Send your leftover candy to ...

Me!

Today is one of my favorite days of the year. Why? Not what you probably think.

It is pretty annoying when 60 or 70 little bipeds climb the steps to ring your doorbell begging for candy which you don’t even eat yourself, or in my case, aren’t allowed to eat. I wouldn’t mind so much if a few of those Snickers made their way into my treat box, but the vet is no darned fun, and management listens to him like he’s God or something. Chocolate is supposed to be bad for dogs. Did they ever ask even one dog about this foolish supposition? I didn’t think so.

The reason I like this day so much is that I get to show off all night. Every time someone bangs on the door or yells, “Trick or Treat!” I bark and carry on like it’s the Rapture. As a special bonus, sometimes I scare someone, and they run away.

One year I was so successful at this, a little person dropped his trick-or-treat bag, losing a Three Musketeers bar and a Saf-T-Pop in the rush to get away from the fearsome Corgi. Ha ha ha. The best part was that management didn’t realize there was plunder in the yard the next day until she saw me chewing on the sucker stick and then spied the candy bar wrapper remains. (I hardly had time to get the whole wrapper off, and in retrospect I suppose it would have been smarter just to eat the candy wrapper and all.)

I got yelled at, but so what?

Just now I had one of the cats knock over the trash can so I could smell the bag the Milky Ways and Hershey’s came in. If I could bring myself to be a little nicer to the feline crowd around here, I might convince one of them to filch a few goodies from the table by the door, and then I could hide them under the couch, or just eat them real fast, but I have my pride to consider.

Blowed Up Real Good: Pharma Hires Horror Author

What will those industry hacks come up with next? Yesterday's Los Angeles Times carried a story about Big Pharma - which is about as popular as the tobacco industry , especially among physicians - and in it we learn that some public relations hot shot with the Pharmaceutical Research and Manufacturers of America or PhRMA has hired tabloid author Michael Viner to write a Crichton-esque novel about terrorists poisoning Canadian drugs headed for the States.

A couple of quick facts about the drug industry. Drug companies price products to be sold in the United States much higher than anywhere else. They claim it is because they are so heavily regulated in other parts of the world. Others see it as rape of the American consumer. When a US patent is about to run out, they tweek a molecule or two, repackage it, and secure another 20 year ride on the American gravy train. (Me-too patents these are called.)

Annual sales in the US are about $200 billion. That $200 billion is for cholesterol-reducing potions and Viagra, Xanax, Zoloft and Ambien. On the rare occasions I watch a television commercial, I learn of maladies never imagined. "Ask your doctor about (_______) today!" Even the dumbest cretin understands that those idiotic commercials add to the cost of drugs. The public interest has no standing in the halls of bigbusinessgovernment, however. Now there's an authentic horror story.

Separated at Birth?

L. Jabba the Hut
R. Exxon Chairman and CEO, Lee Raymond
(Thanks to SPY magazine of old. )

TIME: Pensions in Peril

Time cover
October 31, 2005 issue

"So it is that in the end, all but the most affluent citizens will have two options. They can join Joy Whitehouse in the can-collection business, or they can follow in the footsteps of Betty Dizik of Ft. Lauderdale who is into her sixth decade as a working American." (page 47)

For me, it's personal. There are two reasons: a.) I am likely to live to be old; and, b.) I have extensive work experience toiling in the pension field. When I saw this cover in the library, I scurried to the copy machine - sorry, TIME, I won't pay $4.50 for a magazine - and inserted 80 cents, so I could take notes and underline. We baby boomers must acclimate ourselves to poverty anyway.

Years ago - maybe 17-20 - there was a television special entitled, "The biggest pot of money in the world". It was about pension trust assets in the United States. The business was enormous. Thousands of money managers, consultancies, administrative and recordkeeping firms, lawyers, accountants, actuaries, association groups, publications all were spawned by a major piece of federal legislation enacted to safeguard retirement assets. Starting in the mid-'70s, federal law required for the first time that pension benefits be funded (no more pay-as-you-go) and that the assets be held in trust. Ergo, you had the biggest pot of money in the world.

