GA/FL helped us wit some links this morning (Thank you!): President Donald Trump is in Michigan today. – What to know: http://s.mlive.com/I8mYpla  – How to go: https://bit.ly/2W1fjtD  – How to park: http://s.mlive.com/W3IImrO 

 
Our President is up early this morning, 5:05am, tweeting, and looking forward to addressing supporters in the great state of Michigan. Here is his morning greeting! The President has jobs, jobs, jobs, on his mind.

Doors open in Grand Rapids at 4:00pm, and the rally is scheduled to start at 7:00pm. If you need a ticket, you can still sign up Get your ticket to MAGA in Michigan!
According to the Detroit News this is President Trump’s SIXTH trip to Grand Rapids since announcing his bid for the Presidency in June of 2015, and his 18th trip to Michigan as candidate or President. From the article: “Like the president, Trump’s supporters “feel vindicated” by U.S. Attorney General William Barr’s summary of the Mueller report, said GOP strategist John Sellek. ‘It’s given them a huge boost of energy moving forward. So certainly, you’d expect the president to celebrate while he’s here in a state he needs to win again in 2020.”
The Detroit News article, above, is long and detailed in analysis of various counties – even though the bias is evident.
Who among us could ever forget the election eve campaign rally in Grand Rapids, MI? He was there at midnight, hours late, but NO ONE left. Parents brought their kids, on a school night, to witness the historic event…. and then, President Trump left and flew to Virginia for the final rally of the campaign. It was stirring, patriots, waiting until 2:00am to see the man they wanted to lead our country. And we won!! Remember that night? Remember how nervous we were? Here is a link for the 4 hours of RSBN coverage from Grand Rapids, MI, on November 7th, 2016. Relive the win = here Look towards the end of the link, where there is a time in the chirron at the bottom. At 12:53am, he was still speaking in Michigan!
In this link: Labor stats we see the US Bureau of Labor Statistics for the state of Michigan. For the last 6 months, unemployment has hovered between 3.9-4%, and in just the last 6 months, another 31K Michiganders have found a job. Michigan now employs 4,926,200 people, on the books.
But let’s talk about the auto industry in Michigan.
A few days ago, March 20, 2019, Ford Motor Company announced a new plant in Michigan for autonomous vehicles, and a plan to go to a 2nd shift at their Ash Flat factory. It’s part of a 900 MILLION dollar expansion by Ford, as they “reposition their assets to Michigan”, a reported by CNBC See link here
Fiat Chrysler, January 2018, announced they were moving a plant from Saltillo, Mexico, back to Warren, Michigan, where they will make the RAM Heavy Duty Truck. Also, because of Trump Tax Cuts, Fiat Chrysler gave $2,000 bonuses to 60K employees.  From the article in the NYPost    “FCA CEO Sergio Marchionne says the company should adjust its manufacturing footprint to reflect “improvement in the US business environment.” He says employees should also share in the tax savings.”
General Motors, and Obama era CEO, Mary Barra is still a problem, however, which persists. At Thanksgiving of 2018, Barra announced the slash of 15% of salaried employees, and our President didn’t like it. The Lordstown, Ohio plant closure hurt. Another plant in Michigan will be closed, as GM moves away from passenger cars. I did notice, strangely, GM LOVES to purchase ‘wind energy” for their plants, 300K megawatt hours……… they’re so special at GM, 8000 less executives but they are feeling green Link here
In Ann Arbor, Ypsilanti, Detroit, and other cities throughout Michigan, leaders and investors are embracing the Trump Economic Opportunity Zones. I’ve personally noticed activity in our state based on the new law. According to the article, The opportunity funds are available to developers interested in working in the opportunity zones. “It’s a win-win,” Santer said. “The community needs the investment, and the investor needs a way to extinguish their tax liability.” Ann Arbor SPARK is planning to work with economic groups in Detroit to compile a list of available opportunity funds and development opportunities across southeast Michigan, Santer said.
If you just can’t get enough, check out the RSBN coverage from Grand Rapids, on “Rally Eve”. We love the students from Auburn and their persistence. Link here 

This is our filler story to peruse while we are waiting on President Trump’s MAGA Rally in Michigan. We’ll put up another thread, just for the rally, at about noon. We’ll include links and maybe some Michigan info, and we can drop comments there. Marica had  good idea to live blog the rally, but we know, she has a grandbaby she is taking care of tomorrow night. Great idea, Marica. I will live feed it, and HOPEFULLY have a whole lot of help from other treepers. Are we set for the party? I made 12lbs of BBQ and scratch sweet coleslaw today. I’m betting I have enough rolls for everyone here. MAGA in Michigan! OR —- should we say KAG in Michigan, cuz we might get a glimpse for 2020 and the campaign for our POTUS tomorrow night!

A friend of mine showed up today to borrow a few item for her daughter who is entering a beauty pageant. I started thinking about pageants…….

Let me start this story by making a broad and definitive claim: There is no woman in the state of Mississippi who would EVER want to be a man. While we worship, adore, and fuss over our men, our kings, we know, the power of being a southern woman is far too great, to ever willingly give it up. Oh no, no southern woman would ever give up her crown. And I dare say, not one woman on this forum, from north/west/ Germany/ Aussie/NZ/UK or our new girlfriend KSwiss in Switzerland would ever give up their crowns……..either. Special attribution to our ladies in Nebraska and Iowa, suffering through floodwaters and decimated communities.

My family was from the midwest. I didn’t understand beauty queens at all. My mother had been a model for local department stores and in Chicago, but I only knew her as a “mom”. Sure, she pulled my long hair, and Grandma made beautiful clothes for me, but fussing over appearance was seen as vainglorious. Knowledge of makeup and eyelash curlers escaped me. In my “land”, women chased the virtues of intelligence, pragmatism, and learned to be thrifty with money. When we moved to the south, my learning curve for “beauty queen” was steep. But when in Rome……

The first summer, going into 6th grade, my parents sent me to a camp at a local private school. My counselor was a former Miss Louisiana. She was nice, okay fine, but I was surprised at how other people reacted to her, especially the young boys in our group, AND the adults. They hung on her every word. True, her voice was like velvet and as comfortable as a grandma’s chicken casserole. Yes, she was a natural on a tennis court. It was my first glimpse at anything like “womanhood” other than family members. I thought, gee whiz, there might be something to the idea of a “pretty and genteel woman”. I was curious, but miles away from being a beauty queen. I was a tomboy, thus handicapped, an un-blond, and known as “the smart and quirky redhead”.

Throughout middle and high school, my parents focused on my education, which was most important. No beauty pageants for me. It wasn’t even on my radar and thought of as somewhat demeaning for a woman. Dad raised me to “think like a man” with “logic and rationale” and “numbers not emotion”. Still, highly polished southern women had a strange power which eluded me. Part of me desperately wanted to be a cheerleader, but I was definitely more of a Student Council President. Besides, my mirror was more than kind, and I never lacked for a boyfriend. I just took my pick from those who showed interest. Easy-peasy, right?

For the second half of college, I transferred to my grandparent’s home and the “land of Mississippi”, and Ole Miss, which is known for “red-shirting Miss Americas”. It’s true, the women at Ole Miss are spectacularly beautiful and their reputation is alive and well today. Yet, I was commuting and working full time, so the overwhelming quest for beauty, as an ultimate goal, didn’t really hit me. I was 19 and working at the biggest employer in our region. Grandpa was a VP of Operations, and I worked as a credit analyst, handling customers east of the Mississippi river. I liked my job, and I thrived. Money and negotiation came easily to me. Everything was fine, when beauty pageant season began…… and I was reluctantly….. drafted as a walk-on.

Beauty pageants have a season, I learned, and the competition is fierce. Little girls and their mothers plan for that one magical year, full of hope, to wear the sash of Miss Mississippi. The competitions start at the local level and then progress through state to nationals. At the last minute, the company/factory wanted “one of their own” to represent them, a directive issued from a new CEO. My grandmother, for decades, was on the sponsoring committee for our region, and she was in charge of counselling the chosen regional rep, on matters of grace, and how to walk, talk, and eat properly. It was a big deal in town. I had noooooooo clue. Yet, everyone around me agreed, I was supposed to be “the one”. I was cast into a pit of snakes and expected to return to work, the following Monday, with a crown. The office cheered; I was forlorn.

Other girls in the competition had moms who were well prepared. A few of them even had teams, for hair and makeup. Not me. Girls planned their wardrobes for years, some even made their costumes. I wore a couple of old prom dresses, a business suit, and last year’s bikini. I wasn’t going to spend additional funds on a lark. Other girls had cue cards, and they were practicing their answers, I had no answer planned nor anything rehearsed. Other girls traveled to Florida the week prior – to work on their tans – while I was dunning clients and pale as a ghost. And yes, the other girls were spectacularly beautiful. Yep, they were the cheerleaders. I didn’t stand a chance and was feeling rather dejected….. until the interviews started.

The judges were locals, Pres of a small college, Pres of Rotary, an older woman who was head of a local garden club and a fine southern woman who sounded like “Glenda the Good Witch”, plus the new CEO of our big company. He had just moved to town, still living in a hotel, and no one had seen him. He was from “land” of upstate New York. The girls were terrified of the interview process and unduly nervous. One girl threw up and no one moved to help her. She never came back – Darwin’s Theory of Natural Selection? Normally, I wasn’t scared to talk to anyone, but admittedly their nervousness was rubbing off on me.

The interviews were conducted off-site, in a private home, posh formal living room, at the Country Club. I remember it being warm and happy my old prom dress was off one shoulder. I was the last girl to be interviewed. Girls came out of that room, visibly shaking and wide-eyed. Under my breath, I cursed my office mates for getting me into such a predicament.

When I walked into the room, it looked like an inquisition. Four people sitting opposite and one chair in the middle of the room, for me. I took my seat, after shaking hands with the judges. I knew all of them, they had all been in our home before – except the new CEO, who was obviously in charge of the room.

Beginning questions were primarily background. “Are you a student in college, what are you studying and why? or “Are you working and why did you chose such a field?”, was fairly normal stuff. Then, I got the stupid questions, like, “What’s your favorite color and how does that color reflect your personality?” Huh? What the heck does that mean? I got another question about sports, where I did well – after all, I was raised by men who loved sports. Each judge asked a series of questions and we were obviously working our way up to the CEO’s questions. Finally, it was the CEO’s turn, and you could feel the room pivot towards him. His questions were very different from the other judges.

He asked me why I chose to live in this state, why my state was better than others, what my state offered that others did not. He asked me about agriculture, business, education, weather, and flowers. It was an onslaught of questions in rapid fire. He reminded me of my Dad and the way Dad would cross examine me at a dinner table when debating a hotly contested issue. I responded back, firing to match his tempo. He had my full attention. We were dancing, almost, back and forth, like a tango, and I was following along with no problems. I was enjoying our conversation. I liked him.

