, Margaret Elizabeth, has never failed to capture her true essence.

She is the divine blend of her two grandmothers.

Funny, opinionated, smart, ambitious, loyal, beautiful, solid, kind, odd, complex, difficult, grateful, devious, cunning, accomplished, gentle, joyful, clever and never boring.

Maisie.

I write this post this morning from The Northern Lights Lodge after learning yesterday that she received a phone call informing her that she had been accepted into the high school of her choice.

Sick at home with her best friend in the world, a dog named Sailor, she got the call she had been hoping, waiting and dreaming for since she first made her decision about where she would embark upon the next chapter of her life after 8^th grade.

I wasn’t there when the phone call came.  But, as her Mom texted to me on my drive to The Northern Lights Lodge last night, it went like this:

“I asked Maisie what she did when she hung up the phone after talking to Vis.  She said, “I burst into tears of joy.”

My 14-year-old Daughter does that.  She bursts into tears of joy.

She is, herself, joy.

We live in a world where we are constantly being told it is worse than it has ever been before.

It’s not true but it doesn’t stop those who complain about Fake News telling us it is or those who write about Fake News telling us to believe it to be true.

It’s not. And, I don’t believe it.

Because at my home I have a Daughter who bursts into tears of joy.

Which means, inevitably, there is great joy in this world.

Maisie is no pushover.  She doesn’t take guff from anyone.  She stands up for herself.

More importantly, she stands up for others.

When we began discussions further back than I can remember about where she might go to High School, my wife and I had some specific thoughts in our head about where Maisie might consider going.

I would be lying if the cost of where that might be didn’t cross our minds.

Maisie being Maisie, of course, chose the one with more numbers in the tuition bill than the others we had in mind.

But, what her education costs was not a factor in her consideration even if it might have been in ours.

Her factor was what school did she believe was the right fit for her.  What school did she believe would allow her to work and achieve the best education?  Where did she feel she would have the tools, resources, support and environment that would prepare her for a life beyond the walls of a school.

Maisie did the hard work to understand her choices.  She did the hard work and research to have us understand why her choice was the correct one for the next four years of her life.

Over time my wife and I came to agree with Maisie.  She convinced us that her choice should be our choice.

With a phone call yesterday her choice – and ours – was confirmed.

There is, to be sure, turbulence in the world.  I don’t wear rose colored glasses.  I see the world for what it is and what it isn’t.

Yesterday, even in the midst of a lousy couple of hours for me personally and professionally I know that I live on a planet of 7 ½ billion people and I have no legitimate complaints about where I stand in the order of the quality of my life in that population.

Maisie’s phone call and her tears of joy reminded me of that on a 3-hour drive to my cabin with my head and stomach churning with anxiety, frustration and disappointment.

People ask me why I write so much.  People have always asked me why I talk so (too) much.

I think it’s because my life is full.  And because it is I have to empty what is inside it to keep filling myself up.

That’s a remarkable gift to have in this life.  To never be empty because you continue to be filled with things that make your life amazing.

Maisie is one of those Amaisieing things in my life. (See what I did there?)

One of my favorite pictures of my Daughter – and I have many – is on a little boat during a fishing opener in Wisconsin on the little lake in front of my little cabin.  It was the first time she joined her brother and I for the fishing opener.

Despite her brother’s objections that this was a “guy” thing for just he and I she insisted that there was nothing “guy” about fishing.  Anybody could do it.  Even a girl.  And, more importantly, why not a girl.

She looks at the camera with a clear sense of satisfaction that she is on that boat.  Fishing.  Eating the fishing opener snacks that she and her brother picked out for the morning.

I don’t remember if we caught any fish that morning.  I do remember the three of us sat on that boat long enough for me to remember, again, just how blessed my life is for having the life I had then and the life I had in front of me.

My heart burst into tears of joy.

And, to this day it continues to do so.

“The media’s job, in my opinion, is to provide us with facts that are not alternative facts to Trump and Democrat’s alternative facts.  But, to provide us with the facts that are, quite factually, the facts”

Donald Trump doesn’t tell the truth.  He tells plenty of lies.  Big ones.  Small ones.  Stupid and silly ones.  And, of course, serious and dangerous ones.