Don't think a lot of people didn't notice. I worked around this pot of money for many years. Easy money. Fee income with no liability to speak of, sophisticated computer models to make the calls, bullshit artists galore and everyone wanting in on the game. Everyone. For example, American Airlines ran (managed) its pension funds internally (no hired guns like State Street Bank or Wells Fargo or PIMCO) and was so good at it, they spun the fund management people off into a for hire investment firm, a subsidiary of AA. Despite an occasional scandal and the presence of people like Mike Milken playing with matches, the prudent management of pension fund assets, zealous oversight by and of fiduciaries and managers, and the solvency of the United States Treasury as the key component of a rational, functioning system seemed sacrosanct. Furthermore, societal norms, if not actual laws or regulations, would assure the continuity of employer sponsored pension plans where possible. It was the right thing to do.

HA! The sea change is shocking to people like me who actually believed that pension funds were off limits to the greedy bastards who have breached every other aspect of the social contract. The portfolio managers I used to work with were a bit smug about their part in burying those nuts for the winter. They were engaged in socially responsible work - for six figure incomes. Every last one of them was a Republican, too. Employer plan sponsors, as well, always put incorruptible types in charge of the gold. Pension fund trustees and corporate finance and benefits people were squeeky clean and pretty starchy about the trust placed in them. They nearly always played by the rules. Some Taft Hartley (collective bargaining) and government groups were more casual, shall we say, but not all.

The law, the Employee Retirement Income Security Act (ERISA), is one of the most extensive, complex laws ever enacted. Studebaker and the Central States Teamsters were the marquee failures that prompted Sen Jacob Javits of New York, a Republican, to introduce the legislation. Studebaker filed for bankruptcy, and its retirees and active employees both were affected. It was a pay-as-you-go system. The Central States Teamsters, the biggest such group, had a rule that in order for a trucker to qualify for a pension, he had to be based out of the same city for 20 consecutive years. It wasn't uncommon for management to move a trucker after 19 years in one spot. (Is it any wonder unions have a black eye in this country?) ERISA prohibits all of the above.

TIME advises us this week that years of nipping at laws and regulations set down to protect workers' pensions now lay bare the ugly truth that all corporations will find a way to eliminate benefit obligations. The trend for 25 years has been a reduction in the number of employer funded (defined benefit) pension plans in favor of 401 (k) plans mainly or hybrids that require employee contributions and carry no long term financial obligation for the employer. On page 38 of the article, TIME reprints Pension Benefit Guaranty Corporation (PBGC) charts demonstrating the following:

• Number of company-sponsored pension plans declined to 29,651 in 2004 from about 118,000 in 1985;
• funding shortfalls for those plans is now $450 billion up from $0 (zero) in the late '90s;
• and the PBGC, the insurance entity (akin to the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation, FDIC) is running a $24 billion deficit compared to a surplus as recently as 2003.

What used to be a viable and serious endeavor is today a joke. Congress, the wholly-owned subsidiary of corporate America and its beneficial owners, is to blame. Who has benefited while workers have lost ground? Corporate executives - the top tier. Shareholders - the major ones. (Ironically pension funds are among the biggest investors in the stock market.) I know more than a few formerly well-compensated executives who, in addition to being downsized, also bought JDS Uniphase or Yahoo or, like me, frigging Lucent Technologies during the tech boom. Some of them switched their IRA investments to make like a big swinging dick. Squish!!

While I begrudge the greatest generation nothing, it is the last generation and one of the ONLY generations who will have benefited from liberal social policies. The Gen Xers and so forth who have been taught that the baby boom is to blame (for everything) will be impaled on the same skewer as the '46-'62 cohort, and Rush Limbaugh will be retired to his private island unavailable to aggitate or accuse. The deed already has been done. If TIME is publicizing it, think how bad it must be.

Midweek makeup bird blog

Slate colored junco
illustration by Allan Brooks (no relation to Bobo)

Good thing this isn't a retail store. Thank you for your patience. Shall we print up a button or bumper sticker "I'd rather be blogging"? Cap'n Midnight over on Watertiger's blog a while back gave me permission to print his, "You can never be too rich or morally thin" after a David Brooks column on - what was it? - oh, some disdainful firecracker (a dud) about "liberals". Bobo had described an argument as "morally thin". David Brooks would love to be a liberal because it is so much more fun. It must be difficult to perform those reasoning contortions he does twice a week. Already I'm off topic in my own blog.