Finally, the new CEO dropped a bomb, “How would you recruit new business to the state of Mississippi?” My eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. My wheelhouse. Grandpa was one of the original three who moved the factory to this state. Economic development ran through my blood and was the subject of many dinner table conversations. I started a long-winded diatribe of how to recruit companies. The CEO challenged me, and interrupted me MANY times, on how I would handle particular objections. I seem to recall, at one point I stood up, for emphasis, making my pitch. And yes, when stumped, I said, “Well, if the statute does not work, then you have to lobby the legislature, in person, at the Capitol, to get it changed!” I thought I was convincing and made my case. I gave a couple of examples of how to push legislation. I had seen Grandpa do it, so it was not foreign to me… just part of doing business…..

I came in second place and lost to the well-tanned daughter of a prominent judge. I never expected to win, anything, and was glad it was over. Yes, I returned to work on Monday, with a miniature version of a crown, as “Runner up”. One woman in the office commented, “Well, maybe ‘she’ will break her leg…. and then you could go to state competition…..”, which was astonishing…. but they were serious! I survived throughout the morning with my pic in the local paper. People dropped by my office for congratulations and/or condolences. Was I dead? Should I have taken the week off to go to Florida for a perfect tan? Really? I went to lunch, annoyed. That afternoon everything changed……..

It was the CEO’s first day at work and we heard the gossip/rumble in our office, but he had not addressed the ‘troops’ as yet. Understand, the company was so big, employing thousands, and the new CEO would affect not only the workplace of many people in the town but also the social and cultural hierarchy of the town…. who was “in” and who was “out”. We were all a little apprehensive, including my own grandfather.

Out of the blue, mid-afternoon, the phone rang in my boss’ office. A phone call was unusual for him, he was the pent-up-in-an-office-guy-who-reads-charts-all-day kind of a boss. He nodded, got up, came to my desk, and told me, LOUDLY, the CEO requested to see me about a possible promotion. Could have heard a pin drop…. 14 women in my office section went silent.

No big deal, I assumed. The job I was doing in the credit dept was replacing a woman who was on an extended maternity leave. We knew she was having a problem with her infant daughter, and we were all worried about her baby. I thought, probably, it might be a call to replace her permanently. Sad for her but happy for me. I was torn and did not want to be seen as the winner, or benefitting from another’s misfortune.

I stood up and straightened myself to go and see the big boss. I was wearing a navy blue skirt, crisp white shirt, and a madras printed blazer which was too expensive for my budget. Remember it like yesterday. One of the older women was already on her feet and straightened my collar. She patted me on the back. Was it an “atta girl” or a “goodbye – nice to know you”, like I was going into the lion’s den for a sacrifice?

At the CEO’s office suite, I saw Lois. She was the Secretary to the President and a well known friend of my family. Grandma made Christmas stockings for her grandchildren. She got up, hugged me hard, and said, “They’re asking for YOU! Are you ready?” Her hug was weird and her emphasis was odd. Suddenly it occurred to me, replacing a woman on maternity leave would be a simple task done by Human Resources secretary, and definitely did not rise to the level of a CEO decision. Lois knocked lightly, opened the door, and I walked in……. to my future.

There were four men in the room and my grandfather was one of them, although he NEVER spoke, the entire time I was there. The others were the VP of Sales, who always looked at me in a lecherous way, even in church, and the VP of Human Resources, whom I did NOT like but could not put my finger on a specific reason as to why. Plus, the new CEO, from the beauty contest.

Only a single step into the room and the CEO got up to greet me and shake my hand, vigorously,  like he had known me for years. He smiled and his eyes lit up when he saw me. He surprised me with his welcome and familiarity. In retrospect, I guess I was one of the first people he met in our town and he latched onto me. It was strange, he was older and savvy, and I was one so young but we got along beautifully…. for the next 35+years. I surveyed the room and it was WAY different from the last CEO, the man who was my godfather. The “new” guy had definitely moved in. In one corner was a whore-red-velvet upholstered antique barber chair. Where the couches were, a new sleek couch had been moved in, along with a custom pool table (which is in my home now, a gift when he retired). I swear, his office looked like the movie set from the series Madmen. It was swank.

There was only one seat left in the room and before I took a breath, the CEO blurted out they wanted to offer me a territory sales position…. Bombshell! Crossing the room to sit, I was running numbers in my head. I knew the position averaged about $60K a year with commission and came with a company car. Apparently, our state territory rep was retiring and the slot was open. Poe was retiring? News to me….. I looked at my grandfather, who was sitting in the corner. He nodded at me but did not speak. I grabbed the arm of the chair to take my seat. I was fumbling and almost bracing myself with the news of the job offer to replace Poe, who was a legend in the company. Our state territory was smaller than other salesmen, but I would be making, perhaps, more money than my grandfather. How would that work in our family? By the time I crossed my legs, I had a full blown hurricane whirling through my mind.

“So, what do you think?”, asked the CEO, now ensconced behind his desk, “You’re perfect for the job!” He was answering his own questions, “And from what I understand, in the past several months, you already know the customers, right?” He had decided. I was his new project.

Understand, there was never any question in my mind. Of course, I wanted the job. I was already down the road, again in my mind, of working out family ‘feelings’ and other details of training, dropping out of college, packing and traveling.

Before I could say a word, the VP of HR spoke up. He pilloried the idea, “She’s not ready. She will never be taken seriously. She can’t do it. How will she travel. She’ll get lost. She will embarrass us as a company” He went on and on, talking about me in third person like I wasn’t in the room. I glared back at my grandfather, who nodded again but never said a word. Finally, Grandpa motioned toward me and gave me permission to fight and go after the VP of HR, which I did.

“Embarrass the company?”, I was livid, “Like you do?” The man had gorilla eyebrows, and arms so long it looked like they touched the floor. He was so big, he was awkward. “You’re a horrible dancer, a bad dresser, and a sloppy eater. LOOK at you, you have crap on your tie right NOW!”, I was pointing, and, sure enough, he was wearing his lunch. The idea that I would ever embarrass the company was absurd. I would rather die. He fought back and pushed me hard. The CEO and the VP of Sales watched us trade insults like they were watching a tennis match. It was tense.

The VP of HR, unknown to me at the time, really does hate women in business. I’ve only known about 2-3 people like that in my entire life, and he was one of them, but again, I didn’t know it at the time. I was young and naive. Finally, the VP of HR was exasperated and said, “She doesn’t even know the product line!” It was the final straw, and I blew up. The company displayed at the Merchandise Mart in Chicago. For years, I was there, with Grandpa, talking about “Autumn Fog” my favorite color of company upholstery, when this idiot VP was still in college! I played with company upholstery samples in my dollhouses! I remembered the process of chrome plating and how it changed the entire industry – it was my grandfather’s prize baby, he developed it. I knew our products. Oh yeah, I knew our product, stone cold. And my final salvo, “Who the HELL are YOU to tell me about our products?!?”

I had cursed at him. It was 1981, and I was about 19-20 years old and in my last year of college. I was a baby. I was in a CEO’s office, with people who ran a large regional employer, and had my grandfather in the room. I had cursed, which was way out of line and might have cost me my job. He could have fired me on the spot. It got quiet in a hurry. Of course, those guys cursed when they were among themselves, but I was a girl. Cursing was a cardinal sin for a woman – but I was rightfully insulted and pi$$$$$$ed. My red hair was on fire.

From the heretofore silent VP of Sales, “Yep, that’s our girl. She’s ready”

I got the job, the car, and was their first female territory rep, the first female executive in the company, the only girl in the big meetings, and the youngest one by far. Through my re-education as a “southern woman”, I learned how to reorient the room in my favor. Gone was Momma’s Avon and Estee Lauder became my new friend. I actually studied old movie icons and how they moved their eyes, then their heads. What incredible presence and power. What woman would ever give THAT up? So much easier to be a rose amongst the thorns.

It was a major turning point for me and for other women in the same office, all led by our new CEO. Before that day, I hoped to be one of the women in the office, working among friends, other women, raising our kids, growing old together. In a flash, I was different. Getting the job gave me a springboard to the boardrooms of Manhattan and Miami. I was comfortable in the role and frankly, ignorant of my “skirt”. It changed everything for me……, the world was new, big, and a little scary, but I liked it.

Yeah, a person, who happened to be an “older white male” (in today’s divisive identity politics jargon), gave me an enormous opportunity, and I ran with it. Yes, others in the company had doubts about me. Yet, I knew what kind of pressure I was under and quickly out-performed other salesmen. I worked my ass off – to prove them wrong.

Thinking back on those few magical moments in the CEO’s office, my entire life would have been dramatically different if he had not plucked me from obscurity in the credit department….., if he had not given me the opportunity and shown me what my life could be. He opened the doors and made me want more, or more precisely, showed me that I was capable of doing more. That’s true inspiration and real mentorship. He assumed I could do it before I ever had an inkling. Yes, he changed everything about who I became. What an enormous gift he gave me….. forever grateful.

All from what I thought was a silly beauty contest. “A lark”, I thought it was. Wow, was I ever wrong and completely misjudged that battlefield. Guess we will never know when opportunity comes knocking, will we? Maybe we should listen more carefully, look more keenly, not prejudge, to see the hidden chances which come our way…., and maybe I should follow my own advice.

Years later, someone asked me to run for Mrs. Mississippi, which is equally as complicated. I passed. My girlfriend Gail, won, which is another fabulous story.

Never did buy an eyelash curler, but I won my own crown, and I’m still exploring that big, scary world.

So, here’s my question to you all. Who inspired YOU? Who gave you your firest real break? What was YOUR major turning point? Did you take the chance or not? Any regrets? Any missed opportunity? What did you learn?

And finally, what do YOU want to do……. NEXT?

Figured you all might need a report thread!
Here is the PDF link for the Barr Summary, H/T to Roberta: LINK
Have at it!

After the disturbing Q drops yesterday, thought it might be a good time for a break and some levity. Our research on this issue will be grim and sordid. Here’s something to brighten your day. In our family, we refer to the Cattawampas story as our $100 story. It’s a winner.

My first husband owned a construction company and he was having a difficult week. They were pouring the foundation for a large school and some of his concrete workers were ‘missing’. The ‘pour’ had to be done at one time and was a logistical nightmare – 36 hours straight. At one point, there were 23 concrete trucks lined up. At night, the concrete had to be covered, and the men worked under lights. He rarely came home that week, sleeping in his car, and when he did come home, his clothing had to be thrown away. His body was showing the stress and I felt badly for him. He used to love it when I rubbed his back after a long day, but that week, everything on him, hurt.

Back at the B&B, we had a house full of business guests all week and we were humming.