He careens from the sophomoric boy who brags about things that can be easily found out to be untrue, misrepresented, exaggerated and outright deceit to an angry 70-year-old man who utters nonsense that makes even my teenage children shake their heads and wonder how he got elected President.

Yet, he did get elected President.  Not with my vote or the vote of millions of other Americans but he is our President.

We aren’t yet a month into Trumps term of office and it’s clear that the next four years are going to be exhausting, exhilarating and, in some cases, downright scary.

So, what to do about a President, and those around him, who find it so easy to utter falsehoods as though saying them makes it true?

Before I continue I want to be clear I did not vote for Hillary Clinton or Donald Trump.  Both candidates had serious problems with the truth long before the election of 2016.  Neither candidate had a monopoly on who could tell the biggest lie.

Trump, however, does own the number and consistency of lies he told during his campaign and continues to make after the campaign.

The reporting of Trump’s lies and those of his most public advisors has become a cottage industry and an obsession with America’s media.

It is impossible to find a news source of any type that isn’t committed to pointing out when Trump says things that aren’t true, or a comment by his spokespeople that is not only not correct but a complete fabrication.

There is, of course, a need to do that.

Lenin, and others in different iterations, said that “A lie told often enough becomes the truth.”

In America, we need the 4^th Estate to make sure that lies told by elected officials – of either party – must be challenged so they do not run the risk of becoming the truth.

A Gallup poll from September 2016 states that “Currently, 26% of those aged 18 to 49 (down from 36% last year) and 38% of those aged 50 and older (down from 45%) say they have a great deal or fair amount of trust in the media.”

I suspect there are many reasons for this.

Many in the press want to assign their dismal poll numbers to Donald Trump constantly harping on how much the press lies.

Which is an interesting concept given that without the press’s non-stop coverage of Trump in 2016 he would have not become President and his constant harping of their alleged “lies” would have not had a chance to take hold.

I’ve already grown weary of the press’s coverage of Trump and his Administration.

It has taken on a predictable and rote tone.

It is also creating further problems for the media’s own credibility in an environment in which Americans are casting a dubious eye on every institution in society today.

The “tune-out” factor is already happening with less than a month into Trump’s Administration.

I suspect that is part of the Trump Administration’s strategy.

Outrage and obsession is hard to sustain for four years.  It is hard to sustain for a month.

There seems to be little effort to pick one’s battle when it comes to the Trump Administration.

Truth be told not everything Trump and his Administration talk about involves lying.  There are serious policy proposals they are advancing.  Serious implications of those policy proposals that Americans need to know about.

From ObamaCare to foreign policy to trade policy to infrastructure investment there are things we should be debating in American life today that are finding themselves crowded out by the non-stop antics of the new guy in the White House and the people surrounding him.

The Trump Administration’s practice of creating lots of shiny balls of outrage for the media and opponents to chase is having its desired effect.

For the press the tough task is going to be when the fury ultimately fades away because it cannot be sustained what will they do to inform America about the world we live in and the impact of the decisions by the Trump Administration on that world?

More importantly, after they have exhausted us and themselves by pointing out every major Trump Administration folly – and gleefully and smugly focused on every minor silly folly – what will it do to present the truth to the alternative facts of the Trump Administration.

Equally important, what will it do to present the truth to the alternative facts of the Democrats who seem committed to assigning themselves to permanent resistance party status in America?

The media’s job, in my opinion, is to provide us with facts that are not alternative facts to Trump and Democrat’s alternative facts.  But, to provide us with the facts that are, quite factually, the facts.

Clickbait headlines.  Snide remarks about how long Trump shook the hands of a world leader.  Belly laughing at a Saturday Night Live parody of Trump’s press spokesperson.

None of this is fact.  None of this informs anybody.  None of it does the work of the 4^th Estate.

Nor does putting Elizabeth Warren on a pedestal as a “profile in courage” or allowing Al Franken to spew Trump-like accusations about the President’s mental health without challenge suggest the press is interested in anything but being the mouthpiece for the “Resistance.”