OK. Here goes. Makeup birdblogging. The juncos are back in numbers. Two nights ago the late evening sky was slate colored like the bird. Clouds were steely, and the air felt frosty. We haven't had a hard freeze yet, and that's a good thing, Martha, because I still have tomatoes and eggplants on the vine.

This morning I was coaxing Arthur the Welsh Corgi (who is working on setting up his own blog, if I may presume to blog whore for him) to go outside, and there was a commotion in the back yard. Down swooped a hawk, two white stripes on the tail. He was hoping to have junco for breakfast. The blue jays went nuts, and all the breakfast-sized birds flew into the denser trees and evergreen bushes.

Last night Jelly Bean (JB), a cat who agrees to eat and sleep here and let me pay his medical bills, brought me a mouse. Dead, of course. It was sitting on the back door mat. I thanked him with true sincerity, because it is a great compliment to receive such a prize. Mr. Hawk would be very interested in the local rodents, too.

Arthur decided to take a walk this morning, because it is garbage day, not unlike pay day for humans. He didn't have his collar on, so I had to follow along. I'm a bit surprised the police didn't show up to arrest an unleashed dog walking around the block. The neighbors are old and very particular. One cannot, for example, park one's car in a driveway overnight. It must be kept in a garage. The craziest neighbor saw us out walking and stood in the street and stared, glowering. There is no regulation against walking (yet). I walk to get places. They walk only to keep their ageing hearts pumping.

We noted many, many chickadees and heard robins peep-peep-peeping. That's what they do when they're bob-bob-bobin' along. They are starting to flock. Last week I heard one singing like spring. It was a beautiful day, and he had a right to be in a good mood.

Procrastination and excuses

Golly. It's 3 o'clock, and I want to take a nap. Relatives in from out of town. Spending much time attending to elderly relative who is ready to leave us. There is this slight problem that if I get sick or weary, there is no one else to carry the ball, as they say on the gridiron. I try not to think about that - just keep going.

Rove and Libby are up to their respectives asses in alligators. Judith Miller, too. That's why the NYT is getting religion re its role in lying about WMD and the Chalabi/Judith Miller disinformation campaign. MoDo got to sharpen her claws on Judy's hide. Probably feels pretty good, but I am not a huge MoDo fan, either.

Actually I am not into schadenfreude at W's expense, because the problems he and his merry band of thieves have brought us are so pressing and dangerous, really, and there still are bad guys out there who want to destroy the West. They've had a nice assist in reaching that goal courtesy of Tony Blair and the W Administration. And we're not one bit safer.

Another entry I have in the hopper is regarding the Centers for Disease Control and the anticipated flu outbreak/ pandemic. Another FEMA. People who hate government should never be put in charge of government.

Maybe government of the people will make a comeback.

Blog schedule

Man plans. God laughs.

**Neocons Part 3. Richard Bruce Cheney

**Saint Michael the Archangel

**More migration news

These are the stories I hope to pen this week.

For those of you who haven't heard, there is a Chicago team in the World Series. It is the wrong team, but we must be mature about these things. Two years ago when it appeared that a certain North side baseball organization would loose its chains, I started planning a party menu sort of. I am way too experienced a Cubs fan to have put a fine point to it. Then I watched in horror as a Hewitt Associates consultant down the left field line interfered with a play and then the inevitable disintegration that followed. The Tribune Company focus grouped the potential Cub audience and surmised that fielding a losing team is more profitable for this particular brand. "Wait until next year" is supposed to be poignant, I guess. The impossible dream. The grail that's always out of reach. Anticipation. The quest. Kind of a cult of the lovable loser.

That's a on deck circle in the picture by the way.

Belated bird blog

Along southwest Lake Michigan today, the weather is perfect. The breeze is a tad cool, but it is a great day to be outside. Making my way back from the store this morning on foot, as I passed by a lovely ravine the people who own the property had the sense to preserve as is – except for a bridge across the stream that runs through it – about 2 dozen golden crowned kinglets flitted out of the tree tops to the roadside, just to be friendly, I imagine. The Catholic Church is down the road from the ravine, so while I stood there beaming friendly vibes back at the breakfast tableau, which included many native inhabitants, six or seven cars/mini vans rushed past me, but the kinglets didn’t seem to notice. The insects must have been too yummy to resist.

