What pride should dwell in this, our legacy?

 

                                                                (Note: Watch Paul and George move to look over John's shoulders)

At this time of upheaval and change, I’ve been thinking about events that shaped modern America. Psychologist Erik Erickson writes the 8th Life Cycle is to reflect on one’s legacy.

When I was younger, so much younger than today, I never needed anybody's help in any way (The Beatles, Help).

My awareness began with Kennedy’s assassination. Whether it’s remembered or conceived, my earliest memory is JFK’s funeral.

The bullet threads the 1960s including the deaths of Martin Luther King, Bobby Kennedy, Malcolm X, four Kent State students, and 58,220 causalities associated with the Vietnam Conflict.[1] Despite living in the shining city on the hill, violent death accompanied our youth.

As Vietnam ended, the corruption of Richard Nixon and Watergate watered the seeds of cynicism and mistrust toward government and each other. We stumbled from Ford to Carter amid malaise and gas lines towards a new day in America.

But now these days are gone I'm not so self-assured.

In 1980 Beatle John Lennon was murdered. We couldn’t imagine that the Dreamer had died. Our dreams of a better world withered.

Although Iran Contra exacerbated declining trust, the Berlin Wall came down, the Soviet Union collapsed, and democracy expanded in Eastern Europe. For a while, we “danced on the wall.”

The late 80s contrasted the collective hopes of Live Aid, Farm Aid, and starting families; against the devastation of crack cocaine, gangs, and AIDS.

Meanwhile, supermarket tabloids out- sold newspapers and created the conspiracy industry. Society was warped by celebrity and reality tv including a White Bronco, Kardashians, televised preachers, and Jonestown. We gasped as credible reports of pedophilia were lodged against Michael Jackson, myriads of Catholic Priests, Olympic and football physicians, and the Franklin Credit Union investigation.

Then came cable’s 24/7 news cycle and the pithlessness of ‘gotcha politics.’

I was at the Ranch Bowl when images from Paris depicted a mangled Mercedes and death of a Princess. For a while, hope turned to tragedy.  

On September 11th the nation was instantaneously transformed and once again we wept. The nation quivered between anger and fear as the War on Terror took American troops to Afghanistan, Iraq, and eventually Pakistan.

And now my life has changed in oh so many ways.

Somehow, it seemed, through the fault of no one in particular, we changed. The rapid pace of technology brought out the best and worst of us. Favor towards marriage equality moved quickly while pluralism turned some towards bitterness and resentment.

Help me if you can, I'm feeling down.

On January 6th, President Trump’s failed coup defined him, his followers, and national politics. The world looked on in horror as Americans held their breath. Sandwiched between ideological divides, everything became political. Otherwise mundane medical issues such as masks and vaccines were woven into shadowy caverns of conspiracies fed by manipulative news outlets, feckless blogs, and social media.

My independence seems to vanish in the haze.

All the while our kids grew up, little league games gave way to graduations and diapers. Full houses downsized to empty nests and the America Dream teetered on nightmares of division, unfettered anger, entitlement, and identity politics. And yet we prayed for our kids and pondered the society we’ll bequeath them.

What is our legacy?

Are we defined by fear and anxiety, a $28 trillion dollar monument to mismanagement, and manipulated societal division? TV depicts street altercations with spilled blood and tear gas while apologists line up to excuse insurrection and lies. Strangely, we fund charities and readily assist after natural disasters while too many refuse to act toward the common good.

Now I find I've changed my mind and opened up the doors.

When I look for leadership, I am drawn to Dr. Fauci who side-stepped politics to  navigated a pandemic, Congresswoman Liz Cheney for punching a bully in the nose, and Senator Amy Klobuchar for articulating Midwestern common sense while others spewed deceit or complied with silence.

Help me get my feet back on the ground.

What pride should dwell in this, our legacy?

I am inspired watching a palsied student willing his uncooperative body towards class, or watching the sunrise over Iowa’s bluffs bringing the unwritten day. Friends and colleagues offer kindness while my wife steadies our home. But my greatest hope comes from our children and students who remain nonplussed by American pluralism.

I know that I just need you like I've never done before. Won't you please, please help me?