I long ago quit believing the canard that the media’s job was to be objective.  It never has been.

But, not being objective isn’t the danger to the credibility of America’s press.

Being accurate and providing facts that are worthy of its role and responsibility as the 4^th estate is its only currency in an environment where accuracy and facts are inconvenient things to far too many in positions of power in America.

This is not to say that the press is lying to the American people about Donald Trump or Democrats who oppose him or anyone who supports or opposes Trump or Democrats.

Telling us Trump lies is easy for the press.  Because often Trump does lie.

Telling us Democrats lie is not as easy for the press.  Even though Democrats often lie.

America needs its media to do more than just report on the lies of Trump, and not so often report on the lies of those who oppose him.

It needs the 4^th Estate to inform us.  Educate us.  Present us with something more than a headline.

We spent an entire Presidential campaign without any debate about the substance of issues that will impact the future of our nation and the safety and security of the world we live in today and tomorrow.

There’s no shortage of issues the press should be writing and reporting and talking about that gives the American public some means to understanding the implications of policies being pursued by the Trump Administration and Democrats and Republicans at every level of government in America.

The easy work of reporting is letting us know when someone lies.

The hard work of reporting is to tell us something more than that.

Report the lies.  By all means.

But fill our minds with knowledge that we can use to understand something more beyond the headline.

If all we are left with is Trump telling us the press lies and the press telling us Trump lies, then lies win.

And, America loses.

Telling people that you stood up for things – behind the scenes – that you were a leader – behind the scenes – is the equivalent of asking if what happens to trees, bears and the Pope in the woods if nobody is there to see or witness what they are doing actually happened.

 

In the course of my career in St. Paul politics I have won some – and I have lost some.

I have, in fact, lost some really badly!

For those keeping score, here is how it breaks down:

St. Paul Mayor’s Races:  3 wins and 1 loss.

St. Paul Referendums:  1 win and 1 loss

St. Paul City Council Races:  1 win and 1 loss

A winning percentage of .625 isn’t too shabby.

But, you are always judged by your last campaign and being a part of Randy Kelly’s losing campaign for Mayor in 2005 is something I own.  I was a part of it, I played a role in it and I am as responsible as anyone else for his defeat.

I  also have to admit that each of my wins (as well as losses) were before the truly horrible electoral process known as “Ranked Choice Voting” or “RCV” for short.

Or, for those who care about an electoral system that works: “Really Crappy Voting” or “RCV” for short.

It doesn’t really make sense for me to try to explain RCV because the vast majority of voters in St. Paul really don’t understand it.

Which, incidentally, makes me one of the vast majority of voters in St. Paul.

Advocates of RCV have assured us that it does all sorts of magical things.

Magical things, I might add, it does not do.

Advocates assured us it would remove big money from the system. 

It hasn’t. 

Case in point:  The leading candidate for St. Paul Mayor to replace Chris Coleman has already bankrolled $150,000 in campaign contributions.

We were told it would eliminate negative campaigning.

It hasn’t.

Case in point:  The nasty campaign for City Council in the City’s 2^nd Ward apparently was one of the most personal and vicious negative campaigns in recent memory.

We were told it would increase voter participation.

It hasn’t.

Despite passage of RCV in 2011 for St. Paul the Pioneer Press reports the following:

“But in the past five years, St. Paul’s turnout has continued to slump, despite a 6 percent uptick in Ward 2, an open seat. In 2013, St. Paul Mayor Chris Coleman won a third term by a landslide, but turnout was the lowest in at least 30 years.”

St. Paul political guru and resident Curmudgeon, Chuck Repke, has been one of the most outspoken critics of RCV.

It’s ironic because besides being a guru and a curmudgeon Chuck is a pretty proud liberal who would typically find these kind of feel good schemes to be – well – good feeling.

He doesn’t find it good feeling.

Just go to his Facebook page sometime and you’ll find out what he thinks of Really Crappy Voting.