There probably were ruby crowned kinglets among the golden crowns, but I didn’t see them up close. Kinglets are pretty tiny, smaller than warblers, but possessed of the same habits, like refusing to sit still for more than 5 seconds. I wished them well and a safe journey. Not golden crowned kinglets travel to the southern most winter range which is the Gulf of Mexico. The ruby crowned kinglet has a slightly different, though overlapping range, but generally winter in the southern United States.


My very good friends the tufted titmice were on hand, and I urged them to stop by my feeders any time. They are such clowns, friendly like their cousin the chickadee, and they all appreciate thoughtful humans. Mr. red headed woodpecker made a conspicuous appearance, and I invited him over, as well.

Saturday Screed

Like most everyone I have way the hell too much to do, and none of it is satisfying. First, there is an elderly relative who won't eat, and it is v-e-r-y stressful for those of us - me and the assisited living personnel - who are trying to persuade him. Then there is the issue of finanaces which are running low, and I will need to get to the bank/credit union Monday to secure something, even though the lawyer says I might not be able to. (I frankly know more than the lawyer, but then that isn't unusual. My realtor says, "No problem. You'll get the loan.") Before that I must take a survey of everything that needs to be done to put a house in selling shape - install linoleum in the kitchen, remove '70s era wall paper and paint, replace a couple of light fixtures, restyle the bathroom, modify the landscaping somewhat - - - and then to the funeral director to plunk down $10,000. or so. Oh - and I'm refiling past tax returns to produce a refund.

And it's not like I don't have anything else to do.
I will bird blog later on tonight I hope. I think I'd like to run into one of the "family values /screw-the-baby-boom" champions right about now. It would do me good to unload.

Beautiful weather here in the Great Lakes, though. I wonder if the neighbors would call the cops if I'm out washing windows at 2 a.m.

Big Anniversary in Western History

a panel from the Bayeux Tapestry

On October 14, 1066 in a place now called Battle about 10 km north of Hastings on the English Channel the signal event in British history took place. It is among the dates we are likely to remember: 44 BC (Beware the Ides of March), 1066, 1215 (Runnymede and King John), 1492 (more significant for the expulsion of the Jews and Muslims from the Iberian Peninsula by Ferdinand and grisly Isabella), 1622, 1776.

The Normans (Northmen, Norsemen, Vikings) under William the Bastard, Duke of Normandy, routed the Anglo-Saxon aristocracy, killing Harold Godwinson, the King, in the process, and William was crowned on Christmas Day in Westminster Abbey. William in his own right had a somewhat tenuous claim to the throne of England because of blood ties to an earlier Anglo-Saxon king and because, while shipwrecked on the Normandy coast and taken prisoner, Harold Godwinson had sworn to support William’s bid upon the death of Edward the Confessor. The promise to back William gained Harold his release, but once back home Harold went about business as usual. Apologists for William refer to the subsequent “peace” among warring factions as justification for his incursion, and, of course, the imposition of continental culture, far more refined and civilized than that of England in the Eleventh Century.

Like another decisive onslaught across the English Channel about 900 years later, the weather delayed the launch of William’s fleet. During this time Harold Godwinson fought off another invasion in the north. When William finally landed in Sussex, site of Harold’s estate, he got right down to business pillaging and plundering. Word reached Harold, of course, and perhaps out of personal spite, he marched his battle worn army 250 miles in 9 days to meet the challenger, rather than waiting to restock his army. Even so, there was approximate parity in the number of troops, and Harold had the high ground, a strategic advantage.

William had raised troops from not only the Norman aristocracy, but from the German lowlands and most significantly from the second and third born sons of aristocratic Norman families who, by the law of primogeniture, were denied a title or land. William promised them such if he prevailed. He secured the backing of the Pope, Alexander II, (for those of you keeping score), his explicit blessing and also a gift of a banner, as was customary for a religious crusade.

Papal banner from the Battle of Hastings
from a 2004 reenactment

David Howarth wrote a little book published in the mid 1980s entitled 1066: The Year of the Conquest. I gave it out as holiday tokens to my clients one year. It is short and very well written. It reconstructs what life would have been like for the people of England in the year 1066 against the backdrop of Titanic struggles transpiring among the nobility. I had taken my copy out to review it and misplaced it among the boxes and piles of papers that comprise my life at the moment. Hmmm. When I find it – and if I don’t, I’ll buy another copy – I’ll review it again.