By Friday, the pour was done and he was feeling victorious. As is typical for construction guys on a Friday, they headed to the beer store. He stopped at the butcher and had 1 1/2″ ribeyes cut specifically, which I was marinating. He was home by 4:00pm, firing up the grill, and surveying the yard work required for the weekend, when a lady from the Historical Commission pulled into our driveway. I was sitting at the computer in the library. The desk is in front of a large window which looks out to side porch and porte cochere, but the window is covered with lace curtains. So, I could not see to whom he was speaking.

His voice got louder and the woman was gesticulating wildly. They were arguing. I thought, “that’s odd”, and I rounded the corner to the side porch to open the door and see what was going on. There she was Jane, an elder member of my lady’s club. She insisted my husband repaint, at his expense, a commercial awning for a historical building downtown, because it did not match her “historical” paint chips from Sherwin Williams.

The LAST thing my husband needed after the week he had was a lady from the “Hysterical Commission” in his driveway on Friday night while he was ready to drink beer and cook a steak. I walked outside to talk to Jane and try a little diplomacy. One of the things I did before we bought the house was take a senior level class on historical architecture and period correct interiors. As gracefully as possible, I explained to Jane, the Sherwin Williams “historical collection” was from the Revolutionary War (Newport Blue, Colonial Yellow, Williamsburg Green) but the building in question was built in 1877, more “Williams Morris” color scheme, and thus the color chosen, was, in fact, period correct.

She didn’t like that answer. She wanted it re-painted at husband’s expense, which would also change the customer’s color scheme for their corporate logo and brochures, already printed. Husband yelled. She yelled. He yelled some more. She threatened to withhold final payment on the job. He yelled. She started crying. He didn’t care about her crying. She finally left.

Husband went back to drinking beer and cooking a steak. Don’t bother husband on a Friday night when he’s cooking a steak after a long week.

Guests arrived, thank heaven they didn’t show up in the middle of Jane in the driveway, and all was well. By Sunday, everyone checked out, I spun the rooms, a mountain of laundry, and by 3:35pm, Sunday afternoon, I was back at the computer desk, in the library, peering out the window, waiting on more business guests to check in. Husband was at the round desk working on a large bid and I was helping him. The house was pristine, immaculate, rooms were perfect, I had 4 rosemary-lemon chickens in the oven so the house smelled wonderful. It was husband’s favorite dish and I was still trying to be nice to him after his bad week. The yard was perfect, flowers blooming, driveway was so clean I could eat off the concrete.

And that’s when it started.

Out of the corner of his eye, husband saw a car pull up in the driveway. Immediately, he said, “Sonofabitch!” and he took off around the corner for the door. Me, again with the lace curtains, couldn’t see who it was. Yet, husband knew exactly who it was. I took off after husband. He stopped at a dresser by the door and snagged a 357 and shoved it into the back of his blue jeans. My eyes went wide. I had never actually seen him do that before. He was out the door in a flash, and I was chasing him when I actually uttered the words, “Whatever you do don’t get blood on the driveway!”

A few steps onto the side porch he glanced back at me. His jaw was set. His eyes were fixed. I could see the veins in his arms and neck. He had that look on his face that all wives know. He sternly told me, “STAY there!”

Okay. Of course, I stayed inside. But….. what the heck? Was my husband going to kill someone in the driveway? Did I need to find another gun and defend my own husband? Were we under attack? We had guests due to arrive within the hour. I was frantic. I raced around the corner back to the library, and stretched hard over the desk, to move the lace curtains to see what the heck was going on.

What a vision it was…

In the driveway was a pink champagne colored Lincoln Town Car from the late 1970’s with a burgundy vinyl top. Huh? Out of the car stepped Billy and Lenny, my husband’s ‘missing’ concrete workers from the prior week. Billy and Lenny were cousins – somehow.

Billy was a middle-aged black man who had 23 children. He was a fast talking guy who should have been a preacher. Billy’s wife, or girlfriend du jour, made terrific egg salad and pimento cheese sandwiches. Billy used to share her sandwiches with me and they were sumptuous, always with sweet dill pickle. I liked Billy but I knew he could be trouble. Billy was wearing a bright purple, polyester leisure suit and a canary yellow shirt, with a purple tie. He was dressed like he was going somewhere important.

Lenny was the black version of Arnold Schwarzenegger. I’ve never seen a more perfectly formed man. No lie. Lenny was wearing a kiana floral printed shirt, shiny polyester, with a huge collar, like we wore to discos in the 70’s, and it was so tight the buttons were barely holding. Beneath an enormous black belt that had to belong to his father, he had on burgundy slacks, polyester, with no pockets. The pants were so tight I could see the outline of the quadriceps in his legs… and everything else.

Keep in mind, 30 seconds earlier, I was thinking I needed a gun to defend my husband and our home was under attack. With Billy and Lenny in the driveway, I was annoyed. What the heck were they doing here? I was expecting guests. Everything was perfect. They needed to go away, and they sure as heck did not need to make my husband angry after last week.

I watched from the window a little while and husband seemed to calm down, but he was shaking his head emphatically. Five minutes passed, 7 minutes, 10 minutes, I kept checking my watch. They weren’t going away. Patience is not my strong suit and I was frustrated. I estimated the potential for ‘murder in the driveway’ decreased significantly, and decided to take a chance, outside. I quietly sneaked onto the porch, and took a seat on the top slate step, about 30′ away from the men but close enough to hear.

They were arguing about money. Billy and Lenny wanted some, but my husband didn’t want to give it to them. My husband was mad at them for not showing up since Monday afternoon. The concrete pour started on Tuesday. They let him down when they were needed most.

Suddenly, Billy saw me, and decided he would try to tell me his story of woe, make his appeal to me since he wasn’t getting anywhere with husband. Folks, this is good. I’ll never be able to tell this story as well as Billy did that day, under the shade of the porte cochere, but I will try. Grab another cup of coffee for this one.

Billy: Miss D, Miss D, I see you there. Miss D, you have to help me.

Me: (Reluctant and frowning) Oh yeah? Tell me Billy, why should I listen to you?

Billy: Miss D, your husband owes us money for working on Monday and he won’t pay us for our honorable work on Monday. As a graceful southern woman, I beg of you to interVENE with your husband in the name of family honor. (He really does speak in this way)

Me: (In my best southern accent and following his lead) Billy, where money is concerned there is no grace. AND as a fine southern woman, I would hardpressed to go against the will of my husband. YOU know that. For me to even consider such an action, there would have to be a right POWERFUL reason…..

I looked at husband, quizzically, as husband was well known for paying bills. By then, all three men drifted into the shade under the porte cochere. It was 95 degrees in the shade that day and the men were beginning to glisten with sweat. Husband was slightly to my left and Billy and Lenny on the right. Lenny was quiet but Billy could do the talking for them both. I waited for husband’s answer as to why they should not be paid.

Husband: I lent both of you $100 LAST Friday, which you still have not paid back, which is equal to wages for Monday. AND you didn’t show up on Tuesday or for the rest of the week. Where the hell have you been?

Me: Yeah, where the heck have you two been? I depend on you two to take care of my husband and the jobs we have. His thumbs are still cracked from last week! And his boots…. I’m still cleaning them off. You have made my life difficult and hurt my husband.

Billy: Oh, we couldn’t come to work on Tuesday. Just…. couldn’t……

Husband: Why the hell not? You knew it was the biggest pour we’ve ever done.

Billy: Aunt Sarah died.

Now, understand, Billy and Lenny have an enormous family. Yet, a death in the family is a death in the family. Southern tradition takes over and a very strict protocol is set into motion.

Billy: I had to see to the body and make ‘rangements.

Me: Why were you making arrangements as a nephew? One of so many? That doesn’t make sense to me, Billy, and thus, I am not inclined to help you.

Billy: It’s my job for the church. (See there, I knew Billy was going to be a preacher some day.)

Husband: So why didn’t you come to work on Thursday and Friday? (In the south, people are buried quickly and by protocol. Next day is visitation and the following day is burial.)

Billy: We couldn’t bury Aunt Sarah cuz we had to wait for the family to come home from Chicago. Some of them have jobs and they could not leave Chicago until Friday. They drove all night….. straight through, Miss D…… Quickest we could have the ‘visiting for Aunt Sarah was on Saturday. It was a mighty long trip for them, Miss D….., I promise.

Billy: (Continuing) Lenny and I dug the hole. (This was new to me.)(For those who are not used to black southern culture, it is a great honor to be chosen as those who ‘dig the hole’ for the dead family member and family members always dig the hole.) I wasn’t familiar with this custom, so in my mind, I was visualizing these two digging the hole, in August, in the heat and humidity of Mississippi.

Billy: (Sensing he was winning me over) Oh, please Miss D, your husband just has to lend us $100. (Notice how it went from ‘pay us for past wages to ‘please lend us’. Lenny nodded ….. a LOT, it seemed very important to Lenny to have the money.)

Me: Again with the money? Billy why do you need $100?

Billy: Well, we had a problem at the funeral.

Me: What kind of problem at the funeral can be solved with a $100 bill? (Husband reared back, eyebrow raised, —– waiting on this answer)

Billy: Well, we had the “visiting” on Saturday and all was fine. Relatives all there, and “X” made the sandwiches you like so much, you know Miss D, the ones you like. (I nodded). Lot of food, good town turnout for Aunt Sarah. You know how much she was loved. Everything was fine. Real fine. On Sunday, we had the ceremony to bury Aunt Sarah and I preached (he’s preaching now), which was a great honor bestowed upon me by my congregation. The “bearers” (pallbearers) carried Aunt Sarah out to the cemetery. And all of Aunt Sarah’s sisters and brothers, those that were still living, were there, as were all her children. We picked a beautiful shade tree for Aunt Sarah, you would be proud, Miss D. It was so beautiful.

Me: (Billy had set the perfect picture in our minds. Husband was calmed down and beginning to empathize. Billy sensed he had us in the palm of his hand. He was preaching, alright. I broke the calm) Why didn’t you invite me to the funeral, Billy? I go to all the funerals. I would have brought a covered casserole.

Billy: Oh, Miss D, you’re the lady of this fine house (not working on me). You’re way too busy to be bothered (not working on me). And besides, if you came, you know Miss Ann would have to come, too (Miss Ann was my mother-in-law, and Billy was right about that one. Miss Ann would have been a problem.). Billy continued with his tale…. putting us back at the scene of the funeral, under the shade tree. Billy was a master storyteller.

Billy: We lowered Aunt Sarah into the ground, her final blessed resting place, as we all sang hymns (Lenny humming in the background as if on cue). But Lenny and I didn’t dig the hole quite big enough, Miss D. We were using those yellow straps to lower her (straps taken from husband’s job site) and we were having trouble. The congregation sang another verse as we tried to put Aunt Sarah in the ground……… cattywampus.