---

[1] https://www.archives.gov/research/military/vietnam-war/casualty-statistics

 

OWH December 2021 B                                                                      Rick Galusha

Senator Fisher’s recent Op-Ed, opined that seating more than nine judges on the Supreme Court places the blame squarely on President Biden. I agree that stuffing the court is a bad idea. However, it did not happen in a vacuum. Both parties have ‘dirty hands’ in undermining our trust.

For generations, our system of self-governance relied on accepted traditions and the institutions they safe-guarded. The Senate was once the legislative chamber of decorum and well-mannered jousting of ideas. Between Watergate and the modern era, this faded into rank partisanship and succumbed to the strategy of “no.”

Gallup reports trust in institutions has been steadily falling. I recall the pre-political-team era of getting things done, policies addressing shared long-term interests, trusting elected officials to do the right thing over the politically advantageous thing, and, regardless of political affiliation, condemning bad behavior and lying.

In the Federalist Papers (1787) James Madison ponders that the legislative branch may be too powerful, thus overshadowing the executive branch. As the world became smaller and more complex in the late 20th Century, the Presidency became more powerful while the legislature faded. After the Constitutional debauchery of Watergate, the legislative branch made overtures to rebalancing power with the White House.

And the men who spurred us on, sit in judgment of all wrong. They decide and the shotgun sings the song.

However, instead of living within the constraints of rules and traditions, officials moved the goalposts by changing the rules and traditions to assure short-term victories over long-term good governance. Among these bad ideas include the reckless spending of MMT, voter ID, ending the Electoral College, and McConnell’s ideological imbalance on the Supreme Court.

In 2013 Harry Reid (D) lowered the vote threshold for Federal judges in the Senate from 60 to 51. The traditional threshold of 60 meant that judges would have to secure votes from the opposing party. Since Senate majorities rarely achieve 60 sitting Senators, it meant that judges tended towards moderation.

We'll be fighting in the streets, with our children at our feet. And the morals that they worship will be gone.

In order to balance power, governing pits interest against interest. While changing the rules helped Reid’s effort to place Obama’s judges, by lowering passage from 60 to 51, Reid’s short-term gain opened the door for the ideological imbalance we see on today’s Supreme Court.

Take a bow for the new revolution.

Predictably, Republicans flipped the rhetoric of convenience, not once but twice, by stalling Obama’s nominee, Merrick Garland, and then disingenuously placing three Trump nominees on the Court. No longer does the ideology of the Supreme Court’s justices exist within a narrow range of partisan views. And since judges sit for life, it is a long-term imbalance.

Students of the Constitution, Federalist Papers, or Aristotle know, a long-term imbalance is tyranny.

Smile and grin at the change all around, Then I'll get on my knees and pray…We don't get fooled again.

The moves by Reid and McConnell were good short-term politics but inflicted long-term damage. Eventually, the other party comes into power and, consequently, governance takes a seat on the teeter-totter of hyper-partisanship as “the new boss” undoes the policies of their opposition.

Secondly, the Court has always been modestly partisan. The tradition of compromising on placing judges prevented the Court from becoming politicized. As such, we trusted that over time the courts would balance and be neutral actors addressing complex issues with an even hand.

Meet the new boss: same as the old boss.

Time was when elected officials learned that doing the right thing mattered; LBJ changed his spots and signed the Civil Rights of 1964 and the Voter Rights Act of 1965, George Bush raised taxes, Truman integrated the troops, Reagan tippled with O’Neil, and Liz Cheney stood tall when the nation needed her courage.

In an era defined by mistrust and rewarding noncompromising, traditional governance is being replaced by self-serving ideologues that run roughshod over the rights and interests of you and me. Increasingly, the many are all held hostage by the few.

Not because their ideas are better but because they are willing to damage the nation and cripple democratic principles such as the smooth transition of power or free & fair elections.

No wonder Americans’ willingness to trust others and our institutions of self-governance continue to drop.

Rick Galusha: Finding good people and avoiding extremism (OWH 12/12/2021)

Aesop tells the tale of a good-natured frog giving a scorpion a ride across a creek on the frog’s back. Despite assurances, true to his nature, the scorpion stings the frog midway, causing both to die. It’s an instructive fable, teaching we are each subject to our true nature.

I think of Nebraska voters as prairie populists. Generally, we like elected officials who go to Washington, keep a low profile, stay out of the news, defy hyperpartisanship and don’t make comments that feed into negative stereotypes.

