Archive for the “Americana” Category

People hate on Massachusetts for many things. We have high taxes, tough gun control, and we provided the country with a blueprint for socialist health care (a plan which is now causing us some problems). Believe it or not, giving government monopoly powers over an industry doesn’t work on the state level either, costs are exceeding revenues, and cuts are having to be made. The governor recently proposed denying health benefits to certain LEGAL immigrants, a decision that would have no basis in in the realms of logic or morality.

Two hundred and thirty-odd years ago, though, we were the epicenter of freedom. You know what other concept got its first test run here in MA? The written constitution. The legal document we all share - as citizens of what was originally a federation of diverse states with shared free trade, foreign, and defense policies - was based on the Constitution of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, drafted by none other than Sam Adams, a graduate of my high school. When I think about his and other names on the great frieze above the royal purple curtains in the assembly hall back at the Latin School, I can’t help but be a little proud of my Bostonian heritage.

To the matter at hand: today I read an article from last week’s Herald (the more conservative of Boston’s two newspapers), about the effects on law enforcement practices of the recently-enacted citizen referendum to make marijuana possession a civil rather than criminal offense. Here’s the opener:

“Thumbing their noses at the state’s lax new pot law, Bay State stoners are brazenly lighting up in front of cops and then refusing to pay fines - leading some frustrated police chiefs to all but give up the fight.”

A friend of mine, a libertarian who shall remain nameless for obvious reasons, was recently smoking pot in a public park, and I asked him what he planned to do if a policeman passed by, and decided to hit him with the $100 fine that is the penalty for carrying an ounce or less of cannibus. “If he told me to give him 100 bucks?!” he retorted. “I’d tell him to give ME 100 bucks!” If you read the article, you’ll find that lots of other Boston-area residents seem to share his understanding of this issue. There is no reason ever to pay this fine. Points will not get added onto your license, and they won’t arrest you. They could haul you into court, theoretically, but that would cost them more than the amount of the fine. We may be socialists up here, but not all problems of economic calculations elude us.

“All told, a staggering 83 percent of 415 tokers cited in Boston since the law took effect in January have refused to pony up the $100, a Herald review shows.”

This should be major news! One hundred and sixty-years ago, a liberty-minded Massachusetts native wrote, in his treatise on the idea of civil disobedience to government, “when the subject has refused allegiance, and the officer has resigned his office, then the revolution is accomplished.”

83% of pot smokers are refusing allegiance to the state, by openly defying it. Police officers aren’t enforcing the law, if not on grounds of justice, than at least for practical reasons. According to Henry Thoreau’s definition, marijuana is now legal in Massachusetts (in my neighborhood, anyway). If the other 13% of the “Bay State stoners” heard the news, I am positive they would turn to civil resistance as well. Let’s all take note of Thoreau’s advice, and take heart: as ever, the strength of the people lies in our numbers, and if enough of us refuse to submit to oppression, oppression will end. I guess this means I’ll have to revise my campaign platform.

I had lunch today with Maestro Louis Lane, former conductor of the Dallas and Atlanta Symphonies, long-time associate conductor of the Cleveland Orchestra, and one of my conducting teachers at CIM. He fought in World War II and was camped outside a concentration camp in Germany on the day that the war ended. After his service, he returned to the U.S. and completed his education on the G.I. Bill. If you meet him, he has a great story he can tell you about the first time he met George Szell! He was a demanding but caring teacher - and the more I get to know this man, the more I respect him.

Mr. Lane is 84 years old, he’s retired, and he pays his expenses with savings and modest investments. The inflationary effects of the impending government bailout will hurt people like him (those living on fixed incomes) the most. It is unfair and unjust to foist the debts of avaricious bankers and irresponsible Washington phonies on men and women like Mr. Lane, who have served their country faithfully, given back to their communities, and who enrich the lives of future generations. Mr. Lane did not receive any compensation for teaching me conducting - he donated his time and expertise out of a love for music. I will be forever grateful for what he has given me.

Mr. Lane offered me his support and kindly called my campaign for congress a “worthy cause.” I will be speaking soon at his apartment complex in Bratenahl, OH, which is part of the 11th district.

While checking out of the motel in Billings, I met “Jersey,” who’s from Newark. He’s enrolled in a program called “Road to Success,” a sort of job placement agency for young men from inner-city neighborhoods. He was as surprised to hear my story as I was to hear his. Montana’s quite a change from Newark, but he told me that after a couple years of raising pit bulls and living at him mom’s, he was ready for a change.

On my way from Spokane to Helena, I stopped in Coeur D’Alene, Idaho. I came across the offices of Senator Crapo and Congressman Sali, both Republicans. I spoke with their staffs, who were very friendly and interested in my ideas about monetary policy. Crapo serves on the Senate Finance Committee, and was previously on the Banking Committee as well. He has recently taken an interest in reconsidering the gold standard and in allowing some form of competition for the Federal Reserve Note. Mike, tell your friends!