Husband turned away to stop from laughing. I grinned but did not laugh. I did not know the word, catawampus. I had the image in my mind. They’re trying to shove the casket into too small of a hole, so they decided to place the casket at an angle, I guessed. I was hanging on the edge of my seat.

Billy: Well, at about that time, Buford (another cousin) noticed a tree root was in the way, and he stepped down real hard on that tree root to clear the way for poor Aunt Sarah. So she could finally be put into the ground…….. and at rest……… and we almost had it Miss D…….but….. at the last minute, the casket flipped on that blasted tree root and spun ’round….. like a whirlybird…… And there went Aunt Sarah, face down in the dirt……

Aunt Henrietta: (closest to the edge of the hole) She’s going to HELL!!!!!!!!!!!! My dear sweet departed sister is GOING TO HELL!!!!!!!

In the culture, if someone is buried face down, they are ‘going to hell’. Bedlam ensued and several women fell to their knees…. with the “vapors”. Aunt Henrietta lost her hat in the commotion, into the hole, with dead Aunt Sarah.

Aunt Henrietta, “She’s not taking my hat. She always stole my favorite hats!” and “I want my hat back!” and “Dear Lord, SAVE ME!”

Husband was still furious, not listening, not sold, and growing impatient.

Me: So what did you do Billy?

Billy: Well, we rushed everyone back into the church for a little while and Sudry played the piano. You know Sudry, Miss D, you like her, and she plays a pretty piano (I had no idea who Sudry was). The women served more Hawaii punch (Hawaiian punch from a can) and the men went outside to reconnoiter. We scooped up Aunt Sarah, who was really heavy by then (Huh? Heavy?) Then, Lenny and I tried to make the hole a little bigger for Aunt Sarah and the cousins helped. But it started to rain. You know, afternoon shower….. just spitting a little rain. It was all okay, but it was powerful hot. The sun came back out. The congregation returned to the grave and we sang once more. We lowered Aunt Sarah to the great beyond. (Billy’s prose was award winning) and I said her final prayer.

Me: So why do you need $100 from my husband, and why are you here with us, instead of with your family? Aren’t they waiting on you? (Husband in the near distance, tapping his foot, impatient and irritated)

Billy: Well, Miss D, it’s a powerful hot day (he stretched his arm beyond the porte cochere into the sun and wiped his brow for emphasis), and we’ve been through so much. We need to go and buy beer…….

Beer.

The need for beer almost caused a murder in my driveway? But I couldn’t get past the mix of culture, the vision before me. Every sense I had was pegging on overload.

I looked at my husband and “Give him the $100.” Husband was stunned, “Are you kidding? We’ll never see that $100 again!” I said, “I don’t care…., and please trust me this one time. I will tell you why, later.” Husband was confused, but he did trust me. He went into the house and returned with 5 – $20 bills. The men left.

We got back into the house, barely inside the door, and he asked me, “Why in the hell did you do that?” I smiled and explained it pained me to see him have such a horrible week because of those two men. I knew how hard he was working. Yet, in the end, he gave me a great gift. I told him, “That’s the best damn story I’ve ever heard. They dug a grave and tried to shove the casket in the grave…… “cattywampus”. I learned a new word. Then, Aunt Sarah fell out of the casket…. in front of all the relatives…. women in hats, wearing their Sunday best…. men in leisure suits…….singing hymns with Aunt Sarah going to hell….. and they want to borrow $100…… cuz….. beer…….” I was howling with laughter, “Are you kidding? It’s a $100 story. I’m gonna tell this story so many times, it will be worth $100 to me.”

Seeing how I reacted changed my husband. All the tension from his face and shoulders was gone…. poof! He started to chuckle. It was pretty funny. And no blood in the driveway was a good thing. Over time, the cattywampus story evolved into HIS story. He laughed just thinking about cattywampus. And he told the story at least 100 times.

But it’s not over.

About six months later, the phone rang in the kitchen. It was the local prison from the next county, with a call for me. It was the prisoner’s ONE phone call. It was Billy. He said, “Miss D, I need your help. You’re the only one who can help me. You’re a powerful woman and I need your power.” Again, not working on me. He went on to explain that if I could just see my way clear to pay for his 128 parking tickets, AND drop off $20 a the prison he would be most grateful and pray for me.

I grinned, after all, it was Billy. I thought for a moment and figured I might be able to get him out of the parking tickets…., but I asked him what the $20 was for.

Billy: I sure could use some cigarettes, Miss D.

We’ve been talking quite a bit about the state of education in our country, encroachment of government agencies, removal of a child from a home, teachers’ new curriculum with a socialist bent, and pedophillia. Then, Judy W said something this morning which hit me broadside…. and made me tear up. She reminded me of one particular kid who landed on our doorstep in the middle of the night. He was terrified. This isn’t a story about “that” kid, because his story is too sensitive for this forum, but it is a story about speaking up….., doing the right thing….., even when faced with rabid opposition……, to protect children.
I was drafted to teach 4th grade Sunday School at the local Presbyterian Church. This is the church where I was baptized, married, and my son was baptized. My grandfather was a deacon and my dad was a deacon. Heaven knows, I am NOT the best Christian, full of “sin” and multiple character flaws. I can’t rattle off scripture and details of biblical stories are kind of fuzzy to me. BUT, if reliability and pragmatism are highly praised virtues, then I’m the “Christian” to call. Nonetheless, I wouldn’t be anyone’s first choice to teach 4th grade Sunday School. Let’s just say, my approach was a little bit “unorthodox” – pardon the pun.
When assigned the task, the elder ladies of the church lectured me, because they knew me. They handed me the booklets and materials to teach….., along with a litany of advice on HOW to teach the children. I groaned and scowled but nodded, dutifully. This meant I had to prepare lessons, do the requisite reading, and be able to answer questions, from smart kids. Oh, my! At the time, I had an infant child, B&B guests every Sunday morning, mandatory breakfasts, and 5 rooms to turn before 3pm – with no staff on Sunday. How in the world was I going to get it all done, and be dressed, gorgeous, and engaging, for church + Sunday School?
Admittedly, for several Sunday school lessons, I winged it, and the kids and I learned our lessons together. My paying guests usually ran late and I barely made it out of my door in time for Sunday School but the kids were happy. Oddly, as time passed, I noticed more and more kids in my class.
One day, Ms. Susan (not her real name), who was a generation older than me, showed up in my class to yell at one of my students. Caroline was in 5th grade and supposed to be in Miss Susan’s class, but Caroline was sneaking into my class, because my class was more fun. The way Susan spoke to Caroline was nasty and unduly vicious. Caroline began to cry. Caroline was wrong to sneak into my class, but Susan was WAY out of line. It was obvious the problem was more about Susan, than it was about Caroline. I took it up with Susan and Caroline remained in my class. My class continued to grow…., which apparently led to more resentment among the church ladies. It reminds me of how the media and Never-Trumpers feel about President Trump. They hated my style but could not argue with my results. Hey, I brought snacks to my class!
One beautiful Sunday morning, right before Easter, I was completely unprepared for Sunday School, flat busted with no time left to read the lesson. I was desperate for a creative solution.
The previous week, WalMart had a sale on tents. All their camping tents were in a big bin by the front door. These were $150-250 tents, priced on sale at $10-15. On a lark, I bought 15 tents for the boy scout troop and had them sitting by the back door for Monday night’s scout meeting. I grabbed the tents and left for Sunday School. Executive decision, we were going to have Sunday School – OUTSIDE.
Gathering the class, they helped me unload the tents. The kids were so excited to be outside, DOING something. We pitched tents, and laughed together. At one point, I recall 5-8 church ladies hanging out of the window, gawking. I waved. I asked all the children to turn around and wave. We were trolling them before trolling was cool. One can only imagine what they were saying, “What the hell is Daughn doing now?”, or something along those lines. Of course, they had to keep their own students away from the windows, inside, in prison.
My lesson that day was on self-reliance. We all got settled into our tents and munched on snacks from the B&B. We arranged the tents so our door flaps were open to the center and I could talk to and see everyone. I asked them if they ever prayed before a big test at school, and asked God for help, or to get an “A”. They all nodded, of course they asked for help from God. I then asked them if they ever prayed for a good grade when they knew they hadn’t studied as well as they should have. The kids stared at the ground and hesitated. I told the joke about the man in a flood, who prayed for God to save him. A car passed and the driver stopped to offer assistance. A boat passed, and the captain offered help. Yet, the man said no, as he was waiting on God. As the flood waters rose and the man was drowning, he lashed out at God, “Why have you forsaken me?”. God replied, “Are you kidding, I sent you a boat and a car!”
Moral of the story = the kids had the tools to get good grades on their own. Count on yourself and don’t bother the “big guy” because you haven’t done your job. I likened the story to being able to pitch their own tent, instead of mom or dad doing it for them. Now, they knew how to do it, so they would never be cold or wet, again.
Self reliance.
At the end of class, the kids were helping me fold up the tents. Three older ladies came out to yell at me because we “trampled the grass with our tents”. My reply, “I thought we were in the job of raising children…..not grass.”
The church bells rang, and the kids were off for a session on the playground before church. We had a 30 minute break in between Sunday school and the service. I headed up a small enclosed staircase, to drop off materials when I noticed a younger woman sitting on the back steps, sobbing tears, barely able to catch her breath. She was sitting on the bottom step. I recognized her but did not know her name. She was new to our church.
“Woah”, I said as I swung low to sit on the step next to her, “What’s wrong?” I had disturbed her silence. She thought she was out of the way and invisible to everyone. “It’s okay…., nothing….., nevermind…..”, she tried to choke down the emotion and compose herself. “Nahhhh….”, I replied, “I’m not buying it and I’m not leaving ’til you tell me, so you might as well unload.” Well, she did.
She, we’ll call her Brittany, looked up at me, and for a moment she studied my face, judging me, as if she was trying to decide if she could trust me or not. I shrugged my shoulders, opened my hands/arms, and said, “Get on with it. Let’s go. Spill it. I’m not leaving until you do.” I guess that worked. She burst and told me, “They locked my son in a closet.”
The accusation hit me like a wave. My hands went to my hips, defiant. I cocked my head and said, “What the hell did you say?” and “WHO locked your son in a closet?” I was stammering, sputtering, spitting, and my rage was rising as her sobs moderated. We were on a seesaw, trading emotions. She told me all the details.
Her son was autistic, 3yrs old, did not speak, and was sometimes “bad”. The teacher, whom I knew WELL, was frustrated with him disturbing the other students – read as “HER CHILDREN”. He was “scaring them”. So, she locked the boy in a closet……. and it wasn’t the first time. I came undone. I was ready to charge in, confront the teacher. Brittany begged me to stop. She didn’t want to go up against powerful members of the church and was unsure what to do. She assumed she and her husband would have to find another church —- it had happened to her before. “What????!!!!!”, I was out of my mind, angry. She said, “He’s on the playground now, he’s okay for right now.” I peered around the corner, sure enough, her son was happy and playing – oblivious and innocent.
One of my worst faults is to charge in, without surveying the field. I recalled my dad’s wisdom, “plot and plan”. I grabbed her arm and said, “Come with me, we’re going home to smoke and think about what to do.”
I live around the corner from the church. We hit our back kitchen door at about 120mph, and lit cigarettes in the kitchen, blowing smoke up the vent. We drank iced tea and fixed her makeup. By the time we were done smoking, she was laughing. We were bonded. She became a girlfriend in those 15 minutes. We hatched a plan.
Because she was young, new, and not of a founding family, the elder ladies were intimidating her. They had no such hold over me, and besides, they were in-the-wrong and extraordinarily “un-christian”. The woman who locked Brittany’s son in a closet was a stone-cold bi$ch. I knew her well and we had tangled before. She was the daughter-in-law of a prominent family and a school teacher (locking an autistic kid in a closet – are you kidding me?). My grandparents and her in-laws started the Repub club. They played bridge together. We belonged to the same country club. In fact, our families STARTED and funded the country club in the 60’s. She would NEVER challenge me. Yet, Brittany was afraid of direct confrontation and thought about changing churches. “Leaving us???” I was mortified. Nononono, that was unacceptable to me. Fear of confrontation does not exist in my bloodstream, but I made a deal with Brittany, if our plan did not work, I understood her decision to leave our congregation for another one with more compassion.
In church, various families have their own pews. No one sits on the first pew – too awkward. My family usually sits halfway down on right side. The bi$ch’s family usually sits third row, right side. So, Brittany and I decided to sit in the front row, right side, directly in front of Bi$ch, facing the minister. We walked in at the last minute and marched right down front. Of course, everyone was curious as to what I was doing in the front row. The minister looked at me and he knew something was going on….. I nodded to indicate, “it’s okay.”
We sang loudly. Heck, we sang loud enough to compete with the choir. We sang so loudly even GOD could hear us sing. And we chuckled about it, too. I checked over my shoulder. The bi$ch on the third row was squirming. Tension was building.
After the sermon, about halfway through the service, the minister does a 5 minute segment, children’s time, and brings in the kids from the playground. Normally, the kids then sit with parents for the second half of the service. Confused about what was happening, with us in the front row, the kids kept waving at us. At the end of the segment, the kids, all of them, crammed into the front pew with us. While the minister was speaking we kept them busy with tic-tac-toe. The boys snuggled in, and I re-tied shoes. The girls wanted to try on my rings. When we sang, we ALL sang loudly. The kids shook the rafters, singing. They knew something was different but were happy to be part of it all.
Before the benediction, there’s a point in the service where members shake hands. It’s supposed to foster ‘fellowship’ – you know – all those warm fuzzy CHRISTIAN feelings, before we depart. I was waiting for that moment….
I reached over the pew to the bi$ch, and with two hands, I yanked her across the second pew. She was bent over at the waist and gasping. I’m tall and she’s my same size, but I was pi$$ed. I leaned over slowly and whispered in her ear. I told her if she ever did it again, I would have her head on a stick. She tried to wriggle away but I held on tight. Others in church noticed, her husband noticed, but I wasn’t letting go. The kids were wide-eyed. 
Continuing to whisper into the back of her head, I had to spit out her hair. I remember thinking her hairspray was as foul as her cold black soul. I demanded she formally apologize and tell the deacons, in session, AND, if she didn’t….., I would. I threatened her with everything I could think of at the moment. My version of the story would not be pretty. Finally, I let go of her and she arose, straightening herself. Then, can you believe it….., she had the nerve to glare AT ME, in an accusing manner. Doubling down, I leaned far across the second pew, into her and said, “Funny, you WOULD take the position that I’m the asshole on this issue. What you’ve done is reprehensible and would cost you your job.” I was pointing the ‘mom’ finger in her chest, poking her. Her entire family heard me. 
Pausing, I flipped the switch, cold and cool, and at the top of my voice, for the entire congregation to hear, I spoke the normal salutation, “And May God Bless You Today.” I was spewing venom at her. Oh yes, everyone in church knew something was wrong.  
After church, several church members approached us to ask what was going on. We all know how ‘church’ is. Sometimes, gossip is the preferred currency. I sloughed it off and told everyone it was up to the “bi$ch” to explain, and , “Maybe you should ask her…” She did apologize to Brittany, immediately, and to the deacons, formally. New procedures were instituted, two teachers in that class. Brittany was accepted unconditionally … into a church.. the way it’s supposed to be….. Right?
Brittany and I became best friends. She and her husband bought the house across the street – with help from my grandmother. Our kids grew up together and our husbands were great friends. We went on vacations together. Her autistic son spoke his first words at my house (but that is another story), and her son was my son’s best friend. I thought that’s what Christian fellowship was supposed to accomplish. You know…, walk the walk.
Frankly, it doesn’t matter if we are Christians or Martians. We should never, ever, hesitate to go out on a limb for a child. We should speak up and demand satisfaction, fairness, shaming those responsible when necessary.
Yeah, that same autistic child, who was once locked in a closet, is a good kid. He just graduated from Florida State.
And today, I found out I’m going to be a grandma, for the first time. Eldest daughter is 11 weeks pregnant. Life goes on. What could be more important than our kids?

