Just so far

I noticed this morning they've put new mileage signs on Interstate 75 south of Toledo, Ohio. You know, those markers which tell us Detroit is 89 miles away and the like? Well, the first new sign I saw had the distances to Dayton and then Cincinnati. That makes sense of course, their being in Ohio. But the third city listed was Tampa, Florida. It was from there 1,103 miles further south on I-75.
That was good for a chuckle. Then the next sign listed a couple Ohio towns again...and Atlanta, Georgia. It was a scant 852 miles along the way.
Methinks someone at the Ohio Department of Transportation has a sense of humor. Or an extreme case of wishful thinking. Or just too much time on their hands, who knows?

Solitaire-y confinement

I was stuck on a jury last week. Yes, I know that jury duty is an important function of the citizenry. I also know that it can be tedious.
To be fair, the court allowed certain diversions in the jury room for the (many) times we were left there to stew as finer legal points were hammered out between judge, prosecutor, and defense counsel. There were crossword and sudoku books, magazines, and decks of cards. Once as I sat impatient and bored, I grabbed a deck and began playing solitaire. Almost as soon as I began the face of the young woman sitting across from me lit up. "Wow. I used to watch my grandfather play that!"
Why, no, that didn't make me feel old at all. But the truth is I learned solitaire sitting at my own grandfather's kitchen table watching him play, so I actually could appreciate her sentiment.
When I had finished she took the cards and played a few hands of her own. Soon enough four guys - that translated into all of us grandfathers in the room - were watching her play and giving her tips when she thought she was beaten. 'Play the red 6 on the black 7' or, 'Move that stack to the other row' and such as that. She was quickly expert at the game and set the cards down, vowing to keep up her new tradition.
The passing on of customs from the old to the curious young. I guess jury duty can serve a higher purpose.

See Sherman. See Sherman burn his hand

Sherman used to clean drains. That means that we saw him a lot back in the day; he worked until about 1990. Sherman also used to preface every sentence with the word, see. 'See, I'm doing fine,' he would answer when you asked how he was.

One morning Pops was welding an end on Sherman's cable. When Dad finished he noticed Sherman reaching for the cable as he turned off the welder. "Don't touch that, it's hot!" he warned.

"See, I know it's hot," Sherman answered.

A minute later Dad heard him yelp. He turned to see Sherman rubbing his hand; he had grabbed the hot cable full palm. "Sherman, I just told you that was hot!" Dad admonished him.

"See, I didn't know it was that hot."

Pops went and got the burn ointment from our first aid kit. Squeezing some out of the tube onto the wound, Dad said as Sherman worked the goo into his palm, "Are you going to be okay?"

"See, I'll be fine, Bill. See, I didn't burn it that bad. See, I didn't hold it very long."

I imagine not.

Labor Day

Labor Day weekend is upon us, and that means many things to many people. Mostly, it seems, it is meant to be a relaxing time with family and friends. There's nothing with that, of course. But what is Labor Day really, and how does it relate to conservatism?

It is intended, most would say, as a celebration of the labor of the working men and women of our country. Fair enough; labor in all its forms is the backbone of our economy. Further, a fair days' work is something which ought to be prized and seen proudly. The contributions which we make to society when we engage in wholesome work should be satisfying to workers and the beneficiaries of work on about the same plane.

Yet the honor of Labor Day is felt with particular pride in and around Detroit and Wayne County, and why not? As the cradle of the automotive industry and the famed arsenal of democracy during World War II, among other contributions to Americana, we should feel good about our place in history. Then too, with our local economy being so hard hit by the recession, we may well feels the pangs of economic restriction more keenly than many other places in the country.

So where does this leave us with regard to the right wing? Simply that, seen in the, ahem, right light, conservatism is a great friend to the worker. Conservatism respects the rights of all, particularly, believe it or not, those most susceptible to economic strife. Conservatism recognizes the value of work and of the worker, and more, of the rights inherent in work. We respect the right of the individual to seek gainful employment in an open arena of job seekers and employers working freely and respectfully towards everyone's best interest. Conservatism, if allowed to become fully operational, would let the market works its wonders, and everyone would benefit, as they did in the Reagan years and also, truth be told, in the Clinton years under a Republican Congress which did more for the general welfare than our philanderous ex-President.

In short, conservatives are for labor. With the right amount of consideration in return, we could see this current mess ended quickly and spectacularly.