My new friends recommended I try the restaurant next door. I stopped in and talked for a little while with Carlos, the proprietor, who is originally from Mexico. He and his wife Colomba moved up to Idaho from southern California after getting married. I told them about my road-trip, and about how I was headed back to Cleveland to run for congress. Business owners like these ones are especially aware of the effects that the Fed’s inflation of the money supply has on our economy. Even in these hard times, when I asked for the check, Carlos refused to let me pay a cent. Thanks for the meal, guys.

These Americans support the revolution.

In Oregon, you can grow organic food AND support a Republican! Who knew?

These Americans support the revolution.

These Americans do, too.  (And by the way, in addition to packing heat, they both support the right of a free man to own his body and, by extension, to choose what substances he puts into it…)

In the middle of the desert, I came across a bumper sticker supporting my favorite Democratic truth-teller and defender of the constitution.

As is apparent from the above photograph, “we’re not in Kansas anymore.” A less obvious, but more interesting, piece of trivia concerns the movie which made famous the quote to which I’m alluding. “The Wizard of Oz,” by L. Frank Baum, has been seen by some historians as a parable drawing its inspiration from imagery common in the 1890’s, when there was a populist movement centering around an introduction of a silver-standard for some U.S. currency. In this view, Dorothy represents the U.S. citizenry, largely naive with regard to the importance of monetary policy; her silver slippers (changed to ruby slippers in the film), the “Free Silver movement”; the cowardly lion, William Jennings Bryan, a populist leader; the scarecrow and the tin-man, farmers and industrial laborers, respectively; the yellow-brick road, the gold standard; the wicked witch of the east, New York based financial interestes; the Wizard and his emerald city, fraudulent paper money. Even the “Oz” of the title could be seen as the abbreviation for “ounce,” the unit of measurement for metal-based money…Food for thought!

Today I woke up in a motel, for only the third time in thirty days. Besides the 40-odd dollars down the drain and the multiple bed bug bites (who knew the creatures from the childhood rhyme really existed?), its just depressing to be by ones self in a building not designed to foster connections between people. But my mood picked up substantially when, after going only a few miles down I-64, I got a wave from a motorcyclist headed in the other direction, on a bike nearly as overloaded as mine.

I arrived a little early for my 11 AM meeting with Mr. Charles Henderson, from the Public Affairs Department of the St. Louis Fed. At 10:45, I entered the building, went through the metal detector, and gave my driver’s license to one of the two guards, who copied down my information. Mr. Henderson came out into the lobby and we had an interesting chat in which he told me that he had originally planned to go into film-making, but had switched majors after deciding that he would rather not have to put all his time and energy into just one field, and that public relations would enable him to pursue outside interests in his free time. Jim Bullard, the president of the St. Louis Fed, was out of town, having just attended Tuesday’s meeting of the Federal Open Market Committee (as a non-voting member). But Mr. Henderson said he would deliver a copy of my pamphlet to him, and circulate a second copy, which he thought might be of interest to the research assistants. He was also kind enough to take a picture with me, outside of course.

I headed over to the arch for some tourist-time!

Since I hadn’t made it as far as I’d wanted the day before, and since I was trying to get all the way to Kansas City, I decided to take I-70. On days when I have to ride the interstate, I try to pick one town that looks really small on the map, and take a break there. Today, I picked the town of Blackwater, because I wanted an excuse to draw everyone’s attention to the private military company of the same name. I had a heck of a time finding the place.

I headed into the first shop that caught my eye, an antique store, to look for a postcard. Joyce, the owner, sold me the one postcard she had, and we talked for a few minutes about the dire economic situation facing the country. She told me that in towns like this one, local farmers no longer patronized local feed and hardware stores for their supplies. Blackwater is cultivating a small tourist industry. They are doing OK - Joyce’s shop was featured in the July 2008 edition of “Midwest Living” magazine. Still, Joyce is saving up supplies, in anticipation of the coming depression, which the mother of a Wal-Mart executive told her will be the “worst ever.” I happen to agree. I gave Joyce a copy of my pamphlet and she gave me a DVD entitled “The Silencing of God.” I will watch it as soon as I can.

I noticed that there were several other antique stores, out of the 20 or so storefronts in the main square. Jerry, the owner of the store across the street, said hi, and teased me for saying “howdy.” It was about time for shops to be closing up, so we pulled up chairs on the sidewalk and chatted, and soon were joined by several other members of the community, including the local banker. People were gathering to plan for a “progressive meeting” to be held on September 16th. I was interested to learn that this meeting will be “progressive” in that the townspeople will start at one business, have drinks or appetizers there, and then “progress” to another place, and another, until they all sit down together to eat dinner. I was struck by how tight-knit the members of this community were, and realized that they would all help each other in an emergency.

The residents of small towns like this one seem generally to have a better idea of how the banking system works, and to be more aware of how irresponsible American monetary policy has been over the past several decades. They don’t trust a committee of men far away in Washington to regulate the value of their money - they’re used to living more independently of government control, and they know that economic affairs are best controlled at the local level. I was sad to go, but with an open invitation to their meeting in September, I may be back.

Jerry is a truck-driver from Oklahoma City. He explained to me that truck-drivers live in their truck - they have a bedroom and everything. I had no idea.