News broke today about CEO’s and Hollywood starlets bribing coaches and admissions officials to get their kids into elite schools.
Over 50 people have been arrested in the scandal.
This is the tip of the iceberg. The problem is enormous.
We know many of you will have comments on this subject, so I thought it might be good to throw up a thread about it.
Post your comments here.
https://www.cbsnews.com/news/college-bribery-scheme-lori-loughlin-felicity-huffman-dozens-others-charged-today-2019-03-12/
We keep coming back to this one, don’t we. Definitely, it was the tip of the iceberg.

Yesterday, FLEP wrote a home run of an article about small biz versus multinationals and the American economy, but the article got lost in all the Q posts and news of the day.
I didn’t see Flep’s article until late, last night. The news was so good, so overwhelming, I was blown away. AND, the statistics FLEP included served to prove our President was correct about the economy. In fact, he was correct about all economies, even those of the snide silly nations like Canada and Germany, whose citizens are our friends and buddies, but whose leaders we despise.
As Treepers, we forget we’re at the mid-stage of having our eyes opened to the manipulations of our politicians. The very vast majority of our friends and relatives are new to the game. Things we already know and take for granted (The US Chamber of Commerce agenda) are completely foreign and perplexing to our Dem friends and new-to-the-game patriots.
So, I stole Flep’s post. Yes, I made a comment indicating I was stealing and beg Flep’s forgiveness but FLEP’s news was too good not to share. I carved it up into bite-sized chunks, sometimes a sentence or two and a source, about 10 different posts, and spread it across social media to different groups where I admin. And guess what happened?
As of this morning, it’s been about 12 hours since my thievery, and we’re approaching 10K notifications and over 1800 shares of the different posts. See there, we really are the news….., and the people are starving for real news. By cutting up FLEP’s big article, we were able to hammer home the idea of economy (over all) and the winning strategy of our POTUS. FLEP, I could hug you, bigly, along with 10K other people!
From the comments I received in replies, it occurred to me, everything we’ve learned over the past 4-5 years was unknown to many. Thus, I composed this final long post (below), to explain to many, what and who we are really fighting.
Here it is:
Fundamentally important we all understand the difference between a multinational and a company which does business primarily in the USA.
The difference between the two, and their power struggle for control over our economy, is the reason President Trump has a hard time getting his agenda passed by Dems and GOPe.
Multinationals do majority of biz outside the USA. They like to export our American jobs, overseas, for greater profit and shareholder value. The US Chamber of Commerce represents 151 such companies. The Koch Brothers, one of the biggest Repub donors for the past 25yrs, are also a multinational.
Their agenda is based on their own interests.
1. Amnesty and more H1B visas = cheaper workers and lower wages for American workers
2. Bad trade deals and more of them = cheap manufacture overseas and easy access to the USA market
3. Obamacare/Universal Health Care = less operating costs for American employees
4. Common Core = no idea why they are so focused and push Common Core.
These companies lobby our politicians and contribute to campaigns who support their efforts —- until one day, we woke up and found America was gutted of our manufacturing base. Presidents like Reagan and Trump were/are not “globalists”, which is one of the reasons they both met/meet with such opposition in Congress.
Understand, there is no difference between Dem and Repub – except in the way they propose to fix the problem. Both sides are lobbied by the same people and accept money from the same donors. Dems voters who are sick of “the Swamp” believe the answer is socialism or a variant therein. Recall their heroes like Warren or Bernie railing against the mega-corps or “Occupy Wall Street”. They believe it will take government to punish the companies for the benefit of the workers — with Warren and Bernie + friends, in charge.
Repubs who are sick of the Swamp, and Libertarians, elect people like Reagan and Trump. They want less government, REAL free trade, and companies and policies which place American interests first. And Repubs or Libertarians would never trust a bureaucrat to be in charge of anything.
This is why our immigration policy has never been fixed. It’s why Repubs voted to remove Obamacare dozens of times — but McCain, the globalist, voted to keep it. It’s WHY Wall Street and the pundits have railed against President Trump trying to redo our trade deals, and yes, it’s the reason our schools are in such a mess. GOPe interests align with the goals of Dems for more voters and more power to the teacher unions and greater control over our children, our jobs, and our lives.
To resist President Trump’s agenda, a multinational company cannot be honest. They cannot come out and advertise to the American people, “Hey, we want to continue our lucrative business which depends on bad policy – screwing over America” = not a good PR look.
Thus, the same companies adopt social issues of the left to attack the President and weaken his poll numbers and popularity.
For instance, Levi Strauss has not manufactured in the USA since 2004-2005. They are now a globalist company and have the mindset which is not particularly loyal to the USA. The CEO of Levi has donated a million dollars of Levi money to an anti-gun campaign. Why? The CEO is obviously well protected and it’s safe to assume gun rights are not the MOST important interest of Levi Strauss. Yet, attacking a Repub President on a social issue is easier than a commercial for Levi which begs for no tariffs for their Chinese and Brazilian factories.
See what I mean?
Same with Nike. Does anyone really think Nike corporate heads lay awake at night worried that Kaepernick is not playing in the NFL? They don’t give a damn about Kapernick. Yet, Kaepernick is useful to attack the President and push his poll numbers down. It would be difficult for Nike Executives to admit – we really want to do all our manufacturing in China and still import at zero cost — and we’re really sorry we moved manufacturing out of Memphis, at a cost of about 8K jobs.
Same with Disney. Disney gives millions of dollars to open border/amnesty groups, at the same time Disney retrains foreign workers to replace Americans.
Can you see it now?
Because once you see it, you cannot unsee it.
Could it be possible this was the reason for the Trump Tax cuts? Yes, the majority of the tax cuts went to individual Americans, but corps got a major tax break as well. Was it part of the grand bargain = lower corp taxes and bring the jobs back to the USA?
But the corps want to keep the lower taxes AND continue policy which hurts workers…..
…… reminds me of the Ryan/McConnell promise to fund the border wall after the midterms.
And yes, our President has to do a delicate dance with the Dems and GOPe. In order to get anything passed, the President still needs the required votes from politicians who are loyal to their donors first. It’s why President Trump has had to go to an Emergency declaration on the Border Wall – and why some GOPe Repubs are resisting him. Does Ann Coulter really believe President Trump doesn’t want a border wall? After TWO government shutdowns on the issue + an Emergency Declaration? Really?
But something funny happened along the way during the war for competing interests. Small business began hiring. Small business does not usually hire H1B visa foreigners. Because of the paperwork involved, they don’t have access to these workers. Small business primarily employs Americans…….. first!
And small business hiring is the best it’s been in 45 years of recorded history according to the report from NFIB: https://www.nfib.com/…/small-business-job-creation-breaks-…/
Companies with an American focus, are winning, bigly, while the globalist based nations with unicorn mascots are on the brink of recession and stagnation. Multinationals are taking a dive but America is the workhorse, and America is winning.
Just look at these numbers, President Trump is refocusing the economy…. of the world, for the benefit of America. President Trump is trying to stop the bleeding of our wealth, create better policies, which, if adopted by other countries, would help THEIR economies as well.
—-Companies with big global exposure could face a double-digit Q1 earnings decline
—-Companies with more than half of their sales generated overseas are expected to see an earnings decline of 11.2 percent in the first quarter of 2019, according to FactSet.
—-“The U.S. economy seems stable, but an international slowdown eventually could spill over to the U.S.,” says Scott Wren, Wells Fargo’s senior global equity strategist.
—-Wall Street is projecting a 3.4 percent earnings loss for the S&P 500, while seeing 1 percent growth for companies with more than half of their sales coming from the U.S.
!!!!!!!!!!! ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ !!!!!!!!!! THiS!
Here’s the report from CNBC which PROVES our President is winning and slowly turning our economy around to be USA focused. We’re getting our money and jobs back, and payback is hell. We’re also proving to the citizens of the world that our policies, President Trump’s policies, are better.
https://www.cnbc.com/…/companies-with-big-global-exposure-c…
Read this paragraph from the report and now, with your eyes open, LOOK at who is talking. It’s the best.
“Things are worrisome across the globe. The Bank of Canada said Wednesday there was “increased uncertainty ” around future rate hikes, while Australia’s fourth-quarter GDP expanded at a pace of just 0.2 percent. Amid the ongoing trade negotiations, China set its economic growth target for 2019 between 6 percent and 6.5 percent, its slowest pace since 1990.”
Do you have any idea how BAD the Canadian economy is right now? It stinks. Thank you, to Trudeau, and your stupid over regulation and green utopian policies.
Australia, same thing.
Germany and France are in the gutter along with their GDP rate. Ask the people in the yellow vests, THEY KNOW.
….and lookie here, China’s economy is slowing amid trade negotiations with the USA.
From the Chinese foreign minister yesterday when asked about US/China Trade Talks = “We’re trying to get to zero tariffs.”
What?
Zero tariffs between the two countries?
You mean, REAL free trade, as opposed to the farce of the NeoCon/Globalists/CATO Institute definition of free trade?
You mean……, exactly what President Trump has been saying for about 30 years?
Color me shocked.
Imagine that. Their policies have failed and President Trump was right……………….. again.
You feel better now?
And here’s a word to the wise. If you believe in President Trump and that he will be successful, take a look at the Russell 2000 = Majority American Companies.
MAGA on!!!!!!!! We’re two years into a major turn-around and it’s working!