“When there’s no one complaining there’ll be days like this.” — Van Morrison.

In a political landscape that rewards outlandish commentary and strict adherence to party litmus tests, stoicism goes unrewarded at election time.

For a very long time, Omaha’s metroplex has been blessed with emotionally stable, thoughtful, good candidates.

As a kid growing up, we all knew that the son of newscaster Lee Terry lived in the neighborhood. He was a goofy, but friendly enough, kid living in a long shadow. Soon enough, he was our congressman. Lee was middle-class, college-educated, spoke like the rest of us, loved Nebraska football, and had the audacity to wear a leather Disney jacket (long story). He was and is one of my oldest friends.

It was Lee who told me what a good person Kara Eastman is. As I got to know Kara a bit more, true to form, she was kind, thoughtful, engaging and sincere — a delightful person.

As the founding president of the Old Market Business Association, I got to know Unicameral Sen. Brad Ashford when he revived Nebraska Clothing Company in the Old Market. He was similarly thoughtful, informed, well-connected and has since been my friend.

I don’t know, I just like good people without worrying about their political affiliations. And, when you’re not watching cable news, you probably do too.

“When all the parts of the puzzle start to look like they fit, I must remember there’ll be days like this.”

Of 435 congressional districts, political scientist Morris Fiorina notes that fewer than 40 (8%) flip from one party to the other. Arguably, Nebraska’s 2nd District is the most moderate and flippable congressional district in the nation.

When Don Bacon retired from the Air Force, he taught at Bellevue University. Before Don came to Bellevue, I called another kid from the old neighborhood, Maj. Gen. Rick Evans. Ricky, as Lee calls him (another funny story), gave Don high marks.

I got to know Don a bit and observed as he honed military-political skills into electability. He was, and is, someone who places high value on faith, family, patriotism and morality. His genuine kindness requires navigating between being true to his nature and the complex demands of modern politics.

“When everyone is up front and they’re not playing tricks. When you don’t have no freeloaders out to get their kicks.”

I understood Bacon’s dilemma but, like many, wanted to see more distance between our congressman and the zaniness of the radicalized right and the lies of Mr. Trump.

Like the good-natured frog, Bacon got stung by a venom-filled scorpion.

“When you don’t get betrayed by that old Judas kiss, mama told me there’ll be days like this.”

I was not surprised when the radicalized right began attacking Bacon, and Trump publicly called for a primary challenger. But I did not expect the governor’s public defense of Bacon.

Will it be a career-ending sting? Voters will make that decision.

But what’s the larger lesson?

We know empirically that when one strictly congregates with like-minded ideologues, they will increasingly spin further away from median voter’s views by becoming increasingly ideologically extreme in ideas and rhetoric. In 2008 — and again in 2020 — Omaha’s highly moderate 2nd District voted a split ticket by casting votes for a Democratic president and a Republican congressman.

“When people understand what I mean, there’ll be days like this. When you ring out the changes of how everything is. Mama told me there’ll be days like this.”

Calling moderates RINOs and DINOs is all fun and games until, as our friendly frog learned, the thought police knock on your door. History has demonstrated time and again, extremism in defense of lies, misinformation, and tyranny is no virtue. In fact, it’s downright deplorable.

London/ Newcastle Rock Walk & Blues on the Radio

Year's ago I took a dozen students and my friend Jason Birnstihl on a Rock Walk to London, Newcastle and Edinburgh. Since it was a one credit hour course, I created an online presence for the course. 

The focus was on music from the Classic Rock Era. However, there are some great historical sites noted on the blog as well. 

This is a multi-page blog so look for the walk map as well as additional information on Newcastle Upon Tyne. 

Here is the link:

London Rock Walk & More

Another aspects of my life is my radio program. Started in 1991, in my mind, its a show where I explore topics or artists, perhaps holiday or issues as if you, the listener, are sitting on my couch and I am playing records while we're having a discussion. 

Or, as I like to think, predictably unpredictable. 

It would slay me if what I played and discussed became predictable: there's already enough of that on the radio. 

My formative listening years occurred when FM radio was just beginning: the excitement of a new album that the deejays would play. And the personalities like Paxton West, Mike 'Cody', Dick Werner (DDS), Kevin Kessera, Warren Wood, and, of course, late nights with Otis and Diver. 