Coil your cables

Me Grandpa Joe rented welding machines, as many of you by now know. He really wasn't fussy about much, but one of those things was his welding cable.
Each machine typically had to have 150-200 feet of cable while in operation. These cables were copper coated rubber and were about an inch thick. He always made sure that they were rolled in loops which were easy for a man to carry on his shoulder. On this point he was very particular; it could take forever to unknot even one cable. That was just time wasted, he rightly believed. Coil the cables, tie them off, and stack them nicely when the job was through, that was his mantra.
Once Acme Steel Processors (not the company's real name) rented ten welders from Joe and had them for a couple of months. When the job was over, Joe himself happened to be the man who went to pick them up. He was greeted at the Acme plant with a pallet of unrolled welding cable. But worse than that. All his beautiful welding cable, more than 2,000 feet, was piled in a jumbled, knotted mess upon it. His fuse, short anyway, was set.
About then the foreman came up to Joe and said, "There was trouble with one of your welders. The plant manager wants to talk to you."
Joe barked, "That's just dandy, because I want to talk to him too."
Grandpa stormed into the plant manager's office. The manager, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, never had a chance to open his mouth. Joe lit right into him, a blast of emphatic, rough English, yet with no expletives more than Joe's liberal use of the mild one 'hell', explaining exactly how little he cared for discovering his cable in one God-awful mess. That was not how he delivered it, Joe vigorously orated. It was gonna take hours to sort out, he, um, explained. I've been told it was quite a harangue. Those who did not know Joe must understand that when his dander was up, whole neighborhoods knew it. Hell, to use his favorite word, small towns were made aware.
Before Joe could wind down Cloyce did manage to say, "You don't have to be so loud, Joe."
"Hell yeah I do!" Joe bellowed. "I want everyone in here to know what I think and I don't want to have to tell them each individually!" He was off again.
I don't believe Cloyce ever got to make his point. He was probably quite happy to get back to the mundane tasks of plant managing once Grandpa left.

Everything's off

One of me Pops best friends was a guy named Ben Gamble. Ben was from Alabama, and like many southerners during the 1940s and 50s had emigrated northward for jobs in the auto industry. He landed at Chrysler himself.

After a few years, there were extended layoffs; Ben was told his would be 3 or 4 months. He decided that, with that much time, he might as well take the family to old Alabam for an extended visit. So off they went.

About eight weeks after they had left he was informed his layoff was over. He was to report the next Monday. So he and his wife packed the kids up, and early Saturday morning began the return to Detroit. You must remember that at the time, with no freeways, it was a long two day drive from northern Alabama to Detroit.

They got in late Sunday, and Monday morning Ben reported to the Chrysler plant where he had worked. He was told by a suit to wait a few minutes, and he'd be back with his exact assignment.

A few minutes passed, which became an hour, then two, and finally four. Eventually the suit returned with a new layoff notice for Ben.

Ben proceeded to tell the suit, in gloriously colorful language, that he did not appreciate being called in all the way from Alabama and having to put his family through that trauma only to be laid off again right away. He then went to that guy's supervisor and told him in no uncertain terms what he thought of the deal, then to that guy's superior, and finally to one more suit above him, all in spectacular manner. He wanted to make absolutely sure Chrysler understood the depths of his anger.

"Bill,' he said to Pops as he brought his tale to a close, "By the time I was done I was laid off, paid off, told off, and run off!"

But I bet it was worth every word.

The end of an era

I wake up this morning to find that the Detroit Tigers have traded star pitcher Justin Verlander to the Houston Astros. The longest era of unreached potential for the franchise is now past history, as me Grandpa Joe used to say.

This edition of the Tigers never lived up to its billing. Sure they made two World Series, in 2006 and 2012 respectively, yet were embarrassed in both. Mismanagement and a lack of real fire in the players doomed them. I blame mismanagement more so because part of the mistake has been managers who could not, and I wonder if maybe the right term here is would not, inspire, cajole, or kick their players' tails into higher gear. Because let's be honest: they had the tools. The tools were simply misused.

Jim Leyland, I've said it before and I'll say it again now, was not a good manager. He got a career pass for 2006, yet people forget that as cool as that season was the Tigers actually backed into the postseason. They were 19-31 the last fifty games. Take away the wild card and they were not in the playoffs. Then they did not make the playoffs again until 2010. And Ausmus is his clone. They do not, did not, call out their players to greatness. A Sparky Anderson would have won a lot more with the teams Leyland and Ausmus have had.

Now we get to watch years of painful rebuilding. That's never fun, and never certain. I'm left to wonder if a friend of mine who believes the Tigers will never win another World Series is right. It was hard enough to win one before all the expansion of the last 60 years. It was hard enough to win one when you had the horses. Now, well, all we can do is wait and watch.

And regret what might have, what perhaps should have, been.