Georgia Congressman Doug Collins released the Ohr Transcript. The Doc is 268 pages long. Here is the link: Bruce Ohr Testimony
Many of you (and great researchers on the twit) are rummaging through the testimony, looking for nuggets. Thought it might be a good idea to centralize our comments in one location. In this way, we can come back and compare Ohr’s testimony to new information in the weeks/months to come.
If you have ANYTHING which is Bruce Ohr related, please drop it here.
Here are a few more valuable links for comparison:
Epoch Times January 14, 2019
Daily Caller March 8, 2019

Preconceived notions get us into trouble. We tend to stay in our lane and avoid new things. Sometimes, it’s better to muster a little courage and jump in – “Damn the torpedoes!”
Cooking is a necessary skill and provides the seed which, when planted, grows to form the memories of our lives. Hey, everyone gets hungry, right? Yet, as a young woman, I shunned the mastery of cooking skills. My mother was Irish and burned everything. My step-mother was an award worthy chef and party giver. I recall her attempts to educate me in the ‘art of food’ and I resisted. One time, I told her, “I didn’t need to learn how to cook because I was going to be a VP for Exxon and would hire a cook.” Yeah, that was me at 16. What a fool I was.
As a very junior exec, in Miami and Manhattan, people went OUT for dinner and we put the tab on our expense accounts. Yet, I was young, early 20’s, and dinner out was still expensive. I began the habit of inviting clients HOME for dinner, which was considered out of norm. Gosh, I had many failures in the kitchen during those years, but I learned even the failures were wins – cuz I actually invited people into my home. The wives of clients gave me extra credit for trying and having a little bit of courage (lot of torpedoes were sacrificed in those days). They actively helped me, giving me tips and tricks, sharing, in a kitchen, the way normal people do. By my mid-20’s, I had perfected many menus and loved to cook.
My secret weapon became “inviting people to dinner”. The best example of which came with one particular boyfriend. We met in a funny way. A little more about him.
The office gang was out late one night, we were celebrating a big case win at our favorite local bar. Coincidentally, it was the same bar where Donna Rice and Gary Hart were caught on the “Monkey Business”. Yes, we sometimes took cigarette boats to the Bahamas for lunch, and I swear, I still own part of a hotel in the Bahamas. I can’t quite remember where the hotel is, but I digress.
The evening went late as our bar tab grew. One of the regular bar trolls started to hit on me. He had been chasing me for a long time and I wasn’t interested. I was between boyfriends but would have to live on a desert island to ever consider this guy. In fact, if I was on a desert island, WITH HIM, I would probably consider killing him and eating his liver. He had too much to drink and was leaning all over me. To get out of the situation and not cause a scene, I told him I was dating someone. He challenged me. I lied and insisted I was “involved”. He stepped back, wobbled, and said, “Oh yeah, WHO are you dating?”
Caught in the lie and thinking fast on how to get out of it, I scanned the room. There was an attractive man, standing alone, across the LARGE bar, who was looking directly at me and the confrontation I was having with the bar troll. I took a deep breath and jumped in. Damn, there went the torpedoes.
With high drama, I pointed directly at the attractive man across the bar and insisted we were dating. The man across the bar was wise. He smiled…. then waved. I giggled a little to myself. He knew what was going on. He was reading the situation and my mind, but the bar troll didn’t believe our performance. He reared back and said, “Oh yeah? Well, I’m going to go ask him!” I panicked as the bar troll made his way around the bar. Quickly, on individual cocktail napkins, I wrote out my name in big letters and held them up so the man could see. He squinted a little bit but nodded. Message received.
I watched intently as the two men spoke. The bar was loud, but my mind was silent. After what seemed an eternity, the bar troll was satisfied and wandered away. Whew! The attractive man made his way around the bar, introduced himself, and suggested we grab a cup of coffee. It was 4:00am when we parted and he called me for lunch the next day. He was fascinating, youngest ever board member for a Fortune 50 pharma out of NY/NJ, soaring IQ, socially awkward, tall and handsome but impish and clever, and HILARIOUSly funny. We dated for two years, shuffled back and forth from Miami to NYC, and I almost married him. He was 12yrs my senior.
Back to cooking and why it’s important.
During the course of our relationship, his career took off and the social obligations of his duties mounted. I would fly-in and we entertained regularly in both Miami and NYC. Very few of the wives cooked and dinner at home was far more intimate, friendly, tactile, endearing. We formed alliances with enemies and made friends. It helped his career. A few months into the relationship, he called to tell me a story. He was in a helo with the CEO, headed into the city. It was his big chance, 20 minutes with the CEO, alone. The CEO tried to strike up a convo with him about the Dolphins/Jets game. He knew nothing about football – creating a silent ride. Bummer. It was the days of Marino/Clayton/Duper and I launched into a diatribe about the three touchdowns, last 2 minutes, the game was amazing! My boyfriend was almost mad – social skills were not his wheelhouse – and I can talk to a doorknob. He realized if I had been on the helo, I could have spoken endlessly to the CEO. Soooooo, he decided we needed to buy a ski house in Vermont, to socialize on the weekends with the generation above him, the decision makers, the movers and shakers.
Never mind that we were not married yet. Never mind that I didn’t have a primary home yet. It was time to buy a ski house. He made arrangements for us to spend a long weekend at the house to ‘check it out’ and kick the tires. Did I mention – I’ve never skied before? I mustered the courage and jumped in. More torpedoes.
Packing for the trip was frustrating, and I tried to decide what to bring. Didn’t own much flannel and LLBean, but I packed what I had. Those pesky preconceived notions, always in the way, eh? I thought it was a cabin in the woods. A picturesque, Currier and Ives, kind of a cabin, with smoke curling out of a fireplace. I packed apples, toilet paper, and granola bars, in case we could not get to a store. In fact, I left my heated curlers at home (mandatory for big hair in the 80’s), because of course, there would be no electricity in the woods. Right???? Right????
Stung again by my preconceived notions. After the airports and car ride, we finally arrived. It was the most beautiful home I’ve ever seen. Even today, 30 years later, that home ranks in my top five. It slept 14, comfortably. It was spacious and airy without being pretentious. And the kitchen………, was a dream come true.
The kitchen table was a single plank of wood, with sanded edges and a beeswax finish. It sat 20, easily. There was a long fitted bench on one side, backed by a mini-balcony, which overlooked the family room and fireplace. The opposite side of the table had regular chairs and chairs on the ends. My mouth fell open. I was ready to move in, but I had not explored the rest. Rounding the kitchen, the fridge was as big as my bed, and an extra fridge and extra freezer. Good Lord, I could have bathed triplets in the slate sink. And the pantry……., the pantry was so big, it needed a bowling lane. A commercial 6 burner stove, which was unusual for the 80’s, and 4, count’em, 4 ovens (two banks of double ovens). OMG! Remember all those holidays when we need an extra oven? My eyes lit up like I was on crack! Realtors claim a kitchen sells the house for a woman, and within 10 minutes, I was calculating how much our down payment would be. I was SOLD.
About 5 steps down was the family room, but the enormous windows rose to eye level with the kitchen and looked out to the side of a double black diamond ski hill, just steps from the front door. Of course, I had no idea what “double black diamond” meant at the time. The bedrooms were sumptuous. The baths all had steam in them, which was fun to play with, but I had no curlers. Oh well….. The next morning I had to ski.
Finding a closet full of ski equipment and clothing in every size, I was ready to jump in, full torpedoes, again. Boyfriend met up with some friends and they took off down the double black hill. Gee, it looked so easy for them. Swooshing! I could do that, surely. I was pretty athletic and in good shape. He scheduled lessons for me on the bunny hill…, which was humiliating. The kids on the bunny hill and lil’ ole me had a tough time. After hours and sweating through my gloves, I gave up, went to the clubhouse, and ordered a triple cognac. It wasn’t even 11:00am. I failed miserably and was not a skier. He found me, nursing coffee, in the clubhouse. I wanted to play in the kitchen. Hey, we all have our skill-sets. He was happy to finally play with the big boys and no longer felt like a step-child. Good! After laughing at my effort to ‘snowplow’, I told him, “I’m going back to the house to cook, come home when you are hungry.”