It was a glorious era when the deejays wove a narrative, told stories, and talked deeply about music. It was when the ART OF RADIO opened up to me. I hope you enjoy listening to, what I consider to be, my art of weaving together shows that entertain, inform, and maybe even excite...  but are not predicable. 

Here is the link: 

Ecclectricity

Meeting Mick and the Stones

Is there a more iconic world figure than Mick Jagger? I’ve been personably close to his Lordship three times. Twice at a label organized Meet-n-Greet with the band (thanks Bill!) and once in a hotel lobby at the Ritz in Cleveland. Keith Richards describes Jagger as, “a couple of nice guys.” Richards complained that Jagger’s personality changed depending upon who was in the room. 

I know a guy whose band opened for the Stones throughout Europe and Asia some forty years ago. 

“He was a prick” said Dick. He made it clear he didn’t want us approaching him. “We just gave him his distance; a wave here, a quick hello there, but, really, we just complied.” As the tour wound down things changed.

“One day he came into our dressing room and apologized.” According to Dick, Jagger basically said that everyone he meets wants to be his best friend: “the only way I can protect me is by a wall. “After that, he was the nicest guy in the world.” If you’re just a middle class guy from a village outside of London, being one of the biggest celebrities in the world has to get old, quickly. 

 Another time, while working backstage at the show of a significant rock star, I met his private pilot. “Yeah, I’ve flown the Stones all over the US. It’s interesting, when Jagger got on the plane, he sat down with five accountants and by the time the plane landed, they’d worked out, to the penny, exactly how much was made at each tee-shirt stand. The Stones were just the opposite of John Denver. While Jagger was all business, when I flew Denver around they smoked so much pot I have to wear an oxygen mask.” Is it true? It sounds plausible but it’s a hell-of-a-story. As Keith notes snidely in his autobiography, Mick makes a list of things to do the next day, every night before he goes to bed. 

 After losing their songwriting rights from 1963 – 1970, to the less-than-scrupulous Allen B Klein, and being forced into tax exile in the early 1970s (to the south of France), it sounds to me as though Jagger had to become the defacto band manager while his partner, Keith was a junkie stumbling through the 70s and 80s. 

 But ya know, I wasn’t there – I don’t know these guys. But I have met them. 

The first question would be which time? Over the 26x I’ve seen the Rolling Stones, I’ve been fortunate enough to sit in the first four rows six times. Believe me, having sat in the upper balcony in Kansas City on the band’s 2015 tour, (I took my daughter) it’s a completely different show. 

Sitting in the front rows you can see the band interactions, hear their comments to each other, and watch their emotive actions designed to push the band’s presence to the back of the stadium. While their relationship off stage seems tense, when things go well on stage, the old magic between Mick and Keith is evident. After the band sails through a solo, or some choreographed move, Mick often flashes that world-class smile at Keith who, in turn, will nod or bow back with an equally charismatic schoolboy grin. Whatever drama fills their time off-the-stage, it’s clear the band’s chemistry is still swirling around when they play. They’re clearly not phoning it in. 

 An interesting aspect is whether on stage, or in person, Mick and Keith are very careful to not make eye contact. I suspect that during their Brian Jones’ pop band days, eye contact with the audience resulted in riots and destruction as some “flounder” took the visual contact as permission to jump on stage. 

I dunno, I don’t know these guys. 

However, Ronnie Wood is constantly making eye contact. When we saw the band in Ames, Iowa (Voodoo Lounge tour), Wood singled out my Barb and sang the chorus to her. At least that’s the way we saw it. (Tha’ cad, lol) While on-stage Woody is pointing at people, flicking guitar picks here and there, and sharing a smile. The first time I met Ronnie he was immediately your best friend. Wood was jovial, bouncing from one foot to the other and giving out hugs and making engaging and kind comments to everyone.

    

At one meeting a “rough” gal-super fan was giving off this “I’m gonna lose it” vibe. While Mick, Keith
and Charlie steered clear, the label reps moved in. Woody walked over, put his arm around her and laughed aloud; mini-riot avoided. 

Once, while posing for the inevitable photo, I put one arm around Wood and the other around the band’s drummer Charlie Watts. Despite fifty years of adulation and what I imagine has to be a pretty nice income, Watts remains nonplussed about the band. Seemingly he enjoys his relative anonymity and lights up when Mick or Keith get focused on while he, calmly and with proper Englishman demeanor vanishes in the middle of a crowd. 