I figure if Chuck Repke and I are on both sides of an issue there is a pretty good chance that St. Paul has been encased by a thick layer of ice and my Catholic fear of Hell has been realized –and Chuck’s lack of belief in God shows that science is making us pay for our folly of having Really Crappy Voting.

But there is an irony here well beyond Chuck and I playing together in the same sandbox on this issue.

Each of the currently announced candidates for Mayor clearly needs RCV to have any chance of getting elected Mayor.

Ironically, given where each of the candidates appears to stand on the issues – uncannily being almost equally far left of center on most of them – RCV may be their actual undoing.

Oh, to be sure, there will be one candidate who ultimately wins.

Even RCV can’t mess that up.

But, when you have four candidates who appear to have the same exact position on every major issue that may – or may not – be discussed in this year’s campaign – it means that RCV will not increase voter turnout for those candidates who might need to draw votes from a pool of moderate or conservative St. Paul voters.

Here’s my thought.

• Four liberal candidates taking liberal positions on every issue will appeal to liberal voters.
• Those liberal voters have four choices (so far.)
• Whatever the size of that pool it won’t get any larger than it currently is.
• So, to win in a pool that won’t get any larger you have the following options.

One, you can raise more money than the other candidate and overwhelm the opposition with direct mail, voter identification, GOTV and other targeted efforts.

Two, you can have a better “grassroots” campaign that allows you to draw your votes out by literally working door-to-door.

Three, failing #1 and #2 you can go negative and decide to attack one or more of your opponents as not being liberal enough to the current, and not growing, liberal pool of voters that might be inclined to show up at the polls.

All of which still means you have to figure out some way of rising above the other 3 candidates in the race to be more liberal than them to win the liberal voters that are probably 99% of the electorate that will turn out for this year’s Mayoral election.

Unless, of course, a candidate emerges from within, or outside, of the 4 announced candidates for Mayor who chooses to embrace another strategy.

That strategy could be expanding his or her inventory of prospective voters by running a campaign that speaks to liberals – and moderates – and conservatives.

That, of course, would require said candidate to take some risk that his or her message could potentially alienate some from the existing pool of liberal voters.

Taking risks in politics is part of the nature of politics.

Being a leader requires taking risks and letting people – publicly – know where you stand on issues.

Telling people that you stood up for things – behind the scenes – that you were a leader – behind the scenes – is the equivalent of asking if what happens to trees, bears and the Pope in the woods if nobody is there to see or witness what they are doing actually happened.

RCV for four liberal candidates for St. Paul Mayor assures that a liberal will be the next Mayor of St. Paul.

There’s nothing wrong with that.  It just means that with 7 liberal City Councilmembers and a liberal Mayor there will be little difference of opinion, thought or ideas on policy or the role of government in St. Paul.

Kind of exactly how things are today.

The problem with the strategy of 4 liberal candidates playing to a liberal base, however is this:  If a legitimate conservative or moderate candidate – regardless of party affiliation – enters the race – it upsets that strategy in key wards in the City.

Specifically Wards Two, Three and Five.

A conservative or moderate candidate emerging would play havoc with a strategy of candidates who hope to quietly convey – behind the scenes – that they are the conservative or moderate in the race for Mayor.

Conservative voters, let’s call them Republicans, are not likely to be able to understand the silent message of candidates who don’t speak to their concerns during a Mayoral campaign and will stay home rather than vote for unabashedly liberal candidates who currently occupy the candidate landscape.

While Republican voters represent a significantly smaller percentage of voters than liberal in St. Paul they can make a significant difference in RCV.

Even in 2016’s presidential campaign between Clinton and Trump St. Paul Republican voters gave Trump, in Wards Two, Three and Five, anywhere from 6% of the vote to more than 21% of the vote, in various different precincts.

I would argue that a great number of St. Paul Republican voters didn’t support – and either voted for Clinton or simply did not vote in the Presidential election.

That means the percentage of Republican voters is both statistically significant and electorally significant.

If there is a candidate intending to speak to them.

There may or may not be any candidate who jumps into the race for Mayor who intends to broaden the electoral base beyond the liberal pool of voters that the current 4 liberal candidates for Mayor want to woo.