The bus took me back to the house, I grabbed car keys and headed out to find hot rollers and groceries. I was happy and humming. As I drove out of the resort, I realized there was snow and ice on the roads, but not in the resort. Even the roads in the resort were heated. Swank place, hmmmm, definitely not a remote cabin in the woods. Again, I shook my head at the error of my preconceived notions. The grocery store was a wonderland. Spent way too much, but everything looked good. By the time I made it through the liquor store, I could barely get the supplies in the car.
Back home, in the kitchen, I found a radio and cranked up the volume. I cooked like a Tasmanian Devil. I made hors d’oeuvres for snacks. I made a double batch of bread because it was mandatory to use all four ovens! I whipped up a pot of chili using t-bones, and a big pot of shrimp gumbo. I marinated more steaks for the next day. I made grandma’s potato salad and had 4 Apple pies in the oven when boyfriend whizzed through the door with all his buddies.
Inside the house, the men stripped out of their ski gear and rounded the corner to the kitchen. “What the hell is that smell?”, one of the men was roaring, “I’m following my nose!” I knew some of the men but they looked so different, sort of sweaty, wind-tunnel-hair rumpled, very different from polished as I had seen them before. “Oh my GOD, she made bread!”, said another. True, I had 8 loaves cooling on the plank table. “It’s still HOT!”, said another, “Do you have any butter?” They were already in the frig and digging in the drawers for a knife. The were like a pack of wolves, wild and ravenous for food.
Another man stood by the ovens, whipped open all the doors, and pointed “LOOK! She’s making PIE!”, he said, and in a flash he picked me up and whirled me around, “My God, you’re an angel!”. It was the CEO. Leaving the oven doors open and putting me down, he grazed further down the kitchen and stopped to stick his nose over a stockpot. “What is this? I’ve never smelled that smell before. It smells DIVINE!”, he said. But then he lowered his voice to an 8yr old version, and came within 6″ of my face, “Can I have some….., please?” I still hadn’t said a word. Boyfriend made his way to me, kissed me on the cheek, “I think they’re hungry.”
“Wait, wait, WAIT!”, I said. I was the only woman in the room, with a bunch of hungry bears, and I seized the opportunity. I closed the oven doors. It was still my kitchen. I swatted the hand of one of the VP’s, “Not yet”, as he was tearing into a loaf of my bread. From the extra fridge, I gave them three trays of homemade hors d’oeuvres and dips, “Nibble on this and call your wives, cuz you are ruining your dinner plans.” I shook my finger at them and several lined up by the phone. The snacks were cold and the men looked at me like they had just been punished by mom. They were forlorn and practically drooling on the table. One whimpered, “….but the bread is getting cold.” I grinned. “Okay, okay”, but you need a bowl,”, I capitulated. “And the pies are not done yet”, I had just put them in.
The women arrived in moments (they were obviously waiting on their men to come home to go OUT to dinner) and looked like they just stepped out of Bonwit Teller. Beautiful jewelry. I was still in thin pants and a thermal shirt but was wearing my pearls.
There we were, boyfriend at one end of the table, happy he was Chief for a day, and me at the other end of the table. He seemed so calm and happy, like he was the genteel host. It was an odd group of uber wealthy. The men ate with a mix of their hands and utensils and the women relaxed. Candles flickered and all was right with the world. They ate 6 loaves of bread and put a big dent in the chili and gumbo. By the time dinner was done, we were all friends, laughing, and several helped me clear the table, like we were a family….., warm, endearing, tactile, unavoidable, …..my secret weapon.
Still at the table, they all looked sleepy and satisfied, but the pie timer went off and they were wide awake again. Two men jumped to help me unload the “treasure” from the oven and hovered over me. The two explained details of the pies to others, play by play,  like they were sportscasters. As most women know, sometimes the pies come out perfectly and other times, not so much. These apple pies could have been photographed. I made 4 with the intent to keep one and give the others to various houses, so I had dressed them up a bit.
I placed the pies in the middle of the table, but they were bubbling and too hot to eat. Lots of oohhh’s and ahhhh’s. Tentatively, they looked at my pies as if they discovered a new life form, examining them from different angles. I noticed one man sneaking his fork to the edge of a pie to ‘snitch’ a taste, when the CEO took center stage. He grabbed a neighbor’s napkin and also used his napkin to pick up one whole pie and put it in front of him. “I want this one”, he said definitively, “This one is mine.” His wife laughed, admonished him, and told him he had to share. There were at least 16 of us. He looked down the table at me and fixed his stare. He curled his lip a little, took a deep breath and said, “I’ll give you $1,000 for this pie. It’s been 30 years since I’ve had homemade pie and I want the whole damn thing.”, pause, “I want to take it home if I can’t eat it all.”
“You might have to sleep with that pie.”, said his wife. Whoops! Overstepping. I laughed to diffuse and said, “Punkin (yes, I just called him punkin without realizing it), I will make you a pie any time you want one.” I moved to get plates and ice cream, but by the time we got back, they were already picking at the pies. They couldn’t wait until they cooled.
Some moved to the family room, men poked at the fire. Some of the women and I launched a big discussion about pies and cakes, I was learning more tips and tricks. I recalled finding CD’s from Sinatra and Dean Martin and put them on. Couples cuddled and some danced. I got the impression they hadn’t been “like that” in quite a while. It was a home run of an evening and oh, so…… comfortable.
I slept like a baby. Boyfriend woke up, starving again, turned to me and said, “I’ll help you make breakfast!” I grinned. We were in the kitchen and I was still wearing long johns and a robe when the doorbell rang. Muffled voices at the door and bargaining back and forth. I was working on blueberry pancakes, fresh Vermont bacon, and fried eggs – little runny in the middle. Boyfriend rounded the corner to ask me for “permission”. I was puzzled. Four of the guys from last night were at the door and wanted to invite themselves to breakfast. “Is it okay with you?” said my boyfriend, then, …….”They waited until our lights came on.” I stopped and thought, here were grown men, healthy and wealthy men, lurking outside our home, in the cold, waiting to see when our lights came on, salivating all the while, to eat breakfast. I felt sorry for them.
Poor babes….. They not only needed food, they needed a little bit of love and kindness. Cuz the kitchen is home, and love, and everyone needs that, right? Throughout the morning, people came in and out. The phone would ring, with a wife on the other end, “Do you have my husband?” I told them to throw on a coat and walk over. It was a slower pace than what they were used to. We lingered at the table, talking, and I had a mountain of help for the clean up. Several women confessed they didn’t like to ski and they stayed with me. Most had children my age and those women had nothing to prove on a ski slope. The boys went off to conquer the mountain while we curled up by the fire and planned dinner. The CEO’s wife asked me a favor.
She wanted to call the CEO’s mother’s maid (!!), and get the recipe for a pecan pie, which was his favorite, if I agreed to help. “Oooohhh,”, I loved the idea. She called, we were thrilled and planned the big surprise. The women were lovely that day. All pretense evaporated. We shopped, cooked, and cackled like a band of thieves. Dinner was casual, big salad, scratch lasagna and chicken parm. The smell of Italian food hits a hungry man broadside. The time arrived for dessert. The women twinkled because we had a secret.
A couple of the women presented the CEO with his favorite pie from childhood and told the story of the phone call. For the sides, I added maple to fresh whipped cream and we sugared some extra pecans and oranges with a splash of Grand Marnier. We even found birthday candles in the pantry and sang to him. His lower lip went down, he was genuinely touched. No $100,000 present could have been better. He looked down the table to me, searching, but I pointed to his wife and said, “She did it all.” Not entirely true but that’s a womans’ secret. He got up from the table, went over and kissed his wife sweetly, whispering something in her ear. Well done. Good day. No more torpedoes, everything was easy and calm.
When I put my head on the pillow that night, I threw up a little prayer of thanks to the division manager in heaven who handles pies. The recipe was a winner. Best damn set of pies I’ve ever made.
We bought the house.
Moral of the story: Invite someone into your home. Break bread. Don’t worry about making mistakes or try to make everything perfect. The best things happen when you don’t really plan it. Let your men be guys and don’t cling….. sooner or later, they will get hungry.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