Well, when I put my arm Watts he immediately stiffened-up. As it dawned on me that one does not touch an Englishman, Keith and Mick bent over and exploded in laughter at Charlie’s obvious discomfort. Snap, snap went the pictures. Ouch. 

While Keith is, well, Keith – unflappable, well read, and charmingly distant, Mick goes through the motions of shaking hands, saying a quick hello, and getting to the business of taking a picture and then exiting quickly. Watching Mick work his way down the line I focused on the history I knew of Jagger; Jagger in black and red dancing amid chaos and death at Altamont, 

Jagger acting in the motion picture Performance, Jagger’s post-prison interview on the lawn of some manicured estate, Jagger being “financially unsatisfied, sexually satisfied,” Jagger singing on the Beatles worldwide telecast of ‘All You Need is Love.’

Me: “Hey” 

Mick: “Hey.” No eye contact. 

I strained to see the diamond in his front tooth and the scar on his wrist he got before the ’75 tour ("His, Hand of Fate". I was unable to see either.

Me: “Congratulations on the [then recent] birth of your son.” 

Quick eye contact, quizzical look. 

 Mick: “Thanks man.” 

 Me: “Yeah.” 

I suppose like anyone, Jagger’s attitude is one part self-preservation and a second part dependent upon that apparently ever-present To Do list swirling around endlessly in his mind as he single-handedly manages a multi-billion dollar company dependent upon himself and three now-former junkies. Not exactly the same day-at-the-office experience you and I might have. 

One part of Jagger’s busy day is the necessary the strict discipline and focus he needs to keep that massive carnival on track and on time (29 semi loads of equipment according to a Forbes article). Another part of Jagger is holding onto that incredible creativity that allowed him to write some of the most iconic songs of the 20th century. 

Another layer of course is, he’ s just a guy doing what we all do – thinking about his call that afternoon with his daughter to discuss a grandchild, getting back to some label executive about approving a promotion budget, and “do I wear black shoes tonight or red shoes.” All the while circumnavigating a world where everyone wants a piece of you, a moment of your time, your undivided focus. 

When I met the band in St. Louis, it was a much less distracted Jagger. They were filming a pay-per-view that night but for whatever reason he was more engaging. “You come alone?” he asked. “No, my wife is waiting for me.” “Oh, here” he said as he grabbed and handed me a plastic wine glass and a handful of chocolates, “Tell her I said hello will you?” “Of course” I smiled. While it’s not exactly accurate, my Barb swears they opened that night’s e show with ‘You Can’t Always Get What You Want.’ As Barb tells the story, she waited for the line, “A glass of wine in her hand,” raising her cherished Mick Jagger plastic wine glass in the air in tribute. And yes, you can see us in the Bridges to Babylon DVD. 

Meeting Mick Jagger was cool. A chance of a lifetime but not cool like, “Hey Rick, please to meet you. Let’s party.” But cool like, he’s just a dude in a luxurious gilded cage that writes great songs and night-after-night sets the bar for a world class concert performance. He seems like a guy, not unlike the rest of us, trying to keep things on-track, showing up on time and being prepared: a professional. Somehow he finds time to not have to be “on” for someone else, and, today, being a great grandfather. I kinda admire the guy. He re-wrote the rules and got a Lordship in the process. 

Not bad for a kid from Richmond.

The Other Big Lie of the 21st Century (so far)

 

Did he or didn’t he? Is he lying, again? Was it or wasn’t it? How do we know? What we do know is that false claims of election fraud are not the first Big Lie of the 21^st Century. My interests lead me to read books including Senator Ben Nelson’s (D) latest, Death of the Senate, My Front Row Seat to the Demise of the World’s Greatest Deliberative Body. In his book Nelson discussed the other Big Lie.

You better think. Think about what you're trying to do to me (Aretha Franklin)

                        Video: Aretha Franklin (feat Matt Guitar Murphy & Blues Brothers)

In his recount of the lead up to the war on Iraq, Nelson shares, “I do not regret voting for the war.” Should he? Obviously memoirs craft the historical record. Nelson walks the reader through the complexity of the issue and writes, “I regret that the misinformation was so bad.”

Let's go back, let's go way on back…

You couldn't have been too much more than ten.