Thanks to the Normans we have centralized government and the Domesday Book, a census, the first ever taken in England, and it is an invaluable record for genealogists and historians. According to Henry Adams in his book Mont Saint Michael and Chartres, if you have English blood, you have Norman blood. (I may have Norman ancestry via my Tindall, Copper and Purdy antecedents, but absolute proof is impossible.) Henry was an unapologetic aristocrat back when it was OK to claim one’s inherited superiority loudly. The Normans, despite the distasteful displays of arrogance and snobbery by some of their descendants (and Henry Adams was indeed a remarkable person and a superior intellect), were resolute, strong, shrewd, smart and civilized. But William’s foray was the very last successful raid upon English soil. May the record stand another 1000 years.

Go read this, too: Battle of Hastings vs. Hasty Battles by Elaine Meinel Supkis

The Economist Flubs this story

In its October 1st-7th 2005 issue The Economist published an editorial/report in its Lexington column on the anti-war demonstration which took place in Washington on September 24th. It is a snide swipe at the baby boom generation, a favorite (maybe I should spell that ‘favourite) tactic of the cultural warriors on the right. The writer tells us for the 10 millionth time how the ‘60s split America in two, bla, bla, bla. His reasoning seems to be that the impetus for the anti-war demonstration and, by extension, anti-war sentiment overtaking the country, is an attachment to the 1960s. Nostalgia, in other words, is driving the anti-war movement, not any concern about Iraq.

“Why are the 1960s so difficult to escape? One reason is the sheer size of the baby-boom generation. Giant arboreal slums of boomers now sit at the top of every establishment tree, not least the media. And like all ageing geezers they continue to see the world through the prism of their youths .” (Page 34)

Let us examine that pronouncement.

The media “establishment tree” – how should we define it? Off the top of my ageing baby-boomer head, I’d say we could define the media establishment as CNN, The New York Times, The Washington Post, the networks (CBS, NBC and ABC), The Tribune Company and for the hell of it I’ll include Slate and Salon from the internet and, as a courtesy, I’ll include The Economist.

**CNN: part of Time Warner, a media conglomerate, which bought CNN from Turner Broadcasting in 1996. Subsequent acquisitions include AOL.

Chairman and Chief Executive Officer of Time Warner: Richard Parsons dob: 4/4/1948. This makes him a baby boomer.

Here are his credentials: partied his way through the University of Hawaii; ended up at University of Albany (NY) law school; got top score on NY bar exam; came to the attention of Nelson Rockefeller, the Republican governor of New York; ingratiated himself to the Rockefeller family; followed Nelson Rockefeller to Washington when he became Vice President under Ford. When Cheney and Rumsfeld convinced Ford to drop Rockefeller from the ’76 ticket, Parsons moved onto the Rockefeller compound in Westchester County and from there joined Paterson, Belknap, alongside Rudolph Giuliani. Etc. The important thing here is that he found a very influential mentor early in life, one of the best, smartest moves a person can make, but it is a path open to very few.

Rockefeller may have been a Republican and a, you know, Rockefeller, but he was considered liberal. Can this be the axe The Economist has to grind with baby boomer media slumlord (to continue their analogy) Parsons? I see no military service in Parsons’ background. Is this what might qualify him as a child of the ‘60s?

**The New York Times: Bill Keller, Executive Editor, dob 1/18/1949. Baby Boomer.
He worked on The Portland Oregonian at the beginning of his newspaper career. His wife wrote a biography of Winnie Mandela. He was a NYT Moscow correspondent. His wife is British, a member of the Gilbey (as in gin) family and whose cousin, James, was a paramour of Diana, Princess of Wales. He is divorced, having dumped his first wife when Gilbey got pregnant.
Arthur Sulzberger, Publisher. d/o/b 9/22/1951 Baby Boomer, 4th generation of his family to run the NYT

**The Washington Post, Donald Graham, Chairman and Chief Executive Officer. d/o/b/4/22/1945

Son of Katherine Graham, whose father bought the Post in 1933. Nephew of Senator Bob Graham of Florida

**CBS: owned first by Loews Corporation, then Westinghouse, then merged with Viacom.
Sumner Redstone, CEO, d/o/b 5/27/1923
Acting Evening News Anchor, Bob Schieffer, is brother of Tom Schieffer, former business partner of George W. Bush and Bush’s Ambassador to Australia and Japan.