If there is one he or she will clearly undermine any strategy of any candidate who believes they can win by stoking up the liberal base on one hand while assuring a conservative and moderate base they are with them on the other hand.

If there isn’t another candidate to emerge it is clear – to me – that the winning hand for the current crop of candidates is to start taking a stand on issues that have resonance to people on the left – the right – and in the middle.

But, what do I now.  I was wrong .375 of the time when it came to political campaigns in St. Paul.

This week I celebrate my 5^th year as Executive Director of Spare Key.  I do so in a year in which Spare Key celebrates its 20^th Anniversary of providing housing grants to families with critically ill and seriously injured children in the hospital.

It has been a tremendous honor to lead this organization.  It has been a privilege to be a part of a team of dedicated staff, remarkable board members, generous donors and sponsors and thousands of volunteers who have come together to help serve others.

I never cease to be amazed at the willingness of people to give money to Spare Key to serve others they will never know and who will never know who has given them such kindness.

In five years, I have had my shares of ups and downs.  Highs and lows. 

My first six months at Spare Key may have been the worst of my life.  But, I decided to give it six months more and now, five years later, I have found a new lease on my passion for this organization.

The bulk of my adult life has been in public service.  Spare Key is a continuation of that life.

I’ve taken the phone calls of joy from those families we’ve been honored to be able to tell that we have their mortgage payment covered so they can focus on their child’s care and recovery.

I’ve also taken the phone calls of anger, sadness, disappointment and fear from those families who we have had to tell that we weren’t able to help them because we receive far more applications that month than funds we had available.

The former are the calls that validate for me the mission of Spare Key.

The latter are the calls that motivate me to work harder to serve every single family that needs Spare Key’s help.

A year ago, I felt my enthusiasm and passion for Spare Key were waning.  The daily grind of raising money, standing in front of groups of people pleading for funds and the non-stop competition for resources has a way of exhausting the spirit.

Yet, over the past year I have found, increasingly, that my enthusiasm and passion – my drive – to continue to strengthen Spare Key’s purpose of helping families “Bounce and not Break” has increased.

There is no denying my staff and board have played a significant role in that renewal of spirit.  Their level of dedication, professionalism, selflessness and purpose inspires. 

Each day I walk into the office there is somebody doing something to help someone. 

It’s not a big staff.  Besides me there are three full-time and one part-time employees of Spare Key serving families in four states.

I often laugh at the absurdity of the amount of work 4 ½ of us do.

It’s not supposed to be possible.

But, somehow, it is.

My board is big, diverse and engaged.

Every non-profit believes it has the best Board of Directors in the world.

I know I do.

Nearly every single member of the Board of Directors brings something to the table to move Spare Key forward. 

Spare Key relies on all of them to be involved to achieve our goals, mission and objective.

Five years is a long time in a short life even if one intends to live to be 100.

It’s 1/20^th of the total of that life.

For Spare Key, my 5 years represents 1/4^th of its life.

I can see Spare Key’s future. 

One that expands its capacity to serve more people.  One whose mission will remain purposeful and intact but will meet the needs of a new generation of families needing our help.

A “one-stop” shop for families seeking light in the darkness.  A place where social workers will be given many of the tools they need to assist families with one phone call, email or fax. 

I see Spare Key engaging in new ways create sustainability so that fewer resources have to be expended to raise more resources to help families with sick and injured children in the hospital.

Raising money is hard work.  How we raise money must change and evolve.  And, it will.

In our 20^th year we have adopted a modified version of our motto, “Spare Key helps families Bounce and not Break.”

That motto is “No matter the illness.  No matter the injury.  No matter the income.  Spare Key helps families Bounce and not Break.”

It’s not elegant but it is powerful.

What has made me do the work I have done for five years, and what inspires me to continue this work with a new zest for what we can do, is that motto.

But, it’s something else, too.

A number.

It is the number Zero.

That’s the number of calls I want to someday receive from a family we have not been able to serve.

Because there won’t be a family we won’t be able to serve.

If I have anything to do about it.

I intend to.