We knew Saddam Hussein once had WMDs (weapons of mass destruction) because he’d gassed fellow citizens thirty-nine times resulting in mass genocide. Hussein’s potential ownership and threat to use WMDs was not unfounded. 

Today we know several things about the conflict in Iraq: oil played no role, WMDs were never found, and despite Vice President Cheney’s assurances, “…we will be greeted as liberators,” we weren’t, and there were no plans for governing in the aftermath. We did not export democracy, the world is not a safer place, and that those who peddled uncertainty and misinformation inflicted irreparable death, distrust, and damage.

After reading Nelson’s expose, I pondered whether the Big Lie of WMDs was a more significant deceit than undermining voter confidence in free and fair elections.

I ain't no psychiatrist, I ain't no doctor with degrees. 

But, it don't take too much high IQ's, to see what you're doing to me.

 Perhaps the first lesson from the WMD vote is that many got fooled by the deceit including both legislative branches. How did this happen? It happened because of the actions of a few. Through obfuscation, innuendo, and dubious sources, enough uncertainty was created to drag the nation into war.

They knew that once the masses bought in, the resistant few could be steamrolled with accusations of being unpatriotic, out-of-step politically, or worse, being cowards.

Today we know shoddy information cost hundreds of thousands of lives, hundreds of billions of dollars, and our sense of national righteousness. The city on the hill shone a bit less brightly.

There ain't nothing you could ask, I could answer you but I won't. 

What we should have learned is when elected officials play patty cake with the truth; their political opposition does not pay the price. Those who pay the price are that young man down-the-street who played little league with your son and then joined the Army after graduating from High School. Or the girl your daughter had stay overs with in third grade, then grew up and joined the Air Force. Too often the young and the innocent have paid the price for political deceptions.

We all lose when good candidates forego public service due to ideological litmus tests, fealty oaths, and overbearing partisanship.

But who wins? Today China leverages our failings against us including Biden’s fumbled withdrawal from Afghanistan, Trump turning his back on Turkish Kurds, and the erosion on democracy begat by the myth of election fraud,

What’s the lesson?

Citizenship includes responsibility. We didn’t really know whether Iraq has WMD or not. Upstanding citizens were bamboozled by those peddling fear, division, and exaggeration.  The late Colin Powell noted that misinformation and a rush to judgement cost us dearly in Iraq.

Unlike WMDs, we know with absolute certainty there was no widespread election fraud in 2020. Those who suggest otherwise, or who stand by with a wink and a nod, are actively dividing our nation and undermining our trust in the institutions that guide American democracy.

People walking around every day, playing games, and taking scores.

When Iowa Senator Chuck Grassley and Unicameral Senator Rob Clements genuflected before the mob in exchange for votes, they stoked the myth of election fraud. In doing so, they weakened voter confidence in our democratic institutions. 

Trying to make other people lose their minds. Be careful you don't lose yours. 

Although the facts have been settled in the courts, in all fifty states, in the House of Representatives, and by most politicos, when elected officials undermine trust in the institutions of self-governance, including the results of a free and fair election, the rule of law and the U.S. Constitution become antiquated obstacles to mere election strategies.

You better think. Think about what you're trying to do to me

Script: Prelude to the Declaration of Independence: Liberty, Equality, and Justice

Before we begin our exploration of the Declaration of Independence, let’s explore two essential values discussed in the Declaration: liberty and equality.

On the one-hand, the title of the document, the Declaration of INDEPENDENCE clearly points to liberty or independence. On the other-hand, Jefferson’s phrase, “all men are created equal” is a statement about equality. And the term, "equal" refers specifically to having access to equal rights. 

So both values are central to the Declaration.

And, indirectly, these two ideas suggest a third value, justice.

We want to pause and recognize that the Declaration of Independence, the document which signaled the birth of the United States of American, incorporates the three values that are considered to be the foundation of our society; justice, liberty, and equal rights or equality.

Let’s dig in…

Can one have too little liberty? Obviously this is true, but can one have too much liberty? This is also true.

As we will learn throughout the course, our American model of self-governance works best when individuals chose, as free women or free men, to willingly curtail their behavior, or liberty, in order to respect the rights of others. 

For example, my idea of freedom might be driving my semi-truck through rush hour traffic at 120 miles-per-hour. This expression of individual liberty is obviously a threat to the rights of others: in this case their right to life. Thus, justice curtails or limits liberty.