**NBC: Owned By General Electric

**ABC: Owned By Disney

**The Tribune Company: Dennis J. FitzSimmons, Chairman, President and CEO. d/o/b 6/26/1950 Baby Boomer. He was an operations and media sales guy, not a journalist.

**Slate: Jacob Weisberg, Editor. Born 1964, Lefty journalism credentials. Washington Post bought Slate from Microsoft in December.

**Salon: Elizabeth Hambrecht, Chief Executive Officer, Born 1962, Vassar Graduate, was only 6 years old during the summer of love

**The Economist: Bill Emmott, Editor, born 1956. Baby Boomer. Member, Trilateral Commission, graduate of Magdalen College, Oxford

This list does not yield a lot of former hippies. As a matter of fact, it looks like a list of ruling class courtiers, pretty much the same as it might have been 100 years ago, except that Parsons is black and Hambrecht is a woman.

Chicago Day, October 9, 1893

"The memory of Chicago Day is the meed and palm that will forever be awarded to the men who built the Fair."

Chicago Day, The White City
October 9, 1893

Back before Olympic contests for the right to spend themselves into bankruptcy hosting the Olympics, cities worldwide staged expositions: Philadelphia in 1876; Paris in 1889; Chicago in 1893. Today marks the 112th anniversary of Chicago Day at the World’s Columbian Exposition where 761,942 happy fair goers passed through its gates, but the overwhelmed ticket takers may have admitted closer to 900,000. It still is the biggest single day “gate”, but I believe that a couple of soccer contests in the 20th Century may have come close.

Chicago Day was on the exact anniversary of the Great Chicago Fire 22 years before, Monday, October 9. This day, October 9, 2005, is the annual Chicago Marathon and a recital at Orchestra Hall that I am going to miss – Andras Schiff playing the Goldberg Variations of Bach. Grrr. But I’m happy to be writing about one of my favorite periods in American history.

The Columbian Exposition put Chicago on the map as a cultured place. City fathers, whose lengthy promotional speeches prompted haughty New York competitors to dub Chicago the Windy City, were eager to erase its rough frontier image. The industrialists, Philip Armour and George Pullman, retailers Marshall Field and William Hibbard and architect Daniel Burnham (“Make no little plans.”) among many others contributed substantial sums to bring the idea of a well-ordered, beautiful, utilitarian city to life.

Between 70 and 80% of Chicago’s population in the 1890 census was foreign born or first generation American, and they comprised the labor force for the stockyards, slaughter houses, meatpackers, railroads, smoke stacks, clothing and agricultural machinery manufacture. Because of Chicago’s significant position in the industrial sector, labor unrest had been a prominent and regular occurrence. In the fair’s design its planners wished among other things to establish a sense of control over the masses while not alienating them altogether. Their labor was, after all, a vital component to the Commercial Club membership’s continued prosperity. Fair construction itself required thousands of workers.


Largely businessmen the fair’s organizers were progressives, and their expansive outlook - for their own power and wealth accumulation possibilities primarily – imbued the fair with modernity. There was a women’s building and women’s planning board (wives of the planners mostly). Electric lighting was employed throughout. And ecumenicism and multiculturalism got a fair nod.

The old social order was already giving way to the new. The father of the creator of 20th Century America’s top cultural icon – a cartoon mouse – was a laborer at the Fair.

137 DeKoven Street

The parched summer and early autumn of 1871 around the Great Lakes foreshadowed the ghastly events of the weekend of October 7-9. Some theorize that sparks from a comet touched off fires all over the Midwest, but the more probable cause was extreme dryness in which the tiniest ember might launch Armageddon. So it was on the night of October 8 on Chicago’s west side in the barn belonging to the O’Learys. (Cow’s rights activists have long resisted the defamatory association of the O’Leary cow and the Great Chicago Fire. The only witness for the story was the neighborhood liar. )

The deadliest fire in US history, however, occurred on the very same weekend in Peshtigo, Wisconsin, where almost 1200 people died. In addition across the lake over one million acres burned from Holland on Lake Michigan’s eastern shore to Saginaw Bay on Lake Huron.


Many insurance companies were bankrupted as a result. One Chicago underwriter, Gurdon Saltonstall Hubbard, eventually paid all the claims against his company. There were around 200 companies with exposure, and only about 50 of them paid claims in full.