My son would be mortified if he knew I was telling this story, but I’m going to tell it anyway. The daily whine from the media, and their stories of Cohen have become white noise. We’re waiting for something bigger to happen. Need a distraction? Here we go.
No matter our career, politics, or station in life, our most important job is as a Mom or Dad (after wife or husband). Being a parent is tough and there are a million ways to fail – on a daily basis. Kids don’t come with a manual. Gosh, I was wholly unprepared and motherhood was a humbling experience. That said, we altered our life so I could “work at home”. Can’t think of one mom or dad who wished they spent LESS time with their kids. Yet, children are also a challenge and continually test our limits. We often capitulate to a child’s whims to avoid public embarrassment, or because we are busy, or because we want to “be their friend”….., which leads to children testing the limit of acceptable behavior. I was a big fan of limits.
Well, Gunner hit my ‘limit’ in 4th grade. It was a Tuesday night. We read a book and I put him to bed. When I went to tuck him in and give him a kiss on the forehead, he told me, “I hate school and don’t ever want to go back.” He had never said anything like that before and it was completely out of character for him. It was like he announced he just murdered the neighbor. Inconceivable. I didn’t react at all. I said, “Okay, honey”, kissed his forehead, and off to slumberland he went. Checking in, ten minutes later, he was sleeping like an angel.
Back in the kitchen, I was cleaning up and stewing over his words. I called his teacher who was also his piano teacher, no problems. I called his best friend’s mom, no problems. Please understand, he was an exemplary student, no bullying. He wasn’t running guns or drugs. He was fine. We had an enormous project going on in the backyard, tiling the pool, building fireplaces, a garage, lots of men here, and every morning he would grumble about missing the activity at the house. School was boring. I suspected he felt like he was missing out on our fun – which was really more like hard work. I thought, “I’m going to fix his attitude right now!” Can’t have a kid who does not want to go to school or fakes an illness to stay home. I hatched an idea.
Phase 1, Lay the groundwork – The next morning, I let him sleep until 8:30am. He woke up, realized he was late for school, and shot out of bed like a bullet. I was in the next room, my office, patiently waiting to spring my trap. I asked him what was wrong at school and why he reacted so badly, not wanting to go back. As I figured, he wanted to take off a few days. No, school was his “job”, but I was fighting gorgeous weather and a bored little boy with spring fever.
Speaking to him like he was a business associate, I told him I seriously considered his words last night. I respected his wishes, as “You would never make such a grand statement about your future without thinking it through……” I told him, “I talked to your father and admit, we are disappointed. We hoped you would attend college, yet many children do not.” We would love him no matter what his chosen career. I told him I called his principal, Mr. Jackson (whom I adored), and related your decision to DROP OUT of school.” He went wide-eyed and began to protest, but I pressed on. I also told him, “We are worried about your ability to get a job, but YOU are LUCKY, since we both own businesses we can help you.” I asked him to get dressed, put on work clothes – no breakfast that day.
I got through it without cracking a smile. Phase 1 complete. I wish you could have seen the look on his face. He stammered and objected a little bit but I kept talking. He was just young enough for me to still keep my bluff up.
He tiptoed into the kitchen, apprehensive, but ready and dressed. I put my hand on his shoulder (like he was a man) and walked him to the backyard. Our lot is 600′ deep, so it’s a long way out there. As we were walking I explained how Dad and I were going to help him launch his career. I spoke with Mr. Dave, who had a crew tiling the pool. Dave agreed to accept him as an apprentice because he was “big for his age”. I continued, if it didn’t work out with Dave, and he was FIRED, Mr. Ismail the mason, had a crew who was installing 140 tons of fieldstone for gardens and Mr. Ismail said he could use him to haul rock. Finally, if it didn’t work out with Ismail, the plumber, Jody and his crew, could use him to help dig.
About halfway down the backyard, he started crying and apologizing. I stopped but I didn’t touch him (which I desperately wanted to do). I told him he needed to stop crying, because construction crews are always brutal to the new guy……. and….. if you show up and you’re crying, it will be even worse. He swallowed the tears.
We walked to the shop and made out a timecard for him. I explained his pay schedule and the concept of taxes and Social Security. “You mean I have to pay for all this?”, he said. Oh yes, son, you do. We walked to the back, where the men were working, and I formally introduced him to Dave and his crew. Of course, I already talked to Dave, his wife, and men, earlier in the morning. Everyone was in on the plan except Gunner. I wished him luck. Instead of running/working with the crews, I left and went back to the house….. and I cried the whole way.
Phase Two, hit a snag – I called Dave’s wife about halfway through the morning. Apparently, Gunner was a fabulous employee. She LOVED him. He was hauling 50lb bags of mortar and doing well pushing a wheelbarrow. She said, “He listens so well, I only have to tell him what to do one time. He’s the best ‘second’ out here.” I said, “Nonononoo…. He’s supposed to be miserable.” She said, “Well, good luck with that.” I was frustrated. The weather was beautiful, and he was outside instead of sitting in school. He was having fun with the men, feeling like he was part of the team. I tried to focus on my work and give my plan until lunchtime to work.
The men broke for lunch at 11:00am and Dave’s wife called me. The men invited Gunner to go to lunch, downtown, with the rest of the crews. He refused and told Dave’s wife, “Surely, mom will be ‘over this experiment’ by lunchtime.” He was mocking me. Dave’s wife said, “That little squirt thinks YOU will give in!” I thought, “Oh yeah?” It was time to double down. I was thinking about what to do when she told me Gunner was headed into the house for Spaghetti-O’s and Grandma’s applesauce, his favorite lunch.
Phase Three – Gunner bellied up to the kitchen table and I treated him like he was a husband home for lunch. I was the spider, drawing him into my web. He was different now, and a ‘grown man’. I made his lunch and presented him with a bill for his food. “What!!!!”, he said, “You’re going to charge me for my lunch?” I nodded and got out a legal pad. I explained his budget, how much he made, our mortgage/utilities/food/insurance, etc., and what his share would be. I subtracted all of his expenses and circled a number at the bottom to show him what he would be left with AFTER taxes and household expenses.
He was furious and hurt at the same time. “Throwing me out of the family”, he protested. I explained it was a great sacrifice for us while he went to school, but school was his job. If he wasn’t going to do his job in school, then he had to contribute. He gobbled down his last meatball and spouted something about “I would rather sleep in the car than pay a mortgage.”, got up, walked out of the back door, slamming it as he left. Phase 3 complete.
He sat on the edge of the pool and waited for the men to come back from lunch and he must have sat there for a long time. That afternoon, Dave’s wife said he was quieter. The sun came out and it was hotter. He was sweating but doing well, holding his own. Normally, I worked alongside the men. All day long I was fielding calls from the men for decisions, but I could not go back there and keep a straight face. He had to be on his own and out of my control. Not a time for mom. This was a job for men.
Phase 4 failure – About 2:00pm, I got a call from Dave’s wife. She called my cell from the shop was bragging about Gunner. She was teaching him how to use a tile saw, and “understood how to leave the line, cut on the line, take the line” almost as well as she did”. That way they could operate two saws with the other men in the pool and work faster. I thought, “OMG, this is not working the way I envisioned.”, although I was happy he was doing well. Now what? Of course, I want my son to learn construction, but I don’t need a 10yr old tile cutter.
Somehow, I had to make him WANT to go back to school.
Phase 5 – About 2:30pm, I strolled to the back and pulled Gunner off the crew. I had an idea that if I made him see his future, he might change his mind. I took him to the bank to open his checking account and arrange for direct deposit. Of course, we both knew all the women at the bank. He plopped down in a club chair and melted into the leather, in front of Pam, who opens accounts. Pam was happy to see him and commented on what he was doing out of school today. “Oh, I quit school!”, he said, “I’m a working man now.” Pam shot me a look and I gave her a grin. “Well, it certainly does agree with you”, she said. “Bad comment, Pam”, I thought, but I did take a hard look at my son. He was rosy-cheeked and a little bit sun-kissed. Damn, he looked like he just stepped out of a Ralph Lauren advertisement. She filled out the forms, he signed them. She shook his hand, welcomed him as a new customer, gave him a tour of the safety deposit boxes, gave him a folder with necessary info, a ceremonial pen….. and two red suckers….. his favorite. Oh, the irony.
Next stop, I took him to our guy who handles our investments. We opened an IRA for his retirement. That was a rude awakening for Gunner. Retirement planning cut into the money he thought he was going to spend. LONG lecture from the financial planner about his future —- without me in the room. Phase 5 was a win, but he is a stubborn boy.
That night, he ate like a grown football player, took a bath and he grabbed a pillow and blanket to go sleep in the car. I told you, he’s a stubborn one. Wonder where he gets it? At the doorway, he shouted to me, “I guess I’m too old to read a book, huh Mom?” He was a little boy trying to fight me like a big man. I got up and met him at the back door. I told him that I knew the day was hard but I was proud of him. I moved to kiss him goodnight and he backed away. I said, “We’re just a little worried about your future, but you’ve made your decision.” He walked out the back door, in his pajamas, but I left the lock open. He wandered around for a little while, outside, but by the time I turned off the lights in my office, he was in back in bed. I tucked him him in and kissed him on the forehead. He snuggled into the covers, “yeah-h-h-h”, he whimpered as he drifted off.
Phase 6 – The next day, he was up early, as the men come in at 6:30am. They brought him a chicken & biscuit, and he grabbed a pair of gloves and a band-aid for a blister. He had almost accepted his fate. Husband and I were busy that day. We were very involved in Gunner’s school, and Friday was a party we previously agreed to sponsor. I explained to Gunner it wasn’t fair for the other kids to miss out on a party, just because he DROPPED OUT of school! It was an awards party for reading books. Gunner was #1 in his grade and the party was for the top 25 in 1st – 6th grade. I asked him if he wanted me to bring home his trophy. Tough love.
All day long we moved things for the party. The men helped me unload a popcorn machine and the DJ equipment and run them over to the school. Of course, Gunner was part of the crew, setting up for a party where he would have been honored. Principal Jackson caught Gunner and shook his hand (he was in on the plan and great) and wished him “well in life”. Later on in the day, the snow cone vendor arrived and we had to go back to the school and unload again. Many trips back and forth as we shuttled supplies and decorations. Gunner was beginning to turn…… He wanted to go to the party. He saw friends on the playground and fought back tears in the delivery truck.
Phase 7 Capitulation – That night, Gunner ate like a horse. He was exhausted and sported several blisters on his hands and feet. He took a LONG shower and a bath. I went in to his room to kiss him goodnight but he appeared to be asleep. I headed to my office for the overnight correspondence with China. He got out of bed and came into my office, “to have a conference with me about his future”. I listened and it all came pouring out. He cried and begged to go back to school, “But I WANT to go to college!” and “I don’t want to join the Navy!”. I stifled a chuckle, several of the men were Navy vets and had talked to him about joining the Navy when he was old enough. Odd that later on in life he would apply to the Naval Academy…. and use two of them as a reference.
All throughout the process, everytime he objected, I reminded him it was he who made the decision and his words and decisions have consequences. “You can’t make wild claims and say crazy things without expecting people to take you seriously.”, I said. He understood. We agreed he should go back to school but it was HIS decision. “You didn’t cash out my college fund, did you mom?”, he wanted to know. “No son, not yet…..”, I replied. He wanted me to read to him. I laid down to read and he spooned me. He was back to being a little boy instead of a “working man”.
Finale, the Reward!! – The party at school went FAR better than planned. The DJ we hired was exceptionally good. Husband and I were surprised he was so talented. Everyone danced and partied, lots of Conga lines. It was so much fun all the students from all classes were turned loose to party and play. Gunner was accepted back with ‘rockstar’ status. It was as if he had been in prison, or on some great adventure to a distant land (working with the men). He proudly showed off his blisters as battle scars to impress other boys, and especially the girls. His friends wanted to know every detail of his journey. His teachers giggled but understood everything we did. Some asked me, “Can I send you a few more to straighten out?”
That kid didn’t miss a day of school for years. And he still has his IRA.
Don’t ever try to run a bluff on a mom.