Can one have too little equality? Once again, this is obviously true. When someone is unable to exercise or use their rights, when their rights are denied to them, this person has too little equality.

But can one have too much equality? For example, suppose I work very hard but others do not. Is it fair to take from me, someone working very hard, and give it to someone who is capable of supporting themselves but does not? (Obviously, this is an argument of degrees since, according to the social contract, we all know how important it is to pay our share of taxes in order to support good roads, public education, military defense, and necessary services such as fire and police protection.)

Clearly it’s not fair to over-burden me with the needs of others, and, as history has shown again and again, in societies that pursue an extreme version of this sort of taxation, eventually I will work less hard since I am unable to enjoy the benefits of my labor. 

Once again, a sense of justice or fairness will limit equality.

Now, here’s a trick question. As we just saw, one can have too much, or too little liberty and equality. But, can one have too much, or too little justice? American philosopher Mortimer Adler argues that justice is binary value. You can either have justice or injustice but there are not shades or degrees of justice.

In her book, Our Declaration, Dr. Danielle Allen writes,

“Political equality is not, however, merely freedom from domination. The best way to avoid being dominated is to help build the world, in which one lives – to help, like an architect…Ideally, if political equality exists, citizens become co-creators of their shared world.”

Simply, Allen helps us understand how each of us can help assure that all of us live in a "good" society. 

To recap, we want to recognize how the values that embody our ideals of a good society, justice, liberty, and equality, or equal rights, are all seen in this important founding document.

As I kid I lived a year in Newcastle Upon Tyne. Sunday's in Northern England in the mid-1970s were endless boring. The religious program, Anno Domini was on TV followed by the 'Look North'  news program – which featured a blue globe rolling across the screen. It was endlessly boring if you were fifteen and locked up with your family. On Sunday's Newcastle shut down. It was a blue-collar, working-class town - not the sophisticated city it is today with its millennial bridge and toney modern buildings on the riverside. On Saturdays, after the football match, the pubs filled up and barrels of ale got drunk. Being from out-of-town, we'd evidently given up church for the year - which is kind of weird since our practice, Methodism, was from the Newcastle area.

But thank God dad read the Sunday newspaper.

On Sundays, the only place to get a newspaper was the Central Train station. (Commemorated in the Mark Knopfler (Dire Straits) track, Fare Thee Well Northumberland 

Sometimes we'd walk down to the station, which was a jaunt. Other times Dad would drive the yellow, four-door Austin Maxi.

The London Times was a big paper that felt like tissue paper in your hands. The smells of the trains and the station, the freshness of the newspaper, and burnt unleaded fuels became familiar smells that filled my nose. The paper was sold in a Newsagent kiosk at the station. The agent had chocolates, candy, and, as I would later learn, the most current editions of the NME or Sounds (weekly music newspapers). Getting out of the house and going to the newsagent was like being delivered from hell: manna so positive that eventually, I learned to read the newspaper. 

The excursion was the highlight of my Sundays - pure bliss on the day of the week that for a 15-year-old was endlessly boring.

It was on one of these morning ventures that we discovered the Quayside open market. It was a bit like an open flea market. People! Tons of people hawking and gapping at generally useless stuff wrapped and hung in clear plastic bags so you could see - "but you'd better not touch, boy." Hundreds of people milling about, on the edge of the Tyne River, under the famous arched bridge, looking and buying.  

                                                                                                                                                                Some were talking, eating a "cornet" (which I later learned was flavored ice), and maybe buying something. Interestingly, I would much later learn that it was on the same approximate location that John Wesley, founder of the Methodist movement, gave his first sermon. The market was located at the bottom of the Dog's Leap Stairs which are commemorated on the debut Dire Straits album in the song, Down to the Waterline.