After the fire tens of thousands were left homeless, and the city's gentry were scared out of their wits. Angry mobs aren't known for level-headedness or deferring to their "betters." The mayor of Chicago decided not to ask for federal troop assistance to deal with the problem. However, the monied elite went around him, and as a result, Fort Sheridan** was constructed about 30 miles north of the city specifically to be a nearby aid to putting down any "insurrections". Armories started to be built within cities at this time, as well. They were fortresses for quartereing troops and stockpiling munitions - to be used against the citizenry.

(**It was closed when the Cheney defense department in early 1990s was punishing the taxpaying liberal [That's a redundant description folks.] northern states.)

Friday bird blog

In the Roger Tory Peterson Field Guide to the Birds, there is a whole section devoted to confusing fall warblers. Autumn entreats the traveling bird population to get packing, and one of the major routes south is the Mississippi flyway which takes in Chicago and the other side of Lake Michigan where I've done most of my bird observations.

Warbler watching is considered advanced birding because a.) they won't sit still; b.) the majority are the same color as the foliage both spring and fall; c.) most prefer tree tops. The best days to watch are after a change in the weather. Today would be such a day. It's gloomy, low light, much cooler.



For the heck of it I scanned a Magnolia warbler (male - they're always the flashy ones) in its spring coloration and took a photograph from a lovely photo site of an autumn traveler in a Massachusetts woods. Warblers in their migration garb look like they all shop in the same store - drab, faded stripes, regulation olive/khaki/yellow. They look a little tired, but after a summer of frantic nest construction and child rearing, the gray seems appropriate.



Many lose their lives flying into buildings. This time of year I always see at least a few thrushes, kinglets or warblers on the sidewalk around the Sears Tower or Hancock Building. One fall I took a ruby crowned kinglet up to the Lincoln Park Zoo in a cab. I'd found him by the Opera House where he was trying to figure out where the hell he took a wrong turn.

The Magnolia Warbler heads to Central America for the winter, having nested in the great white north. He's a little easier to spot on his return appearance in the spring, because the black and white stripes contrast with the green gone mad of the woods they prefer.

Brother Sun, Sister Moon

Praised be You, my Lord, through Sister Moon and the stars,
In the heavens you have made them bright, precious and fair.

Praised be You, my Lord, through Brothers Wind and Air,
And fair and stormy, all weather's moods,
by which You cherish all that You have made.

Saint Francis of Assisi

Yesterday was the Feast Day of St. Francis of Assisi. I had Arthur post one of his old news letters, because as an animal he is covered by St. Francis. I will post more later tonight. It's one of those weeks.

Another from the Archives from Arthur

The Long and Short of It
Arthur, editor-in-Chief
Arthur's Newsletter
with
Guest Commentary
Independence Day
Special
July 4, 2005

I am placed on the No Fly List
You may recall from my last newsletter that I was going to England to become Sir Arthur and hang out with the royal Corgis. Mainly I do not like snooty dogs with a paper. I've read that the Queen keeps dog treats in a Waterford jar. We just have a box. I have a pedigree paper, but I still am a regular dog, and all my best friends are from the pound. I even have a cousin, Butch Brand, who was at the Anti-Cruelty Society . Well, back to my story.

We went to the airport, and we had a ticket and we didn't pack any toenail clippers or our Swiss Army knife or anything, and some really rude security worker wouldn't let me get on the plane because I am a dog and I was snarling in my passport photo because I don't like to be photographed except by professionals who understand temperamental artists and Pembroke Welsh Corgis and so I bit him - not hard, just a little nip - because I was hot under the collar and so they put me on the No Fly List like Cat Stevens and Osama bin Laden. I am pretty upset.

Help Wanted
Are you tired of the same old routine: get up, go outside, run around the yard, take a nap, bark at joggers? Interested in an exciting and rewarding career with one of the fastest growing news outlets around? Can you type at least 20 words per hour? Are you web savvy? Then you might be just the dog we're looking for. Our production team needs an assistant. Tall dogs are preferred for this plum position. Duties include kitchen patrol, countertop and refrigerator inspection, fetching snacks for the editor, data entry and mailman oversight. Reply care of this newsletter . (The Long and Short of It is an equal opportunity employer. No cats, please.)

