The Gang of Four

It was so surreal on Friday. Our economic world crashed around us last week and there were our president, George W. Bush; the secretary of the Treasury, Henry Paulson; the Fed Chairman Ben Bernanke; and the chairman of the Security and Exchange Commission, Chris Cox standing in the Rose Garden of the White House assuring us they had things under control. All that was necessary was for Congress to forget about partisanship, and the abysmal track record of these four so-called wizards in regard to the economic collapse.

We've been kicking around for a decade when to say the 20th century ended. So many have wanted to peg its demise to the establishment of the Internet as a viable communication tool for average people, but I'd like to suggest that the end of the 20th century arrived this past week, on September 12th, when Wall Street finally melted.

As we listened and watched the news last week, it was sobering how many commentators were talking in terms not heard since Black Friday, when the Stock Market crashed in 1929. And there was the Gang of Four, assuring us they had things under control. All that would be necessary would be for us average tax payers to pick up the tab for the failing hubris of men and women frantically chasing your and my wallet. Once again it seems that Wall Street had figured out how to swindle the pants off all of us. But this time, unlike 1929 when those who were guilty had to actually suffer the pain of their greedy money grab; the guilty will be bailed out by the Federal Government.

Frankly, I just wish some of them would have the common decency to jump from their New York skyscraper windows like their grandfathers did 80 years ago. It does make one wonder whether we have finally reached the end of the long rope we have been dangling from for a half century in this country.

One of my favorite pieces of music has been Aaron Copeland's Fanfare for the Common Man. It has been associated for so many years with Abraham Lincoln and the Gettysburg Address. It resonates with the solemn grandeur of the man who must roll up his sleeves and work his butt off to feed his family, all the while being asked to sacrifice for God and country, sometimes giving the ultimate sacrifice for his nation.

When one thinks of that image, one repeated so often in our nation's history, one must wonder about the squealing pigs at the trough of Wall Street greed. Are they offering sacrifice? Are they offering to protect the nation? Are they offering to set aside their personal fortune for the survival of the nation? The answer is no. As often happens when the course of events slaps a stiff call for sacrifice on them, it is to the federal government they run with pleas to be bailed out at the expense of people who actually work their tails off every day to just make ends meet.

One could ask what else did you expect.

A confusing Sunday night

The noise outside my office door is growing steadily into a crescendo of sound. Youthful voices challenge each other for dominance as everyone tries to talk at the same time and tries to be heard at the same time. It is Sunday night and the newspaper staff is gathering for its latest meeting. The staff meets Sundays and Wednesday’s at 8 p.m., and I, as the adviser, am here. I don’t actually control the meeting. That’s the editor’s job. I do, however, offer criticism of the last issue or two in an effort to get them to improve as reporters and editors, graphic designers and photographers. Lately I’ve come to believe it just might be a lost cause.

As the frost on my head grows ever whiter, and the waddle of my neck grows like that of an old Tom Turkey, the failure of my voice to crack through this cacophony is more and more evident.

Over the past three weeks I have been attempting to convince the young editor and his staff that they, talented as they are, do not have all the keys to the journalism kingdom. Their stories are poorly edited, with quality greatly dependent on the raw talent of the writer. Of course that means there’s a great disparity between stories in terms of style, grammar, quality of thought, you name it. While John McCain has been making much of Obama’s off-hand remark about “putting lipstick on a pig,” the newspaper staff seems to believe that just a bit more color on the front page will hide all their sins.

Perhaps I have finally reached a point in my career in which I have failed to understand how to reach a new crop of students. Each year it has grown worse, from the standpoint of convincing them they can do better with just a little more work, until this year when it seems the feeling among the senior staff is they already know what to do and no one can really tell them anything they don’t already know. So, they don’t listen.

I wonder if a younger hand might cut through the bullshit with more force than I seem to be able to slice it. Then I watch and listen and I have come to believe it is not an age thing at all. It is an attitude, a mindset that refuses to admit any culpability.