Sweet surrender on the Quayside

You remember we used to run and hide

In the shadow of the cargoes

I take you one at a time

And we're counting all the numbers

Down to the waterline

Near misses on the dog leap stairways

French kisses in the darkened doorways

A foghorn blowing out wild and cold

A policeman, he shines a light upon my shoulder

Up comes a coaster fast and silent in the night

Over my shoulder all you can see

Are the pilot lights

No money in our jackets and our jeans are torn

Your hands are cold but your lips are warm

She can see him on the jetty that

They used to know

She can feel him in the places where

The sailors go

When she's walking by the river

Or the railway line

She can still hear him whisper

Let's go down to the waterline, alright

Once we got to the Quayside, it was boring too, if you were 15, which I was, but it was loads better than being at home - cooped up without friends, no tv, and waiting for school the next day. I would
walk as slow as I could and feign interest in anything: anything to stay as long as possible, I remember once smelling some perfume that, later in the week, "Julie" who was a bit of a rough but attractive working-class girl wore. I remember that it was in our class of academic low performers that Julie and the dark-haired girl (third right, front row) that sat next to her talked about Rod Stewart's new album, Atlantic Crossing.

While I was all too familiar with Rod Stewart, and the Faces, somehow that image just seared into my mind. Patricia Cleghorn, who sat a row or two closer to the front of the class, had her sister's autograph book that one of my most favorites bands at the time, Bad Company had signed. I was definitely impressed!

5E5 Heaton School, 1975-76

 While I was all too familiar with Rod Stewart, and the Faces, somehow that image just seared into my mind. Patricia Cleghorn (2d left, front row), who sat a row or two closer to the front of the class, had her sister's autograph book that one of my most favorites bands at the time, Bad Company had signed. I was definitely impressed! (Can you figure out which one is me? 

Years later, I heard the song 'Debris' by the Faces. Sung by the band's bass player Ronnie Lane. For whatever reason, whenever I hear that song, I am back in the Toon, on the Quayside, living the most exciting year of my life. As you can see in the lyrics, the opening line beckon's the memory...

It was also during this era of pre-Thatcherism that coal mining strikes would grab the Northeast (see the movie, Billy Elliot). I can recall a news story reporting that youth in the area would never get jobs - that's how bad things were... reportedly.

As a kid, moving, was scary and, well, I just knew, it was going to be boring. And then there's David Wilson. (The guy was like a magnet. I'd hang around and eventually, some gal would spin-off and I'd make a play...which was a bit like a dog chasing cars: I had no idea what to do if I caught one but something told me it was going to be very cool...and very special. Which could bring us to the story of Karen and Sally but, well, then that would be talking out of turn).

Wilson dragged me around town like a cubbed dog - teaching me that pubs would serve you if you acted like you knew what you were doing, ('Uh, a pint of bitter please' was all I had to learn), the famed Brown Ale hospital ward - in case we drank too much of the famed powerful Northeast drink, concerts in the City Hall, but most importantly, how to talk to girls. (Which came in pretty handy in subsequent years). We'd walk miles from our house into the City Center to thumb through records stores, including up the stairs to the second floor to access the very cool, very new Virgin Record store (where my brother  Wes Galusha would buy a Harpo Marx button that looked mysteriously similar to my clearly not Jewish older brother) and romp around parts of the town which, years later, I would come to know were Sting's stomping grounds at about the same time.

It was an adventure that defined me - how I see the world and the song, Debris, brings it back. Years later, I would go see live music with a friend Geoff Schechter in Houston, Texas. One night, at a new place (Blythe Spirits), Geoff took me to see a band. (Geoff grew up in Austin and even then had a "cool cache" that came with his city of birth). As we leaned against the bar I noticed that a guy in a wheelchair was being wheeled past us. I remember thinking how cool it was that despite being confined to the chair - that guy was still getting out. As he wheeled by he smiled and, looking into his face, it was Ronnie Lane. Lane was suffering from MS and would eventually die due to the illness. We followed him out to the car where his friend was lifting the frail rock star and placing him into a well-beaten car. Lane could barely speak. We gushed respectfully and it seemed to make him happy.

I left you on the debris

At the Sunday morning market

You were sorting through the odds and ends

You was looking for a bargain

I heard your footsteps at the front door

And that old familiar love song

'Cause you knew you'd find me waiting there

At the top of the stairs

Ian McLagan, Ronnie Wood, Ronnie Lane, & Rod Stewart

I went there and back

Just to see how far it was

And you, you tried to tell me

But I had to learn for myself

There's more trouble at the depot

With the general workers union

And you said, "They'll never change a thing

Well, they won't fight and they're not working"

 

Oh, you was my hero

How you are my good friend

I've been there and back

And I know how far it is

But I left you on the debris

Now we both know you got no money

And I wonder what you would have done

Without me hanging around