Summertime and the livin' is easy
We have a garden where you cannot walk even if you're in a hurry. There is a skunk around, too. Maybe he likes lettuce. I don't see much point to lettuce myself, but I believe in multiculturalism, so if skunks like lettuce, I'm OK, you're OK. Tomatoes are pretty important, because you make ketchup out of tomatoes and you know what ketchup is for. "Take me out to the ball game. Take me out with the crowd...." Hot dogs! They talk about peanuts and Crackerjack in the song, but everyone knows you eat hotdogs at a baseball game. Certain people do not recognize hotdogs as the bedrock staple they truly are, and for this I blame the liberals, because they want you to eat tofu and soybean turkey on Thanksgiving and fat free ice cream. They are such a big pain in the you-know-where. I have two fans blowing on me right now and management just went to the kitchen to get me an Eskimo Pie. (Just kidding. An ice cube. Ha ha ha.)

Guest Column
by Charles
The only reason I agreed to write anything for this dog's newspaper is that he is such an idiot, and the family must be considered. An odd twist of fate brought us together as "brothers", although it pains every hair on my substantial body to remind myself of it. I once spent three months crouched under a rocker, albeit a lovely Mission period piece, because this impudent, dumb, insensitive, odoriferous canine would not let me come out from under it. I have a certain amount of class - actually, quite a lot, but immodesty is so common - and the world might judge all of us by this woof-woofing beast with no manners and an egomaniac to boot! Another of this "family" is a cat whose name is 'George'. He supposedly went to college. Like most of his ilk, he is a paper pusher with no hard skills. To whit, we had to pay a repairman to fix the air conditioning due to - are you ready for this? - a mouse. I am in charge of the external premises. Professor George is supposed to handle the interior. Personally I think whoever paid his tuition ought to insist on a refund - or check himself into a nut house.

~Charles owns a woods and town house in an undisclosed location. ~

Editor's note: Take your Cuban catnip and cashmire bedspread and shove it.

Our next issue on sale pretty soon!!
In the meantime, remember that all dogs do not like fireworks, but they like to order off the menu at the drive-in.

Sugar and Spice

Welcome to the World,
Kimberly Evelyn !

With big sister,
Miss Josephine

Natural Royalty

We are into autumn. Night temperatures have gone as low as 41 degrees, and there’s heavy dew this morning. Robins and starlings are starting to flock, although I saw blackbirds flocking in August on several occasions. It was a bit disorienting, and I thought maybe it presaged an early autumn or vigorous, shall we say, winter. Maybe they were tuned into the hurricanes so many miles distant. Anyway, it was kind of phenomenal, and I need to look into it.

Monarchs still are around, or they were as of Thursday or Friday. I haven’t ripped their lunch out of the ground yet, nor will I until early November. I like working outside in the fall, even on miserable days. It must be Yankee stubborn or something. On record cold days in the early ‘80s, I made sure I went outside, walking to the Treasure Island (grocery) store, costumed like Cousin Itt. Anyway, Mr. and Mrs. Monarch better skedaddle for their winter digs.

Like all the rest of God’s creatures, the Monarchs are hurting because of development and chemicals. It’s a subject guaranteed to raise my blood pressure. That’s our culture. We demand new construction, turf grass, and chemicals to “sustain” (highly dubious supposition) giant agribusinesses and keep the “weeds”, both human and herbaceous, out. Some day Monarchs will be seen only in books ( if the books haven’t all been burned).

The picture here is from a little pocket guide published in the ‘40s. Years ago – it must have been in the early ‘60s – my parents were out “birding” one fall day, and they reported they’d seen a tree absolutely laden with Monarch butterflies. It was as if each leaf had its own Monarch assigned to it. They couldn’t believe their eyes.

Every once in a while the universe favors people who deserve a special, awesome treat, people tuned into its wonders, but it was harder and harder for my mother in later years to see the destruction of so much of “her” country. She was an environmentalist before the word was coined and supported organizations that worked to preserve Mother Nature’s space. There doesn’t seem much point any more – if there ever was – trying to fight the developers. She protested the building of a grocery store in the 1950s, because the marsh land the store would occupy was home to so many species. The store is long gone. It was an empty hulk for a long time, then taken over by a Goodwill outlet and now, rehabbed, is a government office of some sort. A common pattern, that.